“Are the cowardly, then, unwilling to attempt what they know to be more honourable and better, and more pleasant?” “But,” said he, “if we admitted this, we should destroy our former admissions.” 123. “But what with respect to the brave man? Does he not engage in what is more honourable, better, and more pleasant?” “It is necessary,” said he, “to admit that he does.” “On the whole, then, is it not the case, that the courageous, when they are afraid, have no base fear, nor are they inspired with base confidence.” “True,” said he. “But if not base, are they not honourable?” He assented. “And if honourable, also good?” “Yes.” “And are not the cowardly, and the bold, and the mad, on the contrary, influenced by base fears, and inspired with base confidence?” He admitted that they are. “And are they bold in what is base and evil, through any thing else than ignorance and want of knowledge?” “So it is,” he replied. “What then? Do you call this, through which cowards are cowardly, cowardice or courage?” “Cowardice,” said he. “But have not cowards appeared to be what they are, through not knowing what is dreadful?” “Certainly,” said he. “They are cowardly then, through this want of knowledge?” He admitted it. “But that through which they are cowardly, you have admitted is cowardice?” He assented. “Must not, then, the not knowing what is dreadful, and not dreadful, be cowardice?” He nodded assent. “However,” said I, “courage is contrary to cowardice.” He said it was. “Is not then the knowledge of what is dreadful, and not dreadful, contrary to a want of knowledge of these things?” And here he still nodded assent. “But is not the want of knowing these things cowardice?” He, here, with great difficulty, nodded assent. “Is not the knowledge therefore, of what is dreadful, and not dreadful, courage, being contrary to a want of knowledge of these things?” 124. Here he would no longer nod assent, but was silent. So I said, “Why, Protagoras, do you neither admit nor deny what I ask?” “Do you conclude the subject,” he said. “I have only one more question to ask you,” said I, “whether some men still appear to you as at first, to be most ignorant, and yet most courageous.” “You seem to be very anxious, Socrates, that I should be the person to answer. I will therefore indulge you, and I say, that from what has been granted, it appears to me to be impossible.”