I know it.
And do you think, he said, that the two sayings are consistent?
Yes, I said, I think so (at the same time I could not help fearing that there might be something in what he said). And you think otherwise?
Why, he said, how can he be consistent in both? First of all, premising as his own thought, “Hardly can a man become truly good”; and then a little further on in the poem, forgetting, and blaming Pittacus and refusing to agree with him, when he says, “Hardly can a man be good,” which is the very same thing. And yet when he blames him who says the same with himself, he blames himself; so that he must be wrong either in his first or his second assertion.
Many of the audience cheered and applauded this. And I felt at first giddy and faint, as if I had received a blow from the hand of an expert boxer, when I heard his words and the sound of the cheering; and to confess the truth, I wanted to get time to think what the meaning of the poet really was. So I turned to Prodicus and called him. Prodicus, I said, Simonides is a countryman of yours, and you ought to come to his aid. I must appeal to you, like the river Scamander in Homer, who, when beleaguered by Achilles, summons the Simois to aid him, saying:
“Brother dear, let us both together stay the force of the hero.”17
And I summon you, for I am afraid that Protagoras will make an end of Simonides. Now is the time to rehabilitate Simonides, by the application of your philosophy of synonyms, which enables you to distinguish “will” and “wish,” and make other charming distinctions like those which you drew just now. And I should like to know whether you would agree with me; for I am of opinion that there is no contradiction in the words of Simonides. And first of all I wish that you would say whether, in your opinion, Prodicus, “being” is the same as “becoming.”
Not the same, certainly, replied Prodicus.
Did not Simonides first set forth, as his own view, that “Hardly can a man become truly good”?
Quite right, said Prodicus.
And then he blames Pittacus, not, as Protagoras imagines, for repeating that which he says himself, but for saying something different from himself. Pittacus does not say as Simonides says, that hardly can a man become good, but hardly can a man be good: and our friend Prodicus would maintain that being, Protagoras, is not the same as becoming; and if they are not the same, then Simonides is not inconsistent with himself. I dare say that Prodicus and many others would say, as Hesiod says,
“On the one hand, hardly can a man become good,
For the gods have made virtue the reward of toil,
But on the other hand, when you have climbed the height,
Then, to retain virtue, however difficult the acquisition, is easy.”18
Prodicus heard and approved; but Protagoras said: Your correction, Socrates, involves a greater error than is contained in the sentence which you are correcting.
Alas! I said, Protagoras; then I am a sorry physician, and do but aggravate a disorder which I am seeking to cure.
Such is the fact, he said.
How so? I asked.
The poet, he replied, could never have made such a mistake as to say that virtue, which in the opinion of all men is the hardest of all things, can be easily retained.
Well, I said, and how fortunate are we in having Prodicus among us, at the right moment; for he has a wisdom, Protagoras, which, as I imagine, is more than human and of very ancient date, and may be as old as Simonides or even older. Learned as you are in many things, you appear to know nothing of this; but I know, for I am a disciple of his. And now, if I am not mistaken, you do not understand the word “hard” (χαλεπόν) in the sense which Simonides intended; and I must correct you, as Prodicus corrects me when I use the word “awful” (δεινόν) as a term of praise. If I say that Protagoras or anyone else is an “awfully” wise man, he asks me if I am not ashamed of calling that which is good “awful”; and then he explains to me that the term “awful” is always taken in a bad sense, and that no one speaks of being “awfully” healthy or wealthy, or of “awful” peace, but of “awful” disease, “awful” war, “awful” poverty, meaning by the term “awful,” evil. And I think that Simonides and his countrymen the Ceans, when they spoke of “hard” meant “evil,” or something which you do not understand. Let us ask Prodicus, for he ought to be able to answer questions about the dialect of Simonides. What did he mean, Prodicus, by the term “hard”?
Evil, said Prodicus.
And therefore, I said, Prodicus, he blames Pittacus for saying, “Hard is the good,” just as if that were equivalent to saying, Evil is the good.
Yes, he said, that was certainly his meaning; and he is twitting Pittacus with ignorance of the use of terms, which in a Lesbian, who has been accustomed to speak a barbarous language, is natural.
Do you hear, Protagoras, I asked, what our friend Prodicus is saying? And have you an answer for him?
You are entirely mistaken, Prodicus, said Protagoras; and I know very well that Simonides in using the word “hard” meant what all of us mean, not evil, but that which is not easy—that which takes a great deal of trouble: of this I am positive.
I said: I also incline to believe, Protagoras, that this was the meaning of Simonides, of which our friend Prodicus was very well aware, but he thought that he would make fun, and try if you could maintain your thesis; for that Simonides could never have meant the other is clearly proved by
