“Do not those then,” I said, “who are thus bold appear to be not courageous, but mad? And again, in the former instances, the wise are the boldest, and being the boldest, are most courageous? And according to this reasoning, will not wisdom be courage?” 99. “You do not rightly remember, Socrates,” said he, “what I said, and what answer I gave you? For when asked by you if the courageous were bold, I admitted that they were; but I was not asked, whether the bold also were courageous; for if you had asked me this, I should have said not all. But that the courageous are bold, which was my admission, you have no where shewn that I made that admission improperly. In the next place, you shew that men, who have skill, surpass themselves in boldness, and others who are unskilled, and from this, you conclude that courage and wisdom are the same. By proceeding in this way, you might also come to the conclusion that strength is wisdom. For, first of all, if proceeding thus you should ask me, whether the strong are powerful, I should say they are; and in the next place, whether those who are skilled in wrestling are more powerful than those who are unskilled, and they than themselves, after they have learnt, than before they learnt, I should say they are; 100. and on my admitting this, by using the same argument, you might allege, that according to my own admission, wisdom is strength; I however, do not here or any where admit that the powerful are strong, but I do that the strong are powerful, for power and strength are not the same; but the one arises from skill, and from madness too, and passion, but strength from nature, and good nurture of the body. In like manner, boldness and courage are not the same; so that it happens that the courageous are bold, but the bold are not all courageous. For boldness, like power, arises in men from skill, and from passion too and madness, but courage arises from nature, and the good culture of the soul.” 101. “Do you allow, Protagoras,” said I, “that some men live well, and others ill?” He said he did. “Does a man, then, appear to you to live well, if he lives in grief and pain?” He said not. “But what, if he should die after having passed his life pleasantly, would he not in that case appear to you to have lived well?” “To me he would,” said he. “To live pleasantly, then, is a good, but unpleasantly an evil thing.” “Yes,” he said, “if he has lived taking pleasure in honest things.” “What then, Protagoras, do you, like the multitude, call some pleasant things evil, and some painful things good? I mean, as far as they are pleasant are they not so far good, unless something else results from them? And again, in the same way with regard to things painful; are they not evil so far as they are painful?”