120. “These points, then, being established,” I said, “Prodicus and Hippias, let Protagoras here defend himself and shew us how his first answer is correct, no, not quite the first, for he then said, that there being five parts of virtue, no one of them was like any other, but that each had a peculiar function of its own. I do not however mean this, but what he said afterwards. For afterwards he said, that four of them very much resembled each other, but that one was altogether different from the rest, namely courage. And he said I should know it by the following proof. ‘You will find men, Socrates, who are most unholy, most unjust, most intemperate, and most ignorant, who are yet most courageous; by which you will know that courage differs much from the other parts of virtue.’ And I indeed, at the moment, was very much astonished at the answer, and I have been still more so since I have discussed these things with you. I therefore asked him if he meant that courageous men are bold? He said he did, and ready to rush headlong. 121. Do you remember, Protagoras,” said I, “that you gave this answer?” He admitted it. “Come then,” said I, “tell us on what you say the courageous are ready to rush headlong? Is it on the same things as cowards?” He said not. “On different things, therefore.” “Yes,” he replied. “But whether do cowards attempt things which they can venture on with confidence, but the courageous on such as are dreadful?” “It is said so, Socrates, by the generality of men.” “You say truly,” I replied. “I do not, however, ask this: but on what do you say courageous men are ready to rush headlong, on dreadful things, thinking that they are dreadful, or on such as are not dreadful?” “But this,” he said, “in the arguments which you just now used, was shewn to be impossible.” “And in this,” I replied, “you say truly. So that if this point was proved correctly, no one attempts things which he considers to be dreadful, since to be overcome by one’s-self was found to be ignorance.” He admitted it. “All men, however, attempt things in which they have confidence, both the cowardly and the courageous, and thus both the cowardly and the courageous attempt the same things.” 122. “But indeed, Socrates,” said he, “the things which the cowardly and the courageous attempt are quite contrary to each other; for instance, the latter are willing to engage in war, but the former are unwilling.” “Whether,” said I, “is it honourable to engage in it, or base?” “Honourable,” he replied. “If, therefore, it is honourable, have we not already admitted that it is good, for we have admitted that all honourable actions are good.” “You say truly, and I am always of this opinion.” “Right,” said I. “But which of the two do you say are unwilling to engage in war, though it is honourable and good?” “Cowards,” he replied. “If therefore,” said I, “it be honourable and good, is it not also pleasant?” “That has been granted,” he said.