One frequently overlooked aspect of the sophists’ reflection concerns the kind of problems that today might be included in an ethical treatise, such as happiness and pleasure. Usually it is claimed that the sophists shifted the focus of enquiry from nature to the human world, but then the emphasis is almost exclusively placed on the political side of these investigations (which is no doubt significant, as we have seen in the previous chapter). This is a misleading perspective, which applies modern conceptual schemes to the ancient world, creating distortions and misunderstandings. Before Aristotle, there is no point in distinguishing between the ethical and the political spheres, since ethics and politics ultimately constitute two aspects of the same problem: how to reach fulfilment and thus lead a happy life. Certainly, in order to answer this question it is necessary to embark on an analysis of political problems, such as justice or the best form of government: the fact that human beings live together is something that must be taken into account. But the ultimate goal is self-realization. This is the end towards which everyone tends.
In the fifth-century debate, the issue at stake was that of arete, a term which is usually translated as ‘virtue’: how can one become virtuous? In our day, given our idea of virtue, a question of this sort may not seem very pertinent, and one might object that virtue is rather an obstacle to self-realization. For the Greeks, however, arete primarily indicates a capacity to perform, which enables individuals to exercise their function or task in the best possible way: it is the quality (or range of qualities) that helps one to stand out from one's group and to fully realize one's potential, justifying one's superiority over all others and earning the individual admiration, along with material goods. An alternative translation of arete, which better conveys this underlying meaning, is ‘excellence’. At the risk of oversimplifying things, the problem might be then redefined in terms of success: how can one obtain success, so as to lead a gratifying and happy life? This is an ever-relevant question, which the Greeks never ceased to address.
In Greece, moreover, the debate on this issue was made even more heated by the new social and cultural conditions which had emerged in the fifth century. Whereas in the previous ages, dominated by the aristocratic outlook, the prevalent thesis had been that a person's ‘value’ derives from their natural endowments, which they need to cultivate by following their ancestors’ example,Footnote 1 in the fifth century, with the rise of democracy, the belief took root that anyone could attain virtue. This made the problem of education and teaching an even more pressing one. Everyone could become ‘virtuous’, which is to say develop qualities that would propel them to the summit of the community; the problem, then, was to learn how to attain virtue. And this is precisely what the sophists promised to teach, starting from Protagoras, who claimed that what people could learn from him was ‘good deliberation about household matters, to know how to manage one's own household in the best way possible, and about those of the city, so as to be most capable of acting and speaking in the city's interests’ (Protagoras, 318b = 80A5 D.-K. = 31D37 L.-M.). In other words, Protagoras promised to teach people virtue (Protagoras, 319b; see also 349a and Meno, 91a). Plato reports that Gorgias instead mocked those who promised to teach others virtue (Meno, 95b = 82A21 D.-K. = 32D47 L.-M., quoted above, p. 75). Yet the purpose of his teaching was much the same (see e.g. Plato, Gorgias, 452d–e).Footnote 2 No less significantly, even one of the Dissoi logoi, the sixth, is entirely devoted to refuting the thesis that ‘wisdom and virtue can neither be taught nor learned’ (90.6.1 D.-K. = 40.6.1 L.-M.). Once again, then, the sophists prove capable of grasping and addressing the most important problems of the life of the city, eliciting opposite reactions – enthusiasm or aversion – through their bold claims.
Generally speaking, a defining feature of the sophists’ reflection is the affirmation of the priority of the individual over the community. The sources we have all appear to go in this direction, with one significant exception: Protagoras. Unlike the other sophists, Protagoras seems to be striving to reconcile the interests of the individual with those of the public sphere, by emphasizing the eminently political dimension of human nature. In this he once again shows significant affinities with the democratic ideology of Pericles, and I will therefore refer back to the previous chapter for a more detailed exposition of his ideas. In all other cases, what makes the sophists’ analyses interesting is their awareness of the problematic bond between each individual and his or her community. Usually this leads to the (predictable) charge that the sophists promote social egoism: their criticism that justice and the law only possess conventional value, the doubts they repeatedly raise concerning the existence of the gods – who were traditionally regarded as the bastions of order and goodness – and their constant references to personal interest may well be seen to expose them to the charge of immoralism. No doubt, the sophists tackled some thorny social questions, adopting an ambiguous stance vis-à-vis traditional values, in a subtle play of rejection and adoption. But, while the destructive aspect of their reflections is what most captures our attention, we should not overlook the many sources that inform us of how they also put forward some positive suggestions. The picture of the sophists as ‘immoralists’ is probably a misrepresentation of their positions, the outcome of a superficial application of certain theses that have not been adequately understood, and which must be taken into account without making them the one and only object of the sophists’ reflection.Footnote 3
The immoralists
The idea that the sophists’ teaching amounted to a sort of immoralism which justified any action whatsoever was a common one in fifth- and fourth-century Athens, and finds authoritative confirmation in Aristophanes and Plato.Footnote 4 Arguably the most eloquent testimony is provided by the Clouds, in which Aristophanes unleashes his comic fury on all the representatives of the new culture – not just the sophists, but also natural philosophers and even Socrates, who constitutes the real polemical target of the comedy. The central point made by the Clouds is that the responsibility for the ruin of Athens ultimately falls on the new ‘doctrines’ promoted by these self-styled masters, doctrines which lead to (and justify) the most subversive act of all for the order of the city: a son beating his father. From a social point of view, this is also a generational clash, which takes the form of a rejection on the part of the new generations of those principles that had made the city of Athens great.Footnote 5
Compared to Aristophanes, Plato adopts a more nuanced and hence more interesting position. First of all, it is worth noting that his polemic seems to be more restricted: while, generally speaking, his dialogues deliver an all-round attack against the sophists, when it comes to ethical questions it is almost invariably Gorgias who is made the central target. This is rather perplexing, considering that Gorgias even denied that he dealt with virtue and claimed to confine his teaching to the art of speech (consider the aforementioned testimony 82A21 D.-K. = 32D47 L.-M.). Plato, however, may have been right in a sense: for it is precisely on account of his alleged ‘neutrality’ that Gorgias might be accused of being a bad teacher.Footnote 6 Indeed, according to Plato, what makes Gorgias dangerous as a teacher is the fact that, on the one hand, he refuses to address moral issues but, on the other, promises to teach how to achieve success: the combination of these two elements may be exploited as a means to justify egoism, whereby the only thing that matters is the pursuit of one's goals, regardless of other people's point of view, needs, and rights. This is precisely the criticism formulated by Plato, who accused Gorgias not of any moral shortcomings (besides, the sources portray Gorgias as a sober and moderate man), but on account of the noxious consequences of his teaching.
Particularly revealing, in this respect, is the presentation of two pupils of Gorgias – Meno in the dialogue of the same name, and Callicles in the Gorgias – offering two different versions of the same problem: a subdued version and a radical one. Meno is a fine example of the first type, that of the shy pupil, who is eager to obtain the success that Gorgias has promised him, but who is afraid of taking an open stance against shared values such as justice. This results in a constant oscillation between the egotistic pursuit of what might promote his self-interest and a surface acknowledgement of traditional values. Hence, Meno goes round in circles, without daring to pursue what is implicit in Gorgias’ promises (the achievement of success) to its ultimate consequences, yet also without understanding what might make traditional values legitimate.Footnote 7
Callicles’ case is different, since he lacks neither courage nor frankness. He is mostly known for his ‘political’ theories, which emphasize the rule of force and the superiority of ‘the best’.Footnote 8 As we have seen, it is easy to show that these are only rhetorical quips, with no coherent content. However, as Nietzsche clearly grasped, the same ideas acquire a very different significance when viewed in relation to the life choices of individuals. Struggling to reach an agreement with Callicles on the issue of who ‘the best’ might be on the political level, Socrates tries to shift the debate to the individual level: granting for the sake of argument that ‘the best’ have the right to rule ‘the weak’, Socrates asks Callicles how ‘the best’ ought to behave towards themselves, whether they ought to control themselves or not (Gorgias, 490e–491e). Callicles initially does not understand Socrates, but then rejects his idea. His reply perfectly illustrates what, according to Plato, was the moral sickness of Athens:
How could a man prove to be happy if he's enslaved to anyone at all? Rather, this is what's admirable and just by nature – and I'll say it to you now with all frankness – that the man who'll live correctly ought to allow his own appetites to get as large as possible and not restrain them. And when they are as large as possible, he ought to be competent to devote himself to them by virtue of his bravery and intelligence, and to fill them with whatever he may have an appetite for at the time. But this isn't possible for the many, I believe; hence, they become detractors of people like this because of the shame they feel, while they conceal their own impotence. …The truth of it, Socrates – the thing you claim to pursue – is like this: wantonness, lack of discipline, and freedom, if available in good supply, are excellence and happiness; as for these other things, these fancy phrases, these contracts of men that go against nature, they're worthless nonsense! (Plato, Gorgias, 491e–c)
The human being's innermost nature lies in their desiderative component, in the urges and passions that stir within them: it is there, in the capacity to fulfil the needs and desires of one's true self, that the quest for happiness is conducted, against the conventions and limits of traditional morality. While Nietzsche was to appreciate this answer, it was overturned by Plato, who later on in the dialogue redefined it as a defence of radical hedonism and refuted it as such – as a potentially beastly solution and one utterly incapable of explaining what makes a life truly excellent and worth living.
In its radical nature, however, Callicles’ challenge raises substantial problems which Plato was well aware of and which he never ceased to investigate.Footnote 9 First of all, it must be noted that Callicles is promoting an extreme yet not utterly alien view of traditional morality, which ever since Homer's Iliad had rested on the logic of competitiveness and on the friend/enemy dialectic. In particular, it is important to bear in mind that, whether we share Callicles’ perspective or not, his challenge may be interpreted as a particularly disturbing confirmation of a problem that always needs to be addressed, that of obligation: why should I limit my legitimate pursuit of happiness out of respect for others?Footnote 10
This is the underlying question which drives the sophists’ reflection, as well as that of other Platonic characters, such as the aforementioned Thrasymachus and Glaucon, who newly address the issue in some memorable pages of the Republic (Rep. 343a–344a and 358b–361d). If happiness is the ultimate goal of human life, and respect for others is a cause of unhappiness, then how are we to conduct ourselves? Clearly, this is a dangerous question, and the frankness with which the sophists posed it might create the impression that they did so in order to promote theses such as that of Callicles. Yet Callicles’ ‘immoralist’ solution, his invitation to escape ‘moral captivity’, is only one possible answer. We do not know what solution Gorgias offered: in all likelihood he offered no solution, in the sense that – as we have seen – Gorgias avoided addressing problems of this sort. However, the sources that we have provide information on two other sophists, Antiphon and Prodicus; and they suggest that they were not immoralists, but at most realists and utilitarians.
Antiphon's morality of concord
Not unlike Thrasymachus or Glaucon, Antiphon was well aware of the urgency of the questions just mentioned. As we have seen in Chapter 4, the problem of how to relate to the law and other people was one of the underlying themes of the analyses provided in On Truth. Elsewhere, too, human happiness and that which hinders it constitute a privileged topic for Antiphon. In a late source we find a curious anecdote, which makes him a forerunner of psychoanalysis:
he invented an art of eliminating pain, just as there is a kind of treatment provided by doctors for people who are sick. In Corinth he established an office next to the marketplace and advertised that he was able to treat grief-stricken people by means of his speeches. And he inquired into the causes and thereby consoled those people who were suffering. But then, considering that this art was beneath him, he turned to rhetoric.
(87A6 D.-K. = 37P10 L.-M.)Footnote 11
Regrettably, no traces of this art survive; however, the extant fragments of another text, entitled On Concord can help clarify his thoughts on the matter, when read alongside On Truth.
Certainly, the advice and suggestions that Antiphon used to give his patients were not based on blithe optimism. On the contrary, the dominant tone of the fragments is that of a disenchanted pessimism, typical of much of the Greek gnomic tradition:
Living is like a day-long sentry duty, and the whole length of life is like a single day, as it were, during which no sooner have we raised our eyes toward the light than we pass on the baton to other people who come after us. (87B50 D.-K. = 37D51 L.-M.)
It is astonishingly easy to find fault with all of life, my friend, since it possesses nothing exceptional nor great and imposing, but everything in it is little, weak, ephemeral, and mixed with great pains (87B51 D.-K. = 37D50 L.-M.)
At first sight, these bitter descriptions of human life might seem like yet another variation on the classic theme of human unhappiness, which Antiphon presents through brilliant and evocative images. Upon closer inspection, however, some original insights emerge. In particular, it is worth noting that the undeniable pessimism of the fragments is constantly associated with the theme of intelligence: according to Antiphon, the true cause of distress, in general, is not the wretchedness of the human condition, but the poor use to which people put their intelligence, making things even more difficult instead of solving their problems.Footnote 12 Life is complicated and the choices we have to make – when it comes to things such as marriages, children, money, and friendship (87B49, 53–8 D.-K. = 37D57, 52–3, 59, 47a–b, 54–5 L.-M.) – are difficult ones. Unfortunately, instead of using their intelligence to deal with these thorny problems, humans often allow themselves to be driven by impulses and passions to commit acts they will soon regret, but which cannot be erased, since ‘it is not possible to retract one's life like a move in checkers’ (87B52 D.-K. = 37D48 L.-M.); and ‘the time that they are neglecting is gone’ (87B53a D.-K. = 37D53 L.-M.).
What is most striking about Antiphon's distress is the lack of any moralistic overtones and the lucid realism of his observations. Take the example of wealth, a conventional good whose importance Antiphon does not wish to dispute, and which constitutes a recurrent theme in surviving testimonies (87A3, B53–4 D.-K. = 37D83, 52, 59 L.-M.).Footnote 13 It is difficult to deny the importance of wealth, and this view had been memorably expressed by Aristodemus, one of the seven wise men: ‘Surely no witless word was this of the Spartan, I deem, “Wealth is the worth of a man (chremat'aner); a poverty void of esteem”’ (Alceus, fr. 49 Lobel-Page = D.L. 1.31). Whether we like it or not, wealth is not something that can be ignored: to reject it completely, as though it served no purpose, is to adopt a fruitless position that is of little use in everyday life. Instead, we should address various concrete questions: if wealth marks the social value of a person, we should also be concerned to ensure that it is acquired in an honest and correct way; in turn, the problem of the acquisition of wealth requires us to more deeply investigate its actual management, preservation, increase, circulation, and so on – and these spawned the first ‘economic’ reflections. These are only some of the problems that Antiphon dealt with, favouring the ‘mercantilistic’ view – a minority view at the time – according to which the circulation of money was a legitimate way to gain wealth, in opposition both to the traditional practice of saving money and to those philosophers who merely criticized wealth, without making any significant contributions to the debate (Xenophon informs us of a polemic of Antiphon against Socrates on the matter, although it is difficult to tell just how reliable this testimony is from a historical perspectiveFootnote 14). Wealth was a concrete problem for which Antiphon suggests concrete solutions, capable of making life’ more free and pleasant’ (Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1.6 = 87A3.3 D.-K. = 37D83.3 L.-M.). It is easy to imagine that he may have formulated similar arguments concerning other everyday problems, from marriage to work and friendship.
With respect to these concrete analyses, what makes Antiphon's position even more interesting is his underlying psychological conception. According to him, there are essentially two driving forces in human life: reason and desire. The problem is to strike a balance between the two.Footnote 15 Instead of generally censuring the predominance of desire, an obvious or even trivial fact, we are to employ reason to fulfil those desires and needs that are truly useful, so that they may contribute to our happiness. Within this context we can grasp the importance of two key concepts for Antiphon, sophrosyne (temperance) and homonoia (concord). Temperance is the intelligence with which in each case we face or fulfil our desires, so as to obtain what can truly bring us pleasure or profit:
One would attribute temperance (sophrosyne) most correctly only to that man who blocks himself from the immediate pleasures of his desire and is himself capable of dominating and defeating himself. But someone who wants to satisfy his desire immediately wants what is worse instead of what is better. (87B58 D.-K. = 37D55 L.-M.)
Someone who has not desired nor touched what is shameful or evil is not temperate (sophron): for there is nothing in which he shows himself to be well-ordered by dominating it.
(87B59 D.-K. = 37D56 L.-M.)
The outcome of all this is concord, the inner balance that can be created between the different driving forces of reason and desire that guide human actions (see, for example, 87B44a D.-K. = 37R7 L.-M., whose attribution to Antiphon, however, is uncertain). Moreover, this concord is the precondition for the enjoyment of genuine pleasure (or at any rate for the avoidance of pain): Antiphon's pessimism does not rule hedonism out, but rather leads to it.Footnote 16
Just as in On Truth, in On Concord Antiphon's privileged object of reflection would appear to be the single individual, who is different from the ‘citizen’ of the polis or from the abstract ‘human being’ of which philosophers all too often speak. Ultimately, the argument expounded in On Concord seems to offer a positive counterpart to the analyses of On Truth: Antiphon offers what we might describe as an ethical solution to political problems, which is consistent with his emphasis on the priority of the individual over the community (without ever forgetting, however, that the distinction between ethics and politics had not yet been systematized in the sophists’ day). As we have seen, On Truth had dispelled the illusion that nomos can solve the problems which physis poses to individuals; for its part, On Concord shows that only the individual can find a solution to their problems, to the extent that they succeeds in striking a balance with themselves and with their own needs and desires. In other words, by contrast to the positive assessment of the social and collective dimension of human experience, Antiphon focuses on the limits of coexistence and finds a way out, not in the existence of shared rules, but in the individual's capacity to face life's concrete problems in such a way as to derive the greatest benefit and enjoyment. In opposition to the exterior consensus of nomos, Antiphon thus invokes inner concord, which does not require any legal approval in order to remain in force and which each person can establish within him- or herself, by making intelligence prevail over the destructive impulses of the passions. Through moderation and temperance it is possible to restore the right balance with ourselves and with the things that surround us: it is not the laws that ensure security and happiness, but intelligence and the use that people make of it.Footnote 17
Undoubtedly, Antiphon's fragments contain none of the sort of revolutionary truths expounded by those figures who sought to overthrow the whole system of values of their community (let us think of Callicles); but nor do they simply pander to widespread prejudices of the sort that guide many people's actions. Rather, we might speak here of an intention to provoke, designed to drive people to become more aware of what they are and of what they do, so as to assign priority to what truly matters: the exercising of one's own intelligence, since ‘thought (gnome) leads the body, for all humans, toward health and disease and toward everything else’ (87B2 D.-K. = 37D1b L.-M.). When it comes to the issue of happiness, therefore, Antiphon once again proves himself to be a subtle thinker who exemplifies what is arguably the most distinctive and interesting aspect of sophistry, namely its capacity to rethink the foundations and assumptions of the Greek tradition, through a subtle dialectic of correction and transformation.
Prodicus’ (and Hippias’) choice
In an article published in 1930, the great historian of antiquity Arnaldo Momigliano developed an intriguing interpretation of Prodicus, in marked opposition to the relativism dominant in the ‘ranks of the Thrasymachuses and Callicleses’. At least on the ethical level, unlike in the case of the debate on the origin of the gods (see Chapter 6), Prodicus appears to have aligned himself with traditional morality, defending the need for strong moral principles in everyday life. To support his reconstruction, Momigliano relied on two elements, the predominantly ethical focus of Prodicus’ research on language, and especially his famous apologue The Choice of Heracles, reported by Xenophon.Footnote 18 One noteworthy aspect of Prodicus’ almost obsessive interest in linguistic distinctions concerned ethical terms, and in particular the distinction between terms with positive and negative meanings: this might suggest that one of the primary aims of his research was to curb the linguistic conventionalism common in his day, and the practical relativism stemming from it.Footnote 19 Moreover, the idea that the defence of traditional morality was one of the cornerstones of Prodicus’ reflection would appear to find eloquent confirmation in The Choice of Heracles, whose edifying tone was widely appreciated even by readers usually hostile to the sophists’ teaching, such as Xenophon himself.
It seems as though Prodicus’ case was not an isolated one. Broadening our enquiry, we might find an interesting parallel in Hippias’ Trojan Discourse (86B5 D.-K. = 36D5 L.-M.), which is another example of what a public declamation by a sophist probably sounded like, and which seems to share the same aims as The Choice of Heracles. As far as we can tell, the underlying topic of the two speeches is the same: to provide moral advice to young people who are entering adulthood and hence are about to join the true life of the polis. Prodicus relates that Heracles was considering what conduct to adopt in his life, when he met two female figures. The first woman, who is called Happiness by her friends and Vice by her detractors, wore flashy clothes and make-up, and immediately stepped forward to promise the hero a life of pleasure. The second woman, Virtue, was instead sober and discrete, and promised the young hero toil but also fame and glory. Although this is not explicitly stated in the text, it is easy to infer that Heracles chose the second woman, who promised to make a model citizen and man of him. Regrettably, Hippias’ Trojan Discourse has not been preserved, yet in antiquity it was no less famous than The Choice of Heracles: against the background of the siege of Troy, the wise Nestor gives young Neoptolemus some practical advice on how to achieve fame and success. It seems as though both texts presented the kind of arguments that might have pleased parents who were concerned about their sons’ future. Hippias’ position could be compared to Prodicus’ and his defence of the need for strong moral principles in everyday life, in opposition to the more radical theses developed by other sophists. Hence, what emerges is a rather clear-cut rift between the various sophists on the issue of virtue and happiness.
This reconstruction, which is not an implausible one, once again confirms that we cannot regard the sophists as exponents of a compact and homogeneous movement. However, a closer inspection of the available sources also suggests that we should avoid drawing sharp contrasts and tone down the opposition between subversive and egoistic sophists on the one hand and sophists open to tradition on the other. We have already noted how immoralism resulted more from a negative interpretation of their views by their detractors (Aristophanes, Plato, and others) than a position which was actually upheld by the sophists. It is a matter now of reassessing Prodicus’ and Hippias’ theses with respect to traditional knowledge and values, and of verifying that some apparent banalitiesFootnote 20 conceal interesting insights, which can be fruitfully compared with what has been noted with regard to other sophists. The freedom and heterogeneity of the sophists does not exclude a range of common interests and ideas.
Given the almost complete absence of any information on Hippias’ discourse, we should focus our attention on Prodicus. Undoubtedly, his discourse complied with the civic ideology that assigned glory to those who had committed themselves to the public good, resisting the temptation of immediate gratification (84B2.28 D.-K. = 34D21.28 L.-M.). Still, we must be careful to avoid drawing a clear-cut contrast between pleasure and virtue, as though these were two incompatible concepts. Prodicus’ aim is not to teach contempt for pleasure and encourage the virtues of toil and hard work, but rather to show that true pleasure, the kind of enjoyment which can accompany a person throughout their life, often stands in opposition to immediate gratification, which can soon turn into pain and affliction. It is not a matter, then, of drawing a contrast between pleasure and hard work, but of knowing what is truly good and hence what really brings pleasure and happiness:
A life entirely focused on eating before being hungry, on sleeping…because one has nothing to do, on pursuing sexual enjoyment without feeling any sexual urge or need is certainly not a pleasant life. What Virtue champions, then, is not the negation or condemnation of pleasure: it is not a matter of seeking out pleasures in themselves…but, on the contrary, of only indulging in them when this means meeting the vital needs of man, for only then do they truly bring enjoyment.Footnote 21
In addition to this, we must bear in mind the utilitarian and individualistic perspective on which the whole discourse is based. The choice of leading a virtuous and noble life is not an end in itself; rather, it is made because of the advantages it brings: Prodicus does not invite us to sacrifice ourselves for the public good, but shows that, ultimately, a life of commitment will prove more enjoyable and convenient; and it is for this reason, on account of its usefulness, that it is preferable.Footnote 22 No doubt, in his exhortations Prodicus does not oppose traditional morality, but rather draws upon many of its ideas (cf. Hesiod, Works and Days, 286–97; Simonides, fr. 386 Page). But this does not imply a clear break with respect to the other sophists: Prodicus’ emphasis on personal advantage and the centrality of the individual, just like his interest in the issue of pleasure, is undoubtedly reminiscent of Antiphon.Footnote 23 In other words, like Antiphon, Prodicus would appear to adopt a nuanced stance with respect to traditional morality, which is not rejected (he does not deny the importance of honour, just as Antiphon does not deny the importance of wealth) but is rather reassessed according to a different hierarchy of values (where the individual comes before the community).
To further clarify the complexity of Prodicus’ approach to tradition, we should not overlook the self-promotional tone of his discourse: the purpose of a discourse, of a public epideixis, is not simply to convey an argument but to advertise a teacher.Footnote 24 Significantly, the distinctive feature of the discourse, as it has reached us, is not so much the fact that Heracles chooses the path of virtue as the fact that he does so after debating two opposing theses.Footnote 25 In such a way, the discourse implicitly yet quite clearly opposes the traditional conception of education, which was often seen as consisting in the passive learning of precepts and norms of conduct: on the contrary, true education must prepare us for making distinctions and assessments. This, in turn, highlights the central importance of the teacher, who alone can teach us how to reason and argue correctly. Heracles was an ambiguous figure, known for having rid the world of monsters (Pindar, Nemean 3) but also for yielding to anger, desire, and pleasure (consider, for instance, Euripides’ Alcestis, Sophocles’ Women of Trachis, and Aristophanes’ Frogs). This makes him the ideal pupil for a sophist, and Prodicus can portray himself as the perfect teacher, whose merit lies not in his conformity to traditional values (something expected in public performance), but in his capacity to teach one how to put forward reasons for each matter at issue and adequately assess them. Once again, what distinguishes the sophists’ discourse is its dynamic relation with tradition, which combines the borrowing of certain ideas and a degree of conformity (Heracles ultimately chooses virtue) with certain changes. This is all the more true given that the tale of Heracles at the crossroads was invented by Prodicus himself, who thereby adapted myth to suit his own educational purposes.Footnote 26
The same kind of tension is also to be found in Hippias’ Trojan Discourse (86B5 D.-K. = 36D5 L.-M.), where the protagonist's choice is even more indicative of the provocative character of the sophists’ message. Whereas Heracles remained an ambiguous figure, Neoptolemus was an infamous one, insofar as during the siege of Troy he had killed the elderly Priam, who had taken refuge at the altar of Zeus. The dramatic context of Hippias’ speech is therefore highly revealing, because it is precisely after the seizing of Troy, which is to say just after Neoptolemus’ terrible crime, that Nestor addresses words of advice to the young man. Neoptolemus’ case is even more problematic than that of Heracles, but it is also better suited to the world of the second half of the fifth century, a world that was experiencing a dramatic war and crisis; and Hippias, like a new Nestor capable not only of educating the young but of leading them to success, can present himself as an ideal master for these tumultuous times.Footnote 27 Like Prodicus, he applies a subtle strategy of appropriation of tradition and its values: he does not criticize its assumptions or principles, but exploits them for his own purposes. If we think of the way in which Protagoras and Gorgias had engaged with poetic lore (see Chapter 3), here too the divergence from the other sophists turns out to be less marked than what at first appeared to be the case. All sophists, each in his own way, present themselves as masters of virtue; and this is why Plato criticized them so harshly, in the belief that their teaching, far from leading one to the true good, only exacerbated the defects of traditional morality.
