Soc. That is a question which you must ask of himself.

  La. Yes.

  Soc. Tell him then, Nicias, what you mean by this wisdom; for you
surely do not mean the wisdom which plays the flute?

  Nic. Certainly not.

  Soc. Nor the wisdom which plays the lyre?

  Nic. No.

  Soc. But what is this knowledge then, and of what?

  La. I think that you put the question to him very well, Socrates;
and I would like him to say what is the nature of this knowledge or
wisdom.

  Nic. I mean to say, Laches, that courage is the knowledge of that
which inspires fear or confidence in war, or in anything.

  La. How strangely he is talking, Socrates.

  Soc. Why do you say so, Laches?

  La. Why, surely courage is one thing, and wisdom another.

  Soc. That is just what Nicias denies.

  La. Yes, that is what he denies; but he is so.

  Soc. Suppose that we instruct instead of abusing him?

  Nic. Laches does not want to instruct me, Socrates; but having
been proved to be talking nonsense himself, he wants to prove that I
have been doing the same.

  La. Very true, Nicias; and you are talking nonsense, as I shall
endeavour to show. Let me ask you a question: Do not physicians know
the dangers of disease? or do the courageous know them? or are the
physicians the same as the courageous?

  Nic. Not at all.

  La. No more than the husbandmen who know the dangers of husbandry,
or than other craftsmen, who have a knowledge of that which inspires
them with fear or confidence in their own arts, and yet they are not
courageous a whit the more for that.

  Soc. What is Laches saying, Nicias? He appears to be saying
something of importance.

  Nic. Yes, he is saying something, but it is not true.

  Soc. How so?

  Nic. Why, because he does not see that the physician's knowledge
only extends to the nature of health and disease: he can tell the sick
man no more than this. Do you imagine, Laches, that the physician
knows whether health or disease is the more terrible to a man? Had not
many a man better never get up from a sick bed? I should like to
know whether you think that life is always better than death. May
not death often be the better of the two?

  La. Yes certainly so in my opinion.

  Nic. And do you think that the same things are terrible to those who
had better die, and to those who had better live?

  La. Certainly not.

  Nic. And do you suppose that the physician or any other artist knows
this, or any one indeed, except he who is skilled in the grounds of
fear and hope? And him I call the courageous.

  Soc. Do you understand his meaning, Laches?

  La. Yes; I suppose that, in his way of speaking, the soothsayers are
courageous. For who but one of them can know to whom to die or to live
is better? And yet Nicias, would you allow that you are yourself a
soothsayer, or are you neither a soothsayer nor courageous?

  Nic. What! do you mean to say that the soothsayer ought to know
the grounds of hope or fear?

  La. Indeed I do: who but he?

  Nic. Much rather I should say he of whom I speak; for the soothsayer
ought to know only the signs of things that are about to come to pass,
whether death or disease, or loss of property, or victory, or defeat
in war, or in any sort of contest; but to whom the suffering or not
suffering of these things will be for the best, can no more be decided
by the soothsayer than by one who is no soothsayer.

  La. I cannot understand what Nicias would be at, Socrates; for he
represents the courageous man as neither a soothsayer, nor a
physician, nor in any other character, unless he means to say that
he is a god. My opinion is that he does not like honestly to confess