And that one thing has but one opposite? Yes. Then which, Protagoras, of our propositions are we to reject—the statement that one thing has but one opposite; or the other, that wisdom is different from temperance, and each is a part of virtue, and moreover, a different part, and that the two are as unlike, both in themselves and in their faculties, as the parts of the face? Which are we to upset? The two of them together are not quite in tune; they do not chime in harmony. How could they, if one thing must needs have but one opposite and no more, while wisdom, and temperance likewise, appear both to be opposite to folly, which is a single thing? Such is the position, Protagoras, I said or is it otherwise? He admitted it was so, much against his will. Then temperance and wisdom must be one thing? And indeed we found before that justice and holiness were almost the same thing. Come, Protagoras, I said, let us not falter, but carry out our inquiry to the end. Tell me, does a man who acts unjustly seem to you to be temperate in so acting? I should be ashamed, Socrates, he replied, to admit that, in spite of what many people say. Then shall I address my argument to them, I asked, or to you? If you please, he answered, debate first against that popular theory. It is all the same to me, I said, so long as you make answer, whether it be your own opinion or not. For although my first object is to test the argument, the result perhaps will be that both I, the questioner, and my respondent are brought to the test. At first Protagoras appeared to be coy, alleging that the argument was too disconcerting: however he consented at length to make answer. Well now, I said, begin at the beginning, and tell me, do you consider people to be temperate when they are unjust? Let us suppose so, he said. And by being temperate you mean being sensible? Yes. And being sensible is being well-advised in their injustice? Let us grant it, he said. Does this mean, I asked, if they fare well by their injustice, or if they fare ill? If they fare well. Now do you say there are things that are good? I do. Then, I asked, are those things good which are profitable to men? Oh yes, to be sure, he replied, and also when they are not profitable to men I call them good. Here Protagoras seemed to me to be in a thoroughly provoked and harassed state, and to have set his face against answering: so when I saw him in this mood I grew wary and went gently with my questions.