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Cornell University 
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 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
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THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 ARISTOTLE. 
 
THE MOKAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 01' 
 
 AEISTOTLE: 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 A TRANSLATION OF THE NICOMAGHEAN ETHICS, AND OF THE 
 PARAPHRASE ATTRIBUTED TO ANDRONIGUS OF RHODES, 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY ANALYSIS OF EACH BOOK; 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 WALTER M. HATCH, M.A., 
 
 FELLOW OF NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD, AND RECTOR OF BIRCHANGER, ESSEX : 
 SOMETIME WARDEN OF ST. PAUL'S COLLEGE, STONY STRATFORD, 
 
 COMPLETED AFTER HIS DEATH BY OTHEES. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MUEEAY, ALBEMAELE STEEET. 
 1879. 
 
 [All Mights Meserved.] 
 
XCRN 
 
 iyNIVLRS^TY'l 
 
 
 K 
 
 LIBRAR 
 
 \f 
 
 LONDON : 
 BBADBUEY, AGNEW, & 00. PKINTEES, WHITEFEIAES, 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 Four years ago^one.'of the most eminent of English 
 Aristotelians exj)ressed the opinion that "the problem how 
 to translate Aristotle into English has not yet been solved 
 .... The problem is how to convey, in readable 
 English, a philosophical style, full of technical terms for 
 which we have no exact representatives. "Circumlocution, 
 or paraphrase, becomes necessary ; the question is, how to 
 use this with the greatest tact, so as, while conveying 
 Aristotle's exact meaning, to retain something of his 
 manner." (Sir Alexander Grant, art. Aristotle, in the 
 ' Encyclopaedia Britannica,' 9th edition, vol. ii. p. 523.) 
 
 The present work, though planned and begun before 
 these remarks appeared, may be regarded as being, to 
 some extent, an answer to the challenge which they 
 imply. Its aim is to make the Nicomaohean Ethics of 
 Aristotle intelligible to a modern reader. It endeavours 
 to do so chiefly by modifying the style in which the 
 original is written. Eor whether it be that the mind of 
 an average Greek student was capable of greater con- 
 centration than the mind of an average English student, or 
 that what remains is rather a rough draft than a com- 
 pleted treatise, there is no doubt that the style of 
 Aristotle's work is to most modern readers intricate and 
 obscure. "A considerable fund of metaphysical imagina- 
 tion is necessary in order to give a logical coherence, to his 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 expressions. But the metapliysical imagination is con- 
 fined to the few: the ordinary reader needs not only 
 definite expressions and clear ideas, but also that the 
 sequence and interdependence of those ideas should be 
 clearly marked." The attempt has consequently been 
 made to supply what an ordinary reader needs : missing 
 links of thought have been inserted: hints which were 
 contained in brief condensed phrases have been expanded : 
 that which was in some cases an imapparent inference 
 beneath the surface has been brought into the light. The 
 extent to which this has been done has been measured 
 rather by the probable needs of those who are beginning 
 the study of Aristotle than of those who have already been 
 trained to follow the rapid transitions of his thought : but 
 no additions have been made to his statements, and no 
 inferences have been inserted which his words do not 
 strictly and immediately imply. 
 
 Three other kinds of help are offered to the student : 
 
 (1.) Every Book is preceded by an analysis of its con- 
 tents, which, without adhering too closely to the order or 
 words of the original, omits no questions of importance 
 which Aristotle raises, but re-states them in the form in 
 which they might be stated by a modem writer. 
 
 (2.) The chapters and sections into which the Greek 
 text has been divided, have been disregarded, and new 
 divisions and subdivisions have been made, each of which 
 has been furnished with a heading and a marginal analysis, 
 in order to lessen the difficulty which a student not infre- 
 quently finds in determining what is the particular point 
 under discussion, and what is its bearing upon the general 
 argument. 
 
 (3.) To each section of the text of Aristotle has been 
 added a translation of the best Imowa of existing Greek 
 
Preface. . vii 
 
 paraphrases. This, which, is distinguished from Ai-istotle's 
 text by being printed in smaller type, is offered in lieu of 
 a commentary. For until the Gre«k text has been more 
 accurately determined, and greater unanimity prevails 
 among scholars as to many disputed questions of Aris- 
 totelian philosophy, a commentary, which must necessarily 
 be both controversial and elaborate, would almost inevitably 
 tend rather to confuse than to explain. In the absence of a 
 commentary, and perhaps even after it has been made, the best 
 interpretation is that which was current in the Aristotelian 
 schools. Por it is known to have been the practice in them 
 as in the other schools of Greek philosophy to interpret the 
 meaning of an author, not only by notes or scholia, but also 
 by rewriting the text in the form of a paraphrase. Of 
 such paraphrases of the Nicomachean Ethics several still 
 remain, and one has been printed: they have the value 
 to scholars of preserving early traditions of Aristotle's 
 meaning, and in some cases of pointing to an earlier text 
 than that of any existing manuscript : they have the value 
 to an ordinary reader of making some obscure thoughts 
 clear by varying and expanding their expression.* 
 
 Such is the plan which my brother proposed to himself. 
 He had prepared himself for its execution by much special 
 study. He had carefully collated several MSS., especially 
 the New College MS., of which he conceived that too little 
 
 * The paraphrase was first printed by is anonymous (see Lambecius, de Sib- 
 
 D. Heinsius at Leyden in 1607, and has liot?i. Ccesar, ed. Kollar.vol.vli. col. 229) : 
 
 been several times reprinted, especially the Bodleian MS. attributes it to Olym- 
 
 at Cambridge in 1679, and at Oxford in piodorus. It may be mentioned that 
 
 1809. Its authorship is unknown : a later although in translating Aristotle's text 
 
 hand had added to the MS. which Hein- the interpretation which is given by the 
 
 siuB used the name of Andronious of Pai-aphrast has always been taken into 
 
 Rhodes : the Paris MS. attributes it to consideration, that interpretation has 
 
 Heliodorus of Prusa (see Spengel in the not always been followed, and that con- 
 
 Abltandlungen der pidlos.-pldUl. Classe sequently discrepancies may sometimes 
 
 der Mnigl. Bayerieelicn Almd. der Wis- be noted in the translation betvireen thq 
 
 sensch., Bd, iii, p. 455) : the Vienna MS, te^t and the paraphrase, 
 
viii • Preface. 
 
 use had been made by editors of the text. He had not only 
 read every modern edition and commentary, but had given 
 especial attention to the Eenaissance translators and inter- 
 preters (and more particularly to the Latin version of 
 Aretinus, the pupil of Chrysoloras), under the impression 
 that they carried on to some extent the traditional inter- 
 pretation which, he believed, had never wholly passed 
 away from the Greek schools. The results of these special 
 studies were intended to be shown not only in this trans- 
 lation, but also partly in supplementary essays and partly 
 in a critically revised text with philological notes. 
 
 But before even so much of his plan as is embodied in 
 the present volume was finished, his thirty-three years of 
 life came to a sudden end. He died on December 2 
 (Advent Sunday), 1877, a few minutes after preaching an 
 afternoon sermon in the Essex village of which he had 
 recently become the Eector. The strain of the work which 
 he had imposed upon himself had proved to be too great, 
 and the 'silver cord' of liis life snapped with but a 
 moment's warning. For his mental energy was altogether 
 out of proportion to his physical strength, and the eleven 
 years which had passed since he took his degree at Oxford 
 had been years of imresting activity. The greater part of 
 that activity was spent in the work of a schoolmaster. He 
 had succeeded in raising one school (St. Paul's College, 
 Stony Stratford) to a high level of excellence : and, though 
 at length baflied by legal and other difficulties, he had gone 
 far to establish a new public school on a large scale in the 
 jS^orth of England. The life which had begun to succeed 
 this activity as a schoolmaster promised to be rich in 
 literary fruit. In addition to the present work and the 
 other work on the Nicomachean Ethics with which he in- 
 tended to supplement it, he had gathered considerable 
 
Preface. ix 
 
 materials for the remaining volumes of Lord Shaftesbury's 
 Characteristics^ the fii"st volume of which he had edited, with 
 notes, in 1870 : and also for a life of Ijord Shaft esbmy and a 
 survey of his relations to both English and other moralists. 
 AH- this came to a sudden end; and there only remains, 
 in the memory of those who knew- him, the recollection of 
 his exquisite softness of manner and felicity of literary 
 expression; of his singular combination of subtlety of 
 thought with energy of action; of the versatile per- 
 suasiveness with which he impressed his views upon his 
 contemporaries, and of the sympathetic enthusiasm with 
 which he won the young. 
 
 It is obvious that a work which appears without its 
 author's final revision must claim some indulgence. At 
 my brother's death. Books I. — VI. were already written 
 out for the printer, with occasional marks which indicated 
 that they were to be subjected to a further correction; 
 part of the rest was in a rougher form ; of Books VIII. and 
 IX. scarcely any MS. could be found. But with all its in- 
 completeness, the scheme and execution of the work seemed 
 to several Aristotelian scholars to be so good, and its publi- 
 cation so likely to be useful, especially to students at the 
 Universities, that it was resolved to finish rather than 
 to destroy it. The translation of Books VIII. and IX. 
 was generously undertaken by my brother's college friend 
 and contemporary, the Eev. W. A. Spooner, M.A., Fellow 
 and Lecturer of New College. The whole of the rest has 
 been revised by Mr. E. D. A. Morshead, M.A., formerly 
 Eellow of New College, and now one of the Masters at 
 "Winchester. Parts of it have had the great advantage of 
 revision by Professor Chandler and Mr. Alfred Kobinson, 
 M.A,, Fellow of New College. 
 
X Preface. 
 
 To each of these gentlemen I owe and offer grateful 
 thanks. But it would be unfair to make their kindness a 
 reason for throwing upon them the blame of the book's 
 inevitable shortcomings. For these I accept the responsi- 
 bility. I was my brother's earliest tutor in Aristotelian 
 philosophy, nor did he. ever widely depart from the Hues 
 which I traced for him. And although in the present 
 work there are some points upon which his interpretation 
 may be open to question, yet where my brother gave 
 evidence of having carefully considered a rendering, I have 
 not felt at liberty to change it, confining myself to the 
 occasional alteration of such passages as were clearly in- 
 tended for further revision. 
 
 I venture to express the' hope that the book, with what- 
 ever imperfections it may be marked, wiU meet with a 
 kiadly criticism from scholars, as an attempt to make one 
 of the masterpieces of ancient thought intelligible to a 
 modem mind, and to show that most of the subjects which 
 Aristotle discusses are not mere fossils of philosophical 
 palaeontology, but living questions of modem life. 
 
 EDWIN HATCH. 
 
 St. Maet Hall, Oxford, 
 Oetoler 24, 1879. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK I.— THEORY OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 PAQE 
 
 INTRODUCTOEY ANALYSIS .... 1 
 
 TEANSLATION U 
 
 I.— Inteodtjction. Is theue a Perfection op Man, and how can it be 
 
 ATTAINED ? 
 
 i. — Arguments from ' Design in Nature ' in proof of Human Pei-feetibility . . 11 
 
 ii. — The Science -which takes cognizance of the Summum Bonum is Social Science . 13 
 
 iii. — The method to be pursued in Moral Science • .15 
 
 It. — Mental Eequisites for the Study of Ethics 17 
 
 II. — Eeview op Current Opinion upon Human Perfection. 
 
 i.— What is to be understood by Human Perfection ? 18 
 
 (a) Vagueness and inconsistency of the popular conception of it . , . IS 
 (fi) The true view of human perfection must be drawn from the facts of 
 
 experience 20 
 
 ii. — Human Perfection is to be found neither in the life of Pleasure, nor in the life 
 
 of Honour, nor in the pursuit of Wealth 22 
 
 iii. — ^Himian Perfection is not the realisation of the Platonic ' Idea of the Good '. . 2t 
 
 (a) Necessity of e.^amiiiLng the Platonic theory 24 
 
 (5) Destructive criticisms upon the Platonic theory .... 25 
 
 1. Pirst Argument 25 
 
 2. Second Argument 26 
 
 3. Third Argument 26 
 
 4. Fourth Argument 27 
 
 5. Fifth Argument 27 
 
 (c) Eestatement of the Platonic theory, and new difficulties which it 
 
 suggests 28 
 
 {d) Possible solutions of the question suggested 29 
 
 (e) The Platonic theory is transcendental, and valueless in practical life, 
 
 even as an ideal SO 
 
 in. — ^HUMAN PeEFECTION DEFINED AND EXPLAINED. 
 
 i. — General conception of Happiness 31 
 
 (a) Happiness shown to be not a ' relative end,' but ' an end absolute and 
 
 perfect'. - 32 
 
 (i) The perfection of happiness involves its self-sufficingness . . . 34 
 
 ii. — Exact and formal definition of Happiness 35 
 
 (a) Argument from final causes 35 
 
 (i) Explicit definition of happiness deduced from the consideration of 
 
 man's final cause 37 
 
 (c) The definition of happiness must, from the nature of the case, bo 
 
 provisional and in outliue 3§ 
 
xii Contents. 
 
 lY.— Depinition op Human Perpeotion oompaeed -with other Theoiues akd 
 
 DiPPIOULTIES SOLVED. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i.— Our Definition satisfies the Conditions of Happiness implied both in the Popular 
 
 View and in the Theories of previous Thinkers . . . . • .40 
 
 («) Common opinion confirms our definition as an activity of the Soul. . 40 
 
 (i) Statement of the principal opinions held in regard to happiness . . 41 
 
 (1) The view that 'happiness is virtue' discussed . . . 42 
 
 (2) Kelations of happiness to pleasure discussed ... 43 
 
 (3) Relation of happiness to external or physical conditions 
 
 discussed 45 
 
 il. — Is Happiness within our own power; and, if so, what are the means for its 
 
 attainment? 48 
 
 Without excluding other influences, man is himself the main and most 
 
 important source of his own Happiness 46 
 
 iii. — Is Happiness still possible for a man, so long as sorrow may overtake him or his 
 
 friends? ■ 48 
 
 (a) Solon's view variously stated and criticised : the ambiguities of it . . 48 
 (4) Solon's dictum disproved because the main element in happiness is 
 
 a virtuous activity which is within a man's own power . . 60 
 (c) Still fortune has a certain influence, though it be a subordinate one, 
 
 upon happiness 52 
 
 ((?) Happiness is, therefore, within our own control, but subject to the 
 
 conditions of our mortality 53 
 
 iv. — Is Happiness possible for man after his decease ; or do the son'ows of earth still 
 
 pursue him ? 54 
 
 V. — Is Happiness a thing of absolute or of relative value ? 56 
 
 v.— Classification op Vihtues eased upon an analysis op the Soul. 
 
 i— Importance of a knowledge of Yii'tue 58 
 
 Human Tii-tues have then- seat in the divisions of the human soul . . 59 
 
 ii. — Division of the Soul into (1) Rational and (2) Irrational 60 
 
 iii. — Subdivision of the Irrational Element into («) Nutritive and (|3) Emotional . 60 
 
 iv. — Subdivision of the Rational Soul into (1) Emotional and (2) Intellectual . . 61 
 
 v.— Corresponding division of Virtue into Moral and Intellectual .... 63 
 
 BOOK TL— THEORY OF VIRTUE. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ANALYSIS 
 TRANSLATION . 
 
 6S 
 
 72 
 
 I.— General Cuauacteristics op Virtue. 
 
 i.— That Virtue is a permanent state of mind produced by our own Actions . . 72 
 
 (a) Dififercnt oiigin of moral and intellectual virtue . . , . ! 72 
 (A) Proofs that moral vii-tiie is tiot a gift of Nature, but a creation of 
 
 habit .q 
 
 (c) Summary : the importance of moral education . . . * , '. 75 
 
 ii.— Qualities exhibited by vii-tuous action jg 
 
 (or) Need for a i-ule of life ' . . ' . " 76 
 
 {!>) ' Right ' cannot always be distinguished from ' wrong ' by a hard and 
 
 fast line .. 
 
 (c) Distinguishing features whereby right and wrong may be recognized' 
 
 in the actual conduct of men ! 78 
 
Contents. xlii 
 
 PAfiE 
 
 iii. — Qualities exhibited by actions prococding from a vii-tuous habit .... 79 
 
 (a) The easo with which the action is performed 79 
 
 (4) The pleasure consequent upon the performance of the action . . 80 
 
 iv. — The field of Morality is co-extensive with that of plea«ire and pain . . . 80 
 
 («) Proofs from the nature of the case 80 
 
 (J) Proofs from the natm-e of man 82 ,• 
 
 (c) Summary of the conditions of a virtuous habit 84 
 
 v.— Morality of the Act distinguished from the Morality of the Agent . . . . 84 
 
 (a) Statement of objections to the theory of habit 84 
 
 (5) Eeply to the above objections 85 
 
 (c) Conclusion : for an act to be moral the agent must bo moral ; and the 
 
 agent is moral by constant practice 86 
 
 n. — Formal Definition of Viktde. 
 
 i. — What is the generic character of Vij-tue ? . . . . 87 
 
 1. Enumeration of the powers of the soul. ... 87 
 
 2. Virtue shown to be ' a habit ' . . .... 88 
 
 ii. — What are the distinguishing characteristics of Vh-tue .' 89 
 
 1. What is imijUed by the 'excellence' of a thing.' ' 89 
 
 2. The Idea of ' excellence ' illustrated by comparison with the idea of a 
 
 ' mean ' or ' ideal ' 90 
 
 3. Application of the conception of ' the mean ' to the moral life . . . 92 
 
 4. Difficulties in the attainment of ' the mean ' 93 
 
 5. Eesume : complete definition of virtue 94 
 
 iii.— Certain exceptions to which the criterion of ' the Mean ' does not apply . . 94 
 1. Certain actions are absolutely right or absolutely wrong, irrespectively 
 
 of circumstances and conditions 94 
 
 III. — Classification of Vihtues to illusteate the Law of 'the Mean.' 
 
 i. — Self-regarding Virtues 96 
 
 1. Vii-tues displayed in circumstances of pleasure and pain . . . . 96 
 
 2. Virtues displayed in money-matters 97 
 
 3. Virtues displayed in the desire for esteem 98 
 
 ii. — Virtues shown in relation to others 99 
 
 1. Virtues displayed under provocation 99 
 
 2. Virtues displayed in social intercourse 99 
 
 iii. — Certain praiseworthy states of the Moral nature 100 
 
 1. Mental phases concerned with shame 100 
 
 2. Emotions experienced at the fortunes of otheri 101 
 
 rv. — Practical Conriberations for Determining the Mean. 
 
 i. — Comparison of the Extremes and their opposition to the Mean . 
 The Extremes and the Mean are all opposed to one another . 
 
 1. The sense in which the ' mean ' is opposed to the extremes . 
 
 2. The extremes are more opposed to one another than to the mean 
 
 3. Virtue is more opposed to one extreme than to another . 
 
 4. Bccapitulation 
 
 ii. — Practical suggestions for the attainment of the Mean . . ... 
 
 1. How some of the difficulties of practical ethics may be solved . 
 
 2. The sphere and importance of a ' moral sense ' . . . 
 
 102 
 102 
 102 
 103 
 104 
 106 
 
 105 
 105 
 107 
 
xiv Contents. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Paet I.— analysis of MORAL ACTION. 
 Part XL— EXAMINATION OF THE VIRTUES. 
 
 fagb; 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ANALYSIS . . • 109 
 
 TRANSLATION 121 
 
 ^ PAET L— ANALYSIS OF MORAL ACTION. 
 
 I.— CONCEllNINO MOEAL RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 i. — Actions done under consteint 122 
 
 (a) Definition of ' positiye constraint ' 122 
 
 (i) ' Positive constraint ' distinguished from ' moral constraint ' . . 122 
 (c) Cases of moral constraint (or ' mixed actions ') must be regarded as 
 
 voluntary 123 
 
 ((Q Limitations of moral constraint 124 
 
 (e) Difficulty of framing exact rules to meet the complications of life . . 125 
 (/) ' Constraint ' distinguished from ' motive ' - 126 
 
 ii. — Actions done through ignorance 127 
 
 (a) Repentance the test of involuntary ignorance . . • . . 127 
 
 (4) Ignorance as a moral disposition distinguished from ignorance as an 
 
 accidental error 127 
 
 (c) Enumeration of conditions which may occasion involuntary ignorance 128 
 
 iii. — Actions done willingly 130 
 
 (a) Willingness is predicable of impulse and desire 130 
 
 - — ^ II. — Analysis op the ''Will' (or 'Rational Puhpose'). 
 
 i. — The Will distinguished from kindred processes 131 
 
 (ff) The will not identical with ' the voluntary ' 131 
 
 (A) Thewill is not identical either with desire or with impulse. . . 132 
 
 (c) The ' will ' is not identical with ' wish ' .' 133 
 
 {S) The will not identical with opinion 134 
 
 (f) The will not identical with any special form of opinion . . . 134 
 (/) The will provisionally defined 135 
 
 ii. — The Will implies a process of deliberation 13g 
 
 (a) The subject-matter of deliberation explained 136 
 
 (5) The method and efiect of deliberation 138 
 
 (c) Comparison between deliberation and choice 141 
 
 iii. — The Will implies a ' Wish for the good ' 142 
 
 (a) Is the object of wish the real or the apparent good ? . • . . 142 
 
 (i) Reconcilement of these two theories 143 
 
 iv. — The Win implies Moral Freedom 144 
 
 (a) Both virtue and vice are within our own power 144 
 
 (J) Refutation of the theory that vice is involuntary . . , .145 
 
 (c) Freedom in the foi-mation of character I47 
 
 (<?) Freedom in the formation of bodily states 148 
 
 (e) Freedom applies equally to virtue and to vice 149 
 
 (/) Recapitulation of the theory of virtue 151 
 
 PAET II.— EXAMINATION OF THE VIETUES. 
 
 A.— Courage. 
 
 i. — The subject-matter of Courage defined 152 
 
 (a) Courage implies fear, and things fearful are synonymous with evils '. 152 
 (S) Description of the evils which concern the brave man . . . ! 153 
 
Contents. xv 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ii. — Yarious manifestations of Courage 155 
 
 (a) The true ' mean ' of courage defined 155 
 
 (5) Modes in which the ideal of courage is vitiated 156 
 
 iii. — Five less-perfect forms of Courage . . . . % 158 
 
 A. — The courage of self-interest 158 
 
 B. — The courage of experience 160 
 
 c. — The courage of impulse . . 161 
 
 D. — The courage of self-confidence ■. . 163 
 
 E. — The courage of ignorance 164 
 
 iv. — Some oharaoteristics of real Courage 164 
 
 («) The special sphere of courage is that of fear and pain . . . .164 
 
 (5) The extent of a man's bravery measured by the extent of his sacrifice 165 
 
 B. — Tempebanoe. 
 
 i. — The subject-matter of Temperance defined 167 
 
 (a) The sphere of temperance that of pleasure of body .... 167 
 (i) But there are certain bodily pleasm'es excluded from the sphere of 
 
 , temperance 168 
 
 (c) Temperance is speoially concerned with the pleasures of touch and 
 
 taste 169 
 
 ii. — Various Manifestations of Temperance 171 
 
 («) Temperance viewed in relation to pleasm'es and desu'es . . .171 
 
 (J>) Temperance viewed in relation to pain 172 
 
 (c) Asceticism an undue avoidance of pleasure 173 
 
 {d) Characteristics of a perfect temperance 173 
 
 iii. — Subsidiary Considerations of Temperance and Intemperance .... 174 
 
 (o) Comparison between intemperance and cowai'dice 174 
 
 (J) Comparison between intemperance and the faults of childhood . . 175 
 
 (c) Here we must conclude our examination of temperance. . . . 176 
 
 BOOK IV.— EXAMINATION OF THE VIRTUES 
 
 INTEODUCTORT ANALYSIS 178 
 
 TKANSLATION 188 
 
 C. — LiBEBALITY. 
 
 i. — Characteristics of Liberality explained 188 
 
 (a) The sphere of liberality defined 188 
 
 (J)) Modes in which the principle of liberality is violated .... 188 
 
 (c) The virtue or vice of a thing dependent upon its uses . . . . 189 
 
 {d) The special use of money is in spending rather than in receiving . 190 
 
 (e) General conditions requisite in charitable giving 191 
 
 (/) General conditions requisite in charitable receiving .... 192 
 
 {g) Some further characteristics of the charitable man . . . . 192 
 
 (A) Bdsume : charity the moral ideal in regard to wealth . . . 194 
 
 ii. — Contrast between Liberality and Prodigality 196 
 
 («) Description of prodigality as a vice ^cr se 196 
 
 (5) Prodigality associated with other vices 197 
 
 iii. — Contrast between Liberality and Avarice 198 
 
 D.— MuNIPIOENCE. 
 
 i. — Characteristics of Munificence explained 200 
 
 (a) Subject-matter of munificence and of its opposites defined . . . 200 
 
 (i) Conditions to which the conduct of the munificent man must conform . 202 
 
xvi Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i. — Characteristics of Munificence explained — continued. 
 
 (c) Munificence belongs chiefly to public life and to great men . . . 203 
 
 (d) Munificence may also be shown in private life 20i 
 
 ii.— Contrast between Munificence and its extremes 206 
 
 (a) Comparison between munificence and ostentation .... 206 
 
 (i) Comparison between munificence and meanness 206 
 
 E.— Elevation or Soul. 
 
 i.— Characteristics of elevation of Soul 207 
 
 ((f) Subject-matter of moral elevation and of its oppositos defined . . 207 
 
 (i) Honour the peculiar province in which moral elevation is shown . 209 
 
 (c) Eolation of moral elevation to the ideal of perfect virtue. . . 210 
 (rf) Eelation of moral elevation to honours and dignities . . . .211 
 
 («) Eelation of moral elevation to courage 213 
 
 (/) Relation of moral elevation to benevolence 214 
 
 (//') Kelation of moral elevation to the conduct and demeanour of social 
 
 Ufe • . ... 215 
 
 ii. — Deviations from the ideal of Moral Elevation ; 217 
 
 (ff) Contrast between moral elevation and self-abasement . . . . 218 
 
 (4) Contrast between moral elevation and self-conceit . ' . . . 218 
 
 (c) Contrast between self-abasement and self-conceit 219 
 
 F. — Love of Honoue. 
 
 (a) Definition of the subject-matter of love of honour .... 219 
 
 (i) Confusion of nomenclature between love of honour and its extremes . 220 
 
 G.— Good Tempbe. 
 
 («) Definition of the subject-matter of good temper 222 
 
 (i) Good temper not incompatible with virtuous indignation . . . 222 
 
 (c) The entii-e absence of ' temper ' censm-able 223 
 
 {d) Excess of temper viewed under its various forms .... 223 
 
 (<i) Difficulties of defining accurately the limits of the extremes . . . 224 
 
 H.— Courtesy. 
 
 (a) Courtesy the ideal of social intercourse 226 
 
 (i) Characteristic features of courtesy . . 228 
 
 (c) Contrast between courtesy and its extremes 229 
 
 I.— Sincerity. 
 
 (ff) Subject-matter of sincerity and of its extremes defined . . . . 229 
 
 (i) Characteristics of tlie sincere man 231 
 
 (c) Characteristics of boastfulness 232 
 
 (d) Characteristics of self-disparagement 233 
 
 J. — Humour. 
 
 {a) Subject-matter of humour and of its oppositcs defined 234 
 
 (J) Characteristics of real and perfect humour . . . . . .235 
 
 (c) Characteristics of buft'oonery ] 237 
 
 (,d) Characteristics of the boor ' ' 237 
 
 (e) -Eeview of the virtues manifested in social intercoui-se .'."..' 237 
 
 K.— Sense or Shame. 
 Ecasonswhy asenseof ehameisonly ajMBsi-ra-tue , . . ,238 
 
Contents. xvii 
 
 EOOK v.— EXAMINATION OF THE VIETUES 
 
 {Oontinued). ^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTEODUCTOKT ANALYSIS 240 
 
 TRANSLATION 249 
 
 L. — Justice. 
 
 i. — General conceptions of Justice and of Injustice 249 
 
 (a) Provisional definition of justice and of injustice 249 
 
 . (6) pivisions of justice and of injustice 250 
 
 (c) Sphere of justice and of injustice 252 
 
 ii. — Characteristics of Universal Justice and Injustice 253 
 
 iii. — Characteristics of Civil Justice 256 
 
 (a) Special sense of justice and injustice defined by conditions of equality. 255 
 
 (}) Comparison between universal and civil justice and injustice . . 256 
 
 iv. — Division of Civil Justice into (1) Distributive and (2) Corrective . . . . 258 
 
 T. — The principles of Distributive Justice explained 259 
 
 vi. — The principles of Corrective Justice explained 263 
 
 vii. — Examination of the theory of Eetaliation 268 
 
 viii. — The sense in which Justice is ' a Mean ' defined 274 
 
 ix. — Distinction between the unjust Act and the unjust Character . . . . 275 
 
 X.— Metaphorical application of Justice to Children and Slaves 277 
 
 xi. — Distinction between Natural and Legal Justice examined 279 
 
 xii. — Justiee and Injustice viewed in relation to the intentions of the Agent . . 281 
 
 (a) Justice in fact distinguished from justice as an ab^stract relation . 281 
 
 (4) Acts of justice must be «ofa»<aH/^ performed 282 
 
 (c) Intentional injuries distinguished from accidental wrongs . . . 283 
 .{d) Voluntariness applies to the receiving of wrong equally with the 
 
 doing of it . 286 
 
 («) Statement of some questions of casuistry bearing on the above . . 289 
 xiii. — Complexities of Justice make the attainment of it difficult . . . .291 
 
 xiv. — The principle of, Equity solves the complications of Justice 293 
 
 XV. — Further solution of questions of Casuistry bearing on Justice ( . . 296 
 
 (a) Can a man injure himself ? 297 
 
 (6) Is it worse to receive a wi'ong or to commit a wrong .' . . . 298 
 
 BOOK VI.— EXAMINATION OF THE INTELLECTUAL 
 
 VIRTUES. 
 
 INTEODUCTOET ANALYSIS 301 
 
 TEANSLATION ... 311 
 
 I. — ^Analysis of the Mental Powers. 
 
 (a) Examination of right reason an essential part of the theory of virtue. 311 
 (4) Classification of the powers of the soul ... . . 312 
 
 (c) General results of psychology ... . 314 
 
 ((?) Analysis of the practical reason . ' . ... 314 
 
 (e) Relation of practical reason to the will . 315 
 
 (/) The province of the will defined . . .317 
 
 b 
 
xviii Contents. 
 
 II.-Definitions or the Intellectual Vibtues. ^^_,^ 
 
 . . 318 
 i.— The Scientific state of Mind 
 
 ii. — The Artistic state of Mind 
 
 iii.— The Wisdom of Practical Life ■ 
 
 (b) View of concrete instances of practical wisdom . 
 (i) The sphere of practical wisdom defined . 
 
 (c) Relation between practical wisdom and temperance 
 («?) Further characteristics of practical wisdom . 
 
 iv. — The Intuitive state of Mind 
 
 V. — The Philosophic state of Mind 
 
 M The 'philosophy 'of the arts . . * ""' 
 
 320 
 322 
 322 
 323 
 324 
 325 
 
 326 
 327 
 327 
 
 (4) The philosophic mind is the absolute sense ._ . 
 (c) The phUosophic mind distinguished from practical wn 
 
 wisdom 
 
 m— Special Analysis op Pbactioal "Wisdom. 
 
 (a) Practical wisdom inTolres deliberation 330 
 
 (A) Practical wisdom in (1) principle and (2) practice . . • ■ ^dl 
 
 (c) Practical wisdom divided into specific varieties . . . • ' 'zl 
 (<?) Interdependence of public and private wisdom . . . „•,,**'* 
 («) Relation of experience .to practical wisdom and other inteUectual 
 
 states 3^ 
 
 (/) Eelation of practical wisdom to the intuitive and scientific mind . 335 
 
 TV.— Examination op vakious Mental States akin to Peactical 
 Wisdom. 
 
 i.— Analysis of Good Counsel ^^7 
 
 (a) Good counsel distinguished from similar processes . . . . 337 
 
 (i) Generic conception of good counsel 338 
 
 (c) Specific characteristics of' good counsel' ...... 339 
 
 ii. — Analysis of Moral Discrimination 341 
 
 (a) Moral discrimination is neither science nor opinion . . . . 341 
 
 (J) Moral discrimination compared with practical wisdom . . . 342 
 
 iii.— Analysis of Charitableness and Consideration 343 
 
 iv, Keview of Practical Wisdom under all its aspects 343 
 
 V. — Utility and Necessity op Practical Wisdom. 
 
 («) Objections raised against the importance of philosophy or of practical 
 
 wisdom 346 
 
 (J) Examination of the first two objections stated above . . . . 348 
 
 (c) Examination of the third objection stated above 349 
 
 {f) Examination of the fourth objection stated above 355 
 
Contents. xix 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 Part I.— CONCERNING STRENGTH ^ WEAKNESS OF 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 Part II.— CONCERNING PLEASURE. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTROBTTCTOST ANALYSIS . . . 356 
 
 TKANSTATION 363 
 
 PAET I.— CONCERNING STRENGTH OR WEAKNESS OF 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 I. — Opinions upon the Cattses op Mokal Sieengih ob Weakness. 
 
 FAOE 
 
 i. — Generalviewof the Problems suggested by the subject 363 
 
 («) Classification of types of moral character ...... 363 
 
 (i) Method of the investigation 365 
 
 (c) Statement of current theories respecting moral failure and success . 365 
 
 ii, — Difficulties of a scientific explanation of Moral "Weakness 366 
 
 (a) Is moral weakness compatible with right opinions p . , ■ . 366 
 
 (4) Is moral weakness compatible with a good conscience ? . . . 368 
 
 (c) Is moral strength identical with temperance ? 368 
 
 (fi) Is strong-mindedness or weakness compatible with intellectual error ? 369 
 
 (c) Is ' weakness ' to be predicated in an absolute sense ? . . . . 371 
 
 II. — ^Philosophicai. Analysis op Moral Evil. 
 
 i. — Determination of the sense in which Knowledge is compatible with Moral Evil . 372 
 
 (a) Precise limitation of the subject 372 
 
 (J) Unsatisfactory solution which makes 'opinion' instead of 'know- 
 ledge ' the concomitant of moral weakness 37S 
 
 (c) Different senses of the term ' Knowledge ' in moral relations . . 374 
 
 («?) Psychological explanation of moral evil. ...... 377 
 
 (e) The process of moral reformation 378 
 
 (/) Conclusion : it is sensuous and not intellectual knowledge which is 
 
 compatible with a weak wiU 378 
 
 ii. — The special conditions which test the 'Weakness or Strength of the Character . 379 
 (a) Pleasures being (1) natural or (2) nnnatui-al or (3) indeterminate, 
 
 there are corresponding divisions of the moral character . . . 379 
 
 (J) Metaphorical application of the term ' weakness ' . . . . 382 
 
 (c) The pleasures of bestiality natural or acquired 384 
 
 ((?) Application of the term 'weakness' to purely morbid conditions , 385 
 
 m.— Comparison op the taeiotjs poems op Mokal Evil. 
 
 \. — Yielding to Lust is worse than yielding to Anger 387 
 
 ii. — Contrast between "Weakness, Dissoluteness, Savagery, and Efieminacy . . . 390 
 
 (a) Dissoluteness worse than savagery 390 
 
 (i) Variations of character produced by pleasure 391 
 
 (c) The dissolute contrasted with the weak .... . 392 
 
 ((Q Efieminacy and weakness in certain cases pardonable . . . . 394 
 
 iii. — Specific varieties of "Weakness compared with Dissoluteness 395 
 
 («) The weakness of the nerveless and of the hasty nature . . . . 395 
 
 (i) Eelative sinfulness of weakness and of dissoluteness .... 396 
 
 iv. — Strong-mindedness contrasted with kindred states . . . . ' . . 399 
 
 (») True strong-mindedness and accidental strong-mindedness . . . 399 
 
 (i) Strong-mindedness contrasted with obstinacy and self-will . . . 400 
 
 (c) A noble inconsistency 401 
 
 V. — General Summary of the Argument relating to Moral Strength or "Weakness . . 401 
 
XX Contents, 
 
 PAET II.— CONCEENING PLEASUBB. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i.— Ethical importance of an investigation of Pleasure 403 
 
 ii. — Enumeration of current theories concerning Pleasure . . ... 406 
 
 iii. — Examination of the theory that Pleasure is neither ' a Good ' nor ' the Chief Good.' 408 
 
 (1.) Some goods are absolute, some relative 408 
 
 (2.) Some goods are activities, some permanent 409 
 
 (3.) Pleasure is a ' mode of activity ' 410 
 
 (4.) Pleasures are not necessarily evil ^er »« 411 
 
 (5.) Pleasure is not always a hindrance to activity 412 
 
 (6.) The relation of pleasure to art . . 412 
 
 (7.) The relation of the temperate man to pleasure 413 
 
 iv.—' Eefutation of the theory that no form of Pleasure can be the Chief Good . . 413 
 
 (1.) Pleasure shown to be a good because pain is an evil . . . . 413 
 (2.) The evil of pleasures does not affect the pleasure of happiness . .414 
 
 (3.) Pleasure is inseparable from the chief good 415 
 
 T. — Eefutation of the argument from Bodily Pleasures 417 
 
 (1.) Bodily pleasures are, in certain connections, good 417 
 
 (2.) Causes of; the universal pursuit of pleasure 418 
 
 (3.) The pleasures of the mind, however, are preferable to those of the body 420 
 
 BOOK VIIL— CONCEENING FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 INTEOBUCTOfiT ANALYSIS 423 
 
 TRANSLATION 431 
 
 I. — General Conception of PaiENDSHip. 
 
 i.— Connection of Friendship with the theory of Morals 431 
 
 ii.— Review of conflicting opinions as to the origin and nature of Friendship. . . 433 
 iii.— Limitation of these inquiries to 'Moral' subjects . . . '. . .434 
 
 II- — The Ground op Friendship. 
 
 i.— De amabili (to ^iXi^riv) ; The object of Afiection 435 
 
 ii.— Other conditions besides afiection necessary to Friendship 435 
 
 IIL— The Dipperent Kinds op Friendship and their Comparative Value. 
 
 i.— Friendships differ in kind according to the grounds of the affection . . .437 
 
 u.— Imperfection of Friendshifs of Pleasure and Interest 437 
 
 iii.- Thesphereofthe'twoinferiorformsofFriendshipdetermined . . . 433 
 
 - iv.— Of ideal or perfect Friendship 439 
 
 _. v.— Ideal Friendship compared with the two inferior kinds ... .441 
 
 (fl) Their inferiority fui-ther demonstrated . . . . " 441 
 
 (i) True friendship belongs to the good alone . ."...! 443 
 
 IV.- The Conditions favourable to Friendship. 
 
 i.-Constant intercourse is necessary to give reality to Friendship . ... 444 
 ii.— A certain pliabiUty and easiness of temper required .... '445 
 
 ii.-Friendship implies a virtuous disposition and a settled determination of the wiU 446 
 
 Y.— Limitations op Friendship stated. 
 i.— The austere and the elderly seldom make friends 447 
 
 ii— The number and character of the friends we should make ' . ' . ' " '440 
 
 iii.— The friends of the powerful 
 
 iv.-Summary of the general character of 1he Friendships based on equality . . 450 
 
Contents. ?cxi 
 
 VI. — Friendships op Condescension. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i.— Such Friendships admit a large number of yarieties 450 
 
 ii. — But in all the return of Affection should be proportionate not equal . . . 451 
 
 iii. — Limits within which such Friendships are possible 452 
 
 iv. — Difficulty stated and solved 453 
 
 VH. — The Essence of Friendship. 
 
 i. — Friendship consists more in loving than in being loved 453 
 
 ii. — In what sense likeness is essential to Friendship . . . . . . . 456 
 
 ■ iii. — Cases where unlikeness produces Friendship 456 
 
 iv. — The true ground of attraction in these cases 456 
 
 Till.— The Relation op Friendship and Justice. 
 
 i. — ^Every association for whatever purpose implies at once Friendship and Justice . 457 
 
 ii. — Friendship and Justice vary alike with the closeness of the tie . . . . 458 
 
 iii. — All forms of association are but parts of the political union .... 458 
 
 iv. — The different forms which the political union can assume 460 
 
 V. — These different constitutions compared . . . 460 
 
 vi. — Order of the changes in the constitution 461 
 
 vii. — The counterparts of these different forms of government in the family . . . 462 
 
 viii. — ^lu all these cases Friendship and Justice go hand in hand 463 
 
 IX. — The Friendship "which rests on Ties of Blood. 
 
 i. — Distinction between this and other kinds of Friendship _. 465 
 
 ii. — Origin and character of Parental Affection 466 
 
 iii. — Origin and natui-e of Brotherly Love 467 
 
 iv. — The love of Children to Parents 468 
 
 v.— Superiority of Family Affection to all other kinds 468 
 
 vi.— The love of Husband and Wife , . . .468 
 
 vii. — The claims of Friendship vary in these different cases 469 
 
 X.— The Rights and the Duties of Friends. 
 
 i. — General principle for their regulation enunciated 470 
 
 ii. — Limitation of the enquiry to Friendships of Interest 470 
 
 (a) Divisions of interested friendships 471 
 
 (4) General rules for regulating these different cases 473 
 
 (c) How the return to be made is to be estimated 473 
 
 iii. — Why disputes occur in ' Friendships of Condescension.' 474 
 
 (o) Principles on which such disputes should be settled .... 475 
 
 BOOK IX.— CONCERNING FRIENDSHIP 
 
 {pontmued), 
 
 INTRODUCTORT ANALYSIS 478 
 
 TRANSLATION 487 
 
 X. — The Rights and Duties of Friends {font'mued'). 
 
 iv. — Disputes in Friendships of dissimilar aims 487 
 
 General principles for fixing the amount of the repayment . . . . 489 
 
xxii Contents. 
 
 PAQE 
 
 491 
 T.— Questions of Casuistry stated and solved ■■'''''' 491 
 
 («) Questions stated ^g2 
 
 \b) Exact answers are impossible ■ '492 
 
 (c) Two general rules stated 
 
 Id) Exceptions stated and considered •.',■,■ ' ' ' /qq 
 \e) The general principle is' render t»aU their due 
 
 vi.— Questions relating to the dissolution of Friendships 4™ 
 
 («) Cases which justify a dissolution of friendships . • • ' • *q^ 
 (i) Cases where changes of character lead to a dissolution of fnendahip . 496 
 
 XI.— Examination op Dispositions allied to Fkiendship. 
 
 498 
 
 i.— Of Self-love 
 
 (fl) Characteristic features of friendship "" 
 
 \b) A good man is his own true friend ... ' ' ' ' sni 
 
 (c) But a bad man is his own worst enemy ™1 
 
 ((?) Practical exhortation °^^ 
 
 ..-,,.,, S03 
 
 11. — Goodwill 
 
 (ffi) Difference of goodwill from friendship and from affection . . . 503 
 
 r-t\ Tl-T-J-? -i>_nnJ— ^1T *r» -Phi <lTi/1i>V»in *,■■■• 
 
 505 
 
 (}) Belation of goodwill to friendship - • ^03 
 
 iii. — Unanimity 
 
 (a) Its province determined °^" 
 
 (i) Formal definition of unanimity ""6 
 
 (c) Dependence of unanimity on virtue 506 
 
 iv.— The relation of Benefactor and Eecipient 607 
 
 (ffl) Difficulty stated 607 
 
 Q>) Popular explanation of the difficulty 507 
 
 (c) A deeper explanation offered 508 
 
 v.— The relation of Self-love to love of Friends 611 
 
 (a) Conflicting views as to the character of self-love . . . .511 
 
 (}) The different senses of ' self-love ' determined 612 
 
 (c) The excellence of true ' self-love ' 614 
 
 {d) Coincidence of the love of our neighbour with true self-love . . . 615 
 
 Xn. — Eelation op Friendship to Happiness. 
 
 i. General question proposed and discussed 616 
 
 ii._'Vyhy the happy are thought not to need Friends 617 
 
 iii.— That the happy do need true Friends 518 
 
 («) Moral arguments 518 
 
 (S) Metaphysical arguments 519 
 
 iv.^The number of Friends desirable. Their number must necessarily be limited . 522 
 
 (a) General considerations on the subject 522 
 
 (J) Practical considerations which limit the number of our friends . . 623 
 
 (c) Yerification of the position from facts and experience .... 624 
 
 V. ^The Uses and the Treatment of Friends 624 
 
 (o) The advantages of friends in prosperity and in adversity compared . 624 
 
 (}) The use of friends in adversity 525 
 
 (c) Their use in prosperity 526 
 
 {d) General directions for our conduct to our friends 626 
 
 vi. — Of the society of Friends 627 
 
Contents. xxiii 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 I.^CONCEENING PLEASUEE. • 
 
 IL— CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
 III.— CONCERNING THE BORDER-LAND BETWEEN 
 ETHICS AND POLITICS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 rNTEODUCTOKT ANALYSIS ... 630 
 
 TEANSLATION 635 
 
 I.— CONCERNING PLEASURE. 
 
 i. — Connection of Fleasuie with the theory of Morals 635 
 
 ii. — ^Examination of the theory of Eudoxua that Pleasure is the Summum Bonum . 637 
 
 (a) Statement of the arguments of Eudoxus 637 
 
 (d) Critioism upon the previous arguments 639 
 
 iil. — Examination of the theory of the Platonists that Pleasure is not a good . . 611 
 
 iv. — The true nature of Pleasure explained 647 
 
 (a) Comparison between pleasure and sight 647 
 
 (A) Pleasure implies neither change nor becoming 648 
 
 (c) Characteristics of temporal morement 648 
 
 (iZ) Characteristics of ' local ' movement 649 
 
 (e) Absolute completeness and independence of pleasure .... 649 
 (/) Psychological analysis of pleasure 650 
 
 (^) Seply to various difficulties upon the subject 562 
 
 T. — Varieties and differences of Pleasure 654 
 
 (a) Arguments from the difference of operations 654 
 
 (A) Arguments from the goodness and badness of pleasures. . . . 656 
 (o) Arguments from varieties of character in subjects capable of feeling 
 
 pleasure 657 
 
 n.— CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
 i.— General conception of Happiness 660 
 
 (a) Happiness is not a passive condition 660 
 
 (i) Happiness an activity desirable per se 560 
 
 (c) Hence many think that happiness is identical with amusement 
 
 which is also desired ^erse 661 
 
 ifl) But none but the perfect man is competent to pronounce upon moral 
 
 questions 662 
 
 {e) Further arguments that pleasure is not summum bonum . . . 662 
 
 ii. — Happiness under its ideal aspects 564 
 
 (o) Happiness, being the activity of the highest part of our nature, is 
 
 philosophic meditation 664 
 
 (4) Characteristics of the life of meditation 664 
 
 (c) Eesum^ : the constituent elements of the perfect life. . . . 667 
 
 (eQ This is not an unattainable nor transcendental ideal . . . . 668 
 
 iii. —Happiness under its social aspects compared with the ideal happiness of Reason . 669 
 
 (s) Contemplation is divine : action is human 669 
 
 (4) Contemplation is far less dependent upon outward circumstances 
 
 than action is 670 
 
 (c) The life of the Gods should be our example, and their life is one of 
 
 contemplation 672 
 
 (rf) The requirements of the philosopher are slight, and are sure to be 
 
 provided by the Gods, who approve his pursuits 674 
 
xxiv Contents. 
 
 III.— THE BOEDEE-LAND BETWEEN ETHICS AND POLITICS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 (a) The theory of morals subordinate to practical statesmauehip . . . 676 
 
 (4) The province of educationidentical with that of law;" . . . 578 
 
 (c) The reign of law must, therefore, extend to the whole of life . . 580 
 
 (rf) Difference between the legislation of the family and of the State . 681 
 
 (e) Necessity of a statesman-like spirit, even for private legislation . . 582 
 
 (/■) From whom may the principles of legislation be learnt.' . . , 685 
 
 (;) Introduction to the politics 588 
 
THE 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY OF ARISTOTLE. 
 
 BOOK I -THEOEY OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 INTRODUCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 
 I— IS THERE A PEEPECTIOjST OP MAN? HOW CAN IT BE 
 ATTAINED ? 
 
 The subject of the Treatise is an_m^mrj_^irdo^§.,J^S!^3~sL^s 
 S ummum BonTiSr: Wtet^cbiisliitates the_pfirfiac±i2n,.of man ? What is 
 that ideal towards the attainment of which all the powers and tendencies 
 of our nature are directed 1 What is the perfect life 1 
 
 Before entering upon the main subject, there is a prior question which 
 we must answer : Is there such a perfecti on ? Is_the_fulnass_Q£-.satis&c- 
 tion, t he perfec tion of all human aims and efforts^eyer^qomgletely 
 realized or capable of bemg realized"? — — - 
 
 The analogy of nature t'orces~m"to conclude that there is such an ideal 
 an d that i^~'m asrba::^Hd-~ut'[ght''to~fae -arttajned. In outward Nature, 
 scienx!£^iscovOTj;ojis_coordiiwti£n and>i^ : law 
 
 and order. the adaptation of means to ends, prevail throughout the 
 woflS! In th e natur e_of man, again, there are aims which, consciously 
 or unconsciously, mfluence every movement of the_ mind, every activity 
 of the body. Ttiere is design in all things — a ' good ' or purpose which 
 Nature is incessantly striving to attain. 
 
 Nor is this true only of isolated forms of activity. There is design 
 equally in the larger groups of existences formed by the simpler modes 
 of good. There is a gTadatiou of 'goods,' lower goods being subordi- 
 nated to higher ones. The higher we ascend in the scale of being, the 
 grander the design which we see manifested. 
 
 But in the purposes of man there is a point where the subordination 
 ceases and where the mind attains complete and absolute satisfaction. 
 However noble its range there is a point where human conception can 
 ascend no higher. There is a 'final good,' a supreme purpose satisfying 
 all aspiration, comprehending in its completeness all lower forms of good. 
 The result at which the strivings of our nature aim is no vague, 
 unattainable 'infinite,' but a humccn good — a good which man can 
 
2 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 attain by his own effort and in his own life. In one word, there is a 
 perfection of human nature and we can attain to it. 
 
 The same conclusion may be expressed more simply thus : When an 
 action has attained its proper 'end' and fulfilled its proper design, that 
 action is a perfect action. When therefore all actions have attained 
 their proper ' end ' and fulfilled their proper design, life itself— as the 
 sum of all human activities, will be perfect, and man will have attained 
 his proper perfection, his Summum Bonum, and, with it, all that is 
 possible of blessedness and felicity. 
 
 But how can this perfection be attained ]— By a life in community, 
 under the guidance of the State. There is no sphere in which a man's 
 activities can be exercised or his virtues practised, save in the community 
 of his fellows. There is no security for his freedom, save under the 
 protection of the State. Nature herself teaches us so much : the very 
 constitution of man marts him out as a ' social being.' 
 
 The study of life will therefore be a study of dvil life ; and the study 
 of man will be the study also of social organizations and of the influences 
 which they exert upon him. Since human perfection can only be attained, 
 as we have seen, in the State, the science of human perfection will be a 
 form of the Science of Statesmanship. Statesmanship itself will be the 
 supreme Science, sovereign of all other Sciences, the unique dispenser of 
 human well-being, regulating the steps by which the soul must mount 
 up to its perfection, givhig to each man his proper sphere, determining 
 the Sciences which each must pursue, opening to all the practical means 
 by which their proper genius can be most amply satisfied and perfected. 
 
 The inquiry into ' human perfection ' merges itself, therefore, into a 
 ' study of man as a member of an organized community ; ' and that is a 
 wide and complicated subject. The interests of society are so varied 
 and its issues' are so involved, that we must be well-content if we can 
 delineate the main principles which should govern life and chai-acterise 
 its broader features. 
 
 Looking at the difficulties and complexities of the subject, the student, 
 if he be au ediicated man, will be sympathetic and appreciative. He will 
 not insist upon a rigid, unelastic method, but will be satisfied if the 
 conclusions drawn are as exact as the premisses will warrant. 
 
 In fine, the Method of Ethics will be Inductive, and its inductions 
 will be general conclusions into which the element of probability will 
 largely enter. Where the ccintingencies are so great as to baffle all 
 minute calculations — which is the case in reference to the facts upon 
 which Ethics arc based — ' probability must be the guide of life.' 
 
 There is one other caution which must be borne in mind. The facts 
 of life are unlike other facts in this respect : they are ' complex wholes.' 
 The fact and the meaning of the fact are inseparably bound up, one 
 with another. We see only so much of the facts of the moral life as cm- 
 eyes have been trained to see. Experience is thus essential for one who 
 would read aright the facts of the moral order. Hence, of course, it is 
 impossible for the young to study morals with any profit to themselves. 
 They have no experience to guide them to a sound judgment j and what 
 they see they cannot understand, whilst the clouds of their own passions 
 darken their conscience. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book I. 3 
 
 o 
 
 II.- REVIEW OF CURRENT OPINIONS UPON HUMAN PERFECTION. 
 
 Assuming, then, that there is such a thing as human perfection, and 
 that it is attainable, let us oxamiae more precisely wliat it is. What are 
 the characteristics of that conception which denotes the satisfaction and 
 fulfilment of the varied efforts and aims of human nature ? What is that 
 ' end ' which civil communities were formed to realize in their members, 
 and with which the Science of Statesmanship deals ? 
 
 As far as words go, there is an universal agreement : all men identify . 
 perfection with liwppiness, and tmderstand by happiness ' a good life and / 
 a prosperous career.' 
 
 But that is only a verbal agreement. The ideas which men practi- 
 cally associate with happiness are various and conflicting, answering to 
 the needs and wants of their own lives. Some give their preference to 
 pleasure, others to honour, others to wealth, others to philosophy. 
 There are others again who regard the Chief Good as something 
 transcendental. 
 
 We need not pass all possible conceptions under review. Sufficient 
 for us to examine those views which are most generally entertained, or 
 which admit of more intelligent criticism. 
 
 [Here again a caution is necessary in reference to the spirit in which 
 we ought to approach discussions of moral questions. 
 
 There are two points which cannot be too often insisted upon : 
 
 1. That we must take our start from the facts of real experience, as 
 exemplified in actual life (and not from d 'priori truths) ; 
 
 2. That in order to understand these facts, we need a specially trained 
 intelligence, or an educated conscience. Early education and the 
 discipline of sound habits must have fostered within us those moral 
 dispositions that make it easy for us to recognize moral truth. 
 
 Observation of moral facts becomes thus (in one who has been rightly 
 educated) an intuition of a moral law. To detect right and wrong 
 (which are the facts of morals) amid the entanglements of circumstance, 
 is to detect a moral law. A conscience which has been so educated as 
 to read aright the moral fact, has, whether latently or consciously, 
 recognized the moral principle or ' law.'] 
 
 Let us now proceed to criticise in detail the popular theories, though 
 they are but the reflection of men's own lives, and the ideals which they 
 picture take their form and colour from the surroundings in which men 
 live. 
 
 They may be characterized as follows : 
 
 1. There is the theory of animalism, which makes ' pleasure ' the goal 
 of life. But this surely is a slavish type of life, unworthy of the true 
 freeman, however much it may be countenanced by men in high 
 station. 
 
 2. There is the theory of men of action, who see in 'honour' or 
 ' dignity ' the culmination of their hopes. But this, again, is open to 
 rnany objections : (a) it can be easily wrested from us ; (/3) it depends 
 upon others rather than upon ourselves ; (y) it is not pursued for its own 
 sake, but only as the sign and seal of virtue. [Indeed, on this 
 
 B 2 
 
4 The Moral Philosophy of Arislotle. 
 
 hypothesis, it would appear rather that virtue had the stronger claim to 
 the chief place. Yet neither is virtue adequate to meet the requirements 
 of happiness ; for these reasons. (1) It may exist in complete inaction; 
 (2) it depends upon external conditions which are likely enough to entail 
 utter disaster and misery.] 
 
 3. There is, again, the theory of the mystic, which regards Meditation 
 as the end of man. (The discussion of this theory will best be reserved 
 for the end of the Treatise.) 
 
 4. Lastly, there is the theory of the money-maker ; but that is below 
 notice. The life of commerce is obviously an unnatural existence for 
 man. Moreover, money is not an end in itself; its value depending 
 solely upon its uses. 
 
 There is one other theory of great importance — the transcendental 
 theory of the Platonists, which seems to represent all things which are 
 ' good ' as falling under a common Ihia. It is a matter of diffidence to 
 criticise the system of one whose niemory is so revered as that of Plato ; 
 but reverence for truth is more sacred than affection for a friend. 
 
 I. First of all let us assume that Plato's ' theory of ideas ' may be 
 stated in some such way as this : ' whatever things are good may be 
 grouped under one common notion, or law of the good, Ihia tov ayoBov' 
 
 The following arguments are advanced in disproof of this position : — 
 
 1. Things which admit of priority and posteriority cannot have a 
 common Ihia : 
 
 The various forms of ' good' admit of priority' and posteriority : 
 Therefore, the various forms of ' good 'cannot have a common I'S/a. 
 The major in this Syllogism is admitted by the Platonists. The minor 
 may be proved as follows : — 
 
 Substance is a good. Quality is a good. Eolation is a good : 
 
 But substance is prior to Quality, and Quality is prior to Relation : 
 
 Therefore, some good is prior to some other good. 
 
 2. Things which are predicated in several categories cannot be a 
 single Universal : 
 
 But ' the good ' is predicated in several categories : 
 Therefore, ' the good ' cannot be a single Universal. 
 
 3. If 'goods' fell under a single Ibia, they would be treated by a 
 single Science : 
 
 But they are not treated by a single Science : 
 Therefore, they do not fall under a common Ihia. 
 
 4. Moreover, the Ibia is unnecessary and superfluous, at any rate as 
 an abstraction subsisting independently of phenomena. The definition 
 of ' a thing in itself is identical with that of the actual, existing thin<^ 
 The definition of ' good in itself will therefore difter in no way from the 
 definition of ' good' in its actual manifestation. 
 
 ■ a' ,^°'"'.^P''™' 's it to the point to say that the Ibla is eternal and 
 indestructible. It makes no difference in respect of the existence of a 
 thing whether it be long or short-lived. 
 
 (There is more plausibility in the view of the Pythagoreans. Unlike ' 
 the Platonists who regarded the unity of the good to be its essence and i 
 cause, the Pythagoreans, and with them apparently Speusippus, regarded 
 unity as only a mark or characteristic of good, ranging unity as one 
 
Inirodticiory Analysis: Book I. 5 
 
 of a number (or ' roll ') of things perfect ; according to -which view 
 'unity ' is immanent in things and not (like the Platonic iScai) separable 
 from thing's and independent of them). 
 
 II. Perhaps, however, the theory of the Platonists may be stated 
 differently. It is possible that the theory does not mean that every 
 aspect or form of good may be brought under a single iSta, but rather 
 that only ' absolute goods ' can be reduced to a single notion as coming 
 under a single ' law,' and as having the unity of a single l&ea. 
 
 Let us then put out of the consideration such ' goods ' as are merely 
 relative or instrumental, and consider the case of ' absolute goods.' 
 
 Now if there be any ' absolute goods,' they will be pre-eminently such 
 things as sight and thought ; and we may regard them under two 
 alternatives : 
 
 (o.) If thought and sight are not ' absolute goods,' there will be no 
 members to form the class which the Ihia toO ayadov assumes ; whereas if 
 they are ' absolute goods ' there can be nothing ' more absolute ; ' and, 
 therefore, the i8fa (as implying nothing beyond the members which come 
 under it) will be superfluous. 
 
 (S.) If thought and sight are ' absolute goods ' and come under a 
 common liia, the definition of each would be identical. But their defini- 
 tions are quite distinct. Therefore absolute goods do not form a 
 common i8ea. 
 
 III. Some possible solutions may be attempted of the problem which 
 underlies the Platonic theory. 
 
 There are three ways in which ' good things ' may come to have a 
 common name : — 
 
 (1.) As depending upon a single cause. 
 
 (2.) As conducing to a single end. 
 
 (3.) As having an analogy to one another. 
 May not the latter be the true explanation ? 
 
 IV. But a thorough discussion of these subjects belongs rather to 
 a Treatise of Metaphysics. Our present concern is with the jiractical 
 side of Ethics. That perfection which we are discussing in the present 
 Book, is a human perfection, one which can be realized in life and carried 
 out in action. The transcendental character of Plato's conception of the 
 good removes it from the sphere of practical Ethics. 
 
 It may however be retorted that though itself unattainable, the 
 ' Law of the Perfect ' gives us an ideal which may ennoble our work and 
 help us to realize what can be realizable in actual life. But this is not, 
 in fact, the case. The various professions utterly ignore it ; nor truly 
 is it easy to see how a man could be a better artist or a better surgeon 
 by having contemplated ' the Absolute.' In art, and in the business of 
 life, the important point is the specific detail, in which special know- 
 ledge rather than transcendental conceptions, is of real avail. 
 
The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 Ill— HUMAN PERFECTION DEFINED AND EXPLAINED. 
 
 Dismissing, therefore, the theories of the world and of the philosophers, 
 let us now endeavour to construct a definition of our own, of human 
 
 perfection. 
 
 i. First we will enumerate the main characteristics of our conception 
 
 of it: ,. 
 
 (1.) It is 'the end of ends.' Every action has an end : architecture 
 has its end, as medicine has its end, and all the arts their end. But one 
 end is subservient to another : there is an ascending scale of ends, until 
 at length we see all the purposes of life consummated in a supreme end. 
 This final purpose, which is the culmination of all the purposes and 
 interests of life, is ' the practical good,' the perfection of our life which 
 we are endeavouring to describe. 
 
 (2.) This supreme end is most absolute, highest, and most perfect. 
 Some ends are imperfect ends, being 'good' only in relation to the 
 purposes which they serve. A perfect end is one which is sought for its 
 own sake ; and an absolutely perfect end is oue which is never sought 
 but for its own sake. Such is ' happiness,' or ' the perfection ' of our 
 nature i everything else that we do has reference to it, but there is no 
 purpose beyond itself. 
 
 (3.) It is completely 'self-sufficing': an absolutely perfect end is. 
 thought to imply complete self-sufficiency— the satisfaction of whatever 
 is wanting 'for its own realization. Nor is that all : in this conception 
 there is further involved the idea of the well-being of a man's friends and 
 relatives, nay, even of his fellow-citizens. But of course a reasonable 
 limit must be placed upon this proviso : otherwise the circle of his 
 interests would widen into infinity. 
 
 (4.) It is ' unique ' and smi generis — not one among a number of other 
 good things, but sovereign over all. 
 
 ii. After this general description of human perfection, we may now 
 proceed to work out an exact and formal definition of it. 
 
 (1.) Everything in nature has its raison d'etre, a certain function to 
 fulfil, a certain work to do. Man has, therefore, a certain function 
 to fulfil, a certain work to do in the economy of all things. But man is 
 a complex whole ; and in all complex unities there are special purposes 
 in each part, and a general design for the whole. Man has a defined 
 sphere for the exercise of each one of his faculties, whether of mind or of 
 body : has he not also a defined sphere and a definite work for his nature 
 as a whole or moral unity ? 
 
 What then is there distinctive of man as man ? 
 
 (a.) Not mere life ; for life is common to plants. 
 
 ifi.) Not mere sensation ; for that is common to the horse and the ox, 
 and to all organized creatures. 
 
 The alternative is ' a life of action, inspired by the rational element of 
 his soul ' — not merely a rational life, but a conscious exercise of the 
 rational life— not a passive nor an emotional life, but a life of activity 
 and work. 
 
 (2.) But we are treating not merely of life but of perfect life, not of 
 th? work of man merely, but of the perfected work of man. We must 
 
Introdtcciory Analysis : Book I. 7 
 
 therefore limit further our definition. In the perfect man ' the powers 
 of reason will be developed in action in the most perfect way,' according 
 to the standard of the truest excellence. 
 
 (3.) One other condition must be added to ttie definition. The out- 
 ward circumstances of life must be in harmony of the aims of the perfect 
 man. 
 
 The full definition of happiness will therefore be : ' A conscious play of 
 the rational powers after the standard of the highest excellence 
 manifested in an unbroken harmony of external circumstances.' 
 
 [It will be understood that the above definition is wide and general 
 in its scope ; and from the nature of the subject it could not be other- 
 wise. But reasons will be given as we proceed with our argument." So 
 far we have only drawn the outline of a picture, and are trusting 
 to subsequent elaboration to render that outline more striking and 
 expressive. 
 
 A definition must in any case be adapted to the purpose for which it 
 is required and to the conditions of the problem which it is framed to 
 explain. Our piu-pose is not purely scientific, but pi'actical ; and an 
 attempt at the rigorous accuracy of the mathematician or at the refine- 
 ments of the metaphysician would be out of place, and tend to encumber 
 needlessly the course of thought. 
 
 For the same reasons we need not stop to discuss the ultimate 
 principles upon which Ethics depends. The question for our considera- 
 tion is rather into the fact ' whether, for instance, this is right or 
 wrong,' rather than 'why it is so.' The recognition of the moral fact is 
 (implicitly) the recognition of a moral law. The ' fact ' is thus a 
 starting-point and ' a principle ' ; and the ' principle ' serves to elucidate 
 many a truth of subsequent experience. 
 
 We must endeavour, therefore, to trace out those simple facts 
 of morals which may serve as ' principles ' or criteria for the 
 discrimination of other truths ; and we must follow the guidance of 
 nature if we would understand those principles as they really are. 
 Some of these 'principles' can be apprehended by association of ideas, 
 others by immediate perception, and others by the moral instinct which 
 comes from education, and others in other ways.] 
 
 IV.— DEFINITION COMPAKED WITH OTHER THEORIES AND 
 DIFFICULTIES SOLVED. 
 
 But if our definition be a true one, it must be capable of explaining 
 all the recognized facts of the case, and must harmonize v/ith the 
 universal verdict of experience. 
 
 I. That happiness is ' an activity of the soul ' is in j)erfeot consistency 
 with the common "impressions of mankind: 
 
 (1.) Men regard the 'goods of the soul' as the highest goods. 
 (2.) Certain actions are called their own ' end.' 
 (3.) Happiness is called 'fair living and fair acting.' 
 
 II. There are, in truth, five principal ideas which men associate with 
 happiness, and these ideas (some of which are handed down from old 
 times and supported by men of repute, while others are the views of 
 
8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 the world at large) are all comprehended in the definition which I 
 have given. 
 
 These ideas are— Virtue, Thought, Philosophy, Pleasure, and Pros- 
 perity. Leaving Thought and Philosophy for Bk. VI. and X. we will 
 examine the other three.. 
 
 s 1. 'Happiness is Virtue :' our own definition being 'an activity of the 
 Loul in accordance with mrtue.' We cannot suppose that our perfection 
 Is a merely passive state ; and we must therefore premise that virtue is 
 actively exercised, and that the happy man exhibits his virtue in the 
 arena of the world, struggling amid the trials of life for its noblest meed. 
 
 2. ' Happiness is Pleasure :' certainly, the life of the happy man, 
 being ex vi termini also the life of a virtuous man, will be a life of pleasant- 
 ness.' The virtuous man being devoted to his virtue (as all men are de- 
 voted to that in which they are specially interested) will necessarily 
 take pleasure in displaying it. Indeed a man is not a virtuous man 
 unless he has pleasure in his virtue. 
 
 The life of perfection, therefore, is a life of virtue, and a life of virtue 
 is a life of pleasure ; and these attributes are all indissolubly bound up, 
 one with another. 
 
 3. ' Happiness involves prosperity ' : — of course the happy man 
 requires certain favourable conditions and external resources for the 
 exercise of his powers. There must be nothing in his circumstances to 
 mar the completeness of his joy. Health, beauty, good birth, domestic 
 consolations are all necessaiy to happiness, though of course they fire not 
 identical with it. 
 
 We will now proceed to consider certain difficulties which have been 
 felt in regard to happiness, and offer such solutions as we can. 
 
 I. Is happiness within our own power, capable of being compassed 
 through our own agency 1 Or is it dependent upon the Divine Favour, 
 or even upon Chance t 
 
 (1.) Whether it come from God or no, it is certainly one of those 
 things which are most divine. 
 
 (2.) It is the ' reward of virtue,' and is therefore as wide in its range 
 as virtue is. Yet virtue can exist in almost all whose consciences are 
 not seared, by the help of discipline and education. 
 
 (3.) Things are best when proceeding from law and defined causes and 
 virtue : what proceeds from the highest cause will, therefore, be the very 
 best result. Happiness, therefore, as the best of all things will proceed 
 from the best of all causes— virtue. To leave it to chance, would be an 
 utter discord in Nature's harmony. 
 
 (4.) Tlie very definition of happiness as ' an activity of soul according 
 to virtue,' other conditions being only secondary and subordinate, shows 
 that the essential conception of it can be realized by a man's own self. 
 
 (5.) The Science of Statesmanship rests upon the assumption that onr 
 perfection depends upon our virtue. It therefore spends its utmost care 
 in creatnig virtuous dispositions among the citizens : those creatures 
 {e.ff. boys and animals) who are incapable of virtue, it assumes to be 
 incapable also of happiness. 
 
 (6.) So much, however, of fortune is assumed as may allow for the free 
 play of the faculties and guard us from overwhelming calamities. 
 
Introdtictory Analysis : Book I. 9 
 
 II. But what is the limit of these human imcertainties, and what 
 their influence upon happiness ? Can a man be really happy in this life, 
 or is Solon's adage the true one, that 'we must wait and see the end?' 
 
 Solon's view opens up another difficulty : If a man happy after his 
 death? The relation of the dead to the living is a question full of 
 mystery. Is death utter unconsciousness ? Or is there any communion 
 between the living and the dead? If the dead are conscious of the 
 fortunes which befall their survivors, what is the influence of the soitows 
 of the living upon the souls of the departed ? Either hypothesis seems 
 to lead to conclusions which men find difficulty in accepting. 
 
 As for the original question, whether we may call a man happy in this 
 life, that is surely reasonable to do : so long as a man really u happy, 
 credit should be given him for his happiness. 
 
 Indeed the whole idea underlying Solon's theory is false in principle. 
 It implies that a man's weal or woe depends upon external conditions ; 
 and that is untrue. The essential idea of happiness is ' a virtuous 
 development of a man's powers ; ' and nothing is so permanent, nothing 
 so stable as virtue ; so neither can anything be so abiding as the happi- 
 ness which is the result and concomitant of virtue. 
 
 Misfortune cannot, therefore, utterly take away a man's happiness. 
 Indeed, if sorrow be slight, it will have no influence upon his life ; 
 • though if it be incessant and appalling, it will take away the lustre and 
 charm of his happiness. Yet at the worst, though the brightness of life 
 be overclouded, he will simply be not happy : he will not be wretched : 
 he will make the best of life, however great his reverses. 
 
 The conclusion upon the whole question seems therefore to be, that 
 happiness is as mucli within our own control as virtue is, yet still there 
 are ' conditions of mortality ' to be taken into account which must 
 modify all our statements. Whatever happiness is ours, it is a human 
 happiness and one that is subject to the mutability of our human 
 destinies. 
 
 III. We must revert to the question which we left unanswered in 
 reference to the condition of the departed : are they or are they not 
 rendered unhappy when sorrow overtakes their friends on earth ? 
 
 Two points must be taken into consideration : 
 
 1. The extent and nature of the calamity ; 
 
 2. The fact that the dead are not actual spectators, much less agents 
 in the drama of earthly sorrow. 
 
 The general conclusion seems to be that even if the affairs of earth 
 penetrate to the world of spirits, they make no absolute difference to 
 the departed, neither taking away their felicity from the blessed nor 
 changing the condition of the lost. 
 
 IV. One other question remains to be settled in regard to the 
 properties of happiness : Is it a good of relative or of absolute worth ? Is 
 it a good which is 'praiseworthy,' or one which is precious for its own 
 sake and adored ? 
 
 1. It is not a merely relative term. Praise is inappropriate and 
 inapplicable to it. Praise implies reference to a higher standard, and is 
 a tribute paid to merit. But happiness can be referred to no standard 
 higher than itself : it is a thing absolute and complete per se. 
 
10 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 2. It is a thing exceeding all price : we pay to it not encomium but 
 reverence and awe : we acknowledge it to be its own ideal as a thing 
 divine and blessed in its own right. 
 
 v.— CLASSIFICATION OF THE VIRTUES, BASED UPON AN ANALYSIS 
 
 OF SOUL. 
 
 Now since the main element in happiness is virtue, we must examine 
 with greater fulness into the nature of virtue. Virtue has ever been the 
 chief coBcem of true statesmanship : witness for example the legislation 
 of Crete and Sparta. As our own inquiry is a branch of statesmanship, 
 we must examine the nature of virtue as the means whereby man may 
 realize his perfection. 
 
 But virtue is 'the excellence of the ioul' just as happiness is the 
 activity of the mul. We must therefore in the first place study the nature 
 of the soul if we would understand its excellence. 
 
 For our present purpose it will be sufficient for us to adopt the main 
 conclusions of Psychology which are discussed in my Public Lectures. 
 
 There is an admitted distinction of soul into (1) rational, and (2) non- 
 rational : whether that be a profound and real distinction, or only 
 a convenient and notional one, matters not. 
 
 1. The non-rational may be subdivided again into (1) nutritive, and 
 (2) emotional; but the nutritive element may be dismissed frOm our 
 consideration for the following reasons : 
 
 (a.) It is common to plants and not characteristic of man, as man, 
 
 (A) It is most active in sleep. 
 
 (2) The emotional soul is not entirely non-rational, but rather semi- 
 rational. It is the seat of the desires and impulses which sometimes 
 submit to reason and sometimes are opposed to it. It has not reason in 
 its own right, but yet is capable of 'receiving reason' as a child listens 
 to the counsels of his father. 
 
 2. Thus the 'rational soul' may be also subdivided into (1) semi- 
 rational or emotional, and (2) purely rational or intellectual. The semi- 
 rational soul is capable of receiving good impressions and forming virtuous 
 dispositions. The intellectual soul has reason in its own right and 
 independently of external influences. 
 
 Corresponding to this division of conscious soul, is the division of 
 Virtue into emotional (or moral) and intellectual. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 L— INTRODUCTION. IS THERE A PERFECTION OF MAN, 
 AND HOW CAN IT BE ATTAINED 1 
 
 i. — Arguments from ' Design in Nature ' in proof of Human. 
 Perfectibility. 
 
 Eyery art and every step to knowledge, and similarly both 
 every moral act and every decision of the will, 
 seems to have some ' good ' or ' purpose ' at which J^"^^ ^^^ '^Arot 
 it aims. The supreme good , therefore, or 'pur- nature and in all 
 pose of all things ' is, as philosophers have well ^®^ activities of 
 described it, ' that at which all things aim. ' 
 
 But in the subordinate purposes or ' ends ' of nature there is a 
 certain distinction to be observed. Some ends are simply ' modes 
 of activity,' and o thers ari^aaterial results be yond_ the simp le 
 e xercise of the facultie s ; anJ'wtreFe there are material results of 
 any kmd reaching beyond tBFUctions, in such cases these results 
 are more important than the activities which produced them. 
 
 As, moreover, there are many forms of action, and many varieties 
 
 of art and science, so also are"Tliefe" manyjjgndal resiiltrng-thecc- 
 
 fi^mT^'the^entl of medicine, for instance, being 
 
 health ; of ship-building, a ship ; of strategy, vie- ^""i '"'KP'i^J ''.f 
 
 '„ , ^,. "' ^ -i,, Ti ? 1 ^0^^ activity Its 
 
 tory; ot domestic economy, wealth. Jiut where 'end,' but these 
 
 the arts through which these ends are realized, ' particular ends ' 
 
 ,, "T s-Tf^ T- _ , i-, ,, 1 Ti ' are all subordinate 
 
 themselves tall under someTiigher art (Wbridles; to 'higher ends.' 
 maMng-and-similarr-fenctions "connected with the 
 manufacture of horse-trappings fall under the general art of 
 Riding, while Riding, again, and the whole business of war falls 
 under the Master Art of Strategy; and as, in an exactly similar 
 way, other subordinate arts fall under higher arts) — in all such 
 cases, I say, the ends of the Master Arts are more important than 
 those of the subordinate arts, the latter being pursued only for 
 the sake of the former. 
 [But, as regards the principle of subordination, it is immaterial 
 
12 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 1. 
 
 whether the ' ends ' be simple activities, or whether beyond the 
 mental process there is a tangible result, as in the case of the 
 sciences mentioned above.] 
 
 If, then, this argument be a sound one, — if, Jhat is,.ih£re_be 
 one end for all human interests and for all human pursuits, and if 
 ' everything else which we desire b e relative a nd 
 
 This bierareiiy of subordinat£to.thia final end, "and if we do not go 
 'XVenlr^^ rad* onlnterm'inably making our every choice for the 
 ■whioh is therefore sake of something beyond (in which case our aims 
 
 manfnfofaiihu ^""^'^ '^^^^ °° *° infinity, so that all our im- 
 pucposea. pulses would be purposeless and void of effect) 
 
 — if_thisjbe.triie,^itis._clear.that this end magt-be— 
 the Bmrnmrni^mmr^^ of human aims. 
 
 In every art and in every way to knowledge there is some ' good ' which, we 
 seek to attain. The objects which determine human choice and action are those 
 from which we expect to gain some ' good.' Hence some have properly defined 
 the Summum Bonum as ' the good at which all things aim.' This is a universal 
 law : not only things which are moved by conscious thought, aim. by that motion, 
 at some good, but also things which are moved by the laws of nature are led 
 towards the realization of some good end, or purpose, though it be unconsciously, 
 like an arrow shot at a mark. There is thus an ' end ' in every form of moral 
 action or of physical movement. 
 
 But there is evidently a distinction to be noted in ' ends.' In some cases the 
 end of action is a material result, as the end of the shipwright's craft is a ship. 
 In other oases, again, the end of action is further action ; as the end of horse- 
 manship is the practice of riding. Where the ' end ' is not action but a material 
 result, in such cases the result is more important than the action. 
 
 Since, moreover, actions are manifold, the ' ends ' of action are correspondingly 
 manifold. The end of the art of medicine is health ; of the shipwright's art, a 
 ship ; of the soldier's art, victory ; of the economic art, wealth. But it frequently 
 happens that many actions and arts fall under some one faculty and art ; when, 
 that is, they are pursued in view and for the sake of that art. For example, the 
 art of saddlery, and the art of horsemanship, and aU military enterprise seek the 
 same end as the art of generalship : — they are all pursued with a view to victory. 
 These minor arts are, on this account, said to fall under the art of generalship ; 
 and this again is called an architectonic or Master Ai't in reference to the aits 
 subordinated to it, since it has exactly the same authority as a Master Builder 
 among his workmen. Just as the Master Builder has an eye to the ' form ' of 
 the complete structure, and bids his workmen execute the various works which 
 tend to realize that form, so too the art of Generalship and all similar Master 
 Arts lay down rules for the subordinate arts from the point of view of the end 
 special to itself. Thus the bridle-maier, having regard to victory as the measure 
 of his purpose, fashions the bridle to be convenient for the horseman when press- 
 ing forward for victory. Another workman makes the saddle-cloth, and all such 
 as are craftsmen skilled in cavalry equipments keep before them the ultimate 
 purpose of the soldier's life. Soldiers again, cavalry and infantry alike, so dispose 
 and shape their conduct that they may have strength to gain victory. In fine, 
 the end of the art of generalship determines the character of the arts subordinated 
 to it. 
 
 There is, therefore, an end involved in each one of the arts subordinated to the 
 Master Art, just as a bridle is the end in the art of the bridle-maker, and the 
 practice of riding in the art of horsemanship, and so on in other ways. Yet there 
 is also an end in the Master Art, just as victory is the end pursued in the art of 
 Generalship. Nevertheless the end of the Master Art is better and more esteemed 
 
Bk. I. 1.] Translation. t^ 
 
 than the minor ends, because, as has been e-cplained, the ends of the minor arts 
 are puisned only in view of and in relation to the ultimate end. 
 
 Even though the ends of our actions be not the actions themselves but material 
 results beyond, there is nothing in that to prevent thB end of the Master Art 
 (though it be only action) being better and more choiceworthy than even those 
 material results. For example, the end of the bridle-maker's art iS/ a material 
 result, \.e. a bridle, while the end of the art of generalship is action, i.e. victory; 
 yet there is nothing to prevent victory being better and more choiceworthy than 
 a bridle. A material result is better than mere action, not universally, but only 
 in case where it is a consummation, as being the completed end of an action ; 
 — since of course the end is always more esteemed than that which is ranged 
 in reference to it. 
 
 Thus it is that while many arts have but a single end — that of the Master Arts, 
 yet all arts, in their totality, have one ultimate end f or the sake of which all_Qthe,r 
 arts are pursued. This supreme ^d^ultimate end Jias.JU). oBjfict beyond itself, but 
 is puisued"Torits own sake. 
 
 Otherwise, if there be not some one supreme end, but we are incessantly to 
 pursue objects for the sake of objects beyond ; — if at every moment we are to be 
 pressing forward to ulterior ends in an interminable series, then shall we never 
 attain the object at which we aim. The inference therefore follows, that unless 
 there be a point at which the mind may rest as it is impelled to self-realization, 
 all human striving is purposeless and vain. 
 
 Universal failure such as that would be a monstrous anomaly, seeing that there 
 is no impulse of nature that is in vain, Jt is, therefore, a thing of necessity that 
 there should be some one end final and aBg0luLej_ajid_t]nsijgia.il3iu6t-fee» the 
 SumS lLm D o uum, and lliaf whteh Is best tor inan. 
 
 ii, — Th.e Science which, takes cognizance of the Summum Bonum 
 is Social Science. 
 
 Surely then the knowledgej)f this Summum Bonura_iaa a 
 mighty influetice on the con duct of life : and if we have it before 
 us~as W hl^rk at wMclT^ like archersTto aim, shall 
 we not the more readily attain to what is meet ^'"^ st>«ty "f 'hu; 
 and right? If then the importance of this amT of ^te radons 
 knowledge be so great, we must strain our en- gradations comes 
 
 under the 'Science 
 
 o 
 
 deavot trs to comprehend, at least m outline, w hat of Civil Life,' or 
 th is Summum Borium really is, and under jwhich 'Politics' in its 
 oQIiS-SiiicncE&^or Facultie s it falls. It would ™ve senTe'"^'^'' ^^' 
 fl^Tpear to belong sp ecially to that Science which 
 is most absolut e and jdij ch has th e widast and jnost compre- 
 hensive range, ^tch obviously is the character of the ^ BcFenc e of 
 Socie^' as being the science Avhich ordains what other sciences 
 shall find a home in States, what sciences the various ranks of 
 individuals shall learn, and within what limits. Even the most 
 esteemed of the Arts and Faculties are, as we see, in subordination 
 thereto ; for example, strategy, domestic economy, and rhetoric. 
 
 Seeing then that the Science of Society uses the various Sciences 
 concerned with action and production as subservient to its own 
 high purposes, and further lays down laws of its own, prescribing 
 what things men ought to do and from what they ought to abstain, 
 
14 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 1. 
 
 the ' end^_ofJhisJM:asier-^-S&icnce . will embrace_the_finds of all 
 other..Scieiices, and will consequently be the 
 Supremacy of Poti- highest good of man. Though the e nd of the 
 whiclf investigates indivlduat-br^^ identical with that ofthe_State, 
 how perfeotidn can yetTHe end of the State is" "recognized as ^ing 
 communHiel"^ " " at any rate grander anymore pe"fIec rto~acqu ire 
 andtJCpressrrer— Eren for-a-n individual, for his 
 own sake, the Summum Bonum is an aim to be cherished : but 
 for a nation and communities it is even more noble and divine. 
 
 Such are the questions which the present Treatise aims at 
 solving, being, as it were, a study of man in his relations to 
 Societj^ 
 
 The knowledge of this Summum Bonum will, therefore, be of great assistance 
 to us in the conduct of life. The consequence of such a knowledge will be that 
 we shall the more easily succeed in compassing that which is our duty, if like 
 archers we have a mark at which to take our aim. 
 
 If this be true, we must endeavour to define, so far as may be, in outline what 
 precisely this ultimate ' end ' is, and to which of the sciences or departments of 
 action it immediately belongs. 
 
 Now there is, of course, an end which is common to evety art and to every 
 faculty ; and there is also an end specially belonging to each single, separate 
 faculty — just as the end of the Master Art is an end common to all the arts 
 subordinated to it, while yet it is an end specially attaching to the architectonic 
 art itself. 
 
 It seems clear, therefore, that there is an ' end ' of that art which is sovereign 
 over all other arts, and which is, in the highest sense, architectonic ; and such is 
 the character of the art of Society. This a rt of So ciety prescribes to the other 
 arts thei r rank an d proper_ season. It comes under its~eogTfisaiice alone" to 
 oonSaeiTwhat Sciences ought to exist in States, and what Sciences the different 
 ranks of men ought to learn, and within what limits. It alone is the guai-dian 
 of the common good, expelling from the State such arts as are evil, nor 
 permitting all the citizens indiscriminately to learn such arts as are beneficial, 
 nor to practise them on all occasions. If a citizen have the abilities to be a 
 General and to save the State, it suffers not such an one to be a shoemaker, and 
 if he be competent as yet only as a private, it does not at once raise him from 
 the ranks. It assigns to those concerned the proper season for the exercise of 
 their art ; for instance, preventing a General fi-om leading out an army when it 
 is fitting for him to remain at peace. The statesman will despatch the General 
 when occasion makes it necessary, and will bid him remain inactive when it is 
 the proper season for inaction. Though the General ofttimes determines for 
 himself the proper time for fighting, yet that is not owing to his art as a 
 General {but bccanxr. lu- ix also a statesman). All the rules of an art regard 
 simply the end of that art : a rule which extends to opposite or alien considera- 
 tions is not a rule of the art, as such. Consequently, when a General takes into 
 consideration the circumstances under which he ought to fight, and in view of 
 those circumstances frequently remains inactive and sends embassies to treat for 
 peace, it is clear that he is not employing the rules of his art as a General, but 
 the rules of another and distinct art, greater and more paramount than that of 
 Generalship, the art of the Statesman. 
 
 Sincej_jtherefore, ..this art of Society subordinates to i tself eve n the most 
 e8tee mea5r The_ o^er^arts^ (I mean, General3Sig;:~Eag H5my, J Lhet^nlc',) and 
 avowedly treats alfoSer arts concerned with action with a view to it^ own 
 special end (for it ranges them all with a view to the common interests of the 
 State, and for that reason lays down what the citizens ought to do and from 
 
Bk. I. 1.] Translation. \ 5 
 
 ■what they ought to abstain,) the end of the_ait_gf jStatfismanship-will^^fiomprise 
 within its province the^ndteof]3roffier axEs. 
 
 Biit-siiroerthB''BHa.'s"ol: aTffie" other arts are sought with a view to the well- 
 heing of mankind, and the end of the art of Statesmanship is the one for the 
 sake of which the ends of all the other arts are sought, it is evident that the end 
 of this art of Statesmanship will be the Summum Bonum, the supreme good of 
 men. It is evident also that though the end sought by the individual is identical 
 with that sought by the State, yet the good of the Stat»Js recognized as being a 
 grander and more perfect good for us to acquire, and to mUntain when acquired. 
 Though the winning and keeping of this good be an aim to be coveted by each 
 individual — whether he have the power of guarding it in the case of others or of 
 his own self alone, yet is it an aim more glorious and divine for nations and for 
 States, in proportion as the happiness of the many is better than that of the 
 individual. Hence it wUl be more just to say that the end of Statesmanship is 
 the ultimate end and the supreme good, inasmuch as it has regard, not to a single 
 end, but to the ends of all other arts as proper to itself, being as it is of wide 
 comprehension and embracing the whole interests of man as a social being. 
 
 iii. — The Method to be pursued in Moral Science. 
 
 In regard to method, the subj^atJssiUJba.ad£qaiaial^treated if 
 it he elucid ated with..ag_inuch clearDess as the subject-rnatter of 
 the snienne -axLmita. Rigorous exactnesT most 
 noUje4©6ked for, to the same extjent, in alfsub- ^\'ieh°*SocTa'i 
 jects of discussion, any more than an~equar"per- Science has to deal 
 fect"[5rrffi^ish is looked for in all the different ''^ , exceedingly 
 
 comfilex, and do 
 
 products of handicraft. In fact questi ons of not admit of a rigid 
 honour and of justice — the subjects wETcE~Sbcial JJJg*^"'' "^ *'^^*" 
 Science~TnWsligates=^TesaDHr-str^lHTOfi~Ct)ntro- 
 versy~andrTincertaintj_a^^o^j^ JipflEL^CUsfoiJi and 
 
 opmionra ffigr than, up on essential right. An almost equal 
 uncertainty prevails in regard to the good things of life from the 
 fact that the results accruing from them are in many instances 
 injurious : — ere now some men have been ruined by reason of their 
 wealth, and others by reason of their bodily vigour. 
 
 Arguing, then, as we are, upon such varying phffinomena and 
 ' from such uncertain premisses, wejiuiaLi2fi~aaiis- 
 fied if we can illustrate and expre ss the tru th in ^''° conclusions 
 
 -i=\ 1- ""^ drawn must, tnere- 
 
 a broad_and gCT.eraL sense^ and a_s_it-w^re, in fore, be general, 
 outline. Where the premisses no less tlian the "■°'^,, P™''^'''.'''y 
 
 ,.-, 1 • 1 • must be cm' guide. 
 
 subject-matter upon which we are arguing, are 
 only probable and contingent, we must be content to draw infer- 
 ences of corresponding generality. 
 
 In a similar spirit, each of my readers ought to accept what is 
 here advanced upon the subject. It is th e characteristi c of an 
 e(J]Kat£d-iHfln.JiaLla jequire scientific p recision upon any sub ject 
 undeE_iuquiryj_Jo^ a degree beyond wha t the natur e of the case 
 adjaits ; e.g. To demaiid~sc1entffic demonstrations from an orator 
 
i6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 1. 
 
 would be almost as incongruous as to allow a mathematician to 
 make moral appeals. 
 
 To us, in desiring to treat the subject of human perfection, any method of 
 exposition will be found adequate which is suitable to the character of the subject- 
 matter. We must not expect the same degree of precision in all investigations ; 
 it is impossible to discover an absolute accuracy for all subject-matter, without 
 distinction. In mathematics, doubtless, truth is pure and unalloyed, inasmuch as 
 that is a science dealing with subject-matter which is necessary and invariable 
 under all conditions.' and which presents no obstacles to rigorous scientific pre- 
 cision. On the other hand, in investigations^ where the fact s to be dealt with are 
 not^ecessary nor unchangeabTeTa iaethod of treatment is adiquateaji^atisfac- 
 tory which draws inferences from facts which are only geueral_and_conijngent. 
 This:Erinciple applies especially to the constructive arts. The form of art is not 
 appHcabfe to the same extent to all kinds of material. In certain materials which 
 are specially adapted to it, the form of art will be more perfectly finished off ; 
 but in materials otherwise formed, this elaborate finish wiU not be practicable. 
 The beauty of the human form will be differently represented, in their different 
 materials, by the statuary and the painter. The painter represents the very colour 
 of the original, while at the same time he is thought to reproduce the relative pro- 
 portions and distinctions of form, since his material appliances enable him to do 
 so. The statuaiy, too, will accommodate to the character of his material a certain 
 external bulk of body ; but he is unable to reproduce the proper colom-s, owing to 
 the natm-e of his materials. The same truth applies to the arts generally ; and 
 for this reason we ought not to require the same degree of precision from every 
 art alike, but only so much as the subject-matter allows. 
 
 Correspondingly indeterminate, in reference to abstract truth, is the subject- 
 matter with which Social Sciencp deals. QusstieirsT5f-ioiiouj_and_of-ju3tice, which 
 Social Science investig'ates, and -prbich constitute^jts subject-matter, present dlver- 
 genoies-and unceiSuties so groat, that it veritabjj appeJjiTEaTwtatlris Tioble is 
 not' ndble"By right of nature, and that whatTrtnrt ISnbtJnherentiy just^ but only 
 thrgug_aiind o.f^Qnventionality and custom. What is noble andlu^ in very 
 truth is for this reason difficult to distinguish from what is just only in appear- 
 ance. Nor is this all : even those good things of which happiness is thought to 
 
 be composed- (I mean courage and wealth, and other moral qualities) even these 
 
 admit of great uncertainty, owing to the fact that in many cases injury arises 
 from them. Ere now some men have been ruined by reason of their wealth and 
 others through their bodily vigour. 
 
 We must be satisfied therefore, if, in treating of social facts of such complexity, 
 and of ' the end ' which is based upon these contingencies, we can exhibit the truth 
 roughly and in outline. 'And in general, when we discuss matters which are con- 
 tingent and usual {not nri;e.mmj and invanaUe), and the ' end ' of such matters 
 it is sufficient that we draw conclusions of corresponding generality. 
 
 But just as the student who treats of Social Science is unable to discover a more 
 rigorous accuracy than the nature of the subject-matter allows of ; so, too, the critic 
 who passes judgment upon social theories will only judge fairly if, in the same 
 spirit, he requires no greater precision than the nature of the case admits but is 
 satisfied with what is possible. It is the characteristic of an educated man only 
 to search for exactness in the various departments of inquiry, in the degree which 
 the nature of the circumstances peimits. In the sphere of Mathematics, as has 
 been shown, he will not aUow of any contingent statement. But in Logic or 
 Physics, and subjects which are contingent and variable, he wiU take into account 
 the element of chance or probabiUty. To tolerate a mathematician making moral 
 appeals would of course be folly ; and almost as foolish would it be to demand 
 from an orator scientific demonstrations. 
 
 That is the proper spirit in which a judgment should be formed upon moral 
 questions. 
 
Bk. I. 1.] 
 
 Translation. 
 
 17 
 
 iv. — Mental BeqiilsiteB for the Study of Ethics. 
 
 Now a ma n judges arig^ht oiiL g.-Q£jgbat-haJiimseIf knows, and 
 only totfaaTfixteat-iH Iir n, piopec-^iic. A man, 
 "therefore, who is educat ed in„ any special depart- 
 ment ofknowledge, estimates soundly ilieTacts 
 61' such special department : and if he be educated 
 in ever y dep artment of knowledge, his judgment 
 will be absolutely sound. 
 
 It^IIows that the young man is no fit student-oLSoGJal Science, 
 He has no experiencS'"orhis own in the affairs 
 of reajjlfejponj^ knowledge" orwE ic]S,_as-fheir 
 w^Eole_2rovincej_mgj:al^iheoi-ies-4^end. More- 
 over, as EeTsprone to follow his passjons, it 
 will be idle and profitless "^r him to listen to 
 moral_truthsI]QifiISSrof -^Meh-is; not intellectual 
 but practicaLjiot knowledge but action. Whether 
 siicir a student be young in age or only childish 
 in character, is immaterial : his incompetence is 
 not measured by length of time, but is due to his living and 
 pursuing his several objects under the rule of his passions. 
 
 To s uch as are i n this undiscipl ined state a knowledge of Ethics 
 is found to be profitless, just as a sense of duty is powerless to 
 c(^ti'oHhoge who" are weak of will. On the other haiid, to Jiich 
 as .sEape tUeiL^isIres-aiLd, jagula te their conduct aft er the pattern 
 of Beason,Jtjvill_ be of ext reme- Jalue -_tQ- haYe_a knowledge of 
 morallscience. 
 
 For a due appre- 
 ciation of any 
 science, a kncw- 
 ledge of the facts 
 of tliat scieuce ia 
 essential. 
 
 The yonng, there- 
 fore, are incom- 
 petent to study 
 Ethics because (1) 
 they have no real, 
 personal knowledge 
 of the facts, and 
 (2) tlieir judgment 
 is coloured by their 
 passions. 
 
 These remarks may serve as an Tntrodn^.tio n to indic ate (1) jyto 
 ar e the proper students of Morals. (2) what_is— fehe-spirit- and 
 m ethod with which the subject must be treated, (3) what_ia„the 
 precisfi,sco|i£.Q£ihe-presettfe-Treatise. 
 
 Now a man will judge rightly only of what he himself Jinuics, and only to that 
 extent is he a competent judge. Hence, in regard to the Science of Life, a man 
 will only judge aright if he has been trained in social questions and has gained 
 experience therein as the result of long observation. The man who has been 
 educated in a specific subject will judge aright of those specific circumstances ; 
 and if he has been trained in cccri/ subject of knowledge, he wiU be a competent 
 judge of whatever comes before him. 
 
 For this reason a young man is no proper student of questions bearing upon 
 conduct, being, as he is, without experience of the facts of practical life. Now 
 moral theories have, in part, to decide upon particular factej__and_injgaxt to 
 draw iufereaee* f rom them. ' 
 
 Further, since the young man is not^et_of.an age to_ live by the law of RcasoB,. 
 but follows still his passions and Inhscz-fam and mere wont, it wiU 'Be^vain andi 
 prQfitlee8-that-lije.stU!3juaM)ial science. He will be powerless to attain to the true 
 
1 8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 2. 
 
 end of Theory and to change his own disposition and to live according to reason, 
 being, as he is, overpowered by the influence of his own habits. Yet the end, surely, 
 of moral speculation is not Imowledge but action. 
 
 But not merely one young in age, but also one young in character though he 
 has passed the limits of youth, will gain equally little profit from the Lectures he 
 may hear upon Ethical questions, because he continues to live a life that is 
 suitable only to the young. In fact, in the case of the young in age, his short- 
 comings are not entirely parallel with his age, but are owing to the fact that his 
 life is not regulated by Reason but actuated by impulse, and that all his aims are 
 directed by the impulse of the moment. To those who are in such a condition as 
 this, the Imowledge of moral truth is a profitless knowledge, just in the same way 
 as it is to those who are sensual and depraved, or to those who give way to the 
 attractions of pleasvire. On the other hand, to those who shape their desires by 
 the law of Reason and act in accordance therewith, it brings great assistance 
 that they should know the bearings of moral questions. In men of that stamp, 
 Reason will not only be able to perform the duties which it will understand, from 
 the perception of moral truths, to be obligatory upon it, being emancipated, as 
 in their case it is, from the slavery of the passions, but also, through having this 
 moral freedom, wiU be able also to make use, instantaneously on all occasions, of 
 its own proper strength. 
 
 In the preceding Introduction, I have now sulnciently explained (1) what 
 should be the character of one who would stt^y Moral Science ; (2) in what spirit 
 we ought to judge of and accept Moral statemfents ; and (3) what is the precise 
 scope which we have set before us iujjthe present Treatise. 
 
 II,— REVIEW OF CURRENT OPINION UPON HUMAN 
 PERFECTION. 
 
 i.--What is to be understood by Human Perfection? 
 
 (a) VAGUENESS AND INCONSISTENCY OP THE POPULAR CONCBPTIOK 
 
 OP IT. 
 
 Let US now take up the subject anew from the commencement ; 
 
 and ass jiming that e very process of thought and 
 
 tiiere"'^^ suoU^t e^^^^yj^fecisiOT^onEe" wilH^^ 
 
 perfection of man, it stiuve's to realize, let us now ask what pre- 
 
 what arc Ve pre- ciseTyTh'aF puf pose is which we say thaFTTis 
 
 ciselytoimderstimd ,>— _j^__. ^n.,,- ^ . „ „ ^^-j. .-^^ _ jj 
 
 by it? tneTrasmess^Tirtne Science of Society to atta m ? 
 
 What is it which consummates all the 'good' 
 things attainable by human activity? 
 
 In regard at any rate to the name there is a pretty general 
 
 consensus among the mass of men. The masses 
 Men generally agree no less than the elite say that Happiness~^^'i 
 '"perfection^' wM Summum Bouum, andnhey^are under tE^ ' m?- 
 our ' happiness.' pressiou that ' living well and f aring well '_ is 
 
 identical with ' being happy.' 
 But if we go beyond this verbal agreement, and ask what the 
 real nature of happiness is, there are many conflicting opinions ; 
 
and often inconsis- 
 tent. 
 
 Bk. I. 2.J Translation. 19 
 
 and men generally give a very dissimilar account of it from that 
 which philosophers give. The masses define it as one of those 
 obvious 'goods' which impress the senses,^uciras"pleasure or 
 wealth of honour, and so on through many"" 
 vi^ietlesT Even the same person will oftengive Slf Jr-blT 
 a conflicting account of it : when suffering from pincss ' are vague 
 illness a man says that health is happiness ; 
 when straitened by poverty he says wealth is 
 happiness. Others, again, self-conscious pX, their ignfijance,. ad- 
 mire audenvy tEose^who utter "grand truths, transc.en,ding_their 
 ownjjomon. ^ Others, again, have thought that beyond the various 
 ' forms of good ' there is, besides, a ' Supreme Good,', jarhich 
 is good in its own right and is the cause wJaich produces-goed in 
 all lower varieties. 
 
 But irts, surely, an unnecessary task to put each one of these 
 theories to an examination : sufficient for us to criticise those 
 views which are most in vogue and which appear to involve some 
 ground of reason. 
 
 Let us now take up the subject from tlie oommencement and proceed with its 
 discussion. 
 
 Since every process of thought and every movement of the will has some 
 purpose at which it aims, what is that purpose at which we say that the Science 
 of Life aims ? All actions being directed, as has been shown, to the realization 
 of some purpose, what is that purpose towards which the Science of Society is 
 directed, and what is that culmination of all good things attainable by action, 
 which is ' the end ' of the Science of Society ? 
 
 So far as this is a question of words, there is but one single name applied to 
 this ultimate end by the mass of mankind ; and so far the masses are in perfect 
 accord with the iliti' : — all men call this end hipxriness, and suppose that ' being 
 happy ' is exactly equivalent to ' living well and faring well.' 
 
 But as for what happiness really is, — upon that point men are at issue, and 
 philosophers do not give the same account of it as mankind in general. The 
 masses proclaim happiness to be one of those goods which are palpable and 
 conspicuous, and which are commonly thought to be dear to men, such as pleasure 
 or wealth or honour, different men preferring different objects, but all of the 
 same character. Of ttimes even the same person will give a fluctuating account of 
 it, now calling it one thing, now another {e.g. in sickness, health ; in poverty, 
 riches) ; and generally, men apply the name of happiness to some particular thing 
 for which they have a desire at the moment. Again, those who are enamoured 
 of philosophy are eager to learn subjects of which they are conscious of being 
 ignorant ; and hence admire and envy those who utter grand tmths transcending 
 their own horizon. Others, again, consider that beyond the multitude of par- 
 ticular goods, there is some other good, subsisting by itself, which constitutes 
 happiness, and which is in tmth the cause to all other things of their goodness. 
 
 To examine, however, all the opinions held about happiness is surely a futile 
 task. Sufficient is it for our purpose if we examine the opinions which are most 
 in vogue and approved by men generally or which seem to rest upon some 
 ground of reason. 
 
26 
 
 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 2. 
 
 The method of 
 arriving at the 
 truth in Ethics is 
 not a priori and 
 demonstrative, hut 
 inductive — based, 
 that is, on the facts 
 of exijerience. 
 
 (b) THE TEUE VIEW OF HUMAN PEBFECTION MUST BE DEAWN 
 FEOM THE FACTS OF EXPERIENCE. 
 
 ■ 
 
 But let us not forget that arguments drawn from first principles 
 differ from arguments which lead up to first 
 principles. There was wisdom_iii_the_guestion 
 which Plato raised when he a sked wh ether the 
 method of Science proceeds'l&CHn.gpiiafiiBlirTo'' 
 particulars or from particulM;s_j2_4uimples, 
 like the course in the Stadium, which is either 
 from the umpire to the goal or from the goal to 
 the umpire. 
 
 Our own starting point at any rate in this Inquiry must, he 
 from what is known ; and things are known i n two se nses, some 
 relatively to individual p-ypgr i en cr'a n d'o'th" ers aEso IutelY andj n_the 
 nature of things. Our own starting point, then, had probably better 
 be file facts which are known to ourselves by our own experience. 
 It follows, therefore, that (if a theory of morals depends wp^ 
 •personal experience and careful perception qfpar- 
 ticutiir facts,) the conscience of the studenTought 
 to have been properly educated uuder_go0dr^TS=- 
 cipline — if, that is, he would be a competent 
 student of what is noble and great, and generally 
 of what concerns our social well-being. 
 The necessity for such an education is , obvious. 
 The moral fact being the basis^Fthe moral principle, if theyac^ be 
 perfectly clear to a man, he will have no further needtg seek fgr its 
 principle. When a man's .conscience has been so educated that 
 moral- facts are clearly and adequately known to him., sjuch an one 
 either has moral principles latent in him or could -easily .acquire 
 ■them. If on the other hand a man has no perception of moral 
 facts nor fund of moral principles, let him listen to_ these lines 
 of liesiod : — 
 
 " Highest and best is he who all things himself comprehendeth ; 
 Exoellout also is he who, wisely counselled, obeyeth. 
 But whoso naught comprehendeth himself, nor to friend ever listeth, 
 Pondering counsel in soul, he surely advantage quite lacketh." 
 
 But since a theory of morals is a tlieory of moral principle (Qie ' end' of all 
 our actions, that for the sake of ■which 'we do ■whatever -we do, being- the cause and 
 ' principle' of those actions) -we have here to consider in -what way ■we must formu- 
 late the question of principle — a question which admits of widely different aspects. 
 
 We must at the outset discriminate, ■with a certain degree of exactnesB, the 
 different nature of principles or ' causes.' One kind of cause is the ' final cause ; ' 
 another the ' formal cause ; ' another the ' material cause ; ' another the ' effi- 
 cient cause.' The efficient cause is the conscious agency of the artist. The 
 material cause is,|or example, the wood and the stones of which the house is built, i 
 
 But in order that 
 these facts may be 
 rightly read, the 
 moral conscious- 
 ness of the student 
 ought to have been 
 trained and disci- 
 jjlined. 
 
Bk. I. 2,] Translation. . 2 1 
 
 The formal cause is the conception or ' form ' of the house in the mind of the 
 artist. The final cause is the purpose for which the house has been constructed. 
 
 Since these are the causes o.f their existing to all existences, they are also the 
 causes of our Inunclcdgii of those existences : it is onlj^through these causes that 
 things are able to be apprehended by us. If, for example, a man knows the art 
 of the craftsman, in ac oordance with which he constructed the house, he will 
 know also whether the house be good or bad, so far as it falls within the province 
 of that art. In the same way, a man who knows the matter or the form of a 
 bouse will know its whole char?icter. Again, if we know what is the end or 
 purpose of the house, we shall know whether it is a good or a bad house. 
 
 An inverse process is, however, sometimes found to be applicable — ^that we 
 gain a knowledge of the causes from knowing the consummated idea of the work 
 itself. A man who knows the completed house, will recognize the art of the 
 builder ; and so in the case of the other arts. 
 
 Hence our method of treatment must necessarily be twofold — either to demon- 
 strate causes from efEects, or to deduce effects from, causes. In the present 
 Treatise we must adopt either of these modes of treatment as occasion may 
 require. We shall demonstrate our theory from principles when principles a,re 
 obvious, and from efEects when effects are the more manifest. On this account 
 Plato was right to raise the question of method, and to argue the point as a 
 material one in certain cases, whether the proper course in scientific discussions 
 was a deduction frum principles or an induction leading up to principles (as in 
 the Stadium from the umpires to the goal or clcn rcrsd.') 
 
 Since then a twofold method is open to us, whence must we take our start ? Is 
 it not obvious that we must begin &om realized effects, i.e. from the facts of daily 
 life of which the end of society constitutes the cause or inner principle .' These 
 social facts are hiwn-ii to us, and we are bound to take our start from what is 
 hnomn relatively to our own experience (and not in the nature of things). Things 
 which ai'e known in their essential natnrc are called ' principles' and 'causes,' 
 since nature exhibits or manifests' them prior to their effects, and has regard to 
 them primarily and before all else. But relatively to ourselves effects are better 
 known ; and therefore we must take our start therefrom. 
 
 In this way the course of our argument will be clearly defined as proceeding 
 from facts known to our own selves. 
 
 If then the basis of morals be a clear perception of moral facts, it behoves a 
 man who intends to study Ethics, to live in- the practice of noble and virtuous 
 actions — if he is to have a chance of understanding moral questions aright and 
 of foiining a sound judgment thereon, and of gaining profit for himself. Had 
 we been demonstrating from abstract principles that a certain course of conduct 
 was the right one, we might have won the ass§nt of a student though he had 
 not been trained to the practice of goodness, constraining him by the irresistible 
 force of argument. But since we intend rather to demonstrate our theories from 
 the particular facts of social life, and it is necessary that an assumption be made, 
 as a starting point for our demonstration, that 'such and such actions are right,' 
 it is evident that a man cannot possibly be convinced unless he has learnt from 
 personal experience of his own the truth upon which that assumption rests. If 
 on the other hand a man accept the truth with an adequate conviction of his 
 own, that ' such and such actions are right,' we shall have no further need of 
 an inquiry into the ultimate cause of their being so. Such an one either knows 
 the cause (('.r, the 'end') of moral action, or when he hears of it will readily 
 recognize it. If. on the contrary, a man knows neither the moral fact nor the 
 moral law, — if he neither knows himself nor has the power of learning from 
 others, let him listen to these lines of Hesiod : 
 
 " Highest and best is he -who all things himself comprehendeth, 
 Guarding what £or the future is beat and what to the end appertaineth. 
 Excellent also is he who, when counselled wisely, obeyeth ; 
 But whoso naught comprehendeth hunself, uor to friend ever listelh. 
 Pondering counsel in soul, he surely advantage quite lacketh." 
 
22 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 3. 
 
 ii,— Human Perfection is to be found neither in the life of Pleasure, 
 nor in the life of Honour, nor in the pursuit of Wealth. 
 
 Let US now return to the point from which, we digressed — what 
 
 is to be understood by the Summum Bonum 
 
 Popular views of or ' happiness ? ' Men seem to draw their views 
 
 the Summum Bo- f ■. ^ unnaturally, from the needs of their 
 
 num are partial "'^ j-i'j -^ "" ji 
 
 and egoistic. own lives. The masses, and those who are spe- 
 
 cially ' the sons of toil,' suppose that for them 
 pleasure would be happiness ; hence the life they covet is a life 
 full of bodily delight. 
 
 There are, in fact, three types of lives particularly prominent : 
 (1) the life of pleasure just referred to ; (2) the public or citizen- 
 life ; and (3) the life of meditation. 
 
 (1.) The masses, then, are seen to be absolutely 'slave-like' 
 
 and sensual, since they adopt as their choice the 
 
 The life of pleasure existence of mere animals ; but they have a plea 
 
 Inl^uuworthf 'S to justify themselves in the fact that many men 
 
 man. in high position show a self-indulgence like th^t 
 
 of a Sardanapalus^ 
 
 (2.) Men of refined tastes and men who are engaged in active 
 pursuits make Jionour the goal of their lives, 
 honour^rone the ^onour being pretty generally the ' end ' of a 
 success of which is public man's Career. 
 
 others^™' "^""^ B'l* it is evident that such an end is too super- 
 ficial to form happiness,^which is our present 
 quest. Honour seems to be dependent rather upon those who 
 confer it tlian upon those upon whom it is conferred ; whereas 
 we have a feeling within us that happiness is something pecu- 
 liarly our own, and difiicult to be wrested from us. 
 
 Moreovfer, the reason why men make honour their pursuit would 
 seem to be that they may gain a full assurance of their own virtue. 
 It is from men of high character, men by whom 
 ^rrdathefoth: ^^^^ ^'% personally known, and that too on the 
 standard of virtue, score of merit, that they seek to receive honour. 
 It is evident, then, that even according to their 
 own estimate virtue is better than honour. 
 
 Perhaps, then, we might assume that virtue more truly than 
 
 . honour is the end of a public career. Yet even 
 
 quires*' mS"'con- virtue manifestly falls short of the requirements 
 
 ditions satisfied for of happiness, Though a man be in possession of 
 
Bk. 1. 3.] Translation. 2 x 
 
 virtue, it seems conceivable that he may be asleep its own realization, 
 or inactive all life long, or even worse than that, ^md, therefore, can- 
 be ill-treated and suffer the direst misfortunes, mum Bonum. ^™' 
 But if a man lived under such conditions, no 
 one would count him happy, unless to defend a paradox. 
 
 But I will not here discuss this point further. An ample 
 examination of the question will be found in my Public Lectures. 
 
 (3.) The third life is that of the mystic or of The life of con- 
 the philosopher, of whose claims I shall make a t^pi^tjf ^?y be 
 
 „■,,'■ ....,, „ reserved for discus- 
 
 lull exammation m the progress of my work. sion later on. 
 
 [I pass by the life of commerce or of money-making as being 
 in a way an unnatural existence for a man, its ' end,' wealth, 
 being obviously not that ' good ' for which we 
 are in search. Wealth is not ' an end in itself,' The life of com- 
 but only useful as subservient to other things, merce is below tha 
 
 TT • 1 J Ti T . ° dignity of man, 
 
 Hence one might more readily suppose happiness and is obviously 
 to consist in one of the ' ends ' enumerated above ^° mandf of 1° *?^ 
 rather than in wealth, since both pleasure and ncss. 
 honour are coveted for their own sake; but it 
 is evident that not even are these our ' Summum Bonum,' though 
 many an argument has been lavished to prove that they are.'\ 
 
 Let us now return to the point under discussion before this last digression. 
 The point of our argument was that men entertain divergent opinions upon the 
 nature of happiness. In fact, every man defines happiness in such a way as to 
 reflect the tenor and inclinations of his own life. Hence the masses (whose 
 passions are unbridled) maintain that pleasure is happiness, and for that reason 
 the life they love is the life of enjoyment. 
 
 Indeed, if we look at the world as a, whole, there are three general types of 
 lives : the life devoted to pleasure, the life- of social interests, and the life of 
 contemplation. 
 
 (1.) The first life, that of pleasure, has in it nothing that is sacred. Those 
 who follow such a life are thoroughly slave-like, and live the life of mere 
 animals. In fact their Ufe seems only worthy of consideration from the fact 
 that there are many men in high positions who make it their choice, and 
 cultivate tastes like those of a Sardanapalus. 
 
 (2.) The second life is one which the bettor Idnd of men prefer. Those who ' 
 follow a- line of noble conduct think that honour is their true end, honour being 
 pretty generally the ' end ' of that social life to which I am referring, and the 
 aim sought for by all. But it is evident that this is not the ultimate end of 
 man : on the contrary, it must itself also be added to the list of those things 
 which seem only to be good, and which have no existence beyond appearance. 
 For that which is in very truth the good of man, and in virtae of which he is 
 happy, must needs be something depending upon his own self. Honour, on the 
 contrary, does not depend upon the person upon whom it is conferred, but rather 
 on the person who confers it. Happiness, therefore, does not consist in honour ; 
 if a man is to be happy, hia 'good' must be a thing peculiarly his own, and 
 difficult to be wrested from him. 
 
24 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 4. 
 
 Moreover, the reason why men pursue honour, is that they may have an 
 assm-anoe about themselves that they ai-e virtuous; hence they seek to be 
 honoured by men of sound judgment by whom they are personally known, and 
 to be honoui-ed on the ground of then- moral worth. It is clear, therefore, that 
 the reason why men pui-sue honour is that they may have the reputation of 
 being good and worthy men, and that on the score of their virtue ; and thus it 
 is evident that honour is not pursued for its own sake, but on aoconnt of the 
 vutne implied in it. Hence honour itself will not be our ultimate end, but 
 rather virtue. 
 
 Yet even virtue fails of being the ]>erfeot good, and therefore happiness which 
 is our perfect good cannot consist in virtue. That virtue is imperfect, is 
 evident. It is possible for a man to have a habit of virtue, though he be 
 slumbering or in some other way inactive all life through, or though he be evil- 
 entreated, or unfortunate, or fallen into great calamities, and, in consequence 
 thereof, have his virtue marred and incomplete. If a man's life is thus situated/ 
 no one would call him happy : — much less would one assume it as a fact that 
 ' happiness is the habit of virtue,' and name it accordingly. 
 
 (3.) Let these considerations suffice for discussing the claims of the life of 
 self-indulgence and the life of social interests. • I have in fact treated the subject 
 sufficiently in my Public Lectures. As for the life of meditation, I shall have to 
 examine into that by-and-by. For the present I have a different object in view. 
 
 [There is, however, still one other life, that of the money-maker ; but this has 
 practically been already considered in the lives above described. The man who 
 pursues pleasure, equally with the man who pursues honour, wishes to amass 
 riches. Hence I said that there are three types of lives which are specially 
 prominent, the life of the money-maker being included in our previous survey. 
 
 Such a life is, in fact, an unnatural existence for a man. So far from 
 pursuing that 'good' which is the 'perfect good' of man, it does not even 
 profess to pursue it. Hence there are not many by whom it is embraced. Few 
 there are who make it their choice to have money as the end of all their 
 endeavours and interests in life. It is also evident that not even does the money- 
 maker himself seek wealth as the ' chief good.' Wealth is sought only for the 
 sake of its uses, and with a view to an ulterior purpose, for the sake, that is, of 
 pleasure or honour. But the ' chief good ' must needs be good for its oicn sake. 
 Hence one might rather consider the aims ref eiTed to above (I mean honour or 
 pleasure) as the ' ends ' of life, riches being sought with a, view to the attain- 
 ment of these. Yet it is evident that neither are pleasure and honour the perfect 
 goods, though many an argument has been framed in their favour by many an 
 old philosopher, some maintaining that pleasui'o, others that honour is the ' final 
 good ' of man.] 
 
 Here we must end our criticisms upon the popular theories. 
 
 iii. — Human Perfection is not the realisation of the Platonic ' Idea 
 
 of the Good.' 
 
 (a) NECESSITY OF EXAMINING THE PLATONIC THEOEY. 
 
 It is perhaps, better that we should here consider the nature of 
 * the Universal Good,' and discuss thoroughly~the sense in which 
 ,"~~ ~ ~tbe-terni is used; although the subject is ren- 
 trrnsi'endental ^ered difficult from the fact that it was friends 
 theory, which our of ours who introduced ' the theory of ideas ' to 
 L1tot"Stt explain it. Yet assuredly it would seem to be 
 to criticize. the better part, nay, our bounden duty, that as 
 
Bk. 1. 4.] Translation. 25 
 
 we -^xa ^tlie professed ' lov ers of wisdom,]^ we sJiQjil!Lj:eiu.ta aven 
 cherished theories of our own in the interests and for the sake _Qf 
 truth, 'i'tiough lnends~a5cT truth Be equally beloved, it is a sacred 
 duty to pay to truth the greater reverence. 
 
 Since our inquiry has reference to the supreme end of man, which is thought 
 to be some one ' Universal Good,' we must consider, in regai'd to this tTniversal, 
 in what sense it is predioable, and whether there is any one ' law ' or ' conception 
 of the good.' 
 
 This is, however, an aspect of the suhject which it is uncongenial for us to 
 consider, because they are friends of our own who have introduced the ' Theory 
 concerning Ideas ' — the theory, that is, that there is a certain iSe'a of each separate 
 existence, and that this iSe'a is self -subsisting. But in spite of our regard for the 
 Platonists, it would seem to be the better course, nay, our bounden duty, to sacri- 
 fice even cherished opinions with a view of saving the truth, particularly as we 
 are 'lovers of wisdom.' Though the author of this theory was our friend, as 
 Truth is our friend, it is a sacred obligation to pay to Truth the greater 
 reverence. 
 
 (i) DESTRUCTIVE CRITICISMS UPON THE PLATONIC THEORY. 
 
 1. First Argument. 
 
 Now those who b rought forwa rd this theoij^did. not frame 
 ' ideas ' in cases where the matters oT^jtuch they 
 we re~spgirM ngJ7^'e" prior oF^bsequeut J;o one The various forms 
 another; and, for that reason, neither did they come under TcZ- 
 
 COnS^Uet anv Ilia, of numbers. mon \Ua because 
 
 _ But ^the'go od' is predk aki-simultaxmudy ^^td lo^tt 
 
 in various, categories {e.g. Substance^-IJuaiity riority. 
 
 arid _±lela5Sn), which are prior and subsequent 
 
 to one another, S ubstance and Essence, -being -pnac__to Jlela- 
 
 tfon^nT Eelation corresponding to an_o^sJiQi3t. ox ..accident of 
 
 Substance. 
 
 Tiie-fn:ferfiace is that, for these different forms of 'gpodj.. there 
 can not be any one common tSe'a. 
 
 Now those who introduced this Theory did not allow that there was any single 
 Ihka of existences in which priority and posteriority was implied ; and for this 
 reason did not construct of number any single iSta, since number admits of rela- 
 tions of ' first ' and ' second.' But there is priority and posteriority also in the good ; 
 and hence it is clear that there cannot be any single iSta (embracing all varieties 
 of good). 
 
 The proof that we can recognize priority and posteriority in ' the good ' is obvious. 
 There is ' good ' in the category of existence (as mind or God), and in the category 
 of quality (as the virtues), and in the category of relation (as ' the useful') and in 
 the category of quantity (as ' the proportionate,') and in the category of place (as 
 home — that being a place in which we pass our time pleasantly), and in the cate- 
 gory of time (as opportunity — ^that being the time suitable for each purpose), and 
 similarly in the other categories. 
 
 But in saying that ' the good ' is predicated in many categories, we are saying 
 that it admits of priority and posteriority : substance, for instance, is prior to 
 
26 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, I. 4. 
 
 relation, both, because substance exists per se, whereas relation has its manifestation 
 in a body alien to itself, and also because existence is devoid of form, whereas 
 relation consists in form being, as it would seem, an offshoot and accident of 
 existence, 
 
 2. Second Argument. 
 
 Again : since 'the good ' is predicated in as m any senses as is 
 existence {e.g. it is predicated in the categor y of Substance, as 
 
 God and InteUect, and in the categoiZ-°£QS^3'y> 
 TsLlie uTelt as the virtues • and in the categpry,i)Li2]iaatity, 
 because it is pre- as_the proportionate; and in the category of 
 Soriei" ''™''^ Relation, as the useful ; and in thejcategofy-of 
 
 Time, as the seasonable, and inth e categ'ory of~ 
 Place as home, and so on through all the caiegories), it is clear 
 that ' the_good ' will not be any one common_notion.„l,h,a,t ia..hnth 
 universalan^'one. Had it been so, it would have been predicated 
 not in all the categories, but in one only. 
 
 Again : since ' the good ' is predicated in as many ways as is existence, and 
 existence is predicated in many ways, ' the good ' wiU also be predicated in many 
 ways ; and there wiU not be any ' good ' that is ' common ' and ' universal ' and 
 ' one : '—otherwise the ' good ' would not have been predicated (as it has been 
 shown that it is) in all the categories, but in one only. 
 
 3. 'Third Argument. 
 
 Again, as there is a single science of whatever falls under a 
 
 single conception, so would there have_been a 
 
 faii''™der a" com- Single sclencc of all ' goods,' had there been a 
 
 mon lUa. because single ' iS^a.' .-.-'-— ^ 
 
 by°IsiDgie*sdence. ^^^^ '^^ ^ matter of fact, there are many sciences 
 even of things which fajl under a single category : 
 for instance, under the category ' opportuneness,' in war, there is 
 strategy ; in sickness, medicine ; again, under the category ' the 
 Mean,' there is, in food, Therapeutics, and, in exercise, Gym- 
 nastics. 
 
 Again : since of a single Ibia there is one single science, there would have been 
 a single science of aU good, had there been a single iSe'a of sR good. But in fact ' 
 there is no single science of the good ; so neither is there any single Ihia of the 
 good. 
 
 It is indeed obvious that there ai'e many sciences of the good : not only is there 
 no one single science of things existing in distinct categories, but not even of 
 those which faU under una category. For example, in the category of time, the 
 ' good ' IS the opportunity ; and this opportunity exists, of course, in war, and in 
 sickness, but does not fall under the same category. The physiciau knows the 
 crisis m disease, and the general the crisis in war. Again, ' the proportionate,' 
 which belongs to the category of quantity, isappHoable both to food and exercise ; 
 and m the one case it comes under the cognizance of the art of training-, and in 
 the other under the art of healing. 
 
Bk. 1. 4:.] Translation. 27 
 
 4. Fourth Argument, 
 
 One may further j^iss^thejjuestion as to what our friends^really 
 mean by talking o f ja thing-in-itself,' bT^a'tmng_mJhe„al)stract' 
 (wroeKgoToi'), seei ng, that i n the case of the ' ahsolute ' or' ' ideal ' 
 man, and that of the individuaT, ^ctual~man, 
 there is but o ne definitio n^ thatof man. So far fi,^® - '^^/"l"*^ 
 as eithe r the individuaror the ideaTis man, the -with the definition 
 types wiir'not'diler. If that 'brtraS-Df'^an,' of a thing, and 
 
 .■■*■: ,, . /.• , ,1 iV — "^ ' — r. therefore also with 
 
 It is eq naily trne 01 ' the g ood : in so lar as the thing itself. 
 they are 'good,' the Hdeal good ' will not differ 
 from the ' actual good.' 
 
 Since, again, in the case of man and abstract man, there is one and the same 
 definition, as also in the case of horse and abstract horse, that is, of course, of its 
 Ihka (since, were the definition different, how could there be a common iSe'a of it ?) 
 —it is evident that man qua, man differs in no way from ' man in the abstract ; ' 
 and similarly in all cases. Hence it follows that ' good ' (qua good) differs not at 
 all from ' good in the abstract.' 
 
 5. Fifth Argument. 
 
 Furthermore, a ' good ' will not assuredly be more ' good ' by 
 the^act^ of its being eternal ...... if it be 
 
 true that what is white ..fist^ign-thenfid time ?5t:S„f,,t 
 is not more white than whj,t is so-only. for a the character of the 
 sin^ day. ''''"• 
 
 It is further evident that the ideal good and the actual good will not differ, 
 qua good, though the ideal good be eternal, and the actual good be not eternal, 
 exactly as what is white for a long time is not more white than what lasts only 
 for a day. Consequently there is not an i8ea beyond itself in the case of any 
 Other class of existences, nor yet of ' the good.' 
 
 [The Pythagoreans seem to argue with greater plausibility when 
 th ey place ' unit y ' (ro .%v) in the .file jof-things 
 whicTEfigoodr Speusippus, moreover, seems to p^jja^o^Ianf ^t 
 follow in their track. But their speculations upon morepiausibiethau 
 the subject can be reserved for another treatise. *^' "^ ^'^*°' 
 
 The Pythagoreans, on their part, seem to speak of ' the good ' with greater 
 plausibility, since they ranged ' unity ' in what they called ' the rank of the 
 good ; ' and their view seems to be adopted by Speusippus. Their arrangement 
 of the list of things which are good as opposed to things which are evil, was in 
 this wise : — 
 
 finite opposed to infinite 
 
 straight opposed to crooked 
 
 unequal „ equal 
 
 light „ dark 
 
 one „ many 
 
 square ,, oblong 
 
 right „ left 
 
 calm „ agitated 
 
 male „ female 
 
 good „ evil] 
 
28 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 4. 
 
 (c) RESTATEMENT OF THE PLATONIC THEORY, AND NEW DIFFICUL- 
 TIES WHICH IT SUGGESTS. 
 
 But reverting to what was said above, a new difficulty is sug- 
 gested by the fact that the argu ments of the, 
 But assume that Platonists dojiot apjly to eve ry kind of ' good ,' 
 the term 'goods' ^^^ lihiF~onlY things" wEicF are pursuM^'atd . 
 
 IS limited to 'ab- , „ ,•' .-^ - ° -, — - — ^ — 3 t ^ 
 
 Boiute goods' : will deslred for tTiRir own sake are..r apgea under ,a_ 
 "lese ^'^absoiute gingje notion, whereas things w hich ar e^ pro- 
 Tsingie is^a ?™ ^ ductive of thesc absolute goods ^.or-jpreservative 
 of them, or preventive of th«H=-epp o 8i t e s, -are 
 predicated only a^_' instrumental goods,'_andilaaluiuio©th&r sense. 
 
 It Is clear,Then, that things may be predicated as 'goods' in 
 two senses, some being ' absolute goods,' and others ' relative ' or 
 'subordinate goods.' Separating, therefore, things which are 
 good absolutely from those which are good only as helps, let us 
 examine whether these ' absolute goods ' are predicated under one 
 single class or tSe'a. 
 
 But what, pray, exactly are those goods which jjnejffiQiiId_class 
 as 'absolute goods '? Are they not such as are pursued and de- 
 ^~'' ■ sired even when isolated : for exanipFeTHie power 
 
 Destructive criti- of^hOTTgllt Tntd-'slght and xei±aLa_jilfiasttFes and 
 the'sis" '^ ^^''■- honours ? Surely they must be so : though there 
 are~times when we pursue such things for ulterior 
 reasons, yet one would certainly also rank them among absolute 
 goods. , 
 
 Here, then, is a dilemma. (1) If such thin gs as thought an d 
 sight are not 'things good juer se;' and if, as there is nothing; 
 else which can be put into competition with them, there is in \ 
 fact, as Plato says^ ' nothing good except the Ihi a,' then the class 
 which that Ma forms will be void of contents. (2) If, on the oTEer 
 hand, sightjincLtliought are among the number of absolute goods, 
 it will then benecessary that the definition of the_i^aod7r.shflold 
 be seen to be identical in each and all of these cases (just as in 
 the case of snow and of white lead the definition of whiteness is 
 identical). So far, however, as thought, e.g., and honour are 
 ' goods,' their definitions are various and conflicting ; and there- 
 fore ' the good ' is not some one common attribute falling, under 
 one general iSe'a. 
 
 But we shall have another opportunity for discussing the bearings of the 
 subject. We must now proceed to define more explicitly the nature of ' the good,' 
 since the statements made above require further examination and refinement 
 owing to the fact that the arguments of the Platonists were not used of and do 
 not apply to every kind of ' good ' in specific detail. We must, therefore, dis- 
 tinguish the various kinds of ' good ' ia order to make our theory more exact. 
 
Bk. 1. 4. J Translation. 29 
 
 Well, then : the ' good' is predicated in two senses. Some goods are good fcr 
 se and are spoken of simply as ' goods ' and are coveted for their own saie. 
 There are other goods which are not goods per se, but are good only on account 
 of their results, heing pursued because they tend to prBserve or to produce goods 
 which are so absolutely, or because they tend to counteract their opposite evils. 
 Things good jyer se are health and virtue and the power of thought and sight. 
 Things which are good but not per se are such as, for example, the training 
 which conduces to a virtuous life, discipline, medicine and such things as are 
 sought with a view to health. Goods of this class are called also ' instru- 
 mental goods.' 
 
 Distinguishing, therefore, instrumental goods from such as are good in their 
 own right, let us examine whether there is any one single tSe'a 'of these absolute 
 goods. Evidently, then, it is a matter of superfluity to speak of an Ihia of absolute 
 goods. In what respect would the iSc'a differ from the members composing it, 
 seeing that these members are as much ' absolute goods,' as the ' i8e'a of the 
 good' itself is? The power of thought and of sight, and certain temperate 
 pleEisures and honours, even though they are sought for other reasons, yet never- 
 theless, apart from the addition of things external, are in and by themselves 
 ohoiceworthy and objects of pursuit. Hence, in this respect they are ' goods ' 
 per se and in their own right ; and we shall not have to limit that title simply 
 to the ' Ibia of the good.' 
 
 Again, if there be a single iSta of all things which are good per se, the same 
 definition of the good will be appUoable to all things which are good, precisely as 
 the same description of whiteness will be applicable in the case of snow and of 
 white lead. But that is not true in the case of things which are ' good : ' since 
 the definitions of thought and of pleasui'e, in the aspect vmder which they are 
 'good,' differ from one another. The 'good' of pleasure, for example, is one 
 thing, and the ' good ' of thought a different one. 
 
 {ct) POSSIBLE SOLUTIONS OF THE QUESTION SUGGESTED. 
 
 Iq what sense, then, as a matter of fact, is the term 'good' 
 predicated of different objects ? [Of course there 
 is herein more than a chance identity of name.] understsinding^ fta 
 
 1 . Is_the-Xiam-nion4dea4nvolved in- the-eommon (5& by the iieaiist, 
 name, owing to the %ct .thatall things which are f^.^SeSS. 
 good,' afeHerlved from a single source ? 
 
 2r~0r is it because all things which are good, cgu tribute to a 
 sLugle end ? 
 
 "BTDr is it .not rather the result of metaghor and analogy ; for 
 example, ' as si ght is in the body, so is reason in the soul,' and so 
 on of other relations in other things ? 
 
 But since, as has been shovra, good things are not predicated as synonyms, 
 seeing that they have not the same definition, we must now ask in what sense 
 they are predicated. 
 
 They may be predicated :^- 
 
 1. Universally — as having the same sound but a different sense. 
 
 2. As things which flow from a common origin. 
 
 3. As things which contribute to a common result. 
 
 4. By way of analogy. 
 
 [By analogy I mean, the figure by which r.;/. the mind is called ' an eye,' as 
 holding the same relation to the sord which the eye does to the body. It is on 
 the same principle that ' the good ' seems to be predicated : just as -wq speak of 
 a ' good soul ' so we speak of a ' good time ' and ' a good place,' The relations 
 
 i 
 6 
 
30 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 4, 
 
 o 
 
 in such cases admit of an exact parallel. Corresponding to virtue in the soul is 
 a fair opportunity in point of time or a fair dwelling in space, or symmetiy in 
 point of quantity.] 
 
 {e) THE PLATONIC THEORY IS TRANSCENDENTAL, AND VALUELESS 
 IN rRACTICAL LIFE, EVEN AS AN IDEAL. 
 
 Perhaps, however, it will be better to dismiss this subject for 
 
 the present. To treat of the Platonic ' theory 
 
 The discussion le- of ideas ' with metaphysical exactness belongs 
 
 trMeta^hys^icr^ ^ more properly to another branch of Philosophy. 
 
 For the same reason we will dismiss the farther 
 
 discussion of the ' I lka of the good.' Even_if tke^ '.good'lvhich is 
 
 predicatedTlis a common name be som e one q uality, or a thin g 
 
 isolated J"rom phfenomena and absolute in itself, 
 
 The question is one jt is clear that it will not be wlt]m-the_scQ£SSL 
 
 outside the range . . i j V ■ i i i t> , ^^ 
 
 of practical Ethics, action, nor a ..good attainamn, hy- man. But m 
 morals the subject sought is a practical good, 
 
 or a good that can be realized in action. 
 
 But perhaps it mayjae thought by some to be better for us to 
 have a krfdwledge of this ' absolute good^ in view 
 
 Even as an 'ideal' of those goMs whiclTo^'attainable and produced 
 
 t.mlT^^tZ by °"^ °^° eff°i-t- It may te "L8-ed that if we 
 is valueless. have this ' absolut§_g.Qod ' aa.,Qur pa ttern or ide al, 
 
 we shall the better understand wj bat thing s are 
 ' good-'- ijL.relat|on to our own selves ; and that, if we have such 
 a knowledge of these attainable goods, we shall succeed in 
 attaining them. 
 
 Such an ar gument has_at any rate a sho w of plausib ility ; but 
 it see ms to be a tvariance with the lessons of t he sci ences. All 
 the ScignceSjaimingThougE they severally do, aLs.ome.resjili,.an<I 
 seeking to make.g2o£the 'de&isaiisj'.-oljnaturej s4i-H-^^ the 
 
 knowledge ofJ;his ' absolute good.' Yet it is unreasonable to 
 suppose that all our artists could be ignorant of so vast a help, 
 without so much as seeking to gain it. It is indeed difficult to 
 see what advantage a weaver or a carpenter will gain in the prac- 
 tice of their art by knowing ' the good in itself,' or how a man 
 .will be a better physician or a better general who has gazed 
 upon the ' absolute Ihta! It is clear that the physician does not 
 regard health in the abstract, but the health of man as individual, 
 or rather of some particular individual: he tries to cure his 
 patients separately as they come before him. 
 
 But the discussion need not be carried further. 
 
 We need not here discuss the metaphysical aspects of the subject To refine 
 upon it with precision and nicety is a topic more suitable to another branch of 
 
Bk. 1. 5.] Translation. 3 1 
 
 Philosophy : it is not one congenial to Ethics. For the same reasons, too, to 
 treat of the ' Ihia. of the good ' in its universal bearings is a question rather for 
 the Theologian, and serves no purpose for one who is investigating the good of 
 social life. % 
 
 But even assuming that there is an ' Ihia of the good ' which is common to 
 all other forms of good and is predicated universally and is separable from all 
 other goods and subsists in its own right, it is clear that it will be impossible for 
 a man to achieve such a good and to gain possession of it for himself. But the 
 whole point of Ethical inquiry is a human good — a good which can be realized in, 
 action. Only in such a human good is it possible for happiness to subsist : a 
 man is happy only in virtue of what he himself has done or has himself acquired. 
 Hence it will be unsuitable for us to speak of any good that is not human and 
 which cannot be compassed by our own endeavours. 
 
 Perhaps, however, there are those who may approve of an opposite conclusion, 
 and think rather that it is better for us, and more expedient with a view to our 
 own conduct and to the acquisition of those goods which are capable of being 
 acquired and realized in action, that we should have knowledge of the ' iSe'a of 
 the good ' in itself. It may be argued that if we use this iSf'a as a pattern or 
 ideal of life, we may learn what and of what nature are those goods which are 
 capable of being acquired and carried out in action ; and that, if we know them, 
 Vire shall not fail to realize them. 
 
 Such a view has a kind of plausibility, but it seems to be at variance with the 
 usages of the Sciences. All the Sciences aim at some good, and seek to supply a 
 deficiency. Medicine supplies what is lacking in health ; gymnastics what is 
 lacking in strength or courage. But although the Sciences are thus occupied in 
 the search for the good, they omit the knowledge of this Universal Good. But 
 they never would have foregone such a quest, had there been any assistance to 
 them in it. It is unreasonable to suppose that our artists would remain in igno- 
 rance of so vast a succour, without so much as seeking to remedy it. From this 
 consideration it follows that the ' Ihia of the good ' is a vain and profitless 
 speculation. 
 
 There is this further difficulty about it : what advantage will the weaver or 
 the carpenter derive, in respect of their own arts, by knowing the Absolute, 
 Universal Good .' How will the physician be more competent to heal, or the 
 General more capable of victory, through having gazed upon the pure ' Xhia of 
 the good ? ' An artist, — for instance, a physician does not investigate the 
 Universal ; he does not investigate health in the abstract, but the health of 
 man :— nay, more, he does not investigate the health of man universally, but 
 the health of man as an individual : his method of cure has reference io single, 
 separate cases. 
 
 Here we may dismiss the speculations which have been advanced upon the 
 nature of the Universal Good. 
 
 III.—HUMAN PERFECTION DEFINED AND EXPLAINED. 
 i.-'Crefiofal coaception of HaJilJitiesei 
 
 Let US now return again to the subject of our quest, and ask 
 w hat is the na ture of human perfection or the Sumruiim Bonum. 
 
 It is evident that '~£he"goo d ' 'iF d ifferent in 
 different kinds of action and arts. It is some- scrfM^^aieraiiy 
 thing different, for example, in medicine to what as 'the end' to 
 it is in strategy ; and so_ we might trace its ^^^J^^u ^eifort^iJt^ 
 diverse forms in the various departments of mateiytend. 
 
32 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 5. 
 
 knowledge. What, then, is the Summum Bonum— 'the good' 
 to pyhich ev ery science has reference ? Is it not, _surely, that fo r 
 the^^ake^ofjyhich allelse is done ? Now in medicine the good 
 sought is health, in strategy, victory, in architecture, a house and 
 different things in different relations; but in all cases alike, in 
 every action and in every purpose, the ' good ' souo:ht is '■ thfr-cgd ' ; 
 —that to which all else that men pursue is co"n4ucive. 
 
 Couscquently, if there be any one^ end' for all that canJi p. 
 compassed by action, that end will be ' th e practi£ aL.gQQd ' (or 
 ' human perfection,' or ' the consummation of human interests '); 
 and if these ' ends ' be various, it will be their sum which consti-, 
 tutes our perfection. 
 
 Let us now return again to the object of our quest, and consider what it really 
 is : I mean, what is that ' end ' of which the realization is sought by the Science 
 of Life. 
 
 Now ' goods ' are different in different arts. The good sought in medicine is 
 different from that sought in Generalship, and so on. But in every art 'the 
 good ' is ' the end ' with a view to which it executes aU its various prooesses,- 
 just as in medicine the good aimed at is health, in generalship victory, in archi- 
 tecture a house. 
 
 Since, then, in every action and in every art ' the good' is that for the sake 
 of which all other things are done ; /.c. since ' the good ' is ' the end ' ; so, in a 
 universal view of things, if we discover the end of all human endeavours, that 
 for the sake of which we pursue everything else, then wiU this ' end ' be ■ the 
 good ' involved in aU human activity. Just as the ' good ' of medicine is • the 
 end ' of medicine, and the good of generalship the end of generalship ; bo also the 
 ' good ' of action will he the ' end ' for the saie of which all our actions are done, 
 and if there be not any single end but several, then these various ends will 
 together be ' the good attainable by human activity.' 
 
 id) HAPPINESS SHOWN TO BE NOT A ' RELATIVE END,' BUT ' AN 
 END ABSOLUTE AND PERFECT.' 
 
 Our argument has therefore come round after a circuit to our 
 original point ; but we must endeavour to illus- 
 To describe this trate our view of happiness with still greater { 
 
 'ultimate end -^j •'-•'■ Q— 
 
 more exactly ; Clearness. 
 
 'Since it is evident that ' the ends ' of action 
 are numerous ; and some of these ' ends ' we make choice of only 
 , . for ulterior purposes (for example, wealth, flutes, 
 are tbat it is su- ^'^^^ generally, material appliances), all ends are 
 preme, most abso- manifestly not final and absolute. But the 
 SerLt.^""^ ""'' Summum Bonum, as what is ' highest a nd best,' 
 is. evidently a thing "absHate.iQ«Hcwrfect. Con- 
 sequently, if there is any one single thing absolute and per- 
 fect, that will be the object for which we are in search; or, 
 if there be several such things ' absolute and perfect,' then itujill 
 be that_^on^f them which is most absolute and most perfect. 
 
Bk. 1. 5.] ' Translation. 33 
 
 Now when an end is_jursuBdiflrLits own sake, we call it more 
 perfect than an end pursued with a view of something .beyond ; 
 a»drwe-caftrEnrBtldn!ft^KT¥'wi»(?r chosen forjfhe sake of anything 
 else, more perfect" tlian an end chosen as well for,its„own sake, as 
 for the sake of something beyond ; and we speak of an end, with- 
 out qualification, as an absolutely perfect end when it is chosen 
 for its own sake alone, and never as a means to something beyond. 
 
 All these attributesof_pex&c.tion- and-abs0latensss-.are.-.thought 
 to be charMtefisSFoThappmess in the very highestxlegree. We 
 •nrafce~tep|Ti!iess~"the "oT^'ect of our choice always for its own sake 
 and nev er as a means'" to Tiigher'^. ends. "On 'the other liand we 
 choose honour" and pleasure, jound sense^ and all virtue not only 
 for their owrTsake'— since we should still choose them, though no 
 result accrued therefrom — but a lso for th e sake of_ happiness, 
 under the impression we have that by their means we may become 
 happy. On the other hand, as regards happiness, no one makes 
 his choice of that for such considerations as these, nor in fact for 
 the sake of anything to follow from it. 
 
 But we must endeavour to render it still more evident wliat the real nature of 
 tMs ' end ' is. Hitherto we have not made any definite statement about it, but 
 have still to examine its real character. The discussion has been traversing a 
 circle and has made no actual progress, but has come round to the very point 
 which was premised iu the Introduction that the ' end ' of all human action will 
 be the Summum Bonum and the highest interest of man. 
 
 Since then the ends of action are various, and some of them are not chosen by 
 us for their own sake, but for the saie of different ends, namely, the ends of the 
 Sciences which are Sovereign Sciences, as we have already shown, being simply 
 ' instrumental ends ' in view of those higher ends — just as wealth which is the 
 end of the money-maker's life is useful also to the statesman for the furthering 
 of his special end ; or as the iiute which is the ' end ' of the flute-maker is 
 useful also to the flute player for his playing ; and as in the same way all in- 
 struments are serviceable with a, view to further uses ; since, I say, there are 
 certain kinds of ends which are not ' goods ' per se, all ends cannot be final or 
 perfect ends. Yet the good for the sake of which we perform all our actions, 
 ought to be a thing final and perfect ; hence it cannot be any one of the ends of 
 this kind, namely, imperfect ends. Nay, if there be many perfect ends, the 
 summum bonum will be the most perfect of all ; and if there be only one perfect 
 end, then that one perfect end will be the good sought for in all human en- 
 deavour. , 
 
 Now we say that an end which is sought for per se and for its own sake is 
 more perfect than one sought for for the sake of something beyond. Again, since 
 there are certain goods sought for as well for their own sakes as also for other 
 objects, {c.g., health and the power of thought,) among such ends that is the 
 more perfect which is sought for its own sake alone, and never for the sake of 
 aught else. Such a g'ood is not more perfect simply through combination with 
 other goods, but without qualification in and by itself it is a perfect good. 
 
 Such attributes as these of finality and perfection are thought to be charac- 
 teristic of happiness iu the very highest degree. We make our choice of 
 happiness invariably for its own sake. Honour and pleasure and sound sense and 
 aU virtue are also things which we make choice of for their own sake (since we 
 should still make our choice of them, though no result accrued therefrom) ; yet 
 at the same time we also make choice of them for the sake of happiness, actuated 
 
34 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 5. 
 
 by the impression that through their means we may be happy. On the other 
 hand no one makes choice of happiness for the sake of pleasure and such things, 
 nor in fact for any motive beyond itself. Consequently happiness will be the 
 good sought for in aU the transactions and endeavours of men. 
 
 (5) THE PERFECTION OF HAPPINESS INVOLVES ITS SBLF- 
 
 SUFFICINGNESS. 
 
 The same conclusion is seen to follow from the ' self-sufficing- 
 
 ness ' of happiness ; a fi nal, absolute good being 
 
 r^tt::£ifa thonghLtoJa^o self-sufficing. 
 
 life 'lacking in By theattiabute_of^elf-sumcingness^_wejao not 
 
 "^K"iXf.''i,!«' ™plY simply what would TatisiyT]m^;s_OTgx 
 
 self-sufficmgness ,^-^,.- ~~J^-^ - ^^ — .—r^ — r-'^ S~- — ^ 
 
 of the happy man self, livmg a sequestered lite, but a sutnciency 
 rn^'i^eaTo^ilwe ^^^^^^^ includes his parents and children and wife, 
 limits) to a wide and generally his friends and fellow citizens, man 
 circle of friends jjeing in his frame and make a social being. 
 
 Still, some limit must be placed to the range 
 of a man's surroundings: if he stretdi^his- ^happiness ,.to in- 
 clude__his_parents and ancestors, his friends an d his friends' 
 fiends, the area of his sympathies will reach on to infinity. 
 What'{heSB"limits are, we will examine by- and -by. For the 
 present we as sume that ' self-sufficingness ' is a quality w hich, 
 independently and l)y~TFselT, ina¥es life desirable and in lack 
 of nothing ; and this we suppose to be a"cliaracteristic of hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Moreover, happiness- is, we think, most of all things to be 
 coveted — provided, that is, it be not reckoned in"T;he same rank 
 wiTTother ' goods ' (otherwise, if happiness were only reckoned as 
 ' one of a number of desirable things,' it would clearly be "more 
 choiceworthy and more greatly to be coveted when associated with 
 the very least of other good things ; since the addition causes the 
 sum of good things to be in excess of what it was before, and the 
 larger quantity of what is good is always more desirable than the 
 less). 
 
 ■ 
 Consequently, happiness is proved to be ' an end in itself,' and 
 
 one which is perfe6tbr,SfiIf-sufficJbig,--as^thF 'consumfflatioB7 Cf all 
 human aims and interests. 
 
 This conclusion is farther evident from the following' considerations. That 
 perfect good which is sought for as being man's perfection, is thought to be a 
 self-sufficing good ; and this self-sufficingness is such as satisfies not merely the 
 single individual living a solitary life but also his children and wife, and 
 generally his friends and fellow-citizens, since assuredly a man will need a ' good,' 
 which extends to them no less than to himself, being as he is by nature a 
 member of a social organism and made for intercourse with others. 
 
Bk. I. 6.J Translation. 35 
 
 Now the idea of self-suffioingness is that of a thing which in its isolation and 
 independency makes life satisfying and desirable and in lack of nothing ; 
 and such is the character which we suppose happiness to bear. It is evident, 
 therefore, that happiness is ' the good ' of which we are in^earch. 
 
 Again : we say that happiness is not a thing to be reckoned as one among a 
 number of other ' goods,' since we regard it as the highest of all things desirable. 
 If we were to place it in the same rank with other goods, it is clear that, by 
 adding any other good to it, we should make it otot'c desirable, and thus it would 
 not be itself the summit of aU that is desirable : — /.e., the good added would, in 
 conjunction with happiness, achieve a form of good more choiceworthy than 
 happiness singly. But the good of which we are in search is an ' absolute good,' 
 and cannot be included among other goods, being as it is, the culmination of all 
 things choiceworthy. It is a thing perfect ; and a thing which is perfect is a 
 thing most choiceworthy and absolute. We invariably prefer a good in the degree 
 of its perfection. Happiness therefore is the end of which we are in search. 
 
 But our theory of the ' self -sufficingness ' of happiness presents a kind of puzzle. 
 If ' the good ' for an individual be not perfect unto, it is adequate for himself and 
 all his connections, for his fellow citizens and friends, for his relatives and his 
 relatives' kinsmen, this ' self-sufficing good ' will never be found to exist, since 
 the circle of his sympathies w01 be ever widening into infinity. Hence some 
 limitation must necessarily be made to the range of friends to whom a man's 
 ' good ' wiU reach. We shall have to examine the nature of this limitation by- 
 imd-by ; for the present we will proceed with our immediate subject. 
 
 ii. — Sxaot and formal Definition, of Happiness. 
 
 (a) ARGUMENT FROM FINAL CAUSES. 
 
 But perhaps it may appear a kind of truism to describe happi- 
 ness as what is ' highest and best,' and a desire may be felt that 
 its nature should be explained with greater perspicuity. 
 
 This requirement will probably be met, if the * function ' or 
 work of man be taken into account. In the case 
 of the flute-player, and of the statuary, and of A^ ^''f ^'^, "^^^'g" 
 
 „ ,. 1 ,, 11 1 /! 1 m each of the van- 
 
 all artizans and others who have some defanea ous parts of man, 
 
 work and occupation, what is ' good ' and ex- ^o there must be 
 
 cellent for them in all such cases depends upon mOTarwhoTe!" ^ * 
 
 their wm-k. Exactly similar would seem to be 
 
 the case with man, if, that is, there is any function or work 
 
 which belongs to him specially as man. It cannot surely be true 
 
 that while there are certain functions and lines of life for man 
 
 qucL carpenter or qua shoemaker, there is no work for man quG, 
 
 man, but that Nature has left him without a work. There is 
 
 evidently a function for each of the various parts of man — for 
 
 the eye, for the hand, and for the foot : — shall we not also assume 
 
 that there is a function beyond and besides the functions of the 
 
 parts — a function for man as man ? 
 
 What then precisely will this characteristic function of man be? 
 
 Mere life it evidently cannot be, that being ^-^^^ j^j .^j^_ 
 
 common even to plants, whereas, what is sought sign ' of man win 
 
36 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 6. 
 
 be found in his IS a function special to man. We may therefore 
 highest and most eliminate from our consideration the life of mere 
 
 perfect life, which i j l\ 
 
 is the life of reason, nourishment and growtn. 
 
 Next in development is a kind of conscious, 
 sensitive life ; but evidently this also is a life shared in common 
 with other organizations— the horse and the ox, and every living 
 creature. 
 
 The remaining alternative is that the special function of man is 
 a life developed by the action of that part of our nature which 
 contains reason. Of this part of our nature, one element is, as it 
 were, obedient to reason : the other element contains reason and 
 consciously exercises it. 
 
 But as this life again is manifested in two ways, potentially 
 and actively, we must assume the true life of man to be one mani- 
 fested in conscious activity, since thus only does life seem to be 
 predicated in its more absolute and perfect sense. 
 
 Now, to describe happiness as ' the good which, is sought by the Science of 
 Life,' and as ' that which is best for man,' is evidently a traism. It is required 
 that we should explain the nature of happiness with greater perspicuity. This 
 desii'e may be satisfied if we can discover the work which is distinctive of man, 
 in. so far as he is man. Just as the ' good ' of every craftsman depends upon his 
 work, the good of a piper depending upon his piping, of a statuary on his statues, 
 the same principle holding good of every work and of every action, precisely so 
 the special good of man depends upon his own peculiar work — if there be any 
 work peculiar and characteristic of man as man. But is it possible that, though 
 there are certain works and actions proper to the carpenter and the shoemaker, 
 there is no work proper tOMa«,but that he is so constituted as to be a thing with- 
 out a purpose ? Is it not rather the truth that just as there is seen to be a special 
 function for the eye, for the hand, and for the foot, and in fact for each, one of 
 our physical members, so also, beyond the functions of the parts, one might find a 
 function for man as a moral unity ? 
 
 What, then, is this special function of man ? Mere life, of course, is common 
 also to plants : what we are seeking is the characteristic function of man. We 
 may, therefore, dismiss the consideration of mere life. But following after this 
 life of growth and increase, or the life of plants, there comes the life of sensation,' 
 a life more nearly approaching to the life of reason ; and we must here examine 
 into its claims. Yet this life of sensation is shared in common by other organiza- [ 
 tions, by the horse and the ox, and animals generally ; hence neither is this the 
 i-])cc\nl work of man of which we are in quest. 
 
 There is one only alternative, that the special work of man should be a ' life 
 manifested in action within the sphere of Reason.' This, again, is found to bear 
 a twofold aspect. Under one aspect it is irrational iu itself, though obedient and 
 submissive to reason. Under another aspect it contains reason, and consciously 
 exercises it. The element which contains reason, and consciously exercises it, is 
 the faculty of arranging and co-ordinating ; whereas the element which is irrational 
 is ordered and arranged by the other. Hence the rational element is more dis- 
 tinctively than the other, the special activity of man — since this rational life is 
 a real activity, whereas the other element is called 'passive' or ''receptive' 
 only. 
 
Bk. 1. 6.] Translation. j 7 
 
 (6) EXPLICIT DEFINITION OP HAPPINESS DEDUCED FROM THE CON- 
 SIDERATION OF man's final CAUSE. 
 
 Assuming therefore (1), that the true function of man is a con- 
 scious activity of soul in perfect harmony with 
 Eeason or not without its guidance ; and (2), that ieX-ifliirde- 
 we are right in saying that the function of man sign of man qiis, 
 is the same in hind, whether it be the case of an {J*™ Jf a rational 
 ordinary individual or of a perfect individual (the imn, 2UT%o°d 
 performance of a lute-player, for example, being "'^^ <f^-, ^^n'™ 
 identical in kind with that of a good lute-player) ^^ rational life in 
 — a truth which applies without restriction to all "'''"f^ '^^^ ™'- 
 cases, the superiority which comes from excel- 
 lence being added as a qualification of a particular work (lute- 
 playing being the function of the lute-player, and excellent lute- 
 playing of the true lute-player); assuming, I say, that we are 
 right in defining the function of man as a kind of life or conscious 
 exercise of the faculties and conduct regulated by Eeason, and 
 that the function of a good man is to perform this part excel- 
 lently and well, a thing being executed well when brought up to 
 the standard of its own ideal ; ... if these assumptions be true, 
 it follows that ' human perfection ' or ' the good of man ' is ' a 
 conscious exercise of the faculties in conformity with the law of 
 virtue ; ' and if there be many forms of virtue, then his activity will 
 be iu accord with that one which is highest and most perfect. 
 
 Moreover, this activity must be displayed in an adequate sphere 
 of external circumstances that perfectly harmonize with it. A 
 single swallow does not make a summer, nor does one {bright) 
 day ; so neither does one single day, nor a brief spell of sunshine, 
 make a man's whole career blessed and happy. 
 
 The special work of man, therefore, is ' an energy of the soul in conformity with 
 perfect Eeason ' when the soul is exercising thought ; or not devoid of E«asou 
 when it is moved in respect of its passive conditions acting in association with 
 Eeason. 
 
 Since, then, the energy of man is an energy in accordance with Eeason — though 
 it be exercised well and nobly, its excellence does not prevent its being stUl a 
 human energy. The functions of the lute-player, and of the skilful lute-player, 
 are not distinct in kind, it being the part of tlie lute-player to play the lute, and 
 of the good lute-player to play artistically ; but the functions of playing and of 
 skilful playing are not distinct in kind, any more than a horse is distinct from a 
 good horse. If this be true, and we regard the work of man as a kind of life, 
 and life as an activity of the soul, and actions in accordance with Eeason, it will 
 be the special function of a good man to develop his faculties nobly in accordance 
 with Eeason. But a thing is ever done well and exquisitely when it is in accord 
 with the ideal which is special and peculiar to it. The activity of man, therefore, 
 will be well and exquisitely developed when it is in accord with the ideal which 
 is special and peculiar to it : and this ideal is Virtue. Hence the ideal special to 
 
38 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 7. 
 
 man is 'an activity of the soul in aoawdancc with Virtiie; ' and if there are many 
 Virtues, his ideal activity will be in accordance with the best and most perfect 
 among them. 
 
 Here, then, has been discovered what is the ' perfection of man.' As has been 
 shown ' the good ' or ' perfection ' of a thing is its ' end.' There has thus been 
 discovered also ' the end ' of human actions and of human endeavours ; and it has 
 been shown that the end of human actions is identical with happiness. Our task, 
 therefore, has been fulfilled, and happiness has been discovered. 
 
 But it is also necessary that if the work of man is to have free range for being 
 perfected, there should be an unbroken harmony of external conditions in which 
 it may be exercised. It is not the solitary swallow nor the one bright day which 
 produces summer ; so neither does one single day nor a brief spell of sunshiae 
 make a man's whole career blessed and happy. 
 
 (c) THE DEFINITION OF HAPPINESS MUST, FROM THE NATURE OF 
 THE CASE, BE PROVISIONAL AND IN OUTLINE. 
 
 This definit ion may suffice to indicate the main characteristics 
 
 of the Sumnium "3offam7 or human perfection, 
 only a^iescriptive ^"^ ought Surely firsrofali to draw the outline 
 outline and is oa- of a picture, and to fill in the details afterwards. 
 ^ifeU"n."" To expand and explain truths once rightly de- 
 
 fined in the rough draft would seem to be within 
 any one's power ; and Time is fertile in the discovery of such 
 improvements, or, at any rate, is an excellent contributor towards 
 them. It is by such means that the development of the various 
 arts has been brought about : any one can add on the finishing 
 touches which make good the omissions of the first draft. 
 
 Here Ave must bear in mind the cautions already-givefiy not to 
 
 expect scientific precision in. jgvery subject, at 
 wuh tttiS every Step, but to be guided in each instance by 
 of subject -matter the nature of the subject under discussion and 
 rwhioh'tTe?::: f ^^^^^ .o^'Z.l'lch .^^de^re^ o^exactness asmay 
 applied. be consistent with the _ti'eatffi£nt adopted. The 
 
 carpenter seeks for the right angle in a different 
 spirit from the geometrician. The carpenter seeks for it in the 
 rough way that is serviceable for his particular purpose; the 
 geometrician, as being a student of abstract truth, seeks to define 
 what is its true nature and what are its properties. We should 
 adopt the same course of treatment generally, so that our subject 
 may never be overladen with extraneous matter. 
 .Nor, again, ought we to require an explanatie-B.of-£aasesJn all 
 
 Sufficientif ourde- "T^^ "^"f"^" }l ^7« f^^^^ ^^ ^^ sufficient that 
 
 finitioD indicate the ^'^^ Simple /aci be clearly proved; as, for ex- 
 
 rhU'^a/S ZS'' Zl^' case Of (apxal) those ultimate 
 
 the facts into their ^^^^^^ ^^^ich are the ' prmciples ' of thought and 
 
 ultimate cause, of action. The fact, whether in Morals or in 
 
Bk. 1. 7.] Translation. 39 
 
 Science, is a starting-point, and thus, a 'principle' botli of moral 
 action and of positive knowledge. Some of these ' principles ' are 
 apprehended through mental association7otTi^s~B£We~iensation, 
 others-ty'tfiFMIp'of nIoMTdiicalioff,~ai5^^ in other waj's. 
 
 We-mrn5t-€iideavDur-tt>--traT;iT-nDTrt~tlre5e-^rinciples under the 
 aspect in which they are severally presented % Nature, and use all 
 dtligepce ^iialrtheir true import be properly marked oiit, since 
 they possess^ great influence in determining what follows from 
 thenn 'The start is morei thaii half the race;' and by hieans of 
 a good start, or sound ' principle,' in Morals, it is thought that 
 many_probleais_,Q£lhc_moral .liifi .ara.simultaneously made evident. 
 
 The perfection of man may thus be defined as ' a conscious -activity of soul in 
 harmony with Virtue in a complete life.' But this definition is only provisional. 
 It is necessary of course, in the first instance, to sketch roughly our theory of the 
 Summum Bouuiu, and afterwards to elaborate our sketch as an artist does the 
 outlines of a picture. When the outlines of a subject have been skilfully traced, 
 it would seem to be an easy task and one within the scope of any one who wills, 
 to advance the work to perfection and to delineate every shade. Time itself 
 contributes its share to this result, being, as it is, fertile in discoveries and an 
 admirable promoter of improvements. It is owing to the work of Time that the 
 development of the Arts has been brought about, since it is open to everyone to 
 improve what may be defective. 
 
 We must at the same time remember the cautions which were given at the 
 outset, and not require the precision of science in all subjects alike, but in every 
 point expect only that degree of accuracy which is consistent with the subject- 
 matter, and never f m-ther than is suitable to the mode of treatment adopted. The 
 carpenter does not require that his right angle shall be as faultless as the 
 geometrician does ; but they severally require only such precision as may be in 
 keeping with the business which they have in hand. The cai'penter seeks an 
 angle of sufiicieirt accuracy to be of service to him in practical work ; whereas the 
 geometrician seeks to know what a pm-e right angle is, what is its nature and 
 what are its properties, without being desirous of effecting any material result by 
 means of it, but seeking simply a true explanation of its real nature. We must 
 act in this same spirit in other relations to prevent the accessories of our work 
 growing to a greater bulk than the work itself. If, for instance, we were to 
 demand from the carpenter a theory of the right angle — a question which is 
 immaterial to him in view of his special work, he would be put to greater trouble 
 in answering it, than in executing the practical work of his art. 
 
 Nor, again, must we search for a cause to the same extent in all subjects. In 
 certain cases it is sufficient that it be clearly proved that the /aci is so-and-so, even 
 though we cannot add a reasmi for its being so. This is even found to be the case 
 in regard to the principles of the Sciences. In regard to principles we shall not 
 have to enquire why they are but simply as to the fact wliMltcr they are. This is 
 the starting point of all scientific inquiry. If we had to examine into tlie cmise 
 of our jJrinciplcs we should never make a start, but be ever groping fmther and 
 further after an infinite ' why.' 
 
 The particular facts (on the basis of which the ' principles ' of knowledge rest) 
 are made evident to us either (1) through mental association, or (2) through the 
 medium of the senses, or (3) through the moral instincts resulting- from education. 
 
 (1.) ' Induction ' or ' mental association ' applies to such cases as that ' things 
 which are equal to the same are equal to one another' — a truth which we can 
 prove by bringing forward certain numbers and quantities, Induction being proof 
 from particular instances. 
 
 (2.) ' Sensation ' applies to such cases as when the student of Nature shows that 
 ' fire is hot ' or ' water is cold ' — facts which are ' principles ' in his science. 
 
40 The Moral Philosophy of AHstotle. [Bk. I. 8. 
 
 (3.) ' Instinct ' or ' moral sense ' is the faculty by which the principles of 
 Ethics are understood— a faculty which is the result of a moral education. It 
 is, of course, impossible to attain to a knowledge of truths bearing upon virtue, 
 uidess a man has spent his life in the practice of virtuous actions (as was shown 
 in the Introduction to this Book). 
 
 We must, therefore, endeavour to trace out the various ' principles ' of know- 
 ledge as they may be severally capable of being proved, and take due care that 
 they are made perfectly clear by means of definition, since they afford great 
 assistance in establishing the truths which are consec[uent from them. Hence it 
 is evident that ' the principle has a force equal to more than half the demonstra- 
 tion ; ' and many truths of which we are in quest become evident by means 
 thereof. In the Major Premiss ' the principle ' is invariably assumed ; and the 
 Major Premiss carries with it almost the entire force of the Syllogism. It is for 
 this reason — though for others also — that ' Major ' Premiss is so named. 
 
 So much only need here be said, in a general way, upon the question of 
 ' principles.' 
 
 IV. — DEFINITION OF HUMAN PERFECTION COMPARED 
 WITH OTHER THEORIES AND DIFFICULTIES SOLVED^ 
 
 i. — Our Definition satisfies the Conditions of Happiness implied both 
 in the Popular View and in the Theories of previous Thinkers. 
 
 We must, however, discuss th e nat ure of_Happiness not merely 
 from the terms of its deiinillJori_a]ld_Df_ilifi_ prb- 
 be verified 'by the posftious in which that definition's stated, but 
 evidence of popu- also from the view of j3opulaFQpin ion~fl.nd nif rrfint 
 Suion.'"'^" ""'^ testimony, about it. The'attributes of a thing 
 all harmonize with a true view of it; but the true 
 nature of a thing is soon found to be at variance with attributes 
 wrongly assigned to it. 
 
 In regard, however, to the ' piinoiple ' which we have laid down as the basis 
 of Ethics — I mean of course happiness, we must examine further into it, and 
 discuss not merely the definition of happiness and the terms which make up 
 that definition, but also whatever true conceptions were formed about it by men 
 of old time, to see if they are consistent with that definition. If a definition be 
 a tiue one, whatever is involved in the thing defined will be in haxmony with it ; 
 and hence also, all that is rightly attributed to a thing, will be equally consistent 
 with its definition ; whereas if the definition be a false one, the trath is soon at 
 issue with it. 
 
 (a) COMMON OPINION CONFIRMS OUR DEFINITION AS AN ACTIVITT 
 OF THE SOJJL. 
 
 Now thingswhich are good have been.diyidedmtojfchj-ee classes, 
 
 Popular chssifiea- ^ T^ f^^ ^f f "^^^"'^ ' eitefnaUoods/" another 
 
 tionadmitsthattho Dodily goods, and a third, ' spirituaLgaods,' or 
 
 IrT'^the "'hiTeit ' ^^^^^^ ^^ ^oul' Of these various kinds of 
 
 goods. %her!fore ' goods,' those which concem the soul, are, as we 
 
 happiness, as the all admit, sovereign goods— goods, that is, in 
 
Bk. 1. 9.] Translation. 41 
 
 the very highest sense; and we define 'goods Summum Bonum, 
 which concern the soul,' as 'moral actions- and ^lU be 'a good of 
 the T^SiS^Iofithe-imier life, '-flFhiet-are-thf re- 
 fore sovereign goods. 
 
 {But in saying that ' moral actions and activities are sovereign 
 goodtljoejm^^^t'th&f constitute Mp-pmemix happiness being par 
 exce llence ' the sover eipn good; ' and) therefore hap^^ess may pro- 
 perly be defined as ' an activity of tji&soul "... according, at any 
 rate, to this view which has long been held and is admitted by all 
 previous thinkers. 
 
 The correctness of this view is further borne out by the fact 
 that certain lines of conduct and activities of the.moral nature are 
 S2id_to be '_the end' ; since thus it is proved that ' the end ' which 
 comprehends all others, man's ' happiness ' or ' perfection,' belongs 
 to itose^oods whicETaHectTEe'soM^, and~nort5'those goods which 
 come from without. 
 
 In harmony also with this definition is the common proverb 
 that ' the happy man lives a noble life and acts a noble part,' 
 happiness being itself pretty generally described as a kind of 
 * noble living and noble acting.' 
 
 Now things whieh are ' good ' are commonly divided into three classes, one 
 class being called ' external goods,' another class ' goods relating to the soul,' 
 and a third ' goods relating to the body.' Of these various kinds of goods, 
 those which concern the soul are, as we all with one consent admit, ' sovereign 
 goods ' — goods, that is, in the very highest sense. 
 
 But by ' goods which concern the soul,' we mean moral actions and the 
 exercise of our mental powers. Consequently the exercise of the vital powers in 
 moral action and virtuous activities of our natui-e are goods in the highest and 
 most paramount sense ; and, therefore, the sovereign and supreme good of man 
 consists in a virtuous exercise of all the powers within the soul. And this is 
 Happiness : it is, that is to say,, ' an activity of the soul in harmony with 
 virtue ' — according to this view of it, which has long been held and is admitted 
 by all thinkers. 
 
 A certain mode of conduct and the development of the powers in a certain 
 direction, is thus rightly styled ' happiness ; ' since, in this sense, happiness wUl 
 come under the class of ' goods relating to the soul,' and not that of ' external 
 goods.' 
 
 It is for this reason also that the happy man is said to ' act a noble part and 
 live a noble life' — terms which indicate a free play of the faculties and a 
 certain line of moral action. 
 
 (^) STATEMENT OF THE PRINCIPAL OPINIONS HELD IN REGARD TO 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 It is also clear that the requisitions generally made on behalf 
 of happiness are all implied in the definition 
 
 above given. These requisitions are various. There are five rival 
 
 Some men hold that happiness is 'virtue;' abou"happints:- 
 
 otberSj that it is 'thought;' others that it is j.c. that it is— 
 
42 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 9. 
 
 (1) Vii-txie ; ' a fovm of philosophy; ' others, that it is all of 
 
 (2) Thoiight ; j^j^ combined, or else one of them in combina- 
 
 (3) A form of . ' x -ii i 
 
 Philosopliy; tion With pleasure, or, at any rate, not witnout 
 
 (5) p"^^^""^?.' pleasure. There are others, again, who would 
 
 Ail"thertreories include 'asunny condition of external pros- 
 
 probabiy contain at perity ' as iuvolvcd in the idea of happiness. 
 
 InrutT^nrwiii S°^^^ ^f t^®^^ ^"^^^^ ^^^ advocated by the 
 harmonize with our world generally and by men of old time; others 
 o*n definition. i^^ t^^ £g^ ^^^ jjy jjjgjj ^f reputation. It is rea- 
 
 sonable to assume that neither one nor the other are wholly and 
 entirely mistaken, but that they are right at any rate in some 
 particulars, or even in the greater part of what they say. 
 
 It is also clear that the expectations generally formed by men on the score of 
 happiness are all involved and satisfied in the definition above given. The 
 requirement upon which some men insist is Virtue ; that of others is Thought ; 
 that of others, some form of Philosophy. There are some again who think that 
 happiness includes all these requirements ; others, again, that some om: of these 
 conditions combined with pleasure (though a pleasure engendered by the actions 
 themselves) satisfies the idea of happiness; while others, again, include • external 
 prosperity ' in the notion. 
 
 Some of these theories are advocated by men generally and by men of old ; 
 others by the few and men of reputation. It is reasonable to assume that 
 neither one nor the other miss the tmth in all points ; but fail, perhaps, only in 
 some one particular, and are right in their main position. 
 
 (1) The vlem that ' Happiness is Virtue^ discussed. 
 
 As for those who hold that ' happiness is virtue ' or ' some form 
 of virtue,' my own definition fully harmonizes 
 
 tu^'^^!"!'!' ']t% ^^*^ ^^^''■®' ^°^' °^ course, ' an activity of the 
 be premised that soul in accordance with virtue ' includes virtiie. 
 
 lira'^comptl ^^Ki^ ''\-^ r^^ °f ^° ^l^g^t consequence 
 activity. assuredly whether we understand 'the Chief 
 
 Good' to consist in possession or in use, in a 
 passive condition or in a conscious activity. It is conceivable for 
 the passive condition to exist without effecting any good at all : it 
 may be found in a man who is slumbering or who is rendered 
 inactive from some other cause. But it is not possible for the 
 active faculty to be unproductive : the possession of active virtue 
 will of necessity lead to action and to right action. In the 
 Olympic Games it is not the fairest nor the strongest who are 
 crowned, but those who enter the lists, for among them the 
 victors must be. Precisely so is it in practical life : only those 
 who act aright find themselves the winners of its honours and fair 
 ffuerdons. 
 
 o 
 
 As for those who hold that • happiness is perfect virtue,' or ' that particular 
 virtue which among all other virtues is most perfect,' my own definition fully 
 
Bk. I. 9.] Translation. 
 
 43 
 
 harmonizes with theii-s, happiness being, aa I have defined it, ' in accordance 
 with the activity of virtue.' 
 
 But there is a difference between us on this pmnt : tl^ enthusiasts for vutne 
 say that happiness consists in the pei-manent state or possession of virtue ; 
 whereas I maintain that it consists in the use and conscious exercise of virtue. 
 This is, indeed, a point of no slight consequenoe, whether we suppose that the 
 CJhief Good consists in possession or in use — in a passive state or in a conscious 
 activity. It is conceivable for a passive state to exist without effecting any good 
 at all : it may be found in a man who is slumbering, or who is benumbed to a 
 kind of torpor. But it is impossible for an activity to be unproductive. A man 
 who has a mental power working within him, will of necessity act ; and if that 
 power be a virtuous one, he wiU act virtuously, and that is equivalent to being 
 happy. Just as at the Olympic Games it is not the fairest nor the strongest who 
 are crowned, but those who are competitors in the lists, among whom alone must 
 be the conquerors ; so also in regard to the honours and advantages to be gained 
 in this life, it is not those who have the powers of acting aright who are 
 successful, but those who put their powers to practical effect. 
 
 (2) Relations of Happiness to Pleasure discussed. 
 
 Now the life of sucli as are actively virtuous is intrinsically a 
 pleasant life. The capacity for pleasure is indeed 
 a property common to all conscious life ; but the ' Happiness in- 
 actual pleasure which an individual feels is deter- . . . certainly; be- 
 mined by the pursuits to which he is specially "^^''^e a man can- 
 
 iT , ^ AT ■ yi J not be virtuons(anu 
 
 addicted. A horse is a source of pleasure to a therefore cannot 
 man who is fond of horses, a spectacle to one either be happy) 
 
 1 . n 1 /. . T , T 2.1 J.1 unless he delights 
 
 who IS lond oi sights. In the same way the in his vii-tne. 
 doing of just acts is pleasurable to one who is a 
 lover of justice ; and, generally, acts conformable to virtue are 
 pleasurable to one who is a lover of virtue. 
 
 But as for the world at large, the objects which yield them 
 delight are mutually antagonistic to one another, since they are 
 not really pleasurable in their own nature. Only to the ' lovers of 
 what is noble ' are things pleasurable which are so in their real 
 nature ; to which class belong things done in obedience to virtue. 
 To the cultured and noble, therefore, moral actions are pleasurable 
 practically, as well as in the abstract. The life of the virtuous 
 then has no need of pleasure as an amulet to liang about it, but 
 involves a pleasure all its own, in right of itself. 
 
 In fact, beyond the considerations already given, a man is not a 
 good man at all unless he experiences pleasure at noble deeds. 
 One could never call a man just, unless he took delight in acts of 
 justice ; nor liberal, unless he took delight in acts of liberality ; 
 and similarly in regard to other virtues. If this be so, it follows 
 that whatever actions are done in obedience to virtue will be, in 
 and by themselves, attended with pleasure to the agent. 
 
 Nay, more than that : actions done in conformity with virtue, 
 will themselves of course be virtuous and noble, and will possess 
 
44 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 9. 
 
 each of these characteristics in the very highest degree — if the 
 good man be a true judge of such matters (and we have shown 
 how he judges about them). 
 
 Happiness is, therefore, a thing most excellent and noble, as 
 
 well as being most pleasurable ; and these at- 
 
 Pieasme and virtue tributes are all inseparably bound up one with 
 
 bie *eieme"nte '^ta ^^^ °ther, and not severed as they are in the 
 
 happmess. Delphian couplet ; 
 
 " Justice is noblest of goods ; and Health bringeth ease, above all things : 
 And to obtain what one loves, Nature makes sweetest of boons." 
 
 Now all these attributes are found in man's highest activities, in 
 the exercise, that is, of the highest part of his nature ; and we 
 maintain that these activities (or some one of them that is the 
 noblest of all) constitute happiness. 
 
 Now the life of such as these is a pleasurable life in and by itself, and one 
 that does not derive its pleasure from without. Seeing that the capacity for 
 pleasure is a common property of the soul, there is nothing to prevent 'th^ 
 activity of the soul in accordance with virtue' from being attended with 
 pleasure, and it is evident that it is so attended. Since in all cases an object is 
 pleasurable to a man when he is said to be specially inclined towards it, (a horse, 
 e.)?., being a source of pleasure to a man who is fond of horses, and a spectacle to 
 one who is fond of sights), virtue and actions done in accordance with virtue will 
 be pleasurable to a man who is enamoured of virtue. 
 
 As for the world at large, however, the objects thought pleasurable by them 
 are inconsistent one with another. Some think one thing pleasurable, some 
 another, and conversely with its ojiposite. The reason of this contrariety is that 
 the things which the masses love are not things which are really pleasurable in 
 their own true natme. On the other hand, to those who are lovers of the 
 beautiful, only those objects appear pleasurable which are inherently pleasurable ; 
 being, as they are, themselves of noblest frame, it is a natural consequence that 
 they should pursue only such objects as are pleasurable in very truth, and hence 
 the objects which they do in fact pursue, are actions that are in accordance with 
 virtue. It is consequently obvious that actions in accordance with virtue are 
 sources of pleasure to those who are lovers of virtue, and that for their own sake. 
 When a thing is pleasurable by nature, its pleasantness is not owing to an alien 
 cause. 
 
 Hence the life of the virtuous requires no pleasm-e external to itself to be as it 
 were a charm to adorn it from without : it contains a pleasure all its own, 
 intermingled with itself. If there be any one who should aver that 'not all 
 who are vu-tuous find delight in their virtue, since there are those who practise 
 virtue without any sense of satisfaction in so doing,' we can only deny the fact 
 and say that a man is neither virtuous nor good unless he feels pleasure in noble 
 actions. No one could call a man just unless he took delight in acts of justice, 
 nor liberal unless he took delight in acts of liberality ; and similarly in regard to 
 the other virtues. If this be so, acts in accordance with virtue wUl be pleasurable 
 for their own sake. ' 
 
 Nay more ; such actions wUl not only be pleasurable, they will themselves be 
 virtuous and noble ; and every such action will show these characteristics in the 
 highest degree— if the good man be a tme judge of such matters (and that his 
 judgment should eiT therein is hard to believe) ; and he judges that such actions 
 ai'e virtuous and noble. 
 
 Consequently happiness is a thing highest and noblest and sweetest ; and these 
 
Bk. 1. 9.] Translation. 45 
 
 attributes are all blended together ; not as in the Delphian couplet, where one 
 thing is highest, another noblest, and something else sweetest : 
 
 " Fairest is what is most just, yet 'twere best that health sh^Id be sound : 
 Yea, sweeter than all by nature is this — to compass the aim that one loves. " 
 
 All these attributes are found in man's highest activities, in the exercise, that 
 is, of the highest part of man's natm-e ; and we maintain that these activities (or 
 some one of them which is the noblest of all) constitute happiness. 
 
 (3) Relation of Ha2}piiiess to External or Physical Conditions 
 discussed. 
 
 Nevertheless it is evident that happiness requires, as we have 
 shown, certain external advantages. It is impos- 
 sible, for example, or it is not easy to perform ' Happine,ss in- 
 noble acts unless provided with outward means. vaiiia<'es'*°™^ ^''' 
 There are many acts which have to be performed, since "the soul, to 
 if performed at all, by the help of such agencies ^ '>^PPy, must 
 
 J. . -, 1 1 T ■ T ■ ^ • navoanharmonioiis 
 
 as inends, wealth, or political miluence. Again, sphere in which to 
 there are certain things of which, if men be move and adequate 
 deprived, they find the brightness of their hap- which to work. 
 piness marred and its lustre gone : for instance, 
 good birth, fair children, or beauty. A man is scarcely capable 
 of happiness if he be distorted in appearance, or base-born, or a 
 widower and childless, — even less so, surely, if he has worthless 
 children or friends, or if he once had kind friends and dear 
 children who are all deceased. 
 
 A man requires, therefore, as I have said, certain favourable 
 outward conditions to complete the sum of his happiness. Hence, 
 some writers rank 'good luck' with happiness as others do 
 virtue. 
 
 The essential natule of happiness, therefore, consists, as I have shown, in 
 virtuous actions. Nevertheless it is evident that it requires external advantages 
 IJ is impossible, of com-se, or at any rate not easy to perfoim virtuous actions 
 unless provided with external resources. Many of the best actions have to be 
 done by the help of external means, as ' instruments,' as it were, to effect the 
 result, whether friends, or wealth, or position in the State, or political power, or 
 social influence. Ofttimes when men are deprived of such resources, they find 
 their happiness to be deprived of its lustre : if, for example, he be devoid of good 
 birth, or fair children, or personal beauty. A man cannot be perfectly happy if 
 he be distorted in appearance, or base-born, or a widower or childless, or if he 
 has vicious children, or if he once had dear children and has lost them. 
 
 It is for these reasons that we say that happiness has need of favourable condi- 
 tions external to itsebf, and of the sunshine of life, to keep it bright ; and with 
 this view some have considered that the ' fair fortune ' which comes from with- 
 out is identical with the happiness of which we are in quest, and others press the 
 claims of virtue. The fact is, however, that there is need alike of ' fair fortune ' 
 and of a virtuous mind to one who would be happy in the perfect sense of the 
 term. 
 
46 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. lo. 
 
 ii. — Is Happiness within, our own power ; and, if so, what are the 
 means for its attainment ? 
 
 WITHOUT EXCLUDING OTHER INFLUENCES, MAN IS HIMSELF THE 
 MAIN AND MOST IMPORTANT SOURCE OF HIS OWN HAPPINESS. 
 
 This last discussion opens up a further question: By what 
 means is happiness to be achieved ? Is it the 
 But does happiness result of study, Or of moral discipline, or of some 
 aSstMchr" for>ii Of philosophic Culture? _ Or does it rather 
 himself can create, come to US by Way of Special Providence, or 
 ZX ' thf S "^^y it even be owing to chance ? 
 Will ? Now if there be any boon at all accorded by 
 
 Gods to men, it is reasonable to believe that hap- 
 piness is such a ' gift of heaven,' more especially as of all human 
 blessings this is the highest and best. But this 
 ^t^of^GociMs'a i^ ^ subject which will perhaps be more appro- 
 question for Theo- priately dealt with in another Treatise. Still it 
 logy : a,t any rate jg q^fte evident that even if Happiness be not a 
 
 it IS divine and ■ p. i i i i -n- i , 
 
 blessed.' gift bestowed on us by Heaven, but be a result 
 
 attained by means of virtue or through some kind 
 of study and philosophic culture, it is one of those things which 
 are most divine. As the reward of virtue, it is undoubtedly the 
 noblest ' end ' of man, and thus a thing divine and blessed. 
 In any event, happiness must be within a wide and compre- 
 hensive range: it is a thing capable of being 
 
 virtue/'^Lrmust ^'^^^^^^'^ ^^ ^'^ ^^o«° progress in virtue has not 
 therefore have a been stunted at the outset ; the means thereto 
 wnge as wide as i^ging a kind of training and discipline. 
 
 viiTjue itsfilt 5 yet -■■- . « 'i i 7 t 
 
 almost aa can Moreover, it it be better that men should gain 
 attain to virtue by happiuess by their own efforts rather than 
 
 means of self-dis- .111 •, • , , , , 
 
 cipiiue. through chance, it is reasonable to believe that 
 
 such is in fact the case ; since whatever is in 
 harmony with nature is so exquisitely designed that ' what- • 
 ever is, is best." The same law of perfection J 
 ^urJ^ie^ «^Pli^« to t^« o^^tio^s of art and to all that irj 
 us to conclude that Owing to a defined cause, especially to that 
 it is Ust that hap. noblest of all causes, virtue. It would surely be 
 
 piness should come ■,. i , . "v/uiva auiv/ij "^ 
 
 from virtue. discordant to our reason , to attribute to the capricej 
 
 of chance what is grandest and fairest in life. ''i 
 
 The question in dispute is indeed made self-evident by the defi- 
 
 nition given of happiness, which was describei| 
 
 tL°V'Ippiness ^ > conscious cxercise of the faculties, of r 
 
 beoorrect,it5esaen- specific character, in conformitv with virtue.' As 
 
Bk. I. 10.] Translation. 47 
 
 for other ' goods ' there are some which it is tial chai-acter is a 
 
 essential for a man to have if he is to be happy, ^Mch^neef "be- 
 
 whilst others are in their nature co-operative ^d yond itself only few 
 
 helpful in the way of instruments. tiot.'™^^^ ™'"''' 
 
 This truth will be in accord with what was pre- 
 mised at starting. We laid down the principle that the ' end ' of 
 social science is the noblest of all ends. Now 
 
 this Science regards it as its supreme concern to ^^,;i uff^'^^sujaes 
 
 give to citizens a definite moral character and that happiness can 
 
 to render them disposed to practise noble acts. fi^ed'aSs-it 
 
 It is reasonable, therefore, that we should call virtuous activities; 
 
 neither ox nor horse nor any mere animal f^' consistently 
 
 •' . therewith we count 
 
 ' happy,' seemg that not one of them is capable no one happy who 
 of taking part in any virtuous activity from '®. ""' capable of 
 which happiness could arise. For the same 
 reason neither is a boy happy : owing to his youth he is as yet 
 incapable of sucb activities as are requisite to acquire haj^piness. 
 If ever boys are called happy, it is only because they are compli- 
 mented by reason of the hopes formed of them. 
 
 Happiness in a word requires matured virtue and jierfect 
 harmony in its external relations, to last all life 
 through. Many the reverses and many the These virtuous ac- 
 changes which take place in the course of a long continued^aU life 
 life. It is possible for a man in the highest pros- through, if the 
 perity to incur great misfortunes as he nears old '°?™' freedom be 
 
 I: J ^ o ^ taken away by ca- 
 
 age, as terrible as those which the Myth records lamity, vii-tue and 
 of Priam in the heroic poems. But if a man ^applness become 
 
 ■^ impossible or dim- 
 
 has encountered sorrows such as those, and has cult. 
 ended his days in wretchedness, no one counts 
 him a happy man. 
 
 In view of this difficulty a question arises whether happiness be a result of 
 study or is attained through some process of culture, or through constant habitu- 
 ation to virtuous actions, or through some other form of discipline : or whether, 
 on the contrary, it be a gift bestowed on men by the Gods, or even the effect of 
 some chance. 
 
 Jsow if there be any boon at all accorded by God to men, it would seem that' 
 happiness is veritably that boon. Far more than all other blessings is happiness 
 • a gift from Heaven,' in proportion as of all other human interests this is the 
 greatest. But to argue upon these points belongs to a discussion upon Providence 
 and to a different kind of Treatise. We must pursue our investigations upon 
 grounds suitable to the plan which we have set before us. Still it is quite evident 
 that even if happiness be not a ' boon of Heaven ' but be owing to virtue, or to 
 some kind of philosophic culture, it is one of those things which are most divine. 
 The reward of virtue and ' the end ' of man (which happiness itself exactly is), 
 is manifestly of highest worth, and a thing divine and blessed. 
 
 Wide and comprehensive for all will its range be found to be : it is possible for 
 it to be the heritage of all who are not dwarfed in understanding nor incapable 
 
48 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 11. 
 
 of being incited to the pursuit of virtue, the means thereto being a kind of 
 training and study. 
 
 Indeed, happiness as resulting from exercise and discipline, will, it is reasonable 
 to suppose, be greater and more perfect than anything resulting from chance. 
 This principle is a universal one. Whatever is brought about by a defined cause, 
 whether of art or of nature, is better than anything which is produced by chance • 
 and more especially is that the case in the creations of that noblest of all causes, 
 virtue. Besides, to entrust to fortune the keeping of the highest and noblest 
 good, happiness, would prove an utter discord in nature. 
 
 This truth is indeed self-evident from the definition of happiness which was 
 laid down. Happiness was described as ' an activity of the soul according to 
 virtue in a complete life.' As for other goods, they are partly bodily, resulting • 
 from the body itself, and partly incidental to the body ; and of these some are 
 necessary with a view to happiness, and others aie, as it were, instrumental to it. 
 Necessary goods are bodily health and the sustaining of life, and those things in 
 lack of which it is impossible for happiness to be completely realized. Instru- 
 mental goods are such helps as wealth or friends. If, then, this is the definition 
 of happiness, how could it possibly have its source and cause in chance ? An 
 activity of the soul cannot result from chance. 
 
 Hence what was said of ' the end ' of Social Science is consistent with this 
 definition. We said that ' the end ' of Social Science was the Chief Good, 
 and therefore happiness (i.e., the realization of the Chief Good) was to be found 
 thereby. It is then with good reason that we assert that neither horse nor ox 
 nor any mere animal is ' happy,' since not one of such creatures is there able to 
 participate in the activities of social life ; and for this very reason neither is a 
 child happy, since, that is, by reason of his tender age, he is incapable of per- 
 forming moral or social acts. When children are called happy, it is because they 
 are complimented on account of the hopes formed of them : the essential oondi- »' 
 tions of virtue are, as we have shown, virtue and a complete life. '^i 
 
 1 say that an ' harmonious life ' is essential, because there are many reverses 
 and all kinds of vicissitudes which befall men in the course of their lives. It is 
 'quite conceivable for a man who is in the very highest degree of prosperity to 
 encounter storms of adversity as he nears old age, as in the myth which is told 
 of Priam, in the heroic poems ; and when a man has met with misfortunes such 
 as these and has died in. wretchedness, no one counts him happy. 
 
 ill.— Is Happiness still possible for a Man, so long as sorrow may 
 overtake him or Ms friends ? 
 
 (ffl) SOLON'S VIEW VAEIOUSLY STATED AND CRITICISED: THE 
 AMBIGUITIES OF IT. 
 
 Is there then no man in all the world whom we may count . 
 happy, so long as he is yet alive, but rather, 3 
 In view of possible as Solon's dictum is, must we wait to see his 
 
 calamities, is any- ^^^ y 
 one happy in life, ' 
 
 or not until death? buppose the case to DC SO :— -still, is it true in 
 fact that a man is happy even when he is dead ? 
 
 Is not that an utterly inconsistent view for us to take that "^ 
 
 -^ . •. T- • V, *^^^^ should be happiness in death, more par- \ 
 
 Yet if happmess be +;„ „i„„i„ „ j j2 i - , ^ >. 
 
 a virtuous aotivity, ticularly as we define happmess to be a mode 
 
 and death be anni- of COnSCioUS activity ? 
 hilation, how can 
 a man be happy in 
 
 death? Suppose another case, and that we say— not 
 
Bk. I. ll.J Translation. 4§ 
 
 that the dead man is happy, and that such is not the idea which 
 
 Solon intends, but rather that not until his death 
 
 can we safeh' count a man to have been hapiiv, ?'^*„ suppose that 
 
 , . 1 ,1 , o ■ ,. rm death IS not anni- 
 
 as being only then out of reach of evil and hiiation : the con- 
 sorrow; this opens up a new difficulty. It is fi°™"sf »* tj^e 
 
 j.1. • 1 J j-i, i J. J 1 XI ■ 1-1 departed will be 
 
 thought that even to a dead man there is a kind afflicted by the 
 of good and evil : just as good or evil may ^onws of their 
 befall a man in his lifetime without his being 
 conscious of it : for example, honours and disgraces, successes and 
 misfortunes, to his children and generally to his descendants. 
 
 This latter view again presents a difficulty. A man who has 
 
 lived happily until old age, and who has died as 
 
 he has lived, may still encounter many reverses ^^^ '^**™ suppo- 
 . , . , T n 1 ^.^xov^o sition seems mon- 
 
 .in his descendants : some of them may be good strous :— that the 
 and find a life in accordance with their deserts, ^^^^ ■ ^^°"^\ J'^ 
 
 . r^-, conscious and that 
 
 others again may experience the contrary. Clearly, their happiness 
 then, it is quite conceivable for men, in their ?^°t-^'^ ^^ ^f '^^\ 
 different degrees of relationship to their ancestors, their descendants 
 to stand in all kinds of attitudes to them. But °" ^F^^- ^*''>' 
 that the dead also should be conscious of all these ■htouH be the sup- 
 vicissitudes, and change their own lot at every position that death 
 
 ,. .. n ,T ^ !• iji ■ n • 11 • , IS mtconsciousness. 
 
 alternation oi that of their iriends, becoming at 
 one moment happy and at another wretched — that would be a mon- 
 strous fate. Yet assuredly it would be none the less monstrous 
 if we took the other alternative — that the fortunes of descendants 
 do not for the very least moment penetrate to ancestors. 
 
 But let us revert to the problem as originally stated : the ques- 
 tion now raised may perhaps be explained by the light of it. 
 
 Assuming then that it is necessary ' to see the end,' and not 
 till then count a man happy (not on the Bcore of 
 his actual happiness, but because he has once '^''^™ '^T'^^th""' 
 been happy), surely it is absurd that while a who an happy 
 man i& happj'^, the existence of his happiness shoxiid not be caWed 
 should not be credited to him, merely from a rate'provisionaiiy. 
 dislike to congratulate the living from appre- 
 hension of possible reverses, or from having formed a con- 
 ception that happiness is something abiding and by no means 
 susceptible of change, whereas fortune is constantly alternating 
 and reversing her position even in the lifetime of the same 
 individuals. If we are to follow in the wake of fortune we shall 
 clearly have to call the same person at one time wretched, at 
 another time happy, revealing the happy man to be as changeful 
 
5o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 1. 11. 
 
 as a chameleon, and one whose condition rests on an insecure 
 foundation. 
 
 Is it right, then, to call any human being' happy whilst he is still alive, or 
 ought we rather ' to see the end ' as Solon warns us. 
 
 Suppose we assume this principle of Solon : will a man be really happy even 
 when he is dead ? Is not such* a principle quite absurd, that a man shoiid gain 
 his happiness by dying — especially as happiness was defined to be ' a mode of 
 activity ? ' The inference from such a principle would evidently be that happineK 
 consists in absolute inaction ! 
 
 But suppose we state the case thus — ^that neither we ourselves nor Solon count 
 the dead man happy on account of his having died, but because his life has been 
 a life of blessedness right to the end, and because after a man's death one could 
 safely count him happy, as being henceforth out of the reach of evils and 
 misfortunes. 
 
 Yet not even does this solution appear satisfactory. There is still a difficulty 
 herein ... if we admit that to the dead man as to the living there is any Mnd 
 of good or evil, and that he is conscious of it. Such an one will experience 
 various phases of joy and sorrow, disgi-ace and honour. The successes of descendants, 
 and children are put down to the account of the dead, to swell their felicity. 
 Consequently the dead are happy and blessed on the score of the happiness of 
 their descendants, and miserable on the score of theic misfortunes. 
 
 This latter view again raises a still further difSculty. A man may have lived 
 his own Hfe happily, and have died a death in harmony with his life ; and yet it 
 is possible for many reverses to befall him in regard to his descendants, and for 
 some of them to be good and to enjoy a life suitable to their deserts, and for 
 others to be the reverse. It would however be a monstrous thing if the dead 
 man's lot were to vary with every variation in the fortunes of his descendants,- 
 and to become at one moment happy, at another moment miserable. On the other 
 hand it seems an equally irrational view that the living should not impart their 
 fprtune to those who are departed and are bound to them by nearness of race. 
 
 But let us revert to the question as originally raised, and ask whether we ought 
 not to count men happy whilst living, bu.t only after their decease. The question , 
 which has since arisen may perhaps be elucidated by means thereof. '* 
 
 If, then, it be necessary • to see the end ' and not till then count a man happy 
 (not as though he were happy through having died, but because he was so 
 formerly), surely it is absurd that whilst he ■('« happy, the quality which actually 
 belongs to him should not be credited to him, but that we should shrink from 
 calling him really happy, from an unwillingness to call the living happy and 
 from having regard to the misfortunes of life, or from having formed a 
 conviction that happiness is something abiding and least of all things subject to 
 change, whereas fortune is the entire opposite. But if we foUow in the wake of 
 fortune, we shall have to call the same man, time after time, now happy and now 
 miserable, making the happy man to appear as changeful as the hues of a 
 chameleon, or as one whose happiness rests on a rotten foundation. 
 
 {b) SOLON'S DICTUM DISPRO'VED BECAUSE THE MAIN ELEMENT IN 
 HAPPINESS IS A VIRTUOUS ACTIVITY 'WHICH IS -WITHIN A 
 
 man's ows fo-wer. 4i 
 
 Yet surely it is in no sense a right conclusion to say that our 
 Solon's dictum is happiness follo'ws the course of fortune's caprica J 
 in fact inconsistent Not upon fortune does it depend -whether we msi 
 
Bk. 1. 11.] Translation. 51 
 
 our life well or ill — though, for its completeness with the essential 
 our human existence requires, as we have shown, '''''f °\ happiness 
 certain external advantages. What deterniines ofthefaJuitw" 
 our happiness is the exercise of our powers in 
 conformity with virtue ; what causes our misery is the exercise of 
 our powers in the practice of evil. 
 
 This view of happiness is corroborated by the above argument 
 concerning the insecurity of fortune. Stability 
 is a property found in association with no per- Whatever be a 
 formances of man so closely as it is with the Se"'' exe™se 'tf 
 activities regulated by virtue. These virtuous hisfaonities accord- 
 activities are thought to be more stable than ™s^ *<!,:^'*'^^' "^^ 
 
 . ° 1 , , J. ,1 1 . 1 a stability and per- 
 
 even the sciences: and those ot them which are manenceof itsown. 
 most revered have this quality of ' permanence ' 
 in the highest degree, because the blessed live out their lives in 
 the exercise thereof in the highest intensity and with the least 
 intermission. This fact seems the cause why no forgetfulness is 
 possible in regard thereto. 
 
 Accordingly this quality of ' permanence,' of which we are in 
 quest, will be found in the happy man, and he will 
 continue happy all his life throuo^h. Incessantly, '^J^^ '^' therefore, 
 
 . , , . , n -n • • nothing so peiina- 
 
 or more than anything else, he will continue m nent as the happi- 
 the practice and study of the laws of virtue. As ness which virtue 
 for the accidents of fortune, he will bear their 
 shock with perfect heroism and in a manner that is thoroughly 
 consonant with his character, as being assuredly a man who is 
 genuinely good and whose life is ' foursquare and flawless.' 
 
 In reply to this last objection we may say that it is in no sense right that our 
 happiness should follow the course of fortune's caprice ; nor is it the fact that it 
 does. Happiness does not consist in the gifts of fortune, nor misery in the want 
 of those gifts, though for its completeness human existence requires them, as we 
 have shown. But the essence or real character of happiness does not depend upon 
 such things, but upon the development of the powers in accordance with virtue, 
 as has been premised. 
 
 Happiness of course must be a thing which is permanent ; and therefore cannot 
 possibly consist in the gifts which come from foi'tune. The whole scope of the 
 Inquiry which we set before us from the iirst is in confirmation of this view. 
 Our Inquiry took its start from the assumption which was laid down, that happi- 
 ness is something aMding. But among all the creations of man there is no such 
 stability found as in the exercise of our powers in conformity with virtue 
 wherein happiness consists. Virtuous activities are in fact found to be more 
 abiding even than the pursuits of science ; and among these moral excellences, 
 again, those which are most precious are those which are most abiding, for the 
 very reason that the blessed live a life of highest intensity, and of most perfect 
 repose in the exercise thereof, their employment in the practice of virtue 
 never being interrupted even for the slightest moment owing to the charm 
 and delight which such a mode of life entails, as I have shown. For this reason 
 also men never suffer forgetfulness of a virtuous consciousness. 
 
 Since, therefore, happiness does not consist in fortune, but in actions which 
 
 E 2 
 
52 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 11. 
 
 are in accordance witli virtue, the required conditions will all be found in the 
 happy man : his ' good ' will be a permanent good, and he will be happy all his 
 life long. Incessantly, or more than aught else, he will meditate in heart and 
 realize in conduct truths in accord with the law of right. As for the threats of 
 fortune, he wiU take up his stand against them ; aud he will not feel his moral 
 attitude reversed when circumstances are adverse to him. Whatever misfortune 
 may light upon him, he wUl bear it in the noblest and most seemly manner, being 
 as he is a man of genuine goodness, ' a perfect square,' with a character fault- 
 less at every point. 
 
 (c) STILL FORTUNE HAS A CERTAIN INFLUENCE, THOUGH IT BE A 
 SUBORDINATE ONE, UPON HAPPINESS. 
 
 But as there are many things which happen in the way of 
 
 fortune and which differ in their relative impor- 
 
 Circiimstanees can- t^nce or insignificance, such as are trifling, 
 
 not cr63>'i/6 j^'^T, iiii. 
 
 neither can they whether as successes or as reverses, clearly do not 
 utterly destroy change the balance of a man's life. On the other 
 hand, things important and constant, when they 
 turn out auspiciously, will make a man's life happier still (since 
 they are of a nature to heighten the lustre of life, and the employ- 
 ment of his advantages becomes a source of honour and credit to ■ 
 the possessor). When, on the contrary, a man's circumstances j 
 take an adverse turn, they mar and disfigure his happiness : for 
 they put upon him a burden of sorrow, and interfere with many of 
 his activities. Nevertheless, even in adversity a man's true worth 
 shines through the gloom of his surroundings, when he bears 
 calmly and patiently -many and sore afiiictions, not because he is 
 insensible to them, but as being a man stout-hearted and noble- 
 minded. 
 
 No one, then, who is happy will become miserable, if the causes 
 
 which govern life be — not fortune, but the exer- 
 
 i^evertecompiotdy "ise of a man's own powers, as we have shown. 
 
 lost 30 long as a \Life being synonymous with activity^ and a happy 
 
 Sious™"*™"^^ ''^' ^^-f^ '"'^^^^ * virtuous acticityl the happy man, being 
 also a virtuous man, will never do aught that 
 could make him unhappy — he will never commit deeds disgrace- 
 ful or hateful. 
 „, . , In fact, the idea that we have of a man who 
 
 The virtuous man . .- , in it . ■ ,^ ^ 
 
 gives a ' happy IS genumely good and oi sound discretion is, that 
 tuni ' even to most he bears all the accidents of life with dignity and 
 ^xln^H : he " is grace, and acts invariably in the most noble man- 
 happy in spite of ncr to the extent of the means in his power and 
 uniess™his'^ suSer^ ^^ circumstances admit ; just as a skilful General 
 ings are incessant avails himself of his existing forces with all the 
 thLhTafhfmS Strategy of war, or as a good shoemaker makes 
 bocnishedbythem. the finest pair of shoes possible with the materials 
 
Bk. I. 11.] Translation. 53 
 
 at his command, and so on with artists generally. If this be 
 true, the happy man can never become miserable, though cer- 
 tainly he will not be perfectly happy if he coSies to be involved 
 in sorrows like those of Priam. Yet of course he is not at any 
 rate changeful, nor is he easily swayed to and fro : he will not 
 lightly be dispossessed of his happiness, certainly not by ordinary 
 misfortunes, but if at all, only by great and manifold sufferings. 
 So too, after great trials, such a man will not regain his happi- 
 ness in a short time, but, if ever, in the course only of a long 
 career presenting an unbroken harmony to his activities, in which 
 he has gained great honours and dignities. 
 
 But as there are many things wMoh result from fortune, some of them being 
 serious and others trifling, such as are trifling for weal or woe will not cause 
 trouble nor anxiety to the good man, nor briug any change into his life. But 
 when the changes of circumstance are numerous and important, if on the one 
 hand they are tokens of prosperity, they will make his life one of greater 
 blessedness : they add to the charm and lustre of happiness, since the good man 
 turns them to the noblest and most beautiful uses. If on the other hand these 
 changes are disastrous, they harass and mar the condition of his blessedness, and 
 are hindrances to the play of many of his faculties. Nevertheless even in 
 affliction the nobility of his character flashes through the gloom, when a man 
 bears calmly and patiently many grave misfortunes, not through insensibility or 
 callousness, but as being one who is stout-hearted and noble-minded. 
 
 No one, indeed, of the happy can ever become unhappy — if it be true that 
 happiness has its essence in the activities which are in accord with virtue : in 
 other words, no one who is blessed will ever act in such a way as to bring about 
 vmhappiness to himself : will never commit, that is, actions disgraceful and evil 
 which alone can cause unhappiness. 
 
 Indeed the idea which we all entertain of a man who is of sound discretion 
 and genuine goodness, is that he will bear all chances and changes with befitting 
 dignity. Just as the best workman displays the genius of his special art in 
 common, ordinary material, and as a General manages the forces at his disposal, 
 though they be inadequate, with the utmost strategy ; and as a clever shoemaker 
 works the finest sandal from the materials given him, and all artists, likewise, in 
 their special crafts ; precisely so the happy man will not always expect ' the 
 favouring tide and prosperous breeze,' but will ever perform noblest deeds to the 
 extent that his existing opportunities admit. For this reason the happy man will 
 never become miserable, but wUl simply be ' not happy ' so far as fortune is con- 
 cerned, should he encounter afflictions like those of Priam. Yet of course he will not 
 be shifting nor prone to chabge : he will not easily be dispossessed of his happiness, 
 and never by ordinary misfortunes, though perhaps he may be if they are serious 
 and repeated. Not even by dire affliction will he be easily dispossessed. Moreover, 
 even when relieved from the strain of affliction, not in a short time will he 
 revert to that state of perfect good from which he has even slightly deviated, 
 since he is a man not easily changed from one thing to another. StUl after a 
 long interval he may become happy again, if he has meanwhile achieved great 
 triumphs and dignities. 
 
 {d) HAPPINESS IS, THEHEFOKE, WITHIN OUE OWN CONTKOL, BUT 
 SUBJECT TO THE CONDITIONS OF OUR MORTALITY. 
 
 What reason, then, is there to prevent our calling a man happy 
 if he is developing a life in conformity with perfect virtue, and is 
 
54 Tlie Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 11. 
 
 sufficiently provided with external goods, and that, not for a 
 casual period, but for his whole lifetime ? ... or 
 TliB main coiiclu- must we add the limitation, ' who shall continue 
 Samlu'r^b: tlie even tenor of his life and shall die a death in 
 happy and may be harmony therewith ? ' Such a limitation is ne- 
 i^tMs''''ufe, Tu" cessary, because the future is a thing hidden from 
 his happiness is US, whereas we assert happiness to be ' an end,' 
 
 tebUityoUlithiTs ^^'^ ^ *^^°o '^^^'^'^ ^ aspects ' complete and final 
 human. in itself.' 
 
 If this view be the true one, we may call all 
 men blessed even in their lifetime, when the conditions here de- 
 scribed are realized by them and continue to be realized until 
 the end. But their blessedness will be such only as is possible 
 for man. 
 
 These limitations may suffice to define the influence of external 
 circumstances upon the attainment of happiness. 
 
 What reason, then, is there to prevent our calling a man of this stamp happy 
 when he is developing a life in accord with perfect virtue, a man who, if he has 
 met with misfortune in his outward career, will come back again to prosperity — 
 a man, moreover, who is amply furnished with external resources, and that not 
 for a casual period but until his death, and one who shall pass his whole life in 
 this spirit and die a death in harmony therewith 1 [I only add the condition of 
 ' external goods ' because happiness is the consummation of all human concern? 
 and interests, and for this reason ought to be a. perfect good, and one deficient in 
 no single particular.] 
 
 If these conditions be fulfilled, we need not wait untU their death to call the 
 happy by their rightful name ; but we may call all men happy in whose life the 
 qualities enumerated above are found and continue until the end, and we may 
 call them happy in their own lifetime. But they will be happy only as it 
 is possible for men to be, with a human happiness — a happiness, that is, which 
 does not admit of the realization of ' the good ' in an absolutely perfect form. 
 
 Thus much only need be said to show that we ought to call men happy if they 
 are happy, in their own lifetime. 
 
 iv.— Is Happiness possible for man after Ms decease; or do the 
 sorrows of earth still pursue him ? 
 
 Now, in regard to the influence which the fortunes of our 
 descendants and of our friends generally have 
 
 But what of the . ^.i j. j_t n '' 
 
 condition of men "Po^^ "s, to Say that they do not contribute in any 
 
 after their decease? degree whatever to our condition hereafter, is 
 
 heightenedTT evidently a misanthropic view and repugnant to 
 
 minished by the the beliefs of men. 
 
 fSon°Uhf ^^* ^ t^e fortunes which befall men are mani- 
 fold and present all kinds of aspects, some reach- 
 ing further home .than others, to distinguish each kind in detail 
 
Bk. 1. 11.] Translation. 
 
 55 
 
 would evidently be a tedious and interminable task : it will be 
 sufficient for our purpose if the distinction be drawn broadly and 
 in outline. • 
 
 If, therefore, the case as it affects one's friends is parallel to 
 the case of the sorrows which befall one's own 
 self, some things entailing heavy affliction and Two points must 
 exerting a powerful influence upon life, whilst srderatToV"-°the 
 other trials resemble things of lighter burden ; relative importance 
 and if, moreover, afflictions differ severally on °*j^u'°j^^'^""®' 
 
 '. 1,11 -1 <, ^^"^ *"S difference 
 
 this pomt, whether they happen m the case of between being the 
 the living or of the dead, the difference being and'helrin'^'^iJIdf 
 much greater than that between horrors openly rectiyofit.° 
 enacted, and horrors assumed to have happened, 
 on the stage — we must of course take these considerations into 
 account in forming our judgment on the question at issue. Per- 
 haps, indeed, we ought rather to argue out the prior question 
 which arises in regard to the departed, whether they continue or 
 not to share in earthly good or evil. Looking at the arguments 
 stated above, it would seem that even if anything does penetrate 
 to the dead, whether good or evil, it does so in a degree trifling 
 and slight (either absolutely or relatively to their condition), or if 
 not that, yet it is only of so much consequence and of such a 
 character as not to make happy those who are unhappy, nor to 
 take away their felicity from the blessed. 
 
 To a certain extent, then, the fortunes of those whom they loved 
 in life seem to contribute to the felicity of the 
 departed ; and their misfortunes seem to detract fannot^ weiX*'so 
 from that felicity ; yet only iu such a manner and heavily upon the 
 only to such a degree as not to render the happy Sf/^hek lo? 
 unhappy, nor to produce any such absolute in- from happiness to 
 fluence upon their lot. ^^^^^' ""'^ ''''' 
 
 We must now reply to that other question which was raised — whether the con- 
 dition of the blessed will appear to them less blissful from their descendants or 
 friends falling into soitow on earth. As for the view that nothing, whether good 
 or evil, penetrates to the blessed from their posterity, or from those who are in any 
 way related to them, — ^that is a misanthropic theory and at variance with the 
 feelings of mankind, since man is a social and sympathetic being ; nay more, it 
 is contrary to universal belief, since it is agreed by all men that the interests of 
 their friends are common also to themselves. 
 
 But as the accidents which befall the relatives of the blessed dead are various, 
 and present every kind of phase, some contributing more and others less to happi- 
 ness — to distinguish these various degrees of fortune in detail seems to be a vast 
 and interminable task : it will be suflacient for our purpose if we distinguish them 
 broadly, and, as it were, in outline. We will then discriminate between these 
 various kinds of misfortune upon the same principle as those which befall the 
 blessed in their own lifetime, and assume that certain oircimistances are great and 
 important, and have great influence upon life, whilst others are trifling and of 
 
56 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 1. 12. 
 
 less consequence. There is, moreover, a further difference between the circum- 
 stances which befall relatives whilst the fortunate ones are still alive, and those 
 which befall them after their death — a difEerence quite as great as is presented 
 by crimes designed and carried out on the stage, and crimes assumed as having 
 been already enacted, of which these representations are but shadows. We must, 
 therefore, examine into this distinction. Better stOl is it that we should consider 
 whether the blessed after their decease share with their relatives the vicissitudes 
 of their fortunes. It is certainly evident that, even if aught reaches to them from 
 their relatives, whether good or bad, it is trifling and slight, either as being so in 
 its own nature, or because it is so relatively to their condition, even though it be 
 found to be great on earth, because the blessed are no longer living a human life. 
 But though earthly wants exercise a kind of influence, yet that influence is not 
 of an extent nor of a character to make those happy who are unhappy, nor to take 
 away their blessedness from such as are happy. 
 
 The inference is that there is a, sympathy penetrating from the living to the 
 dead, yet that the character and extent of that influence is such as in no wise to 
 bring about a change in the condition of the departed. 
 
 V. — Is Happiness a thing of absolute or of relative value ? 
 
 Now that these questions have been decided, let us further 
 .^ investigate the question whether happiness he- 
 
 happiness take in longs to the class of things which are worthy 
 our esteem ? Is it of praise, or to the class of things which are 
 
 a good that IS credl- , i jt j.i • ^ 
 
 table or a good that honoured for their own sake. 
 
 is adorable ? 
 
 [It is obvious, of course, that happiness is not 
 potintLtgtor'" '^t ^i^y.rate one of those things which are in- 
 determinate and potential.] 
 
 Now it is quite evident that any object which obtains praise, 
 earns that praise from the fact of its possessing 
 ' credUabie"°'°or Certain qualities, or from bearing a certain rela- 
 ' praiseworthy tion to a certain standard. For example, we 
 pralst' impUc?'a ^^^'^^^ ^he just man, and the brave man, and 
 standard of refer- generally the virtuous man, and virtue herself, on 
 thrthhifpraise"^'." ^'^''O"^^ of the actions and effects which result 
 therefrom; and in the same way we praise the 
 strong man, and the swift runner and athletes generally, from the 
 fact of their possessing severally certain natural gifts, and bearing 
 a certain relation to what is good and excellent. 
 
 This truth is palpable also from the case of praises offered to 
 the Gods. They are made to appear ridiculous when referred to a 
 human standard ; and this is a result owing to the fact that praises 
 are bestowed, as I have explained, relatively to a perfect ideal. 
 
 But if praise has reference to a higher standard, it is clear that 
 it does not belong to what is highest and most excellent, but 
 implies a something greater and better than the thing praised; as 
 in fact is obvious. We do not praise what is beyond all praise— 
 
Bk. I. 12.] Translation. 57 
 
 2.e., the Grods : we count them blessed and happy, and we only- 
 count men blessed In the degree of their 'nearness to God.' 
 Similarly also in regard to what is ' good : * no man praises 
 happiness as he would do justice ; but he calls happiness a state 
 of blessedness as something grander and more divine. 
 
 I think, also, that the arguments by which Eudoxus pleaded 
 the cause of pleasure for the highest place among ' goods,' might 
 apply here. He thought the fact that pleasure is not praised (as 
 being itself ' a good,') proved it to be better than things which 
 are praised ; and the only things of a similar character to pleasure 
 are, he argued, God and the summum bonum, everything else 
 being referred to these as a standard of value. 
 
 In fact, praise implies merit; and is its proper meed. By 
 praise, men are stirred to the performance of noble deeds, and 
 such eulogies extend equally to the achievements of the body and 
 the conquests of the mind. 
 
 But, perhaps, the task of laying down precise rules upon these 
 subjects is more suitable for those who have laboured upon the 
 composition of panegyrics. 
 
 To my own mind, however, it is clear, for the reasons stated 
 above, that happiness is one of tho'se things 
 
 which are honourable for their own sake, and are Happiness is its 
 
 complete and perfect in themselves. Among other ^^ '"^^above"^ afi 
 
 reasons it seems to me to hold this supreme rank, praise. Tiierefore 
 
 from the fact of its being an ultimate principle : j.*^^"^^ forls^mi 
 
 it is for the sake of happiness that we perform all sai^e. 
 the actions of our lives, and that which is an 
 ultimate principle and the cause of what is good, we rank as 
 something honourable and divine. 
 
 Now tliat these questions have been decided, we may proceed to examine 
 whether happiness be one of the faculties, or one of those things which are 
 worthy of praise, or one of those things which are honoured for their own sake. 
 
 a. ' Faculties ' are the mental states or aptitudes for the arts ; as the faculty 
 of the pilot's or physician's art is the possession of power to steer a boat or to 
 heal a disease. /3. Things praiseworthy are such as have actually succeeded, 
 things which, having come to the test of action, are found good. y. Things 
 reverenced are such as are divine, and transcend the common ken. 
 
 Such being the mutual relations of these three classes of things, we must 
 inquire to which of them happiness belongs. 
 
 1. It is certainly not a faculty. Happiness is a perfect good, whereas a faculty 
 is a thing imperfect. Moreover, happiaess is not a thing to be included amongst 
 a multitude of others, as a faculty is, there being many kinds of faculties. Happi- 
 ness, therefore, is not a faculty. 
 
 2. Nor assuredly is it among things which are praiseworthy. A thing is praised 
 simply for having a share in some good. We praise the jusb and, the brave, and 
 in fact, all good men, and virtue itself, on account of their sharing in a certain 
 
58 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 1. 13. 
 
 quality of good, and from their having a defined relation in regard to something 
 good and excellent. For this reason it is ridiculous to praixe. the Gods : to praise 
 them is to bring them down to our own level — an anomaly consequent on the fact 
 that praises are bestowed in view of the comparison they imply, and the relation 
 they make between the thing praised and a standard of ' good.' 
 
 Such, then, is the character of things which are praised ; but happiness does 
 not bear this character, being, as it is, itself the Summum Bonum and the highest 
 end of man. Praise is not applicable to the Summum Bonum nor to the ' highest 
 end.' The Summum Bonum cannot be referred to the standard of any other 
 good. For this reason we do not praisn the Gods, but call them blessed and 
 happy ; and in the same rank we account men to be when they are most ' like 
 to the Gods,' and also those ' goods ' which are goods in their own right, such as 
 is happiness. No one praises happiness as one does justice ; but we account it a 
 thing blessed, as being more God-like and excellent than ourselves, 
 
 3. Since, then, things which are praiseworthy are praised on account of soma 
 good ' end ' which they serve, whereas happiness is not refeiTed to any ' end ' be- 
 cause it is in itself the supreme end, happiness cannot be classed among things 
 which are praiseworthy. 
 
 The only alternative is, that happiness is one of those things to which rever- 
 ence is paid. In this view of it Eudoxus also coincides. Being desirous of prov- 
 ing that pleasui'e is the Chief Good and ' an end-in-itself ,' he maintained that his 
 view of it was confirmed by the fact that pleasure does not belong to things which 
 are praised, but is more excellent than they, being, as it is, ' an end in itself.' Of 
 a similar nature, he said, was God and the Summum Bonum ; and that it was 
 with reference to them as to a standard that all other things were compared, so 
 as to be called ' good ' and to be worthy of praise. 
 
 In fact virtue is praised because in consequence thereof men become capable of 
 perfoiTning good and noble deeds. In the same way, actions which are virtuous 
 are the subjects of encomium, whether they be owing to bodily strength or to mental 
 power, because they tend to some good ' end.' But happiness cannot be praised, 
 since it does not tend to any good ' end ' beyond itself, being, as has been shown, 
 itself the ultimate ' end ' of man. 
 
 However, to treat of encomia and praises, and to define to whom they are ap- 
 plicable, is not within the scope of our subject, but belongs more uatm-ally to 
 others to explain. Confining ourselves to the subject immediately before us, it is 
 clear that happiness is one of those things to which reverence is paid, and which 
 are perfect in themselves. It is clear also that happiness is the principle or source 
 and cause of aU else being good, since we have it in view in all the actions of our 
 lives. But the thing which is the principle and cause of all other goods we call 
 precious and divine. 
 
 v.— CLASSIFICATION OF VIRTUES BASED UPON AN 
 ANALYSIS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 i. — Importance of a knowledge of Virtue. 
 
 Now since happiness is 'a mode of the soul's activity in 
 To understand fully harmony with perfect virtue,' we must fiurther 
 the nature of hap- consider the nature of virtue : we shall perchance 
 examLtrenatoe g^i^ thereby a better insight into the nature of 
 
 of virtue— a sub- happiness. 
 
 Sa°ncer'prail' ^lus Subject is onc upon which all genuine 
 cai statesmanship. Statesmen Seem to have spent greater pains than 
 
Bk. 1. 13.] Translation. 
 
 59 
 
 upon any other, from the desire which they have felt to render 
 the citizens virtuous and obedient to the laws. As examples of 
 men of this high purpose, we may take th? lawgivers of the 
 Cretans, and those of the Lacedemonians and others like-minded, 
 who have written in other States. 
 
 If this subject, then, is one which concerns the Science of civil 
 life, it is clear that the examination of it will come within the 
 purpose which we assumed at starting. 
 
 Ifow since happiness is ' a conscious exercise of the human faculties in harmony 
 with perfect virtue ' we must further consider the nature of virtue : the examina- 
 tion of it will render more distinct our theory of happiness. This is clearly a 
 subject which all genuine statesmen must consider, from the desire which they 
 must feel to render the citizens virtuous and obedient to the laws, as the 
 legislators of the Cretans and Lacedemonians and others like-minded in the 
 ancient States have done. 
 
 Hence it is evident that an ' Inquiry concerning virtue ' wiU be consequent 
 upon the scope originally laid down for our Treatise ; i.e . ' the end of the Science of 
 civil life.' 
 
 HUMAN TIKTUBS HAVE THEIK SEAT IN THE DIVISIONS OF THE 
 HUMAN SOUL. / 
 
 But the virtue into which we have to examine, is a virtue 
 proper and peculiar to man ; precisely as ' the 
 good ' of which we went in quest was a human Psychology is the 
 
 -,■,., , t • 1 • proper basis of the 
 
 good, and its consequent nappmess was such as is stuciyof the virtues. 
 possible for man. 
 
 By ' virtue proper to man ' I mean not the excellence of the 
 body but the excellence of the soul, just as by ' happiness ' I 
 mean an activity of the soul. If this be so, it clearly behoves the 
 statesman to know to some extent the workings of the soul, just 
 as the oculist who undertakes the cure of the eye should know 
 also the economy of the whole body, and with greater reason, as 
 the aim of statesmanship is far more precious and more excellent 
 than that of medicine. Yet all physicians of repute study long 
 and deep to gain a knowledge of the body. 
 
 The statesman must therefore study the nature of the soul, 
 limiting his investigations however to practical utility and to the 
 extent which is sufficient for his particular purpose. 
 
 We must, therefore, examine the nature of virtue — ^the virtue of course which 
 is proper to man, since the happiness or perfection of which we went in search at 
 starting was a perfection of man. 
 
 Now since the special excellence of man is not an excellence of the body but 
 of the mind or soul (indeed we define happiness as an activity of the souT), and 
 since the excellence into which the statesman inquires is a human excellence, it is 
 evident that he ought to know how the economy of the soul is constituted. In the 
 same way it is essential that one who is to treat successfully an eye-disease should 
 have a knowledge of the whole body. But even more than the physician, it is 
 
6o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 1. 13. 
 
 right that the statesman should understand the phsenomena of the soul in 
 proportion as statesmanship is more excellent and of higher worth than is the ait 
 of healing. Yet all physicians of repute labour earnestly to gain a knowledge of 
 the body, so that it is only reasonable that statesmen also should understand the 
 condition of the soul ; yet we need not carry our speculations further than may 
 suffice to elucidate the theory of virtue. 
 
 ii. — Division of the Soul into (1) Eational and (2) Irrational. 
 
 To examine the psychology of the subject with any minuteness 
 
 would be a superfluous task and beyond the scope 
 
 Popular ciassifica- of the present Treatise. The bearings of the 
 
 tion of the soul subject are sufficiently explained in my Public 
 
 'nm-r?Wo°nap'may Lectures ; and the conclusions there drawn maybe 
 
 be adopted here. adopted here. 
 
 It is, for example, admitted that ' part of the. 
 soul is irrational, and part contains reason.' It is immaterial 
 for our present purpose whether these two parts are distinct and 
 separable from one another, like the different members of the 
 body, and as everything is which can be broken up into separate 
 parts ; or whether they are only distinguishable logically and in 
 thought, being physically and in their own nature inseparable, 
 just as much as the concave and convex in the circumference of a 
 circle. 
 
 To'elaborate a scientific theory of soul, and to exhibit its wider issues, would be 
 beyond the scope of our puipose. I have already treated of psychology, not only 
 in various compilations but also viva, voce with those whom I have met in 
 discussion ; and I wUl here adopt some of the conclusions at which we have 
 arrived. 
 
 I premise then that there are two divisions of the soul, one rational, the other 
 irrational. But as for the question whether these parts are separable and distinct 
 from one another, as the parts of the body are, and as other things are which can 
 be broken up into their component elements, or whether they are in fact one and 
 only logically distinct (like the concave and convex in the circumference of a 
 circle, which are in reality one and in their nature inseparable though differing ' 
 in definition, that of the concave being one thing, that of the convex another)— 
 this is a question which tends in no way to the elucidation of the problem 
 before us. 
 
 iii. — Subdivision of the Irrational Element into (a) Nutritive and 
 (fi) Emotional. 
 
 But in the irrational part of the soul there is one element re- 
 sembling a property common to all organized life 
 The -nutritive'eie- ^nd which is merely vegetative— I refer to that 
 
 ment m the 'non- i • i • j.i p • ■ . , .1 
 
 rational ' part of which IS the cause ot receiving nourishment and 
 
 the soul may be growth — such a power of soul as one would 
 
 ^driursoop^e."" ' attribute to all creatures capable of increase, and 
 
 even to animals in the foetus, a power identical 
 
Bk. 1. 13.] Translation. 61 
 
 also in creatures which are full-grown (since it is more natural 
 to helieve that this latter power is identical with the power of 
 increase, rather than diverse). , 
 
 The excellence of this part of the soul is, however, evidently an 
 excellence common to all organized life, and not one special to 
 man. Indeed the nutritive part of the soul and the nutritive 
 power itself seems to be most active in time of sleep ; but during 
 sleep the good man is not in the very least distinguishable from 
 the bad man ; and hence the proverb that ' for half their days the 
 happy differ nowise from the wretched.' This is but a natural 
 consequence, sleep being the repose of the soul in so far as it is 
 said to be good or bad : — except that to some slight extent certain 
 emotions penetrate into it, and in that way the^ dreams of the 
 good are purer than those of ordinary persons. 
 
 But enough of these speculations. We may omit the nutritive 
 part of the soul from our consideration, since it is of a nature 
 foreign to the special excellence of man. 
 
 We will now proceed to speak of the irrational part of the soul. In this division 
 there is one element which is vegetative — I am alluding to the power of nutrition 
 and of growth which is common to all plants and animals. This power indeed 
 is found in all things capahle of growth and even in embryos, and it is this self- 
 same power which is found in creatures who are full grown (for it would he 
 absurd to suppose it to be any other). 
 
 In this faculty, however, it is impossible to detect the excellence of man in the 
 proper sense of the term : its excellence is shared by all organized life. Indeed 
 this power of Increase and of growth is of a nature to operate even when men 
 are asleep, and more so then than at any other time ; but the special excellence of 
 man is of a very different character from that. The good man is never so little 
 distinguishable from the bad man as when asleep ; and for this reason men say 
 that ' for half their days the happy are in no wise different from the wretched,' 
 that is, duriug the period of sleep. There is good reason in the proverb, sleep 
 being iuaction both to tlie good and to the vicious soul. Only one may say so 
 much — ^that the slumbers of the good are purer and better than those of the bad ; 
 since the physical inclinations of the daytime penetrate in a sense even to sleep ; 
 and hence ' the visions of the night ' assume a healthier form to the good than 
 to common mortals. 
 
 But enough of these speculations : sufficient to have shown that the nutritive 
 part of the soul is devoid of that human excellence with which our business lies. 
 
 iv. — Subdivision of the Hational Soul into (1) Emotional and 
 (2) Intellectual. 
 
 But there seems to be another part of the soul which is irrational 
 and yet has in some sense a share of reason. 
 
 We praise the reason as well of the man whose The other element 
 
 character is weak and immature, as of the man rational &a^\ 
 
 whose will is strong and whose character is formed, 'emotional,' which 
 
 We praise also that part of the soul which is the "Ift^son; 
 
 special seat of reason ; since reason is man's true and capable of 
 
62 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. I. 13. 
 
 ' good impros- guardian and incites him to whatever is noble, 
 
 sions.; It is thus yg(. t^^^^^^ jg evidently both in the strong and in 
 
 sometimes resist- the weak character, a tendency to transgress 
 
 ing, sometimes as- reason — a force that is at variance and conflict 
 
 similatmg reason. . , ^ „ , . , . . , , , , , . , 
 
 With reason. In tact it is with the soul as with 
 
 paralysed parts of the body: when men assay to move to the 
 right they swing to the left, contrary to the force exerted. But 
 in the case of bodies, we see the thing that is borne in the wrong 
 direction : in the case of the soul there is nothing that we can 
 see. None the less however we may be quite assured that there 
 is in the soul an element contrary to reason, thwarting its influ- 
 ence and moving in an opposite direction to it. It is immaterial 
 to discuss kotv this conflict arises. 
 
 Yet even this irrational part of the sotil seems to have a share 
 in reason, as I have said. At any rate in the case of the strong 
 and matured character this element is obedient to reason ; and iu 
 the case of the brave and temperate man the character is submis- 
 sive to reason to an even greater degree, in their case every element 
 of their nature being perfectly attuned to reason. 
 
 Consequently the irrational part of the soul is also seen to he 
 two-fold. The nutritive element has no part nor lot in reason, but 
 the emotional and appetitive element and generally that j)ai't 
 which is the seat of impulse, does share in reason in a certain 
 sense ; — in so far, that is, as it is submissive and obedient to 
 reason. AVitli this view we say in common language that we 
 ' admit the reasons' of our friends, or of our father {i.e. submit to 
 their guidance), but that in a very different sense from that iu 
 which we ' admit the reasons ' of mathematical demonstrations. 
 [_In the former case the mill and tlie character are parties to the assent: 
 in the latter case the reason onlf/.] 
 
 The statement that ' the irrational element is somehow under 
 the control of the reason ' is further proved by the moral appeals 
 which men make, and by the various sorts of reprimand and 
 exhortation. 
 
 If then we must admit that the emotional element of the soul 
 also involves reason, the rational part of the soul will also be two- 
 fold—one part absolutely and in its own right, the other part 
 being attentive and deferential to reason as to the advice of a 
 father. 
 
 But there is another power or tendency in the soul not in every respect irrational 
 (as the one first mentioned was) hut in a way participating in reason, and even 
 entering into oonfliot with it. On this account we sometimes praise the reason of 
 the strong-minded man, and sometimes that of the weak-minded man, since both 
 hold out against a force opposed to them — in the one case as long as is right, and 
 
Bk. I. 13.] Translation. 63 
 
 in the other case at any rate up to a certain point. Hence there is evidently 
 another power within them which contends and struggles against reason. 
 In simple truth, just as paralytic parts of the body, when men strive to move 
 them to the right, swing contrariwise hack to the left,^o is it also in regard 
 to the soul. The impulses in men of weak character bear them back in a du-ec- 
 tion contrary to the suggestions of reason. But in the case of bodies we see the 
 part that is strained back ; whereas in the soul there is nothing that we can 
 see. StiU. though this moral struggle is not seen with the eyes, it is a real fact, 
 and we must take it into our consideration that there is a power within the 
 soul besides reason, opposed to it, and in conflict with it. To describe the mode 
 in which this conflict takes place is immaterial to the purpose which we have in 
 hand. 
 
 Yet this element also has Unmistakeably a share of reason, as we have shown, 
 in so far as it is obedient to reason. This irrational element (I mean the impul- 
 sive or appetitive part of the soul) is guided and governed by the reason of the 
 strong-minded man : even more easily controlled and influenced is it by the reason 
 of the temperate and brave man in whose character every element is in perfect 
 accord with reason. 
 
 Accordingly it is evident that the irrational part of the soul is twofold. In one 
 respect it is absolutely irrational, as the principle of vegetation, of growth and of 
 nutrition. In the other aspect it participates in reason up to a certain point, as 
 the principle of impulse and desire — a principle which participates in reason in 
 BO far as it is submissive and obedient thereto. That this irrational part is to a 
 certain extent governed by reason is a fact rendered evident by the counsels and 
 exhortations and reproaches which are addressed to it ; and by means of which 
 many of our irrational inclinations are brought to order. 
 
 But a man is said to ' share in reason ' in a double sense, just as he is said to 
 ' have reason.' We speak of a man ' admitting the reasons ' of his father or 
 friends — i.e. betaking himself to them and following the advice which they 
 give. We speak also of a man ' admitting the reasons ' of mathematical demon- 
 strations, i.e. comprehending their meaning and having knowledge or scientific 
 perception of them. In an exactly similar way a man is said to ' ulinve in reason ' 
 in a double sense. In one respect he is said to ' share in reason ' absolutely 
 and in his own right just like the purely intellectual part of the soul. In another 
 sense a man is said to share in reason on account of his being submissive to 
 reason, in the way in which one is submissive to his father. 
 
 V. — Corresponding divieion of Virtue into Moral and Intellectual. 
 
 Corresponding with tliis division of the soul is the division of 
 virtue into distinct forms. We say tliat certain 
 
 virtues are moral, and that certain others are Accordingly the 
 
 intellectual— wisdom, insight, and prudence for J)*pt4ei7mtional 
 
 instance being intellectual, liberality and temper- (t.e., intdlect^mi), 
 
 ance moral. In speaking of a man's moral nature ," *^' semi-rational 
 
 , '^ , . °., .., , . ('•"•> emotional or 
 
 we do not say that he is philosophic or that he has moral). 
 insight, but that he is gentle and temperate; 
 though we praise the student of philosophy too in respect of his 
 mental powers. But whatever states of mind are praiseworthy we 
 call virtues. 
 
 Corresponding with this division of the soul is the classification of virtue into 
 distinct forms. We say that certain virtues which belong to the rational part of 
 the soul are intellectual virtues, and that certain others which belong to the 
 
64 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 1. 13. 
 
 impulsive or appetitive part of the soiil are moral virtues. The intellectual virtues 
 are such as philosophy, insight, and prudence ; and the moral virtues such as 
 liberality and temperance. When we speak of a man's moral nature, we do not 
 say that he is philosophic or that he has comprehension, but that he is, for 
 instance, gentle and temperate ; though we praise the student of philosophy in 
 respect of the excellence of his mental habit, which is in fact a virtue. For 
 whatever states of mind are praiseworthy we call virtues. 
 
BOOK IL-THEORY OF VIRTUE. 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 
 I.— GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF MORAL VIRTUE. 
 
 In the preceding book we sketched a definition of human perfection 
 which implied that virtue was its main element. We stated at the 
 conclusion of the book that virtue was two-fold, moral and intellectual. 
 
 But moral and intellectual virtue cannot be treated of together : they 
 have a different origin and a different sphere. The important element in 
 intellectual virtue is knowledge ; in moral virtue, training or discipline. 
 
 Eeserving intellectual virtue to a later book, let us proceed with our 
 analysis of moral virtue. 
 
 It is necessary, first of all, to show the origin of moral virtue. How 
 is it produced ? Is it dependent upon Divine Providence, or is it the 
 gift of Nature, or is it the result of our own efforts ? 
 
 i. Proofs are, therefore, first given in support of the view (a) that 
 moral virtue does not depend upon Nature ; O) that it is capable of 
 being engendered by human effort ; and (y) that it is consohdated into 
 habit by the help of daily discipline. 
 
 In brief, the arguments are as follows : — 
 
 1. What exists through a fixed constitution of Nature cannot be re- 
 versed or made spontaneously to change its character. But, in fact 
 moral qualities lose their character or acquire a fresh one through 
 education and other influences. Therefore they are not the expression 
 of unalterable law. 
 
 2. Natui-e, indeed, gives us certain capabilities, but these capabilities 
 are unformed and indeterminate : education is necessary to mould them 
 into shape. Nature does not effect her purpose per se, but requires our 
 own co-operation to supplement her work. 
 
 3. Natural qualities exist prior to and independent of exercise. But 
 moral qualities are only brought into existence by exercise. We have 
 to learn how to be virtuous by practising the virtues. 
 
 4. All legislation assumes human responsibility, and is an appeal to 
 our moral freedom. Assuming that man can be educated, and ought to 
 be educated, legislation aims at producing a system of universal training. 
 Yet training and education would be idle and useless if fatalism were 
 true, and men were horn good or evil. 
 
66 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, 
 
 5. Further, if acts repeated form a tendency or ' habit,' and if every 
 such act necessarily bears a character that is moral or immoral, our 
 habits will reflect the character of the acts which formed them, and will 
 be either moral or immoral. But the acts are under our own control : 
 therefore also the moral tendencies which we make habitual to us, will 
 bo under our own control also. By accustoming ourselves, therefore, to 
 the practice of brave acts, we gronu to be brave ; and by accustoming 
 ourselves to acts of self-denial, we grow to be self-controlled. Virtue is 
 therefore not innate but acquired. 
 
 The conclusion seems to be that a man's character for good or evil is 
 not what nature created, but what education has fashioned it to be. 
 Hence the extreme importance of early discipline. Our actions have an 
 influence spreading all life through : every act tends to repeat itself, and 
 to create an incipient habit ; and when repeated often, the act grows to 
 be a confirmed habit or ' state ' of the moral nature. 
 
 ii. But how are we to determine what actions are right, and what 
 actions are wrong ? This is a question of extreme importance, more 
 especially as Ethics is a practical Science. If we can detect what are the 
 qualities in actions which constitute their goodness or their badness, we 
 shall be able to take the first step towards virtue : the actions we per- 
 form being virtuous actions, the habits which result therefrom will be 
 virtuous habits, and thus we shall be enabled to develop a virtuous 
 cliaracter. 
 
 Of course there is the general principle which may be at once assumed, 
 that a right action must be conformable to Right Keason. But that is 
 a standard unattainable except to those whose intellects have been 
 thoroughly trained, and who have developed an intuitive faculty of 
 discriminating right and wrong. In a subsequent book we will examine 
 morality under this aspect, and explain fully the nature of Right 
 Reason. 
 
 For the present we will look at the more obvious characteristics of 
 right and wrong : — not that we can frame^infallible rules. Circumstances 
 are too complex to admit of exact or scientific generalization. We can 
 only indicate the more general features of good and evil, leaving the 
 determination of particular cases to the moral sense of the agent, to be 
 settled at the moment of action. Still it may conduce to the guidance 
 of the student, and be a contribution to the philosophy of Ethics, if we 
 describe the more prominent features of right and wrong. 
 
 There is, then, this most characteristic impression which 'right' 
 causes : — that it is a ' fitness ' of things, an exact adjustment between 
 means and ends, a moderation, in absence of all extravagance whether of 
 excess or defect. It is analogous to what health is in the body — freedom 
 alike from superfluity or from want. It may be described as a harmony 
 or ' consistency ' of life. 
 
 iii. But how are we to distinguish an act which is isolated and 
 accidental, from one which flows from a confirmed habit of virtue ? The 
 act may be outwardly the same; but the following points must be 
 noted : 
 
 1. There is a greater /a«7iYy seen in the performance of an act which 
 flows from a settled state of the will : the inward struggle has disappeared. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book II. 67 
 
 The man who has grown to be strong finds it easier to undergo toil than 
 before ; and in precisely the same way, the man who has grown to be 
 virtuous and who has, for instance, formed a ' habil^of temperance,' finds 
 an ease and readiness which makes the burden of his self-denial light. 
 
 2. The virtuous action which flows from a virtuous habit, is accom- 
 panied by pleasure to the agent. If a man performs a virtuous act, but 
 finds the performance of it irksome and grievous to him, therein is 
 proof that the virtue has not become natural nor habitual to him. But 
 if a man feels pleasure in acts of virtue, therein is proof that he has 
 attained to a state of mind that is congenial to him, and that the 
 virtuous act flows from the virtuous habit. 
 
 iv. But not only is it true that pleasure is the index of habit : it 
 forms the whole sphere of morality. Virtue, as the perfection of the 
 moral or emotional nature, is -necessarily concerned with the emotions ; as 
 may be shown by the following arguments : 
 
 1. From the nature of the case : 
 
 (1.) Pleasure, or the avoidance of pain, being the motive of our doing 
 evil, we must, in order to be virtuous, learn to associate pleasure with 
 what is right, and pain with what is evil : such a discipline and cultiva- 
 tion of the feelings is the only right education. 
 
 (2.) Virtue is the regulation of the emotions and of conduct, both of 
 which are inseparably attended by pleasure or pain. Therefore, virtue 
 is attended by pleasure and pain. 
 
 (3.) The virtues are kept healthy by means of pain, as moral medicine 
 or punishment for excess of pleasure (or vice). 
 
 (4.) The moral states are formed under the influence of pleasure and 
 pain, and continue what they are from their attitude thereto. Virtue 
 is not the exemption from the feeling of pleasure, but the proper regula- 
 tion of that feeling. 
 
 2. From our own susceptibilities : 
 
 (1.) We are influenced to the choice of a thing by the consideration of 
 the ' beautiful,' the ' expedient,' or the ' pleasurable ' ; and to the 
 avoidance of a thing by their opposites. In all such cases the virtuous 
 man is sure to be right in his choice, and most assuredly so in reference 
 to pleasure, which enters as an element into everi/ consideration. 
 
 (2.) Pleasure is engrained in the very tissue of our being : more or less, 
 in different degrees we all make it the standard of our duties : it is the 
 strongest motive from our childhood upwards. 
 
 (3.) Pleasure remains the most difficult struggle for our maturer years, 
 and excellence is ever concerned with what is difiicult of achievement. 
 
 The following truths may now be regarded as being established : 
 
 CI. Pleasure and pain constitute the domain in which moral virtue 
 must be displayed, 
 
 p. The emotions cannot become permanently virtuous, (i.e. virtuous 
 ' habits ' cannot be formed) unless a definite line of conduct be 
 persisted in. 
 
 y. A virtuous ' habit ' being formed will reproduce the acts which led 
 to its formation, 
 
 F 2 
 
I 
 
 68 Th Moral Philosophy oj Aristotle. 
 
 V. Here we must explain a seeming inconsistency in our theory. How 
 is it that men perform virtuous acts before they are themselves virtuousi 
 Can an act be virtuous while the author of the act is vicious % Does not 
 the analogy of the arts suggest that if a man does just acts he is him- 
 self just — precisely as he would be a musician if he performed musical 
 compositions % 
 
 In answer to this difficulty we may reply : 
 
 1. The case of the arts is not quite a parallel one : a man may execute 
 an artistic piece by chance or from the suggestion of others ; but he will 
 not be an artist unless he has knowledge of his own. 
 
 2. If the analogy held good it would prove nothing. In conduct 
 involving issues of right and wrong, it is not sufficient for the act to bear 
 the impress of certain qualities : — the agent must have certain qualities. 
 Besides the knowledge of his act (which the artist also must have) a man, 
 in order to be moral, must have a formed attitude of heart and will, and 
 also a firm, unwavering disposition. 
 
 Our reply, therefore, is that the mere performance of a virtuous act 
 does not make a man virtuous, nor an act virtuous in the true sense : 
 virtue is meaningless, except as involving an assent of the will and 
 expressing a formed disposition of heart. 
 
 To create such a permanent disposition of virtue it is essential to 
 perform virtuous acts. Such performance often repeated, will lead to the 
 formation of a virtuous ' habit.' But mere knowledge of right, unless 
 accompanied by the practice of it, is utterly futile : only practice can 
 make us perfect. 
 
 II.— FOEMAL DEFINITION OF VIETUK. 
 
 The previous discussions have sufficiently cleared the ground for 
 a more exact definition of virtue. It has been shown that virtue is not 
 inherited from Nature, but acquired by our own efforts ; that it is, 
 in fact, the result of constant practice of such acts as law prescribes, or 
 reason suggests. 
 
 We will, therefore, construct our definition, ' per genus et differentias.' 
 
 i. The ' genus ' or material nature of virtue may be arrived at by au 
 enumeration of the powers working in the soul, and by a gradual process 
 of elimination. 
 
 We may classify those powers as (1) 'feelings' — i.e. all states of 
 consciousness which are attended by pleasure or pain ; (2) ' capacities,' 
 or the dormant susceptibilities of our nature ; and (3) ' habits,' — %.t, 
 permanent dispositions of soul. 
 
 We may eliminate ' feelings,' because they do not involve any moral 
 character, nor an assent of the will; and we may eliminate 'capacities,' 
 because they do not imply any moral character, but are dependent ott4^ 
 physical causes. \ 
 
 There is, therefore, no alternative but that virtues fire ' habits.' 
 
 ii. The definition of virtue as ' a habit ' is as inadequate to express its 
 nature as it would be to describe a statue as ' stone-work.' We must 
 consider what are the more distinguishing features of virtue : what is 
 the ' form ' which ' habit' assumes when it is identical with virtue f m 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book II. 69 
 
 Now what is the simplest conception we have of ' excellence ' ?— Is it 
 not that of a quality which enables an object to fulfil its proper function 
 perfectly ? The excellence of man, therefore, (i.e. Mis virtue) will be that 
 quality which enables him to make the function of his life perfect 
 
 We may perhaps analyse this idea of perfection more definitely still, if 
 we will take the illustrations which we may derive from mathematical 
 proportion. Proportion implies excess and defect and ' a mean,' and that 
 either absolutely in relation to tbe thing itself, or viewed in. relation to 
 the circumstances of individuals. Relative proportion takes cognisance 
 of the whole conditions ; and is such as the trainer has in view when he 
 adjusts the dietary of his pupils according to their special needs, so as to 
 attain a perfect ' fitness ' in every case. 
 
 These ideas of art and of proportion may be applied to the moral life 
 of man. Virtue, like art, is the perfect finish in the work of man : even 
 more delicate than the touch of art, is that ideal beauty which virtue 
 spreads over the life of man. Wherever feeling is displayed, virtue 
 ensures its-perfect harmony with all its surroundings, guards it from all 
 extravagance and all defect. Wherever action is necessary, virtue gives 
 to it a genuine gracefulness. 
 
 But it is no easy thing to realize this perfect beauty of the moral life, 
 — to finish off our display of conduct and of emotion with the graceful pro- 
 portions of an ideal virtue. The forms in which evil is possible are so 
 manifold, so diverse and so infinite, that it is hard indeed to escape from 
 every conceivable temptation. 
 
 The definition of virtue is now fairly established. As to its material 
 nature, it is ' a permanent disposition of the moral nature.' As to its 
 form, it is moulded after an ideal of what is best relatively to the con- 
 ditions of human nature ; but this ' form' changes with the vicissitudes 
 of circumstance, and must be left to the judgment of Right Reason 
 to determine under special connections ; and that Right Reason can only 
 be developed after a manifold experience of real life. 
 
 ill. But, after all, the conception of ' the mean ' is only a metaphor 
 which may illustrate the idea of virtue under certain aspects, but is not 
 of universal application. It can apply only to ' things indifferent ' — to 
 those aspects of the moral life which are not good or evil per se, but only 
 in their uses. 
 
 There are, however, certain classes of actions which are good or evil 
 independently of all conditions and of all limitations. Certain emotions 
 — e.g., rejoicing at evil ; certain actions, e.g., adultery, are inherently and 
 absolutely wicked ; and the idea of a mean is meaningless when applied 
 to them ; there- is no ' Fine Art ' of murder; 
 
 Such acts as murder do not depend upon any kind of condition ; but 
 are evil under every conceivable circumstance,. , 
 
 So neither can ' the mean ' be applied to things which are themselves 
 deviations from a mean : there can be no ' mean ' in things which are 
 excesses or defects ofanother mean. 
 
70 
 
 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 III.-CLASSIFICATION OF VIRTUES TO ILLUSTRATE THE LAW OF 
 
 THE MEAN. 
 
 We may now proceed to show how the principle of proportion applies 
 under different circumstances and conditions of the moral life— how 
 virtue is the avoidance of all extravagance and inconsistency of life, and 
 how the vices are the perversions of what is ' fitting ' both in feeling and 
 in conduct. 
 
 We may use the Diagram of the Virtues' and Vices for the purpose of 
 our illustration. 
 
 i. In questions of plea- 
 sure and pain . 
 
 ii. In giving and re- 
 ceiving of money 
 
 iii. In seeking honour 
 
 (a) self-reoarding virtues. 
 
 Excess. Mean. 
 
 1. Awidomci of 
 
 pain, 
 
 (a) In confidence Rasliness . . Courage . 
 
 (h) In fear . . Cowardice . Courage . 
 
 2. Pursuit of \ gguguajigm . Temperance 
 
 Defect. 
 
 Cowardice. 
 , Rashness. 
 
 Asceticism. 
 
 1. Ordinarily. 
 
 {a) In giving . Prodigality . Liberality 
 (6) In receiving. Meanness . ^■' '■■'■■ 
 
 ( Ostentation 
 
 '. and want 
 
 ( of taste . 
 
 2. In great 
 wealth 
 
 1. In great 
 
 honour 
 
 2. In small 
 
 honour . 
 
 , Meanness. 
 , Prodigalily. 
 
 Vain-glory 
 Ambition . 
 
 Liberality 
 Magnificence . Stinginesi 
 
 Magnanimity 
 [ ] Unambitiqp. 
 
 Littleness of 
 soul. 
 
 (b) VIRTUES RELATING TO SOCIETT. 
 i. In regulation of temper Passionateness Good temper 
 
 Listlessncss. 
 Indifference. 
 
 ii. In intercourse of 
 society . . . 
 
 i. In the emotions of 
 shame. . . . 
 
 1. Regarding 
 
 truth 
 
 2. Regarding 
 
 agreeableness. 
 
 ("^ \"on^"°*' I Buffoonery . Politeness . 
 
 ih) In business . Adulation . | n ■ i i ■ 
 Sycophancy ] ^nendsUip 
 
 (C) SEMI-VIRTUES. 
 Dumbfounded Modest 
 
 Boastfulness . Truthfulness . Dissimulation. 
 
 , Boorishness. 
 . Churlishness. 
 
 ii. In contemplating the [....;. Envious . \ ^ig^^teously 
 fortunes of others \ _ j indignant . 
 
 Shameless. 
 Spiteful. 
 
 IV.— PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS FOR DETERMINING THE MEAN. 
 
 i. In comparing the various states of ' excess ' and ' defect ' with theii 
 proper ideal, we note that they are all mutually opposed the one to the 
 other. ' 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book II. "ji 
 
 But the following points may be noted in reference to the degrees of 
 opposition which are found among them : 
 
 1. The ' mean ' man in steering his course clear oftall extremes, pleases 
 neither of the extremes : each of them call him by the name of the other. 
 The temperate man, for instance, seems an ascetic in the eyes of the 
 sensualist, and a sensualist in the eyes- of the ascetic. 
 
 2. The extremes are wider apart from one another than either from 
 the mean. Between the mean and either of the extremes there is a kind 
 of affinity and some elements in common, but the extremes are utterly 
 dissimilar and at variance with one another. 
 
 3. The mean is more opposed to one extreme than to the other. There 
 is a twofold reason why this should be so : (a) In the nature of the case 
 there is a greater correspondence between one extreme and the mean, 
 than between the other — the natural affinities being greater, (fi) From 
 our own susceptibilities : we are more prone to one thing than to another ; 
 and that extreme is the worst towards which we are the more easily led. 
 
 ii; We have now said enough to show what is implied in the dictum 
 that Virtue is a ' mean state ' : it is an ideal standard by which all 
 conduct and all feeling might be made to assume the noblest conceivable 
 form. 
 
 But in delineating this perfect conception of our actual life we have 
 implied that it is a difficult task to realize it. The beauty of life is so 
 easily marred : the estimate of times and means which give the exact 
 turn to action, is so easily mistaken, that it is difficult indeed to be 
 virtuous after this ideal pattern. 
 
 We may, however, suggest a few simple rules which may serve for 
 our guidance in the effort to attain to the perfect ' fitness ' of virtue. 
 
 1. Avoid the worst extreme : — though you should rebound to the 
 other extreme, choose the least of evils. 
 
 2. Avoid your besetting sin : set yourself resolutely against that form 
 of evil to which your own tendencies incline you most easily. 
 
 3. Avoid pleasure above all things : admire and praise the charms 
 which pleasure can afford, but dismiss it from your aims as the Greek 
 counsellors voted to dismiss Helen. 
 
 Still rules are for the most part futile : no system of casuistry can 
 anticipate the infinite complications of circumstance. The varied shapes 
 and combinations of circumstance must be judged separately, as each 
 new phase arises. The only sure index is. the Moral Sense of the agent. 
 [To train and educate that Moral Sense until it becomes an unerring 
 instinct, or Conscience, is the work of life, and requires very favourable 
 conditions of discipline and experience.] The Moral Sense must take an 
 instantaneous survey of what has to be done imder the conditions of the 
 moment, and its judgment, when fully educated, will be infallibly right. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 I.— GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF VIRTUE. 
 
 i. — That Virtue is a permanent state of mind produced by our 
 own Actions. 
 
 - , (a) DIFFERENT ORIGIN OF MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL VIRTUE. 
 
 There is, then, a two-fold excellence of the soul : there is 
 * moral ' and ' intellectual ' virtue. The excel- 
 of'^inteUectuai^ex- l^^'^^ °^ °^^ intellectual nature takes its earliest 
 ceiience is know- rise and its aftergrowth for the most part from 
 iltlw%l"tice! instruction, and hence requires experience and 
 length of time to mature it. On the other hand 
 the excellence of our moral nature is a result brought about by 
 constant practice of moral acts, the term ' morality,' tj^ikt}, being 
 in fact derived from edos, ' habit,' with only a slight change. 
 
 Now since virtue is a perfection of the soul, and one element in the soul is 
 rational and another element impulsive, it necessarily follows that virtue also is 
 of a two-fold character : as the excellence of our intellectual nature it takes the 
 form of Philosophy and Thought ; and as the excellence of ovir emotional 
 nature, it is called Moral Virtue. 
 
 To a certain extent intellectual excellence has its origin in Nature. It receives 
 its earliest impulse from nature — man being by nature a receptive being, and 
 capable of assimilating knowledge ; and it gains a certain degree of increase 
 fi'om the natural disposition in certain cases. Yet, for the most part, and among 
 men generally, it owes its earliest rise and its after development to instruction, 
 and hence requires experience and length of years to mature it. 
 
 The causes which produce mural excellence ai'e different from this. Moral 
 excellence is a result brought about by the constant practice of moral acts. All 
 that Nature contributes to moral excellence is the capacity she gives us for grow- 
 ing to be virtuous ; and all that instruction contributes is the knowledge that it 
 is our duty to be virtuous. But as for being virtuous in fact, and in our own per- 
 sonal behaviour, nothing but constant practice of virtuous actions can secure that 
 to us ; and hence it is that virtue has derived its name from habit, being called 
 ' moral,' rjdLKi), from Wos, ' habituation,' with only a slight change in one letter. 
 
 {b) PROOFS THAT MORAL VIRTUE IS NOT A GIFT OF NATURE, BUT 
 A CREATION OF HABIT. 
 
 1. From this consideration it is further clear that no form of 
 moral excellence is developed in us spontaneously, by a fixed 
 
Bk. II. 1.] Translation. . 73 
 
 constitution of nature. What belongs to the order of Nature can 
 
 never be brought to act contrary to its law. A stone, naturally 
 
 gravitating to the earth, could never be brought 
 
 of its own accord to soar heavenwards : though l- Moral virtue is 
 
 one were to try to form such a habit in it by ^^ttf^US:: 
 
 hurling it into the air ten thousand times, it cannot be changed: 
 
 could never be forced to change its own law. fixeJ aud'unaiter- 
 
 Conversely, fire could never be habituated to able. 
 
 move downwards. In fact, when things have a 
 
 fixed tendency in obedience to a law of nature, they can never 
 
 be made by practice to act contrary to that tendency. 
 
 2. It is not, therefore, through an irresistible law, nor yet in 
 violation of any such law, that the various' forms 
 
 of moral excellence are developed in man : nay, 2. Yet natnre sup- 
 rather we are born with a nature capable of feriais"%McWe" 
 virtue, but the realization of those capabilities iterated effort can 
 can only be attained by means of habit. '?<"^'' ^°*? P^*'=J 
 
 •' ■' shapes of moral 
 
 beauty. 
 
 3. Again, where qualities attach to us by 
 
 nature, we are first put in possession of latent powers, and then 
 proceed to put our powers into outward effect. 
 This truth is obvious in the case of the senses. 3. Qualities iu- 
 We did not obtain the senses of seeing and hear- ,\l""* ?f Z^Zt 
 
 '-' ale "pnor 10 Use 
 
 ing from the fact of our having constantly and exercise ;moraZ 
 
 seen and heard. On the contrary, we used our <i»al»*ies a,re sub- 
 
 ■" sequent only to use 
 
 laculties because we were possessed ot them : we and exercise. 
 did not come into possession of those faculties 
 through having used them. 
 
 It is the exact reverse with our moral faculties : we acquire 
 them by having put ourselves to the test of action, as we do in ac- 
 quiring artistic skill. What we have to learn in order to perform, 
 we learn by the very process of performing. Men become builders 
 by building houses, and harpists by practising on the harp. After 
 the same analogy, men grow to be righteous by performing right 
 actions, and self- controlled by performing acts of self-control, and 
 brave by performing acts of bravery. 
 
 4. This truth is further illustrated by the tradition which pre- 
 vails in the Greek States regarding the discipline 
 
 of the citizens. Our law-givers try to make the *■ The efficacy and 
 
 citizens virtuous by making virtuous actions asTmeanf to't" 
 
 habitual to them, regarding it as the chief aim tue, is assumed in 
 
 and intention of legislation— to create and foster *" legislation. 
 
74 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. i. 
 
 morality. When they do not successfully achieve this result, they 
 fail in their whole purpose, as upon their success herein it depends 
 whether a constitution be a good or a bad one. 
 
 5, Moreover, every kind of moral, like every artistic excel- 
 lence, is either acquired or lost according to the 
 5. But not only character of the acts performed : the faculties by 
 
 are virtuous states i.,,i , ■ • l t ixi 
 
 dependent on vir- which the acts are origmatcd and the processes 
 tuous practice, jjy which they are developed are the same. It is 
 basin influence'in by practising upon the lute that men become lute- 
 forming a moral players ; but their excellence varies according as 
 r^ectiTs'^characte" they have practised well or ill. Builders and 
 artists generally show the same differences: if 
 they execute their various works well, they will become good 
 workmen ; and if they execute them badly, they will become bad 
 workmen. Otherwise, had this not been the case, there would 
 have been no need of men to teach, but all would have been b(yrn 
 good or bad artists. 
 
 The case is precisely similar in the sphere of the virtues. Ac- 
 cording to the actions which we perform in our business-relations 
 with our fellows, we grow to be either just or unjust. By our 
 conduct, again, in circumstances of danger, and by the habit we 
 form of showing terror or courage, we grow some of us to be 
 heroes and others cowards. This truth is applicable also to the 
 regulation of the feelings and desires : men become temperate and 
 gentle, or intemperate and passionate, according to the demeanour 
 which they are in the habit of assuming under provocation or 
 excitement. 
 
 1. Consequently it is clear that there is not one of the moral virtues which is 
 formed in us by nature. Had we been good spontaneously by force of nature, 
 we could never have been impelled in an opposite direction by force of habit. 
 But as an actual fact, we arc so impelled ; and hence it is clear that no single 
 moral excellence is formed within us by nature. Nothing that is impelled in a 
 certain way by a law of nature changes and assumes an opposite tendency imder 
 the influence of habit. No one, for example, will ever accustom a stone to 
 gravitate upwards, though he throw it into the air ten thousand times ; nor 
 could we habituate fire to tend downwards. In fact, whenever a thing has a 
 certain tendency from nature, it can never be made to change that tendency by 
 force of habit. 
 
 2. It is not, therefore, through a law of natni'e nor yet in violation of any 
 such law, that the virtues grow up within us. What we receive from nature is 
 the capacity for virtue : we are so constituted by nature as to admit of the 
 virtues being impressed upon us; though we only acquire those virtues in fact 
 and are made perfect therein, by habit. 
 
 3. Again, in the case of our natural faculties, we first have them perfectly 
 matured, and afterwards simply put them to their uses. We found ourselves, for 
 instance, with the faculties of sight and hearing fully developed, and so employed 
 
Bk. II. 1.] Translation. 75 
 
 them for their uses. It was not from having repeatedly seen and heard that we 
 gained om- senses of sight and hearing : on the contrary, it was from being in 
 possession of these senses that we exercised them. 
 
 On the other hand, we only gain our moral faculties by having first put 
 ourselves to the test of action (as we must do also to acquire artistic skill). 
 What we have to learn in order to perform, we learn by the very process of 
 performing. Men become builders by building houses, and harpists by practising 
 upon the liarp. In a precisely similar manner, men grow to be righteous by 
 performing right actions, and self controlled by performing acts of self control, 
 and brave by performing acts of bravery. 
 
 4. This truth is further attested by the practice which prevails in States, in 
 the application of law to the lives of the citizens. Legislators try to render the 
 citizens virtuous, and they employ custom for the purpose. By wholesome 
 rewards and punishments they impel the citizens to practise morality, and in this 
 way render them in the issue virtuously disposed. If in certain cases they do not 
 effect this result, they fail in their Y^hole purpose, the professed aim and mission 
 of all legislation being to habituate the citizens to the practice of morality. 
 
 Consequently the moral virtues do not depend upon natural laws, but are the 
 creations of habit. 
 
 6. Moreover, all moral excellence is of a nature to be acquired or lost from the 
 self-same habits and through the self -same acts. The difference in the result is 
 owing to the difference in the character of the habits fonned and of the 
 actions done. When those habits are virtuous, moral excellence is developed 
 from them, and the ruin of that excellence is caused, if those habits are immoral. 
 The case is identical with that of artistic excellence. It is from their perform- 
 ances on the 'harp that harpists are fonned, whether skilled or unskilled : by 
 perfonning their exercises well, thfey become skilled harpists, and the reverse if 
 their practice be indifferent. So also is it with builders and craftsmen generally : 
 it is owing to the qualiti/ of the activity which they display in the practice of 
 their art, being good or bad, that they turn out skilled or unskilled workmen. 
 By building skilfully they become skilful buUders, by building clumsily, un- 
 skilful builders. Of course if this were otherwise, if, — that is, artistic skill of 
 any kind were not owing to activities being exercised in a particular way, and 
 natm-e were the cause which produced artists, there would be no need, to any 
 one, of a teacher to shape the practice of an art, but all men would have been 
 }>orn from the outset good or bad workmen. 
 
 This truth presents a precisely similar aspect in the sphere of the vii-tues. 
 According as we discharge our obligations to our fellows we grow to be, some of 
 us just, some unjust — in the one case from acting invariably in a spirit of justice 
 and in conformity with law, and in the other case from om' behaviour to our 
 fellows being the reverse of just. When, again, we are thrown among circum- 
 stances of peril, we grow into the habit of showing confidence or fear, and thus 
 become, some of us brave and others cowards. Even in regard to our desires and 
 impulses the same law holds good : from the habits which we form and the 
 mode in which we comport ourselves when our feelings are called into play, we 
 grow to be, some of us temperate and gentle, others dissolute and passionate. 
 
 (c) SUMMARY: THE IMPORTANCE OF MORAL EDUCATION. 
 
 To sum up the argument: the moral nature assumes certain 
 permanent tendencies, or 'habits,' as the result of 
 the various lines of conduct in which it has been jjj""^, ^^^^^ ""^ 
 exercised ; and the character of these various ten- not inherited nor 
 dencies corresponds to the character of the various g^,"^'^^ it'is*i„ "ur 
 acts out of which they have sprung. Wherefore own power, by the 
 
76 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 2. 
 
 help of education, it is our duty to give to our every act a definite 
 to gire to our lives gjiaracter of moral worth, seeing that it is from 
 
 whatever moral ' , .1 
 
 character we will. the quabties of thcse separate acts, through all 
 the incidents of daily life, that our 'habits' (2.^., 
 the permanent tendencies of our moral being,) take their tone and 
 colour. It is a matter of no slight consequence, then, upon what 
 principles and amid what influences we are trained from childhood; 
 nay, rather, it is a matter of vast and even sovereign importancei 
 
 To sum up the argument and to describe our theory of the origin of virtue in 
 bne sentence : every ' habit ' or formed state of mind, is engendered from an 
 exercise of the faculties, and the one corresponds to the other as cause and 
 effect — when the activity is virtuous, the habit "wiU be virtuous, when the 
 activity is evil, the habit will be evil. Looking to this relation between the 
 activity and the habit, we must not say without qualification that ' the exercise 
 of our powers is a cause of a virtuous habit,' but premise that such exercise 
 must be a virtuous exercise ; nor must we say that a bad habit is owing simply 
 to the exercise of our powers, but premise that such an exercise in that case 
 must be a bad one. To take the case of house building : we must not say that 
 the exercise of our pov/ers upon house building is the cause of a correct state of 
 mind thereon, but rather that if the faculties have been exercised rightly upon 
 house building, then a correct state of mind is brought about in reference 
 thereto, and vice versa. 
 
 In fine, we must assign to each one of our mental states certain definite 
 activities as their cause. Our habits or permanent states of mind follow closely 
 upon OTir activities through the varied changes of daily life. 
 
 For these reasons it is a matter of great consequence, as determining the 
 character of our habits or moral tendencies, whether the practices to which we 
 become habituated from youth upwards be good or evU ; nay, rather, the entire 
 difference in the character of our moral tendencies is owing to this early 
 habituation. 
 
 ii. — Qualities exMbited by virtuous action, 
 (a) KEED FOR A RULE OF LIFE. 
 
 Our present Inquiry, therefore, is not, as scientific Inquiries 
 
 generally are, with a view simply to speculative 
 
 muTt'te Tiddown knowledge. The aim which as moralists we have in 
 
 for discriminating view is uot simply to gain a scientific theory of 
 
 the quality of virtue, but rather that we may ourselves grow to 
 
 actions. 1 ■ / 1 ■ ,1 . ' , ... 
 
 be virtuous : — otherwise there is no practical utility 
 in the study. It is essential, then, for us to consider upon what 
 principles we ought to shape our conduct in th.e various circum- 
 stances of life, since, as we have shown, our separate actions deter- 
 mine the character which our ' habits ' or moral tendencies per- 
 manently assume. 
 The principle of That we should act under all circumstances ' in 
 Ei|ht'''Ee^on'*is accordance with Right Reason'' is a common 
 too vague and gene axiom, and may be assumed as true. But what 
 '^*'' exactly ' Right Reason ' is, and in what relation it 
 
3k, IL 2.3 . Translation. 77 
 
 ■stands to other forms of human excellence, is a subject which we 
 must leave for discussion later on. 
 
 • 
 
 Since, therefore, our present Inquiry does not belong to the pm-ely speculative 
 "branch of Philosopliy (whicli has for its end the simple contemplation of truth, 
 being occupied with that class of existences which are objects of knowledge, and 
 ■not ■vrith matters of action), but falls rather under the practical division of 
 Philosophy, which has for its end the production of positive good (J.c. the 
 purpose of our investigation is not merely to know what the nature of vii-tue 
 is but to enable us ourselves to become virtuous : — otherwise, had our aim not 
 been practical, there would have been no need for earnestness on our part, if 
 we were not thereby achieving the aim of life,) .... since, I say, the end of 
 our Inquiry is action and conduct, let us examine what are the conditions of 
 moral action, seeing that moral action determines, as has been shown, the 
 character of the ' habits ' formed thereby, whether they be good or whether 
 they be e^vil, and it is upon the character of these habits that our theory of life 
 depends. 
 
 Now to take as our definition of ■virtuous actions ' such as are found to con- 
 form to Right Reason,' and of evil actions ' such as are not conformable to 
 Right Reason ' — that is true enough, but gives us no sufficient indication where- 
 by to distinguish good from e^vdl. To say that ' Right action is in accordance 
 with Right Reason ' is too vague and general : a definition of such u, kind 
 is not sufBoient to indicate the character of a thing of which we are ignorant. 
 If when we ask for a definition of ' man,' the definition ' animal ' is given, that 
 is not sufficient to explain to us the whole meaning involved therein. 
 
 This wider \iew may therefore be dismissed for the present. "We shall have to 
 deal ■with it by ajid by, and to define what ' Right Reason ' is, and what is its 
 relation to the other virtues. 
 
 {h) 'right' cannot always be DISTmGUISHED FROM ' WRONG ' 
 BY A HARD AND FAST LINE. 
 
 Thus much, however, may at the outset be premised — that a 
 rule to be applicable to real life must be delineated 
 inoutline, rather than drawn out with the precision ^^ ml f 
 of a scientific formula. As was explained at the duct must allow 
 opening of this work, the explanations to be de- !?'' *®, ""^pi'"*- 
 
 1,/. <~i- ,1 -, ■ , *'°" of circum- 
 
 manded from a Science must be relative to the stances, and must 
 nature of the subject-matter. Questions of prac- ¥ sufficiently eias- 
 
 ,. , , , 1 •., ,. „ ,.,., ^ , tic to allo-w ireedom 
 
 tical conduct and considerations or utility present to the moral sense 
 neither fixity nor uniformity, any more than do of the agent. 
 the conditions of health. Such being the com- 
 plexity of the main problem, there is even less exactness admis- 
 sible in the treatment of specific details. Particular circumstances 
 .do not completely fall under any art or under any set of rules. 
 At the moment of action, in view of special complications, men 
 must determine_/w themselves what tends to their true goal, in the 
 same way as the physician judges for himself of the special symp- 
 toms of his patients, or as the helmsman acts in a storm. Still 
 though the difficulties of our subject are so embarrassing, we must 
 endeavour to render help towards their solution. 
 
78 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 2. 
 
 Thus much, however, may at the outset be premised — that our whole theory 
 of duties, I mean the definition of what actions are right and what are wrong, 
 must be framed not with the exactness of a scientific formula, but as it were in 
 general outline. As we stated at the commencement of this Treatise, it is proper 
 to require only such definitions of a subject as may be consistent with the con- 
 ditions of that subject. Now actions, and the interests involved in action, are not 
 uniform nor invariable, any more than are the momentary conditions of health. 
 In regard to health, at one time one thing is beneficial, at another time the 
 entire reverse, the conditions changing with the alternations of bodily health and 
 with the vicissitudes of cii-cumstance. The case is precisely similar in regard to 
 moral action. A line of conduct which at one time has been pernicious, at 
 another time has brought great benefit often to the same individual 
 
 But if a theory of the general truths of morality be thus incapable of being 
 drawn out with the precision of a scientific definition, even more treacherous 
 must a theory of detaUs be : with even less certainty than the imiversal are we 
 able to understand particulars. The determination of particulars falls under no 
 kind of art, nor under any defined mode of treatment, nor under any fijced set of 
 rules. For this reason it is the duty of those who have to meet any difSculty to 
 decide for themselves on each occasion upon the circumstances before them, and 
 from the consideration thereof to seek for a principle to regfulate their conduct 
 at such a crisis. Men will know whether their conduct be right or wrong if 
 they survey the whole circumstances in this spuit. Such is the course which 
 the physician and the helmsman take, judging of the course which is most 
 consistent with their art from the nature of each crisis as it arises. 
 
 StUl, though the subject before us is thus complicated, we must endeavour to 
 contribute assistance to the elucidation of the truth which underlies it. 
 
 (c) DISTINGUISHING FEATDBES WHEKKBT RIGHT AND WRONG MAY 
 BE RECOGNIZED, IN THE ACTUAL CONDUCT OF MEN. 
 
 The point, then, to be chiefly noted is that the attributes of 
 morality are of a nature liable to be marred by 
 r^cSLwS extravagance or defect, by want or superfluity;- 
 failure are defect to employ, as WB must do, material analogies to 
 virtTe™''*^''""^ °^ illustrate immaterial truths. We see this prin- 
 ciple to be literally true in the case of health and 
 strength. Strength is undermined if exercise be taken either 
 too lavishly or too sparingly ; and in the same way, health is ruined 
 if food or drink be either immoderate or insuflScient. On the 
 other hand, if the amount of food or exercise taken be suitable 
 to the individual, his health is promoted and strengthened and 
 preserved. 
 
 The same analogy holds good in regard to self-restraint and 
 courage and the virtues generally. The man who flees before every 
 danger, and shows fear at every alarm, and bears up agaihst not 
 evfen the slightest evil, that man becomes a coward. On the other 
 hand, the man whom no danger will daunt, but who goes to face 
 all odds, becomes reckless. Similarly, when a man drains the full 
 measure of every indulgence, and exercises no kind of self-restraint, 
 he is a sensual man ; and, conversely, the man who shuns every 
 form of enjoyment, as country boors do, he is a man devoid, as it 
 
Bk. II. 2.] Translation. 79 
 
 were, of the feelings of humanity. In other words, the virtues of 
 temperance and of courage are lost by those qualities existing in 
 superfluity or in defect, whereas they are foster*! and secured by a 
 true fitness and equable moderation. 
 
 The point, then, to be chiefly noted is, that ' actions conformable to virtue ' 
 are of a nature to be marred by superfluity or want, just as we see is the case in 
 regard to strength and health — to employ, as we must, illustrations from what is 
 palpable to explain immaterial truths. Exercise which is excessive utterly ruins 
 the strength of the body, as also does exercise which falls short of what is 
 moderate and right. In precisely the same way the matter stands in regard to 
 meat and drink : what is beyond or below what is fitting banishes health away, 
 whereas moderation therein produces, strengthens, and presei-ves health. So also 
 is it, in fact, in regard to temperance and courage, and other virtues. The man 
 who flees before everything and is afraid at every alarm, and never holds his 
 ground in face of panic, that man grows to be a coward. On the other hand, a 
 man who is absolutely afraid of nothing, but goes to meet all dangers, he is a 
 repHess man. Midway between these extremes is the man who has the virtue of 
 bravery. In the same way temperance is marred by excess or defect : the man, 
 for instance, who drains the full measure of every enjoyment and abstains from 
 not a single one, he is a sensual man ; while, conversely, the man who shuns every 
 pleasure, as country boors do, is devoid, as it were, of the feelings of humanity. 
 Between these two extremes is the temperate man, temperance, like courage, 
 being preserved by an equable moderation and a due fitness between desires and 
 their object. 
 
 iii. — Qualities exhibited by actions proceeding from a virtuous 
 
 habit. 
 
 (a) THE BAS^ WITH WHICH THE ACTION IS PERFORMED. 
 
 But not only does each separate state of growth, of development 
 and of decay in our moral life depend upon a 
 repetition of acts akin to itself; not only is every 
 phase under the influence of its original cause; tinuity in the moral 
 but even after our habits have been formed, the •j^«= ^\^?^t p™: 
 
 , ... T , ., ,. ., , ,, „ duces the habit and 
 
 soul Will display its activity by the perform- the habit repro- 
 ance of the self-same acts as those out of which <i"ces the act. 
 its various habits have grown. 
 
 Even in more obvious and material things the same law holds 
 good. Strength, for example, is produced by 
 taking ample food and undergoing toilsome exer- tag'froVfHh'is 
 cise ; and it is the strong man who is best able distinguished by 
 to bear such a discipline. This analogy applies twchitlf don'T*" 
 exactly to the case of the virtues. By abstaining 
 from pleasures we become self-controlled; and, such a habit 
 being once formed, we are better able than ever to continue our 
 abstinence. So, too, in the case of bravery: by accustoming 
 ourselves to despise panics, and to bear up against their terrors, 
 we become brave men ; and, a character for bravery once formed, 
 
8o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, II. 2. 
 
 all the more readily do we find strength to withstand what 
 otherwise might appal us. 
 
 But not only do the activities by means of which the birth and increase or 
 decay of the virtues are brought about, correspond mutually to the results which 
 are thereby effected, being virtuous if they create and strengthen virtue, and 
 evil if they destroy it ; but, further, the activities which f oUow after the formation 
 of a state of virtue, and "s^hioh are the consequences of such a state, exhibit like- 
 wise the characteristics of their early origin. This truth is clear from similar 
 relations that are even more palpable. Strength, for instance, is first produced by 
 taking ample food and undergoing constant toil ; and the strength thus gained 
 becomes the cause of our capacity for such a discipline, the strong man being 
 better than ever able to take ample food and to undergo constant toil. The 
 history of the virtues is precisely similar. By abstaining from pleasures we become 
 temperate, and, a habit of temperance being once gained, we are better able to 
 abstain in future. Similarly in regard to courage : by habituating ourselves to 
 despise dangers and to endure hardship, we grow to be brave men ; and a habit 
 of bravery being once formed, we are the better able to show our strength and to 
 be resolute before alarms. 
 
 (3) THE PLEASURE CONSEQUENT UPON THE PERFORMANCE OP THE 
 
 ACTION. 
 
 Again, the pleasure or pain which is consequent upon the 
 performance of actions, must be regarded as an 
 tirlbitS indication of corresponding habits. The man 
 accompanied with who abstains from bodily indulgences and de- 
 pleasure to the iig];^tg in Jiig self-restraint, is a temperate man; 
 while the man who is inwardly vexed at the 
 curbing of his passions, is a sensual man. A man who confronts 
 dangers and is glad to do so, or at any rate does not chafe under 
 it, is a brave man, whereas the man who confronts them with 
 reluctance is a coward. 
 
 But since the activities which we display before we arrive at a formed state of 
 moral virtue are the same as those which we display after the virtuous habit haa 
 been formed, what mark can be found to distinguish those who possess a habit 
 of virtue from those who have not yet acquired such a habit 1 There is no other 
 criterion except the pleasure or pain which are felt in the actions which are done 
 in conformity with virtue. The man who abstains from bodily indulgences, and 
 delights in the abstinence which he practises, he is a temperate man ; while the 
 man who is vexed in heart at self-restraint, he is a sensual man. Againfthe man 
 who bears the brunt of danger and does so heartily, or at any rate without annoy- 
 ance, he is a brave man ; but if he feels regret at his own self-sacrifice, he is still 
 a coward. 
 
 iv. — The field of Morality is co-extensive with that of pleasure 
 
 and pain. 
 
 {a) PROOFS FROM THE NATURE OF THE CASE. 
 
 (1 .) In fact, the special sphere in which moral virtue is displayed 
 is that of pleasure and pain. When we practise jevil, it is on 
 
Bk, II. 2.] Translation. 8i 
 
 account of the gratification which evil gives. When we shrink 
 from noble deeds, it is from apprehension of the pain which self- 
 sacrifice involves. Hence the need of moral did^ 
 cipline. The true course is, as Plato says, that i. Pleasure and 
 men should in some way or other, be so trained ^^'3 '''^^^ universal 
 from childhood as to have feelings of pleasure and hence the aim 
 in what is right, and feelings of pain in what is °* education is to 
 
 mu J. ■ j.1. 1 1 i i> 1 associate them with 
 
 wrong. That is the only sound system of educa- 'the right ideas. 
 tion. 
 
 (2.) Again, since the virtues are exhibited in the various modes 
 of feeling and action, and every feeling and every 
 action is attended with pleasure and pain, the ^' . ^j^asure and 
 inference is that the sphere of the virtues is the raWe from'°^con- 
 sphere also of pleasure and pain. sciousness, must be 
 
 ^ virtuous or vicious. 
 
 (3.) A further indication of this truth is given in the fact that 
 it is by means of pain that punishments are » p • • 
 inflicted. Punishments are after their kind, as 'moral Ved^i- 
 ' modes of moral cure ; ' and cures are naturally '^^■' 
 brought about by means of things contrary to those which 
 produced the disease. 
 
 (4.) Moreover, as we have already shown, every attitude or 
 condition of the sensitive soul bears a character 
 which reflects and reproduces the influences by 4. influence of 
 which it is naturally rendered better or worse, fn^the Tormati ''''S 
 But the influences by which men's characters are character. 
 rendered evil, are pleasure and pain: — in con- 
 sequence, that is, of pursuing or avoiding the one or the other 
 improperly or at unreasonable times or in an illegal manner, or 
 violating other conditions deflned by Right Eeason. 
 
 In view of the tyranny of pleasure and pain, there are some 
 who positively define the virtues as ' modes of impassivity and of 
 freedom from emotion ; ' inadequately, however, as such a defini- 
 tion needs qualification to limit the impassivity to particular times 
 and circumstances, with other necessary reservations. 
 
 It is assumed, therefore, that virtue is that disposition towards 
 pleasure and pain which we have described above, and which is 
 qualified to produce the best results from them : and that vice is 
 the exact reverse. 
 
 1. In fact the special sphere in which moral virtue is displayed is that of 
 pleasure and pain. The evil that we do, has pleasure for its motive ; and when 
 we gTirJTilr from noble deeds, that is owing to the pain they cost. 
 
 Hence the importance of a training of the feelings. We ought, as Plato says, 
 
82 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 2. 
 
 to regard it as a matter of grave concern that the habits we form shovild be vir- 
 tuous habits, and that the actions we do should be virtuous actions, from our child- 
 hood upwards, and that we should, even while children, be brought up to habits 
 of such a character as would give us strength to find pleasure in what is right, 
 and to feel pain where it is fitting for us to grieve. That is the only sound and 
 rational system of education. 
 
 2. Again, since the virtues are either actions or feelings ; and whatsoever a 
 man does or feels, he has pleasure when those actions and feelings are agreeab^' 
 to his own wish, or else has pain when his actions and feelings are under con- 
 straint from another — it is evident that all moral virtue is concerned with pleasure 
 or pain. 
 
 3. This truth is further evident from the punishments which are inflicted in 
 States. Lawgivers cause trouble to fall upon such as taie pleasure in vicious 
 courses, and thus try to induce them to hate what is evil, and to find their pleasure 
 rather in a virtuous life. Thus it is, by the moral discipline which they inculcate, 
 that lawgivers i instil into men's minds the pleasure which is consequent upon 
 virtue. Legal punishments thus fill a position analogous to medical remedies 
 towards those who are diseased in their social relations. Just as the diseases aie 
 opposed to the remedies which cure them (if, for instance, we see a physioimi •, 
 employing a cold method of cure, we know at once that the disease has bem 
 brought on by heat), so also we know from the painful nature of punishments 
 that the vices which those punishments are designed to cure, arise from pleasure. 
 
 4. Moreover, as has been explained, every formed state of soul bears a character, 
 in sympathy with the objects or circumstances through which it is engendered, 
 and by which it is made better or worse ; — in fact it is only under the influenoa 
 of such circumstances that a mental state consists at all. But it is under the 
 influence of pleasure and pain that vicious states of mind are formed — ^through 
 men pursuing pleasure in an improper manner or at an improper time, or through 
 their avoiding pain at an improper time or in an improper manner, or in an improper 
 place, or through violating other conditions which make the pursuit of pleasure 
 and the avoidance of pain immoral. The case which virtue presents is very 
 similar. A virtuous state is constituted by our pursuing pleasure and pain in a 
 fitting manner and at fitting times. From these considerations it is clear that our 
 mental states exhibit a character of virtue or of vice according to their attitude to 
 pleasure and pain, and that it is under these influences that such states are formed. 
 
 It is from this point of view that certain philosophers define the virtues as 
 ' modes of impassivity ' or ' states of repose,' taking pleasure as the standpoiot 
 for their definition : — incorrectly, however, in that they fonn their definition.' 
 without necessary qualification, i.e. without adding to their idea of moral calm 
 or repose the limitations ' as is right ' and ' when it is right,' and similar 
 conditions. 
 
 It may therefore be assumed that virtue is ' a state of mind which is virtuously 
 disposed in relation to pleasure and pain ' (according to the qualification which 
 we have just di-awn), and in those relations is ' capable of effecting the very best 
 results.' Vice, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. 
 
 (3) PROOFS FROM THE NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 There are still other considerations from which this view may be 
 made clear to us. 
 
 There are three ideas which lead to our choice of an object, and 
 
 three which tend to our aversion of an object, 
 
 a"To" " motiv? On the one hand are ' the beautiful,' ' the expe- 
 
 )5ut, indirectly, also dient,' and ' the pleasurable ; ' on the other hand, 
 
Bk. II. 2.] Translation. 83 
 
 and opposed to these, are 'the ugly,' < the influences our every 
 hurtful,' and 'the painful.' In all these rela~ '^^°^'^^- 
 tions, the good man is sure to be right, and the bad man is 
 sure to be wrong, most of all where pleasure is involved. But 
 pleasure is shared by all organized beings, and follows in the 
 train of whatever objects fall under our choice, since even the 
 beautiful and the expedient are thought to be also pleasur- 
 able. It is, moreover, an element ingrained in all of us from 
 childhood, and is proportionately difficult. to rub out, being, as 
 it were, part of the very complexion of our life. Indeed, we 
 all, though not all in an equal degree, estimate our duties in 
 the balances of pleasure and pain, and regulate our conduct 
 accordingly. 
 
 For these reasons, then, our chief concern must necessarily be 
 with the regulation of these emotions. It has no slight bearing 
 upon our conduct, whether the pleasures and pains we feel are 
 right or wrong. 
 
 Moreover, it is even more difficult to fight against pleasure 
 than against passion, as Heraclitus says ; and the special sphere 
 both of art and of virtue is ever that which is most difficult to 
 accomplish, excellence being, in such a case, more excellent still. 
 Herein is a new reason why the problem concerning both virtue 
 and statesmanship should resolve itself into one concerning 
 pleasure and pain. The man who puts pleasure and pain to their 
 true use, will be good, and the man who abuses the one or the 
 other, will be a bad man. 
 
 But we may gain a better understanding of the arguments here adduced from 
 the following considerations. 
 
 Since there are three feelings which may become motives in determining our 
 choice, and three corresponding opposites which may be motives for our avoidance 
 of a thing — those of the beautiful, the expedient, and the pleasurable opposed to 
 those of the ugly, the injurious and the painful, the good man applies himself to 
 every one of these considerations in a spirit of fairness, pursuing as he does what 
 is really best, and avoiding what it were injurious to pursue ; whereas the bad 
 man falls into error in his choice of considerations, especially in reference to 
 what is pleasurable. 
 
 Now pleasure is not only shared in by all organised beings, but is aJso a con- 
 comitant element in all the ' objects of choice ' enumerated above. Whatever 
 objects we mate our choice, in all of them we experience pleasure. What is 
 beautiful or expedient is also in its nature pleasm'able ; and it is on this account 
 that the wicked are deluded, by considering that whatever is pleasurable must 
 be beautiful and expedient, and fancying that because pleasure is consequent 
 upon whatever is beautiful and expedient, that therefore the terms are mutually 
 convertible. Such, however, is not the fact, since many of those things which 
 are pleasurable are disgraceful and ruinous. 
 
 Hence it is evident that aU human action is found displayed in the field of 
 pleasure and pain. 
 
 Moreover, this feeling is part of our nature from childhood, and grows with 
 our growth, being, as it were, ingrained in the very tissue of our lives. HeaBure 
 
 G 2 
 
84 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 3. 
 
 is in truth the standard by which we distinguish right and wrong: in conduct — 
 according as they entail, the one pleasure and the other pain ; and thus it is that 
 we regulate the activities of our own lives, if not in the same degree yet all of 
 us more or less. 
 
 Therefore it is that o.ur whole business is concerned with pleasure and pain. 
 It is of no slight assistance to a man when he is inquiring what he ought to do, 
 if he know what it is to have the feelings of pleasure and pain under virtuous 
 control ; since it is a most important element in conduct that we should fed 
 pleasure or pain in a right way. It is from the emotions which men exhibit of 
 joy or sorrow that we have knowledge of their character, whether it be vii-tuous 
 or immoral. 
 
 Again, both virtue and art are displayed in achievements where it is not easy 
 to succeed. In order to compass objects which are easy there is no need of a long- 
 sustained habit, nor of a special course of training. In proportion therefore as 
 things are more difficult, will they require the greater skiU. and the greater virtue, 
 since it is more meritorious to achieve successfully what is specially difficult than 
 it is to surmount what is easy. Virtue will therefore assume its highest form in 
 what is most difficult, and circumstances of difficulty form its most characteristic 
 sphere. But, as Heraolitus says, it is more dif5cnlt to fight against pleasure than 
 even against passion. Herein, then, is a new reason why the whole business of 
 our inquiry will lie with pleasure and pain, as well in view of private as of public 
 morality. The man who turns pleasui-e and pain to a noble use is a good man ; 
 while the man who abuses these emotions is a bad m.an. 
 
 (c) SUMMARY OF THE CONDITIONS OF A VIRTOOUS HABIT. 
 
 These arguments will be sufficient to prove : 
 
 1. The field in which virtue is displayed is pleasure and pain. 
 
 2. Virtue is strengthened when the acts from which it origi- 
 nates are continued, and, contrariwise, is destroj'ed when those 
 acts cease, or are changed. 
 
 3. Virtue continues to manifest itself under conditions like 
 those by which it was formed. 
 
 It has now been shown that : 
 
 1. The sphere of moral virtue is fonned by pleasure and pain. 
 
 2. Moral virtue is strengthened or destroyed under the conditions out of which 
 it is fonned, according as our activities are displayed therein in one mode or an- 
 other. 
 
 3. Moral virtue continues to manifest itself under conditions like those by which 
 it was formed. 
 
 v.— Morality of the Act distinguished from the Morality of the 
 
 Agent. 
 
 (a) STATEMENT OF OBJECTIONS TO THE THEORV OF HABIT. 
 
 But perhaps a critic may raise a difficulty as to the precise 
 sense in which we hold the view that, ' by per- 
 Z'ilsLfd'epends forming right actions men grow to be righteous, 
 upon the virtuous and by performing acts of self-restraint men 
 wlot Sn! g>-°^ to be temperate.' _ He might object that, « if 
 deiitiy of habit, as men perform acts of justice or of temperance, 
 
Bk. II. 3.] Translation. 85 
 
 they must by that very fact be already just and in the analogy of 
 temperate, in the same way as they would be *'^®^'"''^-' 
 scholars and musicians, if they showed the knowledge of the 
 scholar, or the skill of the musician.' 
 
 But here a critao may raise a difficulty. ' Wiat is the meaning,' he may ask, 
 ' of saying that it is necessary for a man, who desires to become just, to do just 
 actions, or temperate actions, if his desire is to be temperate. Those who per- 
 form just acts are in every sense just men, and those who perform temperate acts 
 are temperate men, precisely as those who execute musical or scholarly compo- 
 sitions are musicians and scholars.' 
 
 {b) REPLY TO THE ABOVE OBJECTIONS. 
 
 1 . But does this objection hold good even in the case of the arts ? 
 It is surely possible for a man to show gram- 
 matical knowledge by accident or the suggestion J;„^"even i^ the 
 of others. A man will not be a scholar unless he ai-ts,' that the per- 
 not only shows grammatical knowledge, but does y^"* erfect^hab^^^ 
 so for scholarly reasons — in virtue, that is, of the 
 
 scholarship which he possesses in himself and in his own right. 
 
 2. Moreover, the case is not parallel between the arts and the 
 virtues. The results eifected by the arts have an 
 
 excellence of their own independently of the 2. If it were true, 
 
 artist: it is sufficient for them to bear the *tt hofiToorln 
 
 impress of certain qualities. On the other hand, art the dispositions 
 
 the results attained in the way of the virtues, are i^mtteriti*''* but 
 
 not effected, for example, with justice and tern- they are of the veiy 
 
 perance, by bearing certain characteristics of essence of nght 
 
 ,.'•', ° , . , and wrong. 
 
 their own, unless at the same time the agent 
 who produces them himself possesses certain qualities. 
 
 There are, in fact, three conditions for a perfect moral act. 
 The agent must perform the act (1) consciously, 
 (2) from deliberate preference (his choice being Three tests of the 
 for a particular object for its own sake), and (3) ^°^f ^^ "* ^^^^ 
 with firm and settled purpose. 
 
 Now for the attainment of the various arts, these conditions 
 (save the simple possession of knowledge) are not accounted 
 necessary requisites in the artist. For the attainment of the 
 virtues, on the contrary, knowledge is of slight or of no avail ; 
 whereas it is of great, nay, of supreme importance, that the agent 
 should himself be possessed of those moral qualities which ensue 
 from the constant practice of justice and of temperance. In fact, 
 moral acts can only be ranked as just or temperate when they are 
 of such a nature as the just and temperate man would perform. 
 
86 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 3. 
 
 But the just and temperate man is what he is, not by the mere 
 performance of such and such actions, but by showinof the spirit 
 and acting after the manner of one whose character is just and 
 temperate. 
 
 1. In reply, I maintain that there is manifestly a difference between perform, 
 ing just actions and being oneself just, and this difference appUes equally to the 
 arts. It is conceivable for a man to execute a grammatical composition from 
 chance, or at the suggestion of another, and yet not be himself a scholai-. A man 
 wiU not be a scholar unless he not only executes scholarly work, but does so for 
 scholarly reasons— foUowing, that is, consistently the standard of scholarship 
 which he possesses within himself. By the same analogy it is quite conceivable 
 for a man to perform acts of justice without being himself a just man. 
 
 2. Nay, rather, the difference upon these points is greater in the case of virtue 
 than in that of the arts. In the ai-ts ' the good ' consists in the exercise of the 
 artistic faculty. Consequently, if a man execute musical compositions with a 
 knowledge of the musical art, there is nothing to prevent our calling him a mu- 
 sician. He is none the less a musician, though the compositions he performs are 
 not done with deliberate preference of his own, but under the constraint of an- 
 other. But in the case of virtue the reverse is true ; a man will not be just though 
 he perform just actions, unless, in addition to other conditions, he perform the 
 actions with a positive wish of his own, and impelled to act by his own choice, 
 without any constraint placed upon him. 
 
 In fact, to be moral a man must satisfy the following conditions. In doing just 
 actions he must, in the first place, Immv what he is doing ; secondly, he mustact 
 from his own free choice ; and thirdly, his moral attitude in regard to such actions 
 must be firm and unwavering. [The reasons for this last condition are that, ac- 
 cording to our meaning of the word, a man wiU not be just, though he knows 
 what justice is, and willingly acts up to his knowledge if he fancies that there axe 
 times exempt from the obligations of justice.] 
 
 But these conditions are not required in order to acquire the various aits, and 
 to become artists in virtue thereof — excepting the one condition of knowledge. 
 Devoid of knowledge, how could a man possibly be an artist at aJl ? But as for 
 the other conditions, though a man practise his art without any deliberate pre- 
 ference, or without having a firm, unfaltering attitude in regard to the handling 
 of his art, he is not on that account hindered from being an artist. On the othel 
 hand, in regard to moral virtue, the mere knowledge of what it is fitting for a 
 man to know of his duty, serves little or no good purpose ; whereas the other 
 qualifications are of great and even supreme importance — in view, that is, of grow- 
 ing to be oneself good and virtuous. It is quite conceivable for a man to be a 
 good and virtuous man, though he know not how to speak of virtue with any 
 degree of precision ; but it is impossible for him to be good unless he have a 
 deliberate preference for such and such a course, and an unwavering attitude in 
 regard to virtue — and these are moral conditions which result from the repeated 
 exercise of the faculties in a particular direction, as has been explained. 
 
 Actions are, therefore, only just and temperate when they bear a character like 
 that which the just and temperate man would show therein ; and a man is just 
 and temperate not necessarily from doing such and such actions, but from doing 
 them in the spirit which the just and temperate show. 
 
 (c) CONCLUSION: FOR AN ACT TO BE MORAL THE AGENT MUST BE 
 MORAL; AND THE AGENT IS MORAL BY CONSTANT PRACTICE. 
 
 It is, therefore, rightly affirmed that ■ a man becomes just by 
 performing just acts, and temperate by performing acta of self- 
 
Bk. II. 4. J Translation. 87 
 
 restraint ; whereas, by refraining from such acts a man would not 
 even have a chance of becoming good.' 
 
 The generality of men, however, instead *of ^''^ conclusion is 
 practising the virtues, take shelter in arguing ma\es ^perfecH 
 about them, and fancy that they are philosophers and that knowledge 
 and that their speculations will make them good, canied into effect!^ 
 Such conduct is just as foolish as that of in- 
 valids who hearken zealously to their physicians, but carry out 
 none of their directions. As these foolish patients will never 
 attain to sound health by such a method of treatment, so neither 
 will these doctrinaires attain to a virtuous state of soul by such a 
 method of philosophising. 
 
 The view, therefore, which I have maintained is the right one — that ' a man 
 grows to be just by performing just acts, and temperate by performing acts of 
 self-restraiat ; whereas a man who does not practise virtuous acts will never even 
 have a chance of becoming good.' 
 
 The generality of men, however, instead of practising the virtues, take refuge 
 in philosophy and fine theories, and fancy that they are philosophers and virtuous 
 men, simply on the ground that they know how to talk with subtle discrimina- 
 tion upon the theory of virtue. Such conduct is much like that of invalids who 
 hearken zealously to their physicians, yet carry out none of their directions. As 
 these foolish patients will never attain to sound health by such a method of treat- 
 ment, so neither will these moral dreamers make their souls more noble and vir- 
 tuous by studying the philosophy of life in such a spirit of trifling. 
 
 XL— FOEMAL DEFINITION OF VIRTUE. 
 
 i. — What is the generic character of Virtue ? 
 
 Our nest enquiry will be to settle what is the generic character 
 of virtue. 
 
 l.^JNUMEEATION OP THE POWERS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Now;^as there are three forces operating in the soul — emotions, 
 capacities and habits — virtue must be one or 
 other of them. "^^'f' °* ^''^ 
 
 ^'"* _ moral powers. 
 
 1. I mean by ' emotions ' such feelings as 
 
 desire, anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, affection, hatred, longing, 
 emulation, pity, — in fact, all those states of consciousness which 
 are attended by pleasure and pain. 
 
 2. I mean by ' capacities ' those dispositions or tendencies from 
 which such and such feelings may be evoked, and in virtue of 
 which we are said to be ' capable ' of those feelings, capable, that 
 is, of feeling anger, pity, or pain. 
 
 3. I mean by ' habits ' those dispositions in accordance with 
 
88 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 4. 
 
 which we hold a certain attitude, whether right or wrong, towards 
 particular emotions; for example, in regard to the feeling of 
 anger, if the attitude of our minds he towards either violence or 
 apathy, then our ' hahit ' is an improper one, whereas, if our 
 attitude be one of due moderation, then our ' habit ' is a virtuous 
 habit. The case is analogous with the other virtues. 
 
 We win now go on to consider what is the generic character of virtue. 
 Now there are three forces operating in the soul — emotions, capacities, and 
 habits. 
 
 1. ' Emotions ' are such feelings as desire, anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, 
 affection, hatred, longing, emulation, pity — in fact all such states of consciousness 
 as are attended with pleasure or pain. 
 
 2. ' Capacities ' are aptitudes and tendencies of soul for such and such and 
 such emotions, and in virtue of which we are said to be capable of experiencing 
 those emotions, eg., of being roused to anger or of feeling pain and pity. 
 
 3. ' Habits ' are the ■modes in which we are affected by the emotions, and in 
 accordance with which our ' frame of mind ' is right or wrong. For example, 
 in feeling anger or passion, if, on the one hand, our attitude be violent and un- 
 controllable, or, on the other hand, apathetic and easy, our ' ha,bit ' or state of 
 mind is a wrong one, whereas, if our attitude be one of due moderation, then our 
 habit is a virtuous habit. The same analogy applies to other mental states. 
 
 2. VIETUE SHOWN TO BE 'A HABIT.' 
 
 (a) There are the following reasons to prove that neither virtues 
 nor vices are mere ' emotions ' : — 
 
 1. Considerations (1.) We are not Said to be either good or evil 
 
 is° somTtMnr^ore ^^P^^ °^ *^^ S™"^'^ "^ o""" emotions, as we are 
 than feeling. On the grouud of our virtues and vices. 
 
 (2.) We are neither praised nor blamed on the 
 score of our emotions as we are on the score of our virtues and 
 vices : i.e.., a man is not praised simply because he has emotions 
 of fear or of anger, nor is a man blamed simply on the ground of 
 his anger, but only when anger is felt under unjustifiable cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 (3.) We are moved to anger or to fear without a deliberate act 
 of the will. But the virtues are ' forms of volition ' — or, at any 
 rate, they are not devoid of some action of the will. 
 
 (4.) Besides, in common language, we are said to be ' stirred ' or 
 * roused ' in regard to our feelings, whereas in regard to the virtues j 
 and vices we are said to be ' disposed'' in such and such a way. I 
 
 {h) The above reasons show also that neither are the virtues 
 simple ' capacities ; ' i.e., 
 
 2. Considerations (1.) We are not said to be either good or bad 
 
 to show that virtue „■ ,„i„ ^ .„ -j. i. . . ° . 
 
 is something more smipJy Irom a Capacity to receive impressions, 
 than capacity. (2.) We are neither praised nor blamed for our 
 
 capacities. 
 
J3k. II. 5.] Translation. 89 
 
 (3.) We are capable of receiving impressions by the very con- 
 stitution of our nature, but we do not become, merely by nature, 
 either good or bad. • 
 
 (c) Seeing then that the virtues are neither ' emotions ' nor 
 ' capacities,' it follows that they must be ' habits ' — i.e. permanent 
 tendencies of our moral nature. 
 
 To which of these three forces then, does virtue belong' 1 Is it an ' emotion,' 
 a 'capacity,' or a ' habit ' ? 
 
 1. Certainly neither virtue nor vice is a mere emotion ; because — 
 
 (1.) In respect of our virtue we are called virtuous, and in respect of our vice, 
 vicious, but neither one nor the other in respect of our emotions. No man is 
 either good or bad simply from having, for instance, the feeling of anger. 
 Neither virtue nor vice, therefore, will be an emotion. 
 
 (2.) In respect of our emotions we are neither praised nor blamed as we are in 
 respect of our virtues or vices. 
 
 (3.) We feel anger or fear without any distinct determination of the will (and 
 so it is with all the other feelings we experience), but in the case of virtue and of 
 vice there is the conscious assent of the will. Yirtue and vice are therefore not 
 mere emotions. 
 
 (1.) Again, in. regard to the emotions, we are not said to have such and such a 
 disposition, but to be ' moved ' or ' stirred ' in respect thereto. But in respect 
 of virtue, and similarly in respect to vice, we are said to be ' disposed ' in a 
 certain way. Hence virtues and vices are not emotions. 
 
 2. The same reasons prove also that they are' not ' capacities : ' 
 
 (1.) We are not caUed good or bad simply from having the capacity for being 
 angered. 
 
 (2.) Nor are we praised or blamed for such a capacity. 
 
 (3.) We are not capable of being angered simply by having formed a resolution 
 to be so, as is the case with moral virtue (the moral decision producing the moral 
 state), but our capacity for emotion depends upon the natural constitution which 
 is bom with us. As has been shown in the previous arguments we do not become 
 by nature either good or bad. 
 
 3. If then the virtues are neither emotions nor capacities, the only alternative 
 is that they must belong to the class of ' habits,' or tendencies fixed by practice 
 of their acts. 
 
 It has thus been proved that in its generic nature virtue is a ' habit.' 
 
 ii. — ^What are the distinguisMng charaoteristies of Virtue ? 
 
 It has now been explained what virtue is in its ' material ' 
 nature. But we must not be content with this 
 
 general explanation of it as ' a habit ' or ' perma- What 'form ' or 
 
 nent tendency : ' we must further explain what Tef L "St rf 
 
 is its ' formal ' nature or specific character. . virtue assume » 
 
 1. WHAT IS IMPLIED BY THE 'EXCELLENCE' OF A THING? 
 
 Now it may be assumed that the ' excellence ' of a thing is that 
 quality which finishes off, as with a touch of art, the object to 
 which it attaches, and renders the result as a whole perfect. The 
 
90 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. o. 
 
 excellence of the eye, for instance, makes the eye good and its 
 operation effectual: it is through the excellence 
 Gfeneral conception of the eye that we scc well. In the same way 
 "L^^S^: the excellence of the horse makes the horse 
 Strong, and able to run and to bear its rider and 
 to stand the shock of the enemy. 
 
 If this definition] be, as it is, of universal application, the 
 ' excellence ' of man will be a habit or fixed state of mind in 
 virtue whereof he proves himself to be a goc^d man, and is enabled 
 to finish off, with a perfect touch, his work as man. 
 
 But we must not merely describe virtue as ' a habit ; ' we must add the further 
 qualification what land, of |habit it is, i.e. that it is a virtnmis habit, while vice 
 is a vicious habit. 
 
 Now thus much may be at once assumed respecting virtue — ^that like all 
 excellence, it adorns the object which possesses it, and causes it to be in a rigMi 
 state, and brings the work which is effected by means thereof to an exceUefii 
 effect. The exceUenoe of the eye, for instance, perfects the eye and makes it a 
 good eye and renders its function, i.e. seeing, effectual : it is through the 
 excellence of the eye that we see well. Similarly also the excellence of the 
 horse distinguishes the horse itself and makes it a good horse and renders its 
 operation effectual : it is through such excellence that it is able to bear its rider 
 easily, and to gallop, and to stand the shock of the foe. 
 
 Since this principle is of universal application, the excellence proper to man 
 will show the same characteristics, and will be ' a habit of mind in virtue 
 whereof a man proves himself a good man, and is enabled to accomplish the 
 proper work of his life successfully and nobly.' 
 
 2. THE IDEA OF ' EXCELLEKCE ' ILLUSTRATED BY COMPARISON 
 WITH THE IDEA OF A 'MEAN' OR ' IDEAL.' 
 
 I have already^explained how this excellence may be attained ; 
 but our view of it will be rendered yet clearer ih 
 The mathematical the following light — by examining, that is, what 
 proSio'^, and of ^^i" distinguishing natiu-e of excellence precisely is. 
 'the mean' in- Take the analogy of mathematical proportion : 
 datf "further'^ the i° ^^^ quantity whether continuous or discrete, we 
 idea of excellence, may take a part that is ' greater ' or * less ' or 
 * equal ' — either absolutely in regard to the thing 
 itself or relatively in regard to ourselves (the equal being that 
 which is midway between excess and defect). By the ' absolute 
 mean ' I understand a point equally distant from two extremes, a 
 point which is one and the same for all persons. By the ' relative 
 mean ' I understand'one which is neither in excess nor defect in 
 regard to a particular purpose, or point of view of our own. The 
 ' relative mean ' is then not a quantity which is one and the same 
 for all. Suppose, for example, that ten be too much and two be 
 insufficient, we take six as ' the absolute mean : ' it exceeds and is 
 exceeded by the same number, and that is the mean according to 
 
Bk. II. 5.] Translation. 91 
 
 arithmetical proportion. But the ' relative mean ' must be 
 regarded in a different light to this. Looking to the ' relative 
 mean,' if ten pounds be too much for a man to eat and two pounds 
 be too little, the trainer will not necessarily prescribe six pounds. 
 Six pounds might be either too much or too little for the man who 
 would have to take it : it would be too little for a Milo, and too 
 much for a man who was just beginning gymnastic training. 
 Similarly also in the case of running and wrestling. In this 
 spirit every wise teacher avoids excess and defect, and adopts by 
 preference ' a mean ' — not the mean that is absolute, but one that 
 is proper and relative to ourselves and adapted to our own needs. 
 
 How such a state can be brought about, was explained a few pages back. 
 We showed that th^ man who was resolutely determined to live in the practice of 
 virtue ever aimed at ' a mean state ' in regard to those impulses which lead to 
 the forming of emotions, and further habituated himself to such a line of 
 moderation. < 
 
 This principle of moderation will be made yet more clear by the considerations 
 which I will now proceed to give, from the careful examination, that is, of the 
 distinctive and special characteristics of virtue or excellence as such. 
 
 Let us, then, regard the matter in the following aspect. In everything which 
 is continuous, for instance a line, a superficies, a, body, a speech, a period of time 
 — in fact, in everything which is capable of being divided into parts, one may 
 take a part which is greater or less or equal. In the case, for example, of 
 extended space : if ten feet be too much and two feet too little, the ' equal ' 
 wiU be that which contains six feet, and that is called also ' the mean,' because 
 it exceeds two feet in the same proportion as it is exceeded by ten feet. The 
 case is similar also in regard to ' discrete ' quantity. If 20 be too much and 10 
 too little, 15 wUl be a fair equality, because 15 exceeds 10 the less in the same 
 proportion as it falls short of 20 the greater. An ' equal ' of this kind is called 
 ' a mean,' and an arrangement of ratios of this kind is arithmetical proportion. 
 In the case of discrete quantity it is not invariably necessary to find the arith- 
 metical proportion (since we cannot caixy on our division to infinity) ; but in the 
 case of continuous quantity we may do so (since that is capable of being 
 divided into infinite parts). 
 
 We do not, therefore, always determine this mean in the same manner. At 
 one time we judge of it by the standard of the thing itself, at another time 
 by a standaord that is relative to ourselves. In respect of the thing itself the 
 mean between 10 and 2 is 6, 6 exceeding and being exceeded to the same extent. 
 But a mean is relative to ourselves when the middle and the excess and the defect 
 is taken from our own point of view. For instance, if it be too much for anyone 
 to eat 10 pounds, and 2 pounds be too little for him, it does not follow that 6 
 pounds is the quantity which keeps the mean and is suitable to our constitution : 
 it is possible that either more or less may be needed to satisfy. In respect there- 
 fore of the thing itself, 6 pounds are the ' mean,' between 10 and 2, and what is 
 equal ; but in reference to our own needs perhaps 7, perhaps 5, pounds, that is to 
 say, whatever number of pounds is suitable to the constitution. A dinner of 6 
 pounds will be too little for a Milo, as being in a thorough state of training, and 
 his trainer will provide him with u more ample allowance; whereas such a 
 quantity would be excessive for a man who is just commencing systematic 
 training. 
 
 The same principle applies to running and wrestling : we judge of the ' mean' 
 from the stand-point of those who are being trained for competition. Indeed, 
 anyone who presides over the regulation of any profession seeks the mean, 
 avoiding the excess or defect ; but the mean which he pursues is one relative to 
 ourselves and to our own circumstances, and not the mean which is absolute. 
 
92 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle- [Bk. II. 5. 
 
 3. APPLICATION OF THE CONCEPTION OP 'THE MEAN' TO THE 
 MORAL LIFE. 
 
 Seeing, then, that it is the genius of science to give an exact 
 
 finish to its special functions, having regard to 
 
 Comparison of vir- -j-g ^^^ i^g^i and referring to the standard of that 
 
 tue to an art where ., , ,, ., i . j • xi. j. l- l 
 
 the symmetry of all ideal all its products ; and seeing that artists are 
 the parts produces yf(y[± to say of their works when finished off that 
 a pe ec eau y. .^ .^ impossible to take away a line or to add a 
 sino-le touch, under the helief that a line wanting or a stroke too ,, 
 much spoil the beauty of a work, whereas a chastened moderation 
 preserves it; seeing further, that skilled workmen make this 
 ' finish of art ' as we call it, the ideal at which they ajm in working; 
 and seeing, lastly, that virtue like nature is a thing far more 
 exact and important than any art : — for all these reasons, clearly,. ' 
 virtue will likewise aim at producing a perfect finish and realizing 
 the noblest ideal. 
 
 The virtue of which I am now speaking is moral, not intellectual 
 virtue, the moral nature being alone concerned 
 Truth and science ■^\<Ca. feeling and action in which ' excess ' and 
 Umitfesr: "the ^m:- ' defect ' and ' the mean ' are manifested. It is 
 tistic conception of possible, I mean, to be afraid and to be confideni^i^ 
 forerappiy' ""1^*0 *° ^^^^ strong passions or to be roused to anger or 
 the moral life and to be movcd to pity, and generally, to feel plea- 
 conduct?"'''''"'" STire and pain, in excess and defect, and in either 
 event wrongly. In such cases what constitutes 
 the moral mean and the true ideal of action, is the observance of 
 the due season, of the proper circumstances, of the true end and 
 of the right manner, and such an observance is the special charac- 
 teristic of virtue. 
 
 The same law applies to outward conduct. In actions as in 
 feelings are found excess and defect and a true fitness. But 
 actions and feelings are the sphere in which virtue is displayed, 
 and in both cases excess or extravagance implies moral failure, 
 and defect is visited with censure ; whereas the attainment of a 
 perfect mean receives the approbation of mankind and is crowned 
 with success. But success and public approbation are indications 
 of moral merit. 
 
 Thus it is that every soience finishes off with true grace its proper f unotioii j 
 and accordingly we are wont to say in reference to works of art when beautifully 
 executed that it is impossible to add a single line or to talce away a single touch, 
 indicating thereby that a perfect work avoids equally excess and defect, under 
 the idea that extravagance or defect spoils the beauty of a work, whilst a chastened 
 simplicity preserves it. 
 
 But since virtue is more delicately exact and more important than any art 
 
Bk. II. 5,] Translation. " 93 
 
 (just as also nature is), it will itself also have regard to this principle of the 
 ' mean ' or relative fitness. 
 
 The virtue of which I am now speaking, is not intellectual but moral virtue 
 (the circumstances being different in regard to intelleotujS virtue), moral virtue 
 beiug concerned with emotions and actions which are capable of being more 
 numerous and stronger, or on the other hand, less, than what is fitting ; and 
 hence what is ' due,' %.e. what is ' equal,' is also found therein. It is possible 
 to be afraid or to be confident, to indulge in passion, to be roused to anger or to 
 pity, and generally to have the sensations of pleasure or pain in excess or in de- 
 fect, and in either issue, improperly. To experience these feelings invariably at 
 the proper time and in the proper manner, under proper circumstances and 
 against proper persons and with proper motives . . . this is the moral ideal, and 
 the true Best, and that in which virtue consists. 
 
 The case is similar in regard to the actions which are brought about under the 
 influence of the passions : therein, also, in excess and defect and ' the mean.' 
 
 Since, therefore, virtue is manifested in the sphere of feeling or of action, and 
 in regard both to feelings and actions the ' mean' is always called ' rectitude,' 
 or ' success,' and is praised (public recognition and popular applause being 
 both characteristic of moral merit), it is evident that virtue is neither excess nor 
 defect, but a ' mean state ' having regard in every case to an ideal fitness or 
 moderation between extremes. 
 
 4. DIFFICULTIES IN THE ATTAINMENT OF ' THE MEAN.' 
 
 Virtue is, therefore, a ' moral fitness ' — a state calculated at any 
 rate to achieve an ideal fitness in the conduct of 
 life. To fail, however, in this high standard is This conception of 
 possible in innumerahle ways (since ' wrong ' be- J^t" ry^'^^et^^'and 
 longs — as the Pythagoreans expressed it in their fitness of life,' sug- 
 mystical way-to the 'infinite,' which is not ^^1^^,!^; 
 brought under the sphere of law ; whereas ' right' ^ of its attainment, 
 or ' the good ' belongs to what is determinate and 
 within the sphere of law). To succeed is, on the other hand, 
 possible in one way only. Consequently wrong is easy, and right 
 is difficult : it is easy to miss the mark and difficult to attain it. 
 
 Here, then, is a new reason why excess and defect are charac- 
 teristic of vice, while a true fitness is the characteristic of virtue ; 
 as the poet says, 
 
 " Single the path of the good : many the ways of the bad." 
 
 Further, error or failure in our true purpose is multiform, so to speak. Many 
 are the ways in which it is possible for a man to go wrong. ' The evil is infinite,' 
 as the Pythagoreans phrase it ; whereas the good is a thing defined and limited. 
 Accordingly to act rightly is a simple, plain course, which has but one single 
 aspect. Hence also to err is easy — as easy as for an archer to miss the mark, 
 while to succeed is difficult, as difficult as for one to throw at a; precise point. 
 It is evident, then, for this reason among others that excess and defect are 
 characteristics of vice (each of them being indeterminate), whereas ' the mean ' 
 being defined and simple, is the characteristic of virtue ; as the poet says, 
 
 " Single the path of the good : many the ways of the bad." 
 
94 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 6. 
 
 5. E^SUM^ : COMPLETE DEFINITION OF VHITUE. 
 
 Virtue is, therefore, ' a formal state of mind united witli the 
 assent of the will and based upon an ideal of what 
 Theelementswhich jg ^jgst in actual life — an ideal set up by Eight 
 ceptiof of 'vi^"; Reason, according as the moral sense of the good 
 are : (1) a formed jjian would determine its application.' This ideal 
 ofthe^^ii^TsTa or Standard of right is 'a mean state' between 
 moral ideal, (4) two vices, One in the direction of excess, the other 
 SlxSrck'^^ in tlie direction of defect : it is a mean state also 
 from the fact that vices fall short or else go be- 
 yond what is fitting both in feeling and conduct, whereas virtue 
 has an instinct to find out and the resolution to prefer * the mean,' 
 the true fitness of things. 
 
 Hence it is that, regarded in its cause, — defined, that is, ac- 
 cording to its essential nature. Virtue is ' a mean state ; ' but in its 
 effect and from the point of view of what is best and most excellent 
 it is an ' extreme.' 
 
 Virtue is, therefore, ' a permanent state of mind, formed with the concmTence 
 of the will and based upon an ideal of what is test in actual life — an ideal fixed 
 by Reason according as the moral sense of the good man would determine its 
 application.' This ideal is ' a mean state ' between two vices, one tending 
 to excess and the other to defect : it goes beyond the one and falls short of the 
 other — since one of these faults goes beyond what is right and the other falls 
 short of it, whereas Yirtue seeks only what is fitting, i.c. ' the mean,' and makes 
 that mean its choice. 
 
 Consequently, if we were to seek the simple essence of virtue, it is ' a mean 
 state ; ' but if we regard its result and take the standpoint of what is excellent, 
 virtue is ' an extreme.' 
 
 iii, — Certain exceptions to which the criterion of 'the mean' does 
 
 not apply, 
 
 1. CBETAIN ACTIONS AEE ABSOLUTELY EIGHT OK ABSOLUTELY 
 WEONG, lEEESPECTIVELY OP CIECUMSTANCES AND CONDITIONS. 
 
 (a) Still it igjipt every action nor ev^ryjeeling, that_adnQite of 
 
 these delicate distinctions of £ropjortio%-filaegs or 
 
 ^the"Tean°" 1 harmony.' There are feelings ^aiHUactiongJhe 
 
 virtue, and of its bare mention of which involves at once t he jdea 
 
 deviation as the of their wickedness. Reioicing at evil, shameKss^ 
 
 vices, apphes only . J => ' 
 
 to things indiflfe- uessT^uvy, Or, m outward action, adultery, theit, 
 "^^rt in ti^^ i™ mm'der— these things and such as these are re- 
 herently wrong. probated from the fact of their being wicked, not 
 in their states of excess or defect, but in them- 
 selves and inherently. In relation to such sins as these, it is 
 
Bk. II. 6.] Translation. 
 
 95 
 
 never possible to be right, but one would certainly commit a 
 crime on everj_oc.QasiQn ollhgir, indulgence. 
 
 • 
 (i) NoiL_doe8-fllS- righ tn esa^-jor, jgronggess of such an act as 
 ad ultery depend _upon_ttLe_cgmmission of tlie~act 
 witli_a^ particu lar person or in a particular^ man- No consideration of 
 ner, but witEouT limitation or exception., to com- °i.'^°^™^*^."i'^,^ 
 
 ,-j _ ' ,1 , • , ., y_^— affects the sinful- 
 
 mit .gjiysucn act as that is to commit a sm. ness of murder. 
 
 (c) It is equally futile to claim ' a mean ' or * an excess ' or ' a 
 defect-'- -as -qnalii^ing. ia|jiaEca,3rl cowardice, of 
 intemperance. On such a supposition there would '^^ '"■^ °* *iie 
 
 ,, n .j.3j?j.> :\ L mean cannot either 
 
 be ' a mean oi excess and delect and ' an excess be applied to things 
 of excess' and ' a defect of defect.' But just as ^'ii<='i are them- 
 there is neither exces s nor defect possibl g_ij. self- from a mean? '°°'* 
 res traint or cour age, seeing that ' the mean state ' 
 is in some sense an ideal limit or extreme ; so neither in these 
 other cases is there ' a - .mean' nor an excess nor a defect.Jbut in 
 wTiataofiver wayjjiAy -may Tig-committed,^ uch acts are absolutely 
 sinful. In a word, there is no mean of excess and defect, nor 
 excess and defect of a mean. 
 
 1, Still it is right for us to understand further that it is not every action nor every 
 feeling that admits of this principle of ' the mean ' into which we have been 
 making inquiry : the standard of ' fitness ' is not universally applicable. There 
 are certain acts and certain emotions which, whether they are found in excess or 
 in defect or in some kind of mean, are invariably sinful and evil — for example, 
 in the emotions, shamelessness and envy, or in actions, adultery, theft, murder. 
 All such things are not called evil from the fact of their going beyond a certain 
 ' mean ' point therein, nor from falling below such a point ; but they are inher- 
 ently evil in themselves. Under no circumstances whatever can the idea of ' fit- 
 ness ' be applied to any form of such sins ; but under any and every form of their 
 indulgence it is inevitable to commit a crime. In such cases one cannot deter- 
 mine beforehand any limits within which such acts may be done, as may be done 
 with the virtues generally. One cannot lay down rules for -housebreakers, deter- 
 mining in what manner they may steal, upon what occasions, what things or from 
 what persons ; but irrespective of all conditions, to do anything whatever of the 
 kind is to commit a crime. 
 
 In such cases as these, therefore, there is no ' mean ' nor ' excess ' nor ' defect ' 
 any more than there are limits for the practice of justice or cowardice or sensuality. 
 Some of these states are excesses, and others defects of virtue ; and it would be 
 utterly absurd to seek for an ' excess of excess,' or for ' a defect of defect,' or ' a 
 mean in excess and defect.' Just as there is neither excess nor defect, nor a mean 
 of a mean (I am speaking of moral virtue,) but virtue is, so to speak, ' the extreme 
 of the mean ; ' so neither can there be a mean or an excess or a defect in states 
 of excess and defect, but iavariably, under whatever circumstances such acts are 
 committed, they are sinful and wrong. In a word, there is no mean of excess and 
 defect, nor excess and defect in a mean. 
 
96 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. r. 
 
 III.— CLASSIFICATION OF VIRTUES TO ILLUSTRATE THE 
 LAW OF 'THE MEAN." 
 
 But the princi^lesjof virtue must not simply be stated in this 
 general way: we must show their adaptation to 
 We may now pro- t]je special circumstances of life. In ethical 
 aetw^themeau Speculation general _ propositions are somewhat' 
 iu its various appii- impalpable: there is greater reality in specific' 
 "4*1^.*°'^'°'^" truths which illustrate specific duties. As the 
 whole range of action lies within particular circum- 
 stances, our principles ought to be consistent when applied to them. 
 
 "We will therefore take from our Catalogue of the virtues certain 
 specimens of the special conditions of life, to show the application 
 of our theory thereto. 
 
 But we must not merely say in a general way that ' virtue is a mean state,' and 
 that ' yice consists in extremes,' but we must further explain in detail what par- 
 ticular virtue is a mean between what particular extremes. In discussions bear- 
 ing upon conduct, while general propositions are more comprehensive, and are 
 applicable to the larger number of instances, specific truthi are the more real and 
 trustworthy, inasmuch as they fit on closely to actions for the very reason that 
 actions always tate place under specific circumstances, and with the exigencies of 
 specific circumstances true principles of course harmonize. 
 
 We will therefore take such cases as we require from the Diagram which I have 
 unfolded before you. As has been explained, virtue lies midway between an excess 
 and defect in every single phase of the moral life (excepting only such as are 
 inherently vicious ^e?' sr^. 
 
 i.— Self-regarding Virtues. 
 
 1. VIRTUES DISPLAYED IN CIRCUMSTANCES OF PLEASURE AND ' 
 
 PAIN. 
 
 (ff) In regardto the leelin^s of fear and of con fidence, the proper 
 attitude of mind is courage. Of the characters 
 (a) Vurtues and which deviate from the true limits (a) the man 
 IvoldanoTot p"in. '^^'^ errs from incapacity to feel fear, has no dis- 
 tinctive name (as is the case with many other of 
 our moral states), whereas (/3) if he go beyond the line through 
 excess of confidence he is called reckless. If, on the other hand, 
 a man outstrip the due limits of fear, and fall short of a proper 
 confidence, then he is called a coward. 
 (f)) In regardjto_plea^ures_and^ains (not all, however, and per- 
 haps pains less than pleasures), the perfect at ti- 
 (5) Virtues and tudeis temperance, and the excess sensuality. As 
 
 vices shown m the « - ,,. -^ , J — ,_ -,-. _ ' 
 
 pursuit of pleasure. lor lallmg Short m self-gratmcation, such cases 
 hardly occur: hence the class have not met with a 
 distinctive name. However, they may be called ' insensate.' 
 
Bk. II. 7.] Translation. 97 
 
 (1.) In reference to fear or confidence — these being emotions of tlie soul, the 
 perfect frame of mind is Courage, while the extremes are cowardice as a defect, 
 and recklessness as an excess. From the point of view of fear there is no special 
 name for the excess, though there is from the point of view %f confidence. (There 
 are indeed many such phases of mind which have no special name.) Moreover 
 there is no special name for the excess of confidence, though there is a special idea 
 — ^that of cowardice — drawn from the excess of fear. Hence, of the extremes the 
 one derives its name from fear, the other from confidence. 
 
 (2.) In reference to pleasures and pains, both the extremes and the mean states 
 are for the most part without any distinctive name, especially in regard to pains. 
 But in reference to such pleasures as are purely bodily there is a mean state, ' tem- 
 perance,' and an excess, ' dissoluteness.' The defect has no special name, inas- 
 much as there are few who entirely refrain themselves from every form of grati- 
 fication : it may, however, be classed as ' insensateness.' 
 
 2. VIRTUES DISPLAYED IN MONEY-MATTERS. 
 
 a. In regard Jojhe^ving and receiving of money, the true dis- 
 po gition of min d is Hberality, the excess" prodi- 
 galitijheiefectjstinginess. These extremes go "J^etionTofiS 
 beyond the mark or fall short of it in inverse 
 ratio to one another : the prodigal exceeds in giving, and falls 
 short in receiving, while the stingy man exceeds in receiving, and 
 fails in giving. [For the present we may be content with this 
 simple enumeration, as we are only describing the virtues in out- 
 line with a view to summarize them. By and by their definitions 
 shall be settled with more scientific accuracy.] 
 
 h. But there .are— other—disposition* of-mind -whieh—must be 
 noted~.ia_jgference to money. Magnificence is a 
 virtuous attitude (and this character of magni- *; In the disposi- 
 ficence difiers, it must be observed, from liberality, ^raUh." ^^^'^^ 
 in that the one is concerned with vast wealth, the 
 latter with only moderate wealth). On the other hand, failure in ' 
 one direction is seen in want of taste and~lJstentatiDn7~aiid in 
 another direction in meanness ur~pettiness~(andnhese extremes 
 again differ from the extremes of liberality : the point where they 
 diverge shall be explained later on). 
 
 (a) In reference to the feeling which we experience in giving or receiving 
 money, the true disposition is liberality, while the perversions of the mean are 
 prodigality as an excess, and niggardliness as a defect. Yet in certain conditions 
 the reverse is true, that prodigality is a defect, and niggardliness an excess. In 
 giving money, prodigality is an excess, and iUiberality a defect, whereas in re- 
 ceiving money iUiberality is an excess, and prodigality a defect. [For the present 
 we may be satisfied with this simple enumeration, as we are here only treating 
 the subject in a cursory manner, and as it were in outline. By and by we shall 
 have to describe these states with greater precision.] 
 
 . (i) There is yet another form of the perfect state with corresponding extremes 
 in reference to the giving and receiving of money ; and that is magnificence, difEer- 
 ing from liberality in that it lavishes vast sums, whereas liberality has only small 
 sums to lavish. The excess of this virtue is want of taste and vulgarity, and its 
 defect meanness. These extremes again differ from the extremes of liberality : 
 the points of difEerence shall be explained later on. 
 
98 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 11. 7. 
 
 3. VIBTDES DISPLAYED IN THE DESIRE FOR ESTEEM. 
 
 a. In regard to Tinnmir atkI jisgrane , the virtii OHg-s t a fe i s Ti igTi- 
 mmdedness^tlie excess being- ghat is called ^j ain- 
 
 ter/'' ^^"^ "^*' g^o^y^' and the defect, Jittleness of soul. 
 
 h. I just now explained the relation of liberality 
 to magnificence to be that the former has a more circumscribed, 
 sphere than the latter. There is a corresponding relation between 
 high-mindedness which is concerned with great 
 matt rs ^"^"'"^ honour, and another state which is concerned 
 with ordinarj-- honour. It is of course possible to 
 strive after honour rightly and becomingly, as well as in a way 
 that is either extravagant or insufiicient. 
 
 Now the man who is of excessive jmbition is called ambitions,, 
 and the man who is wanting_ in ambiti£Ii,.-unambitious ; while the 
 man who holds the true balance between the se extremes h as no 
 speoifil name. Neither does language give name to the corres- 
 ponding states of mind — save to that of the ambitious man, which 
 is ambition. Hence it is that the two extreme characters dispute 
 for the possession of the ground intervening between them. There 
 are indeed times when we call the moderate man ambitious, and 
 times when we call him unambitious. There are times when we 
 praise the ambitious man, and times when we praise the unam- 
 bitious man. The cause and ground of these variations of opinion 
 shall be explained later on. 
 
 We must now proceed to enumerate the remaining virtues, follow« 
 ing the plan which has hitherto guided us. 
 
 (a) In regard to the emotions involved in honour and dishonour, the perfect 
 state is magnanimity, the excess ' vain-glory,' as it is called, and the defect, little- 
 ness of soul. 
 
 (J) Corresponding to the differences which we said existed in the dispositions' 
 that relate to money, liberality and magnificence, the former being concerned with 
 small sums, the latter with great sums, there is similarly in regard to honour a cer- 
 tain disposition which differs from high-mindedness in being concerned with smaE 
 interests, while high-mindedness is ooncemed with great interests. 
 
 Now it is possible for a man to strive after honour as is fitting, or to a degree 
 beyond what is right, or even less than is fitting. The man who is extravagant in 
 his desires is an ambitions man, and his mental state ambitiousness. The man who 
 lacks a proper ambition is an unambitious man (but his mental state has no dis- 
 tinctive name). The perfect attitude in such matters is also nameless, but it differs 
 from magnanimity upon the point which has been mentioned. 
 
 Inasmuch as the virtuous character (Ic.the man who holds the true mean) has 
 no special name of his own, he is called after the extremes, since he partakes of 
 the character of both i at one time we call him ambitious, at another time un- 
 ambitious, and at one time we praise the ambitious man, at another the unam- 
 bitious man. The grounds upon which we do so will be explained in the 
 sequel. 
 
 Let us now proceed to enumerate the states of mind which still remain, seeking 
 in each case for ' the mean ' and 'for the extremes. 
 
-Bk. II. 7.] Translation. 99 
 
 ii. — Virtues shown in relation to others. 
 1. VIETUES DISPLAYED UNDER PEOVOCATION. 
 
 In reference, again, to anger there is excess and defect and a 
 true 'mean.' These three states " have scarcely 
 any recognized names; but if we call the ideal The regulation of 
 
 •' ° ■ — the temper. 
 
 cha racter ' th e goo(Wemj)ered_ man, we must 
 name the corresponding disposition 'good temper.' Of the ex- 
 tremes, the man who is exceaaJve in his anger may be classed as a 
 'passionate man,' and his vice as ' passionateness,' while the man 
 who ifdeEcientJn a proper feeling of anger is a kind of impassive* 
 person, and his mental state impassivity. "" 
 
 In the matter of anger, the mean state is good temper, the ideal character 
 being called the good-tempered man. The two extremes have no special name, 
 though the excess may be named passionateness, and the man who shows the 
 excess, the passionate man ; and deficiency of anger may be called impassivity, 
 and the man who shows it, the impassive man. 
 
 2. VIETUES DISPLAYED IN SOCIAL INTEECOUESE. 
 
 There are three other virtuous dispositions which have a kind of 
 resemblance to one another, though with charac- 
 teristic differences of their own. Their sphere is '^^^ , virtues of 
 
 .,., . 1 iiiii social life depend 
 
 social intercourse in word and deed between man upon the motives 
 
 and man. shown and the cir- 
 
 m, . , 1 • 1 ii Tzr • J.1 J. 1 ■! ciimstanceB which 
 
 ihe point upon which they diner is that while fo^m their sphere. 
 the one is concerned with th£_ita<^4— ia-v-oLv-ed in 
 soc ial relations, the others are_concerned with_what-is-~;afea^a%^ in 
 the saiae_c onnection ei ther (a) in relaxation, or (/3) in the various 
 circumstances of dailj'- life. 
 
 We must therefore consider the case of these dispositions, that 
 we may the better understand that in all cases a true moderation 
 is praiseworthy, while the extremes are neither right nor praise- 
 worthy, but reprehensible. 
 
 Of these relations the greater number have no special name of 
 their own. Still we must endeavour (as we have already done in 
 the case of others) to give them a name for ourselves, as well for the 
 sake of perspicuity as to ensure our being intelligently followed. 
 
 a. In respect, then,_o f truth, _jhe_4ier£gct_man^js the truthful 
 man; a nd the perfe dLjtate oijiiiad--is-Jxuth£alness. ai^at^ay be 
 called. On the other hand, assertion that errs on the side of 
 exaggeration is boastfulness, and the corresponding character is 
 the boastful man ; while assertion that errs on the side of sup- 
 
 ir 2 
 
lOO The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Ii. 7. 
 
 pression is reserve, and the corresponding character is the re- 
 served man. 
 
 h, In respect of what is agreeable : 
 
 (a) In relaxation, the perfect man js the polite man; _^d the 
 corresponding frame of mind is politeness, while excessive 
 pleasantry is huffoonery, and tTie' maxTwFo indulges in it the 
 buffoon. Defect of politeness, again, is boorishness, and the 
 corresponding character the boor. 
 
 (yS) In the circumstances of daily life^ the man who is agree- 
 able as is .right and proper is a fr iend^r and his attitud e^ is that of 
 » friendship. On the contrary, when a man goes into excess of 
 pleasantness, if for no selfish motive, he is a courtier ; but if for 
 purposes of his own, then he is a sycophant. Again, the man who 
 is defective in courtesy, and in every way disagreeable, is a kind 
 of churl and cross-grained fellow. 
 
 There are fnitlier three other ' mean states,' which to a certain extent enter 
 into one another, though they present also characteristic differences. In the 
 actions we perform, and in the words we ntter in our intercourse with our fellow 
 men, part of what we say and do is said and done for the sake of amusement, 
 part for the sake of that general gratification which we find in life. 
 
 Hence there are of necessity three ' mean states ' in respect thereto. In what 
 is said or done with a view to tmth, the mean state is truthfulness ; and in 
 reference to pleasure, the state which has reference to relaxation or amusement 
 is politeness, and that which. is concerned with pleasantness generally is friend- 
 liness. 
 
 These three states all enter into one another, because they are aU concerned 
 with intercourse in word and deed, but they are different the one from the other 
 because the relations with which they are concerned are different. Their 
 extremes have no special name, but we must find terms for them for the sake of 
 perspicuity, and in order that our readers may readily foUow the course of the 
 argument. 
 
 1. Let the extremes of truth, then, be named as follows : — assertion tending 
 towards exaggeration, boastfulness, and the corresponding character, the boastful 
 man ; while if the assertion tends towards suppression, it is reservation, and 
 the corresponding character, the reserved man. 
 
 2. In regard to politeness, the excess is buffoonery, and the man who shows 
 the excess the buffoon ; whUe the state which f aUs short of politeness ia 
 boorishness, and the man who has such a deficiency, a boor. 
 
 3. In regard to friendship, the man who is excessive therein, and that with no 
 selfish aim, may be called the courtier ; but if his motive be his own profit or 
 advantage, then he is a flatterer. If, again, he falls short of friendliness, and is 
 in every respect ungracious, then he is a man who is quarrelsome and cros- 
 grained. 
 
 iii.— Certain praiseworthy states of the Moral nature. 
 1. MENTAL PHASES CONCERNED WITH SHAME. 
 
 There are also states of mora l per fgp*^^'"" i" rporgr rl to the 
 feelings, and the CLrcums<aJiceg.jMinnected, th erewith : seltjces£ect, 
 for' instance, is not a virtue, yet the man who shows it is praised. 
 
Bk. II. 7.] Translation. 
 
 lOI 
 
 Indeed, on all occasions where shame may be evoked, one man 
 is said to be free from all fault, while another 
 man is said to carry the emotion too far (like the ^^^"^p . "^ certain 
 dumfounded man who feels shame at everything). mor^Mture which 
 On the other hand, the man who is dejective in are semi - virtues, 
 se nse of shame, or even absolutely void_of it, is ^rfaseU)! *^ '^" 
 called a shameless person. The perfect character 
 is that of the modest man who has a true self-respect. 
 
 2. EMOTIONS EXPERIENCED AT THE FORTUNES OP OTHERS. 
 
 Again, an honest jegling.o£.i]idigiiatiQiijs_a proper mean^betw.een 
 env y and spitefiilness. The pleasure or pain 
 arisiflglxomjhejortunes of our neighbou^form Or, again, the feel- 
 the pr ovince in which their feelings are exercised, i?^' '^Y^^ *™® ^\ 
 
 mi 1 T~i- — f: f-"i- r- ~ ■ -TT— — ■ n n -1 *'i6 fortunes of 
 
 ihe honest teeung ot indignation is the grief felt others. 
 when men succeed in their schemes undeservedly. 
 The envious man, going beyond these proper limits, is pained at 
 every success of every one ; and, lastly, the spiteful man is so far 
 from feeling pain at the success of the wicked that he positively 
 rejoices therein. 
 
 But there will be a proper opportunity for discussing these 
 virtues elsewhere. Similarly in regard to Justiaef as ihejerm is 
 not appl ied absolut ely, T shall subsequently discuss its various 
 senses, and in explaining its various forms show in what sense 
 they are 'perfect states,' and I shall treat of the intgilectual 
 virtues in the same way. V. 
 
 But not only in the emotions themselves, but also in the circumstances which 
 attend the emotions, there are ' mean states,' or perfect conditions, as is evident 
 in the case of shame. Shame is not itself a virtue, since it is not a mean state 
 of an emotion, but a mean state in regard to the conditions which attend an 
 emotion. Still it is one of those things which are praised. The modest man is 
 of course praised: in both directions he has both excess and defect. Shame 
 itself is thus a mean state. The man who is excessive in his sense of shame, is 
 called the dumfounded man ; and the man who is defective in shame, or 
 absolutely feels no shame at all, is called ' shameless ; ' while he who preserves 
 the mean, is called ' modest.' 
 
 There is also a mean state in regard to pain — when one is pained on occasion 
 of others faring prosperously contrary to their deserts, and this pain is called 
 ' righteous indignation.' In regard thereto, there is excess and defect in both 
 directions. The excess is when a man is pained at every form of good fortune 
 befalling others. The man who shows such a feeling is envious, and his state of 
 mind is envy. The defect is when a man is so far from feeling pain that he 
 positively rejoices when men fare badly contrary to their deserts. Such a 
 character is called malevolent, and his state of mind malevolence. The ideal 
 state of mind is honest indignation, and the man who shows it, is called a man 
 of honest indignation. 
 
 But of this perfect state and its extremes we shall have to speak with greater 
 precision by-and-by. 
 
102 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 8. 
 
 In reference also to Justice, since it is twofold and requires a somewhat 
 lengthened treatment, it would be inconvenient to treat of it here. In a later 
 hook we shaU discriminate its several varieties, and determine in what sense they 
 are mean states, and what are their extremes. We shall have to treat of the 
 intellectual virtues also in the same way. 
 
 IV.— PEACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS FOR DETERMINING 
 THE MEAN. 
 
 i,— Comparison of the extremes and their opposition to the mean. 
 
 THE EXTREMES AND THE MEAN AEB ALL OPPOSED TO ONE 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Now as there are three states of mind in reference to each 
 
 virtue, two of them being faulty in the way either 
 
 rf ^ntr^t^which of excess or defect, and one a perfect state or 
 
 the law of the 'virtue,' they are severally opposed to one ano- 
 
 ^^^^^^" gives to con- ^^^^.^ rpj^^ extremes are opposed both to the 
 
 mean and to one another, and the mean is op- 
 posed to both the extremes. 
 
 We will now go on to speak of the opposition of the extremes towards one 
 another, and towards the mean. 
 
 Since of these three dispositions of mind which have a moral character, one 
 is a ' virtue ' (which is the perfect state), and two are vices (of which one goes 
 beyond due bounds, apd the other falls short thereof), in all of these states 
 there is a kind of mutual opposition ; the extremes are in a state of opposition 
 to one another, and the ' mean ' to each of the extremes. 
 
 1. THE SENSE IN WHICH THE ' MEAN ' IS OPPOSED TO THE 
 EXTREMES. 
 
 This opposition is on this wise : just as ' a half ' is in excess 
 compared with a smaller portion, and in defect 
 Virtue is opposed compared with a greater portion, so too the ' mean 
 tremetl' and^from ^^^^^^ ' ^""^ ^^ cxccss Compared With their defects, . 
 the standpoint of but themselvcs defective compared with their ex- 
 ™ued bftheLme ""^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ sphere alike of emotion and of con- 
 of the other. duct. For instance, the brave man comparedii 
 
 with the coward seems to be reckless, and in con- 
 trast with the reckless man he seems to be a coward. In the same 
 way the temperate man is thought a sensualist in comparison with 
 the ascetic, and an ascetic when contrasted with the sensualist. 
 Again, the liberal man is a prodigal regarded by the standard, of 
 the illiberal man, and illiberal from the standard of the prodigal. , 
 Hence it is that the ' extreme men ' try to foist, each of them,'| 
 the character of the moderate man away from theii" own extreme,. 
 
Bk. II. 8.] Translation. 
 
 103 
 
 {and from its true place), upon the other extreme : the brave man 
 is called by the reckless man a coward and by the coward a reck- 
 less man ; and there is a similar recrimination ftirough the whole 
 field of the virtues. 
 
 Just as the ' equal ' is opposed as ■well to the greater as to the less (being less 
 than the greater and more than the less), exactly so the mean states are excesses 
 compared with the defects, and defects compared -with the excesses. This truth 
 applies equally to the emotions as to the conduct of men. For instance, in the 
 emotions the mean state is courage, and in conduct a behaviour corresponding 
 thereto. Alike from his disposition as from his conduct the brave man is thought 
 to be reckless in comparison with the coward, and a coward compared with the 
 reckless man. SimUaily the temperate man is dissolute compared with the ascetic, 
 and ascetic compared with the dissolute man ; and the liberal man is a prodigal 
 compai'ed with the illiberal man, and illiberal compared with the prodigal. 
 
 The fact is that each of the extremes calls ' the mean ' man by the name of 
 the other extreme. The reckless man calls the brave man a cowai'd, and the 
 coward calls him reckless, This truth might be illustrated by the whole list of 
 the virtues. 
 
 2, THE EXTREMES AKE MORE OPPOSED TO ONE ANOTHEK THAN 
 TO THE MEAN. 
 
 But although these states are all opposed to one another, as we 
 have shown, there is a greater contrariety between 
 the extremes and 6ne another than between either The two extremes 
 of the extremes and the mean:— they are wider Te * anSrf 'but 
 apart from one another than from the mean, just there is a certain 
 as the greater is farther apart from the less, and ^^^fj^^ themTnd 
 the less from the greater, than either of them the mean. 
 from the equal. 
 
 Moreover, there is a kind of correspondence observable between 
 certain extremes and the mean ; for example, between boldness 
 and courage, or between prodigality and liberality. On the other 
 hand, there is the widest possible dissimilarity between the ex- 
 tremes and one another. 
 
 Those states which are the most distant from one another men 
 define as ' contraries,' so that the more distant states are from one 
 another, they are proportionatelj' the more ' contrary ' to one 
 another. 
 
 But although the extremes are all of them opposed to one another and to the 
 mean, the contrariety is greatest between themselves, being, as they are, more 
 remote from one another than from the mean (just as ' the great ' and ' the 
 smaU." are more opposed to one another than to the mean, i.e. the 'equal'). In 
 each of the extremes, again, there is a kind of correspondence towards the mean, 
 as for instance between dariiig and courage, between prodigality and liberality. 
 But there is no kind of correspondence in the extremes towards one another, but 
 they difEer from one another to the very utmost. 
 
 Those states which are most distant from one another men define as ' con- 
 traries ; ' and hence the more distant states are from one another, the more con- 
 trary are they to one another. 
 
I.04 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 8. 
 
 3. VIRTUE IS MORE OPPOSED TO ONE EXTREME THAN TO 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Moreover, there are cases where the defect is the more opposed 
 to the mean, and other cases where the excess 
 One of the extremes is SO opposcd. For example the vice most 
 is less distant from opposcd to courage is not rccklessness as the 
 the mean than the ^^^^^^ ^^ courage, but cowardicc its defect ; and, 
 contrariwise, in the case of temperance, it is not 
 the defect, i.e. impassivity, but its excess, sensualism, which is 
 most opposed thereto. 
 
 This variety arises from two causes, one being the very nature 
 of the case. Seeing that one extreme is nearer 
 (o) from the ^^^ ^aioxQ akin to the mean, we do not rank this 
 twetr the^'mean extreme, but its contrary, as being most opposed 
 and that particular j-q \^q mean. For example, since daring, is 
 extreme. thought to resemble courage more nearly and to 
 
 be more akin to it, whilst cowardice is widely different, we oppose 
 cowardice rather than daring, to courage : — things more remote 
 from the mean being more opposed to it. 
 
 That, then, is one reason, arising from the very necessity of the 
 case. There is yet another arising from our own 
 (i8) from our own tendencies. As we have in our own nature, in 
 wMch make us in- some form or othor, a certain predisposition or 
 ciine to one ex- tendency towards certain objects, these objects 
 throth'^^'' ^^''^ are evidently more opposed to the mean than 
 others are. We are, for example, naturally prone 
 to self-indulgence rather than to self-denial ; and for that reason 
 are more easily led on to sensualism than to a seemly moderation, g 
 We call objects, therefore, more opposed to the mean, when our 
 own bias more readily inclines us to them ; and hence sensualisnij 
 as an excess, is more opposed to temperance than asceticism is. 
 
 The extremes are more at variance with one another than with the mean, hut 
 there is no uniformity in the way in which the extremes are severally opposed 
 to the mean. In some cases the defect is more opposed to the mean than is the 
 excess ; in other cases the excess is more opposed thereto than is the defect. The 
 mean states incline rather to some one of the extremes than to the other, and 
 have a greater resemblance at one time to the defect, at another time to the 
 excess. For example, courage has a nearer resemblance to daring than to 
 cowardice ; and for this reason is more opposed to cowardice than to daring. On 
 the other hand temperance more nearly resembles asceticism than sensualism | 
 and for that reason is more opposed to sensualism than to asceticism. 
 
 But not only is the affinity of the mean towards one of the extremes the cause 
 of its nnlikeness to the other extreme ; but the same result arises from our otpti 
 nature. Since the conflict arises in the mind of the virtuous man against the 
 two extremes in his pursuit of the true mean, that extreme against which the 
 
Bk. II. 9. J Translation. 105. 
 
 conflict is fiercest, is the extreme most opposed to the mean. But the struggle 
 is sharpest against the extreme to which we are more naturally inclined, and 
 towards which we are the more easily impelled. Hence the extreme towards 
 which we are more easily impelled is that which is most ^posed to the mean. 
 In the extremes of temperance, e.g., we are more readily moved to sensualism than 
 to asceticism ; since we are more naturally disposed to self-indulgence than to 
 the reverse. Hence the struggle is greatest against sensualism, and sensualism is 
 more opposed to temperance than asceticism is. The analogy applies ec^ually to 
 the other virtues. 
 
 4. EECAPITULATION. 
 
 [Sufficient has now been said to prove (1) tliat moral virtue is 
 ' a mean state.' (2) in what sense the metaphor of ' a mean ' must 
 be understood, (3) that the mean is an ideal point between two 
 vices, the one tending to excess, the other to defect, and (4) that 
 this ' mean state ' is of such a nature as to be capable of attaining 
 what is ideally ' fitting ' and perfect, both in the regulation of the 
 feelings and in outward conduct.] 
 
 [Sufficient has now been said to prove that moral virtue is a ' mean state ' 
 between two vices, one tending to excess and the other to defect, inasmuch as 
 virtue always seeks to attain ' the mean ' (or a due proportion) both in the. 
 emotions and the conduct.] 
 
 ii. — Practical suggestions for the attainment of the mean. 
 
 1. HOW SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIES OF PEACTICAL ETHICS MAT 
 BE SOLVED. 
 
 Hence it is a serious matter indeed for a man to be virtuous : 
 for it is a serious matter to attain a perfect fitness 
 in every instance — -just as to find the centre of a The vast difficulty 
 circle is not in everyone's power, but only in the -Li'of a'^erfea 
 professor's. To apply this ti:uth : it is easy enough fitness. 
 to be roused to anger, and any one may be so, or, 
 again, to give money and to incur expenses, but it is not everyone 
 who has the tact and skill (nor is it easy of attainment) to mark 
 the proper persons and the proper time, the proper objects and 
 the proper manner. Therefore it is that excellence is as rare as it 
 is laudable and noble. 
 
 But the following suggestions may be useful : — 
 a. The man whose aim it is to realise a perfect life ought above 
 all things to withdraw himself from the norst 
 extreme, according to the warning which Calypso "^^l^^_ *''^'""'* 
 gives : 
 
 " Out of this range of spray and swell keep back thy bark." 
 
 One of the extremes is of course more sinful than the other. 
 Since, therefore, it is a difficult thing to. hit the mark of life with 
 
.io6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, pk. II. 9. 
 
 unerrino- skill, we ought, as the second best course, as men say, 
 to avoid the worst of evils, and that will best be attained by the 
 course which I am now suggesting. 
 
 h. It behoves us also to have regard to the faults to which we 
 
 are ourselves most prone. Some of us are born 
 
 6. Avoid your be- ^j|.|^ tendencies in one direction, some with ten- 
 
 mg sin. dencies in . another. What our besetting sin is, 
 
 will be known from the pleasure and pain which arises throughout 
 our lives. Our duty is to force ourselves away from temptation. 
 By drawing ourselves far from the reach and chance of sinning, 
 we shall arrive at last at a perfect state :— just as by straining 
 back bent pieces of wood, men make them straight. 
 
 c. But in every case the temptation against which we have 
 
 most of all to be on our guard, is the pleasurable 
 
 o Avoid the charms ^^^ pleasure: we are not impartial judges that 
 
 p easure. ^^ should form decisions upon it. The feelings 
 
 which the old Greek counsellors had in regard to Helen, ought to 
 be the feelings which should animate us in regard to pleasure j • 
 and on all occasions we should quote their verdict. If we dismiss 
 the fascinations of pleasure as they dismissed Helen, we shall be 
 less likely to sin. 
 
 If only we act in the spirit of these rules, we shall best of all be 
 able, looking at life as a whole, to attain to a true perfection, the 
 ideal ' fitness ' of things. 
 
 But to know how to attain this ' mean ' or ' perfect fitness ' and to become 
 good, is an arduous task. Indeed on all occasions it is a difficult matter to 
 discover ' the mean ; ' precisely as it is not everyone, but only the man who is 
 skilled in geometry, who is able to find the centre of a circle. The same diiEcully 
 is found both in the emotional and in the active life of men. To be roused td 
 anger, for instance, is an easy matter, or to give money or to spend it ; but to do 
 so in a proper manner, at a proper time, upon deserving persons, in a fitting 
 amount, and with a right motive (conditions which constitute the ' mean,' and 
 involve something as excellent as it is rare, and praiseworthy and noble) — ^that,! 
 say, is not easy nor within the compass of anyone who simply wills. 
 The following rules will, however, serve as a guidance : — 
 a. The man who is anxious to become good, and who is in search of a perfect 
 ' fitness ' of action, ought in the first place to avoid by all possible means that 
 extreme which is most opposed to the mean, i.e. that one of the evUs whioltlie 
 on either side of the mean, to which he is himself more specially prone to yieldi 
 following the advice which Calypso gave : 
 
 " Out of this range of spray and swell keep back thy bark.'' 
 
 Of course we sin, into whichever of the extremes we fall ; but our sinfulnffls is 
 not to the same extent. There is a greater sin in that extreme which is the mffire 
 opposed to the mean than in that which is less opposed. 
 
 Since, therefore, it is difficult to attain the mark with perfect exactness, it 
 behoves us, as the next best course as men say, to make choice of the least of 
 evils. This result may be attained if we hold such an attitude of mind towards 
 the extremes, as I have defined. 
 
Bk. II. 9.] Translation. 107 
 
 J. But we must uot only consider that extreme to whioli we are all prone as 
 men, tut we must also inquire individually what that extreme is to which we are 
 ourselves personally prone. Some of us are naturally inclined to one thing, others 
 to another. We may understand the points of our own special wealoiess if we 
 examine what it is in which we take pleasure, and what it is in which we feel 
 pain. If we have found out what is the nature of that extreme to which we are 
 ourselves inclined, we can then draw ourselves away from it, with all seriousness, 
 ia an opposite direction. By striving earnestly to avoid the extreme, we may 
 arrive at the tme mean ; just as men. do who are intent upon straightening 
 crooked pieces of wood, i.e. they strain them in an opposite direction. 
 
 c. But more than all other emotions, that of pleasure and of the pleasurable is 
 difficult to master ; and there is consequently need of the utmost scrupulousness, 
 and it is our duty by every means to guard ourselves against self-deceit when we 
 wish to distinguish an evil pleasure from an honest one. It is difScult indeed to 
 be an impartial judge of such matters. The feeling which we ought to have in 
 regard to pleasure is precisely that which the Trojan counsellors experienced in 
 regard to Helen, calling her beautiful and marvelling at her loveKness, but for all 
 that passing a decree to send her back, fair as she was, to her countrymen. If 
 we detach ourselves from the ohanns of pleasure in the spirit in which the old 
 counsellors dismissed Helen, we shall be less likely to faU into temptationr 
 
 Suoh is the plan or principle of life through which (to speak in a general way 
 and in outline) we shall be best able to attain to a true ' fitness ' and moral 
 perfection, 
 
 2. THE SPHERE AND IMPOETANCE OF A ' MOEAL SENSE.' 
 
 But it is surely difficult to attain to perfection, particularly in 
 practical details. It is. no easy task, for instance, 
 to distinguish the exact limitations under which But rules cannot 
 it is right to he angry-the true manner, the rnS^bi^'a^ons 
 proper persons, the precise terms, and the exact of circumstances. 
 length of time. Sometimes we praise those who 
 are deficient in anger, and call them ' mild ; ' while at other times 
 we call those who display fierce anger, ' manly.' 
 
 Still, the man who deviates only slightly from what is excellent, 
 is not blamed either more or less : it is when he diverges widely 
 from such an ideal that he is censured, since in that case his sin 
 is notorious and open. But it is not easy to draw the lines of 
 censure : it is not easy to frame a definition to embrace every 
 consideration of extent and degree. The same difficulty applies to 
 all matters that fall within the cognisance of the senses and of 
 practical experience. In morals certainly such 
 questions depend upon the circumstances of the The 'Moral Sense' 
 moment, and their solution rests with the Moral rfghfand ™Sin 
 Sense of the agent. practical life. 
 
 Thus much, at any rate, is clear — that an 
 equable, proportionate and righteous frame of mind is in all 
 circumstances that which will gain men's praise ; and that such a 
 disposition is bound to incline sometimes towards one extreme, 
 and sometimes towards another. It is by cultivating such a dis- 
 
io8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. II. 9. 
 
 position that we are most likely to attain to a true proportion, 
 and a perfect harmony of life. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding, it is difficult to attain to this ideal, especially in actual 
 detail. The decision upon specific points of conduct is not a defined one, but 
 varies with the variation of circumstances, since neither can circumstances be 
 defined. Take for example the being roused to anger : it is not easy to define 
 with whom one ought to be angry, or in what manner one should show it, or for> 
 what time continue it. We have to judge for ourselves from the nature of the 
 provocation and the attendant circumstances ; and we pronounce now in one 
 way now in another. At one time we praise those who fall short in anger and 
 call them gentle : at another time we praise those who are excessive in their 
 anger and call them manly. 
 
 Still the man who deviates but a little from the perfect state is not blamed, 
 since he is thought to fall neither into excess nor defect. He is only blamed 
 when he falls away from the perfect standard to such an extent as to attract 
 notice. , But as for settling the point how far and to what extent we must deviate 
 from the mean in order to be blameworthy — that is a matter which it is not 
 possible to define in one comprehensive theory, nor indeed is generalization 
 possible in any case which is found only in special connections and is as shifting 
 as circumstance. Judgment upon such cases must have regard to their special 
 limitations, and must depend upon the moral sense and the view which the moral 
 sense takes of the whole surroundings generally. 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that under all cu'cumstances that habit of mind which 
 preserves a middle course between vicious extremes is the praiseworthy one ; and 
 that, having regard to the tendencies of our own characters, it is right at some 
 times to incline to excess and at other times to defect — i.e. to that particular 
 ' extreme ' which is nearest akin to the mean. In this way we shall most easily 
 attain to the moral mean and our own true perfection. 
 
BOOK III.-Part I. ANALYSIS OF MOBAL ACTION. 
 Part H. EXAMINATION OF THE VIETUES. 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 > 
 
 Part I. — Analysis of Moral Action. 
 
 In the last Book it was shown that Virtue implied an assent of tlie 
 Will. In the present Book, before proceeding with his classification of 
 virtues, Aristotle expands and illustrates his conception of ' the Will,' 
 and shows its relation to the larger conception of ' the agreeable ' or 
 ' the voluntary.' 
 
 This subject is treated under two main theses : (1) that action cannot 
 be considered as virtuous or vicious unless it is ' voluntary ' or agreeable 
 to the agent ; and (2) that action is perfectly virtuous or perfectly 
 vicious, when this voluntariness or liking for an action proceeds from a 
 deliberate choice. In other words he examines first Voluntariness under 
 the aspect of moral responsibility, and then Volitimi as the rational 
 expression of the moral consciousness. 
 
 I.— ANALYSIS OF MOEAL EESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 A man is not held to be ' responsible' — he is not praised or blamed, 
 for actions done without his free consent. 
 
 Cases of ' non-responsibility ' may be classified according as their causes 
 are (L) external or (ii.) internal. The agent has not free play when he 
 is either under external constraint, physical or moral, or when he is 
 ignorant of the circumstances under which he has to act. 
 
 i. Absence of constraint is, therefore, the iirst condition of voluntary 
 action. 
 
 Constraint may be — 
 
 1. Physical constraint, where the agent is under the positive control 
 of a force operating upon him. without any wish or liking of his own, as 
 when he is taken prisoner. 
 
 2. Moral constraint, where the agent is sun-ounded by influences 
 which force upon him a line of conduct which is distressing to him and 
 in which he only acquiesces as being the least of evils. 
 
 Actions of this latter kind, where the agent ' acts for the best ' in 
 diflicult complications and under circumstances which are not within his 
 own control, are ' mixed actions ' — partaking, that is, of the nature both 
 
I ro The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 of vohintariness and involuntariness. But, practically considered, they 
 are more voluntary than involuntary, for the following reasons — (1) the 
 end which is selected, though not good under all circumstances, is not 
 only justifiable but commendable at a particular crisis. (2) The agent 
 has the free use of his limbs, so as to act one way or another. (3) 
 According as he acts in one way or another he is praised or blamed ; and 
 praise or blame implies freedom of choice. 
 
 On the other hand there are cases where constraint means necessity;" 
 and where no mortal could hold out. Evil deeds committed in face of 
 overwhelming pressure are practically involuntary, and deserve forgive- 
 ness. Still no conceivable pressure ought to make a man violate the 
 eternal principles of right and wrong, as for instance, to be a matricide. 
 
 No definite rule can be laid down to anticipate every possible contin- 
 gency of this kind. The degree of praise or blame which should be 
 meted out to ' mixed actions ' depends upon the delicate adjustments of 
 Castiistry. The complications of actual life seem to baffle all generiQ 
 principles. In ordinary cases, however, the history of ' moral constraint ' 
 is this : the actual pain of the moment or the future pain which their 
 imagination conjures up as impending, weighs so unduly with nven 
 that they will do any shameful thing to avoid it. There is a conflict 
 between feeling and conviction, imagination and conscience. 
 
 Still the definition given above of 'compulsory' and 'mixed' actions 
 holds good. Actions are ' compulsory ' when the agent is powerless to 
 prevent them and does nothing to bring them about : actions are 
 ' mixed ' when the will does not assent to them except as an escape from 
 worse evils. 
 
 [Here we must draw a line of demarcation between ' constraint ' and 
 ' motive.' The Cyrenaics maintained that actions done under the in- 
 fluence of pleasure and pain were done ' under constraint.' But such a 
 theory proves too much : in that view every action would be compulsory. 
 Again, constraint implies pain — which is a direct negative of their 
 theory. Lastly, their theory ignores the susceptibilities of the agent] 
 
 ii. Ftill hvmledge of tlie nature of his act is the other condition of a 
 man's acting voluntarily. If a man acts in ignorance of what he is 
 doing and is full of regret and remorse when he finds out what he has 
 done, he is an involuntary agent. If on the other hand he is not sorry for 
 what he has done, though at the time he was ignorant what he was doing, 
 he is a non- voluntary agent. 
 
 But here it must be noted that there is a twofold aspect of ignorance. 
 A distinction must be drawn between accidental and essential ignorance, 
 between ignorance of details and ignorance of principles, between ignorance 
 as a casual mistake and ignorance as a confirmed habit of mind. 
 
 (1.) When ignorance amounts to a darkening of the moral sense and 
 issues out of a bad heart, it is voluntary ignorance. 
 
 (2.) When ignorance is only an accidental want of perception of some 
 detail, of the surroundings or circumstances of action, it is then in- 
 voluntary ignorance. Such an ignorance may be of any of the following j 
 particulars — the agent, the act, the scope, the time, the place, the 
 means, the instrument, the motive, the manner. Some of these details 
 being more important than others, the degree of involuntariness must 
 be measured accordingly. 
 
Introductory Analysis : Book III, 1 1 1 
 
 The conditions, therefore, which are requisite for voluntary action will 
 be — (1) free origination by the agent, and absence of all constraint; 
 (2) a full knowledge of the circumstances under which he is acting. 
 
 [Here a question may be raised : Is a man responsible for his own 
 feelings? Are actions done under the influence of desire or impulse 
 voluntary actions? Most certainly. (1) Children act voluntarily, yet 
 they act from impulse. (2) Even noble actions are sometimes done 
 under impulse. (3) There are certain feelings which we are under a 
 moral obligation to entertain. (4) Acts done under impulse are 
 pleasurable : involuntary acts are painful. (5) Errors of impulse are as 
 much to be avoided as errors of judgment. (6) Desire and impulse ai'e 
 essential parts of human nature. (7) Desire as much as reason governs 
 the moral life of man.] 
 
 II.— ANALYSIS OF EATIONAL VOLITION. 
 
 But voluntariness implies little more than that an action is agreeable 
 to the agent ; and that is not an adequate explanation of moral action. 
 Moral action implies not merely a movement of the heart, but also an 
 assent of the Keason. Voluntariness is not 'volition' until it be 
 associated with a purpose marked out by the Eeason. We may there- 
 fore proceed to examine moral action under the special aspect of Kational 
 Purpose. 
 
 First of all we must distinguish it from kindred processes. 
 
 i. ' Voluntariness ' is distinct from Volition : 
 
 (1.) All sentient beings act voluntarily, i.e. agreeably to their nature, 
 but not all are capable of a rational choice or moral purpose. 
 
 (2.) Acts done ' on the spur of the moment ' are not rational, nor the 
 result of a rational adjustment of means to end; and yet they are 
 voluntary (i.«. not disagreeable to us). 
 
 ii. ' Desire ' and ' Impulse ' are distinct from Volition : 
 
 (1.) Volition is not found in irrational animals. 
 
 (2.) Volition and impulse are mutually exclusive of one another in the 
 case of the man of strong or weak character. The eyKparrjn has no 
 impulse but strong volition : the aKparris has impulse and not volition. 
 There is thus an antagonism between impulse and volition. 
 
 (3.) Impulse is concerned with pleasure, Volition with honour. 
 
 iii. ' Wish ' is distinct from Volition. 
 
 (1.) A man may wish for the impossible, but he cannot ' will ' it. 
 
 (2.) Wish is often concerned with things beyond a man's own com- 
 pass ; but volition is concerned only with what comes within our own 
 power. 
 
 (3.) Wish is concerned with the 'end'; volition -with the means 
 whereby the end wished for may be realized. 
 
 iv. ' Opinion ' is distinct from Volition. 
 
 (1.) The sphere of opinion is the whole universe ; the sphere of volition 
 things within our own power. 
 
 (2.) Opinion is true or false; volition is morally right or wrong. 
 
1 1 2 The Moral Philosophy of AiHstolle. 
 
 V. Volition is distinct from any special form of Opinion. 
 
 (1.) Opinion does not imply in any case a moral nature ; volition 
 does. 
 
 (2.) Opinion does not imply pursuit or avoidance ; volition does. 
 
 (3.) Opinion is praised for its form ; volition for its matter. 
 
 (4.) Good opinions and good volitions are not coextensive nor 
 convertible. 
 
 (5.) Opinion implies only prohahUity ; volition moral certainty. 
 
 Still Volition if not identical with any of these processes, seems to 
 comprise elements derived from them all. It is a form of the voluntary, 
 and consequently implies desire, what is voluntary being also what is 
 agreeable or desirable. But it is something more : it is an intellectual 
 as well as a moral or emotional process. It is not merely a free desire/ 
 but a conscious survey of all the circumstances, and a deliberate adapta- 
 tion of means to ends, with the striving necessary thereta 
 
 We may now proceed to consider Volition under its double aspect of 
 (1) Calculation or Deliberation, and (2) Wish, or Desire. 
 
 A, Deliberation is identical with ' practical reason : ' it is ' the mind 
 in council,' calculating what is or is not within its power to effect, and 
 how best its object may be attained. 
 
 The sphere of deliberation is, therefore, not coextensive with thought, 
 but is limited to human interests. The following list will be excluded 
 from it: — (1) the eternal and unalterable, (2) fixed laws of Nature, 
 (3) the changes of outward phenomena, (4) the contingencies of chance, 
 (5) even human interests which are beyond our own horizon. By 
 inference also certain even of the arts must be excluded — such as have 
 exact rules : only those arts which are <TToxa<TTiKai and admit of 
 contingency come within the range of deliberation. 
 
 Deliberation, therefore, as ' the practical reason,' is concerned only 
 with what is practicable. Its method is like that of geometrical 
 analysis. It starts from a certain conception of a whole which it breaks 
 up into constituent parts : when the analysis is complete, the mind finds 
 itself resting upon an ultimate fact which is the basis of the whole 
 superstructure. This ultimate fact is the cause of the whole set of 
 phenomena which result from it. The process of deliberation is thus 
 the ' mind in council ' upon the question of ways and means : the problem 
 to be solved is how to take the first step, what course of action will 
 bring about the desired end. It may be that the mind finds that this 
 first step is impracticable, that the money for example, necessary to 
 initiate a war is not forthcoming; the result is then a negative one; 
 whereas if the money be forthcoming, then the result is action. 
 
 Deliberation thus implies also choice or decision : when the whole 
 field of circumstances and possibilities has been surveyed, the mind 
 takes its part on one side or another ; it either acts or forbears. 
 Deliberation and Choice are thus identical ; except that choice is the end, 
 deliberation the beginning of the process. The mind deliberating 
 m&y be compared with the Princes deliberating in the pictures of the 
 War-Councils which Homer draws. The mind purposing or choosing 
 may be compared with the Princes announcing to the crowd the result 
 of their Council. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book III. 113 
 
 Regarded intellectually Volition is, therefore, an exercise of the 
 practical reason in the attempt tp realize a given end. It involves (a) 
 deliberation upon ways and means, and (j3) a choice ^f some particular 
 means. It is a complex conception, in which deliberation, calculation, 
 choice and purpose are all inextricably intertwined. 
 
 B. Wish is the emotional element in Volition. A movement of the 
 heart must precede the movement of the mind. Before the mind can 
 begin to calculate its course, there must be not only an intuition of an 
 end, but also a desire to attain to that end. 
 
 But how is it that the intuitions of men are so different 1 How is it 
 that men think so many different things to be their true end and aim % 
 There are two aspects of the case, both of which present difficulties : — 
 
 (1.) Suppose a man wishes for an object which is confessedly a wrong 
 or injurious object : how can we say that he has an intuition of the real, 
 good? 
 
 (2.) Suppose a man wishes for whatever ' takes his fancy,' and that all 
 men have not an intuition of the real good : is there not then an end of 
 moral distinction % • 
 
 The solution of this dilemma seems to be this : In the abstract, and 
 as an ideal, men universally seek and wish for the real good ; but the 
 actual realization of this perfect good is confined to the few. The im- 
 pressions made on the minds of men at large are coloured by their own 
 follies and fancies. Pleasure is the medium through which the world 
 regards the vision of the good. Thus it is, that actually, and as 
 a matter of fact, men wish for the satisfaction of their own imaginations 
 rather than of a perfect ideal. The conscience of the world is corrupt ; 
 and as with men whose physical tastes are vitiated by disease, so it is 
 with those whose moral ideal is vitiated. Only the pure and blameless 
 life can understand and see the true good : he only whose conscience is 
 purified and without guile, can detect unerringly in the complications of 
 circumstance what is the true ' end ' to be desired, what is the summum 
 bonum in realizing which he realizes his true felicity. 
 
 Here we may pause to consider Volition under the aspect of ' Free 
 
 wui: 
 
 The analysis above given of Volition wiU have shown that moral action 
 in the true sense of the term, is synonymous with voluntary action. It 
 is immaterial to the psychologist whether action be of one quality or 
 another ; an action may be virtuous or vicious, but it is in all cases the 
 result of the self-same machinery, the outcome of the self-same processes. 
 The same arguments which prove that it is in a man's power to be 
 virtuous, prove also that it is in his power to be vicious. The will is free, 
 whether a man be virtuous or whether he be vicious. 
 
 But here we are met with a seeming inconsistency : Can a man wish 
 for his own misery 1 Can vice be voluntary 1 Can a man be wilfully 
 miserable 1 
 
 This difficulty is suggested by the lines of Epicharmus : 
 
 ' ' No man is sinful and sorrowful with the free consent of his will : 
 Ho man is happy and bless6d in despite of the wish of his heart." 
 
 The second line is true enough : it is indeed a contradiction of terms 
 
114 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 to say, that a man is ' reluctantly happy.' But the first line hides a 
 fallacy : sin and sorrow are not convertible terms, and are not always 
 found together. A man may sin and take pleasure in his sin : 'wicked- 
 ness is a state that is agreeable to the wicked man.' A man is the cause 
 of his own actions, just as he is the father of his own children ; and he 
 takes pleasure in his own creations. 
 
 The following considerations will give fresh proof in support of the 
 theory that wickedness is as much ' voluntary ' as virtue is :— - 
 
 1. The causes of action being within om- own power, the effects of our 
 actions must also be within our own power, whether they be good or 
 whether they be evil. 
 
 2. Legislation assumes that a man's actions are withm his own 
 control : otherwise it would be as idle and as foolish as to order what 
 sensations of heat or cold we ought to experience. 
 
 3. So rooted is the belief in human responsibility, that penalties are 
 doubled where, e.g., ignorance is pleaded for acts done in drunkenness. 
 
 The argument against responsibility of vice sometimes takes another 
 form : the objection is shifted a stage further back. It is argued that 'a 
 man's actions are the outcome of his character, and Im cliaracter is heyond 
 his control.' 
 
 But, surely, it is a fallacy to say that a man is not accountable for his 
 character. If a man is vicious, his vicious tendencies are the consequence 
 of a dissolute mode of life. Character is only a generalized idea to 
 represent the sum of a man's habits, and the direction of his tastes. 
 But every habit and every taste is the result of conscious activities ; and 
 these separate activities are all within his own control. A man does not 
 become a drunkard, except as a result of continued acts of drunkenness. 
 It is idle for him to say that he does not vdsh to be a drunkard : we can- 
 not escape the effects of our actions : the past can never be undone : as 
 a man soweth, so also must he reap. 
 
 This law of human responsibility may be seen even in the case of our 
 physical states : we- do not wish to have bodily distempers, but we are 
 none the less censured for them if they are the consequence of our own 
 disordered lives. 
 
 The objections of the necessitarians that vice is involuntary be- 
 cause it is the result of his character, may be answered, therefore, as 
 follows : 
 
 1. If a man produces his own moral states, if at any rate he is a 
 ' joint ' author of his own habits, and there is an element which he 
 contributes to their formation — then of course he is responsible for the 
 ideas which reflect back those habits, and are the expression of his 
 inner life. 
 
 2. If, on the other hand, a man is not in any sense responsible for his 
 moral ideas, but those ideas, whether good or evil, are inherited, and 
 Nature is the author of nis character, — even on this h3rpothesis, a man's 
 actions are voluntary, because he freely performs whatever is subsidiary 
 to his ' end ' (whether that ' end ' be virtuous or vicious) : the (pmirania 
 does -not force him to act. 
 
 The general results of this analysis of the Will may be tabulated aa 
 follows : 
 
Introductory Analysis : Book III. 
 
 115 
 
 Emotiostal Elements. 
 
 2. Wish for the good is natu- 
 rally consequent upon an intuition 
 of it. The impression of an object 
 as desirable generally creates in 
 the mind a wish for its attainment. 
 Feeling is excited and associated 
 with its object. 
 
 [If the object of the impression 
 be the real good, to ov dyadov, then 
 the feeling excited for it is a genu- 
 ine wish, j3ouAi)crit ; if it be only the 
 apparent good, to (paivonevov aya66v, 
 then the feeling excited may more 
 properly be called ' desire,' Emdvula.] 
 
 Intellectual Elements. 
 
 1. The initiatory process in 
 moral action is the impression 
 {(jiavTacria) made upon the mind 
 of a certain object as desirable, 
 whether as pleasurable, or profit- 
 able, or noble. This 'conception 
 of the end ' reflects the character 
 or moral nature of the individual : 
 a good man has beautiful and true 
 ideas, a bad man vicious and false 
 ideas of what is desirable. [The 
 power by which we represent such 
 and such an idea to the mind is 
 'the moral sense,' a'icrdriais, which 
 in the case of the perfectly good 
 man is developed into mvs — an 
 unerring intuition of right and 
 wrong in each particular instance.] 
 
 3. But, assuming that the mind 
 has an impression of a particular 
 object as desirable and a wish to 
 attain it, what steps are necessary 
 to give the wish effect ? Obviously 
 a consideration of ways and means 
 must follow : the mind must sit in 
 council and deliberate how best it 
 may compass the object of its 
 desires. This is the process of 
 ^ovXevcns — a review of what it is in 
 the power of the individual (or of 
 his friends) to do in order to realize 
 the given object. It is the exercise 
 not of reason, per se, but of the 
 ' practical reason : ' it does not 
 concern itself with what is ideally 
 I 2 
 
ii6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 Emotional Elements. Intellectital Elements. 
 
 possible, but with what is prac- 
 ticable for man. 
 
 4. After deliberation, choice en- 
 sues : after a review of all prac- 
 ticable ways and means the mind 
 makes its ' preference ' for some 
 one : it ' prefers ' {icpoaipivrai) one 
 coui'se of action rather than an- 
 other. 
 5. After the mind has made its 
 
 conclusion, there is nothing else to 
 
 be done but to set in motion the 
 
 necessary part of the organism, 
 
 ■to. ofyyoMiea nipri, to give outward 
 
 effect to the inward volition. A 
 certain tension of the muscles 
 ensues: 'the will is determined' 
 whether action actually ensues or 
 not. ex ToC ^ovKevtraaBai Kpivavres 
 opeySpeBa Kara t^v fiovKevaiv. 
 
 The conception of Volition as irpompetris thus involves a variety of 
 complex processes. Sometimes the term is applied specially to the 
 conclusion at which the mind arrives, the ' preference ' which it shows 
 for a particular course of conduct. But more frequently it is used to 
 express the whole machinery of the Will, the action of the various 
 forces which operate within the mind and lead to the formation of 
 ' purpose ' or ' determination.' 
 
 It has been shown that it involves : (1) a freedom of action, a ' hberty 
 of choice ' to act in one way rather than in another, (2) the representa- 
 tion to the reason or imagination of an end' as desirable, (3) desire 
 to realize that end, (4) survey of the surroundings, and consideration of 
 the practicability of that end, (5) determination of a particiilar agency 
 whereby to effect that end, (6) final impulse or tension of the musolea 
 with a view to carrying out that determination. 
 
 Part II. — Exam i nation of the Virtues. 
 A.— COURAGE. 
 
 The essential attributes of moral action per se having been explained, 
 we may proceed to illustrate the character which moral action actually 
 assumes in real life. The method laid down in Book II. will be followed : 
 an ideal of perfect virtue will be assumed and made a standard by which 
 to estimate the actual conduct of mankind. 
 
 The aspect of virtue to be treated first is Courage. Not only is this 
 virtue the earliest in historical development : it is psychologically also 
 the basis of the whole superstructure of manliness, without which the 
 other virtues would not be possible. It is necessary not only for the 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book III. 117 
 
 safety (and indeed the very existence) of civilized communities, but 
 also for the development of the character and the strengthening of the 
 wUl. • 
 
 i. The subject matter of Courage is fear and confidence. 
 
 Courage was defined as a perfect attitude of mind in circumstances of 
 fear or confidence. Things ■which are fearful are evils : fear is ' an 
 anticipation of evil.' But there are certain things which all men ougM 
 to fear ; God's anger, the destruction of country — these are evils which 
 it is honourable to fear, and base not to fear. There are certain other 
 things which can either be feared or not without blame ; such evils as 
 do not befall us through our own fault — poverty, sickness, captivity : — 
 courage has no reference to such things. 
 
 The evil with which courage is most emphatically and characteristically 
 concerned is Death. Of all terrible things death is the worst ; not 
 only does it deprive men of all goods, but it takes from them all hope. 
 
 But death may come upon a man in many forms, yet there is no form so 
 honourable or so glorious as death in war where the most sacred interests 
 are at stake. The special sphere therefore in which the courage of the 
 brave man will be displayed is death in war. Still, even on ordinary 
 occasions, the brave man will show the firmness and constancy of his 
 mind : in sickness or in a shipwreck he will be courageous, though he 
 may grieve that he cannot exert his prowess nor gain glory by his 
 bravery. 
 
 ii. The attitude of the brave man is determined by circumstances. 
 
 There are some dangers too fearful to be despised or endured by 
 human nature — earthquakes, hurricanes, where only a madman can be 
 unmoved. Other dangers are within the compass of human endurance ; 
 and in these the brave man will show his courage. Still even in these 
 lesser dangers the brave man has none of the insensibility of a stone or 
 trunk, but retains the feelings of a man. He is guided by Eeason in what- 
 ever he undertakes. He does not encounter dangers rashly, but has 
 due regard for time and place and manner. He always keeps before 
 him the ideal of virtue ; and his motive is always glory or the good of 
 his kind. 
 
 There are four ways in which the ideal of the brave man may be 
 vitiated : four states of mind opposed to perfect virtue in these 
 relations : — 
 
 1. Insensibility, or incapacity to feel fear — the state of mind which 
 only a madman could have. 
 
 2. Eeoklessness, akin to boastfulness or affectation of courage — the 
 mental attitude of men who are impetuous to meet danger, yet shrink 
 away when it comes. 
 
 3. Cowardice — the feeling of fear where no fear is, the mental attitude 
 of those who are despairing and desponding, and afraid of everything. 
 
 4. Self-destructiveness — the feeling of the suicide who is afraid of the 
 common burdens of mortality, and thinks death better than poverty or 
 iove. 
 
 Very different from all this is the temper of the brave man. He is 
 not insensate ; for he cherishes noble feelings. He is not reckless ; for 
 his conduct conforms to the ideal of Reason. He is not a coward \ 
 
ii8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 for he knows that there is nothing which a man need fear except 
 dishonour. 
 
 He is not a suicide ; for he will not surrender his life except at the 
 price of glory or the good of mankind. 
 
 iii. Approximations to the ideal of Courage. 
 
 There are five types of character in which some elements of true 
 courage are found, but which all fall short of the perfijct ideal. 
 
 1. The courage of self-interest — the courage which citizens are bound 
 to show for the protection of their country, and which rewards and 
 penalties are constituted to promote. This is not perfect courage, inas- 
 much as it is not spontaneous nor voluntary, but enforced by legal 
 sanctions. Still it approximates very closely thereto : in a sense the 
 motive which inspires citizens to be brave, is a noble one — the attain- 
 ment of honour and the avoidance of disgrace. 
 
 2. The courage of experience — the courage which is based upon a 
 knowledge of superiority rather than upon an attitude of mind which 
 would inspire a man to act only with a view to right (t6 koKov) whatever 
 the cost. Soldiers conscious of their strength are courageous with 'the 
 courage of experience,' but when sudden crises arise they are apt to turn 
 cowards. 
 
 3. The courage of passion — the courage which comes from strong 
 excitement, courage under its animal aspects. It may or may not be 
 real courage. In itself it wants the essential conditions of real courage 
 — deliberate calculation and a high moral purpose. Still it may be 
 associated with the intellectual elements of real courage ; and then it 
 becomes courage as a perfect virtue. This form of coTirage is generally; 
 found in animals and bad men as undisciplined feeling : it is the resulftji' 
 of momentary imjpulse rather than of rational reflection, and its motive 
 is present gratification rather than the realization of a virtuous ideal. 
 
 4. The courage of self-confidence — the courage which high-spirits 
 give to a man when external succours abound and the chances of victory 
 have been foreseen. It is inferior to true courage in that it is dependent 
 on circumstances rather than upon a living force within, and has regard 
 to victory more than the attainment of a noble ideal. Its unreality is 
 seen in sudden crises where calculation can have brought no adventitious 
 elation. 
 
 5. The courage of ignorance — the coiirage which is shown by tyros in 
 war, who have no conception of the danger they incur, and who are bold 
 in exact proportion to their ignorance. Men who are bold in their 
 presumption are apt to experience sudden revulsions from confidencfl 
 to cowardice. 
 
 iv. Limitations of the pleasure which the brave has in his Virtue. ■ 
 Now courage has been shown to be a fitting behaviour as well on occa- 
 sions of confidence as amid circumstances of fear ; but its special province 
 is the latter. Peril and suffering test courage much more than anything 
 else does. Courage is therefore in a sense painful to practise. Yet, if 
 it be a virtue, it must be pleasurable, all virtues entailing from the 
 nature of the case a sweetness of their own ; and so in fact it is. The 
 pleasure of courage, however, is not in the activity itself, but rather in 
 the consciousness which the activity brings with it, that to (coXoiija 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book III. 119 
 
 beautiful ideal, is being realized thereby. Hence, though the struggle 
 itself is bitter and painful, the thought of the glory that shall follow is 
 sweet and comforting. It is no disparagement to ftie brave man that 
 he fears death, if all the same he faces it. His courage is only shown 
 in brighter colours when he prefers glory to all the blessings which he 
 is in danger of losing by his self-sacrifice — blessings which he knows 
 that he deserves still to enjoy. The greatness of those blessings 
 measures the extent of his sacrifice, and the completeness of his virtue. 
 It is no sign of virtue, but rather the contrary, to barter away life for 
 trifling odds as mere mercenaries do. The consciousness of sacrifice is 
 an essential element of courage. 
 
 B.-TEMPEEANCE. 
 
 Following the psychological analysis of the virtues, we come next to 
 Temperance, which is the principal virtue of the irrational part of the 
 soul after Courage. It is also next in the order of historical develop- 
 ment. As Courage is the instinct of self-preservation developed into 
 manliness, so Temperance is the instinct of manliness developed into an 
 ideal form : the one virtue is man's safeguard against outward foes, the 
 other is his victory over the assaults of animal passions which might 
 destroy his inward peace. 
 
 Temperance is chiefly concerned with pleasures : it was defined as a 
 virtuous state of mind, which ever aims at an ideal in the pursuit and in 
 the enjoyment of pleasure. But it is also to a certain extent concerned 
 also with pains ; it is the noble suffering of privation — a state of mind 
 which, for the sake of an ideal of personal goodness, will endure the loss 
 of pleasure under the circumstances which Reason lays down. 
 
 But what are the pleasures in regard to which this abstinence ought 
 to be practised ? 
 
 There are pleasures of the body and pleasures of the mind, pleasures 
 of intellect and pleasures of sense. Men who are addicted to intellectual 
 pleasures, are neither temperate nor intemperate on that account, but 
 simply students or dilettanti. Nor again do ideal pleasures or pains — 
 the loss or gain of money or of friends, form the province of temperance. 
 It is 6orf% pleasure as a purely physical sensation, with which temperance 
 is concerned. 
 
 Yet there are certain forms even of bodily pleasure which are outside 
 the range of Temperance : e.g. 
 
 (1.) Pleasures of Sight : however much men may indulge their love 
 for beautiful sights or for beautiful forms of art, they are neither 
 temperate nor intemperate in consequence. 
 
 (2.) Pleasures of Sound : men who feel excessive pleasure in music or 
 acting are not therefore intemperate, nor yet are they temperate, though 
 their desire be moderate and right. 
 
 (3.) Pleasures of Smell : though certain pleasures are suggestive of 
 desires which lead to intemperance, as the scent of a hare suggests to the 
 hound a banquet in store, that is only yer aecidens : men are not on the 
 simple score of scent either temperate or intemperate. 
 
 It is rather the pleasure which arises from foicch and taste which forms 
 the special province of Temperance : indeed this province may be still 
 further narrowed to the sense of touch alone. Tasting has little con- 
 
I20 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 tentment for the intemperate man, and little scope for the exercise of 
 temperance : it is only partial enjoyment — what the sensuous man loves 
 is complete satisfaction. It is, therefore, touch which is the occasion of 
 most frequent temptation, and the pleasure of touch which is most 
 frequently associated with sensualism. Notwithstanding, there are 
 certain modes in which the pleasure of touch is liberal, as in the healthy 
 glow of the gymnasia. 
 
 But there are various kinds of pleasures, just as there are various 
 kinds of desires. Some are common td all men ; others are special to 
 individuals. In regard to pleasures for which the desire is universal, 
 intemperance is shown cinly in one way — by excessive indulgence therein. 
 But as for the special desires of individuals for particular pleasures, 
 intemperance therein is manifold, and its sinfulness varies with the 
 changes of time and circumstance. 
 
 The love of pleasure in the case of the intemperate man is so unre- 
 strained that he positively feels pain when debarred from his pleasures.' 
 The temperate man, on the other hand, feels no pain at the loss or 
 privation of pleasure. Nevertheless the temperate man is not an 
 ascetic : he does not belie human nature so far as to ignore the essential 
 distinctions between sweet and bitter, wholesome and injurious. 
 
 A picture may now be drawn of the temperate character. He takes 
 his full measure of enjoyment, but his desires are always controlled by 
 Eight Keason, and a sense of the fitness of things. He is moderate in 
 all his tastes, and only indulges them at a proper time and in a proper 
 manner. He does not grieve if pleasure be denied him, and will not be 
 over-anxious to supply his loss. Health and well-being and a consideni- 
 tion for the higher aims of life determine his every wish. 
 
 Lastly, we may compare intemperance with cowardice under one 
 aspect, and with the faults of childhood under another. 
 
 1. Intemperance is more censurable than cowardice, for this reason. 
 Pleasure is more voluntary than pain : — pain is indeed mvoluntaiy. i 
 Intemperance as the pm^uit of pleasure is therefore more voluntary 
 than cowardice as the avoidance of pain, since the refraining from 
 pleasure is easier than the endurance of pain. If then temperance be 
 easier than courage, intemperance is more blameable than cowardice. 
 
 [However we must distinguish cowardice as a habit from cowardice 
 as a single act, and intemperance as a habit from intemperance as a 
 single act. (a) Intemperance per se is involuntary, but particular 
 indulgences of it are voluntary. (/3) Cowardice per se is painless and 
 voluntary, but cowardice as a particular act is painful and involuntaiy.] 
 
 2. Intemperance is closely analogous to the faults of childhood. It 
 is a want of discipline and control : intemperate men are like undisci- 
 plined children, whose desires run wild with disorderly violence. As 
 the authority of his tutor is despised by a disorderly and undisciplined 
 child, so is the voice of reason disregarded by an intemperate man. 
 Intemperance is therefore the reign of the appetitive soul, not chastened 
 nor ordered by Keason ; temperance the reign of Eeason, inspiring the^jj 
 desires to aim at noble conduct, and curbing whatever is base an^ 
 unworthy in human nature. 
 
TRANSLATION. 
 
 PART I.— ANALYSIS OF MORAL ACTION. 
 I.— CONCERNING MORAL RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 Seeing, then, that the province in which virtue is displayed is 
 emotion and action, and that when emotion is 
 freely entertained and action willingly done, praise ^^^°^ moraf'?*- 
 or blame is accorded, whereas on the other hand sponsibility in 
 when feelings arise and actions are done in despite ^^i*'" p'~ , 
 
 of ourselves, they are matters of forgiveness, and blame, pardon and 
 at times even of compassion, it is surely incum- P'*y depend upon 
 bent upon us that in investigating the nature of "2. Law- givers 
 virtue we should discriminate between what is necessarily take 
 ' volimtary ' and what is ' involuntary.' Such a 
 distinction will farther be useful to those who frame laws and 
 fix the scale of rewards and punishments. 
 
 Now actions are admitted to be involuntary 
 when done either under constraint or through STry""^"'"" 
 ignorance. 
 
 Kow since the province in wMcli virtue is displayed is emotion and action, and 
 since virtue consists in ' good actions villingly done,' and vice consists in evil 
 actions willingly done, and the element of ' willingness ' or ' unwillingness ' is 
 involved in the very definition of virtue and vice, it is consequently necessary 
 that in speaking upon virtue and vice, we should understand the nature of the 
 voluntary and of the involuntary : — it is in fact by their willingness or unwilling- 
 ness that we test the worth of actions. Some actions we call praiseworthy, others 
 pardonable, others worthy of censure. When good actions are willingly performed, 
 we praise them : when evil actions ai'e willingly performed we blame them : when 
 evil actions are unwillingly committed, we do not blame them but think them 
 worthy of forgiveness, and when such evil deeds are done not only unwiUingly 
 but to the injury of those who do them, we consider that they are worthy of our 
 compassion. 
 
 Wherefore, as our inquiry relates to what is either praiseworthy or deserving of 
 censure, it is necessary for us to know the nature of the voluntary and of the 
 involuntary. Such a knowledge will be of service also to those who have to frame 
 laws : from a consideration of these distinctions they will know whom it is right 
 to punish, whom to honour, and who are entitled to claim our forgiveness or 
 
122 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. i. 
 
 compassion : — and that assuredly is tie main point in the art of practical states- 
 manship. We will accordingly draw out the difference between what is voluntaiy 
 and what is involuntary. 
 
 Well then, it may be taken as granted that ' the inTolimtaiy ' is what is done 
 either under constraint or through ignorance. 
 
 i. — Actions done under constraint, 
 (a) DEFINITION OF ' POSITIVE CONSTRAINT.' 
 
 An act is ' under constraint ' or ' compulsory ' when the cause 
 of it is external to the agent and is of such a 
 Positive constraint nature that the agent contributes in no sense to 
 ™i.Tforceoperat- hring it about, either as an active instrument or 
 ing from without. as a passive subject; for example, if a gale should 
 cien't to move^'^the ^rive him to a Certain place, or if he were to he 
 subject. carried away by others who had physical control 
 
 3. A force acting „„„„ u:™ 
 independently and ^^^^ '^l"^' 
 •without any coope- 
 ration of the sub- An act is ' under constraint ' or ' compulsory ' when the 
 jeot. cause of it does not reside in the agent but is external to 
 him, and when the agent contributes no single element to 
 bring it about, either as an active instrument or as a passive subject. An example 
 of such constraint would be a case where a person is driven by a gale and brought 
 from place to place, or where a man is moved about by others who have control 
 over him and are strong enough to move him against his own wUl. 
 
 An act is ' voluntary ' or ' free ' when it is the exact opposite of this — whea, 
 that is, the cause of it rests entirely with the agent. 
 
 (b) ' POSITIVE CONSTRAINT ' DISTINGUISHED FROM ' MORAL 
 CONSTRAINT.' 
 
 Actions, however, which are done under apprehension of evils 
 
 greater than themselves, or in order to gain some 
 
 Moral constraint honourable end (as, for instance, if a tyrant en- 
 
 imphes stress oi . . _ , ■ : i „ t ■, t 
 
 adverse circum- jomed the commissiou 01 some foul deed when he 
 
 stances which ne- had our parents and children under his power, 
 cessitate a choice j • ii j_ p -,■ , t\ 
 
 of evils.' ^nd 111 the event oi our compliance they would 
 
 be saved, and in the other alternative they would 
 be put to death) — such cases, I say, raise an issue of dispute 
 whether they are voluntary or involuntary. 
 
 Somewhat similar in character is the question which arises in 
 reference to throwing cargo overboard in storms at sea. Apart 
 from special conditions, no one throws his cargo overboard of his 
 own free will; yet for the safety of himself and of his crew any 
 one would do so who was in his senses. 
 
 There are, however, certain actions which are neither involuntary in the perfect 
 sense of the term nor yet voluntary, but ir a kind of intermediate position. Of 
 
Bk. III. 1.] Translation. 123 
 
 this ctaraoter are actions done under apprehension of evils worse than themselves, 
 or in order to gain some honourable end. An instance of this kind would be a 
 case where a tyrant enioined some foul deed when he had power both over the 
 agent himself and his parents and children, and was alle to save them all — 
 the victim and his friends, ia the event of compliaiiGe, or to put them all to death 
 in the event of refusal. Such an instance raises a question whether an act done 
 under such pressure would be voluntary or involuntary. 
 
 Another instance of the kind would be the measures taken by sailors in storms 
 at sea, when they throw overboard their cargoes. One could not call such a 
 course ' voluntary ' in the perfect sense of the term ; nor yet, again, involuntary ; 
 but both one and the other under diilerent aspects. In such a case, the cause 
 (ie. the storm) is external and yet the action depends also on the agents : they 
 judge for themselves and form their own resolutions, and take the course they do 
 with a view to the safety of themselves and of their fellow-voyagers .... at 
 least if they aie in their right senses. 
 
 (c) CASES OP MORAL CONSTRAINT (OR ' MIXED ACTIONS ') MUST BE 
 REGARDED AS VOLUNTARY. 
 
 Actions of this character are at any rate complex or ' mixed,' 
 though they resemble ' voluntary ' • more nearly 
 than ' involuntary ' actions. At the moment '^^^^^ actions are 
 when they are done, they are consciously adopted; tary for 3 reasons : 
 and in such cases where there is moral complica- i- There are seve- 
 
 ,. -, • i_ p -1 1 i 1 I J.1 , ral alternative 
 
 tion and a variety or possible ' ends, the end < ends ' possible, 
 adopted must have due regard to the exigences and a man has free 
 
 /I ,1 i.- T ■ • /~i J.1 XT J. choice of any one 
 
 01 the particular crisis. Consequently the terms ^t a given crisis. 
 'voluntary' and 'involuntary' must be predicated 
 (not of the act per se but) with due regard to the conditions under 
 which a man is called upon to act at a particular moment. 
 
 In such cases, I say, a man acts willingly, because in fact the 
 spring which sets in motion his physical organism 
 is under his own control ; and where this primary 2. He has the free 
 power rests with a man's own self, with him it ^t "n ^one' way or 
 rests also to act or to forbear. Actions of this another. 
 kind, therefore, are voluntary — though regarded 
 independently of their surroundings they are surely involuntary : 
 no one, that is, would make choice of an act of great sacrifice for 
 its own sake. 
 
 Furthermore, there are occasions when men are actually praised 
 on the score of yielding to circumstances ; when, 
 for instance, they undergo some shameful or ,^; He is praised or 
 
 ■ n T p , ,, , ^ , 1 1 • blamed for his oon- 
 
 pamiul late as the price of great and glorious duct:— which im- 
 ends. On the other hand, they are blamed for pii^s ^^^ freedom 
 
 ^ ., ,. , -i, , .•/".! i T5J.1 to have acted other- 
 
 submittmg to evil treatment it the ' end jo be -^gg, 
 
 gained be inadequate : to brook foul disgrace for 
 
 an end that is not noble or that is trifling, indicates a worthless 
 
 character. 
 
124 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. l. 
 
 Consequently actions of this charaoter are ' mixed ' (or complex) and have in 
 them am element both of voluntariness and of involuntariness, though they appear 
 to have a larger element of voluntariness than of the opposite. At the crisis of 
 a storm, for instance, such sacrifices as of the cargo, are willingly made ; and if 
 one regard the ' end ' in the light of that crisis, it is a good and desirable one. 
 In fact the end of every single action must have relation to the circumstances of 
 that action, and from the nature of those circumstances the end selected becomes 
 either good or bad. Consequently, what is voluntary or involuntaiy must in the 
 same way be considered in the light of the circumstances under which the action 
 is done. In view of the circumstances of the storm the sailor acts freely in what 
 he does ; though if the circumstances were different, and there were a calm, he 
 would never, of his own consent, sacrifice his cargo. 
 
 He acts voluntarily, I say, in such a case, because his physical organism — his 
 hands and his feet, are not moved from without by an alien cause, but by a cause 
 which resides in the agent himself. But whatever a man does impelled thereto 
 by his own self, he has it in his own power to do or to leave undone ; and acts of 
 this kind are called voluntary. 
 
 Such an act, therefore, is in itself voluntary — taien iu connection that is, with 
 the circumstances which attend it ; but viewed absolutely and apart from these 
 any additional considerations it is involuntary, since no one would elect to act in 
 such a manner, except under exceptional circumstances. 
 
 Furthermore, certain actions of this kind are in fact thought worthy of praise, 
 as certain others are thought deserving of censure : — praise when a man under- 
 goes something ignominious or painful as the price of great and noble purposes, 
 and censure when he submits to such a fate for unrighteous objects. Indeed a 
 man is an evil character when he submits to dire ignominy for no grand end, or 
 for a trifling one. 
 
 {d) LIMITATIONS OF MORAL CONSTRAINT. 
 
 There are other cases of moral constraint where, if praise is 
 withheld, pardon is bestowed; when, for instance, 
 ftraint'^rietimes ^ ™an commits Unlawful acts under the influence 
 passes into moral of pressure which excecds human endurance and 
 "rr^^UT'with which no man would withstand, 
 conmiiseration and On the Other hand there are deeds, consent to 
 pardon. which, even uiider compulsion, is inconceivable.: 
 
 ifowevL,Ztf.^t "ieath itself, under the du:est tortures, is to_ be 
 he stretched to preferred thereto. In contrast to such a principle 
 
 or^orliiawsthi:^ tl^e'-e is tl^.e «^se of Alcmeeon in Euripides: the 
 are eternal and im- reasons which induced him to slay his mother are 
 mutable. q^ ^j^g fg^^g ^f t^gm contemptible. 
 
 There are again certain actions which we think worthy neither of praise nor of 
 blame (as has been shown) but rather of forgiveness and pity : when, for instance, 
 a man does things which he ought not to do through fear of great sufferings or 
 of evils too great for human nature to have the power of withstanding. 
 
 There aie certain actions also, so foul that there is no kind of excuse for a man 
 who commits them, but all men are bound to flee from the commission of them 
 with all his might, though it should be necessary to die a death of unspeakable 
 horror in consequence of resistance. [The reasons on the other hand which con- 
 strained Alomseon to slay his mother are of course contemptible.] 
 
Bk. III. 1.] Translation. 125 
 
 (e) DIFFICULTY OF FRAMING EXACT RULES TO MEET THE COMPLI- 
 CATIONS OF LIFE. • 
 
 But it is difficult sometimes to determine which of two alter- 
 natives is preferable or to balance what amount 
 of suffering is equivalent to what amount of good. piffio"ities of a sys- 
 
 CTi-n j-^ IX • -i J. 1 j= 1 J. tern of Casuistry. 
 
 Still more dimcuit is it to keep nrmly to our 
 resolutions when they are formed. The evils foreboded are for the 
 most part painful, while the actions forced upon us are shameful ; 
 and so men yield to the shame to avoid the pain. Hence it is 
 that praise and blame are bestowed according as men yield to or 
 stand against the pressure put upon them. 
 
 What kinds of actions, then, must we say are ' compulsory ' ? 
 In a general sense may they not be defined as 
 ' actions whose cause lies in external circumstances General principles 
 where the agent in no way cooperates thereto?' *°pogHiYe'"^from 
 On the other hand actions which, though by 'moral' constraint, 
 themselves involuntary, are yet for the moment 
 and in preference to other evils choiceworthy, and of which the 
 primary cause depends upon the agent, — such actions, I say, 
 though per se involuntary, yet in a particular case and in 
 preference to particular alternatives, are voluntary. But still 
 they resemble more nearly the type of voluntary action, because 
 action depends upon particular circumstances, and these are matters 
 of free choice. 
 
 Yet it is not easy to lay down a rule for regulating our choice 
 under all circumstances and contingencies : so many and- so 
 various are the shades of difference in the complications of life. 
 
 But at times it is difficult to determine wliat those dangers are through fear of 
 which we are justified in submitting to a particular disgrace, and which of two 
 alternatives we ought to choose. Still more diffiotdt is it for a mam, even after he 
 has discovered what his duty is, to remain firm to the resolution he may have 
 formed. For the most part the things which we are constrained to do, are less 
 painful than disgraceful ; but the evils which we forebode are entirely painful. 
 Hence the character of a noble-minded man is shown in the disdain which 
 he feels for pain, in carrying out his resolution not to commit any disgraceful 
 act. 
 
 In actions of this kind, therefore, we praise some men and blame others ; and 
 sometimes we neither praise nor blame but think the agents worthy of forgiveness. 
 
 Actions are, therefore, in a general sense involuntary when the cause of them 
 depends on things without and the ostensible agent contributes in no sense to 
 their commission. On the other hand actions are voluntaiy when the cause of 
 them depends entirely on the agent. 
 
 But actions which, though not in themselves desirable, we still desire in view 
 
126 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. i. 
 
 of a particular crisis and for ulterior ends, such, actions, I say, are absolutely 
 involuntary, yet at a particular moment, and in view of particular alternatives, 
 voluntary. But they seem to be voluntary in a greater degree than they are in- 
 voluntary, since actions are always displayed in particular connections in which 
 the ' time ' and ' place ' and ' motive ' are all important ; and these considerations 
 make actions of this kind voluntary. 
 
 For this self -same reason (because, that is, actions are concerned with specific 
 circumstances) it is no easy task to define what precise amount of suffering ought 
 to be preferred to what amount of disgrace. Many and various are the shades of 
 difference in the complexities of real life. 
 
 (/) 'CONSTEAINT' DISTINGUISHED FEOM 'MOTIVE,' 
 
 But if a critic were to maintain that objects of pleasure or of 
 beauty are constraining forces (on the ground 
 In reply to the that they constrain us to a particular course as 
 Sslf'pS: foi^ces acting from_ without)- according to that 
 sure and beauty ' theory, every motive would be ' compulsory : ' 
 forces '^wTs^™--^ ^'^^'^ action that men perform has for its motive 
 
 1. The theory either the pleasurable Or the beautiful. 
 
 proves too much. Moreover, those who act under constraint and 
 
 2. Constraint mi- ggaiust their wiU, act with pain, whereas those 
 
 who act to secure their own gratification act 
 with pleasure to themselves. 
 
 Again, it is quite absurd to make ' things without ' the excuse 
 „ „, ^. for our actions, instead of finding the cause in 
 
 3 T£16 STlSCGtJti- 
 
 biiities of the agent .0^11" own characters as being easily captivated by 
 must be taken into such inducements; or, again, to regard oneself 
 °° ™ ■ as responsible for what is noble and pleasure 
 
 foi- what is disgraceful. 
 
 * The compulsory,' therefore, seems to be an action whose 
 cause is independent of the agent, the person compelled contribu- 
 ting in no way to it. 
 
 Now it is thought by some that objects of pleasure or of beauty are also ' means 
 of constraint,' because, being external, they incite and constrain men in acting to be 
 influenced by loveliness or pleasure, and such inducements are external to our- 
 selves. 
 
 But such an opinion is erroneous : if we were to admit so much, then every 
 motive would be compulsory, since whatever we do is done under the belief that 
 it is either pleasurable or beautiful. 
 
 Moreover, where we act under constraint from without, we act with pain and 
 regret ; but when we act of our own accord for our own satisfaction, we act with 
 pleasure to ourselves. The motive indeed of all that we do, is either beauty or 
 pleasure : even when we do things that are painful, under constraint, we act with 
 a view to pleasure — ^in order, that is, to escape things that are even more painful, 
 and that amounts to pursuing pleasure. For this reason we ought not to call 
 things beautiful or pleasurable ' constraining motives ' — especially as it is ridicu- 
 lous to regard as causes of one's actions, external objects of beauty or of pleasure. 
 
Bk. III. 2.] Translation. 127 
 
 instead of oneself for teing so easily entrapped by such considerations. But in 
 fact, a man often regards himself as the cause of noble actions, but as for dis- 
 graceful ones he makes the cause to be not himself but pleasure. Such a view of 
 life is inconsistent : an act is only compulsory when the c^se is external to the 
 agent, and wlwre the agent himself contributes in no sense to its commission. 
 
 ii. — Actions done through, ignorance. 
 {a) EBPENTANCE THE TEST OF INTOLUNTAET IGNORANCE. 
 
 Actions caused by ignorance are entirely ' non-voluntary,' and 
 when painful to the agent and accompanied by 
 repentance, they are involuntary. A raan, for j^ ^°*'°" ''""^ 
 
 ^ T 111 i.1 • ii T • through Ignorance 
 
 example, who has done something through ignor- is either non-voinn- 
 
 ance of its nature, yet is in no way pained at the ^^'^ ._^ invoiun- 
 result, has not acted voluntarily (inasmuch as he 
 did not know what he was doing) ; nor yet involuntarily — if at 
 least he is not pained at his conduct. 
 
 Consequently, in the class of those who err (!■) Non-voluntary, 
 
 through Ignorance, the man who is lull 01 regret tack upon his 
 
 seems to be an unwilling agent: whereas the "J*^™ '^^'^ '="™- 
 
 man who does not regret his act (since he mtist be (2.) involuntary, 
 
 characterised) is a ' non-voluntary ' agent. As ^^^n a man is 
 
 there is a difference between the two cases, it for^™ha™he^°has 
 
 is better to have a distinctive name. . done. 
 
 As for what takes place through ignorance, we must consider whether it be 
 voluntary or involuntary. All oases of the kind do not bear the same character, 
 some being voluntary, others involuntary, while others are neither one nor the 
 other, but ' non-voluntary ' as they may be styled. 
 
 Involuntary actions of this class are such as we are sorry for, when we have 
 done them, though we only know mJiat we have done after the event and then 
 repent our act. 
 
 Non-voluntary actions are such as we are not sorry for doing, and for which 
 we feel no regret after their commission. The man who acts through ignorance, 
 yet after having learnt the character of his act, is not grieved at its commission, 
 has not acted willingly (since he did not know what he was doing), nor yet un- 
 willingly (since after knowing what he has done, he is not angry with himself 
 for doing it). Hence such actions as these may be cailed ' non-voluntary.' 
 
 {b) IGNORANCE AS A MORAL DISPOSITION DISTINGUISHED FROM 
 IGNORANCE AS AN ACCIDENTAL ERROR. 
 
 The case, again, of a man acting through ignorance seems to be 
 different from the case of a man acting in a state 
 of ignorance. The man who is drunk or in a Twofold ignorance : 
 
 • i. i i J.1, T. ■ 1 J. (^' °* prmoiples 
 
 passion seems not to act through ignorance, but and (2) of details ; 
 
 from one of the causes indicated — not conscious l- Ignorance of 
 
 at aU of right and duty, but in a state of moral ^^f ^l^^S,™^,^ 
 
 darkness. In fact, every wicked man is ignorant is the outcome of a 
 
128 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 2. 
 
 tad heart : ideas what he Ought to do and from what he ought to 
 of ' invoiuntari- abstain : and it is in consequence of this loss of 
 
 ness are therefore ,, ' ,i. .i -i, 
 
 inapplicable to it. the moral sense that men grow to be unrighteous 
 and absolutely wicked. 
 The term ' involuntarj' ' is not intended to be applied to such 
 cases — where, that is, a man is ignorant of what is 
 d^t^iifor of "special expedient or morally right. The ignorance which 
 circumstances is has its root in a bad heart and a depraved taste, 
 accidental and ex- -g ^^^ ^^ cause of involuntariness, but of wicked- 
 ness. Nor, again, is involuntariness predicable. ^^ 
 of ignorance of the moral law, men being censured for ignorance ^ 
 of that kind. The only ignorance which can be called involuntary 
 ignorance is ignorance of specific details upon which the action 
 turns and within which is its sphere. Herein also there is room 
 for pity and for pardon, inasmuch as a man acts contrary to his 
 intention when he is ignorant of the particular facts. 
 
 But there is a difference between acting through ignorance and acting in a 
 state of ignorance. Acting through ignorance is either involuntary or 'non- 
 voluntary,' but acting in a state of ignorance is voluntary. Acting in a state of 
 ignorance is such a case as when a man is in a passion or is drank, or is com- 
 mitting some other act of sinfulness ; such an one does not do what he does by , 
 reason of ignorance, but by reason of pleasure or some other cause ; at the same 
 time his moral state is a state of ignorance. In fact, every wicked man is igno- 
 rant of what it is his duty to do and from what to abstain ; and it is owing to 
 this error of principle that men grow to be unjust, or even utterly wicked. Actions 
 of this kind, therefore, are not involuntary. Ignorance which has its seat in a 
 depraved will, and which is the cause of the vices, is not the cause of involuntari- 
 ness but of wickedness. It is not the fact of a man's being ignorant of the 
 general principle that drunkenness is an evil practice that is found to be the 
 cause of its involuntariness ; but rather the fact of his having been ignorant upon 
 specific points — the not knowing, for example, up to what point a man may drink 
 before becoming intoxicated. This kind of ignorance of details has a claim both 
 to pardon and to pity : a man who is in ignorance after this fashion, does what . 
 he does throvgh ignorance and acts involuntaiily. , ., 
 
 (e) ENUMERATION OF CONDITIONS WHICH MAY OCCASION INVOLTJN* 
 TART IGNORANCE. 
 
 Perhaps it were not amiss to define the details of circumstance, 
 their nature and variety. There are, of course, (1) 
 
 Classification of the the agent and (2) the act; then (3) the scope of 
 
 fn?rf actior*^" the action, and (4) the time and (5) the place in 
 which it is done ; there are also (6) the means by 
 
 which it is done {e.g. the instrument), (7) the motive {e.g. safety), 
 
 and (8) the manner {e.g. gently or violently). 
 
 No one, however, could be ignorant of all these details, unless 
 he were mad. Obviously, a man could not be ignorant of the 
 
Bk. in, 2.] Translation. 129 
 
 ageat : how could he possibly forget his own identity ? But as 
 for the act which a man is doing, he might forget 
 that; as, for instance, in talking men say that^ Illustrations of in- 
 thing ' escaped ' them, or that they did not know ^"1™**!? ^ ig°°- 
 
 ,T , ,, . /. 1 • 1 1 , TT-i ■, , ., „ ranee of these siir- 
 
 that a thmg was forbidden, (as ^schylus said of roundings. 
 the Mysteries). Again, a man wishing to show 
 the action of a missile might let it fly (as in the recent accident 
 of the catapult). Again, a man might imagine his son to be a 
 foe, as Merope did ; or that his spear was rounded when in fact it 
 was pointed ; or a man striking with a view to save might kill ; 
 or wishing to show a trick, like those who practise fencing, a man 
 might hit a heavy blow. 
 
 Consequently, as ignorance is possible in reference to all these 
 circumstances upon which the action turns, a man who acts in 
 ignorance of any one of them, appears pro tanto to have acted 
 unwillingly, and most of all where the circumstances of which he 
 is ignorant are of critical importance, as emphatically '■ the sphere ' 
 and ' the motive ' of an act seem to be. 
 
 But in cases of ' involuntariness ' following upon ignorance of 
 details such as I have described, it is further necessary that the 
 action should be painful and attended with regret. 
 
 But it is necessary to distinguish what those actions are, and what theii- 
 Tarieties, of which we must be in ignorance when we act involuntarily. (1) There 
 is the character of the agent himself in consistency with which he does all that 
 he does ; (2) the thing which he does ; (3) sometimes also the instrument with 
 which he acts ; (4) the motive with which he acts (e.g. safety) and (.5) the way in 
 which lie acts {is. the mode, whether gently or violently). 
 
 Now there is no one who could be ignorant of aU these conditions unless he were 
 a madman, though it is conceivable that a man might be ignorant of some of 
 them while in his sober senses. For example a man is often ignorant of the 
 actual thing which he is doing, as those were who divulged the Mysteries : while 
 they were talking of other things, the story is, they became confused and in- 
 cidentally spoke concerning the Mysteries, failing to perceive what they were 
 saying, or being positively ignorant that these were subjects unlawful to be dis- 
 closed. Such persons are in ignorance of the effect which actually takes place, 
 since they do not know that they are disclosing mysteries. Again, there is the 
 ease of a man who discharged a catapult in presence of anotlier, wishing to show 
 the action of it, and by accident killed him. Or, again, there is the case of a man 
 who slew his son, fancying that he was a foe, as Merope did ; or of one who sup- 
 posed that his spear was pointless when in fact it was barbed, or that a stone 
 was a pumice and throwing it to save him, killed his friend. 
 
 A man who is ignorant of any of such particulars upon which the action tm-ns, 
 has acted unwillingly. He is an unwilling agent in the fuU sense of the term, 
 when he is ignorant of those particulars which are most important and essential 
 — i.e. the identity of the persons, the nature of the act, the circumstances upon 
 which the action turns, and the tendency of his act. When a man is ignorant of 
 these specific points, and furthermore regrets the part that he has taken, he has 
 acted unwillingly in every sense of the term. 
 
130 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IIL 3. 
 
 iii.— Actions done willingly. 
 
 Since then ' the involuntary ' is action done either through con- 
 straint or through ignorance, it would appear 
 The conditions, that ' the voluntary ' is ' action whose origination 
 Irrt^iisitTtr depends upon a man's own self, while fully con- 
 voluntary action scious of the particular circumstances upon which 
 raii';oniS the action turns.' 
 
 and 2, a full know- 
 
 cumstances.''* "'""' («) WILLINGNESS IS PREDICABLE OF IMPULSE AND 
 
 DESIRE. 
 
 It is surely improper to describe acts done through impulse or 
 desire as involuntary acts : that, on the con- 
 Special reasons trarv, such acts are willing acts, is proved by the 
 
 given why the „,,•". --i j.- 
 
 sphere of volun- foUowing considerations : — 
 tariness must in- \^ Upon this assumption, neither the members 
 Se.'""^"^'' '"^ of the animal world nor yet children would act 
 willingly. 
 
 2. Is it implied that no single act that we perform through 
 impulse or desire is willingly performed ? or, rather, that honour- 
 able acts are voluntary and bad acts involuntary? — Yet is not 
 such a theory absurd, seeing that there is one and the self-same 
 cause in either case ? 
 
 3. It is, moreover, monstrous surely to call acts unwilling 
 when we are morally bound to feel a desire for them. There are 
 certain cases where it is a duty to feel angry; and there are 
 certain things, such as health and knowledge, for which it is onr 
 duty to strive. 
 
 4. Again, it is admitted that involuntary acts are painful : but 
 acts done to gratify desire are pleasurable. 
 
 5. Further, what difference is there between errors committed 
 through passion and errors committed through calculation, i|l 
 respect of their being voluntary or involuntary ? In both cases 
 error must be avoided. 
 
 6. Indeed, the irrational feelings seem to be as much a part of 
 human nature as the reason itself. 
 
 7. The whole moral life of man flows from Reason and Desire: it 
 is consequently absurd to rank the one-half of life as involuntary. 
 
 Such then being the nature of ' the involuntary,' it follows that the voluntary 
 ■will be action whose origination depends upon the agent himself, and where the 
 agent has knowledge of the particular oircumstamces upon which the action turns. 
 
 There is a view which we must here examine, that ' actions which we do under 
 the influence of passion or desire, are involuntary.' The following arguments will 
 
Bki IIL 4.] Translation. 131 
 
 show that on the contrary they are voluntary — ^provided, that is, that the agents 
 know the whole circumstances of the issue in detail {i.e. the means whereby and the 
 conditions under which they acted) : — • 
 
 1. If we were to grant this assumption (of the Cyrenaics) we should have to 
 admit also that no single creature that is irrational ever does a voluntary act (and 
 animals invariably act either from impulse or passion) ; and for similar reasons 
 neither do children. 
 
 2. The case which befalls our own selves is a paradoxical one. Either no single 
 act of all we do through impulse or desire is voluntarily done, or else our noble 
 actions of the kind are done voluntarily and our evil actions involuntarily (since 
 of course things done through passion or desire are either good or evil). If this 
 latter alternative be true, and we only do noble actions voluntarily and evil actions 
 involuntarily, that is a most inconsistent view, the cause in either case being one 
 and the same — i.e. passion or desire. But the cause which makes a thing volun- 
 tary is different from the cause which makes a thing involuntary — the one is 
 internal, the other external. 
 
 3. Again, if all such acts are voluntary, surely it is monstrous to say (as on such 
 an hypothesis we must) that we strive agaiust our will for things after which we 
 are morally bound to strive. It is of course possible to use our passions or deshes 
 for a fitting end. There are occasions when it is a duty to give vent to anger ; 
 and there are things for which it is a duty to be eager — for instance, health or 
 knowledge : to say that such strivings are invqlimtary is absurd. 
 
 4. Again, involuntary acts are painful, whereas acts done to gratify desire are 
 pleasurable. 
 
 5. Again, if wrongs committed in passion were involuntary, they would differ 
 from such as are committed after rational conviction, in accordance with the dif- 
 ference between the involuntary and the voluntary. But there is in fact no sucli 
 difference ; the one are as much to be avoided as the other (which is a sign of 
 their voluntariness) and the one are as much deserving of censure as the other. 
 
 6. Again, the irrational impulses are as much »■ part of human nature as is 
 thought itself. 
 
 7. Lastly, it is by the impulses, from the play of passion and desire, that the 
 whole moral life of man is formed ; and it were monstrous to call the moral life 
 involuntary. 
 
 II.— ANALYSIS OF THE 'WILL' (OR 'RATIONAL PURPOSED). 
 
 i.— The "Will distinguished from kindred processes. 
 
 Now that we have defined ' the voluntary ' and ' the involun- 
 tary,' our next point must be to explain the „. , ., 
 
 i TiT-n ^ , -T. - 1 -n !\ Higher than vo- 
 
 nature of the ' W ill ' (or • Eational Purpose ) — a luntariness ' and 
 subject which is very intimately connected with ™ore characteristic 
 
 . 01 virtiiB is voli- 
 
 moral virtue, and which seems to give a better tion' or' 'rational 
 index to character than even outward action does, choice.' 
 
 Now that we have treated of the distinctions between the voluntary and the in- 
 voluntary, the subject which comes next for us to understand is the nature of 
 the Win (or ' Rational Purpose).' The will stands in intimate relation to moral 
 virtue ; and by the standard which it implies, we shall be able to distinguish 
 moral actions and to estimate moral character. 
 
 (a) THE "WILL NOT IDENTICAL WITH ' THE VOLUNTARY.' 
 
 It is, of course, perfectly evident that, although the "Will is a 
 
132 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 4. 
 
 thing that is voluntary, the two terms are not convertible, but 
 < the voluntary ' is a term of wider range ; and 
 
 Volition is included ^Jjat for twO rsaSOnS — 
 
 rontploLr-'iS^e 1. Children and all living creatures have a 
 voluntary,' but is common share of voluntariness, but are incapable 
 not^ooextensire ^f Will (or rational preference). 
 
 2. We call acts done on the spur of the 
 moment, voluntary, but not conformable to a rational purpose. 
 
 Nor, again, do those who describe the Will as Desire or Im- 
 pulse or Wish, or a form of Opinion, seem to describe it rightly. 
 
 The will is of course a thing that is voluntary, yet it is not identical with the 
 voluntary, but only a particular species of it, tlie will being a term of narrower 
 range than the Voluntary. 
 
 This is clear for two reasons : 
 
 1. Voluntariness is an element which is found alike in irrational animals and 
 in children no less than in those who are full-grown in reason : children and all 
 living creatures act voluntarily. But ' Will ' is found only in those who are able 
 to form judgments and who know how to deliberate : it is indeed rightly described 
 as ' an impulse attended with deliberation.' 
 
 2. There is also this especial consideration : acts performed by us on the spur of 
 the moment upon which we have not deliberated beforehand are called ' voluntary' 
 acts, but not acts of volition or of rational choice. 
 
 Nor again is the Will identical with Impulse, nor with Wish, nor with Desire, 
 nor with Opinion, as philosophers have variously regarded it. 
 
 (i) THE WILL IS NOT IDENTICAL EITHER WITH DESIRE OR WITH 
 
 IMPULSE. 
 
 1. The Will is not common to irrational animals, as both Desire 
 and Impulse are. 
 a rational" kment^ 2. The man of weak character acts under the 
 is in frequent col- influence of Desire, but does not exercise rational 
 and"Deilr?''and volitiou. Conversely, the man of strong charae- 
 cannot, therefore, ter acts from his own volitiou and not under the 
 them^'"''"*^ """'' influence of Desire. 
 
 3. Desire is at times in antagonism with Will, 
 but can never be in antagonism with itself. 
 
 4. Desire is concerned with the pleasurable and the painful, 
 but the Will is not essentially concerned with either the cue or 
 the other. 
 
 [These arguments are even stronger in the case of Impulse. 
 Acts done through Impulse seem to be not in the very slightest 
 degree consistent with a rational volition.] 
 
 1. Desire and Impulse ai'e shared by us in common with irrational beings ; but 
 that is by no means the case with the Will. 
 
 2. The man of weak character is not said to do what he does from the exercise 
 
Bk. III. 4.] Translation. 
 
 133 
 
 of his own volition, but under the influence of Desire. Conversely the man of 
 strong character is said to act according to his own volition and not under the 
 influence of Desire. • 
 
 3. Desire is at times opposed to "Volition : often we exercise our volition in 
 favour of things which are contrary to what we desire. But Dfesire cannot be the 
 contrary of Desire. Consequently Volition is not Desire. 
 
 ■1. Desire is painful, and it ever has the pleasurable at its opposite pole and is 
 ever striving to reach it. But Volition is not painful nor has it the pleasurable 
 set over against it as its opposite. 
 
 [Neither is Impulse identical with Volition, and indeed is even farther from 
 being so than is Desire : what takes place through Impulse is not in the very 
 least degree consistent with a rational Volition.] 
 
 (c) THE 'will' is not IDENTICAL WITH ' WISH.' 
 
 Nor assuredly is Will the same thing as Wish, though evi- 
 dently akin to it. 
 
 1. There is no ' volition ' in the case of things J"''*',"" f distinct 
 
 . , T ■\ •!> , ,1,1 from Wish in being 
 
 impossible ; and 11 a man were to say that he limited to things 
 ' willed ' (or had ' deliberately resolved upon ') a ■^^'c'^ ^i^e possible 
 
 ,1 • . -11 1 111 ii 1 i J. 1 and within our own 
 
 thing- impossible, he would be thought to be control and in 
 crazy. On the other hand Wish may have for being concerned 
 its object such an impossibility, for instance, as ^ot'with'^Tnds.^" 
 exemption from death. 
 
 2. Again, Wish is conversant with objects which never could 
 have been compassed by a man's own self; for instance, that a 
 particular athlete or actor should win a prize. But no one ' wills ' 
 (or ' deliberately chooses ') anything of the kind : the only things 
 which are objects of choice are such as a man thinks might be 
 attained by his own self. 
 
 3. Moreover, Wish is concerned rather with ' the end ' of action, 
 whereas the Will (or rational preference) is concerned with the 
 means subsidiary to that end. For example, we ' wish ' to be in 
 health, but we exercise our volition upon the means whereby we 
 may attain health. Again, we Tvisk to be happy, and we often 
 say so ; but it would be an incongruous expression to say that we 
 ' have a volition to be happy.' 
 
 In a word, the will (or ' rational purpose ') seems to be con- 
 cerned only with things that are within our own power. 
 
 Nor again assuredly is WiU the same thing as Wish, though the two seem very 
 closely aldn to one another. 
 
 1. There is no volition in the case of things impossible : we do not form a reso- 
 lution to take to ourselves wings and fly, nor to be exempt from death, though we 
 may ivis/i that we could be. If a man formed any such ' resolution' he would be 
 thought to be crazy. The Will, therefore, is not Wish. 
 
 2. We wish of ttimes for things which not we ourselves but others do ; for 
 instance, that a particular actor may surpass all his rivals on the stage, or that a 
 particular athlete may win a prize. But no one exercises his volition upon such 
 things, nor in fact about anything except what he thinks may be compassed by 
 his own efforts. 
 
1 34 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 4. 
 
 3. Again, Wish always refers to the ' end,' whereas the Volition has reference 
 to the means which conduce to that end. We wish for health, but we ' mill' (or 
 deliberately adopt) what tends to health— the means whereby it is possible to 
 attain health. Again, we wish for happiness, and we say that we wish for it; 
 but we do not say that we ' will ' to be happy — such an expression being in- 
 consistent. 
 
 In fact the Will seems to be concerned only with things that are within our 
 own power. 
 
 [d) THE WILL NOT IDENTICAL WITH OPINION. 
 
 Nor assuredly is the Will identical with Opinion : 
 
 1. Opinion seems to have all things for its 
 Volition is a term sphere, and is exercised no less upon things 
 
 01 narrower range \ i , liiiii i 
 
 than Opinion; and eternal and Unalterable than upon such as are 
 its sphere is not within our own powcr. 
 
 truth and falsehood c\ r\ ■ • • j-ir x-iii i.T. ij_ > j 
 
 hut good and evil. 2. Opinion IS ditterentiatea by the ' true and 
 
 the ' false,' not by the ' good ' and the ' evil,' 
 whereas the Will is characterised hy the latter rather than by the 
 former. 
 
 There is however no one who maintains, without reservation or 
 limitation, that the Will is identical with Opinion. 
 
 Nor assuredly is the Will identical with Opinion. 1. Opinion is concerned with 
 every kind of matter, things eternal, things depending upon ourselves, and things 
 that are impossible. 
 
 2. Opinion is differentiated by the ' false ' and the ' true : ' of two opinions we 
 say that the one is true and the other false. On the other hand tiie Will is 
 characterised by moral good and evil : of one will we say that it has ' the good' for 
 its object, and of another will we say that it has ' the evil ' for its object. 
 
 There is, however, no one who thinks that the WUl is identical with Opinion 
 in the wide sense of the term. 
 
 (e) THE WILL NOT IDENTICAL WITH ANY SPECIAL TOEM OF 
 OPINION. 
 
 Nay, more : the Will is not identical with any special form of 
 Opinion : 
 Moreover, Volition 1. According to the way in which we exercise 
 
 JlJe^te^ Xch "are ^"^"^ ^'^^ ^'^'^ Z^'^^ 01" ^vil, wc gain a certain moral 
 immjiteriai to mere character ; but the opinions we form have no 
 f^r^tt^ideS such influence upon our lives. 
 with any form of 2. We ' wiU ' (or ' rcsolve ') to take or to avoid 
 Sy'dS^Lct t ^ tl^i'^?' O"^ to perform some act implying pursuit 
 kind. or avoidance ; but we form opinions only of ab- 
 
 stract questions : ' What is expedient ? ' ' For 
 whom r or ' How ? ' We surely do not form an opinion to take 
 or to avoid. 
 3. The will is praised rather for having a proper object than for 
 
Bk. III. 4.] Translation. 
 
 135 
 
 being formed in a certain mould of correctness ; whereas Opinion 
 is praised by reason of its truth or falsehood. 
 
 4. Those who form the best opinions seem not to be of the 
 same class with those who form the best resolutions. There are 
 those who think rightly what is the better course, and yet through 
 an evil disposition form unrighteous resolutions. 
 
 6. We make our choice deliberately of things which we know 
 most surely to be goods ; but we form opinions upon things with 
 which we are imperfectly acquainted. 
 
 [It is immaterial to our purpose whether Opinion is antecedent 
 to Volition or concomitant therewith : — that is not the point we 
 are now discussing, but rather whether Volition is identical with 
 any form of Opinion.] 
 
 Nay more : not only is Volition not identical with Opinion in its wide sense : - 
 it is not identical with any special form of Opinion. 
 
 1. In consequence of the volitions we make, we grow to be of a certain moral 
 character : by consciously willing what is eTil, we grow to be evil in om'selves : 
 by consciously willing and adopting what is right, we grow ourselves to be right- 
 minded. But no such results flow from the Opinions we form. 
 
 2. We make a volition to do something or to forbear : — to take something or to 
 avoid something of the same kind. But we form opinions upon the nature of 
 the thing towards which we make a volition, or of some alternative course, or 
 upon the question ' whose interest a thing serves,' or ' how.' But ' to take ' a 
 thing, or to ' avoid ' it or to ' choose ' it — ^these are not thiags within the province 
 of opinion. Volition therefore is not identical with Opinion. 
 
 3. Volition is praised when we exercise it upon things that are rlglit. Opinion 
 is praised when what we hold as opinion is tme. 
 
 4. We exercise volition upon things of which we are quite satisfied that they 
 are good ; but we form opinions which we are not quite sure are true. 
 
 5. The same man is not consistent in what he resolves upon and what he thinks : 
 he ofttimes forms admirable opinions, thinking what is true, but at the same time 
 resolves upon what is evil. Volition is, therefore, not identical with Opinion. 
 
 [Though Opinion often precedes Volition or accompanies it, it does not follow 
 that Volition and Opinion are identical : there is nothing in that to prevent their 
 being in conflict.] 
 
 (/) THE WILL PROVISIONALLY DEFINED, 
 
 Seeing then that Volition is not identical with any of the 
 mental processes enumerated above, what is its 
 real nature, and its distinctive character ? Volition is, there- 
 
 Obviously it is a thing that is voluntary ; but tie 'genus ' voiun- 
 the converse is not true that 'all that is voluntary tary,'itsc«tj<!re««ia 
 
 1... , , bemg rational' or 
 
 IS VOhtlOnal.' . 'deliberative.' 
 
 May it not be, therefore, ' a thing that is volun- 
 tary and that has been previously determined upon ? ' Of course 
 it must involve reason and an exercise of judgment : indeed the 
 very name ' volition ' (or ' rational choice ') seems to suggest a 
 thing willed or chosen in preference to certain other things. 
 
1 36 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 5. 
 
 Seeing then that Volition is neither Desire nor Impulse nor Wish nor Opinion, 
 -we must proceed to inquire what is its real nature and what is its distinctive 
 character. 
 
 Ohviously it is a thing that is voluntaiy though not identical with the volun- 
 tary, as has been explained : not everything that is voluntary is a matter of 
 volition. 
 
 But among things that are voluntary that only is called 'voUtional' which we 
 do after previous deliberation : volition, of course, implies reason and an exercise 
 of judgment. So much indeed is evident from the very name : the term volition 
 seems to suggest that it is a thing chosen or ' willed ' in preference to other things. 
 
 ii. — The 'Will implies a process of deliberation. 
 
 ia) THE SUBJECT-MATTER OF DELIBERATION EXPLAINED. 
 
 Do men deliberate upon all questions alike, and is every subject 
 proper matter for deliberation, or are there points 
 vo"LD™ation, "P^^ which deliberation is impossible ? [Surely 
 with what subjects \ve must not include within the scope of delibera- 
 L^nedT*'"''"'"" *^°'^ ^"^=^1 subjects as none but a fool or a mad- 
 man would deliberate upon: its widest limits only 
 include such subjects as a man in his senses might discuss. ] 
 The following limitations must then be made: — 
 
 1. No one deliberates upon the eternal and 
 Excluded":- ^ ''''" unalterable ; for instance, upon the Universe, or 
 1. Necessity ; upon the fact that the diameter and side of a 
 
 square are incommensurable. 
 
 2. No one even deliberates upon things in motion but which 
 ■' Natui-e wh th ^^^^ ^ Constant law in their change, whether 
 ("a) inv^iable! ^^ ^^°™ ^^cessity Or by their own nature or through 
 
 some other cause (as is the case with the Solstices 
 and Sunrisings). 
 
 3. No one deliberates upon things which are perpetually changing, 
 
 3. Or (f,) variable. ^^ *^^ ^^^\ ^^ *^^ Weather and the rains. 
 
 4. Nor is deliberation possible upon the acci- 
 
 4. Chance. ^^"^s of chance ; for instance, the finding of a 
 
 treasure. 
 5. Nay, one does not deliberate even upon all things that belong 
 to the sphere of man. The Spartan does not 
 5 Human affairs deliberate how best the Scythians may reo-ulate 
 
 which have no re- +!,„,• ■. ,i , . Jo 
 
 lation to our own ^^^^} Community : that is one of those results 
 selves. which could not be brought about by our own 
 
 instrumentality. 
 
 But the matters upon which we do deliberate are matters of 
 The conclusion, action that come within our own control. The 
 therefore, is that causes above mentioned being excluded, no other 
 
Bk. III. 5.] Translation. 137 
 
 form of causality is left, since the only possible Deliberation is con- 
 causes seem to be Nature, Necessity, Chance, ™™^'^ ■"'*^ ^''^"g^ 
 
 TIT- J J 1 J. ■ JIT » which we can cur- 
 
 Mind, and whatever is produced by man. • selves control. 
 
 It is about things which can be produced by 
 their own selves that men severally deliberate. Consequently 
 even certain of the arts are excluded : there is 
 no deliberation in regard to such as are exact ^""'^ ""'^ "^ ^''^ 
 
 T-T TJ./J1-J • 1, ^™ as are a-roxaa- 
 
 and mdependent (tor instance, ni regard to tiko! come within 
 Philology there is no deliberation possible upon ^^^ ™'p '> ^'l "■** 
 the subject how we ought to form our letters), "^'^^'^'^s agrees. 
 The things, I say, upon which we deliberate are such as are pro- 
 duced by our own selves, though differently under different cir- 
 cumstances ; in regard, for instance, to Medicine or Finance, or 
 Seamanship more than about Gymnastic, since Seamanship is a 
 less perfectly elaborated Science ; and similarly in regard to the 
 other arts, though more so in regard to the Arts than the Sciences, 
 inasmuch as we have more uncertainty about the former. 
 
 The sphere of deliberation, then, is that of things contingent 
 and general where there is uncertainty in what 
 way they will result, and where there is an element The conditions, 
 of indefiniteness. [In regard to serious issues we ti'^'-'^fore, implied 
 
 , , ,. . J '- ° IT . in the subject- 
 
 take others into our counsels, distrusting our matter of delibera- 
 
 own judgment, as being incompetent to decide ^'°° "^/£^ contin- 
 
 ji -| S^i^cy^ ^/j ajtsencG 
 
 tnereon. J of a fixed rule, and 
 
 (3) moral import- 
 
 These general principles assumed, we may now proceed to ^™^" 
 inquire whether it he possible to deliberate upon every sub- 
 ject alike, or whether there be points upon which deliberation is impossible, so 
 that we may ascertain thereby with what subjects Volition is concerned and what 
 subjects are without its sphere. The sphere of volition is of coui-se the sphere 
 of such matters as come under deliberation. [I mean by a ' matter for delibe- 
 ration ' one about which (not the fool or the madman but) the man of sense 
 would deliberate.] 
 
 The sphere of deliberation must be narrowed by the exclusion of the following 
 subjects : 
 
 (1.) Deliberation is not concerned with things eternal, for instance, with the 
 Universe : no one deliberates as to how the heavenly bodies ought to move ; nor 
 is it concerned with things impossible to be altered, for instance, in reference to 
 the side and diameter of a parallelogram, to effect such a proportion between 
 them as that they should be commensurate. 
 
 (2.) Nor is there deliberation upon things which are eternally moved in the 
 same direction either by Necessity or by Nature or through some other cause ; 
 for instance, the solstices and sun-risings. 
 
 (3.) Nor are we likely to deliberate upon things which are variable, alternating 
 now one way now another, for instance, drought and rains. 
 
 (4.) Nor do we deliberate upon the accidents of chance ; for instance, the find- 
 ing of a treasure ; inasmuch as not one of these things is dependent upon our- 
 selves nor within the province of human effort. 
 
 (5.) Nay, we are not likely to deliberate upon everything that does fall within 
 the province of man, but only upon things that are within our own power and 
 which we could effect of our own selves, either by our own direct agency or 
 
138 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bt III. 5. 
 
 througli otliers. Tbe Spartans are not likely to deliberate upon the constitution 
 of the Scythians as to how they might be most satisfactorily governed. No such 
 scheme as those indicated above, could be effected by our own agency. 
 
 The things upon which we deliberate are such only as can be effected by our 
 own selves, and these we wUl now investigate. 
 
 There are three causes operating among existences— Nature, Necessity, and 
 Chance. There is also Mind and whatever is produced by the agency of man — 
 e.g., Art and certain other forms of activity. Now men do not deliberate upon 
 things of which either Nature or Necessity or Chance are the causes ; but only 
 upon things of which the cause is human design and human effort. Nay, they 
 do not deliberate upon all the designs which are possible to man : there is no 
 deliberation in reference to such sciences as are exact and independent, e.g., 
 Philology — we never doubt how letters should be formed, that beiog a subject 
 which is exactly known and of which the characteristics are aoom-ately defined. 
 
 The subjects, I say, about which we deliberate are such as are produced by our 
 own selves and which ai;e capable of being produced in a variety of ways ; in 
 regard, for instance, to the course to be pursued in medicine — wherein the coureea 
 are not perfectly defined ; or in regard to financial speculations, where it is possible 
 to make money in a variety of ways ; or in regard to questions of navigation or 
 training — though we have to deliberate more about matters of navigation than 
 about matters of training, navigation being a less accurately defined science ; and 
 similarly in other sciences. But we deliberate more about the Arts than the 
 Sciences, since we are in greater hesitation in the Arts, their province being less 
 accurately defined than that of the Sciences. 
 
 The subjects then of deliberation are such as may conceivably take place as a 
 matter of probability, but when the issue is uncertain in reference to such matters 
 — i.c., in what way it will turn out and under what conditions, it is impossible 
 that any definite deliberation should take place. [For this reason we associate 
 with ourselves counsellors when the subject involves grave issues, wherein we 
 are distrustful of ourselves as being incompetent to form a judgment.] 
 
 {b) THE METHOD AND EFFECT OF DELIBERATION. 
 
 But we do not deliberate about ' ends/ but about the means 
 whereby to compass our ends. The physician 
 of* contingency ^°^® ^^^ deliberate whether he should cure his 
 apply only to the patient, nor the orator whether he should persuade 
 " 0"°* action : ^^^ audience, nor the statesman whether he should 
 Dehberation as- promote social Order; nor in the various contin- 
 eXat starffng!^"" 8^°^^^^ of life does any one deliberate about the 
 'end' in view. "We assume a certain end, and 
 then consider how and by what means it can be realized. In case 
 the end appears possible to be realized by various means, we 
 reflect further what means will be most easy and most honourable; 
 if on the other hand the result is to be achieved by one way only, 
 we consider how we may find that way and what will conduce to 
 it, until we arrive at the original cause, which comes last in point 
 of discovery. 
 
 In fact a man when he is deliberating seems to be making a 
 The method by Search and to be resolving a truth into its 
 which Deliberation elements (in the way that I have described), 
 
Bk. III. 5.] Translation. 
 
 139 
 
 like a mathematical figure. [But obviously not proceeds is similar 
 
 all forms of searcli are forms of deliberation : — to that of geometri- 
 
 for instance, certain mathematical investigations 
 
 are not ; though every case of deliberation is a form of search.] 
 
 Hence the truth which is last in the analysis is first in the 
 
 production. 
 
 But if, on arriving at this ultimate fact, the thing to be done be 
 found impracticable, we then desist from our 
 deliberations — if, for example, there be need of When analysed into 
 
 , ,1 T ■ • i. ia? J. 1 its simplest ele- 
 
 money to carry the conclusion mto ettect, and money ments an action is 
 cannot be found. If on the other hand the con- seen to be either 
 elusion seems to be practicable, we then set our practicable. " ™' 
 hands to work to carry it out. Things are, of 
 course, only practicable when they can be compassed by our own 
 agency, though in this category we must include things done by 
 our friends, as being in a sense done by ourselves, since the 
 origination thereof rests with ourselves. 
 
 The object of this inquiry is thus alternately the instruments, 
 and the mode of using them. Indeed in matters of action gene- 
 rally the subject of deliberation is at one time the proper agency, 
 at another time the proper manner, at another time the proper 
 persons, to carry out cur purpose. 
 
 It seems clear then, that man is, as has been explained, the 
 author of his own actions; and his deliberations 
 have reference only to things which can be com- Things are practi- 
 passed by his own self, though his actions when ::f ,7c2pS 
 performed, have reference to 'ends' beyond them- by our own agency, 
 selves. Consequently the object of our delibera- 
 tion is not 'the end' of our actions, but the means whereby we 
 may attain those ends. 
 
 [One other limitation must be made : particular matters of fact 
 are not subjects for deliberation, as for instance 
 whether this be bread or whether it has been Matters of fact are 
 properly baked. Such matters are questions for ters of deliberation. 
 the senses to decide. If one had to deliberate 
 upon simple matters of fact, we should have nothing from which 
 to start, and our deliberations would reach on to infinity.] 
 
 But we do not deliberate about ' ends,' but about the means that are conducive 
 to ends. The physician will not deliberate about giving health to his patient : — 
 it is inconceivable that a physician should have regard for anything else, and 
 therefore he wiU have no need of deliberation upon that point. The question 
 which he will deliberate will be, what are the means which tend to produce health, 
 and which may conceivably be compassed in. a variety of ways. Similarly the 
 orator will not deliberate upon the question of persuasion, but only upon the line 
 
140 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 5. 
 
 of argument that will conduce to persuasion. The statesman does not summon 
 the Senate in order that he may ascertain the expediency of good government, 
 since of course he is bound to secure a proper administration of affairs : the object 
 of his deliberations will be the means which constitute and secure such a good 
 government. 
 
 In fact aU men in their several vocations assume or presuppose a certain 'end,' 
 and inquire into the manner and the measures whereby they may attain to that 
 end. If there be many ways by which it is possible for them to attain to the 
 mark, they inquire into the means whereby they may most easily and most 
 honourably realize their aim. If, on the other hand, there be only one way by 
 which it is conceivable that they should succeed, they do not inquire fni-ther 
 therein, except only as to the mode in which they ought to treat or handle this 
 particular agency, and what course of conduct they ought to adopt in order to 
 achieve their purpose. They have further to consider what measures will facilitate 
 that course of conduct, and again what means wUl facilitate these other means, 
 until they arrive at something which can be done without the intervention of 
 anything else — and this ultimate fact is the original cause of the ' end,' though 
 it be the last thing to be discovered. 
 
 In this way the man who deliberates, starting from the ' end,' travels through 
 the various means which lead to that end, breaking up the whole action into its 
 elements, until he reaches to the original cause, — just in the same way as mathe- 
 maticians analyse their figures. 
 
 Deliberation, therefore, is a mode of search, though the two terms are not 
 convertible. Yet, as has been shown, the man who is deliberating is making an 
 analysis, no less than the man who is making a mathematical inquiry. The fact 
 which is last to be discovered in maldng the analysis, becomes the first thing to 
 be- done by the man who is deliberating. In precisely the same way the 
 mathematician, assuming and positing the point which will be the last at which 
 he will arrive in the course of his analysis, and, with this as a starting point, 
 proceeding through the other points, demonstrates thereby the problem set before 
 him. But both the one and the other desist from their inquiiy if, in the course 
 of their analysis, they light upon things that are impracticable : — if, for example, 
 there be need of money to compass the end that is sought for, and this end 
 cannot be compassed except by money, and it be evident that money cannot 
 possibly be found, men do not inquire further therein but desist altogether, 
 whereas if money can be found, they then set their hands to work to effect their 
 purpose. 
 
 We call things ' practicable ' then, which can be effected by our own selves — 
 including thereby the agency of friends, since the cause of their help depends 
 upon ourselves. Among things that are practicable we have to deliberate at one 
 time in regard to the proper instruments, at another time in regard to the 
 proper use of those instruments, — and generally in regard to the means which 
 tend to a given end, how they may be obtained, or else in regard to the mode in 
 which we should employ those means, or as to the agency necessary. 
 
 It is evident then, from what has been said, that the ' end ' is not a matter for 
 deliberation. The subjects of deliberation are matters wher6 a man has power 
 either to act or to forbear : wherever a man has such a power there is the sphere 
 of human action. But human actions are invariably performed with a view to 
 purposes beyond themselves, and whatever is done with a view to ulterior 
 purposes, is not itself an ' end.' Hence the subject matter of deliberation is not 
 • the end,' but the means to the end. Yet even among the means to ends there 
 are certain things exempted — i.e., specific matters of fact — whether, for example, 
 a loaf has been baked or manufactured as it ought to be. We know these 
 specific facts by our own senses, not by deliberation or exercise of judgment. 
 If one had to deliberate upon all occasions upon specific facts, we could never 
 mark a start, but our deliberations would reach on to infinity. 
 
Bk. Ill, 5.] Translation. x\\ 
 
 (c) COMPARISON BETWEEN DELIBERATION AND CHOICE. 
 
 The province within which Deliberation is exercised is thus 
 identical with that of Choice — except that a 
 matter which has been adopted by the Choice is Kationai volition, 
 one which is ipso facto defined and settled. A t'^^'^®?"''"' ^'^ t^ie 
 
 1 • 1 r 1 1,1- „ exercise of a ra- 
 
 matter which has been selected m preference to tional choice, is 
 
 anything else, after deliberation, is a matter j.*^™*^"^-*!^ ^ j./*^ 
 
 which is ' purposed,' or rationally adopted by an ration. 
 
 act of the Will. Everyone ceases to inquire how 
 
 he shall act, when he has brought the final decision to himself, 
 
 that is, to the sovereign power within him, which is the power of 
 
 willing or purposing. 
 
 An illustration of this power of Will may be drawn from the 
 
 old polities or constitutions which Homer has 
 
 described. There we see the Princes in consulta- Picture of the 
 
 tion ; and after they have formed their purpose, Home™— °''^ ™ 
 
 they announce. their Will to the crowd. Just so (i.) Princes de- 
 
 the Eeason deliberates and announces its purpose itinerating what 
 
 . r r measures to take. 
 
 to the crowd of passions, for them to carry out. (2.) Choice of mea- 
 
 sures and procla- 
 _,. . , . , . _ _ mation to the crowd 
 
 Since then a thing which has been purposed to carry them out. 
 is a thing which has been deliberated upon, and 
 which is consciously striven after, and a thing which is within our 
 own power, purpose itself will be ' a striving after things within 
 our own power, which have been deliberately determined upon.' 
 After having deliberated we decide, and then strive after our 
 object in accordance with our choice. Let this, then, suffice for 
 an outlined definition of Choice, and for an account of its objects, 
 and of its special concern with means. 
 
 Such then is the province of Deliberation ; and a matter of Choice is such part 
 of the province of Deliberation as has been determined upon. A matter is said 
 to be 'purposed' or ' chosen,' when it has been selected in preference to something 
 else after deliberatian. After having decided what we ought to do, we no longer 
 deliberate upon the matter, bub know definitely how we ought to act : we bring 
 down the power of originating (.dpxri) the desired object to our own wish, and we 
 bring down our own decision and wish to our own Will, which is, 'ipsofaoto, the 
 spring or ' cause ' of the action. 
 
 This view of the Will may be illustrated from the old constitutions which 
 Homer has described in his Ballads. He there introduces the Princes after a 
 CoimcU announcing the course which they have determined upon, to the Demus, 
 just as the Reason or Prerogative Power within us announces its decision to the 
 Will, so that it may be carried into effect. 
 
 Since then that which is ' purposed ' is what has been deliberated upon, aiming 
 at objects dependent upon ourselves — a thing in fact for which we strive after 
 deliberating thereon and which we are oursslvea able to effect, it is evident that 
 
142 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. ill. 6. 
 
 the Will may be defined as a ' deliberate striving after objects which are within 
 our own power.' After having deliberated, we decide, and then strive after the 
 object chosen in accordance with om- wish. 
 
 Such is our definition of Will, or ' Rational Choice,' as far as is possible in a 
 general outline ; and in this definition is implied the scope of the Will, which is 
 not the ' end,' but the means which conduce to the end. 
 
 iii. — The Will implies a 'Wish for the good.' 
 (a) IS THE OBJECT OF WISH THE EEAL OR THE APfAKENT GOOD? 
 
 It has been already shown that ' Wish ' h as relation to the 
 
 'end' of action; but there is a difierence of 
 
 How far is a man opinlonr whether this 'end' is identicaljwith__the 
 
 moraHmpressions? »'^«^ good, or whether it is identical only^wijft. Jie 
 
 apparent good. 
 
 1. Now there is this difficulty facing those who say that it is 
 
 the real good which is the.oi^fiaLQ£j5rish : — ^when 
 h d^a dilit^ffS rf ^ Toaxi. adopts a particular course in error , that 
 the real good, no for which he ii^wishing_is-aot-41ie-4r-«&-al:yficLof 
 one wOTid make an j^jg ^jg]j_ Otherwise, had their theory been true, 
 
 and That for which a man wished were really 
 desirable, it would be a good ; but in the case that I am sup- 
 posing, it might be actually aa evil. 
 
 2. On the other hand, those who maintain that it is the 
 
 apparent good whichJ&Jhfi-_o]4ecLj2f_wish, are 
 be onro/thrrp- ™®* "^^^^ *^^^ difficulty— that, according to their 
 parent good, there theory, there would be nnthing good per Sfi. m^ 
 is an end of moral j^ ^|jg nature of things, but whatever each man 
 
 thought to be good, to him that thing would be 
 good. But there are different things thought good by different 
 individuals, and perchance, in possible cases, things which are 
 antagonistic. 
 
 We must now proceed to treat of the subject of Wish. 
 
 It was shown in the previous discussion that Wish is concerned with ' the end' 
 of action, but a controversy has been raised whether ' the end ' which the Wish 
 has before it may be of any nature whatever, anything in fact which a man might 
 desire to gain, or whether it must be the real good only. In fact some thinkers 
 maintain that Wish is concerned simply with the true ' good,' others that it is 
 concerned with what unems to be the good, whether it be so in reality or no. 
 
 1. Now there is this diflficulty facing those who say that it is the real good 
 alone which is the object of Wish : — they imply that evil is not an object of 
 Wish to the vicious man, though in fact it most assuredly is. 
 
 2. On the other hand, those who maintain that it is the apparent good which 
 is the object of Wish, not by reason of any intrinsic quality, but just as each 
 man temporarily thinks it good, are confronted by this difficulty : inasmuch 'as 
 different things appear good to different individuals, what one man thinks good, 
 appearing evil to another, and the same person ofttimes regarding things antago- 
 nistic to each other to be good — according to this view, nothing can be an 
 object of wish in its own nature and for its own sake. 
 
Bk. III. 6.] Translation. 143 
 
 {b) BECONCILEMENT OF THESE TWO THEORIES. 
 
 If, therefore, neither of these theories be satisfactory, may we 
 
 not say that ' absolutely, and in strict truth, the 
 
 ob ject of Wish_^aat_^which is really good, ^ S t ^. 
 
 thouglLJslatiyely_to_trie indivicIual'Tf is~EEe ap- versai, tut the im- 
 
 parent good?' To" the-'good man, the object of ^r^^fil^J 
 
 wisE~is" that which is coniormabla_tQ__ahaQlute with the variations 
 
 truth; on the other hand, to the bad man the "f tteir own moral 
 r^ ' . ' temperament. \ 
 
 object of wish is anything that may chance. 
 
 It is precisely the same in the case of physical tasks : when 
 men are in a healthy state of body, things are wholesome that are 
 really so, whereas if men are themselves diseased, things abnormal 
 are wholesome in their eyes. In such cases, also, the sensations 
 of bitter and sweet, hot and heavy, and so on, are similarly 
 reversed. 
 
 The fact is that it is onjythe_good_m|m jgfho., jjidgfifl„aright.of 
 moraL-difihr£nces ; on non^HBut on him are the 
 impressions made in every particular true and food' m^/th'Tt the 
 just. Corresponding to the vavying^ conditions of impressions of good 
 teinperanient, there are speciaTlmpressions of ^™J?^y The'morai 
 what is noble and of what is agreeable ; and sense of men gene- 
 herein is the good man pre-eminent.Above- others, "^^^'^ ^^ dimmed by 
 
 ~ — .?? . ^;_jx ^ ? pleasure : that oi 
 
 that lie .gees the truth^n^eyeryjnstance ; bemg, as the good man alone 
 it were, himself the standard and measure of ^^ ^J^ ^"^ ™''™" 
 truth in all its forms. On the other hand, in 
 the min ds of men gene rally, error seems to grow up naturally, 
 un der the influen ce of pleasure. ^ThougF pleasure is not itself a 
 good, it has the appearance of being so in the eyes of the world : 
 hence they make their choice of the pleasurable as of a good, and 
 shun pain as an evil. 
 
 But if neither of these views seems probable, we may state a solution of our 
 own : — ^tbat it is the good which is the object of wish by nature, and in real 
 truth, and in its own right, but that under certain aspects, and according to the 
 standard of particular individuals, it is what meins to be the good that is the 
 object of wish. Though a thing be not a good in real truth, yet in reference to 
 given circumstances it may be good ; for instance, to steal clothes is by nature 
 an evil thing, yet from the point of view of the footpad, under certain circum- 
 stances it may be a good, and in so far as a thing is a good it is an object of 
 wish. It consequently happens that what secnu to be good, is under a particular 
 aspect an object of wish. To the good man, therefore, that which is veritably 
 good is the object of wish, and to the bad man the object of wish is anything 
 that may chance. 
 
 Precisely similar is the case of our physical conditions. To those who are in 
 sound health and in a good state of body, things appear to be healthy that are so 
 in truth, but to those who are diseased, the contrary. Similarly in the case of 
 things bitter or sweet : to those who axe in sound health, things that are in their 
 
144 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 7. 
 
 own nature bitter or sweet, appear to be what they are. Such men judge rightly 
 that such and such things are hot, or heavy, and so forth : on the other hand, 
 those who are diseased in their senses, judge that things quite different from 
 these are hot, or heavy, and so forth. The analogy applies exactly to things that 
 are morally good or pleasant or evil. The good man thinks things good when 
 they are so in reality : the bad man often thinks quite the reverse. Corresponding 
 to the vaiious temperaments of men's souls, there are things which are specially 
 good and pleasurable ; and herein the good man differs from the bad, in that he 
 discriminates the good from the pleasant, and sees what is really true in every 
 situation, having, as he has, become the standard and measure of truth, But 
 the evU, from being unable to recognize the truth, are led astray by- pleasure, 
 fancying that things pleasant are good, though they are not so by nature ; and 
 similarly they shrink from things that are painful, though they are not in their 
 own nature either evil or undesirable. 
 
 iv.— The Will Implies Moral Freedom. 
 (a) BOTH VIRTUE AND VICE ARE WITHIN OUE OWN POWER, 
 
 Since, then, the end of actionals thejjbjecLof wish, and the meang 
 of realizing the end are matters of delib eration 
 The efficient causes ^nd choice, the actions conseguentjhereon wiUha 
 being'^'Jrithin our in accordance wLth-our-own ^W4.U,-aBd-¥eluutary. 
 own power, Virtue In this Sphere also the various formS-of moral 
 be ™TuntS! ^°* excellency win be.eshibited. Consequenjl^moral 
 exceltenbe isjistatewithiiuMir own power, as also, 
 for similar reasons, is moral corruption. Where the power of 
 action depends upon our own selves, in such cases there is also the 
 power of forbearing ; and where there is a power of forbearing, 
 there is also a power of acting. 
 
 HencCj^ if action, when honou rable, is within onr pow er, the 
 refraining from action when such refraining is disgrac eful, will also 
 be within our power ; and if the power of not acting when such 
 non-acTioiTts honourable depend upon ourselves, the power of 
 acting when action is disgraceful will also depend upon ourselves. 
 But if it be within our power to perform actions honourable and 
 dishonourable, aud similarly to^ abstain therefrom (and that is 
 equivalent to being good or bad), it will consequently rest with 
 ourselves whether we be virtiifius or vicious. 
 
 Since then the ends of action ?(i-e the objects of wish, and the means which 
 conduce to those ends, objects of deliberation and rational choice, it is evident 
 that the actions which result from these processes of deliberation and of choice 
 will themselves be in accordance vsdth our own WiU, and voluntary. 
 
 Of such a character are the actions which are conformable to virtue, since they 
 are manifested in the same sphere as deliberation and choice. Virtue and vice 
 are therefore dependent upon ourselves, since the actions by means of which we 
 habituate ourselves to virtue are deliberately adopted or ' willed,' and are 
 dependent upon om'selves. But if the doing of good be vrithia our own power, 
 the refraining from good wiU be within our own power, since where there is 
 ' nay ' there is also ' yea.' 
 
 Hence if action, when honourable, be within our own power, the refraining 
 
Bk. III. 7.] Translation. 
 
 145 
 
 fi'om action, where such refraining is disgraceftd, will also be within our own 
 power. If, that is, the refrainuig' from evU, when such refraining is rio-ht be 
 within om- own power, the performing of evil, when such performsmoe is°evii, is 
 also within our own power. But our line of conduct im such ciroumatauces 
 makes us good or evil ; and consequently it is within our own power to be 
 virtuous or vicious. 
 
 {b) REFUTATION OF THE THEORY THAT VICE IS INVOLUNTARY, 
 
 But as for saying that 
 
 " None are wicked of their free will, nor 'gaiast their will are they happy," 
 
 such a theory is partly true and partly untrue. Though no one 
 
 is happy against his own inclination, wickedness 
 
 iS^ still a votuntafy^tate to the wicked man. Disproof of the 
 
 Otherwise we'iiiiist "raise, in opposition to the ^^^eory of EpichaT- 
 tneory 01 voluntariness advanced above, a new involuntary' -.— 
 issue, and argue that man is not the 'primal 
 cause' and father of his own acts, as he is the father of his 
 children. 
 
 But if ou r own theory be, as it manifestly is, the true one, and 
 we are not able to refer our actions to any causes 
 beyond those which are within pur_gwn j)Ower, (l.) By the fact 
 then, where the cai^ses of. actions depend upon of '^"iT arf within 
 ouisfilves,^ -the ^feets- will -liljgwise. dep,ejid_upon our own power, 
 ourselves, and our actions mU-be voluntary. 
 
 Evidence of this moral freedom seems to be given not only by 
 the individual consciousness of each, but also by 
 the example of legislators, jrhqse codes inflict (?.) By the con- 
 punishment and pen alty upon evil-doers (except Sat^o^^ aas^unfes 
 where" ineiilict under constraint, and owing to human freedom, 
 ignorance for which they are not themselves to 
 blame) and, on the other hand, confer honours upon such as per- 
 form noble exploits, the design and intention being to encourage 
 the one in their heroism, and to deter the others from their 
 wickedness. Yet of course, no lawgiver would urge . men_to_per- 
 form actions which were neit her within their own control nor 
 voluntar y, knowing that it would Jieas Jutile as .for a man-taJiave 
 been pers uaded not ta ...feeUieat_ or pain or . hunger or other 
 similar sensa tions : none the less for all the persuasion we shall 
 continue liable to feel them. 
 
 Furthermore, wh en a man seem s to be himself responsible for 
 his own i gnorance, the laws punish_ jiim on t he 
 simple gro und of his bei ng ignorant; for in- (3.)Bythefactthat 
 stSHi7>nalties are doublidin the case of Sr^'punTsZ 
 drunkards. In such cases, the first step depends doubly as an aggia- 
 
146 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Iii:7. 
 
 vation of the upon the man's own self: it was possible for 
 offence. j^j^j^ ^Q jjg^yg avoided the drunken excess which 
 
 produced the ignorance. 
 
 Again, men are punishe d for being ign flrant nf pmnts of law 
 with which they^ught to have been familiar, and whic h are not 
 tooabsEu seTor them t o understand. Men are, in fact, puniiEeTin 
 all cases alike, when they are thought to be ignorant of their 
 duties through their own neglect, upon the ground that it was 
 within their own power not to have been ignorant : they were com- 
 petent to have kept their duties in remembrance. 
 
 But as for saying that 
 
 " None are wicked of their free ■will, nor 'gainst their will are they happy," 
 
 Buoh. a view seems to be partly true and partly false. It is true that no one 
 can become happy against his will ; but the first half of the line is untrue. 
 Wickedness is in no way a thing involuntary. It has been shown from the pre- 
 vious arguments, that man is the cause of his own actions. But where the 
 causes are within our own power, the effects are also within our own power, and 
 voluntary. Hence, for this reason, every action of man, whether it be good or 
 whether it be evil, is voluntary. 
 
 This view is borne out by the com-se which both individuals and lawgivers 
 take against evildoers. They cause vengeance or punishment to light upon those 
 who do evil deeds, except where the wrong-doing is caused by some kind of 
 external constraint, or in consequence of ignorance for which the agents are not 
 themselves responsible (a man, for instance, would be responsible for his 
 ignorance, as well as for his act, if he did anything evil when intoxicated, and so 
 ignorant of the nature of his act : he has only himself to blame for the con- 
 sequences). On the other hand, lawgivers honour those who act nobly, in order 
 that they may thereby encourage others to noble deeds, and restrain them from 
 doing evil. Hence it is evident that they consider it to be within our own power 
 to be vicious, or to grow to be virtuous ; and it is with this view that they use 
 their endeavours to inspire men with this conviction. Of course, where things 
 are neither within our own power nor voluntary, no one in his right senses mges 
 us to perform them : no one tries to persuade another not to experience heat or 
 cold or hunger or other similar sensations over which we have no control, since 
 no good could possibly accrue from such an exhortation, though we who were 
 exhorted were ourselves to desire exceedingly to profit by it ; we should continue, 
 all the same, subject to such sensations. 
 
 Similarly when a man is involuntarOy ignorant from being unable to know, no 
 one would m-ge him to have the power of knowing : it does not rest with the 
 man himself, whether he knows or is ignorant. But if a man be personally 
 .responsible for the ignorance under the influence of which he committed the 
 evil, then he is punished for it : he seems to be in a state of ignorance of his 
 own free will, because in that case it rests with himself whether he know or be 
 ignorant, as with the drunkard, or one who through his own neglect is ignorant 
 of the law, which he might easily have found out. An evildoer of this type 18 
 personally responsible, both for his ignorance and for his wickedness, and IB 
 wicked of his own free wHl. The case is similar in regard to other points which 
 it is possible for us to know, and from misunderstanding which we fall into 
 error. It is owing to such faults that we are exposed to the penalties of the 
 lawgivers. We are competent, that is, to avoid being ignorant, because it is 
 within our own power not to be careless of such things, but to make it out 
 own business to understand them. 
 
Bk. III. 7.] Translation. 147 
 
 (c) FREEDOM IN THE FORMATION OF CHAEACTEE. 
 
 '• 
 
 ' But,' it may be objected, „' a ,man-'s„jdis.p.osition is such that he 
 could not take Eeed^ to such things.' 
 
 . .ViS'ayVmen are themselves responsible for ^^/„ ^l^^ *^*^^^ 
 
 having acquired s uch a character by living dis- the bent of Ms dis- 
 
 soliitelyT'aiT so too are "they 'responsible for ^"o^e^^iiff^/;* 
 
 Bein g unjust an d intemperate whetli^rT'as is the not responsible :— 
 
 case with some, by wrong-doing, or, as is the ^■) ^iharacter is 
 
 ., 1 • ji • T- ■ T ■ 1 • "'"y concentrated 
 
 case with others, by passmg their lives in drinking habit, and habit 
 and similar debauchery. It is indeed a law of depends npon our- 
 life that the activities which are displayed in any 
 particular direction, produce a corresponding chai'acter in the 
 agent.' — From the analogy of those who practise for any contest 
 or profession, an illustration of this law may be taken : to ensure 
 success, they practise their art continuously and perseveringly. 
 To be^gnorant, therefore, that ' habits ' are formed by men 
 dev^]^ingtEeiFpowers~in'particular directions 'is the^mark of an 
 utter^TinrSfl'gctive'cha;racter. 
 
 Moreover, it is absurd that the man who performs unjust acts 
 should not mish to be unjust, or that a man who 
 acts intemperately should jnol-zzas^^t-o be intem- *^-^ Habitdepends 
 
 ^ _ •' - '. . - „ upon separate ac- 
 
 perate.' If a man not unwittingly performs acts tions which are un- 
 froin the effects of which he will be^unjust, he is ^^t^keahiy in our 
 
 „ , . . . ■Till "^"1 power. 
 
 unjust 01 his own choice ; nay, verily, though he 
 should afterwards desire it, he will not afterwards cease to be 
 unjust and become just, any more than the invalid will gain sound 
 health by desiring to do so. By li$ing.iBtemperately...and dis- 
 obeyijn g his phy sicians, .xL_.maiL,is. voluntarily an invalid. Jja^the 
 casejvhich I have_supposed : in the first instance it was possible 
 for him to have avoided illness, but after a man has once thrown 
 away his health, his chance is gone. Precisely in the same way 
 when a man has discharged a stone, it is no longer possible for 
 him to recover it ; yet the projecting or casting of the stone was 
 an act depending upon himself — the primary impulse, that is, was 
 within his own control. This analogy applies exactly to the soul 
 and to such states as justice and intemperance : it was possible in 
 the first instance not to have formed such evil tendencies. Hence 
 men of this type, as of others, are what they are of their own free 
 wUl ; but when once a cha,racter of this kind has been formed in 
 them it is no longer possible for them to be different. 
 
 But if any one be of such a nature as not to have the capacity for taking heed, 
 he will not on that account escape punishment. Nay, rather, he will be 
 
 L 2 
 
148 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 7. 
 
 punished for that very reason— for having culpably grown into such a state as to 
 have lost the capacity for taking heed, by living dissolutely and licentiously. 
 From such a mode of life it is that men become for the most part wicked, unjust, 
 and dissolute. In consequence, that is, of the imjust and dissolute practices to 
 which men become habituated they grow to be unjust and dissolute ; and they 
 grow like that, even though they have not wrong-doing as a settled plan before 
 them, but yet live a dissolute life and delight in self-indulgence and luxmy. 
 From a course of Ufe like this, men advance to the commission of actual wrong. 
 It is indeed ever the case, that according to the nature of the activities which 
 we habitually practise, we grow, as has been explained, to be virtuous or vicioM 
 or acquire some other complexion in om- moral life. Just so we see men who 
 wish to become athletes or to cultivate some pther profession or business, practising 
 and exercising themselves in the performance of acts by means whereof they may 
 attain to the accomplishment they desire. No one, in fact, is ignorant that it is 
 from the performance of specific acts that we atcain to a fixed and permanent 
 state of vice or of virtue — unless he be utterly without perception. If then this 
 truth be manifest to all, it is clear also that all men understand the character of 
 their own acts, whether, that is, they tend to virtue or to vice ; and if they know 
 what they are doing, they are of their own free will either good or evU. 
 
 It is, of course, quite absurd for a man who performs unjust acts to say that 
 he does not wish to be unjust, or for a man who is dissolute to say that he does 
 not ivUh to act dissolutely. If, though he wish to become just and temperate, he 
 is yet unable to be so through being overpowered by the strength of long habits, 
 even thus he is voluntarily vicious. Take the case of a man who adopts a 
 depraved mode of life and is disobedient to his physicians and is consequently in 
 sickness : such an one is voluntarily an invalid, since the mode of his life depended 
 upon himself, and though he afterwards wish to be relieved of its consequences, 
 he cannot be. Before he fell ill, it depended upon himself to guard his health, 
 but when once he has thrown away his health, it is no longer in his iwwer to 
 recall it. Or, to take another case, a man has it in his own power to oast a 
 stone into the sea, but when once he has oast it he has it not in his power to 
 recall it again ; yet still he cast it of his own free wiU, the act of castiag being 
 dependent upon himself. Precisely so is it in the case of the unjust and of the 
 dissolute man. Before they grew to be vicious and attained to the permanent 
 habit thereof, it was in their power not to have become so ; but when once they 
 have grown into a certain state, they have no power to alter it. 
 
 {d) FREEDOM IN THE FORMATION OF BODILY STATES. 
 
 But not only are the faults or corruptions of the soul voluntary, 
 but in certain cases the diseases_of_the_bo^^re 
 ^enXr'oTbodUy voluntary^lTsoTang: tEesB cases', when they occnr , 
 faults, when, as is we regard with disapproval. JNo one of course 
 are "elf-produced^'' tlaiheFthose who are naturally disfigured, unless 
 their deformity aris?r from wairt-Tif-exercise-or 
 from their own neglect. Similarly iri^r'egardr to cffisra-of weakness 
 or of mutilation : no one would taunt a man who was blind from 
 nature, or through disease or tlirough an accident, but we should 
 rather pity such an one. If on the other hand a man were_hlind 
 through drunkenness or intemperance, all men would censure him. 
 Consequently in the- case "even of' bodily" distempers -fcose which 
 are under our own control are blamed, whereas such as are out of 
 our own power are not blamed ; and if this priaciple be of general 
 
3k. III. 7. J Translation. 149 
 
 ipplication, those distempers which are blamed in other relations 
 i¥ill also be within our own power. 
 
 But not OBly are tlie faults or corruptions of the soul voluntary, but in the 
 3ase of certain individuals, bodily diseases are also voluntarily formed — those at 
 least on account of which men are censured. Of course no one in his senses 
 blames those who are naturally disfigured ; but we do censure those who have 
 rained their physique through omitting to take exercise or other neglect or 
 through depravity. We do not taunt a man who is blind by nature or through 
 disease or from a blow, but we rather pity him. But when a man has injured 
 his eyes through dissipation or some other depravity, we blame him and censure 
 him. It is clear then that such bodily ailments as are voluntarily incuiTed are 
 blamed by us, while such as are involuntary are in no way blamed. This law 
 will apply similarly to other cases : such as are cases for punishment and for 
 which penalties are provided are entirely voluntary and dependent upon ourselves : 
 such as are not of this character, are involuntary. Vice therefore is voluntary. 
 
 (e) FREEDOM APPLIES EQUALLY TO VIRTUE AND TO VICE. 
 
 Bat in reply to the objection of those who urge _that ' all men 
 
 Eiini_at_±li3t_which_apj)ears to them the good, statement of the 
 
 but have no co ntrol, oyer _tha.Jmp££SsiflBg-Piade argument of neces- 
 
 Lipon_them, but the end which appears good to ^an^iTthedate of 
 
 a, man reflects exactly the tendency of his own Ws own nature 
 
 moral character '- there are two alternative jT'odtetd — 
 
 inswers : alter.' 
 
 ^- . If every ma,n is, in some sense, responsible ^ ^^^ ^^^^^ .^^^ 
 
 to himself for his moral state, he will also be, flow from the moral 
 
 in some senseT responsible for the impressions state which «s to a 
 
 \,-VVco i.-- J 1 --;..• -c , certain degree 
 
 svhich dilterent ends niake upon him. under our own con- 
 
 2. If, on the coiitrary, no oneis_resp.Qnsible to *™i- 
 
 himself for his moral states, but the evil .whichja 2. Assuming the 
 
 mandoes Is 'done_lhrough ignorance of his real ^^^^^ J^^^*^: 
 
 end, and froni,ja„mistaken fancy that by the tipn as stated by 
 
 course he takes the best.resultwill_Mattained ; f^ necessitarians 
 
 . — -- . ~- ,. , their argument 
 
 it, moreover, the inclination tor a particular proves too much— 
 'end' be not self-produced, but a man must be that neither virtue 
 
 I -i.! ii p ii s T • 1 J. 1 — t,- t, nor Vice are volun- 
 
 born_wrth_Jhe_3cmty_of.mor^^ tary. 
 
 to d_iscriminate_Jhmga_.,xightly_.aiid — ^to— select 
 the go od which is so la truth (and the ' nobly-born ' is 
 one in whom this moral perception is perfectly ingrained, and 
 that is the highest and noblest gift, and one which cannot 
 possibly be acquired or learnt by ourselves, but such as nature 
 ^ave it will be its character, and to have this characteristic truly 
 and nobly engrafted in us is the perfect and genuine nobility) . . . 
 if veritably such a view be true, wherein is virtue more voluntary 
 than vice ? In either case, in that of the good man as in that of 
 the bad man, the '• end ' which they follow appears to them 
 
I50 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 7. 
 
 (whether by nature or however it may be) the real end, and is 
 assumed to be so accordingly ; and whatever actions they perform 
 under any circumstances that may arise they view in connection 
 with the end which is thus assumed. 
 
 Under either of these alternatives — whether,-JthaLis_to say, 
 
 the end of mo ral action do^ s not prRspnt itsplf 
 
 Under either hypo- ■ thenShtlt does by an unalterable law, .but 
 
 thesis virtue must ® ~" — «• =^ — -. — — ^ : ^-^i 
 
 be regarded as sub- there IS au element m each impression which 
 ject to the same dgpends upon a man's 'OWEi" Self; or wEefher, 
 
 conditions as vice. , , , . i . i , i — — - — __ — ., ' 
 
 though the ' end be a creation 01 natiirGTTret 
 virtue is voluntary, inasmuch as the good man performs all that is 
 subsidiary to that end of his own free will, — for reasons equally 
 strong vice will also be voluntary. The element of freedom exists 
 in the bad man no less than in the go od man, in the perf ormltnce 
 of separate actions, eve n if n ot in the choice of the ' end.' 
 
 If therefore the virtues are,' aslias been shown, voluntary, 
 (inasmuch as we are ourselves 'joint-authors' of our actions, 
 and jointly responsible for them, and the ' end ' which at any time 
 we propose to ourselves, depends upon the fact that we are our- 
 selves of a certain character or disposition), our vices will also be 
 voluntary, formed as they are under analogous conditions. 
 
 But this view is thought by some to be inconsistent with Reason, and that 
 upon the following grounds. ' Vice,' they^ argue, ' arises from our setting before 
 our actions an evil end ; and this mistake is caused by our fancying that, 
 instead of being evil, the end is a good one : but the Impressions which our 
 fancy makes upon us as to good and bad, are not under our own control : we all 
 strive after what seems to us a good, and are not ourselves responsible for oui 
 impressions. Consequently vice is not voluntary.' 
 
 In vindication of cm- own theory we show that this objection applies with 
 equal force to the case of virtue, and yet virtue is voluntary, since no one is 
 blessed against his will. 
 
 1. If, on the one hand, the ignorance of what is the real good arises from the 
 mental state of the agent being vicious, and knowledge of the real good is 
 consequent upon the mental state of the agent being virtuous, it is evident that 
 we grow to be vicious or virtuovis of our own free wiU, inasmuch as we are 
 ourselves the causes of our mental states and responsible to ourselves for them. 
 
 2. If, on the contrary, the knowledge of the end is not dependent upon otii 
 mental state, nor requires the concuiTenoe of the will, but is like good eye-sight 
 or some other physical quality, which if a man have not, it is impossible for him 
 to acquire it elsewhere, or to provide it for himself out of his own resources, but 
 it is essential that a man should be hoi-n with a power of moral discrimiQatian if 
 he is to have a chance of judging aright, (a moral insight which constitutes the 
 only perfect and genuine nobility,) — even if this be true, still vice is voluntwy 
 no less than virtue, even in this view of it : there is a knowledge of the end 
 both in the bad man and in the good, whether it be owing to a man's mental 
 state or to natm-e, that the knowledge of the tviw end is realized or misappre- 
 hended. (1) If, on the one hand, we say that virtue is voluntary becaiffle, 
 though the ' end ' is owing to nature and rightly perceived by the good man, yet 
 the means subservient to the end depend upon a man's own self to choose or not, 
 what is there to prevent vice being voluntary for the same reasons .' (2) If, 0° 
 the other hand, virtue is voluntary because the knowledge of the good is derived 
 
Bk. III. 8.] Translation. \ 5 1 
 
 from virtuous states of wHoh we are ourselves, in a certain sense, ' joint authors,' 
 by the same reasoning vice -will be voluntary also, because our ignorance of the 
 true end is owing to our vicious habits. • 
 
 (/) EECAPITULATION OP THE THEORY OF VIRTUE. 
 
 To sum a£j!lfitt.,iuii~ theory of „t]ae~-Kirtues : it has been shown 
 that : 
 
 1. Virtues are, in their generic character, 'mean-states' (to use 
 a metaphorya533.Iiermanent^sStes of mind:' 
 
 2. They tend to reproduce the actions from which they were 
 themselves formed, "such reproduction heing/ spontaneous and 
 essential. 
 
 3. xhey are within our own power, and voluntarj-. 
 
 4. They conform' exactly to the standard which Right Reason 
 lays down. 
 
 [Here it must be noticed, that ' habitslare-aaLyxiluntary in the 
 same sense that actions are. We are responsible 
 for our actions from beginning to end, since we Note the different 
 know every condition which surrounds them, ^^s™^^ °^ freedom 
 But we have control^OTil2_oveL-±h&--begmnings of and to babits. 
 our^abits, the gradual growth of particular 
 tendencies being imperceptible in the moral, as in the physical 
 organism ; yet, inasmuch as we had it in our power at the outset 
 to shape the circumstances of our lives according to one use or 
 another, the habits which result from our conduct therein will con- 
 sequently be voluntary also.] 
 
 Let us now take up-again jthe^subjectjof special virtues, and 
 show what their nature is, what their subject-matter, and what the 
 mode of their action. It will incidentally be shown also what is 
 their number and variety. 
 
 What, then, is virtue ? Generally, ajid in. brief, it has been described, (1) as a 
 ' mean state,' lying midway, that is between two faulty states, and (2) as a 
 formed or permanent attitude of mind. It has been further shown (3) xmder 
 what influences it is produced, and that, after having acquired a virtue we 
 continue to perform the same acts and to manifest the same activities as those 
 were by which the virtue was iirst made habitual to us. It has been shown, 
 lastly, that virtue is dependent upon ourselves and voluntary. 
 
 [But it must be noticed that the action and the habit are not voluntary in the 
 same sense nor in thje same degree, though both are, as has been proved, 
 voluntary. When we perform our actions we know their bearings in every 
 particular, and consequently we have control over them in the purest sense of 
 the term — ^to do them or not, as we will, from beginning to end. Actions are 
 therefore voluntary in an absolute sense. On the other hand, the ' habit ' is not 
 known to the full extent : it is known not through itself, but through the 
 
152 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, III. 9. 
 
 actions by which it is formed. We thoroughly Trndergtamd the actions by wUoli 
 the habit is formed, but we cease to understand our actions when consolidated 
 into habit. A precisely similar case occurs with physical debUities. Knowing the 
 character of a particular diet, we consciously adopt it ; and weak health imper- 
 ceptibly follows in its train. A habit, therefore, is called voluntary on account 
 of the activities by which it is formed being voluntary — since, that is, it was 
 possible for us not to have caused those activities.] 
 
 We must now proceed at once to enumerate our mental states in specific 
 detail, and show the character of each one, with what emotions of the soul it 
 is concerned, and in what way it is formed. Jt will be further evident in the 
 course of the discussion what is the number and vai'iety of these moral states. 
 
 PART II.— EXAMINATION OP THE VIRTUES. ' 
 
 A.— COURAGE. 
 
 i. — The subject-matter of Courage defined. 
 
 (a) COUKAGE IMPLIES FEAE, AND THINGS FEAEi'UL AKE SYNONY- 
 MOUS WITH EVILS. 
 
 Now it has been already explained that ' Courage ' is a mean 
 state in regard to subjects of confidence or fear. 
 c^Slith thin^ What we fear are of course the things which are 
 fearful which are fearful, and things fearful are, to speak in general 
 evSr^""' "'* terms, evils. Hence philosophers define fear as 
 ' an anticipation of evil.' We fear, in fact, all 
 things that are evils, such as infamy, poverty, disease, loss of 
 friends, and death. 
 
 Yet the brave man does not seem to be one who is courageous 
 in face of every object of fear. There are certain evils which a 
 man is positively bound to fear, and where fearfulness is honourable 
 and bravery would be unseemly bravado, as in the case of infamy. 
 The man who fears infamy is a man of honour and of self-respect: 
 the man who does not shrink from infamy is destitute of all sense 
 of shame ; though, by a rhetorical figure, the shamelegs~man is 
 regarded by some people as a daring man, from the correspondence 
 there is between them in that the brave man is, like hijai, in a 
 sense, devoid of fear. / 
 
 Poverty, on the other hand, is surely not a thing TOich a man 
 ought to fear ; nor yet illness, nor in fact any of those evils which 
 fall upon a man through no fault of his own nor through his own 
 agency. Nevertheless, the man who is fearless of such evils as 
 these, is not on that account brave ; and if we so describe him, it 
 is by a rhetorical figure. There are cases where men are cowards 
 in the crisis of battle, though liberal minded in money matters, and 
 of cheerful coutitenance in view of financial ruin. 
 
Bk..lII. 9.] Translation. 
 
 153 
 
 Again, if a man is fearful of outrage upon his wife or children, 
 or of the power of envy, or of other sinister influences, he is not 
 assuredly a coward ; nor, on the other hand, is Re brave, if he is 
 cheerful when on the point of being flogged. 
 
 It was made evident in tlie course of our previous enumeration of the virtues 
 that the suhject-matter of Courage is fear and confidence, and that it is a mean 
 state in reference thereto, going beyond timidity and falling short of rashness. 
 We will now show with what states it stands in contrast. 
 
 Now fear is spoken of in relation to things which are fearful ; and, in a 
 general sense, all things are fearful that are thought to be evils. Hence, in 
 defining fear, men say that it is ' an expectation of evil.' We fear, in fact, 
 whatever things are evil — disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness, death. 
 
 But courage does not stand in opposition to iiccry object of fear, the brave 
 man not being concerned with evely thing that is fearful. The brave man fears 
 only what is it right for him to fear, and it is not right for him to fear all these 
 things, but only some of them. To fear disgrace is honourable, not to fear it 
 disgraceful : the one attitude is that of a man of self-respect, the other that of 
 a shameless man. StiU, even the shameless man is called brave by a metaphor, 
 in that he has some of the featiu'es of a brave man in not fearing everything, 
 the brave man being one who, in a certain sense, is devoid of fear. 
 
 Poverty, on the contrary, it is not right to fear, nor in fact any of those evils 
 which do not befall us through our own fault nor through our own agency. But 
 just as the man who does not fear what he ought to fear is not therefore brave 
 (except by a rhetorical figure), so neither is the man who does not fear what he 
 ought not to fear, on that account a brave man, and is only so styled in virtue 
 of a kiad of resemblance between the two characters. Many there are who 
 though fearless of such evils as poverty, and of stout hearts in view of the' loss 
 of their possessions, are cowards amid the dangers of war. 
 
 But just as the man who fears what he ought not to fear is not brave, so 
 neither is the man who does not fear what he ought to fear brave. For instance, 
 the man who does fear outrage upon his wife or children is not a coward, and 
 the man who does not fear such a thing is not brave. Nor again is a man brave 
 if he does not fear but rather is cheerful when upon the point of being flogged. 
 Men are not brave for not fearing what they ought to fear. 
 
 (S) DESCRIPTION OF THE EVILS WHICH CONCERN THE BRAVE MAN. 
 
 What kinds of evils, then, are they, in which a brave man shows 
 his courage ? Are they not the evils that are 
 direst and worst ? No one is there so capable of peSiy ^^ mTni- 
 sustaining things which are terrible as is the fested in presence 
 brave man. But of all things terrible death is LthtglorioT.^ 
 the worst : it is indeed, the extreme of evils, since 
 to the dead man, as it seems, nothing further can befall, whether 
 good or evU. 
 
 Yet it is not death in any and every form in face of which the 
 brave man would seem to show his courage; not, for example, in 
 face of death at sea, or in sickness. In what kinds of death, 
 then, will his bravery be shown ? Must it not be in such as are 
 most glorious ? and the most glorious are those which befall men 
 in war, since war involves the greatest and most glorious hazards. 
 
154 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 9. 
 
 Corresponding witTi tWs idea of perfect bravery are the honours 
 paid to warriors both in free cities and in the Courts of Princes. 
 
 A man will be called ' brave,' therefore, in the true and proper 
 sense of the term, when he is fearless in regard to a noble death, 
 or under instant pressure of evils which have death in their train; 
 and such are emphatically the accidents and terrors of war. 
 
 Still, even in a storm at sea or in sickness, the brave man is 
 void of fear ; yet his courage in a storm is not like that of sailors. 
 The brave man at such times has despaired of safety and is 
 troubled at such a mode of death. Sailors, on the other hand, are 
 coniident from the experience which they have had of previous 
 storms. Moreover, the circumstances in which brave men exhibit 
 their courage, are such as give room for prowess and make it 
 glorious to die ; but in such disasters as shipwreck or pestilence 
 neither of these conditions is found. 
 
 The brave man, therefore, is one who does not fear the worst of evils : no one 
 has such powers of endurance as he. Yet he is not on every occasion courageous 
 to the same degree. There are certain terrors which make even the brave man 
 quail through the mode in which they are brought upon him. 
 
 For instance, death is thought to be the last extremity of evil, because it is an 
 end of life, and it is impossible for anything further to betide a man when he is 
 dead, whether good or evil, and therefore it is thought to be the worst and most 
 terrible evil both to the good and also to the evil. But though the death which 
 ensues from disgraceful causes is a thing which the brave man would fear, on 
 the other hand, the death which is brought on by the highest causes, such" as that 
 which befalls a man in war, is no longer terrible, but a thing very greatly to be 
 coveted. The death again, which befalls a man in sickness or at sea will be 
 terrible to the brave man, in so far as it has not come upon him on account of 
 some grand cause, but on no account fearful in the proportion in which it is 
 painful. 
 
 A man may be called ' brave,' therefore, when he is fearless in regard to a 
 noble death, (or at any rate a death that is not ignoble,) and in regard to the 
 terrors which bring death in their train, coming with sudden visitation upon 
 him, such as are the circumstances of war. The man who is resolute under 
 perils which unexpectedly encompass him. affords manifest proof that he has 
 advanced to = point where coui'age is habitual and natural to him. When a 
 man endures a death that is noblest for man, then he is bravo in the fullest 
 sense of the tenn. This principle applies also to the case of honours. When 
 honours involve nothing sacred nor permanent, as in the case of honours con- 
 ferred at the Courts of Tyrants, the brave man will despise them ; but when 
 honours are constitutional and just, as they are in well-ordered States, the brave 
 man will covet them. 
 
 Sailors are also fearless in regard to death, but not in the same manner as the 
 brave are. Brave men seem to be resolute under such circmnstances because 
 they have absolutely despaired of safety ; whereas sailors are so because they 
 expect, on the ground of past experience, that they wiU survive the dangers of 
 the sea. In fact, however, it is impossible to show bravery in the perfect sense 
 of the term under such circumstances as a storm at sea. A man shows true 
 bravery where there is need of vigour or of spirit, and where death is grand aad 
 ennobling. But in a storm or in a plague such considerations have no place: 
 death is not then the occasion of any advantage to others, nor can we display' 
 any spirit or vigour in face of it. 
 
Bk. III. 10.] Translation. 155 
 
 ii. — Various manifestations of Courage, 
 (a) THE TRUE ' MEAN ' OF COURAGE DEFINED^ 
 
 But what is fearful is not the same under all circumstances, nor 
 to all persons, though of course there is a form 
 of fear which we speak of as 'past human en- '^^ ?**';'^*^'^, "^ 
 
 ■, , T , 111, -11, what IS fearful is 
 
 durance, and such as would be terrible to any not an absolute but 
 one who was in his right senses. Still, looking » relative one, and 
 to things which are fearful and yet within the Eeasonr™"° 
 limits of endurance, these differ in magnitude 
 and in their relative degrees of intensity, as also do things which 
 inspire confidence. In face even of these the brave man, though 
 dauntless and undaunted, has still the feelings of a man : he will 
 not be unmoved at the sight of things terrible, though his fear 
 will be tempered by regard for the fitness of things and kept 
 within the limits which Eeason will allow, his aim being the 
 attainment of honour as the ideal of virtue. 
 
 Yet it is possible to entertain fears of this kind excessively or 
 insufficiently, and again to regard things which 
 are not fearful as though they were. Of the ^^^^^ °* """"'^^ 
 errors committed in these respects, one form 
 arises from the fear being an unworthy one, another from the fear 
 being immoderate, another from its being inopportune, and so on 
 through manifold conditions. The same principle applies to the 
 circumstances upon which we ground confidence. 
 
 That man therefore is a brave man who endures hardship or 
 yields to fear when it is right to do so, though 
 always with a noble motive and to a proper The conduct of the 
 degree and on fittingoccasions. Under opposite ^XS'tftt 
 conditions again he is equally confident. In a ideal of Keason. 
 word, the brave man is one whose inward feelings 
 and outward actions are in harmony with a true dignity, and with 
 the standard which Eight Keason prescribes. 
 
 Now the ' end ' of every activity, (in order to be either virtuous 
 or vicious,) must be one which corresponds with the fixed attitude 
 of mind in the agent. To the mind of the brave man the display 
 of his bravery is a source of pride and honour. The ' end ' of his 
 every activity, therefore, is a feeling of honour, since the character 
 of every action is determined by its ' end.' It follows that the 
 motive for which the brave man incurs perils, and performs the 
 a(its of bravery, is a sense of honour or a feeling of noble pride. 
 
 The brave man, therefore, does not always hold the same attitude in regard to 
 things which are fearful. Some things are more terrible to some men than to 
 
156 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 10. 
 
 others. Men who are fond of money fear the loss of their possessions above all 
 things ; others who care most of all for their reputations, fear disgrace more than 
 anything ; and so through many varieties. There are things, again, which aie 
 feared in different degrees by different persons or not at all ; and there are things 
 which there is no mortal who does not fear, as for instance evils which transcend 
 human endurance, like visitations of heaven, earthquakes or inundations of the 
 sea — such things being terrible to all who are in their right mind. 
 
 But though the brave man fears, his fear is always fitting and seemly, and in 
 accord with what Reason enjoins, and honour is invariably the motive which 
 actuates him. Honour is regarded by the good man as the piinciple which should 
 regulate aU his personal feelings, and as the ' end' at which all his actions should 
 aim ; and accordingly that is the motive which all excellence sets before it. 
 
 Yet these calamities of nature do not affect aU men with the same degree of 
 fear, some men being more afraid of them than others. Similarly also, the 
 distresses which do not transcend our powers of endurance are not equally terrible 
 to all men, as disgrace, poverty and the like ; and the good man wiU only be 
 afraid of them when it is right to be so, and then only in a proper manner, as 
 has been explained. Herein is the reason why the bad man errs : — he does not 
 fear in a proper manner, nor at a proper season, nor from a proper motive ; and 
 similarly in showing confidence he does not do so in a fitting manner nor at a 
 fitting season. 
 
 The man, therefore, is a brave man who shows fear or confidence at proper 
 objects and with a proper motive and at a proper time ; his fear or confidence 
 being regulated by what is fitting and by the standard which the " law ' or ' idea' 
 of courage lays down. That is in fact the ' end ' of every activity in accordance 
 with virtue — that it should be displayed in accordance with the conception of 
 viitue as a formed or permanent state of mind. For example, acts confonnable 
 to justice have as their ' end ' their being performed in accordance with the con- 
 ception or standard of Justice as a pennaneut state of mind. In a general sense, 
 the end of every action whatever that is virtuous, is the realization of a noble 
 ideal (to koKov). The particular ideal which is before the mind of the brave maa 
 is the conception Of bravery ; that before the mind of the just man, is the con- 
 ception of justice : and similarly mth the other virtues. That indeed is the 
 rationale of aU our actions — that they should be brought into conformity with a 
 fixed state of the chai'acter. The limitations to which an action conforms (and 
 which constitute its definition or essential notion) are identical with its ' end.' The 
 brave man, therefore, takes his stand within the sphere of what is fitting and 
 seemly. 
 
 (^) MODES IN WHICH THE IDEAL OF COUEAGE IS VITIATED. 
 
 Of the characters which pass the limits of this ideal, the man 
 
 who fails through inability to fear has no distinc- 
 
 Types of moral tive name. [As has been previously explained, 
 
 of comrage w^'^^ ^^^^^ '^i'® many aspects of moral character which 
 
 1. Insensibility; have no Special name.] Such an one must he 
 
 classed as a kind of madman or as a man devoid 
 of human feelings — if, that is, he fears nothing, neither earth- 
 quake nor the stormy sea, as they say is the case with the Celts. 
 The man again who transgresses in being over-confident in 
 regard to things which are fearful, is reckless; 
 
 2. Eeckiessuess ; ^^^ ^^ reckless man seems to be also a braggart 
 and one who arrogates a claim to bravery which he does not 
 possess. Such an one is anxious to appear to the world as resolute 
 
Bk.lII. 11.] Translation. 157 
 
 in regard to things fearful as the brave man is in reality : in fact 
 lie jposes in the attitude of a brave man in such points as he can. 
 Hence reckless men are as a rule, for all theft courageousness, 
 cowards at heart : though they keep up a reckless mien in times 
 of peril, they never stand the actual shock of danger. 
 
 The man, again, who errs through excess of fear is a coward. 
 Every mark of cowardice, — unworthy yielding to 
 fear, an extravagant sense of fear, and similar ^' ^°^^^'<^«- 
 excesses, are all found in such a character. He is at the same 
 time deficient in the feeling of confidence, though he more readily 
 betrays himself in pain and grief. He is therefore destitute, also, 
 of hope, being as he is afraid of everything. The brave man is the 
 exact opposite, a feeling of confidence being the mark of a hopeful 
 man. 
 
 So then the brave man has the same sphere of action as one 
 who is reckless or a coward ; but these opposite 
 characters comport themselves very difierently Practical contrasts 
 therein. Those who are reckless or cowards go ancTitTextremesr 
 beyond the proper limits or fall short of them, 
 whereas the brave man holds a calm and even tenor. 
 
 Eeckless men, again, are impetuous and precipitate, and before 
 the danger comes they are eager to meet it, yet in the actual crisis 
 they shrink away. On the other hand brave men are swift and 
 keen enough in action, but calm and undemonstrative until it is 
 time to act. 
 
 Courage, therefore, is (consistently with the description of it given 
 above) ' a true and virtuous frame of mind in reference to things 
 which are grounds for either confidence or fear ' under the limi- 
 tations which have been already laid down. The courageous man 
 freely makes choice of peril or woe and submits to its consequences, 
 because he has a noble pride in suffering and thinks scorn of a 
 selfish shrinking from the sacrifices of duty. 
 
 [But as for courting voluntary death with no motive beyond 
 that of escaping from poverty or love or some other affliction — 
 that is not the part of a brave man but rather of a coward. It is 
 sheer effeminacy to shrink from a thing because it is difficult to 
 bear; and the suicide meets his fate not because he thinks it noble 
 to die, but because he hopes to escape from a present pang.] 
 
 Such then are the more characteristic features of courage. 
 
 Of those wlio pass the limits of this ideal, the man who errs by an extravagance 
 of fearlessness, has no distinctive name. [As has been previously explained, there 
 are many aspects of moral character which have no special name.] Stich an 
 one may, however, be styled a madman, or one devoid of human feelings — if, 
 that is, there is nothing that he fears, not even earthquake or stormy sea, as they 
 say the case is with the Celts. 
 
158 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 11. 
 
 The man, again, who, though in a less degree, transgresses in being over-con- 
 fident in regard to things which are fearful, is reckless ; and the reckless man 
 seems to be also a braggart and one who arrogates a claim to bravery which he 
 does not possess. In fact he only slwnis to be brave : he is anxious only to appear 
 in the eyes of the world as resolute as the brave man reaUy is, and 'he: ■poses in the 
 attitude of a brave man in such points as he is able. Hence reckless men are, 
 as a rule, cowards at heart : though they keep up a reckless mien in critical times, 
 they never stand the actual shock of danger. 
 
 The man, again, who eiTs through excess of fear is a coward, because he fears 
 objects unworthy of fear, and that to an excessive degree. He is at the same time 
 deficient in the feeling of confidence and extravagant in his griefs, and despond' 
 ing withal, as fearful of everything. The brave man is the exact opposite : he 
 is a man of hopeful temperament, his confidence being derived from his hoping 
 ever for what is good. 
 
 So then the brave man has the same sphere of action as the man who is reck- 
 less, and the coward, — the sphere of what causes confidence or fear. But their 
 relations therein are not identical, and they comport themselves very differently 
 therein. Those who are reckless or cowards go beyond the line or fall short of 
 it, whereas the brave man holds a calm and even tenor of life, and remains firm 
 to the standard of what is fitting. 
 
 Reckless men, again, are impetuous and precipitate, and before dangers come 
 rush out to meet them, and are exceedingly solicitous of troubles to overcome ; 
 but when they find themselves in the midst thereof, they i-ush away with a 
 bound. Brave men show just the opposite' temperament : in the actual crisis 
 they are swift and keen of puipose, but till the moment of action comes they 
 keep quiet. 
 
 Courage, therefore, is (consistently with the definition of it given above) 'a true 
 and equable frame of mind in reference to things which inspire fear or confidence' 
 in accord with an ideal standard. The courageous man makes his choice of peril 
 and woe, and submits to the consequences involved, because he feels a noble pride 
 in suffering for righteousness' sake, and thinks scorn of any shrinking from the 
 sacrifices which duty demands. 
 
 [But as for being desirous of meeting death on account of poverty or love — 
 that is not a mark of courage but rather of cowardice. To try to avoid a thing 
 because it is hard to bear — that is a mark of effeminacy and moral emptiness. 
 Those who adopt such a death as that of the suicide, do not do so because it is 
 noble, but because it is a relief from an evil which they are not able to bear ; and 
 such a frame of mind is an indication of cowai-dice.] 
 
 Such then are the more general features of Courage. 
 
 iii. — Five less-perfect forms of Courage. 
 A. — THE COURAGE OF SELF-INTEREST. 
 
 ' There are yet other forms of courage as they are reputed to be, 
 which fall under five groups, the first being the 
 filner^prori- ^°"^^°® inspired by society. This form has the 
 mates to true nearest resemblance to true courage. 
 courage, though its j^ow it would Seem that the motives for which 
 
 motive IS mere re- ,i •,• i i , ,,. 
 
 gard for conse- the Citizens Undergo dangers are the penalties 
 quencesratherthan inflicted by the laws upon cowards and the taunts 
 dimity. ° * ™* of tlisir fellows and, withal, the honours to be 
 won by bravery. Hence men appear to be the 
 bravest in states where cowards are visited with infamy and brave 
 men are in high esteem. Such is the feeling which inspires the 
 
Bk. III. 11.] Translation. i^g 
 
 heroes whom Homer paints — Diomede for example, or Hector, 
 who says 
 
 ' First will Polydamas hurl scornful reproaches upoa me ; ' 
 
 and Diomede says, 
 
 ' Hector in time to come will say of me haranguing among the Trojans : 
 Tydides by my hand . . . . ' 
 
 This kind of bravery has a very close resemblance to the true 
 courage described above, inasmuch as its actuating motive is a 
 virtuous one : — it is inspired, that is, by a sense of shame and by 
 a yearning for what is noble in the form of honour, and by a 
 shrinking from reproach as from a thing disgraceful. 
 
 We may also range under the same category soldiers forced by 
 their commanders to be brave ; but such men are 
 inferior to the former, inasmuch as they do not ^ ' pj^^af "^o°! 
 act bravely from a sense of shame, but through straint must be 
 physical fear, and it is not the disgrace, but the "^^ "^^^^^ *^'" 
 penalty of cowardice which they shun. Such men 
 are literally _/brceo? by their officers to be brave, as by the menace 
 which Hector employs — 
 
 ' Whomsoever I espy shirking in the rear of the fight, 
 Nought shall avail him to escape the dogs.' 
 
 Such also is the practice of those who lead the lines, since they 
 strike their men if they begin to waver ; and such too is the 
 intention of officers who range their men in front of trenches and 
 similar outposts : they all strive to make their soldiers brave of 
 necessity. Yet to be truly brave a man should be so not from 
 compulsion, but actuated by a sense of noble pride. 
 
 There are yet other forms of Courage, so reputed, whieh fall under five heads. 
 The first of these is the courage inspired by society, in virtue whereof the citizens 
 encounter dangers on behalf of the state, in view of the penalties inflicted by the 
 laws on cowardice, and of the taunts of their fellows and of the honours conferred 
 on the brave. Men seem indeed to be bravest in states where cowards are visited 
 with Infamy, and brave men are in high esteem. Such is the character of those 
 of whom Homer sings in his poems, for example Diomede, or Hector, who says — 
 ' First will Polydamas hurl scornful reproaches upon me ; ' 
 
 and Diomede says, 
 
 ' Hector in time to come will say of me haranguing among the Trojans ; 
 Tydides by my hand . . . . ' 
 
 This kind of courage resembles the true courage described above, inasmuch as its 
 motive is in a way a virtuous, one (just as the motive of true courage is a noble 
 pride). The citizens act bravely from a sense of shame and a yearning for what 
 is noble, and to avoid reproach as a thing disgraceful : the consideration which 
 moves them to encounter dangers is a feeling of respect for the laws and of 
 yearning for distinction. 
 Inferior to this form of bravery is that which those exhibit who are compelled 
 
]6o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk.iir. n. 
 
 by their generals to encoimter hardships, and to behave themselves resolutely in 
 face of dangers. It is inferior to that fonn of courage which comes from the 
 action of society, inasmuch as it arises from the influences of fear and not from 
 love of good : those who show courage of this pattern do so to avoid the pain 
 rather than the disgrace of cowardice. They are brave because they are literally 
 compelled to be so by their officers, as may be seen in the menaces which Hector 
 uses : 
 
 ' Whomsoever I espy shirking in the rear of the fight, 
 Nought shall avail him to escape the dogs . . . . ' 
 
 Even though the generals be not themselves present to enforce their warnings 
 and personally compel their soldiers to endure perils, yet they effect the same 
 result by inspiring them with terror of conduct through which their comrades 
 have often been scourged for abandoning their ranks. Thus, they seem to be 
 brave from necessity ; but to be truly brave a man ought to choose bravery of his 
 own free wiU — not from necessity, but because it is a noble thing to be brave. 
 
 B. — THE COURAGE OF EXPERIENCE. 
 
 The experience -whicli a man has in respect of special dangers 
 
 seems also to be a form of courage ; and it was 
 
 fedge?Hke thM ^f ™<ier this idea that Socrates thought courage to 
 
 trained soldiers, be a Scicnce. 
 
 5eriority°°'^ich There are many instances of this type of cour- 
 may easily be mis- age, the most prominent being that of soldiers 
 taken for real yerscd in the perils of war. These perils are often 
 
 courage. . . , . ^ 
 
 onl}' idle panics, and soldiers are perfectly aware 
 of their real import. Hence soldiers appear to be pre-eminently 
 brave, simply because others are not aware what is the nature of 
 the perils which they really run. Moreover, in consequence of 
 their experience, soldiers are better able than others to cause 
 injury to their enemies and to escape from retaliation themselves, 
 as well from the facility with which they can use their weapons as 
 from the fact that they are furnished with resources such as are 
 best calculated to inflict damage upon their foes and ensure immu- 
 nity for themselves. 
 
 Men such as these contend with their rivals as men who have 
 armed themselves do with men unarmed, and as athletes do with 
 undisciplined competitors. In such contests of course it is not 
 the bravest who are most successful in fiohtinor, but those who 
 have the strongest physique and whose bodies have been most 
 perfectly trained. 
 
 Yet even soldiers turn cowards when the peril is overwhelming, 
 
 and they are outstripped in numbers and equip- 
 The test of genuine ment. Under such circumstances tried soldiers 
 sSe or dSth """^ t^e first to turn their backs, while citizen- 
 is involved. soldiers hold their ground and die on the spot— a 
 
 case which literally occurred at the Hermseou. 
 To the mind of citizens flight is disgraceful under any circum- 
 
Bk. III. 11.] Translation. i6i 
 
 stances, and death is preferable to a safety which, flight has pur- 
 chased. As for the professional soldiers, on the other hand, 
 though at the outset they braved the danger in the belief of their 
 superiority, no sooner were they conscious of their weakness than 
 they took to flight, being more afraid of death than of disgrace. 
 The brave man is incapable of acting like that. 
 
 The experience also wliiGli a man has of the circumstances of special dangers 
 seems also to be a form of courage ; and hence with this idea in his mind Socrates 
 considered Courage to be a Science. 
 
 Different men who are skilled in different ways may be said to be brave in 
 respect of the matters of their special experience, and most especially soldiers in 
 the affairs of war. Some of the perils of war seem to be only idle panics of which 
 trained soldiers thoroughly understand the significance ; and since other men do 
 not know what the dangers are in which they are involved, soldiers are thought 
 to be pre-eminently brave. In consequence of their special experience they are 
 able to handle their adversaries roughly without suffering aught themselves at 
 their hands — to ward off darts and spears from themselves, and to strike their 
 foes with ease, in consequence of beiag able to use their weapons skilfully and of 
 having weapons such as would prove adapted as well for smiting their foes as for 
 avoiding the infliction of any damage to themselves. They fight, in fact, as men 
 who have armed themselves do against those who are defenceless. In such 
 contests it is not those of greatest courage who are most warlike, but those who 
 are physically strongest and who have their limbs best trained and who are 
 superior in point of experience. 
 
 Yet even trained soldiers turn out cowards at times when the peril is over- 
 whelming and they are overmatched in numbers and equipment : those who know 
 the extent of such a danger are the first to flee. On the other hand, those who 
 are brave according to the citizens' standard of bravery hold their ground in such 
 crises and perish on the spot : — a case which literally occurred at the Hermaeum. 
 The trained bands who were ranged on the side of the citizens took flight 
 when they perceived that the danger which menaced them was overpowering, 
 while the citizens themselves stayed and were slain, since death appeared to them 
 more desirable than a safety purchased by flight. The soldiers continued resolute 
 so long as they believed themselves superior to, and more numerous than their 
 adversaries ; but so soon as they saw that they were inferior and less nimierous, 
 they fled, since they were more afraid of death than of dishonour. The truly brave 
 man is of a very different temper to that. 
 
 C. — THE COUKAGB OF IMPULSE. 
 
 Men also bring impulse under the category of courage. It is 
 thought that men are brave when they are roused . . , 
 
 1 . , , ,1 • /. -T 1 Ammal courage or 
 
 oy passion and rush upon their iocs, as wild tigi, spirit is often 
 beasts do upon those who have wounded them ; a substratum of 
 and certainly brave men are passionate, passion "^^ courage. 
 being the strongest spur to the encounter of danger. Hence the 
 expressions which Homer uses : 
 
 " He gathered strength through passion." 
 " He roused up strength and passion." 
 " Fierce strength ran through his nostrils." 
 " His blood boiled over." 
 
 All such expressions seem to indicate the rousing of passion and 
 the swift rush of desire. 
 
1 62 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III,11. 
 
 Now all that brave men do is inspired by a motive of honour, 
 and passion tends to strengthen this motive in 
 fa^LTetrur;:! their case. Animals on the other hand are in- 
 ti7e of perfect fluenced Only by pain : — they are only roused 
 courage. because they have been wounded, or because they 
 
 are in fear, since otherwise, if, that is, they remain in their 
 native woods or marshes, they attack no one. Consequently, 
 though animals rush to meet danger when spurred on by pain or 
 passion, without foresight of the perils which are before them, 
 they are not therefore brave ; otherwise even asses when hungry 
 would be ' brave,' since they do not desist from grazing for all 
 the blows they get. In the same sense adulterers would be brave, 
 since they do many reckless things for the gratification of their 
 passions. 
 
 The conclusion is, that actions are not truly brave when done 
 under the excitement of grief or passion which 
 when "l^socTtTd spur men on to the point of danger. Still courage 
 with ii right pur- of this kind, cxcited by anger or passion, seems 
 pose— i.e., irith ^q jjg j^jQg^ natural and characteristic of man; 
 and if it be associated with a definite purpose and 
 a true final cause, then it is real courage. 
 
 Again, when men are under the influence of passion they are in 
 pain, and when they vent their vengeance they are glad ; yet if 
 they fight only for such motives as these, they may be warlike 
 and bold, but they are not brave : they do not act with a view to 
 honour nor to attain to the standard which Reason prescribes, but 
 to gratify a momentary feeling. Still the attitude of mind which 
 they show is one of close resemblance to true courage. 
 
 Passion is also called courage amongf certain people : men receive 'Cos title of 
 brave men when they rush like wild beasts upon those who have injured them. 
 Brave men are in fact passionate, passion being an impulsive tendency to face 
 dangers, and hence the expressions which Homer uses : 
 
 " He gathered strength through passion." 
 " He roused up strength and passion." 
 " Fierce strength glowed through his nostrils." 
 " His blood boiled over." 
 
 All expressions of this character seem to indicate the rousing of paasion and 
 the swift rush of anger. The brave man, however, has a noble motive in all that 
 he does, and is in no sense drawn about by passion, though he uses passion ti « 
 fellow- worker, or as it were am instrument. 
 
 On the other hand, those who are called brave on the score of the impetuosity 
 of their passion, act not from a motive of honour, but under the influence of pain. 
 Such is the way in which beasts act, from being wounded or frightened, not 
 employing passion to effect their purpose, but rather being dragged along by it : 
 before they have been struck or affrighted they display no kind of impetuosity— 
 so long as they remain in their native woods or marshes, they attack no one nor 
 make any spring against any one. 
 
 A man, therefore, is not brave who rushes to meet danger under the influence 
 
Bk. III.ll.] Translation. i6^ 
 
 of pain, or because passion or some other strong emotion is bestirring him, and 
 is thus in no way prescient of the dangers which are before him. Otherwise, on 
 that other supposition, even asses might fairly be called brave when they are 
 hungry, since for all the blows they get, they do not desist from grazing. Adul- 
 terers, again, do many deeds of haidihood to gratify their lusts. Yet neither 
 asses nor men are brave who are impelled to face danger by pain Or passion, or 
 other strong emotion. 
 
 Courage, therefore, only takes its most characteristic and absolute form in oases 
 where, though we are in the first instance roused by a feeling of passion, yet that 
 passion is combined with rational volition and has a noble end in view. Those 
 who ai-e incensed by such considerations as those which I have described are not 
 brave men though they may be warlike, since they aje not impetuous nor roused 
 to anger for the sake of honour, but to gratify their feelings : they do not act 
 according to a proper fitness nor in the way that Right Reason requires, but just 
 as their feelings may move them. 
 
 D. — THE COURAGE OF SELF-CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Neither surely are those who are sanguine therefore brave. 
 The reason of their feeling confident in the midst 
 of peril is not bravery, but the fact that they have ^" courage of the 
 
 ■r n • m °^^^ ' sanguine is 
 
 conquered many a foe m times past. There is a simply a disbelief 
 correspondence, however, between men who are mdanger.orimder- 
 brave and men who are sanguine : they are both 
 of them confident — only that the confidence of brave men is due 
 to the motives enumerated above, whereas that of sanguine men 
 is due to the belief they have that they are superior to their foes 
 and will receive no hurt from them in turn. Of a similar kind is 
 the confidence shown by men who are drunk and who rise to 
 extravagant assurance, yet take to flight so soon as ever things 
 take an adverse turn. 
 
 But it was shown to be the characteristic of a brave man to be 
 steadfast under evils which are evils indeed and 
 which are felt to be such— because it is noble to ^rf^is'^'Au^'Bhow 
 bear aflSiction and ignoble to shrink from it. It how unreal the 
 
 courage of the 
 guine man is. 
 
 seems therefore to1be proof of a more perfect o^^age of the san- 
 courage for a man to be calm and undaunted in 
 unexpected crises rather than in those which are foreseen — either 
 because firmness of mind under such circumstances comes more 
 necessarily from a confirmed state of mind, or, in other words, 
 because it implies less of preparation. As for things which can be 
 anticipated, any one might form a plan to meet them by calcula- 
 tion of chances or rational forethought. Unexpected trials, on the 
 other hand, are decided by the general bias of a man's character. 
 
 Sanguine men are also thought to be brave, but that is not always the fact. It 
 is possible for men to be sanguine, not because they do not fear what is painful 
 in view of what is noble, but because they have ofttimes conquered many a foe 
 and are consequently confident that they will not eventually succumb to mis- 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 12. 
 
 fortunes. They are, however, thought to he brave because they resemble brave 
 men in respect of the confidence they feel ; but brave men are confident for those 
 noble motives which have been enumerated, whereas merely sang:mne men are 
 confident simply from the belief they have that they will not suffer any disaster. 
 For similar reasons men who are drunken are confident because they fancy that 
 everything will turn out agreeably to their wishes ; and hence it is that when 
 they encounter issues contrary to what they had expected, they rush away in 
 revulsion. The man who is truly brave, on the contrary, beais caiamity stead- 
 fastly as well when it is coming upon him as when it is palpable to his senses, 
 because he knows it to be a noble thing to bear affiction and ignoble to shrink 
 from it. Consequently among brave men he is more brave than others who is 
 calm and undaunted in the midst of sudden crises rather than in such as are per- 
 fectly foreseen and before his very eyes. In the one case a man will have to bear 
 painful things which he has counted upon beforehand, and for which he hag 
 prepared himself by previous calculation and judgment. In the other case — when, 
 that is, a man bears evils which he has not foreseen when they come upon him, 
 it is evident that he has attained to a formed and permanent state of courage. 
 
 E. — THE COURAGE OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 Men who act in ignorance of their danger also appear to he 
 brave ; and their case is not far different from 
 norance is simply that of the over-sanguinc. Those, however, who 
 illusion and fool- are ' ignorantly hrave ' are inferior to sanguine 
 men because they have no real conception of their 
 danger as the sanguine have. Hence it is that sanguine men 
 hold their ground for some time, whereas those who are ' brave in 
 ignorance ' flee away the moment they discover that matters are 
 different to what they expected. Such a revulsion from confi- 
 dence to fear may be illustrated by the case of the Argives when 
 they charged the Lacedemonians under the impression that they 
 were Sicyonians. 
 
 So much may suffice as a description of men who are brave 
 only in appearance in contrast to those who are brave in reality. 
 
 Men are also called ' brave ' when they rush into dangers through ignonmce of 
 the evils which are likely to beset them therein. Such men differ only slightly 
 from the over-sanguine except in so far as that the sanguine stand the shock of 
 danger for a considerable time, whereas those who are ' ignorantly brave ' flee 
 away as soon as ever they learn their danger. Such was the predicament of the 
 Argives when, a little while ago, they made a charge upon the Lacedemonians 
 under the impression that they were Sicyonians. 
 
 It has now been shown who are brave in reality and who only in appeaianoe. 
 
 iv.— Some Characteristics of real Courage, 
 (a) THE SPECIAL SPHERE OF COURAGE IS THAT OF FEAR AND PAIX. 
 
 Now though Courage is concerned as well with matters of 
 confidence as of fear, it is not concerned with both to the same 
 
Bk. III. 12.] Translation. 165 
 
 extent nor in the same manner: its peculiar sphere is that of 
 things which are fearful. A man who is calm 
 in danger and whose resolution is fixed to face it, Courage las a 
 is more truly brave than one who preserves a fear an/p^n!"^ *" 
 fitting attitude only in matters of confidence. 
 
 The grounds, therefore, upon which men are specially entitled 
 to be called brave are their capabilities for enduring things that 
 are painful, as has been shown. Courage itself is consequently a 
 painful thing, and praise is rightly bestowed upon it on that 
 account, since it is more difficult to endure positive pain than it is 
 to dispense with a possible pleasure. 
 
 Now though Courage is concerned as well with matters of confidence as of 
 alarm, it is not concerned with both to the same extent nor in the same manner : 
 its peculiar sphere is that of things which are painful. A man who is calm in 
 danger is more truly brave than one who is steady in circumstances of confidence. 
 The inward struggle in matters of fear is greater than that in matters of con- 
 fidence : — to endure pain is a more difficult task than to dispense with pleasure. 
 Hence courage is painful because men who endure painful things are brave ; and 
 on this account courage is praised of all. 
 
 (5) THE EXTENT OF A MAN'S BEAVERT MEASUEED BY THE EXTENT 
 OF HIS SACRIFICE. 
 
 Nevertheless it would appear that the ' end ' attained by 
 Courage is a pleasurable one, though the pleasure „ .„ , 
 
 , 111, .1 • , n ■ Still the self -saeri- 
 
 be overclouded by the circumstances 01 pain goe of the brave 
 which envelope it. This is a result which may man has a sweet- 
 
 T , • J.1 1 J.- mi ness all its own. 
 
 be seen to occur even in athletic games. Ine 
 ' end ' — ^the meed for whicli the wrestlers strive (the crown and 
 the honours) is sweet enough, yet, as even wrestlers are flesh and 
 blood, it is painful for them to be bufi'eted, and distressing too, as 
 indeed is the whole struggle. Inasmuch, therefore, as the acces- 
 sories of pain are numerous, and the purpose or ' end ' of the con- 
 test is but a slight one, it seems to have no sweetness in it. 
 
 If therefore the case in regard to courage is of a similar nature, 
 death and wounds will be painful to the brave 
 man even in spite of himself; still he endures Though the bitter- 
 
 ^ -11 T ■ '^^^^ ™ death is 
 
 them because endurance is glory and cowardice is keener to the brave 
 
 disgrace. The pain in fact which the brave man ™™ ^^^^ *° ^^ 
 
 will experience at death will be all the greater in overmastering 
 
 proportion to the fulness of his virtue and the sense of moral fit- 
 
 ^ , , !• 1 • ■\ • m p ■\ • ness nerves him to 
 
 completeness 01 his happiness. To a man 01 his endure the worst. 
 stamp more than to anyone else life is worth the 
 living, and by his self-sacrifice he is deprived of the greatest 
 blessings, and he knows it — and hence the bitterness of his fate. 
 
1 66 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk.III.l2. 
 
 Yet he is none the less a brave man for this inward pang ; nay, 
 he is even more so, since he voluntarily chooses the glory that is 
 purchased in war in preference to all other advantages. 
 
 Courage, therefore, is one of those virtues which it is not 
 possible to practise with a sense of pleasure except in so far as the 
 brave man ' realizes his end,' and finds his satisfaction therein. 
 
 [But as for mere fighting, there is no reason why the best 
 soldiers should not be men who are not brave with this ideal 
 bravery, but are less nobly brave in heart and have besides no 
 good things to lose; common soldiers being willing to barter 
 away their lives for very scant rewards.] 
 
 Here we must end our examination of Courage. After the 
 explanations above given it will not be diflScult to comprehend, at 
 least in outline, what its real' nature is. 
 
 Now although the brave man has a kind of pleasiire in his bravery in conse- 
 quence of the ' end ' which he attains thereby being a pleasant end ; yet still it so 
 happens that this pleasure is overclouded and obscured by the painful aocessorieB 
 by which it is environed. 
 
 A similar case is found in gymnastic conflicts. The ' end ' which is set before 
 the wrestlers — the crown and the honours, is a pleasant one ; but as wiestlers are 
 only flesh and blood, it is painful for them to be buffeted : indeed to men of that 
 class the whole struggle is a painful one. Since then the incidents of pain are 
 grievous, and the element of pleasure only slight, they seem to have nothing that 
 is pleasurable from the contest. Precisely the same is the fate which befalls 
 brave men. Death and wounds are painful to them, and consequently also in 
 despite of their own wills ; stiU they submit to their fate because endurance is 
 glorious, and a shrinking from hardship ignoble. Even more grievous do such 
 things appear in proportion as those who incur them are good and brave and 
 happy and have pursued every form of virtue. To men of that stamp death is 
 peculiarly painful because life is to them of an exceeding worth, from the fact of 
 their own life being most excellent and attaining to the true fitness of their 
 manhood, and because these are manifold blessings of which death will deprive 
 them. 
 
 In consequence, therefore, of the vastness of these painful surroundings, it 
 seems as though the brave man had no kind of pleasure ; and though a man 
 grieve and be distressed at these cii-cumstances, there is nothing in that incon- 
 sistent with his being still a brave man. To be overpowered by such influences 
 and to yield to the pressure of pain — that is conduct of which the brave man is 
 incapable ; whereas to be grieved and feel inward pain, that is but natural 
 for him. The more grief he feels while stiU steadfastly, for all his grief, bearing 
 up his courage for the sake of a noble end, the more perfectly is he a man brave 
 in the true sense of the term. In fact, in all the other virtues, there is no 
 single form in which they can be exercised that is pleasurable in its own right : 
 it only seems to be pleasurable to the imagination of the man who is actuated by 
 such a motive because it tends to an end which is a noble one. 
 
 But as for simple fighting, there is surely no extreme necessity why we should 
 seek for an exact definition of courage to be realized in common soldiers. More 
 serviceable than the genuinely brave, for purposes of war, are men who do not 
 possess any strong element of coui'age, and who are entirely destitute of worldly 
 advantages : such men are more ready to face dangers, and freely sacrifice their 
 lives in return for trifling gains. Men on the other hand who are brave in the 
 perfect sense of the term, being as they must be, of sound sense and of a general 
 
Bk.III.13.] Translation. 167 
 
 excellence and worth, take deliglit in their own existence as being a nohle one, 
 and are extremely reluctant to oast it away. 
 
 Here we may conclude our examination of Courage. From the description 
 which we have given it will be easy to construct a formal definition of it, at any 
 late in outline. 
 
 B.— TEMPERANCE. 
 L — Tlie subject-matter of Temperance defined. 
 
 (a) THE SPHERE OF TEMPERANCE THAT OF PLEASURE OF BODY. 
 
 The subject of which we must treat next to Courage is Tem- 
 perance, these two being, as it would seem, the 
 
 ., /•j.i J.J? L ^ • ^ Temperance, like 
 
 Virtues of those parts of our nature which are courage, is a con- 
 
 devoid of Reason. trol of the feelings. 
 
 As has been already shown, Temperance is a cemed with^ plea- 
 middle state of mind in regard to pleasures, sures than with 
 though to a less degree and in a different sense it ^*™°' 
 is also concerned with pains. Obviously also, its opposite, in- 
 temperance, is displayed in the same sphere. 
 
 But what precisely those pleasures are with which Temperance 
 is concerned, we have now to discriminate. 
 
 A distinction must be at once drawn between pleasures of the 
 body and pleasures of the mind. Among plea- 
 
 n , 1 • J J.1 J} ^ ^ n and with pleasures 
 
 sures 01 the mmd there are, tor example, love or of the loly rather 
 honour and love of knowledge, whose votaries than with pieasiu-es 
 delight in the pursuits of which they are enam- ° e "un • 
 cured, but their delight is not at all a bodily sensation, but on 
 the contrary a purely mental one. 
 
 Now those who are devoted to purely rational pleasures of this 
 kind are not called either ' temperate ' or ' intemperate ; ' nor, for 
 sunilar reasons, are they who follow other pleasures which are not 
 sensual. When, for example, men are fond of romances or of 
 history, or spend their time upon the passing incidents of the 
 hour, we call them triflers and idlers, but not intemperate ; nor, 
 again, do we call men intemperate when they are whelmed in 
 grief for the loss of money or of friends. 
 
 The subject of which we must now treat is that of Temperance. In a kind of 
 way this is coordinate with that of Courage, inasmuch as they are both concerned 
 with the irrational part of our nature. 
 
 As has been already shown, Temperance is a virtuous attitude of mind in 
 regard to pleasures. (I say ' in regard to pleasures ' because, though it is also 
 concerned with pains, yet it is so to a less extent and not in the same sense as 
 it is with pleasures.) Obviously intemperance is also manifested in the same 
 sphere. 
 
1 68 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 111.13. 
 
 It may tlien be assumed that the province in which Temperance is displayed is 
 that of the pleasures. We must now determine what precisely those pleasures 
 are, some pleasures being bodily, others spiritual. Spiritual pleasures are found 
 in love of honour or love of knowledge : the ambitious man and the student 
 both feel pleasure in the objects which they love, though the body does not ex- 
 perience any sensation therein, but simply the mind. Men who find pleasure in 
 such pursuits are not called either temperate or dissolute ; and for similar reasons 
 neither are those who find their pleasua'e in other interests which are not sensual. 
 We call those who are fond of romance and of stories, and who spend their days 
 upon the topics of the hour, loiterers and idlers, but by no means dissolute ; nor 
 again, do we call men dissolute when whelmed in grief for the loss of their 
 property or of their friends when they are deprived of the one, or bereaved of 
 the other. 
 
 (^) BUT THBEB ARE CERTAIN BODILY PLBASUEES EXCLUDED FROM 
 THE SPHERE OF TEMPEEAfTCB. 
 
 It is then the pleasures of the bodj'- which form the sphere 
 within which Temperance is displayed ; but this 
 
 Tet even bodily . j. i. j> j.i. j t. j.i_ 
 
 pleasures are, in prOVmce must DC lurtlier narrOWed by the ex- 
 certain cases, out clusion of Certain bodily sensations. 
 temperance,°rj.,° !• When men feel pleasure in the impressions 
 
 1. The pleasures of which come through the sight, beautiful colours' 
 ^^ ' and forms and paintings, they are not called 
 
 either temperate or intemperate for so doing ; although it would 
 seem possible even in these pleasures to maintain a proper 
 moderation, or to give them an insufficient or else an undue pro- 
 minence. 
 
 2. Again, in pleasures which come through hearing the same 
 
 truth holds good. We do not call men ' intem- 
 Boimd^ ^^^^"^^^ "* perate' who take extravagant delight in music 
 
 or in acting, nor yet ' temperate ' though their 
 pleasure therein be moderate and right. 
 
 3. Nor, again, do we call those who take pleasure in indulging 
 
 the sense of smell, either temperate or intem- 
 3. The pleasures of perate — except through its accidental associations ; 
 
 scent (except where % i-ijn -; l e 
 
 associated with lor example, we do not caU men mtemperate tor 
 other pleasures delighting in the sweet fragrance of fruit or of 
 w jc ne on- y^ggg qj, ^f incense, but rather those whose delight 
 is in unguents and condiments, these latter being 
 the things in which intemperate men deliglat, since by such 
 means a recollection is aroused within them of the things for 
 which their passions crave. 
 
 In support of this view of smelling, one may see men of 
 different temperaments all delighting in the odour of food when 
 they are hungry ; yet to delight in such odours is, pro tanto, a sign 
 of a sensuous nature, savoury smells being desired by the sensual 
 
Bk. III. 13.] Translation. 169 
 
 man for their own sake. But among animals generally there is 
 no pleasure arising from these sensations, except through ac- 
 cidental associations. Dogs do not delight in the scent of hares 
 but in the eating of them, though the scent has created an appetite. 
 Nor does the lion rejoice at the lowing of the ox, but at the 
 banquet of his flesh : by its lowing he has become aware that the 
 ox is near, and hence seems to rejoice at the mere sound. 
 Similarly the lion does not rejoice at having seen or found stag or 
 wild goat, except in the belief that he will gain a feast thereby. 
 
 Temperance, therefore, is not concerned with pleasures of the mind, but with 
 the pleasures of the body. But even certain bodily pleasures are excluded from 
 its range. Those, for instance, who delight in things which are pleasant to 
 behold, beautiful colours or drawings or paintings, are not caUed either temperate 
 or intemperate ; nor are they who are enamoured of certain sounds or musical 
 airs, nor are they who love sweet smells. Yet ia regard to all these matters 
 there are states of mind which are ideally best and fitting, and there are states 
 which go beyond or fall short of a perfect standard ; but, notwithstanding, we 
 do not call those who preserve the ideal mean ' temperate,' nor those who violate 
 that mean ' intemperate.' 
 
 In regard, however, to the pleasures connected with smeUiug, if we delight 
 in the fragrance of apples or of roses or of incense, we are not called intemperate. 
 If on the other hand we delight in the odours of ointments and condiinents, 
 we are called intemperate ; but even then only from accidental associations — 
 since, that is, these are things in which intemperate men delight because, by 
 means thereof, a recoUeotion is aroused within them of things for which their 
 passions crave. 
 
 One may see, indeed, that all men, not only the iutemperate, delight in the 
 smell of food when they are hungry. Hence it is clear that those who take 
 pleasure in smeUs of that kind, only find their pleasure therein from accidental 
 associations — because, that is, a recollection is awakened within them of the food 
 and trifles generally in which sensual men delight. 
 
 Neither in man, therefore, nor in any living creature is there any pleasure 
 consequent upon the exercise of the senses enumerated above, except from casual 
 associations. (I am now referring to pleasures in which the temperate and the 
 dissolute man display themselves.) Dogs, for example, though they delight ia 
 the smell of hares, yet that ia not for the sake of the scent simply, but in view of 
 food foreseen : they pursue because they have gained from the scent an iastiuct 
 of preying. Similarly the Hon does not delight in the scent or the lowing of the 
 ox, biit in the eating of his flesh : only he perceives from the lowing, that his 
 prey is near. He does not delight simply that he has seen or found a stag or wUd 
 goat, but because he will gain food thereby. 
 
 (c) TEMPEEANCE IS SPECIALLY CONCEENED WITH THE PLEASUEES 
 OF TOUCH AiTD TASTE, 
 
 The conclusion is that the pleasures with which temperance and 
 intemperance are specially concerned, are those 
 
 bodily pleasures which all living creatures share The sensations in 
 
 with men, and which are consequently admitted temperance ilspt 
 
 to be slavish and bestial — the pleasures, that "iaiiy necessary, 
 
 is,' of touch and of taste. '^^^tlf *"''' 
 
 Practically, however, men are found to indulge 
 
1 70 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 13. 
 
 the sense of taste only to a slight extent or not at all. Taste is 
 th h taat ■ f *^^ determination of questions of flavour, and is 
 less the occasion of used chiefly by those who have to taste wines or 
 temptation than season dishes. But men do not generally take 
 delight in mere tasting, certainly not those who 
 are sensual, but rather in that full enjoyment which comes en- 
 tirely through touch, and is experienced in eating and drinking, 
 and in the so-called ' pleasures of love.' Hence the wish which 
 the noted epicure Philoxenus the son of Eryxis uttered, that * his 
 throat might become longer than that of a crane ' — such was the 
 delight he took in the pleasures of touch. 
 Now this sense of touch, from the indulgence of which intem- 
 perance arises, is the most widely diffused of all 
 Touch is the most the senses ; and rightly does it seem to be 
 Ssel!"fbut Stigmatised, because it does not belong to us so 
 the pleasure it gives far as wc are men, but so far as we are animals, 
 is of au pleasures rp^ ^^^ delight in pleasures of this kind and to 
 
 least worthy of , . , ,, ° ,.,..,, . „ 
 
 man. cherish them exceedingly, is simply the sign of a 
 
 brutal nature. [But of course such of the plea- 
 sures of touch as are really liberal, are exempted from this con- 
 demnation ; as, for instance, the pleasure felt in the gymnasia 
 from rubbing and heating. The touch from which the intemperate 
 man derives pleasure does not extend to the whole body, but only 
 to certain parts of it.] 
 
 The pleasures, therefore, with which temperance and intemperance are con- 
 cerned are the pleasures which we share with, all living creatures — the pleasures, 
 that is, of touch and taste. Intemperate men are, therefore, seen to be of a bestial 
 and slavish nature — in that they weaMy yield to allurements in which wild beasts 
 find their pleasure. 
 
 Generally, however, they find their pleasure in touch rather than in taste : per- 
 haps, indeed, it were more correct to say that they do not delight in taste at all, 
 but simply in touch. Men are not intemperate simply for taking delight in pleasures 
 generally, but for their delight in eating and drinking. They do not delight in 
 such things as things to be tasted (the proper business of tasting being to dis- 
 criminate flavours, a thing chiefly done by those who test the quality of wines and 
 prepare seasoned dishes); but rather as things to be touched. Hence, the wish whicE 
 that noted epicure Philoxenus, the son of Eryxis, uttered, that ' his throat might 
 become longer than a crane's,' — such was the pleasure he experienced in the tonch 
 of his favourite relishes. 
 
 Among all the senses, that of touch is the one most widely diffused : it is, in 
 fact, by a kind of touch that all the senses arouse our consciousness. It is there- 
 fore this sense of touch that forms the special province wherein sensuality is dis- 
 .played : and rightly does it seem to be stigmatised because it belongs to us, not in 
 so far as we are men, but in so far as we are brutes. To delight in pleasures of 
 such a type, and to covet them above all things, is the sign of a bestial nature. 
 [Still, there are certain liberal pleasures, even in respect of touch, of which the 
 sensual man deprives himself: such are the pleasures which are experienced in the 
 gymnasia through rubbing and heating. The pleasure of the dissolute man is not 
 diffused throughout his body, but is confined to certain parts.] 
 
Bk. III. 13.] Translation. 171 
 
 ii. — Various Manifestations of Temperance. 
 
 (a) TEMPERANCE VIEWED IN RELATION TO PLEASURES AND 
 DESIRES. 
 
 Among our desires there are some wliicli seem to be common to 
 all men, and others which seem to be special to 
 individuals and acquired. _ :h^:h"te"::pe'rc: 
 
 As an instance of our common desires there is has to control are 
 the natural craving for food. Every one when onl^ac'uir^d''^^'' 
 exhausted desires food either to eat or to drink, 
 and at times both ; and, as Homer says, those who are young and 
 vigorous need rest and repose. But as for the particular food 
 which different men require under different circumstances — that 
 is another matter, men's tastes being as different as their needs : 
 hence, each man thinks that a particular kind is specially ' his 
 own.' Nevertheless, certain things are natural and universal: 
 though particular things are pleasant to particular persons, there 
 are certain things which all men feel to be more pleasurable than 
 ordinary things are. 
 
 In regard, however, to the common desires of nature few men 
 err, and then, only in one respect — that of exces- 
 sive indulgence. To swallow anything which are innocenttsoept 
 comes to hand, or to drink until one is over- ■"'lien indulged to 
 charged, is to violate the law of nature by satiety, ^^^-^^^s^"* «^'=««=- 
 natural desires being the satisfying of real wants. Hence, gluttons 
 are called ' slaves of their belly,' since they try to fill it beyond 
 what is due — such the degradation to which men of thoroughly 
 slavish tastes are brought. 
 
 On the other hand, in regard to the pleasures special to indi- 
 viduals, many are they who err, and manifold the 
 occasions thereof. The reasons why men are (2.) Desires which 
 called ' lovers of pleasure ' being, either that they acquire "fw ^our^ 
 delight in what they ought not, or that they selves, are as mani- 
 indulge themselves extravagantly or in improper forms of si"^ ^''^ 
 modes, or that they follow the multitude to evil 
 
 in all and each of these particulars, the intemperate 
 
 fall into error : they take pleasure in things which they ouo-ht 
 not, as being things which are hateful, and, where there are 
 objects in which they may lawfully take pleasure, they indulge 
 themselves to an extravagant extent, and as foolishly as do the 
 multitude. 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that intemperance is an excess in reference 
 to pleasures, and a thing which is morally censurable. 
 
172 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IILU. 
 
 But since we have in natural sequence to treat of tlie desires, we must explain 
 in what senses the term ' desire ' is used. 
 
 One form of desire is common to all men, and natural ; another form is special 
 to individuals, and acquired. An instance of a common desire is the striving for 
 sustenance, either solid or liquid, when we find om'selves in need thereof. An in- 
 stance of a special or acquired desii-e is the striving after some particular kind of 
 sustenance iu preference to any other. This latter case — that of individual striv- 
 ing after a particular thing — is neither natural nor universal. All men do not 
 strive after the same things, nor to the same extent : some men yearn for one thing, 
 some for another ; and those who strive after the same objects do not do so to the 
 same extent, but some are more intently eager than others. Hence a desire of this 
 kind is not universal nor natural, iu the absolute sense of the term, but acquired 
 and formed from ideas which we have ourselves adopted. Still, in a certain sense, 
 even an acquired desire is natural to a man, inasmuch as every man forms desires 
 in a way that is consequent on the bias of his own nature. 
 
 In regard, however, to natural desires, there are few who err thereia, and then 
 only in a single way — when they indulge desires of this kind to an extent in excess 
 of what is fitting ; when, for example, they eat more than is sufficient, as gluttons 
 do who gorge their natural appetites beyond what is fitting. Such is the state to 
 which men of brutal tastes are reduced. 
 
 On the other hand, iu the case of desires which are personal and acquired, many 
 are they who err, and many the forms their error takes. There are indeed many 
 varieties of food and of drink and of clothing, and of other thiags which are natu- 
 rally objects of desire ; and hence there are many ways in which men err in regard 
 to desires of this kind, whether by taking pleasm-e in improper objects, or doing 
 so to a greater degree than the majority. Now sensual men err in each and all 
 of these particulars. Since they take pleasure in improper objects, though on 
 occasions they may make choice of such pleasures as are seemly, they indulge in 
 them to an extent beyond what is fitting, or what public opinion approves. 
 
 It is clear, then, that Intemperance is an excess in regard to pleasures, and a 
 thing that is morally censurable. 
 
 {b) TEMPEEANCE VIEWED IN RELATION TO PAIN. 
 
 In regard to pains, on the other hand, the attitude of the 
 temperate man is different from that of the brave 
 TOmitant of Intern- ^^'^ ' ^ ^^'^ ^® °°* Called temperate on the grotind 
 perance, as being of Ms enduring pain, nor intemperate from want 
 aninsatiableyearn- ^f endurance ; but he is intemperate from the 
 mg for pleasure. . n i p ■> • p -i- , , ■ i ^ • 
 
 griei he feels in laumg to attam to what is 
 pleasant (pleasure being the cause which produces the pain in 
 him), and he is temperate if he does not grieve at the privation of 
 pleasure and at the self-restraint involved. 
 
 So then the intemperate man is one who yearns for all pleasures 
 or for such as are most vivid, and is driven along by his passion so 
 as to choose his own gratification above all things. Hence he is 
 positively pained as well when he is debarred from pleasure as 
 when he is yearning for it — appetite being attended with pain. 
 Yet it seems a marvellous thing that a man should feel pain for 
 the sake of pleasure. 
 
 In regard to pains, on the other hand, the case of Temperance is not parallel 
 to that of cowardice and bravery (cowardice consisting, as was shown, in not 
 
Bk. III. 14.] Translation. 173 
 
 submitting to hardships nor brooking it) : Temperance is not the beariag of pain 
 nor is intemperance a shrinking from pain. But intemperance is shown in 
 regard to pains when a man grieves, at failing to attain wh^ is pleasant, to an 
 extravagant degree and in an improper manner ; and, conversely, temperance is 
 shown when a man grieves thereat only so far as is right and shows his grief 
 only at proper objects and in a proper manner, and when the absence of 
 pleasant things causes him no kind of pain. The sensual man yearns after 
 everything that is pleasant or what is most vividly so, and is led about by his 
 desires, so that he chooses things which are pleasant in preference to everything 
 else. Consequently he feels pain in being deprived of things upon which he has 
 set his heart, desire being attended with pain. It seems thus a, marvellous thing 
 that a man should feel pain in a matter of pleasm-e, and that pleasure should be 
 the cause of its opposite 1 
 Temperance, therefore, is an excess in regard to pleasure, as has been shown. 
 
 (c) ASCETICISM AN tOSTDUE AVOIDANCE OF PLEASURE. 
 
 As for men falling sliort in regard to pleasures, and taking less 
 delight therein than is -natural — such a class is 
 
 absolutely unknown. Asceticism of this extreme J^"f *f J^m "'such 
 
 kind is, indeed, contrary to human nature : even pleasures as are 
 
 irrational creatures distinguish their food, taking j.^"^^^ iMtlncts^f 
 
 pleasure in one kind and rejecting another. If our human nature, 
 
 there be a man to whom nothing is sweet, and to ^'^'^ is practically 
 
 1 TTI TiriRSi n I ft 
 
 whom one taste is not different from another, such 
 
 an one would be far from being a man. But such a class has not 
 
 met with a special name, since, practically, it does not exist. 
 
 The corresponding defect has no name to distinguish it, since it is absolutely 
 unknown in fact. As for men being deficient in matters of pleasure and desiring 
 pleasure less than is fitting, such a class simply does not exist. Asceticism of 
 this extreme typ^ is, in fact, outside the pale of human nature : even in-ational 
 animals distinguish between different kinds of food, delighting in what is pleasant 
 and loathing what is unpleasant. If there be anyone who thinks nothing sweet, 
 nor recognises any distinction between what is pleasant and what is unpleasant, 
 such an one wHl be far from being a man. 
 
 Defect and excess in regard to pleasures, then, are both alike morally faulty. 
 
 (d) CHARACTEEISTICS OF A PEEFECT TEMPERANCE. 
 
 But the temperate man holds a mid-course in reference to self- 
 indulgence and self-restraint. He takes no 
 pleasure in the things which most delight the in- The good man who 
 temperate man, but is rather grieved and wearied tSugh contoUs 
 thereat. , He will have no pleasure that is never guilty of un- 
 unlawful: nor will he indulge himself even in 'awful excess nor 
 
 ' ° __ . of undue cravmg 
 
 lawful pleasures to an excessive extent. He is for pleasure : 
 not pained when pleasures are denied him, nor JWii ^\ '^ s'^d 
 
 ,1,, ., t It • 1 ,™ have pleasures, 
 
 does he keep cravmg to supply their loss, except he does not grieve 
 to some slight degree. He never pursues pleasure ^* ^^"^"^ ^°^- 
 
1 74 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 15. 
 
 more than is becoming, nor at unseasonable times ; nor does he 
 ever violate therein the conditions of a sober moderation. 
 
 The rule of the temperate man, in fact, is this. In moderation 
 and in a becoming manner, he will strive to gain whatever is 
 pleasant and conducive to his health and well-being ; aye, and he 
 will strive for other pleasures too, when they do not interfere with 
 his higher interests, and are not in excess of his means to afford. 
 The man who indulges himself at the expense of future loss, loves 
 pleasures more than they are worth ; and that is not like the 
 character of the temperate man, since he loves pleasures only so 
 far as Right Eeason allows. 
 
 The virtuous attitude of mind in reference to these matters is Temperaaofl, 
 The temperate man is one who has no pleasure in the things in which the 
 intemperate man finds his keenest delight, but, on the contraiy, is rather grieved 
 and wearied at everything in which it is not right to find pleasure. When he 
 does feel pleasure, he does not indulge the f eeUng. in excess of what is fitting j 
 nor if pleasures are withheld from him, does he grieve thereat, nor does he keep 
 craving to supply their loss ; — or, if he has a desire for them, he indulges it only 
 in moderation and not more than is right, nor at unseasonable times. But such 
 things as tend to promote his health and well-being, and are at the same time 
 pleasant, or such things which are only in the very slightest degree detrimental 
 to his health and well-being, — for all such things the temperate man does 
 strive, with moderation, however, and in a proper manner. A man indulges his 
 desires contrary to what is fitting when he desires pleasures which are found to 
 be detrimental to his life, or at any rate to his well-being. The temperate man 
 has a character very different to that, and regulates his desires by the standard 
 of Bight Beason. 
 
 iii. — Subsidiary Considerations of Temperance and Intemperance, 
 (a) COMPARISON BETWEEN INTEMPERANCE AND COWARDICE. 
 
 Intemperance has a closer affinity to a voluntary act than 
 
 cowardice has. The motive of intemperance is 
 
 Intemperance in- pleasure, the motive of cowardice pain; and of 
 
 degree of self-con- these two motives pleasure is an object of desire, 
 
 sciousness and of pain an object of aversion. Pain again distracts 
 
 will than cowardice , ■, .1 , p., i-i-i 
 
 doga. ■ and weakens the nature of the man who is subject 
 
 to it; whereas pleasure acts in no such way. 
 Hence pleasure is regarded as a more culpable motive, since it is 
 easier for a man to become habituated to refrain from pleasure 
 than it is for him to endure pain. Many such cases occur in 
 actual experience where self-restraint is easily learnt, and the 
 practice thereof attended by no danger. But in the case of 
 cowardice the reverse is true, the practice of courage being painful 
 and full of risk. 
 
 But it would seem that cowardice as a mental state is not 
 voluntary in the same sense nor in the same degree as single ada 
 
Bk. i;[1. 15.] Translation. 175 
 
 of cowardice are. In itself cowardice is painless and therefore 
 voluntary ; but particular circumstances of danger 
 so utterly distract a man through the intensity 0^ Yet cowardice is 
 pain involved, that he turns coward for the [."^TeTesrft rf a 
 moment, throws away his arms and in other formed state of 
 ways acts unseemly. Hence particular acts of '^^^' 
 cowardice seem at times to be compulsory. 
 
 In the case of the intemperate man, on the contrary, particular 
 acts of self-indulgence are voluntary, since he feels a desire for 
 them and strives to attain the means for them. But since no man 
 feels a desire to be intemperate, intemperance in itself, as a 
 mental state, is not voluntary. 
 
 But since intemperance aa well as cowardice is voluntary, we must examine 
 whether they are both voluntary in the same degree. It would appear that 
 these states are not parallel, but that intemperance is more voluntary than 
 cowardice. Now the cause of cowardice is pain : we become cowaids from being 
 afraid of pain ; but it is pleasure that produces intemperance. Of these two 
 motives pleasure is an object of desire, pain an object of aversion ; but what we 
 do for the sake of what is desirable is more voluntary than what is caused 
 through a thing that is an object of aversion. Again, pain distracts and weakens 
 the nature of the man who is under the influence of it, whereas pleasm-e has no 
 result of the kind whatever. 
 
 Consequently intemperance is more reprehensible than cowardice. Since a 
 man is praised or blamed on the score of voluntary good or evil, it is evident that 
 good and evil are respectively more praised or blamed iu exact proportion as each 
 is more or less voluntary. Again, it is an easier task to shake off intemperance 
 than cowardice. The processes of habituation by which tendencies of this kind 
 are rectified, are in the case of cowardice fraught with danger (the practice of 
 courage in war, or in the midst of similar perils by means whereof we learn to 
 throw off our cowardice, being itself a danger, or very like one), whereas on the 
 other hand lessons of self-control are absolutely free from perilous consequences. 
 The inference is that intemperance is more voluntary than cowardice. 
 
 But it would seem that cowardice in itself is voluntary in u different sense to 
 that in which special acts of cowardice are voluntary. Cowardice in itself — 
 that is to say as a mental state — is painless : by nothing painful are we com- 
 pelled to be cowards ; hence cowardice is the more voluntary. But as for deeds 
 done by reason of our cowardice — deeds done under the influence of pain or 
 fear — we do them under the influence of a kind of constraint which drives out 
 of us all self-control, and induces us to throw down our arms and in other 
 respects to behave ourselves unseemly. For this reason special acts of cowardice 
 are less voluntary than the mental state itself. 
 
 In the case of intemperance, however, the reverse is true. No one desires 
 intemperance for its own sake, nor does any one wish to be intemperate. But as 
 for particular acts of intemperance, we do them with real enthusiasm. Hence 
 intemperance in itself is less voluntary than specific acts thereof. 
 
 (6) COMPAKISON BETWEEN INTEMPERANCE AND THE FAULTS OF 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 We also apply the term ' intemperate ' to characterise the faults 
 of children, seeing that they bear a kind of re- 5^5 „at„e of in- 
 semblance thereto. Whether intemperance be temperance maybe 
 
176 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. III. 15. 
 
 illustrated by its derived from youtliful weakness or mce versd, is 
 etymology. quite immaterial to the present question, though 
 
 grammatically it is evident that the first alternative is the true 
 one. Indeed the transition of thought from the one case to the 
 other seems to have been not inaptly made. A 
 Temperance is syn- temper ought to be ' chastcned ' or curbed, which 
 'chastisement,' strives after things that are base and admits of 
 ' discipline,' or j-^qIj ^ud rapid growth, and that is the character 
 
 'correction'; and ■, .^ n • , i. 3 ■ j •nj? 
 
 the intemperate both of intemperate desires and specially of 
 man is therefore children. Desito is the law by which children 
 
 one whose desires ,. i ,1 ■ jr ^ • 1. 
 
 are not 'chastened' live, and the craving for pleasure is most con- 
 
 but are insubordi- picuously exhibited among them. 
 
 troUed!""^ "°°°°' ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ temperament be not submissive 
 
 nor brought under control, it will grow to awoful 
 extent, since there is in the mind of the foolish, an insatiable 
 desire for pleasure whatever the source from which that pleasure 
 may come, and the working of the desires strengthens such 
 other desires as are kindred thereto, and, where those desires are 
 strong and violent, they drive out of the mind all power of 
 reflection. 
 
 It is very needful, therefore, that the desires should be moderate 
 
 and simple, and that they should be in no way 
 Eeasonshonli^hoid antagonistic to Eeason. A temper in which the 
 
 the same position , . ,, i. n i ti i ■ • 
 
 and exercise the desires are thus Controlled, we call submissive 
 same authority as and well-disciplined, since the appetitive soul 
 children. " "^^"^ ought to live in obcdience to the law of Eeason, 
 just as a child should live obedient to the com- 
 mand of his Tutor. In the case of the temperate man, therefore, 
 the whole of the appetitive part of his nature ought to be attuned 
 to a perfect harmony with Reason. The aim of the temperate 
 man is like the aim of Reason — the attainment of a noble ideal : 
 — the temperate man is eager for what is right and seeks the 
 right manner and the right time for compassing his desire ; and 
 such is the ideal of life which Reason ordains. 
 
 (c) HERE WE MUST CONCLUDE OUK EXAMINATION OP TEMPEEANCE. 
 
 We also apply the term ' intemperance,' to characterise the faults of children : 
 when children are Ul-behaved we caU them' ' undisciplined.' Faults of this kind 
 bear, that is, a kind of resemblance to the ' uitemperance ' or want of self-conti'ol 
 which has been described above. To inquire, however, which of these ideas is 
 derived from the other, helps in no way to elucidate the question under dis- 
 cussion : — only it is fair to say so much, that it is more rational to suppose that 
 the latter is so named from the analogy of the former, and that the term was 
 applied to intemperance from the comparison of childish faults by a metaphorical 
 transition. This metaphor seems to have been used not inaptly, but with the 
 
Bk. III. 15.] Translation. 177 
 
 utmost propriety : just as one is bound to chastise a child when striving after 
 things that are base, and to confine his impulses within a proper limit, bo 
 also ought desire to be moderated (or ' chastened ' ) when it \^ assuming a rank 
 growth. Unless the child be controlled by his Tutor, he will fall outside the 
 limits of what is fitting, since he has an appetite for pleasure that is insatiable, 
 especially caused by the waywardness of his youth. Desire also, unless it be 
 moderated and chastened by Reason, will grow to a rank excess ; and strengthened 
 as it is by the activities which are in sympathy with it, of ttimes it drives all 
 power of thought out of the mind. 
 
 Consequently our desires ought to be moderate and simple, and in no way to be 
 antagonistic to Reason. Desires which are thus controlled we call submissive, 
 temperate, or chastened ; so that the opposite frame of mind, both in the case of 
 children and of the desires, is properly called ' intemperance ' or want of control. 
 Just as a child ought to live according to the command of his Tutor, so ought 
 the impulsive part of our nature to live by the law of Reason. In the temperate 
 man therefore, the whole nature formed by the emotions ought to be attuned to 
 the perfect harmony of Reason. The aim which Desire sets before itself 
 is the same as that of Reason — the attainment of a noble ideal. The objects 
 which the temperate man desires, the manner in which he expresses those 
 desires and the seasons of their gratification, are all noble and becoming ; and 
 such also are the conditions which Reason prescribes. 
 
 Let this account suffice to explain the nature of Temperance. 
 
BOOK IV.-EXAMINATION OF THE VIETUES 
 
 (Oontinueff). 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ANALYSIS. 
 
 Looking to the appetitive or purely self-regarding instincts of the soul, 
 we shall have next to consider the virtues which regulate the disposal 
 or acquisition of money ; and first of Charity or Liberality. 
 
 Charity or charitableness may be defined as ' the attitude of mind 
 which the perfect man shows in regard to questions of property.' It is 
 the manifestation of the ' law of fitness ' (ro koKov) in the way in which 
 money is bestowed or earned, where the bestowal or the earning is not 
 a question of justice but of philanthropy. 
 
 If charitableness be the ideal which virtue sets before men in such 
 relations, there are two ways in which that ideal is vitiated, — by avarice 
 on the one hand and by prodigality on the other. Avarice leads men 
 to neglect the needs of others while selfishly absorbed in their own 
 'interests,' and is thus the state of mind which characterises narrow and 
 selfish natui es. Prodigality is the exact opposite of this : — it is 
 ' generosity gone mad ' — the state of mind of those who are so unmind- 
 ful of their own interests as to ruin themselves for the sake of others 
 [though it must be noted that prodigals are sometimes reckless not 
 through unselfish generosity but from a dissolute love of their own 
 pleasures, and thus one class of prodigals is a class of sensualists]. 
 
 We will first consider charitableness per se, and then compare it with 
 its vicious extremes. 
 
 1.— CHAEITY. 
 (i.) CHARACTERISTICS OP CHARITY AND OF THE CHARITABLE MAN. 
 
 The object-matter under review being money, a man will only deal 
 rightly with money if he has the virtue corresponding thereto. 
 
 What then is the right use of money ? Surely not its safe-keeping 
 merely, nor its acquisition, but its proper bestowal : money is only put 
 to its proper uses when it is virtuously bestowed or expended ; and that 
 for many reasons. Virtue is active, not passive ; to give, is actively to 
 do good ; to receive, is to be the passive recipient of good. No thanks 
 nor praise are bestowed upon one who receives, but rather upon one who 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IV. 179 
 
 gives. It is a harder task to give aright than it is to abstain from taking 
 wrongfully. To forbear taking wrongfully is a mark of justice rather 
 than of charity. To give charitably does more good, and makes the 
 giver more beloved, than any other action does. 
 
 The general principles of true benevolence may be seen (1) actively, 
 and (2) passively : — 
 
 (1.) Actively, in regard to giving : the measure of true charity, its 
 object and inspiring motive, is ro koKov. Charity is the application of the 
 ' law of the mean ' to the claims of society upon our good will ; and it 
 shows all the features of moral fitness and the delicate adjustment of the 
 relations involved which Eight Reason (opfioy Xdyos) prescribes. Conse- 
 quently whatever the charitable man does will be gracefully done. He 
 wUl give only to the poor and needy upon whom his help is fittingly 
 bestowed. He will give just enough to effect the desired relief, and his 
 gifts wiU be sent just at the time when the succour will be most effectual. 
 His benevolence will in fact in all ways give proof of the nobility of the 
 giver ; and it will be given ungrudgingly. As the charitable man knows 
 that a noble deed is more precious than great riches, he will take delight 
 in his gifts and give cheerfully and readily. 
 
 (2.) Passively, in regard to the amassing of wealth,- the charitable 
 man will here also show a delicate appreciation for the rights and feel- 
 ings of others. He will not be so eager for wealth as to be unscrupulous 
 of the source whence it comes ; nor will he be importunate in his desire 
 to gain it. His soul is the soul of a benefactor, unused to favours from 
 others. Nevertheless he will not refuse the legitimate revenues of his 
 own estates, nor neglect the proper care of his own concerns, that he 
 may have funds enough for future benefactions. 
 
 There are other features to be noted in the charities of the benevolent 
 man. He is not without discrimination in his charities, but confines 
 himself to cases where his help will have real merit and moral beauty. 
 He is also unselfish in what he does : in his love for his moral ideal (to 
 KoKov) he will leave what is insufficient for his own use. Even if he has but 
 little that he can give, he will give according to his means, knowing that 
 the essence of charity is the spirit of the giver. [It is, of course, not to 
 be expected that a charitable man should be wealthy : he is too unselfish 
 to be anxious about his own interest as other men are. As a rule the 
 charitable man is one who was ' born rich,' and who has never felt the 
 sting of poverty like those who have toiled for their wealth and who 
 clench it with morbid love.] He will also economise his charities, so as, 
 whatever the amount of his wealth, he may employ it to the greatest 
 possible effect and do with it the greatest possible amoiint of good. Nor 
 will he let his charities ruin him : to go beyond his means will be a 
 sign not of benevolence but of prodigality. 
 
 To sum up : charity is the observance of the moral law of fitness both 
 in reference to the bestowing and to the acquiring of money. Between 
 both of these relations there must be sympathy and consistency. Eight 
 giving and right receiving are mutually consequent the one upon the 
 other. If either a man receives rightly but gives wrongly, or contrariwise, 
 if he gives rightly but receives wrongly, the symmetry and perfection of 
 his moral nature is violated : he has no true (e|«) disposition of charity. 
 Of course the most charitable of men may make a mistake, but then he 
 will be sorry for it. If, for instance, his charity proves to be mistimed 
 
i8o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 and fails of to /ieo-w, a perfect effect, he will grieve, but his regret will 
 be moderate and rational. Not only so ; but the comparative indifference 
 he feels for money will render him very liable to be overreached : the 
 courtesy and complaisance of his dealings will often be a snare to him. 
 
 (ii.) CONTEASTS BETWEEN CHARITY AND PRODIGALITY. 
 
 The ideal which the law of charity implies, is marred by the prodigal 
 on the one hand and by the miser on the other. The prodigal is exces- 
 sive in giving and careless of receiving \ the miser is keen to receive and 
 reltictant to give. 
 
 There are two kinds of prodigality which may be considered 
 separately. 
 
 1. Prodigality in its strictest sense means the combination of two 
 faults — excessive giving and defective receiving. That is a combination 
 of faults which soon cures itself. The prodigal exhausts his property by 
 extravagant benefactions ; and necessity teaches him the lesson of 
 prudence. Age and experience tend to habituate him to self-controL 
 The root of his fault is rather in folly than in vice ; and a riper know- 
 ledge of the world and the teachings of his own life may cure him of that 
 folly and bring him to a state of real charity. [Anyhow, prodigality is 
 hetter than avarice, not only because it is curable, but also because it is 
 of benefit to mankind, while avarice is fruitless and barren.] 
 
 2. But, as a rule, prodigality is associated with other and worse vices. 
 Foolish generosity is associated with unlawful or unscrupulous gains : 
 those who spend foolishly, acquire recklessly — careless whence the funds 
 are drawn, so only that they can give as they list. But as there is nothing 
 noble (/caXd) before the eyes of such, they are not really generous : their 
 gifts have the stamp ofselfishness upon them, and are generally provoked 
 by vanity or self illusion. Herein is the vicious point about prodigality : 
 it involves other vices worse than itself, and thus becomes the handmaid 
 of dissipation. The prodigal is thus often a sensualist : his easy gene- 
 rosity to others provokes an equal self indulgence to himself. Neverthe- 
 less if he can only meet with proper control and be brought under favour- 
 able influences, this easy, self-indulgent good-nature of his youth may be 
 sobered down to the ideal of perfect virtue. 
 
 (iii.) CONTRASTS BETWEEN CHARITY AND AVABIOE. 
 
 Worse than prodigality is avarice, both as being incurable and as 
 fostering some of the worst passions of human nature. There are two 
 ways in which Avarice displays itself, as meanness in giving or sordid 
 rapacity in receiving. Sometimes, though not often, these two aspects 
 of avarice are seen united in the same person ; but they generally branch 
 off into distinct types. 
 
 1. Some men are deficient in giving, without being dishonest in receiv- 
 ing ; such as are the stingy, the parsimonious and the niggardly. These 
 all agree in giving nothing to anyone ; but there are diverse motives why 
 they will not receive dishonestly. In some cases there is a natural sense 
 of equity and a religious shrinking from positive wrongdoing; and that 
 is the type of pimple meanness, or as we say, of one who would 'split a 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IV. i8i 
 
 pea.' The motive for honesty in others is a selfish fear lest if they 
 accept any favour or take anything belonging to others they may be com- 
 pelled to make a return ; and as their meanness re1>olts from giving, so 
 they shrink from receiving. 
 
 2. Others are excessive in receiving, and have for their motto ' Quo- 
 ounque mode ; ' such as are usurers, brothel keepers and others of that 
 class, who will do or suffer any infamy to gratify their low avarice. It is 
 immaterial almost what such men do with their wretched earnings : the 
 stamp of baseness, is upon aU they touch, and their whole character is 
 vitiated thereby. [It must be understood of course that such men's 
 gains are petty gains : tyrants who are equally unscrupulous upon a large 
 scale come under a different category.] 
 
 2.— MUNIFICENCE, 
 (i.) CHAEACTEEISTICS OF MUNIFICENCE DELINEATED. 
 
 Every virtue is limited to a particular subject-matter ; and as there is 
 an essential difference between the ordinary conditions of life and 
 striking and extraordinary circumstances in which money is expended, 
 so there will be a corresponding difference in the virtues therein dis- 
 played. The virtue which regulates the outlay of money on ordinary 
 occasions, is, as we have seen, Charity. The virtue which enables a 
 man to make an extraordinary expenditure with propriety and effect, 
 is Munificence. 
 
 The sphere, therefore, of the Munificent man is the sphere which 
 grand opportunities present. Considerations of time, of place, of cir- 
 cumstance, must modify any general conceptions of what a 'grand 
 opportunity ' is, but the munificent man will show a true appreciation 
 of all such considerations, and will act accordingly. He is a kind of 
 ' moral artist ' where a great occasion arises, skilful to produce the 
 splendour of a gi-and effect upon a grand scale. His aim throughout is 
 the realization of moral beauty {to KoXiv) in the outward circumstances 
 of his career ; and therein he attains his own perfect satisfaction. 
 Whatever conduces to that end and aim, he gives generously and 
 ungrudgingly. He is so absorbed in the aim before him that small 
 economies will never occur to him ; and whatever he does, he does in 
 the spirit of the charitable man, though on a grander scale. Even 
 where the scale of his charity is not greater than that of common 
 liberality, he will produce a more striking effect. Munificence does not 
 consist in mere costliness, but in grandeur of conception. The charitable 
 man may spend as much, but the munificent man will produce a more 
 splendid and graceful result. 
 
 The most natural expenses, however, wherein the munificent man can 
 display his excellence, are costly expenses — public sacrifices, erection of 
 Temples, the of&ces of the State. It follows that only public men and 
 wealthy men can be properly munificent : there must be a fitting cor- 
 respondence between the act and the agent. A poor man is a fool if he 
 attempts to act munificently. Those to whom great undertakings are 
 proper, are the nobly-born, those who inherit great traditions, or who 
 have themselves great reputations, and wealth to add lustre to their 
 •ptestige. 
 
1 82 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 But there are also expenses of a 'private character in which munificence 
 may be appropriately displayed. Such is the munificence which the 
 entertainment of strangers, a marriage feast, the fitting up of an 
 establishment, call for, though permanency of effect must be an element 
 in the consideration. In all such circumstances the munificent man 
 will preserve the relation that is fitting between means and ends, the 
 outlay and the effect produced. 
 
 (ii.) THE EXTREMES OP MUNIFICENCE. 
 
 The vain-glorious and ostentatious man apes the gestures and character 
 of the munificent man, and meets with no success. His attempts at 
 munificence are ill-timed, awkward, and imgraceful. He faUs to adjust 
 his outlay to the circumstances in view, and he is ever out of harmony 
 with his surroundings. The motive, again, which actuates him is not 
 (to icaXov) the sense of right, but rather a vulgar seeking for admiration ; 
 and failure stamps his whole career. 
 
 Meanness is the other extreme ; and its touch spoils the fairest 
 endeavours, and mars the whole effect of the most promising under- 
 takings. It is the low calculation of parsimony which gives what it 
 has to give in a grudging spirit. It never gives quite enough, and is 
 ever fearful of having given too much. 
 
 3.— ELEVATION OF SOUL. 
 
 (i.) THE SPHERE AND CHABACTBEISTIC8 OF MORAL ELEVATION 
 DELINEATED. 
 
 The conception of the Munificent man who is grand and noble in the 
 display of wealth, leads to the conception of a man who is grand and 
 noble in all his surroundings. If a man have high merit, not in any 
 isolated particular, but in his whole life and character, and shows the 
 consciousness of his merit, he may be called ' a man of elevated soul.' 
 If, on the other hand, a man esteems himself less highly than he ought, 
 he is humble-minded ; while if his estimate of himself is in excess of his 
 real merit, he is then vain-glorious or conceited. 
 
 The sphere then of Moral Elevation is what is high and meritorious j 
 and whether we look to th6 standard of the Gods or to that of great 
 men, we see that Iwnoiir is the highest of all good things. Moral 
 Elevation will, therefore, be concerned specially with honours. But 
 honour implies desert or merit. If, therefore, the man of elevated soul 
 is right in claiming the highest honours, he must have the highest 
 personal worth : he must not merely be a good man but a perfect man. 
 The consciousness of his elevation is but the glow and lustre which 
 arise from the combination of all the virtues existing in his soul in 
 their most intense and complete form. 
 
 The possession of perfect virtue, and the consciousness which arises 
 therefrom, give him a peculiar attitude in regard to external things 
 and in particular in regard to honours. He knows that they cannot 
 either add to his worth or take away from it. He only accepts honours ■ 
 because honour is the best tribute which men are able to pay to good- 
 ness. Still the honours which he accepts must be marked honours, aad 
 
Introduciory Analysis: Book IV. 183 
 
 conferred by distinguished men ; the ordinary compliments of life are 
 not worthy of his notice. 
 
 As it is with honours so also with the other |bod things of life. 
 Prosperity or adversity are things external, and he holds the same 
 dignified mien in regard to them which might almost be mistaken for 
 superciliousness and apathy. It seems, however, the truth that pros- 
 perity is more congenial to his character and more naturally his lot. 
 Wealth and family and high station seem to be the natural concomitants 
 of a character which knows so well how to bear itself gracefully and 
 nobly : they indicate a superiority which is nothing unless it be 
 associated with nobility of soul. This truth is again and again exem- 
 plified in the case of men who inherit great traditions or who attain to 
 high station which from lack of virtue they cannot adorn. Such men 
 c.annot bear the burden of their prosperity, but wax wanton and dis- 
 dainful and insolent ; and their attempts at grandeur and dignity are 
 but the feeble caricature which confounds insolence with goodness. 
 
 (ii.) EELATION OP THE MAN OF ELEVATED SOUL TO THE VIRTUES 
 GENERALLY. 
 
 1. Courage. He is courageous, but he does not expose himself to 
 risks where little glory can be won. He reserves his heroism for grand 
 and striking occasions, where the display of his bravery will be glorious 
 to him, whether the issue to himself be life or death. 
 
 2. Benevolence. He is a charitable man, ever ready to give and 
 loath to receive. If he does require a kindness, he never rests vmtil he 
 has repaid it, so as to be under obligation to no man : he loves rather to 
 bestow favours upon others. To receive a favour is to be in a position 
 of inferiority ; to confer a favour, of superiority. As he knows that out- 
 ward superiority is due to the inward superiority of which he is con- 
 scious, he prefers by his bounties to make his superiority manifest to all 
 men. 
 
 3. General intercourse of life. He loves to overtop the mighty, while 
 towards the lowly he is conciliatory and gentle. He avoids places where 
 honour is cheaply won, or where others are in the ascendant. He never 
 interests or bestirs himself, except where great honour is to be won, or 
 great exploits achieved. He is open and sincere in his dealings, whether 
 to show aversion or to express sympathy. Afraid of no one, he scorns 
 dissimulation — unless at times a good-humoured disdain makes him 
 ironical. He has nothing of the courtier or of the flatterer about him, 
 though he unburdens himself to a friend. He is free from enthusiasm 
 for anything except his own ideal. He never nurses revenge, as he will 
 not demean himself to remember an injury. He does not concern him- 
 self about other people's business, nor talk needlessly about his own. He 
 is sparing of censure just as he is slow to praise. He is indifferent to 
 the petty cares and vicissitudes of life, as they have no real concern to 
 him. He shows his self-sufficiency by the very character of his establish- 
 ment, his purchases being what is grand rather than what is useful or 
 productive. Lastly, in his personal demeanour he carries about with 
 him the consciousness of his greatness : the deep voice, the measured 
 words, the solemn tread, are but the outward marks of inward dignity, 
 
184 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 and well indicate the character of one ■who, being of highest worth, 
 esteems himself accordingly. 
 
 (iii.) RELATION OP MORAL ELEVATION TO ITS EXTREMES. 
 
 1. Self-abasement, or humility, is an attitude of mind which shrinks 
 from the honours which are its due. There seems to be some lurking 
 defect in a character which thus abases itself. It is almost incredible 
 that a man should willingly abandon good things, if they were really his 
 due. Anyhow, such a habit has a tendency to lower a man's moral 
 ideal : the plea of imworthiness which makes a man retire from great 
 honoui-s, makes him also shrink from taking part in great or noble 
 achievements. 
 
 2. Self-conceit impels men to attempt what is beyond their ability to 
 execute : and such men are laughed at for their failure and for tiieir 
 folly. This is a habit compounded of ignorance and vanity, and suggEsts 
 a real defect in the moral ideal — the defect of mistaking external pomp 
 and circumstances, for real glory and dignity. 
 
 4.— LOVE OF HONOUR. 
 
 UNCERTAINTIES OF THE EXACT IDEA IMPLIED IN ' LOVE OF HONOUR.' 
 
 Besides the special and extraordinary occasions of honour in which 
 Elevation of Soul is shown, there are the ordinary honours of common 
 life in which virtue may also be shown. The man who shows a laudable 
 ambition within the range of ordinary experience, is praised for his 
 'love of honour,' if it be in accordance with right. But here is a 
 diificulty : what is ' right ' in regard to such honours ? Something very 
 undefined and difficult to grasp. The shifting phases of circumstance, 
 and the very nature of society as a complex organism, render it almost 
 impossible to fix an absolute ' point of view.' The terms in which we 
 commonly speak of ' ambition ' are equally vague. Love of honour is 
 used, like 'ambition,' in both a good and a bad sense. In itself 
 colourless, it derives its form and meaning from the associations with 
 which it is blended. Yet, we may be sure, there is an ideal existing in 
 the mind of the perfect man, and reproduced in his life, notwithstanding 
 the fluctuations of society and the uncertainties of nomenclature. 
 
 5.— GOOD TEMPEE. 
 (i.) GENERAL CONCEPTION OF GOOD TEMPER. 
 
 In the regulation of the feelings of anger there is also an ideal state ; 
 but the exact term whereby to express it is open to ambiguity. It may, 
 however, not inappropriately be called 'Good temper' or 'Mildness' 
 — though such an expression seems to suggest something like a defect of 
 indignation. 
 
 As an ideal, Good temper must of course conform to the conditiona 
 which Eight Reason prescribes. It must be fired into anger when the 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IV. 185 
 
 occasion is fitting and. -where there are objects to justify it ; and its 
 anger must be shown in a proper manner and at a fitting time. Its 
 tendency however will rather be to gentleness than4o severity. 
 
 (ii.) GOOD TEMPER CONTBASTBD WITH ITS EXTREMES. 
 
 1. Entire absence of temper, or ' passionlessness,' is reprehensible. It 
 seems to argue a servile callousness and insensibility, to submit to out- 
 rage and insult and to have no instincts of self defence. It is at any 
 rate folly to brook all such contumely. 
 
 2. Excess of temper is found under manifold varieties, all of which vio- 
 late the perfect law. It bursts out against the wrong persons, at wrong 
 times, with insufficient provocation, and lasts for too long a time ; though 
 of course all these errors are not combined in the same person. There 
 are two principal classes of ' extremely angry ' men — the passionate and 
 the sulky, (a) The passionate are easily provoked and easily appeased ; 
 such are liable to sudden and violent revulsions of feeling, quick-temper 
 leading them constantly into excess. (|3) The sulky nourish their anger 
 for a long time until they can gain perfect revenge ; such suffer from 
 suppressed anger, and are implacable and vengeful. 
 
 Of these two extremes the excess is in itself worse and is more diificulfc 
 to cure ; and it is unhappily the more prevalent. But the boundary line 
 is difficult to define, as it is difficult to particularise all the circumstances 
 which may arise ; and wherever such circumstances arise, the judgment 
 of the agent must decide for himself how far his conscience will sanction 
 anger or forgiveness. Such occasions are eminently ' cases of con- 
 science.' 
 
 6.— COUETESY. 
 
 (i.) GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF COUETESY. 
 
 In the ordinary intercourse of life there are men who will acquiesce in 
 anything and allow no stint or limit in the praises which they bestow ; 
 and there are others who are the very reverse, and show a constant 
 antagonism to everybody and to everything. Both these extremes miss 
 the moral ideal. The true attitude of mind in regard to society is that 
 of a generous friendliness which prefers to give pleasure wherever 
 pleasure is possible without injury to the higher interests of life. But it 
 is a friendliness stript of emotion or personal affection ; and void of par- 
 tiality it is unswervingly true to requirements of justice and social well- 
 being. The rule of the courteous man is the rule of the ' beautiful ' and 
 ' the expedient ; ' and whether he cause pleasure or pain, he will act con- 
 scientiously by that rule. He will deliberately cause pain in cases where 
 disgrace or injury to himself or others would be the result of his ac- 
 quiescence. Still he will remember what is due to each man, according to 
 his station ; and wiU by all means promote pleasure of his associates 
 where honour and conscience permit. If he causes pain to others, it is 
 only because pain is the least of evils in that case. 
 
1 86 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 (ii.) EXTREMES OF COUHTESY. 
 
 1. The man whose law is the law of pleasure, violates the ideal 
 of courtesy. If he simply follows pleasure, ho is obsequious ; if gain 
 enter into his calculations, then he is a flatterer. 
 
 2. The man who violates the ideal of courtesy by way of defect is the 
 peevish irritable man who quarrels with everyone. 
 
 7.— SINCEEITY. 
 
 There is a virtue to be exhibited in the words which a man uses, in- 
 dependently of the consequences which flow from them. Truthfulness, 
 or sincerity, is the perfection of human converse. It is 'a mean' 
 between the pretentiousness of the boastful man and the false modesty 
 of the diffident man. 
 
 The characteristics of Sincerity are, therefore, a religious horror of 
 falsehood as a thing disgraceful and base per se, an uprightness and in- 
 tegrity more delicate and penetrating than even justice itself. It is the 
 disposition to speak the truth, though nothing seems to depend upon it ; 
 and it has its roots in an honesty of purpose and its fruits in honesty 
 and truthfulness of life. In its shrinking from exaggeration it is in- 
 clined, if anything, to understate the truth ; reticence being less offen- 
 sive than exaggeration. 
 
 VIOLATIONS OP SINCERITY. 
 
 1. Boastfulness is the generic term to express various modes in 
 which the ideal of integrity is violated in the direction of excess, (a) If 
 boastfulness have no special purpose to serve, it is the outcome of empty- 
 headedness and vice ; the boastful man of this type being a vain, foolish 
 and worthless character. (8) If, however, boasting has a purpose to 
 serve, and that purpose be glory or honour, it is not so very reprehensible ; 
 but if its object be gain, it is a very discreditable habit. It is of course 
 under either aspect a state of the will and not a merely latent tendency, 
 and the will requires to be acted upon either by (a) the bent of the 
 character or (^) a special motive operating at the moment. 
 
 2. Self-depreciation is that imdue fear of exaggeration which leads a 
 man to say less than the truth, especially when speaking of his own 
 merits. [There is, however, another form of self-disparagement, which 
 is either ' false modesty,' or ' pridp aping humility,' and thinly disguises 
 a conceited vanity.] Though self-depreciation is a falling short of perfect 
 sincerity and straight-forwardness, it is often, in its moderate forms, the 
 mark of a graceful refinement. 
 
 8.— HUMOUR. 
 
 There is an element of rest in life, and rest gives room for relaxation, 
 and relaxation calls for the exercise of an appropriate virtue. That 
 virtue is humour — ' a mean ' between frivolity and moroseness. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IV. 187 
 
 (i.) CHABACTERISTICS OF PEEFECT HUMOUR. 
 
 • 
 
 The playful versatility of good-humour is analogous to the lithesome 
 movements of the body. Its essential feature is that 'good-taste,' 'tact' 
 or ' dexterity ' ; and that is best represented by the character of a perfect 
 gentleman. There is a characteristic difference between the humour of 
 an educated and of an uneducated man. The open scurrility of the Old 
 Comedy is a very different thing from the polished innuendo of the 
 New. Perfect humour, therefore, must be the humour of a gentleman ; 
 and this condition will apply not only to what a man says, but also to 
 the approval he gives of the jests of others. As there are things which 
 a man will not do himself (and which even the legislator forbids him to 
 do), so there are things to which he ought not to listen : he must be ' a 
 Jaw to himself.' 
 
 , (ii.) CHARACTERISTICS OP THE EXTREMES. 
 
 1. Buffoonery is wit, stript of all considerations of delicacy or 
 opportuneness. 
 
 2. Boorishness is poverty of invention, combined with peevishness of 
 temper. 
 
 9.— SENSE OF SHAME. 
 
 Sense of Shame is not, properly speaking, a virtue; it is rather a 
 physical emotion like fear than a formed attitude of the moral nature. 
 Its definition as ' an apprehension of dishonour ' shows that it is rather 
 emotional than moral. It is indeed but a check upon the passions of 
 youth, and is inappropriate to age. Old men ought not to do anything 
 for which to be ashamed : an honest life will be conscious of no evil, 
 whether absolute or conventional evil. To be liable to a feeling of shame 
 would be to argue the existence of passions which none but youth should 
 know. Even in the case of youth it is only an hypothetical good : — ' if 
 he were to do so and so, he would feel shame.' Better never to do evil 
 than having done evil to feel ashamed of it. 
 
TRANSLATION. 
 
 C— LIBERALITY, 
 i. — Characteristics of Liberality explained. 
 {a) THE SPHERE OF LIBERALITY DEFINED. 
 
 Continuing our examination of the social virtues, let us now 
 discuss the virtue of liberality, which is commonly 
 raifty *'"'' °^ ^'^^' regarded as the perfect attitude of mind in regard 
 to questions of property. The praise which is 
 bestowed upon the liberal man is not for his exploits in war, nor 
 for his behaviour under circumstances where self-control is tested, 
 nor yet for the justice of his decisions, but has regard simply to 
 the disposal or acquisition of property and more particularly to its 
 disposal (' property ' being here used to denote anything which 
 has a value which can be estimated in current coin). 
 
 Liberality also is a form of excellence shown by the appetitive soul, and, 
 therefore, it is a virtue which we may examine immediately after Temperance. 
 Now liberality is an ideal state of mind in regard to njoney — an ideal which we 
 realize, that is, when we spend neither more nor less than what is right, but give 
 all that we have to spend in a befitting matter, upon deserving objects, and with 
 right motives. When the liberal man is praised, it is not for his services in war, 
 nor for acting as the temperate man acts, nor yet again for the equity of Ms 
 awards (as the just man is), but for his dealings in the bestowal and acquisition, 
 of property ; and praise is more abundantly accorded him for the way in which' 
 he gives ; (' property ' being here used to include everything which has an 
 appreciable value in current coin). 
 
 (6) MODES IN "WHICH THE PRINCIPLE OF LIBERALITY IS VIOLATED. 
 
 The states of excess and defect in money-matters are prodigality 
 on the one hand, and avarice on the other. 
 Failure of charity ^e apply the epithet ' avaricious ' uniformly ; 
 
 1 rnTTi 6XC6SS OT ■ . -i ■• _ , 
 
 defect. to those who are more eager than they ought to 
 
 be in regard to money. On the other hand we 
 
 sometimes use the term ' prodigality ' with complex associations. 
 
Bk. IV. 1.] Translation. 189 
 
 We call men ' prodigals ' when they are weakly self-indulgent and 
 
 spend their property upon vicious indulgences : 
 
 and consequently men of this stamp are accountea ^,^« °* '"^'^s ■ '^°^- 
 
 ,, , ,. 1 , p .1 • 1 • 1 1 • plex associations of 
 
 the most dissolute 01 their kmd, as havmg many 'prodigaUty.' 
 vices combined in one. But they are not called 
 prodigals in the strict and natural sense of the word : the word 
 ' prodigal ' is intended to mean one who has a single thought, 
 that of wasting or ruining his property, the prodigal being one 
 who is ruined through his own fault: i.e. the wasting of his 
 property seems to be a form of ' self-destruction,' since his very 
 life and livelihood depend upon the possession of means. It is 
 in this strict sense, therefore, that I now employ the term ' pro- 
 digality.' 
 
 Liberality is, tlierefore, tlie ideal state in regard to money, while avarice is the 
 corruption hy way of defect, and prodigality the corruption by way of excess. 
 
 But we speak df prodigality not only as an excess iu regard to money, but 
 sometimes we call even sensualists ' prodigals,' inasmuch as they squander large 
 sums to gratify their selfish tastes, and prodigality of this type we call a vice. It 
 is for this reason that prodigals of this class are the most abandoned of men, 
 since they have many vices all in one, being at once ruined in fortune and 
 dissolutely abandoned in the pursuit of pleasure. Hence they are not properly 
 called by a single name indicating only a single vice (since the term ' prodigal ' 
 is intended to imply one who has only a single vice, that of ruining his substance 
 — the 'prodigal' being one who is ruined through his own fault, since the 
 wasting of his substance seems to be a form of self-destruction, life and livelihood 
 depending upon the possession of means). However, we call those also who are 
 weakly self-indulgent, and who spend their money upon their own sensual 
 gratifications, ' prodigals ; ' though we confine the tenn ' avaricious ' to those who 
 grasp after money more keenly than is right, and who are defective in regard to 
 liberality. 
 
 (c) THE VIRTUE OK VICE OF A THING DEPENDENT UPON ITS USES. 
 
 Now whatever admits of use may be put to a good or a bad 
 use ; and as wealth is one of those things which 
 are capable of use, and a man puts a thing to ^ney^^*the^vir^ 
 its best use when he has the virtue related tuous disposition 
 thereto, it follows that a man will put wealth to eLrity."°'"''^°® *° 
 its best possible use when he has the virtue 
 related to money : when, that is, he is liberal-minded. 
 
 Now since it is possible for us to use everything which admits of use, well or 
 ill {e.g., our reputation or our food), and wealth is of precisely this nature, since 
 there is a definite use for it in the conduct of life, it is, therefore, possible to put 
 wealth to a good or bad use ; and inasmuch as a man will put a thing to a proper 
 use only when he has the virtue related to that tiling, he will only put his wealth 
 to its most perfect use when he has the virtue related to money — when, that is, 
 he is liberal-minded. 
 
I90 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 1. 
 
 (d) THE SPECIAL USE OF MONEY IS IN SPENDING BATHER THAN 
 IN EECEIVING. 
 
 Now the use of money seems to consist in spending and giving, 
 
 while the acquisition of money lies rather in the 
 
 The charMteristic receiving and safe keeping thereof; consequently. 
 
 of chanty IS a viv- . . & f j. • j.- j? j.i i-i i 
 
 tuous spending it IS more distmctly Characteristic 01 the liberal- 
 rather than virtu- minded man that he gives to proper persons than 
 
 ous receiving. , , , . !• 4. ^ x 
 
 that he receives from proper persons, or than 
 that he refrains from taking whence he ought not, 
 
 1. It is a greater proof of moral worth that a man confers 
 benefits upon others, than that he receives them himself, and that 
 he himself performs noble actions, than that he refrains from 
 disgraceful ones. It is obvious that the effect consequent upon 
 giving is that a man does a kindness to another, and is thus an 
 instrument for noble deeds ; whereas the effect consequent upon 
 his receiving is that he is himself the recipient of favours, or at 
 most that he takes no unfair advantage. 
 
 2. Thanks are accorded to one who makes a gift, not to one 
 who abstains from unlawful gains ; and of course praise is greater 
 in proportion. 
 
 3. It is easier to abstain from taking than it is to give : men 
 are far less disposed to give away what is their own than to for- 
 bear taking what is another's. 
 
 4. Again, it is only those who give who have the name of 
 ' charitable : ' those who forbear taking are not praised on the 
 score of their charitableness, but, if at all, with special reference 
 to their justice ; while those who simply receive what is their due 
 are absolutely not praised at all. 
 
 5. Again, charitable men are, as a rule, more personally be- 
 loved than any other class who are esteemed for their own worth, 
 inasmuch as they are serviceable to their fellows ; but their service 
 depends upon the gifts they make. 
 
 Now the use of money is nothing else whatever but spending and giving. 
 The receiving and saving of money seems to be not use but possession. Conse- 
 quently the charitable man is more concerned vrith the expenditure of money 
 than with the acquisition of it ; and it is of [more importance for him to know 
 in what manner he ought to spend, and with what motives and upon what persons, 
 than it is for him to know in what manner he ought to receive, and with what 
 aims and from what class of persons. In fact the charitable man is concerned, 
 as has been shown, with the use of wealth ; and use consists in giving rather 
 than in receiving. 
 
 1. It seems to be a much greater merit to do a kindness than to receive one, 
 to perform noble acts than to abstain from vicious ones ; and in the case of 
 giving there is involved at once a kindness done to another and a noble deed 
 performed by one's self ; whereas, in receiving, there lies only the having a 
 
Bk. IT. 2.] Translation. 191 
 
 favour conferred on one, or at most an abstention from dishonourable behaviour 
 (for to receive from proper sources is to have a favour done one ; and to abstain 
 from receiving whence one ought not, is to abstain from raijcighteous courses). 
 
 2. Conduct which is more highly praised, is more closely akin to virtue ; and the 
 act of giving in a rightful manner is more highly praised than the act of receiving 
 iu a rightful manner : since thanks and the praise consequent thereon fall rather 
 to the man who gives than to the man who abstains from receiving. 
 
 3. Virtue is concerned especially with what is more difficult ; and it is more 
 diflcult to give rightly than to receive or not to receive rightly : it is far more 
 disagreeable to us to give up our own than it is to dismiss from our minds the 
 property of another. Consequently, it is more suitable to the character of 
 the charitable man to give rightly than it is to receive or not to receive 
 rightly. 
 
 4. In fact we do not call men by the name of charitable simply because they 
 do not receive from improper sources, but because they give to fitting and proper 
 persons, the former being considered rather just than charitable and receiving 
 praise on the score of their justice, while on the other hand, those who simply 
 receive from the sources they are entitled to receive from, are absolutely not 
 praised at all (ic. a man is only praised when he does something disagreeable to 
 him with a virtuous motive, but a man who receives whence he has a right to 
 receive, undergoes no inconvenience at all). 
 
 5. Lastly, charitable men are beloved more than any other class of virtuous 
 men, inasmuch as they are useful to their fellows ; but their usefulness consists 
 not in their forbearing to receive basely but in their giving nobly. 
 
 Hence it is that the charitable man is thought to have more to do with giving 
 than receiving : he is in fact one who bestows his wealth upon proper objects, 
 and has always in view what is noble and right. 
 
 (e) GENERAL CONDITIONS EEQUISITE IN CHAEITABLE GIVING. 
 
 Now all actions that are conformable to virtue have in them- 
 selves a noble effect and are inspired by a noble 
 motive. If, therefore, a man has the virtue of In order to perfect 
 charity, he will give from a noble motive, and his \^^ ^ °™ ""^ 
 gifts will have a noble effect. Those to whom he i_ a sense of moral 
 gives will be deserving recipients of his bounty ; fitness. 
 and both the amount and the occasion of his g^g^^ 
 bounty will be equally suitable and appropriate. 3. A deserving ob- 
 He will invariably observe the conditions requisite ^^\-a, adequate 
 to rightful giving. Moreover, whatever he does amount. 
 he will do cheerfully, or at any rate without ^ieat^on^^^"^"**' 
 pain, inasmuch as every act that is conformable 6. A cheerful spirit, 
 to virtue is pleasurable to the agent, or at ' any 
 rate devoid of pain — least of all can it be positively painful. 
 
 If a man fail to meet these tests — if he gives to unworthy 
 objects, or if he gives without any reference to a virtuous ideal, 
 but to satisfy some lower aim, he is not a charitable man, but 
 must be styled by some other name. Nor again is he charitable 
 if he gives with reluctance or pain, since such an one would fain 
 choose money in preference to noble acting, and that is very un- 
 like the liberal-minded man. 
 
192 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [BklV. 2. 
 
 I say that the motive of the charitahle man will be a noble one, as in fact 
 every action regulated by virtue must be inspired by a noble aim. But not only 
 so : not only must charitable actions have a noble motive, and be done in favour 
 of proper persons, and at fitting times, and observe all the other conditions which 
 are entailed in rightful giving, but further they must be done with pleasure to 
 the agent, or at any rate without regret. A man who gives with a feehng of 
 reluctance has not grown to be a charitable man : he may perform charitable 
 actions, but he is not in himself charitable : — ^he has not attained to the moral 
 dispositions of heart involved in charity, otherwise we would have had no 
 feeling of pain, aU actions regulated by virtue being either pleasurable or devoid 
 of pain. 
 
 If a man fail to meet these conditions — if he bestow his money upon unworthy 
 objects, or without any noble motive, but from some other aim, he is not a 
 charitable man, but must be styled by some other name. For simUar reasons, 
 neither is a man charitable if he bestow his gifts with reluctance, as has been ex- 
 plained : since a man of that stamp values his money more than noble acting, 
 and on that account he is not a charitable man. 
 
 (/) GENERAL CONDITIONS EEQUISITB IN CHARITABLE RECEIVING, 
 
 The charitable man will never receive from sources whence he 
 
 ought not, since such an acceptance of money is 
 
 But the money ex- inconsistent with the character of one who regards 
 
 penoed m charity , p i • i • , 
 
 must be properly not money as 01 high importance. 
 
 obtained : the cha- j^qj. -^'^ \^q \^q. importunate for money, since it 
 
 ritable man wiU . . ti j.t i j. r i • i • i/- 
 
 draw from his own IS not like the Character 01 one who is himself a 
 funds but never benefactor to havo benefits conferred upon him 
 others. ^ ^ """ lightly and without reserve. 
 
 Still he will receive from proper and legitimate 
 sources, e.g. the revenues of his own estates, — not as though it 
 were meritorious so to do, but as a thing inevitable in order that 
 he may have the means wherewith to make gifts to others ; and 
 he will not be indifferent to the care of his own property, desiring 
 as he does by the help thereof to assist the needs of others. 
 
 But while on the one hand the charitable man will only give according as 
 Eight Reason prescribes, so on the other hand he will never receive from souioes 
 whence he ought not to receive ; and since he does not prize money highly, he 
 will not ask for it : a man who loves to confer benefits on others, is not easily 
 prevailed upon to receive a benefit himself. StOl he will receive from legitimate 
 sources, as of course the revenues of his own estates — not that he thinks it meri- 
 torious to earn money, but because it is essential for him so to do in view of the, 
 gifts which he has to make. Consequently he will not be indifferent to the care 
 of his own property, since he desu-es by the help thereof to assist the needs of 
 others. 
 
 {g) SOME FURTHER CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CHARITABLE MAN. 
 
 But he will not give to all alike indiscriminately, that so he 
 Hewiilnotbereck- ^^7 ^^^cp enough wherewith to give to deserving 
 less of his gifts, persons at fitting times, and where his bounty is 
 
Bk. IV. 2.] Translation. 
 
 193 
 
 meritorious. It is, again, quite characteristic of though he -Bill 
 the charitable man that his generosity in giving freely give what he 
 is so extreme that he leaves insuflScient for hin^ ^'"^°' 
 
 self: it is a sign of his perfect charity that he does not look to 
 his own interests but to the good of others. 
 
 But charity is to be measured by relation to the means of the 
 individual, not by an absolute standard : the 
 quality of charitableness does not consist in the '•'■'.'le spirit of the 
 multitude of the things that are given, but in the extent of the gift! 
 formed character of the giver, which leads him to '\ *^^ measure of 
 give to the extent of the means at his command. ' ^' 
 
 There is therefore nothing to prevent a man whose gifts are less 
 than another's from being, for all that, the more liberal of the two 
 — ^provided, that is, that the store from which he has to draw his 
 gifts be less. 
 
 [The most charitably-minded men seem to be found among 
 those who have not amassed their wealth for 
 themselves, but received it by inheritance, the The nobly-boru the 
 
 1 . ,, , ,, 1 11 . ' „ most chantabJe. 
 
 reason bemg that they nave had no experience of 
 actual want, and are also free from that inordinate love for their 
 own which parents have for their offspring, or poets for their 
 works. Yet it is no easy thing for a charitable man to be also 
 wealthy, since he takes no care either to acquire or to preserve his 
 wealth, but is ever ready to bestow it upon others, and prizes nut 
 money for its own sake, but only for the sake of the gifts which 
 it can provide. Hence it is laid as a charge at Fortune's door 
 that those who are most deserving of riches are the least aflSuent 
 of all ; — though that is an anomaly which very naturally occurs, 
 since it is not possible for a man to have wealth if he take no 
 care how he may gain it, neglect and loss being universally 
 sissociated.] 
 
 In virtue of his charity he will most assuredly never give to 
 
 unworthy objects, nor at unseasonable times, nor 
 
 . 1 , /, "^ '. . . , J.1 ■ Mutual interdepea- 
 
 violate the proprieties in other ways : otherwise jien^e of the con- 
 he would cease to act according to the law of ditions of true 
 charity : exhausting his resources upon improper " ™ ^' 
 objects, he would have nothing left to spend upon objects that 
 really deserved his sympathy. As has been shown, a man only 
 has the virtue of charity when his expenditure is not only propor- 
 tioned to his means but is also confined to worthy objects. 
 
 [The man who spends beyond his means is extravagant and 
 prodigal. It would be improper then to call tyrants ' prodigals,' 
 as it seems not easy to exceed the limit of their resources, what- 
 ever gifts or expenditure they may make.] 
 
 9 
 
194 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 2. 
 
 Nor win he give indiscriminately to all alike, that so he may keep enough to 
 give to those who deserve his charity, where the occasion is fitting and 
 meritorious. 
 
 It is also a characteristic of one who is zealously charitable, that his generosity 
 in giving is so great, that he actually leaves insufficient to himself : that being a 
 sign of perfect charity — ^not to look to one's own need. Charity is not estimated 
 by reference to the greatness or to the variety of things which are given, but in 
 accordance with the proportion which things given bear to the means of the 
 giver— that being the standard by which a generous disposition on the part of 
 the giver is tested. Hence, there is nothing to prevent a man who gives less, 
 being a more charitable man than one who gives more — provided that the man 
 who gives less, has a less store from which to make his gifts. 
 
 [It is found that men who have not had to make money for themselves, by 
 their own exertions, but have gained their wealth by inheritance from others, 
 have the reputation of being more charitable. Men who are 'bom rich have 
 ' never felt the pains of want, and for that reason do not love their wealth witi 
 overweening affection ; whereas those who have amassed riches for themselves, 
 are like parents and poets — strongly enamoured of their own productions. But 
 liberal men are not able to be very rich, since they are neither prompt to receive 
 nor provident in guarding their property, but are rather disposed to lavish in 
 charity aU they have, and do not prize money for its own sake, but only for the 
 gifts it enables them to make. Hence we find fault with Fortune, because 
 liberal men are not in affluence, though deserving of wealth and possessions. 
 Still that is a state of things which might not unreasonably be expected : if a 
 man takes no care to amass money, how is it possible for him to be rich 2 That 
 is a truth of universal application : it is impossible for a man to have anything, 
 if he will not take the measures necessary to procure it. Hence, the liberal man 
 will not be able to be affluent, if he neither collects money from new sources, and 
 yet scatters abroad what he has of his own.] 
 
 Moreover, the charitable man never gives to improper objects, nor on any 
 occasion that is not right, lest, if he spent his money upon unlawful things, he 
 might be found incapable of meeting lawful claims, and fail to give to worthy 
 objects on fitting occasions. As has been shown, a man is only charitable when 
 he is spending in proportion to his means : the man who gives at random is a 
 prodigal. Hence we do not call ' tyrants ' prodigal, though they give vast sums 
 and keep no limits in giving, since the extent of their resources seems to exceed 
 the extent of there gifts, and it is found that their means are greater than their 
 expenditure. 
 
 {K) ElfiStJMlfi: CHAEITY THE MOEAL IDEAL m EEGARD TO WEALTH. 
 
 Since, therefore, charity is an ideal frame of mind in regard to 
 
 the giving or receiving of money, the charitable 
 
 law of Keaaou ap- Dian will give Ms money, or expend his money, 
 
 plied to aU ques- only upon proper occasions and to proper amounts, 
 
 tiona and moideuts ti • n • i. i i _:ii 
 
 of wealth. Right ^u^^ m Small as m great concerns ; and he will 
 giving as essential feel pleasure in so acting. [He will also recme 
 
 as right receiving. ^-^^^ -^ ^^^^^ ^^^ j^j^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^_^^^ j^^^j 
 
 sources. The virtue of charity being an ideal fitness in regard , 
 both to giving and receiving, the charitable man will act rightly 
 in both relations : — i.e., there is consequent upon suitable giving 
 a corresponding receiving, whereas improper receiving is incon- 
 sistent with proper giving. These two conditions, therefore, of 
 proper giving and proper receiving, being mutually consequent 
 
Bk. IV. 3.] Translation. 
 
 195 
 
 upon one another, are found combined in the same person; 
 whereas conditions which are not so consequent but are opposed 
 to one another are not found to coexist, as obviously they cannot, 
 in the same individual.] 
 
 But if it should happen that he has spent his money contrary 
 to what is right and appropriate, he will feel regret, but his 
 regret will be temperate and seasonable. For it is a mark 
 of virtue for a man to have feelings of pleasure or of pain in a 
 suitable degree, and on fitting occasions. 
 
 Again, the charitable man is courteous and affable in his 
 dealings, and is a man capable of being over- 
 reached, -since of course he sets no store on ^?? f "^^ of fitness 
 money, and is more likely to be distressed if he makes a" Lan^s 
 has omitted to spend what he ought to have ""^"'^ demeanour 
 spent, than to be pained at having spent upon 
 that which was not worthy of his charity. He is not one who 
 would acquiesce in the maxim of Simonides. [On the other 
 hand, the prodigal goes wrong upon these points as well as upon 
 others : he never feels the proper pleasure in worthy objects and 
 occasions, nor does he grieve where he ought to feel pain. This 
 aspect of prodigality will be clearer as we proceed with our 
 analysis.] 
 
 Since, therefore, charity is an ideal frame of mind in reference to the giving 
 and receiving of money, the charitable man 1^111 make gifts and expend his 
 money npon worthy objects and to proper amounts, as well in great as in trifling 
 concerns ; and, whether he gives, or whether he receives, he will show a oheerfid 
 disposition, and will maintain a proper balance and fitness, since charity is an 
 ideal ' mean,' as well in regard to the taking as to the giving of money. It is 
 consequent upon a man's giving rightly, that hie should also receive rightly ; and 
 that he should do both with pleasure. 
 
 Hence he will feeljipain if he faU to give, or to receive, according to a fitting 
 proportion ; and yet the pain he feels will not be extravagant or unseemly. 
 
 The charitable man is also courteous and accessible in money relations, and is 
 pleasant in all dealings that relate to money, inasmuch as, despising money as he 
 does, he is not very much distressed if he is overreached or injured. He is more 
 distressed if he has failed to spend what was fitting for him to have spent, than 
 he is if he has spent what was fitting for him not to have spent. The spending 
 on occasions beyond what is right, is simply a loss afEecting the purse, and that 
 does not so very much grieve the charitable man ; whereas, on the other hand, 
 failing to spend upon proper objects, becomes a loss in regard to duty and to 
 virtue, and for that reason, causes keener pain. Hence, he will not either accept 
 the counsel of Simonides when suggesting the opposite attitude of mind. On titie 
 other hand, the prodigal is in error invariably both in regard to pleasure and to 
 pain : he neither rejoices in worthy objects, nor does he show his joy in a proper 
 manner (as wiU be explained more clearly in the course of our analysis), 
 
 % 
 
196 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 3. 
 
 ii. — Contrast between Liberality and Prodigality. 
 
 (a) DESCRIPTION OF PRODIGALITY AS A VICE FES. BE. 
 
 Now we have already shown that there are states of excess and 
 
 of defect in regard to money, in prodigality on 
 
 When either of ^q one hand and avarice on the other, in the rela- 
 
 these conditions — .. ,..„.. i/> ••/it 
 
 of right giving or tions Doth of givmg and 01 receiving (and here 
 of right receiving, ^e put expenditure generally in the category of 
 
 is violated, the , • • ,v n t vj. • l l c ■ 
 
 result is vice. gi^mg ). rrodigality is a state 01 excess in 
 
 regard to giving without equivalent, and is a 
 state of defect in regard to receiving ; while, contrariwise, avarice 
 is a state of defect in regard to giving, and of excess in regard 
 to receiving — only on a small scale. 
 
 But these opposing characteristics are rarely found united, 
 since it is not easy for a man to give to every 
 bo"tV*onSste o^J«?t ^^ ^^^re be no source from which he himself 
 violated simuita- receives [for the term ' prodigal ' cannot be, it 
 'erson^-"in^re™d '^'^^^ Seem, applied to any but joraafe individuals 
 to the excess of (not to tyrants), and the means which such 
 giving and defect persons have of giving are soon exhausted!; 
 
 of receiving. fu t, j? j-i? a ^ x -il 
 
 though 01 course this type 01 extreme generositj 
 would seem to be vastly superior to that of the avaricious man, 
 as being more easily reformed under the influence of advancing 
 age and personal exigencies, and being thus capable of attaining, 
 to a perfect state. Such an one has, in fact, some of the attributes 
 of the charitable man : he gives and is not fond of receiving, 
 though he does neither the one nor the other rightly, nor in a 
 becoming manner. If only he could be habituated to self- 
 restraint, or were in some other way to reform, he would be a 
 man of real charity. He would give to none but deserving 
 objects, nor receive from any but legitimate sources. 
 
 Hence the prodigal does not seem to be really depraved in 
 _, J. 1 • disposition : it is not proof either of a wicked or 
 
 The prodigal is . ^ -t.- ^ j • • ■ j i 
 
 more foolish than ignoblc disposition to exceed m giving and not 
 ^°i""s- receiving, but rather of a foolish one. A man 
 
 who is prodigal after this fashion seems to be much better than 
 a sordid man, as well for the reasons referred to above as also 
 because the prodigal benefits many, but the sordid man no one, 
 not even himself. 
 
 Charity, then, is the ideal state of mind in regard to money; the vicious 
 extreme in one direction being prodigality, and in another direction avarice. 
 Prodigality exceeds in giving and in non-receiving, and is deficient in reoeiving» 
 On the other hand, avarice is excessive in receiving, and defective in giving. 
 
Bk. IV. 3.] Translation. 
 
 197 
 
 Though both these states of mind are at variance with what is fitting, yet 
 avarice is worse than prodigality. In the first place, prodigality is not able to 
 endure as a permanent condition : when resources are IHl spent, it quickly 
 changes, le„ wealth speedily fails those who spend if from merely private 
 resources they keep giving immoderately, without receiving from any new fund 
 of their own. On the other hand, avarice has no such cure for itself : If, on the 
 one hand, his wealth increase, the avaricious man grows no better, and, on the 
 other hand, if his wealth be exhausted, he becomes far worse. In the second 
 place, it is possible for the prodigal to be cured as well by the iafluence of time, 
 as by experience of the evils which flow from want, and so he may attain at last 
 to a proper frame of mind. In fact, the prodigal is near to the perfect state : — 
 i.e., he gives and is not fond of receiving, though his gifts are made to unworthy 
 objects, and in an improper manner. Consequently, if only it could become 
 habitual to him to give to worthy objects only, and only on worthy occasions, he 
 would be a man of real charity, bestowing his gifts on deserving persons, and 
 refraining from taking from improper sources. 
 
 In this view the prodigal does not seem to be really depraved in heart : it is no 
 mark of a wicked or ignoble nature to exceed in giving and to refrain from 
 taldng, but rather of a foolish one. Hence the prodigal is a better man than the 
 miser, as well for the reasons given above, as also because he does good service to 
 his fellows, whereas the miser benefits no one, not even himself. 
 
 (d) PRODIGALITY ASSOCIATED WITH OTHER VICES. 
 
 But, as has already been shown, the greater number of those 
 who are prodigal not only spend their money 
 
 1 1 ? 1 . ,1 . « As a rule, prodigals 
 
 improperly, but also acquire their money from are indifferent L™ 
 unlawful sources, and are on that score as well theygain the means 
 as others, void of charity. They grow to be "^^P^^-^i^s- 
 grasping after money, prompted by the desire to spend, and by 
 their inability to spend as lavishly as they would without monej'. 
 The means of spending soon fail them ; hence they are forced to 
 provide funds from new sources. At the same time, from the 
 indifference which they feel for what is noble and honourable, they 
 make their gains with little scruple from any source whatever. 
 In the passion they have for giving, it is a thing quite indifferent 
 to them how they give or whence the funds are drawn. Hence 
 the gifts of such men are not really charitable gifts : they are not 
 nobly conceived, nor have they a noble motive, nor are they be- 
 stowed in a proper manner ; at times they make men rich whom 
 it were fitting to be poor, and while they will give nothing to 
 men of sober and respectable lives, they lavish favours freely upon 
 those who flatter them or in some way afford them amusement. 
 
 Hence, prodigals are for the most part sensualists : reckless in 
 their expenditure, they lavish their wealth upon 
 their own lusts, and inasmuch as they do not The recklessness of 
 live with any noble aim in view, they are diverted -^1^0^ oS"to 
 to the pursuit of selfish indulgences. personal dissipa- 
 
 However, though the prodigal swerves into *'°"" 
 
198 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, IV. 3. 
 
 vicious practices like these, if he be unchecked in his course, yet, 
 on the other hand, if he meet with guidance and control, he may, 
 for all his extravagance, still attain to a perfect ideal of what is 
 fitting and right. 
 
 Hitherto I tave teen speaJking of the prodigal who is excessive ia the gifts he 
 makes, and is defective in what he receives ; and we assumed this type to be an 
 extreme compared with the charitable man. But as a rule, prodigals are also for 
 the most part avaricious, being excessive as well in the receipts they accumu- 
 late as in the gifts they make : they are of a grasping disposition, owing to the 
 desire they have to spend, and their inability to indulge their desire. Their own 
 resources being soon exhausted, they are compelled to replenish them by other 
 means ; and at the same time, as they have no regard for what is fitting, they try to 
 gain money from any and every source, as chance may enable them. They simply 
 care for giving ; but as for how they ought to give or whence they ought to re- 
 ceive — for that they have no further concern. Hence their gifts are not really 
 charitable gifts : they are not nobly conceived, nor have they a noble motive, nor 
 are they bestowed in a proper manner; but at times such men enrich those whom 
 it were fitting to be poor; and while they will give nothing to men of sober 
 character, they lavish their wealth freely upon those who flatter them, or who 
 afford them some amusement. 
 
 Hence prodigals are for the most part sensualists as well. In consequence of 
 their not living according to the law of Eeason, they fall away to the pursuit of 
 pleasures; and in consequence of being habituated to spend lavishly, they grow to 
 be extravagant in their own selfish lusts, and are therefore intensely sensual. 
 
 But while, on the one hand, the prodigal falls to this low depth of depravity, 
 if he be left without guidance or control, on the other hand, if he be brought 
 under discipline, and meet with proper supervision, he may still attain to a virtuous 
 ideal. 
 
 iii. — Contrast feetween Liberality and Avarice. 
 
 On the other hand, avarice is incurable. It is old age and the 
 Prodigality less "^^^d forms of helplessness, which are thought to 
 vicious than make men avaricious. It is, moreover, more 
 *'*™^' thoroughly innate in men than prodigality is, the 
 
 mass of men being more fond of saving than of giving. 
 
 It is also a fault of widest range, and assumes many shapes, 
 
 there being apparently many forms which avarice 
 
 L/S i^^th" ^^y *^^«- Consisting, as it may, of two condi- 
 
 combiDation of ra- tions, defect of giving and excess of receiving, it 
 
 ^"^•"'J!;'? ■"'*'' is 'lo*^ ^o™<i in aU cases <• full-blown ' and absolute, 
 
 parsimonious ex- v a • » • 
 
 penditure. o^t m certain cases, each aspect has a separate 
 
 growth : — z.e., some men err froni excess of 
 receipts, others from defect in their outlay. 
 
 1. The one class, under such appellations as 'stingy,' 'parsi- 
 2. But it is often "^oniouB,' ' niggardly,' are entirely defective in 
 found detached as, giving; nevertheless, they do not covet other 
 
 hoL^r'""*"^ ^""^ ^^^'^ ^°°*^®' ^°'' ®^^^ "l^si^® ^ obtain them. 
 
 [This self-restraint is owing on the part of some 
 
 of them to a certain sense of equity, and a religious fear of what 
 
Bk. IV. 3.] Translation. 199 
 
 is base. This certainly is the motive from which some of them 
 act, or at any rate profess to act — that they ma^ never he com- 
 pelled to do a disgraceful deed. Of this class is the skinflint and 
 others of his stamp — named as they are, from the excess of their 
 care never to give to anyone under any circumstances. On the 
 part of others, on the contrary, the motive of their self-restraint is 
 a motive of fear — the idea, that is, that it is not easy to take the 
 things of others without offering to others in return of one's own : 
 they are hest pleased, therefore, neither to accept a gift, nor to 
 make one.] 
 
 2. The other class, on the contrary, are excessive in respect of 
 taking, from the fact of their receiving from any, 
 and every source, whatever they can; e.g., those W Parsimony and 
 who practise unprincipled professions, brothel- of \ighpniidS* 
 keepers and men of that class, and men who lend 
 small sums at extravagant rates. All such men receive gains 
 from unlawful sources, and to an unlawful amount. But the 
 stigma of ' unlawful gains ' is common to all of them, since, 
 for the sake of gains, and of contemptible gains, they all incur 
 foul disgrace. 
 
 I say ' contemptible gains,' because, since those who receive 
 considerable sums in illegitimate ways — e.g.., tyrants who sack 
 cities and pillage temples, are not properly denominated ' un- 
 charitable ' or ' illiberal,' but rather scoundrels, sacrilegious and 
 unjust, on the other hand, the gambler, the pickpocket, and 
 the robber, do belong to the class of those who are avaricious, 
 since they make disgraceful gains. It is for the sake of gain that 
 both the one and the other carry on their trafiSc, and incur foul 
 shame, the robber class running perilous risks in the hope of the 
 booty, and the gambler making a profit out of his friends, to 
 whom he ought rather to make gifts. Both of these classes, 
 therefore, are lovers of base gain, wishing as they do to make 
 their gains by unlawful means ; and all such acquisitions are, 
 without exception, contrary to the law of charity. 
 
 Fittingly, then, is avarice called the opposite of charity, as well 
 because it is a greater evil than prodigality, as because men fall 
 into worse error in respect thereof, than in respect of the prodigality 
 which is described above. 
 
 Let this analysis suflSce to describe charity and the vices which 
 are opposed thereto. 
 
 On. the otlier hand, aTarioe is inourabre : there is no hope even that the avaricious 
 man may grow to be better from increased experience and advancing age : — the 
 fact of a man's having gained experience of the affairs of life, old age itself, 
 
200 The Moral Philosophy of AHstotle. [Bk. IV. 4. 
 
 and the evils which flow from old age, imbecility in all its forms and its sense of 
 misery, make the feeling of avarice more intense by far. Apart from these con- 
 siderations, men are naturally more inclined to avarice than they are to prodigality : 
 the mass of men are fond of money, and grasping to gain it. There are not very 
 many who are disposed to give, and prodigals are the rarest of aU men to meet with. 
 This, therefore, is a reason why prodigality is by fai- preferable to avarice— since, 
 as has been shown above, it is manifestly nearer to the ideal of virtue. 
 
 But independently of this argument, avarice is an evil which has many shapes 
 there seem to be many forms in which it is found. Being concerned as weU with 
 taking as with receiving, one class of the avaricious are viciously disposed in re- 
 gard to giving, and another class in regard to receiving. 
 
 1. The one class neither gfive aught to anyone, nor are willing to receive aught 
 from anyone — in some oases through a kind of natural fairness, and to avoid being 
 constrained to do a base action, in other cases from apprehension lest they might 
 be at some time compelled themselves to give, and from a consequent desire Tieitiber 
 to receive nor to give. Men of this type are called niggardly, mean, stingy, im- 
 plying that they are all defective in giving ; and among them, of course, is the 
 skinflint. 
 
 2. The other class are excessive in receiving, and comprises those who vrill do or 
 suffer any infamy to gain an advantage, however wrong the manner, however un- 
 lawful the means. All men of this type are called lovers of base gains, such as are 
 brothel-keepers, usurers, gamblers, petty thieves, and robbers : all of whom for 
 the sake of gain, — and that a paltry gain — incur the brand of shameful infamy. [I 
 say ' petty gain,' since those who run such infamous risks, and who receive money 
 from unlawful sources in an unrighteous manner for the sake of vast gains, are 
 not ' lovers of base gain,' but are designated ' miscreants,' ' sacrilegious,' and ■ un- 
 just ' : — such as are tyrants and those who sack cities and piUage temples.] The 
 gambler receives money from improper sources (i.e. from his friends, to whom he 
 ought rather to give,) but only in trifling amoimts, and therefore it is that he is 
 ' a lover of sordid gain.' The robber, again, incurs great risks, but only for the 
 sake of a paltry gain ; similarly the petty thief and others of his type. 
 
 There is good reason, then, why avarice is called the opposite of charity as being 
 (1) further removed from charity than prodigality is (».e., it is a worse evil than 
 prodigality), and (2) because men err in more numerous ways in respect of it than 
 in respect of prodigality. 
 
 Let this account suf&ce to describe the nature of charity, and of the vices opposed 
 to it. 
 
 D.— MUNIFICENCE. 
 
 i. — Charaeteristies of Munificence explained. 
 
 (a; SUBJECT-MATTEE OF MUNIFICENCE AND OF ITS OPPORITES 
 DEFINED. 
 
 The subject for us to treat of next in order to Charitableness 
 would seem to be Munificence — this also being, 
 Contrasts between apparently, a form of excellence displayed in 
 Chlrity^""'' ^^ money matters. There is, however, this difference 
 between the two : munificence does not apply, as 
 liberality does, to all transactions depending upon money, but only 
 to such as require great outlay, and therein surpasses liberality 
 in the point of magnitude. As the name itself indicates, it is an 
 expenditure conspicuous for its extent. 
 
Bk. IV. 4.] ^ Translation. 201 
 
 But the extent of the munificence must bear due relation to 
 the nature of its object. There is not the same 
 
 ,.,n -n , T •Munificence 
 
 opportunity tor munmcence to an ordmary sea- limited to grand 
 captain as there is to the Chief of a Religious an*! striking occa- 
 Embassy. The standard of propriety is not the ^'™^' 
 same under all circumstances : it must be viewed in relation to 
 particular persons, to the exigences of a particular time and place, 
 and to the objects upon which the expenditure is made. 
 
 Again, a man who spends worthily but only on slight or 
 ordinary occasions is not styled ' munificent,' as the line runs : 
 
 " Oft to a wayfarer alms did I give." 
 
 The title of munificence must be limited to one who spends 
 worthily on grand occasions. The munificent man is a charitable 
 man, but the charitable man is not, for all his liberality, on that 
 account munificent. 
 
 [The falling short of the munificent disposition is called 
 * meanness,' and the excess of munificence is called ' vulgarity,' 
 ' want of taste,' and similar terms, not because such habits go 
 beyond the mark in extent in proper objects, but because they 
 show themselves off on occasions where they ought not to do, 
 and that in an unworthy manner. These deviations shall be 
 described more minutely later on.] 
 
 The subject for us to treat of next in order to Charitableness is Munificence, 
 since each resembles the other in having for its subject-matter money and the 
 expenditure of money. But there is this difference between them : charitableness 
 is concerned vrith giving and receiving and expending, whereas munificence is 
 concerned simply with expending. Again, charity is concerned with the expen- 
 diture of small and trifling sums, whereas munificence is concerned with great 
 and important sums : as the name itself indicates, munificence is an ' expenditure 
 conspicuous in magnitude.' 
 
 The extent, however, to which munificence may go is not identical in all cases : 
 the same expenditure is not suitable under all circumstances, but such only as is 
 relative to particular exigences. The outlay which is proper to an ordinary Sea 
 Captain is not the same as that which is proper to the Chief of a Eeligious 
 Embassy : it is only when the one or the other has expended what is suitable to 
 the importance of his office — in a befitting manner and upon proper objects, that 
 he is called ' munificent.' On the other hand, a man who expends what is indeed 
 befitting both to himself and to the recipient of his bounty, but an amount that is 
 not great, is not styled munificent at aU, but only charitable, as for example one 
 who says : 
 
 " Oft to a wayfarer alms did I give." 
 
 The munificent man is one who expends vast sums that are suitable to his own 
 position and to that of the persons benefited thereby. Consequently the munifi- 
 cent man is charitable, but the charitable man is not in all cases munificent. 
 
 [The faffing short of this ideal of munificence is called meanness, and the 
 extravagance of it is called ' vulgarity ' and ' want of taste,' and similar terms — 
 states of mind which arise not from their going beyond munificence in extent of 
 suitable expenditure, but from their making expenses upon unworthy objects and 
 
202 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, [Bk. IV. 4. 
 
 in an unworthy manner. We shall have to speak with greater exactness of the 
 vioious states which deviate from the perfect pattern of munificence by-and-by : 
 we must now proceed to treat more definitely of Munificence], 
 
 {p) CONDITIONS TO WHICH THE CONDUCT OF THE MUNIFICENT 
 MAN MUST CONFOEM. 
 
 1. The munificent man may be characterised as a moral artist: 
 
 he is a man capable of taking a true measure of 
 Munificence, as a moral Opportunities ; and so in making a great 
 
 virtue, must ex- . , , , -r j. • j. i i i 
 
 hibit iaoth the in- Outlay, he shows perfect consistency and taste, 
 teraai and external As we explained at starting, the moral attitude 
 a virtuousVctivity. ''^bich a mau's mind assumes is not a fixed or 
 absolute thing, but is coloured and determined 
 by the separate acts out of which it is formed, and by the objects 
 upon which it is exercised. Hence each act of expense which 
 the munificent man makes will be of vast extent and suitable 
 to his own character, and the results achieved will themselves 
 also be correspondingly great and becoming. In this way the 
 expense will be great and commensurable with the result. 
 
 Consequently, the result ought to be worthy of the expense, ' 
 and the expense worthy of the result, or even go beyond it. »' 
 
 2. But the motive which the munificent man will have in view 
 in his expenditure will be the moral ideal: — that is, a condition 
 common to all the forms of moral excellence. 
 
 3. Moreover, he will have a delight in his expenditure. 
 
 4. He will also be ungrudging in his outlay, minute calculation 
 being indicative of a paltry nature. 
 
 5. He will consider how a thing can be effected most nobly 
 and most befittingly, rather than ' at what cost ' or ' how most 
 cheaply.' 
 
 6. He must of course necessarily be liberal, since the liberal 
 man will also spend what he ought to spend and in a fitting 
 manner. 
 
 7. Herein what is characteristic of the munificent man is 
 grandeur — e.g., grandeur of size; though charity is conversant 
 with the same subject matter, the munificent man will, with the 
 same outlay as the charitable man, make the effect of his charity , 
 much more splendid. Of course the excellence of a ' possession ' '!• 
 is not the same as the excellence of a ' result '; a possession is most 
 valued that is worth most — e.g.^ gold ; but a result is most valii|i; 
 when it is grand and noble. The contemplation of a grand 
 achievement leaves an impression of awe ; and such is always? ■;; 
 the effect of munificence. The perfection of a work, therefore," ' 
 is 'magnificenpe on a grand scale.' 
 
Bk. IV. 5.] Translation. 203 
 
 1. The munificent man, therefore, is, as it were, a moral artist, taMng a view 
 of his surroundings in accordance with reason, and arranging all the details of 
 his action in harmony with the standard of perfect fitness -.liJaB is one who wiU 
 make a great outlay in perfect taste, and as befits his character. The activities 
 which flow from a certaia state exhibit the consequences of that mental state, 
 and for that reason a mental state or ' habit ' is said to be ' defined ' by the 
 activities in which it issues (as was explained in Book II.). Consequently the 
 expenses which the munificent man himself makes are great, and worthy not 
 only of his own character but also of the work upon which they are made, which 
 itself also is great. In this way the expenditure will be worthy of its result, and 
 the result wUl justify the outlay ; or if one must needs exceed the other, the 
 result win be.more splendid than the outlay ; and this is more specially charac- 
 teristic of the munificent man. 
 
 2. But the expenditure which the munificent man makes, will, in the first place, 
 have for its motive the realisation of his moral ideal — that being a condition 
 common to aU the virtues — a motive which all good men must feel in common. 
 
 3. Further he will have pleasure iu giving. 
 
 4. He will also be ungrudging in his munificence, and vriU make no petty 
 economies which would bring him down to the level of the mean man. 
 
 6. In view of his own object he will consider how best and most effectively his 
 work may be attained, and his chief consideration will be on that score. But in 
 regard to the question of cost which may be suitable to that result, and in regard 
 to any feeling that not a whit too much should be expended, but that the result 
 should be attained with the smallest conceivable outlay — he does not consider that 
 as of much account, petty calculations being rather characteristic of meanness. 
 
 6. It is essential also that, as has been shown, the munificent man shall be a 
 charitable mam, though the charitable man is not always munificent. The muni- 
 ficent man expends fitting sums in a fitting manner on fitting occasions (and so 
 far he is the same as the charitable man), but he also spends great sums where 
 great objects are at stake, and that is the special feature in his character which 
 distinguishes him from the charitable man. 
 
 7. Often the munificent man, with an equal outlay, makes a work not the same 
 as that of the charitable man, but one more splendid. For instance, let us say 
 that it is necessary to make a sacred offering : the charitable man will offer some 
 kind of golden vessel, and wiU have precious stones set in it, whereas the munifi- 
 cent man will build a great and beautiful Temple, and will erect statues in it, or, 
 may be, he will build bridges or construct something else that is great and im- 
 posing, with no greater outlay than the charitable man makes. The work of 
 the munificent man is a work in the absolute sense of the term, whereas the 
 work of the charitable man is a possession rather than a work. The excellence 
 of a possession is of course distinct from the excellence of a work. The excel- 
 lence of a possession depends upon its being of the greatest costliness and value ; 
 for instance, gold and precious stones. The excellence of a morh depends upon 
 its being grand, and noble, and imposing, and that it is which is most consonant 
 to the aim of the munificent man. The excellence of a work, in fact, is ' magni- 
 ficence on a grand scale.' 
 
 (c) MUNIFICENCE BELONGS CHIEFLY TO PUBLIC LIFE AND TO 
 GKEAT MEN. 
 
 Now munificence belongs properly to those expenses which we 
 call * costly,' for example, offerings to the gods, 
 erections in their hotiour, and public sacrifices, vince wherein Mn- 
 and to an equal extent to whatever concerns the nificence is dis- 
 whole subject of Eeligion, and such services ren- SordLStcf 
 dered to the State as are objects of laudable sions -where distin- 
 
204 1^^ Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 5. 
 
 guished honour ambition ; where, for example, men think it their 
 Mgion o?1^ the <^«ty to provide a magnificent Chorus, or to furnish 
 State. a ship sumptuously, or to entertain their whole 
 
 city at a feast. In each and all of these occasions 
 the agent and his act are tested by reference to two points — 
 what is his position, and what are his resources ? It is necessary 
 that the expenditure should be worthy of a man's position and 
 resources, and that it should be not only commensurate with the 
 result, but also suitable to the position of the agent. . 
 
 The inference is that a poor man cannot be munificent, since he 
 has no resources whereby he could make a large outlay with 
 graceful effect : the man who attempts it under such circumstances, 
 is a fool. Munificence is beyond the character which the poor 
 man has to sustain, and contrary to what is right : what is Iruly 
 right is relative to a man's own proper position. The persons to 
 whom munificent expenditure is becoming are those who have 
 traditions of the kind already stored up in their own lives, or in the 
 lives of their ancestors, or in the lives of those with whom they are 
 connected, — those, that is, who are nobly-born or illustrious, and 
 have kindred advantages. All such conditions admit of grandeur 
 and dignity. 
 
 The munificent man has these qualifications in the highest 
 degree, and his munificence is chiefly shown in circumstances of 
 this kind, as has been explained, these being occasions of the 
 highest importance and most esteemed. 
 
 Works are nmnifioent which are also costly — for example, offerings made for the 
 sake of Eeligion, the founding of sacrifices aad the erection of temples, services 
 of laudable ambition to the State, the providing of Choruses and the fumishinj 
 , of ships, or giving a feast to a whole city where that is necessary. 
 
 But not only must the results themselves be munificent and the expenditure 
 consistently therewith munificent, but they must be becoming to the author of 
 them, above all things on the score of expense. A poor man cannot be a muDi- 
 fioent one : if he put his hand to great undertakings he will be a fool for attempting 
 what is beyond his duty and the character which he has to sustain. The persons 
 to whom munificence seems most becoming are those who have ofttimes done 
 similar things or whose ancestors have been munificent. 
 
 The greater number of works are devoted to the State or to the service of 
 Religion, these being chief occasions of munificence. 
 
 {d) MUNIFICENCE MAY ALSO BE SHOWN IN PRIVATE LIFE. 
 
 In private life the occasions for munificence are such as occur 
 once for all, for instance a marriage and similar 
 ever, analogous oc- evcnts. Or such as the whole city are interested in, 
 casions even in or where men of high station are concerned— 
 pnvate life. ^j^^ entertainment of strangers, the dispatch of 
 
 Legations, the making of gifts, or the return of gifts. It is not 
 
Bk. iV. 5.] Translation. 20^ 
 
 upon himself that the munificent man spends his wealth, "but 
 upon public interests ; and gifts have a kind of resemblance to . 
 religious offerings. * 
 
 It is also the province of the munificent man to fit up his own 
 house in a style to harmonise with his wealth, that too beiug a 
 kind of proper splendour. 
 
 It is his genius also to spend his wealth by preference upon 
 objects that are permanent, those being the noblest. 
 
 But in each and every occasion he will maintain what is seemly 
 and beautiful : the same objects are not suitable to Gods and to 
 men, in a temple and at a tomb. But in all his expenses every item 
 is 'great' after its kind, and though a thing is absolutely most 
 magnificent, when it is a great expense devoted to a great object, 
 yet a thing is also magnificent relatively to its time and place. 
 
 There is a difference also between greatness in a result and 
 greatness in expense. A very beautiful ball or cup shows muni- 
 ficence in a gift to a child, though the cost thereof be small and 
 no effort of charity. 
 
 For this reason it is part of the munificent man, in whatsoever 
 sphere he act, to act munificently : such a result cannot easily be 
 surpassed, and is worthy of the expenditure. 
 
 Such then is the character of the munificent man. 
 
 But some works are of a private nature — such, tliafc is, as are done once for all 
 — ■vredding-feasts, building of houses and similar things ; though it is more 
 especially characteristic of the munificent man to spend his wealth upon public 
 objects, or upon the servioa of God — certainly not in the very least upon himself. 
 
 It is farther a sign of munificence that a work is abiding and permanent, things 
 of that kind causing admiration and being honourable to their author. 
 
 We ought, however, to seek for what is befitting in works in another fashion, 
 and to consider what are the occasions to which special works are fitting and in 
 character. The works which are becoming to a public object are not the same as 
 those which befit a private object, nor do the same befit a temple as befit a tomb. 
 Consequently the works of the munificent man are great and admirable' when 
 compared with other works of the same class or description. The tombs which 
 he builds are grand, compared with other tombs : his temples grand, compared 
 with other temples ; his bridges grand compared with other bridges ; and similarly 
 in all his undertakings. In truth the munificent man does not simply look to 
 the extent or greatness of work which are fitting to a certain class of work : — it 
 is not the same thing for a work to be great absolutely on the score of expense, 
 and for it to be great when compared with similar works of the same description, 
 but there is a material difference. A very beautiful ball or cup is trifling on 
 the score of expense, yet it is a munificent gift for children, and grand when com- 
 pared with other gifts suited for children. Since, therefore, the grandeur that is 
 relative to a particular category is distinct from the grandeur that depends upon 
 expense, it is necessary for the munificent man to have regard to both aspects, 
 and to act munificently in accordance with the scale of magnificence which is 
 proper to each style of work. If carried out according to this rule, his work wUl 
 be great and admirable and noble, and wiU not easily be surpassed by other work 
 of the same order. 
 
 Such then is the character of the munificent man. 
 
2o6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 6, 
 
 ii. — Contrast between Munificence and its extremes, 
 (a) COMPARISON BETWEEN MUNIFICENCE AND OSTENTATION. 
 
 On the other hand the man who goes beyond these limits and 
 
 is ' vulgarly ostentatious ' falls into excess from 
 
 f^fclre'ofMt! spending his money in violation of what is right, 
 
 ward display which as has been explained. On matters of properly 
 
 displays a magnificence that is 'out of tune' 
 with his surroundings — for instance, if, in feasting his fellow- 
 guildsmen, he were to give a banquet as sumptuous as a wedding- 
 breakfast ; or if, in furnishing a chorus for comedians he were to 
 usher them in in purple robes, on their first appearance on the 
 stage (as the Megarians did). But the vulgar man will have no 
 noble aim in what he does, but will simply try to make an 
 exhibition of his wealth, fancying that by his ostentation he may 
 gain attention ; and where he ought to make a large outlay, he 
 spends but a trifle, and where a trifle would do, he expends a 
 fortune. 
 
 The character which exceeds the due limits of munificence and is ' vidgarly 
 ostentatious ' is that of the man who spends money in excess of what is right, 
 and in an unseemly manner and upon improper objects : — that is the reason why 
 he is said to ' go beyond the munificent man.' In view of trifling objects, of 
 which the expense is trifling, he makes a great and vast outlay, and is anxioas to 
 be thought munificent in contravention of what is proper and of that which 
 befits the spirit of true munificence. For instance, he»feasts his feUow-gmldsmen 
 in the most expensive manner, just as though he were celebrating a wedding ; 
 and in finding a chorus for comedians on their entrance upon the stage, spending 
 money enthusiastically upon them as for an object of common profit ; or again, 
 in the exhibition of comedies, in place of goat's skins, which were the proper 
 coverings upon the stage, to have purple robes, like the Megarians did. In acting 
 thus the vulgar man has not a noble object in view, but simply tries to make an 
 exhibition of his wealth : — he fancies that by such means he will be thought 
 famous, and where there is need of great expenditvu-e, he spends but a trifle, and 
 where there is need of but a trifli n g outlay, he Spends lavishly. 
 
 That is the type of man who goes beyond the due limits of munificence, and is 
 consequently styled ' vulgarly ostentatious.' 
 
 (6) COMPARISON BETWEEN MUNIFICENCE AND MEANNESS. *" 
 
 At the opposite pole is the mean man — one who will fall short 
 in every particular. He is a man who, in making 
 ^ortTo disgi^se a vast outlay, will spoil the whole ^clat of the 
 parsimony under a thing in some trifling detail. He is a man who 
 false magnificence. -^ ^^^^ hesitating in what he has to do, and 
 calculating how he, can spend least, and bemoaning the spending 
 
Bk. IV. 7.] Translation. 207 
 
 of that little, and fancying that he is ever doing more than he 
 
 ought to do. 
 
 • 
 
 Both these dispositions — to spend extravagantly and to spend 
 meanly — are vicious states of mind ; yet they do not of course 
 entail flagrant disgrace, inasmuch as they are not injurious to 
 others, nor particularly unseemly. 
 
 The man wlio falls heloK the ideal of mimificence (and is therefore called the 
 viean man) is defective in every particular. Never having a noble motive in 
 what he spends, he naturally calculates how he may spend the least possible sum, 
 so far as circumstances admit. Ofttimes after spending more than the proper 
 amount, when his work is positively looking to its consummation, in a, spirit of 
 petty economy he leaves it unfinished on the score of some trifling outlay. In 
 every single thing that he does, he is constantly hesitatiug and calculating and 
 fancyitig that he is really spending more than is necessary, and grieving that he 
 has spent much. 
 
 Both these dispositions, meanness and vulgar ostentation, are faulty states, yet 
 they do not entail open shame, because they are not injurious to others nor are 
 so very disgraceful nor unseemly. 
 
 E.— ELEVATION OP SOUL. 
 
 i. — Characteristics of Elevation of Soul. 
 
 (a) SUBJECT-MATTER OF MORAL ELEVATION AND OF ITS OFPOSITES 
 
 DEFINED. 
 
 Now the objects wherein Moral Elevation is displayed, seem, 
 from the very force of the term, to be objects of 
 greatness; but what precisely those objects of f^^^^^^l *''^ 
 greatness are, we must proceed to inquire. In 
 this inquiry it is quite immaterial whether we- take under review 
 the moral state as it is in the abstract, or as it is exemplified in 
 the individual. The man then who has this characteristic cf 
 Moral Elevation seems to be one ' who esteems himself of high 
 worth, and whose life is worthy of his profession.' [If he make 
 this high profession upon insufficient grounds, he is a fool or 
 infatuated person, and can never take rank among those whose 
 lives are conformable to virtue.] 
 
 The man of elevated character, therefore, is what I have 
 described. But if a man be of little worth, and „, . . 
 
 ,. , . . ij- Till ^J! i Three variations of 
 
 estimates hmiseli accordingly, he has selt-respect this ideal : 
 and modestyj but no dignity of soul. Moral (i-) The modest 
 Elevation requires grandeur • of scale for its "^ ' 
 exercise, just as beauty requires greatness of size : small people 
 
■'.!3 
 
 208 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 1. 
 
 may be comely and well-proportioned, but not graceful or beautiful. 
 If, on the other hand, a man does estimate himself as of high 
 
 worth, but without deserving such a character, 
 (2.) The vain- jjg jg yain-glorious — though there are cases where 
 
 a man may estimate himself too highly, without 
 being a vain-glorious man. Again, if a man rates himself less 
 highly than he ought to do, be has but little of moral dignity 
 
 — if, that is, he rates himself below his real 
 (3.) The humble (Jeserts, whatever those deserts may be, whether 
 
 great or moderate or small ; and this would seem 
 to be pre-eminently the case when a man is really of high merit, 
 since what would such an one have done if he had not been of 
 this high worth ? 
 
 In the greatness, therefore, of his estimation of himself, the 
 man who has elevation of soul is at the farthest limit, but from 
 the point of view of real propriety he holds the virtuous ' mean : ' 
 he does but estimate himself at a worth which represents his true 
 character. Other men shoot beyond the mark, or fall short of it. 
 
 Let us now proceed at once to treat of Elevation of Soul. As the very word 
 leaves us to infer, the objects wherein it is displayed are objects of greatness; 
 and we have only to consider what precisely those objects are. It is evidently 
 the same thing to consider Moral Elevation in the abstract or the concrete illus- 
 tration of it : — it is quite immaterial whether we know its mental characteristics 
 per se or the individual in whom they are found. 
 
 The man, then, who has greatness of soul displays his greatness upon grand 
 objects, and grand objects are such as befit his own character : — when, that is, 
 he is in himself a man of high merit, and judges himself to be worthy of high 
 distinction. If he be only of slight worth and estimates himself accordingly, 
 he is not called a man of moral dignity .but of modesty and self-respect. The 
 conditions upon which Moral Elevation depends are greatness of sphere. Compared 
 with the modest man, the man of Moral Elevation bears precisely the same rela- 
 tion that the beautiful man does to the comely man : the beautiful man only 
 exhibits his beauty in conjunction with grandeur of size, and the comely man 
 requires his comeliness to be combined with insignificant stature, and is called 
 ' well proportioned,' but never beautiful. 
 
 The man of moral elevation is, therefore, such as I have indicated. Of the 
 characters which diverge from his ideal in either direction, the man who is 
 extravagant in his self-esteem is vain-glorious, as estimating himself of high 
 worth without deserving it. [However, a man who is worthy of high honour, 
 but estimates himself even more highly, is not in every case vaia-glorious.] On 
 the other hand, the man who falls below a proper self-esteem is a man of abject 
 spirit. He is a man who though deserving of high esteem, values himseU below 
 his deserts, or a man who is worthy of but little esteem and rates himself below 
 that little. He is more entirely of an abject spuit, if he be worthy of high esteem 
 and yet is not conscious of his own proper position : what kind of man would 
 such an one be if in truth he were of but slight or insignificant desert ? Such 
 then are the types of character that deviate in either direction from the man of 
 true elevation of soul. [Of course the man of moral elevation seems to be 'an 
 extreme man,' in so far as he is concerned with great objects ; but in so far as 
 he takes his stand upon a basis of right unswervingly, and seeks neither for what 
 is beyond what is right nor for what is on the hither side of it, he is within ' the 
 mean ' of virtue.] 
 
Bk. IV. 7.] Translation. 209 
 
 {b) HONOUR THE PECULIAR PROVINCE IN WHICiI MORAL ELEVA- 
 TION IS SHOWN. • 
 
 Seeing, then, that the man of moral elevation esteems himself 
 of high value, and is worthy of that esteem, 
 especially where the highest interests are in- ^howsthleieTS 
 volved, there is one thing with which he will be "f his soul in his 
 concerned more than any other. The worth or thegreatestoljecte! 
 esteem in which a man is regarded, has relation and especially 
 to external goods; and of external goods, we '"*'"^' 
 should regard that as the greatest which we attribute to the 
 Gods, and which men in high positions mostly covet, and which 
 is the guerdon to be won in striving for the noblest aims. Such 
 are the conditions of honour, that being the very highest of 
 external goods. Honours, therefore, and disgraces form the 
 province in which the man of moral elevation shows his cha- 
 racter and attains his ideal. It is indeed evidently, without 
 question, honour with which men of this type are concerned. 
 It is honour more than anything else that great men lay claim 
 to as their due, an honour that is relative to their various 
 merits, 
 
 ■ The man of abject mind, on the other hand, is deficient as well 
 when measured by his own standard, as when measured by the 
 standard which the man of moral dignity has before him ; and the 
 vain-glorious man is extravagant in his claims when measured by 
 his merits, though he cannot even claim to surpass that rank in 
 which the man of moral elevation stands. 
 
 Since the man of moral elevation is concerned with external goods, of which 
 he is thought worthy according to his rightful due, he will of course be concerned 
 with either money, or pleasure, or honour. Since, further, he is concerned with 
 the greatest of the goods attainable among men (being, as he is, a man who 
 estimates himself as worthy of the highest of those goods, and indeed deserves 
 them), his special sphere will be the sphere of honour, honour being thought to 
 be the greatest of all human and external goods ; which is the reason why we 
 pay the tribute of honour pre-eminently to the divine. The province therefore in 
 which moral elevation is displayed is honour or dishonour. 
 
 Apart from these considerations, this truth is obvious from a simple enumera- 
 tion of particulars. We see aU men of moral elevation striving, more keenly 
 than for anything else, for the honour that is fitly due to them. 
 
 On the other hand, the man of abject mind is deficient herein, as well when 
 compared with his own standard (since he rates himself below his proper worth) 
 as also when compared with the standard of the man of moral elevation. The 
 vain-glorious man on the contrary is extravagant in his estimate when tried by 
 his own standard, his pride being greater than his merit ; but he does not surpass 
 the high-minded man in loftiness of pride. 
 
2IO The Moral Philosophy, of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 7. 
 
 (c) RELATION OF MOKAL ELEVATION TO THE IDEAL OF PERFECT 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 But since the man of moral elevation is worthy of the highest 
 honours, he must be perfect in character. If the 
 
 towards honour proportionately higher honour, the man who is 
 
 Cs^^ unies'f 'hi^ ' noblest and best ' is worthy of the very highest 
 
 claims were sup- honour. It follows that, for a man to be genuinely 
 
 ported by a life of i noble of soul,' he must have a virtuous character: 
 
 stainless goodness. ' -(.,^1 i . . \, 
 
 and it would seem, in tact, to be characteristic of 
 such an one, that whatever is grand in each single virtue is found 
 in him. It would be utterly inconsistent with a noble character, 
 for example, t6 take to cowardly flight with arms swinging, or to 
 commit an injustice. What motive could a man have that he 
 should do shameful acts, when there is nothing in his eyes higher 
 than his own ideal ? If we look to the conditions of the case, the 
 conception of a man of moral elevation must be admitted to be an 
 utterly absurd one, if elevation of soul does not imply goodness of 
 heart. A man would not in any way be worthy of honour if he 
 were a bad man : honour is the reward of moral excellence, and is 
 paid to none but to the virtuous. 
 
 It seems, then, that elevation of soul is, as it were, a kind of 
 
 lustre or beauty, arising from the possession of 
 In fact, ^ I Moral every form of moral excellence : while it gives to 
 thriusteof^uThe tlie virtues a richer development, apart from the 
 virtues intensified virtues it is itself Unattainable. The inference is, 
 bfnatira™'""^""™" ^hat it is a difficult thing to be in truth a man of 
 
 elevated soul : since, in truth, it is impossible to 
 be so, without possessing the formed character which we call 
 ' gentlemanliness.' 
 
 Now the man of elevated soul deems himself worthy of the highest 
 honours, and has a character that bears out his claim. It is essential, thereforCj 
 that, if a man would have an elevated soul, he should be himself of a noble 
 character and thoroughly virtuous in all his dispositions — brave and just and 
 excellent in every form of virtue. Regarding all things as insigniacant and in 
 no way worthy of himself, and being not deceived in this estimate of himself, 
 but holding a true opinion, what motive could he have to do anything disgraceful 
 or disreputable ? How in fact is it possible that he should do anything of the 
 kind ? — such conduct would be inconsistent with the very conception of moral 
 elevation. If he were a bad man, how could he be worthy of honour ? If he 
 were a bad man, and detected in base courses, and yet thought himself worthy of 
 honour, he would bring himself into ridicule and contempt. Honour is the 
 reward of virtue, and justly is paid to none but to the virtuous. ^ 
 
 The man of elevated soul, therefore, has every form of moral exoeUenoe coW 
 prised in his own character. Elevation of soul is, as it were, a kind of efllorest^ffl 
 
Bk. IV. 8.] Translation. 211 
 
 of all the virtues : it is never found independently of the virtues, and where it is 
 found it makes the virtues grander, richer, and more beautiful, gfiving to them 
 their due relation and judging each to be worthy of wh* ia truth it is. It 
 follows that it is extremely difficult for a man to have an elevated soul, since it 
 is impossible for him to be so apart from every form of moral excelleuoe. Yet to 
 possess every form of moral excellence, and that in the utmost perfection, is 
 extremely difB.cult. 
 
 {d) RELATION OF MORAL ELEVATION TO HONOUKS AND DIGNITIES. 
 
 The peculiar province, therefore, wherein a man shows his 
 moral elevation, is that of honour and of dis- 
 honour. When great honours are conferred upon honourt''^ c^^^ be 
 him by those who are themselves virtuous men, paid to him, and 
 he will feel pleasure, hut not extravagant pleasure, ^'eptThisZerUs 
 considering that he is but meeting with the reward can only be mea- 
 that is his due, or even less than his due. There snred by the loftiest 
 
 ^ 11-11 standara. 
 
 is, indeed, no adequate honour that could possibly 
 be paid to perfect virtue. Notwithstanding, he will of course 
 accept the honour accorded to him, for the reason that those who 
 accord it, have it not in their power to bestow upon him aught 
 that is greater. But as for the honour accorded to him by 
 ordinary people upon trifling occasions, he will altogether ignore 
 it: his merit is not to be measured by such a standard as theirs. 
 In the same spirit he will act in regard to slurs cast upon him : 
 fair or deserved obloquy will never fall to his lot. 
 
 In this special sense, therefore, the objects upon which the man 
 of elevated soul shows his character are honours, 
 as has been explained. But even in relation to ^^'1/%% °J 
 wealth and power, and the alternations of pros- fortiori to all sub- 
 perity and of adversity, he will hold the same °^J°^*" ^'^'*''- 
 equable and self-contained demeanour, whatever 
 may befall him : in prosperity he will not be over-elated, and in 
 adversity his sorrow will not overwhelm him. Even in regard to 
 honour, his attitude is not such as to imply that it is the supreme 
 good. Positions of power or of affluence are desirable only with a 
 view to honour : those at any rate who hold them, wish by means 
 thereof to be honoured. Consequently, when even honour itself 
 is of trifling weight with a man, he will rate all lower aims 
 accordingly. Hence it is that men of moral elevation are thought 
 to be supercilious. 
 
 But prosperous circumstances seem to contribute to the forma- 
 tion of moral elevation in the character. Men of 
 high family, and those who have power or wealth. There are certain 
 axe thought worthy of honour, as being in a ^?:r:th St 
 position of pre-eminence (and whatever exceeds the development of 
 
 p 2 
 
212 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 8. 
 
 moral elevation; in good, is proportionately honoured). Hence, 
 but in all sucii g^^j^ advantages as wealth or birth make the 
 
 cases perfect good- . ° , i j. ■\ • 
 
 ness is a primary elevation 01 a man s character more striking 
 and essential eie- gj-Q^ . a,nd there are those who honour such men 
 simply on these grounds. In strict truth, how- 
 ever, it is only the man of moral worth who deserves to he 
 honoured. But where both these conditions, external advantages 
 and personal excellence, are found combined in a man, he is more 
 deservedly thought worthy of honour. On the other hand, those 
 who possess such advantages, and yet are void of personal good- 
 ness, have no right to rate themselves highly, nor are they 
 properly called men of elevated souls. High worth and a feeling 
 of elevation are impossible, if severed from genuine and perfect 
 goodness. Those who have nothing but wealth or family as their 
 title to esteem, grow to be disdainful and insolent, since it is no 
 easy task to bear with grace and dignity the burden of prosperity. 
 Being incapable of enduring their good fortune, and fancying 
 themselves superior to others, they look with disdain upon their 
 fellows, while they themselves behave as wantonly as they may. 
 They do but caricature the man of real elevation, though they 
 have no resemblance to his character, and only succeed in such 
 details as they may: i.e., though they do not themselves act 
 conformably to virtue as he does, yet they do, like him, look down 
 upon others. It is only the man who has real elevation of soul, 
 who justifies his contempt for others, his opinions being agreeable 
 to truth : other men, according to their own caprice, despise one 
 another. 
 
 The special province, therefore, in which moral elevation is shown, is hononr 
 and dishonour, as has been shown. When great honours aje bestowed upon the 
 high-souled man by eminent men, he feels pleasure in the thought that he is 
 meeting with the tribute that is his due and of which he is worthy, or it may be, 
 with even less than his real deserts. For perfect virtue of course there is no 
 honour that could be paid by men that would be adequate. Notwithstanding, if 
 he feels pleasure, it is only for this reason — that those who offer him honour are 
 doing all that is in then- power, and have no greater honour which they cmiU 
 offer. But as for honour accorded him by ordinary persons, he will absolutely 
 ignore it — particularly if it is accorded for slight reasons ; — for instance, if one 
 were to honour an Achilles because he was well-skilled in playing the harp. In 
 the same spirit he judges of the slurs oast upon him : he measures them by 
 the standard of what is due to him. 
 
 A man shows, then, the elevation of his soul most chiefly, as has been explained, 
 in relation to honours and dishonours. But he is also concerned, by consequence 
 of association, with wealth and power, and with all forms of prosperity or adver- 
 sity ; and in such relations he wiU maintain the same equable moderation and 
 propriety. He will experience no feeling that is unworthy of him in view of any 
 vicissitude in these matters : in prosperity he will not be unduly elated, nor in 
 adversity will he be overwhelmed in sorrow. He will never regard hononr as the 
 greatest good, nor will he comport himself in regard thereto as though it were. 
 
Bk. IV. 8.] Translation. 213 
 
 But if he hold an attitude of indifference in regard to honour, much greater 
 will be his unconcern in regard to wealth and power. Honour is more desirable 
 than power or wealth, wealth and power being only desiJ&ble for the honour 
 which they entail : the wish of those who are possessed of wealth and influence is 
 that they may gain honour by means thereof. If, ^therefore, u, man regards 
 honour as a trifling thing, much more will he despise other things. Hence it is 
 that men of elevated souls are thought to be supercilious, since they regard 
 nothing on earth with real esteem. 
 
 But inasmuch as the gifts of fortune are thought worthy of honour, they 
 too will contribute to the formation of an elevated character. Whatever is pre- 
 eminent on the score of advantages is proportionately worthy of greater honour. 
 But the prosperous man is pre-eminent on the score of goods. Hence prosperous 
 circumstances help to form an elevated character. The prosperous man regards 
 himself as worthy of great honour — on the ground of his good fortune ; and for 
 that reason alone he is honoured by some. In strict truth, however, the only 
 man who is worthy of honour is the man who is noble in his own personal 
 character. StiU, where both personal merit and external advantages are combined 
 in the same person, such an one is thought worthy of greater honour than the 
 man who simply has personal excellence to commend him. On the other hand, 
 a man who is simply a prosperous man, abounding in external goods and having 
 nothing in common with personal merit, such an one does not deserve to be 
 honoured at all, nor can he rightfully lay claim to high distinction, nor is he 
 styled ' a man of moral elevation,' at any rate by the standard of Right Reason. 
 It is impossible for any one to have elevation of soul independently of perfect 
 virtue, as has been already explained. This is the reason why, for the most part, 
 persons in great prosperity are found to be disdainful and insolent : without 
 personal excellence it is no easy task to bear the burden of prosperity with true 
 grace and moderation. Such men as these, beiug incapable of bearing good 
 fortune with propriety, fancy that their prosperity makes them better than their 
 fellows, and are consequently disdainful towards them, though they themselves 
 act in all respects irrationally and as chance suggests : they essay, that is, to copy 
 the man of elevated soul, and yet are utterly unlike him. If the man of real 
 elevation despises others, he is entitled to do so, since what he thinks about 
 himself is always true ; and if, as is the case, he ventures on great undertakings, 
 and is reckless of great risks, he has a virtuous motive in view and is intent upon 
 great results. On the other hand, those whose merit is only in external advan- 
 tages, pay no honour to personal worth, nor wish themselves to excel in virtue ; 
 and though they despise others, and wish their general conduct to resemble the 
 conduct of the high-souled man, so far as in them lies, they fail to make the copy 
 like the original from the fact of their having no personal merit of their own. 
 
 (e) RELATION OF MORAL ELEVATION TO COURAGE. 
 
 The man of moral elevation does not expose himself to trifling 
 risks; nor is he fond of incurring risks at all, 
 since there are few things for which he cares suffi- ?^\ f<«7«\4"X" 
 
 .0 . . IS brave, but he 
 
 ciently. Stul he is willing to face a great crisis ; does not deign to 
 
 and when he does incur peril, he is unsparing of show his braveiy 
 
 his life, knowing that under certain conditions it occasions, 
 is not worth his while to live. 
 
 Again, the man of moral elevation is not constantly running risks : he is not 
 one who incessantly exposes himself to danger, seeing that he does not heed mere 
 casual opportunities, nor rush into peril for any slight or trifling cause. StOl, he 
 is the man to face a great crisis ; and when he hazards himself on behalf of some 
 great gain, or some grand interest, he is not sparing even of his own life, 
 
."I^ 
 
 214 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 8. 
 
 (_/) KBLATION OF MOBAL ELEVATION TO BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 Again, the man of moral elevation is of a disposition to do men 
 service, though he is ashamed to have a service 
 The ii.iya.\6^vxos done to him. To confer a kindness is a mark of 
 girer of Cnties to Superiority : to be the subject of a kindness, of in- 
 others, tut scorns feriority. If then a kindness is done to him, he 
 of favours'hims'eS! 'will rctum it with increase : in this way, the man 
 who did the kindness first will after all be the 
 debtor for a greater kindness, and the person benefited. 
 
 Further, men of elevation are thought to remember those whom, 
 they may have helped, and to forget those who have helped them. 
 If a man has received a favour, he is inferior to the one who has 
 conferred it, but his wish is to be the superior. He has pleasure 
 in hearing of his own good deeds, but it is distasteful to him to 
 be reminded of his own obligations to others. [Hence Homer pic- 
 tures Thetis as silent of her services to Zeus ; and in the famous 
 embassy the Spartans do not remind the Athenians of their services 
 to Athens, but of the benefits which they have themselves experi- 
 enced at their hands.] It is in fact the characteristic -of moral 
 elevation in a man that he has to ask nothing or scarcely anything 
 from others, but himself to render assistance to others heai'tily and 
 readily. 
 
 Again, the man of elevated soul delights to confer benefits upon' others, but 
 feels ashamed to have benefits conferred upon himself, to benefit others being an 
 indication of superiority, to be the recipient of benefits, of inferiority : a mam 
 who has an exalted opinion of himself is pained at an inferior position falling to 
 his lot. If, when a kindness has been shown to him, he chooses to do a kindness 
 in return, he gives more than he has received, in order that he may make the 
 man who commenced the offices of kindness after all a debtor to himself. 
 
 Further, a man of elevated soul seems to wish constantly to bear in mind those 
 who have been kindly treated by him, and to forget those to whom he has him- 
 self been placed under obligation — not from any ingratitude (how indeed oonld 
 that be, seeing that he gives more than he receives?), but because it is more 
 natural to him and more befitting his character to confer a benefit than to receive 
 one. He thinks it worthy, therefore, of his consideration and recollection that 
 he does a kindness, that being noble and suitable to his character ; but he disdains 
 to remember that an obligation was conferred upon him, since he wishes ever to 
 be in a position of superiority. When, therefore, men make mention of kind- 
 nesses, he hears of his own with pleasure, but of those which others have done 
 him with dislike. [Hence it is that in the story of Homer, Thetis does not re- 
 count her services to Zeus, nor make mention before him of the good oflcea she 
 has shown him, but only of the obligations which she has herself received at his 
 hands. Similarly the Spartans wishing to gratify the Athenians, bring into the 
 front the kindnesses which the Athenians have shown to them.] There is this 
 further characteristic of the man of elevated soul, that he does not ask anything, 
 or only with reluctance, from any one, though he himself is ready and willing to 
 assist others wherein they wish for his assistance. 
 
Bk. IV. 8.] Translation. 215 
 
 (^) RELATION OF MOKAL ELEVATION TO THE fJONDHOT AND 
 DEMEANOUR OF SOCIAL LIFE. 
 
 1. Again, tlie man of na oral elevation comports himself with an 
 air of greatness towards those who are in high 
 
 position and prosperous circumstances, and with dSct^fe™ trafts 
 
 moderation towards those who are only moderately which mark the 
 
 well off. It is a difficult thing, and proportion- fXlt^";!;^ 
 
 ately grand, to overtop the mighty, and an easy his fellows and in 
 
 thing to rise above ordinary men; and while there ^^ °™ personal 
 
 ° , . . IT- ,1 • «.!• deportment. 
 
 ]s nothing ignoble in a man s showing on his 
 dignity among the great, it is a vulgar thing to do so among the 
 humble, just as it would be contemptible to show off one's strength 
 against the weak. 
 
 2. Again, he does not intermingle with ordinary occasions of 
 honour, or where others have the ascendancy. 
 
 3. Again, he takes his leisure and is unconcerned except where 
 great honour may be won or a great work achieved. He sets his 
 hand to few enterprises, and such only as are great and famous. 
 
 4. Again, he is necessarily open in his antipathies and open in 
 his preferences : to disguise his feelings of liking or disliking would 
 indicate his being afraid. He cares more for truth than for repu- 
 tation, and so he talks and actsjwithout reserve. He is free of 
 speech because of the contempt he has for men and things. Hence 
 he is a truth-loving man, — except where he gives way to the irony 
 of humour (and he is ironical, in a good-humoured way, towards 
 the world at large). 
 
 5. Again, he cannot live in complaisance with others — unless it 
 be with a friend. Complaisance is a slavish characteristic : hence 
 all flatterers are servile, and all the lowly are flatterers. 
 
 6. Again, he is never fired with admiration, since there is nothing 
 that is great in his eyes. 
 
 7. Again, he never feels malice: it is inconsistent with his 
 character to carry in his heart the memory of a grudge against 
 another, least of all the memory of injuries : rather it is his habit 
 to pass them over. 
 
 8. Again, he is not fond of talking : he will not converse either 
 about his own affairs or about the affairs of his neighbours. It is 
 no concern of his that he should be praised, or that others should 
 be blamed. 
 
 9. Again, he is not lavish of praise ; so neither does he speak 
 evil of others, not even of his enemies, unless it be by way of 
 insult. 
 
2i6 The Moral Phibsophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 8. 
 
 10. Again, in view of the necessary ills of life, and of trifling 
 cares, he is not in the very least disposed to bemoan or deprecate 
 them, since to assume such a demeanour would indicate that he 
 was seriously concerned about them. 
 
 11. Again, his disposition is to acquire for his possessions things 
 grand though unproductive rather than things that are productive 
 and useful : such a disposition being a greater indication of self- 
 sufficiency. 
 
 12. Lastly, the proper carriage for one who is conscious of his 
 greatness must be sedate, his voice deep, and his diction measured. 
 The man who concerns himself about few things is not prone to 
 hurry ; nor is a man vehement if he thinks nothing important. A 
 shrill voice and hasty steps come to a man through care. 
 
 Here we must leave our picture of our ' perfect man who is con- 
 scious of his greatness.' 
 
 1. Again, the man of elevated soul is haughty in dealing with men of high 
 position, inasmuch as he does not regard with awe any kind of external advan- 
 tage, in consequence whereof men in positions of authority claim to be entitled 
 to reverence. On the other hand, towards men of moderate means and station 
 he is courteous and complaisant, inasmuch as men of that class are more self- 
 restrained and modest. Moreover, to overtop men of high consideration is a 
 troublesome effort, and awe-striking to the beholder, and on that account specially 
 befits the high-souled man, whereas it is easy to surpass ordinary men, and there 
 is nothing grand in so doing. There is, again, nothiug ignoble in ' standing on 
 one's dignity ' among eminent personages ; but to do so before those who are of 
 lowly rank is contemptible — just as if a man had made an exhibition of his 
 bodily strength at the expense of weakly people, or of those who were enfeebled 
 by sickness or old age. 
 
 2. Again, he will not go about seeking where he may be honoured : — such 
 conduct would indicate littleness ; nor wiU he be willing on any occasion what- 
 ever to be present where othei-s take the lead, lest he should obtain only second 
 honours, though worthy of the highest. 
 
 3. Again, he is not eager for action, but leisurely and unoonoemed. What he 
 is ever striving for is to take part in great enterprises where great issues are 
 involved and whence great honoiu- is to be gained. Such occasions rarely occur ; 
 and therefore there are few things in which he engages, though those in which 
 he does engage are great and famous. 
 
 4. Again, he is unreserved in his hatred or in his friendship to those whom he 
 regards as his friends or foes. He knows unfailingly that his feelings of liking 
 or of aversion are conformable to right, and he does not dread the disapproval 
 with which the world at large views his conduct. He is more ooncemed about 
 truth and propriety than about his own reputation ; and therefore it is that he 
 is open in his friendships and open in his antipathies, and whatever he says he 
 says openly, and whatever he does he does openly, owing to the disdain which 
 he feels, as has been explained, for the opinion which the world has of him. 
 Consequently he is bluntly self-assertive, and invariably speaks the truth (except 
 when, perchance, he is humorously ironical with the common herd) ; and with 
 them he says but little about himself, from not wishing to receive honour from 
 common people. 
 
 5. Again, he lives and has intercourse, not with chance compamons, but with 
 Jus own friends. To associate with one who is not a friend, and to give him a 
 
Bk. IV. 9.] Translation. 217 
 
 share of one's table and of one's honse, is not the sign of moral elevation, but of 
 a servile and obseqnious nature. The obsequious are lowly, and, contrariwise, 
 aU who are lowly are obsequious. H 
 
 6. Again, he is not &ed with admiration, nor enthusiastic overmuch about* 
 ordinai-y things, since personally he considers nothing grand. 
 
 7. Again, he bears no malice nor ill-wiU : even the injury done to him by his 
 enemies he considers a triBing matter, and as nowise calculated to mar his 
 dignity, owing to the pre-eminence of his own excellence ; especially as to cherish 
 a feeling of iU-wiU, and to take account of things that are past, particularly of 
 iU-deeds, is a sign of no elevated nature : — the man of true elevation pushes 
 them out of sight. If he deigns not at all to make mention of the services 
 which have been rendered to him (as has been explained above,) because there is 
 nothing great in that, and it is but his due that services should be rendered to 
 him, with mucb greater reason will he refuse to mention or to bear in mind the 
 insults which he has received from his fellows. 
 
 8. Again, he does not endure to recount the exploits either of others or of 
 himself. He has no interest in the praises bestowed either upon himself or upon 
 others ; nor yet does he concern himself that others should be blamed. 
 
 9. Again, as he is not lavish of praises, so neither does he speak evil of others : 
 not even does he assail the character of his foes, except in their presence (since 
 it is inconsistent with a magnanimous nature to put insult upon the absent). 
 
 10. Again, in view of the ills of life which are inevitable or triBing, he is 
 not eager to deprecate them nor to bemoan them, if he stand in need of aught. 
 Begarding nothing as great, and concerning himself about no human interests — 
 how is it possible for him to act thus abjectly ? 
 
 11. Again, esteeming what is beautiful above what is profitable, he regards 
 objects of beauty, though unproductive, as better than those which are productive 
 and useful (when these latter are not beautiful). In this spirit he judges of 
 property, of trees, and of slaves. He wiU not possess such slaves as wiU be 
 jnost profitable, but such as are beautiful and of virtuous life. 
 
 12. Lastly, the gait proper to a man who is conscious of his elevation is 
 Hiought to be a slow one : his voice deep and his diction measured. It is impossi- 
 ble for a man who is concerned only about few things to be anxious and hurried, 
 (the objects about which the world generally is excited being trifling in his eyes) ; 
 nor for a man to be vehement, who regards nothing as great. The people who 
 are eager, and who talk loudly, are those who have fluttered themselves about 
 something and entertain a deep anxiety about it. 
 
 Such is the picture which ' the perfect man, conscious of the elevation of his 
 soul,' presents in the world. 
 
 ii. — Deviations from the ideal of Moral Elevation. 
 
 The man who has the opposite defect of these qualities is '■ the 
 little-minded man,' while he who falls into 
 excess is a braffeart. But neither of these ex- "^^ extremes of 
 tremes seem to be vicious men: they are not 
 actively injurious to others, but only misguided and in error. 
 
 The man who is defective in moral elevation is a little-minded man, while the 
 man who has an extravagant sense of it is a braggart. Yet neither the one nor 
 the other is, strictly speaking, vicious : they are not actively injiuious to society 
 but simply misguided and in error, — so far, that is, as they diverge from what is 
 fitting and the perfect ideal. 
 
2 1 8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, IV. 9. 
 
 (a) CONTRAST BETWEEN MORAL ELEVATION AND SELF-ABASEMENT. 
 
 The man who ahases himself when deserving of great position, 
 voluntarily deprives himself of the good things 
 Humility argues of which he is Worthy, and seems further to have' 
 orTense^of demerit, some defect in his character, from the fact of his 
 not laying claim to his proper goods, and in fact 
 ignoring his own merits : — surely if he had been conscious of 
 merit, he would have striven to attain the honour due to it, honour 
 being confessedly a, good thing. 
 
 Nevertheless, men of this stamp seem not to be so much 
 dullards as diffidently indolent; still their self- 
 Self ^^ \endmg abasement seems to make their characters morally 
 consciously to lower worse. Men make the aim of their moral ideal to 
 t e mora i ea . correspond with their own worth ; but humble- 
 minded men, having a low ideal and a low aim of life, abstain from 
 noble achievements, and from noble pursuits from a sense of their 
 own unworthiness ; and for the same reason forego also the ex- 
 ternal advantages which are due to merit. 
 
 The man who abases himself, when deserving high dignity, is unconscions of 
 his own merit, and hence deprives himself of that of which he is truly worthy ; 
 and in this respect he is injurious to his own self, since he fails to do himself 
 good in consequence of his heing ignorant of what properly belongs to himself. 
 If he had known his own worth, he would have striven to realize the advantages 
 due to it. Such a man, however, is not to be called a fool, but rather a duUard. 
 
 But this is not the only respect in which the man who abases himself, injm-ea 
 himself : there is another aspect of the case. In consequence of his ignorance of 
 himself, he becomes positively deteriorated in character. He stands aloof from 
 virtuous and ennobling achievements, and from grand enterprises, on the plea of 
 humility, as being unworthy to take part therein. In the same spirit he foregoes 
 the external advantages which would fall to him, on the plea that he regard? 
 such things as beyond his merit to accept. 
 
 (i) CONTRAST BETWEEN MORAL ELEVATION AND SELF-CONCEIT. 
 
 Self-conceited men, on the other hand, are fools as well as 
 ignorant of their own selves ; and that manifestly. 
 "*ompTd cTr! A.S though they were men of worth they set their 
 cumstance ' of hands to famous enterprises, and are in the issue 
 tTmLttwS P^o^ed to be incapable of achieving them. They 
 might give honour are men who deck themselves in fine raiment, and 
 reality and mean- ^^gg ^ pompous manner, and exhibit all the airs of 
 a false magnificence, anxious that all the prosper- 
 ous turns of their life should be known of all men, and constantly 
 speaking of them, ascribing them to themselves in the hope that 
 by such means they may receive the honours which they covet. , 
 
Bk, IV. 10.] Translation. 219 
 
 The seU-oonoeited man, on' the other hand, foolish as well as ignorant of him- 
 self, applies himself to enterprises which are beyond his qualifications to accom- 
 plish. Not having it in his power to deck himself with virljie, he plumes himself 
 upon his' fine apparel and pompous manner and the splendour of his surroundings. 
 Fancying himself a man of importance by these means, he wishes to be thought 
 u. prosperous and fortunate man ; and endeavours to mate the incidents of his 
 prosperity known unto all men, and he is constantly talking about his success, 
 with the idea that by such means he may gain the honour which he covets. 
 
 (c) CONTRAST BETWEEN SELF-ABASEMENT AND SELF-CONCEIT. 
 
 The opposite of Moral Elevation is Self-abasement rather than 
 Self-conceit ; it is the more prevalent fault and is worse in itself. 
 
 Now although self-abasement and self-conceit are both of them opposed to 
 Moral Elevation, the opposition is greatest between Self-abasement and Moral 
 Elevation, siuce self-abasement is more constantly found and is, in itself, a worse 
 evil. As has been shown, it makes the character of the man who shows it to 
 deteriorate, and diminishes his personal worth. But self-conceit, though it is an 
 evil in itself, does not make the man who shows it, to be less virtuous in other 
 respects : the self -conceited man,, for all his vanity, does not lose any of the good 
 qualities which he possesses, but at times is the more induced, to satisfy his vanity, 
 to take in hand noble and virtuous enterprises, thinking himself worthy of such 
 a distinguished role. Again, self-conceit wiU. not always, and under all circum- 
 stances, increase : the self-conceited man comes to have a better knowledge of 
 himself by experience — failing to receive the honour which he seeks, as is gene- 
 rally the fact, he is forced to be more sober-minded. Consequently self-conceit 
 is readily cured, and is unable to adhere permanently to a man. Self-abasement 
 on the other hand is constantly growing more inveterate : the character being 
 reduced to a state of deterioration, as has been explained, the spirit and temper 
 becomes humbled ; and the spirit being humbled, the whole character becomes 
 worse and the spirit, through the character, degraded. Thus self-abasement is 
 constantly growing more inveterate, and whatever his experience, the humble 
 man grows to be no better. Easily accomplishing the works he undertakes (works 
 that are trifling and below the level of his capacities), he is unconscious, as it 
 were, of his own proper standard of excellence, and as he seeks an honour which 
 is inferior to his worth, he gives no offence to anyone, and consequently is never 
 reproved for his humility so as to be cured of it, as the self -conceited man is of 
 his vanity. 
 
 ';For these reasons, then, self-abasement is a worse evil than Self-conceit, and 
 is more difiicult to be eradicated. Consequently it is more antagonistic to Moral 
 Elevation than Self-conceit is. 
 
 F.— LOVE OF HONOUR. 
 
 (a) DEFINITION OF THE SUBJECT-MATTER OF LOVE OF HONOUR. 
 
 Now the honour which forms the province of Moral Elevation 
 is, as has been already shown, high honour ; but ^ 
 
 ,, , , ■',, • , ,1 .,1 I'OTe of honour is 
 
 tnere seems to be another virtue connected with relative only to the 
 honour which would appear to hold almost pre- ordinary honours 
 cisety the same relation to Moral Elevation that 
 Charity does to Munificence. Both Charity and Love of Honour 
 
220 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 10. 
 
 are virtues distinct and apart from what is on a grand scale, and 
 have for their province circumstances of ordinary or trifling im- 
 portance, in relation whereto they dispose us to a frame of mind 
 which is lawful and right. 
 
 Now it is (jreat honour wliicli forms, as has been shown, the province of Moral 
 Elevation ; but there is another form of virtue connected with honour, bearing 
 the same relation to Moral Elevation that Charity does to Munificence. Just as 
 Munificence differs from Charity in the range of its extent, though both alike 
 have money for their object, so does Moral Elevation differ from Love of Honour, 
 in that the one is concerned with great honours and the other with smaller 
 honours. 
 
 (5) CONFUSION OF NOMENCLATUEE BETWEEN LOVE OF HONOUR 
 AND ITS EXTKBMBS. 
 
 Just as in the receiving and giving of money there is one state 
 , . ,. of mind which is a perfect balance, and, in antag- 
 
 U.il6 1111C617tnllIl'Ll6S ' ' O 
 
 of nomenclature re- onism thereto, a disposition to exaggerate or to 
 
 fleet the uncertain- fall short of that ideal, SO it is also in regard to 
 
 ties of the point of , , • t ^ i j.i • p i , ■ 
 
 view under which the pursuit 01 honour — there is excess of what is 
 
 ' ambition' may be right, and falling short of it, and the observing of 
 legar e . ^^^ perfect standard, i.e., the seeking of honour 
 
 from rightful sources and in a rightful manner. We blame the 
 ambitious man as one who is straining for honour more eagerly 
 than is right and by means which are not right, and at the sajne 
 time we blame the unambitious man as one who does not aim at 
 having honour done to him, even for noble deeds. Yet there are 
 occasions when we do the very reverse — when we praise the am- 
 bitious man as of a manly and noble spirit, and at the same time 
 praise the unambitious man as being one who is unpretendiilg 
 and self-controlled (as we explained at the outset). 
 
 It is clear then that as the term ' loving such and such a thing' 
 may be predicated in several senses, we do not always apply the 
 epithet ' honour-loving ' to the same objects, but when we use it as 
 a term of praise we apply it to the pursuit of honour which rises 
 above the aims of the many, and when we use it as a term of cen- 
 sure we apply it to an ambition that is absolutely in excess of what 
 is right. Since then the ' middle term ' or normal state has no 
 distinctive name, the extremes both contend for it, as for debate- 1 
 able ground ; but of course there is an absolute mean in whatevCT-l 
 conditions there is excess and defect. ^ 
 
 So then there are men who strive after honour more than is right 
 and less than is right ; and there are times when their ambition is 
 normal and virtuous. The mental attitude at any rate of the man 
 who loves honour rightfully, is praised (though it has no distinctive 
 
Bk. IV. 10.] Translation. 221 
 
 name) as being ' an ideal moderation ' in respect of honour. 
 Compared indeed with self-seeking, love of honour appears to be 
 want of ambition ; and compared with the unambitious spirit it 
 appears to be ambition, and, in a kind of sense, both one and the 
 other seem to change places, according to their different aspects. 
 [This is indeed a tendency which seems to prevail also in regard 
 to the virtues generally.] In this case, however, the extremes 
 seem to be opposed to one another, because the ideal state has not 
 received any distinctive name. 
 
 Just as in regard to tlie receiving and giving of money there is an ideal 'mean ' 
 which may be violated either by excess or defect, so also in the piu-stiit of honour 
 it is open to a man to find the perfect law or to exceed that law or to fall short 
 of it. It is possible for him to aim at honour extravagantly or insufficiently, or 
 again, in accord with what is fitting and right and as Right Reason requires. We 
 censure and we praise men of ttimes in regard to their pursuit of honour : hence 
 it is clear that some men seek after honour in a befitting maimer and others 
 improperly, and of these latter some transgress by excess and others by defect. 
 For instance, we Vlame the ambitious man as one who strives after honour beyond 
 what is right, and we blame also the unambitious man as one who wishes not to 
 receive honour, even on the ground of noble achievements. There are again times 
 when we praise the ambitious man as of noble spirit and a votary of glory, and 
 praise also the unambitious man as one who is unpretending and modest (as we 
 explained at the outset). 
 
 This inconsistency arises from the fact that the extremes have a resemblance 
 to the moan, and that the mean has no distinctive name, and is therefore named 
 from the extremes. There is nothing to prevent the mean state being called 
 either ambition or want of ambition. A man may be said to love honour, as he 
 loves riches, in many senses. The love which he has may be shown in many 
 ways : he may love beyond what is right or below what is right, or according to 
 right itself. Hence the name will have a corresponding uncertainty, and the 
 man who loves a thing (whether it be rightly or wrongly) will be said to love 
 such and such a thing ; and when we praise a man by name as a lover of such 
 and such a thing, we consider that he is pre-eminent in his striving for honour 
 though he exceeds not ' the right,' but only the low standard of the many ; and 
 when we blame the lover of honour, we expressly designate by the term one who 
 exceeds what is right therein. The case stands precisely the same in regard to 
 the man who is unambitious. 
 
 There is, therefore, an ideal • mean ' or fitness in the pursuit of ordinary 
 honour, even though there is no distinctive name for it : wherever there is excess 
 and defect, there must necessarily be a standard of reference or ' a mean ; ' con- 
 sequently since men strive after honour both more and less than is right, the 
 perfect striving must necessarily be that which is practised in accordance with 
 what is right ; and this perfect striving is commended of all. Yet it is a virtue 
 that cannot be characterised by any name of its own. Contrasted with ambition 
 as an extreme it appears to be want of ambition, and contrasted with the want of 
 ambition, ambition. Contrasted with both ambition and the want of it, it appeai-s 
 to be either one or the other, in so far aa it shares the nature of both. [This 
 same fluctuation of meaning occurs in regard to the virtues generally : the mean 
 state, sharing the elements of either extreme, is called by both their names : — in 
 so far as it avoids the one it seems to incline towards the other. But the osoiUa- 
 tion is more constant in regard to ambition, because the ideal state has no 
 distinctive name.] Consequently the extremes do not even seem to be opposed 
 to any kind of ' mean,' but rather to one another : want of ambition seems simply 
 to be opposed to ambition. 
 
22 2 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk.,IV. 11. 
 
 G.— GOOD TEMPEE. 
 
 (pi) DEFINITION OF THE SUBJECT-MATTER OF GOOD TEMPEE. 
 
 Now, good temper is a virtuous attitude of mind in regard to 
 the feelings, — though the ideal state has no 
 in theregiUatioii^f distinctive name of its own, and the extremes are 
 the feeling of almost as Undefined. But we generally apply the 
 ^^®''' epithet ' good-tempered ' to the perfect character, 
 
 though it is a term which inclines rather to suggest a deficiency 
 of indignation (for which again there is no special word in use). 
 
 Excess of temper may be designated as a kind of passionateness. 
 The emotion which it implies is anger, of which the exciting 
 causes are many and various. 
 
 Now good temper is a virtuous attitude of mind in regard to the feelings of 
 anger ; and the state of mind which exaggerates the law of good temper is called 
 passionateness, while the state of mind which falls below the limits of good 
 nature into utter apathy, has no distinctive name. The emotion, however, in the 
 regulation of which good temper consists, is indignation, — an emotion which is 
 roused by many different causes. 
 
 (5) GOOD TEMPER NOT INCOMPATIBLE WITH VIRTUOUS INDIG- 
 NATION. 
 
 Now, the man whose anger is roused only on fitting occasions, 
 
 and against none but proper subjects for resent- 
 
 Anger must he ment, and, moreover, whose anger is shown in a 
 
 limited to such , '. ' j j. f-.r- • i 
 
 occasions and cir- becoming manner and at a fittmg occasion, and 
 cumstances as jg continued Only so long as is right, that man is 
 fines* ^^™ ^' praised. If, therefore, good-tempered indigna- 
 tion of this kind is praised, the man who shows 
 it may be called par excellence ' the good-tempered man' — a 
 term which is intended to denote a man of unrufiJed and nn- 
 perturbable mien — one who is not carried away by momentaiy 
 feeling, but is only wrathful against such persons, and for so 
 long a time as Right Eeason enjoins. But a man of such perfect 
 good temper, seems to err on the side of defect since he is loath 
 to take proper retaliation, but is rather disposed to condone the 
 injuries done him. 
 
 Now the man who never shows his anger except in a proper manner, at the 
 right moment and against those who deserve his resentment, is commended ; and 
 he accordingly is the good-tempered man : — such seems to be the character of 
 one who is unruffled and imperturbable, and is not led away' by momentary 
 feeling, but leads on his own feelings precisely as Right Reason enjoins. Such 
 an one seems to have a tendency rather to the defect, inasmuch as he is reluc- 
 tant to retaliate, and is rather disposed to condone the injuries done him. 
 
Bii. IV. 11.] Translation. 223 
 
 (c) THE ENTIRE ABSENCE OF ' TEMPER ' CENSURABLE. 
 
 Deficiency of temper, on the otlier hand, whatever it be called — 
 whether a species of impassionateness or what 
 not, is censurable. Those whose anger is never The entire absence 
 roused against objects which deserve it, are ^I^^f r^tbri? 
 thought to be fools, as are they also who are t" outrage and in- 
 never incensed as they should be, nor when they L'lJ^nTof adavt 
 should be, nor at things at which they should be. 
 Such an one seems to have no proper feeling nor sense of pain : if 
 he shows no anger, he is thought incapable of self-defence. But 
 to put up with insults laid upon oneself, or to suffer one's relations 
 to be insulted, is the callousness of a slave. 
 
 Deficiency of temper, on tlie other hand, is blamed as a fault, whether it be 
 called insensibility or what not. To show no resentment where it is right to be 
 angry, and to overlook insults put upon oneself and one's friends, is utter folly 
 and nothing but the callousness of a slave. 
 
 {d) EXCESS OF TEMPER VIEWED UNDER ITS VARIOUS FORMS. 
 
 But excess of temper is shown under all kinds of aspects. It 
 may be shown against the wrong persons, or at 
 wrong times, or in an intemperate manner, or on Extravagance of 
 too slight provocation, or too implacably. All Mfmeworthy. """' 
 these faults are not of course found combined in 
 the same person : anger could never possibly exist under so many 
 aggravated shapes. Evil has a tendency to destroy itself ; and 
 if it be concentrated and complete, it becomes intolerable. 
 
 There are these separate types of excessive anger : 
 
 1. (a) The passionate, who are easily provoked to anger — 
 against unfitting objects and on unfitting occa- 
 sions, and that to an extravagant degree, and ql^^Wy ^^^censld 
 who, nevertheless, are soon appeased of their and as quickly ap- 
 resentment — and that is the point about them in P^^^"- 
 which they show to best advantage. This change of feeling comes 
 upon them, from the fact that they do not try to check their 
 tempers, but make instant reprisals in the way that they are seen 
 to do, through the impetuosity of their anger, and having done 
 so are calmed again. 
 
 (5) The quick-tempered, who are hasty to an excess, being 
 roused to passion against any cause, and at any object. Hence 
 their name. 
 
 Z. (a) The sulky, who are hard to pacify, and who nourish 
 their anger for a long time; since they keep it suppressed. But 
 
224 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. ii. 
 
 a respite comes on so soon as they have their revenge. Vengeance 
 
 appeases their anger, kindling pleasure in place 
 
 2. The sulky and f ^jj j^ pain. But Until the desire for vengeance 
 
 vengeful who che- . ,. ^ -, ,-, , i i •, ''. , . 
 
 rish anger until IS Satisfied, they have a heavy burden withm: 
 they have had full jnasmuch as their feeling is disguised, no one 
 even tries to soothe them, but for a man ' to chew 
 the cud of his anger ' by himself, requires time. Such people are 
 a sore trouble to themselves, and to their best friends as well. 
 
 (6) The vengeful we call those who are incensed on occasions 
 where they ought not to be, and to an undue degree, and for too 
 long a time, and who are not reconciled without vengeance 
 or punishment. 
 
 But excess of temper is shown under all kinds of aspects. A man falls into 
 excess when he is angry contrary to the proprieties, whether of place, or of time, 
 or of circumstance, or of person, or of his general surroundings. Neverthelesfl, 
 a man who exceeds in one point does not invariably exceed in all : — ^that ig 
 indeed almost impossible. Evil cannot possibly cohere as a system, if there be 
 no element of good under any of its aspects : it destroys its own self, and if it be 
 pure and uncompounded, it becomes insupportable. 
 
 (This particular evil, the abuse of passion, is found under various types :) 
 
 1. (a) The passionate aie quickly roused to anger, and that against men who are 
 unworthy of it. But they are as quickly pacified ; and that is the best point they 
 have about them. They are liable to these sudden impulses and alternations 
 because they do not try to suppress their anger nor to disguise it, but let them- 
 selves be hurried away by feeling, and avenge themselves by the means within 
 then- power then and there. After taking speedy vengeance through the impulse 
 of the moment, they forthwith cease from their anger. 
 
 (i) The quick-tempered are vehement to an excessive degree and enraged at 
 anything and on any occasion : hence the name which they bear, derived from 
 the extremity of their feeling. 
 
 2. (a) The sulky and those who are hard to reconcile, show their anger for a 
 long time. They do not at once make their passion known, but suppress and try 
 to disguise it ; but they only cease from their anger when they have repaid a full 
 requital of evil to those who have distressed them. Vengeance causes pleasure 
 in their hearts, and hence assuages their grief ; but until this is done, they feel a 
 burden within, and carry their resentment about with them. Owing to the fact 
 that they do not make their anger known, they do not meet with sympathy iam. 
 their fellows, nor does any one attempt to soothe them. Hence they suppress 
 their anger until it is melted by its own action upon itself, or mentally ' digested ;' 
 and that is a process which requires time. Men of that sort are wearisome to 
 themselves no less than to their best friends. 
 
 (J) Such men are also called ' vengeful,' since they are incensed where they 
 ought not to be, and on unseasonable occasions, and to an unreasonable extent, 
 and show their anger for a very long time, and are not to be reconciled unless 
 they have requited evil to those who have irritated them. Such men are difficult 
 to Uve with and are a nuisance to their associates. 
 
 (e) DITFICULTIES OF DEFINING ACCUKATELY THE LIMITS OP Tfflt, 
 
 EXTREMES. 
 
 We incline to regard the excess of anger as more widely oppose^ 
 to the virtuous ideal than its defect. Excess is more generally 
 
Bk. IV. 11.] Translation. 225 
 
 prevalent : it is more characteristic of human nature to avenge 
 oneself rather than to forgive. Again, in the ^ 
 
 . , J- TY? -n J. 1 o ' Excess of anger 
 
 intercourse 01 lue, ill-tempered men are wors9 worse than the de- 
 than the easy-going. fe<=t ; ye* i* is ™- 
 
 Ti J. T 7 .1 .1 .1 1 • 1 1 possible to define 
 
 Jout here a truth must be repeated, which has the exact limits of 
 been alreadj' stated on a previous occasion, and either. No system 
 
 ,.1.1. n ,T 1 J.' of rules can antici- 
 
 which IS obvious irom the explanations now p^te the compUca- 
 given of anger : Ethics are not casuistry. It is tio^s of circum- 
 not easy to determine the precise limitations of ^'*'"^^^- 
 anger: — the manner under different circumstances, the persons, 
 the precise occasions, and the proper length of time that anger 
 should be shown ; nor the exact point up to which anger is justly 
 shown, or a man sins through anger. The man who transgresses 
 but slightly, whether on the aide of excess or on the side of defect, 
 is not censured. Sometimes we praise those who are defective in 
 anger and call them ' gentle ' : at other times we call those who 
 give vent to their anger ' manly,' as being able to rule their 
 fellows. It is not easy, therefore, to explain by a formal defini- 
 tion, the extent and the manner to which a man must transgress, 
 in order to be blameable : any decision must depend upon the 
 circumstances of the special case, and upon the Moral Sense taking 
 all those circumstances under review. 
 
 But so much, at any rate, is obvious, that a frame of mind 
 which is equable and in harmony vith its surroundings, is 
 praiseworthy — a state of mind in virtue of which, when we are 
 angry, we are angry only against persons, and on occasions when 
 our anger is right and shown in a proper manner, and justified by 
 all the circumstances. On the other hand, cases of excess or of 
 defect are blameable, though, if the error be only slight, the blame 
 is only slight ; but if the error be serious, then the blame is 
 greater, and if the error be extreme, then the blame is extreme. 
 It is clear then, that the attitude of mind which we ought to hold 
 herein, is the ' mid course ' of a virtuous moderation. 
 
 The consideration of the states of mind concerned with anger 
 may now be dismissed. 
 
 So then tile ideal state of miad in regaud to anger is G-ood-temper ; the excess 
 of the feeling, passionateness ; while the defect of the feeling may be called 
 ilnpassionateneas, or an infatuated stupor. Or insensibility, 
 
 Kow, though both the excess and the defect are opposed to the mean, passion- 
 ateness is more completely opposed thereto than impassionateness is, since (1) it 
 is more generally found (men devoid of passion being a veiy rare class) ; and (2) 
 the passionless man is pleasant to associate with, while the passionate man is a 
 troublesome companion, and his fault the worse on that account, destroying as it 
 does the sweetness and sociableness of human intercourse. 
 
 It is clear, then, tbat a kind of ' mean state ' is the perfect good and virtue in 
 regard to the regulation of anger, and that the states on either side of it of 
 
2 26 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 12. 
 
 excess and defect, are evils. What that ' middle state ' is, has been described 
 
 the curbing of anger except where it may be shown against persons who deserve 
 it, and then shown only in a proper manner and on proper occasions. But what 
 the proper point is at which to curb our anger ; what the occasions are when we 
 shall be only doing what is right to be angry ; what is the fitting time of anger 
 what the place, who the fitting person to show it — these and such lite points it 
 is impossible to define exactly. Considerations of special applioation and par- 
 ticular circumstances are indefinite and indefinable, as was shown at the outset 
 of this Treatise. What is fitting at one time, is not what is fitting at another : 
 the conditions of special circumstances never iemain fixed at one and the same 
 point. The general principle is all that we can lay down, that, in regard to every 
 emotion, the attitude of virtuous moderation is praiseworthy, while states of 
 excess and of defect are blameworthy ; aad those states of mind which deviate 
 only slightly from the mean, not growing to be very conspicuous, are therefore 
 not very much blamed, whereas those states which are very much removed from 
 the virtuous ideal, are very much noticed and strongly censured. Hence it is 
 plain that the attitude of mind which we ought to hold, is the attitude of a 
 virtuous moderation. 
 
 This must satisfy as a description of the moral states concerned with the 
 temper. 
 
 H.— COURTESY. 
 
 (a) COURTESY THE IDEAL OF SOCIAL INTEECODKSE. 
 
 Now in the intercourse of society — in the common life we have 
 „ , ,, to live, in the mutual offices of word and deed 
 
 Courtesy the mean i • i i , ^ ,-, 
 
 state between ser- wnich WO have to render, there are some men 
 viiity and o£fen- who appear obsequious in their courtesies, praisinff 
 
 siveness. , , . , . i , i 
 
 everything where praise may conduce to pleasure, 
 and placing themselves in antagonism to nothing, but fancying 
 it their duty to avoid all possible oiFence to those whom they 
 meet. Others, again, from a standpoint the very opposite of this, 
 are in constant antagonism to everything, and reck not one whit 
 that they are causing pain ; — and who are properly called ' cross- 
 grained ' and '■ quarrelsome.' 
 
 There can be no question but that both the habits of mind 
 Coiirtes is a kind ^^^^ described are reprehensible, and that the 
 of friendliness, but Only attitude which is laudable is one which 
 is devoid of all steers a mid course between these extremes— alt 
 
 emotion ; and is , , . , 3 ^ • ^ •^,^ -, -, , ^ 
 
 strictly defined by attitude wmcn Will lead a man to approve only 
 ' the law of ho- of what is morally right, and to show his appro- 
 
 nour. 1 • . „ . , , '- , 
 
 vai m a proper way, or, if it be necessary, to 
 show his annoyance in the same spirit. No distinctive name 
 has been assigned in Greek to this ' mean state,' but it has a 
 very close resemblance to friendliness : the man who keeps the 
 mid course of virtue herein has precisely that type of character 
 which we mean to describe as ' the considerate friend ' (thougli. 
 the friend combines also an element of affection). There is this 
 
Bk. IV. 12.] Translation. 227 
 
 difference, then, between ' courtesy ' and friendliness : courtesy is 
 devoid of an emotional element and of the feeling of aifection 
 towards those in whose society it is displayed. It is not owing to 
 any affection or aversion that a man has, that he regards the con- 
 duct of others in a proper light, but simply because he has a cer- 
 tain moral nature. He will take the same line of conduct in 
 dealing with those who are unknown as with those who are known, 
 with those who are familiar as with those who are strangers to 
 him — only in every relation he will act in a manner that harmo- 
 nizes with the circumstances : it is not fitting that he should 
 interest himself to the same extent in regard to his own relations 
 as in regard to foreigners ; nor, again, has he the same right to 
 cause them pain. 
 
 But there are other states of mind manifested in the associations which men 
 form one with another, and which depend upon what they say and do therein. 
 In regard, flien, to these associations a man may be praised or blamed, as he 
 comports himself therein. 
 
 The mean state is, of conrse, commendable, and states of excess or defect 
 reprehensible ; and so, in the associations referred to, there is evidently a state 
 of excess and of defect, and a ' mean.' (1) Some men desire never, under any 
 condition, to give pain to those whom they meet, ajid so have a word of praise 
 for everything, and are anxious to seem to give pleasure to everyone, and never 
 to be in opposition to anyone upon any point. (2) Others are diametrically 
 opposed to these and are offensive to everyone and find fault with everything, 
 and nothing that is ever done is satisfactory to them, and they are in antagonism 
 to everyone upon every point. 
 
 Both these extremes are blamed. The man -who is praised is one whose de- 
 meanour therein is consistent vsdth right — who blames what he ought to blame, 
 praises what he ought to praise, and finds satisfaction where it is right for him 
 to be pleased. 
 
 Now the man who showers his praise upon everything is called an obsequious 
 person or a flatterer ; and the man who finds fault with everything, ' cross-grained.' 
 The man who, on the contrary, keeps inviolate the truth of fact in dealing out 
 praise or blame, may be called a candid friend : so far as depends upon himself, 
 his attitude resembles that of friendship. There is, however, no special name 
 for the ideal state in social intercourse : a term must be borrowed from analo- 
 gous associations. The virtuous attitude towards society would be friendship, if 
 it included the idea of affection : it differs from friendship in that it is found 
 apart from personal affection : — i.e., it is not owing to the affection or to the 
 hatred which he has that such a man approves or blames what is said or done, but 
 simply from the motive of realizing his ideal, and because he has acquired a state 
 of mind to love that ideal. In virtue of this moral state of his he holds an 
 attitude of equal impartiality to those who are known, as to those who are un- 
 known to him, towards those who are familiar, as to those who are not. The 
 objects which he praises or which he blames, are invariably what such as he 
 ought to praise or blame ; and his feeling thereto is never greater or less than is 
 right — except that his impartiality is not quite absolute : {.e., where it is his 
 duty to cause pain, he will not be so free in his strictures towards those whom 
 he does not know as towaids those whom he does, nor towards those who are 
 strange to him as to those with whom he is familiar ; and similarly in regard 
 to the pleasure he causes. The same freedom is not fitting toward strangers 
 as towards friends. 
 
 Q 2 
 
2 28 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 12. 
 
 (^) CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF COURTESY. 
 
 The general principle may therefore he assumed that in all his 
 intercourse the courteous man will show a be- 
 The courteous man coming attitude towards all those with whom he 
 SimruuJth mingles. Having 'the noble' and 'the expe- 
 whom he associ- dient ' before him as his standard of reference, 
 H^^' ^l!tL?r,+w he will make it his aim to avoid offence, or to 
 
 can consistently " 
 
 with his allegiance contribute to pleasure, as may best accord there- 
 to the higher laws ^•^.jj_ rpj^g sphere with which he seems to be 
 
 of truth, and jus- t i ■ i /• i i • 
 
 tioe, and honour. conccmed being that ot pleasure and pam atten- 
 dant on social intercourse, wherever it is ignoble 
 or injurious to join in such pleasures, he will show his disappro- 
 bation thereof and deliberately prefer to cause pain. Again, if 
 any matter entail disgrace or shame, and that in no slight degree, 
 or even injury upon the author of it, whereas opposition on his 
 part to such a .course will cause only trifling pain, he will not 
 acquiesce in its adoption, but will show his disapproval of it. 
 Again, he will make his intercourse with men of high position 
 vary from that with ordinary men ; he will mingle on very 
 different terms with men who. are known and with those who 
 are unknown, and so on through all the shades of social grada- 
 tion, he will pay to each what is due to his rank. Though pre- 
 ferring as a matter of principle to contribute to the pleasure of 
 others, and scrupulously careful not to cause them pain, yet he 
 will guide his conduct by the consequences which are involved 
 therein (I mean by considerations of what is noble and expedient), 
 if those consequences in the future outweigh the pleasure or pain 
 of the present. In view of a grand pleasure in the future, he will 
 inflict a slight pain in the present as the price of it. 
 
 Hence it is that, witli his eye fixed always upon what is noble or what is 
 expedient, the good man will cause either pleasure or pain to those with whom 
 he comes into contact, as may accord with his own ideal. 
 
 Now the habit of courtesy is manifested in regard to the pleasures and pains 
 which are found in social intercourse ; and wherever pleasures have no reference 
 to what is morally good, he will not share them with those whom he meets, but 
 will rather show his disgust when he finds others taldng delight therein. With 
 this moral ideal before him, he will prefer to have the appearance, to such people, 
 of being disagreeable rather than pleasant — especially if such a pleasure entail 
 serious disgrace or harm upon the man who indulges in it. He wUl, under those 
 circumstances, prefer to give pain and cause some slight disgrace, and to relieve 
 a man of a greater pain and of a more serious disgrace, rathet than to give him 
 a slight solace by sharing with him his present joy, and aftei-wards to involve 
 him in overwhelming grief. 
 
 Again, he will not mingle on the same footing with ordinary men as with 
 those in high position, but will show to everyone the deference that befits his 
 rank, and throughout the various shades of rank among those whom he meets, 
 
Bk. IV. 13.] Translation. 229 
 
 he -will, for his own part, adapt the method and amount of his intercourse there- 
 to : he will bestow praise upon everything according as may be right, and censure 
 everything upon grounds that may be right, and on occasion^ that may be right. 
 He wHL seek above all things to contribute to the joy of others, and will prefer 
 that for its own sake as a matter of principle, and to cause the very least possible 
 pain, or only moderate pain, and that not for its own sake, but in view of the 
 benefits to be derived therefrom. "When, for instance, he causes pain in view of 
 a great pleasure to foUow, he does but pain gently, taking scrupulous care always 
 to avoid vulgar irritation. 
 
 (c) CONTRAST BETWEEN COURTESY AND ITS EXTREMES. 
 
 Such are the main features in the life of the courteous man, 
 though in Greek there is no one term in which 
 they are all summed up. ^1:1"^ 
 
 But in regard to the case of a man who con- serviKiy and flat- 
 tributes to pleasure, there are two other phases. '^^' 
 If a man make it his aim to be agreeable and has no consideration 
 for aught else, he is obsequious ; but if his courtesy is shown in 
 the hope that some advantage may accrue to himself thereby, in 
 the shape of money or of such things as money will buy, then he 
 is a flatterer. 
 
 On the other hand, the man who is disagreeable to all men is, as 
 has been shown, ' cross-grained ' and quarrelsome. 
 
 These extremes appear to be opposed one to .'^®*^°' of courtesy 
 the other (rather than to the mean), inasmuch as irritability. 
 the ideal has no distinctive name of its own. 
 
 Such then is the character of the man who holds a mid-course of a virtuous 
 moderation in regard to the pleasures and pains which attend social intercourse. 
 But he has not been chara«terised by any special name of his own, though he 
 might be called, in one sense, a friend, on account of the similarity of his attitude 
 to friendship, as has been explained. 
 
 Looking to the states on either side of this ' mean,' the man who goes into 
 excess of com-tesy — if he praises everything and expresses satisfaction at every- 
 thiug, without an ulterior motive, seeking simply to be agreeable, he is called 
 obsequious ; but if his courtesy is shown in the hope of some advantage accruing 
 to him id the shape of money or of what money can buy, he is a flatterer. 
 
 Dn the other hand, the man who falls short of courtesy, is called ' cross-grained ' 
 and ' quarrelsome ' — a man, that is, who is disagreeable to everyone and finds 
 fault with everything. 
 
 But inasmuch as in the case of courtesy as elsewhere, the ideal state has no 
 distinctive name, the extremes do not seem to be opposed to any kind of ' mean,' 
 but simply to one another. 
 
 I.— SINCEEITY. 
 
 (a) SUBJECT-MATTER OF SINCERITY AND OF ITS EXTREMES DEFINED. 
 
 There is a mean state in regard to exaggeration which has 
 almost the same sphere of action as courtesy; and, like courtesy. 
 
230 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 13. 
 
 it has in Greek no distinctive name. But it is not on that ac- 
 count less important to describe the virtues of 
 ofriimlnmnTCTs? *^^® class : by detailing the conditions which 
 attach to each phase of character we shall the 
 better understand the nature of morality, and be the more con- 
 vinced that the ' virtues are mean states ' by seeing how, under 
 all connections, ' the law of the mean ' applies to all the virtues 
 alike. 
 
 Now, in dealing with the life which men pass in common, the 
 description which has been already given of courtesy, describes 
 social intercourse as it tends to pleasure or pain : we have now to 
 treat of the sincerity or insincerity, the straightforwardness or the 
 want of it, which men show in the words they use, the demeanour 
 they adopt, the professions they make one towards another. 
 It is thought, then, that ' the boastful man ' is one who lays 
 claim to distinctions which do not belong to him, 
 Sincerity the mean or one who claims distinctions in excess of what 
 nesland diffidence.' belongs to him. On the other hand, ' the diffident 
 man' seems to repudiate the good qualities he 
 really has, or to depreciate them. Midway between these two 
 extremes is the ideal character — that of the man who is straight- 
 forward and sincere, honest in life and truthful of speech, one 
 who simply acknowledges the facts as they are about himself 
 without either exaggerating or underrating them. 
 
 But it is possible to act in each of these several ways either 
 with an ulterior motive or not. Unless there be some special 
 motive to influence a man's conduct on a particular occasion, the 
 words he uses, the things he does, and the way of life he adopts 
 will follow the general bent of his character. Viewed in itself, 
 and apart from such a special motive, falsehood is evil and 
 reprehensible, truth noble and commendable; and so the man 
 whose character it is to speak the truth (avoiding unswervingly 
 all extremes) is worthy of esteem ; while those who deviate from 
 truth in either direction, and particularly those who are boastful 
 and exaggerate, are deserving of censure. 
 
 In the sphere of those associations which men form, and the intercourse they 
 haye one with another, there are still other habits of mind displayed. The 
 social relations into which men are thrown with one another are twofold : such 
 relations arise either in reference to the words and actions of those whom they 
 meet, or in reference to their own individual dealings with others. In regard to 
 the first of these relations the moral dispositions which arise have been already 
 detailed : in regard to the latter class of relations there are other dispositions 
 which we will now discuss. 
 
 Now when a man speaks of himself and of his own actions, he states what is 
 either true or untrue. If he says what is untrue, he either says what is in excess 
 of the truth, or what is below the truth. If, however, he speaks truly, and says 
 
Bk, IV. 13.] Translation. 231 
 
 what is neither an exaggeration nor an understatement of the facts, the habit of 
 mind corresponding thereto is called truthfulness, and the man who possesses it is 
 called truthful. • 
 
 Understatement and exaggeration are practised, lite all other habits of the 
 same type, in certain cases for a special purpose, e.g. to gain glory or wealth, or 
 some other advantage. They are also found in other cases where no such motive 
 exists. Some men say of themselves less than their merits entitle them to say, 
 and others again say more, not because they are wishful to have a certain reputa- 
 tion, but because they are ignorant of their own selves ; this, however, is a phase 
 of character which very seldom occurs. For the most part, where a man has no 
 special motive for doing or saying what he does, then it is the general bent of 
 his character which determines the colour of his words and actions, and indeed 
 of the whole direction of his life. Since then falsehood is in itself reprehensible, 
 while truth is commendable, the state of mind which keeps inviolate the ideal 
 in this case also, is that which is worthy of esteem, and that is truthfulness, while 
 the states of mind which exaggerate or fall short of that ideal are reprehensible, 
 and they are forms of falsehood ; exaggeration being in excess of the truth, 
 ' reserve ' being an understatement or defect of the truth. 
 
 (b) CHARACTERISTICS OF THE SINCERE MAN. 
 
 We will now proceed to speak of each of these characters 
 separately; and first, of the sincere or truthful „. ., ^, 
 
 >- •! ' ' Sincerity the ex- 
 
 man, pression in life of 
 
 Now in speaking of the ' sincere man ' I am »» upright and 
 
 , t> • I 1 ij__Li^TT- truthful character. 
 
 not reierring to one who speaks truthiully in 
 regard to matters of compact, nor in regard to matters which fall 
 within the sphere of Injustice or Justice (such questions belonging 
 to a different form of moral excellence), but rather of the man 
 who is truthful both in word and deed where no material interest 
 is involved, and is truthful simply from having a moral nature 
 which impels him to the true ; and such an one would seem to 
 be an honest man. One who loves the truth, and speaks the 
 truth even on points of immaterial importance, will even more 
 surely speak the truth in questions which are material ; since he 
 has grown to have a horror of falsehood per se, he will have 
 the same horror of it as a thing practically disgraceful. Such a 
 character is worthy of all esteem. 
 
 In relation to the extremes, the sincere man inclines rather to 
 say what is below than what is beyond the truth, because such a 
 reticence is more in harmony with his character, as is obvious, 
 exaggerations being specially repulsive to him. 
 
 We win now treat of each of these characters separately, and first of the ideal 
 or standard by which the extremes must be regarded : — i.e. of the sincere man. 
 
 Now the sincere man is not identical with the man who speaks the truth in 
 matters relating to agreements and similar questions which come under the 
 sphere of Justice or of Injustice (such points forming the province of another and 
 separate virtue), but he is a man who, apart from any sanction of law or of 
 justice, and apart from any urgency of social good, is truthful of speech and 
 consistent in life, simply because he has a moral nature disposing him to 
 
232 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 13. 
 
 sincerity, and is actuated by the very noblest of motives. He is a man who in 
 all that he says about himself wishes to appear in the eyes of others precisely in 
 the character that in reality he bears. Such an one will of course be an honeet 
 man. When men are truthful even in matters where there is no compulsion to 
 be so, much more will they be true where they are bound to speak the truth in 
 view of the good of society. If a man has a religious horror of falsehood per te, 
 because it is an evil, surely he will avoid it by all means in his power when it 
 entails positive disgrace — when, that is, it is not only an evil par te, but is 
 recognised as such by the world at large. Such, then, is the character of the 
 truthful man, and he is worthy of all esteem for guarding himself as he does 
 from what is evil and disgraceful. 
 
 In relation to the extremes, if it be necessary for him to deviate at all from the 
 strict line of absolute truth, he will incline to the defect, not the excess : an 
 understatement seems to be more in harmony with- his character, exaggerations 
 being always offensive to him. 
 
 (c) CHAEACTEKISTICS OF BOASTFTJLNESS. 
 
 The man who lays claim to qualities superior to what he really 
 
 possesses, without any particular object to serve, 
 
 a different com- has a resemblaiicc to the vicious man — otherwise 
 
 piexiou according }^q would have had no pleasure in falsehood: but 
 
 as it has a special ,. ii- .i , ^ jjj.i -ij 
 
 motive, or is the obviously he IS rather empty-headed than wicked, 
 natural outcome of If on the Other hand he has a purpose to serve, 
 tec ai-acter. ^^^ ^j^^^ purpose be glory or honour, he is not 
 
 so very blameable (considering that it is his disposition to boast) ; 
 yet if that purpose be gain or what is instrumental to gain, his 
 conduct is much more unseemly. 
 
 The boastful man, however, is what he is, not from having a 
 latent power of boasting, but in virtue of the disposition of his 
 own will — i.e., he is boastful in virtue of a certain bent of his 
 own nature, and in consequence of having formed a certain 
 character; precisely in the same way as the liax is, properly 
 speaking, one who takes pleasure in sheer falsehood, though 
 there are also those who lie from the eagerness with which they 
 strive after honour or gain. So, when men boast themselves;, 
 from a motive of ostentation, they lay claim to qualities for which 
 they may be praised or congratulated ; but when their aim is 
 gain, they lay claim to qualities from which advantage might be 
 reaped by their neighbours ; they claim, for instance, to be 
 clever soothsayers or doctors, and their pretensions, when un- 
 founded, are yet of a nature to escape detection. These useful 
 qualities are, therefore, those to which boastful men generally 
 lay claim and upon which they found exaggerated pretensions, 
 since all the advantages which I have named are found thereio. 
 
 The boastful man is one who lays claim to higher qualities than he possesses, 
 and supports his pretensions by word and deed. Now if he has no motive to 
 serve in making these pretensions, he seems to be a feeble fellow — otherwise he 
 
Bk IV. 13.] Translation. 233 
 
 wotdd have no pleasure in falsehood, though obviously he is rather ' empty-headed' 
 than vicious. But if he has an end to gain by hia pretensions, and if that end be 
 glory or honour, the braggart is not so very reprehensible ; W, however, the end 
 he has in view be money, or what amounts to the same thing as money, his 
 conduct is much more unseemly. 
 
 Now boastfulness does not consist in the latent power which the boastful man 
 has : otherwise, if that had been the case, boastfulness would not have been 
 reprehensible — i.«. it would not have belonged to the category of things voluntary 
 and within our own power. Boastfulness depends upon a disposition of theWiU, 
 and consequently it is shameful as well as reprehensible : — i.e. it is a certain 
 state of the moral nature. It is thus in virtue of a certaiu attitude of mind that 
 the boastful man comes to be what he is ; precisely in the same way as the liar 
 who makes the pretences he does, not for the sake of glory or of money, but from 
 sheer love of falsehood in itself. 
 
 Those, however, who boast themselves with a view to glory lay claim to the 
 possession of qualities whence praise accrues or the congratulations of others. 
 Those again who boast themselves with a view to profit lay claim to the possession 
 of qualities which are serviceable to their neighbours- — knowledge, for instance, of 
 medicine, or of soothsaying. There aie men who pretend to be skilful doctors 
 or soothsayers in order tiiat, by being thought serviceable to those who resort to 
 them, they may make a profit of their dupes. 
 
 Such, then, is the character of the boastful man. 
 
 {d") CHAEACTEEISTICS OF SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 
 
 On the other hand, those who disparage themselves by under- 
 stating what they mean, appear to be more 
 winsome and seemly in their moral nature. The Self - depreciation 
 motive which they seem to have in speaking thus delicate and praise- 
 is not a sordid one, but only the avoidance of worthy reticence, 
 what is pompous or self-conceited. What such "fon.^" ^^^ ^ '^'^ *' 
 men are mostly found to deny is their own 
 meritorious deeds, as Socrates used to do. As for those who 
 make an ostentatious claim to merely trifling merits which are 
 seen by all, they only show the affectation of snobs, and are 
 deservedly despised. At times the boastful arrogance of such 
 men peers out as * the pride which apes humility ' or the scant 
 raiment of the Spartans. Extreme self-abasement is as much 
 the cloak of vanity as is extreme boastfulness. However, those 
 who show the diffidence of reserve only to a moderate extent, and 
 depreciate themselves only in regard to things which are not very 
 conspicuous nor plain, are thought to be men of good taste, and 
 to show a graceful refinement. 
 
 But obviously it is the boastful man who is the opposite of the 
 truthful man, since he is more mischievous than the diffident man. 
 
 On the other hand, ' the diffident ' or ' reserved ' man is one who lays claim to 
 less merit than he might. Such a man is of course more delicately-minded than 
 the boastful man. The motive for which he disparages himself is not a sordid 
 one, but because he shrinks from ostentation or pomp and the assumption of 
 grandeur. So then, the man who in self -depreciation repudiates the honom-able 
 
2 34 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 14. 
 
 qualities which belong to him, as Socrates, for instance, used to do, seems to be a 
 man of fine and delicate feeUng. If, however, he repudiates not only great and 
 distinguished qualities but also trifling merits, and pretends not to be able to 
 perform things which it is palpable that he can achieve, — such a man is called 
 an ' affected snob,' and is deserving of contempt. For similar reasons such a man 
 is sometimes called vain-glorious, acting in the spirit which the Spartans showed 
 in the matter of their dress. Self-abasement is as much a sign of vanity as is 
 self -exaltation. When, however, men use this reserve of speech in moderation, 
 they appear only to show good taste — when, that is, they do not show their diffi- 
 dence in matters that are trifling and cheap and perfectly obvious. 
 
 So then the diffident man and the boastful man are both in opposition to 
 the truthful man, but the boastful man is the more viddely opposed of the two. 
 Boasting is a more mischievous evil than diffidence, as is obvious from the reasons 
 given above. 
 
 J.— HUMOUR. 
 (a) SUBJECT-MATTEK OF HUMOUR AND OF ITS OPPOSITES DEFINED. 
 
 But there is an element of rest in the conduct of life, and during 
 
 rest there are pastimes for men which are attended 
 
 hlvr'tS'^o™ ^y amusement; and here, too, as in more serious 
 
 exigencies, and ad- pursuits, intercourse may take a graceful shape, 
 
 rf^a °l edai virtue^ ^^^ ^ "^^'^ ^^^ ^^^ *^^ ^^^^ things which he ought 
 to say in the most perfect manner, or listen to the 
 words of others in the same spirit : (though there will be a differ- 
 ence whether the man is a speaker or listener, and between the 
 character of the audience, whatever it be in either case). 
 
 It is evident that here, too, is a sphere of circumstance in which 
 the ideal of perfect propriety may be violated either by excess or 
 defect. 
 
 Now those who are extravagant in their indulgence of humour 
 are thought frivolous and vulgar people, being as they are eager 
 for frivolity, in season and out of season, and more intent upon ex- 
 citing laughter than on speaking what is becoming, or avoiding 
 pain to the object of their ridicule. 
 
 There are others again who could never of themselves have 
 uttered a joke, and who show irritation against those who do; and 
 they are regarded as morose and soured. 
 
 But since there are times of relaxation and rest in human Ufe, and in snch 
 times of relaxation there is a kind of pastime which goes hand in hand with 
 diversion, there seems to be, here as elsewhere, a mode of intercourse which is at 
 once graceful and virtuous, and it is possible for a man who requires such relax- 
 ation to say just the things lyhich ought to be said and to say them in the most 
 graceful manner, and in the same spirit to be a listener only when the subject is 
 decorous and the manner in which it is said and the occasion of saying it are 
 equally appropriate (though there is a difference between listening to things and 
 sayiug them, whatever the character of the things said be in either case). 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that in this kind of intercourse (as in that which is 
 
Bk. IV. 14.] Translation, 235 
 
 more serious,) there is one state of mind which is an extravagance, another which 
 is a deficiency, and, between the two, the perfect mean of virtue. 
 
 Now the extravagance of humour is called buffoonery, ani those who show it, 
 buffoons and vulgar people : such are they who indulge in excess of merriment, 
 and are more anxious to excite laughter than they are to say what is becoming 
 or to avoid paining the object of their ridicule. 
 The defect of humour is moroseness and sourness, and those who show it are 
 ' morose and sour : such men never utter a joke of their own, and are annoyed at 
 and detest those who do. 
 
 {b) CHAEACTBKISTICS OF REAL AND PERFECT HUMOUR. 
 
 Those who exhibit playfulness in good taste are called ' quick- 
 witted,' being as it were lively and versatile. The 
 playful movements of their wit seem to be move- M"^adrtatim*''of 
 ments of the character ; and just as the nature of wit to the phases 
 bodies is indicated by their movements, so is it ™gj,^acter^**"°^^ 
 with the character. As, however, the sphere of 
 merriment covers the very surface of society, and the mass of 
 men delight in playfulness and the making of jests to an extent 
 beyond what is right, frivolous people are also styled 'quick- 
 witted ' as being amusing and pleasant to their companions ; 
 though from what has been already said, it is clear that there is a 
 difference, and that no slight difference, between the two. 
 
 A further trait, characteristic of perfect humour, is that of tact 
 or cleverness ; and the man of tact and 'cleverness 
 is known by his making only such remarks him- ^^^* ^'"^combiTed 
 self, or listening to them in others, as befits the with gentlemanly 
 character of a considerate and right-minded iBstincta, essential 
 
 ,1 „, ° . 1 . to perfect humour. 
 
 gentleman. There are, 01 course, certain thmgs 
 which it is consistent for a gentleman to say himself, or to listen 
 to in others, in the way of fun, and the fun of a gentleman is a 
 very different thing from that of a clown, as, again, the fun of an 
 educated man is from that of an illiterate boor. This is a truth 
 which we may see illustrated in the comedies of the Old School 
 as contrasted with those of the New. In the Old Comedy wit 
 meant scurrility and obscenity : in the New Comedy it means 
 innuendo. These points make no slight difference in view of what 
 is decorous. 
 
 May we, then, define the man who makes a display of perfect 
 humour by such limitations as that of his ' saying only what 
 becomes a gentleman ? ' or by the condition of ' his avoiding 
 giving pain to his hearers ? ' [or by the terms of ' his giving them 
 pleasure ? ' — Is not such a limitation too vague, seeing that the 
 idea of what is hateful or agreeable differs with different tempera- 
 ments ?] 
 
236 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. U. 
 
 But the character of what he himself says will determine also 
 the character of the things to which he will listen, since a man 
 seems himself to do what he endures to hear from others. Cer- 
 tainly there are things which he will not do : there are certain 
 modes of scoffing which are of the nature of insult, and there are 
 certain modes of insult which lawgivers forbid men to employ. 
 [Still there are perchance sallies of humour which he is con- 
 strained to make.] The man then who is courteous and high- 
 minded will comport himself throughout as though he were ' a 
 law to himself.' 
 
 Such, then, is the ideal character therein, whether the name 
 given to him be ' a man of tact ' or of social versatility. 
 
 The ideal state is playfiibiess or politeness, and tliose who. show it are those 
 who are polite. Their politeness is, as it were, a kind of quiok-wittedness, the 
 shifting phases of their character seeming to be like the movements of the body ; 
 and such is the aspect of those who disport themselves in good taste, and show 
 their humour in a proper manner and on proper occasions. Just as physical 
 movements show the character of bodies (e.^., movement upwards indicating fire 
 and whatever is light, movement towards a centre indicating a heavy substance, 
 and similarly in regard to bodies generally), so also from the outward movements 
 of men that are obvious to aU, the mental dispositions of the soul and the phases 
 of the character are made manifest. 
 
 Now since souied men are very rarely found, and the mass of men delight in 
 amusement and jokes, what is amusing is thought a good rather than what is 
 solemn. Consequently buffoons ai'e called ' quick-witted ' as being amusing and 
 pleasant. But from what has been said it is obvious that buffoons differ not 
 inconsiderably from those who are really quick-witted and humorous. 
 
 Men of this class who are quick-witted are also men of tact, and the quality 
 they show may fairly be called ■' tact.' It marks the man of tact to say himself, 
 and to listen to others saying, only such things as befit the character of a virtuous 
 and high-minded gentleman. There are certain things which specially befit a 
 gentleman to say and to listen to in the way of amusement. The pleasantries 
 of the gentleman are a different thing from those of the vulgar, and those of the 
 educated man are distinct from those of the uneducated. This difference may be 
 niustrated from the Old and New Comedies. There are some comedians who 
 represent low and vulgar life, and fancy that what is shameful is amusing and 
 agreeable ; and there are others who represent clever, virtuous, and gentlemanlike 
 characters, and use innuendo. These various phases differ in no slight degree in 
 respect of seemliness. 
 
 Whom, then, do we recognize as the ideal character in the amusements of life ? 
 Is he not the man who \ okes cleverly, and who shows himself a gentleman in the best 
 sense — one who is not offensive to his hearers, and is positively pleasing and agree- 
 able ? That may be our definition of the ideal in respect of social amusements. 
 
 This definition, however, seems in a way to be indefinite. The feelings of hate 
 are not always entertained towards the same objects, nor do all men have 
 pleasure in the same objects : one thing appears pleasant to one man, and 
 another to another, and different things are painful to different persons. But 
 what a man delights in, that it is about which he talks, and that it is which he 
 does in his intercourse vidth his fellows. He utters himself such jests as he 
 endures to hear from others. For there are some things which hewiU never say: 
 there are certain taunts which lawgivers restrain men from employing. The 
 joke is of the nature of a taunt. Inasmuch then as the^ objects which we hate, 
 or in which we find pleasure are undefined and undefinable, it is consequently 
 difficult to fix with scientific precision the nature of the ideal chaiacta' in social 
 
Bk. IV. 14.] Translation. ^2,7 
 
 amusements. The man wlio is high-minded and courteous will tehave as though 
 he were ' a law to Mmaelf .' 
 
 Such, then is the character of the ideal character hereii^ whether the name 
 given to him he ' quick-witted,' or ' full of tact.' 
 
 (c) CHAEACTERISTTCS OF BUFFOONERY. 
 
 Oa the other hand, the buifoon is the slave of his own merri- 
 ment. He cannot refrain from deriding either 
 himself or others, if only he can raise a laugh, dulgeshiswitirre- 
 though he say things which a courteous man spectiveiy of ail 
 would under no circumstances say himself, and ™'*^*ions. 
 even some things which such a man would not suffer others to say 
 in his presence. 
 
 The buffoon, on the other hand, in the craving he feels for merriment abstains 
 from no single opportunity of saying or doiag aught that would provoke laughter, 
 and therein he spares neither himself nor those who listen to him. In order 
 simply to excite amusement he shames himself and his hearers by saying and 
 doing things which a courteous man would on no terms say and do ; and some- 
 times things which he would never endure to hear. 
 
 {d) CHARACTERISTICS OF THE BOOR. 
 
 The boor, again, is a man useless on all occasions of social re- 
 laxation. Never contributing any amusement out 
 of his own fund, he is surly to everybody else who ^^^ ^PPl, ^^ ""« 
 
 1 __,.'. / , ^1 who dislikes the 
 
 does. Yet relaxation and amusement seem to be sunnier side of life, 
 essential elements in the conduct of life. 
 
 The boor, again, is a man useless on aU occasions of social relaxation. He is 
 iaeither agreeable himself and he loathes those who are differently disposed. Such 
 a character is censurable, inasmuch as relaxation and amusement are essential, 
 ia view of the conditions of human life. 
 
 (e) REVIEW OF THE VIRTUES MANIFESTED IN SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
 
 There are, then, the three excellences which have been described 
 shown in the intercourse of life, and they all have relation to the 
 mingling of mind with mind in conversation or in business. The 
 points upon which they differ are that one has regard to simple 
 truth, the other two are concerned with what is agreeable. Of 
 these latter, the one excellence is shown in times of gaiety, and the 
 other in the social gatherings which take place in the general con- 
 duct of life. 
 
 There are then three forms of excellence shown in life in the intercourse 
 which men have one with another. One form of excellence finds its sphere in 
 Truth, having for its extremes on either side flattery and reserve ; and two other 
 excellences find a province in the Agreeable, of which one is what is called 
 
238 Tlie Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IV. 15. 
 
 courtesy, having for its extremes on either side, flattery and peevishness, and the 
 other is versatility and tact, of which the extremes are buffoonery on the one 
 side, and sourness and boorishness on the other : for of course both the courteous 
 and the versatile man cause a certain amount of pleasure in life. 
 
 K.— SENSE OF SHAME. 
 
 KEASONS WHY A SENSE OF SHAME IS ONLY A Q JT-^iSJ-VIETDE. 
 
 It is improper to speak of the sense of shame as though it were 
 one of the virtues. It has a nearer resemblance 
 only aquasi-virtiie^ to an emotion than to a permanent state of mind, 
 it is rather physi- The definition, at any rate, which is given of it, 
 ca an mora . -^ ^^^^ ^j. ^^ ^^ Certain apprehension of dishonour.' 
 
 The results which it produces are very nearly akin to a sense of 
 fear in presence of dangers : those who are affected with shame 
 turn red, just as men turn pale when in fear of death. It is evi- 
 dent, therefore, that both these states are physical conditions; 
 which seems to be characteristic of a passing emotion, rather than 
 of a confirmed habit. 
 
 Again, this is aa emotion which is not suitable to all times of 
 , , . life, but only to the period of youth. We con- 
 properiypredicated sider- it the duty of those who are young to 
 only of the young, be modest and bashful, owing to the constant 
 doubtful compli- faults they commit, living as they do the life of 
 ment to pay even emotion and Under its control, and, on the other 
 ^^' hand, owning the restraint of shame. 
 
 Again, while we praise the young when they are bashful, no 
 one would ever eulogise an old man on the ground of his being 
 shamefaced : we think it the duty of an old man never to da 
 anything on the score of which shame might arise. Shame is 
 indeed no element in the life of an honest man, seeing that it is 
 only occasioned by what is evil, and evil deeds he must never 
 commit. As for some things being disgraceful per se in their 
 veritable nature, while other things are only 'disgraceful conven- 
 tionally, the difference is immaterial : we ought never to do a 
 disgraceful deed of any kind, so that for neither ought we ever 
 to feel shame. It marks a depraved nature to be of such a dis- 
 position as ever to do an act that is disgraceful. 
 
 Again, for a man to have such a disposition, as that he would 
 
 feel shame if he mere to do aught disgraceful, and 
 
 At best it is a hy- on that account to fancy himself a virtuous man 
 
 f^Sctnoe is'beuer -^^^^ ^ ^n absurd idea :^shame only arises at 
 
 than repentance Voluntary acts, and the virtuous man will never 
 
Bk. IV. 15.] Translation. 
 
 239 
 
 of his own accord do vicious acts. At best, shame (though if & man 
 would only be conditionally a good thing: — sms, it is better to 
 i.e. if a man were to do so and so, he would feel* 
 shame ; but that is not a condition which applies to the virtues. 
 
 Again, though shamelessness is an evil, as also the absence of 
 awe in doing shameful things, none the more on that account is 
 it a good that a man who commits evil deeds should feel shame. 
 Even self-control is not a virtue, but only a complex combination 
 of virtue and vice ; but of self-control a discussion will be held 
 in the progress of the work 
 
 We will now treat of Justice. 
 
 Now a sense of Shame is not a virtue. It is not a permanent state of mind, 
 hut only a passing emotion. So much is clear from its definition . it is defined 
 as ' an apprehension of dishonour.' Very nearly the same conditions are found 
 in the man who is ashamed as in the man who is fearful in regard to dangers. 
 The man who is ashamed turns red, just as the man who is afraid of death turns 
 pale. Both these sensations, shame and the fear of what is terrible, are evidently 
 in. a sense pliysical sensations ; and being such they seem to be rather emotions 
 than habits (and indeed they are never called habits). 
 
 Again, the emotion of shame is not suitable to all times of life, but simply to 
 the period of youth. It is right that the young should be modest and bashful on 
 account of the many errors into which they fall. The young commit constant 
 faults, inasmuch as they are influenced by feeling rather than by reason ; and 
 thus, called to order by a sense of shame, they become better. Hence all young 
 men who are modest are commended ; whereas no one would commend an elderly 
 man on the ground that he was shamefaced. An elderly man bught not to 
 commit deeds from which shame might arise. Shame of course is no characteristic 
 of a virtuous man, since it only arises from evil courses. 
 
 Again, though some things are disgraceful in veritable truth and per so, while 
 other things are not so intrinsically but only by repute, it is a man's duty to flee 
 from both alike if he would be virtuous. By thus fleeing from what is shameful, 
 he wUl never experience a sense of shame. 
 
 Again, as for a man fancying that the simple act of feeling shame is in itself 
 a sign of a virtuous character, on the supposition of his doing any sliamef ul act, 
 and fancying that this attitude of mind, itself incidental of evil, is virtuous, — 
 that is absurd. Shame is caused on the consciousness of disgraceful deeds ; but 
 the virtuous man wOl never voluntarily do on any occasion a disgraceful act. 
 
 It is obvious, therefore, that shame is not a form of virtue, but rather an 
 emotion. It is not under all circumstances commendable, nor can it absolutely 
 and in itself be called a virtuous condition, but only conditionally. For example, 
 if it should befall a man to commit a fault, it is right that he should have a sense 
 of shame for his fault. But the virtues do not come under this condition ; they 
 are rather permanent states, inasmuch as they are under all circumstances inherent 
 in the soul. 
 
 Again, though shame seems to be a kind of ' mean ' and is midway between 
 nervousness and shamelessness, and the man who shows shame is praised while 
 censure is given as well to those who are shameless in regard to disgraceful deeds 
 as to those who are more sensitive than is right in reference thereto (whom we 
 call the ' nervous '), shame is not any the more on that account a virtue. Though 
 virtue is a mean state, not every mean state is a virtue : the two terms are not 
 convertible. 
 
 [So neither is Self-control a virtue but a kind of combination of virtue and 
 vice. But an explanation will be given of this in the progress of this work.] 
 
 We win now treat of Justice. 
 
BOOK V.-EXAMINATION OF THE VIRTUES 
 
 {Continued). 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ANALYSIS. 
 
 L.— JUSTICE. 
 
 The examination of the Moral Virtues concludes with Justice, which 
 in one sense comprehends all the others. This subject occupies the 
 whole of the Fifth Book, and is presented under a variety of changing 
 aspects which represent a long vista of theories advanced by previous 
 thinkers. At one time Justice is rightness of life, the perfect and 
 unswerving allegiance of the will to the requirements of the moral law ; 
 at another time it is the fair apportionment of civil honours or social 
 burdens to the proper subjects of them; at another time it is the 
 redressing of wrong, the award of punishment to adjust the inequalities 
 of fraud and crime. 
 
 The method of the Book is less developed than in the other parts of 
 the Treatise. The transitions are less obvious, the repetitions more 
 frequent. The first half of the book seems to be occupied rather with 
 the distinctions of Justice and of Injustice as they are found in common 
 life, and in the public relations of the citizens. The latter half leads 
 rather to questions of casuistry, and to the grounds and origin of 
 Justice. 
 
 The whole book will fall not unnaturally under XV divisions, which 
 rarely cross one another. 
 
 (i.) GENEEAL OONOEPXION OP JUSTICE ATSD INJUSTICE : THEIR DEFINITIOIT 
 
 AND DIVISION. 
 
 There are three main aspects under which Justice may be regarded— 
 as exemplified in the actual conduct of men, as a state of mind leading 
 to conduct, and as an external standard. These three aspects are 
 mutually involved in one another, but are all essential to the conception, 
 as will be seen from a consideration of the Definition and Division of 
 Justice. 
 
 Justice as a virtue must be a formed state of mind or fixed tendency, 
 (c|is), not a mere capacity for doing certain things. A capacity for one 
 thing implies a capacity for another ; but a good tree cannot bring forth 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book V. 241 
 
 evil fruit, and the mental habit of the just man is so fixed, that he 
 cannot do other than just actions. The perfect attitude of morality 
 (f^is irpoaipETiKri) involves also a determination of the mil which again is 
 inseparable from 'wish' or 'desire.' The definition of Justice will, 
 therefore, be ' a formed attitude of the moral nature, in virtue whereof 
 we are capable of performing just actions and actually do so, and have 
 further a personal desire for what is just.' Injustice is the reverse of 
 this — ' a habit which leads men to the commission of what is wrong and 
 to wish for what is wrong.' 
 
 The actions, however, which result from such a state of mind are 
 various. If we take the case of a man who is unjust, we find the term 
 used to denote either a man who is universally vicious, or a law-breaker 
 in the widest -sense, or else a man who is unfair in his dealings — one 
 who is 'unequal' in the apportionment of what lies within his own power 
 to divide between himself and others. We can at once infer what the 
 opposite of the unjust man is : he is either a man whose life fulfils all 
 the requirements of law in their widest sense ; or else, in a more 
 particular sense, is one who takes no advantage of others, but gives to 
 each their due. Justice itself therefore will either be what is lawful or 
 what is proportionate : Injustice what is unlawful or else what is dis- 
 proportionate and unequal. The field in which Injustice of this 
 narrower kind will be displayed, will be that of the external goods 
 of hfe. The unjust man will strive to get an undue share of the gifts of 
 fortune, and shrink from bearing his fair proportion of life's burdens. 
 
 (ii.) CHARACTERISTICS OF UNIVERSAL JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE. 
 
 If, then. Justice be in its widest sense conformity to law, and law 
 covers the same ground as morality. Justice and Morality will be 
 coextensive. That such is the case is manifest. The aim of law is to 
 promote social happiness : its provisions are designed to secure the well- 
 being of the state, and its sanctions are framed for the repression of 
 those crimes which mar that well-being. The man, therefore, who 
 obeys the laws promotes, so far as in him lies, the good of his fellows. 
 He is a morally perfect man, and his perfection is of the highest order. 
 He achieves what is so difi&cult of achievement — the exercise of 
 virtue towards others : he is not good in the merely passive sense ; but 
 he is actively benevolent and true in his dealings with the community. 
 The only difference between Justice and Righteousness is this : Justice, 
 while involving precisely the same moral conditions as Righteousness 
 from the subjective point of view, has further relations with others, and 
 is thus ' righteousness manifested in action.' 
 
 Injustice is the exact reverse : utter and consummated depravity 
 practised to the injury of others — not merely viciousness of nature, but 
 the practical outcome of viciousness as seen in deeds of wrong from which 
 society suffers. 
 
 (iii.) CHARACTERISTICS OP CIVIL JUSTICE AS DISTINGUISHED FROM 
 
 UNIVERSAL JUSTICE. 
 
 The following arguments may be used to show that Universal is 
 distinct from Particular Justice. 1, The coward often gets no advantage 
 
242 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 from his cowardice, and therefore is not overreaching ; .while conversely 
 the man who is overreaching is not otherwise vicious. 2. An action is 
 altered in character by the motive for which it is done. Adultery for 
 gain is a different thing from adultery for passion. 3. Overreaching 
 will not come under the category of any other vice; and as all the 
 varieties of moral failure must be classified, it must necessarily form a 
 class by itself. 
 
 But the genm of Universal Justice is the same as that of Particular 
 Justice : they both have reference to other men. The objects, howevef, 
 with which Particular Justice is concerned, are wealth, honour and 
 social advantages ; whereas the objects upon which Universal Justice is 
 exercised, are the various aspects of the moral ideal. For the purposes 
 of the present examination. Universal Justice, or the realization of the 
 moral ideal in practical life, may be dismissed : it belongs more properly 
 to the sphere of Statesmanship and will be dealt with in the Treatise on 
 Politics. 
 
 (iv.) DIVISIONS OP CIVIL JUSTICE INTO (l) DISTRIBUTIVE, (2) CORRECTIVE. 
 
 Civil Justice, as the application of the principle of equality to the trans- 
 actions in which the citizens are concerned or in which they take part, 
 has a twofold character corresponding to two main aspects of civil life — 
 the adjustment of honours and burdens, and the remedying of wrongs. 
 It is thus either ' distributive ' or ' remedial.' 
 
 1. Distributive Justice is the ' assigning to each his due ' in regard to 
 the honours and emoluments, the burdens and responsibilities which 
 enter into the common life of the citizens. What is ' due to each ' is 
 what is ' equal ' ; and therefore distributive justice is the assigning to 
 each member of the state ' the equality ' which is relative to his 
 position. 
 
 2. Corrective Justice is the adjustment of the mutual rights which 
 citizens have in their transactions and arrangements one with another. 
 If those transactions are voluntary, such as are the contracts which men 
 make for buying and selling, remedial justice rectifies any unfair 
 advantage which one citizen may have taken over another. If again 
 those relations are involuntary, remedial justice redresses the wrong 
 done by the infliction of punishment j whether the wrong be of the 
 nature of fraud, as theft or perjury, or whether it take the shape of 
 violence, as outrage, assault or assassination. 
 
 Application of Mathematical formulae to the principles of Civil Justice. 
 
 Since what is unjust is what is unequal, what is just must be what is 
 equal ; and since what is equal is a mean between two inequalities, what 
 is just will also be a mean. But if the just is what is equal and a mean 
 point, what is the principle by which this equality is determined? 
 Evidently the principle of proportion, of which the geometrical form will 
 be applicable to Distributive Justice, and the arithmetical form to 
 Corrective Justice. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book V. 243 
 
 (v.) DISTRIBUTIVE JUSTICE EXPLAINED. 
 
 • 
 
 DistributiTe Justice proceeds after the metliod of geometrical pro- 
 portion. It does not regard the persons affected by the division of 
 honours as simple units, but takes their separate worth into the account. 
 It equalizes the honours to be divided with the character and merits of 
 the persons among whom they are to be apportioned. For instance, 
 the honour assigned to Ajax will bear precisely thg same relation to the 
 honour paid to Achilles, that the worth of Ajax does to the worth of 
 Achilles. Each term will therefore be compared with each other ; and 
 this may be done either separately or in combination. If these con- 
 siderations are neglected, and the differences between the persons and 
 the things be not taken into the account, the distribution wiU be 
 unequal, and there will be injustice. 
 
 (vi.) COEEECTIVB JUSTICE EXPLAINED. 
 
 Corrective Justice, on the other hand, proceeds on the method of 
 arithmetical proportion, having simple regard to the equalizing of a 
 wrong, without respect of persons. Its province is that of contracts 
 and the transactions which are incidental to the personal relations 
 between the citizens with one another. In these transactions one may 
 gain an advantage over another, or inflict direct injury upon another. 
 It is the business of the Judge to whom recourse is made by the 
 persons aggrieved to take away from the aggressor or the man who 
 has reaped the advantage from the transaction, an equivalent : he 
 inflicts a punishment which will represent the measure of the wrong 
 done. No account can be taken of the condition of the persons affected : 
 the law simply looks to the violation of a contract, and redresses the 
 wrong independently of the accidental associations of the case. A case 
 of wrong is set right with the same impersonal impartiality as that with 
 which a mathematician cuts off a section from the greater of two lines 
 and adds it to the less. That is also the principle of commerce — ex- 
 change being regulated by reciprocal accommodation, in which each 
 gives as much as he receives : the buyer gets a fair equivalent for his 
 money, and the seller for his goods. 
 
 (vii.) EXAMINATION OF THE PTTHAGOBEAN THEOET OF JUSTICE, 
 EETALIATION. 
 
 There is a theory in some respects identical with the above — that 
 Justice is ' retaliation.' The Pythagoreans, who held this view, claimed 
 for it the authority of Rhadamanthus ; and it has indeed much to 
 commend it, if it be duly qualified and adjusted to the actual circum- 
 stances of life. But, boldly stated, it does not apply either to Dis- 
 tributive or to Remedial Justice. (1) In Distributive Justice retribution 
 cannot always be in kind — ' an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' 
 Regard must be paid to the differences which persons and circumstances 
 make : an exact and literal retribution would create a worse wrong 
 than that which it professed to right. (2) In Remedial Justice the 
 relations between the wrong and its remedy are necessarily diverse ; 
 
 E 2 
 
244 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 and justice demands a proportionate and analogous retribution, not one 
 identical in kind. 
 
 Nevertheless retribution plays an important part in social life, and 
 is an essential element in Justice. The return of kindnesses is the 
 principle of gratitude : the return of injuries is the principle of punish- 
 ment. But for the mutual interchange of kindly offices, the inner life 
 of society would be destroyed ; and but for the avenging of wrongs, 
 all freedom would be undermined. ^ Still the theory must not he 
 applied without ample qualification : the retribution must not be an 
 absolute one but be ' according to a due proportion.' That is the very 
 principle of exchange. Society does not consist of a single class but of 
 diverse classes : there are physicians, farmers, builders, vintners, &c. ; 
 and their various claims and capabilities must be adjusted to a proper 
 scale of proportion. They must first of all be compared one with 
 another, and their relative values must be determined : the degree in 
 which the one exceeds the other, or falls short, must be estimated. For 
 example, if a vintner and a farmer wish to exchange commodities, a 
 comparison must be made between a sack of corn and a bottle of wine, 
 the com being worth twenty-four shillings and the wine eight, it will 
 be evident that the proportion which the com will hold to the wine is 
 that of 3 : 1 ; and hence the vintner will give three bottles of wine for 
 one sack of corn. 
 
 But what is the standard or measure of value ? The most time- 
 honoured standard, and that which is most rooted in the nature of 
 things, is that of demand : the value of a thing is determined by oiu* 
 need of it and the uses which it consequently serves. But practically 
 the value of a thing is determined by what it will fetch : by uniwsal 
 convention money is the measure of value — money being the repre- 
 sentative of want. Money represents a permanent possibility of supply : 
 it is the security for the supply of numberless things which a man may 
 not want for the present but which money will get for him at any timfe 
 in the future. It is therefore the universal medium of exchange : there 
 is nothing but what has a value, and that value can be estimated in 
 money. Hence it is that money makes all things commensurable — 
 capable of being compared one with another ; and though in itself 
 money is purely a thing of convention and of artificial value, yet its 
 associations have rendered it not merely a sign of value, but as valuable 
 as commodities themselves. 
 
 (viii.) JUSTICE OONSIDEEED AS A ' MEAN.' 
 
 The moral virtues generally seem to depend entirely upon subjective 
 conditions : they are themselves ' mean states,' and the ideal of which 
 they are the expression is embodied in the moral consciousness. But 
 in the case of Justice the moral conditions are rather external than 
 internal. Justice is not merely nor mainly a state of mind, but rather 
 conformity to outward law. The wish to do what is right is of course 
 an integral part of the conception, but no less important is the know- 
 ledge of the requirements of positive law, and the fulfilment of those 
 requirements in practice. Justice is, therefore objective — a standard 
 fixed by the statesman, and involved in the constitution of society : tlie 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book V. 245 
 
 corresponding attitude of mind is the desire and intention to regulate 
 one's own conduct in conformity with, that standard, 
 
 (ix.) DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE UNJUST ACT AND THE UNJUST 
 CHAEAOTEE. 
 
 It will consequently happen that at times the dispositions of the 
 agent may be perfectly right and his act perfectly wrong, or conversely 
 that the act will be just, though the disposition of the agent is to be 
 unjust. The justice of the act is no proof of the justice of the agent, 
 nor is the justice of the agent certain security for the justice of his act. 
 
 (x.) METAPHOBICAL APPLICATIONS OF TH? IDEA OP JUSTICE. 
 
 Justice in the strict sense of the term can only exist among citizens 
 who share equal rights and have an equal claim to the protection of 
 the law. Those who share in the government, and who have relations 
 towards one another defined by law, can injure or be injured by one 
 another. When a citizen has less than his fair share of the common 
 emoluments or honours of the state, he has recourse to the law to 
 redress his injury ; and when a citizen has had an advantage taken of 
 him by another, the state equalizes the wrong done. The redressing 
 of wrongs does not depend upon individual caprice, but upon the 
 unfaltering standard of law. 
 
 Justice in this sense as ' the adjustment of social relations between 
 citizens in view of the harmonious development of the State ' cannot 
 exist among slaves or children. The justice which regulates the con- 
 duct of a father in dealing with his children, or the conduct of a master 
 in dealing with his slaves, is only justice in a metaphorical sense. The 
 child is a part of his father, and no one can injure himself. The slave 
 again is a kind of possession. There is therefore no place for wrong 
 among such beings as children or slaves : they are on no basis of 
 equality with free citizens : they cannot claim the rights which are 
 secured to those who are ' free and eqjial ': they have no recognised 
 position in the State. 
 
 (xi.) DISTINCTION BETWEEN NATURAL AND POSITIVE LAW. 
 
 The basis of Justice has been variously sought in Nature aad in Law. 
 Natural right is that which is independent of society, and has St sanction 
 binding on the reason whether any particular nation accept it or no. 
 Positive right is that which owes its sanction to the enactments of law. 
 Natural right is unalterable : positive right may be abrogated by the 
 power which enacted it. Natural right is the expression of immutable 
 reason : positive right is a thing indifferent, per se, and deriving all its 
 obligation from the penalties which sanction it. 
 
 But as there are diverse kinds of commonwealths, so there are diverse 
 kinds of laws ^ and this diversity has made men think that Justice is 
 only convention or compact, and not a thing in itself immutable. But 
 tlje changes in Justice refer only to such aspects as come within the 
 cognisance of law : there is still an ideal independent of and superior to 
 the exigencies of society. The genus is the same, though the species 
 present innumerable variations. 
 
246 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 (xii.) JUSTICE CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO THE WILL. 
 
 It was shown in detail in Book III., that the WiU was the essential 
 aspect of morality, and the conclusions there arrived at may be repeated 
 here. In the analysis of moral action it was shown that a man was not 
 to be accounted good or bad unless his will co-operated in a certain line 
 of conduct. If an action is not agreeable to the agent, the character of 
 that act is accidental : it may in its outward consequences be good or 
 evil, but it is impossible to infer from it the state of the agent. 
 
 There are two conditions essential to volvmtariness : (1) knowledge, 
 and (2) power. The agent must know the circumstances of his action, 
 its tendency and the various conditions which determine its nature. 
 He must also have moral freedom, and act without compulsion except 
 from his own conscience. Otherwise the act is involuntary, and its 
 character accidental. 
 
 The injuries therefore which men do will fall under three classes : 
 
 1. Wrongs which are done through ignorance of the circumstances, 
 and which are errors or mishaps, as when he is unaware of the instrument 
 he is using, and who it is that he is striking. 
 
 2. Wrongs which are done with an evil intent and maliciously. 
 
 3. Wrongs which are unintentional though the agent was notmicon- 
 scious of what he was doing ; such as are the wrongs done through 
 passion. 
 
 These different kinds of wrongs will be regarded with different degrees 
 of censure. Some are pardonable and others are not. Acts are pardon- 
 able which are done through an error, or ignorance of the circumstanues, 
 or through justifiable passion. Acts are not pardonable when done in 
 consequence of a state of mind which is neither natural nor worthy of 
 man. 
 
 (1) Can the Will consent to the suffering of a wrong? 
 
 There seems a contradiction of terms in supposing that the suffering 
 of injury can be a voluntary act. Yet there is a difficulty in under- 
 standing how certain acts can be otherwise than voluntary. Perhaps 
 the solution of the difficulty may be found in the fact that there is a 
 difference between being injured and suffering an injury. Just as a 
 man may do unjust things either " voluntarily or involuntarily, though 
 no one can act unjustly except by deliberate choice ; so, too, a man may 
 suffer what is unjust, voluntarily or involuntarily, though no one can 
 suffer imjustly except against his wiU. In the proper sense of the term 
 therefore, the suffering of injury is always an involimtary act. If 
 Glaucus gives an exchange with Diomede which is unequal, he is not 
 acting against his own will, though he suffers loss. Nor again is the 
 sensualist injured voluntarily : what he suffers is against his reason and 
 real wish. 
 
 (2) In an unjust distribution, who is unjust ? 
 
 Is the man who makes an unjust distribution unjust, or rather the 
 man who profits by it ? The man who makes the distribution has the 
 responsibility of originating the action, and he is to blame rather than 
 the man who receives the distribution : his will is free, whereas the 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book V. 247 
 
 will of the man who receives the distribution is not free. The latter 
 simply is the recipient of what is assigned to him, and the fault does 
 not lie at his door. • 
 
 Is the man who assigns to himself less than his due thereby wronged \ 
 Certainly not : though he appears to receive less of external goods, in 
 fact, he is no loser. The loss which he appears to undergo is compen- 
 sated for by far more precious advantages. He gains the praise of 
 moderation, of scrupulosity, of generosity, and of kindred virtues. He 
 conciliates the goodwill of his neighbours who trumpet his liberality. 
 
 (xiii.) DIFFICULTY OF THE ATTA.INMENT OF JUSTICE. 
 
 Men commonly think that it is an easy thing to be just for the reason 
 that the opposite, injustice, is within our own power and dependent on 
 our own will. But Justice is not simply the performance of just actions, 
 but the performance of them with a certain intention, and as the out- 
 come of a certain frame of mind. It requires therefore a certain mental 
 habit, or formed disposition of character, which only the discipline of 
 many years can instil into us. 
 
 Men think again that it is not difficult to know what is just and 
 what is unjust, since the requirements of justice are comprised in legal 
 codes which are published for all men to read and digest. But Justice 
 does not depend upon the knowledge of abstract principles, but rather 
 in the details of action, in the fine distinctions of circumstance which 
 have to be moulded and adjusted according to those abstract principles. 
 
 Justice applies only to those who are equal. 
 
 There are some who are immeasurably beyond ourselves, and to 
 whom therefore we can never assign too much of worldly honour and 
 dignity : such are the magistrates, or our parents. There are others 
 who are correspondingly below us, such as convicts and others, who are 
 so degraded that we can never assign them too little, lest they should 
 abuse such things to their own destruction. Those to whom Justice, 
 as the principle of equality, must be shown, are such as are sharers in 
 common burdens and have an equal claim to the honours of the state, 
 and neither a greater nor a less claim than ourselves. 
 
 (xiv.) BELATIONS BETWEEN EQUITY AND JUSTICE DBTEKMINED. 
 
 It is evident that the equitable is not identical with the just, because 
 we praise the equitable man as being morally better than the just man 
 when the equitable man yields something of his strict rights, which the 
 just man will not do ; and, further, the equitable man is spoken of 
 synonymously with the good man. But neither is- Equity contrary to 
 Justice : both alike are estimable and meet with the approbation of 
 the moral sense. 
 
 The diiferences between Equity and Justice are mainly these. Equity 
 is better than legal Justice : it softens the absolute rigour of written 
 law and amends the wrongs which abstract right might cause. It does 
 not depend upon written words and ' the letter which killeth,' but upon 
 
248 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 the moral sense and educated perception of the good man. It does not 
 deal with universals, but with particulars — not with general propositions, 
 but with actual circumstances. Written law is of necessity sometimes 
 at fault. The nature of circumstances presenting an ever-changing 
 aspect cannot be always anticipated : the variations of the conditions 
 of actual life baffle such generalization. Again, laws are always framed 
 as universal propositions ; and must, in fact, become a kind of equity 
 if they are to be applied honestly to particular cases. 
 
 It follows that Equity is a supplementing or rectifying of the omissions 
 of the law or of provisions which are not adequate to meet the complica- 
 tions of particular circumstances. The equitable man interprets the 
 intention of the legislator in framing the law ; and applies the same 
 principle in spirit to the determination of his duty in the actual circum- 
 stances before him. He endeavours to place himself in the position of 
 the legislator, and to act as he would have acted had he foreseen such 
 contingencies. 
 
 Equity may, therefore, be defined as a rectification of legal enactments 
 in such aspects where the law fails in a particular case owing to its 
 universality. The equitable man accordingly is one whose desire is to 
 waive his own strict rights, though the law would justify his claim, and 
 whose temper leads him to interpret the law to his own hindrance rather 
 than to that of his neighbours. 
 
 (xv.) FURTHER SOLUTION OP TWO QUESTIONS RELATING TO JUSTICE. 
 
 (1) Can a man injure himself? 
 
 The arguments already advanced will have made it evident that a man 
 cannot injure himself. There are, however, writers, who produce the case 
 of the suicide as evidence that a man can injure himself. " The suicide," 
 they say, " does an evil deed tacitly forbidden by law — since law forbids 
 all slaughter which it does not expressly enjoin. Moreover, the suicide 
 has no injury to requite, but deliberately does an evil deed ; and of course 
 against himself." .... Nay, but it is not the man himself who 
 suffers harm (since it was shown that no man is injured of his own wUl), 
 but rather the State ; and it is the State consequently which inflicts a 
 penalty upon him, depriving him of sepulture. 
 
 There are yet other arguments to show that suicide is not self-injury. 
 
 (1) Injustice implies relations with others : a man cannot isolate one 
 part of himself against another, so as to fulfil this condition of Justice. 
 
 (2) A man cannot be agent and patient in one. (3) A man cannot be 
 injured voluntarily. (4) AU crime is harm to others : a man cannot 
 harm himself. (5) The whole theory of 'the voluntary' is at variance 
 with such an idea. 
 
 (2) Is it worse, to do an injury or to receive one ? 
 
 Both alike, as departures from the ideal of the mean, are evils, but 
 the doing of injury is associated with a depravity in the agent, and is 
 therefore, per se, the greater evil. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 L.— JUSTICE. 
 
 i. — General coneeptions of Justice and of Injustice. 
 
 {a) PROVISIONAL DEFINITION OF JUSTICE AND OF INJUSTICE. 
 
 In treating of Justice and of Injustice the points which we have 
 to consider are : CD what kjnd^ pf Jiftianii-.tliBv 
 
 are in which Justice and Iniustice are displavecL Scope of the m- 
 
 ____^^__„ ,..<-..«„.„. „•„«,,., »'V^>njw—--*--«--»-*™^''r°^ quiry, and expla- 
 
 (2 ) wtot kaajafc a- naeaw juistice is,"as -an ia«ai nation of terms. 
 
 frame of mind. a|nf^ ^(gj^ ' %V^^' aTe -lh e-iextremes ' 
 
 ^l^een. which. Jaglaas*,J^s,jltomfll^^ The inquiry 
 
 will be carried on according to the same plan as our previous 
 investigations. 
 
 We see at once that all men are willing to defin e Justice as \ a 
 state of mind of such a complexion, that in conseq uenceT thereof 
 ^ n are en abled to do just deeds , an^ln 'facT'^^_dealjus|I^ and 
 have a d e sire fof -W^hafiij \\iM\: ' /and tJEaTcontrariwise Injustice is 
 ' a F.tate of mmd which leads men to act unjustly, and to desire 
 what is unjust.') 
 
 This view of Justice may, at starting, be assumed as indicating 
 in outline its real nature. 
 
 [Justice is described as a ' frame of mind,' not a mere capacity, 
 because the conditions involved in a 'frame of 
 mind ' are very different from those involved in a Justice a_ formed 
 mere faculty or intellectual capacity. A faculty ^ctv^^j{s%^a^s). 
 or an intellectual capacity seems to be the same 
 for opposites ; but a frame of mind, as a permanent disposition, 
 cannot produce opposite effects. For instance, from a healthy 
 state of body the only functions that can be developed are 
 healthy functions, and not such as are destructive of itself : — we 
 say that a man walks healthily when he walks as a man in perfect 
 health should do.] 
 
 We will now at once proceed to treat of Justice and of Injustice, and show tlie 
 nature of the actions in which they are displayed, the nature of the ' mean ' which 
 
250 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 1. 
 
 makes Justice an ideal frame of mind, the nature of Justice as ' abstract right ' 
 and a 'mean' term between extremes, and the nature of the extremes which lie 
 on either side of this ideal ' right.' 
 
 We will conduct our inquiry upon the same method as that which ha« guided 
 us in our inquiry into the other vii-tues. 
 
 Now we see that all the world calls Justice a frajne of mind by the possession 
 of which we are enabled to perform just actions, and in fact do act uprightly 
 and desire what is just. Injustice men define on the same principle : they oaU 
 Injustice a frame of mind, in consequence of which we act unjustly and desire 
 what is unjust. We may here assume the accuracy of these common views ; and 
 define Jiistice and Injustice respectively, in outline, as ' a frame of mind in virtue 
 whereof we do (or do not) desire what is just.' 
 
 [We must always attach to the moral virtues the condition of wish or purpose : 
 it is impossible for them otherwise to be defined — except as modes of purpose or 
 of wOl : — it is owing to the wish that a man has to be temperate and to act justly 
 that he grows to be temperate and just. Of course in the case of faculties and 
 intellectual capacities, the possession of power is essential, the wish to exercise 
 that power is not essential : if a man have the power of curing disease, he is a 
 physician whether he use his power or not ; and similarly in the case of the 
 other intellectual powers. In the case, however, of the moral virtues, the con- 
 ditions are changed. The power of doing just actions is often within the means 
 even of an unjust man, but the desire to do just actions is characteristic of none 
 but the just. Hence a man is just even though he be unable to perform just 
 actions, provided he has the desire and possesses the frame of mind which charac- 
 terises Justice. In the same way a man is unjust if he has the roish to be unjust, 
 whether he carry out his purpose or not. Further, every faculty or inteUectuai 
 habit is conversant with things that are contrary one to another : by one and the 
 same science a man may know contraries ; e.g., one and the same science, that of 
 Medicine, is concerned both with health and with disease, and by one and the 
 same faculty contrary results are brought about. But a 'nim'al habit is incapable 
 of producing oontraiy results. In virtue of our Justice we do not perform ac1ad!i|' 
 that are, indifferently, just or unjust, any more than the movements of a diseaeaS ' 
 body are the same as those of a sound body.] 
 
 (})) DIVISIONS OF .TOSTICE AKD OF INJUSTICE. 
 
 In many cases, however, the nature of a moral habit may be 
 inferred from its corresponding opposite ; and in 
 fatrZreriitnd "^^uy cases, again, moral habits may be under- 
 Particular (derived stood from the concrete objects in which they 
 
 SsitS "'"'"''*' ^^^^^^- ^' ^^^ example, the nature of sound 
 health be manifest, the nature of its opposite, 
 bad health, becomes equally plain. Again, from the nature of 
 those who have sound health, the nature of sound health may be 
 inferred, and from sound health may be inferred the conditions 
 which produce it. If sound health be a certain compactness 
 of flesh, it necessarily follows that bad health is a certain flabbiness 
 of flesh, and further, that the cause of sound health is that which 
 produces compactness of flesh. 
 
 Furthermore it follows, for the most part, that if (Mie term be 
 predicated iu a variety of ways, its opposite is predicated in 
 corresponding ways : — if there be, for instance, many senses in 
 what is ' right,' there will be many senses in the term ' wrong.' 
 
Bk. V. 2.] Translation. 251 
 
 It seems that the attributes 'just ' or 'unjust ' are predicated of a 
 person in various senses ; yet inasmuch as the similarity of idea 
 is very close, the distinction escapes notice, and i* is not like other 
 terms which have the same sound, but a sense so widely different, 
 that their divergence is plainly marked. (In such cases generally 
 the difference which appeals to the eye is considerable : for 
 instance, (the Greek word for) ' key ' is applied in an equivocal 
 sense to the bone below the neck of animals, and to the instru- 
 ment by which we fasten doors.) 
 
 Let us now take the case of the term ' unjust,' and see in what 
 different senses a man is called ' unjust.' It a,ppears to be 
 commonly applied to (1) the law-b reaker, (2) t)b e"x>Y^^| ;.eaching 
 and unfair ma n. It is c pns&guently clig^h^t Jhe., j,]J§twaft ffill 
 be (1) the law-abiding man, and the (2) fair-minded maiDu. What 
 
 • — 1 ' I , 1111 J Mimj i a»M n m j AMM L i w ij»M»^ a.V.^ , i'- • —■ ^w-W?**'*^*"-, , 
 
 is rignt . o r ' just.,, , theiL.„wall-iie.. 1 Ij, what js saociiaaeawby JajK,^^ 
 and (2) what is fa ir, and^ e qual : whatjs^ ' unjust ! or ' wrong ' „BiU» 
 be (1) what IS in violation rtf law, and (2) what is unequal. 
 
 a«is*WWX < )WiMbM>iiwieMU£««^'«i^^i^ 
 
 However, the tendencies of habits may be inferred from those that are the exact 
 contrary : if, for instance, a man knows that somid health is a compactness of 
 flesh, he will infer that bad health is a flabbiness of flesh. Again, the nature of 
 habits may be gathered from the conditions which produce them. Take, for in- 
 stance, the case of health : the condition which produces the habit is healthf ul- 
 uess — %£., that which tends to promote health. Now if we know that healthful- 
 ness is that which produces compactness in the flesh, we know that good health 
 itself is that very compactness in the flesh. 
 
 There is this further consequence iavolved in habits, for the most part : — if of 
 two contrary habits the one be predicated in a variety of senses, the other is pre- 
 dicated in correspondingly opposite senses. For instance, if Temperance is a term 
 with a variety of signifleations. Intemperance will have a corresponding variety of 
 significations ; and if Justice be an equivocal term, and predicated of a variety of 
 persons, Injustice will present the same character. [The limitation ' for the most 
 part ' is made of this statement, because there are certain habits to which this 
 'law of contraries' is not found to hold. For instance, ' loving' is 'opposed to 
 ' hating ; ' but ' loving ' is not a simple idea, but implies in Greek (1) affection, 
 or (2) kissing with the lips ; whereas ' hatiug ' implies one single idea — that of 
 aversion. These exceptions, however, are very rarely found : generally and for 
 the most part a habit is predicated in the same senses in which its opposite is 
 predicated.] 
 
 Since, then, Justice is predicated in a number of senses. Injustice will be predi- 
 cated in an equal number of opposite senses. Commonly it is thought that Jus- 
 tice and Injustice have but a single signification, inasmuch as the ideas implied 
 therein do not differ vastly from one another. Terms which are equivocal and 
 have a variety of significations, only become apparent when the facts which they 
 represent exhibit a palpable difference between one another. ' Key,' for example, 
 is a term applied to the bone next to the neck of an animal, and to the instru- 
 ment by which we fasten doors. In such oases, inasmuch as the difference in 
 the things indicated is considerable, the equivocation and the variation of meaning 
 are palpable. 
 
 Since, then. Justice and Injustice are predicated in many senses, let us take the 
 case of the Unjust man, and distinguish the senses in which the attribute ' unjust' 
 is appUed to him. The term ' unjust' is applied (1) to the man who violates the 
 laws, and (2) to the man who is unfair. Consequently the opposite character, the 
 
2 52 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 2. 
 
 Just man, will be one (1) who observes tbe laws, and (2) who is fair and equal ; 
 and ' wrong ' or injustice ^e?' se will be (1) ' what is in violation of law,' and (2) 
 what is unequal. 
 
 (c) SPHEKB OF JUSTICE, AND OF INJUSTICE. 
 
 But since the unjust man is overreaching, the objects which 
 will concern him, will be the good things of life 
 the uS ""man " 1°* howevcr all good things, but such as form 
 seeks to compass the province of good or bad fortune — things 
 thfai s'of'life^'''(or ^^'^'^ i^ themselves and abstractedly are 
 if needs must be) blessings though to individuals sometimes the 
 the least of the reverse, (Though all men pray for these good 
 things, and eagerly pursue after them, they are 
 wrong in so doing ; their prayer ought rather to be that things 
 which are blessings per se may be in truth blessings to them, and 
 their own choice should be of things which are good for their own 
 selves.) 
 
 The unjust man does not invariably choose ' the more,' but in 
 some cases he chooses ' the less ' — i.e. where his choice Hes 
 between things which are absolutely evils. Inasmuch, however, 
 as the lesser evil seems to be in some sense a good, and the over- 
 reaching temper is concerned with what is good, the man 
 who chooses the lesser evil is consequently thought to be an over- 
 reaching man. He has at any rate an unfair share of the advan- 
 tage in question. (' Unfairness' is a comprehensive term common 
 to all aspects of injustice.) 
 
 But since the unjust man is overreaching, and the overreaching spirit has re- 
 ference to some form of ' good,' the object in reference to which the unjust man 
 is overreaching wUl be some form of ' good.' Yet the ' good ' which he seeks is 
 not that which is good for his own self, and which would make him in himself a 
 better man. He does not seek to become more temperate than his neighbours, nor 
 more skilled in medicine than the physicians, nor more charitable than other 
 liberal men, nor does he seek for any other of the goods which are ' good ' abso- 
 lutely and in themselves, and which render the possessor thereof good. The goods 
 in reference to which he seeks to surpass his fellows are such as, while absolutely 
 and in themselves ' good,' do not help him to progress in goodness, but ofttimes 
 positively make him worse than before. Such goods are riches and power and 
 bodUy strength : — these become in the case of the bad man material for increased 
 depravity. So it is with the good things generally which form the province of 
 good or bad fortune. The mass of men maJie their prayer for such things, and 
 eagerly pursue after them. Yet they ought not so to do, but rather to pray that 
 these things, which are good in themselves, may render them good, and be a 
 benefit to them, and not render them worse than before. If the choice lie open 
 before them, they ought to prefer, not the things which are good absolutely, but 
 things which are good for their own selves, and such things as will have the effect 
 of rendering them better in themselves. But the unjust man prays, for himself, 
 for the goods which contribute to good fortune, and in reference thereto he always 
 seeks to gain an advantage. He also makes his choice of the least of the evils 
 involved in bad fortune, considering the lesser evil to be a good. Inasmuch aS he 
 
Bk. V. 3.] Translation. 
 
 253 
 
 is always overreaching, and tlie object in reference to wliicli Ms grasping spirit 
 is shown is the ' good,' herein also he seems to be overreaching. He is also an 
 imfair man, mif airness or inequality being a comprehensive term common to all 
 the varieties of injustice : the law-breaking man is ia a way an unfair man, just 
 as the grasping man is. 
 
 ii. — Charaeteristics of Universal Justice and Injustice. 
 
 Now as the law-breaker was seen to be unjust, and the 
 law-abiding man just, it is clear that all the 
 requirements of law are also requirements of ^° ^^^ ^ Justice is 
 
 . , . rm ■ i /• 1 1 conformity with 
 
 justice. The requirements 01 law are such as are law, it must reach 
 defined by the science of Jurisprudence, and *" ^^^^y sphere of 
 
 ■1 , , • c • 1.1 L • T L ^ action to which law 
 
 every such enactment we say is just or ' right. jg applicable. 
 
 But the laws make provision for every kind of 
 circumstance, making it their aim to secure what is beneficial 
 either for the state at large, or for the best men in the state, or 
 for the ruling class, whether it be determined by merit or in any 
 other similar way. In one sense therefore we call things just 
 which are productive or preservative of happiness, and of the 
 various ingredients of happiness for the whole social community. 
 Law enjoins, for example, citizens to perform the duties of the 
 brave man — not to quit their ranks, nor to take to flight, nor to 
 throw down their arms. It enjoins, again, the exercise of self- 
 control — -to refrain from adultery or insolence. It enjoins, again, 
 the practice of patience and meekness — to forbear striking or 
 railing. Through the whole range indeed of the virtues and vices, 
 it enjoins a certain line of conduct and forbids its opposite ; and 
 when a law has been correctly drawn, its provisions are true and 
 just, though if it be passed on the chance of the moment, its 
 provisions are less beneficial. 
 
 Justice of this kind, or perfect conformity to law, is identical 
 with the perfect excellence of the moral nature — 
 not indeed viewed absolutely, but in relation to t'^tve^^SS! 
 society. Hence it is that Justice is often stance of life, the 
 regarded as the most eifective of all the Virtues ; ^^^Z\^ perfect 
 and neither the Hesperus nor the Morning Star tion of every phase 
 seem so marvellous in their beauty; and among °^--}^^':^ Justice 
 
 i ■> o will thus be 
 
 the adages ot daily lite we say : Kighteousness. 
 
 " In Justice every virtue is contained." 
 
 It is indeed the perfection of the moral nature in the highest 
 sense, because it is the outward expression or exercise of that 
 perfection : it is perfected virtue, because the man who pos- 
 sesses it is able to display his goodness towards others, and not 
 
254 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 3. 
 
 merely in his own life. There are many men who are ahle to 
 exercise moral virtue in their domestic concerns, but fail to be 
 equally virtuous in their relations with the world at large. The 
 saying of Bias is therefore very apposite to such cases : ' Power is 
 the touch-stone of character' — i.e. a man who wields power stands 
 in relation to other men and his life is bound up with that of the 
 community. For this very reason it is that Justice is thought to 
 be ' the good of our neighbour ' pre-eminently among all the 
 virtues, inasmuch as it brings a man into definite relation with 
 his fellows: i.e. it effects what is for the interest of others, 
 whether the ruler or the community at large. He, then, is most 
 depraved who practises wickedness as well in his own life as in 
 his dealings with his friends ; and he is most virtuous who dis- 
 jjlays his goodness not only in his own character, but in his inter- 
 course with his neighbours — which is indeed a hard task. 
 
 Justice, then, of this kind is not merely an element or depart- 
 ment of Virtue, but is itself complete and perfect virtue ; nor is 
 its opposite Injustice a mere form or division of Yice, but is itself 
 coextensive with vice. The point in which the aspect of the one 
 differs from the aspect of the other, is clear from what has been 
 said. Justice as a state of mind is identical with perfect virtue, 
 but the mode of its manifestation is different: — when reflected 
 upon others, it is Justice, but when viewed simply as a disposition 
 of a particular kind it is Virtue. 
 
 But since the law-breaker is in a sense an im]"nst man, and one who keeps the 
 law a just man, it is evident that aU things which are ' lawful ' are in a sense 
 things which are ' just.' Things are lawful which are defined by the science of 
 Jurisprudence, and such things are called just : — every enactment of the laws 
 being, as we say, a requirement also of justice. It consequently is found iliat 
 Justice is conversant with precisely the same class of relations as are the laws. 
 
 But the laws make provision for every detail of life, aiming to realize whatever 
 is advantageous for the different forms of social polity, whether the constitution 
 which they establish be a democracy or an oligarohy or of some other type. The 
 acts which the laws enjoin are such as cover the whole field of moral virtue, for 
 instance, acts of temperance, of justice and of courage. They enjoin the citizen 
 not to quit his post, nor to take to flight — ^which is the conduct proper to the 
 brave man ; nor to commit adultery nor to wax insolent — which is the business 
 of the temperate man ; nor to strike nor to injure another — ^which is the 
 characteristic of good temper. Similarly in regard to the virtues and vices 
 generally, the law orders a certain line of conduct and forbids the opposite. 
 When a law is scientifically framed, it is a right law viewed by the standard of 
 Reason and Science ; but when it is framed at random and without consideration, 
 its provisions and its sanctions are not in accordance with true science nor with 
 the real fitness of things. Nevertheless, those sanctions and provisions relate to 
 what is good or evil, that being the aim and end of aU law as such. 
 
 If, then, the requirements of law are coextensive with those of Justice, and it 
 is f oixnd that the sphere of law is coextensive vrith the sphere of Justice, thea 
 Justice comprises every form of moral excellence, and is itself perfect virtue, 
 inasmuch as it embraces all the virtues and is itself complete virtue. The only 
 point in fact in which Justice is distinct from universal virtue is this : Virtue as 
 
Bk. V. 4.] Translation. 255 
 
 a state of mind is a tiling apart and independent and simply exists per se, whereas 
 Justice is a perfect state of mind not absolutely but brought into relation with 
 other society. The exercise of all the virtues with a view to^e interest of one's 
 neighbours — that is what Justice implies. 
 
 For this reason Justice i& thought to be the most eflfeetive of all the virtues ; 
 and neither the Morning nor the Evening Star are so bright nor marvellous in 
 their lustre. According to the common adage men use : — 
 
 " In Justice every virtue is contained in miaiature." 
 
 It is virtue in its most perfect form because it is the exercise of perfect virtue. 
 The man who possesses justice is able to practise his virtue in his intercourse 
 with his neighbours and not by himself merely. There are many men who 
 benefit by their virtues their own selves, but are unable to help others by means 
 thereof. The saying of Bias is, therefore, very apposite : ' Power will bring the 
 character to the test,' power being nothing else than the communication of the 
 moral virtues to the wellbeing of society. For this reason also Justice seems to 
 be ' the good of others,' alone of all the virtues, because it seeks what is good 
 not for a man's own self but for others also ; either, that is, for the state at large 
 or for the ruler of it. The man then who injures both himself and his friends 
 by his wickedness is most depraved, whereas the man who uses the moral 
 excellencies which he possesses not merely for his own private good, but for the 
 good of his neighbours also, is a man of perfect virtue, unselfishness being indeed 
 a hard matter to practise. 
 
 Justice, then, of this kind is not a mere division or element of virtue, but is 
 itself complete and perfect virtue ; and for similar reasons. Injustice is no mere 
 element of vice, but is itself complete and consummated vice. [The point in 
 which universal virtue differs from Justice of this kind, has been already 
 explained.] 
 
 iii. — Cliaraoteristies of Civil Justice. 
 
 (a) SPECIAL SENSE OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE DEFINBD BY CON- 
 DITIONS OF EQUALITY. 
 
 But the special object of our present investigation is that form 
 of Justice which ranks as one of the divisions ot 
 virtue rather than as co-extensive with it. There Arguments to prove 
 
 , „ ^ T J- T that Universal 
 
 IS such a narrower torm 01 Justice, as we have justice or Injustice 
 just said. In the same way in regard to Injustice ^ distinct from 
 we must examine into that form of it which is a ^r Injustice, 
 distinct kind of vice. 
 
 Herein is proof that such a special form of Justice exists. 
 When a man's character takes the shape of ordinary depravity, 
 though he is an evil-doer, he gets no advantage from his evil- 
 doing ; as, for instance, if he has thrown down his shield through 
 cowardice, or has abused his neighbour through ill-temper, or failed 
 to succour the need of his friends through niggardliness. Con- 
 Tersely, when a man takes unfair advantage of others, his over- 
 reaching is often not in the direction of any one of these special 
 vices (certainly not in the direction of all), yet still he acts in 
 pursuance of a certain depravity of nature (otherwise we should 
 not censure him), and, in consequence, of injustice. It follows. 
 
256 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 4. 
 
 therefore, that there is a special kind of injustice which ranks as a 
 form of universal injustice, and that there are acts of injustice whicll 
 rank as special forms of universal Injustice or Unlawfulness, 
 
 Again, suppose a man to commit adultery : if his motive be to 
 make gain thereby, and he receives the reward he seeks, he would 
 appear to be unjust rather than sensual, his act being obviously 
 prompted by gain ; whereas if his crime be owing to his lust, and 
 he pays the price of it and is injured thereby, he is sensual rather 
 than overreaching. 
 
 Again, in the case of offences generally, reference is invariably 
 made to some particular form of vice ; for example, if a man has 
 committed adultery, his crime is put down to his sensuality, or if 
 he has deserted his comrade in action, his conduct is put down to 
 his cowardice, or if he has assaulted anyone, his act is put down to 
 passionateness. On the other hand, if a man has made again of 
 another, his act is not imputed to any other depravity except simple 
 injustice. 
 
 But- there is another kind of Justice whicli is a special form of moral 
 excellence, just as there is a kind of Injustice which is a special form of moral 
 depravity. 
 
 The following may be a proof that there is such a special form of Justice, and 
 of Injustice. The man who shapes his life after the various forms of depravity, 
 may he called an evil-doer, but by no means an overreaching man. Such is, for 
 instance, a man who throws away his shield through cowardice, or who abuses 
 his neighbour through ill-temper and inabOity to control the impetaositiy of Ms 
 passion, or who fails through illiberality to assist with his wealth the wants of 
 his neighbour : — men of this type are evil-doers, but not overreaching in any 
 sense. Consequently the overreaching man is concerned with some other form 
 of depravity, since his grasping has relation neither to any one of these vioeS; nor 
 to all combined. There is, therefore, some special form of injustice ranking as a 
 division of universal injustice ; and there are certain acts correspondrag which 
 are particular forms of injustice, and separate divisions of universal injustice and 
 violation of law. 
 
 Again, supposing that one man commits adultery for the sake of gain and in 
 fact receives his reward, while another man does so to gratify his own pleasure 
 and is injured by his conduct and spends his substance upon his passions, the 
 latter would be called a sensual but not an overreaching man, whereas the former 
 would be called overreaching and unjust, but by no means a sensualist. Conse- 
 quently, there is a form of injustice which does not include dissoluteness, and, 
 therefore, is not identical with universal injustice, but is a special form of it. 
 
 Again, every evil action is referred to some particular vice ; for instance, 
 adultery is imputed to sensuality ; flight and the lirowing away of the shield, to 
 cowardice ; abuse and striking, to passionateness. But to gain the property of 
 others and advantages which in no way belong to oneself, — that is referred to no 
 other cause beyond injustice. 
 
 (J) COMPAEISON BETWEEN UNIVERSAL AND CIVIL JUSTICE AND 
 
 INJUSTICE. 
 
 It is consequently evident that besides Injustice as a whole 
 (which is equivalent to vice) there is a special division of Injus- 
 
Bk. V. 5.] Translatio7t. 257 
 
 tice, ranking as a part of the whole, though having a common 
 
 name inasmuch as its definition falls under the 
 
 sameffewMs; — i.e. both forms have their signifi* Distinctions be- 
 
 ■'t t i.-i ij_- , S tween Universal 
 
 cance dependmg entirely upon relations to others; and Civil Justice 
 but whereas the objects with which Civil Justice correspond to uis- 
 
 ^ 1 ij.1 r J. tinctions of their 
 
 IS concerned are honour, wealth, safety, or some- stibject-matter. 
 thing, if such can be found, in which all these 
 are comprised, and it is inspired by the pleasure which comes 
 from gain, the objects on the other hand with which Universal 
 Injustice is concerned are precisely the objects with which the 
 virtuous man as such is concerned. 
 
 It is clear, then, that there are several forms of Justice, and that 
 there is a special form distinct from Justice as a whole. We must 
 now try to grasp what that special kind of Justice is, and what are 
 its characteristics. 
 
 Well then, acts of injustice are divided into acts of law-breaking 
 and acts of unfairness; and acts of justice are divided into acts 
 conformable to law and acts of fairness. The Injustice described 
 above will therefore be co-extensive with the violation of law. 
 
 But just as what is 'unequal' and what is ' more ' are not iden- 
 tical but distinct, as standing in the relation of a whole to a part, 
 (the ' more ' being always ' unequal,' but the unequal not always 
 ' more',) so the ' unjust ' and Injustice, in the civil or particular 
 sense, are not the same as the universal forms, but are distinct 
 from them, the one being ' parts,' the other ' wholes.' That is to 
 say, Civil Injustice is a part of Universal Injustice, and for similar 
 reasons Civil Justice is part of Universal Justice. We must there- 
 fore treat of Justice in its particular aspects, and of Injustice in 
 its particular aspects, and of the acts corresponding in the same 
 manner. 
 
 That form of Justice, then, or of Injustice which has a range co- 
 extensive with the whole of virtue (the one being 
 the practice of the whole of virtue and the other ^"J'tf dismissed 
 the practice of the whole of vice in its relation to from the point of 
 society) may be dismissed frona the present in- ™w of the present 
 quiry. As for the acts which correspond to these 
 forms of Universal Justice and Injustice, it is evident how they 
 must be defined. The mass of things ' lawful ' pretty generally 
 correspond with the acts performed in virtue of the complete ex- 
 cellence of the moral nature : i.e. the law enjoins us to live in con- 
 formity with each single virtue and deters us from conforming to 
 any single vice. Again, the causes which produce this perfect 
 virtue are the various enactments of law which have been made to 
 regulate education in its bearings on social life, [We must leave 
 
258 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 5. 
 
 for future discussion the question whether the education of indi- 
 viduals, in virtue whereof a man is ' good ' in the absolute sense 
 of the term, belongs to the Science of Statesmanship, or to some 
 other. It is surely not the same thing in every case to be a good 
 man and to be a good citizen.] 
 
 It is, therefore, evident that there is a special form of Injustice though called 
 hy the same name as Universal Justice (the definition of either kind belonging- to 
 the same genus inasmuch as both aUke have their manifestation in the practice 
 of goodness in relation to society). This special form of Injustice differs how- 
 ever from Universal Injustice iaasmuch as the objects with which it is concerned 
 are wealth and safety and the pleasure that comes from gain (or some similar 
 conception if there be any, embracing all such objects) ; whereas the objects of 
 Universal Injustice are all such as the virtuous man is conversant with. 
 
 It is clear then from what has been said that the term ' injustice' is used in a 
 variety of senses, and that there is a special form of it distinct from human per- 
 fection in the wide sense of the term. We must now proceed to explain what 
 this special form of Justice is. 
 
 We have already shown that the ' unjust ' is divided into (1) what is in violation 
 of a law, and (2) what is unequal or unfair, and that the ' just ' is divided into 
 (1) what is conformable to law, and (2) what is fair and equal. Justice, ihere^ 
 fore, in its fuUest sense is concerned with what is conformable to law, and Injus- 
 tice in the wide sense with what is ia violation of law [as well as unequal]. 
 
 But since what is ' more ' is not identical with what is ' unequal,' but the ' un- 
 equal ' represents a whole of which ' the more ' is a part {i.e. what is ' more ' is 
 always ' unequal,' but what is ' unequal ' is not always ' more ') there wiU also be 
 another form of Injustice relating to the unequal : and these forms of Injustice 
 will not be identical, but Injustice which is concerned with what is 'more' 
 wUl be particular injustice, whereas the Injustice which is concerned with the 
 ' unequal ' will be universal injustice. Particular injustice which bears the rela- 
 tion towards consummate injustice of a part to a whole, is concerned with what 
 is ' more,' (and this is what is meant by an ' overreaching ' or ' grasping spirit '). 
 From these considerations it may be inferred what particular Justice is, so far as 
 may be in outline ; but we shall have to treat of it with greater precision. 
 
 Universal Justice, therefore, as has been explained, is perfect virtue and the 
 practice of virtue in its entirety (just as Injustice is complete vice) in virtue of 
 its conformity to law. Now Law does not merely order us to perform the actions 
 of every virtue (as has been shown in previous explanations), but it trains the 
 citizens so that they may become virtuous and attain to a state of mind represen- 
 tative of absolute virtue. It is not the same thing to do deeds of virtue and to 
 have a disposition of virtue ; and consequently it is a different thing to be a good 
 cithi'ii and to be a virtuous iTian. A man is virtuous when he has a disposition 
 of virtue : a citizen is a good citizen when he performs (from whatever motive) 
 acts of virtue whereby he will benefit his own fellow-citizens in his pubUc life 
 and generally is helpful towards his feUows. 
 
 [Here a question may be raised as to the sense in which education belongs to 
 the Science of Statesmanship — the education I mean in consequence whereof a 
 man grows to be virtuous. That is a point upon which we shaJl have to speak 
 later on.] 
 
 Justice and Injustice, therefore, in their widest sense, are what I have 
 described. 
 
 iv. — ^Division of Civil Justice into (1) Distributive and (2) Cor- 
 rective. 
 
 Of Justice in its narrower sense and of the just relation 
 corresponding thereto, there are two forms : 
 
Bk. v. 6.] Translation. 259 
 
 1. One form of Justice, as equality in the relations of civil 
 life, is exhibited in the distribution and appor^ 
 
 tionment of honour, money, and the advantages as the principle by 
 generally which maybe divided among such as which the 'rights' 
 
 ? T • J.1 ,.,,... of individual 
 
 have a common share m the constitution ; smce in citizens are regu- 
 all matters of that land it is possible to have what lated and adjusted 
 is equal or what is unequal compared with others. ^" ^'" ^°^ ^ ' 
 
 2. The second form is ' corrective' or regulative of transactions 
 between man and man ; and as some transactions are voluntary 
 and others involuntary, this form of Justice has two subdivisions, 
 (a) Voluntary transactions are such as buying or selling, lending 
 or borrowing, accommodation, trust, or hiring ; the voluntariness 
 consisting in the fact that the initial start in all such matters 
 is voluntary. (/3) Involuntary transactions are either fraudulent 
 or violent. Fraudulent transactions are, for example, theft, 
 adultery, witchcraft, procuration, enticing of slaves, assassination 
 and false witness. Violent transactions are such as outrage, 
 bonds, death, abduction, maiming, calumny, insult. 
 
 Of Justice in tlie special sense of civil equity and of the just relation corre- 
 sponding thereto, there are two forms : 
 
 1. One form Is exhibited in apportionments among different citizens ; when it 
 is necessary to apportion money or honour or anything else that is divisible among 
 such as take rank in the civil community. In all such matters equality and 
 inequality, what is less and what is more may be assigned to different people. 
 For this reason it is a distinctive form of Justice to divide and to apportion to 
 each according to principles of right. 
 
 2. The other form is corrective or regulative in transactions between man and 
 man. Of this form, again, there are two subdivisions, inasmuch as contracts ai'e 
 divided into two kinds, one being voluntary and the other involuntary. 
 
 (a) Voluntary transactions are such, as buying, selling, lending, seoiuriug, ac- 
 commodation (when for instance a man gives up his house or his horse to another 
 . to make use of), depositing, hiring of a slave or of a craftsman. Such arrange- 
 ments are called voluntary because the man who has taken or used such things 
 will voluntarily give them back — and at any rate received them in the first instance 
 voluntarily from one who gave them freely and because he desired to do so. And 
 BO they are called ' voluntary.' 
 
 (|3) Involuntary transactions are called either fraudulent or violent. Fraudu- 
 lent contracts are such as theft, adultery, witchcraft, procuration, the cheating of 
 anyone's slave, assassination, false witness. Violent contracts are such as blows, 
 bonds, death, ravishment, maiming, calumny, insult ; and they are so called because 
 a man who offends in relation thereto receives secretly and violently either money 
 or pleasure, and pays back the price thereof in the courts of law, either through 
 fine or death or being outraged or degraded. 
 
 There are, then, these two forms of OivU Justice, one relating to the distribution 
 of goods the other to matters of contracts, which again are either voluntary or 
 involuntary. We will now proceed to speak of each form with greater precision. 
 
 V. — The Principles of Distributive Justice explained. 
 
 Since the unjust man is unjust in his dealings, and a thing that 
 is unjust is a thing that is unequal, it is clear that there is a 
 
 s 2 
 
26o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 6. 
 
 ' mean point ' in reference whereto such inequality is viewed ; and 
 ^, . ., „ this ' mean point' is what is ' equal.' (Of course 
 is a mean. The there must be what is equal in any sphere of 
 just is 'equal;' action in which there is 'more' and 'less.') If 
 
 the lust is a mean. ,, -\ l • • j. ■ t-j.- i ■l l • 
 
 then what is unjust is what is unequal, what is 
 just must be what is equal — an inference which all will draw 
 without discussion ; and as what is ' equal ' is a ' mean point,' 
 what is just will also be ' a mean point.' 
 
 But ' the equal ' implies two quantities at least. It necessarily 
 
 follows, therefore, that what is 'just,' as being a 
 fm£ w: qSn' ' ^^an ' and a thing that is ' equal,' should imply 
 tities and two a reference not only to .a certain standard but 
 t~uftitiel'' ^ls° to certain particular persons; i.e. in so far 
 
 as it is ''a mean,' it must be a mean between 
 
 certain quantities — ' more ' or ' less,' and in so far as it is an 
 
 ' equal,' it must mean an equality between two quantities, and in 
 
 so far as it is 'just,' it implies a reference to particular persons. 
 
 It necessarily follows that what is 'just' implies four terms at 
 
 the least: for there are two persons concerned, 
 Jiisticc, therefore, and the shares which they receive are two. And 
 
 takes the form of ,, , .. -n i jt t , ,i 
 
 a proportion. the relation Will be the same between the persons 
 
 as between their shares. If, that is, the persons 
 interested are not equal to one another, they will not receive equal 
 shares ; nay, if those who are equal fail to receive equal shares, or 
 if those who are unequal share equally, thence arise feuds and 
 contentions in states. 
 
 [This principle is further evident from the use of standards of 
 „„„,., , merit. All men admit that what is iust in the 
 
 iquality measured ,. ^^ ., ^. „ , , -^ ,, , 
 
 by some standard distribution ot houours must be Conformable to 
 ■whatever that gome standard of merit — though all do not accept" 
 
 standard be. ,, , -, ■, ■, -r » -, 
 
 the same standard ; e.ff. the lovers of democracy 
 
 say that the standard should be [coextensive with] freedom, the 
 
 oligarchs say that wealth is the true standard or high birth, and 
 
 the lovers of an aristocracy say personal excellence.] 
 
 Justice is, therefore, something 'proportionate.' Proportion 
 
 is not only applicable fo pure number but tfti.. 
 tinuous^proportiom quantity generally: it is an equality between 
 
 ratios, and there must be four terms at least 
 involved in it. [As for ' discrete proportion ' it is obvious that 
 that implies four terms. But so also does 'continuous pro- 
 portion,' since it employs one of its terms as two and names it 
 twice over; e.ff. 'as A is to B, so is B to C The term B is, 
 therefore, used twice ; and B being put down twice over, the terms 
 of the proportion are four.] 
 
Bk. v. 7.] Translation. 261 
 
 Justice, then, (as a due proportion in the distribution of 
 honours) involves four terms at least, and the 
 ratio between the members of the two pairs of ^^'^'tj™ between 
 
 , . '^ the tour terms of 
 
 terms will be the same, smce the persons m- the proportion in 
 terested and the things at stake are divided Distributive 
 similarly. The proportion will then be — A : B :: 
 C : D (or, alternando, A : :: B : D) ; and hence the whole 
 A + C (which the distribution unites together) is proportionate 
 to the whole B + D; and if they be united in the manner 
 indicated, the distribution unites them in conformity with justice. 
 
 The joining together, therefore, of the term A to the term C, 
 and of the term B to the term D, is what is just in the distribu- 
 tion of honours ; and this kind of justice is a mean point between 
 whatever violates a due proportion ; what is proportionate being a 
 mean and what is just being proportionate. 
 
 Mathematicians call this kind of proportion ' geometrical ' (as 
 opposed to ' arithmetical ' proportion) because in 
 geometrical proportion the whole is related to the Arithmetical and 
 whole precisely as each term is to each. [This portion™"^ '^'™" 
 proportion is of course not continuous, since the 
 person interested and the object at stake cannot be one in 
 number.] Justice of this kind, therefore, is 'proportionate.' 
 
 On the other hand what is 'unjust' is what violates a due 
 proportion; and such a disproportionateness is 
 found in the forms of ' the more ' and ' the less.' JX'of'p.opS." 
 Such is the effect found in actual experience. 
 The man who commits injustice has ' more ' than is due to him of 
 what is good ; and the man who is injured has ' less ' than he 
 should have of the good. Conversely in the case of what is ' evil : ' 
 the lesser evil becomes an item in the account of what is ' good,' 
 compared, that is, with the greater evil, since a lesser evil is more 
 desirable than a greater one, that which is desirable being a good, 
 and that which is more desirable being a greater good. 
 
 This, then, is one aspect or form of Justice. 
 
 What is ' just,' therefore, is what is ' a mean,' and what is ' equal,' and what is 
 ' proportionate ; ' and Justice is the principle which produces a true ' mean ' and 
 ' equality' and ' proportionateness ' in civil life. What is just is a ' mean ' because 
 it is midway between what is ' too much ' and what is ' too little,' between what 
 is above the right proportion and what is below it ; in that respect being lilre all 
 the other virtues, since the law of the mean is applicable to all the forms of 
 moral excellence. But its equality is a characteristic peculiar to Justice : it 
 renders to each man what is appropriate and fitting for him to receive : and what 
 it gives is equal relatively to the recipient {ij;. things which are appropriate are 
 things which are fair and equal, and what is fitting is in a sense what is appro- 
 priate). Moreover, since Injustice is inequality and what is unjust is what is 
 unequal, it will only be natural that Justice should be an equality and that what 
 IS just should be equal, as being a mean between what is ' too much ' and what is 
 
262 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 7. 
 
 ' too little.' In any course of action in which ' the more ' and ' the less ' find a 
 place, it is a consequence that there should be room for what is ' equal.' In fact 
 without any argument of ours, that is the view which is universally approved— 
 that what is just is (what is) equal. 
 
 Justice is also ' proportionate ' because it makes what has to be divided 
 proportionate to the recipients according to a standard of distribution. The 
 things which are given bear the same proportion to one another that the 
 recipients do to each other. If Achilles is, let us say, worth double of Ajax in 
 respect of bravery, the honour which must be paid by the just man to Achilles, 
 •will be twice as great as that which he will pay to Ajax. 
 
 In so far as Justice is a ' mean,' it is a mean between many extremes, since the 
 things which lie outside 'the mean' are many, being distant therefrom in varying 
 degrees of nearness or remoteness. In so far, again, as Justice is an ' equality,' 
 it is an equality between two specific things — the recipient of the gift and the 
 gift itself. (' Equality ' is a term of relation and always implies some two 
 objects between which there must be an equal relationship.) In so far, again, as 
 Justice is proportionate, it implies, at the least, four terms. Proportion must of 
 course always lie between four objects, being as it is an equality between two 
 ratios, each ratio consisting of two terms; and so any proportion must imply 
 four objects. Suppose, for instance, that the ratio is twofold or threefold : there 
 is then a scheme of relation between two quantities, one of them being double, 
 and the other half, the other — as 20 is related to 10. Hence there must be two 
 terms in every single ratio. If we take this same ratio in two other terms, 
 ic. between 12 and 6, we can. then form a proportion, and we shall have 'as 
 20 : 10 :: 12 : 6 ; ' and so proportion will always consist in four terms at the least, 
 though of course it ma\j consist of more. 
 
 [If it happens that we have taken three terms and constructed a proportion 
 out of them, e.g. as 20 : 10 :: 10 : 5, then, as we take the 10 twice over, there are 
 thus found to be four terms. This kind of proportion is called ' continuons,' 
 whilst that which consists of four distinct terms, is called ' discrete.' Both kinds 
 alike are distinguished by Mathematicians as ' Geometrical Proportion,' on account 
 of there being yet another kind of Proportion which is called ' Arithmetical 
 Proportion,' which is of this nature : ' A exceeds B, by as much as C exceeds D.'] 
 
 But distributive Justice is proportionate according to the standard of geometrical 
 proportion — for reasons which we will now state. 
 
 Let us assume that the thing which is to be distributed is honour, and that the 
 persons among whom the honour is to be conferred are Achilles and Ajax. The 
 honour in the one case ought to bear the same relation to the honour in the other 
 that Achilles does to Ajax ; and the honour of Achilles ought to bear the same 
 relation to Achilles that the honour of Ajax does to Ajax ; or, oombiniag the 
 terms together, the relation which AohiUes honoured bears to AchiUes ought to 
 be the relation which Ajax honoui-ed does to Ajax ; and, inversely, the relation 
 which Achilles honoured bears to Ajax honoured, ought to be the relation which 
 Achilles bears to Ajax. 
 
 Now the whole proportion when it is of this form is suitable to distribntlTe 
 justice, being as it is of the kind which can be discovered not in arithmetical 
 proportion, but solely in geometrical. It is shown by the geometrician that all 
 these forms of proportion are found in geometrical proportion. But that it is 
 impossible for them to be found in arithmetical proportion is clear fiom the 
 following considerations. Suppose that there are four quantities in arithmetical 
 proportion, 4, 3, 6, 5 : then 4 exceeds 3 by as much as 6 exceeds 5. But if yon 
 combine the quantities in either ratio there will no longer be a proportion in the 
 arithmetical sense : i.c. if 6 and 5 be added together the whole will exceed 6 by 
 6, whereas if i and 3 be added together the whole will exceed 3 by 4. Conse- 
 quently these quantities only show an arithmetical proportion while disjoined 
 (i.c. there is the same excess of 4 over 3 as there is of 6 over 5). If however 
 these quantities are combined, there is no longer a proportion : — 11 exceeds 5 by 
 inure than 7 exceeds 3. 
 
 For these reasons, then, distributive justice is proportionate, according to the 
 
Bk, V. 7.] Translation. 263 
 
 principles of geometrical proportion, but tliat not of the continuous but of tbe 
 discrete kind. The terms implied in it must be four in number, since it is 
 impossible that the thing given and the recipient of the gjft should be one in 
 Humber. Justice of this kind is proportionate so far as it consists of distributions 
 — when, that is, a man receives what is proportionate to his merit, whether 
 honour or money or what else there be that is to be divided. By such principles 
 it is that peace and good order are established in communities ; since by different 
 conditions civil strife and feuds and incriminations arise — when, that is, equals 
 do not receive equal treatment, or those who are unequal are dealt with as 
 equals. There is, moreover, this further point which makes it clear that a man 
 who would effect an arrangement of society in accordance with justice aims at 
 what is proportionate. All men consider that to be just which corresponds to 
 each man's individual worth, but as to what the ' worth ' is, on account whereof 
 a man is to be honoured, all men do not agree in their views. The lovers of a 
 democracy say that the only condition of merit is personal freedom ; the oligarchs 
 say that wealth is the ground of merit, and ai-istoorats say that it is personal 
 excellence. Since, then, there are these divergent grounds of merit, if any one 
 be desirous of apportioning honour to each man according to his worth, and upon 
 a principle of justice, he will not make the apportionment equal but proportionate. 
 Justice, therefore, is the proportionate, as has been explained. 
 
 On the other hand, what is unjust is what is wide of the propoi-tionate relation 
 — when, that is, the distribution is made on a principle of excess or of deficiency 
 compared with the worth of the recipients ; and that is a result which is found 
 in the general effects of wrong doing. The man who commits a wrong strives to 
 get more good than the person injured and the person injured has less good in 
 consequence. Conversely in the case of evil, the wrongdoer has less evil and the 
 person injured has greater evil in consequence, since the lesser evil is more 
 choiceworthy than the greater, and is sought for as a greater good. 
 
 Such, then, is the distributive form of Justice : we may now treat at once of 
 the other form. 
 
 vi.— The Principles of Corrective Justice explained. 
 
 There is one remaining form of Justice, Corrective Justice, 
 which finds its sphere in business transactions 
 
 '['Via SlDilSrG 111 
 
 between man and man whether entered into which Remedial 
 
 freely or not. Justice is exercised 
 
 Corrective Justice has a character quite distinct 
 from Distributive Justice. Distributive Justice, dealing with 
 the apportionment of public goods, proceeds invariably on the 
 principle of geometrical proportion described above : — if distribu- 
 tion be made to the citizens out of the public funds, the various 
 apportionments must bear the same ratio to one another that the 
 respective contributions of the diiferent citizens do. (Conversely 
 the injustice which is the direct opposite of this kind of Justice, is 
 in contravention of this kind of proportion.) 
 
 On the other hand the Justice which arises from the transac- 
 tions dependent on mutual intercourse, though a „ ,. , t x- 
 kind of equality, as Injustice is inequality, yet is determined by the 
 not an equality according to the standard of principles of arith- 
 
 , ■ \ 1 l_ n -ii X- 1 L- T metioal proportion. 
 
 geometrical but 01 arithmetical, proportion, in 
 
 this view of Justice (as 'corrective' or 'remedial') it is immaterial 
 
264 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V, 7. 
 
 whether the good man h^s cheated the bad man or whether it be 
 the bad man who has cheated the good man ; or, again, whether 
 the man who has committed an adultery be a good or a. bad man. 
 The law looks simply to the different degrees of injury in different 
 cases ; and where there is one man who has committed a wrong 
 and another who has suffered it, or one man has done a harm and 
 another man been the victim of it, the law treats the persons 
 affected as equal (and deals simply with the inequality caused by 
 the wrong). Wrong being an equality between the author of a 
 wrong and its victim, the judge endeavours to make matters 
 equal between them. When, for instance, one- man has been 
 struck and another man has dealt the blow, or when one man has 
 been killed and another man has done the murder, the action of 
 the one and the suffering of the other form a division into two 
 unequal parts; but the Judge endeavours to make the relation 
 equal by the infliction of punishment, thus taking away from the 
 man who has profited a proportionate amount of his ' gain.' [In 
 transactions of this kind the advantage to the aggressor is called 
 his 'gain,' while the result to the victim is called his 'loss'— 
 though in some cases the term is inappropriate; yet when the 
 whole circumstance is measured out in its consequences to the 
 different parties, the consequence to the one is ' gain ' and to the 
 other is ' loss.'] 
 
 The ' equal,' therefore, is a mean point between ' too much ' and 
 
 'too little,' and ' gain ' is too much and ' loss ' 
 
 contract' may^ be *°° little, in inverse ratio to one another — too 
 
 represented as much of good and too little of evil, or too little of 
 
 -too' much ^ISd g°°<i ^^^ *^°° ^^^^ °f ^^'^^; the mean pomt 
 too little, which the between the two being, as we have shown, the 
 Judge must equal- < g^^^l ' which WO assert to be ' the just.' Cor- 
 rective Justice will, consequently, be a mean 
 point between 'loss' and 'gain.' Hence when men are at issue 
 between one another, they betake themselves to the judge, since 
 to have recourse to the judge is to have recourse to justice, the 
 very purpose and raison d'itre of a Judge being, as it were, to act 
 as a living embodiment of Justice. Men in fact seek in a Judge 
 an ideal of a right ; and they sometimes call them ' Mediators,' as 
 feeling that if they can find in them ' a mean ' or ideal standard of 
 reference, they will be sure to meet with Justice. Justice, there- 
 fore, is a kind of mean if the Judge be a mediator. 
 
 Now the Judge equalizes the wrong. Just as if a line be 
 divided into two unequal parts, he takes away from the greater 
 section that part by which it exceeds the half, and adds the same 
 to the less. The whole being divided into two equal parts, men 
 
Bk. Y. 7.] Translation. 265 
 
 say that they have their own when they receive exactly as much 
 as their rivals. The equal is a mean point between the greater 
 and the less, according to the principles of arithmetical pro- 
 portion. [This is, indeed, the reason why Justice is called hUaiov 
 (' division ') because it divides things into equal portions, just as 
 though one were to call Justice an equilibrium and the Judge a 
 balancer.] Suppose, for instance, that two lines being equal a 
 part be taken from the one and added to the other, this other line 
 exceeds the first by twice the amount subtracted from it ; whereas 
 if the part subtracted from the one were not added to the other, 
 this other would have only exceeded this first by once this part. 
 Therefore the line which is added to, exceeds the mean by once 
 the part added ; and the mean again exceeds the part subtracted 
 from, by once that part. 
 
 From these considerations we may learn what we must take 
 away from the term which has more and what we must add to 
 that which has less. We must add to that which has less the 
 amount by which the mean ex- 
 ceeds it, and we must take from a a 
 
 the larger term the amount by 
 which the mean is exceeded. 
 
 Let the lines A A, B B, C ^ z ' ^ ^ 
 
 be equal to one another. From 
 
 A A take E A. Add C D (equal to E A) to C 0. Then the 
 
 whole COD exceeds A E by Z D, and also B B by C D. 
 
 This principle applies to the arts generally: they would have 
 been annihilated but for this law of compensation , ,• . ... 
 — if, that is, the power of production had not prineii5e™tD the 
 produced just the quantity and the quality re- law of supply and 
 
 1 j» 1 *j? J.1 ^ ^ i_ demand. 
 
 quired tor exchange, or it the consumer had not 
 consumed a corresponding quality and quantity. The very terms 
 ' loss ' and ' gain ' are derived from the associations of voluntary 
 exchange. To have more than one's own is called ' gaining,' and 
 to have less than at the commencement is called ' losing ; ' for 
 example, in buying and selling and in other transactions generally 
 where the law allows freedom of contract. But when a man has 
 neither more nor less, but the outlay and return are equal, then 
 men say that they have their own, and neither lose nor gain. 
 Justice, therefore, is a mean point between a kind of gain and 
 loss, in matters outside the sphere of the voluntary, so that men 
 have what is ' equal ' after, as before, such transactions. 
 
 The second form of Justice is tlie Corrective, whicli has to regulate the trans- 
 actions between man and man whether voluntary or involuntary, fraudulent or 
 violent. This kind of Justice also proceeds according to a certain scheme of pro- 
 
"^ 
 
 266 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 7. 
 
 portion — not geometrical proportion wMoh was found to be the method of the 
 first kind, i.e. Distributive Justice, but arithmetical proportion. Distributive Jug. 
 tice, in making a distribution of public funds among the citizens, gives to each 
 one in due proportion, according to their respective merits and the contiibutions 
 which they have severally made towards the public revenues. All citizens are 
 not alike in position, nor do aH contribute to the same extent, and so they receive 
 not equal but proportionate shares. 
 
 On the other hand Corrective Justice, being what is ' fair ' in regard to men's 
 dealings with one another, has for its terms the person who has injured and the 
 person who is injured : it gives to them not what is proportionate but what ia 
 equal. The equality which the wrong-doer destroys in taking away from the 
 person wronged some good thing of his and transferring it to himself, this eqnahty 
 is restored by the just man when he exacts from the wrong-doer just as much as 
 he has gained from the person he has injured : in this way he gives to each of 
 the parties what is ' equal.' Since then there are four teims (1) the person 
 injured, (2) the person who has done the injury, (3) the ti'eatment which the 
 person aggrieved has suffered from the man who has injured him, and (4) the 
 punishment which the wrong-doer has undergone at the hands of the Judge, — it 
 follows that there is an aritltvietical proportion between these terms. The Judge 
 causes the person injured to recover precisely the same advantage over his ag- 
 gressor that his aggressor has gained over him. It thus happens that Corrective 
 Justice is a kind of pattern of this kind of proportion. It is quite immaterial in 
 view of this kind of Justice whether the man who commits the fraud be a good 
 man and the man defrauded a bad man, or whether the man who commits adnl- 
 tery be a bad man, and the man who is injured be a good man : in aU cases alike 
 the Judge who sets right the wrong has simply to look to equality. The two 
 parties are regarded simply as persons who have done or suffered wrong ; and the 
 amount which the wrong-doer has gained, whether in the shape of pleasure or of 
 money or of fame, from the person whom he hsis injured (and to that extent, 
 therefore, gained an advantage over him) this amount the Judge gives back to 
 the person injured, either by fining the aggressor or by degrading him, or by 
 torturing him, or by putting him to death. It is also possible for us to see this 
 principle of proportion in this kind of Justice in another way, by making, that 
 is, the terms of the proportion continuous : — ' as the aggressor is to the person 
 aggrieved, so is the Judge to the aggressor ' (whereby the aggressor receives from 
 the Judge precisely equal treatment to that which he had himself meted out to 
 his victim). 
 
 Since, then, Injustice introduces a disproportion of ' more' and 'less' alike ia 
 things good as in things evil (though inversely, of course, since the man who 
 aims at the greater good chooses the lesser evU) whereas Justice introduces 
 equality — an equality that is a mean between the greater and the less, it is evi- 
 dent that Justice of this kind is an ideal state between 'loss' and 'gain.' [Every 
 form in which wrong is suffered may be caUed ' loss,' and every act of wronj- 
 doing and of unfair advantage may be called ' gain ' whether it be money, or fame, 
 or anything else for which a man wishes to act unfairly.] Corrective Justice is, 
 therefore, a mean between loss and gain. Consequently when men are at issue 
 with one another they betake themselves to the Judge for protection, thinking 
 that in this way neither of them will be wronged (and hence of necessity neither 
 of them will make a gain), but will obtain the perfect mean between loss and 
 gain. They consider in fact that the Judge is a living embodiment of Justice to 
 make straight all wrongs ; and they call him a ' mediator ' in the belief that by 
 virtue of their appeal to him they will obtain the ' mean ' which is the fair and 
 right. Some people call in not one only but two or three ' mediators' in theii 
 disputes. Hence it is obvious that what they seek is the ' mean,' regarding it at 
 the same thing to seek what is a mean and to seek what is just. The ' just,' 
 therefore, is a mean. 
 
 In truth, then, the Judge is himself a ' mean,' introducing as he does a mean 
 as an ideal, and equalizing the inequality which arises from injustice. For illns- 
 tration, suppose the line AB ii c B a to be unequally divided 
 
Bk. V. 7.| Translation. 267 . 
 
 at the point D, if one wished to divide the line into equal parts, he would take 
 away from the greater segment B D the excess by which it is greater than D A, 
 (ie. D which is equal to D A) and add that amount to D A, aafi would thus make 
 A C equal to B C, and find in the point C the whole line B A divided into two equal 
 parts. Precisely the same result is found in regard to the inequality which In- 
 jnstioe causes. Corrective Justice, taking away from the gain of him who has 
 done the injury that which represents his advantage compared with the person 
 injured, and transferring that amount to the injured man, efEeots an equality and 
 mean state between them. It is in fact for this reason that Justice is so called 
 because it implies etymologically a division (as though one were to call it an 
 equipoise, and a Judge a personal balance.) 
 
 Just as in the case of a line when it is divided into two parts, because one of 
 the two equal segments is a mean, according to arithmetical proportion, between 
 the greater and the less ; so also ' the just ' is a mean between the greater or the 
 lesser loss or gain — being less than the greater and greater than the less. That 
 what has been said in the case with respect to a line is evident. B D exceeds 
 C A by C D, and C A exceeds A D by C D ; therefore B D, C A, and A D hold a 
 proportion to one another, of the arithmetical kind. But C A is the middle and 
 is equal to C B (which is less than B D but greater than A D, exceeding and being 
 exceeded by the same C D) : thus 5 B d I- 
 
 It is further evident from hence that the just and the equal is a proportionate 
 mean between loss and gain, according to arithmetical proportion. Let there be 
 three straight hues equal to one another, 
 
 A A, B B, C C. Let A A be bisected in E, a a 
 
 andCCinZ. From A A take A B. It is " 
 
 evident that C C wiU be greater than E A '" n 
 
 by Z. Let the part taken from A A be _j 
 
 added to C C, extending C C to D. It is " ^ " " 
 
 then evident that the whole D C is greater 
 
 than E A by D C and C Z. If then it should be necessary to introduce again equality 
 between these three lines, we can efEect it by means of B B. By applying B B as 
 a rule to C D, we can remove the excess ; and by applying it to A A we may make 
 up the deficiency ; and thus the extremes wOl be equal to one another. The line 
 B B which restores the equality, is a mean, according to arithmetical proportion, 
 between D C and B A since D C exceeds B B by D C, and B B exceeds B A by D C. 
 
 It is evident from the preceding arguments that the same relation is found in 
 the application of Corrective Justice. In the case of the arts also this principle 
 applies. The arts only flourish and hold together so long as we find ourselves in 
 need of their productions, and feel precisely the same amount of want of the arts 
 that corresponds with the labour and loss which the artists sustain in the exercise 
 of their craft. It is only possible for the artists to subsist, so long as they supply 
 their own need from the resources of those who stand in need of their productions. 
 If while the craftsmen labour at the production of works of art, those who sup- 
 port their arts (i.e. those who have need of the arts) are not affected to an equal 
 degree with the producers but the consumption or demand is much less than the 
 ^"■Pplyi in such a case there is nothing to prevent those arts from decaying and 
 perishing. For this reason, in the arts also there is need for the ' mean ' and the 
 ' equal ' — i.e. for that which is midway between loss and gain. 
 
 These terms, then, ' loss ' and ' gain,' are applied in the strict sense only to 
 voluntary contracts though they are also so understood in reference to involun- 
 tary transactions. The term ' to gain ' is applied absolutely to the ' acquiring of 
 more than one possessed ; ' and in the same way ' to lose ' is applied to the getting 
 less than one had at starting. To keep one's own is called neither loss nor gain 
 but a kind of mean between the two. Hence ' the just ' is a mean point between 
 loss and gain. I am here referring to the circumstances which arise in involun- 
 tary transactions when a man receives precisely what he had before he had any 
 injury done to him or did any injury — before, that is, he made a gain or suffered 
 a loss. Gain in voluntary transactions is neither unjust nor is it remedied by 
 Justice, since the law has granted freedom of choice in voluntary compacts. 
 
.268 
 
 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 8. 
 
 ^ vii.— Examination of tlie Theory of Retaliation. 
 
 The theory of the 
 Pythagoreans needs 
 to be modified and 
 qualified : in its 
 bald statement it 
 is untrue. 
 
 There is also a view held by some that ' Retaliation ' in its sim- 
 plest sense is Justice ; as the Pythagoreans 
 maintained it to be, defining Justice, without 
 limitation, as ' Eetaliation inflicted upon an- 
 other.' Yet this principle of retaliation is one 
 which does not properly apply either to Distri- 
 butive or to Corrective 'Justice ; though its advo- 
 cates are anxious to dignify it as the 'justice dealt out by Rha- 
 damanthus ' : 
 
 " If each man sufEer as he wrought, the law of right is equal made." 
 
 Such a principle is, in many instances, at variance with Justice. 
 Suppose, for instance, that a man exercising authority has struck 
 another, he ought not to be struck in turn; or if a man has struck 
 a magistrate, he ought not merely to be struck but be punished 
 judicially. Moreover the voluntariness or the involuntariness of 
 an act makes a wide difference in its character. 
 
 In commercial transactions, however, the bond of union is that 
 kind of Justice which consists in retaliation, proceeding not by way 
 of equality but of proportion : it is in fact by requiting in due 
 measure that the state holds together. Men have either wrongs 
 which they seek to requite (and if they could not requite a wrong, 
 their lot would seem to be a slave's lot) ; or they have kindness to 
 requite (and if they fail to requite kindness, there is a failure in' 
 the interchange of good offices by which men are held together in 
 society). Hence it is that they make the Temple of the Graces to 
 confront our view in our streets — to encourage mutual good offices, 
 that being the characteristic feature of a G-race : it is a duty, that 
 is, to requite the kindness of one who has done a favour, and again, 
 on being benefited oneself, to initiate new favours to others. 
 
 Now the drawing of the diagonal of a parallelogram shows the 
 return that is proportional : ^ 
 
 Builder. - 
 
 House.- 
 
 -Shoemaker. 
 
 -Shoes. 
 
 For example, let the Builder stand at the point A, the Shoemaker 
 at the point B, a house at the point G, and shoes at the point:D. 
 In this case the Builder must receive from the Shoemaker sOine 
 
Bk. v. 8.] Translatwn. 269 
 
 product of Ms labour, and himself in turn must give back some of 
 his own. If. tben, there be in the first instance an equality ac- 
 cording to proportion and then a requital be afterwards made, the 
 desired result will be attained. If, on the other hand, the adjustment 
 in the first instance be not proportionate, there is no real equality 
 nor does the compact hold good. There is nothing to prevent the 
 work of the one being superior to that of the other : their values 
 ought therefore to be equalised. This indeed is a principle which 
 applies to the arts generally : they must have been destroyed had 
 there not been producers producing and consumers consuming pre- 
 cisely the same quantity and the same quality relatively to one 
 another. There is no interchange of offices between two physicians, 
 though there may be between a physician and a farmer, and gene- 
 rally between all who are different from one another and not 
 equal. Such jDcrsons must first of all be brought to an equality. 
 
 All things, therefore, between which exchange is possible must in 
 some way be made comm ensurable with one another. 
 For this purpose it is that coinage has come into ^o^^y *« medium 
 
 r. ■ . , -.y /. 1 , oy whicn exchange 
 
 vogue, lormmg m a way ' a medium of exchange. jg effected. 
 Money measures the values of all things, and 
 hence their relative superiority or inferiority to one another; how 
 many pairs of shoes, for example, it is right to exchange for a 
 house or for food. It follows, therefore, that the relation which 
 a builder bears to a shoemaker ought to determine the number of 
 pairs of shoes compared with a house or with so much food (other- 
 wise no exchange or commerce will be possible). And this 
 cannot be determined unless the things are in some sense equal. 
 
 Hence it is necessary that there should be some one standard 
 by which all things can be measured (as was 
 explained above). In real fact this standard of ^"t ' demand ' is 
 value is the ' demand ' which holds all things to- af value. ^ ™ ^ 
 gether : if men were to be in need of nothing, or 
 if their wants did not correspond to one another {i.e. A. wanting 
 B.'s goods, and B. wanting A.'s), there would be no exchange or 
 not a reciprocal one. But as representative of this demand, 
 coinage has come into use by general agreement, and hence it has 
 derived its name ' currency,' because it is established by current 
 usage and not by nature, and because it is within our power either 
 to change it or to render it useless. 
 
 A proper requital will therefore be made when the terms of the 
 exchange have been equalised, so that the product of the shoe- 
 maker bears precisely the same relation to the product of the farmer 
 that the farmer himself does to the shoemaker himself, compared 
 together. But after they have made the exchange, one must not 
 
270 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 8. 
 
 tlien a second time bring a consideration of their primary relations 
 (e.q. of the dignity of the farmer over the shoemaker) into the 
 scheme of proportion : otherwise the one extreme will have hoth 
 the superiorities. The adjustment of values between the farmer 
 and the shoemaker must be made at the time when each of the 
 parties retains his own produce : they are then made equal to one 
 another and capable of trading, inasmuch as proportionate equality 
 can be established between them. Let A. represent a fanner and 
 C. his produce, B. a shoemaker and D. his manufacture : D. must 
 be equalised to C, so that if the farmer be worth twice the shoe- 
 maker, the manufacture of the shoemaker must be doubled to be 
 equal to the produce of the farmer. Unless it had been possible 
 for each man to be proportionately recompensed in this way, there 
 could have been no commerce. 
 
 The proof that it is ' demand ' which binds men together, as it 
 were in a principle of unity, is shown by the fact that when men 
 are not in want of one another's products (either both parties or at 
 least one), they do not exchange ; as we do of course when one 
 man wants what oneself has, for instance wine, giving, perhaps, 
 in exchange part of an export of corn. The basis of exchange has 
 therefore to be laid in the principle of equality. 
 
 But with a view to future exchange, though one requires nothing 
 
 for the present, money is a kind of security to us 
 
 Value of money as that we may have any article when we do require it. 
 
 a representatire of tt j. -j? i • -ii i ■ i 1 1 i 
 
 future possibUities, -tlo must, it he camos money with him, be able to 
 and a guarantee of get what he wants. Money, however, is subject to 
 future needs.'™ " ^hc same fluctuations as goods are: it has not the 
 same unvarying value, though it tends more than 
 other things to remain fixed. Hence it is right that everything 
 should have a value put upon it ; since then there will be facilities 
 for exchange, and if that be so, there will be commerce. Money, 
 therefore, as a standard equalises things after making them com- 
 mensurable. Of course there would have been no commerce had 
 there been no exchange, nor exchange had there been no equality, 
 nor equality had there been no common standard. In real truth 
 it is impossible to make things commensurable that are so very 
 wide apart ; but looking to the law of demand it is possible to 
 estimate the values of things sufficiently for the purpose of ex- 
 change. There must, therefore, necessarily be some one common - 
 standard; and that has been settled by common agreement (henos 
 also the name by which it is called ' currency'). Money makes all 
 things commensurable, all things being measured by money as a 
 standard of value. For example, let A represent a house, B ten 
 minse, and C a bed. A therefore will be half B (if a house be 
 
pk. V. 8.] Translation. 271 
 
 Forth five min^ or eq[uivalent tllereto). Let C, the bed, be 
 worth a tenth part of B. It is clear, therefore, how many beds 
 are equivalent to a house — i.e. five. It is indeed tlear that this 
 was the mode of exchange before currency came in : in point of 
 principle it is quite immaterial whether five beds be given for a 
 house or the money value of five beds. 
 
 Now the Pytliagoreans used to affirm tliat Justice was Retaliation— sufEering, 
 that is, the very same treatment which one deals out to others, and that the 
 sentence of Khadamanthus had reference to this view : 
 
 " If each man suffer as he wrought, the law of right is equal made." 
 
 Yet this principle of retaliation is not truly applicable to any of the divisions of 
 Justice. Neither Distributive nor Corrective Justice is of that character. In 
 the case of a distribution, it is not always possible that the citizen should be 
 rewarded by the State with the same IdnA of service which he may have 
 conferred on the community. Suppose that he has killed a Tyrant, how can he 
 be requited after the same manner ? Again, in the case of Corrective Justice 
 this principle is in many cases incongruous. If a man has assaulted a magistrate, 
 he ought not simply to be struck in return but judicially punished ; and if, on 
 the contrary, a man wielding authority has struck one of those who are subject 
 to him, it is not right that he should have the same treatment dealt out to him. 
 Again, if a man has, unwilliDigly and unwittingly injured his neighbour, it is 
 not right that he should have an injury done to him in return. 
 
 It is possible, however, that this principle of ' equal requital ' may be just in 
 transactions of mutual exchange, where there is something given and something 
 received ; for instance, in the services or wrongs which men do towards one 
 another, or in the interchange of manufactures between men of business : — 
 only in such cases one ought to interpret the principle of requital not by the 
 standard of equality but of proportion. A man who has struck an officer, has 
 wounded the good order of the State, and must not be struck in return but be 
 put to death. A man, again, who has injured his neighbour's wife, must him- 
 self also be evU-entreated, but not with an exactly similar requital, but by a 
 requital that is proimTtionate to the offence. If a wrong-doer is not to be 
 visited with evU. to himself, social life wiU be an enslavement and tyranny ; 
 though, on the other hand, if he were to be visited with punishment of the 
 very same kind as his crime, the result would be absurd and a new deed of 
 shame ensue. The case is precisely similar in reference to the requital of 
 favours, and the receiving and doing of kindnesses. With a view to the equal 
 adjustment of social relations it is necessary that the man who has received a 
 favour should make an equal return and requite the favour done, and moreover 
 himself initiate a second series of kind offices. Unless such a return be made, 
 the social intercourse which binds the state together and makes its harmony 
 secure, will be destroyed. Hence it is that there is a Temple of the Graces 
 erected in every city — that the Graces may be honoured by an interchange of 
 kindly offices. But it is not possible that the kindness should always be 
 identical in kind with that which requites it : only it must be proportionate. 
 One man, for example, gives to another that which he needs, whilst he himself 
 receives back from his friend something of which he stands in need ; and thus 
 whilst he is favoured he makes his friend to feel the same favour Kimself . If, 
 on the other hand, he were to receive back precisely what he has given, what 
 mutual benefit is there therein ? Consequently, kindnesses conferred and kind- 
 nesses bestowed must not be identical in IdnA, but proportionate the one to 
 the other. 
 
 This view will be made yet more evident by the following considerations. 
 Interchange of services and the requital of services are forms of ' commerce,' 
 and all such forms of commerce relate to what is in ' demand ' (ie. for which 
 
272 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 8. 
 
 others hare ■want). A man seeks to have a share in that of which he feels a 
 need. To be in want of anything is to be in want of what is unlike one's OTm ; 
 a man does not need himself, nor the things belonging to himself, nor the things 
 which he can produce of himself ; but the things which he seeks to share with 
 his neighbour are things which he has not got nor is able to produce: Shoe- 
 maker does not need shoemaker, nor physician physician ; but the shoemaker, 
 needs the physician and the physician needs the shoemaker. Hence it is evident 
 that kindnesses relate to things dissimilar. The kindnesses, therefore, inter- 
 changed or requited will not be of the same nature, but in order that they may 
 be regulated by principles of Justice, the equality between them must be under- 
 stood as an ' equality according to proportion.' The shoemaker wiU give shoes 
 to the builder, but he wiU receive from the builder such things as are helpful 
 towards the building of a house, to an extent proportionate to iihe favour which 
 the gift of shoes implies. The farmer, again, will have yet other things to give, 
 and yet other things to receive, according to a due proportion. For it is, of 
 course, possible that the production of the one to be more valuable than the 
 production of the other. The shoemaker will not give merely a pair of shoes to 
 the builder in return for a house, but it is necessary for him to contribute, in 
 order to make a fair return, precisely as much as the builder has lost on the 
 construction of the house : otherwise the exchange between them will be 
 unequal and their mutual obligations unfair. 
 
 It is necessary, therefore, to maintain equality in good oifices, only it must be 
 an equality regulated by a due proportion — as is produced by the drawmg of the 
 diagonal, the diagonal is a. straight line dravsm from one comer of a pai'aUelo- 
 gram to the opposite comer : 
 
 C Shoemaker. 
 
 Let the four terms be arranged as a parallelogram : Builder, Shoemaker, Shoes, 
 House, — Builder at the point A, Shoemaker at the point C, House at the point 
 B, Shoes at the point D. Since then the Shoes are placed below the Shoemaker, 
 as D is under C, and House under Builder, as B is under A, in their respective 
 interchange with one another the Builder will be conjoined to the Shoes, as A is 
 joined to D, and the Shoemaker will be conjoined with House, as C is to B. In 
 this way the commerce between the two will be according to the principle of 
 the diagonal — not by simple reciprocity but in accordance with their relative., 
 proportions. 
 
 Hence it is necessary that things which are exchanged should bear a certain 
 relationship and agreement with one another. There are, of course, certain 
 things which are well-nigh incapable of being exchanged, through being inconi' 
 mensm-able : for instance, the product of the flute-player an^ of the builder. 
 It is for this reason that coinage has been adopted, since coinage can be ex- 
 changed for any kind of production, and estimates the value of every kind of 
 work. By means of coinage we find out how many pairs of shoes a house is 
 worth, or how much food or how much of productions generally. Unless the 
 value of each thing can be ascertained, the exchange of things or relations of 
 commerce cannot possibly be sustained. Giving and receiving more than the 
 true value of a thing is not exchange nor a matter of commerce. 
 
 It is consequently necessary that there should be some one common measure 
 for all things by which we are enabled to measure all things and by means 
 whereof we ascertain the value of each separate thing. In the nature of things, 
 and in strict truth, ' demand ' or ' want ' is the measure of all values. In the 
 proportion in which a man has need of anything, in that exact proportion he, 
 wishes to have a share of it. Unless one wanted what another had, or did not 
 wish for it to the same extent as another wanted one's own things but lea 
 
Bk. V. 8.] Translation. 273 
 
 Kigerly, then there would be no exchange. But if a man does stand in real need 
 of a thing, he gives up what is his own and receives in return the things of 
 others. It is ' want ' or ' demand ' then which by nature and in real truth is the 
 measoie of the value of things ; since want brings all men to one common 
 level. By custom, however, and usage in which aJl concur, money is the 
 standard of value. [Hence the derivation of the word money or ' currency ' 
 because it was not instituted by nature but by our own selves, and depends upon 
 ourselves to change it and to make it useless.] Money, therefore, is the measure, 
 as has been explained, of the value of things ; and though there is no need of it 
 for its own sake, it is, as it were, a representative of want. When, therefore, 
 the value of each thing has been ascertained by means of these measures, the 
 exchange of different works can be equipoised according to a due proportion. 
 
 But the proportion wUl be based upon a principle of reciprocity : only so is it 
 possible for the exchange to be equalized. Proportion is called ' reciprocal ' by 
 mathematicians, when, for instance, A is to B as C is to D ; and as A to C, B to 
 D. If, therefore, the things to be exchanged ai-e proportionate after such a ratio, 
 as also those who effect the exchange, then the exchange will be a fair one. 
 Suppose the Shoemaker at the point C, the Farmer at the point A, Shoes at the 
 point D, Com at the point B. Let it be assumed that the Farmer compared with 
 the Shoemaker is of double importance : it wiU foUow that the Corn will be 
 double in value to the Shoes. If then the ratio is ' as the Farmer is to the Shoe- 
 maker, so are Shoes to Food or Com,' then there will be twice as much of the 
 shoes as of the com, and (in the case imagined), they will become equal to the 
 com. Unless the exchange be made in this way, we ought not to bring the 
 terms into a scheme of proportion, since it is impossible for them to be equalized. 
 If the proportion should run : ' as the Farmer is to the Shoemaker, so is the 
 product which the Shoemaker receives from the Farmer to the product which 
 the Farmer receives from the Shoemaker,' in that case there is no equality. An 
 interchange in the real sense of the term and a proper commerce can only be 
 effected when the parties to the exchange stand to one another in a position of 
 fair requital and fair return. 
 
 It is evident, then, that want is the bond which holds communities together, 
 and want which causes the interchange of men with one another, and promotes 
 their union. When men have no need of one another, they make no exchanges 
 nor do they share their interests with one another ; nor do they when one man 
 has need of the other but there is no reciprocal need on the other side — there is 
 no mutual intercourse in such oases on equal terms. On the contrary, there is 
 commerce when another wants what oneself has, and oneself wants what that 
 other is able to supply. 
 
 But since offctimes the Farmer needs the product of the Carpenter while the 
 Carpenter does not need the product of the Farmer, in order that mutual inter- 
 changes may not even then be hindered, coinage has been adopted. By giving 
 money to the Carpenter the Farmer receives from him an equivalent of his 
 product. Money is, therefore, a kind of security to the Carpenter that when he 
 needs any of the Farmer's produce, he wiU gain from the Farmer by means of 
 his money whatever he may find himself in need of. Even upon these terms, 
 and in such cases, because of the prospective requirements of the Carpenter, 
 exchange and intercourse is brought about. Money is potentially almost every- 
 thing of which one man can stand in need from his fellow. The demand for 
 money is the most permanent of all demands — though it is a demand which is 
 not under all oucumstances equally strong. In times of plenty there is a great 
 demand for money ; but in times of dearth money is of no such avail. One 
 would not wish to give up even a little com in return for great wealth. StUl, 
 for the reasons which have been given, the demand for money is more uniform 
 than for anything else. Everything must, therefore, have a value affixed to it. 
 In this way it is possible for exchange and commerce to take place. From the 
 fact of all things being measured and valued in money, an equality arises, and 
 in consequence of equality it is possible for an exchange to be made. But it is 
 not in every case possible for equality to be secured without money. There are 
 
2 74 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 9. 
 
 certain products of the arts which are so distinct one from the other that they 
 are absolutely incommensurable and hold no relationship one towards another ; 
 whence it is impossible to find an equality between them. But inasmuch as one 
 man has need of another's product — in consequence of this need money was 
 adopted as being one common measure which measures aE things. It is not 
 from the nature of things and in real truth that money is such a standard (siace 
 it is no part of things which are measured), but by a kind of usage of our own 
 and agreement of society. Being thus found to be a mean point between things 
 in themselves ineommensm-able it renders them commensurable, and equalizes 
 their relative values. This truth will be more plain by reference to a digram. 
 Suppose A be a house and B ten minae and C a couch. Suppose the house to be 
 worth five minse and the couch one. Then B, the t«n miuEe, is worth ten times 
 C, the couch, and twice A, the house. The house, then, is equivalent to half ten 
 minse. Since then the house is half B and the couch a tenth part of B, and 
 the half of ten is five, the house is therefore worth five times the couch. The 
 house has then become commensurable with the couch through the medium of 
 money which has become a common measure. If then it is commensurable, it 
 may also be made equal : i.e. if the couch be multiplied five times, it wiU be 
 equal to the house. 
 
 viii.— The sense in which Justice is 'a Mean' defined. 
 
 The nature of Injustice and of Justice has now been described j' 
 and from the explanations which have been given it is clear that 
 * just-dealing ' is a mean point between doing a wrong and suffer- 
 ing a wrong : for doing wrong is getting more, suffering wrong is 
 getting less than what is right. 
 
 But Justice as a moral state is not ' a mean ' in the same sense 
 as the virtues described in the last book : it is 
 justice Me not ^^^ simply a balance of mind, but rather con- 
 simpiy 'moral dis- formity to an outward standard of right In- 
 wSrw^r"^ justice, on the other hand, is conformity to the 
 outward standard Violations of right. Justice may accordingly be 
 °ipS°'''' " ^'^ <iefined as a state of mind in virtue whereof the 
 just man is said to be capable of doing and 
 disposed to do, what is right, and to assign to himself in his 
 relations with others and to others in their relations with one 
 another only what is just — so as not to apportion to himself 
 more of what is desirable and to his neighbours less, nor con- 
 versely in the case of what is injurious, but, on the contrary, 
 only to apportion to himself what is fair and equal by the 
 standard of due proportion, and similarly in dividing anything- 
 to third parties. 
 
 Injustice, on the other hand, is the very reverse : it is a dis- 
 position in virtue whereof the unjust man is wishful to do what 
 is unfair and wrong ; wrong being an excess of what is beneficial 
 and a deficiency of what is hurtfal — in violation of due proportion. 
 Hence Injustice is both an excess and a defect, as being a con- 
 formity to excess and defect — in one'^ own case excess of what is 
 
Bk. V. 10.] Translation. 275 
 
 absolutely beneficial, and defect of what is harmful, while in the 
 case of others, though the general result will 1^ similar, the 
 violation of proportion may be in any way that it may chance. 
 
 In the case of an act of wrong, to suffer the wrong is to fall 
 short of the due proportion, while to commit the wrong is to go 
 beyond it. 
 
 This account may be regarded as a sufficient explanation of 
 what are the respective natures of Justice and Injustice and, pari 
 ratione, of Right and Wrong in their widest acceptation. 
 
 The nature of Rigfht and of Wrong has now been explained so far as relates to 
 the distribution of honours and the correction of grievances — so far, that is, as 
 Justice is Distributive or Corrective ; and from the definitions which have been 
 given it is clear that 'Just dealing' is a 'mean state' between doing a wrong and 
 suffering a wrong — i.e. between ' more ' and ' less,' since doing a wrong is nothing 
 more than getting more where one ought to have had an equal share, and suffer- 
 ing a wrong is getting less than one's share. 
 
 Now Justice is not ' a mean state ' in the same sense as the virtues previously 
 described. Each of the other virtues is a ' mean ' between two vicious states, ex- 
 ceeding the one and falling short of the other. For instance. Temperance is a, 
 mean between Insensibility and Dissoluteness ; and Courage is midway between 
 Cowardice and Recklessness, and so with the virtues generally. Justice, however, 
 has not on either side of it two vices to which it is opposed : it stands in opposi- 
 tion to Injustice alone. It is, however, a ' mean ' because, while Injustice involves 
 inequality. Justice itself aims at what is equal, and has the power of producing 
 equality. What is equal is a mean between what is more and what is less — and 
 that is the reason why Justice is a ' mean,' whereas Injustice is an extreme, as 
 being conformity to extremes. 
 
 Justice is further ' a state of mind ' in virtue whereof the just man is, of de- 
 liberate choice, disposed to do what is right and to apportion what lies within his 
 power in such a spirit as to make it his rule to apportion only what is suitable as 
 weU towards others as to himself, if it should be necessary, and to show himself a 
 model to others, by giving, that is, in his distribution, not the greater good to him- 
 self and the lesser to his neighbour, or the less of what is harmful to himself and 
 the greater portion to his neighbour, but what is fair and equal to all alike in re- 
 lative proportion ; and in the same spirit enjoining others (as well as himself) to 
 act fairly in making distributions. Such then, is the character of Justice. 
 
 Injustice, on the other hand, is the entire reverse. It is an excess and a defect 
 m regard to things beneficial or harmful, contrary to due proportion. In distri- 
 butions the unjust man exceeds his neighbour in regard to beneficial things and 
 falls short of him in regard to harmful things ; and again when he has to make 
 an apportionment among others, there again he acts contrary to due proportion — 
 only that he does not make the same men to have the superiority or inferiority in 
 regard to the same things, but acts as chance directs. Hence in the commission 
 of wrongs there is both excess and defect — the ' too much ' and ' too little.' 
 The ' too much ' is to do a wrong, the ' too little ' to suffer one : midway between 
 the two is what is equal, i.e., what is just. 
 
 The above account may be accepted as an explanation, in a wide and general 
 sense, of the nature of Justice and of Injustice, of Eight and of Wrong. 
 
 "*• — Distinction between the Unjust Act and the Unjust Character. 
 
 Since it is possible for a man to commit acts of injustice, with- 
 out being in himself unjust, we may ask: What is the character 
 
'"m 
 
 276 7/ie Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 10. 
 
 of those particular acts of injustice by committing wMcli a man 
 is, ipso facto, unjust in any specific line of in- 
 agent dfstinot from justicc, such as that of the thief, or of the adul- 
 the morality of the terer, or of the brigand ? 
 
 *°*' A question of this kind as stated above will 
 
 be quite immaterial. [It is the motive of the act and not the 
 act itself which indicates the character of the agent,] For in- 
 stance, a man may commit adultery, with full knowledge who his 
 associate is, yet not from any cause originating in the wiU but. 
 under the influence of passion. Such an one does a wrong act, 
 but he is not in himself unjust : he is not any the more a thief 
 though he has stolen, nor an adulterer, though he has com- 
 mitted adultery. Indeed this distinction applies to the virtues- 
 generally. 
 
 [It has been already shown how the principle of Retaliation in 
 such cases bears upon the principle of Justice.] 
 
 Here a question arises into which we must examine : as there are certain classes 
 of unjust acts by committing which a man acts wrongfully hut is not in himself, 
 unjust, what specifically are these acts ? 
 
 In the first place we will show that it is possible for a man to act wrongfully 
 without being in himself unjust ; e.g. to steal without being a thief, or to commit 
 adultery without being am adulterer. For instance a man who stole the sword of 
 a lunatic to prevent that lunatic killing himself, committed a theft but is not a 
 thief ; and the man who committed adultery in order that he might be enabled to 
 grow rich, committed adultery yet is not an adulterer, but only fond of money ; 
 and, again, if a physician deceives an invalid upon the hope that he may thereby 
 save him, he does an act of deceit but is not thereby a deceiver. It is clear, there- 
 fore, that it is possible for a man to commit an act of injustice without being 
 unjust according to that special form of injustice an act of which he commits. 
 
 We may define the nature of the acts in one general statement ; all such acts as 
 a man commits not for the sake of the end which is natural to that special form 
 of wrong an act of which he commits, but for the sake of some other end, whether 
 good or bad — in respect of aU such acts he does wi-ong without being unjust. For 
 instance the physician deceives, but he is not a deceiver : the aim which he has 
 f before him is not the deceiving but the recovery of the invalid. Similai'ly the 
 man who steals the sword of a lunatic, does not seek to gain an advantage for 
 himself, or secretly to gain plunder from his neighbour, as the thief does, but te 
 aim which he has before him is the safety of that limatic. [Now every action 
 derives its character from the ' end ' which is before it. Hence, too, its definition 
 and consequently also its name, the name being only an abbreviated definition.] 
 We do not either speak of a general as a builder or carpenter because he constraots 
 battering rams and other warlike engines in his sieges. He does but perform the 
 acts of a builder or of a carpenter, and he is only said ' to construct.' Inasmuch, 
 as he has regard to the ' end,' not of the buUder but of the general, he is not called 
 a bmlder but a general. Similarly a man who violates his neighbour's wife with- 
 out having a deliberate purpose prompted by lust to do so, but actuated by gre^ 
 of gain, is not adulterous but avaricious. 
 
 It is possible, therefore, for a man to do a wrong without being unjust accord- 
 ing to that special form of injustice, an act of which he commits ; nay, jhe may 
 really be in «o sense unjust, as in the case we supposed of the physician, or. else 
 unjust according to some other form of wrong-doing, as in the case we supposed 
 of the adulterer — in the manner which has been explained. It is possible, also, 
 
Bk. V. 10.] Translation. 277 
 
 in other ways for a man in committing a, wrong not to be unjust, when, for in- 
 stance, he does a wrong unwillingly : a man who has by night missed the thief 
 and killed one who is not a thief, has committed a wrong bufH is not unjust in 
 himself. 
 
 [In regard to the principle of retaliation, it has been already explained in what 
 spirit it must be instituted in order to be just.] 
 
 X.— Metaphorical application of Justice to Children and Slaves. 
 
 But we must Bot lose sight of the fact that the ' Right ' which 
 we haTB under investigation is Right used in the 
 strict sense of the term— the Right which is J"J°%„°f^ S 
 bound up with the life of citizens. Such a Right between eqnaiswho 
 can only exist among those who share a life in can claim the pro- 
 
 ■' p • n ■ 1 . tection 01 the law. 
 
 common with the object of satisfying their every 
 want — among those, that is, who are free and equal, whether their 
 equahty he measured on a principle of relative or of absolute 
 standard. Wherever such a condition is not found, among such 
 persons there can be no social rights on the part of one as against 
 another : there can only be a kind of justice metaphorically im- 
 phed from similarity of relations. Rights can only exist among 
 those who are ruled by a common law ; and law can only exist 
 among those who can injure one another (a legal sentence 
 being a distinguishing of what is right from what is wrong). But 
 where there is room for injustice, in such cases there is room also 
 for the doing thereof; though the converse is not true that where 
 there is the doing of unjust acts, there is also injustice. Injustice 
 is the assigning to oneself too much of things absolutely good, 
 and too little of things absolutely evil. [This is the reason why 
 we do not allow an individual man to rule over us, but only 
 Reason : the individual man makes the distribution of things in 
 his own interest, and grows to be a tyrant. But the ruler is the 
 guardian of what is just, and consequently of what is ' equal ' 
 also ; and if he be just, he thinks no advantage due to himself— 
 he assigns no superiority to himself of what is absolutely good 
 (unless it be ' proportionate ' in reference to his own claims). He 
 acts therefore in the interest of others ; and hence men say that 
 ' Justice is another's good ' — as was mentioned in a previous 
 chapter. Some kind of reward has, therefore, to be given to the 
 ruler; and that reward is the honour and dignity shown to him. 
 Where such rewards fail to satisfj'-, rulers grow to be tyrants.] 
 
 The rights which are exercised over slaves and children are not 
 the same as those exercised over citizens, though there is some 
 similarity between them. For no injury is possible against a 
 man's own possessions, in the strict sense of the term ; but the 
 
278 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 10. 
 
 slave and the child (so long as lie be of tender age and be not 
 
 independent of the parent), is, as it were a •part 
 
 Justice can only ^f g^ man's own self, and no one forms such a 
 
 exist between cM- ,■,,,•• -i ■ i^ r^ 
 
 dren or slaves and purpose as that to injure his own sell. Gonse- 
 citizens in a meta- quentlv no iniurv is possible on the part of any- 
 one against his own self; and therefore neither 
 are the terms ' right ' or ' wrong ' applicable to them as they 
 are to citizens. Right and Wrong imply a relation to lam^ and 
 can only be predicated of those among whom ' law ' has naturally 
 found a home — among those, that is, among whom there is esta- 
 blished an equality for ruling and being ruled. There is therefore 
 a greater claim to ' rights ' on behalf of a wife than on behalf of 
 children and slaves : such rights being involved in ' Economic 
 Justice ; ' which nevertheless is specifically different from ' Civil 
 Justice.' 
 
 There is yet anotlier kind of ' Right' which is not right in the strict sense of 
 the term — I mean, for instance, the rights of a father and the rights of a master. 
 These relationships do not constitute ' rights ' in the strict sense of the term, 
 though they bear a similarity in a certain sense to the rights of citizens between 
 one another. I mean by the ' rights of a father ' the authority which it befits a. 
 father to exercise over his children ; and by the ' rights of a master ' the authority 
 which a master must exercise over his slaves. In the proper sense of the term, 
 therefore, and imreaJ. truth, ' rights ' are such as form the province of DistribntiTe 
 and Remedial Justice, the Justice, that is, which regulates the mutual relations of 
 citizens, and which is based upon a principle of proportion whether geometrioal 
 or arithmetical. Rights can only exist between those among whom law is estab- 
 lished ; and law is established only between those who are capable of suffering 
 wrong and of committing wrong. Law and the sentence of law is a distingnidi- 
 iug between the just and the unjust — and these are relationships appropriate 
 between citizen and citizen, who are able to injure one another, owing to the 
 desire which each man feels of giving a greater share of absolute good to himself 
 and a lesser share to his neighbour ; and conversely of things harmful. This is 
 the reason why we do not aUow an individual to rule the state, following as of 
 course he would his own individual caprices ; but we regard the laws as sovereign, 
 to prevent a ruler from ruling for his own interests or assigning to himself too 
 great a share in the distribution of good things, and to secure a due proportion 
 to all alike. Unless a ruler be thus ' conditioned,' he will become a despot. The. 
 true ruler is one who has no other wish than to guard the interests of JnsHoe, 
 whether as absolute or as relative equality : he does not rule for the sake of himself, 
 but to promote the interests of others. (Hence Justice has been described as 
 ' the good of others '). It is to compensate their disinterestedness, that many 
 compensations have been instituted for worthy rulers — public honours or rewards. 
 Whenever a ruler is not satisfied with rewards of this chajaoter, he makes an 
 attempt at a tyranny. 
 
 Civil Justice is, therefore, called Justice in the perfect sense ; but ' the rights' 
 of a father or of a master are imperfect rights. A man cannot possibly be nnJTirt 
 towards himself or towards a special part of himself, nor does a man form 8 
 purpose of injuring his ovfn possessions. But a chUd stands in the relation of 
 ' part ' to his father; so long as he is under his control and dependent upon his 
 foresight. Similarly the slave is a kind of succour to his master so long as he is 
 a slave and is subject to his master. But no man plots harm against that which 
 is a utility to himself. Where, then, it is not possible for injury to exist, 
 neither can there be ' rights ' in the perfect sense of the term (?.e. such rights as 
 
Bk. V. 10.] Translation. 279 
 
 exist between citizens), but only ' rights ' in an analogous sense. ' Civil rights' 
 cam only exist among those who liye under a common law. Between father and 
 son, master and slave, there is no common law, for the reason* which have been 
 giyen — because, that is, there cannot even be an injury of one to the other. 
 ' Civil rights ' can only exist between those among whom there is an equality in 
 respect of ruling and of -being ruled. The relationship, therefore, of husband 
 towards his wife is more nearly a claim of ' right,' than is the relationship of a 
 mam towards his son or slaves. This former kind of relationship constitutes 
 Economic Justice, and has a closer resemblance to Civil Justice than the latter 
 has. Yet even Economic Justice is itself also distinct and apart from Civil 
 Justice. 
 
 ' xi. — Distinction, between Ifatural and Legal Justice examined. 
 
 Looking, again, to Civil Justice, to the rights incident to social 
 life, we see one element therein determined by 
 nature, and another element the expression of ^^j- "^'j^^^ " t^Te 
 positive law. Natural Eight is that which in sought partly in 
 every land has the same authority and does not ^^^ J^"^ "^th'^com 
 depend upon its being recognised or not by public m'^ndsSthe State. 
 opinion. Legal Right, on the other hand, is an 
 ordinance which originally is quite colourless in character and 
 might have been shaped one way or another, but which when once 
 it has been definitely enacted, has an importance of its own ; for 
 example that the ransom for a captive should be one mina, or 
 that a goat rather than two sheep should be sacrificed on certain 
 occasions ; or again such cases where enactments are made to meet 
 particular emergencies, as that of instituting a sacrifice to Brasidas, 
 or where special decrees of the Ecclesia are passed. 
 
 It is a view held by some writers that all questions of ' right ' 
 are questions of law and not of nature, on the 
 ground that a thing fixed by Nature is a thing ^^ obligations of 
 
 1(11 .| 111* t ' T-^' 3:tilLr3ii JjSiW SjTB 
 
 unalterable, everywhere holding an unquestioned not weakened by 
 sway (just as fire burns as certainly among the "^^^ ?^t"4 '?^^^ 
 Persians as it does here) whereas the provisions of in the state. 
 Justice are, as we see, perpetually changing. 
 This view does not represent the truth of the case — except up to 
 a certain point. Among the Gods of course Right is utterly 
 unalterable. Among men, however, tJiough everything is subject 
 to change, there is a kind of Right which exists from the very 
 nature of things : still, though there be that which is ' right by 
 nature,' there are other forms of right which have no such 
 sanction. 
 
 What the character of Right is which exists by nature and yet 
 belongs to the world of change and chance, what on the other 
 hand is the character of Right which does not exist by nature but 
 IS the expression of law and dependent on convention is now 
 
28o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 10. 
 
 evident, if in fact both alike are liable to be altered. The 
 distinction will be found applicable to the features of our nature 
 generally. By nature the right hand is stronger than the left ; 
 and yet it is conceivable and possible that some men should be 
 born ambidexter. As for those provisions of Justice which are 
 regulated by convention and by the expediency of the moment— 
 they resemble the fluctuations in weights and measures. The 
 measures for wine and corn are not equal in all places, but where 
 men buy they are larger, where men sell they are less. Similarly 
 those provisions of law which are not dictated by nature but 
 enacted by man, are not uniform in all places any more than are 
 the forms of government (though according to nature there is one 
 single type of constitution which is most perfect for every land). 
 
 Again, every one of the provisions of Justice, and every one of 
 the enactments of law, stands in the position of a Universal to 
 the particular details that fall under its range. The circumstances 
 of action are manifold, while every provision of Justice and enact- 
 ment of Law is a unity as being universal and absolute. 
 
 In the rights which appertain to the life of citizens, one element is deriYed 
 from nature, and another from positive law. Natural Eight is understood to be 
 that which in every land exerts the same authority and which approves itself to 
 all alike ; for example, that a man who has borrowed money should pay back his 
 loan, since it is an universally accepted view that ' each man should have his 
 own.' On the other hand Legal Right is of such a character that before it was 
 enacted it was indeterminate or colourless and was regarded as neither just nor 
 unjust, and only became a ' right ', after it had been determined by law ; eg. that 
 the price for the purchase of a slave should be one mina. Before this law was 
 enacted to regulate the purchase of slaves, the price was undefined and was left 
 to the choice and wishes of the slave owner. But after this law had been passed, 
 the price was no longer optional, but it is a point of justice that the owner 
 should sell his slave on such and such terms. Similar in character also are those 
 special provisions which relate to isolated incidents, as for instance, the edicts of 
 the assembly ; as when, for instance, it seemed good to the Senate and to the 
 people to crown Demosthenes, or to call Themistocles ' Olympius.' Before these 
 decrees were passed these matters were indifferent, but when once decreed they 
 are regarded as matters of right. 
 
 But there are some who think that there is nothing right by the nature of 
 things, but that all ' rights ' are the creations of law. ' Everything,' say they, 
 ' which is ordered by nature is immutable : fire warms everywhere and at ereiy 
 time equally among ourselves as in Egypt. On the contrary, the provisions of 
 Justice are alterable and changeable : it is held among some tribes to be just to 
 borrow and not to repay ; and similarly in other relations the same provisions aie 
 not universally regarded by all alike as just. Hence all the requirements of 
 Justice are only the enactments of law ; and there is nothing fixed by Natnre.' 
 In reply to this theory, we may observe that the provisions of Justice are not abso- 
 lutely unsettled and reversible ; and even though among men there mere, this uncer- 
 tainty, yet at any rate among the Gods it needs must be that Eight is unalterable 
 so that there is a certain form of right which exists by nature. The fact that 
 persons who are morally diseased, and whose minds are corrupted, do not recog- 
 nise this right does not affect the question. The man who says that honey 
 is sweet does not speak falsely, though persons whose palates are vitiated by 
 disease thin^ the reverse. Precisely so Natural Eight is recognised by some and 
 
Bk. V. lO.J Translation. 281 
 
 repudiated by others. Tlie first class is composed of those whose tastes are 
 natural and healthy, the second class is composed of those whose nature is per- 
 verted and who are infatuated. It is clear j then, that there is nothing to prevent 
 there being a Natural Eight, though some men thini that there is no such thing. 
 
 But since both legal and natvu'al Justice are mutable in the sense which has 
 been explained, in what way can they be discriminated, both being mutable ? 
 The distinction is evident. Justice must be examined ia its own nature whether 
 it is of universal benefit as being immutable, and whether its abolition is liable 
 to bring about mischief. If it be of absolute and universal benefit, it is Natural 
 Eight ; if not, it is only conventional. Though it is conceivable that all men 
 should use the left hand no less than the right, yet the right hand is obviously 
 stronger by nature than is the left. The provisions of legal right, though 
 observed by natural convention are like weights and measures, which are found 
 to be different in different lands. The measures used for wine or com are not 
 equal everywhere ; but where they buy wine and com they make the measures 
 greater, and where they sell them, less. Such requirements as have not a natural 
 basis, but are established by man and adopted by mutual compact, present the 
 same aspect : — they are not uniform in every place. Not even is there one form 
 of government among all people though there is one that is ideally best according 
 to the constitution of things ; just as natural right is one and the same every- 
 where in well ordered communities. 
 
 The relation which Right and Law hold to the actions performed iu such 
 communities is that of Universal to Particular. The things to be done are multi- 
 form, whereas Bight, whether natural or conventional, is One ; as being 
 Universal or General. It does not order a particular Hero to be honoured, nor 
 a particular honour to be paid him ; but generally that every Hero without 
 limitation shall have honour done to him. 
 
 xii. — Justice and Injustice viewed in relation to the intentions of 
 the agent. 
 
 (a) JUSTICE IN FACT DISTINGUISHED FROM JUSTICE AS AN 
 ABSTEACT RELATION. 
 
 Now there is a distinction between ' unjust conduct ' and injus- 
 tice as an abstract relation, and between 'just 
 conduct ' and justice as an abstract relation. An menciature ° alid 
 unjust relation is determined either by nature or distinction of sy 
 by human ordinance ; and when it has been con- "™y™3- 
 summated in action it becomes * unjust conduct/ though before it 
 is carried into effect it is simply ' Injustice ' (as an idea and apart 
 from persons and circumstances). There is a corresponding diffe- 
 rence between 'just conduct ' and justice in the abstract — (though 
 the common name applied to the action of the individual is 'just- 
 dealing,' 'just conduct' being rather a rectification of an act of 
 wrong). We shall have to examine further into these divisions 
 of Justice, and determine the character of its several varieties and 
 the subject-matter with which they are severally concerned. 
 
 Now there is a distinction between ' just conduct ' and ' justice,' and between 
 unjust conduct and injustice. Justice per so is a relation viewed without limita- 
 tion and absolutely, whether determined by law or by nature ; c.ff. that the 
 mm-derer should be put to death. But when this relation becomes embodied in 
 
282 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 10. 
 
 particular cironmafcanoes, and a particular mmderer is put to death in a par- 
 ticular manner, tlien the relation becomes a fact and is called ' the meting out 
 of justice ' {SiKolafia). The same distinction holds good between injustice in 
 the abstract and injustice in fact. The name, howef er, -which is generally given 
 to a just action, whether it consist in the punishment of injustice, or in the 
 rewarding of virtue, is biKaixmpayrifia, ' just dealing ' ; Stucaioo/ia, i.e. ' the meting 
 out of justice,' being specially applied to the punishment of injustice. We shall 
 have to consider by and by how many different forms there are of right dealing 
 and of meting out justice. For the present we must treat of prior questions. 
 
 (b) ACTS OF JUSTICE MUST BE VOZTINTASILY PEEFOEMED. 
 
 Acts of justice and of injustice being, then, such as have been 
 above detailed, a man acts wrongfully or deals 
 Justice in the agent rightly when he voluntarily/ does the one or the 
 ration of ttievdv^' Other. When on the other hand he acts involun- 
 tarily, he acts wrongly or rightly, not in the true 
 sense of the term but only incidentally. In such cases men are 
 but the instruments of results to which there is an accidental 
 quality of being just or unjust. An act of right or an act of wrong 
 is limited, and defined by its voluntariness or involuntariness. 
 When an act of injustice is voluntary, it is censured and is an act 
 of wrong. Hence there is a form of injustice which is not an act 
 of wrong — unless there be the element of voluntariness entering 
 into it. By ' voluntariness ' I mean (as has been explained be- 
 fore) the performance of an act, in the sphere of what is within 
 our own power, which a man does knowingly and without any 
 ignorance either of the person, or of the instrument, or of the ten- 
 dency of his act — e.ff. who it is that he is striking, what his 
 weapon is, or what its tendency ; and in each one of these par- 
 ticulars acts neither accidentally nor under compulsion (as he would 
 if, for instance, some one were to take hold of his hand and with it 
 strike a third person : — in such a case he would not act willingly, 
 the action not depending upon himself). Again, it is possible 
 that the person struck on a particular occasion is a man's father, 
 while the man himself knew only that he was striking some one, 
 or a bystander, and was unconscious that it was his own father. 
 A similar distinction might be drawn also in regard to the ten- 
 dency of an action, and indeed in regard to the action as a 
 whole. 
 
 That, then, is involuntary which is either done in ignorance, or 
 else, if not done in ignorance, not within a man's 
 'ie "wm 'Ifvorvef own power or actually forced upon him. There are 
 (1) Knowledge of in fact many things, even in the sphere of what 
 S' Fr?edom"°'of takes place by the course of nature, which we do 
 action. knowingly, and many influences in the same 
 
Bk. V. 10.] Translation. 283 
 
 sphere to which we are knowingly subject, in no single case of 
 which is there any consent or dissent of ours possible ; for in- 
 stance, in growing old or in dying. In doing ifhat is just or 
 unjust alike, it is possible for a man to act accidentally. A man 
 may restore a deposit lodged with him unwillingly and through 
 fear : such an one must not be said either to act justly or to deal 
 fairly, exbept through the accident of circumstance. In the same 
 sense, a man who fails to restore a deposit through pressure from 
 without and against his own intentions, must be said to act un- 
 justly through stress of circumstances only, and per accidens. • 
 
 Such, then, being the conditions of ' right ' and ' wrong,' as has been explained, 
 a man acts wrongly or rightly, when he intentionally performs acts of the one 
 kittd or the other. When, on the contrary, he acts against his will, he neither 
 acts wrongly nor rightly in the true acceptation of the words hut only under the 
 accidents of circumstance. These (unintentional) actions in tlwinselves are neither 
 unjust nor just. Since they are involuntary, the definition of unjust dealing, 
 which is confined within the limits of the ' voluntary,' will not accord with any 
 of them. They are themselves called just or unjust from accidental associations, 
 because the equality of justice or the inequality of injustice accidentally attaches 
 to their actions, and those who do them are therefore said to deal fairly or 
 unfairly. But viewed absolutely, if an action of injustice be voluntary, it will 
 also be unfairness on the part of the agent and unjust dealing. But apart from 
 its voluntariness, a man may have done an unjust act, and yet his action will 
 not be unfair dealing : the man is not in himself unjust even though he does 
 unjust things. As was demonstrated in the previous examination, it is possible 
 for a man to do unjust things without being himself unjust : a man will only 
 be unjust when his action depends upon himself and there is no one to constrain 
 him, and he knows and is not ignorant of ail the surrounding circumstances. 
 ■For instance, he must know whom it is that he is striking, and for what reason 
 he strikes. What these circumstances are we defined in our discussion of the 
 voluntary and involuntary. The case is similar in regard to those who do just 
 deeds. A man will only be just and his action wiU only be ' just dealing ' in 
 the true sense of the term when it is done voluntarily. A man who restores a 
 • deposit entrusted to him, through fear, neither deals faii-ly nor is just, unless the 
 term be so applied to him from accidental associations. We must draw these 
 distinctions with yet greater precision and accuracy. 
 
 (c) INTENTIONAL INJUEIES DISTINGUISHED FEOM ACCIDENTAL 
 WEONGS. 
 
 In regard, again, to things which are voluntary — we sometimes 
 do them as the result of deliberate preference} 
 and at other times without such preference i where ^"^'^ classification 
 
 ^ n „ 01 wrongs may, 
 
 we Show preierence our pretereuce means a pre- therefore, be made 
 vious determination, and where we haVe no pre- ™*? W voluntary 
 ference, our actions take place without previous ^ry. ™™ ""' 
 determination. 
 
 Now there are three kinds of harm which may be done in the 
 intercourse between men. 1. Acts attended with ignorance are 
 ' mistakes ' or ' errors ; ' as for instance when a man acts and neither 
 
284 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. lo- 
 
 the person nor the object nor the tendency nor the instrument 
 are what he supposed them to be : as when a man imagined that 
 he was not throwing his missile, or that it was a different person 
 he was aiming at, or that the tendency was different, and it turned 
 out in the end that the result was not what he expected : he may 
 not have intended to wound but only to puncture, or he may have 
 wounded the wrong person, or done so in a wrong manner. When, 
 therefore, hurt is done contrary to the expectation of the agent, it 
 is a misfortune ; and when, though not contrary to expectation 
 the injury is done without malice, it is then an error. A man 
 commits an error when the first origination of the cause was under 
 his own control: he is but the victim of misfortune when the 
 origination of the cause is external to himself. 
 
 2. When, however, a man acts knowingly but not through pre- 
 meditation, his act is an act of wrong (such, for instance, as are 
 the wrongs to which men are led through passion and other im- 
 pulses which are irresistible and natural). In such cases men 
 commit wrong as causing injury and committing errors, and their 
 acts are acts of wrong, yet are they not. necessarily on that account 
 in themselves unjust or evil-minded, since the harm done is not 
 owing to their evil intention. 
 
 3. On the other hand, when an act is done out of deliberate 
 purpose, then the perpetrator is himself unjust and evil-minded. 
 
 Hence it is that acts proceeding from passion are properly re- 
 garded as not proceeding from malice afore- 
 The influence of thought. In such cases it is not the man actine 
 
 anger on the com- . . i i • . i i i • , t /■ 
 
 mission of wrongs. Ill passion who Dcgms the act and IS the cause 01 
 it, but rather the man who provoked him. More- 
 over the question is not about the act having taken place but 
 about the justice of it, since anger arises where there is the appear- 
 ance of injustice. Questions of anger are not like questions of 
 contract where men are at issue as to a thing having been done 
 or not, and where one of the parties must necessarily be a cheat 
 (unless they are acting through forgetfulness) ; but in cases of 
 anger men agree about the fact and only dispute on which side 
 justice lies. The man who laid the plot against the other knows 
 of course, but whilst his victim thinks himself wronged, he per-; 
 sists in denying it. If, however, a man injure another of delibe* 
 rate malice, he then commits a wrong ; and in the way of injuries 
 such as these a man who commits a wrong is ipso facto unjust, 
 since his act is contrary to proportion and in violation of equality. 
 For similar reasons a man is just when he deals fairly out of de- 
 liberate preference for right, and he deals faii-ly if only he acts 
 willingly. 
 
Bk. V. 10.] Translation. 285 
 
 In the case of wrongs done unwillingly, some such wrongs are 
 Bardonable, and others are not. All the errors m,^ . , 
 
 ^,., ' ., . ,. ISP ^'^ enial wrongs dis- 
 
 which a man commits, not merely m a state ot tinguished from 
 isrnorance, but actually in consequence of his such as are uu- 
 
 ,° iiiT>ii li pardonable. 
 
 Ignorance, are pardonable. J3ut when such acts 
 are not owing to ignorance, though the perpetrators thereof are in 
 a state of ignorance in consequence of a passion which is neither 
 natural nor proper to man, then they are not pardonable. 
 
 The mjuries which are done in the intercourse between man and man are 
 partly voluntary and partly involuntary. Of involuntary injuries some are 
 called ' errors ' and others misfortunes. An error arises when a man injures 
 another against his will though giving » certain cause or occasion of the injury. 
 Suppose a man to be shooting an arrow on a road in which, it was conceivable 
 that a traveller might pass, and actually to have kiUed someone ; he was an in- 
 voluntary homicide, yet he afforded an occasion of a man's death by shooting an 
 arrow in such a spot. A misfortune arises when an injury ocom-s contrary to all 
 expectation ; as for instance when a man shooting in a desert, as it so chanced, 
 killed a person passing by. In this latter case the harm has been done contrary 
 to expectation and against probability, and the man who caused the harm con- 
 tributed in no way to it, except by way of accident, the cause of death being 
 entirely extraneous to him. 
 
 Of the wrongs again which are voluntary, some are said to arise from a 
 settled purpose and others not. Of settled purpose are wrongs such as have 
 been deliberated upon beforehand — when, that is, a man after consideration 
 and deliberation inflicts harm with the simple purpose that he i)iay commit 
 harm. Wrongs which do not come from a settled purpose are such as proceed 
 from passion and not from previous deliberation ; for example, when a man 
 injures his neighbours promiscuously, constrained by sudden frenzy, or when a 
 man has stolen from being overwhelmed by want, not wishing to do wrong in 
 itself but only to soothe the pains of hunger. But whether his acts proceed 
 from settled purpose or no, in either case they are called ' wrongs.' 
 
 If we look, however, to the persons who are agents in these wrongs, the man 
 who injures another of malice aforethought is unjust in himself and evil-minded ; 
 whereas the man who does so from being stirred up by strong feeling, whether a 
 natural feeling like anger or grief, or an unconquerable feeling Uke hunger or 
 fear, such an one is not unjust in himself nor evil-minded. 
 
 For this reason a distinction is made by Judges between the case of a man 
 who is defending himself from that of a man who commenced the aggression. 
 The man who acts in passion does not commence the wrong but the man who 
 provoked him to wrong. The latter is accused as the wrong doer, having been 
 the cause of the injury. In this view the man who commenced the feud denies 
 that he did so, whereas the man who defends himself, while admitting the 
 injury which he has done to the man who assaUed him, calls it only a requital 
 or retaliation, inasmuch as he was stirred to anger not of his own motion but 
 by the man upon whom he has wreaked vengeance. The point at issue in such 
 cases does not stand on the same footing as in matters of contract. In questions 
 of contract the matter at issue is a matter of fact ; for instance, whether a man 
 received a deposit or a loan, and having received it faUed to restore it ; and if 
 this fact be proved, the man is ipso facto unjust and evil-hearted — unless it be 
 that he repudiated the transaction from having forgotten it. In a. case of 
 passion, however, the fact is admitted and is evident (i.e. whatever a man dors 
 in anger he does openly) ; but the question at issue is whether he struck the 
 blow justly or unjustly. Consequently the man who commenced the feud and 
 plotted against the other, being conscious of his injustice, for that reason does 
 not admit that he is the assaUant ; while on the oliier hand the man who was 
 
286 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. v. 11. 
 
 provoked by him thinks that he is not unjust, and therefore admits the harm 
 which he has done to his assailant. 
 
 It is evident from this consideration that whatever wrongs a man does through 
 passion or through strong emotion and not through evil intent, he is not in 
 respect thereof unjust in himself. On the other hand, when a man does wrong 
 of malice aforethought, he is unjust and evil-minded, not only in respect of 
 Corrective Justice, but also in respect of Distributive Justice — if, that is, he 
 apportions aught to himself iu violation of equality and proportion. For similar 
 reasons a man is just according to the different kinds of justice when he does 
 what is right not through feeling but for the sake of ' the Good.' A man who 
 has dealt fairly being stirred thereto by a feeling, whether of pain or of love, has 
 indeed performed just actions but is not just in himself. 
 
 But since there are some cases of involuntary wrong which meet with paiflOn • 
 and others which do not, we must explain which of them are pardonable and 
 which of them are not. "Whatever errors a man commits not only in ignorance 
 but also in consequence of that ignorance, are pardonable. But the errors which 
 a man commits not in consequence of ignorance, though in a state of ignoranee, ' 
 but in consequence of passion — I do not mean such passion as is natural antf' 
 human, like that caused by fear or pain or hunger or some other compulsion, 
 but some merely luxurious craving, as, for instance, to drink wine of fine, 
 bouquet or to eat partridge — such errors are not pardonable. It is of conrse 
 possible for a man to err at once ' through ignorance ' and ' in a state of igno- 
 rance ; ' for instance, a man being in a state of ignorance in regard to the 
 Universal that ' it is wrong to drive away one's father,' may also drive away his 
 father by night in ignorance who he is. A man who does not know the Universal 
 is said to act ' in a state of ignorance,' while the man who does not know the 
 particular fact is said to act ' through ignorance.' If a man know neither the. 
 one nor the other, he is said to err ' in ignorance ' and • through ignorance,' and 
 he of course is pardoned. A man is said to act ' in ignorance ' when he is 
 ignorant of the universal that ' it is wrong to steal,' but steals, not because he 
 is ignorant but in consequence of wickedness and passion, — a passion that is 
 neither unconquerable nor natural, as has been shown. 
 
 {d) VOLUNTARINESS APPLIES TO THE RECEIVING OF WRONG 
 EQUALLY WITH THE DOING OF IT. 
 
 Here we must pause to ask whether we have sufficiently defined 
 Difficulty in nnder- Suffering and committing wrong : is such a case 
 standing how a. possible as that which Euripides has described 
 wrong canbevolun- ^]jen ^^Q writes in his quaint way :— 
 
 tarily suffered. ^ •' 
 
 " I slew my mother :— there is the simple tinth." 
 " With her consent and thine 1 or hers, not thine ? " 
 
 Is it, as a matter of fact, possible for a man to be injured of his 
 own accord, or is it not ? Or is the receiving of injury in every 
 case involuntary, just as the doing of injury is in every case 
 voluntary ? Or is it the fact that the rule is not absolute, but 
 the receiving of injury, like the doing of injury, is sometimes 
 voluntary and sometimes involuntary ? So too in respect to 
 having right done to one ; as every case of right dealing is volun- 
 tary, it is reasonable that having right done to one, and having 
 wrong done to one, should be mutually opposed in respect to their 
 
k. V. 11.] Translation. 287 
 
 being voluntary or involuntary. Yet it would seem a strange 
 thing if to be righted were always voluntary, since some men 
 have justice done to them not of their own accord. 
 
 One may, however, raise this further question : Is every man 
 who has suffered a wrong injured, or is the case ^. . 
 
 „ ™ . I , ,, , J} ,■ • ■ Distinction be- 
 
 01 suiiermg analogous to that 01 actmg, smce in tween suffering a 
 the case hoth of acting and of suffering it is yi^o°s and snffer- 
 conceivable for a man to have his due share of '"^ ■«^<"igiii y- 
 what is just only per accidens and without his own will entering 
 into the case. Clearly the same principle applies also in respect 
 to what is unjust, since it is not the same thing to do unjust 
 deeds and to be unjust, nor to suffer unjust things and to be 
 wronged. Similarly also in regard to dealing fairly and being 
 fairly dealt by. It is surely impossible to be wronged unless 
 some one commits a wrong, or to have right done to one unless 
 there be some one to do it. 
 
 If, again, to wrong any one is in the absolute sense of the 
 term to injure him voluntarily, and ' voluntarily ' „ „ . 
 
 .,, 1 IT /. ,1 . . •', Suffering -wrong- 
 
 mean With a knowledge 01 the person injured, fuiiy does not even 
 
 of the means and manner in which he is injured, apply to the case of 
 
 1 .fi ,1 n 1 .11 1 • • 1 • -My the sensualist. 
 
 and it the man ot weak will does injure himself, 
 he will be wronged voluntarily, and it will thus be conceivable 
 for a man to injure his own self. But this very point is one of 
 the questions under dispute — whether it be possible for a man to 
 injure himself. Again, a man might through his own sensual 
 folly be injured by another voluntarily on the part of that other, 
 so that it is possible for a man to be injured of his own accord. 
 The definition may not be correct, but we must add to the terms 
 ' hurt any one willingly, knowing the person, the instrument, and 
 the manner,' the further limitation 'against that person's wish.' 
 A man, therefore, is injured by his own consent and suffers what 
 is unjust but is never wronged with his own consent. No one 
 wishes for harm to himself, not even the weak sensualist, but he 
 acts contrary to his wish. No one wishes for anything but what he 
 fancies to be a good, and the sensualist does the very things which 
 he thinks that he ought not to do. As for the man who gives 
 away his property as Homer says that Grlaucus gave to Diomede : 
 
 " Golden armour for brazen, the worth of a hundred oxen for the worth of nine." 
 
 — such a man is not wronged, since the giving of a gift depends 
 upon a man's own self, whereas the suffering of a wrong is not 
 within a man's own power, but there must exist some one to do 
 the wrong. In regard therefore to being injured, it is clear that 
 it is not a voluntary act. 
 
288 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 11. 
 
 It may be thought, however, that our definition of the Just and Unjust is as 
 yet incomplete. Since the doing of wrong is opposed to the suffering of wrong 
 and we divided the doing of wrong into the doing of wrong voluntarily and the 
 doing of wrong involuntaiily, the suffering of wrong must also be distingnislied 
 according aa it is voluntary or involuntary. Such a distinction is approved by 
 Euripides, who says that it is possible to suffer wrong intentionally on one's own 
 part. His verses run something like this : — 
 
 " I slew my mother : — there is the simple truth." 
 " With her consettt and thine ? or hers, not thine ?" 
 
 Since these terms are mutually opposed, it is necessary either that every case of 
 wrong doing should be voluntary and that every case of suffering wrong should 
 be involuntary ; or else that as cases of committing wrong have been distin- 
 guished into voluntary and involuntary, cases of suffering wrong shoTdd be 
 similarly distinguished, that the several terms may be mutually opposed to one 
 another. The case seems to stand upon the same footing in regard to doing 
 right and having right done to one. Yet to suppose that every case in which 
 right or wrong is done to a man is voluntary, that is absurd. Ofttimes a man is 
 set right against his will — when, for instance, he has done wrong and is punished 
 for it. Similarly, it is not true that there is any case in which wrong is volun- 
 tarily incurred : in all cases when a man is wronged it is against his will ; though 
 when a man has right done to him it is sometimes against his will, sometimes 
 with his own consent. When a man does wrong and is punished for it, he is 
 set right against his will : when a man suffers wrong, and is avenged of that 
 wrong, he is righted with his own consent. 
 
 What has been now advanced may suffice to explain the case of right being 
 done to a person. We must now explain with greater precision the case of 
 wrong being done to a person, and show that it is not possible that suffering 
 wrong should be intentional. 
 
 First of all we will state the reasons from which it seems to be inferred that a 
 man may be voluntarily injured. Now since to iajure anyone unjustly, with 
 knowledge of the injury done and the person injured, and without any ignorance 
 of the whole circumstances attending the injmy, incited to the injury of one's 
 own motion and not constrained thereto from without — since, I say, this con- 
 stitutes intentional wrong-doing, it follows that to be voluntarily wronged is to 
 suffer hurt contrary to justice, with knowledge of the injury and of the person 
 committing it, with all the attendant circumstances, and yet to submit to the 
 wrong while having it in one's power to shake it off. That such a phenomenon 
 is found in fact is obvious. The weak sensualist is in fact injured by otiiers, 
 while he knows the whole circumstances before him, yet submits to the wrong 
 though he has the power of shaking it off. It is possible, therefore, for a man 
 to be wronged of his own accord. Moreover the weak sensualist injures his own 
 self, and that, moreover, voluntarily. Hence for a min to injure his own self 
 voluntarily, is to suffer what is unjust. Yet a man does, at times, bear injustice 
 intentionally ; for instance, men of scrupulous fairness in making distribntians 
 receive by their own wish less than their due share, a thing which though unjuBt 
 is voluntary. Such men are therefore injured voluntarily. There is then a 
 certain form in which injury may be incurred voluntarily. But the contrary view 
 to this holds that it is impossible for anyone to be injured voluntarily. A man 
 is only injured when he suffers some injustice contrary to his own wish. To 
 suffer aught contrary to one's own wish is opposed to the very definition of the 
 voluntary : hence it is not possible for a man to wish to be injured, not even if 
 he be weakly sensual. Even the sensualist wishes for what is good for himself 
 and does not endure to be injured in the strict and unqualified sense of the term : 
 if he submits to a particular injury he fancies that he will not be injured thereby. 
 He considers that he ought to do such things as will be profitable to him, but 
 practically he does things which hai-m him, fancying that they are not hannfuL 
 Hence it is not possible for a man to be injured of his own choice. 
 In this way the objections drawn from the contrary are solved. A man doea 
 
Bk. V. 12.] Translation. 289 
 
 wrong when he injures anyone voluntarily, contrary to the wish of the person 
 injured. Similarly a man has wrong done to him when he suffers unjust treat- 
 ment contrary to his own wish. But to suffer unjust treatment voluntarily is not 
 the same thing as to be wronged. Just as to do what is unjus"is not in every 
 case to act unjustly, nor is the man who does unjust things unjust (as was shown 
 above) so neither is every one who suffers nnjiist treatment, necessarily wronged. 
 But just as the physician who deceives his patient, or the person who steals the 
 sword of a madman does what is unjust without being unjust himself, inasmuch 
 as he looks to the safety of the invalid, and does not cause him to lose but to 
 gain, so also a man who in distribution tates less than his worth, does not injure 
 himself even though he suffers what is unfair. He submits to be rated below his 
 merit not in order to injure himself but rather that he may profit thereby, gain- 
 ing a reputation for moderation and scrupulous fairness. Moreover even if he 
 does submit to injure himself, he is not thereby wronged, since he does not suffer 
 injustice contrary to his own wish (and nothing but that is suffering wrong). A 
 man who gives in exchange what is better for what is worse — as Homer says that 
 Glancus made a present to Diomede of 
 
 I " fiolden annour for brazen — the worth of a hundred oxen for the worth of nine," 
 
 — ^is not wronged, since he gave by his own wish. A man who is wronged is 
 injured against his vidll. It is not possible, therefore, for a man to be wronged 
 of his own accord, though it is possible for him to suffer harm of his own 
 
 (e) STATEMENT OF SOME QUESTIONS OF CASUISTRY BEAEING ON 
 THE ABOVE. 
 
 But there are still two questions for us to discuss connected 
 with the subjects of which we have proposed to 
 treat : (1) does a man who makes a division con- ^^^ ^^ ™J"^* *" 
 
 J. J. X . . the case of an un- 
 
 trary to true merit act unjustly, or the man who just distribution, 
 profits hy it? and (2) is it possible for a man to the man who makes 
 
 1 • i i 1 • \ /. o -»-r ■ f , 1 ■ . • it or the man who 
 
 be unjust to himself ? JNow 11 the position as- profits by it ? 
 sumed above be possible and the man who makes 
 the unjust distribution does wrong and not the man who profits 
 by it, then, if a man assigns to anyone but to himself an advantage 
 knowingly and voluntarily, this man injures his own self. This is 
 precisely what ' moderate ' men appear to do ; since a man of 
 scrupulous moderation is willing to take less than his share. But 
 this is not an unvarnished view of the case. The person who 
 seemed to be cheating himself was — it may so have chanced — 
 coveting another good, such as fame or the glory of disinterestedness. 
 Moreover the difficulty is solved by reference to the definition of 
 ' wrong-doing ' : the man suffers nothing ' contrary to his own 
 wish,' and consequently he is not injured at any rate on this score, 
 or if at all, his injury is simply loss. 
 
 Yet it is evident also that the man who makes unfair distribu- \ 
 tion does a wrong, but not the man who profits by it in every case. 
 It is not the man to whom the unjust share accrues who does the 
 wrong, but the man to whom it has occurred to do the wrong 
 
290 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. v. 12. 
 
 voluntarily. This is the point upon which depends the origination 
 of thte actual movement towards action, and this origination rests 
 with the man who makes the division, not with the man who gains 
 by it. 
 
 Moreover, since acting is predicated in many senses, and there 
 is a sense in which even inanimate things kill, or the hand, or the 
 slave who does his master's bidding, so the distributor of an unjust 
 apportionment may be the instrument of wrong, without being him- 
 self an evil-doer. 
 
 Again if a man makes a decision in ignorance, he does no wrong 
 in the sense of legal justice, nor is his decision unrighteous, though 
 in another point of view it is unjust; since justice according to law 
 is different from abstract justice. If, on the other hand, he has 
 given a decision knowingly, he seeks to gain an advantage thereby 
 either of favour or of revenge. The man who from such motives 
 has given an unjust decision has an advantage thereby, precisely 
 as if he had a share in the proceeds of the injustice. For instance, 
 a man who in a case of that kind has assigned away a field, has 
 perhaps gained a sum of money if not the actual land. 
 
 There is tKe point also wHoh must be explained — whetlier the wrong is done 
 by the man who distributes things unjustly and not according to proportion, or 
 by the man who receives more than his proper desert. It appears that the man 
 who makes the distribution does a wrong in the absolute sense of the term, and 
 the man who receives the profits does a wrong in the way of being an accidental 
 accessory. That man does a vrrong per sc who makes an unjust distribution of 
 his own choice ; and a man acts from his own choice when the cause and the 
 original movement of action rest with himself. Now the original movement to 
 action in the case of a distribution rests with the man who makes it : the man 
 therefore who makes an unfair distribution does a wrong per se, and not the 
 man who receives the benefit of that unfairness, since, as has been shown, the 
 origination of the act does not rest with him. 
 
 The doer of unjust things is not ipso facto said to do wrong, except by accident : 
 for instance the hand, or a sword, or a stone are said to Idll, though l^e csose of 
 death does not rest with them, nor do they act from their own motion : they are 
 indeed instrumental to evU but are in no way evil in themselves. If theli, a 
 man, who has made an unfair decision in ignorance of the laws, made his decision 
 outside the range of legal justice, he has done no wrong according to law nor is 
 his decision unrighteous. He does wrong, however, in another way — I mean of 
 course in the way of natural right. Legal right is one thing, natural right another. 
 Suppose, for instance, that there is a law that a hero should have a laigat share 
 in distributions, and that the man who was making the distribution being in 
 ignorance of this law, ranked the hero only on an equality with the rest. Since 
 he was ignorant of the law he has committed no wrong in respect of legal justice 
 (inasmuch as the man who acts wrongfully through ignorance is not a wrong- 
 doer). Tet since it is a law of nature to requite our benefactors, and this man 
 neglected this law (not being ignorant of it, as it is a law of nature), he iB_ un- 
 righteous judged by that law. If, again, he had knowledge both of the poaitive 
 law and of the law of nature, and yet neglected both and made an unjust deoioon, 
 and assigned an advantage to one to whom it was not due, not only did he thereby 
 cause the recipient to gain an advantag'e but himself also has an advantage like- 
 yriae. In fact, whether through friendship or through hate or through bribes he 
 
ik. V. 13.] Translation. 29 j 
 
 fas led astray, he has participation in the wrongful gains. The advantage to 
 imself in which he participates is either favour with a friend, or revenge against 
 n enemy, or a sum of money. Hence he shares in the profits (9 injustice with 
 lie direct recipient. Suppose a man has assigned a field to whom it did not 
 dong for a sum of money : he is said to have shared the field with the man 
 i)sa received it : yet he himself did not receive the field but a sum of money, 
 linularly the man who has acted unfairly in distributions, to serve his own 
 iterests or to oblige a friend, participates in the advantage gained and has a 
 tiaie of the fraud. The direct recipient has an advantage and has done what is 
 nfair ; but he is not a wrong-doer unless he persuaded the better judgment of 
 lie distributor by bribes or by some other inducement. But the distaributor does 
 lave an advantage in the manner which has been described and is himself 
 cajust. 
 
 xiii. — Complexities of Justice make tlie attainment of it difficult. 
 
 Now men think that the doing of injustice rests with them- 
 elves, and therefore that justice is an easy thing 
 practise ; yet such is not the case. Of course ^<c^\l ^^om^ own 
 t is an easy thing and within our own power to power and easy of 
 lommit adultery or to assault one's neighbour or ^^^Hidig to*do 
 place money into his hands ; but to perform a just action, an- 
 hese acts as a consequence of a certain moral -^heproplrsptrit 
 lisposition that is no easy task nor dependent 
 ipon our own selves. In the same way people think that it is 
 lothing abstruse to know what is just and what is unjust, on the 
 jround that it is not difficult to comprehend the matters for 
 Thich the laws make provision. Just acts, however, are no 
 ividence of a just nature, except joer accidens: only when just acts 
 ire performed in a just spirit or when a just arrangement is 
 ;arried out in a just spirit, is right really done. Eight in this 
 lense is a more serious thing to understand than it is to know the 
 lecrets of health. To know the nature of honey or of wine or of 
 leUebore or of caustic or of amputations is doubtless easy 
 inough ; but to know how to apply such things so as to secure 
 lealth, to apply them to the proper subject or at the proper time 
 ~-that is a serious business, equivalent in fact to being a physician. 
 ?or this same reason some think that the doing of injustice is not 
 ess characteristic of the just man than is the doing of justice, on 
 he ground that the just man will, not less, nay even more than the 
 mjust man, be enabled to perform the various forms of crime — 
 commit adultery and to assault his neighbour ; and similarly 
 he brave man will be the better able to throw away his shield 
 md to turn his back in battle and flee any direction that it may 
 lappen. But to be a coward or unjust does not consist in the 
 nere performance of acts of cowardice or injustice (except per 
 iccidens), but in doing them as the outcome of a certain frame of 
 
 u 2 
 
292 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 13. 
 
 mind.; precisely as being a physician or causing health is not the 
 
 mere amputating or not amputating, giving drugs or not, but the 
 
 nice observance, in doing so, of certain limitations and conditionB. 
 
 Now the relations* of justice can only exist among those who 
 
 have a share in what is absolutely good ; and of 
 The class deened things absolutely good they can have ' too much ' 
 can be shown"' ^"'^ Or ' too little.' There are indeed those to whom 
 
 an excess of such things is impossible, as surely it 
 is to the Gods ; while on the other hand no portion of such things 
 is good for others, e.g. as for those who are incurably wicked, but 
 every good thing is harmful : and there are others again to whom 
 such things are only beneficial up to a certain point. This fact 
 only shows that ' Justice is human ' and must reflect the varieties 
 of human life. 
 
 Now there are some who think that the doing of wrong or right is an easy 
 thing, and that concurrently with a man's wishing he has therewith the power to 
 become just or unjust. But the facts of the case do not stand thus. Tie doing 
 of just acts or of unjust acts, the giving of money or the assaulting of one's neigh- 
 bour, are easy enough and in the power of whoever will. But to have a moral 
 disposition towards justice or injustice (which requires length of time and moral 
 discipline to gain) in virtue of which dispositions alone it is that a man is called 
 just or unjust — that, I say, is a matter not enough under our own control to make 
 it easy for us to gain such dispositions concurrently with our wish to gain them. 
 
 In the same way they consider that the knowledge of what is just or unjust is 
 an easy matter ; and as for having a capacity to learn such things, they fancy 
 that there is nothing abstruse in tliat, since, they say, it is not difficult to under- 
 stand the matters in reference to which the laws make rules. These enactments 
 of law they maintain to be the requirements of justice ; though indeed they m 
 not except from the associations of accident. The law absolutely enforced in the 
 letter — carried out on every occasion alike and by anyone whom it may chance 
 — is not justice : it must be enforced and earned out in a manner that ia 
 right and at a time that is right and by the persons to whom it rightfully be- 
 longs. To know these multitudinous limitations of each single law is more 
 .difficult than to know the varied conditions of health : — though in regard even to 
 health it is easy to know the nature of honey or of wine or of hellebore or of canstio 
 or of amputation, yet how one ought to arrange these various remedies so as to 
 conduce to health — to whom they ought severally to be applied and on what 
 occasions, is a serious task, — no less, in fact, than tie whole axt of the physician. 
 
 It is for this very reason indeed that some persons think that the just man has 
 the capacity for acting unjustly no less than the just man has, nay, even more 
 so, owing to the power he possesses of doing unjust things : he would be able, 
 for instance, to strike one who had never injured him or to steal what is not his 
 own, just as the brave man would be able to throw away his sword or to flee. 
 Yet the doing of unjust deeds is not to "be unjust, nor is it the same thing to be 
 a coward and to do the acts of a coward — except through an accident of oicoinii' 
 stance. To be a coward or unjust is to do acts of cowardice or of injustice 
 with a moral nature corresponding thereto ; when, for instance, a man flees not 
 simply from a wish to do so, but because he is stirred by a strong impulse to 
 cowardice, or when he commits a wrong through having a dishonest nature. In 
 the same way to be a physician and to heal men is not to amputate, or to 
 administer drugs, or the reverse, but to do so in the right manner, and^at the 
 right time, from being possessed of the mental attitude of the physician. ;; = 
 
 We haff-e now defined the nature of Remedial and Distributive JualJiie, what 
 
Bk. V. 14.] Translation. 293 
 
 their nature is viewed speoulatiyely, aad how they are limited by oiroumstance ; — 
 the Bubjects which were set before us to treat. We have now to explain what 
 the relation is between what is just and what is equitable, and%betweeu justice 
 and equity. We must, however, first add one other proviso to our Theory of 
 Justice : — what is just either remedially or distributively can only exist in those 
 things which have some share of what is absolutely good, e.g. wealth or fame, in 
 which excess or defect is discoverable. In respect of fame a man may exceed 
 what is right or fall short of it ; so also in regard to wealth. In the case of 
 things which present this character what is sought is equality and proportion ; 
 and where these are involved, there is need both for distributive and for re- 
 medial justice. Among the Gods of course inequality has no place, nor is either 
 excess or defect possible among them ; hence among them there is no need for 
 justice like ours. Nor again is there any place for Justice among men who are 
 utterly vicious, or who are corrupted by luxury or by general depravity. If men 
 are to have a chance of growing strong, it is necessary that they should have 
 some sound part whence as a starting point the physician may proceed to call 
 the health back again. Men who are utterly corrupted cannot possibly be cured ; 
 hence among them right has no place. Right can only exist among such as wish 
 for things that are just and do what is just according to human strength, and, 
 again, fail only in such ways as are natural for man. 
 
 xiv. — The principle of Equity solves tlie complications of Justice. 
 
 As closely connected with the previous subject it remains for us 
 to treat of Equity and of the equitable, and to 
 show the relation between Equity and Justice, EquftyLdJuXT 
 and between the equitable and the just. It is 
 evident, if we examine into the matter, that these two qualities 
 are not identical nor yet distinct in kind. Sometimes, for instance, 
 we praise what is equitable and the equitable character in such a 
 way as, even when praising a man on general grounds, to use the 
 •term as a synonym instead of the term 'good,' showing thereby 
 that what is most equitable is also most excellent. At other 
 times when following out the definition of Justice, it seems to us 
 absurd that the equitable should be praised though a thing 
 contrary to what is just. Hither what is just is not good, since 
 the equitable, being other than the just, is good : or, if both are 
 good, they are identical. 
 
 A difficulty does indeed arise through these considerations in 
 reference to what is equitable. Yet all these views 
 are under certain aspects rightly held ; they are Equity more excel- 
 none of them antagonistic to one another. What i™certatn 00863.'°^ 
 is equitable is just though more excellent than a 
 certain kind of justice, and though more excellent than a certain 
 kind of justice, is not a distinct and separate thing therefrom. 
 The just and the equitable are therefore identical, and though 
 both qualities are virtuous, equity is the more excellent. 
 
 The difficulty is caused by the fact that though the equitable is 
 just, it is not a justice conformable to law but a rectification 
 
294 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. U. 
 
 thereof. The reason of this is that every law is universal and 
 
 abstract, yet there are cases in reference to which 
 
 Equity a reotifioa- it is impossible to legislate rightly by general 
 
 tion of leqal ■ ■ t ii. j! t •! ■ 
 
 Justice. provisions. In cases, therefore, where it is neces- 
 
 sary to make general provisions though it be 
 impossible to do so rightly, the law assumes the general principle 
 which holds good in the main while fully aware of the habilily 
 of error in its application. Nevertheless, the law acts rightly: 
 the error does not rest with the lawgiver nor with the law but 
 with the nature of the circumstances with which it has to deal, 
 the subject matter formed by action being from the outset of this 
 complicated character. When, therefore, the law speaks gene- 
 rally and something happens in reference thereto which is beyond 
 the universal provisions of the law, in such cases it is only right 
 that, where the lawgiver has passed over some consideration and 
 made an error through having spoken in the abstract, we should 
 in practice correct this aberration — an aberration which even the 
 lawgiver himself would prescribe if he were present, and for which 
 he would have legislated if he had foreseen. 
 
 Wherefore Equity is just and more excellent than justice of a 
 certain kind — not better than justice in the abstract but better 
 than the flawed condition incidental to abstract justice ; and this 
 is the nature of what is equitable — a rectification of law on point* 
 where law is at fault owing to its universality. - This is in truth 
 the reason why every circumstance of life is not regulated by law 
 — i.e. there are certain circumstances for which it is impossible to 
 frame a law, and hence a special decree is needed to meet them. 
 The rule for what is indefinite must itself also be indefinite, like 
 the leaden rule in Lesbian architecture : the rule is not fixed but 
 shifts itself according to the shape of the stone ; and so must the 
 decree be accommodated to meet the nature of the circumstances. 
 
 The nature then of the equitable is clear : it is itself ' just ' and 
 more excellent than justice of a certain kind. It 
 The character of ig also clear from this point of view what is the 
 defined^ ^ ™*" character of the equitable man. He is one who 
 deliberately prefers as a matter of choice what 
 is equitable and carries out his choice in action. He does not 
 insist upon the rigour of his rights to his neighbour's hurt, but 
 is willing to take less than his due though the law would support 
 his extremest claim. The frame of mind involved in such a 
 character is Equitableness, being a form of Justice and in- 
 volving the same mental conditions. 
 
 The subject which comes next for us is the nature of Equity and of the equit- 
 able, anj^ the relation which Equity holds to Justice and which the eqoitsble 
 
Bk. V. 14.] Translation. 295 
 
 holds to the just. These qualities are not all identical, nor yet are they distinct in 
 kind. Inasmuch as what is eqtiitable is more highly praised than what is just, 
 the equitable man seems to be more estimable than the just ma«. Moreover we 
 apply the term to the chaiaoteristics of goodness generally, when it is necessary 
 to praise any of the virtues : we say that such a virtue is more equitable than 
 such an other, indicating thereby not what is more just but what is more excel- 
 lent. In this view Equity seems to be a distinct virtue, separate from Justice. 
 But on the other hand as we follow out the terms of the definition it seems 
 evidently absurd that the equitable should be commendable, if it be something 
 distinct and apart from Justice. If it be commendable, it must be just, since 
 everything commendable is just, and justice is perfect virtue as was demonstrated 
 in a previous clapter ; and vice versa, if it is not just, neither is it commendable ; 
 else if what is equitable is commendable, what is just is not commendable. 
 
 A difdcnlty, therefore, arises through these opposing views. But both views are 
 rightly held — both that Justice and Equity are one and that they are distinct ; and 
 these views are in no way opposed to one another. What is equitable is just, and 
 more excellent than justice of a certain kind. Not as distinct from justice in 
 kind, is it better than justice ; but as being a division of another kind of justice, 
 to whidi it is allied. Justice and equity being both of them excellent ' the 
 equitable just ' is the more excellent. 
 
 This difficulty has been brought into prominence by the fact that though the 
 equitable is just it is not after the pattern of legal justice since it is not comprised 
 within any law, but is a rectification of legal justice. The reason for this rectify- 
 ing process is that all law is defined universally. But there are certain kinds of 
 particular circumstances wherein it is not possible for the law to apply according 
 to Eight Reason, on account of the law being definite and exact and having 
 regard to a definite and specific end, whereas particulars are indefinite and in- 
 exact and change with the changes of circumstances. For instance the law orders 
 that without restriction every foreigner who mounts upon the city walls should 
 be put to death. But in a particular case a foreigner mounted the walls and was 
 conspicuous for his heroism. If then we were to apply the law to a distinguished 
 champion and put him to death, we should act contrary to Right Reason and to 
 Justice. The case is similar in many other instances. The fault does not reside 
 in the law, nor in the lawgiver, but in the very nature of circumstances. Inas- 
 much as it is impossible to compi^ehend within one formula all varieties of detail, 
 being as they are indefinite, it takes the general rule as a standard, and legislates 
 with due regard thereto. It was not because the lawgiver ignored the possibility 
 of mistake, that he left the law vrithout further limitations, but because it is 
 impossible for the nature of circumstances to be comprised within the limits of 
 a definition, since circumstances are contingent and variable. The subject-matter 
 of action is vague and undefined, and the complexities which it presents are 
 manifold. Hence it is that lawgivers aim at reaching what happens in the 
 majority of cases. It very rarely occurs that a foreigner mounting the walls in 
 time of war has benefited the State : it is more conceivable that he should ascend 
 the walls to the injury of the State. 
 
 Since then it is necessary to know how one ought to keep laws of this character, 
 and when one ought to enforce them and against whom, it behoves us to have a 
 certain frame of mind in virtue whereof we shall be able to correct the errors of 
 a too-rigorous justice. Such a disposition is Equitableness, in virtue whereof the 
 deficiency of law is made good, and the error consequent thereon rectified, and 
 those farther qualifications made which the law itself passed by, through not 
 knowing aU the circumstances in the way of detail. The equitable man will say 
 that every foreigner who mounts the walls must be put to death, 7/ lie lias done so 
 i)ith tkejpurpose of making a eoTiapiracy, whereas if he has distinguished himself 
 by good service, let him be entitled not only to protection but also to public 
 tonours. This is what the lawgiver himself would have said, if at least he had 
 been present ; and this is a case for which he would himself have legislated if 
 ie had known. In the same spirit the equitable man will make right other laws 
 rf the same tendency. "Wherefore ' equity' is ' right ' — more excellent than a 
 
296 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 15. 
 
 certain kind of right — ^not than right in the abstract, but of legal right which is 
 
 at fault through its universality. This is the very nature of the equitable Si 
 
 rectification of law so far as it fails and is deficient through its universality. 
 This is the reason also why all things which are rightfully performed are not in 
 accordance with law — laws are universal and are concerned with what takes 
 place only for the most part. Hence the need which arose for special decrees 
 which men engaged in public life adopt to meet the e^gencies of .special cironm- 
 stances, which are shifting and uncertain. A rule must be indefinite when the 
 circumstances to .which it is applied are indefinite — ^Uke the leaden rule used in 
 Lesbian architecture which shifted about so as to accommodate itself to the 
 character of the stone. It is after the same fashion that special decrees change 
 their tone to meet the alternations of circumstances. 
 
 It has now been explained what is the equitable and what is equity — i.e. that 
 it is ' right : ' it has been shown what its relation is to right in the abstract and 
 that it is better than a certain kind of right. It is evident from these distinc- 
 tions what is the character of the equitable man : he is one whose purpose it is 
 to act justly and fairly and who oairies out his purpose : he is one who does not 
 insist upon a too rigorous justice to his neighbour's hurt, but is disposed to concede 
 his own claims, though he has the law to support them. The corresponding; 
 frame of mind is Equitableness, which is a species of justice and not a distinct 
 or separate state of mind apart from justice. 
 
 XV. — Further solution of questions of casuistry bearing on Justice, 
 (a) CAN A MAN INJUEE HIMSELF? 
 
 As for the question whether it be conceivable for a man to act 
 
 unjustly to himself, the answer is clear from the 
 ^™ihesli£ considerations given above. It is clear that a 
 ■who seems to inflict man cunnot act unjustly to himself. 
 leS"^ *° ^ °^ I* is? indeed, maintained by some that he ca% 
 
 ' Certain aspects of justice,' they say, * are gene- 
 ral enactments of law covering the whole field of virtue. The law 
 does not, for example, order a man to slay himself, and whatever 
 the law does not positively order in reference to matters of this 
 kind, it forbids. The suicide therefore acts in defiance of this 
 tacit prohibition of law, and therefore also does wrong.' 
 
 ' Again,' they say, ' when a man does harm without having any 
 harm to requite, he does a wrong purposely, with full knowledge, 
 that is, of the person wronged and of the object to be gained there- 
 by. But the man who slays himself through passion, does so 
 purposely, in contravention of Right Eeason : he therefore does 
 wrong.' 
 
 Well, hut whom does he wrong? Is it not the State, rather 
 
 than himself!' He meets his death voluntarily, 
 S'urerthfstatf but no one is wronged Voluntarily. It isthe State 
 
 which is wronged, and therefore the State inflicts 
 a penalty : there is a certain infamy attaching to one who has 
 destroyed himself as being a man who injures the State. • ■' _ 
 Morepver, under that view of Justice in which a man is nnjnst 
 
Bk. V. 15.] Translation. 297 
 
 who simply does an unjust act without being entirely vicious, 
 ie. accordina; to the view of particular Iniustice, ^ 
 
 , . , •! 1 i- i • ■ 7 • 7j~ Measons given to 
 
 it IS not possible lor a man to injure himself, show that a man 
 (Particular Injustice is of course a distinct thing cannot injure him- 
 from Universal Injustice. A man who is unjust 
 in this n'arrower sense is depraved to a certain extent only, like 
 the coward, no't as though he had vicious tendencies fully 
 developed. It is not, I say, possible for a man to injure himself, 
 even in this restricted sense of wrong : — (1) otherwise the same 
 thing could be both added to and taken from the same person, 
 which is impossible, for where there are relations of right and 
 wrong, there must necessarily be a number of persons between 
 whom those relations should subsist. (2) Further, while the 
 doing of injury is a voluntary action and proceeds from a settled 
 purpose, so also is it prior in point of time to the suffering of 
 injury : a man does not seem to be doing an injury, if he is 
 requiting in kind an injury which he has received. But if a man 
 could injure his own self, he would be at one and the same 
 moment agent and patient, the victim of a wrong inflicted by 
 himself. (3) Again it would be possible for a man to be injured 
 mluntarily. (4) Besides all these considerations there is this : 
 no man does a wrong except under the form of a definite act 
 falling under some definite division of crime affecting other 
 people. If a man commit adultery, it cannot be with his own 
 wife ; if a burglary, it cannot be through his own walls ; if a 
 theft, it cannot be of his own property. (5) In fine, the theory 
 of a man's injuring his own self is refuted by the terms of the 
 definition which was given, that injury, as such, is constituted by 
 involuntariness on the part of the sufferer. 
 
 We must now treat with, greater fulness the subject of ' being injured ' and 
 examine whether it be possible on any occasion to be injured intentionally. 
 
 Since then Justice and Injustice are either Universal (Justice in that sense 
 being coextensive with perfect virtue as has been shown, and Injustice with perfect 
 vice) or else Particular, it is evident that it is not possible for a man to injure 
 himself either in the way of Universal or of Pairticular Injustice : — though the 
 opposite opinion is commonly held, on the following grounds. Since the law does 
 not order a man to Mil his own self, suicide is contrary to law (inasmuch as the 
 law forbids what it does not positively order) ; and since also what is contrary to 
 law is unjust, a man who has killed himself is unjust. But when a man com- 
 mits a wrong, he wrongs someone : it is, therefore, evident that he wrongs him- 
 self ; and in the case assumed he has acted voluntarily : — he is, therefore, volun- 
 tarily vjTonged. Again, a man who hurts anyone contrary to law and not in the 
 way of requital or returning an injury of his own, but initiating the wrong him- 
 self, purposely commits a wrong, since he knows the injury he is doing and the 
 person whom he is injuring and the other circumstances attendant on the action. 
 But the man who has slain himself through anger is neither avenging himself, 
 nor is he ignorant of the person affected (i.e. himself), and the harm he is doing, 
 
298 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Rk. V. 15. 
 
 and the circumstances of the case. Consequently he commits a -nrong, and if he 
 does that wrong purposely, he is wronged of his own accord. 
 
 Such, then, are the grounds on which it is thought possible that a man may 
 willingly injure himself in the way of universal injustice (which is the opposite 
 of universal justice i.e., the display of universal virtue) — to slay oneself in anger 
 being opposed to the law which regulates anger. That this view however is im- 
 tenable, and that it is impossible for a man to injure himself, was proved by the 
 arguments given in a previous chapter : the definition of ' being injured' is opposed 
 to the very conception of the voluntary. 
 
 So fai-, however, as this view maintains that the man who has killed himself 
 voluntarily does a wrong, it is a true view ; but so far as it maintains that the 
 suicide wrongs himself, it is an untrue view of the case. The suicide is not 
 virronged in himself since the evil is not contrary to his own wish : it is the city 
 which is wronged since the city thereby loses a general, or a soldier, or a hon|e.-. 
 holder, or simply a citizen, and that contrary to its own wish. Consequently, a« 
 being injured by his act, the state exacts satisfaction from him, requiting him hy 
 such means as are possible for it to do : — it does not permit his body to be buried. 
 
 It has thus been demonstrated that in the way of Universal Injustice injury is 
 not voluntarily received. But, again, in the way of Particular Injustice, ia, 
 Covetonsness, how is it possible for a man to injure himself ? If to do a wrong • 
 in the way of injustice of this Mnd is nothing else than to gain an advantage 
 over another, the man who injures himself will have ' an advantage over himself : ' 
 and if one part of him has an advantage, another part will suffer loss. The same 
 act therefore will be both an adding to and a taking from himself — which ia a 
 thing impossible. Justice of this kind involves a relation between two people at 
 the least : — otherwise it would be possible for Justice to be both a takiag away 
 and an adding to — a being injured and an injuring at the same moment. 
 
 Again, it is necessary that the man who does an injury should inflict the harm 
 before the person injured can retaliate , and should do so voluntarily and of set 
 purpose : a man who retaliates in kind the treatment he has himself received, 
 does not seem to do a wrong. For the same reason a man who injures Imnself 
 must necessarily both inflict an injury and receive an injury, since it is the same 
 person who is both agent and patient, who inflicts the injury and receives it. It 
 necessarily follows that if there be an injury that injury must imply a relation 
 between several persons. It is impossible then that a man should injure his own 
 self. But besides these reasons there is this : the man who does an injury is 
 nothing else than a man who commits some special and defined act of wrong : 
 unless his act can be brought under the category of some moral relation, it is imr 
 possible for him to commit a wrong, or indeed to do anything else whatever. 
 Acts of a definite and tangible character are such as theft, outrage, assault, bur- 
 glary. But no one steals what is his own ; no one breaks through the walls of 
 his own house ; no one outrages himself ; no one assaults himself. In fine, it is 
 proved to be a mistake to say that a man does an injury to his own self or is 
 voluntarily injured, — by the very definition of receiving an injury which is ' to 
 suffer what is unjust contrary to one's own will.' 
 
 {b) IS IT WORSE TO RECEIVE A WEONG OR TO COMMIT A WEONS? 
 
 ' But it is evident that both to do a 'wrong and to be subject to a 
 wrong are alike evUs, the one alternative being to 
 S°'"^arsoriS ^ave °^°^^' *^e other less, than what is fair and 
 with an evil dis- right. True justice is the ' perfect mean' — a re- 
 evuto a mrn'than ^^** ^^^^ healthfulness in relation to medicine or 
 the receiving of good condition in relation to training. Still it is 
 injury. a worse evil to do a wrong than to suffer one. To 
 
Bk. V. 15.J Translation. 299 
 
 do a wrong is associated with vice and is morally reprehensible, 
 whether vice be consummate and unalloyed or of a form akin 
 thereto (since it is not every voluntary act of wro% that is at- 
 tended with vice), whereas to receive an injury is free from vice 
 and injustice. 
 
 Viewed in itself, therefore,, the receiving of an injury is a lesser 
 evil, though through actual association there is nothing to prevent 
 its being the greater evil. But art is not concerned with the acci- 
 dental : it says, for instance, that pleurisy is a worse evil than a fall, 
 though under special circumstances the fall might prove the more 
 fatal, — for instance, if it chanced that in consequence of his fall a 
 man were captured by the enemy and put to death. 
 
 Again, it is only through association of ideas and by way of 
 analogy that a relation of iustice is conceived, not „ 
 
 , , -, 1 ■ TP-, , 1 . EemajKs upon the 
 
 as between a man and his sen but between a man piatonio Dualism 
 and certain parts of himself; but then it is not invoiredintheidea 
 every kind of justice with which this is compared, ° ^^ -injury- 
 but only that which exists between a master and his slaves or 
 household. There is the same relation between them as between 
 the rational and the irrational parts of man's nature. Keeping 
 this distinction therefore in view, it seems that there can be injus- 
 tice towards a man's own self, because in these separate parts 
 there is a certain capacity for suffering in contradiction to their 
 respective inclination ; consequently, as though there were one 
 element governing and the other governed, these parts have a cer- 
 tain kind of justice involved in their relations one with another. 
 
 With regard then to Justice and other Moral Virtues the pur- 
 pose of our inquiry may now be held as concluded. 
 
 But it is evident that both the reoeiving' of wrong' and the doing- of wrong are 
 alike bad since both of them fall outside of the perfect mean : to do wrong ia an 
 excess, to receiye a wrong a defect, while to fare justly is what is equal and a 
 mean — as much as healthf ulness is in medicine and good condition in training. 
 Both then are evils ; but the greater evil is .to do wrong. To do wrong ia 
 a moral evil and is censured as such — an evil either under the form of perfect 
 vice (or universal Injustice) or of particular vice. Again it is either voluntary 
 and attended with deliberate purpose (which is to do vrrong in the absolute 
 sense), or else though volimtaiy not attended with deliberate purpose (which is 
 only aldn to wrong doing and is not wrong doing in the perfect sense) ■■ — it is 
 not every act of voluntary wrong doing that is hurtful to one's neighbour and 
 ' unjust.' On the other hand to receive an injury is of course an evil, yet it is not 
 moraUy censurable, since a man is not injured on account of his own depravity 
 or any other fault of his own. 
 
 But though the receiving of vrrong is, when viewed absolutely, a lesser evil 
 than the doing of vprong, yet through accidental associations there is nothing to 
 hinder its being actually worse, since it has often happened that the reoeiving of 
 a wrong has been the occasion of worse mischief than the doing of that wrong. 
 For example, a man through being injured may have been so infuriated as to 
 have set fire to the house of his aggressor, and in consequence thereof it has 
 
300 Th& Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. V. 15. 
 
 chanced that the whole city has been set in conflagration. Still, notwithstiiuid- 
 ing such accidents, the doing of wrong is the worse evil : nothing is made less 
 than itself through mere accidents : pleurisy is not a lesser evil than a fall 
 though it has happened that in consequence of a fall a particular individual was 
 once upon a time captured by the enemy and put to death. 
 
 The just and the unjust. Justice and Injustice are therefore, in the true sense 
 of the term, what they have been described. There is, however, another kind of 
 Justice so-called not in the strict sense of the term but by way of metaphor and 
 similarity with real justice : such is the kind of justice which a man shows 
 towards his own belongings ; e.g. as a, master towards his slave, or as a father 
 towards his son. In this aspect the soul is said to be just or unjust in reference 
 to the various parts of itself : the rational part is distinct from the irrational 
 part — the rational part ruling and ordering, the irrational part being ruled and 
 ordered. It is, of course, with this aspect in view that some consider that a man 
 may act justly or unjustly towards himself : — since at one time the Reason follows 
 the irrational part of the soul, and at another time is in opposition to it as when 
 a man acts contrary to his own inclinations. The various elements ia the soul 
 then bear the relation to one another of governing and governed ; and there is 
 the same relation of justice between them as between ruler and subject. 
 
 Here we must conclude our explanations and discussions about Justice and the 
 rest of the Moral Virtues. 
 
BOOK VI.-EXAMINATION OF THE INTEL 
 LECTUAL VIRTUES. 
 
 INTRODUCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 
 In the analysis of the active virtues we have assumed that there is a 
 recognised ' ideal ' which each of those virtues aim at realizing. Now 
 this ideal is not a merely conventional one, nor is it the standard of 
 individual fancy : it is an ideal determined by Right Reason — an ideal 
 which only they whose minds are perfectly balanced can hope to compass. 
 
 But what is ' Right Reason 1 ' If Morality is to rest upon an absolute 
 standard, and that standard is to be the final appeal and guide of life, it 
 is essential that this standard should be fully understood and its nature 
 adequately defined. The subject of 'Reason' is indeed a wide one, and 
 makes it necessary that we should make a review of the whole intellec- 
 tual nature of man, and show the connection between the various parts 
 of the rational organism. 
 
 GENERAL REVIEW OF PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 It wiU be convenient to classify the various parts of the soul on the 
 principle laid down at the end of Book I., as ' rational ' or ' irrational,' 
 and after subdividing each part to show their mutual connection. 
 
 A. Irrational Elements are : — 
 
 1. The nutritive part — which is purely physical : 
 
 2. The sensitive part (to al<x6rjnKov), which is subsidiary to higher 
 processes in the case of man, the (^avrao-mi .which it creates being embryo 
 forms of Reason : 
 
 3. The appetitive part (to opcKTiKov), which, though not itself rational, 
 is assimilative of Reason. In animals desire {im6vp.\a) is wholly irra- 
 tional, but in men it is combined with a power of calculation and 
 deliberation (/SoilXevo-ij), and forms the Will (npoaipeais). 
 
 B. Rational Elements are determined by the varieties of subject- 
 matter with which they have to deal : — 
 
 1. The scientific part (to emarrjiioviKov) is concerned with eternal 
 verities which admit of neither change nor variation. 
 
 2. The calculative part {t6 \oyuTnK6v) is concerned with • contingent 
 matter' — ^things which are within the power of man to modify, or 
 change. 
 
302 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 If we accept these conclusions it will be clear what are the steps by 
 which the mind arrives at truth, whether intellectual or moral. 
 
 1. Intellectual truth, or ' truth of conception,' is the result of sensar 
 tion {aicr&qtns), intuition (i/oCs), and scientific conception (ima-Tfuirj), the 
 mutual relations of which will be explained later on. 
 
 2. Moral truth, or ' truth of life,' involves an irrational as well as a 
 rational movement of the mind. It is the union of Desire and Right 
 Keason ; when the pursuit or avoidance of a thing within the field of 
 Desire is the result of a corresponding process of Eight Eeason, then a 
 good life is the outcome of the process. Moral falsehood, or failure of 
 life, points to a want of harmony between these processes ; as when the 
 Eeason is sound but the impulses depraved (oKpaa-ia) ; or to misconcep- 
 tions in the Eeason, as when 'the evil' is mistaken for 'the good' 
 {oKoKatxia). [The term ' Will ' (Trpoat'peo-ir) is used to express the union of 
 desire and reason, irrespectively of the goodness of the desire or the 
 Tightness of the Eeason : i.e., the Will may be either virtuous or vicious, 
 since it is simply defined as ' Intuition blending with Impulse,' or aa 
 'Impulse fashioned by Eeason.' On the other hand, 'Right Reason' 
 implies not only right conceptions of mind, but also desires and impulses 
 disciplined into conformity therewith : i.e., WiU is the spring of actions 
 that may be either good or bad : Eight Eeason is the spring of none but 
 virtuous actions.] 
 
 The faculty, therefore, by which we attain to absolute truth is seen 
 from its function to be distinct from the faculty by which we attain to 
 moral truth, the latter being of a complex character, emotional as well 
 as rational. 
 
 We will now examine each one of the Intellectual Virtues by which 
 truth is attained. 1. Concerned with necessary matter are Intuition 
 and Science, which are both combined in Philosophy. 2. Concerned' 
 with contingent matter are Practical Wisdom and Art. We will first oi 
 all explain the general characteristics of each of these Virtues, and then 
 give a more explicit account of Practical Wisdom, which is the most 
 perfect form that Eeason can take in dealing with moral problems and 
 the circumstances of practical life. 
 
 1. CHARACTERISTICS OP THE SCIENTIFIC MIND. 
 
 The subject-matter of Science is ' necessary truth : ' what is ' con- 
 tingent ' is variable, with no fixity or permanence. Necessary truth is 
 a knowledge of what is eternal, indestructible, and imcreated. The 
 function of Science is by means of these necessary 'first truths' to 
 demonstrate other truths equally necessary involved therein. The 
 instrument which Science employs is the Syllogism, which from 
 necessary propositions previously known draws a necessary conclusion, 
 These 'necessary propositions' are in some cases apprehended by 
 ' immediate inference ' as intuitions of the Eeason. But as there is not 
 one Science merely, but many sciences, some being suLordinuted to 
 others, the conclusions of the higher sciences become the axioms of the 
 subordinate sciences ; for instance, the demonstrations of Geometfy are 
 the axioms of Optics. 
 
 Science may therefore be defined as ' the faculty which enables a man 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VI. 303 
 
 to demonstrate truths from propositions which involve the conclusion, 
 yet which are in many cases themselves incapable of being demon- 
 strated.' • 
 
 2. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ARTISTIC MIND. ^"^ 
 
 Art is the application of Reason to the production of material things. 
 Its sphere is therefore ' contingent matter ' — things which depend upon 
 man to construct or not to construct. Practical Wisdom is also con- 
 cerned with ' contingent matter ; ' but the end of Practical Wisdom is 
 action, and the end of Art is production. The function of the artistic 
 faculty is (1), to consider how best a particular object may be constructed 
 out of a particular material ; (2) how it may receive its most perfect 
 form ; and (3) to produce the desired eflFect. Art seems to have a great 
 affinity to chance ; but chance produces its happy effects contrary to 
 expectation, art from deliberate design. 
 
 Art involves a rational conception of its own ideal, and both the ideal 
 and its conception must be true ; and it leads to production, as cause 
 does to effect. If on the contrary there be an anreal or false conception 
 of an ideal of production, there is an inartistic state of mind, leading 
 to failure in production. 
 
 3. CHARACTERISTICS OP THE MORAL MIND. 
 
 ?^^ 
 
 lS- 
 
 The ' Moral Mind,' or the mental attitude denominated ' Practical 
 Wisdom,' may be inferred from concrete instances of it. The general 
 conception we have of a man of ' Practical Wisdom ' is, that he is able 
 to estimate aright what concerns his own interests, and that not in 
 a nan-ow sense, but the interests which concern a good and happy life : 
 he is not merely one who can calculate rightly what is best at parti- 
 cular crises, but one who can determine wisely what befits life as a 
 whole. 
 
 The sphere of Practical Wisdom is therefore the same as that of 
 Deliberation — what is good and evil for man, so far as depends upon our 
 own power to modify or effect. Its fear is not coextensive with con- 
 tingent matter as distinguished from necessary matter, but with that 
 part of contingent matter which falls within human choice, and which is 
 subject to our own control. Pericles and men of his stamp, are very 
 good instances of what men of practical wisdom can effect, and ought to 
 effect, in shaping life according to a national pattern, and using circum- 
 stances as instruments of noble ends. 
 
 That such is the sphere and function of Practical Wisdom is evidenced 
 by its connection with temperance {(raxppoavvrf), with which it is etymo- 
 logioaUy related. Temperance is the perfect attitude of mind in regard 
 to pleasure and pain, and consequently the moral safeguard of Practical 
 Wisdom. Practical Wisdom is a right conception of the ' ends ' of life 
 and especially of the great end, the Summum Bouum, the perfection or 
 happiness of man. But this conception is blunted and destroyed by 
 Intemperance or Vice, which gives a corrupted view of man's destiny 
 and work. When pleasure exerts an undue ascendancy over the mind, 
 or when pain is unduly feared, the intuitions of the Moral Sense are all 
 obscured ; and a wise deliberation as to the path of duty is impossible. 
 
364 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 The good and evil of life is confused together; and happiness is sacrificed 
 to the dearly bought pleasure of a passing satisfaction. 
 
 It will be seen, therefore, that Practical Wisdom is ' the Mind con- 
 trolled by Morality and Reason ;' it is the perfection of the Reason, 
 flowing out of a healthy state of the moral consciousness ; and like the 
 consciousness it is inseparably associated with the life, admitting neither 
 of forgetfulness nor of ' more and less.' It is a state in which moral and 
 intellectual elements are blended with each other in harmonious perfection, 
 so as to vivify and actuate the whole consciousness. x 
 
 4. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE INTUITIVE MIND. 
 
 Intuition is the faculty by which the mind gains a knowledge of 
 those universal truths which are the starting points of demonstrative 
 reasoning. All science depends for the truth of its demonstrations upon 
 certain first truths or universal principles ; but these truths are not 
 themselves capable of being demonstrated. It is clear then that there 
 can be no science or demonstration of first principles ; nor can they 
 come within the cognisance of Philosophy, since Philosophy uses demon- 
 tration upon certain truths; nor under the cognizance of Art or Practical ' 
 Wisdom, which are concerned with contingent matter. The inference is 
 that these dpx"' are the subject-matter of vovs or an Intuitive Faculty, 
 
 '• %J^fi^ 
 
 5. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE PHILOSOPHIC MIND, 
 
 The term 'philosophic' is sometimes used in a relative sense, to 
 denote the ' finish ' or harmony of- proportion which an accomplished 
 artist gives to his work. In this sense philosophy is nothing more than 
 the exactness which distinguishes true art. 
 
 In its proper sense, and used absolutely. Philosophy means the finish 
 or perfection of knowledge. The philosopher or metaphysician is one 
 who understands not only the deductions which flow from the various 
 Sciences, but the principles also upon which knowledge qua knowledge, 
 and truth qu4 truth depend. He is one, therefore, who can appreciate 
 the connection of truths, because he knows the causes and first truths 
 of all things. 
 
 Philosophy may, therefore, be defined as ' the union of Science with 
 Intuition ' — a state of mind in which an intuitive knowledge of first 
 truths is blended with a scientific knowledge of the truths deduced 
 therefrom. 
 
 Philosophy is thus distinct from Practical Wisdom as being concerned 
 with the grandest truths. Man is not the highest study in the world; 
 and the wisdom which regulates his interests is not the highest wisdom. 
 The interests of men are shifting and changeful, and form many distinct 
 kinds of wisdom, as Practical Wisdom branches off" into Statesmanship, 
 Domestic Economy, Legislation, etc. But Philosophy is one, and deals 
 with the unity of things immutable, eternal and divine. Man indeed 
 is the noblest of creatures, but there are existences grander than niau. 
 [These contrasts between Philosophy and Practical Wisdom may be illus- 
 trated by the different r61e played by the students of Philosophy, such 
 as was Thales or Heraclitus, and the men of practical wisdom, such as 
 were Pericles and statesmen generally.] 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VI. 305 
 
 SPECIAL ANALYSIS OF PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 • 
 
 Philosophy is thus the perfected Reason of man dealing with matters 
 that are divine and eternal ; whereas Practical Reason is the perfected 
 Reason dealing with what concerns human well-being. The function of 
 the one is contemplation ; that of the other deliberation. The sphere of 
 the one is necessary matter ; the sphere of the other is contingent 
 matter. 
 
 Yet Practical Wisdom resembles Philosophy in this respect ; — it in- 
 volyes a knowledge of universal truths — of the general principles or 
 'laws' which govern human society. 
 
 The moral character, however, which is perfected by Practical Wisdom, 
 is shown pre-eminently in action ; and action is not so much a matter 
 for general laws as for the perception of particulars. The knowledge of 
 particulars seems, therefore, to be more important than the knowledge 
 of universals ; it is more important, for instance, to know that ' this is 
 fraudulent,' than that ■' whatever is fraudulent is wrong.' But of course 
 a knowledge of the universal truth is implicitly involved in the percep- 
 tion of the particular. 
 
 The circle of human interests is a wide one, and the circumstances 
 with which a man has to deal expands with the society to which he 
 belongs. In a rudimentary civilization a man has only the well-being of 
 the family to consider, and his wisdom will consist in the foresight with 
 which he administers his domestic economy. In the complex organism 
 of the State larger interests are involved ; the relations between citizen 
 and citizen require a many-sided wisdom for .their beneficial adjustment. 
 The power of framing wise laws, of providing for the rival claims of rich 
 and poor, of averting the dangers of international crises, will be variously 
 denominated Legislation, Statesmanship, or Policy ; but the mental 
 attitude involved is one and the same in every case, whether the interests 
 of a man's own self be all that is at stake, or whether vital problems of 
 policy or government have to be solved. Practical Wisdom is the 
 capacity for dealing with human affairs in such a way as to produce the 
 grandest results of moral beauty and of social well-being. 
 
 The vulgar view of Practical Wisdom is, of course, a much narrower 
 one, namely, that to he practically wise is to-fee systematically selfish ; 
 and that to be practically unwise is to meddle with affairs of the 
 community. Yet surely selfishness cannot suoceedUrif pursued without 
 regard to the condition of the world without. A man cannot isolate 
 himself with impunity from the society in which he lives. Apart from 
 other inconveniences, he cannot gain that common experience of life 
 which would enable him to be as 'selfishly successful' as he would 
 expect, unless he gains that experience which contact with the world 
 alone can give. Mere knowledge will not supply the place of the 
 ' teaching of experience.' The study of life is not like that of Geometry 
 or of Mathematics : a boy may be clever in abstract reasoning, but he 
 cannot distinguish the good and evil involved in the multiplicity of 
 human interests until lengthened observation and variety of incident 
 have matured his judgment. 
 
 The man of practical wisdom has therefore a faculty which enables 
 tim to understand what ought to be done at each particular moment. 
 
3o6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 This faculty is to Morals what Intuition is to Science. It is an imme- 
 diate perception of ultimate truths ; but the ultimate truths of Science 
 are axioms, while the ultimate truths of Morals are particular facts. 
 The consciousness, however, of the meaning of moral facts is more of a 
 ' sense ' than an intuition, though not such a sense as that of hearing, 
 smelling, tasting, touching, or seeing. In this ' Moral Sense ' the sen- 
 suous impression is blended with an act of reason. It is analogous to 
 that sense by which we feel conscious that, for instance, a triangle is the 
 simplest mathematical figure ; though there is less of the ' sensuous 
 imagination' in the moral fact than in the mathematical figure. In 
 fact, the 'Moral Sense' must properly stand in a category by itself. 
 While standing in a kind of antithetical relation to Intuition, in that 
 both involve a knowledge of truths of which no proof is possible,, it has 
 also its affinities with Sense and Imagination and Reason. 
 
 ANALYSIS OF CERTAIN MENTAL STATES AKIN TO PEACTICAL 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 i. Good Counsel. — This faculty closely resembles Practical Wisdom, 
 and has been properly styled one of its partes potentiates. 
 
 Before discussing what ' Good Coimsel ' is, we may see at once what 
 it is not. It is not mere ' enquiry,' which has a much wider range than 
 ' Good Counsel,' being equally true of ' Bad Counsel,' of necessary as of 
 contingent matter. It is not ' science : ' since a man who deliberates 
 does not Icnow (as the man of science must do), but is searching for 
 knowledge. It is not ' clgver guessing,' which is devoid of reflection 
 and a thing of the moment. It is not 'acuteness,' which is only another 
 form of guessing. Nor, again, is it ' opinion,' since that is concerned 
 with truth and falsehood, whereas Good Counsel is concerned with 'good' 
 and ' evil,' with what is beneficial or injurious. 
 
 The most general idea involved in ' Good Counsel ' is that it is 
 ' correctness : ' not, of course, the correctness of science or opinion, but 
 the correctness of that movement of mind which is involved in deliber* 
 tion. Its whole essence lies in the process of inquiry, and its special 
 feature in the Tightness of that process. 
 
 There are however some further limitations to be observed in reference 
 to it. The bad man in one sense deliberates rightly, and attains thereby 
 to the ' end ' which he has set before himself ; but his end is a viciou? 
 one, and therefore his counsel is bad. Others, again, have virtuous 
 aims, and succeed in realizing those aims, yet do so by unnatural or 
 improper means, and are therefore devoid of good counsel. Others, 
 again, have none of that readiness which should be characteristic of 
 good counsel, but protract their deliberations needlessly and unduly. 
 Others, again, are capable of good counsel upon particular points, yet 
 fail in life as a whole : Good Counsel implies a wise calculation of all 
 that tends to a good and happy life. 
 
 ii. Moi-al Discrimination has the same sphere as Practical Wisdom ; 
 it is not concerned with matters of Science nor of Opinion, nor is it one 
 of the special Sciences, but it is wholly relative to moral action, so far as 
 moral action comes within the scope of deliberation. But althongli 
 Moral Discrimination and Practical Wisdom are both concerned Tili 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VI. 307 
 
 the same objects, their respective attitudes in reference to those objects 
 are very dissimilar. Practical Wisdom is concerned with action before 
 it is done and with the doing of it ; Moral Discriminatftu is concerned 
 only with action after it is done and when complete. Practical Wisdom 
 is imperative, issuing orders and imposing commands which the Will 
 has still to carry out ; Moral Discrimination is purely critical, as judging 
 the Tightness of conduct after it has been performed. The distinction 
 between them is analogous to that between ' knowing ' and ' under- 
 standing,' or between 'learning' and 'comprehending.' To 'understand,' 
 or to 'comprehend,' is to exercise "knowledge upon certain questions; 
 and so 'moral understanding,' or 'moral discrimination/ is to judge 
 aright of moral questions when they are put before one. 
 
 iii. Cliaritahlmess is the intellectual counterpart of Equitableness : it 
 is 'the right judgment' of the equitable man. It is distinct from 
 'Practical Wisdom' as equity is distinct from goodness. Considera- 
 tion, again, is the intellectual counterpart of 'Moral Discrimination,' 
 differing from it in so far as the criticism of the equitable man may 
 be said to differ from the criticism of the good man : it is the sympa- 
 thetic appreciation which Equity shows in estimating the actions of 
 others. 
 
 The attitude of mind involved in all these moral states is essentially 
 the same : the moral faculty is indeed described by different names as it 
 is occupied with different aspects of morality, but the different forms which 
 it seems to take are inseparable the one from the other. The phenomena 
 of morality seem to shift ; and as morality is brought into contact with 
 each new phase of circumstance, it seems itself also to assume a new 
 character. If the question is one that concerns a man's own duty, the 
 moral faculty is caUed ' Practical Wisdom ; ' if a verdict has to be given 
 in reference to the conduct of others, ' Discrimination ' and ' Charitable- 
 ness ' are called into play (charitableness being involved in goodness, and 
 goodness being the indispensable basis of the moral faculty). But moral 
 phenomena are moral facts ; and these facts require a special faculty to 
 deal with them, whether as isolated experiences or as embodying a 
 general principle. This moral faculty is the 'Moral Sense,' the intuition 
 of right and wrong ; it detects the imiversal in the particular, and the 
 particular in the universal : from the particular intuition of right it 
 mounts up to the universal conception of happiness, and from the uni- 
 versal conception of happiness it deduces the duties of the particular 
 moment. Whether justice or equity, honour or expediency, utility or 
 selfishness are involved, the Moral Sense will lead a man to take the 
 course that is ideally perfect under the given circumstances, regulating 
 his own conduct by the ideal of perfection, and estimating the conduct 
 of others in the same spirit. 
 
 This Moral Sense has sometiipes been considered as the gift of nature : 
 men speak of ' cutting their wisdom teeth ' as though Nature were the 
 cause of wisdom : it is not expected that a man will show considerate- 
 ness and sympathy and discrimination and moral insight until age has 
 matured his faculties. Morality begins and ends with the intuition of 
 nght and wrong : all the demonstrations of moral truths depend upon 
 this intuition as their first truth : and all moral questions resolve 
 themselves into questions of right or wrong. Old men who have had a 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 lopg and varied experience, have this power of moral intuition most 
 perfectly developed ; and we ought to pay the same deference to their 
 dicta as to formal demonstrations. Experience gives the old a moral 
 eyesight which enables them to see the (apxo') ultimate principles of 
 morality, not merely as formal truths, but as particular facts of life : 
 their ' intuition ' of right and wrong is clear-sighted and unfailing. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF CERTAIN DIFFICULTIES WHICH HAVE BEEN 
 FELT IN REGARD TO THE' THEORIES ADVANCED IN THIS 
 BOOK. 
 
 The following objections have been raised to the above conclusions : 
 
 1. If happiness consists in action, it has nothing in common with 
 Philosophy, which consists in contemplation (Beapia). 
 
 2. If moral virtue is a formed state of mind, or a permanent attitude 
 of heart and will, it is not the creation of knowledge and consequently 
 has nothing to do with Practical Wisdom. A man is not made healthy 
 by a knowledge of Medicine, nor an athlete by a knowledge of the 
 principles of training ; nor is he made virtuous by a knowledge of his 
 duties. ■ What is the use, then, of Practical Wisdom ? 
 
 3. Practical Wisdom is useless as well to those who are virtuous as to 
 those who are not. Those who are virtuous axe not more Virtuous from 
 having Practical Wisdom ; and those who are not virtuous can get the 
 Wisdom they need by following the advice of others, just as a man 
 follows the advice of his doctor. 
 
 4. Philosophy being concerned with grander objects than Practical 
 Wisdom is, ought to have supreme authority ; but in the theory of this 
 book Practical Wisdom is made to be paramount, regulating all depart- 
 ments of life. 
 
 The following considerations may be advanced in reply to these 
 objections : 
 
 1. In answer to the two first objections, it may be said that as 
 Philosophy and Practical Wisdom are respectively the excellences of 
 separate divisions of the soul, they must be valuable in and by them- 
 selves, whether they have ulterior advantages or no. A philosophic 
 state of mind is, however, as much conducive to happiness as healthful- 
 ness is to health. The essential element in happiness is virtue ; and 
 one important element of virtue is philosophy, and a scarcely less im- 
 portant element is practical wisdom, which enables the virtuous intention 
 to realise itself in virtuous action! 
 
 2. In further answer to the second objection, and in full answer to 
 the third objection, we must recur to the actual origination of virtue in 
 order to show how dependent virtue is upon Practical Wisdom. 
 
 There are two aspects of virtue — the moral act and the moral 
 intention. The moral act may be viewed apart from the intention of 
 the agent, and the intention of the agent may be viewed irrespectively 
 of the character of the act resulting therefrom. A man may perform 
 right acts without being right-minded, and he may be right-minded 
 though his acts are baneful. When then men say that virtue is irre- 
 pective of knowledge, or that virtue is a moral state irrespective of 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VI. 309 
 
 Practical Wisdom, they forget that the moral and intellectual life of men 
 may not be separated in reality, however much they may be isolated for 
 convenience of treatment. 
 
 The answer, then, to this objection may be given as follows : 
 
 (a) Practical Wisdom implies moral excellence; otherwise it is mere 
 cunning or acuteness. The mere capacity for taking measures to gain a 
 given object is in itself neither moral nor immoral ; but if the aim set 
 before a man be a vicious one, then the capability which a man shows 
 for compassing it is Astuteness, whereas if a man have before him a 
 virtuous ideal and take all the measures necessary for realizing it, then 
 he has Practical Wisdom. In order, therefore, to have practical wisdom, 
 a man must have moral virtue : if he starts from a wrong principle, the 
 conclusion must be wrong, and if he starts from a virtuous principle, 
 the conclusion must be right. But a man cannot have virtuous princi- 
 ples unless his will or disposition be virtuous. Vice or sinfulness distorts 
 the soul, and causes false ideas of right and wrong to come into the 
 ascendant. 
 
 It is evident then that Practical Wisdom is involved in the very idea 
 of virtue : it is the successful carrying out of the instincts of the 
 virtuous heart. 
 
 (j3) Moral excellence apart from Practical Wisdom is inchoate 
 and imperfect. There are, indeed, certain characteristics of goodness 
 innate in man ; there are certain tendencies which are natural to human 
 nature. But goodness in the true sense is something established and 
 permanent, and not a mere tendency of human nature. Natural virtue 
 by itself is a thing uncertain and unstable ; and moral states which are 
 based simply upon these natural instincts, are often harmful and fatal 
 to those who possess them. Children and animals have certain natural 
 excellences, but having no intellectual foresight, their excellences are 
 useless or even dangerous to them. 
 
 Natural virtue must, therefore, be distinguished from confirmed 
 virtue. Just as Acuteness was distinguished from Practical Wisdom, so 
 the natural aptitude for goodness must be distinguished from Matured 
 Virtue. Practical Wisdom was shown to be impossible without moral 
 goodness ; and Moral Goodness (in the strict sense) is impossible with- 
 out Practical Wisdom. 
 
 [An exaggeration of the importance of the intellectual element in 
 vu1;ue lei Socrates to call the virtues ' modes of thought,' or ' intellectual 
 states : ' he should have simply defined them as ' states in accordance 
 with Reason.' But it must not be supposed that conformity with 
 Reason as an objective standard is all that is required in virtue : this 
 conformity must be an inner harmony of the moral and intellectual 
 natures. In the mind of the man who is perfectly virtuous, there is a 
 development of Reason in perfect accord with a virtuous disposition of 
 heart and will : such an one is ' a law to himself.'] 
 
 It follows that as Moral Virtue and Practical Wisdom are inseparably 
 intertwined with each other, there is no essential difierenoe between the 
 various forms of goodness, but there is a unity of virtue : in the single 
 conception of Practical Wisdom all possible forms of Moral Goodness are 
 combined. As for the natural instincts, they may exist in a greater or 
 less degree in different temperaments ; but if virtue be looked at in its 
 perfected ideal, every shade of moral beauty is combined in it. 
 
31 o The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 4. In answer to the fourth objection, we may say that it is untrue 
 that Practical Wisdom is paramount over Philosophy. It is true that 
 Practical Wisdom prescribes the conditions that may render Philosophy 
 possible ; but it is thereby in a position of subordination rather than of 
 superiority. If Practical Wisdom lays down rules in reference to 
 Philosophy, it is only in the interests of Philosophy, not of itself. 
 When a man has attained to the philosophic state. Practical Wisdom 
 has nothing that it can do for him ; but while a man has still to acquire 
 a philosophic mind, Practical Wisdom has rules and monitions which 
 may greatly clear his course and facilitate his attainment of the end in 
 view. Practical Wisdom holds the same relation to Philosophy that 
 Medicine does to health, or Statesmanship to Eeligion. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 I.— ANALYSIS OF THE MENTAL POWERS. 
 
 (a) EXAMINATION OF EIGHT EEASON AN ESSENTIAL PAKT OF THE 
 THEOKY OF VIRTUE. 
 
 Incidentally to our definition of Virtue we laid down the prin- 
 ciple that it is a man's duty to shape his choice, 
 and to regulate his conduct, by the law of ' the 'F^^ ^°'^^ }^^ 
 mean ' (or ' moral fitness of things '), and to lectual standard 
 avoid whatever goes beyond, or falls short of, which requires an 
 that ideal. We' stated further that it is ' Eight ti^n.'"' ^^^ *°^' 
 Eeason ' which determines on each occasion what 
 that ideal is in action. We have now, therefore, to show what 
 ' Eight Eeason ' itself is. 
 
 In the case of the various moral states which have been already 
 described, as indeed in the case of the habits generally, there is, 
 as it were, a mark which a man possessed of ' Eight Eeason ' 
 keeps before his mind's eye, and in accordance therewith at one 
 time heightens and at another time relaxes the tension of his 
 aim ; and there is consequently a certain fixed character, or ideal 
 limit, in the various forms of moral virtue, which we may describe 
 therefore as ' states of mind lying midway between excess and 
 defect in conformity with Eight Eeason.' 
 
 Yet this account of the Moral Standard, though true, is vague 
 and inadequate. It is indeed true enough to say that in the prac- 
 tice and cultivation of all things which admit of scientific treat- 
 ment we ought neither to give our work an extravagant elabora- 
 tion, nor on the other hand to be unduly negligent about it ; 
 still, if a man had only this general principle to guide him, he 
 would not be one whit the wiser : he would not know, for instance, 
 what remedies to adopt in the treatment of the body if he were 
 simply told to apply ' such a method of cure, as medical science 
 and the physician skilled therein prescribed.' By analogy in 
 regard to the states of the soul, it is necessary not only that the 
 
312 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 2. 
 
 principle referred to above should be true, but farther that this 
 principle should be distinctly elucidated, and that it should be 
 shown what ' Eight Eeason ' is and what is its definition. 
 
 Since in the arguments which we have previously used in discuBsiugr the theory 
 of the virtues we assumed the chief point of the whole — that it is ' the mean ' 
 and neither the excess nor the defect thereof which in every emotion and in 
 every action Is what is praiseworthy and best, and our proper choice ; and Bince 
 we further said that ' the mean ' was precisely that course which Eight Eeason 
 commands, we must go on to explain what Right Season is and what is its 
 definition. 
 
 Now in all the mental states which have been described, as in the case of moral 
 action and disposition generally, there is a kind of mark which a man who pos- 
 sesses Reason and is ruled by it, keeps before his mind, and in accordance with 
 that mark heightens his feelings and invigorates his conduct if they be below 
 what is Sitting, or relaxes their tension if they be beyond what is necessary — and 
 so also in any other sphere in which it is possible to raise one's aim beyond, or 
 let it fall short of, the ideal. There is also a kind of rule and limit by means 
 whereof this perfect ' mean ' is recognized — as we say that the mean is found to 
 be in conformity with Right Reason, and is midway between excess and defect 
 It is essential therefore that those who would wish to understand the nature of 
 ' the mean ' should understand the rule which measures and limits it : — and this 
 rule and limit is Right Reason. 
 
 To say, however, that ' the mean ' is what is regulated by the standard of Eight 
 Reason, without qualification, though a true, is in no way a clear, statement : 
 ' the mean ' is stiU obscure, except to those who understand also what Eight 
 Reason is. It is true enough to say, in regard to conduct of .affairs or professions 
 in which scientific treatment is possible,— that one ought not to labour mOreo 
 amply than is fitting, nor yet too insufficiently, but to maintain an ideal mean 
 and the limits which Right Reason prescribes ; yet it is impossible for a man by 
 such a simple rule to understand what is really fitting. A man will not know 
 the principles of medicine, nor the laws of health, nor the specific treatment 
 which he ought to apply to an invalid, if he has only been taught that the laws 
 of health and the principles of medicine are precisely such as medical science, 
 and the pro'fessor skiUed therein, would order him to apply. Such a view is 
 clear enough, but the point of the inquiry is just as uncertain as before. 
 
 In precisely the same way in regard to the mean positions which the vajiouB 
 attitudes of the soul ought to assume, it is necessary to give not only an aooonnt 
 which is true in itself, but one which wiU guide the inquirer by imparting clear 
 information : — i.e. to give a clear definition of ' Right Reason ' — what it is, and 
 what is its definition. Let us then proceed to treat of Right Reason,commenoing 
 our examination from the fia:st principles of psychology. 
 
 (5) CLASSIFICATION OF THE POWERS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 In classifying the virtues of the soul we showed that they were 
 partly intellectual and partly moral, some of them 
 General 'results' belonging to the emotional nature, and others to 
 " '^"^ " ' the reason. The moral virtues we have de- 
 
 scribed in the previous Books, and we are now about to treat of 
 the intellectual virtues ; but before doing so we must recur to 
 our analysis of the soul. 
 
 In the outline of psychology, given at the end of Book I., it was 
 shown that there are two divisions of the soul, the one containing 
 
Bk. VI. 2.] Translation. 3 1 3 
 
 Reason, and the other void of Keason. Following out the results 
 of that analysis, we may now subdivide the Rational Soul, and 
 assume that it contains two elements — (1) one being that element 
 in virtue of which we have knowledge of those existences the 
 principles whereof it is inconceivable should be varied, (2) the 
 other being that element which is concerned with subject-matter 
 the principles whereof are contingent and variable. [Corres- 
 ponding of course to things distinct in kind there are, among the 
 divisions of the soul, faculties distinct in kind which are naturally 
 assimilated to the various provinces of existences — if it be true 
 that it is in virtue of a certain adaptation or resemblance that 
 knowledge inheres in each separate part of the soul.] 
 
 Of these two elements of the Rational Soul, one may be named 
 the Scientific Faculty ; the other the Calculative Faculty. Calcu- 
 lation is clearly distinct from Science, because ' to calculate ' is 
 the same thing as ' to deliberate,' and no one deliberates upon 
 things which cannot be altered (and which are the special province 
 of Science). Consequently the power of calculation is a distinct 
 and separate element of that part of the soul which contains 
 Reason. We must therefore try to grasp what is the most perfect 
 condition of these different elements of the Rational Soul. The 
 most perfect condition is of course the excellence or ' virtue ' of a 
 thing, and virtue has reference to the performance of some specific 
 function proper to the special object in which it resides. 
 
 In the course of our previous discussions, when we made a division of the 
 virtues of the soul, we said that some of those virtues were moral — such, that is, 
 as belonged to the emotional element of the soul, while others were intellectual, 
 such, that is, as belonged to the Reason. Of the Moral Virtues we have already 
 treated iu the previous books ; we will now proceed to examine the Intellectual 
 Virtues, among which we shall find Right Reason. Fust of all we must recur to 
 psychology. 
 
 In the fii-st Book we showed that there are two divisions of the soul, the one 
 containing Reason, the other void of Reason. 
 
 Further subdividing the rational part, we may now afBrm that there are two 
 parts which contain Reason — the one by means of which we have knowledge of 
 necessary existences, and of such as keep an unalterable fixity which it is in- 
 conceivable should be varied ; — ^the other, that by which we have knowledge of 
 things that are contingent and vary with times and circumstances. • [Of course, 
 smce things which are knowable differ from one another, and are distinct in 
 kind, it follows that the modes in which they are known should be also different 
 m kind. It is quite inevitable that knowledge should be sunilar to the object 
 that is known — that the knowledge of necessary matter should be necessary, and 
 the knowledge of contingent matter contingent. Contingent knowledge is that 
 which is not at all times true ; and knowledge is falsified when the object knovni 
 does not keep in the same state as that in which it is comprehended. But for a 
 thing to change from the state in which it was, is a sign of its belonging to 
 things which are contingent and change with the change of circumstances. The 
 knowledge therefore of things which are contingent is itself also contingent. 
 For the very same reasons the knowledge of necessary objects is itself necessary. 
 la fact all knowledge arises in the way of a similarity and relationship ; since 
 
314 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 2. 
 
 there is a certain adaptation and contact liet-ween the subject knowing and the 
 object known.] 
 
 Since then knowledge is twofold, necessary and contingent, necessary knowledge 
 may be called scientific knowledge, and contingent knowledge caloulative or 
 deliberative. To deliberate is the same thing as to calculate, since deliberation 
 is concerned with contingent matter : — no one deliberates in reference to matters 
 which cannot conceivably be altered, since it is inevitable that they should con- 
 tinue the same, and our counsel wiU neither move nor alter them. Since then 
 the deliberative faculty is concerned with things that are contingent, and we 
 hold the caloulative faculty itself also to have the same sphere, the caloulative 
 and deliberative faculties wiU be identical. The deliberative faculty is therefore 
 the other part of the oalculative faculty. 
 
 But since our enquiry concerns the intellectual virtues : — i.c. those which are 
 found in the reasoning mind, and the parts of the rational soul are the scientific 
 and the deliberative, and in these parts we shall have to seek for the intellectual 
 virtues, we must therefore try to grasp what is the most perfect condition of each 
 one of these parts — that being the ' virtue ' of each. Since further the virtue of 
 an object must be considered in reference to its own proper functions, we shall 
 have to inquire what are the functions which properly attach to the scientific 
 and deliberative parts of the soul respectively. 
 
 (c) GENEKAL RESULTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 There are, then, three powers in the soul which determine tlie 
 nature of moral action and of intellectual truth— 
 cerned with moral Sensation, Eeason, and Impulsc. Of these powers 
 and intellectual Sensation is not the cause of any kind of moral 
 *™* ■ action — as is evident from the fact that hrute 
 
 creatures possess the power of sensation, yet have no kind of 
 capacity for moral action. 
 
 There are, then, three powers in the soul which determine the nature of moral 
 action and of intellectual trath. The powers which deal with truth are Intellect 
 and Sensation, because each of them is a form of knowledge, and knowledge has 
 truth for its ' end.' The power which governs action is Impulse — in which ia 
 involved every movement originating action, and the cause of whatever is done. 
 Intellect or Intuition perceives that such and such a thing ought to be done, and 
 the physical movement which leads to action arises from Impulse. But Sen- 
 sation is not the cause of any kind of moral action ; as is evident from the case 
 . of irrational creatures : though they possess the power of sensation they are 
 incapable of possessing moral activity. Moral action is the play of the soul in 
 accordance with a deliberate plan. Hence Sensation is not productive of any 
 kind of moral action ; but it is Intellect and Impulse which set in motion every 
 form of the moral life — the Intellect teaching the soul what is its duty, and the 
 Impulse inciting it to the actual performance of that duty. 
 
 ((f) ANALYSIS OF THE PRACTICAL REASON. 
 
 Now in the play of Impulse there takes place either a strain- 
 ing after or a shrinking from an object, pre- 
 Moral Action the j . analogous to the affirmation or denial 
 
 result of Impulse ,.•'..'',,. . r ii,; 
 
 and Reason : In- which IS involved in every exercise or tne 
 *'^ait of Sensation ^^^son. Inasmuch, then, as moral virtue is 
 and Eeason. ' a permanent attitude of the Will ' and ' Will ' 
 
Bk. VI. 2.J Translation. 3 1 5 
 
 is ' Impulse resulting from deliberation,' it follows that if the 
 Will is to be virtuous, the Keason must delibe^fite truly and 
 the Impulse must be guided unswervingly: — i.e. the Impulse 
 must strain after the same things as the Reason pronounces to be 
 right 
 
 This form of Reason {which issues in rational conduct) and this 
 form of truth {which issues in a consistent life) is called ' Practical 
 Reason' and ' Practical Truth.' 
 
 On the other hand, where Reason is purely speculative and is 
 concerned neither with conduct nor with production, its excellence 
 or failure consists of truth or falsehood in the abstract. Of 
 course the function of the whole of the rational soul is truth ; 
 but in the case of that part of the soul which is concerned with 
 action at the same time that it is intellectual, the function is 
 not truth simply but truth exercised harmoniously with right 
 Impulse. 
 
 Precisely analogous to the processes of affirmation and denial wMch take place 
 in the Reason, there is in the play of the Impulse a process of striving- after or 
 Bhrinlong from an object before it. Since, then, moral virtue is ' a pei-manent 
 attitude of the Will,' and ' the WiU ' is ' Impulse following after deliberation ' 
 ('Will' being equivalent to wishing and choosing an object which has been 
 deliberated upon), it inevitably follows that, if the Will is to be good and virtuous, 
 it should make choice only of such things as are good ; and that when the Im- 
 pulse desires what is good, then it is true and right. But it is not possible for 
 the Win to wish for what is good, unless a rational deliberation teach it what is 
 good. Hence it is necessary that ' Eeason in council ' should tell the Impulse 
 what is true, and that the Will should make its choice accordingly : — i.e. the 
 Impulse must strive to realize ' the good,' and there must be harmony between 
 the utterances of the Eeason which has deliberated, and the objects which the 
 Impulse strives after. 
 
 This kind of Eeason, -i.e. the process of calculation and of deliberation, is called 
 ' Practical Reason,' and the truth which is regulated thereby ' Practical Truth,' 
 inasmuch as they have for their ' end ' the practice of the good ; and their func- 
 tion is the attainment of that ' tmth of life ' Which has been referred to — i.e. 
 the truth which is concerned -with moral good and evil. 
 
 On the other hand, the business of that form of Eeason which is speculative 
 and not practical — is truth or falsehood per se ; and it has for its ' end ' the 
 Imowledge of what is true in the abstract, truth being in fact the busittess of 
 everyone who is inteUeotual, and in the degree of his intellectual power. But a 
 man who is not only intellectual but engaged in active life, has for his work the 
 attainment of that kind of truth which is in harmony with virtuous action and 
 with impulses that are truly and virtuously shaped. 
 
 (e) RELATION OF PRACTICAL REASON TO THE WILL. 
 
 The Will is, therefore, the spring from which moral action 
 issues : it is the WiU, that is to say, from which 
 the movement of the limbs (which is the last The subjective con- 
 condition necessary to action) arises: the Will SUonlte 
 IS thus ' the efficient cause ' of action (but not outward expres- 
 
3i6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 2. 
 
 sion, are Reason the * final cause ' — the presentation of an aim to 
 MnedTn the mHy *^^ "^^^^ ^^^"^ antecedent to the exercise of the 
 
 of the Will. Will). 
 
 The elements, again, out of which the Will 
 takes its rise are — Impulse and Reason presenting to the mind 
 an end to be attained. Apart from these elements, apart, that 
 is, from (1) the intuition of the good and a rational perception ol 
 the means of realising it, and (2) an impulse of the moral nature 
 to gain it, no purpose of Will can possibly be formed. No result, 
 in fact, is possible, whether good or bad, in the active life of man 
 without an exercise of Reason and a play of Impulse. 
 
 [Reason by itself stirs nothing into activity, but only when 
 
 it is cognizant of particular ends and applied to 
 
 Contrast between moral action. But Reason of this practical kind 
 
 Moral Action and ■ • /. , -n i- j i j i- 
 
 Productive Action. IS, in tact. Reason applied to production or art. 
 Whenever an artist or a craftsman has a work 
 to execute, he has an aim which he seeks to realise : his work is 
 not an ' end ' in and by itself, but it has reference to a specific 
 purpose and is for the advantage of a particular person. It is 
 otherwise with moral action : virtuous activity is an end absolutely 
 complete in itself, and the Impulse has simply reference to this 
 end.] 
 
 The Will may consequently be defined either as ' Intuition 
 exciting an Impulse ' or ' Impulse fashioned by Reason ' ; and, 
 having such a Will, man is the mainspring of his own actions 
 and a free agent. 
 
 The Will is, therefore, the source and cause of moral action ; but it is not ' the 
 final cause ' (since we do not act with a view to the WUl), but rather the ' efiicient 
 cause : ' before we act we form a purpose of acting, and the ' end ' is subsequent 
 to the action. 
 
 The cause of ' WiU,' again, is Impulse and Reason, which is synonymous with 
 Deliberation. This is the second element of the Rational Soul, the oalculatiTe or 
 deliberative element which seeks the truth not for its own sake simply, hut with 
 a view to the realizing of the good in action. For this reason — because Eeason 
 and Impulse are the elements out of which the WiU takes its rise, it is not possi- 
 ble that the Will should exist independently of a rational process and a certain 
 attitude. of the moral nature. It is owing to the condition of the moral nature 
 that the Impulse takes the direction of the good or of the evil. 
 
 But in so far as the Reason is speculative, it is the productive cause of nothing, 
 since it stirs nothing into activity. Only so far as it is ' practical ' is it the cause 
 of those results which have been spoken of — Impulse, WiU, and Moral Action. 
 
 [Moreover this practical Reason is the principle of the productive Reason. The 
 difference between the practical and the productive Reason is this : The practloal 
 Reason, being concerned with the practice of the good, has for its ' end' simply 
 the successful realization of the good : — it only looks up to this point, that it 
 may carry out suocessfnUy what seems good to the Impulse. The productive 
 Reason on the other hand is the actual and successful realizing of the good, and 
 has for its ' end ' human happiness. Again, while ' the end ' of the practical 
 Reason is absolute, 'the end' of the productive Reason is relative — having regard, 
 
Bk. VI. 2.] Translation. 3 1 7 
 
 that is, to the interests of man and seeking' a benefit to Mm. Since, then, the 
 produotiye Reason has as the lieginn'mg of its own end that which is the very end 
 of the practical Reason and of which it is the source and cause (i.e. the practice 
 of the good) — since, I say, the productive Reason takes its rise m the realization 
 of the good by the practical Reason, and the ' end ' of the productive Reason, 'i.c. 
 human happiness, is based on the consummation of the practical Reason, there- 
 fore it is that the practical Reason is said to be the cause of the productive 
 Reason.] 
 
 Since, then, the Reason is the source from whence Impulse takes its rise, and 
 Impulse the som-oe whence the Wm arises. Will may be defined either as ' Intui- 
 tion guiding the Impulse ' or as ' Impulse consequent upon a process of Reason.' 
 These elements are found nowhere bat in a rational creature, such as is man. 
 
 (/) THE PROVINCE OF THE WILL DEFINED. 
 
 If a thing has already taken place, it cannot come within the 
 
 range of Will : no one forms a purpose of sacking 
 
 Troy, its destruction having been accomplished wm [^C samets 
 
 long ago. When a thing is past, a man does that of DeUbera^ 
 
 not so much as deliberate about it : he only *i™~*^'"f ^°^- 
 , ,., 1 , . /. T , sible and future, 
 
 deliberates upon what is luture and upon what 
 
 is possible for him to achieve ; what has already happened cannot 
 
 conceivably be undone. Hence the truth of Agatho's lines : 
 
 " This is the one prerogative of which even God is deprived — 
 To cause to be undone whate'er hath once been done." 
 
 It is truth, then, which is the business of both forms of the 
 intellect: and consequently the mental states, in virtue whereof 
 each of the forms of the intellect will attain to truth, will be the 
 excellences of each. 
 
 Such, then, is the nature of the Will. But the subjects which form the province 
 of Will (ie. the things which we are able deliberately to resolve upon) are such 
 as are contingent and possible, and, in particular, things which are still future. 
 When things are past and gone, no one deliberates whether he ought to perform 
 them ; and when a man does not deliberate upon a thing, neither does he form a 
 purpose of performing them, the sphere of deliberation being the sphere also of 
 purpose (as was explained in the analysis of the Will in the Third Book). No 
 one, for instance, forms the purpose of sacking Troy, that having been done 
 centuries ago. Hence Agatho is justified in saying — 
 
 " This is the one prerogative of which even God is deprived — 
 To cause to be undone whate'er has once been done. " 
 
 Such are the general principles which concern the Practical Reason. We have 
 now to treat with greater precision and detail of the functions of the rational 
 soul, as well in abstract science as in practical deliberation. 
 
 The function of both forms of intellect is, as has been shovrn, truth ; and the 
 function of each being demonstrated, it is obvious what is their virtue or excel- 
 lence. The virtue of each thing consists in the function it performs — ie. in 
 carrying out properly and admirably its own peculiar function. The mental 
 states, then, in virtue of which each one of these states wUl be enabled to attain 
 to its own proper measure and style of truth, as nearly as may possibly be, will 
 be the virtues of each. 
 
3i8 The Moral Philo.sophy of Aristotle. [Bk,VI.3. 
 
 II.— DEFINITIONS OF THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 
 
 Let us now re-examine in detail the nature of the Intellectual 
 Virtues, taking our start from their simplest conception. 
 
 It may be at once assumed that the mental states in virtue of 
 
 which the soul is true in whatever it asserts or 
 
 Enumeration of denies, are five in number — Art, Science, Pru- 
 
 the intellectual , • -m -i i x • i i tt • . 
 
 virtues. dence, rhuosophy, Insight. [I'^P^'^ssion and 
 
 Opinion must be excluded, because it is possible 
 to gain misapprehensions through them.] 
 
 Let us now treat of the Intellectual Virtues in detail, taking our start from 
 their simplest conception. 
 
 Since our inquiry is into the nature of truth, we have to examine in what 'ways 
 the soul is able to attain the truth in the affirmations or denials which it makes; 
 and how many mental states there are in virtue whereof we enunciate the truth. 
 Well, they are five in number — Art, Science, Prudence, Philosophy, and Insight 
 [We omit Impression and Opinion as states which enunciate the truth only con- 
 tingently and not invaiiably. Of the five faculties above mentioned, neither 
 Insight nor Science are at any time mistaken : — it is their very essence to know 
 the truth of necessity. But Art and Prudence and Philosophy are at times mis- 
 taken — ^not through their own fault, but owing to the anomalies which their subjflot- 
 matter presents. A mental process is only in error through its own fault when the 
 en'or is contracted consistently with its own laws. If on the other hand that prooees 
 be in a sound state ia regard to its own proper canons, and the mistake is caused 
 by the varying nature of the phenomena with which it has to deal, then it cannot lie 
 called false ia itself : — it is the impression or opinion which is at fault, and that is at 
 times wrong in itself even though the objects known remain fixed and unalterati 
 Hence it is clear that the mental process is not iu error through its own fault — any 
 more than if one were to suppose that the Sun is a foot .wide, or that the Moon 
 derives its light from its own source : though these existences remain fixed in the 
 position they always bear, the opinion and impression about them is in error.] 
 
 The faculties, then, which enunciate truth are five in number, as has bedil 
 shown. We must now explain what is the nature of each of them. Though liiey 
 have many points of resemblance one with another (for instance there are majiy 
 points in common between Art and Science, and between Science and Philosophy, 
 and so with the rest), yet still if we examine acciu'ately into them, they are seve- 
 rally distinct, and the definition of each is distinct from each other. 
 
 i. — The Scientific State of Mind. 
 
 What the real character of the Scientific State of Mind is will 
 be evident from the following considerations — if we needs must 
 define it with logical precision instead of being guided by its 
 resemblances to other states. 
 
 (1.) The idea which we all entertain of the Scientific Mind is 
 
 this : a thing of which we have scientific know- 
 
 Seience is con- ledge is One which cannot conceivably be altered, 
 
 TccMsar^mate. whereas things which are capable of being varied 
 
 baflfle us to say whether they continue or no, so 
 
 soon as they pass out of the range of sight. The object-matter 
 
Bk. VI. 3.] Translation. 319 
 
 of Science, therefore, — that is, of things which can he ' scientifi- 
 cally known,' — is that which exists by an immutable law ; and 
 hence also it is eternal (since whatever exists of nfecessity is, in 
 its own right, eternal), and, being eternal, is also uncreated and 
 indestructible. 
 
 (2.) Again, every form of tha Scientific Mind is capable of 
 demonstrating the truths which it knows, and the 
 object-matter .with which the Scientific Mind is frommecessofi/pre- 
 concerned is capable of being learnt. But all ™'sses to a neces- 
 
 . ,,■ J.J.J? J.J.1 1J1 sary conclusion, 
 
 instruction starts irom truths already known, as 
 
 I have explained in my Analytics. One form of instruction 
 proceeds by immediate inference, and another by means of the 
 syllogism. Immediate inference, or the perception of simple 
 teioms, is the basis upon which the universal rests, while it is the 
 (Ifiversal upon which the whole syllogism depends. There are, 
 therefore, first truths upon which the syllogism depends, but 
 which cannot themselves be demonstrated by it : they are con- 
 sequently matter of immediate inference. 
 
 (3.) The Scientific Mind is, therefore, ' the mental attitude which 
 enables a man to prove truths to demonstration ' 
 {lyith such further qualifications as I define in gele^^j^e*"" "^ 
 1% Analytics). When a man has, in a kind of 
 way, an inner conviction, and the primary truths upon which that 
 conviction rests are known to him, he then has scientific know- 
 ledge; whereas if the primary truths are not better known to 
 him than the conclusion deduced therefrom, he will not possess 
 the scientific mind except through the chance of an accidental 
 association. 
 
 The definition of the Scientific Mind may therefore stand as I 
 have laid it down. 
 
 1. Now the Scientific Mind is a knowledge of necessary truths. The subjects 
 of ^ which we say that we have scientific knowledge are those which it is incon- 
 ceivable should be altered, and the truth of which, on account of their immutable 
 nature, is rootedly fixed in our minds. Truth which is concerned with contingent 
 matter is not thus rooted in us ; — after we have obtained knowledge of it, it is 
 hable to alter, and ofttimes it ceases to be without our being conscious of the 
 flange, so that not even the definition and truth of it remain fixed, but are 
 slfefid with the change of circumstance. On the other hand, a subject of which 
 tjJiB kuiffwledge is firm and fixed in our mind, is a subject which is necessary and 
 at all times immutable. Such subjects are those which are eternal. It is neces- 
 sary, therefore, that the subject-matter of the Scientific Mind should be eternal ; 
 smd the Scientific Mind itself a knowledge of things eternal. 
 
 2. Again, every fonn of the Scientific Mind is capable of demonstrating the 
 wuths it knows, and the subject-matter with which it is concerned is capable of 
 n^ing learnt. But all instruction and learning proceed from knowledge already 
 held; (as I have shown in my Analytics). . There are, therefore, primary truths 
 npoB, which aU Science rests. Now the primary truths upon which some of the 
 ^eienpes rest, are immediate and incapable of demonstration, being proved by 
 
320 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 4. 
 
 intuitive inference : — such are the primary truths of g^eometry. The truths, again 
 from which other Sciences start, are demonstrable truths, which are proved by syllo- 
 gism, as falling under some other science more elevated than themselves : such 
 is the science of Optics, which use the demonstrations of geometry as its axioms. 
 Immediate inference, therefore, is, as it were, a basis or first truth for those first 
 truths or axioms which cannot be demonstrated — truths which, though universal 
 are apprehended from particular instances. But the syllogism which proves the 
 demonstrated first truths of certain sciences has for its own axioms, or tet truths 
 certain universal and undemonstrable conceptions. There are, therefore, prin-' 
 ciples, or first truths, of science — certain universal and common conceptions 
 which being posited or assumed we draw inferences therefrom ; which concep- 
 tions are not proved by a syllogism but by immediate inference. From the science 
 thus founded other science is proved and said to be subordinated to it. Hence 
 it is that all science is proved from ultimate first truths which carry their own 
 evidence with them. 
 
 3. The Scientific Mind is, therefore, a faculty which enables a man to demon- 
 strate truths from absolute truths (and in virtue of their being absolute), and 
 such as are primary and involve the reason of the conclusion, and so make their, 
 demonstration final and absolute (as we have explained in the Analytics). When 
 a man is convinced of certain hypotheses, and the truths upon which a matter 
 rests are Itnown to him, then only is it possible for him to have scientific know- 
 ledge of that matter. If a man does not know the principles of a thing, and the 
 premisses are not more obvious to him than the conclusion, he possesses scientific 
 knowledge only through accidental association ; such an one has not knowledge 
 in his own right, and in virtue of the knowledge of the first truths inherent in 
 him, but perchance only through having heard of them from other men. .If he 
 had known the conclusion in this way, by means of the first truths, he would 
 have known the first truths better than the conclusion ; since a thing by means 
 of which another thing is known, is itself better known than the thing it 
 proves. 
 
 The above definition must suffice as an explanation of the Scientific Mind. 
 
 ii. — The Artistic State of Mind. 
 
 But in subject-matter, which is ' contingent,' there is one part 
 The rtistic ^0"^^™6<i ''^ith production, forming the province 
 faculty distin- of Art, and another part concerned with actios, 
 guished from the forming the province of Morals. [For the validity 
 
 prudential faculty, n A.^ • ^■ i_- i^- -r , i ,t i 
 
 though . both are ot this distmction 1 must rely upon the arguments 
 conperned with of my Public Lcctures.] Hence also ' the mental 
 con mgen ma r. ^^^^ which leads to oction guidcd by Reason ' is 
 a distinct thing from ' the mental state which leads to production 
 guided by Reason ' : they are not, therefore, involved the one in 
 the other, since action is not production, nor is production action. 
 Since, for example, Architecture is a form of Art, and is defined 
 as ' a certain faculty leading to production upon a rational plan,' 
 and there is no kind of art but what is such ' a mental state 
 leading to production upon a rational plan,' nor any such mental 
 state but what is an art, it follows that the Artistic Mind is the 
 same thing as ' a mental capacity capable of production in con- 
 formity with a true standard of Reason.' 
 Now every form of Art is concerned with the creation of objects, 
 
Bk. VI. 4.] Translation. 321 
 
 or with the designing of objects, or with the investigation of 
 means whereby some result may be obtained, in the sphere of 
 contingent matter, where the efficient cause rest^with the de- 
 signer, and not with 'the thing designed. Art has nothing to do 
 with things which exist, or which come into existence, by a neces- 
 sary law, nor with things which exist by the order of Nature ; 
 since all such things have their cause inherent in themselves. 
 Since, then, production is distinct from action. Art must neces- 
 sarily be concerned with production and not with action ; and in 
 a kind of fashion Art has the same field as Chance, just as Agatho 
 says: 
 
 " Art has wooed Chance, and Chance haa wooed Art-.." 
 
 The Artistic Mind, therefore, is a mental faculty which leads 
 to production in conformity with a true and 
 rational plan ; while the Inartistic Mind, on the 
 other hand, is the state of mind which leads to production upon 
 a false and irrational plan : each of them being in the sphere of 
 coniingent matter. 
 
 We must now treat of the Artistic Mind. Now things which are conting'ent, 
 and which change with changes of circumstance, are either objects of produc- 
 tion or of moral action. The objects of production are those which form the 
 sphere of Art, and objects of action are those which form the sphere of 
 Morals, But since production is distinct from action, the mental state which 
 leads to action in. conformity with reason will be distinct from the mental state 
 which leads to production in conformity with reason. Yet they are not distinct 
 in such a sense as to be included the one in the other as a whole and its parts, 
 but as horse and ox are. Moral action cannot be brought under the notion of 
 production, being distinct therefrom, nor for the same reason can production be 
 brought under the notion of moral action. This truth is evident also from their 
 respective definitions : the definition of moral action is one thing, the definition 
 of production another. The Artistic Mind (or ' the intellectual condition of per- 
 fect production ') is ' the mental faculty which leads to production in conformity 
 with Eeason,' as, for instance, the artistic attitude of the architect. The Moral 
 Mind, on the other hand, or ' Practical Wisdom,' is ' the mental condition which 
 leads to action in conformity with Reason ' (as will be explained later on). The 
 Artistic Mind is, therefore, distiact on the one hand from the Scientific Mind in 
 being concerned with contingent matter, and on the other hand from ' Practical 
 Wisdom,' in being occupied with production and not with moral action. Every 
 Art is a mental faculty concerned with production after a sound standard of 
 Reason, and whatever faculty is of that kind is an Art ; the two ideas being 
 convertible. 
 
 The object with which every Art is concerned is the creation of things which 
 are possible to be created or not created ; for example, the Art of housebuilding 
 M concerned with the construction of a house, and the Art of shipbuilding with 
 the construction of a ship—things which may as conceivably be not created as 
 created. However, it is not concerned with all things that are contingent and 
 possible, but only with those the cause of whose existence depends on the designer, 
 not on the thing designed. For instance, Art is not concerned with physical 
 phenomena : since the cause of the creation of things which depend upon a law 
 of Nature is inherent in themselves, and though they conceivably might not be. 
 
322 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 5. 
 
 yet are they not subjects for Art : they have not the cause of their existence 
 external to themselves, as a house has the builder or a ship the ship-wright. 
 
 Ai-t has almost the same sphere as Chance. Chance in fact is found only in 
 circumstances the cause of whose existence is external to themselves. If the 
 accidents of Fortune had the causes of their existence inherent in themselves, 
 they would not have been thought wonderful. But in fact they are marvelled 
 at for this very reason — that their cause is not only external, but derived from 
 a soiu-ce which no one would have anticipated. Digging has ofttimes been found 
 to be the cause of being wealthy : in digging a trench for a foundation a man 
 has often discovered a treasure. Such a discovery is contrary to expectation, 
 because digging is not in itself a cause of being rich : — otherwise all those who 
 dig would have been wealthy. Such a discovery is, therefore, by way of accident. 
 Accidental causes are such that the things of which they are the causes were not 
 expected to take place. A man only expects those things to occur in regard to 
 any matter which are comprehended in the definition of that matter, whether 
 potentially or actually ; and things which happen in the way of accident are not 
 of this character. Art and Chance are therefore in a certain sense concerned with 
 the same circumstances : I say ' m a certain sense! because they ai'e both con- 
 cerned with contingent matter and things which are variable and changeful, and 
 the cause which produces them is not an absolute cause, but arises in the way 
 of accident, whereas Art is absolutely the cause of the things which are produced 
 thereby. 
 
 The Artistic Mind is therefore, as has been explained, ' a mental faculty 
 concerned with production in harmony with a irue standard of Reason ' in the 
 sphere of contingent matter, and the cause whereof rests with the Artist. On 
 the other hand, the Inartistic State of Mind is ' a mental habit concerned with 
 production in accordance with a false standard of Reason ' in the sphere of 
 contingent matter, 
 
 iii. — The Wisdom of Practical Ijife. 
 {a) VIEW OF CONCEETE INSTANCES OF PEACTICAL WISDOM, 
 
 We shall best grasp the scope of ' practical wisdom ' if we first 
 enquire what is the character of those whom 
 t^oT rf Practical ^^ commonly call ' practically wise.'_ It is un- 
 wisdom as a right doubtcdly thought to be a characteristic of such 
 
 terl"tf offiff^ '"" ^^ °'^^ *^^*^ ^® '^^^ ^^ P°^"^'' °^ making a wise 
 determination in matters that concern his own 
 personal good, or that are expedient for him; and that not merely 
 in special details, as for instance in what conduces to health and 
 strength, but in matters of a nature to affect a good and happy 
 life. This view of ' practical wisdom ' (as a ' right estimate of 
 the best interests of life ') is further supported by the fact that 
 we apply the term ' practically wise ' in a limited sense when- 
 soever men calculate wisely in regard to some good end, under 
 circumstances which do not fall under a specific art : the inference 
 being that the man who deliberates rightly in regard to the nhh 
 of life will be pre-eminently the man of practical wisdom. 
 
 We wiU now treat of ' Practical Wisdom ; ' and our view of it will be rendered 
 clearer if we first consider what is the character of those whom we commonly 
 
Bk. VI. 5.] Translation. 323 
 
 caJl ' praotioally wise.' It is assuredly considered that the man who is practically 
 wise is one who is able to decide rightly in reference to what is good and ex- 
 pedient for him, having under review not merely isolated an(^ special hlessiugs, 
 such as health and strength and such like, or of what tends thereto, but in the 
 widest sense the happy Uf e or whatever contributes to happiness as ' the end ' 
 and' perfection of man. That this view is true is obvious. We apply the term 
 ' practically wise,' to those who regulate their personal conduct by reference to 
 some good end, and wisely decide matters which concern their own interests : 
 and cairy into efEect such measures whereby they may be enabled to attain to a 
 Tirtuous end. Consequently a man who deliberates in regard to life as a whole 
 will be pre-eminently a man of practical wisdom. 
 
 (b) THE SPHERE OF PRACTICAL WISDOM DEFINED. 
 
 Yet no one deliberates upon matters which are incapable of being 
 reversed, nor yet upon matters which, though con- 
 ceivably possible per se, are not within our own ticai^msdom^dfe- 
 compass to achieve. Since, therefore. Science tinguished both 
 involves demonstration, and demonstration is im- anTof^Art ^°'™°'' 
 possible in subjects where the first truths admit ' 
 of variation {i.e. all the truths of science deduced therefrom could 
 in that case be reversed), and since on the other hand deliberation 
 is impossible, except in subjects which are contingent and variable, 
 it follows that Practical Wisdom cannot be identical with Scien- 
 tific Wisdom, the subject-matter of action being capable of being 
 reversed ; nor, again, can it be identical with Artistic Wisdom, 
 because the whole conception of art is distinct from that of action. 
 
 The notion, therefore, left to us of Practical Wisdom is that it 
 is ' a true and normal condition of mind tending to conduct in 
 harmony with Reason, the sphere of its exercise being what is 
 good or evil for man.' \_{It is thus distinct also from all forms of 
 artistic production.) For in all production the ' end ' is distinct 
 from the mental operation which produces it ; but in action the 
 'end' is identical with the act, moral well-being or a 'good and 
 happy life ' being an end in itself] The sphere of Practical Wis- 
 dom being thus what is good or evU for man, we consider that 
 those who possess it are such men as Pericles and others of his 
 stamp, since they have the power of understanding what is good 
 for their own selves and for their fellows, and for the same reason 
 we rank practical administrators and politicians in the same class. 
 
 But if the man of practical wisdom is one who deliberates rightly, the sphere 
 in which he shows his wisdom is that of contingent matter : no one deliberates 
 upon matters which have a fixed law of their own, and which are incapable of 
 being reversed. Furthermore, even in the field of contingent matter, no one 
 deliberates upon matters which, though possible, are not within our own power 
 to effect ; we never deliberate except upon matters which are capable of being 
 effected by oui- own means. It is clear, therefore, from these considerations, that 
 Practical Wisdom is distinct and separate not only from Art, as has been shown 
 
 T 2 
 
324 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 5. 
 
 but also from Science, Science having for its sphere necessary truths, Practical 
 Wisdom such as are variable and contingent. 
 
 Practical Wisdom is, therefore, ' a true and normal condition of mind leading 
 to action in harmony with Reason, in the sphere of what is good or evil for man.' 
 [It differs from Art, as has been explained, because a moral action is a different 
 thing from a production of Art : in the case of production there is an end distinct 
 dud separate from itself ; e.g. the art of the shipwright is one thing, and the ship 
 is distinct therefrom. But in the case of moral action there is no end distract 
 from the activity itself, under any circumstances : at times the action itself is the 
 end of itself — when it be well and properly performed ; the end of horsemanship, 
 for instance, is to ride well and properly.] Practical Wisdom is, therefore, a 
 state of mind which has reference to the good and evil of man ; and hence it is 
 that we regard Pericles and men of his stamp as ' practically wise,' because they 
 were able to comprehend what was good for themselves and their fellows ; and 
 in the same class we rank practical administrators and statesmen. 
 
 (c) EBLATION BETWEEN PEACTICAL WISDOM AND TEMPERANCE. 
 
 Hence the origin of the word by which we speak of Temperance 
 as ' the virtue which preserves that Moral Sense 
 nofmeLi^^atT ^^ich Practical Wisdom implies : ' that is to say, 
 leotuai, but in- Temperance preserves a true instinct or per- 
 ^ir characto"^ ception about moral_ subjects. This is seen from 
 istics, as is seen the case of its Opposite, Intemperance : the undue 
 from its connection pursuit of pleasure and the undue avoidance of 
 
 ■with Temperance. . i i .-in 
 
 pam do not destroy nor corrupt every idea of the 
 mind, but only such ideas as bear upon action and conduct ; for 
 instance, they do not destroy the idea of the mind upon such a 
 question as whether the angles of a triangle are or are not equal 
 to two right angles, but they do destroy the ideas of right and 
 wrong. The principles which should regulate conduct are the 
 truths which concern the ' final cause ' or true perfection of man. 
 But when the character is enervated through pleasure or pain, the 
 perception of the Moral Law or Final Cause of life is instantly 
 obscured : a man no longer sees that he is bound to conform his 
 every choice, and regulate his every action, by reference to this 
 higher law, vice being of a nature to destroy the sense of obliga- 
 tion and the intuitions of morality. 
 
 The definition of Practical Wisdom is, therefore, necessarily 
 fixed as ' a true and normal condition of mind, permanently 
 formed and in accord with Keason, manifesting itself in right 
 action in the sphere of human interests.' 
 
 This view of Practical Wisdom may be illustrated by its connection with the 
 word Temperance. The temperate man, in guarding his own proper good, is 
 said to preserve his Moral Sense. In Greek we call Temperance aa^pomm\, M 
 being the virtue which preserves that Moral Sense which Practical Wisdoin 
 involves. The intemperate man does not by his dissolute pleasures destroy any 
 other form of knowledge except only this knowledge of right and wrong. He 
 does not ruin his scientific nor his artistic perceptions, nor any other of the forms 
 
Bk. VI. 5.] Translation. 325 
 
 of Wisdom which have been enumerated. Pleasure does not prevent a man from 
 Imowing that a triangle haa its angles equal to two right angles — which it is 
 the part of the scientific faculty to demonstrate ; nor f ronr knowing how he 
 ought to build his house or do anything else which falls within the province of 
 art. But pleasure does pervert the character of the moral act which comes 
 within the sphere of the Moral Sense. The first principles and causes of moral 
 actions are ' the ends ' for the sake of which those actions are done ; and the end 
 in every action is ' the good ' of the man who acts consistently therewith ; and if 
 a man be in ignorance of this ' end,' the action which he performs is distorted ; 
 and such an ignorance is brought about whenever a man, corrupted by pleasure, 
 or enervated by pain or by some other strong emotion, fancies that pleasure is the 
 Summum Bonum, and considers that the end which is consistent therewith is his 
 true end, and regulates all his actions in conformity therewith. In this way it is 
 that a man vitiates his own proper good — the good that is his true end and the 
 fitting principle of all his actions, vice being of a nature to destroy the true 
 principle of conduct. For this reason it is that as the dissolute man loses the 
 intuition of the moral law, the man who preserves that intuition is called 
 temperate. Hence it necessarily follows that Practical Wisdom is a true and 
 normal condition of mind, pemanently fixed and in harmony with Reason, leading 
 to right action in the sphere of human interests.' 
 
 {d) FUKTHEE CHAKACTEEISTICS OF PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 Again, there are degrees of excellence in Art, but not in Prac- 
 tical Wisdom; and in art a man who blunders 
 voluntarily is to be preferred to one whose mis- \r^''^ atedut" 
 takes are involuntary, whereas the reverse is state of moral ex- 
 true of Practical Wisdom, as indeed of all the perfTctiorTof'lhe 
 moral virtues. It is clear then that Practical opinionative part 
 Wisdom is the excellence of the moral nature, pf.t^e soul andit 
 
 J . . 'is mseparably asso- 
 
 and not an artistic faculty. dated with the 
 
 Now as there are two divisions of the soul t^e^f°"t"^^^ "* 
 which contain Eeason, Practical Wisdom will be 
 the excellence of one of them — the ' opinionative' division. Opinion 
 and Practical Wisdom being both concerned with contingent 
 matter. Furthermore it is not merely a mental state in harmony 
 with Reason : it must be incessantly manifested in action ; the 
 proof being that forgetfulness is compatible with a purely mental 
 state, but not with Practical Wisdom as the law of daily life. 
 
 It is clear, then, from these considerations that Practical Wisdom is a thing 
 separate and distinct from Science and from Art and from the other forms of 
 
 But, apart from these reasons, there is this : Art admits of degrees of goodness 
 and of badness, it being possible for a man to be a good workman or a bad one ; 
 but in the case of Practical Wisdom, goodness or badness is inapplicable. It is 
 impossible for a man of practical wisdom to be a bad man : Practical Wisdom is 
 itself a virtue, and there cannot be degrees in virtue any more than there can be 
 an ' ideal of an ideal.' Again, a man who errs voluntarily in the exercise of his 
 art, is better than the man who errs involuntarily, so far, that is, as he is an 
 artist. This is not the case with Practical Wisdom, but the very opposite : a man 
 who voluntarily destroys his moral sense is worse than the man who loses that 
 Moral Sense against his wiU. 
 
326 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. ( 
 
 It is evident, then, that Practical Wisdom is a virtue and not an art. It is th 
 virtue of the opinionative part of the soul. There being two parts of the sot 
 which contain reason, the intellectual, and the opinionative or deliberative, th 
 second is concerned with contingent matter, which forms the sphere of PracAicj 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Now Practical Wisdom is not merely ' a true and normal state of mind, ii 
 harmony with Eeason ' (which is the definition so far of Art also, when th 
 artist is not executing objects of art : i.e. there is nothing to prevent a mai 
 being an artist though he execute no work of art, and his art being ' a true am 
 normal state of mind in harmony with Reason'). But it is absolutely necessai; 
 for Practical Wisdom to be incessantly manifested in action. The subject-matte 
 and the material are not always available to the artist ; but the subject-matter 
 Practical Wisdom never fails the man who possesses that wisdom. The emotion 
 of the soul, and the activities of the man, the various modes of interoonrs 
 between man and man, and the relations generally which form a sphere fa 
 every virtue and for Practical Wisdom, these, surely, it is impossible should h 
 outside the frontier of human Ufe. Hence it is that, though there may be 1 
 forgetfulness of Aj-t, there cannot possibly be of Practical Wisdom. 
 
 For the present this account of Practical Wisdom may suffice. 
 
 iv. — The Intuitive State of Mind. 
 
 Now, since the Scientific Mind is one whicli has an apprehension 
 of universals and things which exist by an un- 
 demonstratioiT^can alterable law, and since, further, in all subjects 
 be made, certain which admit of demonstration and in all science 
 Zir^ known ; t^ere are ' first principles ' involved (aU science 
 and the faculty by and all application of science involving the defi- 
 ^f kno^'is^Cos! ^ition or cause of its own laws), of the first cause 
 —the power of or principle upon which the' matter of science 
 immediate mtui- itself depends there can be no science nor scientific 
 
 '101- , . . , , 
 
 demonstration ; — nor, again, can there be any 
 artistic or moral perception. The reason is this : on the one 
 hand the subject-matter of science is capable of scientific demon- 
 stration, and on the other hand both art and practical wisdom 
 are concerned with matter capable of being varied. Nor assuredly 
 is Philosophy concerned with these first principles, since there 
 are certain points upon which the philosopher can employ de- 
 monstration. 
 
 Consequently, if the faculties by means of which we attain' to 
 truth and are never deceived, as well in regard to matters that 
 are irreversibly fixed as in regard to those which are contingent, 
 are Science and Wisdom, Philosophy and Intuition, and the know- 
 ledge of first principles cannot- possibly belong to the first three 
 of these {i.e. Wisdom, Science and Philosophy), the only alterna- 
 tive left is that it belongs to Intuition. 
 
 At this point we must treat of Intuition, and examine with what class. of the 
 knowable it is concerned. Now since Science is a knowledge of universal' tmths 
 which ^ave a necessary existence, involving a definition of first truths and a 
 
Bk, VI. 7.] Translation. 327 
 
 demonstration from them, and demonstration again involves first principles 
 Tphioli must te assumed before the demonstration can be made by the man of 
 BGienoej we must examine to -which of the f oi-ms of knowledge which have been 
 iaSationed it belongs to know these first principles — Science, or Art, or Wisdom, 
 or Philosophy, or Intuition. It cannot possibly belong to Science, since Science 
 is demonstrative while these first truths are undemonstrable. Nor can it belong 
 ather to Wisdom or to Art, l?oth of which are concerned with the contingent 
 •Wffle these first truths are concerned with the absolute. Nor, again, is it the 
 'bttsiaess of Philosophy to know these first truths, since it is the business of 
 iSMosophy to know certain things as demonstrated, whereas these first truths are 
 immediate. 
 
 The remaining alternative is that it is Intuition which is the knowledge of 
 these first truths, and Intuition is that by virtue of which we have knowledge of 
 the first priuciples of Science. 
 
 v.— The Philosophic State of Mind. 
 
 (a) THE 'philosophy' of the aets. 
 
 Now we assign the attribute ' finished,' or ' philosophic,' in a 
 narrow sense, to artists who display in the various 
 arts the greatest exactness of workmanship. For somftfmes 'used ^J 
 example, we call Pheidias an accomplished, or a narrow sense as 
 ' philosophic,' sculptor, and Polycleitus an ac- «q«j™l^''t *» 'ff 
 
 ,.,, ,, ',., ^ . , . perfection of art. 
 
 complished, or ' philosophic, statuary, implymg, 
 
 however, nothing more in such cases than that their accomplished, 
 
 or philosophic, insight is the perfection of their art. 
 
 The term 'philosophy' is used in a double sense. There is one form of 
 philosophy which is special, and ajiother form which is universal. Philosophy 
 of, the narrower kind is the perfection of an art, in reference whereto we speak 
 of an artist as being ' accomplished,' or ' philosophic,' in the execution of Ms art. 
 For example, we call Pheidias an accomplished, or ' philosophic,' sculptor, because 
 ie is'a finished workman in his craft ; and for the same reason we call Polycleitus 
 Siiiaooomplished, or 'philosophic,' statuary. 
 
 (5) THE PHILOSOPHIC MIND IS THE ABSOLUTE SENSE. 
 
 There are, however, those whom we consider ' philosophic ' not 
 merely in some special relation nor in a par- ,, ^ ,, 
 
 +'1 1111 TT • ■"'^t ™^ proper 
 
 ncuiar sense, but absolutely, as Homer says m sense of Philosophy 
 
 tiie Margites : i^ ' *^^ perfection 
 
 of knowledge. ' 
 
 " Him the Gods neither miner nor ploughnjan made, 
 Nor skilled merely in some one thing." 
 
 It is clear, then, that Philosophy will be the nJost finished and 
 exact of all the forms of reason. The man, therefore, who would 
 possess this philosophy in the absolute sense must oot merely 
 know what flows from the principles of Science, bat must also 
 have a true perception of the principles themselves. 
 Philosophy, therefore, in the absolute sense may be defined as 
 
328 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 7. 
 
 ' the union of tlie intuitive and scientific mind,' being, as it were, 
 ' a scientific perception of the most important truths, holding to 
 the particular sciences the relation which a head holds to a living 
 body.' 
 
 PMlosophy, in the universal sense, is that state of mind in virtue whereof we 
 Epeak of men as philosophic absolutely, and not in a merely special sense, nor as 
 possessing some particular accomplishment ; as Homer says in his Margites : — 
 
 " Him neither miner nor ploughman the Gfods had made, 
 Nor accomplished merely in some one thing." 
 
 Hence it is clear that Philosophy wiU be the most exact of all the forms of 
 rational knowledge, whether one speai of it in. the special or in the universal 
 sense : on the one hand, special Philosophy is this very thing — an exact precision 
 of mind whether scientific or artistic, and on the other hand, universal Philosophy, 
 from the very fact of its being univel'sal, is more exact than the other forms of 
 knowledge, inasmuch as it is more definite and comprehensive. 
 
 Since therefore Philosophy is ■per se a thing absolute and universal, it is 
 necessary that the man who is philosophic, in this absolute sense of Philosophy, 
 should not merely know a part of things knowable and be ignorant of others : 
 the true philosopher will know not merely the truths that can be demonstrated, 
 but also the first principles from which those demonstrations start, and wiU 
 render such an account of them as they admit of. Consequently Philosophy will 
 be ' the union of the intuitive and scientific mind ; ' and thus it will be tiie most 
 revered form of science, containing as it were the first principles of itself as the 
 brain and life of the truths which flow therefrom. In the definition of the 
 Scientific Mind are comprised both the truths of demonstrative science and the 
 principles from which they are demonstrated. In the case of the subordinate 
 sciences this is not the case : in the definition of the special sciences a knowledge 
 of their own principles is not included, but simply a knowledge of traths 
 ■ demonstrated from principles assumed. 
 
 (c) THE PHILOSOPHIC MIND DISTINGUISHED FROM PRACTICAL 
 WISDOM. 
 
 Philosophy, therefore, being concerned with the most important 
 , and transcendental truths, is quite a different 
 
 xrS "6111111 G11C6 Or 
 
 Philosophy as being attitude of mind from that of Practical Wisdom, 
 concerned with the jfc ig obviously absurd to supposo that the grandest 
 ig veri les. ^^^ most important exercise of reason is that 
 which deals with human well-being — unless it be true that man 
 is the highest of all existences in the universe. 
 
 Here is another reason why Philosophy and Practical Wisdom 
 
 cannot be identical. Assuming it to be true that 
 
 ut^'o/'pMroSy ^"^^^ ^^ healthful and good varies in the case of 
 
 contrasted with the men and of fishes, whereas what is white and 
 
 shifting nature of g^yaight is SO always and invariably, all men 
 
 human mterests. .,-,,.,, '' , „ , ., , . i „„ 
 
 Will admit that a truth of philosophy is always 
 the same, whereas a truth of practical life varies with circum- 
 stances. In fact, one would say that it was a sign of practical 
 wisdom to perceive accurately what concerns one's own self; an*! 
 
Bk. VI. 7.] Translation. 329 
 
 one would entrust practical interests to a man who had that 
 wisdom. [For this reason it is that certain anirmls are. said to 
 be ' practically wise ' — such as are seen to possess a power of 
 foresight in providing their own means of life.] It is clear, 
 then, that Philosophy is not identical with the Science of humaa 
 interests. If it were true to say that Philosophy is the science 
 which is concerned with what is beneficial for one's self, there 
 must be many forms of Philosophy : there is no one Science that 
 treats of the good of all living creatures, but there are separate 
 sciences bearing upon each class — unless one were to say that 
 there is one form of medical treatment which is applicable to all 
 existences. ' 
 
 If, again, the plea were urged that ' man is the noblest of all 
 living creatures ' {and that, therefore, the philosophy 
 of human life is the highest philosophy), such a ^^^"Xve Practl! 
 plea does not affect our argument. Though man cai wisdom as the 
 is the noblest of creatures, there are other exist- Uiiiveise is high 
 
 . . ' , above man. 
 
 ences far more divme in their nature than man : 
 
 aa, of course, most obviously, the elements out of which the 
 
 universe is composed. 
 
 From the arguments here adduced it must be evident that 
 Philosophy is the ' union of the scientific and intuitive faculties,' 
 and has for its province those existences which are most important 
 in their nature. 
 
 [In illustration of this distinction between Philosophy and 
 Practical Wisdom is the fact that men give the 
 
 title of ' philosopher ' to such men as Thales Contrast between 
 ^ „ 1 J.1 n XX. 1 Philosophers and 
 
 and Anaxagoras and. others 01 tne same class, men of the world. 
 but refuse to call them men of practical wisdom, 
 since they are seen to ignore what is for their own practical 
 interest : men say of them that they have a knowledge of things 
 extraordinary, and wonderful, and abstruse, and transcendental, 
 but that their knowledge is useless, since they do not seek for 
 the knowledge of those good things that are proper to man.] 
 
 But Philosophy is distinct from Practical Wisdom in. that^ wMle Practical 
 Wisdom is concerned only with social well-being, Philosophy is the, most im- 
 portant of all sciences whatsoever. The most important science is that which is 
 fovmd to be exercised on the most important subjects ; and Practical Wisdom is 
 not of that nature, being concerned with human interests only — but man and hia 
 interests are not the highest range of thought. 
 
 Again, it is a sign of practical wisdom in a creature to be capable of finding its 
 own ' good.' But there is not the same ' good ' to all alike : what is healthf uJf 
 and beneficial is not the same in all cases. Practical Wisdom is, therefore, not 
 the same thing among aU men ; but the subject-matter of Philosophy is un- 
 alterably the same everywhere. It is what is demonstrable that is matter for 
 Philosophy ; e.g. that the angles of a. triangle, are together equal to two right 
 
330 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 8. 
 
 angles, is a matter which can be demonstrated, and the same truth can be 
 demonstrated everjTvhere alike — just as the same thing is straight and the same 
 thing white among all men. But it is the sign of practical wisdom,' not only 
 among men but among living creatures generally, that they examiae and carry 
 out each his own individual good ; hence we call certaia wild beasts specially 
 wise and cunning— such as are seen to possess a power of foresight in reference 
 to their own lives. It is clear, therefore, that Philosophy cannot be identical 
 with Practical Wisdom. If one were to hold that Philosophy is concerned with 
 achieving our own individual interests, there would be many forma of Philosophy, 
 corresponding with the variety of interests ; just as there is no one form of 
 Medicine applicable to aU creatures alike, since the conditions of health and 
 disease differ with the different species. 
 
 If, again, one were to hold that the Science of human weU-being, or Practaoal 
 Wisdom, is, like Philosophy, the most serious and important in the world, ina»- 
 much as m^n is the noblest and best of all living creatures, such a plea does not 
 affect the argument : there are existences more divine by far than man in their 
 nature; as, for instance, the elements which unmistakeably compose the universe 
 — I mean the elements out of which the Cosmos was f oiiued. 
 
 From the considerations above given it is clear that Philosophy is the union 
 of Intuition and Science, and is concerned with those objects which are most 
 revered in their natuie^ — -which are necessary existences admitting of neither 
 change nor decay. 
 
 [Hence it is that we speak of Anaxagoras, and Thales, and men of that class, 
 as ' philosophers,' but in no sense as men of practical wisdom, inasmuch as they 
 were ignorant of what was beneficial for them, and of what was useful for the 
 purposes of life, though they had knowledge of truths that were abstrnse, 
 marvellous, subtle, and strange : — and these latter truths form the field of 
 thought with which Philosophy is concerned.] 
 
 III.— SPECIAL ANALYSIS OF PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 (a) PEACTICAL WISDOM INVOLVES DELIBEEATION. 
 
 Now the sphere of Practical Wisdom is the sphere of human 
 interests and of whatever comes within the scope 
 dom'^^lnvoives ^1 ^^ deliberation. It is pre-eminently the business, 
 the elements of de- WO Say, of the man of practical wisdom to de- 
 '"°wWch*'it liberate wisely, yet no one deliberates upon 
 seeks to realise is matters which cannot possibly be altered, nor 
 ^rtue.*^ "* ^'*°* "P°^ matters which do not involve a definite 
 ' end,' and that end, moreover, ' a good' to k 
 attained by action. The man who deliberates wisely, in the 
 perfect sense of the term, is one who has the faculty of hitting 
 the mark of what is best for man in actual life, so far as depends 
 upon rational calculation. 
 
 But the sphere of Practical Wisdom is the sphere of human interests and of 
 whatever comes within the scope of deliberation. It is pre-eminently the 
 business, we say, of the man of practical wisdom to deliberate wisfely ; yet no one 
 deliberates upon necessary truths, nor upon matters which are incapable ot 
 being altered : nor upon matters which have not for their ' end ' the good of man 
 to be realised in action. Philosophy on the other hand has for its ' end ' tmth 
 
Bk. VI. 8.] Translation. 33 1 
 
 • 
 
 in the universal and absolute sense, and for its subject-matter that which can be 
 absolutely demonstrated, and for its principles, the truths upon which aU scien- 
 tific reasoniug depends. ^ 
 
 Q)) PRACTICAL WISDOM IN (l) PRINCIPLE AND (2) PRACTICE. 
 
 Practical Wisdom is not merely a knowledge of general 
 principles : a man must know also the bearing of 
 particular circumstances. Practical Wisdom is dom^lmplies't 
 concerned with action, and the sphere of action is knowledge of the 
 the actual conditions of the moment. Hence ™'7the ^rtTcu- 
 there are men who, without being versed in lar ; but the par- 
 principles, are moi-e competent in action than essentiaUo'S;™™^ 
 others who are versed in them : and such pre- 
 eminently are those whom we call ' men of experience.' To take 
 an illustration : if a man knows only the general principle that 
 * light food is easily digested and wholesome,' but is ignorant 
 what particular food is light, he will not gain health, for all his 
 knowledge ; whereas the man who knows the particular fact that 
 the flesh of birds is light and wholesome, will secure health more 
 readily for his knowledge. 
 
 But Practical Wisdom is a faculty to be exercised in daily life, 
 and in the details of conduct ; so that we ought to have both its 
 forms, or at any rate the form that will guide us to a right percep- 
 tion of details even more than the other. Yet in action too, there 
 is a form of Wisdom that is sovereign and which gives the law to 
 its special applications. 
 
 Further,' Practical Wisdom is concerned with questions of detail. The man 
 who is practically wise, not only knows as an abstract principle what are the 
 things which are good for man, but he knows also of necessity the particular ap- 
 plications of that principle — i.e. what things they are which a particular man 
 ought to do at a particular crisis. Practical Wisdom is concerned with action , 
 and action is concerned with particular circumstances. It is for this reason that 
 those who know only particular facts are more competent in action than those 
 who know the universal principle. It is in fact generally the case that in all 
 matters men of experience are better able to act than those who have knowledge 
 of universal truths. For example, if a man were to know that ' light flesh is 
 easily digested and healthful,' but were ignorant what flesh was light, he would 
 not ensure health for all his knowledge. On the contrary the man who knows 
 that the flesh of birds is light and healthful, will more easily secure health. 
 
 Since, then, Practical Wisdom is concerned with action, it is necessary to have 
 both the absolute and the relative forms of it — more particularly the relative 
 form, which is concerned with particular details. Wisdom cannot be ' practical ' 
 if it comprise simply general principles. 
 
 [What is the nature of Philosophy and in what respect it differs from Practical 
 Wisdom has now been explained. We will now continue our discussion into the 
 nature of Practical Wisdom.] 
 
 Practical Wisdom is, therefore, both universal and particular — a knowledge of 
 general principles and a perception of specific truths. It is, as it were, a Sove- 
 reign or ' arcMtectonio ' Science, since the man who knows the general principles 
 stands in the relation of master-builder to the man of experience. 
 
332 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 9, 
 
 (c) PRACTICAL WISDOM DIVIDED INTO SPECIFIC VARIETIES. 
 
 Now the mental conditions involved in Statesmanship; are 
 
 p identical with those involved in Practical 
 
 dom has different Wisdom, but the formal definition is different 
 
 names according to in the tWO CaseS. 
 
 of circumstance ^ Of the wisdom that bears on the city and 
 with which it has city life there are two varieties : — 
 
 1. One kind is the faculty of wise legislation^ 
 and, as such, is sovereign, and defines the scope of the various 
 applications of wisdom to common life. 
 
 2. The other kind is the perception of details, and takes the 
 generic term 'statesmanship.' This latter kind of wisdom is 
 concerned with action, and with deliberation about 'means' rather 
 than about ' ends,' a ' decree ' being a thing to be carried into 
 action — the practical application of a general principle to a 
 particular case. Hence they say that those who are concerned' 
 with details and practical questions are the only true politicians : 
 they alone bring about practical results. Like artizans they cany 
 out the designs of the master-builder. 
 
 B. But the wisdom which relates to a man's own self, and to 
 individual interests, is thought to be ' practical wisdom ' in the 
 truest sense, and consequently it appropriates to itself that name, 
 which is in reality of wider import. 
 
 A complete classification of the other varieties will be : 
 
 1. Economics, or the faculty of administering an estate. 
 
 2. [Politics, in the narrower sense, subdivided into :] 
 
 (a) Legislation, or the faculty of making wise laws. 
 ((8) Statesmanship, which is either (i.) the faculty of 
 making wise counsels, or (ii.) the faculty of adminis- 
 tering justice. 
 At any rate one distinct form of Practical Wisdom will be for a 
 man to know what concerns himself and his own interests; 
 although this form presents many points of difference from the 
 other forms of Practical Wisdom. 
 
 Of Practical Wisdom in the general sense of the term there is one form whicli 
 IS purely Moral, as when a man seeks simply what is good for his own self ; and 
 this form is called ' Practical Wisdom ' without qualification. There is another 
 form which has for its end the good of the whole city ; and this form is called 
 Statesmanship. Statesmanship, in this wider sense of the term, is identical wift 
 Practical Wisdom, but is different in its definition, inasmuch as it is ooncemeS 
 with a different kind of subject-matter. 
 
 Of Statesmanship, there is one kind which is Practical Wisdom as it were in 
 the arohiteetonic or sovereign sense ; and this is called Legislative Wisdom. The 
 other form is speeial and subordinate to this sovereign kind, and is called 
 
Bk. VI. 9.] Translation. 333 
 
 Politics, or Statesmanship in a narrower sense. By the latter I mean that which 
 iishown in action and council, which is occupied in passing decrees and exe- 
 Bntiag measures. Public decrees are concerned with action, iwt in the sense of 
 flijilt supreme and sovereign Wisdom, but as the ultimate Wisdom of specific con- 
 duit which bears on action in the absolute sense. For this reason it is that we 
 speak of men possessing such wisdom as though alone concerned with politics, 
 and that which relates to them we call the pubUo poUoy — because they alone of 
 all who are practically wise are like craftsmen, and themselves practise their 
 craft. They alone aet in the full sense of the term. The master-builders of 
 politics are called men of action simply from ordering the actions of others : 
 tfi%: are not themselves men of action in the proper sense of the term. 
 
 Jut Practical Wisdom, in the true sense of the term, is when a man seeks 
 sinjply what is good for his own self, and in this sense it holds the generic name 
 ^p is called ' practical Wisdom ' in a characteristic sense. Of the other varieties 
 pEform has reference to the management of a house — Economics ; and another 
 form relates to the city, and is either Legislation or Politics, and Politics are either 
 deliberative or judicial. 
 
 However, the Practical Wisdom which is so called in former and characteristic 
 sense is a kind of knowledge, just as Statesmanship is, though not in every 
 sense the same as Statesmanship. 
 
 (<^) INTERDEPENDENCE OF PUBLIC AND PRIVATE WISDOM. 
 
 In common estimation tlie man of ' practical wisdom ' is one 
 wlio knows his own interests and occupies himself The popular an- 
 therein, whereas politicians are regarded as busy- tagonism^ between 
 bodies. Hence the sentiment which Euripides iic™ood^^ii^not 
 
 puts into the mouth of Philoctetes : tear examination. 
 
 " How can I be a man of sense, seeing that once I had the chance 
 Without a trouble of my own, numbered only with the mass, 
 To have a full fair share with all the host ? 
 Surely those who are officious and assay beyond their sphere — ■ 
 Zeus hateth such." 
 
 According to this common view, men of practical wisdom are 
 those who seek what is good for their own selves, and who think 
 that it is their duty so to do. From this opinion has in fact come 
 the idea that none but such are practically wise. 
 
 Yet perhaps it is impossible for a man to manage his own 
 affairs successfully without a faculty for administering his 
 own estate, or without taking part in the social circumstances of 
 the community around him. As for the mode in which he ought 
 to regulate his own affairs, that is a matter of doubt, and he will 
 have to consider it. 
 
 Hence it is that people consider the man of practical wisdom to be one who 
 simply seeks what is good for his own self, and the politician to be a busybody. 
 In .accordance with this view are the lines in Euripides : 
 
 " How can I be a man of sense, seeing that once I had the chance 
 Without a trouble of my own, numbered only with the mass. 
 To have a full fair share with all the host ? 
 Sm-ely those who are officious and assay beyond their sphere — 
 Zeus hateth such." 
 
334 The Moi^al Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 9. 
 
 Therefore it was that the excellence of the moral nature was called ' Practical 
 Wisdom ' in the most characteristic sense ; and appellation ' practically wise ' was 
 specially given to one who seeks simply his own good, and thinks it his duty to 
 seek that good purely and simply and not to seek for anything beyond. 
 
 Yet surely it is impossible for moral wisdom to exist apart from the power of 
 administering one's own household, nor can such =< power of domestic admini- 
 stration be gained apart from the intercourse with society and experience of life. 
 It is impossible for a man to manage successfully and well the matters which 
 concern himself, if his own house or city are not in a prosperous state. It is 
 hard for a man not to be ruined if he pass his time in company with a number 
 of worthless people ; and, on the other hand, if he pass his time in company with 
 no one, but live a solitary life, how can he learn what is good for himself ? His 
 own good is uncertain, and there is need of information and consideration in view 
 thereof. Yet such practical knowledge it is impossible for him to gain without 
 experience ; and experience belongs only to those who live together in communion, 
 whether in the house or in the city, and apart from such associations it is im- 
 possible for a man to have either experience or practical wisdom. 
 
 (e) RELATION OF EXPERIENCE TO PRACTICAL WISDOM AND OTHER 
 INTELLECTUAL STATES. 
 
 There is further proof of what has been said of the necessity of 
 
 experience, in the fact that although young men 
 
 A man cannot be prove themselves good geometricians and mathe- 
 
 practioally wise .• • t i • i j , 
 
 unless he has had maticians, and clever m abstract reasoning, yet 
 experience of life, they do not Seem Capable of becoming ' practically 
 
 and is something of ■ , mi. a a.-\ • ■ ^i / i- i 
 
 a politician. Wise. Ihe reason ot this is, that practical 
 
 wisdom involves a knowledge of particulars which 
 only become known to a man by personal experience which the' 
 young man cannot have acquired : only length of time can create 
 experience, and practical knowledge. 
 
 One might, however, raise this further question : what is the 
 reason why a boy can become a mathematician, but neither 
 a metaphysician nor a natural philosopher ? Is it not that such 
 subjects as Geometry proceed by a process of abstraction, whereas 
 in the other sciences the truths from which we start are gained 
 only by experience. Our youthful students of Metaphysics have 
 no real conviction of the truths of which they talk ; whereas in 
 Geometry the definitions from which we start are obvious to 
 any one. 
 
 Again, experience is essential in Morals, because, in deliberating 
 about a course of action, error is possible either in regard to the 
 general principle or to the particular fact: e.g. one may be 
 ignorant either that ' all brackish water is bad,' or that ' this is 
 brackish water.' 
 
 Hence it is that young men prove themselves good mathematicians, and clever 
 in abstract reasoning, but are not thought to be ' practically wise.' The reason 
 of this is that Practical Wisdom is concerned with particular facts, which are 
 
Bk. VI. 9.] Translation. 335 
 
 (July learnt from experience, and experience the young man cannot have, since 
 ijiiequirea length of time to gain. 
 
 •^ Akin to this question is the enquiry which has been made, how it is that 
 young men show themselves to be good mathematicians, but xa no sense meta- 
 phyaioians or naturalists ? Is not the reason this — that the first truths involved 
 in Physios or in Metaphysics aire derived from the induction of particular facts ? 
 In truth, Metaphysics — the Philosophy which deals with necessary and unchange- 
 gUe existences, cannot possibly be established without experience. It is from 
 insths known to our own selves, and to our own senses, that we are led up to 
 Janiths which are super-sensuous and transcendental. Unless one has gained a 
 knowledge of what properties belong to this or to that object in nature, it is im- 
 possible to draw a general inference, or frame a general definition of that object, 
 or to make a scientific deduction. Again, without a scientific knowledge of Nature 
 it is impossible to attain to a true Metaphysic : it is only after obtaining physical 
 knowledge that we can learn the truths of Metaphysics. But to know these 
 ludimentary facts of Nature is a matter for experience, and experience is a 
 matter requiring length of days ; and consequently it is impossible for young 
 men to be either Natural Philosophers or Metaphysicians. On the other hand, 
 the first truths of Mathematics are apprehended apart from concrete representa- 
 tions, and, therefore, they entail no necessity for having a knowledge of par- 
 ticular facts. Mathematicians do not investigate a circle or a quantity in the 
 form of actual existence, in which it is found in manifold varieties and indefi- 
 nitely, so to speaJs ; but the Natural Philosopher must examine specific facts of 
 nature. Mathematicians abstract these first truths from particular manifestations 
 of them, and investigate them independently and per se : therefore, it is that 
 there is nothing to prevent young men from being mathematicians. As for the 
 priaoiples of Physics and the truths of Physics generally, though young men 
 talk about them, yet they do not understand accurately their nature, nor have 
 they any conviction of their own thereon. But they have a real conviction of 
 the principles of Mathematics, since they have knowledge of them through there 
 definitions being precisely determined. 
 
 Since, therefore, it is evident that experience is the basis of that Practical 
 •Wisdom which regulates the personal Kfe, and that experience cannot possibly 
 be gained apart from social intercourse, whUe social intercourse cannot be main- 
 tained without the exercise of political wisdom, it is clear that Moral Wisdom 
 cannot exist independently of Political Wisdom. 
 
 Again, since error arises in the regulation of conduct from ignorance either of 
 the universal or of the particular, (e.g. the man who is ignorant of the universal 
 that ' all brackish water is bad,' as well as the man who, though he knows the 
 universal, is ignorant of the particular, viz., that ' this is brackish water,' wiU 
 both alike faU into error, and both alike will use bad water), it is evident that 
 in order not to err, it is necessary for a man to know not only the particular 
 (that ' this water is brackish '), but also the universal (that ' all brackish water 
 is. bad'). The particular wisdom of experience in life has need, therefore, of 
 the universal wisdom that is synonymous with statesmanship ; and it is impos- 
 sible for the wisdom of the personal life to be established apart from the wisdom 
 of the State, just as it is impossible for the special knowledge of particulars to 
 escape from error apart from a knowledge of general principles. 
 
 (/) EELATION OF PRACTICAL WISDOM TO THE INTUITIVE AND 
 SCIENTIFIC MUSTD. 
 
 It is evident, tlien, that Practical Wisdom is not the same 
 thing as the faculty of d'emonstration which the man of science 
 possesses. As has been explained, Practical "Wisdom is con- 
 cerned with ultimate facts, whatever falls within the sphere of 
 action being of this particular and final nature. 
 
336 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 9. 
 
 Consequently Practical Wisdom stands in antithetical relation 
 
 to Intuition, both of them involving immediate 
 
 Practical Wisdom, knowledge. Whilst on the one hand Intuition 
 
 as the science of. t •,■, r- , ■ • ^ -i 
 
 human interests, IS Concerned With nrst prmciples and axioms of 
 
 involves a percep- which no proof is possible, on the other hand 
 
 of"iEacts wMch"iio- Practical Wisdom is concerned with ultimate 
 
 thing but the facts of which no demonstration is possible, but 
 
 ^Morai Sense- can ^^ ^j^j^^ ^^^^^ j^ ^^ immediate scnse— not of 
 
 course one of the five senses, but an intuitive 
 ' Moral Sense ' corresponding after its kind to that sense by 
 which we feel conscious, for instance, that the ultimate figure in 
 Mathematics is a triangle. (For in Mathematics as in Morals 
 the ultimate fact is the point at which the movement of the mind 
 must stop.) But this mathematical perception is more of a sense, 
 or sensuous imagination, than is the moral perception involved 
 in Practical Wisdom : the perception of the Moral Sense belongs 
 to a distinct species by itself (and is more intellectual than 
 sensuous). 
 
 From these considerations it is evident that Practical Wisdom is not identical 
 either with the Scientific or with the Intuitive Mind. It is not identical with the 
 Scientific Mind, because it is concerned with particular facts, which are last in 
 the order of Nature, whereas Science is concerned with universal truths, which 
 are first in the order of Nature. 
 
 Nor is Practical Wisdom identical with Intuition. Intuition is concerned with 
 primary truths which admit of no demonstration ; while Practical Wisdom is 
 concerned with ultimate facts with which not even Science is concerned, bnt 
 which come within the province of sense. I am not of course referring to facts 
 of which the five senses are cognisant in their isolated capacity — such as things 
 which may be tasted or smelt or heard. Practical Wisdom does not distingniah 
 between tastes and odours and sounds, but simply between individual factt: 
 such facts as the sense alone can determine ; and hence we say that Practical 
 Wisdom is concerned with matters which come within the province of sense. 
 For example, it is the province of the man of practical wisdom to know whether 
 it is right for this city of the Athenians to go to war with this city of the Corin- 
 thians. Practical Wisdom is concerned with action, and action is concerned with 
 particular circumstances. It is in this same way that Mathematicians recognise a 
 triangle which comes under their senses — not in so far as it is in contrast with 
 sight or touch, but absolutely in so far as it belongs to the class of partionlar 
 individual facts which ai'e recognized as ultimate and final : for in them, as ulti- 
 mate, the investigator pauses, and carries his investigation no further. If we 
 start from particular facts of sense the knowledge of the universal comes last of 
 all ; but if our knowledge proceeds from universal truth, objects of sense are 
 recognized last of aU. To recognize then particular facts so far as they are cog- 
 nisable by the senses, and are not opposed either to tasting, hearing, touching or 
 smelling, belongs to sense and not to Practical Wisdom. But to recognize 
 particular facts, so far as they are advantageous or injurious to the good of man, 
 that, I say, is the province of Practical Wisdom. 
 
Bk. VI. 10.] Translation. 337 
 
 IV.— EXAMINATION OF VARIOUS MENTAL STATES AKIN 
 TO PRACTICAL V^ISDOM. • 
 
 i.— Analysis of Grood Counsel. 
 
 [a) GOOD COUNSEL DISTINtiUISHED FROM SIMILAR PROCESSES. 
 
 Now there is a difference between inquiring and deliberating, 
 inquiring being the more comprehensive process, 
 and deliberating only a species of it. fo^^'^ordeiTbera^ 
 
 But we must first define the precise nature of tion 
 Good Counsel, and determine whether it be ' a 
 form of scientific reasoning,' or ' opinion,' or ' clever guessing,' 
 01 something distinct from either. 
 
 1. Scientific reasoning it certainly is not : men do not inquire 
 about matters of which they have scientific know- 
 ledge, but Good Counsel is a form of deliberation, distinct from 
 and one who deliberates is inquiring and calcu- (^-^ Science, 
 lating. 
 
 2. Nor again is it ' clever guessing.' Clever guessing is devoid 
 of thought and is a thing of the moment, where- 
 as men who deliberate spend a long time on the j^^ ^^^"'^'^ ^^^^' 
 process, and the saying is that though we ought 
 
 to carry out resolutions rapidly into effect when once they 
 are formed, yet ought we to be slow in forming them. 
 
 3. Nor is ' acuteness ' the same thing as ' Good Counsel,' 
 acuteness being only another form of clever 
 
 guessing. (^-^ ^"-^t^"^^^- 
 
 4. Nor surely is Good Counsel any form of 
 
 'opinion.' (4.) Opinion. 
 
 Having now defined tke nature of Philosopliy, Practical Wisdom, Intuition, and 
 tlie Seientifio and Artistic faculties, and shown in wliat respects they differ from 
 (me another, we wiU proceed to treat of Good Counsel, Moral Insight, and Con- 
 siderateness, and define their nature and show in what respects they differ from 
 the five States of Mind described above as various attitudes towards Truth. 
 
 First, of Good Counsel ; for it has a, very close affinity to Practical Wisdom 
 (the discussion of which we have just concluded), and therefore the account we 
 gave of Practical Wisdom must be taken in close connection vyith the present in- 
 quiiy into the nature of Good Counsel. 
 
 1. It is not, then, in the first place, identical with Inquiry, since Inquiry ex- 
 tends over a wider area than does Good Counsel. A man inquires not only when 
 he counsels well, but also when he counsels ill. Again, not only matters of 
 contingent existence, but also matters of necessary existence are matters of 
 inquiry : — i.e. matters with which Science deals are matters of inquiry, as, for 
 uistanoe, whether the angles of a triangle are together equal to two right angles, 
 or whether the moon has a spherical shape. Good Counsel is, therefore, not 
 identical with Inquiry. 
 
 2. Nor, again, is Good Counsel a form of Science. The man of science does not 
 
'^ 
 
 338 The Mo7'al Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 10 
 
 inquire into matters of which he hag scientific knowledge, but the man of gooc 
 counsel does inquire. Good Counsel is a form of deliberation, and deliberation ii 
 an inquiry into what one ought to do ; and the man who is deUberating is in 
 quiring and calculating in regard to his actions how they can be done success 
 fully and weU. Hence Good Counsel is an inquiry, whereas Science has nol 
 that character : Good Counsel, therefore, is not Science. 
 
 3. Nor, again, is Good Counsel ' clever guessing^' Clever guessing takes plac( 
 without loss of time, and without reflection and without practice. To under 
 standing- rightly the nature of a subject put before one instantaneously anc 
 without practice, that is clever guessing. Good Counsel is not of that character 
 deliberation takes place only after time spent on it, and slowly. Hence the sayini 
 which is in vogue, that ' one ought to be slow in deliberating, though one oughl 
 also to carry out one's resolutions quickly when once they are formed.' 
 
 4. Again, ' acuteness ' is distinct and separate from Good Counsel. Acutenesi 
 is an off-hand statement of the middle term (i.e. the ' cause ' of a subject proposed 
 to it), whereas Good Counsel involves consideration. Acuteness is, in fact, a klnc 
 of clever guessing, and, therefore, is not the same as Good Counsel. 'Clevei 
 guessing ' is speaking to the purpose, and hitting the point in reference to everj 
 question proposed ; and ' acuteness ' is a prompt and quick assignment of tlu 
 cciMse of any subject proposed for discussion (for instance. For what reason is ii 
 better to be ruled than to rule in oligarchies ? — ' Because it is safer.' ) Hencf 
 Good Counsel is neither ' acuteness ' nor ' clever guessing.' 
 
 5. Nor yet is Good Counsel ' opinion.' There are many forms of ' opinion,' but 
 Good Counsel belongs to none of them. One class of opinions are the concluaioni 
 of the reason demonstrated as necessary ; if, for example, any one ' opines ' aftei 
 a process of demonstration that ' the angles of a triangle are together equal to 
 two right angles,' the opinion which he has is a necessary truth. Other opinions 
 are drawn from the senses, and hence some of them are often false. But all 
 opinions have for their end the truth, and truth is the correctness of opinion. On 
 the other hand. Good Counsel has for its ' end' the interest either of the person 
 who deliberates, or of the person to whom a man gives advice ; and this ' interest ' 
 men of ' good counsel ' often succeed in attaining even by means of falsehood and 
 deceit. 
 
 (5) GENERIC CONCEPTION OF GOOD COUNSEL. 
 
 Now since the man who deliberates badly falls into error, while 
 
 the man who deliberates well, judges aright, it is 
 
 rightne*s™°of the evident that Good Counsel is a kind of ' rightness,' 
 
 process of delibera- but the rightness neither of science nor of 
 
 tion. • • 
 
 opmion. 
 
 1. It is not the rightness of Science, because error is impossible 
 in Science. 
 
 2. Nor is it the rightness of Opinion, which was shown above 
 to be truth. Moreover any subject which falls under Opinion is 
 defined and settled, {jiot uncertain andfufMre). 
 
 Nevertheless, Good Counsel is not without a certain movement 
 of the mind : it remains, then, that it must be a correctness of 
 the process of practical reasoning : for this is prior to affirmation, 
 whereas ' opinion ' is not a mere process of search, but from the 
 very nature of the case is a kind of affirmation. The man who 
 deliberates, whether his deliberations be right or wrong, is in- 
 quiring for something and calculating. 
 
Bk. VI. 10.] Translation. 339 
 
 Good Counsel is in fact ' a kind of correctness of deliberation.' 
 Hence we must first inquire what deliberation is,^nd with what 
 objects it is concerned. 
 
 There is no other correctness of Good Counsel beyond itself : it is in itself 
 ' correctness of deliberation.' If tlie man wlio deliberates badly falls into error, 
 certainly the man who deliberates rightly deliberates in accordance with Eight 
 
 Moreover, Good Counsel is not the correctness either of 'opinion' or of 
 ' science,' but of deliberation (as the very name indicates). 
 
 1. There is no ' correctness ' of Science : Science is not even capable of a 
 flaw so as to need correction. 
 
 2. The correctness, again, of Opinion is truth, as has been shown. Good 
 Counsel is neither Opinion nor Science, nor is it correctness either of Opinion or 
 of Science. Good Counsel is an inquiry in accordance with Eight Eeason. 
 Opinion, on the other hand, is the discovery of some conclusion, and is con- 
 cerned with some definite fact. Good Counsel is the seeking for something ; 
 Opinion is the result of having found something. In this respect, Good Counsel 
 is inferior to thought. Thought is a reason absolutely settled and discovered in 
 conjunction with its appropriate cause. Good Counsel has its whole essence in 
 the process of inquiry. The man who deliberates, whether he deliberate well or 
 ill, is searching and calculating. In searching, a process of reason is involved, 
 and not a final conclusion. Opinion is not of this character : it is not a process 
 of iaquiry, but definite and absolute statement. 
 
 Good Counsel, therefore, is neither ' Science,' nor ' Clever-guessing,' nor 
 ' Opinion.' But, seeing that it is ' correctness of deliberation,' we must inquire 
 what is the nature of deliberation, and what the objects are with which the man 
 who delibeiates finds himself to be concerned. Of deliberation, and of the 
 subject-matter of deliberation, we treated in the Third Book : we wiU now treat 
 of correoimess of deliberation. 
 
 (CJ SPECIFIC CHAEACTERISTICS OF ' GOOD COUNSEL.' 
 
 Now since correctness is predicated in many senses, it is evident 
 that not eYery form of correctness is Good ^ ^, 
 
 Pi ■' Further conditioBS 
 
 ^^OUnsel. limiting more ex- 
 
 1. The weakly selfish man and the bad man actly the nature of 
 will achieve the end which they have set before 
 
 themselves, and will do so by a process of calculation. Hence 
 such an one will have deliberated correctly, though he will have 
 gained a great eyil. But it is thought to be a kind of good to 
 have deliberated rightly : it is this kind of correctness of delibera- 
 tion which is ' good counsel,' — correctness, that is to say, which 
 is productive of some good. 
 
 2. But it is possible to achieve a good end by a false method of 
 reasoning — to succeed in that which one ought to do, yet through 
 improper means : — in fact the middle terra in the moral syllogism 
 may be wrong. Consequently, not even does this state amount to 
 wood Counsel — for though by it a man attains the proper end, yet 
 he may do so by unlawful means. 
 
 3. Moreover, it is possible for a man to succeed in his quest 
 
 z 2 
 
340 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 10. 
 
 only after long deliberation, whereas another man will succeed 
 speedily. Protracted deliberation does not amount to Good 
 Counsel. Good Counsel is that correctness which has in view a 
 real good, and which attains the proper object by the proper 
 means within a proper time. 
 
 4. Again, deliberation may have been made either in regard to 
 life as a whole, or in regard to some particular purpose. Good 
 Counsel, therefore, in the absolute sense is that which leads a man 
 right in regard to the end of life in its widest issues. Good 
 Counsel in a particular sense is that which leads him right in 
 regard to some special occasion. 
 
 If, therefore, it be the characteristic of men of practical wisdom 
 that they form wise deliberations, Good Counsel will be *a 
 correctness which has regard to what is expedient in view of some 
 end of which Practical Wisdom is a true apprehension.' 
 
 Correctness, therefore, is predicated in many senses. Men who propose to 
 themselves a vicious end, yet seek the means -which lead directly to the realiza- 
 tion of that end, deliberate rightly ; and deliberation of this kind is rightness. 
 So also those who propose to themselves a virtuous end, and are impelled to its 
 realization, yet do not seek the means which tend more than any others to its 
 attainment, but other means less direct, (just like those who draw a true conoln- 
 sion from premisses which are false or else not necessaiy,) — such men are deceived 
 iadeed, in what concerns the means to their end, yet deliberate rightly, inasmncli 
 as the end to which they are impelled is a virtuous end ; and deliberation of this 
 kind also is rightness. But besides these forms there is a, rightness which is 
 called ' rightness of deKberatiou ' in the emphatic sense, Good Counsel, in virtue 
 of which we are impelled to a virtuous end, and seek for those means whereby 
 we shall be able to attain that end most easily and most successfully. Neither 
 of the other forms of correctness is ' good counsel.' The first form is vicious 
 counsel, whereas Good Counsel is a moral good — that being the very significance 
 of the term ' virtuous counsel.' The second form of correctness, though it seeks 
 what it ought to seek, yet does not seek it by the proper means, and in what 
 conduces to the end, it deliberates badly, — i.e., in those very matters in reference 
 to which the deliberation is made (as has been already explained) ; hence, though 
 its tendency is right, in that it is impelled to a virtuous end, yet, inasmuch as it 
 is directed to means which are not suitable to that end, its result is iajurious. 
 This form of correctness, therefore, cannot be Good Counsel. 
 
 Nor, again, is the deliberation which takes place through a long interval and 
 one that is more protracted than is right, Good Counsel. Good Counsel is that 
 rightness of deliberation which is in the track of what is expedient when we 
 deliberate upon rightful matters in a proper manner and for a reasonable time. 
 
 Again, since ' the end ' is either universal and final, or special and particular, 
 — the universal end being that towards which aU human action is directed, and 
 a particular end one to which only particular actions tend, Good Counsel presents 
 a corresponding variety. Good Counsel in the universal sense is correct and 
 virtuous deliberation in regard to what conduces to the ultimate end of man— a 
 life in accordance with virtue : Good Counsel in the particular sense is that 
 which tends to some special end, which is not in itself the ultimate end, though 
 it is conducive thereto. 
 
 Since, further, it is the part of men of Practical Wisdom to deliberate well, we 
 must add on to the definition of Good Counsel the idea of ' practical wisdom.' 
 Consequently the definition of Good Counsel will run thus : ' Good Counsel is a 
 
Bk. VI. ll.J Ti^anslation. ' 341 
 
 GOiTeotness in reference to what is expedient in view of some end of which prac- 
 tical wisdom is a true apprehension.' I say ' in reference to what is expedient,' 
 teause of the deliberation which, though directed to a virttous end, is by no 
 means carried out through iitting processes, by fitting actions, at a fitting time, 
 and in a fitting manner. I say ' in view of some end of which Practical 
 Tisdom is a true apprehension,' on account of vicious deliberation which seeks, 
 indeed, what is fitting and consistent with its end, but is impelled to an end 
 that is vicious ; of which practical wisdom is not a true apprehension. 
 So much for Good Counsel. 
 
 ii.— Analysis of Moral Discrimination. 
 
 (a) MOKAL DISCRIMINATION IS NEITHER SCIENCE NOR OPINION. 
 
 Moral Discrimination (and its opposite, dulness of the Moral 
 Sense), in virtue of which we call men dis- 
 criminating (or the reverse), are states of mind Moral 'Ditrimina- 
 which are not generically the same as Science or tion is the same as 
 Opinion : — otherwise, as all men form opinions, ^ig^„^ Practical 
 all men would have been men of discrimination. 
 
 Nor, again, is Moral Discrimination one of the partial or 
 particular sciences like Medicine, which is concerned with the 
 Conditions of health, or like Geometry, which is concerned with 
 dimension. 
 
 For neither is it concerned with matters that are eternal and 
 unalterable, nor with any of those phenomena which come into 
 being. 
 
 Its province is that class of matters about which a man might 
 feel a difficulty and take counsel. 
 
 We must now speak of Moral Discrimination. Moral Discrimination, and its 
 opposite, dulness of the Moral Sense, are states of mind in virtue whereof we 
 speak of men as discriminating or the reverse. 
 
 Moral Discrimination is not the same thing either as Science or as Opinion, or 
 as Moral Sense or Practical Wisdom. 
 
 It is neither Science nor Opinion — otherwise all men of science, and all men 
 who, form opinions, would have been men of discrimination ; but of course they 
 are not. 
 
 Nor is it one of the special sciences, such as are Geometry and Medicine : 
 otherwise it would have been concerned with the conditions of health or the laws 
 of matter. 
 
 Nor is it concerned with matters which have a necessary existence, and which 
 ever keep in the same state. 
 
 Nor is it specially concerned with any one of those particular things which 
 admit of being altered. 
 
 But, in a general sense, it is concerned with matters about which one might 
 raise a doubt and deliberate, matters which admit of investigation and delibera- 
 tion and inquiry. 
 
342 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 11. 
 
 (l5) MORAL DISCRIMINATION COMPARED WITH PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 Consequently Moral Discrimination is concerned with the same 
 class of questions as Practical Wisdom, though 
 But Moral Discri- these virtucs are in themselves distinct, 
 tlcal Wisdom differ 1- Practical Wisdom is imperative in its utter- 
 from one another, ances : its scopc and ' end ' is to determine what 
 tlieii- operation. ° it is a man's duty to do or not to do. Moral 
 Discrimination is simply judicial or critical, the 
 term ' discrimination ' being identical with ' sound discrimination,' 
 and ' men who discriminate ' being identical with those who 
 discriminate soundly. 
 
 2. Moral Discrimination is not the possessing nor the acquiring 
 of Practical Wisdom. But just as learning is called understand- 
 ing when, the student makes use of his knowledge, so also moral 
 understanding consists in the use of opinion to determine questions 
 that fall within the scope of the Moral Sense, and to determine 
 them rightly, when stated by another. ' Well ' and ' rightly' are 
 in this sense synonymous : hence has come the term * discrimina- 
 tion,' in virtue of which men are called men of right judgment 
 from the discrimination which they show in comprehending 
 moral facts. We often say in this sense that ' to learn 'is 'to 
 understand.' 
 
 Consequently, Moral Disorimination lias the same sphere as Practical Wisdom, 
 being conceraed with ' contingent matter ' — things which we have it within, our 
 own power to do or not to do. 
 
 Yet it is not the same thing in every respect as Practical Wisdom. Practical 
 Wisdom is simply imperative, and prescribes the kind of end towards which we 
 ought to tend and the measures which we ought to take so as to attain to that 
 end — and this is its function, to prescribe what men ought to do. On the other 
 hand, to estimate the commands laid upon men by Practical Wisdom, and to 
 know that they are fitting and right, and that we ought to act accordingly — 
 that is Moral Discrimination. [It is immaterial to say a man of ' discrimination' 
 or a man of ' sound discrimination : ' the term ' man of discrimination ' involves 
 this very thing — comprehending rightly and well, and judging accordingly of the 
 commands laid down by the Moral Sense. So the virtue of discrimination is the 
 same as that of sound discrimination.] 
 
 Moral Discrimination, however, is not Practical Wisdom, nor is it the possession 
 of Practical Wisdom, nor is it the receiving nor the gaining of Practical Wisdom: 
 to gain Practical Wisdom is to learn those things which the man of Practical 
 Wisdom knows, whereas Moral Discrimination is to judge of them. Moral 
 Discrimination is, therefore, mot the same thing as gaining Practical Wisdom or 
 possessing it. But just as a man who hears a scientific tmth from some one else, 
 and estimates it rightly, is said to comprehend, so also the man who understands 
 the commands issued by Practical Wisdom and estimates them rightly is said to 
 comprehend them, and is called a man of discrimination, or of sound discrimina- 
 tion, on account of his comprehending them, rightly (' well ' and ' rightly' bemg 
 the same thing). From this the name has been derived, because for a mim to 
 understand rightly on hearing what another says to him, is said to be ' leanung 
 or ' comprehending.' 
 
Bk, VI. 12.] Translation. 343 
 
 iii. — Analysis of Charitableness and Consii^ration. 
 
 ' Charitableness,' as it is called (in respect of which we say of 
 men that they are kindly disposed and show 
 consideration), is ' the right judgment of the Chaiitableness is 
 
 . , 1 , » % ^ ii ■ the fiight Keasou of 
 
 fair-minded man.' As a prool 01 this we say the equitable man. 
 that the fair-minded man is above all others 
 charitable, and ready to make allowances, and that equity consists 
 in showing forbearance and consideration under special circum- 
 
 • ' Consideration,' again, is 'an appreciative charitableness which 
 marks the standard of fairness truly, and which Consideration is 
 is just, as being the appreciation of a man true the critical judg- 
 and honest _ Tbt"^'"*' 
 
 We must now treat of Charitableness, the province of which is matters within 
 our own power, as is that of Practical Wisdom, Good Counsel, and Moral 
 Discrimination. 
 
 Charitableness, then (in respect of which we speak of men as being- kindly 
 digppsed and showing consideration) is ' the right judgment of the fair-minded 
 Wm^ ' (what this fair-mindedness is, and what is the character of the man who 
 shows it, has been explained in a previous Book). That Charitableness is of this 
 kind, is evident. We say that the fair-minded man is above all others charitable 
 and ready to make allowances, and that fairness consists in maiing aUowances 
 in certain contingejicies. 
 
 , Consideration, again, is .a rightful charity, that is critically appreciative of 
 what is equitable : it is, in fact, ' a light judgment upon moral questions, and a 
 reasonable charity.' By ' right judgment ' is meant the judgment of one whose 
 riiind is true and honest. If, then, consideration is a judgment of the fair- 
 minded man and a proper and correct charitableness, and men are called ' kindly 
 disposed' in respect of their right-minded charitableness. Charitableness, therefore, 
 in virtue whereof men are called ' kindly disposed,' is ' the judgment of the fair- 
 minded man,' 
 
 iv. — Review of Practical ■Wisdom under all its aspects. 
 
 Now all these mental states tend, as we might expect, to the 
 same result. We use the terms ' Charitableness,' 
 ' Discrimination,' ' Practical Wisdom,' and ' Moral the wise man ouly 
 Sense,' in reference to the same persons, implying ™™s. with the 
 that aU such possess charitableness, and of course phenomena" with 
 amoral sense, whether as men of practical wisdom ""ijich it has to 
 or of moral discernment. ^''^^' 
 
 The sphere, indeed, of all these faculties alike is that of ultimate 
 facts and of particular details. In showing discernment upon 
 questions with which the man of practical wisdom is concerned, 
 a man is called ' discriminating ' or ' kindly-natured ' or ' con- 
 siderate,' since considerations of equity have weight with all good 
 
344 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 12. 
 
 men in thdr relations with their fellows. The whole world of 
 
 action is, in truth, a world of particular details 
 
 It is the right and of 'ultimate facts,' and assuredly the man 
 
 estimate of moral n j.-i'j ii i.i n i. i 
 
 truths of practical wisdom must know these facts ; and 
 
 moral intelligence and charitableness are also 
 entirely concerned with specific actions, which are 'ultimate 
 facts.' 
 
 But these ' ultimate facts ' come within the cognizance of the 
 , , Moral Sense in a double aspect — in their widest 
 
 whetlier those , . i • xi • i i • 
 
 truths be universal Comprehension and in their narrowest extension '5 
 axioms or particu- the Moral Sense is not a process of formal 
 reasoning, but an intuitive perception as well of 
 the primary axioms as of the simplest details. In one aspect, 
 therefore, the Moral Sense is an immediate consciousness of 
 eternal and immutable first truths, such as are applicable to 
 demonstrations of Geometry. In the other aspect, it is the 
 intuition of the meaning of the particular fact, and of what is 
 within the power of man to compass, and of the minor premisses 
 in the moral syllogism. These particular facts are indeed the 
 starting points from which we mount up to the Final Cause, or 
 ' Summum Bonum.' It is necessary, then, that we should have 
 an immediate consciousness of these particular truths, and this 
 immediate consciousness is the ' Moral Sense ' or ' Intuition oi 
 Morality.' 
 
 Hence it is that the moral instincts are thought to be inherent 
 „ . , . or innate, — ' the gifts of Nature ' ; and though 
 
 How far is this . . , . . i -»t i j. -j. 4„ 
 
 attitude dependent HO One IS a metaphysician by Nature, yet it is 
 upon age and ex- thought to be in right of Nature that men possess 
 perience. charitableness and discrimination and a Moral 
 
 Sense. In proof of this view is the fact that we consider the 
 Moral Sense to be developed with the development of age and 
 character, and that there is a particular time of life which evinces 
 a Moral Sense and a spirit of Charity, as though Nature were 
 the cause which produced them. 
 
 Wherefore the Moral Sense is the starting point of Moral 
 Science, and also the ultimate principle in which all its truths 
 end. The demonstrations of Moral Science all start from the 
 truths apprehended by the Moral Sense, and are all concerned 
 therewith. Consequently we ought to pay regard to the opinions 
 and sayings, authoritative though undemonstrated, of men who 
 have experience and age and practical wisdom, quite as much M 
 to positive demonstrations : inasmuch as they gain from experience 
 a moral insight, they detect the true principles and laws of lif« 
 under J;he complexities of circumstance. 
 
Bk. VI. 12.] Translation. 345 
 
 Now all these mental states whicli attain to truth, tend to the same result, and 
 have the same objects for the subjeot-matter with which they are found to be 
 concerned. Practical "Wisdom, Moral Sense, Good Counsel, Moi»l Discrimination, 
 and Charitableness are concerned with special facts and particular circumstances 
 in which alone moral action can be displayed [I here refer to the Moral Sense aa 
 synonymous with the ' Practical Reason,' which has for its principles particular 
 facts which come under the cog^nisance of the moral instinct]. The same man 
 who is ' practically wise ' when he performs what tends to the true end of virtue, 
 is a ' wise counsellor ' when he deliberates in a befitting manner upon the bearing 
 of circmnstanoes ; and when again, he knows and judges that the measures 
 which he has adopted and carried out for the attainment of the end of virtue 
 have been rightly and befittingly carried out and adopted, then he is a man 
 of moral discrimination ; and, lastly, when, in judging aright of the actions 
 performed by others, he thinks at times that those actions are deserving of 
 oonuniseration, when they are really so, then he is a man of kindly nature and 
 
 Now the subjects with which every judgment of the equitable man is con- 
 cerned are the whole of the actions of virtue that are commonly performed by 
 others. Equity, as it is called, or the moral corrective of strict legal justice (the 
 nature of which was discussed in a previous Book), criticises the laws laid down 
 by others ; and Considerateness and Charity judge rightly concerning actions 
 performed by others. All these form the province of the fair-minded man ; and 
 it follows that the actions which the fair-minded man criticises and judges cover 
 the whole sphere of human activity, equity being concerned with the same sphere 
 as positive law. Considerateness is concerned with actions only when they are 
 performed by others. 
 
 The same subjects form the sphere also of the Moral Sense or ' Practical Reason.' 
 Since' the Moral Sense is a knowledge of fundamental tmths, and these funda- 
 mental truths are in the case of actions particular facts, and in the case of 
 abstract speculation and inquiries, where the end is truth per se, the definitions 
 and immediate propositions and general conceptions, the Moral Sense will have 
 two varieties : — as ' theoretical ' or ' speculative ' it is a knowledge of definitions 
 and of primary and unalterable propositions ; and as ' practical ' it is a knowledge 
 of ultimate facts and of contingent truths, i.e., of specific and particular actions. 
 Hence under its double aspect the Moral Sense, as ' practical ' and ' speculative ' 
 Eeason, is concerned with ultimate facts and with primary principles. Imme- 
 diate propositions and definitions and particular circumstances are both primary 
 principles and ultimate facts. Immediate propositions are ' primary ' in respect 
 of nature, and ' ultimate ' in respect of human knowledge. Particular circum- 
 stances are ' primary ' in respect of ourselves, and ' ultimate ' as the last product 
 of Nature. Those truths which are ' ultimate ' in respect of nature are primary 
 ■ priticiples and causes of the end to be attained by human action. Being instructed 
 tsf particular facts, which fall under the observation of the senses, how to do 
 what is expedient for ourselves and for others, and by what means we may attain 
 to the desired end ; inferring in turn from these particular experiences certain 
 universal and general truths, we thus grow to be ' practically wise ' in regard 
 to the course we should pursue in life. Wherefore the statesman ought to have 
 a,knowledge of particular facts ; and when such a knowledge is gained without 
 the help of a middle term (i.e., when it is ' immediate '), it is an intuition of the 
 Moral Sense— the Moral Sense being a knowledge of immediate truths and of 
 &st principles. 
 
 . _ Hence it is that knowledge of this kind is thought to be a product of Nature ; 
 .syioe it is not derived from any methods of instruction, nor from definite teaching, 
 but grows with a man's growth. Nor is it the Moral Sense alone, but Practical 
 Visdom and Moral Discrimination and Charitableness are also thought to be gifts 
 pf Nature. It is from the innate knowledge derived from the Moral Sense that 
 afl these moral qualities are derived, and the sphere in which such knowledge is 
 exercised is identical with that of the Moral Sense — i.e., pai-ticular circumstances. 
 Metaphysics on the contrary is not the product of Nature. No one is a philoso- 
 
346 The Moral Philosophy oj Aristotle. [Rk. YI. 13. 
 
 pher by right of Nature, inasmiicli as there is need of scientific processes and 
 systematic instruction in order to become a philosopher. On the other hand, we 
 consider that Practical Wisdom and Charitableness and Moral Sense and Dis- 
 crimination follow the course of growing years : we say of a particular time of 
 life that it shows a Moral Sense, and Charitableness, and Practical Wisdom, as 
 though Nature were the cause. But we do not attribute metaphysical insight to 
 one age more than to another : it is possible even for a young man or a boy, and 
 not merely for old men, to become metaphysical, but the reverse is the case with 
 Practical Wisdom and the moral virtues generally. Experience is the special 
 characteristic of old men, and without experience it is impossible for a man to 
 become ' practically wise,' and to have a moral sense, or moral discrimination, or 
 charitableness. 
 
 I am here using the term Moral Sense as equivalent to the ' Practical Reason.' As 
 has been explained, the Moral Sense is both ' practical ' and ' speculative!: — it is 
 a starting-point as well as the final goal. It is a starting-point in so far as it is 
 a knowledge of primary principles, and is called 'speculative ' or 'theoretical': — 
 %£,, it is the truth upon which demonstration is based. It is the final goal in so 
 far as it is a knowledge of particular facts which depend upon personal expeiir* 
 ence, and is called ' practical' : i.e., all demonstrations are concerned with theee 
 ultimate facts, and all these ultimate facts ai-e capable of demonstration, and the 
 man who is demonstrating comes at last to these ultimate facts as he proceeds 
 downwards from general truths. 
 
 Such a Moral Sense, as a result ensuing from experience, is found only in men 
 of years. Hence one ought to trust the dicta and opinions, though undemon- 
 strated, of men of experience and age and practical wisdom, no less than formal 
 demonstrations. In consequence of their possessing a moral insight from expeii-. 
 ence, they discern the truths which govern action, and by means thereof %hej 
 understand what is expedient, and supply to themselves and to the world a;true 
 rule of life. j 
 
 Our account of the nature of Practical Wisdom and of Philo- 
 sophy, and of the subjects with which they are concerned, is now 
 complete; and it has been shown that they are, respectively, 
 perfect states of separate divisions of the soul. 
 
 v.— UTILITY AND NECESSITY OF PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 (ffl) OBJECTIONS RAISED AGAINST THE IMPORTANCE OF PHILOSOPHy 
 OB OF PRACTICAL WISDOM. \ 
 
 But here a man may raise a difficulty, and ask in what respect 
 are Practical Wisdom and Philosophy of any real utility. Tbese 
 are the arguments he may be supposed to use : — • 
 
 1. ' Philosophy ' investigates none of those subjects which 
 
 1 wi, ■ tv miglit help a man to be happy: it is not cnn- 
 
 1. What is the use j "..i _r p i i* i • j.',^ 
 
 of Philosophy, if it cerned with any lorm oi production or object oi 
 
 does not help a utility. 
 
 man to bo happy? ^^ 'Practical Wisdom' has indeed a human 
 
 interest; yet, still, what need is there of it? Granted that its 
 scope is what is just and honourable and good for man, and that 
 
 i 
 
VI. 13.1 Translation. 
 
 347 
 
 the practice of justice and honour and virtue is essential to a good 
 man's life; yet, still, men are not made more 
 
 ,'. 1 . , • T.1 J? i- • (i2. What is the uae 
 
 disposed to practise, nor capable oi practising, of practical Wis- 
 the Tirtues by the mere fact of knowing what domif menarevir- 
 they are, since the virtues are not merely Intel- "^""^ ^' '"" ^ ' 
 lectual conceptions, but 'permanent dispositions of heart and 
 will,' or 'fixed states of the moral nature.' These moral states 
 are like physical states : the conditions of health and of physical 
 well-being, — I do not mean external conditions, so called from 
 their influence in producing health, but those conditions which 
 result from an internal state, — these bodily conditions do not 
 depend upon knowledge, since we are not altered in our own 
 selves by the mere fact of knowing the art of Medicine or of 
 Training. 
 
 3. But if knowledge be not the motive for which we are to as- 
 sume that a man should be 'practically wise,' but 
 
 the motive be rather that a man may thereby him- y^^i ™wisdom "^Te 
 self become virtuous : the possession of Practical useful for the con- 
 Wisdom will not be useful either to those who duct of life can»ot 
 
 we gain it irom 
 
 are Virtuous already, or to those who are destitute others without 
 of virtue. The first case is obvious ; the second may f^ouUtl °™^''"' 
 be argued as follows : It will make no difi'erence 
 whether we have practical wisdom ourselves, or whether we follow 
 the guidance of others who do possess it ; and it will be sufiicient 
 for our purpose if we take up the same attitude towards practical 
 wisdom that we do towards medical science : — though we desire 
 to be in sound health, still we do not study medicine. 
 
 4. Over and above these objections, it would seem to be 
 an incongruity that Practical Wisdom, though 
 
 inferior to Philosophy, should have superior Practical Wisdom 
 
 „,,H, •/ , ., 1 . T - seems to be con- 
 
 authority; yet so it has, since as producing cerned with matter 
 lesults and originating action it is a sovereign of less dignity than 
 science, and has authority over every department ^ 'bTof ^superior 
 
 of life. authority. 
 
 But an opponent miglit raise a difficulty in respect of the conclusions of this 
 Dook, and ask in what respect Philosophy and Practical Wisdom are useful, and 
 to what good end they contribute as regards mankind. Such difficulties may be 
 stated as follows : 
 
 1. Philosophy investigates none of those questions which lead to human happi- 
 ness. Happiness is involved in action ; but Philosophy is not the source of any 
 kind of practical process, since it has not for its ' end ' the good to be attained 
 by action. 
 
 2. Practical Wisdom, indeed, is a source of action, and is directed to the good 
 to be attained by action ; yet it certainly does not seem to be necessary to the 
 acquisition of moral virtue. The principles which regulate the lives of virtuous 
 men are gained by moral ImbiUiation, and are found to be permanent and fixed, 
 
348 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk VI. 13. 
 
 as being formed states of the moral natiire ; and they are not rendered more 
 capable of doing nor more disposed to do wliat is honourable and right by the mere 
 fact of knowing what honour and right are. We are not made more healthy, nor 
 brought into a better physical condition , by Itnomng ever so perfectly the couditions 
 of health and well-being, but by possessing the bodily habit or condition fi-om 
 which health and well-being flow. The boxer is not made a better pugilist by 
 the mere knowledge of what it is to box well and skilfully ; he is a boxer, not 
 from a knowledge of boxing, but in consequence of his possessing a bodily con- 
 dition adapted for boxing. Similarly in the case of the wrestler and of the rmmer. 
 A man who is an athlete, is so in consequence of his bodily condition, not in con- 
 sequence of his knowledge merely of the principles of health or of training. In 
 speaking of the ' conditions of health or of training,' I am not referring to ex- 
 ternal conditions productive of health and well-being, but to such as a man in 
 health and well-being shows in consequence of his possessing a formed state of 
 health and well-being. 
 
 3. Just, therefore, as in the case of the bodily states mentioned above, men will 
 not be made physically better in consequence of their having knowledge, so neither 
 wUl the good man be made more noble in respect of virtue in consequence of 
 Practical Wisdom. 
 
 If, then. Practical Wisdom is no help to the good in respect of virtue, the re- 
 maining alternative is that it renders those who are not virtuous more noble. 
 Yet in their case also it is not very necessary that they should be ' practically wise ' 
 in order to become virtuous. It is possible for them to learn the theory of virtue 
 from others, and, following the directions given them, so to become vu-tuous. In 
 precisely the same way, though we all desire to be in sound health, we do not our- 
 selves study Medicine but inquire of our physicians, and there is nothing to pre- 
 vent our being in good health thereby. 
 
 Such then are the difficulties which may be raised in reference to Practical 
 Wisdom and Philosophy — in respect of the benefit which they confer on men and 
 the way in which they are of real utility. 
 
 4. There is also a further question into which we ought to inquire — ^in regard 
 to their relative position towards each other : which of them is the more 
 important ? It seems on the one hand that Philosophy is more important than 
 Practical Wisdom, inasmuch as it is a knowledge of necessary truths. On the 
 other hand Practical Wisdom seems to be more important than Philosophy inas- 
 much as it is the source of moral action, and for that reason is more authoritative 
 than Philosophy, which is simply speculative. The mental attitude which is 
 concerned with action has authority and exercises rule over eveiy department of 
 life. 
 
 {h) EXAMINATION OF THE FIEST TWO OBJECTIONS STATED ABOVE. 
 
 We must accordiEgly discuss these points, they being the only 
 difficulties which have been so far raised. 
 
 We reply, then, in the first place, that Philosophy and Prac- 
 tical Wisdom must necessarily be obiects of desire 
 
 (jreneral answer to . ,„ , , ,_ ,•' .,,■' .■i„ 
 
 the two first of m and lor themselves, though neither one nor me 
 these objections : other produce any kind of result, since they are 
 Practical^ w\sciom respectively the perfection of separate divisions of 
 
 are precious in and the SOul. 
 
 for themselves. g^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^ pj.pj„ge 
 
 a result, not in the way in which a knowledge of medicine pro- 
 duces health ; I ut a philosophic state of mind produces happiness 
 precisely as a healthy state of body produces health. Philosophy 
 
VI. 13.1 Translation. 
 
 349 
 
 being a part of human excellence as a whole, -renders a man happy 
 by the fact of his being possessed of it, and working out a life in 
 harmony with it. * 
 
 Again, the work of man, and the proper fanction of his life, 
 is only finished off and perfected after the model of Practical 
 Wisdom and Moral Virtue. A good life makes the aim of life 
 right; Practical Wisdom makes the means for realising that aim 
 light. 
 
 [There is no moral excellence of the fourth division of the soul, 
 the nutritive, because there is nothing depending upon it, to do 
 or to forbear.] 
 
 Such are the difficulties ■which have been raised in regard to Philosophy and 
 Practical Wisdom ; and we must treat of them in order. 
 
 In the first place, then, even if the virtues of this kind were of no practical 
 utility, yet they must necessarily be choiceworthy for their own sakes, since they 
 are respeotiTely the perfection of the several elements of the rational soul, as has 
 been shown ; and every excellence is a thing desirable per se. 
 
 But in fact they are useful in view of happiness, though not in the way in 
 which medicine is conducive to health : Philosophy and Practical Wisdom are 
 conducive to happiness in the same way that healthf ulness is conducive to health. 
 Happiness in its most comprehensive sense is complete and absolute virtue, while 
 Philosophy and Practical Wisdom are elements of virtue as a whole ; hence 
 Philosophy and Practical Wisdom are elements in human happiness, and to have 
 the intellectual states implied by Practical Wisdom and Philosophy, in con- 
 junction with the other virtues, is to be happy with an absolute and perfect 
 
 Moreover, Practical Wisdom is useful in view of every single act of virtue ; 
 and by the help thereof it is that every function of virtue is perfectly performed. 
 Moral Virtue directs aright the wiU or desire towards the end of virtue, and 
 makes the moral aim right. Practical Wisdom, on the other hand, seeks the 
 means which conduce to that virtuous end, and deliberates by what means it is 
 possible most nobly and most easily and in the proper manner to attain to 
 that end. 
 
 [Of the fourth division of the soul, which is the nutritive element, there is no 
 excellence of the character to which we are here referring, having for its origi- 
 nation the property of impulse — I mean of course moral excellence. The nutri- 
 tive element has influence in no kind of moral action ; and that which is not a 
 source originating moral action, is incapable of having moral excellence. The 
 only excellence capable of being ascribed to the principle of nutrition is good 
 nurture, and such things as are consequent thereon when the nutritive element 
 IS in sound condition, i.e., beauty or size — though they are not exceUeuces in the 
 absolute sense of the term : they do not arise from an act of WUl, nor are they 
 desirable for their own sake, but are called ' excellences ' by way of metaphor.] 
 
 It has, therefore, been shown that even if Practical Wisdom and Philosophy were 
 unable to conduce to any other purpose, yet for their own sake they ought to be 
 esteemed of vast importance. 
 
 (c) EXAMINATION OF THE THIRD OBJECTION STATED ABOVE. 
 
 In regard to the third objection, that 'men are no way better 
 able through their practical wisdom to perform to answer the third 
 what is right and good,' we must recur to the objection we must 
 
350 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [BL VI. 13. 
 
 recur to the anaiy- simplest analysis of the moral faculties to find a 
 d^strnguth tteTi Starting point for our arguments in reply, 
 from the intention Now we all admit that there are men who 
 of the agent. while performing just acts are not in themselres 
 
 just at heart ; when, for instance, they do what is required of 
 them by the laws either against their will, or in consequence of 
 ignorance, or through some selfish motive, and not from conscious 
 loyalty to Right, though notwithstanding they do perform their 
 duty and what every good man should do. In precisely the same 
 way the converse seems to be true : i.e., it is necessary for a man 
 to perform his every act in such a frame or disposition of mind as 
 to be himself virtuous, as when for instance he does right of his 
 own free will and simply for the sake of right. 
 
 Now the Will is made to' desire freely what is right by Moral 
 Virtue ; but the doing of all that tends to the attainment of the 
 purposes of the "Will does not depend upon Moral Virtue, but 
 upon another faculty. 
 
 Here we must pause to speak with greater explicitness upon 
 the relation between the moral and intellectual faculties. 
 
 There is, we know, a certain faculty which we call ' cleverness' 
 „, . ^ „ , , — of such a nature that it is able to do and to 
 
 The intellectual , , j . i l t r -^ 
 
 aptitude for moral compass Whatever tends to a mark set before it. 
 action is mere j^qw if the mark aimed at be a right one, then 
 
 astuteness unless , . . ,, , ./.jii 
 
 combined with a clevemess IS praiseworthy ; whereas it the mark 
 Tirtuous disposi- be a vicious one, then cleverness is mere cunning 
 or astuteness. Hence we call cunning and astute 
 men, as well as men of practical wisdom, clever. But practical 
 wisdom is not identical with cleverness, though it cannot exist 
 without this element of cleverness. Nor, again, is there any fixed 
 character formed in the ' moral eye-sight ' (as Practical Wisdom 
 may be called) without the element of natural goodness, as has 
 been explained before and as is obvious. In moral relations our 
 modes of reasoning imply as their first principle : ' Since the end 
 
 and what is best, is so and so ' (whatever it may be: 
 
 it is immaterial to our argument). But the true end is all 
 unrecognised except by the good : sinfulness perverts the moral 
 nature and causes a man to fall into error in regard to the true 
 principles of action. It is accordingly evident that it is impossible 
 for a man to have practical wisdom unless he has at the same 
 time personal goodness. 
 
 What personal goodness involves I will explain once more. 
 The dispositions of There are two kinds of goodness, natural and con- 
 virtue are inoom- firmed, the relation between which corresponds 
 
Bk. VI. 13.] Translation. 
 
 joJ 
 
 very nearly to that between cleverness and prac- piete without Prac- 
 tical wisdom. I mean that the relation between ^'^^^ Wisdom, 
 goodness as an instinct of Nature, and goodness SB a confirmed 
 habit, is analogous to (though not identical with) the relation 
 between cleverness and wisdom. 
 
 Now it is universally admitted that the several characteristics 
 of our moral nature do, somehow or other, attach to us by nature. 
 We' have, in truth, instincts of justice, of temperance, of courage, 
 and other moral attributes from the very moment of our birth. 
 Yet still the goodness which we seek to attain in life is distinct in 
 kind from these unformed tendencies : our endeavour is that our 
 moral qualities should belong to us in a new way by a higher right 
 than that of nature. Children and animals have certain natural 
 dispositions inherently attaching to them ; but these natural in- 
 stincts, being devoid of Reason, are found to be harmful. Thus 
 much, however, seems to be matter of common observation. 
 When a strong body moves without the power of sight, its fate is 
 to meet with heavy falls, through not having sight. So it is with 
 the moral nature, if it be devoid of reason ; whereas if it gain 
 reason, then taking the form and character of the reason it has re- 
 ceived, the moral state will become confirmed or perfected virtue. 
 
 Accordingly, just as there are two forms in the opinionative 
 part of the -soul, cleverness and wisdom, so also in the moral part 
 of the soul there are two corresponding forms, the one a natural 
 tendency to virtue, the other a confirmed state of virtue ; and of 
 these two forms perfected virtue cannot be developed without 
 practical wisdom. 
 
 Hence there are those who say that all the forms of moral 
 excellence are forms of reason ; and on this point 
 Socrates was partly right and partly in error. JIf\liTof 
 He was wrong in thinking that all the virtues the moral and in- 
 are intellectual states, but he was right in saying the""'ti ''phif 
 that the virtues involve an intellectual element, view was partially 
 In confirmation of this view, when men of our s''o'°°t"',°']''"^ ^'^ 
 day give a definition of a virtue, after limiting its 
 sphere to definite circumstances, they make it to be ' a state of 
 mind ' with the proviso ' in accordance with Right Reason ; ' and 
 iieason is ' right ' in moral relations when.it is in accordance with 
 the Moral Sense involved in Practical Wisdom. Indeed all men 
 seem to divine in a kind of way that a permanent state of mind of 
 this kind,' in harmony with the Moral Sense, is Virtue. But 
 here we must digress for a moment to qualify what has been said 
 about ' Right Reason.' Virtue is not merely a state of mind that 
 
352 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 13 
 
 accords objectively with Eight Eeason, but a state of mind whicl 
 involves Right Reason in union with itself — and Right Reasoi 
 upon moral subjects is identical with Practical Wisdom. 
 
 Socrates, however, said that the virtues were ' states of Reason 
 (he called them ' Sciences ') ; whereas I maintain that they onlj 
 involve, or are associated with, Right Reason. 
 
 From the various arguments used above it must be clear thai 
 .„ , . , it is impossible for a man to be good, in the tru( 
 
 The theory of the , ^ , n i -^i i i • 
 
 diversity of virtue and permanent sense ot goodness, without being 
 will only hold good < practically wise,' nor again to be practically wist 
 
 of the natural in- -.i j. i j 
 
 stincts, not of vir- Without personal goodness. _ 
 tue as a matured Under this aspect the difficulty which may be 
 ^'^*^" logically raised, that the virtues are distinct from 
 
 and independent of one another, may be solved. It has been 
 argued that the same man is not naturally disposed to all the 
 virtues equally, and that, therefore, though he may have acquired 
 one virtue he has others still to gain. Such a difficulty is quite 
 conceivable in regard to natural tendencies, but is quite incon- 
 ceivable in respect of those virtues in view of which a man is said 
 to be ' good,' in the absolute and unqualified sense of the term. 
 In ' Practical Wisdom,' though it be but a single virtue, all other 
 forms of moral excellence will be found to be involved. 
 
 Yet even if ' Practical Wisdom ' had not been necessary for the 
 conduct of life, there would still have been need of it as the per- 
 fection of one part of the soul, and because the Will cannot mal^e 
 a right choice without Practical Wisdom and personal goodness. 
 Personal goodness creates a perfect aim for a man, and Practical 
 Wisdom enables him to take the proper measures for the attain- 
 ment of that ' end,' or ' aim.' 
 
 We ■will now ehow with greater explicitness tliat Practical Wisdom 3sei con- 
 tribute towards maMng men more virtuous and more capable of carrying ont 
 what is noble and right. But we must take up the argument at a somewhat earlier 
 stage, and take our starting point therefrom. 
 
 Now we say that it is possible that men should perform just acts without beiBg 
 personally just themselves, and exhibit the demeanour of temperate men withont 
 being personally temperate : such, for example, are they who perform what is enjoinefl 
 upon them by the law, through fear and against their vrill ; or they who have per- 
 formed an act of justice through ignorance, as if a man had unwittingly puniah^ 
 the aggressor instead of the person aggrieved ; or they who act uprightly from a 
 selfish motive — money or pleasure — and not from love of right for its own sake. 
 Precisely, then, as we say that such men are not themselves just, although th^ 
 perform acts of justice, so in the case of viitue generally the same distbiBlS 
 holds good. The only man who is virtuous in the genuine sense of the temi ^ 
 the man who carries out what is right and follows after virtue as well for its own 
 sake as also in view of what is good, and that because it is his own free choifla 
 
Bk. VI. 13.] Translation. 353 
 
 ind according to his own wish. The man, on the other hand, who is constrained 
 by- another to carry out the good, does indeed what he does for the sake of ' the 
 good,' if the man who constrains him does so in view of the g§od, nevertheless he 
 is not a good man ia himself, inasmuch as he does not pursue the good of his 
 own free dboioe and according to his own wish. 
 
 Now the formed state of virtue regulates the impulsive part of the soul (i.e., 
 that which is the seat of impulse and of appetite), and so makes the attitude of • 
 the Will to be right : — ^the Will desires and makes deliberate choice of ' the good ' 
 in consequence of its own virtuous disposition. But it is necessary that the 
 virtuous man should not simply rest at this point — the possession of a formed 
 state of virtue, but he must also perform those things whereby the state within 
 the soul may be strengthened — ?.e., virtuous actions. But as for the knowledge 
 of what virtuous actions are, he cannot attain that knowledge from a mere 
 ffiposition to virtue : the moral disposition engenders simply in the soul an im- 
 ^^or striving after ' the good.' The knowledge what those particular acts are 
 ^^E it is the duty of the virtuous man to perform, belongs to another faculty. 
 JW e;must speak of this faculty with more fulness and definiteness. There is of 
 course a certain faculty which men call ' cleverness.' Now ' cleverness ' is of 
 such a nature as to be able to cajry out and compass whatever tends towards a 
 mark that is set before it. If, then, this ' mark ' be a noble olie, cleverness 
 is praiseworthy ; but if it be a vicious one, then it is ' cunning ' or ' astuteness.' 
 Hence we speak of men of practical wisdom as being ' clever' and ' astute.' But 
 Practical Wisdom is not the same thing as this faculty of cleverness, though it 
 caimot exist independently thereof, since in fact Practical Wisdom is the perfec- 
 tion of cleverness. On the one hand, therefore, the excellence of the moral 
 nature cannot be perfected without Practical Wisdom, and on the other hand, it 
 is impossible that Practical Wisdom shovdd be formed in the Practical Keason 
 without a general excellence of the moral nature. In practical relations the 
 methods of reasoning, or the moral analysis which we go through before we act, 
 have for their starting points ' the ends ' of moral action : from those ' ends ' we 
 infer whether such and such conduct is virtuous or vicious. But these ' starting 
 points,' or ' principles,' or ' ends of life,' we cannot recognize without having a 
 formed state of moral virtue. Under the influence of a vicious state of mind we 
 propose to ourselves a vicious ' end,' and we range our actions to the attainment 
 of that end as though it were a virtuous one. It follows that the knowledge of 
 such moral relations not being virtuous is not Practical Wisdom, since Practical 
 Wisdom is concerned with what is good for men. It is consequently essential 
 that the man of practical wisdom should place before himself ' the good ' as his 
 end ; andvheuoe it is impossible for Practical Wisdom to be formed apart from a 
 general excellence of the moral nature : — i.e., it is impossible for a man to be 
 ' practically wise ' unless he be personally good. 
 
 In this way, therefore, it is evident that Practical Wisdom is impossible unless 
 the whole moral nature be virtuous. 
 
 It is evident also that Moral Excellence is impossible apart from Practical Wis- 
 dom. Now there are two aspects of Moral Excellence, as a oouiirmed state or as a 
 natural instinct. Moral Virtue, in the perfect sense of the term, bears the same 
 reMion to Natural Virtue that Practical Wisdom does to Cleverness, the one not 
 being identical but similar to the other (i.e., natural cleverness is an aptitude of 
 soul, and Practical Wisdom is the perfection of that aptitude). 
 
 It is admitted by all men that each one of our moral virtues is, in a certain 
 sense, ' natural ' : we have the attributes of justice and of temperance, and other 
 moral characteristics from the very moment of our birth. Still we seek for a 
 goodness distinct from this type, because we consider that such excellences are 
 not moral virtues in the perfect sense of the term. These natm-al exceUenoes are 
 found also in children and in animals, and are often found to be harmful, inas- 
 much as they attach to them apart from Reason. Precisely as when a strong body 
 wmoved, if it move without a power of sight, its fate is to f aU heavily ; so is it 
 With the moral states ; devoid of Eeaaoa they are found to be baneful, but com- 
 
 A A. 
 
354 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VI. 13. 
 
 bined with Reason, beneficial ; and as such they are called ' virtues ' in the per- 
 fect sense of the term. These self -same states, apart from Reason, are not virtues 
 in the true sense, but combined with Reason they prove themselves to be virtues 
 absolutely. Hence, just as in the opinionative part of the soul there are two forms, 
 Cleverness and Practical Wisdom, so also in the moral part of the soul there are 
 two forms, the one being natural virtue, and the other matured or perfected virtue. 
 ■ Of these two forms, perfected virtue is impossible without Practical Wisdom. 
 
 It is under this view that some philosophers hold that aU the virtues are intel- 
 lectual states ; and Socrates in following out this theory was in one respect right, 
 though partly in error. He was wrong in that he thought that all the virtues are 
 intellectual states, but was right in maintaining that they involve an intellectual 
 element. In confii-mation of this view, all men now, when they are defining a 
 virtue, after describing it as a ' moral state,' and enumerating the circumstances 
 which form its sphere, qualify the conception thereof as a ' moral state ' by the 
 limitation ' in accordance with Right Reason ; ' and Right Reason in moral rela- 
 tions is that which coiresponds to Practical Wisdom. It is evident, then, that 
 Moral Virtue is impossible to exist without Practical Wisdom. 
 
 Moreover, Virtue is called not merely a moral state ' m accordance n-ith Eight 
 Reason ' as an external standard, but a moral state 'invnion mith Right Reason,' 
 with which it is consciously blended ; and Right Reason in moral matters is 
 Practical Wisdom. Socrates, of course, thought the virtues were ' modes of 
 thought ' (i.e., he said that they were all ' sciences ') ; whereas I maintain that 
 they are moral states in union with Reason. Conformity with Reason as an ab- 
 stract standard is different from union with Reason as a subjective state. A man 
 performs an act ' in conformity with Reason ' when another is impelling him 
 thereto, and another (and not himself) is considering ' the end,' in which sense 
 Nature itself is said to act ' in conformity with Reason.' But he acts ' in vnim 
 irith Reason ' when he acts by himself, with full knowledge of what he does, and 
 when with the end consciously in view he identifies his action with the prescrip- 
 tion of Reason. For this reason we ought to combine with the qualification ' in 
 accordance with Reason ' the further limitation ' in union with Reason ; ' and in 
 such connections Reason is equivalent to Practical Wisdom, as haa been ex- 
 plained. 
 
 It is clear, then, from the considerations given above, that it is not possible for 
 the moral state to be virtuous in the absolute sense of the term apart from Prac- 
 tical Wisdom, nor can Practical Wisdom exist apart from moral viitue. 
 
 Under this aspect the difficulty might be solved if any argument w ere brought for- 
 ward from an opposite standpoint. It has been thought by some that it is possible 
 for Practical Wisdom to be dissociated from moral virtue : ' the same man is not 
 equally adapted,' so they argue, ' for all the virtues alike, so as to be enabled to 
 attain all the moral virtues and Practical Wisdom at the same time : hence he may 
 have attained one virtue ali'eady, and have another virtue still to gain ; it seems, 
 therefore, that the virtues are separable the one from the other.' Such a separation 
 is quite conceivable in regard to the natural virtues, but quite inconceivable in re- 
 gard to the moral virtues in respect of which a man is called ' virtuous ' in the 
 absolute sense of the term. In Practical Wisdom, though it be but one, all the 
 other forms of moral excellence are found to be combined. 
 
 Practical Wisdom has therefore a bearing upon conduct, and is serviceable in 
 helping forward every activity in which the virtues can be displayed. Yet even 
 for its own sake it ought to be sought for, on account of its being the perfection 
 of the most excellent division of the soul, i./-.. that which is rational; and on this 
 ground alone thei-e would have been need for it. A man could not become excel- 
 lent in respect of the most excellent part of himself if he were himself in a vicious 
 state. But, in fact, it is impossible for any single vii-tue to be formed and to co- 
 here in the soul apart from Practical Wisdom. It is not possible for the Will to 
 m'ake a right choice apart from Practical Wisdom, just as neither is it possible 
 
Bk. VI. 13.] Translation. 355 
 
 apart from moral virtue, as has been explained. It is moral virtue which incites 
 a man to the pursuit of the Summum Bonum, and disciplines his mind to aim at it, 
 while Practical Wisdom enables him to perform whatever conduces to the attain- 
 ment of that end. 
 
 {d) EXAMmATION OF THE FOURTH OBJECTION STATED ABOVE. 
 
 Nor assuredly is it the fact that Practical Wisdom is paramount 
 over Philosophy and the higher part of the soul, 
 any more than Medicine is superior to health, ^'''ntrfuplrior to 
 Practical Wisdom does not make use of Philoso- Philosophy, but 
 phy : it only sees that the conditions exist for its Iff ^bSyt 
 development. Practical Wisdom lays down rules it, simply provid- 
 in the interest of Philosophy : it does not control f^f i*^ exist'enor"" 
 Philosophy itself. The objection raised is as 
 absittd as if one were to say that Politics had authority over the 
 Gods because it gives directions for all public functions. 
 
 Nor, assuredly, is it the fact that Practical Wisdom is sovereign over Philo- 
 sophy on the ground that Philosophy is pursued for the sake of Practical Wisdom. 
 It is in consequence of being practically wise that we pursue Philosophy ; and 
 Practical Wisdom seeks the same end as Philosophy and all the means that con- 
 duce to Philosophy. Yet, though this be its position. Practical Wisdom is not 
 better than Philosophy, since Philosophy is the perfection of the more noble part 
 of the soul. Practical Wisdom is the perfection of the Practical Reason : PhUo- 
 Bophy is the perfection of the Speculative Reason. Even though Practical Wisdom 
 does consider matter relating to Philosophy, yet it does not employ Philosophy 
 towards the attainment of its own ' end ' (as Master-sciences regulate sciences 
 Bubordiaated to them), but it only seeks how the object of Philosophy may be 
 secured. It does not follow that Practical Wisdom is paramount over Philosophy 
 any itiore than Medicine is paramount over health. It does not control Philo- 
 sophy, but only lays down directions in the interest of Philosophy. Hence it is 
 that Philosophy is more excellent than Practical Wisdom, just as health is more 
 excellent than Medicine, because in each case the latter works in the interest of 
 the former. Indeed, if Practical Wisdom does give directions to Philosophy, yet 
 it does not do so to the Philosopher, but only to those who have not attained to 
 ' philosophic excellence.' Neither, in the same way, does Politics, for example, 
 rule over the Gods because it lays down regulations for every concern that goes 
 on in the State. 
 
 A A 2 
 
BOOK VIL-Part I. CONCEENING STEENGTH 
 OE WEAKNESS OF CHAEACTEE. 
 
 Part II. CONCEENING PLEASUEE. 
 
 INTEODIJCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 
 Part I. — Concerning Strength or 'Weakness of Character. 
 
 Hitherto we have been mainly occupied with ideals of character wMcli 
 are seldom realized. But in dealing with men as they actually are we 
 find not only that the ideals both of excellence and of defect are seldom 
 realized, but also that the deviations from the type assume various 
 forms. We must, therefore, assuming all that has been already said, 
 make a new beginning, and treat of men's characters as being not only 
 ideally good or bad, but as being also actually strong or weak, and as 
 exhibiting different forms both of strength and weakness. 
 
 The defective types of character which exist may be classified as 
 wickedness, weakness or self-indulgence, and savagery; and corre- 
 sponding to them are three forms of moral excellence, goodness, manli- 
 ness, and that heroic temperament which is sometimes called divinfe. 
 
 It is with the second of each of these types that we shall be specially 
 concerned. Our method will be, as in previous books, to take the facts 
 as they appear, and to examine the difficulties which have arisen respect- 
 ing the interpretation of them. 
 
 The prevalent opinions respecting moral weakness and its opposite 
 may be stated as seven in number : 
 
 (1.) It is thought that moral weakness is to be ranked among things 
 which are to be blamed, and moral strength among things which are 
 praiseworthy. 
 
 (2.) It is thought that moral weakness consists in a want of power to 
 adhere to conviction, and that strength of character is identical with 
 tenacity of purpose. 
 
 (3.) It is thought that rdoral weakness consists in the want of power 
 to resist passion, and that strength of character is the reverse. 
 
 (4.) It is thought by some that strength of character is identical with 
 Temperance : by others this is denied. 
 
 (5.) It is thought by some that moral weakness is identical with 
 dissoluteness : others regard it as distinct. 
 
 (6.) It is thought by some that moral weakness is incompatible with 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VII. 357 
 
 Practical Wisdom : others think that a man may be intellectually strong 
 and morally weak. 
 
 (7,) It is questioned whether moral weakness is an«absolute charac- 
 teristic, or whether each man is only morally weak in certain relations. 
 
 These various opinions present several difficulties, with which we 
 must briefly deal before proceeding to a more philosophical analysis of 
 the subject. 
 
 (o.) What is the true relation between moral weakness and mental 
 conviction ? In what sense can a man know what is right and do what 
 is wrong % 
 
 Socrates answered this question in the negative : but his view fails 
 adequately to explain the psychological phenomena involved in the fact 
 that men do actually commit under the influence of passion acts which 
 when out of the range of that influence they know to be wrong. 
 
 Others have answered the question by making a distinction between 
 'knowledge' and 'opinion.' But if a man were not sure of his moral 
 J ideas, if, that is to s"ay, he could not oppose to the influence of passion 
 the firm front of firm convictions, he would be pardoned for yielding to 
 that influence : but as a fact of experience he is not pardoned, conse- 
 quently this solution is at issue with experience. 
 
 Others have thought that the form of knowledge which struggles 
 against passion is Conscience or Practical Wisdom : but if a man have 
 Practical Wisdom in the sense in which we have described it in the 
 previous book, he cannot have a weak will. 
 
 (6.) What is the relation between Moral Strength and Temperance 1 
 
 They are not identical, as is sometimes supposed : for the man who is 
 ideally temperate has already banished from his soul the strong and 
 evd passions which the strong-minded man possesses and controls. 
 
 (c.) What is the relation between Moral Strength and tenacity of 
 resolution ? 
 
 These, again, cannot be identical : for some resolutions and opinions 
 are bad : others are the result of a more or less conscious sophistry : in 
 either case it is not weakness but strength which is shown in departing 
 from them. Moreover, a wrong action which is the result of fixed, 
 though mistaken, conviction, seems to be better than one which is the 
 result of mere weak yielding to impulse. 
 
 Some of the questions which these difficulties raise cannot now be 
 discussed : to the more precise solution of others we must now address 
 ourselves. We propose (1) to determine the sense in which knowledge 
 is compatible with moral evil, (2) to consider the special conditions 
 which test strength or weakness of character. 
 
 (1.) The distinction which is drawn between 'knowledge' and 'opinion' 
 will not hold in reference to the attitude of mind in which men stand to 
 moral truths. Even if the distinction be metaphysically tenable, it will 
 not account for the facts, inasmuch as what is called ' knowledge ' and 
 what is called ' opinion ' do not differ in the action which they respec- 
 tively exert upon the will. We shall assume that what a weak-minded 
 man resists is ' knowledge : ' but, assuming this, several distinctions may 
 be drawn : — 
 
 (a.) A man may have knowledge and not use it : in committing a 
 
358 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 wrong action a man may for the moment forget, though he really knows, 
 how wrong it is. 
 
 (5.) There are two premisses in a moral syllogism : if a man does not 
 see both at once, he will not act upon both, i.e. he will not act according 
 to his full knowledge. He may say to himself ' This is a king ' without 
 realizing to himself at the moment the other premiss ' Kings are to he 
 reverenced : ' or he may be fully alive to the premiss ' Kings are to be 
 reverenced,' but may not know that ' This is a king.' In either case his 
 knowledge will not avail him. 
 
 (c.) A man may possess knowledge in another sense. He may be 
 asleep or mad. For example, dreams are in a sense the result of know- 
 ledge : but a man has no control over that knowledge : what he knows is 
 seen in a false light and with a distorted meaning. His state of mind 
 under the influence of passion may be similar to this. The fact that he 
 talks intelligently is no proof to the contrary. He may be talking only 
 as children repeat words which they do not understand, or as actors upon 
 the stage may go through their parts without realizing the poet's meaning. 
 
 (d.) The relative force of the influences of knowledge and passion or 
 desire vary widely under different circumstances. A man who has dined 
 may see food which is the property of his neighbour, and feel no desire 
 to touch it. But the same man seeing food which is the property of his 
 neighbour, and knowing it to be the property of his neighbour, when in 
 a state of ravenovis hunger, is constrained to take it. On the one hand 
 is the syllogism ' My neighbour's jiroperty is not to be touched, and this 
 is my neighbour's property : ' on the other hand is the syllogism ' Food 
 satisfies hunger, and this is food.' In such a case the weak-minded man, 
 in yielding to temptation, yields in a sense to reason : albeit that his 
 reason acts wrongly, desire having suggested the major premiss ' Food 
 satisfies hunger,' instead of that which should have been the major 
 premiss ' My neighbour's property is not to be touched.' 
 
 The general conclusion to be drawn is that although knowledge is 
 compatible with a weak will, the form of knowledge which is so com- 
 patible is not intellectual but sensuous or emotional. It is the knowledge 
 of particulars, i.e. of minor premisses, to which desire suggests wrong 
 major premisses : it is not the knowledge of u.niversals, i.e. of the true 
 major premisses and principles of action. 
 
 (2.) Moral weakness is a generic term which includes several species. 
 Its sphere is identical with that of pleasure, and its forms are not less 
 numerous than the forms of pleasure. 
 
 (a.) Some forms of pleasure are produced by objects which are in them- 
 selves as innocent as they are desirable, such as victory, honour, and 
 wealth. When a man pursues any one of these objects in excess, we do 
 not call him weak-minded in an imqualified sense, but add a liiniting 
 description, for example, we speak of a man as being ' weak-minded in 
 regard to military fame.' This description does not connote, as the 
 unqualified epithet ' weak-minded ' does, the idea of depravity. 
 
 . (6.) Other forms of pleasure are produced by causes which, though 
 natural and inevitable, admit of excess. Of this kind are the pleasures 
 of the body, and it is in 'regard to these that a man is caUed, in an un- 
 qualified sense, strong or weak, when he pursues them in excess contrary 
 to' the dictates of conscience and sound judgment. 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VII. 359 
 
 (ft) A third olass of objects are pleasurable only as the consequence of 
 physical defects or evil habits. The pleasures to which they give rise 
 are neither innocent nor natural : they are censurable ilbt in their excess, 
 but in any form of their indulgence. They are savage and bestial. The 
 term ' weak-minded ' does not properly apply to those who give way to 
 them : though at the same time it may be applied metaphorically and 
 with the addition of the epithets ' bestial ' or ' morbid,' according as the 
 cause of the indulgence in them is nature or disease. 
 
 It will appear from this analysis that the sphere within which moral 
 weakness is possible in the proper and unqualified sense of the term, is 
 identical with the sphere of viciousness: it is exercised in relation to 
 natural and inevitable desires : and the use of the term in relation to 
 other desires is metaphorical and not absolute. 
 
 Having thus determined the several spheres within which the defective 
 types of moral character are, properly speaking, displayed, we proceed to 
 compare the various types with one another and to estimate their various 
 degrees of blameworthiness. 
 
 (1.) In the first place, the moral weakness which yields to lust is more 
 reprehensible than that which yields to anger : this is the case for several 
 reasons : — 
 
 (a.) Anger is more rational than lust. The man who yields to the one 
 listens in a sense to reason, though he may listen to it amiss : the other 
 sets reason wholly aside. 
 
 (6.) Anger is a more purely natural impulse than lust. It is more 
 deeply implanted in our constitution, not indeed than the desires from 
 which lust springs, but than the excess of the indulgence of those desires, 
 which constitute lust. 
 
 (c) Anger is more impulsive than lust. It is less the result of de- 
 hberate intention. 
 
 {d^ Anger is sometimes painful to the man who indulges it : lust is 
 always pleasurable. 
 
 (2.) Secondly, dissoluteness is worse than savagery, on the principle 
 'comptio optimi pessima.' It is the wreck of higher faculties and a 
 nobler nature. 
 
 (3.) Thirdly, of the three varieties of character which are the special 
 results of yielding to pleasure, the dissolute man is worse than the weak- 
 minded man because he is farther from the chance of reformation, and 
 the effeminate man is also worse than the weak-minded man because he 
 yields to temptation with less struggle. On the other hand 
 
 (4.) Fourthly, moral weakness, in the strict sense of the term which 
 has been described above, has itself two varieties. Some men yield 
 through sudden impulse, others through feebleness of will : the former 
 are impetuous, the latter nerveless. 
 
 Between moral weakness and dissoluteness there are several points of 
 comparison. 
 
 («.) The dissolute man acts from fixed, though depraved, purpose : the 
 weak-minded man yields in opposition to his better judgment : the former 
 is incurable, the latter may be influenced for good and admits of re- 
 pentance. . 
 
360 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 (6.) The dissolute man has wrong principles or axioms of conduct: the 
 ■weak-minded man right. principles, upon which through the influence of 
 passion and the want of strength of purpose, he fails to act. The former 
 is utterly vicious, the latter is a mixture of good and evil. 
 
 In a similar way Strength of Character is predicated in two senses. In 
 the strict sense of the term it is used only of a man who adheres to a 
 right judgment : byt accidentally it is used of a man who is firm to any 
 kind of purpose. In the latter case it degenerates into obstinacy .and 
 self- will : and tends to become weakness rather than strength of character. 
 For the case of Neoptolemus shows that men who depart from their re- 
 solution are not in every instance weak-minded : they may present the 
 inconsistency of swerving from their purpose and yet achieving thereby 
 a noble end. 
 
 In the strict sense of the term Strength of Character forms a mean be- 
 tween Asceticism and Moral Weakness : but since the former type of 
 character is rare, it has popularly been considered to be opposed oiUy to 
 Moral Weakness. It is not identical with Temperance, except that the 
 temperate man may be called strong-minded by analogy : but there is in 
 reality this important difference between them that the strong-minded 
 man has bad desires whereas the temperate man has not — having so 
 perfected his moral nature as to be incapable of acting contrary to reason. 
 
 Part II. — Concerning Pleasure, 
 
 The question of pleasure is one which the political philosopher must 
 necessarily take into consideration. For pleasure is conceivably the 
 end, and certainly the sphere, of moral activity : if it be the end, then 
 by reference to it, actions must be judged: if it be no more than the 
 sphere, still activity cannot be dissociated from it : in either case the 
 consideration of it is of essential importance to a student of human 
 life. 
 
 What then, is pleasure, and what is its relation to human life? 
 
 We must answer this question, as we have answered other questiong, 
 by considering in the first place, the opinions which are current in refer- 
 ence to it. These opinions are mainly three, (I) that no pleasure is a 
 good, (2) that some pleasures are good and the majority bad, (3) that 
 pleasure is a good, but not the Chief Good. 
 
 I. The first of these opinions is held and advocated on several 
 grounds : — 
 
 (1.) It is alleged that 'pleasure is a process of becoming, and there- 
 fore cannot be a good, which is not a process but an end.' We may 
 urge in reference to this argument, (a.) that ' goods ' are of two kinds, 
 absolute and relative : there will be a corresponding distinction in moral 
 states : some will be good or bad absolutely, some relatively to a par- 
 ticular individual, or to particular circumstances ; and if this be the 
 case with moral states, it will be the case also with the processes which 
 produce those states : they cannot be all absolutely bad : some will be 
 relativelj' good ; hence even assuming that pleasi,ire is a process, it may 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VII. 361 
 
 be, if not absolutely, at least, relatively, good, (b.) It is not true that 
 all pleasures are 'processes of coming into a natural state,' nor that all 
 
 j'goods' are ends : some 'goods' are activities, and pledfeure maybe a 
 
 JooDOoraitant of such activities and per accidens a good. 
 
 f (2.) 'The temperate man shrinks from pleasure.' Not from all 
 
 i,;pleasures, but only from those which are attended with desire and 
 
 Ip^in. , 
 
 (3.) ' What a wise man aims at is not pleasure, but the absence of 
 pain.'- This is not true : he aims indeed at avoiding the pain which 
 accompanies false and imperfect pleasures : but there are positive 
 pleasures which he pursues. 
 
 , (4.) 'Pleasures hinder thought.' Nay : in certain cases they accom- 
 pany and stimulate it. 
 
 (5.) ' There is no art of pleasure : but there is an art of good : conse- 
 iqmently pleasure cannot be iglentified with good.' [In other words, every 
 good is obtained in a systematic way : if a man wants health he applies 
 to himself the rules of the physician, but there is no such set of rules for 
 obtaining pleasure, nor any systematic teacher of it.] But in the first 
 place the premisses are not true : there are kinds of pleasure of which 
 there are arts : in the second place if the premisses were true, they would 
 not prove. the conclusion : for pleasure is an activity and not a faculty : 
 but all arts are of faculties. 
 
 (6.) ' Pleasure is the aim of human beings before they have attained 
 to the age of reason, and of animals, which are devoid of reason, and 
 cannot therefore be the proper aim of man.' True : but a distinction 
 must be drawn between pleasures : some are imperfect and objects of 
 desire to those who are imperfect : some, on the other hand, are perfect, 
 and a proper aim of the highest type of mind. 
 
 II. The second opinion is maintained on the ground that some 
 pleasures are disgraceful, and some positively harmfuL 
 
 It may be said in reply (1) that the argument is not conclusive : the 
 badness may be not inherent but accidental : almost all good things 
 admit of being accidentally bad : even knowledge itself may be put to a 
 bad use. (2) That the fact of some pleasures being bad does not dis- 
 prove the hypothesis that a certain form of pleasure may be the Chief 
 Good. In the same way the fact that some kinds of knowledge are bad 
 does not prove that a certain form of knowledge may not be the Chief 
 dood. (3) Bodily pleasures, which are those in which the dissolute man 
 indulges, and which are especially designated as ' bad,' are not in all 
 cases bad. They are no doubt bad when pursued after a certain limit : 
 but they may be good up to that limit. 
 
 III. The third opinion is maintained on one of the same grounds as 
 the first opinion, viz., that pleasure is ' a process of becoming ' and not 
 an end, and that it consequently cannot be the Chief Good, which is of 
 course the supreme end. 
 
 But it is not true that pleasures are ' processes of becoming.' Some 
 of them no doubt are concomitant with such processes : but that is only 
 accidental. They are in their own nature activities : they are experienced 
 not so much when we are coming into a state of power as when we are 
 using that power. 
 
362 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, 
 
 In addition to this criticism of current opinions, and in oorroboratioi 
 of it, we may remark — 
 
 (1.) That pleasure would seem to be a good because pain ia an evil 
 it can hardly be said that pleasure is in its own nature evil : its effecti 
 may be, but not itself. 
 
 (2.) That the 'fact of the universal striving after pleasure cannot b 
 lightly dismissed. It is true that different grades of beings and differem 
 types of character strive after different forms of pleasure : it is also tru( 
 that since the bodily and lower forms of pleasure have a larger am 
 sometimes an exclusive place in the aims of the mass of men, they havf 
 almost taken full possession of the name : but it is also the case that al] 
 men in their various degrees weave pleasure into happiness. And rightlj 
 so : for happiness is ' unimpeded activity : ' and this is also the definition 
 of pleasure. 
 
 (3.) That the causes of the confusion between bodily pleasures and 
 pleasures ^er se are not far to seek. On the one hand bodily pleasures 
 are an anodyne for the inevitable pains of life, on the other hand they 
 are the only pleasures in which vmdisciplined and undeveloped minds 
 - — and such are the minds of the mass of men — can take delight. 
 
 (4.) That pleasures which are good in themselves are not bodily, nor 
 do they admit of excess, nor are they, like bodily pleasures, in constant 
 alternation with pain. The constant consciousness of such pleasures is 
 impossible to us because our nature is complex and its lower elements 
 do not admit of being absolutely repressed, But such pleasures exist 
 even for us, and they are eternally present to the life of God. 
 
TRANSLATION. 
 
 PAET I.— CONCEENINa STRENGTH OR WEAKNESS 
 OF CHARACTER. 
 
 I.— OPINIONS UPON THE CAUSES OF MORAL STRENGTH 
 OR WEAKNESS. 
 
 i. — General view of the problems suggested by the subject. 
 
 {a) CLASSIFICATION OF TYPES OF MORAL CHAKACTEE. 
 
 Here we may take a fresh starting-point for our inquiry and 
 proceed to treat of those phases of character 
 which ought under all circumstances alike to be phases of ^charal- 
 avoided. Of these defects there are three distinct ter :— 
 types — ^wickedness, self-indulgence, and savagery. 2'. Self ° inXi- 
 What these defects are opposed to in the first genoe. 
 two cases, is obvious : the opposite of wickedness ' ^'^'^^ery- 
 is called goodness, and the opposite of self-indul- Three types of mo- 
 gence is called manliness. Correspondmg, agam, i_ Goodness. 
 to savagery, at the opposite pole, it would be 2. Manliness, 
 most natural to place that form of goodness ^- H"™*™- 
 which is heroic and divine and grander than our common life — 
 reahsing the description which Homer has represented Priam to 
 give of his son Hector as of one who was supremely great : 
 
 " Nor seemed lie 
 To be the son of mortal man, but of a God." 
 
 If it be true, then, that out of men Gods are fashioned through 
 pre-eminence of moral worth, it is evident that the state of mind 
 which has these Godlike attributes will be one that is farthest 
 removed from the state of the savage. As there is neither wicked- 
 ness nor goodness predicable of a beast, so neither is there of a 
 God : the condition of a God is more glorious than is implied in 
 goodness, and the condition of a brute falls under a distinct cate- 
 gory from that of wickedness. 
 
■^ "^m 
 
 364 TAe Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. ] 
 
 However it is rare for a man to be ' divine,' and to realise th 
 standard whicli the Spartans are wont to attribute to tbeir heroes 
 calling a man Godlike when they strongly admire him. S 
 also the savage type of character is rarely found : for the moa 
 part it is confined to barbarians, though it also arises in som 
 cases through disease and mutilation ; and we apply this characte 
 as a term of opprobrium to persons who are outrageous in thai 
 wickedness. 
 
 However we shall have to make some reference to the savagi 
 type of character later on, and an analysis of wickedness has beei 
 already made. We must now treat of moral weakness, effemi 
 nacy, and self-indulgence, and of their opposites — moral strengfl 
 and manliness. We must not suppose on the one hand thai 
 these states are synonymous respectively with virtue or wicked- 
 ness, nor yet that they are radically distinct therefrom. 
 
 After the analysis which has been given of the moral and intellectual Tirtues 
 it is necessary to treat of Manliness, and of that form of virtue ■which transoendj 
 our human capabilities and is in a way heroic and divine. Neither ManlinesB 
 nor this superhuman virtue is of the same kind with the virtues which have been 
 already described ; we must, therefore, now that we have finished our aocotmt ol 
 the virtues generally, treat of these specially, taking a fresh starting point foi 
 our Treatise. It wiU be clear from the explanations which we are about to give, 
 that neither Manliness nor Superhuman Virtue is on the same level with the 
 virtues previously described. 
 
 Now of the types of character which are worthy of censure, and which ought 
 to be shunned, there are three varieties — Wickedness, Weakness, and Savagety. 
 The contraries of these states are, respectively, — of Wickedness Moral Virtue, 
 which we have already examined ; of Weakness Moral Strength or Manliness ; 
 of Savagery Superhuman Virtue, which is commonly called ' Heroic Virtue ' on the 
 strength of which men are said to become Godlike instead of human. It 
 is in this G odlike character that Homer introduces Priam as speaking of his son 
 Hector — 
 
 " Nor seemed he 
 To be the son of mortal man, but of a God," 
 
 such was the pre-eminence of his moral worth. 
 
 It is this Godlike state that is opposed to Savagery. Savagery is not Wicked- 
 ness in the sense in which Wickedness is opposed to the Moral Virtues : it is not 
 wickedness natural to man — and in fact it is not wickedness at aE, since a brute 
 beast is incapable either of wickedness or of virtue, inasmuch as it acts neither 
 with Reason nor in defiance of Reason. For similar reasons Godlike and Heroic 
 Virtue will not be virtue in the strict sense, virtue being described as ' the per- 
 fection of manj whereas Heroic Virtue is a thing divine. Moral Virtue does not 
 attach to a God, but the perfection of a God is something grander and more 
 precious than Moral Virtue. As the Godlike character is rare, so also is the savage 
 character, which is its opposite, rare : it is for the most part confined to barbariaUB, 
 though it may arise not only through utter depravity of temper, but also through 
 disease or mutUation. 
 
 Of the savage type of character we shall have to give an account later on; and 
 we have already treated of Wickedness in discussing the Moral Virtues. 
 
 For the present we must treat of Moral Weakness, and Self-indulgence, and 
 Effeminacy, and the type of character opposed thereto — Strength of Character 
 and ManJiness. These are aspects of the moral life neither identical Tith 
 
BLVIL 2.} Translation. 365 
 
 the Wickedness or Virtue which have heen already described, nor yet again 
 entirely different so as to fcelong to a different class. In so far as the man of 
 moral strength chooses the good and follows the guidanc% of Reason, his 
 character resembles that of the morally Tirtuous. But in so far as his passions 
 are in opposition to his will, and he is consequently in a state of ceaseless 
 struggle from not possessing a fixed and permanent disposition, to that degree 
 his character is not that of virtue. For corresponding reasons neither is Moral 
 Wealoiess identical with Wickedness in the sense in which Wickedness is the 
 direct opposite of the Moral Virtues. A man who is vicious in respect of 
 wickedness generally, having a fixed state of vice, performs vicious acts without 
 any opposition on the part of Reason ; whereas the man who is simply weak is 
 overpowered by his desires, though his Reason is drawing him to the side of the 
 ' go«d ; ' and on that account moral weakness is not of the same character 
 a^jycickedness — though in so far as weakness, like wickedness, is in contravention 
 of 'Reason, and agreeable to the agent, it participates in the nature of 
 wickedness. 
 
 (5) METHOD OF THE INVESTIGATION. 
 
 Here, as in the previous analysis, our method of dealing with 
 the subject must be to state the admitted facts of 
 the case, and then, after reviewiner the difficulties Method ot treat- 
 
 , . , ,, /. , i i 1 • -J? -11 ment proceeds from 
 
 which those facts suggest, to explain, 11 possible, admitted facts. 
 dl the theories in vogue about them, or, if not 
 . all, the greater number and the most important. If the diffi- 
 culties of the problem be solved and the current views are left 
 unshaken, the subject will have been sufficiently elucidated. 
 
 We may treat of this subject according to the method in which we have dealt 
 with the previous inquiries : we will put forward the views which are commonly 
 held upon these problems, and after refuting such of those views as are not in 
 accord with the truth, we will let remain, such of them as are most probable, and 
 strengthen them by further arguments. In this way the treatment of the whole 
 subject win be clearly defined. 
 
 (c) STATEMENT OF CURRENT THEORIES RESPECTING MORAL FAILURE 
 AND SUCCESS. 
 
 Now the theories commonly maintained in reference to the 
 weakness or strength of the moral character may 
 
 be stated as follows : Seven current theo- 
 
 _l 1 n 1 n 11 /r T "^^ Stated. 
 
 1. Strength of character and Manlmess come 
 
 within the category of things morally good and praiseworthy, 
 whereas Weakness and Self-indulgence come within the category 
 of things vicious and reprehensible. 
 
 2. The man of strong character is identical with the man who 
 adheres resolutely to his convictions, whereas the man of weak 
 character is one who is ever veering from his better judgment. 
 
 3. The weak man though he knows that certain actions are bad 
 still commits them under the influence of feeling, whereas the 
 
366 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vll. 3. 
 
 man of stroDo; character througli force of Reason does mt follow 
 his passions, knowing that they are depraved. 
 
 4. The temperate man has a strong character, and is manly; 
 and whenever a man is of a strong and manly temper, some think 
 that he is ipso facto temperate, but others deny that these two 
 ideas are convertible. 
 
 5. The dissolute man is a weak man, and the weak man is 
 dissolute : — so some would say, confusing the two characters 
 together, while others would make them distinct. 
 
 6. The man of practical wisdom cannot conceivably, so men say 
 at times, be a man of weak will ; while at other times we hear of 
 men who, though far-sighted and clever, have no strength of 
 moral character. 
 
 7. Men are, again, said to be ' weak ' in special connections, 
 e.g. in respect of anger, or ambition, or gain. 
 
 I. Now it is tmiversally admitted that Strength, of 'will and Manliness fall 
 under the idea which we have of what is virtuous and praiseworthy, whU? 
 weakness of character is the reverse. 
 
 II. In regard to Strength of wUl men take the following views : — 
 
 1. The man of strong character is the same as a man who is resolute and 
 immovable in can-ying out his conviction, and Strength of character is adhering' 
 firmly to one's conviction ; while weakness of will, and the man who shows it, 
 are the very opposite of these. 
 
 2. The man of strong chai'acter, knowing that his passions are bad, refrains 
 himself from them, and follows the guidance of Eeason, whereas the man of 
 weak character, though he knows that he is doing evil things yet fails to obey 
 his Reason, owing to the influence of pleasure over him. . 
 
 3. The temperate mam is of a strong and manly character, and the dissolnte 
 man is the very reverse. 
 
 4. Everyone who is of a strong chai'acter is temperate. For similar reasons 
 some think that everyone who is weak is dissolute, and that eveiyone who is 
 dissolute is weak ; while others think that the two character's are distinct the one 
 from the other. 
 
 6. It is conceivable for a man to have practical ■wisdom and cleverness, and at 
 the same time to have a weak will. 
 
 6. Men are called ' weak ' when they are prone to passion, or grasp eagerly at 
 honour or profit. 
 
 These are pretty nearly all the opinions commonly held in regard to Moral 
 Strength and Weakness ; and we may now proceed to examine them one by one. 
 
 ii. — Difficulties of a scientific explanation of Moral WesikneBSi 
 (a) IS MORAL WEAKNESS COMPATIBLE WITH RIGHT OPINIONS? 
 
 But a difficulty will be raised at starting : — In what sense call 
 a man be said to have right conceptions of duty 
 Refutation of the though he act Weakly and selfishly ? 
 
 Socratic view that _ ° ., •, ,, '' ^^•■^•L-^t 
 
 a man cannot act JNow sonie Writers deny the very possibility oi 
 against knowledge. ^ man acting wrongly, if he has real knowledge 
 
Bk. VII. 3.] Translation. 367 
 
 of what his duty is. They think, as Socrates thought, that it is 
 a wild fiction to imagine a man being overmastered by a strange 
 principle, and dragged about like a slave in the veJJf presence of 
 the Science within him. Socrates of course combated this theory 
 d'foutrance, maintaining that moral weakness was an impossible 
 condition of mind. No one, he argued, acted in violation of 
 what was best, if only he had a conception of what was best ; 
 but whenever a man violated right, his fault was caused by 
 ignorance. 
 
 This theory, however, of Socrates and his followers is manifestly 
 at issue with the admitted facts of experience. These writers are 
 bound to explain what is the form which ignorance assumes in 
 the case of these mental phenomena, if it be true that ignorance 
 ia in all cases the cause of sin. Clearly the man who falls into 
 Bin through weakness does not think that his act is lawful, before 
 he finds himself in the toils of passion. 
 
 But there are others who admit the Socratic view in some" 
 aspects and disagree with it in other aspects. 
 They acknowledge that there is nothing stronger ^^^'^^^ f^^ 
 than knowledge, but they do not admit that ' a acts not against 
 man never acts contrary to what seems to him a^a"inrt^''^o^pinion"* 
 best,' and hence they qualify the theory to this 
 extent that 'it is not knowledge which a man has when he is 
 
 overmastered by his pleasures but orA^ opinion'' M"ay, 
 
 'but surely, if a man's moral ideas be not matters of knomledge 
 but only of opinion, and if the impression which makes resistance 
 to his passions be not a powerful one but faint and weak, as in 
 the'iuental conflict of those who are in doubt and hesitation, in 
 that case it would be pardonable for a man not to remain stead- 
 fast in his opinions in the presence of powerful passions ; whereas 
 in fact there is no forgiveness shown to Wickedness nor to any 
 moral state whatever that is reprehensible. 
 
 Here a difficulty arises : — How is it possible that a man, while having right 
 conoeptions in regard to the actions which he performs, nevertheless acts weakly 
 and sinfully ? 
 
 Some thinkers maintain that the man of weak will does not know that his 
 Conduct is wicked, and that he has no true knowledge of his duty : this is the 
 view which Socrates held — that it is not possible, if knowledge be present in a 
 inan's mind, that some other power should overmaster him and drag him about 
 like a slave. 
 
 This theory is, however, at variance with obvious facts : it is notorious that 
 ther^jis such ,a thing as a man of weak will, and the man of weak will is one 
 who i's'impdled towards objects the very opposite of what he knows to be good. 
 
 WeiBiusli therefore enquire whether everyone who practises the evil does so 
 in oofse^meiroe of ignorance, and, if so, what is the form which ignorance 
 assun^ ja that case. 
 
368 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 3. 
 
 There are, however, otliers who think that though the man of weak will hnmu 
 what he does, yet what he has is not real knowledge of his duty but only opinion 
 under the idea that it is not possible, if a man have real knowledge, that he 
 should be overpowered by pleasures, nothing being more powerful Uian know- 
 ledge ; and therefore they maintain that the knowledge which the man of weak 
 
 wUl possesses, is only opinion Nay but surely if his knowledge be only 
 
 opinion and not real knowledge, and if there is in fact no strong inteUectnal 
 belief in the mind of the weak man in regard to his conduct, but only a weak 
 and indistinct belief, a^ is the case with those who are in doubt, then; in that 
 case, there would be forgiveness shown to those whose wills were weak for 
 their not adhering to such indistinct beliefs when the violence of the passions 
 dragged them another way. Under this aspect Moral Weakness is not a rign of 
 wickedness, inasmuch as forgiveness is extended to nothing that is wicked or 
 
 censurable or forbidden But in fact Moral Weakness is wicked and 
 
 oensiu-able and forbidden. 
 
 {b) IS MOKAL WEAKNESS COMPATIBLE WITH A GOOD CONSCIENCB ? 
 
 Imagine, then, that it were Conscience that made the resistance 
 _ , , ,. , ,, to the desires, Conscience bein^ the stronsfest 
 
 Eefutation of the .., . ' n ■, , ,,°, 
 
 view that a man power withm US. buch a theory would be 
 cannot act against monstrous : on that Supposition a man might 
 have a Good Conscience and yet be weakly selfish. 
 But no one on earth would say that it was compatible with the 
 idea of a man who had a Good Conscience that he should commit 
 the basest actions, and take pleasure therein. Besides this in- 
 consistency of idea, it has been already shown that the man who 
 has a Good Conscience is pre-eminently a man who will show his 
 goodness in action, being, as he is, conversant with every shade 
 of moral distinction and possessing in himself every virtue. 
 
 But since the knowledge which the weak man possesses is neither opinion nor 
 science, it may be thought to be the Knowledge which comes from the Conscience, 
 that being the last alternative, and Conscience being indeed a strong form of 
 Knowledge. Yet such a theory is monstrous : on that supposition, a man might 
 have a Good Conscience and a Weak WiU ; but no one would say that it wag 
 consistent with the character of the man who had a Good Conscience to perform 
 base actions and take pleasure therein. In fact it has been demonstrated in the 
 last Book that the man who has a sound Moral Sense is a man who will show 
 forth his goodness in action, and is specially concerned with the discrimination 
 of particular actions, and is of necessity possessed of all the virtues which are 
 consequent on a Good Conscience. It cannot, therefore, be in virtue of a Good 
 Conscience that the man of weak will has the Knowledge that he has. 
 
 It has, therefore, been shown that it is impossible for the man of Weak Will 
 to ' Unmv ' in any of the foregoing applications of the term. We have, then, still 
 to enquire what form Knowledge assumes in such cases — a question into which 
 we will examine more minutely a little later on. 
 
 (c) IS MORAL STRENGTH IDENTICAL WITH TEMPERANCE? 
 
 Moreover, since the strong-minded man is so called in virtue 
 of his having passions strong and evil (though under control), 
 
Bk. VII. 3.]' Translation. 369 
 
 Ms character will not be identical with that of the temperate 
 man, nor will the temperate man be strong- 
 minded. It is inconsistent with the idea of the ^oral strength not 
 temperate man to have violent passions or evil peianc"^ ^ ™" 
 passions. Yet, surely, if he were strong-minded, 
 Ms passions would be both violent and evil. Imagine the desires 
 of the strong-minded man to be virtuous ; why, then, the moral 
 attitude which prevented his indulging them would be evil ; and 
 consequently strong-mindedness would not be in every case a 
 good. Or, imagine that the desires of the strong-minded man 
 were weak and not vicious, then there would be nothing grand 
 in resisting them ; or again if his desires were bad though weak, 
 then there would be nothing great in overcoming them. 
 
 Now let us consider whether it be possible for the temperate man to be strong- 
 miaded, and whether in any sense the strong-minded man is temperate. 
 
 The answer will be evident if we fix the definition of the strong-minded man. 
 The strong-minded man is surely one who shows resistance in face of strong and 
 evil passions : he has then passions strong and evil. If, then, the temperate man 
 will be strong-minded, he too must have passions strong and eril : — an idea 
 opposed to the very conception of Temperance : Temperance does not consist in 
 the desires following the guidance of Eeason. Moreover the temperate man takes 
 delight in the actions which he performs : — otherwise he would not be temperate. 
 On the other hand the strong-minded character, being in a state of struggle and 
 conflict with his passions, has no pleasure therein, pleasure depending upon 
 moral calm. Again, if a man has a confirmed habit of courage, he is not terri- 
 fied when dangers come upon him suddenly and before he has employed his 
 reason against them. In the same way, surely, if a man have a confirmed habit 
 of temperance, he will not be thrown into tumult by incentives to pleasure before 
 he has had time to consider their character, and before his reason has withstood 
 them. The strong-minded man is different from that : strong-mindedness 
 ie said to consist in employing Eeason in regard to pleasure and withstanding the 
 desires. Now if the desires of the strong-minded man were good, strong- 
 mindedness which prevents his indulging those desires would be bad. If again 
 his desires were weak yet not bad, strong-mindedness would be nothing grand, 
 whereas in fact it is. If again his desires, though bad were weak, there would 
 be nothing great in his overmastering them ; and consequently strong-mindedness 
 would be nothing great. The only alternative, sm-ely, is that the passions of the 
 strong-minded man are 'vicious and powerful ; and consequently the temperate 
 man will not be strong-minded nor will the strong-minded man be temperate. 
 
 («^ IS STEONG-MrNDEDNBSS OK "WEAKNESS COMPATIBLE WITH 
 INTELLECTUAL EEEOK ? 
 
 Again, if strong-mindedness makes a man resolute in adhering 
 to any and every opinion, then in certain cases it 
 is a bad state ;^if, for example, it makes a man ^^^^'^"adhS 
 adhere to an opinion which is false. Conversely to eva-y opinion : 
 if moral weakness makes a man disposed to veer ^eTrong,"^'"""' 
 from any and every opinion, then there will be 
 one form of weakness which is good, as in the character of 
 
370 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vii. 3. 
 
 Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles : his conduct is 
 praiseworthy in that he did not persist in the course to which 
 he had been persuaded by Ulysses, in consequence of the pain he 
 felt in telling a lie. 
 
 Again, if strong-mindedness be synonjrmous with adherence to 
 any and every opinion, the reasoning of the Sophist, 
 
 rrs1iit°SpH'5! *^°""^ ^^^^i"g *° ^ ^^^^^ conclusion, is a puzzW. 
 
 In consequence of the Sophists being anxious to 
 prove conclusions specious yet startling, so as, if successful,, to 
 be thought clever, the method of reasoning which they frame 
 becomes a moral puzzle, since the mind is bound with sophisticali 
 chains. While on the one hand the mind is reluctant to adhere' 
 to the conclusion, on the other hand it is unable to go beyond 
 it, from having no means of unravelling the sophism. From one 
 of their arguments, for instance, it follows that if folly be com- 
 bined with weakness it becomes a virtue. In consequence of his 
 weakness ' the weak fool ' does the very reverse of what he con- 
 ceives to be his duty ; but inasmuch as in his folly he conceives 
 that good is evil and that he ought not to do it, the whole result 
 of his conduct will be good and not evil ! 
 Again, a man who acts on conviction in pursuing pleasure with 
 
 a full purpose, would seem to be a better man 
 Moral error wMoii than one who does so not from a rational motive 
 convictio"^ tetter ^'^^ through moral weakness ; the first case being 
 than that -which more curablo than the latter, since there is a 
 weakness?™ '^°^^ chance of a man's changing his opinions when 
 
 the question is one only of conviction. The man 
 who is ' morally weak ' on the other hand is liable to the taunt of 
 the proverb : — ' When water chokes what must a man drink 
 then ? ' If he had not been convinced that his act was evil, he 
 might have been brought round by argument and so have ceased 
 from wrong-doing ; but in fact he is convinced that his act is 
 wrong though none the less he does the wrong. 
 
 Now if strong-mindedness means the adhering to any opinion wHoli one may 
 have formed, it will in certain oases be wrong — when, for example, a man 
 adheres to a false opinion. But of course it is assumed that it is praiseworthy 
 and a good. Consequently Strong-mindedness is not the adhering to the opinion 
 present at the moment, without qualification. 
 
 For similar reasons, moral weaJniess would not be in every case wrong 
 and avoidable but positively good, when for example a man did not adhere to 
 a false opinion ; an instance of this would be Neoptolemus persuaded by 
 Ulysses to lie, yet not adhering to his intention, but speaking the truth; or a 
 man deceived by one who was conversing with him, yet surmising ™m 
 the arguments were false and so not adhering to what had been determined on. 
 Such an one is not blamed ; but the man of weak will is blamed. Consequent 
 a man is not strong-minded simply for adhering to his purpose, nor is he weak? 
 
Bk. VII. 4.] Translation. 371 
 
 ininded for dianging it. In fact weak-mindedness combined with folly turns out 
 to be a virtue, if weak-mindedness means th.e changing from one's opinion and 
 Mljjj adhering to what seems to be good. For example, if a ma* through his foUy 
 SSdeves that dissoluteness is a good, yet does not adhere to the opinions he has 
 formed, he wUl be a temperate man ; and thus the weak man will be a good man 
 which is a fallacy, weakness being universally recognised as censurable. 
 
 Again, a man who is able to change his opinion is often better than one who 
 is not so able. But the weak man is not better than the strong-minded man. 
 Consequently the man who adheres to his opinion is not necessarily strong- 
 minded, nor is the man who changes his opinion necessarily weak. 
 
 That the man who is able to change his opinion is better than one who is not 
 is obvious. The man who pursues what is evil through having been 
 
 Kved (t.c. because he thinks that it is good) is better than the man who 
 
 ^iSSSthat it is evil and still pursues it. The man who has been deceived, on 
 J converted to a better view is capable of becoming good ; whereas the man 
 ;^(j pursues the evil through weaJaiess and though he knows that it is evU, is 
 iieapable of turning from his evil courses. How could such an one possibly turn, 
 since it is not possible for him to be persuaded ? He knows what it was his duty 
 to know, and yet acts weakly in spite of knowledge ; and so is exposed to the 
 taunt ' when water chokes, what must a man drink then ? ' 
 
 It is evident, then, that strong-mindedness is not the adhering to the 
 opinion which a man has for the moment, nor is weakness the changing from 
 that opinion. 
 
 («) IS ' WEAKNESS ' TO BE PREDICATED IN AN ABSOLUTE SENSE ? 
 
 If weakness or strength of character may be displayed in all 
 kinds of relations, who is weak or strong in the 
 absolute sense of the term? No one, of course. Some men are weak 
 
 1 r p 1 1 I i in a qualified, some 
 
 Has every lorm 01 weakness ; and yet we say 01 in an unqualified 
 spme men that they are ' morally weak ' without sense. 
 liiy qualification. 
 
 Such, then, are the puzzles that arise on this subject : some of 
 them we must refute as fallacies, and some of them we must 
 leave, as containing a truth : for a difficulty is solved if the truth 
 with which it is concerned is determined. 
 
 We must also enquire whether moral strength and weakness are displayed in 
 special relations such as wealth or opinion, or absolutely in regard to whatever 
 is object-matter of desire. If it be true that a man is ' weak ' who shows 
 a disposition prone to each one of these things separately, we must enquire who 
 is weak in the absolute sense of the term. Of course it is not a man who is weak 
 rn ail these relations, since no one has evci'y form of weakness. We must there- 
 *ie enquire who is weak in the unqualified sense. 
 
 Such then are the questions to be raised and the difficulties which arise in 
 regard to Moral Strength. Some parts of these questions we must dismiss, and 
 ,°^ga we must leave as established, the unravelling of a difficulty being the dis- 
 mwty of the tmth which was investigated. 
 
 B B 2 
 
572 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Til. 4. 
 
 II.— PHILOSOPHICAL ANALYSIS OF MORAL EVIL. 
 
 i. — DeterDiination of tlie sense in ■wMeli knowledge is compatible 
 with moral evil. 
 
 (a) PRECISE LIMITATION OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 The questions whicli we must first discuss are these : 
 
 1. Do the weak-minded knom that what they 
 Three questions for (Jq jg "vyrono' ? If SO, in what sense is knowledge 
 
 discussion : — -i ■ ,^ • ^ 
 
 1. Do weak-mind- used m their case .-' 
 
 ed men act know- 2. What is the precise class of ohjects in re- 
 2!^Whatistiiepre- S^^^ *° which we may affirm moral strength and 
 cise object-matter weakness to be exhibited ? What I mean is 
 andTe'^essT^'' this :— are the qualities of moral strength and 
 
 weakness shown in regard to every kind of plea- 
 sure or only in regard to certain distinct and separate kinds ? 
 3. Is the strong-minded man identical with or distinct from 
 
 the manly and brave man ? 
 3. Is strong-mind- "VVe must examine also with equal explicitness 
 
 edness the same asi, ,-t ,. j.j_ii 
 
 courage? Whatever other questions are cognate to the 
 
 present Inquiry. 
 
 The starting-point of our Inquiry will be the answer to the 
 question whether the weak-minded and the strong-minded , maa 
 owe their characteristics to a difference of object-matter, jOr to 
 the manner in which they comport themselves in a cQJmmon 
 sphere. What I mean is this : — Is the weak man so called fi'om 
 bearing a relation to a certain subject-matter ; or is it from the 
 peculiar complexion which that relation assumes ; or is it from 
 both causes combined ? 
 
 We must next examine whether these qualities of strength or 
 weakness are shown in reference to all kinds of subject-matter or 
 not. The man who is weak in the strict sense of the term does 
 not display his weakness in every kind of subject, but only in the 
 sphere in which dissoluteness is displayed ; nor is his weakness' 
 owing to his having an unqualified relation thereto (otherwise 
 weakness would be the same thing as dissoluteness), but rather 
 to the special complexion which that relation assumes. The 
 dissolute man is led along by his vices with his own free consent, 
 thinking that it is right on every occasion to pursue the present 
 joy ; on the other hand the weak man follows after pleasure, 
 though he knows that it is wrong. 
 
 We must examine in tlie first place whetlier men who are morally weak know 
 tkeir weakness when they yield to sin ; and, if so, what is the nature of '^^ 
 
Bk. VII. 5.] Translation. 2,7 Z 
 
 knowledge. In tlie next place, what are precisely tlie objects wherein moral 
 sbrength or weakness are displayed 1 (I mean, are those objects every form of 
 pleasure and pain, or only certain pleasures and pains in # defined sense ?) 
 Again, does the strong-minded character differ at aU from the brave and manly 
 character ? And, generally, aU questions cognate to these. 
 
 The starting-point for a solution of these questions will be to determine in 
 what respect the strong-minded man differs from the weak-minded man : Is the 
 difference between them owing to a difference of subject-matter with which they 
 are respectively concerned ; or is it owing to the different attitude they show in 
 a common sphere, or is it in both respects combined 1 
 
 We must then go on to determine whether moral weakness and strength are 
 concerned with every form of the pleasurable or not. Their object-matter is 
 SQvely not cvefy form of the pleasurable but only those forms which give a 
 sphere to the dissolute man. But the weak man does not comport himself 
 herein in the same way as the dissolute man does, but shows a characteristic 
 attitttde of his own. The dissolute man, judging as he does on vicious principles, 
 ,^d thinking it an unquestioned good to follow after pleasure on all occasions, 
 ijoonsequently impelled to its pursuit. On the contrary, the weak man, though 
 fis Reason is in opposition to his passion, nevertheless indulges his passions of 
 his own accord. 
 
 {b) UNSATISFACTOEY SOLUTION -WHICH MAKES 'OPINION' INSTEAD 
 OF ' KNOWLEDGE ' THE CONCOMITANT OF MORAL "WEAKNESS. 
 
 Now in regard to the view that it is only a true opinion, and 
 not real knowledge, in defiance whereof men 
 weakly yield to sin-such a distinction is im- tw\n"edge' 
 material to the argument. Some of those who and ' true opinion' 
 have opinions are in no doubt thereon, but think j? "°* pertinent to 
 
 , > ™ T t ■, the question. 
 
 tnat they know with a perfect knowledge. If, 
 then, it be owing to their having but a slight assurance, rather 
 than a settled belief, and those who have opinions are more likely 
 than those who have knowledge to act contrary to their impres- 
 sions, knowledge will not differ in that aspect from opinion — in 
 regard, that is, to its influence on the will. Some men have a 
 no less assured conviction of what they think than others have of 
 what they scientifically know, as the case of Heraclitus shows. 
 
 As for the view that the knowledge which men who are morally weak possess, 
 and which they violate in their conduct, is opinion and not real knowledge, the 
 pomt is immaterial to our argument. The point which we have to examine into 
 M whether the knowledge of the good which such an one has is firm or doubtful. 
 It is frequently found that opinion is so firmly rooted in a man that it does not 
 aiffffl- from knowledge, in respect of the opposition which it makes to the desires. 
 Bonie men are as confident in the opinions which they hold as men of science are 
 ^ the truths which they know through their Science ; as for instance Heraclitus 
 thought that he knew with exact scientific knowledge the fancies of his own 
 opunon, such as that there is no movement possible, and the rest of his assump- 
 f ^■. ■^*' "^y ^^*2 a man who acts in opposition to an opinion about the good 
 or this character differs in no respect from the man who has a scientific know- 
 ledge of the good and is yet impelled to the pm-suit of what is pleasant. Both 
 ^ike are wicked in so far as each of them wars against a strong conviction of 
 
'■TW 
 
 374 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk.VII. 5. 
 
 Hence tlie difficulty which was raised in the previous chapter — ^how it is 
 possible for a man who knows the good to choose the eyU — cannot possibly be 
 solved in. this way. We must therefore enquire how it can be solved in some 
 other way. 
 
 (c) DIFFERENT SENSES OF THE TEEM ' KNOWLEDGE ' IN MORAL 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 1. But seeing that we speak of ' knowing' in two senses, and 
 . . that the man who has knowledge but does not 
 reiatlons^^o morals exercise it, no less than the man who both has 
 may be (1) latent knowledge and also applies it, is said ' to know,' 
 an no ao ive, there will be a corresponding difference between 
 
 the case of a man doing wrong when he has not his knowledge 
 constantly present before him — though he is actually possessed 
 of it, and the case of a man doing wrong when he is not only 
 possessed of knowledge of right, but has that knowledge con- 
 sciously realized at the moment. It seems a terrible sin for a 
 man to know the right and deliberately do the wrong ; but the 
 case is altered if a man, in doing wrong, is not for the moment 
 conscious how wrong it is. 
 
 -"o 
 
 Let us then assume that the terms ' to know " and ' to understand in the way of 
 Science ' have a double sense. A man is said ' to know ' (1) when he possesses 
 knowledge and exercises it (just as when a man is a geomeliician, and exercises 
 his knowledge, he is said to ' know ' of geometry) ; and (2) when he possesses 
 knowledge but without exercising it (just as when a geometrician makes speecliea 
 or otherwise occupies himself than in working geometrically.) Precisely then as 
 in the case of a geometrician, it is a wonderful anomaly if, when exercising his 
 knowledge, he draws false conclusions, though not so if, while making a 
 speech, he fails to observe when a man is investigating the figures contraiy to 
 the principles of geometry, so it is with the weak-minded man. Marvellous is it 
 indeed if the weak-minded man has real knowledge of right, and puts that 
 knowledge into exercise, and contemplates his conduct in the light thereof, and 
 yet, notwithstanding, is impelled in a direction the very opposite of what he 
 knows to be right. But one ought not to wonder if he does wrong when he is 
 not using his knowledge, though he actually possesses it. 
 
 2. Again, in the moral syllogism into which action may be 
 ,„, , , , analysed, there are two premisses : the major 
 
 or (2) a knowledge n ,i • tc i j.1. „,« 
 
 of one premiss only ^nd the minor, it a man possesses bota pre- 
 of the moral syiio- misscs, yet makes application only of the Uni- 
 ^^"' versal and not of the Particular, there is nothing 
 
 to prevent his acting in despite of his knowledge. It is the 
 particular or minor premiss which is all important, since conduct 
 depends upon particular details. 
 
 There is, further, a distinction to be made in the Universal 
 itself. One kind of Universal is subjective, and has reference to 
 the person who uses it ; another kind is objective, and has reference 
 to an external fact. An instance of a subjective Universal would 
 
Bk. VII. 5.] Translation. 375 
 
 be : ' Dry food is good for all men ' (the corresponding minor 
 being ' I am a man '). An instance of an obje«tive Universal 
 would be : ' Dry food has such and such qualities . . .' But 
 whether ' this particular object has these qualities ' (which would 
 form the minor proposition), a man may not know or may not 
 realize at the moment. Corresponding of course to these different 
 kinds of premisses, there will be an incalculable difference in 
 their moral bearings ; so that, where a premiss depends upon 
 experience, it would seem to be nothing strange that a man 
 should not know ; but in regard to subjective premisses it would 
 be marvellous indeed. 
 
 Yet even -when a man possesses knowledge and puts it into exercise, it is no 
 maryel if he is still an evil-doer, unless lie uses Ms knowledge iu a perfect way. 
 Since, I mean, there are two kinds of premisses, Universal and Particular, whereby 
 a man who knows gains his knowledge in drawing a moral conclusion — if he 
 ttses only one of the premisses, if, I mean, he uses the universal and not the 
 ipairticular, there is no wonder if he is a wrong-doer. For example : a man knows 
 that a particular thing is evil, and that he ought not to do what is evil, and 
 consequently that he ought not to do this particular thing : now though both 
 these premisses are in the soul at the moment when passion is stirring him to 
 some evil course, it so befalls that he exercises the universal (that ' he ought not 
 to do the evil '), and contemplates his conduct in relation to it at that moment, 
 but does not also exercise the particular premiss (that ' this particular thing is 
 evil'), nor consider it in its actual application, though he possesses that premiss 
 withia him ; and consequently he proceeds to the commission of evil, just as 
 though morally blinded. Such a case is in no way wonderful : though a man 
 uses the universal premiss, yet is he not able to act upon his knowledge unless 
 he also uses the particular premiss, which is paramount over moral action. If, 
 for example, a man knows that he ought to use dry food but does not know that 
 this particular food is dry, he will not any the more use dry food. The case is 
 exactly the same in moral relations : if a man use the universal premiss and 
 consciously realize it, yet does not at the same time use the particular, he gains 
 no sort of advantage from his knowledge. 
 
 Particular premisses also differ in kind. There is one kind which it is quite 
 iaevitable for a man to know when the universal is known ; and others which 
 do not follow this law. When, for instance, the universal is of such a character 
 as to comprise also the person who frames the syllogism or a subject of the same 
 species, then the particular premiss is known in virtue of the universal ; for 
 instance, ' Hellebore is harmful to all men : he is himself a man ; therefore 
 hellebore is harmful to him.' In such a case the minor premiss is understood in 
 vh-tue of the major : no one is able to be ignorant that ' he is a man ; ' similarly 
 when the universal comprises others of the same species, it is not possible that a 
 man should not know them. On the other hand, when the universal compre- 
 hends some external object, then there is no necessity that if the major premiss 
 IS known, the minor should be known also. For example, ' aU hellebore is 
 harmful: this particular thing is hellebore: therefore this particular thing is 
 harmful.' In this case there is no necessity that the particular should be known 
 although the universal be known. It is this latter kind of premiss which the 
 weak-minded man either does not possess, or if he does possess, does not exercise. 
 To use and not to use a premiss are so widely different from one another that we 
 consider a man a monstrous fellow if he exercises his knowledge and stQI 
 commits sin, and we marvel if there really be anyone in such a state ; but we 
 are b;j no means astonished at a man's sinning if he does not exercise his 
 faiowledge. 
 
376 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 5. 
 
 3. Again, there is anotlier sense, different from the modes 
 
 referred to above, in wliich ' knowledge ' is found 
 or (3) obscured by ^ ^^^^ rpj^g mental State implied in a man's 
 
 passion ; ___._ ... 
 
 havmg knowledge without using it, is, as we see, 
 characteristic and peculiar ; implying that in one sense he has 
 and in another sense he has not knowledge, as when he is in a 
 state of sleep, or madness or drunkenness. But assuredly this is 
 the state to which men are reduced when under the influence of 
 their passions. In fact fits of passion or sensual gratification or 
 other forms of moral depravity unmistakeably change even the 
 bodily appearance; and in some cases actually cause madness. 
 It is evident then that the state of those who are weakly sinful is 
 analogous to the case of those who are physically unnerved. 
 
 Again, men do not differ in this fact simply — that some have knowledgeamd 
 also use it, while others have knowledge without using it, but they differ also' in 
 respect of the actual possession. Those who have knowledge do not all possess 
 their knowledge in the same way. It is possible for a man while possessing 
 knowledge, to possess it not, if, for example, he be asleep or mad or dnmk. It is 
 in this latter sense that men who are in the toils of passion possess knowledge. 
 Men are drunk through indulging their desires, and they are mad throngli 
 yielding to passion, and just as in the case of men who are mad or drunk, So 
 also are the bodies of those who are weakly sinful changed and altered un- 
 mistakeably in consequence of the passions to which they yield : their colour and 
 aspect is altered, and sometimes they become raving mad. It is evident, there- 
 fore, that the knowledge of those who are weakly sinful is of a similar character 
 to that of men who are intoxicated or raving in madness. 
 
 4. Again, for a man to use arguments derived from Science is 
 
 no proof of his own knowledge. Men who are 
 and'alpaZtti^: ^^^'i^r the influence of their passions wiU often 
 
 repeat learned demonstrations and the verses of 
 Empedocles, just as boys when first taught will string together 
 sentences of which they understand not a word. Knowledge, to 
 be really knowledge, must be assimilated, and the process of 
 assimilation is a work of time. Men who are weak and sinful 
 must be understood to talk of moral truths only as actors recite 
 them on the stage. 
 
 Even though the weakly sinful use the arguments of Science, they are not 
 proved on that account to be different from those mentioned above. Men who 
 are drunk will utter learned demonstrations and the verses of Empedocles ; just 
 in the same way that boys who are just beginning to learn, string together 
 sentences but understand nothing before they have grown into a state of moral 
 habitnation, and as it were assimilated their knowledge — a result to be attained 
 only through a long training. Men who weakly and sinfully indulge themselves 
 must be supposed to talk upon questions of duty only as actors upon the stage 
 talk when they are representing certain characters, and repeating the verses 
 which occur in the poems but understand not a word that they say. 
 
Bk. VIL 5.] Translation. 377 
 
 {d) PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPLANATION OF MOEAL EVIL. 
 
 Again, we may also regard the cause of Moral Evil from the 
 point of view of the psychologist, in the following 
 light. In the Moral Syllogism into which the Operation of the 
 
 . , 1 -J. ij? • r • i- 1 • 1 Practical Syllo- 
 
 mind shapes itseii in lormmg practical judg- gig^, 
 ments, there is first of all the Universal pro- 
 position, and secondly an opinion bearing upon the particular fact 
 of which the senses are immediately cognisant. When out of 
 these two propositions a third has resulted, it necessarily follows 
 that while in the sphere of speculative Ethics the mind should 
 simply assert this conclusion, so in the sphere of practical Ethics, 
 the mind should forthwith carry its conclusion into effect. As an 
 lexample of practical reasoning, suppose that there is in the mind 
 •the general proposition, e.g. ' One ought to taste whatever is 
 sweet,' and also the particular proposition ' Such and such an 
 object is sweet,' it inevitably results that a man who has the 
 power, and is not hindered, should proceed to act upon the 
 practical conclusion. 
 
 When however there is in the mind a conflict of beliefs — when, 
 for instance, there is one Universal which forbids him to taste, 
 and another Universal which says ' All that is sweet is pleasant ' 
 (with a minor premiss ' This particular thing is sweet ' actively 
 operating in the mind), and a sensual desire happens to be asso- 
 ciated therewith, what takes place is this : though the first Univer- 
 sal says ' Avoid this,' yet desire leads and impels him to self-in- 
 dulgence from the power which it has of setting in motion every 
 bodily organ. The result of this mental conflict is that the weak 
 man yields to temptation under the influence of Reason in a kind 
 of way, and from a rational opinion, — an opinion which is not 
 essentially, but only under these special circumstances, opposed to 
 Reason : it is desire and not opinion which is opposed to Reason, 
 ■ in such a case. [Herein is the reason why brutes are not 
 ' morally weak : ' moral weakness implies the consciousness of a 
 moral law, but brutes have no idea of law or conception of the 
 Universal, but only sensuous impressions and a memory confined 
 to particulars.] 
 
 Again, one might consider the cause on account of which men who axe 
 morally weak do not make choice of the good, though they know what it is, from 
 the point of view of the psychologist, in the following light. In the Moral 
 Syllogism into which we may analyse conduct, there is a Universal proposition, 
 and there is also a particular judgment, which is of course concerned with 
 particular objects of sense. Now when frgm this Universal and particular 
 judgment we have inferred a third proposition, it necessarily follows that if that 
 conclusion be a theoretical one, the understanding should affirm it and believe 
 
378 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 5. 
 
 that it is so in reality. On the other hand if the conclusion be a practical one it 
 necessarily follows that the man should forthwith carry it into effect, unless 
 there be some one to hinder him. For example, it is a theoretical opinion that 
 ' hellebore is harmful ' or that ' honey is sweet ; ' and if we have drawn such a 
 conclusion we simply heliene it, we do not act it. An instance of a practical 
 judgment would be ' we ought to taste whatever is sweet ; ' and if we have drawn 
 such a conclusion, we immediately put it into effect and taste. When, therefore, 
 there are opinions, as well general as particular, which urge a man to do some- 
 thing (e.g. ' it is right to taste this thing because it is sweet,' and ' whatever is 
 sweet ought to be tasted ') while at the same time there is Science and Universal 
 Reason urging a man not to taste, yet withal a desire for the thing in questioi 
 present in the mind, the conclusion drawn from these premisses finds iwstuall 
 expression, and the man puts the conclusion into practice — the tTniversal for- 
 bidding him to taste while desire associated with opinion is moving him to the 
 thing to be tasted. Desire of course has power to influence each sepaiatei organ 
 of sense (I mean the senses peculiar to the object of desire — ^if the pleasant 
 object be visible, it draws to itself sight, and taste, if the object be one of taste. 
 It consequently happens that moral weakness takes place under the influence of 
 Reason and Opinion opposed to Reason. Opinion is not in itself opposed to 
 Reason but on accoimt of its association with Desire : Opinion does not by its 
 own strength overmaster Reason, since it is impossible that Opinion shonld 
 prevail against Right Reason, but it is owing to the strength of Desire, which 
 even transforms and alters the very constitution of a man. Moral Weakness is 
 therefore brought about by a process of Reason, and of Opinion expressed in 
 opposition to Right Reason, by means of Desire. [It is for this reason that 
 brutes cannot be termed morally weak — because they have no reason against 
 which desire is in opposition but only a sensuous representation of particular 
 objects and a sensuous memory.] 
 
 (e) THE PROCESS OF MOEAL KEFOEMATION. 
 
 To explain how the ignorance of the weak man is dispelled and 
 he comes again into possession of knowledge, no 
 mtJ^sTnYioS special solution is needed: the principle which 
 to the recovery explains this condition is not special, but the 
 weXiess ^^^'''^'' same as that which explains the recovery of a 
 man from intoxication, or the waking of the 
 sleeper ; and for this we must refer to the psychologist. 
 
 To explain how the ignorance of the weak man is dispelled when his passion 
 is quenched, and he comes again to his sound senses, and developes his life in 
 conformity with true Science, that is the same question which arises in the case 
 of one who is drnnk or slumbering ; and the matter is one for the psychologists 
 to determine. 
 
 (_/) CONCLUSION : IT IS SENSUOUS AND NOT INTELLECTUAL KNOW- 
 LEDGE WHICH IS COMPATIBLE WITH A WEAK WILL. 
 
 To sum up : since the minor premiss of the Moral Syllogism is 
 
 The Socratic soiu- an Opinion in regard to what falls within tiie 
 
 tion is true : the range of the senses and has conti'ol over the 
 
 CnofknfwieXe «°^duct of daily life, this premiss is_ either not 
 
 in the strict sense, possesscd by a man who is under the influence of 
 
BkYII. 6.] Translation. 379 
 
 passion, or, if it be possessed, possession of Imowledge is not 
 equivalent to the realizing of knowledge, but is only the bare 
 repetition of words, like the reciting of EmpedocleS by a drunken 
 man. Furthermore, since the minor premiss is not universal, 
 and has not the same scientific character as the Universal, 
 the solution which Socrates tried to present seems to be the real 
 one : it is not knowledge in the strict sense which is present in 
 the mind when the conflict of weakness arises, nor is it real know- 
 ledge which is twirled about under the power of passion, but only 
 sensuous or emotional knowledge. 
 
 The explanations above given must suffice to answer the question 
 whether it be possible for a man to yield to evil with a full know- 
 ledge of his act, and to determine the sense which knowledge 
 assumes under such circumstances, 
 
 j! , When the man of weak will finds himself in the toils of passion, he either does 
 Jnot possess at all, and does not know, the minor premiss which controls par- 
 j^tionlai actions (the premiss which would tell him that ' such and such a thing is 
 evil,') or he possesses it after the manner in which men who are drunk or raving- 
 utter verses or demonstrations ; more particularly for the reason that the minor 
 premiss is not, in fact, scientific by itself in the sense in which the universal and 
 major premiss is. 
 
 Hence it seems that the solution which Socrates tried to present is the real 
 one. The moral temptation does not arise while knowledge' (I mean knowledge 
 in the real and recognized sense, i.e. the Universal), is present : Desire has no 
 power over this kind of knowledge ; — but it does arise in the presence of that 
 Mnd of knowledge which is concerned with and has control over particular facts, 
 i.c., the minor premiss. It is this particular knowledge which is violated by the 
 man who acts under passion — ^this particular knowledge being concerned with 
 actual oonduBt ; and it is this particular knowledge which is dragged about under 
 temptation, and not the universal knowledge. 
 
 The explanations here advanced must suffice in regard to the knowledge which 
 men of weak wiU possess, in reply to the question whether they have knowledge 
 at aU of ' the good,' and in what sense they have knowledge when they yield to 
 temptation. 
 
 ii. — The special conditions whieh test the weakness or strength of 
 the character. 
 
 (a) PLEASUEES BEING (l) NAXUKAL OE (2) UNNATUEAL OK (s) INDE- 
 TEEMmATE, THEEE AEE COEEESPONDING DIVISIONS OF THE 
 MOEAL CHAEACTEE. 
 
 The question which comes next in order for us to discuss is 
 this : Is there any absolute form of moral weak- ^ , 
 
 _ -,-, n in PIT Is there any abso- 
 
 ness, or are all cases ol moral weakness referable i^te form of moral 
 to special failings ? Or, if a man can be morally weakness ? and 
 weak in an absolute sense, what precisely are the '*'' ^ '» ^ ^ p 
 subjects relatively to which he displays his weakness ? 
 
380 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 6. 
 
 Evidently the sphere in which strength and manliness, self- 
 indulgence and effeminacy are shown, is that of pleasure and pain. 
 But pleasures and pains have in them important points of dis- 
 tinction. Some of the objects which produce pleasure are in- 
 evitable ; others again are desirable, though admitting of excess. 
 (1) Inevitable pleasures are such as are natural to the body 5 
 such, I mean, as are associated with food and the satisfaction of 
 the sensual instincts, in connection wherewith we placed sen- 
 suality and temperance. (2) Objects which are neither inevitable 
 nor essential, though in themselves desirable and delectable, are, 
 I mean, such objects as victory, honour, wealth, and similar 
 things that are good and delightful. 
 
 Now when men are extravagant in reference to these innocent 
 pleasures, though they violate the law of Eight within them- 
 selves, we do not call them ' weak ' in the absolute sense, but 
 we add a qualifying term and speak of them as ' weakly yielding 
 to the temptations of riches or gain or ambition or passion.' We 
 do not speak of such men as being weak absolutely, since they 
 form a distinct class, and are only called weak relatively and 
 through similarity of relations. The limitation in this case is 
 like that implied in the description ' The man wlio was vidmcm 
 at the Olympic Games .•' the general conception of man is not 
 very different from the particular designation, though still a 
 distinction is implied. In further proof of this distinction is this 
 fact : moral weakness in the absolute sense of the term is blamed, 
 not merely as an error, but actually as a kind of depravity, either 
 in the full sense of sin or in some special relation ; whereas none 
 of these men {i.e. the men who are called ' weak ' in one of these 
 special senses) are blamed in that way. 
 
 The man who is called ' morally weak,' in the absolute sense 
 of the term (and without any qualification confining his weakness 
 to special objects such as anger), is a man who, in reference to 
 those bodily and personal indulgences which constitute the sphere 
 of temperance or dissoluteness, pursues the excess of what is 
 ]3leasurable and shrinks from the excess of what is painful — 
 hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and whatever sensations are 
 yssociated with touch and taste ; not in consequence of any 
 choice that he has made, but contrary to the direction of his own 
 will and judgment. Herein is a proof: men are called 'selfr 
 indulgent ' or ' effeminate ' in regard to sensual indulgences, but 
 not in regard to ideal aims, such as wealth, or honour. 
 
 It is for this reason also that we place the weak and the vicious 
 in the same category, and vice versd the strong-minded man and 
 the temperate man, while we keep the other characters distinct 
 
JLVII. 6.] Translation. 381 
 
 rom either, the reason being, I say, that the former are both in 
 I sense concerned with the same class of pleasures and pains. 
 But in saying that the weak-minded and the viciou^ display their 
 jliaracters upon similar objects, I do not mean that their attitude 
 fi the same thereto : — the dissolute yield to temptation of their 
 wa. free choice, and the weak-minded contrary to their better 
 udo'ment. Hence we should call a man more thoroughly dissolute 
 ffhen he pursues excessive pleasures and shirks even moderate 
 inconveniences, not through the power of desire upon him (or 
 frith such desire acting but slightly upon him), than the man 
 ffho gives himself up to pleasure through the fierce domination 
 rf the desires over him. What would such an one do, if there 
 settled upon him the full passions of youth and a painful craving 
 tf^satiate his bodily needs ? 
 
 We mtLst now go on to explain wlietlier a man may be ' morally -weak ' in an 
 ibsolute sense without any quaUfioation, or whether all men are weak in some 
 rpeoial oonneotion, as for instance in regard to temper or reputation ; or, if a 
 aan may be weak in an unqualified sense, what are the precise circumstances in 
 wMoli his weakness will be shown. 
 
 The general truth is evident that the objects with which men of resolute and 
 manly character (both in the absolute and in the special sense), and men of weak 
 Hidreffeminate character, are concerned are pleasures and pains. But inasmuch 
 IS some objects which cause pleasure are essential, and others non-essential 
 iough pleasant in themselves and desirable (by ' essential pleasures ' are meant 
 iliose without which the human race collectively could not subsist, as, for 
 ixample, marriage, or the individual, as food, rest, sleep, and such like ; and by 
 non-essential ' pleasures those which are yet desirable and pleasurable by them- 
 ielves and not from the constitution of man — wealth, honour, victory and such 
 ike), it happens that there are excesses in both these forms of pleasure, as well 
 n those which are essential as in those which are desirable for their own sake — 
 yhen^that is, one indulges in them to a degree beyond what is right and beyond 
 That Right Reason prescribes for their indulgence. 
 
 Now a man who is extravagant in respect of pleasures which are not essential 
 8 not called ' weak ' absolutely without qualification ; but a man who weakly 
 fields to the temptations of fame or wealth — the idea being that suoh an one is a 
 iistinot character from the man who is weak in the perfect and absolute sense — 
 B only called weak on account of a certain similarity with the other. In the 
 lame way there is a distinction between ' the man nlio gained the prize at the, 
 Oli/injiio Games ' and ' man ' generically : although the distinction between them 
 3 slight, stiU there is a distinction, and the former description is different from 
 ihe latter on account of the special qualification. 
 
 It is fm-ther evident that the weakness which is shown in regard to non- 
 !SS6ntial pleasm'es is different from weakness in the absolute sense of the term, 
 rom the fact that weakness in the fuU sense is censured, and is thought to be 
 lot simply an error but also a vice, either completely or in some special relation ;■ 
 !rhereas weakness in connection with a special qualification is not censured as a 
 'ice. Those then who are extravagant in regard to non-essential pleasures are 
 lalled ' weak ' only with a special limitation. 
 
 . On the other hand, those who are extravagant in reference to essential and 
 icjdily pleasures, when Reason does not decide in their favour or assent to their 
 adnlgence but sets itself in opposition to them, and who while pursuing in excess 
 he pleasureis wherein the temperate and the vicious man are tested, avoid pains 
 aore than is • becoming — ^the pains, for instance, of hunger and thirst, of heat 
 
382 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 6. 
 
 and cold, and whatever is connected with touch and taste — such men are eaJled 
 ' weak ' without any limitation, in the absolute sense of the term. 
 
 This distinction is evident also from the fact that those who indulge eitiava- 
 gantly in such pleasures are called ' dissolute,' but by no means are they so called 
 who transgress in respect of indeterminate pleasures. Since in fact the tern-, 
 perate and the manly character, or the weak and dissolute character, are found 
 to be displayed in reference to the same kind of bodily pleasures, we place the 
 temperate man in the same category as the strong-minded man, and the dissolute 
 man in the same category as the weak man. Nevertheless these characteiss' do 
 not respectively hold the same attitude in regard to these pleasures. The disso- 
 lute man is hurried on to the satisfying of his desires of his own wish and choice, 
 whereas the weak man in indulging his desires is not acting in accordance with 
 his own choice but with Right Reason raising a conflict in his mind. However 
 we place the weak man in the same class as the dissolute man, and the strong- 
 minded man in the same class as the temperate man, and we say that they are 
 both concerned with the same objects ; whUe on the contrary we place those 
 who behave weakly in regard to pleasures that are not necessary in a claa 
 apart. 
 
 But although the weak man is concerned with the same objects as the dissolute 
 man, yet the dissolute man is the more reprehensible as being the worse slave to 
 his passions. The weak man is overmastered by very violent passions : — other- 
 wise he could not be weak in face of the opposition which Reason makes. The 
 dissolute man, on the other hand, is overmastered by trifling and weak passions 
 inasmuch as Right Reason does nothing to counteract them ; and he seeks the 
 excess of pleasm-e and avoids even moderate pains : wherefore if under the 
 influence of even moderate desires, he is thus overpowered, what kind of 
 character would he prove to be if there came upon him the full force of youth- 
 ful passion and a painftil and violent craving for the satisfaction of physical 
 needs ? 
 
 {p) METAPHORICAL APPLICATION OF THE TERM 'WEAKNESS.' 
 
 But since there is a distinction in pleasures and desires, some 
 . , of them belonginer to the class of things honour- 
 
 The answer is to be , , , ii j /• t • , n t • t • 
 
 found in the dis- able and excellent (some objects of desire being 
 tinction between in fact by nature desirable), while others are 
 
 the proper and the .t i ±i ■ n i i 
 
 metaphorical uses ™6 rcvcrse and others agam morally colourless 
 of the term 'morai (such as Wealth and gain, victory and honour),- 
 wea ness. according to the classification which we have 
 
 already made, in reference to all such things whether good or 
 evil or indeterminate, men are not blamed simply for being under 
 the influence of such and such feelings, nor for having such and 
 such desires and likings, but for yielding to a certain form of 
 excess in their indulgence. Hence it is not a mark of depraviiy 
 that men are overpowered by such influences contrary to Eeason, 
 or that they pursue any of those objects which are in their nature 
 noble and good (I mean, for example, when men are more keen 
 than is right in the pursuit of honour or affection for their 
 children and parents). In truth these are among things which 
 are good, and men are praised for the interest they show about 
 them; notwithstanding that there is a possible excess even in 
 the pursuit of these simple and natural aims, if, for example, 
 
Bk. VII. 6.] Translation. 383 
 
 one contend, as Niobe did, even against the Gods, or as Satyrus, 
 nicknamed 'father-doting,' did in regard to his father, since he 
 was seen to be exceedingly foolish. However in ail such cases 
 there is no kind of moral depravity implied, for the reason which 
 
 Llhave stated — that every one of these objects is in and by itself 
 desirable; although the various forms of excess which these 
 aims may take are censurable, and evil, and to be avoided. 
 For similar reasons neither is there any ' moral weakness ' im- 
 plied in these relations, since moral weakness is not merely a 
 thing to be avoided but one of those things which are positively 
 censurable. 
 
 I On account, however, of the similarity in the mental condition 
 imphed, for example, in a weak yielding to ambition with the 
 condition implied in a weak yielding to pleasure, men speak of 
 ' moral weakness ' in connection with such things as honour or 
 riches, adding however a term of qualification to limit the term to 
 
 . that extent. In the same way we speak of a man as being a 'bad 
 
 '' doctor ' or a ' bad actor ' whom we could never call a bad man 
 without such a qualification. The same limitation is therefore 
 implied in this use of the term ' moral weakness ' : as the desires 
 for riches, or honour, and such things are not vices in themselves, 
 though they bear a certain resemblance thereto from the fact of 
 their being analogous, so obviously we must understand that to be 
 the only real strength or weakness of character which is displayed 
 in the sphere in which their opposites, self-restraint or dissolute- 
 ness, are displayed. In describing any attitude towards anger as 
 a moral weakness, we are only using a metaphor in virtue of a 
 certain ideal correspondence. Hence it is that we use a term of 
 limitation in such cases, and speak of a man as ' weakly yielding 
 to anger,' just as he might yield to motives of ambition or of 
 gain. 
 
 Again, of things wMoh are pleasurable some are by nature good, some by 
 nature evil and otliers indeterminate. Pleasures which are good by nature are 
 such as we seek for their own sokes and not for ulterior objects ; for example, 
 reputation, victory, health. Pleasures which are evil by nature are for example 
 cannibalism or the drinking of human blood or unnatural sensualism. Pleasures 
 which are indeterminate are such as in themselves are neither good nor evil but 
 only subservient to some good as food, clothing or wedlock. 
 
 Now when a man pursues pleasures which are good by nature or which are 
 indeterminate, he is praised — if he does not transgress Right Reason but pursues 
 his object in a proper manner. Excess of course is in all cases not praised, 
 though in the case of things good by nature excess is not blamed, nor is it 
 vicious, since the objects pursued are, as has been explained, by nature good and 
 are sought for their own sake. Nevertheless, it is a thing to be avoided and 
 evil. For instance though affection for children is by nature good, yet one 
 ought to flee from the excess and not love them as Niobe did, who contended on 
 
384 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 6 
 
 their behalf even with the Gods, or act as Satyrus who invoked his father as a Gtoi 
 (since he was thought to be utterly senseless thereby). 
 
 Yet neither is this kind of excess ' moral weakness,' that being a thing noi 
 merely to be avoided but one of those things which are positively censuiable 
 Still it is commonly called ' weakness ' in virtue of a certain similarity which fo] 
 example weakness in respect of gain or honour bears in relation to the quaUfieo 
 weakness which has been explained. Such an one is not weak in the absolntf 
 sense but weak only in respect of honour or philoprogenitiveness or some sncl 
 thing ; just as we speak of a ' bad doctor,' one who treats his patients coutrarj 
 to the rules of art, or of a ' bad actor,' one who does not copy accurately the 
 person whom he is representing but not as ' bad ' in an unqualified sense. 
 Failure of that kind is not a vice except by resemblance, in connection with a 
 qualifying term. 
 
 Excess, therefore, in regard to things which are in their natui'e good and 
 pleasant presents the character described above. But the forms of excess in 
 regard to things by nature indeteiToinate are morally evU and censurable : sncl 
 things have not their character one way or the other from themselves ; but thej 
 are good or evil in virtue of the end towards which they are directed. Where- 
 fore, if they are designed to compass a wicked end, they are themselves wiokecf; 
 and they are designed to meet a wicked end when they are pursued in excess, 
 A man who gives way to excess in the use of viands or clothing or other things 
 in themselves necessary and indulges therein contrary to Right Reason, brings 
 them to a level that may serve sensual pleasure. For this reason excess in e^I 
 such things is a species of wickedness. In regard to certain objects there ia 
 weakness implied absolutely and without any qualification ; such, for example, 
 are the objects which form the sphere of temperance or dissoluteness. 
 
 (c) THE PLEASUKES OF BESTIALITY, NATUKAL OR ACQUIRED. 
 
 Now wMle, on the other hand, some objects are by Nature 
 pleasurable (either absolutely or else relatively to 
 torbiT^ltates^rf different races of animals and of men), other ob- 
 the physical and jects ou the Contrary are pleasurable only as the 
 moral nature. consequence of jjhysical defects or evil habits or 
 
 corruptions of nature. In reference, therefore, to these abnormal 
 pleasures we may see states of the moral nature corresponding. 
 The states to which I refer are bestial or savage conditions ; such 
 as that of the woman who devoured little unborn children tearing 
 them from their mothers' wombs, or the foul pleasures in which 
 some of the brutalized tribes around the Euxine indulge, delight- 
 ing in raw meat or the flesh of human beings, whUst others lend 
 their children to one another to serve as a feast ; or such a story 
 of cannibalism as that recorded of Phalaris. 
 
 Besides these cases of simple savagery, there are other similar 
 cases caused by disease or, in certain cases, by madness — as was 
 that of the man who sacrificed his mother and devoured her flesh, 
 or of the man who feasted on the heart of his fellow-slave. 
 Other instances of abnormal conditions caused by disease or by 
 bad habits would be the tearing out of the hair, the biting of the 
 nails or the chewing of ashes or of earth, or, worst of all, unnatural 
 lust between man and man. Such practices are found in some 
 
Bk. VII. 6.] Translation. 385 
 
 cases as a result of nature and in other cases as the result of habit, 
 as when people are outraged from the time of childhood. 
 
 • 
 
 la the case of things which are evil by nature though they are also pleasurable, 
 it is not simply the excesses which are wicked, but absolutely the moral incli- 
 nation towards them at all, — \.e. states of bestiality, are in themselves wicked : 
 nor in fact are such things iy nature pleasurable. Some objects of course are 
 natmally jjJeasurable to all living beings, as food, sleep and such like ; whUe 
 other things though naturally pleasurable are not so to all alike^for example, a 
 parfcieular kind of food (for instance, particular kinds of food, such as grass or 
 flesh, are naturally pleasant to some, though not to all, creatures), while other 
 filmigs are not naturally pleasant in any sense, but are pleasant only through evil 
 habituation or mutilation or depravity of disposition ; and these latter objects are 
 in their nature evil. 
 
 These unnatural conditions are those with which bestiality is concerned. Such 
 is the case reported of a woman who devoured little unborn children, or that of 
 the savage pleasure in which the brutalized inhabitants around the Buxine 
 indulge who eat raw fish and uncooked flesh and lend their children to one 
 another to serve for a banquet ; or of the conduct of Phalaris in eating his own 
 son. Such evil courses assuredly though they be pleasurable, are not pleasurable 
 by nature but only appear to be pleasurable through a taint of nature. There 
 are other things again in which men delight in consequence of mutilation, or 
 derangement, or some other malady. Instances of madness are such as when the 
 madman eats the heart of his fellow slave, or sacrifices and eats his mother, and 
 instances of disease are when a man eats earth or ashes. A man becomes bestial 
 through habit when he has been habituated to pleasures which violate nature, from 
 the very dawn of life, and delights in food in which no mortal takes pleasure unless 
 he has deviated from the limits of nature and is dissolute with a sensualism that 
 is contrary to nature. Under this category comes also the man who takes 
 pleasure in tearing out his hair or gnawing his nails. All such practices arise 
 through depravity of nature. 
 
 [d] APPLICATION OF THE TERM ' WEAKNESS ' TO PUSELY MORBID 
 CONDITIONS. 
 
 Now where nature is the cause of depravity, no one would call 
 its victims ' weak : ' as little would one find fault 
 with a woman for being female instead of male ; ^'"^='1. ^^-eakness is 
 and it is precisely the same with those whose tual, and must 
 morbid condition is the consequence of evil habit, sometimes^ be qua- 
 The possession indeed of these abnormal tenden- or^moAid.'^^'* 
 cies is, in every case, beyond the pale of vice; 
 and if a man possesses them, his subduing them or being subdued 
 by them is only a sign of strength or weakness of character in an 
 analogous or metaphorical and not an absolute sense — exactly as 
 a man who is in an abnormal condition in regard to his angry 
 passions may be called ' weak in respect of temper,' but not weak 
 in an unqualified sense. All cases indeed of folly, or cowardice, 
 or viciousness, or brutality, are either forms of bestiality or of 
 disease. One man, for instance, is of a nature to be afraid of 
 anything, even if a mouse rustle, having the cowardice character- 
 istic of a brute ; another man was afraid of a cat, through disease. 
 
386 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 7. 
 
 Some men, again, are void of reason 'through a defect of nature 
 and live simply by sensation, and these are savages, like certain 
 races of far-distant barbarians; others again are so through 
 disease, as in cases of epilepsy, and of madness caused by illness. 
 
 Now some of these ailments one may have for a certain time or 
 occasion without being overmastered by them permanently :— I 
 mean, for instance, that Phalaris might have refrained himself 
 when the desire came upon him to devour a little child, or that 
 unnatural desire for animal gratification might be curbed. It is, 
 however, possible not merely to have these unnatural lusts, but to 
 be overpowered by them. Precisely, then, as wickedness, when it 
 is consistent with human nature, is called wickedness without 
 qualification, whereas special kinds of wickedness require limi- 
 tation (as being ' bestial ' or ' diseased ' ) ; so too it is clear that 
 moral ' weakness ' has two additional or qualified forms, the 
 ' bestial ' and the ' morbid,' and can only be spoken of absolutely 
 when it induces that kind of sinfulness which is natural to man. 
 
 It is evident, then, that the field in which strength or weakness 
 of character are displayed, is the same exactly as that of vicious- 
 ness and self-control ; and further in regard to the aims of hfe 
 generally there is a distinct form of weakness which is called so 
 by metaphorical analogy and not in an unqualified sense. 
 
 When, however, men delight in what is naturally evil, through their own 
 •depravity, they are not ' morally weak,' since there is no ' Kight Eeason ' in 
 their case which they withstand. Similarly neither are acts done in consequence 
 of evil habituation, or disease, or madness ; hut the fact of a man's taking 
 pleasure in such things places him altogether outside the limits of vice. 
 
 But if anyone is at one time master of his evil desires, and at another is 
 Tuaslered by them, he is not called ' weak ' absolutely but with an addition, nor 
 is he called strong simply, but strong' with an addition ; e.g. ' strong in curbing 
 ■savage instincts ' or weai therein. Savagery is not concerned with the same 
 circumstances as viciousness, as simple manliness is. Viciousness is concerned with 
 natural pleasures in the same way that simple manliness is ; whereas savagery is 
 concerned with pleasures that violate matter. 
 
 Indeed all cases of vice, or folly or cowardice, or sensualism or bratahty that 
 are indulged in to excess are either oases of savagery or of disease. One man, for 
 instance, is of a character to fear everything, even if a mouse rustle, being a 
 coward with the cowardice of a beast ; another is diseased such as was the man 
 who through disease feared a cat. In the case again of folly some men are by 
 nature devoid of the power of calculation and live by sense alone — as are some 
 tribes of remote barbarians, being irrational after the manner of beasts. 
 
 Now it is possible to have these mental characteristios without being over- 
 mastered by them ; as for instance if Phalaris had restrained his lust at the time 
 that he desired to devom- his son. It is possible also to be overmastered thereby. 
 
 ■Weakness or strength, however, of this kind we must not call weakness or 
 strength without qualification but must limit their meaning, as was explained 
 above, as ' the weakness of the brute,' or ' the weakness of disease,' or ' strength 
 in repressing savage instincts of vice or disease.' On the other hand, weakness 
 in the absolute sense is simply that which is in the line of viciousness common 
 ±0 man. 
 
Bk. VII. 7.] Translation. ^87 
 
 It has now been stown that weakness or strength of character has simply 
 reference to the subjects with which dissoluteness or temperance is concerned • 
 and further that the weakness which has reference to other obj flits of pleasure is 
 a^Btinot form of weakness so called by metaphor and not in the perfect sense 
 of the term. 
 
 ;. Ill— COMPARISON OF THE VARIOUS FORMS OF 
 MORAL EVIL. 
 
 i. — Yielding to lust is worse than yielding to anger. 
 
 We must now examine the position that ' a weak yielding to 
 anger is less disgraceful than a weak yielding to the desires.' 
 
 1. Now anger seems in a kind of way to listen to Reason, 
 though it listens amiss. It is like those over- 
 eager servants who rush upon their errand before -^-ig™ listens to 
 they understand what they are told and conse- fZ? ''''""*'"' 
 quently miscarry their message ; or like dogs who 
 begin to bark if anything rustle before considering whether it be 
 friend or foe. In this way it is that Anger, through the heat and 
 excitement of its nature, though it listens to Reason yet catches 
 not the word of command but hurries away to find its satisfaction. 
 In such cases if Reason or Imagination only make it clear that an 
 insult or a slight has been cast upon it, Anger drawing the 
 inference as it were that ' it is right to fight against such things,' 
 fires forth into instant rage. On the other hand Desire is incessant 
 in its craving : if Reason or Sense only whisper that ' such a 
 thing is pleasant ' it rushes on to gratify its appetite. 
 
 Anger, therefore, is in a kind of way, faithful to Reason whereas 
 Desire is quite irrational: hence to obey Desire is more dis- 
 graceful than to obey Anger. The man who yields to Anger is in 
 a sense overmastered by Reason ; whereas in the other case a man 
 18 simply overmastered by his appetites and Reason has no voice 
 in the matter. 
 
 we must now enquire which form of weakness is the more disgfraceful — the 
 ffeakneas which yields to appetite or that which yields to anger. It is commonly 
 (nought that that which yields to Desire is worse than that which yields to 
 iflger. 
 
 1. For the man who gives vent to anger does not in every sense refuse to obey 
 ^ason, but in a kind of way listens to, yet mis-hears, the voice of Eeason ; just 
 «e over-hasty servants who rush out before they have heard what the command 
 fid upon them is ; and so fail to fulfil their errand ; or like dogs who bark at 
 ;he merest rustle before considering whether the arrival be that of friend or foe. 
 *'M thus that Anger, owing to the warmth and impetuosity of its natm-e, hearing 
 iae voice of Reason but not hearing what its command is, rushes out to vent its 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 7, 
 
 resentment. In sucli cases there is a rational inference or impression indicating 
 simply that ' sucli an one is insulting or despising or injnring a man ; ' anc 
 Anger drawing the inference as it were that one ought to fight against sncl 
 things, forthwith fires into a rage. Anger does thus in a certain sense follow th( 
 guidance of Reason. On the other hand, Desire, if only sense or Reason vitiateo 
 by sense whisper that such a thing is pleasant, rushes instantly to find its gratifi- 
 cation therein. Consequently, Anger follows the g:nidance of Reason in a certaii 
 sense, but Desire not at all ; and for this reason a man who is weai on the side 
 of appetite is morally worse than the man who is morally weak on the side ol 
 anger. The man who weakly yields to anger is in a kind of fashion controlled 
 by Reason, whereas the man who weakly yields to Desire is controlled bj 
 appetite. 
 
 2. Moreover, it is more pardonable for a man to follow his 
 physical impulses : in fact it is more pardonable 
 2. Anger is more for him to foUow even his desires when those 
 natural t n e- ^ggjj.gg ^re of a nature to be common to all men, 
 and in the degree in which they are common, 
 But Anger and harshness are more constitutional and natural 
 than the desires, when those desires are in excess and are not 
 natural. 
 
 That there is excuse for a man who follows the bent of his 
 nature may be illustrated by the story of the man who gave as his 
 reason for beating his father the plea that his father had beaten 
 his grandfather, and his grandfather his great grandfather ; and 
 pointing to his son he said, ' This little fellow will beat me when 
 he has grown to be a man : — it is a constitutional weakness in oui 
 family.' Or one might take another instance of the same tendency 
 in the case of the man who was being dragged about by his son, 
 and begged of him to stop at the doors on the plea that he had 
 never dragged his own father past the door. 
 
 2. Moreover it is a lighter evil to foUow natural impulses than such as are 
 less natural : natural impulses having a greater claim to consideration. Bnt 
 weak yielding to auger is more natural than weak yielding to appetitesr-I mean 
 such desires as are not necessary and which are pursued in excess, such as money 
 or honour. Hence the weakness of anger is a more tolerable evil than the weak- 
 ness of the appetites ; and it is evident that what is more natural is also more 
 excusable. For instance, a man being rebuked for beating his father, made it 
 his excuse that anger of this kind and the weakness which yielded thereto was 
 constitutional in him ; in fact that his own father was a beater of kU father and 
 his grandfather before him, and, he added ' my own son will be like tib all and 
 will beat me when he has grown to be a man.' There is another illustration of 
 this tendency in the story of the man who when dragged along by his son begged 
 him to stop at the door : ' I never dragged my own father,' he said ' f nrSier than 
 that.' It is evident, then, that it affords some excuse for evil deeds that a man 
 has a constitutional tendency towards them ; and this makes the crime more 
 endurable. 
 
 That it is more natural to yield to anger than to yield to appetite, is evident. 
 To be enraged in the simple sense of the term is more natural than to desire 
 what is not necessary. The feeling of anger was implanted in our nature for 
 the preservation of our species — that we might shake off from ourselves what u 
 harmful ; and that is the aim towards which it tends. On the oontraiy, desire 
 
BLVII. 7.] Translatioii. 389 
 
 for what is not necessary is not natural : it is possible to preserve our nature 
 ■vrithout either victory or honour. Hence the feeling of anger has a wider range 
 thaii the desires for what is not necessary. Anger is inheren-flfcin all men, and 
 in all sentient beings ; whereas the desires are not universal even among men. 
 Siaoe then the feeling of anger is more natural than desires of this kind, and 
 the excesses of anger are more natural than excess in the appetites, the weakness 
 which yields to anger is more natural, and therefore less blameable, than the 
 ^fekness which yields to the appetites. 
 
 3. Again, men are the more evil the more they are deliberate in 
 their wrongdoings. Now neither the angry man 
 nor anger itself are the results of deliberate 3. Anger is less 
 intention but are open and undisguised. On the [lesirr^ ^ ^^ 
 other hand Desire is crafty in its working ; just 
 as Aphrodite herself is said to be 
 
 " The Goddess Cyprus-born, the weaver of deceit." 
 
 In the same spirit Homer sings of her embroidered girdle, how 
 jUpon it was 
 
 " The temptress-tongue that guiles the thought e'en of the prudent mind." 
 
 Consequently, since this form of moral evil is more wrongful, 
 so also is it more disgraceful than weak yielding to anger ; and 
 jindeed it is ' moral weakness ' in the strict sense of the term and 
 io a kind of way moral depravity. 
 
 3. Again, among evU men those are the more evil whose sin. is the more medi- 
 tated. But Desire is more deliberate than Anger ; therefore it is more sinful. 
 That it is more deliberate, is obvious. It steals over a man imperceptibly, and 
 does not come on with a rush, as Anger does. Men who vent their anger display 
 their feelings openly, whereas those who indulge their lusts are scarcely noticed 
 at all because they enjoy themselves secretly as it were and steal their gi-atifi- 
 tation by secret guile ; and hence they are carried on of their ovni accord by a 
 Jind of guile and deceit to the objects of their lusts. Homer too says of Aphro- 
 'ffii^ that she is ' the weaver of deceit ; ' and for this reason they ascribe to 
 Apkrodite the embroidered girdle, representing thereby the cunning craftiness of 
 Itoti-and thj phrase 
 
 'The temptress-tongue which guiles the thought e'en of the prudent mind," 
 
 Sin the same direction. Consequently, if lust of this kind is more wrongful, 
 tethe weakness which yields to it is more disgraceful than that which yields to 
 ^^i ; and this form of weakness and dissoluteness is the perfect form and vice 
 iH'fiie unqpaUfied sense. 
 
 4. Again, no one acts wantonly when wantonness gives him 
 paija ; but whenever a man acts under the in- 
 
 ftence of anger, his acts are painful to himself, pLinfuiTthTJrati- 
 |nd not, as in the case of wantonness attended fication of desire is 
 *ith pleasure. If then the things against which ^^"^^ ^°- 
 fre ought to be most enraged, are those which are more evil, the 
 weakness which is caused by lust will be more evil than the weak- 
 
390 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vri,7. 
 
 ness whicli yields to anger, since there is no wantonness nor 
 pleasure in anger. 
 
 It is clear, then, that moral weakness accompanying the desires 
 is more disgraceful than that which attends anger ; and further 
 that the special field in which strength or feebleness of the moral 
 nature is shown, are the gratifications and pleasures of the body. 
 
 4. Again, no one feels pain in following abnormal pleasures, but everyone is 
 pained when giving vent to anger. Now a man is more censured who taies 
 delight in doing evil, than is the man who feels pain in doing evil. The mam 
 who feels pain is thought to give some satisfaction for the error he commits, and 
 for this reason is thought less guilty. Hence the man who follows unnatural 
 pleasure is justly thought more guilty than the man who vents his anger. The 
 weakness therefore which accompanies lust is a worse evil than the weaka^' 
 which accompanies anger ; since things are more evil in proportion as resentment 
 is more justly felt against them. 
 
 It is clear then from what has been said that the weakness which yields to lust 
 is more disgraceful than the weakness which yields to anger ; and further that 
 the sphere in which strength or weakness of tlie moral nature is displayed is the 
 sphere defined by the lusts and pleasures of the body. 
 
 ii. — iContrast l)etweeii Weakness, Dissoluteness, Savagery, and 
 Effeminacy. 
 
 (a) DISSOLUTENESS WOESE THAN SAVAGERY. 
 
 Here we must take into account the difierences between the 
 different kinds of pleasure and desire. 
 t^Tibie,''' but "less l&<m it was shown at the beginning of this 
 evil, than vicious- book that (1) some pleasures are proper to man 
 "''^^" and suited to his nature, in point both of charac- 
 
 ter and extent while (2) others are brutish and others (3) again 
 the result of mutilation and disease. 
 
 It is only in regard to the first of these pleasures that the virtue 
 of self-control or the vice of dissoluteness is displayed : hence we 
 do not speak of wild beasts as being either ' self-controlled! or 
 ' vicious,' except relatively and by a figure of speech, in case there 
 are any races of animals which, compared with others, are con- 
 spicuous for their wantonness and viciousness and utter voracity. 
 Animals have not, of course, a moral purpose, nor power of calcu- 
 lation, but stand outside the pale of nature just as among men 
 those who are in a state of madness do. 
 
 But though savagery is more terrible than viciousness, it is a 
 lesser evil : there has been no corruption of the highest faculty in 
 the case of beasts as in the case of vicious men^beasts simply do 
 not possess that highest faculty, i.e. Reason. To compare beasts 
 
Bk, VII. 8.] Translation. 391 
 
 with men is therefore to compare what is lifeless with what has a 
 soul and ask which is the more evil. The badness of a thing 
 when it has no ' power of origination ' within itself, such as is 
 Season, is always less mischievous than it is where such a power 
 ^.exists. Beasts and men are things incommensurable : to compare 
 them is almost like comparing ' wickedness ' with ' a wicked man.' 
 In a certan sense each is worse than the other : a bad man could, 
 for instance, cause infinitely worse mischief than a beast. 
 
 - Now let us examine what are the specific differences between Temperance, 
 !*JIajilineB8, and Endurance, and the vices opposed thereto — Dissoluteness, Weak- 
 '•nesa, and BfEeminaoy. 
 
 !• Now of the pleasures of the body some (1) are proper to man, others (2) are 
 •teutish and others (3) signs of disease. (1) Human pleasures are such as by their 
 nature delight a man — whatever in fact they are in which a good man takes- 
 delight or even a bad man if his badness is but in the way of human failing ; as 
 for instance wealth, or reputation, or food or marriage. Whenever a man delights; 
 in saoh pleasures and pursues them, either rightly or in excess — ^violating thereby 
 'i'Meason but not his own nature, such an one feels the pleasure proper to man. (2) 
 ■''Bmtish pleasures are such as are outside the pale of human nature as well in 
 point of quantity as of quality. Excesses even of human pleasures when they 
 outstrip their own selves and come to be outside the bounds of what is natural to 
 inan, are themselves also bmtish. (3) Diseased pleasures are such as exceed 
 human gratification through disease or madness, or which are contrary to nature. 
 [In fine there are corresponding states of mind concerned with these different 
 pleasures, as was shown above in the distinctions made in regard to brutish 
 pleasure.] 
 
 But Temperance and Dissoluteness have for their sphere simply human plea- 
 sures : hence we do not call beasts temperate nor dissolute unless perhaps by way 
 of metaphor and not in the strict sense. In such cases we only call beasts 
 temperate or dissolute by way of making comparison between them : they do 
 indeed present some points of distinction in reference to bodily pleasures — some 
 of them take greater pleasure in such things and others less ; but in the strict 
 sense of the term they are not called either dissolute or temperate, because they 
 do not in any way possess reason but are in every point outside the pale of rational 
 creatures, just as also are those of ourselves who are insane. 
 
 On this account Savagery is a lesser evil than human wickedness, even though 
 it be more terrible. Human wickedness corrupts the noblest element in human, 
 .nature, w. the Reason ; but that is by no means the effect of savagery, since 
 Sffleasts do not possess Reason at all. In the same way, a thing which is lifeless- 
 ijll a lesser evil than that which has a soul, since an evil which has within itself 
 a power of origination which moves it, is more harmful than one which has no- 
 such principle. An evil which has no power of motion is more endurable than 
 an evil which moves itself, inasmuch as its power of action is less. Just then as 
 an evil which has life is a worse evil than one which is lifeless, because it has 
 within it the soul as a principle of origination which sets it in motion, so also- 
 the rational element, because more than the irrational it has a principle of origi- 
 nation is more harmful and worse. A bad man can do infinitely more mischief 
 than a brute. This examination may suffice for the present : we must now 
 pursue the enquiry into the questions more immediately before us. 
 
 (3) VAEIATIONS OF CHAEACTBR PEODUCED BY PLEASURE, 
 
 Turning now to the question of the pleasures and pains which 
 come through touch and taste, and the desires and aversions 
 
392 The Moral Philosophy oj Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 8. 
 
 corresponding thereto (whicli were defined before as the special 
 
 field in which dissoluteness or self-restraint are 
 
 Distinction be- displayed), the attitude of a man's mind may be 
 
 wXminded and such in regard thereto as to yield to temptations 
 
 the strong-minded, to which men are generally superior, or on the 
 
 ind*^eS^'*' other hand to be superior to influences to wMch 
 
 men generally succumb. 
 
 These characters may be further subdivided into : 
 
 1. those who weakly yield to pleasures (commonly called ' the 
 weak-minded ') and those who overcome such pleasui-es {Le. ' the 
 strong-minded '), 
 
 2. those who weakly yield to pain {i.e. ' the effeminate ') and 
 those who overcome pain (or ' the manly ' and ' much enduring '). 
 
 The moral attitude, however, of the mass of men is not so pro- 
 nounced as any of these distinct types, though they incline rather 
 to the less noble side. 
 
 Now in reference to each class of emotions enumerated above there is a special 
 type of character ; and in reference to human pleasures and pains there is 
 temperance, as has been already shown, and manliness and strong--mindedness, 
 and the mental states opposed thereto. [By ' human ' pleasures and pains f oiming 
 the sphere of temperance I mean such as are associated with touch and taste.] 
 Now there are some men who are more easily overcome by these pleasures than 
 are the majority of men, and more easily impelled to their pursuit, as some few 
 wicked men are : others again overcome pleasures to which the mafis of men 
 yield. 
 
 Since, then, there are pains and pleasui'es by which men are overcome or to 
 which they are superior, (1) those who overcome pleasures are the strong-minded 
 and those who are overcome thereby are the weak-minded ; while (2) those who 
 overmaster things which are painful so as not to be influenced by them are the 
 patient and long-sufEering and those who are overcome and are easily influenced 
 thereby are the effeminate. But in most cases men are neither much-endnring 
 nor effeminate but midway, though inclining rather to what is worse. The case 
 is similar in regard to other habits. But we must hereafter draw more accurate 
 distinctions in regard thereto. 
 
 [C] THE DISSOLUTE CONTRASTED WITH THE WEAK. 
 
 But since there are certain pleasures which are necessary, and 
 ._ _ _ others which are not necessary, or only up to a 
 
 ?weer*th^ disso^ certain degree (to the exclusion of all cases of 
 lute, the ascetic, simple extravagance or defect), and these dis- 
 theSl^te.^"'^ tinctions apply equally to desires and pains, the 
 man who pursues the excesses of what is plea- 
 sant, or pursues even necessary pleasures to an extravagant point 
 and pursues them from a definite conviction (i.e. for their own 
 sake and with no ulterior aim beyond sensual gratification), such 
 an one is a dissolute man : his will being abandoned to pleasure 
 
Bk. VII. 8.] Translation. 393 
 
 lie is necessarily past repentance and so incurable, since without 
 repentance there can be no moral cure. ^ 
 
 On the other hand, the man who is defective in his desire for 
 pleasure, is the exact opposite of the dissolute man, and is an 
 ascetic ; while, again, the man who steers a mid course is the 
 temperate man. 
 
 [The same distinction is applicable also to the case of the man 
 who avoids bodily pains, not from being worsted by them but 
 from settled principle.] 
 
 Of the characters, however, whose will does not co-operate in 
 the badness of the life, one type is that of a man who is led astray 
 by the motive of pleasure, and another comprises those who are 
 led astray by their desire to avoid the pain which comes from un- 
 satisfied desire. Hence they differ the one from the other. But 
 a man would seem to be in every respect worse if he follows a 
 disgraceful course when not under the influence of desire, or only 
 so to a slight extent, than if he did so when the power of passion 
 was strong upon him. He would, again, be thought worse if he 
 struct his friend under strong provocation than if he did so in 
 cold blood ; — since to what lengths would he not go if he were in 
 a state of strong emotion ? Consequently the dissolute man is 
 worse than the man whose sin is weakness only. 
 
 So then of the characters above described the one form has 
 rather the characteristics of effeminacy ; the other is simply disso- 
 lute and depraved. The moral opposite of the easy, selfish man 
 is the strong-minded man, and of the effeminate man the patient 
 and enduring man. Patient endurance depends upon the power 
 of holding out against pain ; whereas moral strength depends 
 upon the power of conquering pain. It is one thing to hold out, 
 another thing to overcome. Hence moral strength is a more 
 desirable gain than is simple endurance. 
 
 Now since certain pleasiores are necessary and others are not (and it has been 
 explained abeady what pleasures are necessary and np to what point) while the 
 excesses and defects therein are not necessary ; and since desires and pains 
 present the same character, the man who pursues the excesses of pleasure, or who 
 is constantly seeking those pleasures which are in their nature great, or who 
 seeks an extravagant gratification of pleasures which are in their nature moderate, 
 without being drawn on by any kind of compulsion to such gratification but 
 nmning after them with a free consent of his own will (and that too without any 
 ulterior object, as let us say, reputation or gain) — such an one is a dissolute man. 
 It is inevitable that such an one should have no regret after indulging himself 
 and on that account should be incurable : a man who is incapable of remorse is 
 past moral cure ; and that is the character of the dissolute man. 
 
 The man, on the other hand, who pursues necessary pleasures less than is 
 fitting is the man diametrically opposed to the dissolute man, i.e. the ascetic ; 
 while the man who steers the mid course is the temperate man. 
 
 But not only is he dissolute who pursues after bodily pleasures in the way 
 
394 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vii. 8. 
 
 whioli has been described ; but also the man who avoids bodily pains not from 
 being overmastered by them but from the definite choice of his own will, is 
 equally dissolute. 
 
 Of those, however, who are impelled to the pursuit of what is pleasurable wilii- 
 out a settled choice of their own, one is influenced by pleasure and another man 
 does so in order to avoid the craving, inasmuch as it is painful, of desire. Hence 
 these two types difEer from one another. The one who pursues what is pleasnrei' 
 able, through shrinking from pain, is effeminate, while the one whose whole 
 motive is pleasure is weat and selfish. The weak man is the moral opposite of 
 the strong-minded man ; and the effeminate man of the patient or much-endur- 
 ing man. Patient endurance consists in bearing up agaiust pain : strong-mindsdi- 
 ness in overcoming it. To hold out against a thing is different from overcoming 
 it, just as not being defeated is different from conquering. Hence strong-minded- 
 ness is better than endurance, since it is better to conquer than to be beaten. 
 
 It is evident also that dissoluteness is worse than weakness. It is obviouBi to 
 everyone that the man who pursues pleasure from deliberate conviction and 
 without being under the excitement of passion or only slightly so, and who is not 
 tyrannised over by an alien force, is a worse man than one who does so under the 
 imperious force of very powerful passions. The first case is that of the dissokts 
 man, the latter that of the weak man : consequently dissoluteness is worse than 
 weakness. 
 
 Such then are the points in which the strong-minded and the patient differ 
 from one another ; and under this view strong-mindedness is more desirable than 
 patient endurance, and weakness is more to be tolerated than dissoluteness. 
 
 {d') EFFEMINACY AND WEAKNESS IN CERTAIN CASES PARDONABLE, 
 
 When on the other hand a man fails in respect of temptations 
 .„. . . , against which the mass of men struffffle and 
 
 Distmctiou be- j7 , „ ,, , . ™ . °° , 
 
 tween pardonable Struggle succBssiully, he IS ettemmate and 
 and unpardonable luxuiious (luxury being a kind of effeminacy);? 
 e emmacy. ^^^ ^^^ instance, when a man trails his cloak to 
 
 save himself the trouble of holding it up, or when he imitates 
 the languor of the invalid yet does not consider himself a miser- 
 able man though he imitates the airs of one. 
 
 There is a similar distinction to be noted in regard to moral 
 weakness and strength. When pleasures are violent and over- 
 whelming, it is nothing wonderful for a man to be overmastered 
 by them, or by pains in like degree ; nay, it is excusable, provided 
 that he struggle against them. Examples of this truth would be 
 the picture which Theodectes draws of Philoctetes stung by a 
 serpent, or the passage in which Carcinus describes the conduct 
 of Cercyon at Alope; or, again, such cases as when men in 
 endeavouring to restrain their laughter burst out into a roar, as 
 was the fate which befell Xenophantus. On the contrary, if a 
 man be confronted with pleasures and pains against which the 
 mass of men are able to hold out, it is inexcusable that he should 
 be defeated and unable to struggle against them — unless the 
 fault be owing to some constitutional infirmity or disease, as is 
 the effeminacy which is natural to their race among the Scythian 
 
Bk. VII. 8.] Translation. 395 
 
 Kings, or as is the difference of strengtli between the female and 
 the male. 
 
 The frivolous man is also effeminate, though he is generally- 
 counted as dissolute. Amusement is an unbending since it is a 
 relaxation ; and the frivolous man is one who goes beyond due 
 limits in reference to amusenient. 
 
 But we must make still further distiuctions upon these points. Now the 
 Bteong-minded mam Is one who is master of his desires, and the man of patient 
 endmanoe is one who holds out against his desires and is not overmastered by 
 them. On the other hand, the man who plumes himself on matters against 
 which the mass of men struggle and temptations which the mass of men are 
 able to bear, such an one is effeminate and luxurious (luxury being a form of 
 effeminacy) : — Such is the man who trails his cloak to save himself the trouble 
 and pain of holding it up, or the man who imitates one prostrated by disease yet 
 does not consider himself wretched though he has the air of one who is. 
 
 The case of strong-mindedness and weakness presents a similar character. 
 There are pleasures and pains so great and violent that the man who is overcome 
 by them deservedly claims some consideration : to be overmastered by such things 
 is in no way wonderful. Such is the case of Philootetes whom the poet 
 Theodectes introduces in one of his poems as being stung by a serpent and 
 overmastering his grief up to a certain point and then screaming out with pain ; 
 or the case of Cercyon, whom the poet Carcinus introduces bearing up at the 
 outrage of his daughter up to a certain point, and then overmastered by his 
 grief; or, again, the case of those who endeavouring to stifle theii' laughter burst 
 out into a roar, as Xenophantus did. Such cases of men being overcome by very 
 violent emotions are in no way wonderful. 
 
 ' But where men are overcome by pleasures and pains against which the mass of 
 men hold out, and where men are powerless to make a struggle (and that not 
 through any constitutional infirmity of race, such as that of the Scythian kings, 
 who are effeminate by nature, or as the female is constitutionally more effe- 
 minate than the male, nor yet through disease), and where their failure is owing 
 to a depraved and wicked disposition, such characters are without excuse. ' 
 
 The man who indulges extravagantly in amusements is effeminate, though he 
 is (^mmonly regarded as dissolute. The effeminate are those who seek extra- 
 vagantly relaxation ; and amusement is a kind of relaxation and recreation. The 
 man who indulges extravagantly in amusements goes beyond the line in respect 
 of relaxation and is called frivolous. 
 
 iii. — Specific varieties of "Weakness compared with Dissoluteness. 
 
 (a) THE WEAKNESS OF THE NERVELESS AND OF THE HASTY 
 NATURE. 
 
 Now there are two kinds of moral weakness : one form arises 
 from hastiness of temper, and another form from 
 feebleness of will. weerhrtiness'^of 
 
 The latter case is that of those who, after temper and feeble- 
 having deliberated, do not adhere to the conclu- "^'^^o*^'"- 
 sions which they have formed, through the feeling of the moment. 
 
 The former case is that of those who are led away by the 
 impulse of the moment through never having formed any deter- 
 'fflination at all : — in contrast, of course, to others who (like those 
 
396 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 9. 
 
 who are not tickled from having tickled themselves before) are 
 not overcome by the momentary impulse whether that be pleasant 
 or painful, because they have felt the sensations before, and 
 anticipated them, and nerved their nature and their reason before- 
 hand to meet them. 
 
 The persons most subject to this weakness of impetuosity are 
 those of a hasty or bilious temperament. Hasty people through 
 the rapidity of their movements and bilious people through over- 
 wrought nerves do not wait to hear the voice of Eeason, being 
 severally prone to follow the impression of the moment. 
 
 Now there are two kinds of moral weakness : one form is called impetuosity, 
 the other feebleness of puipose. 
 
 Some men, though they have resolved beforehand not to succumb to impulse 
 are after all overmastered by it ; and their weakness is the weakness of the feeble 
 wiU. Others are overmastered by the sudden onset of passion ; and their weak- 
 ness is the weakness of impetuosity. [Some men of course are not thus overcome 
 by impulse because they have felt the sensation before ajid have foreseen it, and 
 have roused themselves and their reason against it ; just as parts of the body 
 which have been rubbed before or tickled before are not liable to similar irritation 
 again.] The persons most of all liable to this weakness of impetuosity are those 
 of a quick or melancholic temper. The quick-tempered, through impetuosity, do 
 not await the decision to be given by Reason ; and the melancholic, through being 
 intensely sensitive and following the impressions of the moment, and conse- 
 quently are more powerfully stirred, since they do not attend to their Reason. 
 
 (5) RELATIVE SINFULNESS OF WEAKNESS AND OF DISSOLUTENESS. 
 
 Now the dissolute man is, as has been shown, past repentance : 
 he adheres to a settled purpose of the will, though 
 Distinction be- that will is a depraved one. On the other hand 
 anrwicke^ness. those who are Only weak are in all cases capable 
 of repentance. Consequently the case does 
 not really stand as it was tentatively assumed ; but in fact the 
 dissolute man is incurable and the weak man is curable. The 
 wickedness of the dissolute man resembles such diseases as dropsy, 
 or consumption ; while that of the weak man resembles cases 
 of epileptic seizure. The disease of the one is continuous, that of 
 the other intermittent. In fact the whole character of weakness 
 is distinct from that of viciousness. Vice deceives its own self, 
 believing the evil to be good ; while weakness is not unconscious 
 tjjat it is weakness. 
 
 [But of the two kinds of moral frailty, those who are carried 
 away by precipitation are better than those who have the right 
 before them yet do not keep firm to its bidding. These latter 
 are overmastered by a less powerful impulse, and their weak- 
 ness is not without an element of forethought, as that of the 
 hasty is : in fact they resemble those who are quickly intoxicated 
 
Bk VIL 9.] Translation. 397 
 
 by a small quantity of wine — by a smaller quantity indeed than 
 men generally are.] 
 
 It is clear then that weakness is not identical with viciousness 
 — except, perhaps, up to a certain point. Weakness is contrary 
 to the will : viciousness is in sympathy with the will : — neverthe- 
 less there is a certain correspondence or similarity between them, 
 looking to their actual results, and their bearing upon conduct. 
 The case of the weak reminds one of the saying of Demodocus 
 in reference to the Milesians : ' Though the Milesians are not 
 deficient in sense, they act precisely as though they were.' Just 
 so the weak, though not vicious in heart and will, are yet guilty 
 of wicked acts. 
 
 The characteristic differences between weakness and dissolute- 
 ness may be stated thus : 
 
 (1.) The weak man is of such a character that he follows after 
 bodily pleasures that are in excess and in contravention of Eight 
 Eeason, without having formed a conviction or being persuaded 
 that it is right. 
 
 (2.) The dissolute man on the other hand has formed a belief 
 that he ought to pursue such pleasures, a belief which arises 
 from the fact of his character being such as to make the pursuit 
 of such pleasures congenial and natural to him. 
 
 The weak man may therefore be easily influenced for good and 
 the dissolute man cannot. There is an element of virtue in the 
 weak man which preserves the moral principle or the sense of 
 right; whereas the viciousness of the dissolute man utterly 
 destroys his moral sense. But the maintenance of this principle 
 is all important in practical life. This principle is the ' final 
 cause ' of human life upon which (like the axioms in Mathe- 
 matics) all else depends. As in Mathematics, so in Morals, the 
 first principles are immediate and intuitive : there is no method 
 of ratiocination which can prove them. It is virtue, whether 
 natural goodness of heart, or the good life resulting from virtuous 
 habituation, which is the cause of a man's thinking aright in 
 regard to the first principle in Morals. The man who has this 
 self-contained principle of right within him and who acts upon 
 it is the man of perfected temperance. The man who has lost 
 this principle is dissolute and depraved. Intermediate between 
 dissoluteness and temperance is the mixture of good and evil 
 called weakness. That is to say, there is a character which, 
 through the ascendancy of passion, is easily led astray contrary 
 to Right Reason — a character which, though it be so overmastered 
 by the feeling of the moment, is yet not so utterly overborne by 
 evil as to alter its nature and form a conviction that it ought 
 
398 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 9. 
 
 without stint or curb to pursue bodily pleasures as a duty. Such 
 is the phase which the character of the weak mau presents — a 
 phase preferable to that of dissoluteness and not evil to any 
 irreclaimable degree ; since in spite of all there is preserved 
 unsullied in such a character what is highest and best — the moral 
 principle and the sense of human perfection. 
 
 There is still another type of character, that of the strong- 
 minded man, the exact opposite of the weak nature : he is one who 
 keeps resolutely to the law of duty and is not liable to be led 
 astray, at any rate by passion, though the conflict of his nature 
 is not j'et over. Hence it is clear that the moral frame of the 
 strong-minded man is good while that of the weak character is bad. 
 
 But the weak man is ia all cases open to a feeling of repentance, as has been 
 explained. When the passion has been cooled and has spent itself iiie Reason of 
 the man, being in a healthy state, siu-veys the incongruity of the passion ; and a 
 change of mind is the consequent result. The dissolute man, on the other hand, 
 is not open to such feelings of repentance : Reason in his case is not sound, and 
 consequently he is unable to discern the shamefulness of his conduct. Hence the 
 ■weak man is curable and the dissolute man is incurable. Their relation is not 
 in fact what we said it was when we first raised the question in regard thereto. 
 Our previous account was put forward under the idea that a popular and plau- 
 sible view helps to strip the question for discussion. The true view is as follows. 
 Dissoluteness, in fact, resembles dropsy or consumption which incessantly gnaws 
 at its victims ; whereas weakness resembles attacks of epilepsy which distress men 
 at intervals only and not continuously. Dissoluteness is continuous wickedness, 
 the dissolute man thinking it ever right to iadulge his passions. Weakness is not 
 incessant but is only shown when a man encounters strong desires. In fact the 
 whole character of dissoluteness is distinct from that of weakness. Dissoluteness 
 is self -ignorance, and is all unconscious how shameful it is ; whereas weakness 
 knows how weak it is : the weak man knows that it is shameful to yield to passion. 
 Dssoluteness is therefore worse than either of the two forms of weakness. 
 
 [But of the two kinds of weakness, the feeble will is worse than the hasty 
 temper. Those who have the infirmity of a feeble will are overmastered by a 
 trifling impulse, while those who have the weakness of impetuosity are overborne 
 by one far stronger. It is evident that where men are able to take counsel, passion 
 is not contending violently in their nature. Buttheimpetuons, by reason that they 
 are not able to reflect, are evidently overpowered by violent emotions. Besides it 
 is more disgraceful for a man to be overmastered by impulse after he has previ- 
 ously resolved upon the opposite and as it were aimed himself for the fray, than 
 it is if he has not previously deliberated. Those who show the weakness of the 
 feeble will resemble those who are quickly intoxicated and that by a little wine 
 — by a smaller quantity, that is, than men generally are.] 
 
 It is evident, then, that weakness is vice, only not vice in the unqualified sense 
 like dissoluteness, but in a qualified sense. In so far as the weak man does in a 
 certain sense purpose what is evU while in the toils of passion, his weakness is a 
 vice ; but in so far as he does not entirely think that he ought to follow his passion, 
 his weakness is not vice. His character resembles that of the Milesians, whom 
 Demodocus spoke of in satire as being ' not devoid of sense, but ever acting as 
 though they were.' In precisely the same way the weak are not dissolute and yet 
 their actions are the actions of dissolute men. 
 
 Now since the weak-minded man pursues sensual indulgences contrary to Eight 
 Reason, without being persuaded that they are right and that he ought to puisne 
 them, whereas on the other hand the dissolute man has formed a conviction that 
 he ought to make pleasure his pursuit, the weak man is open to argument and the 
 
Bk. VII. lO.J Translation. 399 
 
 dissolute man is not. The moral principle or standard of conduct — tlie Summum 
 Bonum, the Final Cause of human activity, is preserved by virtue and destroyed 
 by vice ; by means of virtue we arrive at the Perfect Good or Human Perfection, 
 and by the path of vice we withdraw farther and f ai-ther from if An End of this 
 nature is not apprehended by means of argument or of demonstration any more 
 than the axioms of Mathematics are apprehended by demonstration ; nay, rather, 
 it is moral excellence, whether innate or acquired by virtuous practice, which 
 enables us to have a right conception in regard to the time End. The knowledge 
 of our true perfection is secured to us either as the heritage of nature or as the 
 triumph of virtuous habit. 
 
 Now the man who knows ' the Good ' which he ought to make the end of all his 
 actions, and who performs whatever tends to that end, is a man of perfected 
 temperance. On iie contrary the man who places before him as his end what is 
 evil, and directs his pleasures thereto, he is a dissolute man. 
 
 Again, the man who proposes to himself a virtuous end, and thinks it his duty 
 to range his whole personal conduct in reference to that end, yet through passion 
 revolts from Eight Reason — ^not however to such an extent as to consider it his 
 duty to pursue pleasures of this kind, but only so far as to do wrong in actual 
 conduct, such an one will be neither temperate nor dissolute : he will be inferior 
 to the temperate man owing to his conduct, yet superior to the dissolute man 
 owing to the Reason within him. The weak man is only vicious up to a certain 
 point, whereas the dissolute man is vicious absolutely. 
 
 There is, again, another character opposed to the weak man — the strong- 
 minded man, who though he feels the power of passion is not thereby drawn away 
 from, the convictions of Reason. 
 
 From these considerations it is evident that strong-mindedness is a virtuous 
 state of mind whereas weakness is an evil state. 
 
 iv. — Strong-miadedness contrasted ■with, kindred states. 
 
 [a) TEUE STRONG-MINDEDNESS AND ACCIDENTAL STEONG- 
 IimDEDNBSS. 
 
 Is the strong-minded man, then, one who is firm to any kind of 
 Eeason, or to any kind of purpose ? or must his .^. ^. ^. , 
 
 1 ., , % --S _ T „ Distmction be- 
 
 purpose be a right one and his Keason sound .' tween real and ao- 
 Conversely, is the weak-minded man one who cidental strength 
 fails to adhere to his Reason or purpose, whatever 
 the character of that Reason or purpose may be ? — or is he one who 
 adheres to a false Reason and to a wrong purpose, as was sug- 
 gested above ? 
 
 May we not solve this difficulty by limiting the phrase ' what- 
 ever the character of the Reason may be * to accidental issues, 
 and saying that in the exact sense of the term the strong char- 
 acter is one that remains firm to true Reason or a right pur- 
 pose, and the weak character one who fails to adhere to true 
 Eeason and a right purpose ? To take an instance : if a man 
 pursues one thing for the sake of another, he may be said to choose 
 and pursue one thing absolutely and the means thereto only acci- 
 dentally. The term ' absolutely ' we use as equivalent to ' for its 
 own sake.' Hence it is true that in a certain sense the strong- 
 Diinded man adheres to and the weak man wavers from any kind of 
 
400 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. lo 
 
 opinion, though absolutely and strictly that opinion must be i 
 right one. 
 
 There is yet another point into which we must inquire, and which was raisec 
 on a previous occasion : Is a man strong-minded if he adheres to any kind o: 
 purpose, or must his purpose be a right one ? and conversely of the weai-mindec 
 man. By accidental association at any rate a man is called ' strong-minded 
 who adheres firmly to any kind of purpose ; but in strict truth a man i 
 only strong-minded when he adheres to a right purpose and to a true Reason 
 Similarly the weak-minded man is through accidental associations one who faili 
 to adhere to any kind of purpose, though in strict truth and absolutely he is on( 
 who fails to adliere to a right purpose. I mean that if a man seeks and makei 
 choice of a. thing not for its own sake but for an ulterior object, he seeki 
 that thing only ' by accident ' but the ulterior object he seeks absolutely and foi 
 its own sake. For example, a man who seeks money for the sake of gloiy, seeki 
 money only ' by accident ' and glory absolutely. In the same manner the oa«( 
 stands in regard to things generally that come under the choice. A man wh( 
 continues firm to a virtuous opinion and to a right choice, chooses the good ii 
 itself because it is good ; and hence he is strong-minded in the absolute sense. Oi 
 the contrary a man who adheres to a wrong purpose and to a false opinion doei 
 so because he thinks that it is the good which he is choosing, and he thinks S( 
 because there is within him only a faint trace of the good ; and in oonsequenc( 
 thereof he embraces a wrong purpose and a false opinion as thongh they wen 
 right and true. Since therefore he does not choose the objects which he dioosei 
 for their own sakes but for the sake of the good, he is not strong-minded in th( 
 absolute sense of the term but only by accident. The case stands similarly ii 
 regard to the opposites. In a certain sense a man is weak-minded who does noi 
 adhere to any kind of opinion, but in the strict sense only he who does noi 
 adhere to a right opinion (the terms ' absolutely ' and ' for its own sake' beinf 
 identical). 
 
 (^) STEONG-MINDEDNBSS CONTEASTED WITH OBSTINACY AND 
 
 SELF-WILL. 
 
 But there are also men who adhere firmly to their opinion! 
 
 ^. . . , whom we call ' positive ' and ' obstinate ; ' for eX' 
 Distmction be- in i iij • i 
 
 tween strong- ample, those who are hard to convince and cannoi 
 mindedness and be argued out of anything. They represent a typ( 
 
 macy. ^^ character very similar to that of the strong' 
 
 minded man (in the same way that the prodigal resembles th( 
 liberal man and the rash man resembles the brave man) yei 
 still they are distinct in many points. The strong-minded mar 
 does not change under the influence of feeling or desire, anc 
 though he is easily convinced should occasion arise, he is strong' 
 minded all the same. On the other hand obstinate men are no 
 convinced by any appeal to Reason, though many of them an 
 very susceptible to strong desires and are led astray by their om 
 gratifications. 
 
 The class of obstinate men are represented by the self-opinionated 
 the uneducated, and the vulgar. The self-opinionated are S' 
 through the power of pleasure and pain : they rejoice as in a viC' 
 
Bk. VII. 11.] Translation. 401 
 
 tory when they have shown themselves inaccessible to argument, 
 and they are distressed if their dicta are . unconfirmed lilce un- 
 warranted decrees. In being thus swayed by pleasure, the self- 
 opinionated resemble men of weak rather than of strong character. 
 
 Now those who are called ' obstinate ' though they adhere to a form of 
 opinion and though sometimes their purpose is true and right, are stiE not 
 'strong-minded,' but hold the same resemblance to the strong-minded that 
 prodigals do to liberal men or reckless men to brave men : they are an im- 
 practicable class who are hard to be convinced. So far however as they adhere 
 to their resolutions they resemble the strong-minded ; yet the strong-minded are 
 open to change of conviction under the influence of Reason and persuasion, 
 whereas the obstinate are not changed by argument though many of tHem are 
 led astray by passion or their own pleasures. 
 
 The obstinate include the self-opinionated, the uneducated, and the vulgar. 
 The uneducated and vulgar are so through not knowing the principles of things 
 from an appeal to which it might be possible for them to be persuaded. The self- 
 opinionated cleave to their resolutions for the mere pleasure of keeping them, or 
 for the pain of parting with them : they take delight in not being worsted by 
 those who endeavour to convince them, and they are distressed if their views are 
 imoonfirmed like unwarranted decrees. Hence it is that the self-opinionated 
 resemble rather the weak than the strong-minded : like the weak-minded, they 
 do not follow Reason but their own feelings, 
 
 (c) A NOBLE INCONSISTENCY. 
 
 There are again cases where men are not firm to what they have 
 determined upon from other motives than moral 
 weakness. An instance of this kind is that of parentweakness ?s 
 Neoptolemus in the PhUoctetes of Sophocles, real strength of 
 Neoptolemus faUed to abide by his promise through ° ^™' 
 the influence of pleasure — yet that pleasure was a noble one : in 
 his eyes it was a glorious thing to speak the truth, and he had 
 been persuaded by Ulysses to tell a lie. Not everyone, assuredly, 
 who acts from motives of pleasure is either dissolute or bad or 
 weak-minded, but only those whose motive is an evU pleasure. 
 
 There are again those who adhere to true resolutions or who do not adhere to 
 false resolutions, from motives of pleasure, who still are not therefore evil inas- 
 much as the pleasure which influences them is a laudable pleasure. Such 
 an instance is seen in the conduct of Neoptolemus. He did not adhere to 
 the agreement which he had made with Ulysses, and did not deceive Philootetes 
 by teUing a f aisehood to him ; but the motive which influenced him was a noble 
 pleasure and not an evil one. A man is not evil simply because he acts from a 
 motive of pleasure, nor dissolute nor weak ; it is when he acts from a disgraceful 
 pleasure that he is censured. 
 
 v.— General Summary of the Argument relating to Moral Strength 
 or Weakness. 
 
 But since there is also a phase of character of such a temper as 
 to be influenced by bodily pleasures to an extent less than is 
 
402 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 11. 
 
 right, and not to adhere to Reason in and for itself, the * mean 
 state ' between that character and the weak- 
 strength of cha- minded man, is the strong-nainded man. The 
 
 racter is a mean' i-ii i j.ii i-n 
 
 state, and aUied to, weak-minded man does not adhere to Beason, 
 though not identi- through a kind of excess of feeling, and the opposite 
 anoer^* temper- ^^ ascetic character, through deficiency of feeling; 
 whereas on the contrary the strong-minded cha- 
 racter is ever loyal to Reason, and for no motive but that of Reason 
 does be change his purpose. 
 
 Now if strength of character be right, it necessarily follows that 
 the mental states opposed thereto are wrong, as in fact they are 
 seen to be. Inasmuch, however, as one of these extremes, asce- 
 ticism, is only found in rare cases and on rare occasions, strength 
 of character seems to be the only state opposed to weakness of 
 character just as temperance seems to be the only state opposed to 
 dissoluteness. 
 
 Since, however, many terms are used metaphorically and by 
 analogy, the term ' strong-mindedness of the temperate man ' has 
 followed the general law of metaphor. Under one aspect indeed 
 the strong-minded man seems to be the same as the temperate 
 man : they are both of them of such a character as to do nothing 
 contrary to Reason under the influence of bodily pleasures. But 
 there is tbis difference between them : — the strong-minded man 
 bas bad desires and the temperate man has not : the temperate 
 man has so perfected his nature that he has no sensations of 
 pleasure that are contrary to Reason, whereas the strong-minded 
 man has those evil sensations though he is not led astray by them. 
 In the same way the weak man and the dissolute man resemble 
 one another under one aspect, though really distinct : both of 
 them follow after sensual pleasures ; but the dissolute man thinks 
 that it is right and the weak man knows that it is wrong. 
 
 It is, again, inconceivable that the man of weak will should at 
 
 the same time be a man of practical wisdom. It 
 
 Incompatibility of has been already demonstrated that the man of 
 
 weakness with (1) j.- i • t ■ i ■ ,i , i. • 
 
 practical wisdom, practical wisdom IS aiso to the same extent vir- 
 tuous in life and character : he is not what he is 
 simply from knowing what his duty is but from having a dis- 
 position to perform it, whereas the man whose will is weak is not 
 disposed to do his duty. As for being morally keen-sighted, 
 there is nothing to prevent the weak man from being thjat: hence 
 at times men are regarded as ' practically wise ', though morally 
 weak, inasmuch as clear-sightedness only differs from Practical 
 Wisdom in the manner described in the Sixth Book, the man of 
 moral clear-sightedness being very like the man of practical 
 
Bk, VII. ll.J Translation. 403 
 
 wisdom in their intellectual conditions though they differ in the 
 attitude of their wills. 
 
 Again, the weak man does not yield to temptation as one who 
 hwms and exercises his knowledge but as one who 
 is in a state of drunkenness or sleep ; and though {gLe ^*''* ■'''^°^" 
 he is a free ageut since in a certain sense he knows 
 wliat he is doing and the aim and tendency of his act, he is not 
 wicked since his Will is right and good, and consequently he is 
 only ' half wicked.' Such an one is not -wholly unrighteous since 
 he does not deliberately plan his wickedness beforehand. One 
 type of weakness is that which does not adhere to the plan which 
 it has resolved upon ; and the other type that of the melancholic 
 man is essentially devoid of the faculty of planning. 
 
 In conclusion : the weak man resembles closely a State which 
 passes all resolutions that are fitting yet puts none of its decrees 
 into effect, justifying the taunt of Anaxandrides : 
 
 " A purpose hath a city framed that hath no heed for laws." 
 
 The wicked man on the other hand resembles a State which en- 
 forces its laws though the laws which it enforces are vicious laws. 
 The sphere, however, in which strength or weakness of character 
 is shown, is a sphere which transcends the moral 
 range of the mass of men. The strong-minded "^^ ^^f -- 
 man is resolute under trials which go beyond the weakness is not 
 endurance of 'the many;' while the weak- that in which 'the 
 
 .J '^ ' many move. 
 
 mmded man fails under temptations against which 
 ' the many ' would be proof. 
 
 But of the two varieties of moral weakness, the form which the 
 melancholic show is more easily cured than is that of those who 
 form right resolutions yet are disloyal to their own convictions. 
 Again, men whose weakness is owing to evil habit are more 
 readily cured than those who are constitutionally weak : it is 
 easier to change the course of habit than the bent of nature; 
 though indeed it is for this very reason— that habit resembles 
 nature — that it is so hard to change even the former, justifying 
 the saying of Evenus : 
 
 " Long time cleaves habit to the soul, my friend : 
 Indeed, 'tis man's whole nature in the end." 
 
 Here we must conclude our view of strength and weakness ot 
 character, and of manliness and effeminacy, and of the relations 
 which these states hold respectively to one another. 
 
 Nowsince strong-mindedness is a praiseworthy state of mind, it will be an ideal 
 mean between two faulty states by one of which it will be left behind while 
 
 B D 2 
 
404 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. li, 
 
 itself will exceed the other. It is weaJaieBS of character which exceeds fitrengtl 
 of character while the state which is defective has no distinctive name, thongl 
 there is such a state in consequence whereof men take less delight than is fitting it 
 bodily pleasures and who transgress the rule of Eight Reason thereby. The weak- 
 minded man does not adhere to Right Reason in consequence of his taking more 
 delight than is fitting in his pleasures, while the man who is defective therein 
 acts contrary to Right Reason in consequence of his seeking things which an 
 pleasant to a less degree thaa is right. On the other hand the strong-minded 
 man adheres to the rule of Right Reason, and does not deviate therefrom on 
 account of pleasure whether great or small. 
 
 But since strong-mindedness belongs to things which are praiseworthy and 
 excellent, it necessarily follows that the states which deviate from it in either 
 direction are bad, and opposed to strong-mindedness. Since however the state 
 of mind which is defective has no special name and very rarely occurs (the cases 
 where men take less pleasure than is right in bodily enjoyment being rare), 
 weak-mindedness seems to be the only state opposed to strong-mindedness, asceti- 
 cism or insensibility to pleasure being so seldom found. 
 
 The strong-minded man is also termed temperate, and the weak-minded man dis- 
 solute, and vice versa, by metaphor or analogy ; just as many other terms are 
 classed under a common name in virtue of a certain correspondence between 
 them. Indeed the temperate man and the strong-minded man are both concerned 
 with the same objects, and neither of them do anything in violation of Eight 
 Reason, though in the case of the temperate man his desires are not in conflict 
 with his Reason as they are in the case of the strong-minded man. The temper- 
 ate man has no sensation of pleasure contrary to Reason, whereas the strong- 
 minded man has such sensations, though he is not led away by the pleasnres 
 which could satisfy them. Similarly the dissolute and the weak man are similar 
 to one another in so far as they are overmastered by the self -same pleasnres, but 
 they differ in that the dissolute man thinks it right to pursue such pleasnres, 
 whereas the weak man does not. 
 
 In the same way we call some who are morally weak practically wise, in con- 
 sequence of a certain resemblance to practical wisdom which their nature exhibits. 
 In truth some of those who are morally weak are intellectually clear-sighted; and 
 clear-sightedness has a resemblance to practical wisdom, since in regard to their 
 knowledge of what is right the clear-sighted resemble the practically wise. Bnt 
 the clear-sighted simply know what is right, but do not make up their minds to 
 do it, nor in fact do they carry it into practice ; whereas the practically wise 
 while knowing what is their duty also carry it out in their lives. Hence a man 
 who is practically wise is a good man, whereas the weak man, however clever he 
 may be is a bad man and visited with censure. 
 
 Indeed, though the weak man does know what is right, yet he does not know 
 it in the way that the man of practical wisdom does, who surveys the matter in 
 the full light of consciousness and puts his knowledge into practice ; but as has 
 been explained, the weak man knows only as one may do who is asleep or dmnk. 
 It is therefore in virtue of this similarity that the ' weak though clever ' man is 
 called ' practically wise,' and resembles such an one ; since even a man who is 
 weak in the absolute sense is not entirely wicked but only ' half wicked.' Nor, 
 again is he unjust, since he is not vindictive, since he does what is evil voluntarily 
 and knowing that what he does is evil and that he ought to do better, in one sense 
 he is vicious ; yet in another sense he is not. His conduct is wrong but his moral 
 sense is right ; whereas the conduct of a man who is vicious in regard to bodily 
 pleasures (i.e. the dissolute man) and his moral sense as well are both vicious. 
 The weak man on the contrary is wrong only on one point : he is wMk, that is, 
 either with the weakness of the feeble will or with the weakness of precipitation ; 
 and both of them err simply in regard to their personal practice. The precipitate 
 man does not deliberate at aU, and the man of feeble will resolves that he ought 
 not to follow base desires. On the other hand the dissolute man is corrupted 
 both in deliberation and in action. Consequently the weak man resembles a State 
 which passes every decree that is necessary and has excellent laws and in that 
 
Bk. VII. 12.] Translation, 405 
 
 particular is in sound condition, but notwithstanding puts none of its laws into 
 execution ; just as Anaxandrides scoffingly said : 
 
 " A purpose hath the city framed that hath no heed for laws ; " 
 
 whereas the dissolute man resembles a State which puts its law into practice, but 
 those laws vicious ones. 
 
 Now every form of strong-mindedness or weakness is displayed in reference to 
 what is in excess of the state of the mass of men. The strong-minded man is 
 superior to temptations by which ' the many ' are overcome ; and the weak-minded 
 mam is overcome by temptations to which the mass of men ai-e superior. 
 
 The weakness of precipitancy with which melancholic men are afflicted, is more 
 troublesome to be cured than the weaJsness of the feeble will in consequence of which 
 men form resolutions and do not adhere to them. Similarly those who behave 
 weakly from constitutional infirmity are more difficult to cure than those whose 
 weakness is owing to habit. It is an easier task to change the direction of habit 
 than to alter the bent of nature ; indeed for this reason even habit is a hard thing 
 to alter because of its resemblance to nature, just as Bvenus says 
 
 " Long time cleaves habit to the soul, my friend ; 
 Indeed 'tis man's whole nature in the end. " 
 
 Here we must conclude our account of Strong-mindedness and Manliness, 
 Weak-mindedness and Effeminacy, and of the various relations they bear towards 
 one another. 
 
 PART II.— CONCERNING PLEASURE. 
 
 i. — Ethical importance of an investigation of Pleasure. 
 
 Paxt of the duty of the student of human life is to investigate 
 the question of pleasure and pain. There are 
 these reasons among others why he should do so : Three chief reasons 
 
 L The student of human life is like the ' mas- pieasurer^ ^^* ™^ 
 ter builder ' who fixes the ' end ' and character of 
 the whole work. We cannot call anything ' good ' or 'bad ' with- 
 out qualification except in reference to this main ' end ' or scope 
 of life. 
 
 2. It is a matter of essential importance to estimate the charac- 
 ter of pleasure and pain, since we have assumed throughout this 
 Work that pleasure and pain constitute the sphere in which the 
 goodness or badness of the moral nature is displayed. 
 
 3. Most men are unanimous that happiness is accompanied by 
 pleasure : hence the derivation of the word ' blessed ' which de- 
 scribes the happy life {ixaKipios ' blessed ' being derived from 
 Xaipdv ' to feel pleasure '). 
 
 We must now consider the subject of Pleasure and Pain, that being one of 
 special importance to everyone who would be a student of human life. 
 
 1. The student of human life is ' the architect of the end,' as was shown in 
 the previous discussions. This ' end ' of life is the Summum Bonum, that which 
 is highest and best for man, by means wha-eof as, by a standard, we distinguish 
 
4o6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 12. 
 
 in conduct that wMcli is good from that which is evil. Whatever tends to that 
 final ' end ' we regard as good, and whatever leads us away from that end as evil. 
 Inasmuch, then, as pleasure is thought by some to be a good and by others an 
 evil, and by others again the final end and Summum Bonum, it is consequeutly 
 incumbent upon the student of social life to investigate its nature. 
 
 2. Such an inquiry is indeed essential in an inquiiy concerning Morals. 
 Pleasures and pains form the very sphere in which virtue and vice must be dis- 
 played, as was explained before ; hence it is necessary that in investigating the 
 theory of the virtues, we should also treat of the subject of Pleasure. 
 
 3. Happiness is, as some say, bound up with pleasure : hence the derivation of 
 the term by which we describe the happy life, jjiaKaptos ' blessed ' beingf derived 
 from xo^P^i-" ' to f^el joy.' 
 
 il, — Enumeration of current theories concerning Pleasure. 
 
 There are, however, various theories in vogue as to the nature 
 ™ , . , , . of Pleasure : — 
 
 Threecnieftheories aci -j. •j.-j.ij.^ i-jr 
 
 as to the place of -^- Some Writers maintain that ' no kind oi 
 pleasure in human pleasure is a good,' either per se, in its own 
 ' ^' right, or per accidens through association with 
 
 other things, ' pleasure ' being, they say, in no sense convertible 
 with 'good.' 
 
 B. Another view is that ' though some pleasures are good, the 
 generality of them are evil.' 
 
 C. Thirdly and lastly, there is the view that ' though all plea- 
 sures be a form of "good," it is inconceivable that pleasure should 
 be the Chief Good.' 
 
 A. In support of the first theory that ' Pleasure is not a good 
 at all ' the following are the arguments used : 
 
 1. Every pleasure is the consciousness of coming into a natural 
 state. But no kind of ' process ' is of the same nature as the 
 ' ends ' designed by that process ; e.g. no process of housebuilding 
 is of the same nature as a house. 
 
 2. The temperate man shrinks from pleasures. 
 
 3. The man of perfected human wisdom aims at a state of pain- 
 lessness and not at the realization of pleasurable sensations. 
 
 4. Pleasures are a hindrance to the exercise of thought, and 
 the hindrance is greater in proportion to the delight which a man 
 takes therein, as for instance in the case of the pleasures of love : 
 no one could possibly ' think ' whilst in love. 
 
 5. There is no ' art of pleasure ; ' yet every good is the creation 
 of art. 
 
 6. Children and animals pursue after pleasure. 
 
 B. In support of the second theory that ' not all pleasures are 
 good ' it is urged that some pleasures are positively disgraceful 
 
Bk. VII. 12.] Trans latioti. 407 
 
 and visited with censure and moreover harmful, certain forms of 
 things pleasurable being attended with disease. 
 
 C. In support of the third view that ' Pleasure is not the Chief 
 Good,' it is argued that pleasure is ' a process of becqming ' and 
 not * an end ' at all. 
 
 Such, then, are the prevalent views concerning Pleasure. 
 
 We must first of all state the views wWch other writers have held of Pleasure. 
 
 A. Some think that Pleasure is in no sense a good, either per se, in and by 
 itself, or per accidens, by association with other things. They consider that it is 
 quite impossible that ' Pleasure ' should ever be convertible with ' Good.' 
 
 B. Another view is that the greater number of pleasures are evil, but that 
 tliere are some that are good. 
 
 C. A third view which has been held is, that though all pleasure be a form of 
 ' good,' yet it is in no wise conceivable that Pleasure should be ' the End ' or 
 Pinal Cause of man. 
 
 Such are the current views which are in vogue concerning Pleasure. We must 
 now go on to state the grounds on which these theories are severally maintained. 
 
 A. The writers in favour of the view that ' no form of pleasure is a good ' 
 maintained their view on the following grounds : 
 
 1. Every pleasure is a conscious process of change to a natural state. (The 
 process of growing into a natural state in the case of plants not being conscious 
 or sensible is not a pleasure.) If, therefore, pleasure is a ' process of becoming,' 
 and a process of becoming is incomplete, and what is incomplete is not a good, 
 then pleasure is not a good. Good is something which has already taken place 
 and does not consist in the process of taking place. A process of becoming is 
 not of the same nature with the ' ends ' in which it terminates. A process of 
 erection is not of the same nature with a house. 
 
 2. The temperate man, as being a virtuous man, avoids such things as are not 
 good and ought to be avoided : and he avoids pleasures : therefore pleasure is 
 not a ' good.' 
 
 3. The man of perfected human wisdom pursues ' the good ; ' but pleasure he 
 does not pursue : he pursues a state of exemption from pain, not the vivid con- 
 sciousness of pleasure. Pleasure is not, therefore, a good. 
 
 i. Pleasure is an obstacle to thought, and the greater obstacle in proportion as 
 the pleasure is greater. No one is able to meditate in the midst of the keenest 
 pleasures. 
 
 6. Everything that is good is a creation of art. But pleasure is not the creation 
 of any kind of art. Therefore pleasure is not a good. 
 
 6. Animals pursue pleasure, as also do children, being impelled thereto irration- 
 ally. But a thing is not a good that is the object of pursuit by things that are 
 impelled irrationally. Therefore pleasure is not a good. 
 
 B. The reasons upon which it was held that ' not all pleasures are a good ' are 
 that certain pleasurable objects are harmful and attended with disease, and that 
 certain pleasures are disgraceful and censurable. 
 
 C. The reasons upon which it was held that ' Pleasure is not the End ' are that 
 pleasure is a process of becoming and a kind of movement, whereas the ' end ' is 
 the limit at which the movement terminates. 
 
 Such are the cmxent opinions held in regard to pleasure. The only view that 
 is true of all these is that ' some pleasures are good and others bad.' The other 
 views are false, as we must endeavour to prove ; and first we wiU treat of the 
 first view. 
 
4o8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 13. 
 
 iii. — Exam i nation of the theory that Pleasure is neither ' a Good ' 
 nor 'the Chief Good.' 
 
 It will be clear from the considerations which follow that it 
 does not follow from the arguments given above 
 Snabo^fTett that 'Pleasure is not either a Good nor the 
 conciusiTe against Summum Bonum.' 
 
 Pleasure being the 
 Summum Bonum : 
 because (J,) gOjIE GOODS AKB ABSOLUTE, SOME KELATIVE. 
 
 In the first place the term ' good ' has a double import : it 
 means either the ' absolute ' or the ' relative ' 
 (1.) tterearerela- good. In accordance with this distinction dif- 
 solute goods : ' ferent constitutions and states, both mental and 
 moral, will be either relatively or absolutely good; 
 and hence also the processes of change and transitions which 
 produce those states will exhibit corresponding differences. Thus 
 some of those processes which are accounted evil, may be evil 
 only in the absolute sense whilst relatively they are not so hut 
 are even desirable for a particular individual. Other processes, 
 again, cannot be called desirable even for a particular individual 
 except on a particular occasion and for a brief time. Others, 
 again, are not pleasures at all but only seem to be so ; such, that 
 is, as are attended by pain and have ultimate relief for their 
 object, as is the case with the alleviations of the sick. 
 
 It is clear from tte following considerations that the arginnents which have 
 been mentioned above do not prove either that pleasure is not a good, or that it 
 is not the highest good. For since ' good ' is predicated in two senses, the one 
 absolute and per se, as, for instance, virtue, the other not absolutely but relatively 
 to the individual, as, for instance, highway-robbery is a good to the highwayman, 
 it follows that every natural or acquired state, and similarly every transition and 
 process of becoming, is ' good ' partly in an absolute, partly in a relative sense. 
 The case is the same with what is evil. For some transitions and processes of 
 becoming are bad absolutely, some relatively to an individual, being to that 
 individual in the class of mischievous things : again, some are always bad 
 relatively to a particular individual, others are so not always but with limitations 
 of circumstance and time. Of things absolutely bad an example is afforded by 
 every kind of vice : of things which are bad relatively to particular individuals, 
 temperance is bad in the view of the dissolute mam, at all times and under all 
 circumstances : to act dissolutely is bad in the view of the weak-minded man, not 
 always but under certain conditions — for when the heat of passion has been 
 quenched, it seems bad, though it does not seem so at the actual moment of 
 enjoyment. Since this division into absolute and relative is true of all transi- 
 tions and processes of becoming, and since pleasure also is a transition, it is clear 
 that not every pleasure is bad. For it is possible for a man to feel pleasure in 
 proper objects, for example in virtue or wisdom : it is equally possible for a man 
 to feel pleasure in wrong objects, and at a wrong time, and so forth — according 
 to the other distinctions which we have made elsewhere. 
 
k. VII. 13.] Translation. 409 
 
 (2.) SOME GOODS ARE ACTIVITIES, SOME PERMANENT STATES. 
 
 Again, there are other aspects of ' good :' it may be the mental 
 activity of the moment, or a permanent state. 
 Hence the play of the faculties which at any (^.L^:;:::^^;, 
 time restore a man to his normal state are as well as goods 
 pleasurable, not in themselves but by association ^^^t'^tates ^^™*' 
 of ideas. But there is, per accidens, a play of 
 conscious and pleasurable life in the movements of desire in a 
 state of mind that is deficient, or in a natural tendency which is 
 unsatisfied — though of course there are pleasures which are pure 
 pleasures absolute and accompanied neither by pain nor by desire; 
 for example, there are the unimpaired activities of conscious 
 tliougbt, where nature has no claim unsatisfied. 
 
 There is a proof of this difference between pure and absolute, 
 and alloyed and accidental, pleasures in the fact that men do not 
 delight in the same pleasure whilst their nature is in process of 
 attaining satisfaction, as when it has been settled and permanent ; 
 i.e. when our nature is a fixed state, we delight in things which 
 are pleasurable in their own right, whereas whilst it is only 
 attaining to a state of satisfaction we delight in things the reverse 
 of being ideally pleasurable — e.g. things pungent and bitter, not 
 one of which is in its own nature nor in any unqualified sense 
 pleasant. Hence neither are our pleasures under such circum- 
 stances absolutely pleasurable : since of course, answering to the 
 objects which in their complex relations cause pleasure, are" the 
 pleasurable emotions derived from them. 
 
 Again, in the case of ' good,' one kind of good is a permanent state, as, for 
 example, the state of mind of the man who has the formed habit of justice : 
 another kind of good is an activity, as, for example, the activity of the man who 
 performs an act of justice. The activity fills up and satisfies what is lacking in 
 the mental or bodily state, and by its means in fact that state is preserved : as, 
 for example, the bodily state called health may be inherent in a man, but it is 
 preserved by means of the activity acting upon wholesome food. This activity, 
 therefore, which preserves a given state, mental or bodily, is pleasant : not indeed 
 absolutely and per se, but incidentally and per accidens : for it is not the actual 
 fining up and satisfaction of what is lacking in the mental state that constitutes 
 pleasure, but on such satisfaction pleasure ensues. If this were pleasure, all 
 satisfaction of what is lacking in a permanent state, whether natural or acquired, 
 wonld be pleasm-e. But this is not the case : so that pleasure cannot be defined 
 as 'the consciousness of coming into a uatm-al state' — which is synonymous with 
 what has just been spoken of, the satisfaction of what is naturally lacking. 
 
 Such is our argument in reply to those who conclude that no pleasure is a 
 good. 
 
 A further argument in proof of our denial that all pleasure is a satisfaction 
 and filling up of what is lacking, is to be found in the fact that some pleasures 
 are unattended by pain and desire: whereas satisfaction of what is lacking is 
 ■impossible without a sense of lacking, ic. without pain or desire. Such, for 
 
410 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. ij 
 
 example, are the pleasures incident to scientific investigation. For wheneve 
 knowledge which has not previously been known presents itself to the mind, i 
 causes pleasure by its presentation of itself, but at the same time its absence doe 
 not produce pain, since in the absence of what is unknown there is no sense o 
 want : at the moment when knowledge presented itself, the sense of want dii 
 not exist, and afterwards it was impossible. 
 
 Moreover there ar^ some iodily pleasures which are unattended with pain am 
 a sense of want. For not only do we find pleasure in taking food at the timi 
 when' we have a sense of wanting food, but there are some Mnds of food ii 
 which we feel pleasure even after the sense of want has been satisfied. Nor d< 
 we find pleasure in the same kinds of food before and after the satisfaction ol 
 the sense of want : but after such satisfaction we feel pleasure only in thosi 
 things which properly and universally produce pleasure : whereas before sucl 
 satisfaction we enjoy any chance food and often opposite kinds of food. Fron 
 this it is evident that even of bodily pleasures some are absolute, and some 
 relative : for the relation which exists between the objects of pleasure must exist 
 also between the pleasures which arise from them. 
 
 It has thus been shown that not every pleasure is the natural satisfaction of a 
 sense of want. Nor, conversely, is every satisfaction of a sense of want a 
 pleasure : for example, the fulfilment of the needs of a state of health, which is 
 a natural state produced by appropriate nourishment, is not in itself pleasurable. 
 It is not true, therefore, to say of pleasure that it is the consciousness of coming 
 into a natural state : and as a result of this, it does not f oUow from the 
 arguments which have been adduced to support that thesis that pleasure is not a 
 good. 
 
 (3.) PLBASUBE IS A ' MODE OF ACTIVITY.' 
 
 Again, it does not follow that there is in every case a something 
 better than the pleasure itself, as some maintam 
 i?wly?aTa"iw ^"^^ ^aj that the end is better than the process 
 state referring to which leads to it. Of course all pleasures are 
 T if^"*^ °"*^"^« not ' processes of becoming ' nor yet the accom- 
 paniments of such transitions ; but rather are 
 they ' modes of human activity ' and an ' end in themselves.' They 
 do not ensue from our coming into our powers, but from our 
 exercising our powers. Nor is the end in all cases distinct from 
 the pleasure : that is only true of those persons who are being 
 brought to the perfect realization of a natural state. 
 
 Hence it is not right to speak of pleasure as a * transition 
 realized by the senses :' we should rather describe it as ' the 
 mode of activity of a mental state that is in harmony with 
 nature ;' and instead of saying ' realized by the senses ' we should 
 define it as " unimpeded.'''' 
 
 [But pleasure has been supposed to be a kind of transition 
 because it is 'a good ' in the full sense of the term. They fancy 
 that every play of the faculties is a transition ; though of course 
 they are distinct.] 
 
 Further, those who say that pleasure is not the End or Chief Good do not base 
 their assertion upon irrefragable aiguments. For assuming that pleasure cannot 
 be an end, they argue that there must be in every case something better than 
 
Bk. VII. 13.] Translation. 411 
 
 pleasirt'e, in other words its end : for the ' end ' or final cause of any process is 
 better than the process itself : and the ultimate ' end ' or Chief Good is the 
 aliaolute and perfect ' best.' But this argument is not oonclusiBe : for pleasure is 
 not a process of becoming, in such a sense that the ' end ' of the process is 
 neoeBsarily better than the process itself : nor is it in every case viewed as a 
 prooees of becoming, but it is a mode of activity and an ' end ; ' nor, again, is it 
 viewed as- an accompaniment of the formation of a settled state (for example, 
 when any one is doing just acts, and is forming a settled state of justice in his 
 mind, without being as yet just), but rather as an accompaniment of the settled 
 state itself, when, for example, any one having become just afterwards brings 
 that settled state of justice into play. Consequently, it is not true to say that 
 there is an ' end ' of every pleasure, some pleasures being an ' end ' in themselves. 
 4flr although it is true of those modes of activity which bring us to the full 
 Realization of a natural state that they are not themselves an ' end ' (in the same 
 'Way as the activity which ensues upon the possession by a man of the art of 
 Ifiealiag has its end not in itself but in the production of a natural state, viz. 
 health), yet in the case of those modes of activity which do not lead to the full 
 realization of a natural state, but are themselves such a realization, it is evident 
 that their ' end ' is not external to themselves, but that on the contrary they are 
 themselves ends to other modes of activity. This, for example, is the case when 
 a man's activity is in pursuance of a fixed mental state of perfect virtue. For 
 saoh an activity is the end of other activities, and is not itself aimed at the 
 realization of any external end. This shows that pleasure, which is a mode of 
 activity, has not in aU cases an end outside itself : for it is the mode of activity 
 of a mental state that is in harmony with nature. 
 
 Hence it is not right to define pleasure as a ' transition realized by the senses ; ' 
 we should rather describe it as ' the activity of a mental state that is in harmony 
 with nature : ' and instead of saying ' realized by the senses,' we should rather say 
 ' unimpeded.' Pleasure will consequently be defined as ' an unimpeded activity 
 of a mental state that is in harmony with nature.' It is neither a ti'ansition nor 
 realized by the senses. That it is not in all cases a ' transition ' has been shown 
 in a previous section : so that the above-mentioned definition is defective in this 
 point. That it is not in aU cases ' realized by the senses ' is shown by the fact that 
 the pleasure which consists in philosophical investigation is not connected with 
 the senses. But, if we take our own definition, in the first place the definition of 
 it as an ' activity ' will include ' transition realized by the senses : ' in the second 
 place there is no pleasure which is not an ' unimpeded ' activity : in the third 
 place, the expression ' in harmony with nature ' includes both kinds of permanent 
 states, those which are acquired by habit as well as those which are formed by 
 nature. For the former as well as the latter class of habits are in harmony with 
 nature : since nature gives us the capacity for them and thereby enables us to 
 acquire them. He, therefore, who is the subject of an unimpeded activity is the 
 subject of pleasure : and in fact this is pleasure. 
 
 [The reason why pleasure has been thought by some persons to be a ' transi- 
 tion ' or process of becomiug is because they have thought it to be a ' good ' in 
 the full sense of the term and in fact the highest good : but that which is ' good ' 
 in the full sense of the term is a mode of activity : and there is no difference 
 between ' activity ' and ' process of becoming.' But this is not true : the two 
 terms are not, as they think, identical. For a ' transition ' is a passing from non- 
 being into being : whereas an ' activity,' at least that activity which is identical 
 with the highest good, is an activity which comes into play after a settled state 
 has been formed, and which moves in harmony with that settled state in its most 
 developed form.] 
 
 (4.) PLEASUEES AKE NOT NECESSAEILY EVIL FER SE. 
 
 As for pleasures being bad on the ground tbat there are certain 
 pleasant things which are unhealthy — that is as absurd as to say 
 
412 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 13. 
 
 that healthful things are bad ... for money-making. From a 
 
 (4 1 Th f t th t particular point of view of course they are both 
 
 some pleasures are bad ; but for all that incidental badness they are 
 
 not good does not not bad per se. Of course under certain circuta- 
 
 prove that all plea- , ,-, • i ii 1,1 
 
 sures are not good, stances even thmkmg is injurious to health. 
 
 Nor does it necessarily follow that pleasure is bad because some pleasant 
 things are unhealthy : for on the same principle healthy things will be bad, 
 since some of them stand in the way of a man's being rich, by necessitating the 
 expenditure of large sums of money. Of course this does not prove healthy 
 things to be had ; the mere fact that something is in some way opposed to a 
 particular good does not prove that thing to be bad : for even philosopliioal 
 investigation is sometimes injurious to healtti, but it is not on that account bad. 
 It does not follow, then, ihai, because some pleasant things are unhealthy, 
 pleasure is therefore bad. 
 
 (5.) PLEASUEE IS NOT ALWAYS A HINDEAUCE TO ACTIVITY. .1 
 
 The pleasure which flows from our several pursuits is no 
 ,, , „, , hindrance either to thought or to the tension, of 
 
 {5 1 xlSElSllPS Q06S 
 
 not hinder, but the mind in any other direction — though the 
 sometimes stimu- reverse is the case with foreign pleasures ; nay, 
 a es, ac ivi y. natural pleasures such as of thinking and learning 
 
 will enable us to think and learn all the more. 
 
 Nor, again, does it foHovr that because some pleasures stand in the way of prac- 
 tical wisdom and philosophical investigation, pleasure is therefore bad. For the 
 pleasure which attends the exercise of practical wisdom or artistic productiaa 
 is no hindrance to practical wisdom or artistic production : on the contrary, it 
 augments it. The pleasures which stand in the way of the activity of any settled 
 state are foreign to that state, and disturb its activity from the fact of lieir not 
 being appropriate to it. But the fact of their being foreign to a given state and 
 so impeding its activity is not a sign of their being bad : for, as has been stated 
 already, philosophical investigation sometimes stands in the way of health, not 
 being a mode of activity appropriate to health : but it does not follow that philo- 
 sophical investigation is a bad thing. 
 
 (6.) THE KELATION OF PLEASURE TO AET. 
 
 But as for the objection that ' no pleasure is the creation of 
 art ' (and therefore not a good), that is a result 
 from pfeim^not ''^"liicli might have been expected : there is no art 
 being the creation in the case of any other mental activity but only 
 tau^ ^"'™' *"'' of (mental) faculties. [Though one might deny 
 the statement : the art of the cook and the art 
 of the perfumer are both thought to be * arts of pleasure.'] 
 
 Nor, again, does it follow that pleasure is bad because it is not the creation of 
 any form of ai-t : if that were so, every mode of activity would be bad : for no 
 mode of activity is a product of art, but art produces the capacity, and lie capa- 
 city leads to the activity. For example, it is the art of steering which produces 
 in a man the capacity of steering, and it is the capacity of steering which leads to 
 
Bk. VII. 14.] Translation. 413 
 
 the iictivity or actual exercise of the steersman's art. It may be added that in 
 gome cases pleasure is the result of art : for example, the arts of perfumery and 
 cookery are productive of pleasure. 
 
 (7.) THE EBLATION OF THE TEMPEEATE MAN TO PLEASUEE. 
 
 Again, as to the objection that ' the temperate man shrinks 
 from pleasure and the perfect man compasses the ,- > y . 
 life that is free from pain ' and that ' children [hkt \ ' temper^e 
 and animals pursue pleasure,' all such difficulties ™an avoids aU 
 are solved in the same manner. It has been P^^""*- 
 explained how that in a way there are pleasures which are good 
 absolutely, and how that not all pleasures are good. The 
 pleasures, then, which animals and children pursue are pleasures 
 of an imperfect kind ; and it is from the pain of these false 
 pleasures that the perfect man shrinks ; pleasures, I mean, which 
 are attended by desire and pain (as truly they are), and the 
 excesses of pleasure which bring a man to utter dissoluteness. 
 Hence the temperate man flees from such pleasures as these, 
 though there are pleasures in which even the temperate man may 
 indulge. 
 
 The difficulty which may arise from the fact that temperate men and men of 
 practical wisdom avoid pleasure, and aim not so much at a life of pleasure as at 
 a life that is free from pain, and from the fact that children and animals pursue 
 pleasure, is solved by what has been said in a previous chapter. The solution is 
 briefly this. Some pleasures being good absolutely, and others not absolutely, the 
 latter class are pursued by animals and children, and avoided by temperate men, 
 who in regard to them wish merely to be free from pain. So also with men of 
 practical wisdom and all good men. I refer to the pleasures which are attended 
 with desire and pain, the bodily pleasures, that is to say (for all bodily pleasures 
 are of this kind), and the excesses of such pleasures, which form the sphere of 
 the dissolute man and which are consequently avoided by the temperate man. 
 The other class of pleasures, those which are such absolutely, are pursued by both 
 the temperate man and the man of practical wisdom : they are temperate 
 pleasures and are the activities of praiseworthy states of mind : the pleasures 
 I mean of temperance, justice, ajid philosophical investigation. 
 
 iv.— Befutation of the theory that no form of pleasure can be the 
 chief good. 
 
 (1.) PLEASURE SHOWN TO BE A GOOD BECAUSE PAIN IS AN EVIL. 
 
 Nay, further, it is admitted that pain is an evil and a thing to 
 he avoided : in one aspect it is an unqualified 
 evil, in another aspect it is a relative evil as Pleasure is opposed 
 impeding the action of the individval in some to &T^-i^ * ^°° 
 way or another. But the opposite of what is to 
 be avoided — in the degree in which it is an evil and a thing to 
 be avoided, is a good. It necessarily follows then that pleasure 
 is under certain aspects a good. 
 
414 The Moral , Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 14. 
 
 [The explanation whereby Speusippus tried to evade this 
 
 dilemma, does not turn out to be true. He 
 
 and not as one evil argued that the greater was opposed to the equal 
 
 as well as to the less : and that, similarly, 
 
 pleasure and pain were both opposed to the good. But no one 
 
 could say that pleasure could be defined as any form of evil.] 
 
 Further, since pain is partly a good, and partly an evil and to be avoided ; and 
 since that kind of pain wMch is to be avoided is to be subdivided as being 
 so partly in an absolute sense, as for example the pain •which sometimes ensues 
 upon the performance of a virtuous action, and partly in a relative sense, as for 
 example the pain which ensues upon the infliction of a penalty, which falls under 
 this class, as being an obstacle to philosophical investigation : it follows that the 
 opposite of pain, I mean pleasure, must also be of two kinds, absolute and rela-i" 
 tive. To pain in its absolute sense must be opposed pleasure in an absolutSj, 
 sense : to pain in its relative sense must be opposed pleasure in a relative sense. 
 Speusippus is not successful in his attempt to break the validity of this argument 
 by a counter-argument ; he says that just as in mathematics the greater and iJie 
 less are opposed to the equal, and as in the case of the virtues thacffare 
 two extremes opposed to the mean : so pleasure and pain are both opposed to the 
 mean state of painlessness, the former standing to it in the relation of excesal the 
 latter in that of defect. In other words painlessness is a good, pleasure and paJS; 
 are each of them evil. But this argument is in every respect improbable : fornoi 
 one thinks pleasure to be an evil, nor would anyone assert that pleasure in itself, 
 qua, pleasure, is an evil. 
 
 (2.) THE EVIL OF PLEASURES DOES NOT AFFECT THE PLEASURE OP 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Nor is there any reason to prevent pleasure of a certain kind 
 
 being the chief good, though certain pleasures 
 
 Certain forms of gj-g gyj^ . precisely as knowledge of a certain 
 
 evil, and yet plea- kind might be the chief good, even though there 
 
 sure may be an are certain forms of knowledge which are worth- 
 element in happi- i i -i 
 nesg. less and evil. 
 
 Surely, then, it is a necessary consequence 
 
 that, if in the case of every mental state there are certain modes 
 
 where its development is unimpeded (whether happiness be the 
 
 activity which arises from all these states, or whether it be the 
 
 activity which arises from some special form of them), if the 
 
 activity be unimpeded, it is a thing most desirable; but this 
 
 unimpeded activity is -pleasure. 
 
 Consequently, the chief good may he a certain mode of pleasure, 
 even though the majority of pleasures be, possibly, evil per se. 
 
 For this reason all men think that the happy life is a pleasur- 
 able life, and with good grounds entwine pleasure into the very 
 conception of happiness, no mode of human activity being perfect 
 if it be fettered and impeded, and happiness belonging to what 
 is perfect. 
 
Bk. VII. 14.] Translation. 415 
 
 Hence also tlie happy man needs for his happiness the good 
 things which depend upon the body and external advantages and 
 prosperity, so that he may not be impeded in ^ch relations. 
 As for those who say that a man who is being racked on a wheel, 
 or who is plunged in dire calamities, is happy provided he be 
 virtuous, they only talk nonsense whether intentionally or not. 
 
 Another mistake is this. In consequence of the need of fortune 
 to supplement the inner dispositions, happiness is thought by some 
 people to be identical with prosperity. That is not the case : in 
 fact if good fortune be excessive, it is a hindrance to happiness, 
 in which case it is no longer right to call it 'good fortune,' 
 since good fortune has sole reference to happiness as its standard 
 and measure. 
 
 Nor does the fact that some pleasures are bad prove that pleasure cannot 
 be the chief good and the Absolutely Best : for in the same way the fact that 
 mmy forms of knowledge are bad does not prove that knowledge is not 
 the Chief Good. Indeed it is not only a possible but actually a necessary conclu- 
 sion that pleasure is the Chief Good and the ultimate object of choice. For 
 if every mental state has its corresponding mode of activity, and if Happiness 
 and the Chief Good is an unimpeded activity of a perfect mental state, whether 
 that perfect state be one or many, it necessarily follows that Happiness and the 
 Chief Good is pleasure. Nor is this conclusion invalidated by the fact that some 
 forms of pleasure are evil. 
 
 Moreover it is manifest that happiness must be an unimpeded activity : for no 
 adivity that is impeded can be perfect (which by the nature of the case happi- 
 ness must be). Consequently, as was stated in an earlier book of this treatise, a 
 happy man has need of external goods, that his activity may not be impeded. 
 Those who say that a man whose life is marked by great inequaJities of fortune 
 and who meets with great calamities is happy, only talk nonsense, whether 
 intentionally or not. For the happy man requires certain external advantages, 
 foi-example health, and long life, and the indispensable conditions of a sound 
 Wy, and start in life which comes of good fortune. It is on this account that 
 S)iue persons have gone so far as to think that the fortunate man and the happy 
 Inan are identical : because without the favour of fortune no one can be 
 genuinely happy. But they are not in. reality identical : for the happy man 
 must be a good man, but not every fortunate man is good. Indeed good fortune 
 sometimes stands in the way of moral excellence, and spoils a good man, if it be 
 excessive : in which case it would not properly deserve even the name of good 
 fortune, for it is of the essence of good fortune that it should contribute to 
 happiness : it is in accordance with this fact that its definition also is given to 
 it, and consequently its name. Hence it would not properly be called good 
 fortune if it did not contribute to happiness. All this makes it clear that the 
 attribute ' unimpeded ' should be added to the word ' activity ' when applied 
 to the happy man. But an unimpeded activity is in fact pleasure. Happiness is 
 tha'efore a certain form of pleasure. 
 
 (3.) PLBASUEE IS mSEPARABLE FROM THE CHIEF GOOD. 
 
 Further, the fact that all creatures both beasts and men pursue 
 pleasure is a proof that in some sense pleasure is the Chief Good. 
 
 " Mankind's universal voice falleth not wholly vain." 
 
41 6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, VII. 14 
 
 But since there is no one state of nature which either is or ii 
 recognised to be the best for all, so neither dc 
 
 ^eltol'"^ Ifter ^^'i ^^ P'^^s'i^ *^^ ®^™^ pleasure, though pleasnn 
 pleasure shows they all pursuc. Nay, perhaps uuconsciouslj 
 
 ittThT^Zatl tl^ey ^^« ^0* P^'-^'^i^g tlie Pleasui-e they thini 
 object of striving, they are and say they are, but, in reality, all alike 
 
 g^d *''^ *'^^ *^^ ^^™®' ^''^^^^ ^^ ^ ^™'^ °^ instinct which all 
 creatures alike possess by right of nature — a 
 divine instinct (which justifies an appeal to universal nature). 
 
 Yet inasmuch as bodily pleasures are those to which men most 
 frequently resort and in which all men share, they have usurped 
 full possession of the name of pleasure : because they are the only 
 pleasures men know of, they think that they are the only pleasures 
 which exist. 
 
 In conclusion, it is evident that, if pleasure and the play of the 
 faculties be not a good, it will be impossible that the happy man 
 should live a pleasurable existence. With what object would a 
 happy man need pleasure, if pleasure be not a good and if it be 
 possible to live happily in the midst of pain ? In fact, if pleasure 
 be neither a good nor an evil, neither will pain be good nor evE : 
 why, then, should a man shrink from pain ? Moreover, if the 
 activities of the good man are not more pleasurable than that of 
 the bad, neither will the life of the good man be more pleasurable 
 than that of the bad. 
 
 Further, the fact that animals and men and all beings possessed of sensation 
 pursue pleasure makes it clear that pleasure is the Chief Good. For all agree in 
 shouting out that pleasure is a good and the highest good, and all press on in the 
 pursuit of it. An.d 
 
 "Mankind's universal voice faUeth not wholly vain." 
 
 It is true that they do not all pursue the highest form of pleasure ; for, in the 
 same way, they do not all have the same mental state or the same nature : but 
 pleasure they do all pursue, though the -form of it be only in some oases good, 
 and in others bad. Nay perhaps none of them even pursue or seek for a bad 
 form of pleasure or aim at anything that is bad : the actual object of their pur- 
 suit and seeking is not that which they intend to seek, or would admit that they 
 pursue : what all of them really pursue is the highest form of pleasure, for all 
 things naturally aim at what is really good, since in all things there is a diVme 
 element, and the impulse of all things is towards a form of pleasure which is good, 
 and which is pleasurable in the proper sense of the term : though it may 
 be admitted that the bodily pleasures seem to men to be pleasures in the proper 
 sense of the term, on account of their constant exposure to them and also 
 on account of all men participating in them. They are, in fact, not oognizant 
 of any others, and consequently think these to be the only forms of pleasnrs 
 which exist. And since these forms of pleasure are not good nor are pleasnresin 
 the proper sense of the term, men (knowing no others) have denied that 
 any form of pleasure is a ' good.' But it is incontrovertible that (some form of) 
 pleasure is a good. 
 
 For if pleasure, and the play of the faculties which is in harmony with pleasure, 
 , be not a good, it is not possible for the happy man to Uve pleasurably. But 
 
Bk. Vir. 14.] Translation,. 417 
 
 sniely there ia no doubt that a happy man's ' life must be accompanied with 
 pleasure. Consequently it ia impossible that pleasure should not be a good. A 
 further argument to prove the same point from the same premifses is that nothing 
 which is evil, or in fact vrhich is not in the proper sense good, can be an element 
 in happiness. Why, then, if pleasure be not a good, does the happy man pursue 
 it ?. And again, if pleasure be not either a good or an evil, pain will not be either 
 a good or an evil : consequently it will not be a thing to be avoided. Why then 
 does the happy man avoid it ? He would not avoid it unless it were an evil : but 
 as a matter of fact he cannot .help avoiding it; It is necessary, in short, that the 
 happy life should be the pleasantest life : but this is impossible unless the modes 
 iji, which the activities of the happy man manifest themselves are pleasant : for 
 if otherwise how will the pleasantness of his life be realized ? 
 
 If, then, pleasure be not either positively evil or negatively not good, it foUows 
 that it is good. 
 
 V. — Refutation of the argument from bodily pleasures. 
 (1.) BODILY PLEASUKBS AEE, IN CBETAm CONNECTIONS, GOOD. 
 
 Now the subject of bodily pleasures is one especially incumbent 
 on those thinkers to examine who maintain that 
 though certain pleasures, i.e. noble pleasures, are are ' only eTirT' 
 emphatically desirable in a high degree, yet tli«r abuse and 
 bodily pleasures and such as those in which the ^^°®^^- 
 dissolute man indulges, are evil. 
 
 If this view of theirs be true, why are the pains which are the 
 opposite of pleasures grievous and evil ? Good and evil are, of 
 corase, opposites. 
 
 May the solution be this : are not necessary pleasures good in 
 the sense that whatever is not an evil is a good ? or, are these 
 bodily pleasures good up to a certain point? In the case of 
 mental habits and processes where there is no excess possible as 
 they increase from more to more, there is no excess possible 
 either, in the pleasure resulting therefrom. On the contrary, 
 where excess is possible from the increase and enhancement ot 
 those processes, there also there is excess possible in the pleasure 
 which ensues. Consequently excess is possible in the pleasures 
 of the body ; and the bad man is bad in that he seeks that excess 
 instead of seeking such pleasures as are necessary. All men find 
 pleasure of a certain kind in dainties and wines and love ; though 
 not all observe the proper standard therein. The converse is true 
 in- the case of pain. Men shrink not merely from the excess of 
 pam but from pain in general : pain is not opposed to the mere 
 excess of pleasure — except in the case of the [very sensitive and 
 self-indulgent] man who. pursues- the excess [and makes every 
 defection from his own extravagant standard a pain]. 
 
 It is possible for anyone to raise the question why it is that if some pleasures 
 are good and choioeworthy, and some on the other hand evil — as for example the 
 
/ 
 
 4i8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VII. 15. 
 
 bodily pleasures with whioli the dissolute man is concerned — every form of pain 
 is vicious and to be avoided. For it would be reasonable to suppose that although 
 the pain which is opposed to good pleasures is evil, the pain which is opposed to 
 evil pleasm-es should be good — evil and good being in the relation of opposites, 
 If on the contrary this form of pain is evil, it would seem as though the bodil; 
 pleasures were good. Our answer to this question is as foUows : Bodily pleasures 
 are good in the sense of not being bad : for whatever is not bad is good. This is 
 true up to a certain point. For if they do not exceed a certain limit they are in 
 this sense good : consequently the pains that are opposed to them are not gooi, 
 For, since some states of mind and body exceed the due limit and what is best, 
 whereas other states of mind and body do not so exceed, the necessary states of 
 body, such as the state of requiring nourishment, are capable of excess, since 
 they can be exercised to a greater extent than they should properly be exercised; 
 on the other hand those which when subjected to tension do not go beyond the 
 due limit are not capable of excess, but are always good, as for example the states 
 of mind which are engaged in philosophical investigation. But since pleasmea 
 follow upon states of mind, it necessarily follows that some pleasures exceed 1^ 
 due limit, and some do not. All those which exceed the limit are bad, and it is 
 with them that the dissolute and the weak-minded man are concerned. In the 
 case of pains which are opposed to pleasures, it is not with excesnve pains that 
 the dissolute man concerns himself : he pursues no doubt excessive pleasnieai tat 
 avoids even smaU pains. From this it is manifest that the pains which in, the 
 case of the dissolute man are opposed to his excessive pleasures are not excessive 
 but moderate pains — such as no good man would avoid, because they do not in 
 fact deserve the name of pains. 
 
 This is the solution of the question which was raised : the pains which aie 
 opposed to moderate pleasures are not good : for moderate bodily pleaenres are 
 good, inasmuch as they are not evil : the pains which are opposed to excessive 
 pleasures are moderate pains, in fact not pains at all, and consequently not tcn,be 
 avoided. Every form of good is contrary to that which is to be avoided : suxd 
 bad pleasures are opposed to good pains, just as good pleasures are to pains which 
 shoiild be avoided. 
 
 (2.) CAUSES OP THE UNIVERSAL PURSUIT OF PLEASURE. 
 
 However, we must not only give a true account : we must also 
 Why do bodily ^^P^^i"^ *^^ cause of the error; a thorough exposi- 
 pieaaures seem to tion being highly conducive to winning conviction. 
 most men to be es- "When a probable reason has been shown why a 
 
 pecially desirable. j.t. i «,.,,. 
 
 theory has an appearance of truth without being 
 true, such an explanation makes us have a greater confidence in 
 the truth itself. 
 
 Hence we must explain why it is that bodily pleasures haVe the 
 appearance of being more choiceworthy than others. 
 
 (1.) In the first place, of course, bodily pleasure drives out 
 pain. In face of excessive pain, as though it 
 
 IctL^theTe'Jdies ^^^® ^ remedy for it, men strive after a pleasure 
 
 Dfpaini correspondingly excessive— in fact, after bodily 
 
 pleasure. Now these remedies are found to be 
 
 powerful} and hence they are adopted because they are regarded 
 
 in contrast to their opposites. 
 
Bk. VII. 15.] Translation. 419 
 
 [It is on account of these two causes that pleasure is thought 
 not to be a good : (a) i.e. some pleasures, as we ]jp,ve explained, 
 are the actions of a depraved nature, whether congenital as in the 
 case of beasts, or the result of habit as in the case of vicious 
 characters ; (/3) other pleasures, again, are remedies, because they 
 are the actions of an imperfect nature. But, as for remedial 
 pleasures, it is better to have a normal condition than to be 
 arriving at one: yet these remedial pleasures only take place 
 whilst we are arriving at a state of completeness : hence they are 
 only * pleasures ' in an indirect and secondary sense.] 
 
 (2.) Again, these bodily pleasures are sought on account of 
 their powerfiil effect only by those who have lost 
 the capacity for taking pleasure in simpler and want^of°^pa(^ty in 
 purer tastes. At any rate men have to create most men for men. 
 artificial excitements so as to satisfy their ab- *^' ^•^^"'^^s- 
 normal tastes. Of course, if these indulgences do not hurt their 
 health their conduct is not censurable ; but if they are injurious, 
 then their conduct is morally evil. Men only indulge them in 
 fact because they have nothing else in which they can take 
 pleasure, and ' a state of impassivity ' is to many men painful by 
 the constitution of their nature. ' The whole creation struggleth 
 even until now,' as the writings of natural philosophers tell 
 us ... . adding in fact that even the act of seeing or of hearing 
 is painful ; only in time we become habituated to the pain, which 
 is second nature to us (so they say). 
 
 The same truth is conspicuous in time of youth : owing to the 
 processes of growth, boys are in a physical state resembling that 
 of the intoxicated, and boyhood is sweet and pleasant. 
 
 Again, people of a nervous temperament are ever in need of an 
 anodyne : their bodies are in a state of constant irritation, owing 
 to their temperament, and they are incessantly in a state of 
 vehement desire. Now pleasure, be it the opposite of a given 
 pain, or be it what it may, provided it be strong enough, drives 
 away the irritation ; and hence it is that nervous people become 
 dissolute and depraved. 
 
 However, we must not only give a true account : we must also explain tte 
 cause of the error ; a thorough, exposition being highly conducive to winning' 
 conviction of the truth. For when the reason has been shown why it is that 
 what is in reality false has an appearance of truth, and the cause of the error 
 has been exposed, the explanation makes us have a greater confidence in the 
 truth itself. Hence we must explain why it is that bodily pleasures have the 
 appearance of being more ohoiceworthy than those which are really good. 
 
 (1.) In the first place bodily pleasures are of the nature of remedies for bodily 
 pains. The pains may be great, but the strehgth of the pleasures exceeds the 
 Btrength o£ the pain, and drives it out. Cohsequently, at the titae when bodily 
 
 r. Y.% 
 
420 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bt VII. 15 
 
 pain presses upon a man, pleasures are sought after, because they seem to b( 
 strong and powerful remedies, and easily rid a man of the pain which comei 
 from defect of pleasure. The second reason is that bodily pleasures are soughi 
 after by those who are incapable of taking delight in other forms of pleasure 
 And these persons form a numerous class : and consequently that which ihej 
 seek after is thought to be good and choiceworthy. They are not content witl 
 the satisfaction of natural desires, but they go on to devise artificial excitements 
 creating for themselves, for example an artificial thirst, in order that they maj 
 be always capable of delighting themselves with drink. No doubt if this praotici 
 does not go beyond the limits of reason and moderation, it is not injurious, foj 
 bodily pleasures in moderation do not injure the body, and to that extent the 
 practice of which I have spoken is not to be censured. But if the pleasnrei 
 which are to be pursued do go beyond the limit, and the pursuit of them ininres 
 the body, the pursuit of them is morally evU. I assert that the use of bodilj 
 pleasures in moderation is not to be censured, because it is absolutely necessaig 
 for a man to find some things pleasant in life, because his natm-e is in process ol 
 struggle, and requires some kind of pleasure which will serve, so to speak, at 
 a repose. For the whole creation is always in process of struggle, as in fact 
 natural philosophers tell us : for they say that even the act of seeing or oi 
 hearing is in reality painful, though through habituation it does not seemi so 
 Men, therefore, need some kind of pleasure, and if a man is insensible tfli in- 
 tellectual pleasures, he is compelled to enjoy himself with the pleasures of the 
 body. It follows, that those who use them in moderation, and in such a way af 
 not to injure their body are not morally censured. 
 
 The same truth is conspicuous in time of youth : the pleasures which aocompanj 
 the nutritive part of our nature, just as they are by the dissolute man, under an 
 impulse of nature struggling after growth. Youths are, in fact, in an analogoril 
 position to men who are under the influence of wine ; for eating, drinking, aii^ 
 sleeping continually, as they do, they have the desire which is stimulated bythea 
 operations in a constant state of extreme vigour, just as those with whom I haw 
 compared them are under the constant influence of thirst. It is for this reasoi 
 that the period of youth is pleasant because its realization of the necessary condi' 
 tions of existence is always accompanied with desire. 
 
 In just the same way persons of a nervous temperament are always in a statf 
 of vehement desire, and are always in need of an anodyne : for their bodies an 
 always in a state of irritation on account of their temperament. 
 
 These, therefore, are persons who seek after bodily pleasures, and these are the 
 reasons why they seek them. Speaking generally, every bodily pleasm-e is soughi 
 for in order that it may expel a bodily pain : for pleasure drives out pain, nor ii 
 it necessary that the particular form of pleasure should be the exact opposite o) 
 the particular form of pain ; for example, a pain which arises in the nntritivt 
 part of us, is driven out not only by a pleasure which has its seat in the nutritive 
 part of us, but by any other form of pleasure as well, if only it be strong enough 
 It is for this reason that bodily pleasures are pursued, and it is hence that mei 
 become dissolute or bad. 
 
 (3.) THE PLEASURES OF THE MIND, HOWEVER, ARE PREFERABLE TC 
 THOSE OF THE BODY. 
 
 On the other hand, pleasures unaccompanied by pain do nol 
 
 admit of excess : they are the satisfaction and 
 
 Mental pleasures realization of things which are pleasurable in 
 
 excess.' *^""* their own nature and not through adventitious 
 
 circumstances. By 'pleasures of association' I 
 
 mean such things as are of the nature of a remedy. Since il 
 
Bk..VII. 15.] Translation. 421 
 
 happens that we are relieved, owing to some operation of that 
 part in us which continues sound, the object [which causes this 
 result] seems to us to be itself pleasant. On the %ontrary things 
 are Tiaturally pleasant when they produce the activity of a nature 
 corresponding to their own. 
 
 But the same object is never continuously pleasant to us, 
 because our nature is not simple, butj there are in it other and 
 diverse elements (in virtue of our corruptible nature). Hence 
 when one element is in action, it thwarts the tendency of the 
 ,second element ; and when the two elements are balanced, the 
 result of their action appears to be ^.either painful nor pleasant. 
 However, if there be any being whose nature is uncompounded, 
 the same mode of action will be continuously and in the highest 
 degree pleasurable to him. 
 
 Hence it is, through the simplicity of His essence, God enjoys 
 everlastingly one pure pleasure. There is an activity assuredly 
 not only in change but in changelessness ; and pleasure is keener 
 in a state of calm than in a state of motion. It is only, as the 
 poet says, ' through the frailty of our mortal nature that change 
 is the sweetest of all things.' It is the frail and faulty character 
 yhich is fond of change ; and the nature which needs change 
 bears the same stamp of imperfection, being neither sincere nor 
 true. 
 
 We must here conclude our account of moral strength and 
 weakness, and of pleasure and pain, having defined the nature 
 of each respectively and the sense in which they are right or 
 wrong, good or evil. It now remains for us to proceed with our 
 examination of Friendship. 
 
 On the otlier iand, intellectual pleasures are not preceded by pain (for it is not 
 necessary for us, as in tte case of bodily pleasures, to feel paiu before feeling the 
 delight which they bring), and do not admit of excess. It is not possible for us 
 to give play to the intellect beyond what is fitting : the pleasures which flow from 
 the play of the intellect are always praiseworthy, for the objects which cause those 
 pleasures are pleasant not accidentally, but always and absolutely. By things which 
 are accidentally pleasurable I mean those which satisfy and heal bodily wants and 
 pains ; for example, articles of food. For food is, as it were, a remedy to the nature 
 of a hungry man, which is, so to speak, in an abnormal and morbid state, and it 
 supplies what is lacking : when, that is to say, the man's natui-e is not defective 
 or morbid in respect of its capacity of receiving nutriment, but possesses that capa- 
 city, and is sound in respect of it, and gives it play, that is to say, feels a desire 
 for food. Things of this kind are pleasurable, not in themselves, but through ad- 
 ventitious circumstances, that is, because they happen to serve as remedies. On 
 the other hand, things are naturally pleasurable which instead of filling up a de- 
 ficiency in a man's nature, stimulate that nature into activity. Of this kind are 
 the objects upon which the inteUeot employs itself, for they allow a perfect play 
 to the activity of the mind. 
 
 But since our nature is not simple but eemplez, and siace we do not live with 
 
422 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. 'VII. 15. 
 
 our minds only apart from our bodies, the same objects are not always pleasurable 
 to us ; since even in the case of those things which are accidentally pleasurable, the 
 same things are not always objects of pursuit, but we seek at one time one class 
 of objects, at another time another. For when our bent is in the direction of our 
 body, we feel pleasure in those things which are connected with our body, but 
 when, on the other hand, we look beyond our body, we seek things which are not 
 accidentally, but naturally pleasurable, for there is a conflict between the pleasures 
 of the mind and the pleasures of the body : and the objects in which the mind 
 feels delight seem to the body to be contrary to nature. At the same time, when 
 the exercise of virtue has brought the mind and body into unison, then, although 
 it is still true that the body does not feel delight in the objects round which lie 
 mind delights to play — for they are not objects of sense, still, it is not objects of 
 pain. 
 
 Hence it is that to those beings whose nature is absolutely simple, the same 
 course of action is always absolutely pleasant. For God enjoys everlastingly one 
 pure pleasure. It is true that he is changeless, and that he has been thought on 
 this account to be incapable of pleasure, for pleasure is a mode of activity, and 
 activity is thought to be only a mode ef change. But it is not so : there is an 
 activity not only in change, but in ohangelessness, and pleasure is keener in a state 
 of calm than in a state of changeful motion. Change is the sweetest of all things, 
 as the poet says, not to an absolutely g*od and perfect nature, but to a com- 
 posite nature, owing to its frailty and its wickedness : for just as a wicked man is 
 constantly changing, so also a wicked nature is in constant need of change, it is 
 neither simple nor sincere. 
 
 We must here conclude our account of moral strength and weakness, and of 
 pleasure and pain, having defined the nature of each respectively, and the sense 
 in which they are right or wrong, good or evil. It remains for us to speak of 
 friendship. 
 
BOOK VIII.-CONCEKNING- FBIENDSHIP. 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY ANALYSIS. 
 
 — *— 
 
 I.-GENEEAL CONCEPTION OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The general subject of these two books (VIII. and IX.) is FriendsMp. 
 The subject has many claims on' the moralist for his attention. It 
 deserves consideration (1) on account of its intimate connection with 
 virtue. Friendship in all its higher forms is impossible without virtue, and 
 IB in its turn of the greatest assistance towards leading a virtuous and 
 so a happy life. 
 
 (2.) It befits every condition and every- age of life. Ricih and poor, old 
 young and middle-aged are all on different grounds indebted to friend- 
 ship. 
 
 (3.) Friendship is a principle deeply rooted in human nature ; not to 
 speak of the natural affection subsisting between parent and child and 
 even among animals towards those of their own kind, man has a natural 
 attraction to man as man. We may see this in the way in which men 
 casually thrown together make friends with one another, and even 
 strangers are made welcome. 
 
 (4.) As ' social philosophers ' we are Especially bound to consider it ; 
 it is the chief tie that binds civil society together and is even more 
 absolutely indispensable to its well-being than justice is, while 
 
 (5.) The possession of friends is ' a crown of glory ' to a man, a distinc- 
 tive addition to virtue itself. 
 
 Yet as to the nature and origin of the sentiment there are a variety of 
 differing, and even diametrically opposed, opinions. 
 
 1. Some Philosophers take the view that 'like is attracted by like.' 
 
 2. Others maintain that it is dissimilar natures that have affinities. 
 Both alike trace the prevalence of one or other of these principles 
 through the whole of nature. 
 
 3. Into these wider questions it is beyond our present purpose to 
 enter. As moralists, we approach the question only from the moral side, 
 and would confine our attention to such questions as these. What is 
 the relation of friendship to virtue and to happiness? Are there 
 different kinds of friendship, friendships which the vicious man may 
 share as well as the virtuous, or in friendship the privilege of the 
 virtuous alone ? 
 
424 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 II.— ARE THERE DIFFERENT KINDS OF FRIENDSHIP! 
 
 Let lis attempt to answer this last question first and consider — 
 ' Are there different kinds of friendship, and if so how many they are,' 
 In order to answer it, it will be necessary to analyse the grounds on 
 which affection, and with it friendship, may rest. What are the objects 
 of affection ? Now that which excites affection is always either the good, . 
 or the agreeable or the useful. We love persons, or things, because they, 
 are good, or pleasant or useful to us. But the useful,, if we consider 
 what it really means, is that which conduces to our good, or conduces to 
 our pleasure. Consequently goodness and pleasantness are the only 
 ultimate grounds of affection, and, therefore, of friendship. (We may 
 notice further that, though ideally it may be the truly good and the 
 really pleasant which excite and command our affection, yet practically 
 the feeling will be evoked in each individual by that which impresses 
 him as good or as pleasant.) 
 
 Yet mere affection for a person or an object, prompted by one or 
 other of these motives does not, taken by itself alone, constitute friend- 
 ship. If it did, we might be said to be friends with our wine, or with 
 any other inanimate object which gives us gratification or amusement. 
 Three other conditions have to be complied with before the idea of 
 friendship can be regarded as complete. 
 
 1. The affection felt must be unselfish; it must be a genuine wish for 
 the good of the person, or the object, loved. 
 
 2. The feeling must be reciprocated by the object towards which it is 
 felt, and 
 
 3. Their mutual affection must not be unknown to the two parties 
 concerned. 
 
 ^ We are now in a position to answer the question with which we 
 started, whether there are different Knds of friendship, and to answer it 
 in the affirmative. Since the three objects of affection above enumerated 
 are distinct in kind, and since an unselfish feeling of afiection, recipro- 
 cated by, and not unknown to, the object of it, may arise on any one of ■ 
 these grounds, it follows that there are three distinct kinds of friendship, 
 corresponding to these three different objects of affection ; friendships 
 that is, based upon goodness, friendships based upon pleasure, and ' 
 friendships based upon interest. 
 
 III.— THE THREE KINDS OF FRIENDSHIP CONTRASTED 
 AND COMPARED. 
 
 Of these three forms of friendship, the two which originate severally in 
 interest and in pleasure, depend dot so much on the intrinsic character 
 of the contracting parties as upon circumstances which are more or less 
 accidental, and consequently the friendships have themselves something 
 of an accidental character. 
 
 This same fact renders them also hable to speedy dissolution, as 
 interest and pleasure quickly change. 
 
 These different kinds of friendship do not prevail equally among all 
 classes. The old and the more mercenary of the young and the middle- 
 aged form friendships of interest, while the young form friendships 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VIII. 425 
 
 chiefly from delight in one another's society j but the changeableness of 
 youth; and the uncertainty of pleasure, make s\ich frien^hips often only 
 of short duration. 
 
 3Vje only 'perfect form of friendship is the friendship of the good, and it 
 can alone be regarded as true and real friendship. (1) It is unselfish, 
 and this gives it a true element of friendliness in which the other forms 
 are wanting. (2) Being based on a mutual respect between the friends 
 for each other's character, it is not affected by any external or accidental 
 considerations. (3) It contains in itself the advantages of both the 
 other kinds, as the good are both pleasant and profitable to one another. 
 (4) It is lasting, for it has its roots in virtue and virtue wears well ; 
 while (5) we have here that similarity of disposition which is essential to 
 friendship. 
 
 Of course such friendships are rare. Perfectly good men are scarce, 
 and time and intimacy are requisite to bring friendship, in this its 
 highest and completest form, to perfection. 
 
 The two other forms are enduring, and approach the ideal form in 
 varying degrees. 
 
 1. Of the imperfect forms that is most lasting, in which each of the 
 friends is agreeable to the other and on the same grounds. Two wits, 
 for instance, may often strike up a lasting friendship. But 
 
 2. Where, as in the case of lovers, the advantage sought is not of the 
 same kind, but one seeks gratification, the other profit, the connexion is 
 apt to be transitory, ceasing as the bloom of youth dies away and atten- 
 tions cease to be paid as of old ; though of course cases occur in which 
 love ripens into lasting friendship, if the lovers come mutually to esteem 
 each other's characters. 
 
 3. Those friendships are least real, and least lasting, which are 
 dictated by merely mercenary motives. 
 
 4. One other point in which all such friendships fall short of the 
 ideal of true friendship is their liability to be destroyed by the breath of 
 slander ; true friends, who have really proved one another, are superior 
 to all its assaults. 
 
 In all these respects, then, does true friendship transcend these its 
 imperfect copies; yet since populai- usage extends the name of friendship 
 also to them, we will follow it in this particular and speak of three kinds 
 of friendship, one that true and ideal friendship which is confined to 
 the good, the other two kinds shared by bad and good alike, being 
 called friendships at all only by a kind of analogy or metaphor. 
 
 If we turn next to consider the conditions which give vitality or 
 reality to friendship, they seem to be summed up in these three. 
 
 (1.) Constant intercourse and delight on the part of the friends in 
 one another's society. 
 
 (2.) A certain pleasantness and pliability of temper which makes 
 such constant intercourse possible and delightful. 
 
 (3.) A certain fixity of character and determination to do good to 
 one's friend, which distinguishes true friendship from any passing 
 afiection. 
 
 Lastly, if we ask 
 
42 & Ihe MoraC Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 IV,— WHAT ARE THE LIMITS OF FRIENDSHIP? 
 
 We shall observe 
 
 1. That the morose and the elderly, from hardness of character, seldom 
 can make friends. 
 
 2. That ideal friendship being, like love, a highly-exalted state of 
 feeling can be entertained only towards few at a time, all the more 
 because it requires time and intimacy to mature it, 
 
 3. That friendships of interest and pleasure may be formed with a 
 wide circle of friends. 
 
 4. That the powerful require many friends and friends of different 
 kinds, but cannot often command the friendship of the good .except in 
 those rare instances, where by reason of their superior excellence the 
 good can repay their favours in honour without loss of self-respect. 
 
 Thus, then, the results we have arrived at are the following: (1) that 
 all forms of friendship imply equality, either an actual return of like for 
 like, honour for honour, pleasure for pleasure, profit for profit ; or, if 
 not that (stiU) an equivalent amount in some other kind, and (2) that 
 the friendship of the good is the only ideal type, and that the two other 
 forms are regarded as friendships only in virtue of their resemblance to 
 this : but (3) friendships are formed as a matter of fact, not merely 
 between equals but between men diifering widely in position, virtue, 
 wealth, &c. With respect to these friendships of relative superiority and 
 inferiority the following principles applicable to all their different cases 
 may be laid down. 
 
 1. What each of the friends will, and should, look for in the other, is 
 not an exact repayment of his own services but a different kind of 
 service. 
 
 2. The payment should be based on principles of proportion rather 
 than of strict equality, the greater service being repaid by more 
 honour. 
 
 3. Such friendships cannot extend beyond a certain limit ; when one 
 of the two parties is altogether in a different position from the other, 
 friendship is no longer possible. Friendship herein differs from justice. 
 In justice it does not matter how widely removed in station the two 
 parties involved are ; justice can still be done between them ; all that we 
 have to look to is their respective merits ; but in friendship a certain 
 equality between the two parties is necessary. The very idea of friend- 
 ship between those very widely removed in position is preposterous. 
 Man does not claim to be the friend of God, nor a common man to be 
 friends with princes. 
 
 This fact furnishes a limit to the good wishes we can entertain for 
 our friends. We cannot be absolutely unselfish in our good wishes ; 
 we cannot wish them such advancement as wiU make them cease to he 
 our friends, nor can we desire that their happiness should interfere with 
 our own. 
 
 v.— WHAT ARE THE MOTIVES IN WHICH FRIENDSHIP ORIGINATES? 
 
 1. Though the majority are more anxious to receive than to give 
 affection, such a desire, like that of honour though in a less degi-ee, has 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book VII I. 427 
 
 always a certain element of selfisliness and self-seeking about it. In its 
 nobler forms friendship consists more in loving than in being loved, as 
 we see preeminently in the case of a mother's love for h# offspring, when 
 any requital of the affection is often not even asked for. Consequently 
 the outpouring of love must be regarded as more proper to, more charac- 
 teristic of, true friendship than the being loved. 
 
 2. Friendships most frequently originate in a similarity of tastes and 
 tharacter. This is seen most conspicuously in the case of the good who are 
 drawn together by sympathy and a respect for one another's character. 
 
 3. Where there is not this similarity of character, the friendship is 
 generally prompted by interest, a desire on the part of each to make 
 good some deficiency in himself. In these cases it may well be that the 
 Opposite does not really desire its opposite, but desires that balanced 
 condition which is, as we have already seen, the true nature of ' the 
 good.' 
 
 VL— THE RELATION OF FRIENDSHIP AND JUSTICE. 
 
 Justice and friendship have much in common ; they prevail for the 
 most part between the same individuals, and find a place in the same 
 transactions. Wherever two people are associated for any purpose, they 
 wiE be found, as a rule, united by ties both of justice and of friendship, 
 and the closer the tie uniting them, the more intimate will be the friend- 
 ship, the more imperative the claims of justice. 
 
 Furthermore, inasmuch as every form of association is entered into with 
 a view to secure some particular advantage, while the political union was 
 originally formed, and still continues to exist, with a view of promoting 
 the well-being of man as a whole, consequently every special association 
 may be regarded as subordinate to, and forming a part of ' that political 
 \mion ' whose end thus comprises and includes the ends of them alL 
 This is true even of those associations which are formed merely for 
 purposes of pleasure and enjoyment. Pleasure and enjoyment and 
 relaxation from toil are constituents of well-being, and so cannot be 
 regarded as lying outside the scope of the aU-embracing political union. 
 
 But the political union may itself take many forms of which the chief 
 are these, kingly government, aristocracy, and timocracy. Each of these 
 has its corresponding ' perversion ' or distorted form, tyranny being the 
 perversion of kingly rule, oligarchy of aristocracy, democracy of timo- 
 cracy. The perverted forms differ from the legitimate forms, in that in 
 the former the governors aim at their own selfish ends, in the latter at 
 the public good. Of the legitimate forms kingly rule — where the king 
 looks solely to the interests of his subjects — is the best, timocracy the 
 least good ; while in the perverted forms tyranny is the worst, democracy 
 the least evil. It should further be noticed, that each of the three forms 
 of government is apt to degenerate into its own allied perverted form. 
 Human selfishness is for ever creeping in and perverting governments 
 from their true ideal. 
 
 Eelations corresponding to these different forms of government are to 
 be met with in the household as well. Kingly rule is, or should be re- 
 presented by a father's ' paternal rule.' Tyranny finds its counterpart 
 in the harsh authority of ' Persian ' fathers, and, more legitimately, in 
 the authority exercised by a master over bis slaves. 
 
428 The Moral Philosophy, of Aristotle. 
 
 Husband and wife — ^where the husband rules in virtue of his superioi 
 merits, and assigns to the wife her proper sphere and duties — are on thi 
 footing of an aristocracy and its subjects. If the husband interferei 
 beyond his proper sphere, or where the wife, as having possession of the 
 purse-strings, gets the upper hand, their relation degenerates intc 
 oligarchy. 
 
 Brothers again are on that footing of equality, which is the charac- 
 teristic note of ' timocracy ; ' while in masterless houses, or when the 
 father is weak, we see rampant the evils of democracy, in which each 
 does that which is right in his own eyes. 
 
 Now in state and household alike friendship is only possible, where 
 the rights of all concerned are duly respected. Friendship between lulei 
 and snlgeot, between father and child, will be found, only where .the 
 rights and interests of each are properly respected by the other. Un- 
 selfish care on the one side must be answered by due deference on tG 
 other. 
 
 In an aristocracy and in the case of husband and wife friendship will 
 rest on a due recognition, on the part of the governed and of the wife, of 
 superior merit in the ruling class and the husband respectively. 
 
 The members of a ' timocracy,' like brothers in a household, are 
 equals ; and their friendship will depend, accordingly, on the recognition 
 by each of the others' equal right. 
 
 On the other hand between a tyrant and his oppressed subjects, be- 
 tween a master and his slaves there is no real community of interest 
 and consequently no friendship, or scarcely any friendship. If a master 
 feels friendship at all for his slave, it is, not as a slave, but, as a man 
 that he loves him, and because he recognises in him the rights of a 
 common humanity. 
 
 The members of a democracy have many interests in common, and 
 friendship is, therefore, of frequent occurrence between them. 
 
 VII.— FAMILY AFFECTION. 
 
 Family affection may be regarded as something distinct from all other 
 forms of friendship. In all its different forms, it rests not on community 
 of interests, but has its roots in a natural instinct or feeling. (1.) The 
 love of parent for child is natural, for the child is almost a part of the 
 parent's self, and the parent cannot fail to recognise the share it had 
 in giving its child being. 
 
 (2.) Brotherly love is a natural instinct, derived from the community 
 of blood acting as an element common to both, uniting brothers together 
 by a chord of sympathy. This natui-al feeling is further enhance4 tiy 
 common bringing lap, similarity of age and common education. Cousins 
 and more distant relatives are drawn together in the same way, but to a 
 more limited extent, till the relationship fades away into nothing. 
 
 (3.) The love of children for their parents rests on a sense of benefits 
 received, while brothers are bound to one another, not merely by that 
 community of blood, which we have above described, but also, by similar 
 dispositions, close intimacy and a common education ; so that the ' love 
 of brothers ' transcends every other form of friendship. 
 
 (4.) Lastly nature also dictates the love of husband and wife ; it is 
 
Introductory Analysis : Book VIII. 429 
 
 more natural to man to live in pairs, even than in civil society. This is 
 an instinct indeed that he shares with the animals ; but, while with 
 them, the union continues only so long as is necessity for the rear- 
 ing of offspring, man and wife find in it a means of enhancing the value of 
 life by the supply of their mutual needs. This love, which has thus its 
 roots in nature, is further increased by the possession of common 
 children. 
 
 VIII.— THE EIGHTS AND DUTIES OF FRIENDS. 
 
 Having now settled what friendship is, what its different species are, 
 what are ■ the conditions necessary to give it reality and what is its 
 relation to justice, our next enquiry will be what are the rights and the 
 duties of friends. Now the golden rule in friendship of whatever kind 
 is that 'Equals should make one another equal returns, Unequals 
 returns proportionate to the superiority. of the one side.' 
 ,? iraotically, however, the question of the rights and duties of friends 
 aa well as the heartburnings to which such questions giye rise, occur in 
 respect of one only of the three species of friendship above distinguished, 
 in that, namely, which originates in interest. Such questions can never 
 arise between those who are bent on virtue, since each will exhibit a 
 noble rivalry to do his friend every good that lies in his power. And 
 those who seek one another's society on grounds of pleasure can always 
 withdraw, if they cease to find their friend's society any longer attractive. 
 
 (a). But in friendships, which rest on interest, such questions do very 
 often occur, as in this case each is sure to get less than he wants, and 
 less, consequently, than he considers he has a right to have. For in 
 matters of interest, men are apt to make their wants the measure of 
 their rights. 
 
 Of these interested friendships, if we may so style them, there are 
 two different kinds : 
 
 (1.) Those in which the whole transaction is purely business-lilie and 
 commercial where a stipulated service is rendered for a stipulated price 
 or reward. But in respect of this we must again distinguish two dif- 
 ferent cases, (a) that in which the return is made on the spot, as in trans- 
 actions in the market ; (b) the second that, where delay is allowed in 
 .the repayment, the article being given on trust, the amount of the re- 
 pajrment to be made being still stipulated. This latter case has more 
 the character of friendliness, and is less purely business-like than the 
 former. 
 
 (2.) The second kind admits certain moral considerations. For in 
 this no precise stipulation is made as to the amoimt to be repaid, but 
 the gift is given, or the service whatever it may be, is rendered, as to 
 a friend. Still even here the benefactor will expect to get back as much 
 as he has given, and will grumble, if he does not do so. Men wish 
 indeed to realise a noble ideal, and so to give without hope of recom- 
 pense or return, but when it comes to the point, they cannot help 
 blroosing to get back an equivalent for what they have given and to 
 nave their services repaid. 
 
 And so the rules, which will regulate our conduct in these cases, will 
 be these : 
 
430 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 1. Presume as little as possible on the friendly intentions of those 
 who confer a favour. 
 
 2. Make repayment in full, wherever this is possible ; if it is impoa 
 sible, your benefactor himself will not require it of you. 
 
 3. Make enquiries at the outset as to the terms on which the favom 
 is bestowed, and so settle whether to receive it or no. 
 
 There still arises the question, what are we to take as the measure of 
 the repayment which should be made? Is it to be estimated by the 
 good done to the recipient or by the benefit intended by the benefactor 1 
 On the one hand the recipient is always inclined to make light of the 
 cost of the service rendered him, on the other, the author of the favour 
 inclines to magnify it. In friendships of interest the return to be made 
 should clearly be measured by the amount of the benefit received, since 
 the author of it confers the benefit in the hopes of getting back as much 
 as he actually gives. In an ideal friendship no disputes of the kind 
 occur, but there the amount to be returned will rather be measured by 
 the benefactor's intention than by the amount actually received ; since 
 it is the benefactor's intention which gives its value and character to 
 his act. 
 
 (b.) Besides these friendships of interest, a second case in which 
 disputes occur is where the two friends are in positions of relative 
 superiority and inferiority. In these both claim, though on difierent 
 grounds, to reap the larger harvest from the transaction. The superior 
 thinks that his superior merits entitle him to a larger return, the 
 inferior that his greater needs entitle him to greater consideration. . 
 
 Both in a way are right ; the superior is entitled to a greater share of 
 honour, the inferior is entitled to a greater share, a greater amount, of 
 help. 
 
 (That honour is the proper return for services gratuitously rendered 
 may be seen from the instance of public men. They get honour only in 
 those cases where they give their services to their country gratuitously.) 
 
 Of course here again the repayment which will have to be made will 
 have to be limited by the power of the recipient to make it. 
 
 So a father has always a claim on his son for his services, since the 
 son can never adequately and completely repay the services and the 
 benefits he has received ; but the son has no corresponding claim on the 
 father, since he remains always in his father's debt. 
 
 A father has, therefore, a right to repudiate his son, but not the son 
 his father. Still the father is scarcely likely, unless the son is very bad 
 indeed, to exercise his right, as, independently of natural affection, he 
 would be discarding thereby his best hope of assistance and protection 
 for his old age. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 ,f, L— GENERAL CONCEPTION OF FEIENDSHIP. 
 
 1.— Connection of Friendship with the theory of Morals. 
 
 The sutject whicli follows next in order for us to discuss is 
 Friendship, for friendship is either a special vir- 
 tue, or, at any rate, implies virtue as a constitu- i- Friendship is 
 
 J. ■ 1 , • •. i/> either a virtue or 
 
 tive element m itseli. impiies.it. 
 
 Friendship is besides most essential to a com- 
 plete career. Without friends no one would care to live, even 
 though he had all other goods except them ; 
 
 ,,1.1 J , 1 . ... n 2. Friends are in- 
 
 to the rich, and to such as are in positions oi dispensable alike 
 
 authority and high place, friends are in a special \^ prosperity and 
 way indispensable. For what profit is there in '" ^^^^ ^' 
 external advantages of this sort, if one has not the opportunity 
 of doing good with them ? and it is to friends that the doing of 
 good is at once most natural and most excellent. Again how 
 could such external prosperity be maintained, or kept secure in 
 the absence of friends ? In proportion to its greatness the more 
 liable is it to accidents. In poverty, moreover, and all other mis- 
 fortunes men think that their friends are their only sure refuge. 
 
 To the young friends are a help to keep them free from errors ; 
 to the old for the tendance they give and for 
 supplying the lack of power to act which comes i" yitt, in age 
 of weakness ; to those in their prime to promote ofUfe." *""' ^"""^ 
 noble deeds. 
 
 " And two going together (are better}." 
 
 Two together are more capable of seeing what should be done, 
 and of doing it. 
 
 And nature too seems to implant affection in the parent to its " 
 offspring, not in men only, but in birds and in 
 most other animals as well, and in those of the 3. Nature implants 
 
 _ . , 1,1 1 , (. friendly feelings m 
 
 Bame species one towards another, and most of animals, even, to 
 
432 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 1, 
 
 those of their own all in men to men, so that we use the term 
 
 kind, most of 
 man to man. 
 
 kind, most of all in < philanthropic,' or lovers of men, as a term of 
 
 praise. One can see too on one's travels how 
 every man is akin to and a friend with every other man. 
 
 Moreover, friendship between the citizens is, it would seem, 
 , ^ . , , . . the bond that holds states together : and leo-is- 
 
 4. Friendship is , , . , . i n . °,7: 
 
 the great bond that lators are more anxious to promote such friendh- 
 hoids states toge- ness eveu than to promote justice. For unani- 
 mity is very much akin to friendship, and thus it 
 is that legislators are most anxious to secure and to expel civil 
 discord, which is a form of enmity. When men are friends jus- 
 tice may be dispensed with, but men may be just and still require 
 friendship in addition. And justice in its highest and most 
 perfect form wears a character of friendliness. 
 
 Friendship is not only indispensable, it^'is honourable also ; we 
 
 speak with approbation of those who have many 
 
 And 5. It is ho- friends ; and a ' wide circle of friends ' is thouffht 
 
 nourable and con- , , , .,, /■ i , r-i , 
 
 fers distinction. to DC a title 01 houour to a man. Some too 
 there are who hold that it is the same individuals 
 that make good men that make good friends. 
 
 It wUl devolve on us to discuss next in order the question of friendship. For 
 friendship is either a special virtue or a consequence of virtue. The virtue which 
 falls intermediate between offensivenesa and obsequiousness if combined with 
 affection, is friendship, as has been already stated in the Sixth Chapter of the 
 Fourth Book. Friendship is also a consequent of complete virtue. For true 
 friendship, as will be shown hereafter, will be found only between the good. 
 
 Hence in our treatise on the virtues it will be quite relevant to discuss friendi 
 ship also ; all the more because it is besides most indispensable to a complete 
 career. Without friends no one would care to live, though he had all other 
 possible blessings, since eveu the wealthy, endowed with office and high place, 
 seem in a special manner to have need of friends. For what profit is there in all 
 this worldly prosperity if they are not able to do good offices 1 And they cannot 
 do good offices, if they have no friends. For the good offices, which are highest 
 and most praised, are done to.f riends. Again how can a prosperous man continue 
 and be kept safe in his prosperity without friends ? And in proportion as his 
 prosperity is greater, the more is it exposed to risks. 
 
 Not only have the prosperous need of friends but the unfortunate and poor at 
 well, for all think that friends are their only haven of refuge. 
 
 Again not only is friendship profitable to every variety of fortune but in every 
 variety of age also. The young, friends lead into the paths of light reason, that 
 they may not go astray through their inexperience of the good ; the old they tend, 
 and make good their lack of power to act which comes of the weakness that 
 age brings ; for those in the prime of life they add to their noble deeds, and 
 make their works more excellent ; they are 
 
 " Two going in company ; '' 
 
 for hy the help of friends we become more capable of framing plans and carrying 
 them out. 
 
 And it is by nature too that friendship comes to us. It is nature that makes 
 the parent to feel friendly to its offspring, and that not among men alone, but 
 among birds as well, and most animals; moreover, not only does this hold 
 
Bk. VIII. 2.] Translation. 43 3 
 
 hetween parent and offspring', bnt also between those of the same kind one to 
 another, and most of all between man and man : on these grounds we praise also 
 those who are ' philanthropic,' as doing that which is natural *> man. And one 
 can see too on one's travels how aJdn man is to man and friendly to boot ; those 
 who stay at home entertain and tend with pleasure the traveller ; and the 
 traveller, if only he falls in with his f eUowmen, has his heart g-laddened within 
 him. 
 
 Political communities also in the first instance grew out of friendship, and are 
 still held together by it. Legislators, who form such communities, talce more 
 thought to secure friendship even than justice : it is for the sake of unanimity 
 that justice is desired, and unanimity is something like friendship, while party 
 faction is like enmity, and it is this that legislators are ever anxious to banish 
 from their states. Besides this, if the citizens are friends with one another there 
 is no need for justice, but though they are just, the state still requires friendship. 
 By its help they will be made more unanimous than by the help of justice. 
 Farther, justice carried to its highest pitch seems to merge in friendship ; for, 
 when a man observes all the claims of justice to his neighbour, even to the 
 extent of punishing him, if it be necessary for him to be punished, he is 
 aBooimted his friend. Hence friendship is even more sought after than justice 
 by legislators, while it is necessary also to any genuine unanimity. 
 Jirther, not only is friendship necessary, and conducive to other good besides 
 itsSf , but it is itself also in itself noble and praiseworthy ; we praise those who are 
 attached to their friends, and ' a wide circle of friends ' is thought to be also a 
 distinction. Some besides maintain that there is no distinction between a good 
 man and a good friend, but that they are absolutely identical. 
 
 ii.— Eeview of conflicting opinions as to tlie origin and nature 
 of Friendship. 
 
 But not a few diametrically opposite opinions are held about it. 
 Some make it consist in likeness, and maintain ^ „. ,. 
 
 ,, , ,. mi • /. 1 Conflictmg views. 
 
 that the like are friends. This fadt they say has j y^^ jg friend 
 given rise to such proverbs as ' Like loves like,' to like. 
 'Birds of a feather flock together ' and so on, ^ho Ire friendf''' 
 Others from an opposite point of view assert that 3. Views extended 
 all sunilar characters are like ' two of a trade ' to *" ^ "^t^^- 
 oneanother. And they push their researches on these points still 
 further back and with a more philosophical analysis {^vaiKWipov), 
 Euripides for instance saying 
 
 " The parched earth yearns to the shower," 
 
 and 
 
 " The stately heaven charged with rain 
 Yearns to fall upon the earth, " 
 
 and Heracleitus ' the opposing conduces,' and ' from things that 
 differ is the fairest harmony,' and ' all things come to the birth 
 through strife.' 
 
 At an opposite standpoint to these are such writers as Empe- 
 docles ; ' like yearns to like,' he says. 
 
 _ Such then is friendship, but not a few questions are raised concerning it. It 
 >? asked whether likeness is friendship and it is the like who are friends, or 
 
434 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 2. 
 
 whether it is unlikenesa and it is the tmlike who make friends. Some make it 
 consist in likeness and make the like friends, and this, they say, is the origin of 
 such proverbs as ' Like to like,' ' Birds of a feather ' and so on, while others main- 
 tain tiiat it is opposite characters that make friends, and carry up their argument 
 into a wider and more philosophical region, Euripides maiutainiug that 
 
 " The parched earth loves the shower ; 
 The stately heaven charged with raia '-'% 
 
 Loves to fall upon the earth," 
 
 and Heracleitus too saying that ' the opposed conduces,' ' from things that differ 
 is the fairest harmony ' and that ' all things come to the birth through strife.' 
 From an opposite standpoint to these Empedocles, and many others with him, 
 maintain respecting friendship that it is like that yearns to like. 
 
 iii. — Iiimitation of these enquiries to 'moral' subjects. 
 
 However the naturalistic aspects of these discussions may be 
 dismissed as being alien to the scope of the 
 tereBtSd\rt^e inquiry we have before us. Let us rather investi- 
 morai aspects of gate the human aspect of these questions and 
 suchtSonVj" such as reach up into character and human 
 (1.) Is friendship emotion — such questions, I mean, as whether 
 confined to the friendship originates in all minds or whether it, 
 (2.) Are there dif- is impossible for men, while they are evil, to W' 
 ferent k™da of friends, and again whether there is but one kind 
 of friendship or more than one. (Those who 
 restrict friendship to a single kind., because it admits of degreelpf 
 more and less, have rested their belief on an insufficient proof. 
 Things which are even different in kind still admit of degrees of 
 more and less. But we have already stated our views on this 
 subject.) 
 
 But to carry up our discussion into such general and physical considerationfl, 
 and to enquiie generally, how contraries yearn for their contraries and hke 
 things for their likes, is not germane to our present investigation. 
 
 Rather let us restrict our enquiries to those points which touch on the nature 
 of man, that relate to character and emotions ; these are the proper subject- 
 matter for our present treatise. We must ask then whether friendship originates 
 in all men or is confined to the good, while it can find no place between the evU; 
 and whether there are many Mnds of friendship or one only. It does not follow, 
 that because friendship admits of degrees of more and less, that, therefore, there 
 is but one kind of it : for things which even differ in kind admit of degrees of 
 more and less ; substance for instance and accident, though they differ in kind, 
 admit of degrees of more and less, the one is more existent than the other ; so 
 that those who, because it admits of degrees of more and less, think that there is 
 but one kind of friendship, have grounded their belief on an insufficient proof. 
 But on these points we have stated our views in earlier Books. 
 
Bk. VIII. 2.] Translation. 435 
 
 II.— THE GROUND OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 i. — De amabili (to (fiiKrjTov) : The object of a£fection. 
 
 Perhaps, light will be thrown on this point, if we discover the 
 object of affection. It is held that not everything b" t f ff 
 
 is the object of affection, but that there is a tion is the good, 
 specific quality in objects which inspires affection, ti^e pleasant, or 
 and this is the good, the pleasant or the useful. 
 A thing would seem to be useful when by means of it some 
 eood or pleasure is called into existence ; conse- ™ . , ^ . , . , 
 
 ° . \ , T . i. _rv i- 11 ™^ '*^* 'S desired 
 
 quenuy the only objects 01 anection regarded as as a means not as 
 ends, are the good or the pleasant. ^° ^°<^- 
 
 Do, then, men love the good or that which is good for them ? 
 "lometimes these two are at variance. The same 
 question applies to the pleasant also. Now each ^^'^ *^« apparent 
 
 A. XX X Tfl T n PT* "Ml f) T1 "f" Tip TPfil 
 
 is thought to love what is good for his own self good and pleasant 
 
 and, though in an ideal sense, it is the good ^iiich in indivi- 
 
 1 • 1 ■ ii 1 • J. j> ii? i.- J. J- 1 • J- dual cases is the 
 
 which is the object of affection, yet tor each mdi- object of affection. 
 vidual that is the object of affection which is 
 good to him. And each loves, not that which is good for him, 
 but, that which impresses him as such. Still this will make no 
 difference, as the object of his affection will be also an apparent 
 not a real object. 
 
 ' Such, then, are the questions raised, hut they will be cleared up if the concep- 
 tion'of the object of affection be made plain. It is not all things that we love 
 but only such as are fitted by nature to be loved, being such as are loveable. 
 Now the three objects which excite affection are the good, the pleasant, and the 
 naefnl. Of these the good and the pleasant are loved for their own sake, while 
 the useful is loved for the sake either of goodness or of pleasure. 
 
 That is useful by means of which either goodness is brought about or pleasure, 
 the eoBsequence of which is that while the good and pleasure are loved as ends, 
 the useful is only loved as conducing to ends. 
 
 Next let us investigate in what way the good is the object of affection : is it 
 the absolute good that is loved or that which is good for him who feels the 
 affection 1 These sometimes differ from one another, and that which is truly and 
 properly a man's good may be quite one thing, what he may hold to be his good 
 tpiite another ; similarly the ideally pleasant may differ from that which seems 
 pleasant to this or that individual. Which of the two then is the object of 
 affection? Is it not clearly that which they thinJi good and t/dnJd pleasant? 
 Similaily useful things, that excite affection, are those that conduce to what 
 lemts pleasant and seems good. Moreover it is not all things that seem pleasant 
 and that seem good that excite there affection, but those that seem pleasant and 
 Beem good to the people concerned. 
 
 ii. — Other conditions 1)881(168 affection necessary to friendship. 
 
 There being thus these three grounds of affection, the term 
 friendship is not applied to the affection felt for inanimate 
 
 p p 2 
 
436 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 2. 
 
 objects, as there is in this case no requital of affection nor wish 
 
 for the good of such objects : it would be ridicu- 
 
 The affection based j^^g £qj, instance to wish all happiness to wine : 
 
 on one of these • i a. n -^ ■ 
 
 grounds must be if we have any Wish at all, it is merely a wish 
 
 ^''fdTiwnselBsh *'^**' ^'^ ^^°® °^^^ ^® ^^P*' ^^^® *^^* ^® ^^^ °"'^" 
 
 ca e , unse s , ^^^^^ \^v& the enjoyment of it : but in the case 
 of a friend men say we ought to wish him all happiness for his 
 own sake. Those who wish good in this spirit we call well dis- 
 posed, where the feeling is not reciprocated by the object of 
 it — where the feeling is reciprocated, the kindly disposition be- 
 comes at length friendship. Perhaps we should further add that 
 it must not be unknown to the object of it, for 
 
 thl^bj^cf"''"™*'' °^^^y '^'^^'^ ^ kindly feeling for those whom they 
 have never seen, that is to say if they believe 
 them to be good or serviceable, and this same feeling might be 
 entertained in turn towards them by the objects of it, and thus 
 the two would be kindly disposed to one another. But how could , 
 they be called friends if they severally did not know of their 
 feelings towards one another ? 
 
 For men, then, to be friends it is needful that they entertain 
 kindly feelings to one another, that they wish for 
 "™" ■ each other's good and be known to do so, and 
 
 that on one or other of the grounds above enumerated. 
 
 There being thus three gromids of liking on account of one or other of whioh 
 affection is felt, it does not follow in the case of all things that are liked,that 
 friendship is felt towards them : for we like BTen inanimate objects on one of 
 these three grounds ; but such a feeling does not amount to friendship. Friend- 
 ship exists when the affection is reciprocated, and a man wishes all happiness to 
 the object of his love, whUe that object in turn wishes it to him ; but he who 
 loves, let us suppose, wine is neither loved in return by the wine, nor wishes all 
 happiness to it, as it would be ridiculous to do so ; if he has any wish with respect 
 to it, he wishes it to be kept safe, but that not for the sake of the wine but for 
 his own that he may have the enjoyment of it ; to a friend on the other hand 
 we wish all happiness for his sake. Consequently the affection felt for inanimate 
 objects is not friendship. i 
 
 Again, though a man love another man and wish him good, such a feeling may 
 still' not amount to friendship ; his love must be returned in an equal degree ; if 
 not, he is not a friend, but is spoken of as well disposed to the other. i 
 
 It may moreover happen that some from a mutual belief in one another's good- 
 ness, or serviceableness, or excellence, may even wish all happiness to one another 
 and not know they do so. In this case we should not call Hhiira. frwnds in the 
 proper sense, because they don't know that they are loved, nor how they are dis- 
 posed to one another : we should rather call them well affected to one another. 
 Thus, then, neither is the affection for inanimate objects friendship nor the 
 affection of men for one another, when it lacks any of fie above conditions. But 
 friendship does exist when men feel kindly to one another on the score of good- 
 ness, pleasure or profit, and wish for each other's good, and each knows of the 
 other's love. 
 
Bk. VIII. 3.] Translation. 437 
 
 III.— THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF FRIENDSHIP AND 
 THEIR COMPARATIVE VALUE.* 
 
 i. — Friendships differ in kind according to the grounds of 
 the Affection. 
 
 These grounds differ from one another in kind, consequently 
 must the affections to which they give rise, and 
 the friendships as well. Hence the kinds of ^«y« ^« *^=^«5 
 
 . . , , . ,1 1 ■ 1 i ii distinct kinds of 
 
 friendship are three, equal m number to the friendship corre- 
 obiects of affection : for on each ground there sponding to the 
 
 ■* , ™ ,. J -i. 1 j; -i J. three grounds of 
 
 may be anection, and a requital 01 it, not un- affection, 
 known to those concerned. 
 
 What then friendship is has been now explained. It is clear also from what 
 we hare stated that there are three Tmnds of friendship. For since there 
 are three grounds on which friendship originates, the pleasant, the good, and the 
 useful, and these differ from one another in kind, the friendships must be equal 
 ^ number to the objects of affection. For in virtue of each one of these separate 
 grounds a friendship may originate, that is to say, an affection known to the 
 object of it and a requital of that affection. Further also an unselfish wish f or 
 each other's good ; for iu so far as' we love anything we wish good to that thing. 
 
 There are, therefore, three kinds of friendship, corresponding to the good, the 
 pleasant, and the serviceable. 
 
 ii. — Imperfection of Friendships of Pleasure and Interest. 
 
 Those who love one another wish good to one another in the 
 way that corresponds to the character of their 
 affection. Those who love one another on grounds Friendships for 
 
 n „, 1 , , J.1 • 1 ^ 1 J. Pi^ofit and pleasure 
 
 01 profit, do not love one another in and tor what are (i) selfish, (2) 
 they are, but only in so far as each gets some accidental in cha- 
 advantage from the other. The same is the case brokeh off. ^^ ^ 
 with those who love each other on the ground of 
 pleasure. The witty are loved, not for their intrinsic character, but, 
 because they are pleasant to their audience. So, then, both those 
 who love on grounds of profit, feel affection on grounds of their 
 own selfish good, and those who love on grounds of pleasure, on 
 grounds of their own selfish pleasure, and they value their friend, 
 not for what he is, but for his serviceableness or agreeableness ; 
 consequently also these friendships are accidental in character, for 
 the person loved is not loved according to what he is in himself, 
 but according as those who profess to love him get in the one 
 case good from him, in the other pleasure. 
 
 . Another consequence is that friendships of this sort are easilj' 
 broken off if the position of the parties alters ; for if such friends 
 are no longer pleasant or profitable to their friends, they cease to 
 
438 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 3. 
 
 care for them. Interest is never permanent, but alters with alter- 
 ing circumstances. When the object, then, of their friendship 
 disappears, the friendship vanishes along with it, such friendship 
 being strictly relative to the object. 
 
 We must next enquire into each kind. Those, then, who love one another on 
 grounds of interest, love each other not for vrhat they are in themselves but for 
 the sake of the good or the pleasure which they are the instruments of providing, 
 and they love each other only so long as they severally get some advantage from 
 the other ; similarly those who love one another on grounds of pleasure do not 
 love each other for their intrinsic worth. They love one another, not because 
 they are respectively pleasant in the abstract, but because each finds the other 
 pleasant to himself, for it would advance the friendship nothing if it was 
 to others they were pleasant. Consequently both those who love for profit's sake, 
 and those who love for pleasure's sake, feel affection not on account of goodnes; 
 or pleasure absolutely, nor do they love the object of their friendship, !Kr 
 and in what he is in himself, but only because he is pleasant or profitable' to 
 them. 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that friendships such as these are accidental in character : 
 the person loved is not loved, because he is what he is, but because he furnishes 
 in the one case profit, in the other entertainment. And such friendships are 
 easily broken off : the agreeable, and the profitable, do not continue agreeable 
 and profitable for ever ; we take pleasure at one time in one set of persons, 
 at another in another, and our interest varies at varying times. 
 
 Since, then, the cause of the friendship is not permanent, the friendship 
 proceeding from it is not permanent either, but is broken off, as being strictly 
 relative to these objects and having them for its ends. 
 
 iii. — The sphere of the tw^o inferior forms of Friendship determined. 
 
 It is amongst the elderly that friendships of interest are ob- 
 
 served most frequently to prevail, since the old 
 
 tersest prevail* most make not pleasure but profit the object of their 
 
 among the old and pursuit, and among those in the prime of life, 
 
 e mercenary. ^^^ ^^ young who havo an eye to the main 
 
 chance. Men of this stamp do not in all cases even care to live 
 in one another's society. Sometimes they are not agreeable to 
 one another, and, consequently, do not feel the need for this sort 
 of intercourse, unless there is profit to be got out of it : for they 
 are agreeable to one another only just so far as they entertain 
 hopes of gain from the other. 
 
 Hereditary friendships are probably to be classed under this 
 head. 
 
 The friendship of the young on the contrary is ordinarily based 
 upon pleasure. The young live under the rule of 
 Friendships of plea- their passions, and for the most part take for the 
 young.*"™^ * object of their pursuit what is pleasant to them 
 and is close at hand. But as their age advances 
 the character of their pleasures alters, so they make friends quickly 
 and quickly cease to be friends : their friendship alters along with 
 
Bk. VIII. 4.] Translation. 439 
 
 their pleasure, and pleasure of this kind is liable to rapid changes. 
 The young are moreover prone to fall in love, love being largely 
 the result of passion and the desire of pleasure. On this account 
 they speedily make friends and speedily cease to be such, changing 
 often in the course of a single day. But these (unlike the last) 
 do wish to spend their time together and to live in one another's 
 company, the object of their friendship being in this way realised 
 by them. 
 
 IMendship of this transient sort is observed to prevail most among elderly men, 
 since men of this stamp do not make pleasure strenuously, or continually, 
 the objeot of pursuit. Consequently they abandon pleasurable friendship, and, 
 devoting themselves to profit, form their friendships on gi'ounds of self-interest. 
 And not the elderly only, but also those of the young who have an eye to interest 
 more than to pleasure. Men of this stamp do not iu aU cases pass their lives 
 together, for at times they take no delight in one another. They take delight in 
 one another only so long as they are severally profitable to one another, or furnish 
 lopes of advantage to one another. At other times they no longer find pleasuie 
 igi one another, and, not finding pleasure, they don't care to live in the same 
 house. 
 
 Of this character it is maintained that hereditary friendships also are. These 
 are contracted on grounds of self-interest. 
 
 But the friendship of the young is, in the great majority of instances, based 
 jipon pleasure. The young spend their lives under the away of passion, and for 
 the most part make pleasure the object of their pursuit, and present pleastu'e 
 rather than future advantage. Living as a rule by sense they delight in what is 
 actually present and what tickles the senses. But as their age advances so 
 do their pleasures also change, for which reason they quickly make friends 
 and quickly cease to be friends, for as their pleasure drops through, their friend- 
 ship di-ops through along with it. But pleasure of this kind drops through 
 quickly, and so does the friendship which depends upon it. 
 
 And the young are also ready to fall in love, as they live by the rule of passion 
 and pleasure, for the sentiment of love is largely made up of passion and 
 pleasure. Consequently they are quick to make friends, quick to cease to be 
 friends, changing often in the course of a single day. Their friendships aie 
 formed not at the dictates of reason and judgment but under the influence of 
 passion. 
 
 But these do wish to pass their time together and to live in one another's 
 society. This is, indeed, the very source and origin of their friendship, and 
 pleasure requires company for its realization. Such then is the friendship based 
 on enjoyment and on self interest, imperfect and accidental in its character. 
 
 iv.— Of ideal or perfect Friendship. 
 
 But the friendship of the good, who are alike in the character 
 of their virtue, is perfect : such in virtue of their 
 goodness agree in wishing each other all good, ,^e\Speic? 
 and their goodness is a goodness of character, for (i) it la un- 
 But they who in an unselfish spirit wish their ^^'''^^\ (2) tased 
 
 J'-jii n ™. ,. 11-1 upon character, 
 
 iriends all good, are friends in the highest sense ; 
 for they are friends not on any accidental grounds, but in virtue 
 of their own inherent character, and their friendship continues as 
 long as their goodness lasts, — ^^and virtue lasts well. Besides each 
 
440 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 4. 
 
 of them is good absolutely and good too to his friend, for the good 
 are profitable to one another as well as absolutely good, and they 
 are in the same way pleasant also, for the good are pleasant abso- 
 lutely and pleasant to one another. Every man finds pleasure in his 
 own peculiar acts, and those that resemble them, and the acts of 
 all good men are either identical or at any rate similar in character. 
 Friendship of this kind we consider, with good reason, to be 
 lasting, since it combines in itself all the charac- 
 as ing, teristics which friends should have. Every friend- 
 
 ship is based on goodness or on pleasure (goodness and pleasure 
 which are really such, or are viewed as such by the person feeling 
 the friendship) and implies a certain resemblance. Now in this 
 perfect form all these requisites are present, and 
 (4) combines in it- present too in virtue of the character of those 
 
 self all necessary j • -j. j. -ui i i. ,> 
 
 conditions. Concerned ; in it we get resemblance between the 
 
 friends and the remaining conditions, to wit 
 absolute goodness and absolute pleasantness : these are the 
 highest objects of affection ; consequently, where these are, there 
 will be love and friendship in their highest and best forms. 
 
 Bat it is likely that such friendships will be rare. Men of 
 the character required are few, and the friendship 
 
 Perfect fnendsmps -k i_- i • i- i i • -j i p 
 
 are rare, (1) be- needs time and intimacy to bring it to periec- 
 cause good men are tion ; for, as the proverb says, men cannot know 
 scarce, ^^^ another till they have eaten, as the saying 
 
 goes, salt together ; nor can they even be sure that they are friends 
 till they have had time, each of them, to become manifestly loved 
 by the other and to be trusted by him. 
 
 But those who hastily strike up friendships with one another 
 
 have a wish to be friends but are not such, un- 
 (2) because time is less they are loved as well and know themselves 
 them kf perfection *« be SO: a wish for friendship may arise speedily, 
 
 but not friendship itself. 
 We conclude, then, that friendship of this kind is perfect in 
 
 respect of time and in all its other particulars, 
 
 and that in all things each gets from the other an 
 identical, or similar, advantage ; and this is the relation which 
 should subsist between friends. 
 
 But the friendship of good men, who are alike in virtue, baaed as it is on good- 
 ness, is perfect and intrinsic friendship. For such, because they are good 
 themselves, wish each other the enjoyment of all good, having no ulterior obfecit 
 in view, but quite unselfishly. And those, who wish their friends the enjoyment 
 of all good, on no personal.grounds but quite unselfishly, are fiiends in the highest 
 sense of the term : they love their friends for their own sake and wish them all 
 good with no arrifere pensfe and on no accidental grounds. Such friendship 
 moreover is both stedfast and lasting. It lasts as long as the friends aie good 
 
Bk. Yin. 5.] Translation. 44 1 
 
 and excellent, and take pleasure in what is good, and virtue is lasting. And each 
 oJ the two is both absolutely good in himself and good also to his friend. For 
 the good are both good in themselves and good to one another. In a similar way 
 they are pleasant and profitable as well ; since those who are ^od in themselves, 
 and absolutely, are also pleasant to one another. Each takes delight in his own 
 peculiar acts and is also delighted with those of the rest of the world, when they 
 are like to, or the same as, his own acts. But the acts of all good and excellent 
 men are either the same or at any rate alike ; and so it is plain that the good are 
 pleasant both to themselves and to one another. Consequently such friendship 
 as this is lasting. For those characteristics which the other two forms of friend- 
 ship exhibit specially, and which are needful in friends, all these this friendship, 
 and this feiendship alone, comprises in itself. It contains at once goodness, and 
 pleasantness, and profitableness ; pleasantness and profitableness resulting from 
 goodness ; and goodness of this sort is not merely good in itself but is also good 
 to him who feels the affection. Moreover their very likeness to one another is 
 productive of pleasure to friends of this kind. So this friendship has both 
 pleasantness and profitableness in the highest degree. And in virtue of their 
 likeness to this the two other kinds of friendship get their names. This is the 
 best form of friendship ; and the causes which produce it are most properly and 
 in the highest sense, objects of affection. 
 
 It is likely enough that such friendships should be rare. Those who are good, 
 in the sense we have described, are few and far between. And friendship of 
 this kind requires not only virtue and good dispositions but time and intimacy as 
 well to mature it. As the proverb says, you cannot know one another, tiU you 
 have consumed together the proverbial salt. Nor is it possible heartily to receive 
 and to love one another, till each has had time to become clearly loved by the 
 other, and to be believed to love that other. Those, who strike up friendly rela- 
 tions with one another in a hurry have a wish to be friends, but are not really 
 such, unless they grow into each other's affections by length of time and intimacy 
 and come to believe themselves to be loved. Consequently a wish for friendship 
 may originate quickly, but not friendship itself. As a result of this the friend- 
 ship of the good is complete in point of time as well as in all those other 
 particulars which have been enumerated, and rests on all the different grounds of 
 affection. 
 
 Once more, each of the two friends gets from the other to an equal extent all 
 those good offices, which should subsist between friends : both of these are alike 
 in being good, alike in being pleasant to the other, and alike in being loved by 
 that other. 
 
 v. — Ideal rriendship compared with, the two inferior kinds. 
 id) THEIE INFBKIOKITT FURTHER DEMONSTRATED, 
 
 Still friendship, which has pleasure for its object, has a certain 
 likeness to true friendship, since the good are 
 
 agreeable to one another as well as to the rest of ^"Je'the^obS 
 
 the world ; so too has friendship for profit's sake, sought by the two 
 
 since the good are also profitable to one another, ^^'"^e^morfreli 
 
 In these two cases, friendships are more likely to and more lasting 
 
 be permanent where each of the two friends t'"^'\./ii«'^e t^^^r 
 
 J. •■■■ T-ip •/. • I. are different. 
 
 aerives a similar kmd of gratification from the 
 other, pleasure say, and not only so but where this pleasure is 
 drawn in both cases from the same source. This is so with the 
 witty, but not so with the lover and his darling. These latter both 
 
442 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vlli. 5. 
 
 indeed feel pleasure, but not pleasure in the same objects. What 
 the lover delights in is the sight of his darling, what the latter 
 delights in is being courted by his lover. So when the bloom 
 passes off, the friendship often drops ; the lover is no longer 
 charmed by the sight of his darling, and so the latter no longer 
 receives the same attentions as of old. Still in many cases such 
 friendships are lasting, if the two from similarity of disposition 
 come to love each other's characters. 
 
 Those who, in their love affairs, interchange, not pleasure but 
 . , profit, are not such real or such lasting friends, 
 pieasurTmore'Lst- Those whom profit makes friends break off their 
 ing than those of friendships as soon as the profit vanishes. It is 
 ^™ ' not one another they are friends of, but their 
 
 own selfish interests. 
 
 Now on grounds of pleasure or of profit the bad may be friends 
 with one another, and the good with the bad, and 
 
 trae friendshirii) *^°^® ^^° ^^® neither one nor the other with any 
 in unselfishness, of the three ; but to be friends for their friend's 
 (2) m supenonty ^-^^ ^^^ jg clearly restricted to the good alone, 
 
 to slander. . t t ■> i i • i 
 
 Since the bad have no pleasure in one another, 
 unless some advantage is to be gained. 
 
 Furthermore, it is the friendship of the good that is alone un- 
 ruffled by slander ; it is not easy to believe anyone's stories 
 about a friend who has been proved over a long period of time. 
 Between such friends perfect trust prevails and an assurance that 
 their friend never could have injured them, and those other requi- 
 sites which we look for in real friendship. But in the two other 
 kinds there is nothing to prevent slander having its way. 
 
 But tte friendship wMcli is based on pleasviie and that ■whicli is based on profit 
 has a certain likeness to this kind. Goodness is that which is strietVy pleaeaat 
 and profitable, and the good are in the highest sense pleasant and profitable to 
 one another. And in the case of these ' friends by analogy,' as they may be 
 called, their friendships are lasting when they give one another the same sort e( 
 gratification, for instance when each is pleasant to the other or profitable ; they 
 are not lasting where the one is pleasant the other profitable. But not only 
 should they afford the same kind of gratification to one another, but also 
 one derived from the same source, that Is to say if they are to keep up their 
 friendship permanently : for instance if they are to give each other pleasure, they 
 must give it by the same kind of dispositions, the witty, for example, gratifying 
 one another by their wit and not being like the lover and the object of his affec- 
 tion. In this case both give one another pleasure, yet not after the same manner. 
 The lover delights in the sight of his darling, the latter in the attentions he 
 receives from his lover. As the bloom dies off, the friendship often fades away, 
 since the pleasure which gave rise to the friendship ceases ; neither is the lover 
 pleased any longer by the sight of his darling, nor does the latter get his atten- 
 tions. Still many under these circumstances do form lasting friendships, that is 
 to say if being of similar dispositions, they come as a result of their intimacy to 
 love each other's characters. 
 
Bk. VIII. 6.] Translation. 443 
 
 But those who give one another not the same kind of gratification do not 
 form lasting friendships and, when they are friends, love each other less. As a 
 general rule, those who are friends for profit's sake, when the rirofit ceases, cease 
 to be friends and separate ; it was not one another that they cared for but their 
 own interests. Such friendships, then, as these which rest on pleasure or profit, 
 the bad even may experience ; and the bad man may be a friend in this sense as well 
 as the good : on such grounds as these the bad man may love a bad man and may 
 also love a good man, and a good man a bad, and an indifferSnt man either of them, 
 for a good man may often have occasion to use a bad one. A man may well be an 
 excellent admiral, or a first-rate general, without being very excellent morally ; 
 and there is nothing to prevent a good man requiring the services of such. 
 
 Moreover it is not impossible for the good to be pleased by the bad. Some there 
 are who, though of a wholly alien character, by their skill in discussion and 
 philosophy, and in hitting on truth and the good, make themselves agreeable to 
 the good ; those, then, who are loved in this way are loved not on their own 
 account but for their pleasantness or profitableness. 
 
 But it is the good alone who are loved by the good for their own sakes ; and 
 such friendship is indissoluble because it is tested and tiied by length of time 
 aind perfect intimacy. About those who have been so tested it is not possible for 
 one who has tested them to believe anything to their disadvantage. In such 
 friendship there prevails perfect trust in one another and confidence on the all- 
 important points, assurance that they never could do one another wrong and all 
 those other things which we look for in those who desire to be friends in truth. 
 But in all besides there is nothing to prevent the friends from being slandered to 
 one another and injuring one another, by not maintaining equality, and from 
 suffering other things as well. 
 
 (5) TRUE FRIENDSHIP BELONGS TO THE GOOD ALONE. 
 
 Since, however, men give the name of friends to those who love 
 one another on grounds of interest, which is the 
 case with states (for' the alliance which states form ^sag^ligifies such 
 are held to be formed for the sake of mutual connexions by the 
 advantage), and again to those who love one "^3°® "* fnend- 
 another on the score of pleasure, which is the case 
 with children — perhaps we too ought to call such friends, and to 
 admit more kinds of friendship than one — the friendship of the 
 good qud good, being friendship in the primary and strict sense 
 of the term, the others friendships only by analogy. 
 So far as there is some good in these latter or ^iipa''7ni"by'ana- 
 likeness to the good, so far are they friends, since logy, and in virtue 
 the pleasant is good to those who are fond of J^^^'frieSr' *° 
 pleasure. Such friendships do not often coalesce, 
 nor is it the same men that become friends on grounds of pleasure 
 that become friends on the score of interest, such accidental quali- 
 fications being not often coupled together. 
 
 But since friendship may be divided into these different species, 
 the bad will be friends either for pleasure or for 
 profit, when they happen to agree in affording one ™ go^od™"*^""^ *" 
 another pleasure or profit. But the good are 
 friends for one another's own sakes : and friends because they are 
 
444 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 6 
 
 good. Such, then, are friends in an absolute sense, the others onh 
 accidentally, and in virtue of the resemblance they bear to them. 
 
 For which reasbn men of this stamp are not friends at all in the proper aena 
 of the term. But since men are wont to name tliose friends, who are held to 
 gether by mutual need — as states for instance call their allies friends — or thosi 
 who are held together by pleasure — as children who are intimate caU one anothei 
 friends — accordingly we too must name them friends, only not fi-iends ia th( 
 same way as the good ; we do not regard them as of the same species, but cal 
 them ' friends by analogy.' For this same reason we speak also of several kindi 
 of friendship. The friendship of the good, in virtue of their goodness, is friendl 
 ship in the primary and proper sense of the term : the other two are frieudsMti 
 only by analogy ; for the pleasant also, in so far as it is a kind of good, by is 
 pleasantness holds men together : the pleasant is a sort of good to the lovers oi 
 pleasure, and it is like good just because it seems good to them ; the profitable 
 also seems good to him who is in the enjoyment of it. Hence it comes to paa 
 that friendships which are prompted by these motives get called friendships ftoni 
 their bieness to true friendship. 
 
 But a fiiendship which grows out of a mixture of pleasure and profit, jn such 
 a way that on the one side the affection arises from pleasure on the other from 
 profit, is of rare occurrence ; that which binds friends together is only accidentally 
 present in this case, for that which binds friends together is the delighting in 
 the same things, the loving the same things. Socrates' love for Plato, for instance, 
 is based on their common love to (the elder) Socrates and their common delight 
 in his prosperity or, it may be, on their both loving pleasure, or both profit. Bnt 
 in the case of this compound friendship they don't both take delight in the same 
 thing, but one delights in the pleasant, the other in the profitable : it is only a 
 matter of accident that they love the same thing, so far as each rejoices in the 
 other's good and prays for his prosperity : stOl they don't do this for their friend's 
 own sake, but because of pleasure or profit. 
 
 For this reason, then, friendship of this kind does not often occur, because it 
 is a pure accident that what is common to the two is united in one thing. But 
 what is a single thing only by accident wiU not often hold men together. 
 
 If, then, friendship be divided into these three species, the bad will be friends 
 to get pleasure or profit, this being the point of resemblance between them, while 
 the good alone will be friends unselfishly. Because they are both good, therefore 
 do they love each other. Such men tiien are friends absolutely properly and 
 essentially, the others only accidentally, having the name of friendship applied to 
 them from their resemblance to the good. 
 
 IV.— THE CONDITIONS FAVOURABLE TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 i.— Constant intercourse is necessary to give reality to Friendship. 
 
 Now, just as in respect of the virtues, some men are called 
 good for their dispositions others for their acts, 
 ^•rtTe^^'m eS ^° *'°° ^^ ^^ ^'^ respect of friendship — that is, some 
 I^ a"potential dis- are Called friends for their friendly dispositions, 
 position, or M an others for their friendly acts. Those who live 
 courae is" required together delight in one another and supply one 
 to make friend- another with blessings, while those who are 
 ships act . asleep or separated by distance do not live in the 
 
 performance of acts of actual friendship, though they may be dis- 
 
Bk. VIII. 6.] Translation. 445 
 
 posed to do so : distance destroys, not friendship in itself but, the 
 actual exhibition of it ; and if the absence be protracted, even the 
 ;£iaendship itself gets forgotten, a fact which has given rise to the 
 sentiment, 
 
 " Many are the friendships dissolved for want of interoonrse. " 
 
 And, as in respect of the virtues, some men are called good for their dispo- 
 sition, others for their actual conduct — some, for instance, have a disposition of 
 justioe, but do not put it in practice, as they are prevented by external circum- 
 stances, while others do put their justice in practice, acting in accordance with 
 that disposition of justice which they have received — so too is it with friendship. 
 Some there are, who live together, delight in one another's prosperity, and furnish 
 each to the other all the good in their power, while others sleep, are separated by 
 distance, and do not practise acts of friendship to one another, and yet are so 
 disposed as to do so — since distance does not put an end to friendship in itself, 
 only to the active exercise of it. 
 
 But if the absence be long continued, then even the friendship itself grows 
 forgotten, which has caused it to be said, 
 
 " Many are the friendships dissolved for want of intercourse." 
 
 ii. — A certain pliability and easiness of temper required. 
 
 But the elderly and the austere don't appear to be good 
 subjects for friendship ; there is little that is 
 pleasinsr in them, and no one can pass his days ^'^^ elderly and 
 
 ■ ,■,,,■-,■ ■ ■,^ 1 , austere do not often 
 
 With what gives him pain or even with what make friends since 
 
 gives him no pleasure, since nature seems to t^^y have no piea- 
 
 , 1 , T, ^ 1 . ■ • ^ 1 1 J. sure in one an- 
 
 shun beyond all else what is pamiul and to yearn other's company, 
 for what is pleasant. 
 
 Those who entertain esteem for one another but yet don't live 
 together should be regarded rather as well dis- 
 posed than as friends proper, there being nothing though mutual es- 
 so distinctive of friends as their living together ; tremwdidispo"ei 
 since the needy require assistance, the fortunate 
 company, they least of all can afford to be solitary. But men 
 cannot pass their time with one another if they are not agreeable 
 to one another and don't take pleasure in the same pursuits, these 
 sconditions being the bases on which companionship rests. 
 
 . The elderly and the austere do not furnish promising material for friendship, 
 as there is so little that is pleasant in them. But where there is no pleasure felt, 
 men do not care to live together or pass their time in company, since no one 
 would choose to pass his days with what is painful or even with what fails to 
 please him. A man we cannot live with cannot become our friend, for it is 
 intercourse and companionship that make friends. 
 
 Those who esteem one another without living together are to be accounted 
 weU-disposed rather than friends. 
 
 There is nothing so distinctive of friends as living together. Not even those 
 whom interest makes friends can do without living together ; if they are in want, 
 they require each other's services, and these they cannot have without living 
 
446 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 7. 
 
 together. Nor can those who are friends for pleasure's sake get on much better, 
 nor those either who are properly friends, I mean the blessed themselves : for 
 though they may not stand in need of one another, they still are agreeable to 
 one another. For this further reason it is impossible for them not to wish to 
 live together, because there are none whom it so little becomes to be solitary as 
 the blessed. They are bound to be in one another's company, taking pleasure in 
 the same pursuits. But this taking pleasure in the same pursuits constitutes the 
 boon companionship of the young, when they are keenly interested in the same 
 objects. 
 
 iii. — Friendship implieB a virtuous disposition and a settled 
 determination of the will. 
 
 It follows again from this that the friendship of the good is 
 friendship in the highest sense, as has been 
 ta ftemsXl'^tte already frequently stated. For it is absolute. 
 conditions most es- goodness and' absolute pleasantness which are 
 sential to friend- j^gj^ ^.q ^e most properly the objects of affection 
 and desire (though for each individual these will 
 be shaped by his own peculiar temperament), and in the good man 
 both these desiderata are found combined. 
 
 Moreover while affection may be regarded as a feeling, friend- 
 , . , . ship bears more the character of a settled dispo- 
 
 "wliicii IS no Tn ftTft 
 
 passing phase of sition. Affection may be felt towards inanimate 
 the affections, but objects ; but men can requite affection only by a 
 character'* and™ e- determinate act of the will, and this itself is the 
 termination of the result of a settled character ; and to have an un- 
 ^ selfish wish for the good of the objects of our 
 
 love is the result not of feeling but of character. Besides in 
 loving their friend, men love what is good for themselves, since 
 the good man, in becoming a friend, becomes a good to him whose 
 friend he is. Accordingly in this case each at once loves what is 
 good for himself and gives the other back an equivalent both in 
 good will and in the kind of good ; and as friendship is said to 
 consist in equality, therefore this essential is most completely 
 realised in the friendship of the good. 
 
 But since friendship is a virtue, and since in every virtue we can detect an 
 element of feeling as well as a disposition, we must inquire what the feeling in 
 friendship is and what the disposition. Now affection resembles a feeling, friend- 
 ship a disposition. A feeling is that which rises in us without any choice of the 
 will, but a disposition implies a determination of the will and is that in virtue of 
 which we exhibit such determination of the will ; affection comprises both the 
 love we entertain for inanimate objects and generally for objects from which no 
 requital of our affection is possible ; and this is a feeling. We love in these 
 cases not from any judgment or consideration or deliberate choice but simply 
 because we are moved in respect of it, and this is feeling pure and simple. But 
 friendship is love for those who love us, and this is a feeling implying an act of 
 the will ; for we judge that we' mi^ht to love one who loves us ; and so we are 
 moved not only from without but also from within ourselves and by considera- 
 
Bk. VIII. 7.] Translation. 447 
 
 tion ; but an emotion whicli implies consideration and an act of the will is the 
 result of character. We conclude then that affection is a feeling', friendship a 
 disposition. 
 
 Once more, friends have an unselfish wish for the good or those they love. 
 They do this not without consideration but on consideration of the grounds : but 
 to wish good to those we love for their sake forms part of the idea of friendship. 
 On this ground therefore also friendship implies a certain fixity of character. 
 
 Once again, each man loves the good friend, in that he is a good to himself ; 
 fot the good man, by becoming a friend, becomes good to his friend : each, con- 
 
 M- gequently, loves the other as his own proper good, and they wish one another 
 
 |i-W0ll an,d are pleasant to one another in the same way. 
 
 And in every way each makes the other an equal return, friendship being 
 called equality ; but to make such an equal return implies deliberate choice, and 
 deliberate choice grows out of a settled character ; friendship, consequently, is a 
 settled disposition, while affection, implying no deliberate choice, is simply a 
 
 v.— LIMITATIONS OF FRIENDSHIP STATED. 
 
 i. — The austere and the elderly seldom make friends. 
 
 Between the austere and the elderly friendship is of less frequent 
 occurrence, because they suffer more from infir- 
 mities of temper and take less pleasure in society, '^^ austere and 
 but good temper and the love of society are held barred from friend- 
 to be in the highest degree elements of friendship "Mp by want of 
 and productive of it. For this reason the young pathy. ^° ^^^' 
 make friends quickly, not the old; since these can- 
 not make friends with those in whom they take no delight. The 
 same is the case with the austere. Such characters may very well 
 be well wishers to one another : they wish each other good and 
 come to the relief of one another's necessities — yet they are not 
 friends proper, as they do not spend their days together or take 
 delight in one another, things which are the very making of 
 friendship. 
 
 All the elements conducive to friendship and proper to friends occur in the 
 case of the friendship of the good alone. Between the elderly and the austere 
 friendship is of less frequent occurrence, inasmuch as they are more liable to 
 infirmities of temper and have less taste for Society : society and company are 
 held to be most productive of friendship. Consequently the young make friends 
 quickly, the elderly do not : for it is not possible to become friends with a man 
 whom you take no delight in and in whose society you feel no pleasm-e. To feel 
 such pleasure occurs but seldom in the case of the elderly, they know so little 
 what pleasure is. On these same grounds the austere also but seldom become 
 friends, though such are often well vrishers to one another ; they wish one 
 another good as far as their needs go, and they get from one another the help 
 they each of them reed : but they are not friends, as they don't spend their days 
 together or take delight in each other, and it is this that most constitutes friend- 
 ship and promotes it. 
 
%. 
 
 448 TAe Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 7. 
 
 ii. — The numbsr and oharaotsr of the friends -we should make. 
 
 Next it is not possible to be on a footing' of perfect friendship 
 with many at the same time, any more than it is possible to be in 
 love with many people at once ; such friendship is a highly exalted 
 state of feeling, and naturally can be entertained 
 We can^be Mends to^ar^s but one at a time. Nor is it easy for 
 sense only with many to be giving at once exquisite pleasure to 
 very few at one ^j^g gg^jjjg individual. Nor perhaps does it oftea 
 
 tune. 1 
 
 happen that you come across at the same time 
 many who are good. You require further to have experience of them 
 
 and to become intimate with them, a task of no 
 pilare we'U ^^^^^^^ difficulty. But On grounds of interest and 
 be friends with pleasure it is possible to please many at once; there 
 F ■ ^'^hi s ""^"^of ^^^ many who will be pleased on these grounds, 
 pleasure are more and to render such serviccs requires no great 
 real than friend- length of time. Of these imperfect friendships, 
 
 ships of profit, (1) , 1 ° 1 • . • I, J 1 1 ~ 5 ' 
 
 there is something that which 18 bascd on pleasure has more of the 
 more generous character of real friendship, at least in those 
 
 about them, , ,, . . •, n x i j 
 
 cases where there is reciprocity oi mutual favours 
 and the two friends take delight in one another and in the same 
 pursuits. This is the character of the friendships of the young. 
 
 In tbem there is a larger element of generosity, 
 
 and (2) it is such while it is mercenary characters that form friend- 
 friends that the ,. ijri?j.Ti/r xij 
 prosperous (who ShipS On grOUndS 01 pront. Moreover the tor- 
 are able to choose tunate, though they don't require serviceable, do 
 mostly look fOT^ want pleasant friends. They require some one to 
 
 live with, and can submit to what is painful only 
 for a little while, since no one can put up with it as a permanence. 
 A man could not stand even the good itself for long if absolutely 
 
 distasteful to him. Thus the friends they look 
 yet they ought to for are agreeable friends. Yet they ought, I 
 good'aswX " ^ think, while looking for such to see that they 
 
 are good as well and good too for them; in 
 this way they will secure what should be implied in friends. 
 
 It is not possible for the g'ood man to be on terms of perfect friendship with 
 many at onoe, just as it is not possible either to be in love with many at once. 
 Perfect friendship is a kind of intensity of friendship, and such a feeling can be 
 entertained towards only one at a time. To take great delight in the same 
 objects is hardly possible among many, nor is it easy to meet with many who are 
 good and estimable. Besides this, to perfect such ideal friendship requires long 
 time, great iatimaoy, and n thorough proof of one another. To get these is 
 difficult. 
 
 In respect of the two other forms of friendship one may be friends with many. 
 On the score of interest a man may delight many, and attract many by the 
 
Bk. VIII. T.*] Translation. 449 
 
 charm of his society. Many there are who take delight in such objects and who 
 are moved to love by such motives ; and these do not require a long time either 
 in order to make fuU trial of their friends, but profess at once affection on 
 grounds of interest or pleasure. Perfect friendship, then, is*hat which is based 
 on goodness, whUe the other two forms are friendships only by analogy, being 
 respectively based on interest and on pleasure. 
 
 But of these ' analogical ' friendships, that form of friendship for pleasure's 
 sake, in which each gets the same sort of return from the other and both take 
 delight in one another or in the same people, is more like true friendship. In the 
 first place there is more generosity in friendships of pleasure than in friendships 
 of profit. It is the mercenary and illiberal who form friendships on this latter 
 ground. Besides, true friendship needs pleasure, but needs not proiit in any wise. 
 The blessed while they have no need of what is profitable do need elements of 
 pleasure. They want some one to live with, and cannot live with those who are 
 disagreeable to them. They can bear with the disagreeable only for a little time ; 
 indeed no one can endure to be pained perpetually, and no one would be able to 
 put up with even the good itself for long, if it were distasteful to him. For this 
 reason the excellent look for their friends being pleasant, while they are at the 
 same time good, and good too to them ; in this way they Will have the qualities 
 friends should have. On these grounds we may assume that friendship for 
 pleasure has more the character of true friendship than friendship for profit. 
 
 iii. — The Friends of th.e powerful. 
 
 Those who are in high position seem to need a number of dif- 
 ferent kinds of friends ; one set of men to be ser- 
 viceable to them, another pleasant, while the same "^^ powerfal 
 menarerarely, if eyer, both; for the powerful don't (i) the witty to 
 look for friends who are at once asrreeable and have amuse them, (2) 
 
 . , , „ 1 r. i 1 1 _p T the dever to serve 
 
 Virtue also, nor for such as are prontable lor good them. 
 works. They seek out the witty, when they wish 
 for pleasure, the clever to carry out their orders ; these qualities 
 are not often combined in the same man. We have indeed pointed 
 out that the good man is pleasant and profitable „ , , .„ 
 
 ° i- T. i I, J B"* tl'e good will 
 
 at one and the same time, but sucn an one does not become their 
 not make friends with his superior in position, friends, where they 
 
 , 1/.T1. 10 1- .. 1 forfeit self-respect. 
 
 unless he feels himself surpassed m virtue also ; 
 unless this is so a balance is not struck by his being porportion- 
 ately surpassed (in which case he would be able to repay the 
 advantage he receives by the honour he would give); but such 
 t, characters (preeminent at once in station and in virtue) are of rare 
 occurrence. 
 
 Those in high position do not employ the same friends as profitable and as 
 agreeable. One set -of men are profitable to them, another agreeable ; but the 
 same individuals are never, or scarcely ever, both. The reason of this is that 
 profit and pleasure are combined only in perfect friendship, which is the friend- 
 ship of the good. Those in authority do not, however, seek the good for their 
 friends. They do not seek those whom virtue makes pleasant nor such as are 
 profitable for good works. But they employ the witty to give them pleasure, the 
 clever as useful tools to carry out their orders. These qualities are not often 
 found together in the same individual. For, though the good man is at once 
 
450 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 8. 
 
 pleasant and profitable, as has been already said, still he does riot become friends 
 with his superiors in station, unless that superior recognise his superiority in 
 point of virtue and submit himself to the good man, and acknowledge liim for 
 his better. In this way the good man will feel himself on a footing of equality^; 
 with his superior iu station, by being superior and surpassed proportionately: and: ; 
 feeling himself on an equality he wOl be his friend ; but unless he do so feel ' 
 himself, he will not be. Since those in high position are not often of such a 
 character, consequently neither are the good often friends with them. 
 
 iv. — Summary of the general cliaraoter of the friendships based 
 on equality. 
 
 All the friendships we have described are based on an equality : 
 
 for either the friends get the same advantages 
 
 All these friend- ^^g i^Qxa. another and wish the same advantases 
 
 ships imply an i i i i 
 
 equality, an equal- One to another, or they make an exchange of one 
 ■ity of gams given ^juor for another, pleasure for instance for profit. 
 
 and received. t. i , ,i i , i n ■, , , 
 
 But that these latter are less real and less lastmsr 
 friendships we have already pointed out. They are held to he or 
 
 not to be friendships at all according as men 
 But *e *wo in- j^a,ve looked at their similarity or dissimilarity to 
 friendship will be One and the Same thing : from their likeness to 
 regarded as friend- friendship based on virtue they look like friend- 
 cordin "asTe con- ship — the One promoting pleasure the other profit,' 
 sider their likeness and thoso both belonging to ideal friendship, 
 the idea\ type! *° ^^^ l^ecause true friendship is superior to slander 
 
 and is lasting, while these quickly fall through 
 and differ from it in many other particulars, they appear not to 
 be friendships at all, from their unlikeness to the true. 
 
 All the friendships above described are based on equality. In these the friends 
 reap the same advantages from one another and wish the same good to one 
 another or else exchange one thing for another, equal for equal, pleasure for 
 instance for profit. That these last are less properly friendships than the rest, 
 and are shorter lived, we have already said. But friendships which are based on 
 pleasure or on profit, from one point of view may be regarded as friendships, from 
 another not. In so far as they are like perfect friendship, they are friendships ; 
 in so far as they are unlike it, they are not friendships. They are like it because 
 perfect friendship has both goodness and profitableness ; they are unlike it, 
 because while perfect friendship is enduring and superior to slander, they quickly 
 fall through, and differ from it in many other respects besides. 
 
 All these, then, are friendships by analogy and are based on equality. 
 
 VI.— FRIENDSHIPS OP CONDESCENSION. 
 
 i. — Such friendships admit a large number of varieties. 
 
 There is, however, another form of friendship, involving a supe- 
 riority on one side, for instance the friendship of a father for his 
 son, and generally of the elder for the younger, of a man for a 
 
Bk. VIII. 8.] Translation. 45 1 
 
 woman and of the ruler in every instance for his subjects. And 
 
 these also, as well as the former, differ from one 
 
 another; the friendship of parents for their ^fXtlL' a?I 
 
 children is not the same as that of rulers for formed among a 
 
 their subjects, nor again is that of father to son, ™*J °^ different 
 
 the same as that of son to father, nor even that 
 
 of husband to wife the same as that of wife to husband. Each 
 
 of these has a different form of excellence and a 
 
 different function, and the grounds of their affec- ''^''''*j^^™™ '^'*^^^: 
 
 tion are different also ; consequently the affection may be regarded as 
 
 they severally feel is different and their friend- different kinds of 
 
 , / n friendsuip. 
 
 ships as well. 
 
 But there is also another kind of friendship, which is based, not on equality, 
 but on superiority on one side : for instance, that of father for son, and gener- 
 ally between old and young, husband and wife, ruler and subject. 
 
 MoreoTer, these differ from one another ; for the friendship of paj:ent and chil- 
 dren is not the same as that of ruler and subject, nor even is that of father for 
 son the same as that of son for father, nor of husband to wife the same as that of 
 wife to husband, — so that, not only do the friendships differ in these cases, but the 
 affection given, and that by which it is requited, are also different. The excellence 
 of each of the friends is different, consequently their functions also, and the 
 grounds on which they love one another. Therefore, also, are the affections and 
 the friendships different too. In the friendships described above their perma- 
 nence was produced by each of the friends getting precisely the same advantage 
 from the other : but here this is niot the case. A father will not ask back from 
 the son exactly what the son will expect from his father. 
 
 ii.— But in all th.e return of affection should be proportionate, 
 not equal. 
 
 Accordingly neither does each get exactly the same kind ot 
 return from the other, nor ought they to look for ^ 
 
 .. -i , , T-ij ii • J. n J.1 J. In these the return 
 
 It; but when children pay their parents all that made will be d) 
 is due to those who have begotten them, and different on the 
 parents their children all that children have a ^°^' ^^' 
 right to, the friendship under these circumstances is lasting and 
 excellent. But in all friendships involving superiority, the 
 affection given should be proportionate ; I mean 
 the better should receive more affection than he to the^meritT^of 
 gives, as also the more profitable and in the same ti^e t^". rather 
 way with the rest ; for, where there is accorded an ^" ^^*° ^^'" 
 affection proportionate to merit, then in a way equality is secured, 
 and this is rightly held to be distinctive of friendship. 
 
 In the above described forms of friendship, what, as we showed, produces per- 
 manence in them is, that each of the two gets the same advantage from the other, 
 but in these cases it is not so : the father will not ask back from the son the same 
 services that the son looks for from the father. 
 
 Men ought not in such respects to attempt to secure an absolute equality ; but, 
 
 > G G 2 
 
452 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 9. 
 
 when one receives from the other what he ought to give and the other to receive, 
 their friendship is lasting and equitable. 
 
 Furthermore, the affection also ought to be proportionate in friendships imply- 
 ing superiority ; the better of the two, and the more profitable, and so too the 
 other oases, ought to receive more affection than he gives ; for a certain kind 
 of equality requires to be realised in these cases too, as it is this which cements 
 friendship. 
 
 iii. — Limits within wMoli such Friendships are possible. 
 
 Equality does not seem to hold exactly the same position in 
 
 respect of friendship that it holds in respect of 
 
 i^^T Sen justice ; in justice what we look for first is an 
 
 the two friends is equality which has regard to the proportiona!^. 
 
 essential to friend- jQgj.j^.g ^f ^j^g ^wo parties, while absolute or 
 
 numerical equality is only secondary, but in ' 
 friendship this absolute equality is primary, and equality which is 
 
 proportionate to merit is secondary. This is at 
 fact^ that friend- ^"^^^ apparent if the discrepancy in virtue, wicked- 
 ships are never ness, wealth or anything else be great : the two 
 thought °k Te° °o longer make friends, nor think it right they 
 tween those who shouM. This is bcst Seen in case of the Gods, as 
 are very widely re- ^j^g^ surpass all othcrs most in evcrv kind of 
 
 moved from one •' •'^ . . , . » i • 
 
 another in posi- good ; yet it IS Clear even m the case of kings, 
 tion, or in good- With them also those who are far their inferiors 
 in station do not eyen think of making friends ; 
 nor again with the very wise or the very good do men of no con- 
 sideration. One can lay down no accurate definition in such 
 cases up to what point two men can be friends. Though many 
 advantages be removed, the friendship may still continue, but 
 where the gap is very wide (as for instance between man and God) 
 it is no longer possible. 
 
 But equality after a sort is attained when affection is proportioned to superior 
 merit, and by this equality the principle of justice is preserved. Yet equality does 
 not stand in the same relation to friendship that it stands in to justice ; in justice 
 the first requisite is an equality based on desert, and proportionate to those that 
 receive, whUe equality in amount is only a secondary requisite ; for if the distri- 
 bution be made according to merit and in proportion, it is just ; and even though 
 the amounts differ very much there is nothing to prevent the standard of justice 
 being maintained — indeed if the distribution made was equal in amount and not 
 proportionate, it would not be just ; but with friendship just the reverse is the 
 case ; the equality which is required in it is in the first place an equality in amount, 
 and only in the second place an equality in proportion. 
 
 For if two parties differ very much, and the interval between them is not small, 
 but one is very much superior to the other in virtue, in wealth, or in anything 
 else, they will not be friends ; they neither can be nor wish to be. It becomes 
 quite obvious in the case of ourselves and God : He surpasses us infinitelyin every 
 kind of good and, in consequence, in this instance friendship has no place ; it is 
 clear too even in the case of kings ; those who are far their inferiors in rank don't 
 even think of claiming friendship with them either ; nor do those of no account 
 
Bk. VIIL9.] Translation. 453 
 
 with such, as are very excellent and very wise. We conclude, then, that those who 
 
 , ,^e very widely distant cannot be friends, but where the superiority is moderate in 
 
 ; 'amonnt it is possible. • 
 
 " ' How wide the interval may be it is impossible to say precisely or to give an ac- 
 
 ienrate definition. For though many advantages are taken away from one of the 
 
 two friends, and the other is put thereby in a position of great superiority, it may 
 
 be that the friendship will still continue ; or it may be that it wiU be broken off, 
 
 when the interval between the two becomes very wide — as wide, for instance, as 
 
 that between ourselves and God. 
 
 .. iv. — DifiB.culty stated and solved. 
 
 -Hereupon a question is raised whether it can be that 
 friends wish their friends the very greatest of 
 
 goods, that is that they should be Gods, since in then, to the good 
 
 that case they would cease to be their friends ? '«'hioh a friend can 
 But if they don't wish them this, they don't wish 
 them good ; and yet, as friends, they should wish them all good. 
 . Now if we were right in saying that friends wish their friends 
 good for those friends' own sake, it is a necessary 
 
 condition of their wish that the friend should ^m tHelth^ln 
 
 remain in the state he is in.; but a friend will the grade of being 
 
 wish his friend the greatest of goods, compatible ^i^an he is ; nor 
 
 With nis bemg a man, and yet not perhaps alter such an amount of 
 
 all all good, since each must wish good to himself f °°** ^.JP'^. ^"*^'^' 
 
 , %, ,, ° fere with his own 
 
 above all others. happiness. 
 
 On these grounds a question is also raised, whether, after all, friends can wish 
 their friends the very ohiefest goods : did their wishes extend to this length, they 
 would join in their prayer, that they might become Gods : but this would put am 
 end to the friendship ; so that if they wish them the very chief est goods they wish 
 in effect that they should no longer be their friends ; but to do this is opposed to 
 the very idea of friendship, while besides they will be no longer good to them, if 
 ihey are no longer their friends ; they don't, therefore, join in their prayers for 
 goods of this hind. 
 
 • But we may say in reply to this that the friend joins in his friend's prayer for 
 good for that friend's sake ; consequently it is needful that his friend continue to 
 be, that so goods may accrue to liim, ; but he wO continue to be, if he be still a 
 man and does not become a God ia place of a man ; if he continue to be but a man, 
 his friend will wish that the very greatest of all goods bef al him ; and yet not per- 
 haps all after all, at least in the actual case of the majority of friends, since it is 
 for himself that each wishes for good the most. 
 
 VII.— THE ESSENCE OP FEIENDSHIP. 
 
 i. — Friendship consists more in loving than in being loved. 
 
 The majority are led by ambition to wish to receive rather than 
 to bestow affection, (consequently the majority are lovers of flat- 
 terers, as the flatterer is a friend who acknowledges his inferiority. 
 
454 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 10. 
 
 or pretends to do so,) and to love more than he is loved. To be 
 loved is like being honoured, and on this most 
 
 ^dfisliest '^r'the ^®" ^^* *^^"" liearts. 
 
 desire to be loved, Yet they Seem not to covet honour for its own 
 
 which the majority g^jjg^ jj^^ only ^y the Way. The mass of men 
 
 ' delight in honour from those in high station on 
 
 account of the hopes such honour inspires, thinking they will 
 get from them what they may chance to want ; 
 ^^i'(i h '\Sn^ the accordingly they rejoice in the honour they receive 
 desire for honour, as a sign of benefits to be obtained, 
 which is valued js^g^f ^hose who thirst for honour for the good 
 
 either (a) as a sign jp.i--,-. i -Ui.? 
 
 of influence, (b) as and from their mtimates have a wish to nave 
 enhauciiig a man's their own good Opinion of themselves confirmed ; 
 they revel in the feeling that they really are good, 
 trusting to the judgment of such as these when they aflSrm that 
 it is so. 
 
 But men do delight in being loved for its own sake ; and so, it 
 would seem, to be loved is better than to be honoured ; and friend- 
 ship we should hold to be itself desirable. 
 
 Friendship too would seem to consist more in loving than 
 
 . . in being loved, a proof of which is furnished by 
 
 forms (e. g. in a the delight that mothers take in pouring out their 
 
 mother's love), jove. Some mothers even give their children to 
 
 friendship consists ,, ,, t,i ^ •■i.i 
 
 more in loving than ^e brought up by others, and, recognising them 
 in being loved, and as their own, lovc them accordingly, and do not 
 IS so unselfish. ^^^^ ^q^^ fop a requital of their love, if this cannot 
 
 be combined with their children's continued prosperity, but are 
 content, if only they see them prospering. And they continue to 
 love them all the same, even though their children are prevented 
 by their ignorance of them from performing to them any of those 
 duties to which a mother has a right. But since friendship con- 
 sists more in loving than in being loved, and it is those who love 
 their friends that we single out for praise, therefore loving is 
 thought to be the special virtue of friends; consequently those 
 who exhibit this in a proper degree are lasting friends, and their 
 friendship is lasting friendship. 
 
 But the majority would seem to be led by ambitious motives to wish to be loved 
 rather than to love ; consequently the majority are fond of flatterers, and take 
 pleasure in the company of such, because they feel their superiority to them while 
 they seem to be their friends ; but this superiority to their friends is pleasant to 
 the ambitious, while flatterers pretend to profess their inferiority in all respects to 
 those in whose company they are, and for this reason to love more than they are 
 loved ; but to be loved is very near being honoured, and this it is that most men 
 yearn for. 
 
 Yet those who seek to be honoured seek it, not for its own sake, but, only acci- 
 
Bk.VIII. 10.] Translation. 455 
 
 dentally as indicating sometlinig more. Honour would seem to be regarded by 
 them as a good on account of something other than itself. The majority desire to 
 ; be honoured by their superiors for the hope such honour insjires. They think that 
 they wiU get what they want at the hands of those who honour them, and take 
 , pleasure in the honour as an indication of future benefits. But the better sort, 
 " who have a craving to be honoured by the good, have as their reason for seeking 
 ? honour that they wish to have sure grounds for entertaining a good opinion of 
 ; themselves. And they have their good opinion of themselves confirmed by the 
 suffrages of such men. Consequently they take pleasure in honour while it pro- 
 ceeds from such a source, and feel confidence in their own goodness. We conclude, 
 then, that to be honoured is sought for for something other than itself, but to be 
 loved for its own sake. 
 
 This is indeed pleasant and desirable in itself, consequently it would seem to be 
 a better thing than to be honoured, and friendship would seem to be in itself de- 
 sirable. For, since it consists both in being loved and in loving, and each of these 
 ; is in 'itself desirable, it is clear that friendship too is in itself desirable ; accord- 
 jinglynot only is being loved in itself desirable but loving also, and even more so 
 as being the more excellent. 
 
 Whence it follows that friendship consists also more in loving than in being 
 loved ; as is proved by the pleasure that mothers take in pouring out ailection, 
 without even seeking a return of it at the hands of their children. Some of them 
 even make their own children the supposititious offspring of others, or, at any rate, 
 give them to others to be brought up by them, and so, not being known to their 
 children, are not even loved by them : of course they themselves do know their 
 children and love them, but don't even seek to be loved by them in return, if this is 
 incompatible with their children's prosperity, but are content if only they can see 
 them well off. But if friendship consists more in loving than being loved, and if 
 it is those who are fond of their friends that are praised, loving is a sort of virtue 
 in friends. 
 
 Accordingly where love is given in due proportion, the two are lasting friends 
 and their friendship is sure. And in this way even the unequal may become friends 
 ,t if they love one another in proper amounts, since by these means they will be made 
 egual to one another, and friendliness means equality. 
 
 ii. — In what sense likeness is essential to friendship. 
 
 la this way those who are unequal in station may most readily 
 be made friends, as they will be put thereby on a 
 footing of equality. Equality and likeness con- ^ proportionate re- 
 stitute friendship, most of all the likeness of those 
 who observe the law of virtue ; being stedfast in themselves, 
 they are stedfast to one another and neither ask 
 for what is evil nor abet one another in evil; but, a?<l liteness m 
 if one may say so, even throw obstacles in the friendships^"^^^^"* 
 way of it. Grood men neither sin themselves nor 
 permit their friends to do so. But the evil have no stedfastness, 
 they are not at one with themselves for long >, rt ■ 
 
 together, and are friends but for a brief space -wickedness is no 
 from taking pleasure in iniquity. The serviceable abiding guarantee 
 and the pleasant are more lasting friends. They 
 at least continue friends, as long as they give one another either 
 pleasure or profit. 
 
456 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 10. 
 
 But likeness of this kiad isfouad most perfectly and in the proper sense among 
 the good. Among the bad it is scarcely to be found at aU, more among those whose 
 aim is pleasure or profit. The good are at one with themselves : they do not easily 
 change nor take pleasure now in one thing now in another, but only in good deeds. 
 Virtue is lasting because it is a formed character, and consequently the good are 
 ever like one another and abide in each other's friendship. And they neither ask 
 for what is evil nor abet one another in it, but, so to speak, ever throw obstacles 
 in the way. The good neither fall into sin themselves nor permit their friends 
 to do evil. But the evil are evil too in this, that they don't take pleasure always 
 in the same objects. For which reason they are not always like themselves nor 
 like their friends, and hence they abide but a little while in their friendship, only 
 so long as they take pleasure in one another's wickedness. But the serviceable and, 
 the agreeable continue longer in their likeness to one another, as the search for the 
 profitable and the pleasant is more lasting. Consequently they continue longer like 
 themselves and each other, since both seek the profitable or the pleasant ; namely, 
 so long as they furnish one another with pleasure or with profit. Such, then, are 
 the friendships which arise from likeness. 
 
 iii. — Cases where unlikeness produces friendship. 
 
 But it is friendship based on profit which seems most often to 
 be formed from opposites, for instance, the friend- 
 it is friendships g^jp between rich and poor, ignorant and wise. 
 
 for profit s sake -^j-^. . . j o a.i ■ i • i • 
 
 that are formed W hen a man IS m need oi somethmg, his desire 
 
 most often between for it impels him to give something in return. 
 
 ters™with "which Under this class may be brought lover and loved, 
 
 we may, perhaps, bcautiful and Ugly. For this reason lovers some- 
 
 sMps!*""'''^'""^" t™^s ^PP^^'" ridiculous when they expect to be 
 loved as much as they love. They would have, 
 indeed, a right to ask it, if they were as deserving of affection ; 
 but, when they are nothing of the kind, it is ridiculous in them to 
 do so. 
 
 But that form of friendship which is based on profit would seem to consist in 
 contrariety. Take for instance the case of a poor man making friends with a 
 rich, an ignorant with a learned man. Where a man feels in want of something, 
 in his desire to get this he is prepared to give something else in exchange. 
 Under this species may be classed the friendship between a lover and his darling, 
 and the friendship of the beautiful and the ugly. For this reason lovers often 
 appear ridiculous, when they claim to have their affection equally requited by the 
 objects of it, being themselves ugly while those are beautiful. If they are at 
 loveable, their claim is reasonable, and they have a right to be loved as much, 
 but, if they are not, they make themselves ridiculous. 
 
 iv.— The true ground of attraction in these cases. 
 
 After all, perhaps, even in these cases it is not that opposite 
 But what dissimi- jearns for opposite pure and simple, their doing 
 lars yearn for is SO being merely accidental. What they really 
 other?^'but°\hai Jeam for is ' a state of balance ' (for this is the 
 'balanced condi- good). The moist, for instance, desires not to 
 
BLVIII. ll.J Translation. 457 
 
 become dry but to reach the intermediate state, tion ' wMcii is m- 
 the same being the case with that which is warm tweeu'\hem ^^" 
 and with all the rest. However, let this pass, for 
 Sttch speculations are somewhat alien to our inquiry. 
 
 In these oases friendsMps are thought to be formed between men of opposite 
 parts because the ugly love the fair — the rich the poor — ^the ignorant the learned. 
 In nature also the dry yearns for the moist. Yet such friendships between 
 opposites arise, not from their essential character, but only incidentally. It is 
 not as loving one another that they are opposite, but it is an accident that they 
 are such. The poor man loves a rich man, because he is profitable or serviceable 
 to him. But a useful or serviceable tool is not essentially and in itself opposite 
 to him who uses it. In that case every serviceable agent would be opposed to 
 him who avails himself of it. But the soldier is not opposed to his general nor 
 tlie disciple to his teacher. The lover also loves his darling because he is 
 pleasant to him. But he who is pleasant is not opposed to him who is pleased. 
 It is an accident only that they are in a relation of opposition. And ia nature 
 that which is dry yearns properly not for its opposite moisture but for ' a mean 
 state.' Their desire is for what is good, and it is this ' mean state ' which is good. 
 
 Such subjects may, however, be dismissed ; they are not very germane to our 
 =. present inquiry. 
 
 VIII.— THE EELATION OF FEIENDSHIP AND JUSTICE. 
 
 i. — Every association for whatever purpose implies at onee 
 friendship and justice. 
 
 Now, as we said at starting, friendship and justice seem to 
 have the same sphere and to subsist among the ,, 
 
 . . '^ . . " Men cannot asso- 
 
 same individuals, in every association there ciate themselves 
 seems to be justice of a sort and friendship as *<«■ any purpose 
 
 T, ,1 , TT f.. 1^11 -without forming 
 
 well, at least men dub as iriends leliow- voyagers friendships and ob- 
 and fellow-soldiers, and in the same way any serving justice to 
 who take part in any joint enterprises. And so °^'' ^™* ™' 
 far as the association goes, so far does the friendship extend, 
 and the justice also. And the proverb ' friends' goods are com- 
 mon property ' is right, inasmuch as friendship is based on 
 community. 
 
 Now it would seem, as we said before, that both friendship and justice have 
 the same sphere. "We look for justice in the associations which men form with 
 one another, «nd it is in these also that friendship originates. Fellow-voyagers, 
 feUow-soldiers, and generally all those who join with one another in any actions 
 or pursuits, seek to observe justice as towards one another and are also friends 
 with one another ; and as far as their association extends, so far do they love one 
 another and do what is just to one another. Whence also the proverb has it, 
 ', common are the goods of friends,' and rightly too, for friendship is based on 
 community. 
 
458 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 11. 
 
 ii. — Friendship and justice vary alike with the closeness of the tie. 
 
 Brothers and comrades have all things in common, all the rest 
 only certain definite things, some more, others 
 tice'atiMendS l^ss. And the ckims of justice difi-er also. The 
 are more impera- claims parents have on their children are not the 
 th7 tie* anT'^the ®^™® ^ thosc that brothers have on one another, 
 greater is the in- nor have fellow-citizens the same claims as com- 
 justice, if injustice j-ades. The Same is the case with all the other 
 
 be committed. p/.-ii- <~,, ■, „ . . 
 
 torms 01 iriendship. Bo too do acts of mjustice 
 differ according as they are done to this man or to that, and 
 grow in magnitude, the closer the friends are to whom they 
 are done. For instance, to rob one's comrade of money is more 
 atrocious than to rob a fellow-citizen, and to fail to help a brother 
 is worse than to fail to help a stranger, and to strike one's father 
 is worse than to strike anyone else. So justice and friendship 
 grow side by side, holding good between the same persons, and 
 within the same limits. 
 
 But these associations differ. Brothers and comrades haTe all things in 
 common, the rest of mankind not all things, but only certain definite things, 
 some more, some less. With these different forms of association the friendships 
 also correspond, some are more, others less, intimate, following the different 
 forms of association. Similarly the claims of justice also are proportionate to the 
 friendships. Brothers have not the same claims on one another that a father has 
 on his son — ^nor hare citizens and comrades the same claims on one another but 
 different, and the claims vary in degree, being more or less stringent as the 
 friendships are more or less intimate. It is not equally unjust to rob a citizen 
 and one's comrade of money, or to fail to help a stranger and a brother, or to 
 strike one's father and any one else. The claims of justice grow with the friend- 
 ship, holding good in the same cases and within the same limits. It is more 
 grievous to injure a man who is dearer to us, who is associated more closely 
 with us, who loves us more, than it is to injure one with whom the association is 
 less close, the friendship less intimate. 
 
 iii. — AU forms of association are but parts of the political union. 
 
 But all subordinate associations are like parts of the political 
 association. In them men band together with a 
 
 The political union . ^ • i i , , , 
 
 seeks to promote view to some Special advantage to get some one 
 the interests of life of the elements of well-being, while the political 
 ticulMLsociatfons Community also seems originally to have been 
 some partial inte- formed, and to have been subsequently per- 
 ^^^^' petuated for the sake of advantage as a whole. 
 
 It is this which lawgivers also take for their aim ; and one defini- 
 tion of justice is 'the common advantage.' 
 
 Now all other forms of association aim only at some special 
 part of our interest ; fellow-voyagers, for instance, are associated 
 
Bk. VIII. 11.] Translation. 459 
 
 to promote the interests of the voyage with a view to the making 
 of money or some similar object. Fellow-sol- 
 diers are associated with a view to success in ^^^g" f^meci^^for 
 war, from a desire for wealth, or victory, or the pleasure still rank 
 good of the state. The same is the case with ^^liH^nt.t 
 fellow-tribesmen and 'fellow- parishioners.' But pleasure is an in- 
 some associations would seem to be formed to ^redient in social 
 
 , p . Ill well-being. 
 
 get pleasure ; those, tor instance, who club toge- 
 ther to offer a sacrifice or to get a dinner have the sacrifice 
 or the dinner for their object. Still all alike would seem to be 
 contained under the political association (for the political associa- 
 tion aims not at present interest but at interest which looks to 
 life as a whole). Under it men make sacrifices, contribute money 
 for these purposes, giving at one and the same time to the gods 
 their proper honours, and furnishing themselves with the means 
 of relaxation and enjoyment. For the ancient sacrifices and 
 gatherings seem especially to have been held after the ingathering 
 of the harvest as a kind of first fruits, because it was at such 
 seasons that men were most at leisure. 
 
 Accordingly all forms of association seem but As the associations 
 parts of the political union, and what is true about ^^^ th^Me'ndsMps 
 the associations will hold equally about the cor- connected with 
 responding friendships. *'^^™- 
 
 But all associations, in which friendship and iustice have their sphere, are like 
 parts of the political union. The political union exists to promote the general 
 interest, for the sake of which society was formed at first and still continues to 
 exist. But every association exists to promote some special interest or other, one 
 to promote this, another that ; it is by means of associations that we each secure 
 our own interests, and this is the ground of our associating with one another that 
 we may get some of the essentials of well-being. And this, i.e. the common 
 interest, lawgivers also make their aim, and say that that is just which is, to the 
 common interest. All the other forms of association then, both as wholes, and 
 the several parts of them, seek after some interest ; for example feUow-voyagera 
 seek after success in their voyage, whether their object be money or something 
 else ; feUow-soldiers aim at success in war, whether their object be money, 
 victory, or their state. The same is the case with fellow-tribesmen and fellow- 
 parishioners. Further some associations also have some form of pleasure for their 
 aim and seem to have originated for the sake of pleasure, which is the case with 
 those who join to make a sacrifice or a feast. The first are engaged in promoting 
 a sacrifice, the second in promoting a common meal, and both sacrifice and meal 
 are chiefly forms of enjoyment. Yet these are themselves also parts of the 
 political association ; for these too, as promoting the common weal, are ranged 
 under the domain of ' social science.' For this seeks not merely that which 
 is expedient at the moment but also aims at that which, though not expedient at 
 the moment, still ultimately will he so. It aims not only at present interest but 
 at the interest of life as a whole, for which reason it takes into account sacrifices 
 and social gatherings and pleasant convivial meetings and means of relaxation. 
 For it was after the ingathering of the crops that social gatherings used to be 
 made and sacrifices offered, being a sort of first fruits ; as men were most at ' 
 leisure at these seasons. By such joint acts heaven was made piopitious to 
 
460 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 12. 
 
 them, and this they counted a gain, while they were themselves refreshed, and so 
 undertook with new vigour their labours for the common weal. From this it 
 appears that every form of aasociation — ^that which is formed for pleasure's sake 
 no less than that which is formed directly for profit — has well-being for its ultimate 
 object and aim, and consequently aU alike are parts of the political union. 
 
 With these associations the friendships based on them accord ; the divisions 
 which are to be found in the associations will be found in the friendships as 
 well, and such as are the associations, such too in character will the corresponding 
 friendships be. 
 
 iv. — The different forms which, the political tmioii can assume. 
 
 Now there are three forms of political constitution and three 
 distorted forms which are, as it were, corrup- 
 pouti^" nrire tions of them. The three legitimate forms of 
 (1) kingly govern- political constitutions are kingship, aristocracy, 
 Sacy. (fj '^til*o- ^"^^ t^e third which, as being hased upon a 
 cracyi' and there is money assessment (rifj-rj), would have for its 
 a d^torted form of proper name ' timocracy,' but which the majority 
 have ordinarily styled ' a constitution ' (iroA.iTew) 
 (par excellence). 
 
 We must accordingly discuss political society. Of this there are three forms, 
 kingly government, aristocracy, ' timocracy ' called usually by most writers ' a con- 
 stitution ' par excellence, which has as its characteristic that it is based on an 
 assessment of property ; men give money and get power, and so a timocracy is its 
 appropriate name. 
 
 V. — These different constitutions compared. 
 
 Of these hingly government is the best, the worst is 'timocracy.' 
 
 The distorted form of kingly rule is tyranny. 
 
 i^'IfK'™* ^°^^ of them are the rule of one man, yet there 
 
 king can pursue is the widest possible difference between them. 
 
 most unselfishly rpj^g |. (. j^^ ^^ ^ j^j interests, the 
 
 the public good, J. J.n • J. f /• l- T.- .L -r/ • 
 
 and the opposite king, to the mterests 01 his subjects. He is 
 of it, which IS jjQ ^j,yg jjjng -^^Q ig uot > self- contained ' and 
 
 viousiy'the worst abundantly supplied with all goods; but he who 
 form of govern- jg ^q t];iig position wants nothing more; con- 
 ™™ ■ sequently he will be on the look-out not for 
 
 his own interests but those of his subjects ; he who is not such 
 is a mere ' pinchbeck ' king. Tyranny is in just the reverse position, 
 for the tyrant pursues his own selfish good. Tyranny is clearly 
 recognised as the worst form of government, and the worst is the 
 opposite of the best. 
 
 Of these constitutions the best is kingly government, the worst ' timocracy.' 
 Such then are the different constitutions. The distorted forms, which are, so to 
 speak, their corruptions, are — of kingly government, tyi-anny ; for they are both 
 instances of personal rule, but there is the widest possible difference between 
 
Bk. VIII. 12.] Translation. 461 
 
 them. The tyrant looks after his own interests, the king the interests of his 
 subjects; he is no king who is not self-contained and abundantly supplied 
 •witi all good things. Such an one will not want to ab«)rb the goods of his 
 subjects. Consequently he does not in his political measures, and in his public 
 acts, look out for his own interests but only those of his subjects, as he wiU 
 provide for his own interests not out of the public funds but from his own 
 resources. And he who is not in this position may be a haphazard ruler but no 
 true king. Tyranny, therefore, is the opposite of kingly rule ; for the tyrant 
 pursues his own interests, and much more so even than the ' haphazard ' ruler. 
 And the difference between him and a king is even more obvious as he is worse 
 than the chance-chosen ruler. For this reason tyranny is the opposite of kingly 
 rule, because the one is best the other worst, and the worst is opposite to the best. 
 
 ■vi. — Order of the clianges in the constitution. 
 
 Constitutions change as follows. One change is from kingly rule 
 to tyranny ; for tyranny is a bad fofm of single 
 rule ; accordingly it is the bad king who becomes Kingly rule dege- 
 tyrant. Next, aristocracy changes into oligarchy ^^^^^ aristocracy 
 through the badness of the rulers, who distribute into oligarchy, 'ti- 
 the goods of the State contrary to merit, reserving ™°'J^^^_' '°*° '^'" 
 all, or the great majority of good things, to them- 
 selves, keeping offices always in the same hands, valuing the 
 amassing of wealth above all things. The result is that but few 
 get office, and they the baser sort instead of the very best. From 
 * timocracy ' the change is to democracy, the two bordering close on 
 one another ; for ' timocracy ' too means the rule of the multitude, 
 and all are equal who are assessed at the necessary amount. Demo- 
 cracy is the least evil of the distorted forms, as it is but a slight 
 departure from the legitimate form of constitution. The above 
 is the most ordinary way in which constitutions change, as the 
 transition is in this way the smallest, and most easily made. 
 
 Now the ordinary change in the forms of government is from kingly govern- 
 ment to frfTanny : for tyranny is the corruption of personal rule, and the bad 
 king passes into the tyrant. Of kingly government, then, tyranny is the perver- 
 sion, but of aristocracy oligarchy : this comes about, when those who administer 
 this form of government, assign themselves all the goods of the state in the teeth 
 of desert ; if not aU the goods of the state then the giant's share ; their policy also is 
 to entrust the same individuals perpetually with the management of the offices of 
 the state, that they may bind them to themselves by ties of intimacy, and so be 
 enabled by these means to batten on the public revenues. The result of this is 
 that but few are entrusted with the management of affairs, and they the baser 
 sort in place of the very best. Next of a ' timocracy ' the perversion is democracy : 
 these border closely on one another, for a ' timocracy ' too means the rule of a 
 multitude, and all who are assessed at the same amount, count as equal. Of all 
 the perverted forms democracy is the least evil ; it departs but slightly from the 
 ideal of n ' timocracy ' : it has more points in common Vidth it than points of 
 difference from it ; it differs from it in dispensing with any property qualifica- 
 tion, but it is at one with it in the equality it establishes (as in a ' timocracy ' all 
 who have the same property qualification are on an equality) and in involving 
 the rule of the multitude. 
 
462 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 12. 
 
 vii. — The counterparts of these different forms of government 
 in the family. 
 
 Similitudes and patterns of these different constitutions are to 
 be found also in the family. The relation of a 
 represented'^by^he father to his SOUS IS the Counterpart of kingly 
 rule of a father rulc, as a father cares for his children. For this 
 over Ma children. ^^^^^ ^om&r calls Zous ' father,' for kingly rule 
 is a kind of paternal government. But in Persia the father's';'^ 
 
 rule is tyrannical, for he treats his sons like 
 In Persia this de- slavcs. Tyrannical also is a master's rule over 
 fannyt which, how- his slavcs, for it is the interest of the master that 
 ever, is the natural ig made the object in it. This would seem all 
 
 relation of master •i. 3 e • -v i. i.x. -n • i. 
 
 and slave. Tight and lair, but the I'ersian custom a wrong 
 
 one, since those who differ should be ruled 
 
 differently. 
 
 The relations of husband and wife are aristocratical in character, 
 
 for the man has in virtue of his superior merit a 
 
 wife^iiveTnder^an ^'^S^^ *« ^ule, at least in thosc points that become 
 
 aristocracy, which a man, while he gives over to his wife those 
 
 degenerates into departments which suit a woman. But when a 
 
 an oligarchy, if (a) ^ i i • . .^■^^ i • i 
 
 the husband takes man lords it over everythmg, he changes his rule 
 all authority into jq^-o ^.^ oligarchy. He does this in the teeth of 
 
 his own hands, j . • • < r 1 • ■ -j. 
 
 merit, and not in virtue ot his superiority. 
 
 But sometimes wom en have rule, if they are heiresses ; in this 
 
 case again rule is not based on merit, but on 
 
 or (b) tiie woman -vfealth and power, as is the case in oligarchies, .. .- 
 
 hand. * "^^^"^ Thirdly, the relations of brothers are like a 
 
 ' timocracy ; ' they are equals, except so far as 
 3. Brothers make ,, t j-% • A j.i 
 
 a 'timocracy,' there may be a dmerence in age. (Jonsequently 
 
 if there be a very great discrepancy in age, their 
 
 friendship is no longer the friendship of brothers. 
 
 But democracies are mostly to be found in masterless houses 
 
 — here all are on an equality — and in those homes 
 
 rJtotdt'oTrl^t ^tere the ruler is weak, and every one has licence 
 
 masterless houses. to do aS he pleases. 
 
 It is to such changes as these that the different kinds of constitution are most 
 liable. Each constitution is least liable to pass into the one opposed to it, but 
 easily degenerates into its own perverted form. But there are also in the sphere 
 of the household similitudes and, if one may say so, patterns of these constitu- 
 tions. In households are to be seen kingly government, aristocracy, and so on. 
 The relation of a father to his son exhibits the form of kingly rule, since the 
 father cares for his children : and, on this ground Homer also calls Zeus 'father.^ 
 Kingly rule has a tendency to become ' paternal ' government ; but ttah the 
 Persians pervert into a tyranny, for they rule their sons like slaves. But the 
 
Bk. VIII. 13.] Translation. 463 
 
 rale over slaves is ' tyranny ; ' it is the master's interest that the slaves are always 
 expected to promote, so that a rule of this sort over children is wrong-, whUe 
 that which resembles kingly rale, has right on its side ; for a* a son differs from 
 a slave, the rule exercised over them should be different also. So, then, the 
 lolatiou of a father to his sons resembles kingly rule, while that of husband to 
 wife is like aristocracy. The man rules by merit and as being the superior ; 
 there will be an aristocracy then, when the husband reserves to himself what is 
 suitable to a man and resigns to his wife the duties that befit a woman. But this 
 relationship will step beyond the limits of aristocracy and degenerate into 
 oligarchy, when the husband attempts to be master in all things ; this would be 
 to go in the teeth of merit, and to rule no longer in virtue of his superiority. 
 And sometimes women bear sway, when they are heiresses, and so surpass their 
 husbands in wealth and power. Such a rule is not based on merit, but, as in 
 oligarchy, on wealth and power. 
 
 Such then are oligarchy and aristocracy in the household. 
 
 The relation between brothers answers to ' timocracy ; ' they are equals, except 
 so far as they differ in age ; for which reason, if they are very different indeed in 
 age, there friendship is no longer of the fraternal sort, but resembles that of a 
 father for his children. Democracy is mostly found in masterless households : 
 here all are on an equal footing. It is found also in those in which the ruler 
 is weak, and each member is, therefore, his own master. 
 
 viii. — In. all these cases friendship and justice go hand in hand. 
 
 Now in respect of each one of these different constitutions 
 friendship seems to prevail just so far as justice 
 does. There is friendship between a king and '^^ f^^ ^™^t' 
 his subjects, resting on an overplus of benefits seension' between 
 conferred by him ; for he is a benefactor of his * , ^™^ ^'^^ ^"^ 
 subjects, if he is good, and takes care for their 
 welfare, like a shepherd for his sheep ; for which reason Homer 
 has styled Agamemnon ' shepherd of his people.' 
 
 Such also is the position of a father, but he differs from the 
 king in the greatness of the benefits conferred. 
 He is the author of his children's being, which is ^^^ between a 
 held to be the greatest of benefits, and of their children, a friend- 
 nurture and education as well ; ancestors also ship resting on 
 are treated with the same respect, for it is and^cknowiedged. 
 natural for a father to rule his children, ancestors 
 their descendants, and a king his subjects. But these friendships 
 all imply superiority on one side, for which reason parents are 
 also honoured ; and the claims of justice between the two parties 
 are not identical but proportioned to merit; so it is on these terms 
 also that the friendship is formed. 
 
 And between a man and his wife there is the same friendship 
 as subsists in an aristocracy. It is based on j„ ^„ aristocracy, 
 virtue, the better getting the greater good, and and between hus- 
 each what befits him; and this also is the frfendsMplmpfe 
 character of the justice involved. suijerfority on the 
 
m 
 
 464 TAe Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vlli. 13. 
 
 one side, defer- 
 ence on the other. 
 Brothers, and the 
 members of a 
 ' timocracy,' are 
 equals ; and on 
 this footing their 
 friendship is con- 
 cluded. 
 
 But the intercourse of brothers is like that of 
 corarades ; brothers are equals, and of the same 
 age, and such are, as a rule, alike in feeling, 
 alike in character. Like this is the regard which 
 prevails in a ' timocracy ; ' the citizens should 
 be equals and kindly to one another, they take 
 it in turns to rule, and all rule alike ; such also 
 
 is the character of the friendship. 
 
 But in the perverted forms, as there is but little justice, so 
 there is but little friendship either, least of all 
 in the worst form; in a tyranny there is no 
 friendship at all, or but very little. For where 
 there is nothing in common between ruler and 
 subject there can be no friendship, as there is 
 no justice ; the relation is analogous to that 
 between a workman and his tool, soul and body, 
 a master and his slave. All these are well 
 treated by those who use them, but there is no 
 
 room for friendship or justice to inanimate objects ; no, nor even 
 
 to horse or ox, nor towards a slave as a slave ; for the slave is 
 
 a living tool, the tool a lifeless slave. 
 
 Thus the master can feel no friendship to his slave as a slave, 
 yet he may feel it towards him as a man. Every 
 man is bound to recognise the claims of justice 
 towards every one who can take part with him 
 in law and contract ; consequently he must accord 
 him friendship too so far as he is a man. 
 
 The result of all this is that in tyrannies justice 
 and friendship both alike find place to a verjr 
 small extent ; but in democracies there is more 
 scope for them, as equals have many things in 
 common. 
 
 In a ' tyranny, ' and 
 between master 
 and slave, there is 
 no justice and no 
 friendship ; there 
 is no community of 
 interests ; subjects 
 and slaves alike 
 are regarded as 
 mere tools. 
 
 But still the slave 
 has, as a human 
 being, claims on 
 his master's recog- 
 nition and regard. 
 
 In a democracy 
 friendship is more 
 possible than in 
 any other per- 
 verted form of 
 government. 
 
 Such then are the different forms of association, whether in the body political 
 or in the household. All these different forms of association may be accompanied 
 by friendship, and are so accompanied, just so far as they rest on justice. 
 
 Thus in the connexion of a kingr and his subjects the friendship rests on 
 acknowledged superiority, the king having preeminence in respect of benefits 
 conferred, since, if he is good, he benefits his subjects, and cares for their welfare, 
 like a shepherd cares for his sheep. It is for this reason that Homer styles 
 Agameinnon shepherd of his people. This too is the character of a father's 
 friendship for his children ; it rests on recognized superiority. Yet it differs in 
 the greatness of the benefits conferred, a father being the greater benefactor. 
 He is the author of his child's being, and this is held to be the greatest of all 
 benefits ; whUe, besides, he provides for its nurture and education. And simflsr 
 claims are accorded to ancestors as well ; it is held nattiral for a father to rule 
 his sons, ancestors their descendants, a king his subjects. So, then, all these 
 friendships rest on a recognition of superiority, for which reason parents aie also 
 
Bk. VIII. U.] Trans lati07t. 465 
 
 hdi in honour. And the justice is such as the friendship is, involTing' not the 
 same rights on either side, but superiority on the one side. A father's claims on 
 his son are more urgent than a son's claims on his father, ifcice each ought to 
 give in proportion to the other's merits. It is on this footing that the friendship 
 hetweeii them stands. 
 
 But it is not merely the relation between a king and his subjects that is 
 accompanied by friendship, resting on recognised superiority, but aristocratical 
 rale is so too. The better of the two parties receives the greater afEeotion ; and 
 this is the character also of the friendship of husband and wife. The relation 
 between them is aristocracy in the household. It is in virtue of his superior 
 ;excelleuoe that the man rules, and because the better has a, right to expect the 
 greater afEeotion. Consequently justice in this case also rests on recognised 
 superiority. 
 
 Thirdly, the relation of citizens in a ' timoeraoy,' like the relations of brothers 
 to one another, is accompanied by a friendship like that of comrades, resting as 
 it does on equality. Comrades are equals and of the same age, and such are, as 
 a rule, alike in feeling, alike in character ; and these aie also characteristics of 
 those who live under a ' timooracy.' Its citizens should be equals and kindly to 
 one another ; they each take their share in ruling, and are ruled in turn. Friend- 
 ship also in their case, and justice as well, are based on equality. Healthy con- 
 stitutions then, and healthy relationships in the family, are attended alike by 
 friendship and by justice. 
 
 But in the perverted forms o£ government, as there is but little justice, so too 
 there is but little friendship. And since of all the perverted forms of government 
 tyranny is the worst, consequently friendship is not found at all under it or very 
 little of it. For, where there is nothing in common between ruler and subject, 
 there can be no friendship. There is no justice (or mutual respect for each 
 other's rights) ; the relation between tyrant and subject, between master and 
 slave is simply that between a workman and his tools, between soul and body. 
 The tool is looked after by the workman, the body by the soul, but no friendship is 
 felt in the one case or the other. There can be no friendship for inanimate things. 
 Nor are any claims of justice recognized by those who make use of these things, 
 since no such claims are recognized even towards ox or dog. In the same way a 
 master can feel no friendship for his slave, a tyrant none for his subjects, inas- 
 iniloh as they are slaves ; masters and slaves have nothing in common ; the slave 
 is a living tool, the tool a lifeless slave. So far then as the slave is a slave, no 
 ^ifeiendship can be felt for him, yet so far as he is a man friendship may be felt 
 towards him. Every man must recognise certain claims of justice towards every 
 other man, who can participate jointly vrith him in certain laws and ordinances, 
 yor the participation in laws as regards one another, is what constitutes justice, 
 and participation in justice brings in its ti'ain friendship as well. A tyrant, 
 therefore, may feel friendship for his subjects so far as they are men, and so in 
 this sense there can subsist a kind of dim justice and friendship. 
 
 In democracy these are to be found more largely than in any other of the 
 perverted forms of government : for equals have many things in common. 
 
 1X.--THE PEIENDSHIP WHICH RESTS ON TIES OP BLOOD. 
 
 ; ■ i.— Distinetion 'between this and othei? kinds of friendship. 
 
 Though all friendship thus involves ' common interests,' as we 
 llave said, yet the friendships of blood relations 
 and comrades form a class apart. For the friend- ^ektions spring 
 ships of fellow-citizens, fellow-clansmen, fellow- less out of com- 
 
 H u 
 
466 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [BLVlItU. 
 
 munity of interests vojagers, and all of that kind, are more like 
 than other fnend- jegular partnersMps," resting, as they appear to 
 do, on a kind of stipulation. With them may be 
 classed also hereditary friendships. 
 
 All friendship then rests on commimity of interests, as has been already said. 
 But the friendship of relations and comrades alone does not rest on this basis. 
 For the friendships which are concluded on certain set terms and on a regular 
 agreement, like those of fellow-citizens, fellow-tribesmen, fellow-voyagers, and 
 all similar ones, have the character of a partnership ; and with them may be 
 classed hereditary friendships. 
 
 ii. — Origin and character of parental affection. 
 
 But the affection of relatives, in all its different forms, seema 
 
 ultimately to be derived from the love of parent 
 
 ^^renta love their and child ; parents love their children as a part 
 
 partotlhemselvest ^^ themselves, children their parents as deriving 
 
 their existence from them. Parents, however, 
 
 know better the offspring they have given birth to, than their 
 
 offspring know the source from which they are sprung : and this 
 
 source of their being is more wrapped up in its offspring, than 
 
 the offspring in that which created it. That which derives its 
 
 origin from something else, is naturally dear to that which has 
 
 produced it, a tooth for instance, or a hair, or anything else to the 
 
 owner of it, while the source of its being is not dear to the thing 
 
 produced, or at any rate much less dear. The 
 
 that they are the Same result is brought about by the length of time 
 
 authors of their over which the knowledge extends. Parents love 
 
 ^'"^" their offspring directly they are born, but children 
 
 their parents only after a lapse of time, when they have attained 
 
 to understanding or perception. From this it is plain also why 
 
 it is that mothers have the greater love. 
 
 But the friendship of blood relations and of comrades is not based on any 
 stipulation or agreement, but in the one case nature binds them together, in the 
 other the accident of similarity of age and of interest in the same pursnita. 
 
 We must now speak about the friendship of relations. This assumes many 
 forms but is all to be traced back to parental affection — for by reason of their affec- 
 tion for a common parent, or ancestor, brothers and other relations generally, are 
 led to love one another. Parents love their children as being a part of themselvee, 
 children their parents as deriving their origin from them, brothers brothers, as 
 being sprung from the same parents. But parents know better that their 
 children are sprung from them, than their offspring know, that they derive from 
 them their origin ; and the cause, and the producer, is more wrapped up in that 
 to which it has given birth, or which it has produced, than the creature is in its 
 creator, or the offspring in that which has given it birth : that which has spmnj 
 from anything is dear to that from which it has sprung, as a tooth, or a hair, is 
 dear to its possessor, while its possessor is not dear to a tooth or a hair ; either, 
 then, the cause is not dear at all to its effect, and the source of its being to that 
 
Bk. VIII. 14] Translation. 467 
 
 wHoh springs from it, and has no special connection with it, or if it has, has 
 
 '"''" at any rate a less intimate connection than the effect has with its cause ; 
 
 ^•'jisooordingly children love their parents less than they are lovlB. by them. 
 
 S This is further evident from the time through which the connection lasts : 
 
 parents love their offspring directly they are bom, but children their parents only 
 
 W after an interval, when they have attained to understanding or perception. For 
 
 li" , this reason mothers love their children more than fathers do, because they love 
 
 them earher. Parents therefore love their children as themselves ; that which 
 
 is sprung from them becomes to them, as it were, a kind of second self, differing 
 
 Snly in having a separate existence, — while children love their parents because 
 
 . they are bom of them. 
 
 t iii.— Origin and nature of brotherly love. 
 
 ^"* " Parents, therefore, love their children as themselves (that which 
 IS horn of them becomes, so to speak, themselves 
 
 f, Repeated, in virttieof its separate existence), while ^^er from °^r 
 .children love their parents because they derive common blood, 
 their being from them. But brothers love one f^ch draws them 
 
 11 . (. 1 together. 
 
 another because of their origm from the same 
 sources — their identity in respect of their parents identifies them 
 with one another. Whence such expressions as ' same blood,' 
 'same stock' and so on, since there is a common element in 
 their separate existences. Moreover their being brought up 
 together, and being of an age, contribute greatly 
 
 1. ii • J. • 1 1 . .1 /. 1 i But IS mcreased by 
 
 to tneir iriendship ; those ot an age seek out companionship in 
 
 each other; and it is those who are similar in Joi^*. and simi- 
 
 character that make bosom friends : this is the *" y " 
 reason why the love of brothers is like that of bosom friends. 
 
 But cousins, and all other relatives, derive their intimacy from 
 this same source; being sprung from the same 
 
 stock their intimacy is more or less close, accord- ^^l^^ ^Xough" in 
 
 ing as the original source is nearer or further a less degree, of 
 
 removed. ""IT" ^""^ °*''^' 
 
 relations. 
 
 Brothers love one another because they are sprung from the same parents. 
 Their identity in relation to their parents creates an identity for them with one 
 another, just as the identity of the root binds the branches one to another! 
 whence such expressions as ' same blood ' ' same stock ' and so on. There is the 
 same element running through each of them though many and diverse. 
 
 The fact also of being brought up together and being of an age greatly 
 |nlianoea their friendship ; those of an age love one another and 'tis those of 
 like disposition that are comrades. Cousins, moreover, and all other relatives, 
 .derive their intimacy from the brotherly relationship ; for, being derived from 
 the same ancestors, they are in a way identified with one another. And relations 
 are more or less closely bound together as the common ancestor of the race is 
 nearer or more remote. Where the common ancestor is very remote, the conneO'< 
 tion becomes enfeebled, being diminished at each stage of removal, 
 
 tt H a 
 
468 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 14. 
 
 iv. — The love of children, to parents. 
 
 The love felt by children for their parents, as that of men to 
 
 ■ God, is based on goodness and a recognition of 
 
 dren to parents Superiority. Our parents have conferred the 
 
 rests on a sense of greatest benefits upon us. They are the authors 
 
 favours received. n ,. -\ e 1-^.1 i 
 
 01 our being, and or our being nurtured ; and we 
 owe to them our education too after we are born. 
 
 The love of okildren towards their parents and of men to God rests on good- 
 ness and a sense of superior merit ; parents are benefactors vrho have conferred' 
 the greatest benefits, being, nurture, education ; but the affection of other 
 relations to one another rests on equality. 
 
 V. — Superiority of family afifection to all other kinds. 
 
 Family affection has moreover pleasantness and profit in a greater, 
 
 degree than the friendship of aliens can ever 
 
 f?'iL 5'f ? liave, just because life in the family is lived more 
 
 possesses every re- ' " •' 
 
 quisite for friend- in commou. Brotherly love has all those charac-- 
 
 ship m an en- teristics which are to be found in comradeship,' 
 hanced degree. , , , . . 11 
 
 and nas them in a greater degree, where the 
 brothers are good and alike in disposition, just because they are 
 more intimate and start with having natural affection for one 
 another from birth upwards, and also because those. who are 
 sprung of the same parents, and are brought up together and 
 educated alike, have more tastes in common ; while further, that 
 proof of each other which time furnishes is in their case most 
 complete and reliable. Thege elements of friendship are to be 
 found proportionately in the case of other relations. 
 
 And family affection has pleasantness and profitableness in a greater degree 
 than that of those who are aliens in race, as family life is lived more in common, 
 and the members of a family are more bound up with one another. Most of all 
 is this true of brotherly love : it has all the characteristics which comradeship 
 has, and has them even in a higher degree : and for this reason where brothers 
 are good, and similar in character, they will love one another even more than 
 comrades : they are more closely allied to one another, are more alike, have a 
 natural affection for one another from then.' birth onwards, and have more 
 kindred dispositions, as being bom of the same parents, and as having been 
 educated alike. And the proof of each other which time gives is in their case 
 greater and more sure. First, then, among family affections stands the love of 
 brothers' ; all the rest are proportionate to their nearness in blood. 
 
 vi.— The love of husband and wife. 
 
 Affection between husband and wife is a natural instinct, for 
 ^nan lives by nature in pairs even more than in civil society. A 
 
Bk. VIII. U.J Translation. 469 
 
 household is prior to, and even more absolutely indispensable 
 than, a state, and the production of children is 
 "a function which man shares with the animals. We between hns- 
 In the case of the other animals the connexion natural instinott 
 lasts only so long as is needful for this particular ^"^^ ^^ increased by 
 
 1 1 J T ± J.1 i tlie sense of mutual 
 
 purpose, but men and women live together, not helpfulness, by 
 merely with a view to the production of children, goodness, by the 
 but also to supply their wants in life; their p°~" "^ <=hii- 
 functions from the first are separate, and dif- 
 ferent tasks are assigned to man and woman : consequently they 
 help one another by bringing their several products into a com- 
 mon fund. 
 
 On these grounds there would seem to be both pleasure and 
 profit in this form of friendship and on grounds of virtue also, 
 • where husband and wife are good. They have their own specific 
 ^^^xcellence and each can therefore take pleasure in the other's 
 ' goodness. Children too would seem to be a bond of union be- 
 tween the' parents, as is proved by the fact that the childless 
 more readily separate ; children are a good common to both of 
 them, and that which is common binds men together. 
 
 Between man and woman, love seems a natural instinct. For man is even more 
 disposed by nature to the production of children, than he is to living in a civil 
 community, inasmuch as a household is even more indispensable than a civil govern- 
 ment ; the production of offspring is also more widely shared by the beasts than is 
 civil government. The former belongs to all animals, the latter to human beings 
 alone : in other animals the connexion between the pair lasts only so long as is 
 necessary for the rearing of offspring, but in the case of human beings the connexion 
 is not formed merely to rear children, but extends to the supply of the other wants 
 of life ; their functions are divided from the fli-st, and the duties of a husband are 
 different from those of a wife ; consequently they help one another by bringing 
 their several contributions into a common store. For this reason there seems to 
 be profit and pleasure as well in this form of friendship ; and there will be good- 
 ness and virtue also, if the two happen to be well-disposed : they have each their 
 own special excellence ; and if each be good in the line of their own special 
 excellence, this will lead them to take pleasure in one another. Children, too, 
 seem to be a bond in maintaining affection of this sort, which is the reason why 
 childless couples more readily separate : children are a good common to both 
 parents, and that which is common holds together those who participate in it. 
 
 vii. — The claims of friendship vary in these different cases. 
 
 But the question of how a man should live with his wife, and 
 generally a friend with a friend, is the same ques- mu , ■ 
 tion as how they may live justly with one another; friendship vary 
 a friend has different claims from a stranger, a with the closeness 
 comrade from one who is merely a fellow pupil. tie. ^ °°"°^° ^"^ 
 
 But the question how a man should live with his wife, a brother with a brother, 
 and generally a friend with a friend, is the same question as how they iniiy do so 
 
470 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vlir. 15. 
 
 justly. Each kind of association is accompanied by its own special kind of justiee 
 analogous to the friendship, which prevails in it, as we have several times stated. 
 The claims which a friend has on his friend are not identical with those that a 
 stranger has, or which a brother has, or a comrade, or a fellow pupil. 
 
 X.— THE EIGHTS AND THE DUTIES OF FEIENDS. 
 
 i. — General principle for their regulation enunciated. 
 
 Now as there are three kinds of friendship, as was stated above, 
 and as in respect of each of them the friends may 
 
 The general prm- , ^ i- j> tj i • . 
 
 cipie is that equals be on a looting ot equahty, or may he in a posi- 
 shouid return tion of relative superiority and inferiority — ^fOr 
 
 equal, unequals , i ii t i 
 
 proportionate t^^o ^^n who are equally good may become 
 amounts in each friends, or a better man may become friends with 
 
 kind of friendship. ^^^ j^^^ ^^^^ . ^^^ ^j^-^ ^^^^ j^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 respect to those who are friends because they are agreeable to one 
 another and with those who are friends for profit's sake — they 
 may be equals in the benefits conferred, or the one may confer 
 more the other less — equals should make each other an equal 
 return in affection and in all else, unequals should make a return 
 proportionate to the superior position of the one party. 
 
 But as there are three kinds of friendship, based respectively on goodness, 
 pleasantness, and profitableness, and as in respect of each of these three kinds soBi,6 
 friends maybe on a footing of equality, others on a footing of superiority and in- 
 feriority (for men who aare the equals of one another in goodness in pleasantness 
 in profitableness in some oases become friends, while in other cases the better her 
 come friends with the less good), the general rule should be that equals should 
 love one another equally, and make equal returns in all other respects, but that 
 unequals should give and receive affection in amounts proportionate to their rela- 
 tive superiority and inferiority. 
 
 ii.— Limitation of the enquiry to friendships of interest. 
 
 It is in friendship based on profit that recrimination and up- 
 
 braidings occur either exclusively or at any rate 
 
 Disputes do not most frequently ; and naturally SO. For those who 
 
 occur between the ^--i , „ 
 
 good, as they are are triends on grounds of excellence, are only 
 anxious only to eager to do One another good, as this is the course 
 another. ° °°^ dictated alike by friendship and by virtue, and 
 between those who rival one another in this there 
 is no room for recriminations and contentions. No one gets 
 vexed with a man who loves him and does him good, only if the 
 recipient be a man of honour he repays the benefits he receives. 
 And even supposing one of the two to be the greater benefactor, if 
 he gets what he desires, he will find no fault with his friend, as each 
 pf thero is set op the good, Nov do quarrels oftep oqcur either 
 
Bk. VIII. 15.] T7'anslation. 471 
 
 between those whose friendship rests on pleasure. Both get at 
 
 once what they desire, if they take delight in . 
 
 each other's society. A man would be regarded f;;e.3rs,^''a; 
 
 as ridiculous for grumbling at another for not they can withdraw 
 
 pleasing him, when he might withdraw from his ^^^j'"'^ another's 
 
 society. 
 
 But friendship based on profit does give room for recriminations. 
 As both parties make use of one another with a 
 view to advantage, they always desire more than th'e interestX^as 
 they get, think that they get less than their due, tiiey always want 
 and find fault because they do not get, though "^''=^«ti'^"ti^«yset. 
 they deserve it, as much as they want ; benefactors can never give 
 as much help as the recipients of their favours want. 
 
 But it is only in friendship, the motive of which is interest or in this princi- 
 pally, that dissensions and fault-iindings between the friends occur, and natur- 
 ally so. For those who are friends on grounds of virtue are anxious to do one 
 another good ; this is the course dictated alike by virtue and friendship ; but where 
 the friends vie with one another in this there is no room for charges and conten- 
 tious. No one can get vexed with one who loves him and seeks his good : but if 
 the recipient be a man of honour he returns the good he receives ; and even one 
 who surpasses the other in his kindnesses, if he gets what he wants, will not find 
 fault, with his friend ; each wishes for the good and to do good. 
 
 Nor can those who are drawn together by pleasure often grumble at one another. 
 Both get at once what they desire, if they take pleasure in passing their days to- 
 gether : a man would be thought ridiculous for finding fault with his friend for 
 not pleasing him, when he might please himself by going and passing his time 
 with some one else. Accordingly neither does the friendship which rests upon 
 goodness, nor does that which rests on pleasure, admit of grumblings and fault- 
 
 But that which is based on interest is alone in being full of recriminations. 
 For as the friends make use of one another with an eye to advantage, they always 
 want more and think they get less than their due, and find fault because they don't 
 get as much as they want, though they deserve to get it ; those who do them ser- 
 vices can never help them as much as they want ; for those who are the recipients 
 of favours always want more than their benefactors can do for them. 
 
 {a) DIVISIONS OF INTERESTED FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 Now just in the same way as justice is twofold, one form of it 
 unwritten the other embodied in written law, so 
 
 there would seem to be two kinds of frpndship of S ''^ mV* be 
 
 interest, one moral {i.e. resting to some extent divided into (i) 
 
 on character), the other resting simply on con- "anted ; *b!it ""lo- 
 
 tract. Now the most frequent cases of recrimina- venanted' friend- 
 
 tion occur where men enter into a friendship on ^¥^^ ^into™^?a) 
 
 one footing, break it off on another. By ' stipu- those that require 
 
 lated ' friendship we must understand one which ™"t *'*|b, ^''^^J^ 
 
 rests on stated terms — one form of it purely that 'allow a time 
 
 commercial involving a transference of goods on ** S'^'^^' 
 
472 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 15. 
 
 the spot — tbe other more liberal in allowing time, but still im- 
 plying an agreement for a definite return for a definite service. 
 In this even the debt is recognised and is not questioned, stUl the 
 delay it allows of has a friendly character. Consequently among 
 some peoples no legal recovery is allowed in these cases, as they 
 consider that those who have concluded a bargain on trust should 
 
 abide by the result. But in ' moral ' friendship 
 ship'ireiimi're- t^i^re are no stipulated terms— the gift or whatr 
 turn, thougii not ever other service is rendered, is made as to a 
 stiu"ixpeoted\nd ^i^iid, stiU the douor expects to get back an equi- 
 disappointment valcnt, or cven a greater amount, supposing him- 
 wiu be felt, if it ggif jjo(. ^Q jjg^Yo made a gift, but only lent a loan : 
 IB not made. i • n i j? i • 
 
 and if he comes out ot the transaction on less 
 
 good terms than he entered it, he will grumble. But this comes 
 about because, while all, or at any rate most men, wish to realise 
 what is honourable, at the moment of choice, they choose what is 
 profitable. Now, while it is honourable to do good without any 
 hope of reward, it is profitable to be recompensed again. 
 
 Now it seems that, just as justice is twofold, one form of it unwritten, an- 
 other embodied in law, so too is it with, friendships of interest — there is a moral 
 and there is a ' covenanted ' kind. We have an instance of covenanted interests 
 whenever one man gives anything to another on condition of receiving a stipu- 
 lated and definite return ; but a moral relation where one man makes a gift to 
 another as to a friend, but still claims to get back an equal amount or even more, 
 though not a stipulated or definite return ; but in respect of both forms of inte- 
 rest recriminations and reproaches are apt to break out in the friendships based 
 on them. Most frequently of all do they occur when one of the friends introduces 
 into the transaction covenanted interests, the other moral considerations. Such 
 friends are sure speedily to fall out. For, if the one confers an obligation in 
 money and expects to be accommodated in the same way, and to get back just as 
 large a sum as he has given, while the other confers a service of some other 
 kind on him by way of repayment, they cannot continue in their friendship. 
 
 But, again, of ' covenanted ' friendship one form is purely commercial, another, 
 more liberal. For to refuse to give if one does not receive an equivalent on the spot, 
 the goods passing there and then, is purely business-like ; but while giving, to 
 allow delay in the repayment is more liberal. In this case, too, there may be an 
 express agreement as to the terms of the exchange ; the one is a debtor, VoB debt 
 being definite and not matter for dispute. Yet the delay allowed in the repayment 
 makes the transaction at once more liberal and more friendly ; and so among 
 some people no legal redress is allowed in these cases, nor can they sue one anotherv 
 for debts, but it is considered that those who have made a bargain on trust oi^Mj 
 to abide by the result. '. '■ 
 
 But he who does a service to another on moral grounds, does the service on no 
 stipulated terms, but gives the gift, or does any other service as to a friend ; still 
 he expects to get back an equivalent amount or even more, considering himself 
 not to have given a gift but made a loan, and if he does not get this back, he will 
 grumble, yet not because it was a loan, but because the recipient was a friend. 
 And this comes about because while all, or most men, at any rate, wish to do 
 what is honourable, they yet choose what is profitable. Now to do good without 
 any hope of return is honourable ; but it is profitable to be well done by; conse- 
 quently men seek what profits them, but if they fail to get it, wish to be thought 
 honoui-able. 
 
Bk. VIII. 15,] Translation. 47^ 
 
 (i) GENEKAL EULES FOR EEGULATING THESE DIFFERENT CASES. 
 
 **•■ Consequently he who can, should repay the full worth of what 
 he has received (and must do so voluntarily); 
 one has no right to treat a man as a friend i- Kepay in full, 
 against his will. He should consider, then, that Zm^. ' '^ ^^' 
 He made a mistake to start with and received a 
 favour from one from whom he had no right to receive it — he 
 
 ,?j "received it not from a friend nor was friendship 
 
 the other's motive in conferring it — he must con- 2. Assume as little 
 elude the transaction, accordingly, as if he had arpossfble."^ ™*^™ 
 been served for a stipulated return ; and he should 
 acknowledge that he would rep'ay if he could ; if he cannot, even 
 the donor will not require it of him ; so that, if he is able he 
 must repay. 
 
 But he should ask, to start with, in what capacity and on what 
 
 >; terms the donor confers the favour, that he may 
 
 settle whether or no to enter on the transaction 3 Make mqmnes 
 
 , , , at tne outset. 
 
 on these terms. 
 
 But such friends and all who do good to receive as much again, those who can 
 should do good to with all their might, and should repay them the full worth of 
 their services. For one ought not to drag by force into a true friendship those 
 who do not wish it, but we should rather feel pain at having unwittingly 
 received a service from one we ought not, that is from one who is not a friend 
 and should seek how we may voluntarily wipe ofE disgraceful favours which we 
 received involuntarily, through not knowing the character of our benefactor. In 
 these cases good men will wipe them off, if they can, repaying them of their 
 own accord, and concluding the business at once as if conditions had been 
 stipulated ; but if they cannot do this, then they must acknowledge that they 
 would have repaid at once, if they had been able ; but if they are absolutely 
 unable to repay, not even the donors will ask back anything from them ; so that 
 if they can, they must repay at once. But before receiving a beneiit each should 
 look, by whom the benefit is conferred and on what termsj that so he may best 
 .know whether to receive it or no. 
 
 (c) HOW THE RETURN TO BE MADE IS TO BE ESTIMATED. 
 
 But it is open to question whether the favour is to be measured 
 by the benefit of the recipient and whether one 
 should make one's return in accordance with this, ^\*' f^*"™ ^l^l 
 or by the sacrifice made by the benefactor. On mated by the good 
 the one hand the recipients declare, that what \^^^lf. f "^y t^e 
 
 , , , . 1 f. T • n ,. • 1 benefit intended ? 
 
 they have received from their benefactors is what 
 it cost these little to give, and what they might have got from 
 anyone else, thus making light of the favour; on the other hand, 
 the donors assert that they have given the best they have to give, 
 and vtiat the recipients could never, have got from any one else, 
 
474 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. Bk. VIII. 16. 
 
 and that it was given at a moment of danger or other urgent 
 need. Must we not in answer to such questions 
 In interested conclude that, since the friendship is one of inte- 
 good receivedf ^ i"6st, the advantage to the recipient is the stan- 
 dard of measurement ? It is he who makes the 
 request, and the other will help him with a view to get an equal 
 amount of help in return. The assistance given has been in 
 amount just what he has profited by it ; consequently he must 
 repay as much benefit as he has derived from it, or rather more, 
 since this is the more honourable course. 
 
 But in friendships founded on virtue, though there are no dis- 
 putes, the intention of the benefactors is taken as 
 In ideal fnendship ^ measure. The determining element in virtue 
 the benefactor. and character is to be found in the intention. 
 
 In this interchange of good offices between friends a difficulty meets us. 
 Seeing that from great sacrifices on the part of the benefactor little advantage 
 often accrues to the recipients of his favours, and from small sacrifices great 
 advantage — for it may well be that though one has done much and spent much, 
 one has done little good to one's friend — or the reverse may be the case — are we 
 in returning the service to regard the advantage received, or the measure of the 
 benefit conferred ? Another ground for asking the question is that the recipients 
 contend that they have got from their benefactors what it was a very small 
 matter for them to give and what they might have got from any one else, thus 
 minimising the favours conferred : while the benefactors maintain juat the 
 opposite. They say they have rendered the recipients the greatest services they 
 could, services which they could never have got from others, and at jnoments of 
 danger or other similar need. Accordingly the question is raised by which of the 
 two we should measure the return to be made, by the advantage to the recipient 
 or by the sacrifice of the benefactor. 
 
 The case is not quite the same in every form of friendship ; in the case of 
 friendship entered into for profit, the return wiU be proportionate to the benefit 
 to the recipient or will even transcend it, as this is the more honourable course. 
 It is the recipient who makes the request and the other helps him with a view of 
 getting back an equal return ; the assistance, therefore, has been just as great as 
 the amount of benefit which he has received from it, or rather more ; so in a 
 general way it is right that he should measure the return by the benefit to 
 himself for it is for the sake of this that he formed the friendship. 
 
 But in the case of friendship which rests on virtue there are no dissensiong as 
 there are in the kind where each wishes to turn the services rendered to his own 
 profit, nor are the returns to be made measured by the profit to the recipients of 
 the favours but by the intentions of the benefactors ; for the ohaiaoteristic 
 feature in virtue and in character is the intention. Since, then, the two love each 
 other for their virtue and they will measure the returns to be made by the inten- 
 tion ; consequently friendship of this kind will be free from all dissensions, but 
 the other two kinds are subject to them. 
 
 ill. — "WTiy disputes occur in. ' rriendsMps of condescension.' 
 
 Disputes also occur in ' friendships of condescension.' Each of 
 the friends claim to have the largest share, and, where this occurs, 
 th§ friendship is broken off, The better of the two thinks that 
 
BLVIII. IC] Ti'anslation. 475 
 
 the larger share is his due, as his goodness entitles him to more ; 
 
 the more profitable in the same way thinks this ^ 
 
 too : they maintain that the other party, being use- '^^^ superior party 
 
 tuu , uii^^ 1 J J t3 considers that he 
 
 less, ought not to get an equal amount, the con- should get the 
 nexion (they urge) ceases to be friendship and larger share of pro- 
 
 , ^ L -J. • T J.1 T, /. fit, as contributing 
 
 hecomes gratuitous service unless the results ot more_ 
 the friendship are distributed in proportion to the 
 gerrices done : they consider that just as in a money partnership 
 those who contribute more get more, so ought it to be in friend- 
 ship. But the poor man and the inferior in . 
 virtue hold just the opposite view. They hold he^shouTd°do so, 
 that it is the part of a good friend to help his because his needs 
 friends who are in need. What advantage (they ^^^ ^ ^^^^ ^"^^ 
 ask) is it to be a friend of a good man or a powerful man, if 
 one is to get nothing from it ? 
 
 This is the case in friendships of condecension when a greater man is the 
 frien d of the less, or a more profitable friend is friends with a less profitable ; the 
 ^BMor party expects to get more in the one case on the grounds of his superior 
 menti, in the other on account of his superior usefulness. For if, the one urges, each 
 of the friends contributes to the extent of his powers, and gets no proportionate 
 return, the connexion is a gratuitous service rather than a friendship ; conse- 
 quently they say they ought to get not similar results out of the friendship 
 but greater. They claim that, as in trade they who contribute more to the 
 common stock get a larger share of the profits, so should it be in friendship. 
 This is the case of the superiors, but the inferiors maintain that this is not what 
 is due from friends in a superior position, but just the opposite. A good friend's 
 part is to help his friends when in want. For what use is it, they say, to be 
 friends with a good man, or a powerful, if you are to get nothing out of your 
 friendship ? And thus finding fault with one another and each claiming to get 
 the larger share, they yery easily break off the friendship. 
 
 {a) PRINCIPLES ON "WHICH SUCH DISPUTES SHOULD BE SETTLED. 
 
 After all, each of them seems to have reason in his claim, and 
 each has a right to get ' more ' out of the friend- 
 ship, only not ' more ' of the same kind, but the '^- ^^^ e^^ter be- 
 
 , , , i.-, ■ i> • I 1 /> i neiactor should re- 
 
 supenor ' more honour, the interior ' more profit, ceive more honour. 
 For honour is the natural meed of virtue and of ^^ ^^° i^ ™ore in 
 henefits conferred, while gain serves to-alleviate ^Tistance! ^' "'°™ 
 distress. This same principle seems to hold 
 good in public affairs ; he is- not honoured who brings no good to 
 the commonwealth, for public property is ex- 
 clusively given to the man who has benefited the (This principle thit 
 
 °. ,, . IT "^ , _, honour must be 
 
 common weal, and honour is public property. It given for services 
 is not possible at one and the same time to make rendered holds 
 money out of the commonwealth and to be Ts&us.)^ ^" '° 
 honoured as well. No one can stand coming the 
 worse oflf at all points, Accordingly to 9, public man, wjio suffers 
 
476 The Moral Philosophy, of Aristotle. [Bk. VIII. 16. 
 
 from a money point of view, the citizens give honour, while one 
 who is opea to bribes gets money. It is the proportioning the 
 return to merit that equalises and keeps up friendships, as we 
 have already said. These, then, are the principles on which the 
 unequal should conduct their intercourse; he who is benefited in 
 point of money or in point of virtue must make repayment in 
 honour, repaying the best he has to give. Friendship exacts the 
 best a man can do, not exact proportion. An 
 madi wm hav*e"to exactly proportionate return is not indeed possible 
 be limited by the in all cases, for instance in the honour we pay to 
 
 pLirto pay'' ^^'^^' *^^ ^°'^^ ^^ ^'^^ parents. Here no one can make 
 a return which is really proportionate to the 
 favour received, but he who serves them to the best of his powers 
 is accounted good. For this reason it would 
 parent'^\nd°'chiid ^^^™ '^°*' ^° ^^ allowable for a son to disown his 
 considered in the father, though a father may his son ; a debtor is 
 Se, a fSefh^ bound _to repay ; and nothing that the son can do 
 the right to repu- Can wipe off what he has received, so that he 
 mate tiie son not remains for ever a debtor. But those to whom a 
 
 the son the lather. . 
 
 debt IS owed are at liberty to remit it, conse- 
 quently a father is at liberty to do so. Yet at the same time, we 
 may presume, no father would part with his son unless that son 
 were desperately bad : for, independently of natural affection, it 
 is human nature not to discard assistance. But it may well be 
 that the son, if he is bad, will shun giving assistance, or will not 
 be anxious to give it. For the majority wish to receive favours 
 and shun conferring them as being unprofitable. 
 Let thus much suffice on these points. 
 
 Each seems to have justice in his claim ; each has a right to get ' more ' out of 
 the friendship, but not ' more ' of the same sort. The superior should have more 
 honour given him, the inferior more of what he needs. Of virtue and of well- 
 doing honour is the reward, while money profit or whatever else the man may 
 need is the alleviation of poverty. 
 
 The same seems to be the case also in public affairs ; it is to benefactors that 
 honour is always awarded : he is not honoured who brings no good to the common 
 weal ; public property is given to him who benefits the public and honour is 
 public property. It is not possible at once to make money out of the public and 
 to be honoured as well : the poor man receives money from the public purse, but 
 is by no means honoured ; for no one can brook to come worse off at both points, 
 both in respect of honour and in respect of money, but if he is to give the one he 
 must receive the other. Consequently he who suffers loss from a money point of 
 view in behalf of the public interest has honour given him, while he who is willing 
 to receive bribes gets money. Proportionate returns equalise and keep up friend- 
 ships, as has been said. On these principles unequal friends should conduct their 
 intercourse ; the man who is benefited in point of money or virtue must repay in 
 honour and repay to the extent of his ability. 
 
 It is the best a man can do that friendship looks for, not an exact proportion. 
 For »U caimot repay the full extent of the debt they owe, They cannot indeed 
 
Bk. VIII. 1 6.] Translation. 477 
 
 find a proportional equivalent in all cases. For instance, in the honours given to 
 God or our parents, no one can repay the amount in full, but he who serves them 
 to the best of his powers and as far as he has opportunity is «,ooounted a good 
 man. For this reason it seems not lawful for a son to repudiate his father or to 
 lefuse to listen to any of his requests ; for he is for ever his debtor and therefore 
 ever bound to repay ; he has done for his father nothing equivalent to the benefits 
 he has received from him. But a father niay repudiate his son, as benefactors 
 may dismiss their debtors. Yet we may assume no father would ever part from 
 his son, unless that son were superlatively bad ; natural affection constrains him 
 not to do so, while at the same time it is human nature not to reject assistance. 
 But if the son -w very bad, he will hate, or at any rate will not be anxious, to 
 assist his father. Most people are willing to receive favours, but shun the doing 
 them, as being unprofitable. 
 Let thus much suffice on these subjects. 
 
BOOK IX.-CONCERNING FRIENDSHIP 
 
 [Continued). 
 
 INTEODUCTORY ANALYSIS. 
 
 The break between Books VIII. and IX. is purely arbitrary. There ia 
 no break in the connection at the point at which in our existing editions 
 the Books are divided. No new subject is entered npon with the com- 
 mencement of Book IX., scarcely a fresh division of a subject already 
 begun. 
 
 Book IX. opens with a continuation of the subject which was engaging 
 our attention at the close of Book VIII., the question, namely, of the 
 mutual rights and duties of friends and the circumstances under which 
 disputes between them are apt to occur. 
 
 The two cases, which have been already considered, are (1) Friend- 
 ships of interest, in which it is difiicult to get the claims of each fully 
 satisfied, and (2) those friendships involving superiority on the one side, 
 inferiority on the other, where the difference in the claims to be con- 
 sidered renders them hard to adjust. 
 
 C. The third class of friendships in which disputes are apt to occur ia 
 that of those in which the friendship is prompted by dififerent motives 
 on the two sides — 
 
 (1.) It is hard in these cases to assess the exact amoimt of the 
 equivalent which should be repaid, since the benefits conferred cannot 
 very well be expressed in terms of money-value. 
 
 (2.) Such friendships being based, not on affection and admiration for 
 one another's character, but on circumstances which are more or less 
 accidental, if these circumstances alter, the friendships themselves aie 
 apt to fade away since neither of the friends any longer derives that 
 advantage from the connexion for which he looks. 
 
 (3.) Dissatisfaction is felt most of all, if a friend's services are repaid 
 in some other form than that on which he had set his heart. To take 
 an extreme case. Imagine the harp-player's disappointment, when the 
 tyrant, having promised him a reward for the pleasure he had given 
 him, repaid him nothing at all : telling him by way of consolation that 
 he had repaid him by the pleasures of hope for the pleasure of enjoyment 
 which he had himself received. 
 
 Here once more comes in the question with whom, then, does it rest 
 to determine the amount of the repayment to be made f Should it be 
 the original receiver or the original giver ? The question can hardly be 
 
1% tntrodicdory Analysis : Book IX, 479 
 
 l, jnswered in all cases in the same way. The answer must to some extent 
 ^depend upon circumstances. 
 
 , ; (a.) In some cases, for instance, the giver agi-ees to leaare it in the hands 
 of the recipient. This was what Protagoras did with his pupils. He 
 gare them instruction first and then told them to pay him what they 
 thought the knowledge they had acquired was worth. / 
 
 (&.) The opposite course to this is followed by the majority of the 
 ' Sophists.' They require payment in advance, and then egregiously " 
 fail to fulfil the promises they have made. It may be that this is the 
 only course that it is open to them to adopt. The knowledge they have , ^ 
 
 to impart is for the most part so wor thless that no one would give them 7 lAy-^^- ■ 
 anything for it, if it were not paid for in advance. 
 
 (c.) By the good and by true students of philosophy the repayment to 
 be made will be measured, not so much by the advantage received, as 
 according to the intentions of the benefactor. ' The price of wisdom 
 being above rubies ' the pupil will feel that, in giving his instructor the 
 best he has to give, he is still making him too small a return. 
 
 [d.) As a general rule it must be.left to the receiver to settle the amount 
 he will repay. The giver of the favour has trusted to his honour and 
 should abide by the consequences. Indeed in some countries no legal 
 redress can be obtained at all, where the contract has been a purely 
 voluntary one. The law holds, that a man who has trusted another, 
 should end as he began. 
 
 The principle which should guide the receiver in making repayment 
 should be this. He should consider what he was prepared to give for 
 the service he has received, before it was actually rendered him. He has 
 no right to value it at what he is prepared to give for it now — for a gift 
 already received loses value in our eyes. 
 
 D. In the last place we are encountered by a number of questions of 
 Camistrij when we are attempting to determine the respective rights and 
 , duties of friends. Duties seem to conflict, and it is hard sometimes to 
 determine their comparative obligatoriness. 
 
 It may be asked, for instance, area father's claims upon us paramount? 
 And again, are we bound to recompense a benefactor in preference to 
 fulfilling any other obligation ? 
 
 Of course such questions as these, like all other questions of moral 
 casuistry, admit of no precise and accurate determination. All we can 
 say is that, as a rule, the two following principles will be found to hold 
 good. 1. Do not heap all your favours on the same individual. 2. Be 
 just before you are generous. 
 
 Yet the second rule has its exceptions. People may press their 
 claims ungenerously upon us. Such we have a right to resist. Further, 
 our duty to our parents takes precedence of all others. 
 
 In this and in all other cases we should try to ascertain the exact line 
 of conduct which the nature of the relationship prescribes and to act 
 |ocordingly. Parents, for instance, have from the nature of the case a 
 blaina upon us for support and for honour ; elders are entitled to marks 
 of respect, brothers and comrades to frankness of speech and a readiness 
 to impart to them, our relatives for interest in all family matters. 
 
 When the conflicting claims are of the same kind, the decision 
 between them is not very difiicult. The difficulty occurs where we have 
 to decide between oompetiug claims of wholly difierent kinds, 
 
480 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 Another question of casuistry, whicli demands an answer, is under 
 what circumstances are we justified in breaking off a friendship once 
 formed \ The answer will be dictated by the following considerations. 
 
 (1.) When a friendship springs merely from interest or pleasure, 
 it naturally comes to an end when the interest or pleasure is found no 
 longer to exist. 
 
 (2.) When one of the friends pretends to have an unselfish admiration 
 for the other's chai'acter, but is really led into the friendship by motives 
 of interest or pleasure, the discovery of such a fraud is a sufficient reason 
 for breaking off the connexion. 
 
 (3.) If one man makes friends with another believing him to be 
 a good man, and this other turns out evil, the first is no longer bound, 
 after such a discovery, to continue the friendship, that is supposing the 
 second to prove irreclaimable. Yet he is bound, before renouncing the 
 friendship, to make every effort to reclaim his friend. 
 
 (4.) Where the one remains stationary, the other makes great strides 
 in virtue, the friendship will, when a certain point is reached, naturally 
 drop. The two will cease to have any community of tastes or interests. 
 Still each is bound to retain a kindly recollection of their earlier 
 intimacy. 
 
 X.- STATES AKIN TO OE SUBOEDINATB TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 I.— SELF-LOVE. 
 
 It would seem as if our very idea of friendship and of our duties to our 
 friends were derived from the relations in which a man stands and the 
 duties which he owes, to himself. 
 
 For friendship is ordinarily defined as consisting either (1) In an 
 unselfish wish for, and effort to promote, the good of our neighbours ; or 
 (2) In the desire for our friend's preservation and continued life ; or (3) 
 In the taking pleasure in a man's company, or society ; or (4) In feeling 
 sympathy with him in his sorrows and his joys. 
 
 Now the good man, who must be taken, as so often observed, as the 
 type or standard of human nature, exhibits each one of these dispositions 
 in his own person, and in relation to himself. 
 
 (1.) He wishes what is good for himself and desires it too with his 
 whole nature. His wishes do not point one way, his desires another, but 
 the two, and his whole nature, are absolutely at one. 
 
 (2.) He desires his own preservation and continued existence. Above 
 all he is anxious for the health and preservation of his intellectual 
 nature, which is properly to be regarded as a man's true self. 
 
 (3.) He is in perfect sympathy with himself, as his whole life is 
 a consistent and harmonious whole ; while 
 
 (4.) He takes pleasure in his own society, as he has nothing but 
 pleasant memories and joyful hopes to occupy his thoughts. 
 
 A life of virtue is, however, absolutely indispensable for the realisation 
 of such true self-love, such friendly relations to oneself. The wholly 
 depraved, far from being in this condition, don't even bear the semblance 
 of being at one with themselves. They come at last, as a result of their 
 vices, to loathe even their own existence. ' They cannot endure t.heJ 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IX. 481 
 
 own- society. The bad of all sorts have little pleasure in their own 
 company. They find little in themselves to draw out their affection, 
 and consequently are little loved, even by themselves. 
 
 II.- GOODWILL. 
 
 This again has intimate relations to friendship. It differs from 
 friendship, in that it is a feeling which may be felt towards strangers, 
 and which need not be known to the objects of it. It differs from affec- 
 tion in being destitute of warmth or strong feeling and in springing up 
 sometimes quite suddenly, as, for instance, towards the combatants in 
 the arena. 
 
 Goodwill is thus a kind of passive, or inert, friendship, but developes 
 into friendship, when matured by time and intimacy, and into friendship 
 also of the true, or genuine, type. It is itself elicited neither by interest 
 nor by pleasure but by some nobleness, or goodness. 
 
 III.— UNANIMITY. 
 
 This feeling is distinct from mere coincidence of opinion, being 
 restricted in its sphere to those practical matters, where important 
 public, or private, interests are at stake. Thus states are said to be 
 unanimous, when they are agreed upon a course, or line, of policy, and 
 are j^epared to carry it out in common. The citizens, again, of a state 
 are unanimous when they entertain the same views for the conduct of 
 their own public affairs. 
 
 Unanimity may, therefore, be defined as a kind of ' political friend- 
 ship,' and this is the accepted meaning of the term in ordinaiy 
 parlance. 
 
 It is a privilege, like friendship itself, confined, or almost confined, to 
 the good. The bad, being bent on their own selfish interests, grow 
 suspicious of one another and exacting in their requirements from one 
 another, and this puts an end to all true harmony of feeling between 
 them. 
 
 IV.— THE RELATION OF BENEFACTOR AND BENEFITED. 
 
 People often puzzle themselves why it should be that the bene- 
 factor Ipves the recipient of his favours more than that recipient loves 
 him. 
 
 The popular explanation is that the two are in the position of creditor 
 and debtor. Just as the creditor is more anxious for the debtor's 
 safety and long life than the debtor is for the creditor's, so, they argue, 
 the benefactor wishes for the safety and continued life of his client, that 
 he may receive back his own with usury. 
 
 Such an explanation is, indeed, founded on a dark view of human 
 nature, yet it receives a certain confirmation from the conduct of the 
 { --inajority, who are apt to be but little mindful of the favours they have 
 X received. 
 
 This explanation is, however, really inadequate to account for the fact 
 —it does not account for the affection felt. The true causes must be 
 sought deeper down. 
 
482 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 1. Probably a truer explanation is to be found in the analogy of the 
 affection felt by an artist for his work, most notably by a poet for his 
 own poems. This affection originates in the fact that a man's work is 
 the proof, symbol, actualisation of his own existence. Our work makes 
 us realise better, that we are alive and active ; and since existence is iu 
 itself a good, that which gives reality to, and enhances our consciousness 
 of, existence, must be good likewise. But a work done — a thing made 
 — does this. Consequently the contemplation of such a work must 
 afford pleasure and gratification. Now the recipient of our favours is in 
 a way our ' work.' He is a monument of the activity of the benefactor; 
 and so the benefactor can scarcely fail to take pleasure in that, which he 
 has thus, iu a way, created. 
 
 2. The doing of favours gratifies that 'sense of nobility' which fumisfaffl 
 us men with the noblest of all our pleasures. It must, thereforej"; 
 be pleasant to a benefactor to have constantly before his eyes a monu- 
 ment of the favours he has conferred, that is the living, actual presence 
 of the person he has benefited. To be reminded, on the other hand, of 
 the favours one has received is by no means an equal pleasure. Thus 
 the recipient has not the same pleasure in the presence of his 
 benefactor. 
 
 3. The feeling of having done a kindness carries with it a sense of 
 superiority, which is iu itself a pleasure. So all that tends to keep this 
 feeling alive is iu itself pleasant. 
 
 4. Whatever is attended with effort and difficulty gives pleasurf by 
 the attainment of it. The conferring of favours involves trouble and 
 effort, and so is viewed, when accomplished, with pleasure by those who 
 have conferred the favours. 
 
 v.— THE RELATION OF SELF-LOVE AND THE LOVE OF OTHERS. 
 
 In examining the relation of self-love to the love of others, we are at 
 once met by a difficulty. 
 
 On the one hand self-love is denounced as a vice. It is the bad, it is 
 urged, who are most actuated by self-regarding motives, and the worse a 
 man is, the more selfish he is, the more entirely does he seek his own 
 interests to the neglect of the interests of others. 
 
 On the other hand, we have already pointed out how, in a certain 
 sense, we are bound to be selfregarding, to be on terms of friendship 
 with oneself, and how all the requirements of true friendship are best 
 fulfilled in a man's relations to himself; so that in a certain sense it 
 would seem that a man, both ought to be, and must be, self-regarding. 
 
 The difficulty, however, and apparent contradiction — as is so often 
 the case — will be got over by a more exact definition of the terms 
 employed. 
 
 When the many speak of a man as ' self-regarding,' what they mean 
 by it is one who seeks to get for himself as large a share as possible of 
 those things which, like money, honours, external advantages, are most 
 prized by the vulgar. And since the lion's share for one of such advan- 
 tages means loss to all the rest, the term, as thus employed, becomes 
 properly a term of reproach. 
 
 This is the popular use of the terra, con-espondiug with the popular 
 view of what is desirable. Yet it is not the real, nor the proper, mean- 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book IX. 483 
 
 iug of the term ' self-loving,' ' self-regarding.' For what is a man's true 
 Bclfr 'A man's life consisteth not iathe abundance o^the things which 
 he possesses.' It is his reason, as we have already pointed out, which 
 constitutes his true self. And so he who is truly ' self-regarding ' is the 
 toan who provides, not for his material, but for his spiritual needs. Reason, 
 not the passions, not his lower nature, is a man's real self ; and he whcf 
 consults the interests of his reason, who gratifies his reason's dictates, 
 that man must be pronounced truly ' self-regarding.' Now he who con- 
 Bolts the dictates of his reason is the good man. He, consequently, 
 deserves the title of ' self-regarding ' far more than the other. Only we 
 must remember that, when we apply the term to him, we are using it 
 in a widely different sense from that in which it is ordinarily applied, a 
 Bense as different as is the life of reason from the life of passion, as is 
 the effort after true nobility from the gratification of our lower desires. 
 
 And since, by being ' self-regarding ' in this higher sense, a man will 
 be at the same time promoting the happiness of others and the good of 
 his country, it will follow that a good man ougM to be ' self regarding,' 
 a bad man ought not, since this latter, by being self-regarding in his way, 
 not only does harm to others but even to himself as well. 
 
 And, though the good man gives up for his friends and his country 
 honour, wealth, even life itself, he cannot for all that be counted a loser 
 thereby. Rather he is gaining for himself the best of all rewards, the 
 ' reward of having acted nobly, a reward worth more to him than all 
 hesi4es. Yes ; even when he surrenders in his friend's favour the very 
 chance of doing noble deeds he is not without his reward. He is a 
 gainer of a still deeper sense of inward satisfaction. In this way the 
 most absolute self-surrender becomes identified with the most absolute 
 ' Belf-regard.' 
 
 To be ' self-regarding ' in such a sense as this, securing, as it does, at 
 once our own highest good and the good of others, is fitting and right. 
 Oaly it must be remembered that it is a spirit as widely removed as 
 possible from that selfishness, which by the vulgar is so often confounded 
 with true self-love. 
 
 XI.— THE RELATION OF FRIENDSHIP TO HAPPINESS. 
 
 This last subject connects Books VIII. and IX. with the main current 
 Bf the Treatise. If it can be shown, as Aristotle attempts to show, that 
 friends are a neeessary element in true well-being, then the discussion of 
 friendship clearly becomes germane to the definition of happiness and its 
 constituent elements, which forms the main subject of the treatise. 
 • The discussion opens at once with the question whether the presence 
 of friends is, or is not, indispensable for the completion of the ideal of 
 perfect happiness. 
 
 The question is first approached from a dialectical point of view. 
 
 On the one hand many maintain that friends are not required, on the 
 ground that a man who is perfectly happy having, ex hypothesi, all 
 goods at his command can have no possible call for, or need of, friends. 
 Friends it is urged, are absolutely superfluous for him. 
 _ On the other hand, these arguments are met by the following oon- 
 Biderations ; 
 
 I I 2 
 
4B4 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 (1.) Friends are admittedly among the greatest of all goods. What 
 right have -we, it is asked, to leave this feature out of our picture of 
 ideal, or perfect, happiness % 
 
 (2.) A happy man requires to do acts of benevolence, as in them, at 
 least in part, his happiness must consist. There are no so appropriate 
 objects for our benevolence as friends. Thus, from this point of vieWj 
 friends will be requisite. 
 
 (3.) Nature does not intend man to live alone ; he is naturally social. 
 So his natural longing for society will be unsatisfied, if we do not 
 accord him the society of friends, and his nature would be so far maimed 
 and incomplete. 
 
 (4.) It is not difficult to see how the mistake arose of supposing the 
 happy not to require friends. It grows out of the unworthy conception 
 which the world has formed of friendship. The only form of friendship 
 which the world recognises is that which is based on interest. Since the 
 happy do not require friends who will do them good turns, it has been 
 hastily assumed that they do not require friends at all. 
 
 That this is not really the case, that good friends are essential to 
 perfect happiness, is more than plain from the following arguments, 
 
 (1.) The sight of the good acts of ou.r friends excites in us a pleasure- 
 able excitement, being indeed almost equivalent to the performance of 
 good acts ourselves. And since in this — as we saw at the outset of this 
 treatise — our happiness, or well-being, consists, the sight of friends doing 
 well, which is almost equivalent to it, must also be a good. 
 
 (2.) The performance of good acts is rendered easier, more pleasant, 
 and consequently more continuous, by their being done in company. 
 Since, then, the presence of friends has this effect, and to pass his time 
 in well-doing constitutes man's true felicity, on this ground also friends 
 will be necessary. 
 
 (3.) Good friends further encourage one another in acquiring habits of 
 virtue and so promote one another's happiness. 
 
 We may, however, discover arguments reaching deeper into the nature 
 of things, and approach the question from a more metaphysical point of 
 view. 
 
 Whatever is naturally good in itself is good and pleasant to the good 
 man. Life is naturally good, so life is good and pleasant to a good man. 
 But, since life is defined as a ■power of sensation, and thought and powera 
 are only apprehended by the exercise of them, therefore sensation aa^ 
 thought, as constituting life, must be good to a good man. Further, 
 each act of sensation and thought is accompanied by a consciousness of 
 it. Therefore this consciousness of sensation and thought must be good 
 to a good man. This consciousness of sensation and thought we enjoy in 
 the presence of friends. Therefore this presence must be a good. And 
 so it is indispensable to the happy man, as he would otherwise be want- 
 ing in an element of happiness which he might enjoy, and so fall short of 
 perfect bliss. 
 
Introdtictory Analysis: Book IX. 485 
 
 *■' Xn.— THE NUMBEE AND THE USES OE^PEIENDS. 
 
 But, if friends are tlius essential to complete happiness, are we, there- 
 fore, to conclude that we should make as many friends as we possibly 
 can, or should their number be limited ? Their number should clearly 
 he limited, for 
 
 1. In the case of interested friendships, it is inconvenient to have to 
 return a great number of good offices ; and life is not long enough to 
 enable us to do so. 
 
 2. A limited number of pleasant acquaintances are enough to give a 
 spice to our lives. 
 
 3. Even of the good we may have more than enough. We may make 
 our friends so numerous as to mar, that roundness or completeness which 
 the perfect life should exhibit. The exact number of friends permissible 
 it is indeed impossible to fix, as impossible as it would be to settle the 
 exact number of citizens who should go to make up a state. All we can 
 do in either case is to determine certain limits. In the case of friends 
 tlie limit will be found in the largest number that it is possible to live 
 with comfortably. 
 
 There are other considerations which tend also to limit the number of 
 possible friends. 
 
 (1.) Friends, as we have already seen, should live together and live in 
 harmony. Where the circle is made unduly wide, this condition becomes 
 very difficult to fulfil ; they are sure not all of them to share in one 
 another's tastes and interests. 
 
 (2.) Besides, if our friends are very numerous, their claims on our 
 sympathies in their joys and their sorrows will be found to clash. 
 
 (3.) Friendship, being an intense feeling, is necessarily very restricted 
 in its range. 
 
 (4.) These arguments receive confirmation from the facts of actual life. 
 Men break themselves up into little bands of comrades, and the most 
 celebrated friendships, such as those of Damon and Pythias, of Pylades 
 and Orestes, have been restricted only to two. You may be, and 
 ought to be ' civil ' to the whole world, but to be content with a few 
 real friends. 
 
 T Lastly, since friends are thus indispensable under all circumstances, a 
 question has been raised in what circumstances they are most indis- 
 pensable. Do we require them more in prosperity or in adversity 1 
 
 It would seem as if in prosperity they were more honourable, in 
 |;j||dvei-sity more needful. 
 
 J t; In adversity they are a comfort to us ; they share our load of grief 
 ; iSiid, by sharing it, make it lighter to bear, and their very presence, being 
 a delight to us, drives away part of the pain. And yet a good man in 
 adversity will view their presence with mixed feelings. Though he 
 is pleased to see them, he is grieved that the sight of his sufferings 
 should cause them pain, and will be careful to inflict as little pain upon 
 them as possible. Above all he will eschew encouraging them^ to 
 make lamentation with him, for he is not fond of making lamentations 
 himself. 
 
 In prosperity the society of friends adds to our pleasure, and theif 
 delight in our good fortune adds zest to pur o-wn. 
 
486 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, 
 
 These considerations will furnish us with a code of rules for the uses 
 to which we may put our friends. 
 
 We shall summon them eagerly to share our good fortune, reluctantly 
 to witness our misfortunes. When they are in adversity we shall 
 voluntarily proffer our services, but shall be shy of intruding ourselves 
 on their prosperity, lest we seem to be seeking for favours. Still, if good 
 offices are offered us, we shall not decline them, lest we seem, as some- 
 times happens, discourteous. In the ordinary course of life — as distinct 
 from either prosperity or adversity — what friends chiefly desiderate is 
 constant intercourse. Above all, men seek the participation of their 
 friends in those interests, and those pursuits, which they deem the most 
 important and to which they chiefly devote their lives. 
 
 And thus it comes about that, while the intercourse of the evil ends 
 only in confirming them in evil, the friendship of the good carries with 
 it increased encouragement and greater strength in the performance 
 of virtue. 
 
TBANSLATION. 
 
 ' . — ' — 
 
 X,— THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF FRIENDS 
 
 {Continued). 
 
 iv. — Disputes in Friendships of dissimilar aims. 
 
 In all friendships, prompted on the two sides by dissimilar 
 motives, it is the principle of proportion that 
 
 , .1 . p ■ J T± 1 • 1- Quarrels occur 
 
 places the two mends on an equality and mam- ,,ri,ere one or both 
 tains the friendship, as has been already stated ; fell to get a pro- 
 
 • , -ii. I. p-M-i. J.I portionate return. 
 
 just so, m the sphere ot civil intercourse, the 
 shoemaker gets for his shoes a proportionate return according to 
 their worth, and so does the weaver, and so do all other artificers. 
 In these cases, however, there has been provided a common 
 measure in the shape of coined money, to which all these different 
 products are compared and by which they all are measured. But 
 in love affairs it sometimes happens that the „ ^, i, f i 
 lover will complain because, though he loves to to get™he return 
 distraction, his love is not requited; and yet it they severallywisli 
 may well be, that he has nothing loveable about ' 
 him. On the other hand the object of his affection will often 
 grumble because, though formerly the lover made all kinds of 
 promises, he now performs nothing. Now such cases come about, 
 when the one loves the object of his affection for the pleasure he 
 gives him, and this latter loves his lover from interested motives, 
 and neither the one nor the other gets what he desires. For since 
 the friendship was prompted simply by these motives it drops 
 through when these objects are not gained ; it was not their friends 
 themselves that the two severally loved, but certain attributes they 
 possessed, which attributes are not enduring; consequently the 
 friendships are not enduring either. But the friendship that is 
 based on character, which is essential, is, as we have already said, 
 lasting and permanent. 
 
 Another cause of quarrel occurs when friends get by way of 
 recompense something different from that on which they have set 
 their heart; it is almost as bad as getting nothing at all, whea 
 
488 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 1. 
 
 one does not get what one desires ; we see this by the case of the 
 tyrant and the harp-player, the tyrant promising 
 Le^ntfeturrfrim *« ^^^^^rd him, and the better he played, the more 
 that on which they he promised him; hut when in the morning he 
 have set their came to Bsk for the fulfilment of his promises, 
 
 hearts. . T ' 
 
 the tyrant answered he had repaid him pleasure 
 for pleasure (the pleasure of hope for the pleasure of enjoyment). 
 Now if each of them had wished for pleasure, this would have 
 been all very well; but if, as was actually the case, the one 
 wanted pleasure and the other gain, and the one got what he 
 wanted and the other did not, the result of the transaction could 
 not be satisfactory. What a man happens to want he sets his 
 heart upon ; and it is to get this and nothing else that he is ready 
 to give what he has to give. 
 
 Let us continue to speak about friendship, and state what we have to say in ad- 
 dition to our previous remarks. In friendships based on equality friends should 
 repay one another equal amounts, but in friendships where the friends are unlike 
 one another, proportionate amounts, as has been already stated. It is proportion 
 that sets friends on an equality in all civil transactions. The cobbler gets for his 
 shoes not shoes, but their worth, that is a proportionate amount of some other 
 commodity, as has been explained at length in the 5th Book; the same is the case 
 with the weaver and all similar artificers ; f oif this is what maintains civil rela- 
 tions, the giving and receiving of proportionate amounts, according as one is in 
 need and another has a superfluity. In civil ti'ansactions money serves for a 
 common measure, to which all commodities are referred, and by which we estimate 
 the amounts to be given and the amounts to be received. But in moral and friendly 
 relations there is no common measure by which dissimilar services may be esti» 
 mated. For this reason such connexions aie always liable to disputes, as is the 
 case with love affairs. 
 
 Sometimes the lover will find fault with his darling, because, though he loves to 
 distraction his love is not requited, he being, very likely, not deserving to be loved ; 
 accordingly the darling on his side will often find fault with his lover, because he 
 formerly promised him everything, and now accomplishes nothing. Now such 
 cases occur when the one is prompted to love by pleasure, the other by interert, 
 and then the one does not turn out agreeable, the other does not turn out profit- 
 able ; for as the friendship was prompted by these considerations it is broken off, 
 when they are not realised. The two did not love each other, but each other's at- 
 tributes, which, being in their nature transitory, destroy the friendship also along 
 with them when they fail. But those who love one another, and one another's 
 characters, as is the case with the good, are steadfast in their friendship. They 
 love each other for their own sakes and for nothing else; and remaining true to 
 themselves they preserve the friendship at the same time. 
 
 And friends of unlike character also quarrel when they get from their friends 
 something else than what they desire. It is as bad as getting nothing when one 
 does not get what one wishes for ; this was seen in the case of the tyrant, who 
 promised the minstrel that the better he sang the more he woiild give him, and 
 when the minstrel asked the next morning for what he had promised him, said 
 he had given him pleasure for pleasure. If then each of them had wished for 
 pleasure, the transaction would have been perfectly satisfactory ; but if, as was 
 the case, the one wanted enjoyment, the other gain, and if the one got what he 
 wanted and the other did not, the result of the transaction could not be satisfac- 
 tory. For it is to get what he wants that every man is ready to give what he 
 happens to possess. 
 
Bk. IX. 1.] Translation. 489 
 
 GENERAL PEINCIPLES FOR FIXING THE AMOUNT OF THE 
 REPAYMFiNT IN THESE CASES. 
 
 But whose business is it to settle the amount to be repaid — the 
 original giver's or the original receiver's ? It 
 would seem as if the original giver entrusted it ^; Sometimes the 
 to the other, and this is what they say Protagoras X'^l^ reedver' to 
 actually did. For when he gave any instruction, ^^tti^ t^e value of 
 
 1 1 i 1,'j !.• •! 1 i • ii 1 e the service after 
 
 he used to bid his pupil determine the value of \^ \^^ received it. 
 
 the knowledge he had acquired, and used to 
 
 accept that amount in payment. But in such cases some like the 
 
 principle 
 
 " Let the labourer get his stipulated hire." 
 
 But those who take their money beforehand and then fail to do 
 what they said they would, on account of the 
 extravagance of their promises, are justly liable aoife°bfthr^Soph- 
 to reproach, as they don't perform what they had ists) a fixed pay- 
 5 -agreed to do. But this is what the Sophists are, |^'°dTanc°e''""' ™ 
 perhaps, compelled to do, as no one would give 
 them money for the knowledge they have actually acquired. 
 •Such, then, as they fail to do what they received their payment 
 for, are justly held in reproach. 
 
 Again, in those cases where there is no agreement as to the 
 service to be performed, those who perform ser- 
 vices for their friends' own sakes are, as we have ^- Sometimes the 
 already stated, not likely to find fault, this being confessedly inade- 
 the character of the friendship which rests on I'^'S'*^. l'"* ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 ■ , -n , ,1 , .1 1 • 1 the receiver has to 
 
 Virtue. But the return must be made in accord- give. 
 
 ance with the intention of the donor, as befits a 
 
 friend and virtue. And the same, it would seem, should be done 
 
 to those who impart philosophy ; the value of this cannot be 
 
 measured in money, and no adequate price can be given for it. 
 
 "We should repay them, I presume (and this is sufficient), all we 
 
 can give, just as we do to the gods or our parents. 
 
 But, if the gift is not of this character, but is made for a stipu- 
 lated return, the return made should be, if pos- ^^^^^j 
 sible, such in amount as seems fair to both sides ; rule the original 
 and, if this cannot be secured, then it would seem receiver will have 
 
 ,' ,1 , . 1 • • 1 • 1 ij to fix the amount 
 
 not only necessary that the original receiver should to be repaid, and 
 settle the amount, but just as well ; for if the other « ^^ fe™^* ^^ 
 gets from him an amount equivalent to the bene- 
 fit received, or the amount which he would have been prepared to 
 Pfive for the pleasure he has received, he will get from him what is 
 
490 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 1. 
 
 fair. This is what also seems to occur in purchases. In some 
 countries there are laws forbidding suits for the enforcement of 
 voluntary contracts, on the ground that, where one man has 
 trusted another, he should settle with him on the same terms on 
 which he entered into the transaction. The law further considers 
 that it is more fair that the man in whom trust has been reposed, 
 should settle the terms of repayment, than that the man who 
 trusted him sliould do so. For in most cases those who have a 
 thing do not value it at the same as those who wish to get it ; 
 each is inclined to think his own goods and what he has to give 
 very valuable. Any way the return made will be that which the 
 Only he should fix Original receivers fix. But they ought, perhaps> 
 it at the amount not to value it at what it appears to them to b^ 
 he would have -wrorth, wheu they have got it, but at what they 
 
 given before he re- ' , •, i e \l- -i. 
 
 ceived the service, would have valued it bctore getting it. 
 
 Thus, then, in these friendships of diverse motives it is proportion and a recog- 
 nition of merit that is looked for. Still it is a question whose business it is to settle 
 the proper requital, the original giver's or the original receiver's. It is urged the 
 original giver seems to entrust the receiver with settling the proper retunj as 
 was Protagoras' custom. He used to take payment from those who went to him 
 for instruction, not fixing the amount himself, but bidding them estimate what 
 they thought the knowledge they had acquired, was worth, and then accepting 
 that amount. But in such transactions some are contented with the words ci 
 Hesiod — 
 
 " Let the man get his fitting reward." 
 
 But mercenary folk, who enter into such arrangements on business principles, 
 ask for more than this, and sometimes also when they have got their money, and 
 have promised that they will repay it in kind at once, they fail to repay it and 
 perform none of the things they undertook : and they are justly found fault with, 
 because their promises outrun their performances. For this reason the Sophists, 
 also, do not give lessons imtil they have received the fee for their instruction, 
 because no one would in any other case have given them money for the things 
 they have learnt from them, as they are worthless ; having promised to teach 
 great things, they thus get their pay, and end by teaching most worthless stuff. 
 These, then, since they fail to do that for which they have been paid are justly 
 liable to reproach. 
 
 In those transactions in which there is no agreement as to the return to be 
 made, or the service to be rendered, those who benefit their friends unselfishly 
 and sacrifice their own property for the sake of their friends, which is the case 
 with the good, we have already said, are uncomplaining. This is the character 
 of the friendship which rests on virtue ; and the return must be made in ac- 
 cordance with the intention of the benefactor ; for this is the distinguishing 
 feature alike of friendship and of virtue, as has been explained above. Such too 
 is the character of the intercourse based on philosophy ; the teacher of philosophy 
 does not ask from his pupil either money or honour to a definite amount, nor 
 can there be any adequate requital for philosophy either in money or in honour ; 
 but he looks to the wiU of his pupil ; he considers the service and the return 
 adequate, if the disciple does the best he can ; and this is also the nature of the 
 claim that the Gods and our parents have upon us. Those, then, who gratify 
 their friends unselfishly measure in this way the amount of the requital to 
 be made. 
 
 But those vvhg perforai a service for a stipulateii rewarcl, whether they dg sofgr 
 
Bk. IX. 2.] Translation. 491 
 
 interest or for pleasure, will give suoli an amount and will receive sucli a return, 
 as may seem fair to botli of them. In this way it will be brought about that 
 their intercourse shall be free from all reproaches. But_if this cannot be 
 effected and they cannot both agree on the proper return to Be made, but one or 
 other or both of them object, the returns must necessarily be regulated in 
 accordance with the decision of him who receives the benefits. For, if the one 
 says that he is willing to give so much for such and such a service, and the other 
 renders that service ou these terms, the one will give what he agreed that he 
 would give, and will repay the service by giving pleasure or some other advan- 
 tage, while the other is precluded from grumbling since he has got what he 
 judged it fair that he should get. This is not only necessary and relieves the 
 transaction from all trouble, it is also fair as weU. For if a man gets what he 
 wishes, no injustice is done him ; and this seems to be the way in which 
 matters are regulated in buying and selling ; the purchaser fixes the price and 
 measures it by the profit, or the pleasure the article will bring to him, and says 
 the thiug he wishes to buy is worth so much to him. In some countries more- 
 over there is a law, that no suits shall lie for the enforcement of voluntary con- 
 tracts, and that the parties shall not have recourse to any other judge in such 
 covenants, or any other law, than the terms of the contract ; but as a man has 
 trusted his neighbour and has given him his goods on trust, he must finish the 
 transaction on the terms of his original agreement. Such nations consider it 
 more just that he who has been trusted in the first instance should settle the 
 amount of the return than the man who has trusted him. Otherwise, he who 
 trusted his companion, wiU decide for the receiver, but no one is a trustworthy 
 judge in his own cause. For as a general rule, each thinks that what is his own, 
 and what he has to give, is worth a great deal. But he whb in the first instance 
 was trusted to settle the return for the benefits he received, even though 
 subsequently the man who parted with his goods to him, give him trouble on the 
 ground of being inadequately recompensed, can still judge aright if he carry out 
 the original conditions which the other assented to and he agreed upon : for he 
 wiU not do what he now thinks right after having received the service, but what 
 he valued it at when he had not yet got it. 
 
 V. — Questions of casuistry stated and solved, 
 (a) QUESTIONS STATED. 
 
 The following kind of questions are also attended -with difficulty. 
 Ought a man to give up all to his father and 
 obey him in all things, or, when he is sick, obey '^'^^^ F*^ ^ ™™" 
 his doctor, and when votmg lor one to serve the whicL it is doubt- 
 office of general, vote for the man most skilled f"! '^^° y^ ^^^ 
 
 o o- -T I 1 n n 1 ■ i prior claim upon 
 
 m war? Similarly, should a man do a service to us. 
 
 a friend in preference to a good man, and repay 
 
 Ms benefactor a kindness in preference to giving money to a 
 
 comrade, if it be impossible to do both ? 
 
 Thus much on these points. But we must look also into the following ques- 
 tions. Must we give all things and obey in all things our most honoured and 
 our dearest ones, or are there some things which we shall give to those less 
 honoured and less loved in preference to those who are more honoured and more 
 loved ? For instance, shall we obey our father in all things, whatsoever and 
 whenever he command us, or not always ? but, when we are sick, obey our 
 physician, when we are at war, obey one fitted to command ? And ought we to 
 vote for as general not our friend nor our father, but one who is skilled in war \ 
 
492 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 2. 
 
 In the same way to which of the two ought we to do a service, our friend or a 
 good man ? And should we do a favour to our comrade or repay our benefactor 
 and one to whom we may owe a debt if it is not possible to do them both a 
 good turn ? 
 
 (J) EXACT ANSWERS ARE IMPOSSIBLE. 
 
 Is it not the case that to determine this class of cases exaotly 
 „ , . is by no means easy! They are subject to all 
 
 dUCII C^S68 01 C3.S11- -j* y»T*r¥» • • 
 
 istry are too nu- kinds and Varieties oi dmerence in magnitude 
 merous and intri- ^^^ pettiuess, in point of houourablcness and 
 
 cate to be exactly . '■ . ' '■ 
 
 solved. imperativeness. 
 
 Now to settle all such oases individually and exactly is not easy. They are 
 subject to all kinds and varieties of difference and they differ from one another 
 variously in magnitude and insignificance, in honourableness and necessity. They 
 are not all of them equally small or great, honourable, or necessary. Sometimes 
 to tend a friend seems more imperative than to tend a good man, sometimes it is 
 more honourable to do a service to a benefactor than a friend, sometimes the 
 reverse ; hence it is not possible to lay down an exact rule on each one of these 
 points. 
 
 (c) TWO GENERAL RULES STATED. 
 
 But that we ought not to heap all things on the same individual 
 
 is clear enough. Also we should as a rule repay 
 
 everytMng tootle benefits rather than confer favours on our com- 
 
 same individual, radcs. For instance we should repay a debt to 
 
 ^' w ^i^c ^°"^ the man to whom it is due rather than make a 
 
 debts Defore you 
 
 give away. present to a comrade. 
 
 This is plain at any rate, that we should not give all things to the same 
 individual, but as a rule it is more just to repay our benefactors the benefits 
 they have conferred upon us than to gratify our comrade, for instance we should 
 repay a debt to one who has lent us money, rather than make a present to % 
 comrade. 
 
 id) EXCEPTIONS STATED AND CONSIDERED, ' 
 
 But, perhaps, not even this always, for instance if a man has' 
 . , , been ransomed from robbers should he ransom 
 
 1. A father may , . , , , i u i 
 
 have superior his ransomer, whoever he may be, or should he 
 claims even to a repay him, if he has not indeed been captured 
 ^ "■ but asks for repayment, or should he not ransom 
 
 his father in preference? (Surely this latter) for it would seem 
 as if one should ransom one's father even before oneself. As has 
 been already said, then, though generally speaking we should 
 repay a debt rather than bestow a favour, yet if the gift surpass 
 the repayment of the debt in honourableness or obligatoriness,, 
 we must incline rather to it : for sometimes it is not even fair 
 to requite, a favour^ as in the instance where one man does a 
 
Bk. iX. 2.] Translation. ' 493 
 
 favour to anotlier knowing him to be good, while he to whom the 
 return is to be made is, as he believes, a bad 
 
 o,. , nji«2. Cases in which 
 
 man. Sometimes we are not even bound to the repayment of 
 repay a loan by another loan. A bad man knows favours is not oWi- 
 very well that if he has lent his money to a good ^^ ™^' 
 man he will get it back again, but the other has no expectation 
 of getting his back from a bad man (and is not, therefore, bound 
 to lend it). If this is in truth- the case, the claim, is no longer 
 an equal one ; if it is not the case, but the one holds it to be the 
 case, still we shall not consider his conduct strange. 
 
 But I say as a general rule, because it may happen that the opposite course of 
 oonduot is the more .just. For instance, supposing a man to have been ransomed 
 from robbers, is he bound to ransom his ransomer whoever he may be, in return, 
 or to repay him, if he has not been captured but asks for the money back again, 
 or to ransom his father ? Surely the latter, as it would seem that he should 
 ransom his father even before himself. Therefore it is that we said that as a 
 general principle and as a rule we should pay a debt rather than gratify one 
 whom we love. But if the gratifying our friends is so necessary or so honourable 
 as to outweigh justice to our benefactors, we must incline rather to that side, 
 since it is not always just even to recompense our benefactor if that benefactor 
 be a bad man : for instance if a bad man has lent money to a good man, the 
 good man wiU not be bound to lend money to the bad, for the one lent his 
 money with the full knowledge that he would get it repaid, but the good man 
 having no expectation of getting it back again does not act unjustly in not 
 lending it. Whether then the good man is right in thinking about the bad man 
 that he will be evil also in this, and so refuses to return his favour, he acts 
 reasonably in refusing to advance the loan ; or if this is not the case, but he still 
 thinks that it is, and consequently does not requite him by an equal service, in 
 this case also he does not miss justice by much. For it is not fair that what- 
 ever a bad man gives a good, this he should also get from him. -The gift of the 
 bad man is not equal to that of the good, even though each does the same 
 Berrioe to the other. The good man's gift becotties the greater by the reputation 
 of the giver. Therefore it is that we have said, we must not always repay our 
 benefactor in preference to conferring favours on our friends. 
 
 (e) THE GENEEAL PEINCIPLB IS 'RENDER TO ALL THEIR DUE.' 
 
 As we have often already said, discussions about feeling and 
 fictions admit of precise definition only to the 
 degree to which the subiect matter of which they ^^\ °^, *'''*' ^ 
 
 ° . . "^ ■' on all other moral 
 
 treat, admits it. That, then, we must not give subjects, cannot be 
 the same service to all alike, and that we must laid dowmvith pre- 
 
 . . , . „ ' oise accuracy. 
 
 not give everything to a father, any more than 
 we must sacrifice everything to Zeus, is obvious enough. But 
 since parents and mothers, comrades and bene- 
 factors have different claims upon us, we must ^f^^''''^™"/ iiief^'t 
 render to each their due. And this is what men classes have differ. 
 seem actually to do. To marriage feasts they ent claims upon us. 
 
 ..,,,.•',,. . .I ° 1 , , •' Relatives are called 
 
 invite their relations ; smce they are bound by in on occasions of 
 the tie of a common race they naturally take family interest. 
 
494 "The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 2 
 
 their part in all acts connected with it ; for the same reason men 
 hold that relatives above others should attend funerals. 
 
 Parents would seem, thus, to have a special claim upon ua 
 
 for maintenance since we owe to them our own j 
 Parents are enti- and those who are the authors of our being it is 
 to^honour*-^"^ ^^ more honourable to provide for in this way even 
 
 than to provide for ourselves. And honour too 
 should be paid to parents as to" the Gods, only not all honour. 
 Father and mother for instance have not a right to the same 
 honour, nor to that which we pay a philosopher or our general,' 
 but to that which befits a father and to that similarly which befits 
 
 a mother. To every elder we should pay the re- 
 
 lespec , gpggj; ^Q TY^ich their age entitles them, by rising 
 
 up in their presence, making way for them at table and in other 
 
 similar matters. Comrades on the other hand and brothers have 
 
 a right to plainness of speech and to share our 
 Comrades to frank- ^^^g ^-^^ ^g^ rp^ relations, to fellow-tribes- 
 
 ness- and open- o p n • 
 
 handedness. Every men, to follow-citizens, to all Others we must 
 class has Its o\fn g^gj, |.j.„ |.q „jyg {hsi\x due, and seek to deter- 
 
 special claims, . \ . ^ lui i x. • l i 
 
 mine what properly belongs to each in respect of 
 relationship, virtue or usefulness. When the claims are of the 
 same sort, the decision is comparatively easy, where they are 
 
 different in kind, it becomes more difficult, still 
 
 w'foimd to°cra- ■^^ ™^^' ^°^ °^ t^"*' ground shrink from making 
 flict. it, but decide to the best of our powers. 
 
 As we have often remarked in our previous discussions, statements about 
 feelings and actions must correspond to the feelings and actions, varying from 
 time to time as they do. And it is not possible to give a precise and exact answer 
 on every point. 
 
 That we must not give the same things to all, nor everything to a father, as we 
 must not sacrifice everything even to Zeus, is obvious. But since we owe one 
 kind of duties to parents, a different kind to brothers, and a different set to 
 benefactors and to comrades, we must render to each their due and what properly 
 belongs to them. And this is what almost all men seem actually to do : to 
 weddings they invite not their benefactors nor their intimates but their relations;' 
 for, as their race is what they share with them, they call on them to partidpatei 
 in acts which have reference to it ; and they consider that relatives are especially; 
 bound to attend the funerals of relations for the same reason. 
 
 It would further seem that we are bound to provide support for our parents, 
 for them even before ourselves. Children are bound to maintain their parraitB in 
 existence, as they themselves derive their own existence from them. And we 
 ought also to pay them honour as we do to the Gods — yet not all honour nor 
 honour of every kind. Father and mother are not entitled to the same honour, 
 and to neither of them should we pay the honour due to the philosopher or the 
 general — that I mean which we naturally pay to these two ; but to a father we 
 should pay the honour due to a father, and to a mqther the honour due to a 
 mother. And we should further render to every elderly person the respect due 
 to their age ; a young man for instance should show his respect for an old 
 one by rising up in his presence, making way for him, and in many such 
 
Bk. IX. 3.] Trans'laiion. 49 5 
 
 ways. To comrades and brotliers we should manifest frankness and readiness 
 to impart, and so to relations, fellow-tribesmen, fellow-citizens, and all the rest. 
 And we must try to give to each, his due, taking into accouft; the relationship 
 in which each stands to oneself, or his usefulness, or his virtue, and measur- 
 ing by these the honours and the intimacy to which we should severally admit 
 them. 
 
 Where the claims are the same in kind the decision is comparatively easy. 
 What we ought to give to different relatives, or fellow-tribesmen, or fellow- 
 citizens, or any others who are similarly related to us, we shall easily discover. 
 But when the claims are various and diverse, to settle what we should render to 
 each is a task of more difficulty. Still we are not entitled for all that to abandon 
 the claims of equity, but we must decide in each case as best we can, and in 
 respect of all we must observe the conduct which propriety dictates. 
 
 Sg.fi'} vi. — Questions relating to the dissolution of rriendships. 
 
 .;■:,<(») GASES WHICH JUSTIFY A DISSOLUTION OF FEIENDSHirS. 
 
 BifBculties too surround the question whether we should or 
 should not breah off our friendship with those 
 
 who no longer continue to be what they were. „£ pL'Lsur'or in'te- 
 
 Where men are friends on grounds of interest or rest the friendship 
 
 of pleasure, it seems perfectly natural that they rend,"heSea- 
 
 should part comipany when these motives no siu-e or interest is 
 
 longer exist. It was by their interests or their ™ logger promoted 
 
 & -^ by them. 
 
 pleasure that they were bound, and where these 
 
 fail, it is natural that their affection should come to an end. But 
 
 a man would have a right to find fault if a friend „ .„ . , , 
 
 , ., 11 1 ■ T ■ r J2 2. J? 1 2. Friendships fall 
 
 while really lovmg mm tor profit or tor pleasure through where a 
 should profess that he loved him on the score of ™an has been de- 
 character. For as we said at the commencement moTive^ w°hich 
 of the discussion, the most fruitful source of dis- prompted the 
 sension is when men imagine they are friends "^° ^ '^' 
 on different grounds from what they really are. When, then, 
 a man has deceived himself and considers that he is loved on the 
 score of his character, while his friend did nothing of the kind, 
 he has himself td blame for it ; but when he is led astray by 
 his friend's profession he has a right to find fault with him who 
 has deceived him, even more than with the issuers of counterfeit 
 coin, inasmuch as the ill deed touches a point of more vital 
 interest. 
 
 We have still the following point to investigate — should we or should we not 
 break off friendships ! For it is matter of discussion whether in certain cases, 
 where our friend still continues to feel affection for us and to love us, we should 
 by our own act bring the friendship to an end. 
 
 ■ Now our sentence is that when men are friends on grounds of interest or pleasure, 
 it is not unreasonable for them to separate, when they no longer afford each other 
 the one or the other : if the pleasure or the profit come to an end, which was what 
 they reaUy oared for, it is quite natural that they should no longer feel affection, 
 
496 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. Vt. %. 
 
 But when those who really love from motives of interest or pleasure pretend thait 
 they love on the score of character and goodness, and are convicted of dissolving 
 the friendship on such unworthy grounds, they are guilty of a wrong and are 
 justly subject to reproach. For as we said at the commencement of the discuB- 
 siou, those friendships are sure to be full of complaints, where the two are not 
 loved and do not feel affection on the same grounds and in a similar way, and do 
 not think that they are loved in the way in which they actually are loved, but mga 
 deceived. For then when the deception is laid bare, they find fault with onlB 
 another. When, then, a man is deceived and thinks that he is loved on the score 
 of character, though his friend does nothiug of the kind, nor says anything 
 which befits one who feels affection on that ground, he shoxild by good right 
 blame himself for the mistake he has made ; but when he has been led astray by 
 his friend's pretence, he has a right to find fault with him for having led him 
 astray, even more than with those who issue false coin, inasmuch as the ill deed 
 touches more precious interests. Such then are the grounds which justify those, 
 whom pleasure or profit makes friends, in breaking off their friendships. 
 
 (^) CASES WHEEE CHANGES OF CHARACTEE LEAD TO A 
 DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 But if one man admit another to his friendship supposing him 
 to be good, and that other turn out evil and show 
 outab'ad^mSS himself to be such, is the first bound any longer 
 is sufficient cause to love him ? Is it not impossible for him to do 
 friendsMi°^°*^*'"' SO, sluce it is not everything that commands 
 afi'ection, but only the good? The evil neither 
 commands love nor ought to do so ; for we ought not to be lovers 
 of evil nor to make ourselves like the evil. But we have already 
 said that like is friend to like. 
 
 Should we then at once cast off the friendship ? Surely not, 
 
 except with those who are incurable in their 
 
 should^^^Xst^ be wickedness. If they can still be reclaimed, we 
 
 made to reclaim are bound to help them to recover their charactei 
 
 even more than their property, inasmuch as to 
 
 do so is more excellent and more properly a work of friendship. 
 
 Still he who does break off his friendship cannot be regarded aa 
 
 ctiug unreasonably, as he was never a friend with the man in the 
 
 character which he actually bears. Since, then, he is unable to 
 
 reclaim him now he has altered, he parts company with him. 
 
 To take next the other case of the one continuing as he was 
 
 , ^. . and the other greatly improving, so that there 
 
 4. If agam one • i • r i i , • • . 
 
 greatly advances in comes a wicie mtcrval between them m virtue, is 
 
 virtue the other t]^ second bound to treat the first as a friend, oi 
 
 remains stationary, • •, • -i i ^ i ■ x i o mi 
 
 their friendship IS it impossible for him to do SO ? The questior 
 naturally comes to ■v^-jn be best answered bj'^ looking at an extrenK 
 *"*" ■ case; such for instance as where the friendshij 
 
 was contracted in childhood. If in this case the one were t( 
 remain a child in intellect, the other were to develope into a mai 
 
3k. TX. 3.] Translation. 497 
 
 of the noblest kind, how could they continue to be friends, when 
 they neither take delight in the same pursuits, nor are pleased or 
 pained by the same circumstances. Indeed they will no longer 
 find any pleasure in one another, but without this it is impossible, 
 as we shewed, for them to be friends, for they cannot live together. 
 But this point we have already discussed. 
 
 Ought the one, then, to treat the other exactly as if he had 
 never been his friend? Should he not rather 
 keep in mind their former intimacy? And just TndtXna 
 as we think that we ought to do favours to friends kindly recollection 
 rather than to strangers, on this same principle "* *''^'^ ^^ "'*'" 
 we should give something to those who ^a«e been 
 our friends on the score of previous friendship, that is to say 
 where the friendship has not been broken off on account of 
 extreme wickedness. 
 
 But if one man love another for his character and admit him to his friendship 
 siipposing him to he good, but that other should turn out evil, or should appear 
 to his friend to do so, is the first bound to continue to love him or may he break 
 ofl the connexion ? We conclude that it is not possible for one to be loved who 
 does not seem good. It is goodness that commands love, badness has not even a 
 right to do so ; for no one has a right to be a lover of evil, nor to assimilate 
 himself to the bad ; but if he loves it, he is bound to grow like it, for we have 
 already said that it is like that is friends with like. 
 
 Should we then break off the friendship at once ? Ought we not rather not to 
 break it off at once with all, but only with those who are incurably bad 1 With 
 those who may still be cured of their disease and set right we must not break off 
 our friendship, but must use all diligence to help them to regain their character and 
 to preserve their virtue for them even more than their property. Virtue is more 
 exceUeut than property, and to help one'rf friends in respect of this is more truly 
 ain act of friendship than to guard their wealth for them. If, then, he who has 
 the power is bound to ward off poverty from a friend's substance, much more is 
 he bound to join in the recovery of his virtue, all the more as it is especially 
 appropriate in him to do so, since it is with a view to virtue that they are friends. 
 The better course then is to continue to love one's friend even when he has grown 
 evil and to seek to restore him. Still if a man should break off the friendship at 
 once, he is not thought to act unreasonably. He made friends in the first instance 
 not with a bad man but with a good, and in ceasing to love one who is no longer 
 good, he does wrong to no one ; if then he is unable to recover the good man . 
 who has altered, he gives up his friendship with him. Supposing then our 
 friend who was good to become evil, this is how we must act in breaking off our 
 friendship. 
 
 But if of two friends one should grow very much better than he was, and 
 should greatly alter in point of virtue, the other should remain as he was — should 
 the grood man treat the other who is not such, as a friend ? or is it not possible for 
 him to do so, but must he break off the friendship ? The matter becomes plainest 
 where the interval is very great. For suppose two children to be friends, drawn 
 together by similarity of age, by living together and by sharing one another's 
 amusements, and when they come to men's estate the one should turn out good 
 and be a man in all things, and the other should remain with a child's character 
 to the end, how can they be friends, if they neither taie pleasure in the same 
 objects, nor are pained or pleased at the same things ? No ; one will not even find 
 pleasure in the other, as neither has anything by the doing of which he can con- 
 ciliate and give pleasure to his friend. And fnither they will not even be able 
 
 K K 
 
498 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 4. 
 
 to live together ; yet without these things friendship caimot be maintained, as 
 we have already said. 
 
 Shoiild the good man then he disposed to the other exactly in the way he 
 would have been, if he had never been his friend, or should he not rather bear in 
 mind their former intimacy ?' And as we think that we are bound to oblige onr 
 friends in preference to strangers, on the same principle are we not also bonn4 
 to do more for those who hcuoe been onr friends than for those who have never 
 been so 1 We ought, therefore, it would seem, to recognise some obligation on 
 the ground of previous friendship, unless that friendship has been broken off for 
 flagrant wickedness. 
 
 XI.— EXAMINATION OF DISPOSITIONS ALLIED TO 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 i.— Of Self-love. 
 
 f 
 
 (a) CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OP FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Now our different friendly relations to others, and the various 
 
 characteristics by which friendships are defined, 
 
 fineT— '"^ '^ ^^' seem to have been derived from a man's feelings 
 
 (1) as wishing well ^^ himself. Men define a friend as one who 
 and doing well to wishcs and does good, or what appears to him 
 
 (2) as^°hlng for S°°^> *« ^'s neighbour unselfishly ; or as one that 
 one's friend's life wishes for his friend's own sake his fi-iend's con- 
 ('sf M Sg toge- tiiiiied existence and life — (this is the feeling that 
 ther and following mothers entertain for their children, or friends 
 the same pursuits, ^jjg^j. j^^yg {j^^ a quarrel for one another) ; others 
 
 (4) as sympathising . . r- i i • a.- 
 
 in one's friend's agam represent- mm as one who passes Jus tune 
 joys and griefs. y^if}^ ]jjg neighbour, and follows the same pursuite^ 
 or as one who sympathises with his neighbour's sorrows and joys. 
 This is a feature again which is most frequently to be seen in 
 mothers. It is by one or other of these attributes that friendship 
 is defined. 
 
 Such, then, are the grounds on which friendships may be properly broken off. 
 But we have still some points we may discuss about friendship itself. The 
 relations of friendship and the attributes by which friendship is constitated 
 would seem to have a kind of measure and starting-point in the duties which a 
 man owes to himself. Friends expect from one another what a man does for 
 himself. 
 
 Consequently they define a friend .as one who wishes and does good to his 
 friend for that friend's own sake, or as one who wishes for its own sake for Ma 
 friend's continued life and preservation, which is the feeling that mothers have 
 for their children ; for they wish for their children's own sake that they should 
 live and prosper, since often, even though they may not be loved by their children 
 or even known by them, they still pray for their happiness and prosperity ; this 
 too is the feeling of friends, who have had a quarrel or who have been alighted, 
 but who yet, as far as they are concerned, continue to cherish their previoia 
 affection ; they wish their friends all good, without hoping to participate in this 
 good themselves, just for their friend's own sake. Others again define a friend 
 
5k. IX. 4.] Translation. 499 
 
 \& one who sympathises with his friend in sorrow and in joy, which thing again 
 fl what mothers beyond all others do in the case of their chiltou. From one or 
 rther of these things the definition of friendship is derived, oeing drawn from 
 iie definition of those who exhibit the characteristics in the same way as the 
 lefinition of the temperate man furnishes us with the definition of temperance. 
 3noh then are the definitions of friendship and of friends. But they are taken 
 Etom the duties owed by a man to himself, as has been already said. 
 
 (J) A GOOD MAN IS HIS OWN TRUE FEIEND. 
 
 Now each of these characteristics is to be found in a good man's 
 relations to himself, while in all others they are „, , , . 
 to be found just so far as they consider them- tics are all realised 
 selves to be good. Virtue and the good man i^ ^ gooti ™a'»'s 
 
 •L /., ■ T T ■ J ^ relation to himself. 
 
 jeem, as we have oiten said, a kind ot measure 
 of what each should be. 
 
 First, the good man is at unison with himself and desires the 
 same ends with every part of his soul; so too he ,,, tt • 
 srishes for himself what is good and what im- -jrith himself, and 
 presses him as such, and does good to himself ; it wishes and does 
 is the special trait of the good to labour for that ^°° " ™^^ ' 
 which is good and on his own account : for he does this for the 
 sake of his intellectual nature, and this is held to be most pro- 
 perly himself. He wishes too for his own con- 
 tinued life and preservation, and most of all for (2) he wishes for 
 flrnt of his thinking part ; for existence is good to tion for himself, 
 a, good man. Yet it is for himself that each 
 wishes good, and no one chooses to become something other than 
 b is and that that new self should have everything, (he cannot, 
 therefore, wish even to become God), for though G-od has even 
 now the good, still it is by being that which He is. But ' thought ' 
 would seem to constitute a man's personality, or to constitute it 
 toore than anything besides. Such an one wishes, moreover, to 
 pass his time in his own company ; he does this 
 with pleasure, as the memories of his past deeds I^'m'^^oS* 
 are delightful to him and his hopes for the future 
 W good, and such memories and such hopes are pleasant. He 
 has besides plenty of objects of contemplation for his intelligence. 
 And he sympathises with himself in sorrow and 
 in icy: the same things are ever pleasant, ever C*)^'® sympathises 
 
 „ • ji^ii 1 • , ,1 • J.1 ii with himself m 
 
 pamral to mm, not one thing now, another tben, gon-ow and in joy. 
 for he has, as we may say, nothing to repent of. 
 Seeing, then, that each of these characteristics is to be found in 
 the good man in his relations to himself, and seeing that he is 
 Hected to his friend as to himself— a friend being a kind of 
 second self, friendship is, therefore, thought to consist in one or 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 4. 
 
 other of these things, and a friend to be one in whom these 
 dispositions are to be found. 
 
 Wiat a true friend is to his friend, that in all respects is a good man to him- 
 self ; and the good man and he who thinks himself good is in the truest sense a 
 friend to himself. The fact that this cannot be said of all, but the bad are 
 no true friends to themselves, does not bear upon our present argument. What 
 the good and the excellent do is what is properly distinctive of man and of our 
 common nature. It is virtue and the good man that are the measures of what 
 feelings and what acts are proper to our human nature ; the objects which the 
 evil seek are not regarded as proceeding from our human nature. For a decision 
 on such points we go not to those who are sick but to those who are whole. But 
 that a good man does perform all the offices of friendship to h imself is plain. 
 In the first place he is at unity with himself and desires the same objects in 
 respect of both his rational and his irrational nature and does not, like the man, 
 lacking in self-restraint, seek conflicting objects, while his feelings are at war 
 with his reason. Secondly the good m^n wishes what is good for himself, both 
 those things which are really good and promote virtue, and also those things 
 which appear good as being aids to virtue. Moreover he wishes what is good for 
 himself for that self's own sake, while the bad man, if he wishes it at all, wishes 
 it not for his true self's sake. It is his intellectual nature that makes man man, 
 and it is for the sake of this that the good man does aU things and seeks all 
 good things, but the bad man does nothing for its sake. The bad man takes as 
 the end of his acts, not pure contemplation but evil pleasure, and so he does not 
 wish good for himself for that self's own sake. Thirdly the good man wishes 
 also for life and preservation for himself, and most of all for the continued ex- 
 istence and preservation of his intellectual nature, and he does everythiug which 
 he thinks good for himself and which contributes to his existence and preservatiem 
 But of the rest those that are not wholly perverted from the right, but are ao 
 circumstanced as to be able to imagine themselves good, seek also themselves what 
 seems good and wish for life and preservation for themselves. But they are 
 enabled to do this, because they are to some extent like the good. But they who 
 are thoroughly bad and workers of nnhaJlowed deeds are not in this condition. 
 They do not follow after what seems good, but their wishes lead them in one way 
 their desires in another. This is the condition even of the self -controlled, but 
 much more is it the state of those who are prevented by cowardice or sloth from 
 doing what they think to be best for themselves. They, therefore, neither pursue 
 what seems to them good, nor wish for themselves life and preservation. Some 
 there are who from the many evil deeds that they have done have become objects 
 of detestation on account of their exceeding wickedness, and they fly from life and 
 make away with themselves. But the good man does wish for >iiTnap1f to live 
 on, as existence is a good to the good man ; for he pursues the life of contemplation, 
 as the personality of each consists in thought, or in this more than in anything 
 besides. But he who wishes existence and preservation for his irrational nature 
 and wishes good for a self which has deviated from its proper nature, cannot be 
 said to wish good for himself, but for that into which he has been perverted. 
 Moreover each wishes good for himself, expecting to remain what he is at 
 present ; but if he were to be conscious that he had passed into something otha: 
 than he was, he would not choose that that altered self should be possessed of all 
 good things ; one might just as well wish good to some one else, as to one self 
 when entirely altered. But no one is content that some one else should have 
 everything that is good, for granted that all good things are even now the lot of 
 God, still He too is that which He is, whatever that may be. Consequently we 
 are not content, but we go on praying that goods may be granted to ourselves or 
 to our friends, to our friends because they are in a way our second selves. Once 
 more, the good man also wishes to pass his life in his own company, as he is self- 
 sufficing and pleasant withal to himself ; he takes delight in remembering by 
 himself what he has done and in hoping that he will still do good things and 
 that good will befall him, and he has besides an abundance of noble objects 
 
Bk. IX. 4.] Translation. 
 
 501 
 
 for his thoughts to contemplate. All these things make him most agreeable to 
 himself, and he takes pleasure in his leisure moments in being alone with him- 
 self and in his own society. • 
 
 (c) BUT A BAD MAN IS HIS OWN WOEST ENEMY. 
 
 The question however whether a man can or cannot have 
 friendship for himself may be dismissed for the 
 present. It would seem as if he could have it ^ay\t ^sSd pr^ 
 so far as two or more of the above conditions are ™ionaiiy to be 
 fulfilled. This is also confirmed by the fact that ^^^"^ ^*^ ^- 
 friendship, when pushed to its greatest length, 
 becomes like the feeling a man entertains for himself. 
 
 But the traits we have mentioned look as if they were to be 
 found in the majority, bad though they be. Is _ 
 it not the case, though, that they are to be found oiJy so for as Jen 
 only so far as the majority are pleasing in their either are, or think 
 own eyes and consider themselves to be good ? ^""^ ^^^' ^°° ' 
 In the case of the wholly bad at any rate and workers of 
 unhallowed deeds they are not to be found at all, ^, , , , , 
 
 11!. i 1 mi The hopelessly de- 
 
 and don t even appear to be so. iney are praved don't even 
 scarcely to be found at all, even in the bad. Such s«™ *" ^^ "" 
 
 , . -ii ii 1 j_i • -1 friendly terms with 
 
 are at variance with themselves, their wishes themselves, but 
 pointing in one direction, their desires pulling in rather to loathe 
 another, as is the case with men of imperfect emseves. 
 self-control ; such choose, in place of what they themselves 
 iecognize to be good for them, what is pleasant indeed but harm- 
 ful, while others of them are induced by cowardice and by sloth 
 to abstain from doing what they really consider to be the best for 
 •themselves. Those once more by whom many dreadful deeds have 
 been done and whose wickedness has made them objects of detes- 
 tation, come to hate life itself and make away with themselves. 
 And bad men seek companions to pass their time ^ 
 
 -,1 T , ... T^■ 11 While all the bad 
 
 witn and shun their own company. Disagreeable aUke shun as far 
 memories crowd in upon them when they are by as may be their 
 themselves, and they have only what is disagree- ''^™ company, 
 able to look forward to, while when they are with others they 
 forget their troubles ; having nothing to draw forth afi'ection in 
 them they are conscious of no affection for themselves. Thus also 
 they do not rejoice in their own joys nor grieve over their own 
 sorrows : their soul is at strife with itself; part of it is made by 
 its evil nature to grieve over the enjoyments which it is denied 
 while the other part of it rejoices, part of it pulls in this way the 
 other part in that, dragging the man, as it were, asunder. And 
 if it so be, that it is not possible to be pained and pleased at one 
 
502 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 4. 
 
 and the same moment, then we must say that after a very little 
 while the man is pained that he was pleased, and would not wish, 
 if he could help it, to have found such things pleasant to him ; 
 for the bad are full of regrets. 
 
 We conclude, then, that the bad man does not seem to be 
 friendly disposed even to himself, because he has nothing in him 
 to call forth affection. 
 
 But the evil want companions with whom to pass their time and shun their 
 own company ; when they are by themselyes, unpleasant memories crowd in 
 upon them, unpleasant expectations haunt them ; and they forget them when they 
 are with others. Once more the good man more than otliers rejoices and grieves 
 in sympathy with himself, because his wishes and his desires are at one and his 
 rational nature is not at variance with his emotional. For thia reason the same 
 thing is ever painful to him, the same thing ever pleasant, for he is unchangeable 
 as far as may be. The evil are not thus. They have nothing in them to call 
 forth affection and so feel no affection for themselves. Consequently they do not 
 sympathise with themselves in joy or in sorrow. Their soul is at strife with itself, 
 and the irrational natiu'e wars against the rational ; the irrational nature is 
 grieved at having to desist from what is evil, but the rational nature does not 
 then share in its grief but is pleased. So is it also in the opposite case. And 
 generally spealdng the one part pulls in one direction, the other in the other, 
 di-agging the soul asunder. And if we have to admit that it is not possible to be 
 pained and pleased at one and the same time, then we shall say that after a little 
 the soul is pained because just now it was pleased, for it did not wish that such 
 a pleasure should have been felt by it. The evil are full of regrets. It appears, 
 then, that the bad man is not friendlily disposed towards himself, as he has nothing 
 in him to call forth affection. 
 
 id') PRACTICAL BXHOETATION. 
 
 But if to be in such a condition as this is very miserable, we 
 „ , .„ , must earnestly shun vice, earnestly try to be 
 
 Woodness will make , -x ,-, • -n i . i j 
 
 a man friends with good. In this Way a man Will be at once placed 
 himself and with on a friendly footing with himself and be made 
 
 all the world. » • i ■. r i • • i i 
 
 a Iriend with his neighbour. 
 
 If to be in such a case is the height of misery we must shun wickedness with 
 aU diligence and strive each one of us to be good and excellent, for by these 
 means we shall be placed on a footing of friendship alike with ourselves and 
 with our neighbours. Seeing, then, that what a man does to himself he should 
 do for his friend likewise — for one ought to love one's friend as oneself— the 
 friend being a second self — it is plain that what the good man wishes and does 
 for himself, these are the obligations of friendship and in them friendship 
 consists. 
 
 But the question whether the love a man has for himself is, or is not, friend- 
 ship, may be dismissed for the present. Friendship implies two or three, as is 
 clear from what we have already said. If a man chooses to call a man's relation 
 to himself friendship, it may be regarded as friendship so far as there are 
 different parts in man and the feelings are at peace with the reason. Moreover, 
 because friendship in its most perfect fonn approaches the love a man has for 
 himself, this latter also may be called friendship. 
 
BL IX. 5.] Translation. 503 
 
 ii. — Goodwill. 
 
 (a) DIFFERENCE OF GOODWILL FEOM FEIENDSHIP AND PEOM 
 AI"FECTION. 
 
 Goodwill is a kind of friendly disposition and yet it is not 
 friendship. It can be felt towards strangers and 
 without being recognised, friendship can not be. Goodwill differs 
 This indeed has already been insisted on. Yet ^^^ m^L-^wli 
 it is not affection either. It has no impetuosity strangers, and 
 or emotion, but these are the concomitants of ^ognked ■ ^™^ ^^' 
 affection. And affection implies intimacy, whereas 
 goodwUl may be conceived on a sudden, which is what happens 
 in the case of combatants in the arena. The spec- , 
 
 ,, nj- jj. ji.T. j-i &om affection in 
 
 tators grow well-disposed towards them and wish having no intensity 
 
 them success, though not prepared to help them, and not implying 
 
 For, as we have said, men become well-disposed ™ ™^^' 
 on a sudden and feel a liking in a superficial way. 
 
 Goodwill is like friendship, and yet is not friendship. We feel goodwill for 
 those with whom we are not friends, and goodwill may spring up towards a 
 stranger and without the knowledge of the ohject of it. But this is not possible 
 in the case of friendship, as we have explained above at greater length. 
 
 Thus goodwill is not friendship ; it does not even seem to be affection. Affection 
 implies a certain impulse and movement towards the object of it. But' goodwill 
 is not of this chaiaoter. The well-disposed wish good to those to whom they are 
 well-disposed, and yet do not seek their company. And again, affection implies 
 intimacy, as it is brought about only by time and intercourse, whereas goodwill 
 may come all on a heap (if one may use the expression,) on those who experience 
 it ; which is the way with spectators and the combatants in the arena. The specta- 
 tors grow weU-disposed towards the combatants as soon as they see them winning 
 and give them their good wishes, but they are not prepared to help theic efforts, as 
 ihey have no affection for them from having loved them long and intimately, but 
 were pleased with them the moment they saw them, and so their love is only 
 superficial, and this is the character of goodwill. 
 
 (5) EELATION OF GOODWILL TO FEIENDSHIP. 
 
 ■ Now goodwill seems to be the originating cause of friendship 
 
 in the same way as pleasure in the sight of a 
 
 person is the originating cause of love. No one g^el'^j^ >dsMp! 
 
 feels love who is not first pleased with his 
 
 darling's outward form ; and yet he who does take pleasure in 
 
 another's beauty does not for all that fall in love unless he comes 
 
 besides to regret his darling's absence and to feel a desire for his 
 
 presence. In the same way it is not possible for men to be 
 
 friends without becoming first well-disposed to one another, and 
 
 yet the well-disposed are not for all that friends. They only get 
 
504- The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 5. 
 
 as far as wishing good to those to whom they are well-disposed, 
 but are not prepared to help them in their eflforts or to give 
 themselves trouble on their account. 
 
 Hence we might speak of it by a metaphor as inert friendship ; 
 
 yet when it has gone on for a good time and has 
 but requires time passed into an intimacy it developes into friend- 
 maturr "X^^into ship, friendship of the true kind, not friendship 
 friendship, after prompted by either pleasure or interest, since 
 teue'friendshipr^^ goodwill itsclf does uot TCst ou these. He who 
 
 has been benefited returns goodwill for the 
 benefits he has received and is right in doing so, but he who 
 wishes to do another a kindness, only in the hope of being en- 
 riched by his neighbour, would seem to be well-disposed not so 
 much to his neighbour as to himself ; just as a man would scarcely 
 be reckoned a friend, if he serves his neighbour with a view to his 
 own profit. 
 
 So as a rule goodwill is felt on account of virtue and kindliness 
 
 in cases where one man impresses another as 
 fortVby^the°B§ht noble or brave or something of the kind, as we 
 of nobiuty and ex- illustrated by the case of combatants in the 
 
 ceUence. ^^^^^^ 
 
 Thns then goodwill seems to be the begirming of friendship in the same way 
 as pleasure in the sight of a person is the beginning of love. And just as it is 
 not possible to fall in love without first being charmed by the fair form of the 
 loved object — though you may be charmed without falUng in love, for yon cam 
 only be said to be in love when you miss your darling, if absent, and eagerly 
 desire his presence — ^in the same way it is not possible for two to become friends 
 without being first well-disposed to one another, but they may be well-disposed 
 without being friends. For the well-disposed wish good to those to whom they 
 are well-disposed, but are not prepared to actively help them or to put themselves 
 to trouble about them. Consequently one might speak of goodwill in meta- 
 phorical language as inert friendship, for when time has passed over it and it has 
 grown into intimacy it developes into friendship. 
 
 And friendship not for interest nor for pleasure's saie, but friendship which 
 rests on goodness. One man becomes well-disposed to another on account of 
 virtue or excellence, when the one appears noble or brave in the other's eyes, or 
 something of the kind. Whereas he who wishes to do another a good tnm for 
 the sake of pleasui'e or. profit is not really well-disposed to that man but to 
 himself, just as he is not a real friend either. In the same way he who wishes 
 good to his benefactor because he has received benefits from him, will be properly 
 speaking weU-disposed, but as he is only doing what is just and repaying 
 gratitude for benefits he has received, he seems to be rejoicing not in his firiend's 
 excellence but in his own goodness. 
 
 We conclude then that goodwill is neither friendship nor affection but a 
 beginning of friendship ; but that when coupled with time, intimacy, and the 
 other requisites for friendship, it grows into friendship, friendship too of the kind 
 which rests on goodness and virtue. 
 
Bk. IX. 6.] Translation. " 505 
 
 iii. — tTnaniinity. 
 
 i (a) ITS PROVINCE DETERMINED. 
 
 ^* Unanimity also has a friendly character, and this is what 
 distinguishes it from mere coincidence of opinion. 
 This latter might be found among those who are Unanimity differs 
 complete strangers to one another. Nor is it enraoTopiMon"^'^" 
 customary to speak of those who are of one mind 
 on some special subject, as for instance about the movements of 
 the heavens, as unanimous, for to be ijnanimous on such points 
 has nothing friendly about it — but we do talk of states as unani- 
 mous, when they are of one mind about their 
 interests, and adopt the same line of policv and ^|™? comcidenoe 
 
 ' ^ ^ i.- o J.1 i of opinion on proc- 
 
 foUow out a common course 01 action. 80 that tied matters, and 
 it is on matters of practice that men are unani- P"™*^ °^ common 
 mous, on practical matters that is to say of im- ' 
 
 portance, and such as concern both parties or all alike. States 
 for instance are unanimous when all the citizens agree that offices 
 should be elective or to make an alliance with the Lacedemonians, 
 or to put Pittacus in power so long as he also wished it himself; 
 but when each one of the citizens wishes to rule in his own 
 person, as is represented in ' the Phanissae,' then they fall out. 
 For unanimity does not consist in each wishing for a particular 
 thing for himself, but in all wishing to see it in the same hands. 
 For instance, the people and the upper classes are unanimous 
 when they both wish the best men to be in office, as in that case 
 all alike may get what they desire. 
 
 Unanimity also has itself a friendly character and generally accompanies 
 iriendahip. Unanimity consists not in holding the same views or in mere coin- 
 cidence of opinion. Such coincidence of opinion might be found among those 
 who are absolute strangers to one another, as there is nothing to prevent their 
 holding the same views on the same subjects and having the same knowledge of 
 the same points, even though they know nothing of one another. But unanimity 
 exists only between those who are associated together and are on a footing of 
 friendship. We speak for instance of states as unanimous, when they are of 
 one mind about their interests and agree upon and carry out the same line of 
 policy. 
 
 Unanimity is, then, a coincidence of view in friends, a coincidence of view 
 not on theoretical but on practical matters, and on practical matters of considera- 
 tion and importance. For in respect of trifles neither states, nor friends, are 
 spoken of as unanimous. For instance we do not tali about men being 
 unanimous about staying at home or going to the market, or doing or saying 
 anything from which no great benefit or harm is likely to result. On all these 
 and such like points no one would say they were unanimous. 
 
 But we do use the term where the matters, are important and to the interest of 
 both the friends, or of the state at large : for instance when the whole state is 
 agreed that its magistrates should not be returned to office by lot, or succeed in 
 rotation but should be regularly elected, or when it is agreed to conclude an 
 
5o6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 6. 
 
 alliance with the Lacedemonians, or to do anything else which is important and 
 which makes a difference to the state at large. In the same way we speak of 
 friends as unanimous when they adopt the same course of life and are agreed as 
 to their highest interests and shim and pursue alike whatever tends to the hurt 
 and to the advantage of both of them. For those who are to be unanimous must 
 not only seek the same objects, but also seek them in the same way in aJl their 
 bearings. For instance if both of two friends are agreed that one or other 
 of them should be the guide of the other's life, but they should not agree as to 
 which of the two, but each should wish to take the oflSce on himself, then they 
 woidd not be unanimous ; for in that case, though .they have the same object ju 
 view, they yet do not wish it to be realised in the same way. And in states also 
 all the citizens will be unanimous in their choice of magistrates, when either all 
 choose the same individual, or all choose the best men, and not each one himself, 
 as Euripides represents them as doing in the Phanissae. In this latter case a 
 result is not arrived at which pleases aU, and consequently there is not unanimity. 
 But when all do get what they desire, then they are unanimous. 
 
 (B) FORMAL DEFINITION OF UNAl^IMITT. 
 
 It appears ttus that unanimity is ' political friendsMp,' and 
 J , , this is the acceptation of the term in ordinarv 
 
 and so may be de- t^ i ^ x • j. x , 
 
 fined as a kind of language, it has reiereuce to our interests and 
 'political friend- ^11 that concems the general tenor of our lives. 
 
 Thus, then, unanimity is a kind of political friendship, and this is the ordinary 
 acceptation of the term. Its province is practical matters and what concems our 
 interests and the general tenor of our lives, aH which fall under the sphere of 
 ' social science.' 
 
 (c) DEPENDENCE OF UNANIMITY ON VIETUE. 
 
 Now unanimity of this kind is to be found among the good. 
 
 They being, if one may use the expression, ^ given 
 'Tis the good alone up to ' the Same objocts, are of one mind with 
 mous, themselves, and with one another. Their wishes 
 
 are fixed and constant, and do not ebb and flow 
 like the Euripus ; and their wishes point to what is at once 
 just and expedient, and their desires are shared in by all of them 
 alike. 
 
 But the wicked cannot be unanimous, except to a very limited 
 ., ., extent, any more than they can be friends : for 
 
 the evU are sns- , , t .i • i , , , 
 
 peoted and suspi- they have their heart set upon covetousness 
 cious of one an- where their interests are concerned, while, where 
 toil and voluntary services are in question, they 
 lag behind. When each wishes for advantages for himself, he 
 keeps his eye on his neighbour's doings and thwarts them ; for 
 if they don't watch one another, the common interest suffers. 
 The result is that they are ever quarrelling, as they are exact- 
 ing on one another but are not themselves willing to do their fair 
 share. 
 
BL IX. 1.] Translation. 507 
 
 Unanimity is to be found among the good, they are of one mind with them- 
 selyes and with one another, being given up, if one may so say, to the same 
 objects. The wishes of suoh are iixed and stable and do n(jt ebb and flow and 
 shift about like the Buripua, and they wish for what is at onoe just and expedient 
 and aU aUke desire it. 
 
 But the evil cannot be unanimous — except to a very limited extent — any more 
 than they can be steadfast friends, as they have their heart set upon oovetousuess 
 i'^nd each seeks to get for himself a larger share of whatever is profitable, while 
 in labours and in voluntary services undertaken in each other's behalf they are 
 ever seeking to get out of them ; and each holding it is his due to have little 
 trouble but great advantage is for ever calling his neighbour to account, and 
 exacting from him the full amount of voluntary service and hindering him from 
 enjoying his advantages as much as he likes, considering them too great for him, 
 while he gives him his full share of disagreeable tasks. The result is that having 
 no eye to the public advantage, but each an eye to his own, they quickly fall out, 
 for they snap what holds them together, and that is a sense of community of 
 interest and unanimity. But when the tie that holds them together is snapped 
 they can no longer be united. The result is that they quarrel, as they demand 
 friendly offices from one another but are not themselves prepared to do what is 
 just. So it comes about that among the bad there can be no unanimity, but only 
 among the good. 
 
 iv. — The relation of Benefactor and Eecipient. 
 (a) DIFFICULTY STATED. 
 
 Now benefactors seem to love those they have benefited more 
 than the receivers of favours love those that have 
 done them ; and this fact as being something tors'^iove the°red- 
 paradoxical is made a subject of speculation. pients of their fa- 
 
 vours better than 
 these recipients 
 we must now proceed to investigate the following point — joyg them ? 
 why it is that benefactors love the recipients of their favours 
 more than they are themselves loved by them. The point attracts attention as 
 being contrary to what we should naturally expect. 
 
 {b) POPULAR EXPLANATION OF THE DIFFICULTY. 
 
 The popular explanation is, that it is because the one are in the 
 position of debtors the other of creditors; as, then, 
 in the case of regular loans, debtors wish that The popiUar expia- 
 those to whom they owe the debt should cease two^°stand to one 
 to be, while the creditors are ever anxious about another in the re- 
 the safety of their debtors, in the same way ^d°debtor.""^"°' 
 benefactors wish that the recipients of their kind- 
 ness may continue to live, that thus they may get back favours 
 from them, while these don't specially care to repay what they 
 have received. Epicharmus would, perhaps, maintain that in say- 
 ing this they are regarding human nature in a dark light ; still 
 it is human nature to act thus, for the majority are forgetful of 
 kindnesses and more anxious to receive than to do good. 
 
5o8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 7. 
 
 The majority say that the reason why benefactors feel the greater affection is 
 the same as that which makes creditors also love those to whom they have lent, 
 even though they are not loved by their debtors. They who have made a loan 
 wish the safety of their debtors and promote it in every way in order that they 
 may get their money back again, but the debtors have no such feeling witli 
 respect to their creditors. These would be willing that their creditors shouia 
 cease to exist, considering that they wiU be better off by being thus relieved of 
 their debt. The same is the case, they maintain, with tiiese. Benefactors, they 
 say, wish that the recipients of their kindness should live and be kept safe, 
 supposing that they will thus get a requital of their favours, whereas the parties 
 benefited do not greatly desire the safety of their benefactors. For men do not 
 so much care to repay kindnesses as to get them repaid. This is what appears 
 to the majority the cause from looking at ungrateful and evil men and, as 
 Epicharmus says, from viewiug human nature on the dark side. Yet such 
 is human nature. The majority are ungrateful, and more anxious to receive 
 kindnesses than to do them. 
 
 (c) A DEEPER EXPLANATION OFFERED. 
 
 Yet the cause would seem to lie deeper in nature, and not really 
 to be explained by the case of those who have 
 Lt tr^be ft^°nd' ™f^<^^ a, loan. In their case there is no question 
 for— ' of affection but a simple wish for the preser- 
 
 L?'L''redpitt nation of their debtors in order to get back their 
 of his favoiurs like money ; on the other hand those who have done 
 any ajtist loves his ^ service do feel friendly to and love those who 
 have been benefited by them, though they are of 
 no advantage to them and never may be so. The same pheno- 
 menon is to be observed in artists ; every one of them loves his 
 handiwork more than he would be loved by it, were it endowed 
 with life. Perhaps this is most conspicuously the case with poets. 
 They love to distraction their own poems, doting on them like 
 children. Very like this is it with benefactors. The person 
 benefited is their handiwork, consequently they love him more 
 than the handiwork loves its producers. Now 
 ^\woi°''hS t^® ^^^son of this is that existence is desirable 
 own personality ao- to and Valued by all. We exist in being active, 
 tuaiised and in- ^^^^ ■ jjj 1-.^,^^ g^^^j doing. So that the creator 
 
 tensified. i. i /^ i • , . . t j 
 
 01 a work nnds in a way his existence actuahsed 
 
 in the work he has made. Therefore he loves his work because 
 
 he loves existence. And this is only natural. For what before 
 
 is only potential, this the work stamps as actual. 
 
 At the same time to the benefactor the doing of his act is 
 
 honourable, and so he takes pleasure in that in 
 enjoys* the sense which this finds its Sphere, but to the recipient 
 and the memory of no Sense of honour accrues from the transaction, 
 honour won. y^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ p^.^^^ ^j^ j^^^^^^, .^ ^^^^ pleasant, 
 
 less desirable. Moreover while of the present it is the actual 
 
Bk. IX. 7.] Translation, 509 
 
 p existence that is pleasant, of the future the hope, of the past the 
 memory, the actual is at once the most pleasant and the most 
 intensely loved. Therefore for the doer of the Wfeneflt his work 
 abides, for the sense of honour is lasting, but for the recipient 
 the profitableness soon passes away. The memory too of noble 
 deeds is pleasant, but of advantages gained not pleasant at all 
 or less so, whereas with expectation the reverse seems to hold 
 good. 
 
 Moreover loving is like the doing of something, being loved 
 like the suffering of something. Love and 
 friendly feelings are consequently the natural kindness'^'' tas"^ " 
 
 possession of those who are conscious of SUpe- sense of superiority 
 
 riority in their activity. affection** ^^^^ 
 
 Once more all feel more natural affection for 
 what is attended with trouble in the getting of it. For instance 
 those who have made their money value it more 
 than those who have inherited it. Now to receive ^- '■^e effort iu- 
 favours is attended with no trouble, to do them the result oSneT 
 is laborious. It is this same reason that makes 
 J. mothers more devoted to their offspring, because the bearing of 
 them is laborious and they are more fully assured that they are 
 their own. This would seem to be just the position of benefactors 
 as well. 
 
 Tet the real cause would seem to lie further back iu nature, and not to be 
 explained by the analogy of debtor and creditor. Between benefactors and the 
 recipients of their kindnesses there grows up a real affection, but between 
 creditor and debtor there is none. The creditor does not Ime the debtor but 
 merely wishes for his safety, and that simply on the ground that he may recover 
 Mb debt and get back his money. But those who have conferred benefits love and 
 have a regard for tbe recipients of them, even though they are not serviceable to 
 them and may never become so. This is also the case with artists. Every one 
 of them loves Ms handiwork more than he would be loved by that work were it 
 to be endowed with life. Above all others is this so with poets. They love their- 
 own poems to distraction, doting on them as if they were their children. Something 
 in this same way is it with benefactors also. They who have been benefited by 
 them are to that extent their work and, therefore, they love them more than 
 their work does them. The reason of this is that existence is desirable to and 
 loved by all. Now we exist most perfectly when we are active ; and we exist in 
 an active way by living and doing. So he who works is in a way made actual 
 in his work. Architecture, for instance, which is the science of building, is 
 aotualised in a house. And the house itself, so far forth as it is a house, is the 
 
 ' • , workman made actual, so far forth as he is a workman. In the same way every 
 one who works is identified with his work in its actuality. If then it is natural 
 to desire existence, and existence consists in acting and the work is the agent 
 himself in his actuality, it is clear that in so far as everyone seeks for existence 
 for himself, so far he seeks also the existence of his work ; but it is natural for 
 every man to love himself and to wish for his own existence ; it is natural, 
 therefore, for every man to love his work. But since a man loves himself best 
 and since each loves his omn work best, he will also love best the object of his 
 
 y' kindness, in so far as he is his own work. For this reason, he will love him more 
 
5IO The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk, IX. 7. 
 
 than thiB latter loves his benefactor. For the greatest affection one can feel is 
 that which one feels for oneself. A further reason is that the benefactor improTes 
 himself by doing the kindness, and it is a good, to him to do the kindness, con- 
 sequently he takes pleasure in the object of it, because in him he sees his own 
 good. But the recipient is not improved by receiving the kindness, nor does he 
 find any good iu the benefactor — for it is by what he does himself that a man is 
 made better — since the good of man consists in active employment, as we ex- 
 plained in an, earlier Book. Thus if the recipient finds any good in his benefactor 
 it is not in the shape of good to himself but of advantage ; and advantage is 
 not so pleasant or so estimable as goodness. Goodness is what advantage has for 
 its ' end,' and it is on account of goodness that advantage is pleasant or estimable 
 at all. The result is, the benefactor loves the recipient of his favours more than 
 he is loved by him. Again both the actual presence, the hope, and the memory 
 of the good are pleasant, the actuality of its presence and occuiTence,the hope of 
 it in the future, the memory of it in the past. Yet good, when present, is more 
 pleasant than when still future or when past, and the object of his kindness is a 
 present good to the benefactor, for goodness abides and is enduring, and this is 
 what the benefactor contemplates in the recipient ; but the goodness of the 
 recipient is not enduring : it consisted, as we saw, in advantage and so passed 
 away with the advantage ; nor is it properly speaking goodness at all : and con- 
 sequently even if both were present, the good of the benefactor would be the 
 more pleasant, or if both were past, the recollections of the benefactor would 
 be more pleasant than those of the person benefited, inasmuch as the memoiy of 
 goodness is pleasant in the highest degree, but the recollection of advantage not 
 pleasant at all or far less so. With the expectation of advantage the opposite is 
 the case : it is more pleasant than the recollection of good things which have 
 passed away. It would seem, then, that on this ground too the benefactor would 
 love the recipient of his favours more than he would be loved by him. 
 
 Once more, loving is like the doing something, being loved like a passive state. 
 To those, then, who actively do deeds of friendship (that is clearly to the bene- 
 factors,) loving comes more naturally than to the recipients. 
 
 Once more, we dote upon and love more what has come by toil than what has 
 been got less easily. This is why those who have made their money love it more 
 than those who have inherited it. Now to receive favours involves no effort, it 
 is a work of difficulty to do them. To receive favours is the part played by the 
 person benefited, to do them by the benefactor. On this ground also the person 
 benefited is more loved than his benefactor. 
 
 For this same reason mothers are more devoted to their children, because they 
 have had labour in bearing them, than children are to their mothers — for their 
 part has been only to be bom ; and mothers know better that the children are 
 their offspring, than the children know that their mothers ushered them into Hfe. 
 All this seems to suit also the case of benefactors. For not only do they under- 
 take what is laborious on behalf of their clients, but they also know better that 
 it is they who do the service, than the recipients know that the service is done 
 by them. For it is quite possible that the benefactor confers the favour not on 
 his own responsibility but as the agent for another, and consequently is not him- 
 self the real author of the favours at all ; or it may be, that, though he confers 
 the favour at his own prompting, still he does not do it for the sake of the person 
 benefited but for his own sake and with a. view to profit. This too makes the 
 recipient not feel absolutely sure of his benefactor. On the other hand nothing 
 prevents the benefactor knowing perfectly the object of his favours, since he is 
 absolutely sure of himself that he is a true and real benefactor. So on this 
 ground in addition to the others the benefactor loves the recipient of his favours 
 more than he is loved by him. 
 
Bk. IX. 8.] Translation. 511 
 
 V. — The relation of self-love to love of friends, 
 (a) CONFLICTING VIEWS AS TO THE CHARACTEK OF SELF-LOVE. 
 
 A question is raised moreover whether one ought to love one's 
 self or one's neighbour best. On the one hand 
 
 men blame those who love themselves best and bitL'eHnd'pS 
 
 call them ' lovers of self as a term of reproach, ed. On the one 
 
 and the had man is thought to do everything ^^fth^tVillht 
 
 with a view to himself, and' the worse he is to do bad, who have an 
 
 this the more completely. So men blame him f^f to their own 
 
 n • -,1 r interests. 
 
 because he does nothmg, without reference to 
 himself. But the good man is held to act from a sense of 
 nobility, and the better he is the more does he act from that 
 motive and for the sake of his friend, and the more ready is he 
 to neglect his own interests. 
 
 Yet with such statements as these facts are at variance, and 
 that not without good reason. For men say that 
 we ought to love best him who is our best friend ; ^" ^^ °'^^'^ *^** 
 and he is the best friend who wishes good to him bears to himself is 
 to whom he wishes it absolutely for his own sake, the type and origin 
 
 ., , 1 m 1 J? -J. T> i. of all other friend- 
 
 even though no one shall ever know 01 it. iiut gjjip_ 
 
 these conditions are best fulfilled in a man's own 
 relations to himself, while we have here as well all those other 
 ■characteristics by which a friend is defined. We have already 
 pointed out how all our friendly relations to other men start from 
 our own friendly relations to ourselves. Also all proverbial 
 expressions fall in with this, such as that of friends ' having one 
 soul,' ' having all things in common,' ' friendship's equality,' 
 'the knee is more than the covering of it.' All these expres- 
 sions would be found most completely realised as between a man 
 and himself. A man is his own best friend, and so must love 
 himself best. 
 
 Thus a doubt is raised which view we ought to Both ^ews have 
 adopt, since both have so much to say for them- themselves. 
 
 We should, perhaps, then, distinguish the different senses in 
 which these and similar expressions are used, and thus determine 
 to what extent and in what particulars they are severally true. 
 
 So much on this head. But there is another point to be considered — whether 
 one should love oneself or one's neighbour best. On the one hand to love oneself 
 best is thought not to be proper to good men, and for this reason those who 
 love themselves best are blamed and are called ' lovers of self ' as a term of 
 reproach. Also the bad man is held to do everything from selfish motives, and so 
 
512 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 8. 
 
 much the more the worse he is. And he is reproached for this very reason that 
 he seeks nothing more than his own interests but has himself in view in every- 
 thing that he does. The good man on the contrary does everything from a sense 
 of nobility, the more completely so the better and the more excellent he is. And 
 for the sake of his friend, and in order that he may give to others the means 
 of getting what they want, he is ready to sacrifice his own property. On these 
 grounds it is held that one ought not to love oneself best of all. 
 
 Yet with this view the facts of life are at variance, and that not without good 
 reason. Men say that it is proper to love best one's best friend, and he is the best 
 friend who observes all the obligations of friendship to him whom he loves. 
 And thfe obligations of friendship are to wish one's friend good for his own sake, 
 though no one shall ever know it, and to seek to live with him in preference to 
 all others and to share his sorrows and his joys. Now aU these are obligatione 
 which a man fulfils to himself ; and from a man's bearing to himself his duties 
 to his neighbour have been derived, as was explained in the 4th chapter. And 
 all proverbial expressions testify to this same truth. When men wish to say that 
 men are very great friends, they talk of them as of ' one soul ; ' and also the 
 saying 'the goods of friends are common ' has the same bearing; and 'friendship 
 means equality ' and ' the Icaee is nearer to us than the covering of it.' For if 
 community and equality and nearness constitute friendship, what can be closer 
 to each than a man's self ? Consequently a man is his own best friend. But if 
 one ought to love best one's best friend, then one ought to love oneself best. 
 
 Since, then, both these statements seem to be true, it is naturally asked which 
 of them we should adopt. We shall find, by distinguishing their different senses 
 and defining them, to what extent and in what sense each of them is true. 
 
 (h) THE DIFFERENT SENSES OF ' SELF-LOVE ' DETERMINED. 
 
 Now if we discover in what sense the speakers severally employ 
 ™ ^ the term ' self-regarding,' the difficulty wiU he, 
 
 The apparent con- , , , ° ° •' ' 
 
 tradiction is ex- perhaps, cleared up. 
 
 plained by oonsi- Thosc, then, who usc the word as a term of 
 
 dermg the different , i i.1, c -ic j- > j. j.i. 
 
 senses of ' self- reproach apply the name ' self-regarding to those 
 love' and 'self-re- who give themsclves more than their fair share 
 gar mg. ^^ money, honours or bodily pleasures. It is on 
 
 such things as these that the majority set their hearts and spend 
 themselves for them as the best of all things ; 
 ing,' as ordinarily this makcs them also to be the special objects 
 understood, is of Contention. They, then, who are covetous in 
 
 meant one who , ,, .•/• xi • ' i i j ii 
 
 gratifies his own such matters gratify their lusts and generally 
 desires at the ex- their passions and the irrational principle in 
 peuse ers. ^qxt souls. This is the character of the ma- 
 jority. And so the appellation has come to be applied in a 
 bad sense, reflecting the badness of the majority. It is with 
 justice, then, that those who are ' self-regarding ' in this sense 
 are reproached. 
 
 That it is those who assign to themselves such things as 
 these that the world is wont to call ' self-regarding ' is plain 
 enough. For if a man were to be for ever anxious, beyond every- 
 thing else, to do what is just or what is temperate or whatever 
 
Bk. IX. 8.] Translation. 513 
 
 other conduct is dictated by any of the other virtues, and should 
 Ks for ever seeking to gain true nobility for himself, such an one 
 no one will call self-regarding nor find fault with him. 
 
 Yet such an one would seem to be more really ' self-regarding ' 
 thaa the other. At any rate he takes for his own 
 share what is noblest and most excellent, and Mgiier^and™bete 
 gratifies the highest part in him and obeys it in sense it is used of 
 all things. And just as in a state or in any other ™^ tme°se!r*that 
 ' system ' it is the ruling element in it that most is liis reason and 
 properly constitutes that state or that system, so ''? , T^iMec m- 
 
 • ■ ■ 1 ATI T 1 • stmots. 
 
 IS it too with man. And he accordingly is most 
 truly self-regarding who loves this part and gratifies this part. 
 Moreover a man is called master of himself or wanting in self- 
 mastery according as his reason has sway in him or not, imjDlying 
 that it is reason which is a man's self. Also they are held to 
 have acted of themselves and voluntarily who have acted most in 
 conscious accordance with the dictates of their reason. That 
 reason, then, constitutes a man's self or constitutes it more than 
 anything else does, is plain; it is plain too that the good man 
 loves this more than anything besides. Consequently he will 
 have a claim to be considered most truly 'self-regarding,' only 
 ' self-regarding ' in a different sense from that which is matter of 
 reproach — in a sense as far removed from that other as living 
 by the dictates of reason is removed from living by the dictates 
 of passion, and as desiring true nobleness is removed from the 
 desire of apparent interest. 
 
 If we consider the meaning of the term ' self -regarding ' and the sense it is 
 used in in the two different statements, we shall reach the solution we are in 
 search of. The first statement means by ' self -regarding,' not thoss who simply 
 love themselves, but, those who seek to get for themselves the larger share, and 
 that, not in goodness or virtue, but in money, honours and bodily pleasures. Tor it 
 is on these that the majority set their heart, and spend pains upon them as being 
 the best things of all ; and this fact makes them also the common objects of conten- 
 tion. Those, then, who are grasping in such matters, gratify their desires and their 
 passions generally and the irrational element in their soul. This is the Sharacter 
 of the majority, and for this reason the appellation has been given to such. For 
 names are given in accordance with what generally occurs ; whereas things of 
 rare occurrence are not unfrequently not named at all, since some of them are 
 lot even known. Now the bad and those who assign to themselves things that 
 seem good are many, while the good are few and far between. For this reason 
 the many also, who are bad, get the name of self -regarding, and those who are 
 self-regarding in this sense are with justice reproached. But that the majority 
 do call those who are evilly disposed in the matter of their desires self -regarding 
 is clear enough. For if a man were to be for ever anxious beyond all else to do 
 what is just, or to do what is temperate or to follow out any of the other dictates 
 of virtue, and were for ever seeking to win true nobility for himself, no one will 
 oaB such a character self -regarding nor will find fault with him. The first state- 
 ment then means by ' self -regarding ' a man who loves himself amiss, and is so far 
 true tot one ougW not to love oaeself in this fashiou. But the second state- 
 
514 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 8. 
 
 ment applies the name to the good man, who is ever seeking; to win virtue and 
 goodness for himself, and says that it is he who loves himself best. 
 
 Kow such an one would seem to be in the more proper sense ' self -regarding.' 
 He does gratify himself, as he gives to the most distinctive element in himself 
 — his rational nature — what is noblest and best. He who gratifies the most dis- 
 tinctive element in. himself, that man in the truest sense gratifies himself. For jiist 
 as the highest element in a state is most properly the state, and it is the best of 
 the citizens that most properly constitute it. in the same way the most distinotiva 
 of the elements in man is most properly man. And so he too is most truly a 
 lover of himself who most loves this and tries to g^ratify this. Besides, a man is 
 called master of himself or wanting in self-mastery not simply by mastering or 
 being mastered, but according as the reason rules the passions, or is ruled by 
 them. So that, when reason masters, the man himself is said to be master, but 
 when the passions are masters, he is not said himself to have the mastery, but 
 rather to be mastered. From this it is plain that a man's rational principle is in 
 a special sense a man's self. And he who loves his own rational nature and in 
 -ivery way tries to gratify it will be properly called self -regarding in one sense of 
 the term, but in a different sense from that when it is used as a term of reproach, 
 — a sense as far removed from it as living by the law of reason is removed from 
 living by the dictates of passion, and the desire of good is removed from evil 
 lust. 
 
 (c) THE EXCELLENCE OF TRUE ' SELF-LOVE.' 
 
 All are ready to welcome and praise those who are pre-eminently 
 zealous in doina: noble deeds. And if all were 
 shoiM be encou- emulous to Win truc nobility and were earnest in 
 raged in the good, doing what was noblest and best, all public 
 dijouraged in the ^j^^jgg ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ fulfilled, and each indi- 
 vidually would reap the greatest of all possible 
 goods, since this is the result of virtue. And so a good man 
 ought to be self-regarding, for he will at once reap advantage to 
 himself by doing what is noble and will benefit all besides. On 
 the other hand the bad man ought not to be so. By being so, 
 he will hurt himself and his neighbours — by following, that is, his 
 evil passions. 
 
 In the evil man then what he ought to do and what he does are 
 at variance with one another, while the good man 
 
 smoe m the one . n i ■, , ■, , , , ■, -rr 
 
 duty and. interest actually does What he ought to do. r or reason 
 coincide, in the evor chooses what is best for itself, and the good 
 
 other they conflict. i , i.i Tj_i ^i- 
 
 man hearkens to the dictates of his reason. 
 
 Seeing, then, that all praise and applaud those who are good and excellent, 
 and that aJl ought to be good (for if all were emulous of true nobilitiy and were 
 zealous to do what is best, every good would be reaped both by the community at 
 large and by every several member of it), it is plain that the good man ought to 
 be self regarding. He will both benefit himself by doing what is noble and will 
 spur others on to do the like. But the bad man has no right to be so. By loving 
 and gratifying himself, that is by following his evil passions, he will do hurt 
 both to himself and his neighbours. In the case of the good, what they actually 
 do coincides ■^dth what they ought to do. For a good man identifies himself 
 with his own reason, and reason chooses what is best for itself, and lie good obey. 
 
Bk. IX. 8.] Translation. 515 
 
 and follow reason. But in the case of the bad, their duty and what they actually 
 do conflict. Hence such have no right to be self -regarding, but the others should 
 iove themselves as much as they can. « 
 
 {d) COINCIDENCE OF THE LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR WITH TRUE 
 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 It is quite true of the good man that he does many things for 
 the sake of his friends and his country, to the 
 extent, if need be, of even dying for them ; he is good 'man benefits 
 ready to give up for their sake money and honours i^Js friends and his 
 and all the most coveted goods, thereby reaping ""^ ^^' 
 for himself a true nobility ; for he would choose rather to feel an 
 intense enjoyment for a little while than a poor enjoyment for a long 
 time, and to live with honour for a single year, than to live for 
 many years in an ordinary way, and to do one great and noble act 
 rather than many small deeds. This is, perhaps, what actually 
 happens in case of those who die for others. They choose, in doing 
 so, a great honour for themselves. A good man will be ready 
 too to sacrifice his own wealth, if his friends will get more there- 
 by. For while his friend gets wealth, he gets honour, and so 
 still reserves for himself the greater good. The same is the case 
 with respect to honours and offices ; all these he will give up to his 
 friends, as this is honourable for him and praiseworthy. It is thus 
 with good reason that he is pronounced good, as t " th b 
 
 he chooses honour before all else. It may be a more noble re- 
 thathewill even surrender the chance of doing ward for ^^Mmseif 
 noble deeds in his friend's favour, and thus reap honour and the 
 the greater honour of being the occasion of his gratified sense of 
 friend doing them, an honour greater even than ' " ^' 
 that of doing them himself. 
 
 It thus appears that in all praiseworthy deeds the good man 
 assigns the lion's share of honour to himself. 
 
 In this sense one may be ' self-regarding,' as has been already 
 said, but in the popular sense, one should not. , . ^, . 
 
 ^ -^ ' and m this way a 
 
 man may be rightly 
 
 Thus then the true definition of self-love has been deter- ' self-regarding. ' 
 
 mined. And we must now explain the first statement, by 
 
 which it appeared that the good man is not self -regarding in that he neglects 
 
 his own interests and seeks those of his friends and his country, in behalf of 
 
 which he is prepared to die, if need be. That such is the character of the good 
 
 ' inau is perfectly true. Yet we may not for all this say that he is not in the 
 
 highest sense self -regarding — ^nay rather, he is shown by these very things to 
 
 beppaf-regarding. He gives up trifling matters to get great advantages, and by 
 
 ?'&%wing away goods of little value he earns for himself the greatest rewards. 
 
 ||ro his friends and to his country he surrenders wealth, honours and such like 
 
 '*|hingB, but for himself he earns a character of honour and goodness, honesty, and 
 
 patriotism aad S9 On, goo4s witli which thgg? gth^rs oarjngt gopipare. Yet, evea 
 
5i6 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 9, 
 
 when he dies for his friends and his coimtry and givea up his own life for them 
 he still plains more than he gives up. He chooses to feel intensely for a short 
 time a good and praiseworthy pleasure rather than a slight pleasure for a long 
 time. He thinks that it is better for him that his life should be short and filled 
 with great achievements, than that he should live long and not earn such praise 
 — and to do om great and noble act than many little ones. This is the more 
 noble course than the other. 
 
 Noble deeds too, sometimes, he resigns in favour of his friend, and when he 
 might do them himself, yields to him the distinction of doing them. In this 
 case also he reaps for himself the greater good, since it is more glorious to be the 
 cause of one's friend doing noble deeds even than to do them oneself. 
 
 Consequently he is with justice considered to be good, since he chooses true 
 nobility in preference to all besides, and seeks the lion's share for himself only in 
 what is good and excellent. 
 
 Thus, then, the good man is shown to love himself best, and on every occasion 
 to get for himself the lion's share of true nobility. 
 
 In this way, then, one ought to be ' self -regarding,' as has been already 
 observed, but in the way the majority are so, one ought not. As to the 
 in which, then, one ought to love oneself best let thus much be said. 
 
 XII.— EELATION OF FRIENDSHIP TO HAPPINESS, 
 i. — General question proposed and discussed. 
 
 There is a question moreover raised, whether the happy man 
 
 stands in need of friends or no. 
 man need, o'^not ^n the One hand it is maintained that those 
 need, friends ? who are perfectly blessed and self-sufficing have 
 
 1. Negative argu- no need of friends, for they possess already every 
 Cr, he \1 blessing. If, then, they are self-sufficing, they 
 have aa good, be Can need nothing more, while a friend in the 
 not reSaem!'^ Capacity of a kind of second self fiu-nishes what 
 
 one cannot get for oneself. Hence the line of 
 the poet — 
 
 " When heaven showers blessings, what need have we of friends ? " 
 1. And yet it would seem to be strange, when we are grantiag 
 Counter ar i- "^^ ^i^PPJ ^^"^ ^11 good things, not to grant him 
 ments™" ^^ ^^^' fricuds, a gift which is thought to be the greatest 
 (i.) He who is to of all ' external ' goods. 
 
 have friends,"the '^- If it is more characteristic of a friend to 
 greatest of external confer favours than to receive them, and if it is 
 ^°°'^^' the part of a good man and of virtue to be doing 
 
 good acts — if, moreover, it is more honourable to do good to one's 
 friend than to strangers, then the good man will 
 (ii.) He requires require objects for his beuevolence. And this is 
 
 them as objects tor ,, " , p ,i . . . , , 
 
 his benevolence. the reason why a further question is raised whe- 
 ther friends are more indispensable in prosperity 
 or in adversity, gijice in adversity a man requires them to confer 
 
Bk. IX. 9.] Translation. 5 1 7 
 
 j| favours on him, in prosperity as objects on whom to confer his 
 favours. • 
 
 3. Perhaps it would be also strange to make the happy man a 
 
 '% solitary being, since no one would choose to have 
 all blessings entirely alone by himself. Man is i^„\ ^r' ^nX> 
 naturally social, framed by nature to live in com- be soiitaiy, and 
 pany. Such accordingly must be the condition ^^fft^ooTth^ 
 of the happy man, since he has {ex hypothesi) all native designs Mm 
 the goods that nature designs him to have. It is *° ^''®' 
 
 • plain also that it is more agreeable to spend one's time in the com- 
 pany of good men and friends than of ordinary men and strangers. 
 The happy man, then, does need friends. 
 
 A question is raised with respect to the happy, whether they have need of 
 friends or no. Men maintain that the blessed who are self-sufficient can have no 
 need of them, for being self -sufficing and so having everything that is good, how 
 can they want anything besides ? Friends want friends, to get by their help 
 what they cannot get for themselves, the friend being a second self. But since 
 
 <: the happy are sufficient for themselves they have no further need for friends, 
 
 (whence the saying : 
 
 !A " When heaven grants us good, what need we friends ? " 
 
 On these grounds then it is thought that the happy stand in no need of friends. 
 
 But from another point of view it seems strange that, when we are granting 
 the happy man all blessings, we should not furnish him with friends, which are 
 thought to be the greatest of all external goods. 
 
 All the more is this the case because the doing of good offices is indispensable 
 to happiness, and the form of it which is at once the noblest and the most 
 eartoUed is that which is exercised towards friends. So the happy need friends, 
 since they need to exercise the noblest form of benevolence. A fi-iend's most 
 proper ^province is to do benefits and to receive them, and it is more honoiu-able 
 to do good to friends than to aliens or strangers, who have no connexion with us 
 either on the score of character or citizenship. On these grounds then the happy 
 man does appear to require friends, and this causes the question to be asked 
 whether friends are more needful in prosperity or in adversity. For the uu- 
 - fortunate too needs friends to help and to mend his fortunes, the prosperous man 
 |,needs them as objects for his benevolence. 
 
 ■ It would be strange furthermore to regard a happy man as a solitary being 
 
 who lives a life apart by himself ; happiness is indeed desirable, but no one would 
 
 choose to be solitary. No one wishes to have all goods to himself, for man is 
 
 social, and naturally desires to live in company. These characteristics the happy 
 
 man too possesses, and he wishes to live in company. All the goods which nature 
 
 ,; ctosigns for man he too possesses. But if the happy man must live in company, 
 
 ;.it is plain he must live in the company of the most excellent and the most 
 
 ;.Siiidred spirits. Such are friends and the excellent; and to live with them is 
 
 better and is pleteanter than to live with strangers and ordinary men. So the 
 
 good man does need friends. 
 
 ii.— Why the happy are thought not to need friends. 
 
 ■ What then is the meaning of the propounders of the first argu- 
 ment, and how far arc they right ? Is not their contention based 
 on the fact that the majority regard those who are serviceable 
 
5i8 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 9. 
 
 to us alone as friends. Now of such the happy man will indeed 
 
 have no need, because he lias all goods secured 
 
 The mistake of ^g \aTa. Nor does he need either friends for 
 
 imagining that tlie . ,, ., T-ii,, 
 
 happy need no pleasure s Sake, except to a very limited extent, 
 friends arises from for ]iis life feeing pleasant in itself has no need 
 
 an unworthy view «. iii aj j. t j>'t 
 
 of friendship. 01 imported pleasure. And not needing iriends 
 
 of this description he is thought not to need 
 friends at all. 
 
 But we must explain the original arguments, by -whioli it was conteEded that 
 the blessed have no need of friends. We must point out what they mean and 
 how far they are right. We maintain then that the majority count as friends 
 only those who are useful to them, and consider that friends are loved not for their 
 goodness but for their serviceableness, while sometimes they reckon in those who 
 are loved for the pleasure they give. Such the happy man does not require : not 
 the serviceable, for he has already all that heart can desire ; not the pleasant, for 
 his life is pleasant in itself, and he requires no pleasure from the outside. 
 
 But not needing such friends as these, he is thought not to need friends who 
 are really friends, who are loved for their virtue's sake and for their goodness. 
 
 iii. — That the happy do need true friends. 
 {a) MORAL AEGtJMENTS. 
 
 Yet this is, perhaps, not true ; we stated at the beginning of 
 
 our Treatise that happiness is a form of activity, 
 
 1. Happiness, be- ^nd an activity is clearly for ever coming into 
 
 ing an activity, is , . j j j. l\ ■' j ■ it. 
 
 called out by the being, and does not permanently reside with us, 
 contemplation of as a possessiou does. But, if being happy con- 
 
 the good acts of . , K ,. . , .. ' ° ^^\ ,, 
 
 our friends. sists in living and exerting ourselves, and the 
 
 active presence of the good is excellent and plea- 
 sant in itself, as we explained at starting, and if what is nearly 
 related to us is pleasant ; if, once more, we can watch our neigh- 
 bours better than ourselves, their acts better than our own, the 
 conclusion of all this is that the acts of good men, if friends, 
 are pleasant to the good — they contain both the elements which 
 make them naturally pleasant. We conclude, then, that the 
 happy man will require such friends, since he cannot but choose 
 to contemplate excellent actions which he can claim for his own. 
 Such are the acts of a good man if he be his friend. 
 Moreover, men consider that a man to be happy should live 
 pleasantly, but to a solitary man life is laborious. 
 ance'^of ^^T^ ^^ ^^ ^."t.^^^y to be activB for long, when by one's 
 is rendered easier, Self; it is far easier when with others and with 
 
 more constant 'b' *^^™ *° ^°°^ *^°- Under thcsc latter circum- 
 the company of the stances the activity will be more continuous for 
 s°°'^' being in itself pleasant (and this it should be in 
 
 the case of the happy man), for the good man, in virtue of being 
 
Bk. IX. 9.] Translation. 519 
 
 h a good man, must take pleasure in acts tbat embody virtue, while 
 at acts that proceed from vice he feels disgust, yi the same way 
 as a musical man takes pleasure in fair sounds, but is pained by 
 
 Pjiiscords. 
 
 tt"; And there will result also a certain practice ^- '^""'^ frfenda 
 of virtue from living with the good, as Theognis other^aTiim^- 
 
 ■ also says. *»«« "f ^\A-a.z. 
 
 Yet this is not true, as is plaiti from the following considerations. Happiness, 
 as we said at the beginning of this Treatise, is an activity, and an activity is con- 
 stantly in course of being realised and has its essence in ' becoming,' and has not 
 already come into being nor exists permanently, like a possession : nay, rather, 
 , tappiness consists in living and acting. To be happy is to be living in the 
 practice of virtue and to be doing good acts. But, since such activity is pleasant 
 to the good man, both because it is good and pleasant in itself, as we stated at 
 Btartiag, and also because it suits his character, therefore the contemplation of 
 , Such activity is most pleasant to the happy man : and we can better contemplate 
 the conduct of our neighbour than our own, and his acts than our own acta : 
 consequently the happy man will best contemplate the actions of his friend, and, 
 if they be good, will be most pleased by them. But if the happy man must 
 experience good pleasure, it is plain the happy man will need friends in this 
 capacity, since he wishes to contemplate good acts which touch him nearly, and 
 this is the character of the acts of a good man, if he be his friend. 
 
 iFurthermore, all regard the life of the happy man as most pleasant. But the 
 life of the happy man consists in employing his faculties in obedience to the law 
 of virtue. It is easier to employ oneself actively when in company with others, 
 ■ more difficult when by oneself : for this reason a life of solitude is difficult ; besides, 
 what is easier is pleasanter than what is difficult, and what is pleasanter is more 
 proper to the happy man. At the same time their activity will be more con- 
 tinuous for being pleasant. And this is appropriate to the happy man to be 
 ; continuously exercised in virtue. And tliis in its turn will make his pleasure the 
 , greater — as the good man, in virtue of being a good man, finds pleasure in acts 
 embodying virtue, while acts which proceed from vice he loathes ; in the same 
 way a musical man finds pleasm-e in fair strains, but is pained by discords. 
 
 But not only will a happy man by living with the good exercise more con- 
 tinuously a disposition which is already his, he will also acquire one he has not yet 
 got, and vrill enhance the value of that he already has. There will come an 
 increase of virtue fi'om living with the good, as Theognis also says : therefore the 
 happy man lias need of friends. 
 
 (5) METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENTS, 
 
 ■ And if we look at the matter from a point of view going deeper 
 into nature, the srood friend seems naturally de- ^ , . ^ ^, 
 
 .,,,,,' "^j '' Lookmg at the 
 
 SU-able to the good man. question from a 
 
 Whatever is naturally good, we have already metaphysical point 
 said, is in itself good and pleasant to the good i/^^'ateverTs"!" 
 
 Hian. turally good and 
 
 Life is defined in animals as a power of sensa- pleasant is so to 
 tion, in man as a power 01 sensation or 01 
 thought ; power is relative to the exercise of it, and the distinctive 
 feature resides in such active exercise ; so that life in its most 
 distinctive form seems to be identical with sensation or thought, 
 
520 The Moral Philoiopky of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 9. 
 
 Now life is one of those things which are essentially good and 
 
 pleasant (it is definite and distinct, and the 
 
 Life, by which we definite is of the nature of the good), and what- 
 
 mean a power of . , , . , i i 
 
 sensation and ever IS naturaUij good is so to the good man ; 
 *a™^''*' cod ""'nd ^^^ ^°'^' ^^^^ reason all hold it to be pleasant. 
 pleasant ; it is, (Yet onc ought not to take as an instance of life 
 therefore, good and ^^ gyji and corrupt life nor one passed in pain 
 man. ^°° — such a life is indeterminate like its attributes 
 
 are — in the next Book we will clear up further 
 the nature of pain.) 
 
 But if life in itself is good and pleasant (and it seems to be so 
 
 from the fact that all desire it, and most of all the 
 Bnt the conscious- good and blessed, since to them life is most de- 
 accompanies life sirable and their life the most blessed), and if, 
 ""^* *'® "^*"'^*^'y further, he who sees perceives that he does see; 
 also. " ^ ^^^" he who hears, that he does hear ; he who walks, 
 
 that he does walk ; and in the case of all other 
 forms of activity, in the same way, there is a something that per- 
 ceives we are active, so that we perceive that we do perceive and 
 think that we do think ; and if, once more, to perceive that we do 
 perceive and to think that we do think is to perceive that we exist 
 — ^for existence consists, as we say, in perception or in thought ; — 
 if again the perception that one is alive is in itself pleasant (for 
 
 life is naturally a good, and to perceive that one 
 
 This consciousness , i i i • / ir ■ ■ ■, to ^ 
 
 must, therefore, be has a good bclongmg to onescit IS m itseJt plea- 
 good and pleasant gant), and if life is desirable, and most of all so 
 
 to the good man. . .1 j • • l ■ i j. j.i_ i 
 
 to the good, smce existence is good to them and 
 pleasant as well (for they take a pleasure in sharing the conscious- 
 ness of what is absolutely a good) ; and if, to crown all, a good 
 man feels to his friend exactly as he does to himself, as a friend 
 is to him a second self; — we conclude from all this that exactly 
 as existence for oneself is desirable to each individual, so is one's 
 friend's existence desirable, or very nearly as much so. 
 
 But existence is, as we shewed, desirable because of our con- 
 sciousness of it as being a good, and such a consciousness is plea- 
 sant in itself. 
 
 To be happy we should, therefore, share in the consciousness 
 „ ^ ^, . . of our friend's existence, and this will be secured 
 
 But this conscious- , ,. . ■ ,1 -, ■ n , . .,i i • 
 
 ness we enjoy in by our living With him and sharing with nim 
 the presence of our words and thoughts. For this would seem to be 
 ™" ^' the meaning of ' living together ' when spoken of 
 
 men, and not the mere feeding together, which is all it means 
 when applied to the brutes. 
 Now if for the happy man existence is in itself desirable, being 
 
Bk. IX. 9.] Translation. 52 1 
 
 as H. is, naturally good and pleasant, and the existence of a 
 friend counts nearly for the same as one's own^ 
 E existence — supnosinff, that is, a friend. to be a ^J'"^ presence, 
 
 P, . ,1 ^" . °' J -rj.! i I,- -u • • -i iJ? then, must be good 
 
 p? desirable possession : and it that which is m itseii and pleasant to the 
 desirable ought to belong to him, or he wUl so good man, 
 far fall short of perfect happiness — he who is to and so he wui re- 
 be perfectly happy will on this showing require ^^ that't' mly 
 
 good friends. enjoy it. 
 
 ' Once more this ■wUl be seen to be the case if we look at the matter from a 
 
 more metaphysical point of view. Let na regard it in the light of facts which 
 are not peculiar to the happy man, but extend to all equally. Life is by nature 
 
 jv pleasant to aU living things ; but life may be defined in irrational animals as a 
 
 *' power of sensation, in men as a power of perception or of thought. But power 
 
 ^ , is rdative to the exercise of it, and the distinctive feature resides in that exercise. 
 If, then, life consists in the power of perceiving or thinking, much more does it 
 consist in actually perceiving, actually thinking. Actual perceiving, then, or 
 actual thinking, constitutes life, and life is pleasant in itself and good, most of 
 aE because life is a something determinate. But the determinate enters into the 
 nature of the good, as the Pythagoreans also thought ; they classed the deter- 
 
 » . .minate in the rank, or file, of goods. In the next place it is proved by the con- 
 sideration that aU things desire life, and what all desire is good in itself and 
 
 |i ' pleasant ; but when I talk of life, I mean not a bad life or one full of ten 
 
 ll' thousand misfortunes. Such lives are indeterminate, li!i;e the accidents that 
 occur in them. But we will discuss these points when we come to speak about 
 pleasure. Since, then, life is in itself good and pleasant, and each feels delight 
 and pleasure in witnessing in himself anything good and pleasant, therefore we 
 are delighted and pleased by perceiving that we are alive. For we do perceive 
 
 i?' ',;that we are aUve, just as, when we see, we perceive that we see ; when we hear, 
 
 we perceive that we hear ; when we walk, that we walk ; and when we think or 
 
 ■ perceive, we know that we think or perceive. But to perceive, or to think, itself 
 
 B jS constitutes the existence of beings which perceive or think. We perceive, there- 
 " " ■ fore, that we exist, and we have in us a power by which we know that we are 
 active and that we are alive. But if life is a good, and to be conscious of a good 
 in oneself is in itself pleasant, to know that we are alive is pleasant. Seeing, then, 
 that what is naturally good and pleasant is good and pleasant to the good man, 
 the good man will take pleasure in being alive, and even more so than other men, 
 
 ;; inasmuch as his life is more desirable, more pleasant, more blessed than theirs. 
 He will, therefore, also take pleasure in knowing that he is alive, and, as life 
 consists in thinking, in knowing that he is thinking. Moreover the good man 
 feels to his friend as he does towards himself, for the friend is a kind of second 
 self ; it is, therefore, plain that as it is pleasant to him to live himself, to be and 
 to be alive, in the same way he seeks for the existence of Ms friend — that is, that 
 his friend should think. For existence and life are identical with thought. And as 
 he takes delight in knowing that he thinks, so it is pleasant and agreeable to 
 him to know that his friend thinks. But the knowledge that one's friend is 
 thinking is made actual knowledge, when one knows what he is thinking about, 
 not merely that his mind is active. This will be attained by living with one 
 another, sharing in each other's reasonings and thoughts. This is the sense in 
 wMoh we talk of men ' living together.' To be in one and the same plaoeis not 
 to ' live together,' as we talk of beasts living together when they feed in the 
 same pasture. To be in the company of friends, then, is desirable for the good 
 man, and pleasant. But that which is desirable for him, this he ought to possess. 
 If not he will so far be deficient, and this is opposed to the idea of happiness. 
 The man, therefore, who is to be happy will require good friends, 
 
522 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 10. 
 
 iv. — The number of Friends desirable. Their number must neces- 
 sarily be limited. 
 
 (a) GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE SUBJECT. 
 
 Must we, then, make as many friends as possible; or, as it 
 would seem to have been well said in respect of 
 It is not possible hereditary connexions, 
 
 to nave more than " ' 
 
 a limited number « Neither a man of many guest-friends nor yet wholly 
 
 without them," 
 
 SO too in the case of friendship will it befit us to be neither 
 without friends, nor to be given to many friends 
 
 fit'flake' ^" ^"" °^^^ '^"'^^ ' ^°^ ^^ f^'' ^ friends for advantage 
 are concerned, the saying would seem to be 
 thoroughly applicable. To return the services of many is a 
 matter of difficulty, and life itself is not long enough to effect 
 this. So that more than are required to meet the needs of our 
 own proper life are superfluous and a hindrance in the way of 
 living nobly. There is, therefore, no need of them. And of 
 friends for pleasure few suffice, like a little 
 pleasure's sake, no, flavouring in food. But in case of the good, 
 nor of friends on should we make friends with the greatest possible 
 groun s VI ue. pmnijer, or is there a limit to the number of 
 friends, as there is a limit to the size of a state? A state cannot 
 be made out of ten men ; when extended to ten thousand men it 
 ceases to be a state any longer. The exact number which con- 
 stitute a state is not, perhaps, any single quantity, but anything 
 that comes between certain assignable limits. So too of possible 
 friends there is a certain permissible number, the superior limit 
 being, perhaps, represented by the number with which it is pos- 
 sible to live as a permanence ; for this is, as we saw, the most 
 essential thing in friendship. 
 
 But since the happy man does need friends, we must inquire whether he should 
 make friends with as many as he possibly can, or whether — as in the case of 
 hereditary connexions, it has been said well and justly that a man should neither 
 be without guest-friends nor yet guest-friend with all the world —so in the case 
 of regular friendship too it is reasonable that he should neither be without friends 
 nor yet friends with the whole world. 
 
 We may begin by obsei-ving, that since friendship is divided into three kinds — 
 one having profit for its object, a second pleasure, a third goodness and virtue — of 
 friends for pleasure or for profit's sake our needs are limited, most of aU of 
 friends for profit, because a man can help only a few in what they want, and to 
 do services to many is laborious, particularly if they happen to be euperfluous, 
 and should expect to be treated wath undue attention. 
 
 Of friends for pleasure's sake a limited number suffice, because only a little 
 pleasure and relaxation is necessary in life, just like a little flavouring in cooking. 
 
 But of good, friends, who love us on grounds of virtue and goodnessj the 
 
Bk. IX. 10.] Translation. 523 
 
 i happy man will require more. Yet there will be a limit even to them. For just as 
 there is a limit to a state, and a state can neither be made out of ten men, nor 
 out of ten thousand, for suoh an aggregation of popnlatio* would cease to be 
 
 f . a state any more, so our friends too must be restricted, and a certain limit must 
 be set to them. And just as in the case of a state the exact amount of its 
 
 ^: citizens cannot be determined, and you cannot state the precise number which a 
 Btate may properly have, but only fix a number which it is not to exceed and a 
 
 ', number which it is not to fall short of, and take all that lies between these limits 
 as the number the state may possess — in the same way in the case of friends it is 
 
 ( not possible to name a precise number, but they may be as many as a man can 
 
 \ comfortably live with. To live with one's friends is, as we saw, the most essential 
 condition for friendship. 
 
 I' (i) PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS WHICH LIMIT THE NUMBER OP 
 
 OUR FRIENDS. 
 
 The reasons why it is not possible to live in company of many, 
 and to divide oneself among them, are obvious 
 ^' enough. It is further needful that they should number^ ranl^eep 
 also be friends with one another, if they are to friends with one 
 pass their days in one another's society. This ™° ^^' 
 is a condition whicli it is difficult to have fulfilled, where many 
 are concerned. It is difficult moreover to feel real sympathy 
 with the sorrows and the joys of many at once, 
 as it is very likely to happen that, at one and (2) ""r powers of 
 the same time, one would have to be feeling joy ;tociJ'^ ^ ^^^ ™" 
 with one, and sorrow with another. Perhaps, 
 then, it is as well not to seek to be as widely friends as possible, 
 but to limit one's friendship to the numbers one can comfortably 
 live with. It would seem not even to be possible 
 to be very close friends with many, any more SLs''io°giw'into 
 
 than it would be possible to be in love with an intense feeling 
 
 many. Friendship has a tendency to run into ii^^t^L^'if^ll;^;'" 
 
 intensity, and this intense friendship can be felt 
 
 for but one at a time, and close friendship with but few. 
 
 That it is not possible to live with a large number and to divide oneself among 
 them is clear enough. We ought besides to pass our days in the company of our 
 * friends. If they are very many, this becomes irksome in the extreme. Further, 
 We ought to feel close sympathy with their sorrows and their joys, and this again 
 becomes difficult if one has many friends. For when they are many, some of 
 them will be experiencing joy, others sorrow at one and the same time, and a 
 friend should be portioning himself out to both of them, sjid this is matter of 
 ||.' difBcnlty. Perhaps, then, it is as well not to seek to be veiy extended in one's 
 friendships, but to admit only so many to our friendship as we can live with and 
 pass our days with and share in their sorrows and their joys. But to treat many 
 in this way is not. possible, any more than it is possible to be on a footing of 
 loving friendship with many. The position of lovers is friendship pushed to an 
 extreme, and consequently can be experienced only towards one at a time. In 
 the same way, in the case of friendship that rests on virtue, it is not possible to 
 love many dearly, and to observe' all the obligations of friendship in respect of 
 them, but it is possible to treat a few in this way. 
 
52^ The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 11. 
 
 (c) VERIFICATION OF THE POSITION FROM FACTS AND EXPERIENCE. 
 
 And this seems to be the case in the facts of actual life. Large 
 
 , „, , ,. , numbers do not bind themselves in the ties of 
 I. The relation of ii- -t ,^ p ■ ■, -t ■ n « 
 
 comvadeshiij em- comradeship, and the iriendsliips ot renown, of 
 
 braces only a few. -which poets sing, have been between two only, 
 nowned ™°friend- Those who have a wide circle of friends, and 
 ships have teen re- strike up an intimacy with any one, are thought 
 stricte to two. ^^ -^^ ^^.^^ friends with no one, to be at most on 
 
 terms of ' civility.' Such are called complaisant. 
 
 Nay, on these terms of ' civility ' you may be friends with 
 
 many, and tliat without being complaisant, but 
 
 3. While you can {xQxsx real goodness of heart. But on grounds of 
 
 be 'civil to a large . ^ T j» ii • i , ■, 
 
 number, you must Virtue and lor their own sakes you cannot be 
 be content to find friends with many. You must be thankful if 
 
 few true fnends. n ^ e i j • i 
 
 you can nnd a lew such iriends. 
 
 These considerations are confirmed by tbe facts of experience. Large numbers 
 do not enter into the ties of comradeship, and the most celebrated friendships of 
 this character are said to have been formed between, only two. 
 
 Those who are friends with the whole world and strike up a friendship with all 
 they come across, and in words and deeds "seem to give each one of the citizens 
 his precise due, have a proper and true friendship with no one, but may be caJled 
 friends in respect of what is called ' civil ' friendship. Of these some are 
 complaisant, seeking to gratify all they are thrown with. About them we have 
 spoken in a former book. Others are good, and have regard to truth and virtue 
 in their conversation. They are called friends from the likeness of their be- 
 haviour to friendship, and they are praiseworthy — they come intermediate, 
 between the complaisant and the disagreeable, both of whom are blamed, as was 
 shewn in the eighth chapter of the 4th Book. Any one may find many of such 
 friends as these, but of real fi-iends we should be grateful if we find even a few, 
 
 V. — The Uses and the Treatment of Friends. 
 
 (a) THE ADVANTAGES OF FRIENDS IN PROSPERITY AND IN ADVER- 
 SITY COMPARED. 
 
 Are friends more needful in prosperity or in adversity ? We 
 
 require them under both circumstances. Those 
 
 Friends are more ^-y^^ ^^^ -^ misfortune require assistance, while 
 
 necessary in mis- i /. • -r 
 
 fortune, more the prosperous need friends to live with and as 
 honourable in pros- objects for their kindness, since they have a wish 
 to be doing good. In misfortune they are more 
 indispensable, and therefore under these circumstances we require 
 serviceable friends. In prosperity it is more honourable to possess 
 them, and so in that case we seek out the good. The good are • 
 the more desirable objects for our benevolence, the more desirable 
 company to live with. 
 
Bk. IX. 11.] Translation. 525 
 
 But since the prosperous and the unfortunate have alike need of friends, we 
 must inquire under wMcli circumstances friends are more needful. The un- 
 fortunate require the assistance which is to be got frqp friends, and the 
 prosperous require companions to live with, and objects for their benevolence. 
 They are anxious to be doing good, and it is necessary to their happiness. 
 
 In a certain way the unfortunate has more need of friends than the good man, 
 in another way the prosperous has the greater need. The one on account of 
 their indispensableness, the other on account of their honourablenesa. You must 
 raiderstaud that friends are more indispensable to the unfortunate than to the 
 prosperous. 
 
 (5) THE USE OF FEIENDS IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 The presence of friends is by itself pleasant even in naisfortunes ; 
 those who grieve have their griefs lightened by 
 friends sharing in their sorrows. And so it L',,rnl'fort 
 might be asked whether they do not bear, if one in misfortune ; it 
 may so say, an actual part of the burden, or l^^tens the load of 
 whether it be that their presence being pleasant 
 and the sense of their sympathy with our grief make the grief less. 
 The question, however, whether it be for this reason or for some 
 other that a man's load is lightened by the presence of friends 
 may be dismissed ; in any case the fact is as we have stated it. 
 
 Still their presence seems to give rise to mixed feelings. On 
 
 the one hand the sight of friends is pleasant, ^ , 
 
 ,ni,i ■• • n L. -\ ■ Still a brave man 
 
 most of all when one is in misfortune, and is an cannot but regard 
 
 assistance against giving way to grief. A friend their presence with 
 
 is comforting both by look and by word, if he be "'"* ®® '"^^' 
 
 a man of tact, as he knows our disposition and what gives us 
 
 pleasure or pain. On the other hand, to see our friend grieved 
 
 at our misfortunes is painful, for every one hates 
 
 being an occasion of grief to a friend. For this ^e will give them 
 
 reason manly characters are careful how they p^in ™''«<=^^s^^ 
 
 summon their friends to share their griefs, and 
 
 unless they be superior to their friends in the power of withstanding 
 
 grief, do not suffer the pain of the sight of their misfortunes to be 
 
 given to their friends ; and as a rule he does not call in others to 
 
 make lamentation with him, because he is not 
 
 inclined to make lamentations himself. On the iior does he encou- 
 
 other hand weak women and men who are like umentatTons. "'''''" 
 
 them delight in having others to groan with 
 
 them and love them as sympathising friends. Yet we need 
 
 scarcely remark, 'tis the better man's example we should follow 
 
 in all things. 
 
 -'&'- 
 
 The very presence of friends is pleasant, even in misfortunes. Those who grieve 
 have their grief lightened by their friends sharing their sorrows. For this 
 reason a question may be raised, why it is that the gig-ht of our friends grieving 
 
526 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle, [Bk. IX. 11. 
 
 witJi us is an alleviation of our griefs. Grief is thought to be, a kind of burden 
 ■which is lightened by being shared with one's friends. Yet this is not really the 
 case. The fact is that the presence of friends and the sight of their sympathy 
 with our grief being pleasant, make the grief less, for pleasure drives out 
 pain. However, whether it be for this or for any other reason that our griefs 
 are assuaged, we may forbear to ask for the present. In amy case, that those who 
 grieve are comforted by the presence of friends is obvious. 
 
 Yet it would seem that the good cannot take unmixed delight in their friends 
 grieving with them, and that this pleasure is not without alloy — rather they grieve 
 over it in part. In itself the sight of friends is pleasant, most of all to the 
 unfortunate, and we find in them assistance against yielding to grief. A friend 
 is comforting — the very sight of him and his words, if he be a man of tact. He 
 knows his friend's character, what he is pained at, what he is pleased with, and 
 so can easily comfort him. 
 
 In this respect, then, the presence of friends is pleasant. On the other hand 
 th,e seeing one's friend pained at our misfortunes makes his presence to that 
 extent painful. For every one finds it painful to be the cause of pain to one's 
 friends. Consequently manly characters are very careful how they invite their 
 friends to share in their griefs, and unless the consolation gained be great and for 
 the greatest misfortunes, and the pain caused to them, if they do share their 
 griefs, small, they cannot briag themselves to make their friends partakers of 
 their own troubles, and in any case they do not desire those who will make 
 lamentation with them, because they are not themselves given to wailing, but 
 bear up bravely against their ills. But weak women and womanly men take 
 absolute pleasure in having people to groan along with them and love them as 
 truly sympathetic friends. StiU we should imitate not these but the manly, 
 for in all things we should follow the better example. In this way then friends 
 are a help to the unfortunate. 
 
 (c) THEIR USE m PROSPERITY. 
 
 In prosperity the presence of friends enables us to pass our 
 time more pleasantly, and gives us the sense of 
 tiI7^1 Z ttieir being pleased at the blessings we enjoy. 
 
 grounds — as com- 
 panions to spend ^'^ prosperity the presence of friends is pleasant in two 
 time with, and as ways : first because it is most pleasant to pass our time with 
 l)artners in our joy. our friends just because they are our friends ; secondly be- 
 cause we see them rejoicing at the blessings we enjoy, and 
 this is the highest proof of goodwill. 
 
 {d) GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR OUR CONDUCT TO OUR FRIENDS. 
 
 Accordingly it would seem that we ought to be forward to call 
 
 (1) Be eager to in- ^° °^^ friends to share our good fortune (for it 
 vite your Mends to is honourable to be forward to do kindnesses,) but 
 share your good to hesitate before summoning them to share our 
 
 (2) Wow to in- misfortunes— for we should impart our troubles 
 vite them to share to others as little as may be — and hence the 
 your misfortunes, saying of the poet, 
 
 " I am enough to be unfortunate." 
 
 Most readily may a man summon them, when at the cost of slight 
 grief to themselves they may do him great service. 
 
Bk. IX, 12.] Translation. 527 
 
 Contrariwise, one ought to go to one's friends in adversity 
 iinsummoned and of one's own accord. It is a 
 friend's business to do kindnesses— most of al> tisit''you"frfends 
 to those in need, who have not requested our in adversity, be 
 services. It is more pleasant and more honour- ^1^'^° ™f *^*^™ 
 able for both. Further, one should be ever ready 
 to join in promoting a friend's prosperity — ^as it is for this that 
 friends are needful, but one should be loath to 
 put oneself under obligations to one's friend, as [*) ^^ ^^^l *" 
 it is not honourable to be eager to be helped, te ^low "0 recede 
 Still one should, perhaps, be on one's guard favours from him, 
 
 , , .1 i? ' J • L • ^ yet not to the ex- 
 
 against the appearance ot discourtesy m- repel- tent of discourtesy. 
 ling such offers : for this sometimes happens. 
 
 We have thus shown that the presence of Summary. 
 friends is desirable under all circumstances. 
 
 Seeing, tlien, that we grieve when we make our friends partners in our 
 misfortunes, rejoice when we share with them our prosperity, it would seem that 
 we ought eagerly to invite them to be spectators of our good fortune, but to be 
 slow to do this in our adversities. To do good offices is honourable, but we should 
 make others as little as possible partakers of our woes. Accordingly also the 
 tragedian says, ' I ani enough to be unfortunate.' One ought not to fill one's 
 friend with one's own private woes. Then, most of all may we summon our 
 friends to share our griefs when they can greatly relieve our distress at slight 
 fain to themselves. 
 
 Contrariwise, however, friends ought to volunteer good offices to their friends 
 when in misfortune, if free from misfortune themselves. One ought to seek out 
 the unfortunate unasked and of one's own free will. It is a friend's part to 
 do good offices, most of all to those in need who make no request. This is more 
 pleasant and more honourable for both parties — for those who give and for those 
 who receive. "When affairs are prospering with them we should go to our friends, 
 and should be ready to help and abet them in securing their prosperity. We 
 should have more scruple in accepting favours at their hands. It is not honour- 
 able to show eagerness to be assisted. But if we show zeal and energy in assisting 
 our friends, we should perhaps not reject or thrust aside their offers of services, 
 lest we should seem to be discourteous to our friends. For this is sometimes the 
 case. 
 
 vi.— Of the society of Friends. 
 
 Is it not the case, then, that just as lovers take special delight 
 in the sight of the objects of their affection, 
 and take more delight in the perceptions of this Constant inter- 
 
 ,, . o ,1 ii 1 1 ■ -i course is essential 
 
 sense than in any ot the others — love having its to friendship, 
 being and originating cause in sight more than in 
 any of the other senses — in the same way fellowship is more 
 delightful to friends than anything besides ? Friendship means 
 a community of interests, and one should feel towards one's 
 friend as one does towards oneself. But in one's own case the 
 consciousness that one exists is desirable, so too therefore is the 
 consciousness that one's friend exists. But this consciousness 
 
528 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. IX. 12. 
 
 only becomes actual by their living together, so it is with good 
 reason they desire this. Moreover, in whatever the existence of 
 each is most truly centred and with a view to whatever in par- 
 ticular they severally desire to live, in this above all they seek 
 
 for their friends' society. Hence it is that some 
 ^:Z t' \ts" drink together, others play dice together, others 
 pursuits to which join together in the sports of the gymnasium, or 
 voted ^'^^ '^ '^^ \\\ya.t together, or philosophise together, each 
 
 passing their time together in those particular, 
 occupations which they love best of all those that fill up their 
 life. Wishing to live a common life with their friends, they do 
 those things together and share those occupations in which they 
 consider that that common life is realised the most. 
 
 As a consequence of this, the friendship of bad men turns out 
 „ , evil in its results. They participate in what is 
 
 Such intercourse ., , l ^^ • \li -pi,- it 
 
 among the evil evil, and are unstable m their loundations. And 
 leads, it is true, they are made evil also by growing like one 
 another. But the company of good men is good, 
 strengthening with their growing intercourse. They seem fur- 
 ther to improve by calling out one another's 
 good iT^enhanoes activities and by correcting one another's de- 
 knd promotes vir- fects. They take their stamp from one another, 
 each feeling delight in the other. And so the 
 saying of the poet — 
 
 " From good, good things proceed." 
 
 Thus much on the subject of friendship. 
 
 It follows, then, from what has been said, that to live with one another is 
 most desirable in the eyes of friends. And as lovers delight in the sight of one 
 another's countenances, and they prefer to hold intercourse by this rather than 
 by any other of the senses, implying thereby that through this sense love is boih 
 bom in the first instance and is brought to maturity, so too among friends a 
 common life is more desirable than any 'of the other means of promoting 
 friendship. 
 
 To live together is a form of communion and the most perfect form of 
 communion, and friendship has its essence in communion, for friendship is 
 communion. There are other grounds for this, but the chief one is that to be 
 conscious of oneself is most desirable, as we have shown above : but our feelings to 
 our friend are the same as our feelings to ourselves : cqusequently to be conscious 
 of one's friend's existence will be desirable beyond everything else. And one 
 becomes actually conscious of one's friend's existence by being with him, by 
 living with him, and by passing one's time with him. So friends have good 
 reason for desiring to live with one another. 
 
 Consequently whatever view each takes of the proper object of man's activity, 
 and on whatever grounds he chooses life and whatever he regards as the proper 
 career for man, in this he wishes to live and to spend his time along with his 
 friends. Some think that they ought to carouse with their friends, others that 
 t'ley should play dies with them, others vrish to hunt or practise at the gymna- 
 sium with them, because these we the objects that are valuable in their eyep, sncl 
 
Bk. IX. 12.] Translation. 529 
 
 it IB in such that they consider they ought to have the companionship of their 
 friends, others again claim their companionship in philosophising ; and some 
 make their friends participate in one kind of activity and life, others in other 
 kinds, and in short each wish to pass their days with their friends in that 
 particular pursuit they love the best of all the varied objects of their life. 
 Wishing to live with their friends, they do those things and get them to partake 
 in those things which are pleasant to both of them. On these terms it is possible 
 to live together. 
 
 Hence the friendship of the bad turns out evil, and they participate with one 
 another in evil, and their friendship is not steadfast ; they are inconstant, and 
 theyl degenerate by growing like one another and by encouraging one another in 
 evil courses. But the friendship of the good is good and steadfast, ever growing 
 with?the growth of their intimacy ; and they seem to improve by their efforts 
 towards good, correcting one another's faults. They receive from one another 
 the stamp of each other's good qualities, for the sake of which they love one 
 another. Hence a certain poet says, 
 
 1 " From good, good things proceed." 
 
 From good we reap good results ; from evil, evU results. 
 
 On Friendship let this suffice. The subject next in order for us to discuss will 
 be Pleasure. 
 
BOOK X. 
 
 L— CONCERNING PLEASURE. 
 
 II.— CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
 III.— CONCERNING THE BORDER-LAND BETWEEN 
 ETHICS AND POLITICS. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ANALYSIS. 
 
 I. — Concerning Pleasure. 
 
 Thbee are several grounds upon whicli we are bound to proceed to 
 the consideration of Pleasure. It is £tn essential element of human life : 
 it is an indispensable instrument of education : its proper direction and 
 control are of the greatest importance in relation to a virtuous and 
 happy life. In addition to its proper claims to consideration, it has 
 the further claim of having been the object of much oontroversy.- 
 Opinions about it have varied widely : on the one hand Eudoxus has 
 maintained it to be the Chief Good : on the other hand the Platonists 
 have maintained it to be an unmixed evil. [This latter view has pro- 
 bably been maintained to some extent on educational grounds : what- 
 ever be the real nature of pleasure, they may have thought, men 
 are naturally so prone to it that the true policy of a moralist is to draw 
 them away from it by representing it as an evil This is, however, a 
 mistaken policy : men will not be deluded by false pictures : they test 
 theories by experience and observation : and a demonstrably false theoiy 
 which is put forward, with however excellent an intention, not only 
 fails of its purpose but brings the truth itself into discredit.] 
 
 We shall begin, according to our custom, by examining these two 
 theories of the nature of pleasure. 
 
 I. Eudoxus used four arguments to prove his thesis : and it may be 
 added that the excellence of his personal character gave his arguments 
 a force which was not inherent in them, by making it clear that they 
 were not a mere cloak for voluptuousness. 
 
 (1.) 'Since every object of desire is a good, the supreme object of 
 desire will be the Chief Good. But pleasure is the supreme object of 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book X. 531 
 
 desire. It is consequently the Chief Good.' As far as the major 
 premiss goes, this argument is sound. The appeal to universal 
 .^ experience is valid and proper. • 
 
 (2.) ' The same line of argument may be used in reference to pain : 
 it is the object of universal avoidance as being an evil : the inference 
 may be drawn that its opposite, pleasure, is a good.' This opposition 
 between pain and pleasure has been denied : but upon insufficient 
 ^grounds. If, as is sometimes alleged, they were both evils, then both 
 'would be avoided : but, as a fact, one of them is avoided, the other is 
 not : consequently the opposition between them is real. 
 
 (3.) ' Pleasure is desired not as a means to something else, but in 
 and for itself This must be admitted of certain forms of pleasure. 
 
 (4.) ' Whatever makes every other good more desirable must be the 
 Chief Good : pleasure does so, and is therefore the Chief Good.' But 
 it may be urged in reply that, assuming the minor premiss to be true, 
 it only proves pleasure to be a good : every good is more desirable 
 when joined to another good. At the same time Plato's use of the 
 argument to prove that pleasure is not the Chief Good cannot be 
 admitted, because it proceeds upon a couoeption of the Chief Good 
 which is transcendental and impossible to be realized in human life : 
 whereas th'e Chief Good of which we are in search is essentially human. 
 
 II. The theory of the Platonists is supported by several arguments 
 which we will examine in turn. 
 
 (1.) ' Pleasure is not a quality, and is therefore not a good, since 
 all goods are qualities.' This argument proves too much : for it would 
 exclude justice or happiness itself ^-om the list of goods. [In other 
 words, justice or any other virtue is only a good so far as a man 
 consciously exercises it : that conscious exercise is not a quality but 
 an activity : the fact, therefore, that pleasure is not a quality but an 
 asfcivity does not prove it to be not a good.] 
 
 (2.) ' Pleasure is indeterminate : it admits of degrees of intensity : 
 but every good is determinate : therefore pleasure is not a good,' This 
 argument also proves too much : for it is applicable to virtues as well 
 as to pleasures : and, moreover, it makes no distinction between pure 
 pleasures which do not admit' of greater or less perfection, and pleasures 
 which are alloyed with pain, which are realized, as health is, in varying 
 degrees in different individuals. 
 
 (3.) ' Pleasure is a movement and process of becoming : as such it 
 is necessarily incomplete, and is consequently not a good.' The assump- 
 tion is not true : pleasure is neither a movement nor a process of 
 becoming : some pleasures may be so, at least in a metaphorical sense, 
 , but other pleasures are not so : consequently the definition cannot be 
 true of pleasure in itself. 
 
 (4.) ' If pleasure were a good, no pleasures would be bad : but some 
 pleasures are bad.' In the first place the minor premiss is not true : 
 what are called bad pleasm-es are pleasures only to morbid minds. In 
 the second place a distinction must be drawn between pleasures them- 
 selves and the means by which they are procured. 
 
 ' There are other arguments which are adduced to prove the same 
 thesis, and which may be criticised in a similar way. The general 
 
 M u 2 
 
532 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 result of the examination of current opinions on the subject seems to 
 be that 
 
 (1.) Pleasure is not the Chief Good : 
 
 (2.) Pleasures differ in kind : some being choiceworthy for their own 
 sake : some not being proper objects of choice at aU. 
 
 But let us proceed to examine in a more positive way — What is 
 pleasure in itself? 
 
 In the first place it is, like sight, complete at each moment of its 
 exercise : consequently it is not a movement or ' process of becoming,' 
 for movement is at each moment incomplete. In the second place it ia 
 the result of a perfect and healthy consciousness, acting in the presence 
 of the highest object which can come within its range : it supervenes 
 upon such a consciousness, and marks the perfection of its activity. 
 
 Consequently, this perfect state of any form of consciousness being, 
 as our nature is constituted, transient and not permanent, pleasure is 
 transient also. It follows the weakening and the waning of the con- 
 sciousness upon which it supervenes. On the other hand the desire for 
 pleasure is as universal and as constant as the desire for the full activity 
 of consciousness, which is, in other words, the desire for life. The two 
 desires are inextricably intertwined : which of them is prior or superior, 
 is difficult to determine. 
 
 It follows from this account of the nature of pleasure that 'pleasures 
 not only vary in intensity, but also differ in kind. There are different 
 forms of consciousness, and different kinds of feeling that supervene 
 upon and mark the perfection of those different forms. That they 
 are different in kind as ■well as in degree is proved not only by the 
 difference in their antecedents but by the difference in then- effects : 
 some pleasures are antagonistic to other pleasures, and that which 
 under other circumstances might be a pleasure is, when it is alien to an 
 existing pleasure, of the nature of a pain. Again, the moral qualities of 
 pleasures vary as the moral qualities of states of consciousness vary : 
 some are desirable, others blameworthy, others indifferent. They vstry 
 also as types of character vary : for each species of animals, whose nature 
 is simple and who are ruled by instinct, there may be one kind of 
 pleasure : but for man, with his complex nature and his free power of 
 choice, pleasures are as various in kind as are the forms of his activity. 
 The highest kind of pleasure is that of the highest type of character — 
 the character of the virtuous man : all other binds of pleasure are 
 secondary and subordinate, and must be referred to that highest kind as 
 a standard. 
 
 II. — Conoemiag Happiness. 
 
 It remains for us to consider briefly the nature of happiness. 
 
 It has been shown in preceding Books that happiness must be not a 
 passive state of mind, but an activity, and not only an activity, but an 
 activity which is desirable for its owh sake. This view of the nature of 
 happiness is so universally held as to have led many persons to confound 
 happiness with pleasure : for pleasure also is an activity, though at the 
 
Introductory Analysis: Book X, 533 
 
 same time what is commonly called pleasure does not satisfy the other 
 requisites of happiness, for it is not desirable for its own sake, nor is 
 it on activity of the higher and better parts of ou? nature, or such 
 a one as a perfectly virtuous man, who is the true standard, would 
 approve. 
 
 The activity which constitutes happiness is the activity of a perfectly 
 developed life — one which has reached the highest form of which it is 
 capable. The highest form of the life of man is Reason : the activity of 
 Reason, or in other words the life of philosophic meditation, will con- 
 sequently be the realization of happiness. There are many corrobora- 
 tions of this view : such an activity is not only the highest form of 
 activity, but also the most abiding and the most pleasurable : it is self- 
 ■ sufficient, for though the bodily part of the philosopher will still require 
 food and rest, his life qm philosopher will be independent of all external 
 circumstances : it is desirable for its own sake : it is free from care. 
 Other forms of life may have greater iclat and seem to fill a more im- 
 portant place in human society : but they all have drawbacks from 
 which the life of philosophic meditation is free, and which make it im- 
 possible that they should be the perfect and final aim of man. Indeed, 
 the life of which we are speaking vindicates for itself the position which 
 we have claimed for it by almost rising out of the sphere of humanity 
 and approaching what is divine : the fact that it does so is an additional 
 obligation to pursue it, by proving it to be the highest life which is 
 possible to us, and that which is most distinctively our own. 
 
 There are, no doubt, other forms of happiness. For man is a social 
 being, and there are virtues which rise out of his relations to society, and 
 the life which consists in the exercise of those virtues must be, as far as 
 it goes, a happy life. But* such happiness, however real, is secondary 
 «Dd subordinate to the happiness which we have been describing : the 
 former is relative to human life, the latter is absolute : the former is 
 more or less the creature of circumstances, the latter is independent of 
 them. Moreover the life of philosophic meditation is the life of the 
 Gods, who should be our pattern and to whose level we should aspire : 
 we shall be blessed in proportion as we approach them, and we shall 
 approach them in proportion as we share their ' Beatific Vision.' 
 
 The external conditions of this life must be such as to give it play. 
 A philosopher will not want wealth, but he must have a sound body, 
 and sufficient means to satisfy the wants of that body without exertion 
 or care. Excess of wealth or power is not necessary even for the 
 development of moral virtue : much less for philosophical meditation. 
 But requiring as he does only moderate means, a philosopher need not 
 be anxious about them : let him have faith in the providence of the 
 Gods, who will not desert one who is striving to be like them. 
 
 III.— Concerning the Border-land between Ethics and Politics. 
 
 If our Treatise ended here, its purpose would seem to be not practical 
 but speculative. But since the reverse is the case, we must go on to 
 consider how the ideal which we have sketched of virtue and happiness 
 is to be actually realized in human life. Neither theory nor argument 
 
534 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. 
 
 will bring about such a realization, for. the mass of men are dead to 
 moral appeals and cannot be reformed by logic. 
 
 The link between theory and practice is law : for the instrument of 
 law is fear : and fear alone is the ultimate deterrent from Tice. But 
 law may be made to act in forming habits : and the formation of habits 
 is in fact education. The province of law is thus identical with the 
 province of education. Other means of making men good are sometimes 
 discussed : some persons think that goodness is a gift of nature : some, 
 again, think that it is a product of teaching : but it will be found that 
 habituation, and especially early habituation, is the only real power. 
 This process of forming moral habits by the agency of law, acting 
 through rewards and punishments, should begin when persons are 
 young ; but it does not cease when they become older : in fact it goes 
 on all through life. The chief difference in its operation i^ that the 
 particular rewards and punishments vary with various classes of persons 
 and with various periods of life. The function* Qf the State will be to 
 provide and to apply such rewards and ^nishments ; it must cover the 
 •vrhole of a man's life, ordering it from first to last by the rule of reason, 
 and by the force of physical coercion. (- 
 
 No other authority but that of the State is competent for the task: 
 the authority of a father or the will of an individual is deficient in 
 power of coercion : and indeed we tend to rebel against any constraint 
 except that which the State puts upon us. But the majority of States 
 fail of their duty : they all have laws, but those laws do not sufficiently 
 cover the ground of moral education. The defect has to be supplied by 
 private education, and, where the State fails, it is not only the function 
 but the duty of the private citizen to do his best for the moral education 
 of both his children and his friends. ' 
 
 Such private education, as we have seen, is deficient in coercive 
 power ; but it is analogous to, and follows the same principle as, 
 educatioii by the State. Both the one and the other are based en 
 law J and consequently, any one who takes part in private education 
 must cultivate the spirit of the legislator. He must acquaint himself 
 with general principles, and with the application of such principles; to 
 particular cases. 
 
 From whom is he to learn such principles ? Should we not say, primA 
 fade, from those who profess and apply them, i.e. from practical states- 
 men? 
 
 But there is this difficulty, that hitherto statesmen have known such 
 principles only empirically. Beyond question experience is the basis 
 upon which the principles of legislation must be based ; but on the 
 other hand it is insufficient for the student without a knowledge of 
 causes. The materials lie ready to hand, but the science is not yet 
 built. The sophists indeed have professed to teach the subject; but 
 their theories are useless because they have ignored experience, and 
 disregarded the conditions of the problem. 
 
 We have therefore ourselves, for the first time, to construct from the 
 materials which experience has furnished a Science of StatesmansMp» 
 and to find out by the help of that science what is the ideal state of 
 society, and by what laws that ideal state will fashion the lives of its 
 citizens to the standard of perfect virtue. 
 
 We proceed at once, therefore, from Ethics to Politics. 
 
TEANSLATION. 
 
 kd'. 
 
 I— CONCEENING PLEASURE. 
 
 Ss' i.— Conneotion of Pleastire wltli tlie theory of Morals. 
 
 1. The sutject whicli foUaws next in order for us to discuss is 
 perhaps Pleasure. It is thought that Pleasure 
 
 is bound up in closest union with the nature of essential element 
 man. Hence, in educating the young, we use °* human life; 
 
 1 J . ,, ,1 . • ^ n ■ hence its Import- 
 
 pleasure and pain as the rudders to guide their ance in edacation 
 
 lives (through the storms of passion). and in the forma- 
 
 2. Furthermore, as a help to the formation of *'™ " * ' ' 
 personal character, it is thought to be of the highest moment that 
 men should have the feelings of joy or of aver- 
 
 sion in reference to the proper objects. These pleasure and the 
 feelings in fact spread over the whole course of avoidance of pain 
 
 TP Ti j>i-j] liT are the strongest 
 
 lite, and have a poweriul mnuence and tendency and most pema- 
 to make a life virtuous and happy. The objects "^nt motives to 
 which men set before themselves as the objects 
 of their choice are things pleasurable : the objects they seek to 
 avoid are things painful. 
 
 3. But since pleasures and pains involve such issues, it would 
 seem not to be right on any account to omit their 
 jSonsideration, more particularly as the subject is of pleasure is 
 one that opens up much discussion. strongly oontro- 
 
 (1.) Some philosophers declare Pleasure to be [lo Some maintain 
 
 the * absolute good.' pleasure to be the 
 
 (2.) Others on the contrary declare it to be an ^2™™otherr"view 
 
 unqualified evil. it as an unmixed 
 
 evil. 
 
 Of these rival theorists, those who uphold pleasure do so, 
 perhaps, with a genuine conviction that it is the source of all 
 good. 
 
 Their opponents are influenced by the opinion that it is better, 
 in view of practical life, to exhibit pleasure among things that are 
 evn, even though in fact it be not, and by observing that the 
 
536 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2. 
 
 mass of men are naturally predisposed to yield to pleasure and to 
 become slaves of their appetites. They arffue, 
 
 Those -who decry . j.r j. -i. • • i-i. j. j i.u 
 
 pleasure do 30 often m consequence, that it IS right to draw them 
 from prudential ^ a contrary direction, in the hope that they 
 considerations, and ,, i i.i i. x- -a 
 
 in order to conn- ™ay, through these counteracting influences, 
 teraot the undue attain to a proper moderation, 
 pursuit it. J (Jq^Ijj. ■^^iiether such a theory is prudent or 
 
 politic. Theories that bear on human emotions and practical con- 
 duct are les^ credited than observed facts. When 
 defeats its own therefore, theories are at variance with the facts 
 t""^^' t- ^^^*' come under personal observation they are 
 
 ters men always derided and bring the truth itself into an equal 
 bring theories to discredit. For example, if the philosopher who 
 
 the test of their , • i • i^. i j j. j.- 
 
 ownexperienceaud consures pleasure IS himselt observed at any time 
 
 the obsei-vations of to be eager for some pleasure of his own, he is 
 
 which manifeTt^ thought to have such a leaning for it, as though 
 
 contradicts expe- it were altogether and entirely a thing to covet. 
 
 pTon? the'^°i^ten- •'•^ ^^'^ c^^.^^ it is not characteristic of the world 
 
 tion) brings disore- generally to make fine distinctions, 
 
 dit on the author. Theories, however, that are true and can be 
 
 verified, are of extreme utility, not merely with a view to know- 
 ing our duty, but also in their bearing on practical 
 
 TJeories, however, jifg. Being consistent with the facts of expe- 
 
 that are cased on . ,. ° ,., , , ii x- 
 
 fact, are accepted nenco they are accredited, and consequently stimu- 
 
 by the reason and la^g thoso who Understand their importance, to 
 
 made a rule of ,. ■ j -j-i- i.i • i i j 
 
 life. live m accordance with their standard. 
 
 But enough of general remarks. Let us proceed to the discus- 
 sion of the theories that have been maintained on this subject of 
 pleasure. 
 
 In what follows, we must, aooording to the scheme of our argnment, disonss 
 more fully the nature of Pleasure ; for Pleasm-e is in a sense congenital, and an 
 essential element in our nature. This is the reason why, as teachers of the yotmg,. 
 we guide them by Pleasure and Pain ; leading them, by infliction of the latter, 
 away from what is base, and by means of the former inciting them to what fe. 
 noble. Which process clearly proves that by nature we shrink from pain and 
 pursue after pleasure. Therefore, since our Treatise concerns the emotions of 
 mankind and their actions as well, it is but reasonable and consistent with oui 
 scheme, that we should accurately discriminate in the matter of Pleasure, 
 afEeoting as it does both emotions and actions. Further, it appears to contribute 
 in no small degree to the acquisition of Moral Virtue, that we should feel delight 
 and dislike just when suoh feelings are appropriate. For these feelings are co- 
 extensive with human life : joy and sorrow, in their respective objects, are 
 always with us : and, if felt duly and fittingly, both in kind and amount, and 
 consistently with Eight Reason, they contribute largely to the formation of the 
 virtuous character, and to the life of true happiness. 
 
 Nor would it be at all reasonable to omit such a subject as Pleasure : for, in 
 its consideration, there is nothing so simple or obvious as not to require copious 
 
Bk. X. 2.] Translation. 537 
 
 and weighty discussion. On the contrary, so great, somehow, is the divergence 
 of opinion about Pleasure, that some aflfirm it to be the very Chief Good, while 
 
 others affirm that it is not a ' good ' at all, but exactly the opposite an 
 
 intrinsically base thing. 
 
 Of those who maintain the latter view, some do actually themselves believe it, 
 having been convinced that pleasure is a base thing ; whUe others, believing, 
 " themselves, that this or that pleasure may be good, yet wish to persuade their 
 neighbours that all pleasure is bad, thinking that this is a safer canon for the 
 conduct of life, and that men in general would be advantaged by a conviction 
 that Pleasure is a base thing. This they support by pleading the natural 
 propensity of all men to pleasure, and consequently, how essential it is to give 
 them a stoong wrench in the opposite direction, by drawing them, once for all, 
 by all available means, away from pleasures, and enabling them thereby to reach 
 the condition which we called ' the mean state,' and so to adopt eventually the 
 right attitude towards Pleasure in the abstract. This plea is fallacious. Such a 
 process will never wean the majority of mankind from base pleasures. Human 
 emotions and actions cany more conviction to those who behold them, than do 
 arguments about them. Whenever therefore such teachers are f ovmd to condemn 
 Pleasure by their words, but to approve it by their practice and by their feelings 
 towards it, they contradict themselves, and become a laughing-stock to those who 
 hear their words, and see their conduct ; and such teachers progress not one step 
 towards aiding mankind, for all their words, the insincerity of which is proved 
 by their actions. He who condemns Pleasure, if at any time he is detected in its 
 pursuit, is concluded to have deserted to its side, and to be approving it as a good ; 
 nay, more, he causes those, who observe his defection, to imagine, not merely that 
 some pleasure may be a good, but that all Pleasure may be approved as such. 
 For distinction and discrimination — as, that one class of pleasure may be good, 
 while another pleasure may possibly be base — are too subtle for the multitude : 
 which no sooner sees a man of mind delighting in some pleasure, than it leaps to 
 the conclusion that aU pleasure is a thing good in itself and choice-worthy. 
 ■Whereby such teachers as we have described not only fail to establish their own 
 views, but bring the truth to naught, into the bargain. Thus it is clear that true 
 moral theories, and such only, can have real usefulness to the mind, in purging 
 it of all error, and can also have a profitable influence on the conduct of life. 
 Such theories win acceptance by being seen to coincide with the best actions of 
 those who hold them. 
 
 Enough however about erroneous views : let us return to the discussion of 
 Pleasure itself ; and, iirst, we will set forth the opinions of the ancients about it. 
 
 ii,— Exandnation of the theory of Eudoxus that Pleasure is the 
 Summum Bonum. 
 
 (a) STATEMENT OF THE ARGUMENTS OF EUDOXUS. 
 
 Now Eudoxus regarded pleasure as the summum bonum, and 
 used the following arguments : 
 
 1. He saw all creatures, as well rational as irrational, eagerly 
 striving to attain it. ' In all cases that which is ]. 'That which is 
 desired is a thing; good and right, and that which desired is a good. 
 
 . , . , . ,, r- T i. 1 ■ 1 J.1 That which is de- 
 
 is desired in the highest degree is by the same ^j^ed in the high- 
 
 s reasoning the highest good. Consequently, the est degree is the 
 
 fact that all creatures alike are impelled to the B™'°pTeasii°re™s 
 
 pursuit of pleasure^ proves that for all alike desired in the 
 
538 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2. 
 
 highest degree and pleasure IS the greatest good. Everything, eo 
 by all. Therefore j^g argued, finds out what is good for its own 
 Summum Bouom.' Self, just as it unas out its proper looa ; hence, 
 
 a thing which is good for all beings, a thing 
 for which they all strive, that is the chiefest good. 
 
 [These arguments of Eudoxus gained credit on account of the 
 
 excellence of his personal character, rather than 
 had' grea^'^ight through their own cogency. He was known 
 from the pure and to be a pre-eminently temperate man ; conse- 
 temperate oharac- q^ently he was thought to hold these opinions 
 
 not as the votary of pleasure, but from real 
 conviction of their truth.] 
 
 2. He maintained, too, that the correctness of his view was 
 equally plain from a consideration of pain, which 
 
 2. The same truth ■ ^j^g opposite of pleasure. Pain, he said, was 
 
 IS seen conversely. , . i i i n i ., . 
 
 'Pain is shunned a thmg shunucd by all creatures as an evil m 
 as unirersaily as itgglf; and by parity of reasoning its opposite, 
 Teted""^^ '^ pleasure, was a good to be coveted. 
 
 8. Now an object is, in the highest degree, an object of choice 
 when we desire it not on account of something 
 
 3. Pleasure is a, gjgg jjqj. ^jj.Jj g^jjy ulterior aim ; and, confessedly, 
 
 nght and satisfies pleasure is an object of this kind : if a man feels 
 -per se. Therefore pleasure, no oue asks him further what his motive 
 
 it is the summum Tj.,. j.ii.j>t i i_- j<i- 
 
 bonum. IS for havmg that leeJmg, pleasure being a leeling 
 
 desirable in its own right. 
 
 4. Added to any other good, he argued, pleasure makes that 
 good more desirable still ; e.ff., added to the per- 
 
 4. Whatevermakes formancc of justicc or the practice of self-restraint, ' 
 desirabi^e°° is "the pleasure makes such acts more desirable : and 
 summum bonum : that which increases good must, he thought, 
 
 pleasure does so : -^ if ],„ „„„A 
 therefore pleasure "Seil ue gOOU. 
 is the summum 
 
 bonum. Eudoxus, for his part, held that Pleasure was the absolute 
 
 ultimate good ; and he held so because he saw all ftiugs, 
 rational and irrational, eager in its pursuit ; and that which all things specially 
 pursue, must be — he thought — the crowning good, and superior to all others. 
 For his definition of the good was ' to each man, that, at which he specially -aims.' 
 
 Just as in the case of food, each animal seeks after that which is good and 
 serviceable to itself, while that food, if such there be. which all alike desire and 
 would procure for themselves, is ' good' in the universal sense— 'SO, (he held) that 
 which all things alike deem absolutely good, and desire accordingly, mast be the 
 ultimate good. 
 
 Such were the declarations of Eudoxus about Pleasuie ; and his arguments 
 obtained credence rather through the moral excellence of their author than by 
 their own merit. For he was the most temperate of men, and seemed therefore 
 
Bk. X. 2.] Translation. 539 
 
 to argue thus, not as a partisan of pleasure, but as an ardent votary of trutli. 
 Further, he thought that his theory was clearly proved by the opposition between 
 Pleasure and Pain : inasmuch as aU things avoided Pain, tHey must '■ pari passu,' 
 pursue Pleasure : and what all things pursue, must be the good. 
 
 Aad, again, he tried to fortify his view by this argument. Of aU things 
 ohoioeworthy, that is most so which is ohoioeworthy for its own sake, and is noc 
 selected on any other aoooumb nor with a view to any further result. And such 
 a good — he argued — Pleasure undoubtedly is. No one, indeed, asks why we wish 
 for Pleasure, as might be asked about other objects — such as, for example, 
 money or honour, with what aim we desire them. Pleasure admits no such 
 queries : no one can allege any ulterior result of pleasure which prompts him to 
 its acquisition ; but everyone chooses it for its own nature, as its own standard, 
 measure, and perfection. And since that which is absolutely and in itself choice- 
 worthy is thereby the end, and ultimate object, and the actual good, therefore 
 (he inferred) Pleasure is the ultimate good. 
 
 Furthermore, he thought another reason proved his view on the subject. 
 Pleasure, superadded to any good, makes it more choiceworthy and desirable : 
 e.g. Temperance, or Justice, certainly become sweeter and more choiceworthy 
 when combined with Pleasure. But that which has power to make any good 
 better, when added to it, that, he held, must be the ultimate good. 
 
 (i) CRITICISM UPON THE PREVIOUS ARGUMENTS. 
 
 Surely such an argument would seem to prove at most that 
 
 pleasure is among things that are good, though , _ 
 
 i i.1, ii J ^ J 1) The fouHh 
 
 not more so than any other good, every good argument of Eu- 
 being more desirable when joined to another doxus is not con- 
 good, than when isolated. , "^7* ' 
 
 in.-, 1 • 1 • •! W Assuming it to 
 
 in lact it was by a precisely similar argu- be true, the infe- 
 
 ment that Plato positively ^proves the theory renceis that piea- 
 
 that pleasure is the summum bonum. He ^Ae gooi ^°° ' "" 
 
 showed that a life of pleasure is even more (j) piato, in fact, 
 
 desirable when combined with wisdom, than "^s"! ^^'^ identical 
 
 , . . . , , j> . T , argument to prove 
 
 When it is per se and apart irom wisdom ; and that pleasure is 
 
 he drew the conclusion that, if the combination »"* tiie summum 
 
 bonum. 
 
 be better, then pleasure is not per se the sum- 
 mum bonum. The absolute summum bonum cannot be made 
 more desirable whatever may be added to it. 
 But [Plato proves too much :] it is evident that \^^^ omato,™ ow- 
 according to this argument neither pleasure nor ever, was some- 
 anything else can be the summum bonum : for ^^^ Z^Z't 
 there is nothing in the world that does not be- gument has no real 
 come more desirable by association with some of ' wMoh ^we ^are 
 absolute other thing good in itself. What, then, talking is of course 
 is there that satisfies Plato's requirements, and is ^^^^^P"^'"'^'' «7«- 
 yet a good in which we mortals have a share? 
 [None] : and yet this is a necessary attribute of the good which 
 is the object of our search. 
 Those, again, who take exception to the theory that ' an object 
 
540 
 
 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2. 
 
 at which all things aim is a good,' and maintain the contrary, 
 are surely mistaken in their view. When an 
 opinion is held by all men, I maintain that it is 
 true. The theorist who destroys this universal 
 ground of confidence will have no greater assur- 
 ance of certainty for what he may himself adduce. 
 If it were only irrational beings who yearned for 
 pleasures, there would have been some reason in 
 the objection, but since even rational creatures 
 have the same impulses, on what grounds can 
 their objection possibly rest ? It is probable that 
 even in depraved natures there is an instinctive 
 good, higher than the level of themselves, which 
 aims at an ' end ' congenial to itself. 
 
 (2) The jkssl argu- 
 ment of Eudoxus 
 is confirmed — so 
 far as his premis- 
 ses go. 
 
 The appeal to uni- 
 versal experience 
 is a valid and 
 proper one. 
 
 The pursuit of 
 pleasure by all 
 living things proves 
 it to be A good 
 (though not the 
 sumnium bonum). 
 
 (3) The second ar- 
 gument of Eudoxus 
 is challenged by 
 Speusippus, but 
 upon insufiScient 
 grounds. Eudoxus 
 was right in as- 
 suming an opposi- 
 tion between plea- 
 sure and pain, as 
 one is t^fvKirhv and 
 the other is not. 
 
 2. Nor, again, do the criticisms of the opponents of Eudoxus 
 on his argument from pain as the contrary of 
 pleasure seem to be soundly based. They deny 
 that it follows that if pain is an evil, pleasure is 
 therefore a good. They maintain that evil may 
 be opposed to evil, and both extremes to a state 
 of indifference or impassivity ; and so far their 
 reasoning is not amiss, though they are not right 
 in their inferences in regard to the question now 
 before us. If pleasure and pain were both evils, 
 then both of them ought to have been equally 
 avoided ; if neither were evils, then neither ought to have 
 been avoided, or both alike in exact proportion. But, as a 
 matter of fact, men are seen to shun pain as an evil and to desire 
 pleasure as a good. Consequently pleasure and pain are, in 
 reality, opposed the one to the other. 
 
 But this is not the case. That which, added to a good, maies it better, must 
 itself be a good : but it need not be the ultimate Good, nor indeed better than 
 any other good. Every ' good ' added to another of coui'se enhances it qua ' good ; ' 
 the whole must invariably be greater than the part. 
 
 Such, at any rate, were the views of Eudoxus about Pleasure. Plato, on the 
 other hand, used to maintain that Pleasure could not be the ultimate Good ; for 
 which position he em^oyed the very arguments by which Eudoxus attempted to 
 prove that it was. For since — he says — that ' good,' a greater good than which 
 can be found, cannot be the ultimate Good — (for the ultimate Good must be the 
 greatest of all)— it follows that any good which, by the addition of another, 
 becomes greater and more ohoiceworthy, cannot itself be the ultimate Good ; for 
 it is not the greatest good, but admits of a superior. 
 
 Such a ' good,' Pleasure is : the life of pleasure becomes more pleasurable and 
 ohoiceworthy by the addition of Wisdom, or of Temperance : which proves that 
 there is something better than Pleastu'e. Pleasure, therefore, according to Plato, 
 is not the ultimate Good ; it is a good, but in the same sense as are the virtues, 
 the sciences, and the other endowments of our nature. Now this ia the veiy 
 
Bk. X. 2.] Translation. 541 
 
 doctrine we are anxious in the present case to prove — that pleasure is a good of 
 this class ; thereby avoiding the error of those who, pleading against Eudoxus' 
 theories, affirmed it to be not a ' good ' at all, though aU thmgs aim at it. Their 
 position is absurd, for that which all men unanimously thmk true is what vre 
 call the truth. There is no other canon of truth ; and any one who annuls this 
 doctrine of common consent, and endeavours to shake the faith based upon it, 
 will be ill able to substitute a better. And all men of common sense agree that 
 a thing at which all things aim must be a good. They clearly hold it to be a 
 good, for they pursue it through every means that conduces to it. The case 
 would be different if only irrational beings aimed at it : for then we might think 
 it was only a good to them ; and their suffrage might be inadequate to prove that 
 it was truly a good. But we find, by the means they take to obtain it, that 
 things irrational and rational alike consider it to be a good ; and why then should 
 it not be an absolute good ? For indeed, even irrational beings have in them a 
 certain natural affinity to the Good, which supersedes, as it were, their inferiority, 
 and qualifies them to aim at the good, by an inner attraction to it. 
 
 Such is the objection brought against the first part of Eudoxus' theory. As 
 against the second, which is baaed upon the law of opposition, they deny that it 
 follows that pleasure is a good, because pain is an evil. If a thing be an evil, its 
 opposite need not be a good ; an evil may be the opposite of an evU, as, apathy 
 for instance, of intemperance, both being evils ; and both are opposites to tem- 
 perance. 
 
 So far they are right — but they are in error about pleasure. For if pleasure 
 and pain were both evils, both would be worthy of avoidance, just as, if both 
 were goods, both would be choioeworihy, or, if both were neither good nor bad, 
 neither would be really choiceworthy. But, as it is, we avoid pain as an evil, and 
 choose pleasure as a good ; and so, plainly, pain is opposed to pleasure as an evil 
 to a good, 
 
 ill. — ExaminatLon of the theory of the Flatonlsts that Pleasure 
 is not a good. 
 
 1. Nor assuredly does it follow that, because pleasure does not 
 come under the class of qualities, therefore ^ < pleasure i 
 neither does it come under the class of things not a quality : 
 that are good. Neither happiness nor the various ^™?7 good is a 
 modes in which virtue is displayed are qualities, sure is not a good.' 
 yet they are certainly goods. [Aristotle denies 
 
 2. The Platonists urge, further, that, whereas * the good ' is a 
 thing defined and determinate, pleasure is a 2. 'Pleasure is 
 thing undefined and indeterminate, because it not defined: Every 
 admits of degrees of greater or less intensity. ,._ pleasure is not 
 
 There are two senses in which this objection a good." 
 
 , , , « [Whatever admits 
 
 may be taken : — of degrees is not 
 
 (1.) If they draw their inference from the defined: Pleasure 
 
 sensations of pleasure which men feel, their ^"He^ureTsTot 
 
 criticism will apply equally to Justice and the defined.] 
 
 virtues generally, in respect of which they dis- J^^^e'e^i^^^JJ ^ 
 
 tinctly say that men are found with corresponding (o) proving too 
 
 dispositions to a greater or less degree. Some foeitrbli^ 
 
 men are just and some are brave to a greater relative. 
 
542 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2. 
 
 degree than others ; and acts of justice and self-restraint may be 
 more complete in some cases than in others. 
 
 (2.) But if they rest their criticism on the pleasures them- 
 selves, they are surely mistaken in the true 
 ^"•i, . . , reason (of their apparent indeterminatenessV 
 
 (;8) Ignoring the • .i . i j ,1. "" 
 
 differences be- Seeing that some pleasures are pure and others 
 
 tweeu ' pure ^ are alloyed with pain. What is there to prevent 
 
 p"easuresr pleasures from being realized in varying degrees 
 
 in precisely the same way that health, though it 
 
 be a thing defined and determinate, admits of a greater or less 
 
 perfection ? The same completeness of development is not found 
 
 in all men alike, nor is it uniformly maintained in the same 
 
 individual. Yet even when the health is lowered, it continues 
 
 within certain limits, and differs only in alternations of more or 
 
 less completeness. It is of course conceivable that the case of 
 
 pleasure should be precisely similar. 
 
 3. Assuming * the good ' to be a thing absolute and complete, 
 
 whUe processes of ' movement ' or of ' becoming ' 
 
 ■Pleasure is move- are transitional and incomplete, they endeavour 
 
 ment and becom- ,, i.-\ , ^ • /., ,. 
 
 ing, Movement and to show that pleasure IS a process of ' movement ' 
 becoming are im- and of ' becoming ' (and therefore not * the 
 
 perfect: .*. Plea- n (1 '^ 
 
 sure is imperfect.' gOOO. ). 
 
 i. But, in the first place, our' critics seem to he 
 
 But (iOPleaBiire is ■ xi • ■ i.i. j. i • /• 
 
 not a movement. wroug m their View that pleasure is a process of 
 movement or change. 
 A characteristic of all change seems to be swiftness or slow- 
 ness of motion, if not absolutely, as in the 
 o. Movement im- motions of the Cosmos, yet taken in comparison 
 OT ^^Xw^es^ with something else. But neither swiftness nor 
 either abso- slowness are proper attributes of pleasure. It is 
 tiTC. " ^^ ' possible indeed to come into a state of pleasure 
 quickly, just as it is to get into a state of rage 
 quickly ; yet quickness or slowness are impossible attributes of 
 the feelings themselves. 
 
 Nor yet, again, can we predicate such attributes of one man's 
 
 pleasure as compared with that of another in the way in which 
 
 we can of such changes as ' walking ' or ' growing,' and similar 
 
 processes where comparisons of degree are natural and correct. 
 
 While, therefore, the transition to a state of pleasure may be 
 
 a slow or a rapid one; on the other hand, the 
 
 j8. s-wiftness or enjoyment of a consciousness in conformity 
 
 onTbeaMi^ therewith (I refer to the actual sensation of 
 
 dental conoo- pleasure) cannot be either slow or rapid. 
 
Bk. X. 2.] 
 
 Translation. 
 
 543 
 
 mitanli, 
 essential 
 the idea. 
 
 not 
 to 
 
 (ii.) Pleasure is no* 
 a ' becoming : ' 
 
 u. If it were, the 
 result would 
 be like the 
 cause ; but in 
 fact it is dis- 
 tinct. 
 
 |3. Pleasure is a 
 
 'restoration' 
 only meta- 
 phorically. 
 
 ii. In the next place, how can pleasure pos- 
 sibly be ' a process of becoming ' ? Such a theory 
 can be disproved by a number of arguments : — • 
 
 (1.) It is evident that every effect is formed 
 out of definite causes, and may be resolved again 
 into the elements out of which it was produced. 
 [Accordingly, if pleasure were ' a becoming,' its 
 elements would also be pleasurable. But, as a 
 matter of fact,] it is not pleasure but pain that 
 results from the breaking up of pleasure. [Therefore pleasure 
 cannot be ' a becoming.'] 
 
 (2.) In opposition also to the theory which they use, that 
 ' pain is the want of attaining to a natural con- 
 dition, and pleasure the satisfying of that need,' 
 there are two answers : (a) These emotions, 
 upon which this theory relies, are simply bodily 
 and physical emotions. (/3) If pleasure be the recovery of a 
 natural condition, the part in which the restoration takes place, 
 will be the part that will feel the pleasure; i.e., it will be the 
 body. But, as a matter of fact, the seat of pleasure is evidently 
 not the body, but the mind. Consequently pleasure is not the 
 restoration to a bodily state, though whilst such a restoration is 
 going on, a man will be conscious of pleasure, just as, when 
 || ^dergoing a medical operation, he will be conscious of pain. 
 * [This last opinion, that pleasure is a process of recovery, seems 
 to have originated from the feelings incidental to 
 hunger and thirst : when men experience want 
 and endure the pangs of hunger, they are 
 conscious of pleasure at the satisfying of their 
 wants. 
 
 But such conditions are not found in regard to 
 all pleasures. Some pleasures have no back- 
 ground of pain; for example, the pleasures of 
 learning, and, among such as follow the gratification of the 
 senses, pleasures that come through fragrant odours, or pleasant 
 sounds and sights and recollections and hopes. What is there 
 of ' becoming ' which such pleasures could be ' processes ? ' No 
 need has been experienced from satisfying which the pleasure 
 could arise.] 
 
 [The explanation 
 of pleasure as 'a 
 restoration' is at 
 best only applicable 
 to bodily pleasures, 
 and is a metaphor 
 derived from asso- 
 ciations of hunger 
 and thirst] 
 
 4. In reply to those who adduce the fact that certain pleasures 
 are disgraceful (in order to prove that pleasure 
 cannot be ' the good ') (1) one may deny the fact *;,/ ^bonu^^o 
 that such gratifications are really pleasurable, pleasure would be 
 
544 
 
 The Moral Philosophy oj Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2. 
 
 bad. But many 
 pleasures are dis- 
 graceful . ■ . Plea- 
 sure is not bouum. ' 
 
 But 
 
 (a) Bad pleasures 
 are not really 
 pleasures. 
 
 Even though they be gratifying to men whose 
 moral state is corrupt, one must not imagine 
 that they are gratifying to any one else. In 
 precisely the same way things are not really 
 wholesome or sweet or bitter because they appear 
 to be so to people in bad health, any more than 
 things are white that appear so to patients suffer- 
 ing from ophthalmia. 
 
 (2) Or may not the true statement of the case be that pleasures 
 are desirable per se, yet not assuredly from un- 
 lawful means — ^precisely as wealth is per se 
 desirable, yet not for one who has turned traitor 
 to get it ; or as health is desirable, yet not to the 
 man who has had to eat unnatural food. 
 
 (3) Or may it not be that pleasures differ in kind ? Pleasures 
 derived from noble acts are surely different from 
 those that come from disgraceful acts. Every 
 pleasure implies a corresponding character in 
 the man who feels it. For example, unless a 
 man himself be just, he cannot feel the pleasure 
 that the just man feels ; nor can he feel the 
 pleasure of the musician unless he have musical 
 tastes of his own ; and so on through the whole 
 
 (;8) Pleasure is 
 only desirable 
 ■when the 
 means thereof 
 are lawful. 
 
 (7) Pleasures 
 differ in kind : 
 it does not fol- 
 low because 
 «ome pleasures 
 are bad that 
 therefore aU 
 pleasures are 
 bad. 
 
 list of pleasures. 
 
 5. Again, it is urged that the case of the friend as being 
 different from the flatterer seems to show that 
 pleasure is not identical with ' the good,' or that 
 pleasures differ in kind. The true friend is 
 thought to shape his intercourse with a view to 
 moral well-being, whereas the flatterer has no 
 other aim than pleasure. Hence the flatterer is 
 censured, whereas men praise a true friend, know- 
 ing that his intercourse points to higher objects. 
 
 5. ' If oM pleasure 
 ■were good, the flat- 
 terer would not be 
 blamed. But the 
 flatterer {> blamed. 
 . • . Pleasure is not 
 a good.' [But con- 
 fessedly pleasures 
 differ in ki'nd.'] 
 
 6. ' If all pleasure 
 ■were good, the life 
 of a child might be 
 a desirable life. 
 But no one ■would 
 hare such a life. 
 .■. Pleasure is not 
 a good.' [But plea- 
 sures differ in 
 kind.] 
 
 7. [For similar rea- 
 sons no one would 
 have pleasure or 
 avoid pain if the 
 price were dis- 
 graceful.] 
 
 6. Again, no one, they say, would care to live 
 all his days with the * intellect only of a child ; ' 
 with the very keenest delight, but only with the 
 pleasures of a young child. 
 
 7. Nor would a man care to have enjoyment 
 at the price of doing most disgraceful acts, 
 though he were never likely to meet with pain 
 for doing so. 
 
Bk. X. 2.] Translation. 
 
 545 
 
 8. Lastly, to show that pleasure is not identical with the good, 
 they remind us that there are many things about 
 
 which we should he enthusiastic, even though' IJ-'^^^llt 
 
 they entailed no sense of pleasure; e.g., sight, by any and every 
 
 , memory, knowledge, and the possession of Sr,:;i^:*t' wlic" 
 
 { moral excellences. It makes no difference to we covet irrespec- 
 
 . the argument that, as a matter of fact, pleasures ^^^'^ "L^"'' p'^^" 
 
 m attend the possession of these things : we bring, 
 
 should choose them though no pleasure resulted Therefore pleasure 
 
 therefrom. ^^^^^_ 
 
 The conclusions then that seem to be evident from the above 
 discussion are : — 
 
 (1.) Pleasure is not the Chief Good. 
 
 (2.) It is not every pleasure that is choiceworthy. 
 
 (3.) Certain pleasures are choiceworthy for their own sake, but 
 they either differ in kind from others or in the circumstances out 
 of which they arise. 
 
 This examination must suffice for the theories that are current 
 in regard to pleasure and pain. 
 
 others agaia say that pleasure is not a good, because it is not a quaKty. This 
 argument has no real cogency ; for it would equally prove that the activities of 
 the different virtues, and happiness itself, not being qualities, vrere not goods : but 
 there is clearly nothing that can really disprove their being goods. 
 
 Again, they pleaded that Pleasure could not be a good because it is indetermi- 
 nate, while the good must be determinate. And they called Pleasure indetermi- 
 nate because it fluctuates, and admits of more and less. This would be cogent 
 and true if the more and less were discernible in Pleasure itself : but in fact the 
 sharpening and slackening in the sense of pleasure takes place in the subjects of 
 it, and is relative to their capacity for it ; as is the case also with the virtues. 
 These may be just, or manly, and act justly, or live temperately, all in a greater 
 or less degree ; but that does not make these virtues in themselves indeterminate. 
 Precisely in the same way Pleasure is not in itself indeterminate, but allows its 
 am^e to sharpen or slacken in those who feel it, because it is not in all alike, nor 
 in an equal degree pure and unalloyed with pain. Such is the case with Health ; 
 it is determinate, yet in its subjects it is made intense or relaxed as the case may 
 be ; for aJl men have not the same balance of the vital power, nor has any one 
 man the same balance always ; but the power fluctuates, now to more, now to 
 less ; and at one time the body is purely healthy, and at another it contains a 
 germ of disease. Precisely analogous to this may be the case of Pleasure. Again, 
 it was argued that Pleasure could not be a good, from the following considera- 
 tions. Pleasure is a process of motion and development ; and motion and 
 development are, ipso facto, imperfect, and what is imperfect cannot be a good ; 
 for what is good has perfection : therefore. Pleasure cannot be a good. 
 
 Here the minor premiss is false : pleasure is not =• process of motion, nor of 
 development, as we will proceed to show. 
 
 In all motion, there would seem to be a natural quality of swiftness or slow- 
 ness : and if any motion appear to have no such quality in itself and absolutely, 
 (that is, to have no increase or decrease of speed in its material subjects, such as 
 there is in things which move irregularly), stUl, those material subjects, if 
 compared not with themselves but with some other things, are seen and said to 
 
546 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 2 
 
 have swiftness or slowness. The revolution of the heavens, for instance, is in 
 itself equable and unchangeable : but considered relatively to the motion of the 
 stars it may be called swift. So it is that every motion has its special quality of 
 speed or slowness, whereas Pleasure has no such quality, therefore Pleasure is 
 not a process of motion. And that Pleasure has no such quality is plaiu from the 
 following considerations. A man is said to ' be pleased ' gimldy, just as he may 
 ' be angered ' quickly. That is, he may change quickly from the condition of not 
 being pleased to that of being so : but he cannot be said to feel Pleasure itseU 
 quickly or slowly ; neither relatively to himself, (as the things which move 
 irregularly were said to have speed or slowness relatively to themselves) nor in 
 comparison with anything else (as the things, whose motion was equable, were 
 said to have). Progression, growth, change, and all modes of motion are contem- 
 plated in connection with swiftness or slowness ; and so may the lapse, or 
 sudden shifting, into the condition of pleasure. But there is no swiftness or 
 slowness in the activity of Pleasure itself. Pleasure is a sort of goal or term of 
 motion ; it is a sort of rest, and therefore cannot itself be motion of any kind : 
 and this, as we consider, we have proved. Nor, as we have said, is it a process of 
 development ; for, if it were, its opposite. Pain, would be a process of dissolution ; 
 and of that, of which Pleasure was the development. Pain would be the dissolu- 
 tion : for neither development nor dissolution is casual, nor are they casuaJly 
 connected ; but from whatsoever anything is developed, into that, and nothing 
 else, does it naturally dissolve. 
 
 Again, if it be true, as is said, that Pain is a depletion of the natural condition, 
 it will follow that Pleasure is a renovation thereof ; and this depletion and 
 renovation are clearly bodily processes. And so, if Pleasure is a renovation of 
 some natural condition, that which has Jhe renovation — to wit, the body — will 
 feel, and be the subject of, the pleasure : and pleasure will be corporeal purely. 
 But this is not the fact ; all agree that the sense of pleasure appertains' to the soul. 
 
 Therefore Pleasure, we conclude, is not a process of development and renova- 
 tion ; but it is consequent on a renovation, just as Pain is on a depletion, of the 
 natural state : we certainly feel pleasure whUe a renovation is taJdng place, and 
 pain, e.g., when amputation is being performed. 
 
 The view we have been criticising seems to have been derived from a con- 
 sideration of bodily pleasures and pains, and, especially those of eating and 
 drinking : wherein it is certainly true that we first feel and are pained by deple- 
 tion, and then pleased by renovation. But this does not hold with all pleasures : 
 e.g,, with those of mathematical science, and those of mental perception. Cer- 
 tainly the pleasures of hearing, smelling, seeing, take place witii no antecedent 
 pain, nor are they in any sense a renovation following on depletion. 
 
 Hope, again, and remembrance of things good, are among the most pleasurable 
 things : but can these pleasures be called a development ? and if so, of what ? 
 There was in their subjects no previous depletion of which they could be the 
 renovation. All which proves Pleasure not to be a development. 
 
 Others again aver that pleasure is not a good, and plead the instances of 
 pleasures which are disreputable. So when we reply that things are not pleasura- 
 ble because base men think them so ; the true canon of pleasure is not ' that 
 which pleases the ill-disposed.' Such pleasures are relative to such men, not 
 real — ^just as, to sick appetites, tilings appear wholesome, or sweet, or bitter, 
 which are not such in fact, but only relatively to the vitiated taste : or as, to 
 diseased eyes, tilings appear white which are not actually white. So it is evident, 
 in spite of these theories, that the claim of pleasure to be a good is not disproved; 
 For we allege specially ' 
 
 (i.) That the pleasures of the dissolute are not really pleasures. 
 
 (ii) If we grant they are pleasures, stUl it does not follow that Pleasure in 
 itself is base : for pleasure is not homogeneous, but manifold ; that is, some kinds 
 may be base while others are good, and those derived from honourable and 
 laudable objects are of one quality, and those derived from base objects, of 
 another : in short, some pleasures are good, and some detestable, in themselves. 
 Take as an analogy the case of wealth or health. There is an honourable wealth, 
 
Bk. X. 3.] Translation. 547 
 
 wMoh. a man obtains without wronging any one, and a dislionourable wealth, 
 obtained by treachery to one's country, or by selling childxen or relations into 
 slavery. There is, again, a proper health, obtained by a natural and human mode of 
 life ; and an improper health, obtained by unnatural and discreditable means ; 
 and so on, in other matters. Precisely the same is the case of pleasures. They 
 are absolutely distinct in kind ; e.g., the musician's pleasure cannot be shared by 
 the unmusical, nor that of the just man by any one who is not just ; clearly 
 therefore the musician's pleasure is ' sui generis,' and the just man's also, and so 
 on. Therefore, — even if we grant that the pleasure of base men is a base thing, — 
 it does not follow that Pleasure, in itself, is worthy of avoidance. 
 
 Others again have argued that Pleasure could not be a good, from consideration 
 of the difEerence between a flatterer and a friend. The flatterer is censured, be- 
 cause in his intercourse he has only, the design of pleasiag ; while the friend is 
 praised because he aims, not at giving pleasure, but at telling truth, and doing 
 good to his friend. Hence it seems to have been inferred that Pleasure was cen- 
 surable. But the inference is not good ; it would be sounder to conclude that the 
 pleasures differ in kind, and that one is censurable and the other laudable. Every- 
 body knows that a friend is agreeable, and gives pleasure to the object of his at- 
 tachment ; whence it is clear that all intercoui-se between man and man has a 
 mutual pleasure ; but, because friendship is exalted in motive, its pleasure is 
 praised ; whereas flattery being unworthy in motive, its pleasure is censured. 
 
 Others again have argued that pleasure is censurable, because no man of sound 
 mind would choose to live a life of mere childiBh pleasures, with the ideas and 
 deUghts of children, nor make any other mean choice merely for pleasure's sake. 
 
 But this no way proves Pleasure to be a base thing. A man of sound mind 
 does not avoid the life of mere childishness and petty actions because it ia pleasur- 
 able, but because, for a man, it is intrinsically base. 
 
 Many things, again, which conduce to Pleasure we aim at, not for the pleasure, 
 but for their own desirability. For example, if there were no pleasure in sight, 
 memory, knowledge, virtue, we should still choose them. It makes no difference 
 
 f principle, even if we admit that each of these has a pleasure inseparable from 
 : we should desire them for ourselves, even if that were not so. 
 It is therefore clear, — 
 
 (i.) That all pleasure is not choiceworthy nor good. 
 
 (ii.) That there are certain pleasures meritorious in themselves and distinct from 
 the base pleasures, both in kind and in origin. 
 
 iv. — The true nature of Pleasure explained. 
 
 But it will become more evident what the true nature of 
 pleasure is and what are its characteristics, if we take up the 
 'Subject again from the beginning. 
 
 . {a) COMPARISON BETWEEN PLEASUBE AND SIGHT. 
 
 Now the sense of sight is thought to be perfect at any moment 
 of its exercise : it needs nothing to happen at a 
 future time in order that its nature may be per- Measure is of a, 
 
 J. , . ■, T ■ -, n 1 -,1 nature simple, 
 
 lected. This is the kmd 01 phEenomenon with uncompounded, 
 which pleasure must be compared: pleasure is unique, complete, 
 
 . -t ■ ■ Tj- J. ■ J. L ij 3.nd perfect m an 
 
 a thing complete in itseli — at no instant coula instant. 
 
 one find a pleasure whose nature would be more 
 
 fully consummated if its sensation were protracted for a longer 
 
 time. 
 
548 The. Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 3. 
 
 We have thus recoimted the ctaTent sayings about Pleasure and Pain. Now we 
 are concerned to iuyestigate about the former, what it intrinsically or generic- 
 ally is ; and this would be most clearly shown by a resumption of an earlier part 
 of the argument, in which we affirmed Pleasure to be perfect in itself — just aa, 
 e.g., at any moment of its exercise sight is perfect ; and it is impossible to discri- 
 minate any part of the time occupied in seeing, during which sight is developed : 
 it is complete during the whole time. 
 
 (5) PLEASURE IMPLIES NEITHEB OHAN&E NOE BECOMING. 
 
 Wherefore pleasure is not a process of change or of movement. 
 
 Every movement takes place in a certain time and 
 
 Pleasure being j^^s reference to a certain end ; e.q. the process of 
 
 complete m an m- , , ., .. . , i , -i • i 
 
 divisible particle of housebuilding IS not Complete until it has accom- 
 
 time cannot be ' a pHshed the design which it had in view. When I 
 
 process of move- " , . j. ■ j.- , t -^x. l -^y ■ 
 
 ment.' Say 'in a certain time i mean either ' withm 
 
 a certain period ' or ' at a particular moment.' 
 
 (c) CHAEACTEEISTICS OF TEMPOEAL MOVEMENT. 
 
 But in relation to particular sections of time all movements are 
 
 incomplete. Every point of the movement is 
 
 Temporal move- distinct in kind from the process as a whole, and 
 
 to pleasure, im- cvcry point from every other. The laying of the 
 
 pUes (1) division bricks is distinct from the fluting of the columns, 
 
 distiMt ' end.' ^ ^'^^ these again from the structure of the whole 
 
 temple. The structure of the temple is complete 
 
 and perfect : it lacks nothing in view of the purpose for which it 
 
 was conceived ; whereas the structure of the base and the sculpture 
 
 of the beams are incomplete, each being the structure only of a part. 
 
 Such processes, therefore, all differ in kind, and 
 
 d^erent element i* ^^ impossible to find at any exact_ instant a 
 
 of movement are process of movement that is complete in its idea 
 
 Sr anTfrZ ^^^ a™, Or, if conceivably at all, withm some 
 
 the whole. period regarded as a whole. 
 
 Herein, we may observe, sight differs from motion, which is imperfect, so 
 to speak, in each part, and heterogeneous ; the parts differ from the whole motion 
 and from one another : just as do the parts in the process of house-building. Take, 
 for instance, the entire construction of a temple, — the process of combining the 
 stone-work is one thing, £md that of moulding the pUlars another ; and they differ 
 both as compared to one another and to the complete result, which — as being 
 fully worked out in aU essential parts — may be called perfect ; but the work of 
 the basement and of the triglyph is in itself imperfect, because each is only the 
 construction of a part. 
 
 Therefore the parts of motion differ generically ; and in no sub-division of time 
 — I mean of course the time occupied in the motion — can you make any subdi- 
 vision of the motion perfect according to the standard of the completed motion 
 — which is consmnmated in the full period only. 
 
Bk. X. 3.] Translation. 549 
 
 (flO CHAEACTEEISTICS OF ' LOCAL ' MOVEMENT. 
 
 The case applies similarly to walking and to all local move- 
 ments. If it be the fact that locomotion is a 
 movement from one place to another, here too S'^'^'^ly ™ i°<^l 
 
 ^ " motion not only 
 
 there will be differences corresponding to the are the variouB 
 different kinds of locomotion, such as flying, tinds distinct, but 
 
 . . »T • ■ J oi those Kinds are 
 
 walking, leaping and so on. Nor is it only so ; further subdivided 
 but there are distinctions to be made in actual 'ito other varieties 
 
 ,, . , T,ir , /. , , , . equally distinct. 
 
 walking. ' Movement from one place to another 
 is not the same thing in the stadium as a whole as in particular 
 sections of it, nor are all the sections equal nor is it the same 
 thing to pass this line and that. A man does not merely pass 
 over a line, but that line exists in a particular place, and one line 
 differs from another in position. 
 
 [I have argued the question of locomotion in another Treatise 
 with scientific precision. The conclusion seems to be that motion 
 is not a thing complete at any and every moment, but the majority 
 of motions are incomplete, as standing in the relation of co- 
 , ordinate species to a common genus, assuming, that is, that the 
 ; * whence ' and the ' whither ' constitute different species of 
 motion.] 
 
 ; Such, also is the case in waUdng and all other modes of motion. Progression 
 
 f. comprises divers kinds of motions, such as leaping, flying, walking ; all of which 
 
 *'' are modes of progression, but specifically distinct from each, other. Nay, more, 
 
 in each of these motions there aie specifically distinct kinds of progression. The 
 
 terms, for instance, the ' whence ' and the ' whither,' aie different. And as the 
 
 terms differ, the modes of motion specifically differ, as in the race-course any part 
 
 of the race differs, in point of terms, from the race regarded as a whole ; and not 
 
 ■ only that, but from all the other parts of the race. Suppose the whole race to be 
 
 from the point A to the point B, — 
 
 the portion of the race between A and B is different in terms from the whole 
 race, and from the other portions, viz., B to c, c to D, and D to B. And as the 
 terms differ, so are the portions specifically distinct. If each motion traversed one 
 and the same line, it would be otherwise ; but, as each Une lies in its ovm place, 
 and the places differ, the motions that traverse each line also differ. 
 
 "We have elsewhere written our scientific account of motion ; here we need only 
 affirm that motion as such is only complete in its whole period, not at any and 
 every point of the time it occupies; the portional motions which, combined, make 
 the whole motion, are in themselves incomplete and diverse from each other, if, 
 as is clear, the terms of motion, the ' whence ' and ' whither,' constitute specific 
 differences. , 
 
 (e) ABSOLUTE COMPLETENESS AND INDEPENDENCE OF PLEASURE. 
 
 In regard to pleasure on the other hand, its nature or logical 
 conception is realized at any given moment whatever. It is clear 
 
550 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 4, 
 
 therefore that various pleasures will be distinct from one another, 
 and that the sensation of pleasure itself will be 
 contrary is a thing One of thoso things that are ' wholes ' (or ' uni- 
 absoiuteiy unique ties ' ) and complete in themselves, 
 m eax: ins an . 'YSxis, vicw wiU be also evident from the fact 
 
 that it is impossible for motion to take place except within a cer- 
 tain time, whereas pleasure can be instantaneous ; what is instan- 
 taneous, being a ' whole ' or ' unity ' in itself. 
 
 From these considerations it is clear that writers are in error 
 
 who describe pleasure as a process of transition 
 
 foTTantdi: or of becoming. 'Change' or 'becoming' are 
 
 visible 'whole,' terms not predicable of all facts, but only of 
 
 imTeT arts'^"^* *^°^® ^^^^ *^^* "^^5^ ^^ analysed into parts and 
 that are not ' units ' in themselves. There is no 
 ' process of becoming ' in the case of sight nor of a point nor 
 of a monad : in not one of these cases is either ' movement ' or 
 ' becoming ' possible, nor assuredly in the case of pleasure either, 
 pleasure being an ultimate fact, ' a unity ' or ' whole ' in itself. 
 
 But with Pleasnre the case is different ; at any point of time it is specifically 
 complete — therein, differing from motion ; the former being something whole and 
 complete in itself, the latter incomplete in itself and needing a certain dnration 
 of time for completion. Complete motion, e.g. is impossible in the momentajy, 
 present, and indivisible point of time, while complete and entire pleasure is possible 
 therein. 
 
 All which proves that Pleasure is neither a process of motion, nor of develop- 
 ment. Development is not of aU things, but of parts rather than of wholes ; e.g. 
 we do not talk of the development of sight, or of a point, or of the unit. Each of 
 these is a whole and indivisible, and does not develop and come to completion by 
 lapse of time, but is, at any moment, whole and complete in itself. The unit, for 
 instance, and the Point are not perfect in one part and imperfect in another, nor 
 are they brought to development by lapse of time ; and Sight is, at each moment 
 of the time we are exercising the faculty, complete in itself ; as indeed the activity 
 of every sense, working on its appropriate subject, is perfect at every moment of 
 its exercise. 
 
 (/) PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF PLEASURE. 
 
 If, then, every sense comes into operation when in presence ot 
 
 Pleasure is the re- ^° °^J®°* °^ ®^°^.® ' ^'^^ ^.^ ^^^ operation is perfect 
 
 suit of when the sense itself is in a normal state and is 
 
 (a)asen8eheaith. j^ ^j^g presence of the highest object that can 
 
 ily constituted ; \ . f J 
 
 (/8) an object come withm its range (the perfect operation 
 
 coming within the l3eing thought to be pre-eminently of -this descrip- 
 
 sense and adapted tion, and the difference being immaterial whether 
 
 *" it- we say that the sense itself operates or the sub- 
 
 The highest plea- jg^j; jq which the sense resides") .... in every 
 
 sure will be that •< iii-ii,--,-i /. 
 
 where these two casc, i Say, the highest activity is that of a man 
 
Bk. X. 4] Translation. 551 
 
 who is most perfectly constituted, and is in factors are the 
 
 presence of the highest object that can fall within. S'L Uend^'to- 
 
 his senses. Such an activity will be most perfect getter. 
 and most pleasurable. 
 
 In fact pleasure follows in the wake of every sensation, and in 
 like manner also of every process of reasoning or 
 
 play of thought, and the most pleasurable activity This law applies 
 
 .Ail,-!.- 1 j?i.ij.i J. 1} 1. also to the intel- 
 
 is that which is most perfect, and the most perfect lectual 5w(£/ieis. 
 activity is that of the man who is in a normal 
 state when it is brought to bear upon the noblest object that can 
 come before it. 
 
 It is indeed the pleasure resulting from it that makes the 
 activity perfect. Yet pleasure does not perfect 
 the activity in the same way that the sensation ^}^^Z^^ "etute^ 
 and its object do, when they are normal and of the activity, but 
 right Pleasure is not essentially, but only ac- ™J^ a'ccXntXs'^" 
 cidentally, the result of the activity. Just in the 
 same way healthfulness is the cause of a man's being hale and 
 well, in a different sense than that in which the physician is the 
 cause. But it is clear that pleasure ensues as a consequence of 
 each state of sensation : we say that sights and sounds are 
 I'pleasant, and evidently the pleasure will be greatest when the 
 sensation is most excellent and the object in presence of which 
 it operates is of a corresponding excellence. So often as the 
 object felt and the person who is conscious of the sensation are 
 mutually excellent, then invariably pleasure will arise — so often, 
 that is, as the object that is to produce the sensation and the 
 person who is to experience it are both present and are brought 
 into contact. 
 
 Pleasure, then, makes the activity perfect — not as a permanent 
 state inherent in the patient, but as a kind of perfection super- 
 vening, like the bloom of health on the cheeks of youth. 
 
 So long, therefore, as the object of our intellectual or sensuous 
 consciousness be of a right and normal character, 
 and the faculty of discriminating or of contem- S^^y^Cmfl' 
 plating be likewise in a normal condition, then pervening when- 
 there will be pleasure in the activity that ensues :;f3„™5,l7g'j:X' 
 from the contact So long, that is, as the two 
 forces of the mind, the active and the passive, mutually corre- 
 spond, the attitude of each being analogous to that of the other, 
 this same result must from the nature of things always supervene. 
 
 i Pleasure follows on the activities of Sense and of Intellect ; especially when 
 Sense and Intellect are both in the condition of soundness, and so put forth their 
 
552 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 4. 
 
 most complete activity, and that in tie best direction — Sense to the fairest goal 
 among things sensible, and Intellect to that among things inteUectnal ; for it is 
 with that object in view that activity, or the active habit (the name is indiffer- 
 ent) most specially and adequately operates. Such activity {e.g. of sight) is perfect 
 ■when we behold, healthfully and adequately, some one of the noblest objects of. 
 vision ; and so with the Intellect and all the other senses ; and that which is most 
 perfect is, ipso facto, the sweetest also. That there is a pleasure of the Intelleot, 
 and of each of our senses, is clear ; we speak of matters intellectual as pleasiag us, 
 and we enjoy the objects of our contemplation, and are delighted with sights 
 and sounds ; and this, especially, as we have said, when our activities are com- 
 plete ; and we see best, and contemplate best, and have all our senses most at 
 command. For as long as Sense and Intelleot, with their respective objects, are 
 what they are, there must be pleasure in their exercise ; so long, that is, as 
 Intellect and Sense are affected by the presence of their objects. 
 
 Therefore Pleasure follows on each activity, and forms its consummation ; only 
 not in tlie same sense as habituation has been shown to develop its subject from 
 the state of potential capacity to that of actual exercise. Architecture, e.g, 
 develops the man who has a capacity for it, and makes him an actual arohiteet-: 
 but it is in another sense that we speak of Pleasure as working complet^n. 
 Health is the cause, in one sense, of a man being sound ; in another sense, the 
 physician is ; the former superinduces the activity of healthf ulness, though it is 
 not identical with it ; the latter guards and protects it, and labours for its per- 
 manence. Nor again does Pleasure work completion of the activity of its subjects 
 in the same sense as the object of Intelleot may be said to perfect Intellect, or 
 the object of Sense to perfect sense. Habit and the object lead the active 
 faculty on from the potential state to that of actual exercise ; while Pleasure, 
 which is contemporaneous with this exercise, guards and protects the active 
 faculty, and urges it on to exercise, being a sort of second completion of the 
 activity, as beauty is of youths in their prime ; and it is inseparable from it so 
 long as Sense and Intellect subsist in activity with regard to their proper objects ; 
 and especially when they are in their best and soundest state, and thdr activity 
 is most fittingly directed. 
 
 ig) EEPLT TO VARIOUS DIFFICULTIES UPON THE SUBJECT. 
 
 1. ' How is it, then, that no one retains an uninterrupted 
 
 , ,, , , consciousness of pleasure ? ' Is not the answer 
 
 1. If a man could ,, . ,, , . „, . ,. -.,. 
 
 work incessantly, this — that a man weanes oi his sensations. JNone 
 
 he would feel in- of the faculties of man are capable of being 
 
 cessant pleasure. . , •l_^ i. l- -xi i 
 
 exercised without cessation; so neither does 
 pleasure last for ever, being, as it is, only a concomitant upon the 
 exercise of our faculties. 
 
 2. For the same reason also, there are things which please 
 
 while their novelty lasts, yet by and by lose their 
 \ t'eakenef'the ^arly charm. At first the mind is excited and 
 pleasure is weak- concentrates itself with sustained attention upon 
 ened also to a cor- ^j^g matter before it It is precisely so with 
 
 respondmg degree. -t,. Ai..Ci iij-j-i v, 
 
 sight. At first men look steadily upon an ob- 
 ject ; but the mental strain is not maintained, but is by and by 
 relaxed and weakened, and the pleasure consequently becomes 
 less vivid. 
 
Bk. X. 5.] Translation. 553 
 
 3. One may suppose that all men strive after pleasure, since 
 all are eager likewise to live. Life is, in a sens^ 
 
 a development of the faculties; and the objects desire^of^piJ^me 
 upon which and for the sake of which every man '^ ^^ "^^suit of the 
 spends his energies, are the objects he most truly Mediae telng^c- 
 loves. For example, the musician cultivates the tivity, and pleasure 
 sense of hearing, to catch the modulations of "« <=<«^'=°'^t^"t)- 
 sound, and the student cultivates the understanding, to catch the 
 thoughts that underlie the music ; and so on in the various other 
 pursuits. 
 
 But it is pleasure that in every case makes the exercise of the 
 faculties perfect, and therein also life itself for which men yearn. 
 Hence it is natural that men should strive after pleasure, per- 
 fecting as it does for each man his life, and life being confes- 
 sedly an object of desire. 
 
 4. The question may be dismissed for the present, whether we 
 desire life for the sake of pleasure, or pleasure for 
 
 the sake of life. The two conditions are evidently *: Measure is a 
 intertwined one with the other and do not admit faction of ^desire 
 of separation : pleasure is not felt without the ^'^^ <iesire is co- 
 exercise of the faculties, and every exercise of tMtyr™ "^^ ^' 
 the faculties is crowned by its attendant pleasure. 
 
 Here a difficulty miglit be raised — wliy, if this be so, does no one feel cou- 
 tinuoua pleasure in the exercise of such activities ? The answer is : — All things 
 human are prone to wear out and are incapable of continuous activity. Pleasure, 
 therefore, as the concomitant of activity, cannot be continuous either. Certain 
 things, when newly presented to the senses or mind, give pleasure ; but after a 
 while, they become customary, and seem no longer as pleasant as before ; and 
 the cause is what I have described. 
 
 First of all the Intellect is strongly swayed to them, and develops a vigorous 
 activity in regard to them, just as those who gaze fixedly on something develop 
 an activity of sight. Subsequently the activity loses its quality and becomes in- 
 different, and therewith of course the pleasure also fades and becomes less intense. 
 Since, therefore, Pleasure crowns and completes every activity, and life itself 
 is an activity, all things that love life aim at pleasure as its perfection ; and as 
 all things love Ufe, we may sum up that all things aim at pleasure, as making 
 the activity of life, and indeed every activity, more desirable. Every man is 
 most active for and in those objects which bring him most pleasure; the 
 musician in the training of his ear for musical sounds ; the student of philosophy 
 in speculation ; and so on. 
 
 As therefore Pleasure enhances and makes more choiceworthy each activity, 
 all things that aim at the activity naturally aim also at its concomitant pleasure : 
 those therefore that love life, naturally love its concomitant pleasure, as per- 
 fecting that, at which they aim as choiceworthy — viz. Life. (We dismiss for 
 the present the question whether we aim at Life for the sake of Pleasui'e, or 
 Pleasure for the sake of Life ; for the two are practically inseparable, and 
 nobody can reach pleasure without activity nor activity without pleasure ; for 
 pleasure is the completion of activity, and therefore inseparable from it). 
 
554 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 5. 
 
 V. — Varieties and differences of Pleasure. 
 
 (a) AEGUMENTS FEOM THE DIFFBEENCB OF OPEEATIONS, 
 
 1. For these reasons, pleasures seem to differ also in kind, or 
 
 specific character. Their causes or conditions 
 th'^^'^^d^ff""^ ?* vary, and we believe that things distinct in kind 
 kind are different : Can Only be perfected by things similarly distinct. 
 Pleasures are per- Evidently this is the case with the creations of 
 differing in kind: nature no less than the products of art — with 
 .-. Pleasures are animals and trees as with paintings and statues, 
 
 themselves differ- -, i ^ -j. t • -i ii 
 
 ent in kind. houses and lurniturc. In a similar manner the 
 
 various functions of the mind that are distinct in 
 kind require corresponding conditions to make them perfect. For 
 example, the activities of the intellect differ from the activities 
 that accompany our sensations, and our sensations again differ 
 from one another according to their kinds. Asa consequence, so 
 also do their concomitant and perfecting pleasures. 
 
 2. This truth may be further shown from the fact that every 
 
 pleasure is intimately bound up with the activity 
 turai to things dif- which it perfects. In fact our faculties are in- 
 ferent in kind are vigorated by the pleasure which is natural to 
 
 themselves differ- ,.. . . -rrj-, , -. , • ii 
 
 ent: Pleasures are their exercisc. When WO takfi pleasure m the 
 natural to things exercise of our powers we discriminate objects 
 \ TieMures "are Diore clearly and give a more exact finish to Qur 
 themselves differ- work. Those wlio take pleasure in working at 
 ^^'^' geometry become more easily geometricians and 
 
 gain a clearer insight into mathematical problems. So also 
 students of literature or of architecture make far greater advance 
 and progress in their several professions when they take an 
 interest in their work. 
 
 The pleasures, then, that are felt strengthen the faculties in 
 their exercise, and that which strengthens anything is congenial 
 and proper to it. But when things differ in kind, the attributes 
 that are proper to them differ in kind also. 
 
 3. Yet more evident still will this truth appear from the con- 
 
 sideration that pleasures arising from things alien 
 3. Things which to them are hindrances to our immediate activities; 
 effectTare different ^o^ instance, lovers of flute music are unable to 
 in kini : Pleasures attend to a lecture, if they hear a man playing a 
 
 tivitTosf^'proditoe ^"^^^i ^^"^^^ ^^'^ ^®^^ greater gratification at the 
 contrary effects: flute playing than in the business immediately 
 
Bk. X. 5. ] Translation. 555 
 
 before them. In such cases, then, the pleasure .-. Pleasures are 
 that attends flute-playing destroys the interest that ^i^*^™* i° ^■^'^■ 
 should be taken in speculation. [The minor is 
 
 This result is found in a similar degree in all P™Jif, j ''^ "''■ 
 cases where a man is busying himself about two 
 • things at once. The more agreeable occupation drives away the 
 '■'' other, the more completely so if it be much superior in point of 
 ; 'pleasure, so that in the end the man ceases entirely to bring his 
 miud to bear upon the other. 
 
 The inference is, that when we take a keen pleasure in any- 
 thing, we absolutely do nothing else, and that when we are but 
 slightly pleased with one thing, we take up another. An example 
 of this tendency may be seen in the theatres, where those who 
 eat sweetmeats do so particularly when the acting or the actors 
 are indifferent. 
 
 4. Since, then, the pleasure proper to each activity renders 
 that activity more keen and each exercise thereof 
 more sustained and better, whereas alien plea- i^Te "^the ^^same 
 sures destroy those activities, it is clear that effect as natural 
 :-' pleasures are widely different from one another. ^^^°^' 
 
 In fact alien pleasures have pretty nearly the same effect as 
 
 ; kindred pains. The effect of kindred pains is to destroy the 
 
 '.exercise of our faculties. For example, if the act of writing or 
 
 of calculating be distasteful to a man, he discontinues it : in the 
 
 one case he ceases to write, in the other case he ceases to calculate, 
 
 e such occupations being painful to him. 
 
 Consequently, in the exercise of our faculties the result that 
 
 ensues from their proper pleasures is the exact opposite of what 
 
 .ensues from their proper pains (natural or 'proper' pleasures 
 
 \_ being those which ensue by a natural law upon the exercise of 
 
 ' the faculties). As has been explained, alien pleasures have a 
 
 result pretty nearly identical with pain : — they destroy the activity 
 
 of the mind, though not after the same fashion. 
 
 Thus it is manifest that pleasures differ speoifioally from each other ; for, 
 where activities diflfer specifically, their perfections, i.e. pleasures, must do so 
 also : it cannot be otherwise with the perfections of diflferent activities than 
 with the activities themselves. E.g., the activities of Intellect differ specifically 
 from those of sense, and from each other ; therefore their concomitant pleasures 
 also differ ; an obvious result of the special concomitance of a pleasure with 
 each activity. Clearly it is a special concomitance, because the activity is en- 
 hanced by its special pleasure. All knowledge, all close inquiry, in short ■ all 
 mental activity, is at its best when accompanied by pleasure. Those who take 
 delight in geometry become the best geometricians ; and in each branch of 
 knowledge, those who love the study pursue it to the best effect, under the stimu- 
 lus to progress which pleasure gives them. 
 
 If therefore pleasures enhance activities, and if that which enhances anything 
 
556 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 5. 
 
 must be in some sort akin, to it, and if the things wMcIl are akin to things 
 specifically distinct must be themselves specifically distinct — it clearly foUows 
 that pleasures are specifically distinct. Which is further proved by the fact 
 that, just as activities are enhanced by their special pleasures, they are im- 
 peded by alien pleasures : e.g. the . pleasure of flute-music would easily disturb 
 the pleasure of acquiring knowledge, in any student not habituated to learn- 
 ing ; he would find more delight in hearing the flute than in his speculation, 
 and consequently, the pleasure taken in fiute-music would anijul the activity of 
 reasoning. So in other cases, when a man exercises two activities at a time, the 
 pleasanter of the two ejects the other, and the more, in proportion to its superior 
 pleasantness. If the pleasure of the one activity much exceeds that of the 
 other, it actually cancels that other, and annuls its exercise : and hence it is that 
 when we vehemently delight in doing some particular thing, we have no in- 
 clination at all for doing anything else ; whereas if we have no particular 
 pleasure in the matter in Ijand, we do something else at the same time, like 
 people at the theatre who eat sweetmeats : they do it particularly when the actors 
 are bad and the spectaclfe indifferent to them. 
 
 Since therefore the special pleasure of each activity emphasizes, prolongs, and 
 improves it, while an alien pleasure mars it, it is plain that the pleasures differ 
 widely from each other : indeed the activities seem to find alien pleasures almost 
 as great an obstacle to their proper exercise and development as are their own 
 special pains (i.e. the opposites to their special pleasm-es). Their special pains 
 annul the activities — e.g. If writing is a pain to a man, he will not write ; if 
 reasoning be unpleasant to a man, he will not philosophize. And exactly the 
 same result will be brought about by an alien pleasure. If, therefore, the alien 
 pleasure acts just like the special pain, and the special pain be the opposite to 
 the special pleasure, it follows that the alien is opposite to the special pleasme ; and, 
 if opposite, they cannot be homogeneous. Pleasure, therefore, is not homogeneoijBt 
 
 (5) AKGTJMBNTS FROM THE GOODNESS AUD BADNESS OF PLEASURES. 
 
 1. Now as the various modes of human activity differ in goodness 
 
 , , . and badness, some of them being desirable, others 
 of the same qua- blameworthy, and others indifferent, pleasures 
 lities as our aotivi- ^Iso exhibit Corresponding characteristics ; every 
 
 ties do. But ac- . . ^ <= - . xj. j j i 
 
 tivities differ in exercise 01 our powers bemg attended by a 
 
 goodness and bad- pleasure natural to it. Consequently the pleasure 
 
 pieasuresaiso^differ that is natural to a right activity will itself also 
 
 in goodness and be right, whereas a pleasure involved in a bad 
 
 badness. activity will itself also be an evil one. 
 
 2. Furthermore, desires for what is honourable are praise- 
 
 dif- wJ'tliy; whereas desires for what is base are 
 fer equally in good- blameable. But the pleasures involved in our 
 ness and badness, activities are more ' natural ' and more akin to 
 more intimately those activities than are the desires for those 
 united with ac- activities. The desires are separate and distinct, 
 the*desirearmust ^0^^ ^"^ point of time and in their own nature, 
 have the same cha- whereas pleasures are very closely akin to the 
 ractenstics. activities from which they arise, and are in fact 
 
 so little distinguishable from them as to make it an open question 
 whether the activity is not the same thing as the pleasure. [Yet, 
 
Bk. X. 5.] Translation. 557 
 
 most assuredly, pleasure does not appear to be merely a move- 
 ment of the mind, nor, again, a sensation, or one of the senses : 
 such a view is paradoxical. Still, from the fact that pleasure is 
 inseparable from thought and feeling, some think that it is 
 identical therewith.] 
 
 Just, then, as our modes of activity are distinct, so also are 
 the pleasures resulting therefrom. 
 
 3. Again, the sense of sight differs from the sense of touch in 
 respect of pureness, and similarly hearing and 
 smelling differ from taste. In a corresponding ^- S°™^ activities 
 
 1 Tji' 1 1 1 1 are less material 
 
 manner pleasures ditrer also ; and among plea- and more spiritual 
 sures those that attend the exercise of the mind ti'*" others. Plea- 
 differ from those that attend the play of the the'saiJ^^Lalo^.'^ 
 senses, and each of the two forms of mental 
 activity differs from the other. 
 
 Now since each pleasiu-e is .specially akin to the activity from wMcli it takes 
 its rise, and activities differ from each other in goodness and badness — some 
 being desirable, some detestable, and some neutral — it is plain that the same 
 holds good of pleasures — some must be good, some bad, and some neutral ; and 
 the pleasure which is aiin to the honoui'able, good, and worthy activity, shares 
 those qualities ; while that which is akin to the baser activity shares that 
 quality (for of course desires for the honourable are praiseworthy, and desires for 
 the base, blameworthy), and lastly, the pleasure which is akin to the neutral 
 activity is itself neutral. And since in the activity there is what may be called 
 an inner craving, by which we are impelled to exercise the activity, we must 
 inquire whether pleasure be more akin to the activity or the inner impulse. 
 Apparently it is more closely akin to the activity ; for it is not cotemporary 
 with the inner impulse, either in origin or in duration, but distinct from it in 
 both. The inner impulse precedes both the activity and its concomitant pleasure ; 
 which are themselves so closely cotemporary as to raise a doubt if they be not 
 identical. It would seem then that the pleasure is nearer akin to the activity 
 than to the inner impulse ; yet they are not identicaJ ; pleasure is under no 
 circumstances identical with Intellect, nor with any Sense ; the very idea is 
 absurd ; but, as being inseparable, an activity and its pleasure sometimes seem, 
 to be one. 
 
 Again, pleasures differ from one another, as activities do : Sight, e.g. from 
 Touch, in purity — ^in so far as the former takes cognizance of form only, while 
 the latter brings us more into communication with matter. So again Hearing 
 differs from Smell and Taste, as being less concerned with matter than they are. 
 Correspondingly different are the concomitant pleasures of these different 
 activities. Nay, even the pleasures of Intellect caimot but be different from 
 each other, because there are diverse activities of the Intellect. 
 
 (c) ARGUMENTS FKOM VAEIETIES OF CHARACTER IN SUBJECTS 
 CAPABLE OF FEELKrG PLEASURE. 
 
 It is thought that there is a pleasure proper and natural to 
 every organized being, just as there is also a 
 
 proper function; and this natural pleasure is ^itlnt^aSl 
 
 that which attends the exercise of its functions. Pleasures are Hko 
 
558 The Moral Philosophy of Arisioile. [Bk. X. 5. 
 
 the activities, and In every single creature this truth will be evident 
 fn'ldnd™ ^ ^ ^^ if we examine the matter carefully. The pleasure 
 
 of a horse is distinct from that of a dog or from 
 that of a man. As Heraclitus says, an ass would choose a 
 bundle of fodder rather than gold, fodder being more agreeable 
 to asses than gold. 
 
 As, therefore, the pleasures special to subjects differing in kind, 
 
 are themselves different in kind ; so on the other 
 animak^Tho^ are ^^'^^ it is reasonable to conclude that pleasures 
 ruled by instinct special to the Same class of subjects are indistin- 
 
 fall^under general gui^lj^ble. 
 
 But in the case of men at any rate the objects 
 that cause pleasure differ in no slight degree. Things which 
 delight some men are painful to others : things 
 free ^i"'varies lis distressing and hateful to some men are plea- 
 activities; and the sant and welcome to others. This difference is 
 iMttlSwTd fo"^'! to exist even in matters of taste: the 
 by a corresponding Same things do not appear sweet to a man who 
 difference in his jj^g g^ fg^gj. ^^ ^q ^^g ^jj^^ j^^g sound health, nor 
 
 pi6£trSUJ*6S. Til* 
 
 does the same thmg appear hot to an invalid as 
 to one who is hale and strong. In a similar manner this observa- 
 tion applies to things that are distinct joer se. 
 In all such cases where pleasure and pain are concerned, it 
 
 is the impression made on the good man that 
 rie'lesthSndaTd appears to be the true one. But if this prin- 
 of the virtuous man ciple can be safely laid down (as it probably 
 oniy^standmi. '''"^ may)— if, that is, the criterion of every pleasure 
 
 is virtue and the virtuous man in the degree of 
 his virtue, then what appear pleasures to him will be pleasures 
 indeed, and things in which he takes delight will be delightful 
 indeed. 
 
 But it is no marvel if what is distasteful to the good man 
 
 should appear pleasant to others. There are many 
 
 No argument can j. i j i ^ r j> i . 
 
 therefore be drawn Corrupt and debased lorms 01 human nature; 
 from disgraceful and it is Only to such and such like that the 
 peasures. things which a good man abhors appear plea- 
 
 sant : they are not really so. 
 
 Pleasures however that are confessedly disgraceful cannot, it 
 is clear, be rightly called pleasures, except to the vicious and 
 abandoned. 
 
 But among pleasures that appear honest and true, of what 
 nature can we say is the distinctive pleasure of 
 
 Ltglhe'taXd ^«'*-'' I« it °ot' evidently, the pleasure that 
 of right, the ac- flows from the conscious exercise and develop- 
 
Bk. X. 5.] Translation. 559 
 
 ment of his faculties, every form of such de- tivities of such an 
 velopment being attended by a pleasure of its "'.'^'^'''.sive the 
 
 '•„ ' " IS. highest pleasure. 
 
 own i " 
 
 Whether therefore there be one activity or many forms of 
 activity that are proper to the perfect and happy 
 man, the pleasures which consummate those ac- intellect, theve- 
 tivities may be emphatically called the proper *"^ (whether spe- 
 
 1 c ^\L^ ^ • culative or prac- 
 
 pleasures 01 man. Other pleasures are so in a ticai), -will be the 
 Becondary sense, through many gradations and highest pleasures ; 
 ranges, just as are the activities from which they :°J "^k'y 
 
 arise. relation to this 
 
 standard. 
 
 Further, it appears that each living thing, having its own function, has there- 
 with its own pleasure. Because, if each activity has its concomitant pleasure, 
 and if each living thing has its special natural activity, each must have its 
 gpecial pleasure ; as individual instances demonstrate. There is one pleasure of 
 a horse, another of a dog, another of a man ; Heraclitus notes this point, when 
 he says ' the ass prefers his wisp of hay to gold ; fodder is sweeter than gold — 
 to asses.' So, at any rate, pleasures akin to different activities are themselves 
 different : while, as is natural, those akin to the same activities are akin to one 
 another — in kind, that is ; for in quantity they may differ. Everybody knows 
 that an activity gives very varying amounts of pleasure to different men ; so 
 much 80 indeed that one and the same activity is the delight of one man and the 
 'detestation of another. 
 
 Thus, for instance, men do not all think the same things sweet ; the fever- 
 patient and the healthy man differ widely on this point, and so do the weakly and 
 . the strong, about heat — and so in other cases. Still, just as in those cases we 
 can learn to discriminate the truly sweet from the seemingly sweet by a reference 
 to fce taste of sound and healthy men — so can- we discriminate the moral 
 pleasures from others by a reference to men of a sound moral condition — 
 good men, in short. And if this be an accurate saying, that ' virtue is the 
 measure of each thing, and each man is good in right of such virtue as he 
 possesses ' — ^then the true definition of pleasures will be ' such things as the 
 good man considers pleasures,' and of things agreeable, ' those in which the good 
 man feels delight : ' while things for which he has a distaste, can in no true 
 sense be called agreeable, nor pleasures. And if corrupted men think such things 
 agreeable, it is not matter for wonder ; for there are many polluted and debased 
 instincts, which are agreeable to corrupted men, but not in a true sense agree- 
 able. Plainly then we must not say that confessedly base pleasures are pleasures, 
 unless with the saving clause ' to corrupted men.' 
 
 But of the honourable pleasures, which shall we name the expressly human 
 pleasure ? 
 
 This too is clear from the preceding discussion. Since each pleasure is akin to 
 the activity it accompanies, let us find the human activity — that of man quS, man 
 — (whether it be one or more activities) : then, the pleasures which perfect that 
 activity, or those activities, as found in the perfect and happy man, are the 
 pre-eminently human pleasm-es ; the others may be called human, like their 
 activities, in a secondary sense and iu a more multifarious classification. 
 
560 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 6. 
 
 IL— CONCERNING HAPPINESS. 
 
 i. — Greneral conception of Happiness. 
 
 The examination of the Yirtues and of Friendship and of Pleasure 
 T3 /^i. ^ • ^ beinff now concluded, it remains for us to describe 
 
 From (the efficient . ° . . ' „ _. . 
 
 cause) virtues, m outlme the nature 01 Happmess — regardmg 
 friendship, and happiness, as we do, as the consummati«n of 
 
 pleasure, we now i • . 
 
 pass to (the final human mterests. 
 
 cause) happiness. The discussion Will certainly be expedited if we 
 
 recapitulate the arguments already advanced upon the subject. 
 
 We have thus discussed the Virtues, and Friendship, and Pleasure : it remains 
 to deal in outline with Happiness, because it is, by oonunon consent, the end and 
 aim of all human action. We shall give the clearest and readiest account of it 
 by recalling our previous statements on the subject. 
 
 (a) HAPPINESS IS NOT A PASSIVE CONBITION. 
 
 We have already shown that happiness is not a merely passive 
 
 condition of mind. If it were so, it might be 
 
 If^happinessjere possessed by a man who slumbered aU his life 
 
 belong to a man in through, having an existence like that of plants, 
 
 sleep; or (2) m or bv a man who was suffering from the direst 
 
 great affliction. . n , 
 
 misfortunes. 
 
 I 
 
 We stated in the thirteenth chapter of the first Book that Happiness is not a 
 mere condition of mind : for, if it were, a man who lay asleep all his lite, or 
 lived the merely vegetative life, and even the man of many and great woes, might 
 have to be called happy : for such lives may bef al a man who yet has the habit 
 of virtue. 
 
 {b) HAPPINESS AN ACTIVITY DESIRABLE PBR SM. 
 
 If, however, such a view would not satisfy our idea of happiness, 
 and we must rather rank it as a conscious, active 
 Happiness being an pja,y of the faculties (as has been explained in the 
 modes^of activity preceding Books), and all such modes of human 
 being (1) subordi- activity are either (1) unavoidable and only desir- 
 hrte)' "will be^°a ^^^^ ^^ means to ends, or (2) desirable for their 
 mode of activity own Sake, it is evident that we must regard 
 worthyper st"'*"^' bappiness as one of those states that are desirable 
 for their own sake, and not as one of those that 
 are desirable relatively to something else. Happiness lacks nothing 
 for its completeness, but is perfect in and by itself. 
 
 Now those mental activities are absolutely choiceworthy from 
 which nothing is expected beyond their own free exercise; and 
 
' Bk. X. 6. J Translation. 561 
 
 acts that are regulated by a moral law seem to be of this char- 
 acter, since the performance of good and nobl^ 
 
 acts comes under the category of things desirable Definition of abso- 
 J, ,, . 1 lute activities. 
 
 for their own sake. 
 
 ■ If, tlien, it seems absurd to call such a man happy, it remains to us to conclude 
 
 that Happiness is an activity : so we must certainly inquire wMoh of the human 
 ^,'aotiTities it is. For some activities are perfunctory, and tend to aims other than 
 pliliemselves, and are sought, consequently, as means, not as ends ; while others 
 
 are in themselves desirable. Hence it is apparent that Happiness is to be reckoned 
 J in the latter class, as being adequate in itself and in no way imperfect; whUe 
 j whatever is chosen as means to an object, clearly needs the addition of that 
 ; object, to be in itself desirable and good. 
 ; But activities according to the virtues (which are sought not as means but as 
 
 ends), are adequate in themselves; to do things honourably and well is among 
 
 the things ohoioeworthy ■per se. 
 
 I (C) HENCE MANY THINK THAT HAPPINESS IS IDENTICAL WITH 
 ' AMUSEMENT WHICH IS ALSO DESIRED PER SE. 
 
 Amusements, again, that are pleasurable, seem to be of this 
 character : men desire them, irrespective of con- 
 sequences. Indeed the tendency of amusements But 'amusement' 
 
 . ,, , . . 1,1 .1 1 m J comes within this 
 
 18 that men are injured rather than benetitea definition of per- 
 thereby, disregarding, as they do, health and feet activities: will 
 
 ,.„.•".,, ° .°' '' ' amusement then be 
 
 I lortune in the pursuit. happiness ? 
 
 I ; But the majority of those whom the world ac- 
 I counts happy, have recourse to amusements of this kind, because 
 at the courts of Princes men skilled in such like 
 pastimes are in high favonr, as making themselves The mass of men 
 
 '■ ,1 . , , ■ , 1} 1 • 1 T> • thiuli SO, and tuose 
 
 agreeable m entertainments tor wnicn rnnces .,^110 have greatest 
 
 V crave : indeed ' such courtiers are necessary for po'^'er arc those 
 
 them. Still, though such things are popularly Llmu^ement.'"'' 
 
 thought essential to happiness because men in 
 
 |high office divert themselves therein, yet men of this type are surely 
 "no real criterion of what happiness is. In the 
 
 mere exercise of power there is implied neither ^f^y"*''*^''^^ 'the 
 
 moral worth nor intellectual perception, whence powerful ' are true 
 
 alone right dispositions and a good life have their f^^^^^^'"' '''"^ " 
 
 rise. 
 
 Pleasant amusements are no doubt in this same category: that is, they 
 are chosen for their own sakes, and when chosen bring no ulterior advantage, 
 But rather loss ; for they lead to neglect of health, and of such possessions as 
 tend to health. Thus it happens that many of the fortunate, whose life's com-se 
 nms smoothly, betake themselves eagerly to the life of amusement, and highly 
 esteem men of ready and amusing disposition ; and, at the courts of tyrants, 
 skilled jesters gain much populai-ity, by pleasantly providing their masters with 
 the amusement which they desire, and think necessary for their so-called Happi- 
 ness, "VYell, such Jtmu^ements are thought tg opnstitijte happiness, because men 
 
562 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 6. 
 
 in high power spend so much time in them ; but they do not really constitute 
 it, and the suffrage of such men is quite inadequate as a proof. Power is no 
 guarantee of virtue nor of healthiaess of mind, and it is these whicb produce 
 sound activities. 
 
 [d) BUT NONE BUT THE PERFECT MAN IS COMPETENT TO PBO- 
 NOUNCE UPON MORAL QUESTIONS. 
 
 The mere fact that men who have never had a taste of genuine 
 and noble pleasures, hurry away to bo,dily enjoy- 
 WortUessness of ments, must not lead us to infer that a life of 
 ki mssfons! ^°^"' self-indulgence is therefore more desirable than 
 a life of virtue : — that would be to argue like 
 children, who fancy that things prized among themselves are 
 things most excellent. It is very natural therefore that there 
 should be a wide difference between the feelings of the good and 
 the bad, precisely as there is between the impressions of children 
 and of men. 
 
 "We come back therefore to the view which has been often 
 
 . explained in this Treatise, that things are only 
 
 aU^men is'coirared pleasurable in reality when thej' appear so to the 
 
 hy their character, mind of the good man : whilst to each individual 
 
 Only the virtunus ,-, ,■ ■, • i. i • i i i_- i ■ • j 
 
 man therefore can the activity IS most desirable which IS in accoraance 
 determine ques- with liis own peculiar state ; so, too, the activity 
 tions vir ue. most desirable in the eyes of the good man is one 
 
 that is regulated by the standard of virtue. 
 
 The fact that men, being wholly and lastingly devoid of taste for noble and 
 genuine pleasru'e, betake themselves to mere carnal delights, does not lead us 
 to conclude that such delights are in any sense preferable to genuine pleasures. 
 Children think then- own pet toys the finest of all things, but such childish Qdvgs 
 are valueless to men; and, correspondingly, honest men will not admire what 
 base men think admirable ; for the former are attracted by the reality, the latter 
 by the semblance, of pleasure. 
 
 Therefore, as we began by saying, the true definition of things honourable and 
 noble is 'those which the righteous man thinks such.' And since each man 
 aims at and prefers such activities as correspond to the inner habits of his soul, 
 and the righteous man lives according to the habit of virtue, it is plain that his 
 pleasure will be in activities according to virtue, and that these, and these alone, 
 win seem to him either honourable or pleasant ; while mere amusements, as being 
 alien to his soul's habit, will seem contemptible, Such a man's decision will be 
 sound and correct. 
 
 (e) FUETHER ARGUMENTS THAT PLEASURE IS NOT SUMMUM BONUM. 
 
 Happiness, then, does not consist of Amusement. It would 
 
 surely be absurd that the Chief End of mar 
 
 ld:Zr%^t should be amusement, and that men should 
 
 in itself. spend their energies and endure hardship all lift 
 
Bk. X. 6.] Tj'mtslaiion. 563 
 
 long for the sake of subsequently diverting themselves. There 
 is nothing but what has an end beyond itself, ^xcept happiness ; 
 to speak generally, everything else that we desire has regard 
 to something beyond. But happiness is an end complete and 
 absolute in itself. 
 Again, to devote ourselves to a life of labour and of privation, 
 
 ;;with only amusement for a motive, is evidently 
 the sheerest folly and childishness. Oq the con- d'etre of 'amuse" 
 trary, the right course seems to be, as Anacharsis mept is subsequent 
 says, to take amusement only to qualify us for ^° "^ ^' 
 the strain of serious work. Amusement has, in fact, a resemblance 
 
 ■to relaxation, and all men require relaxation, being unable to 
 labour without intermission. Consequently 'relaxation' is not 
 
 ;; itself a ' final end,' being taken only with a view to subsequent 
 activity. 
 
 Furthermore, it is thought that the happy life 3. Amusement is 
 is one in conformity with virtue; but virtue i^rvliy^ider'of 
 involves a spirit of earnestness, and does not the happy life, 
 consist in amusement. 
 
 We say too that things earnest are better than things frivolous 
 or things that bring amusement, and that the 
 activity of Eeason as the highest faculty and of nomy of our na- 
 man as the noblest creature, is more earnest and t™^, the activity 
 more important than any other ; and the activity powers is happier 
 of that which is highest is at once better and tiiau that of the 
 
 , fraught with greater happiness. 
 
 As for bodily or sensuous pleasures, that is a happiness which 
 
 j; any one might enioy — the slave no less than the ^ . 
 
 ' T , n -X , n 1 5. Amusement in? 
 
 best 01 men. 13 ut no one allows a slave any volves dissipation 
 claim to real happiness, any more than to real and may be enjoyed 
 life. True happiness is not possible in such pur- the ^siave™ life "is 
 ^. suits as those of a slave, nor in fact under any inconsistout with 
 other circumstances than the free development of '"'I'p™^^^- 
 a life in harmony with virtue, as has been already explained. 
 
 f. We may, therefore, conclude that mere amusement is not a thing to be held 
 ! inhonour, and that true Happiness is not to be found in it. Indeed it is absurd 
 to conceive of amusement as being the ' end ' of human life, and to devote one- 
 self utterly to labour and trouble all one's life, to secure amusement : yet this 
 must be allowed to be necessary, if one suppose amusement to be hdppiness. For 
 whatever else we seek, we seek as a means to happiness ; and it is the extreme of 
 folly, and childishness itself, to sweat and stmggle through life to obtain amuse- 
 Sineut ! But to choose amusement on the principle of Anacharsis — that we may 
 do serious work the better for it — is the trae and proper course. For amusement 
 is a kind of respite to those who live a life of effort, inasmuch as they cannot 
 keep up a continuous strain ; it revives their power and restores them to their 
 task refreshed and invigorated j so feat the respite is qot an ' end ' in itself, but 
 
 Q 9 2 
 
564 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 7. 
 
 the activity is the ' end ' of the respite. Besides, everybody allows that the truly 
 happy life must be in accordance with virtue ; it must therefore be an earnest 
 life ; and the earnest man is such in virtue of his serious hours, not of those of 
 amusement. Further, we say that things serious are in themselves of higher type 
 than matters jocose and comic ; and that the activity of the better part of the 
 soul' is of a higher type than that of the worse part ; and that which is itself 
 better and has a better origin is more akin to true happiness. 
 
 Further, indulgence in cai-nal pleasures is common to aU — ^to ordinary men, to 
 base men, to slaves — and to the most villainous as much as to the best ; 'but 
 happiness is said to appertain to the good and to them only ; for no one could 
 ascribe it to the base as well, any more than he could say that the base and the 
 best lived an identical life : because Happiness is not incident to a low standard 
 of living, but resides, as we have already said, in activities which are in accordance 
 with virtue. 
 
 ii. — Happiness under its ideal aspects. 
 
 . (a) HAPPINESS, BEING THE ACTIVITY OF THE HIGHEST PART OF 
 OUB NATURE, IS PHILOSOPHIC MEDITATION. 
 
 If, theu, happiness be the u nfoldiiiff of a life in harmony with 
 virtue,_its^standard must naturally Jje the highest 
 Happiness, is an virtue — i.e. the ^tiid of'IhaFwhichis Jughest. 
 to^'S'Td'Sr® Consequently whate veF thfs beTwhether Intellect 
 /ec« virtue is the Or some Other faculty which,_by_nature's right 
 Isfpart-tltit' seemsTo~rule"anarT6~take pre-eminence and to 
 Ferfect happiness have anr instinctive perception concerning objects 
 will thereiore, be y^^ ^^ ^— ^^ /^jjether it be itself divine, or 
 
 intellectual acti- y. n -i ■ i . • i 
 
 yity. whether of all attributes within us it be most 
 
 divine) — the activity of this faculty, in accordance 
 with its own proper excellence _an3 jeg.HiingTFs^ g^n standard, 
 will be perfect, absoliiEe. happiness ; and, as has been explained, 
 such~airactivity will be meditative or philosophic. 
 
 It being proved, then, that Happiness resides in activities according to virtue; 
 if there be among such activities any pre-eminent one, that will be the special 
 abode of Happines. For Happiness is pre-eminent and the crown of all things ; 
 and our crovming activity is that of the best among our powers — (that power, I 
 mean, which by nature rules and guides us towards truth and the good ; whether 
 we call it Spirit or by some other name, matters not ; it is that part ih us which 
 comprehends things honourable and divine, and is itself divine, or, at any rate, 
 the most divine of our powers). The activity of this power, well and fitly 
 developed and in accordance with its special virtue, must be Perfect Happiness, • 
 
 (5) CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LIFE OF MEDITATION. 
 
 This view-^f-Jiap^iness wil l be s een (from the accompanying 
 Intellectual acti- description') to harmaaizgjwith our p revious state- 
 vity satisfies fully ments and with the truth. 
 
 all the requisite ' ^ 
 
 conditions of hap- 
 
 1. The activity of Reason i s the highest form of 
 
Bt- X. 7.] Translation. 565 
 
 activrtyj^sinceJlea^OTiJsJlie highest faculty within us, and the sub- 
 jects which come within the~cogmzrance"of Eeasoa 
 areThe liigh est witEin the range~of thought. conceivable. "^ '^' 
 
 2. Moreover this activity is the most abiding : we are better 
 ' abl e to meditate continuo us! v than To~cloT'"cnn- „ ,. ■ ^, 
 
 . :; — ' - — ; ^ ■ ' 2. It 13 the most 
 
 tmu ously, augn t else whatever. permanent. 
 
 3. This activity ins pired by Philosophy is confessedly more 
 I than_jll.othfiiL_aciivlti^ JhaOJElconf om^ 
 
 ''■■' virtue, most vIsasimiMe ; and we all think it ^" ■'*, f ""'** '^^^'^' 
 |; essential that pleasure should be mtermmgled 
 
 with happiness. It is believed at any rate that Philosophy entails 
 
 pleasures^ ^k?L*_-9?®--™5;?I?ll2BL^°-'^lL.i?- JMitl.J:n32^ ; 
 
 and it is but natural that the pursuits of those who have attained 
 ito knowledge should be more delectable than the pursuits of others 
 
 who are searching for it. ' " 
 
 * 4. Further, the ' self-sufficiejwj'' of. which I have spok en, will 
 be most surely found_iii_the practice of medita- 
 tioBv- Of course the mere necessaries of life are ^'.Z* if perfectly 
 
 tt . ITT T-1 1 11 seli-sumcing. 
 
 I required as much by the philosopher as by the 
 man of honour and all others. But, assuming men to be amply 
 provided with necessaries, the uprightjnMLjiaa.^tillJxuihex...need 
 of societyj)f his fellow-citizens, towards whom and in-reeiprocity 
 with_whom he may display his integrity. Similarly in the case 
 of the temperate and brave man — social surroundings are essen- 
 tial. The philosopher, on the contrary, is able to meditate even 
 in isolation, and the more profound a philosopher he is, the 
 better able is he so to meditate. It were, perhaps, preferable 
 that he should have fellow-workers ; still he is in himself per- 
 fectly independent and sufficient for the development of his own 
 life. 
 
 ^ 5. Again, thejiotiyity of reason, eyen^whgn quite alone, would 
 seem to be cherished foi' its own sake. Nothing 
 
 |accruesTromlhis''activity beyoiiTThe simple play ^^^^^_ '^ mdcpen- 
 of thought; whereas from external activity we 
 compass some result, greater or less, beyond the mere action itself. 
 
 6. Lastly, the activitv_o£ reason seems to impj ijhc-pjjssession 
 of leisure. ^T'o'gain such leisure is the very aim 
 |of all our business, just as the purpose of carry- ^^^ »= ^<^^ ^^ 
 ing on war is to secure peace. 
 
566 The Moral Philosophy of ^Aristotle. [Bk. X. 7. 
 
 Now the exercise of the jpractical virtues takes .placfi.xitlier in 
 "puBlIc life or in the career of the soldier; but 
 [A.11 other forms of the actions incidental to politics or to war seem 
 andanxtty.]""^"" to involve anxiety and labour— those of war 
 absolutely so. The statesman never resolves on 
 war for the simple purpose of fighting, nor does Tie make warlike 
 preparations without an ulterior aim : he would be regarded as 
 a perfect savage if he treated his friends as enemies simply that 
 battles and slaughters might be brought about. 
 
 The activity of the statesman also is laborious and_anxious, 
 even beyond i3ie mere exercise of poirticalTuncJtions, aiming, as it 
 does, at compassing ascendancy and honour, or at any rate liappi- 
 ness for himself and his fellow citizens (happiness in thi» sense 
 being distinct from national or public happiness, which in fact we 
 seek as personal and private and distinct from the happiness of 
 the community as such). 
 
 Tliis Happiness is contoiqilatirc ; for both, our previous acconat of human 
 activities, and the facts as they stand, are witnesses that perfect happiness lies in 
 the activity of contemplation. For indeed (as we said in our treatise on Friend- 
 ship) Intellect is our essential being, and consequently the activity of InteEect is 
 our highest activity, and its discoveries are the highest of aU the discoveries of 
 our senses : and therefore, if Happiness is the highest of all things, its province 
 must certainly be that of Intellect, as the highest of our powers. 
 
 Furthermore, we must ascribe continuance to Happiness. Perfect happiness is 
 only possible to a man on condition of no sudden break occurring in it : and this 
 condition is most possible to Contemplation, which admits of continuance more 
 than anything else that we do. 
 
 Further, we conceive that an admixture of Pleasure is necessary to Happiness ; 
 and, of all activities in accordance with virtue, that of the philosophic mind is 
 confessedly most pleasurable. Philosophy indeed appears to confer marvellous 
 pleasures, because of its pui-ity and entire abstraction from matter, and its con- 
 stant unchanging activity about subjects immutable and eternal. Herein it 
 differs from practical activity, which needs matter to work on, and concerns 
 things merely contingent, (i.e., the details of practice), and therefore presenting 
 no scope for perfect Happiness. 
 
 Further, the truly happy man must be adequate to himself — a quality con- 
 ferred more by contemplative than by practical activity. The contemplative and 
 the practical man alike require the necessaries of life ; in addition to which the 
 practical man needs other things to develope his activity in accordance with 
 virtue ; the just man, r.r/,, requires other men as objects and aids of hia just 
 dealing, and so does the temperate man, and the brave man, and so on. But the 
 Philosopher, even when alone, can philosophize, needing no other presence, and 
 the greater philosopher he is, the less are his extraneous needs ; and even it he 
 does requii'e companionship as an aid to better contemplation, still he is, most of 
 all men, adequate to himself in practising perfectly his special activity. 
 
 Again, Happiness must be ohoiceworthy in itself and desirable ; and the con- 
 templative life answers to this requirement, being loved for itself. We seek no 
 further end by its means, nor is there any collateral result of Contemplation, 
 besides itself ; whereas by aU the practical virtues, there is some such object, 
 greater or less, to be gained ; by courage, victory ; by temperance, serenity of 
 soul ; by prudence, discovery of means to the supreme End ; by all alike, public 
 prosperity. But Contemplation has no further result, with a view to which it 
 
Bk. X. 7.J Translation. 567 
 
 seems desirable, but is loved for its own sake. Therefore it appears to constitute 
 human happiness. 
 
 Again, Happiness must subsist in a certain serenity and iSsure for contempla- 
 tion. For leisure, not work, is the true end ; we work hard, in order to win 
 leisure, just as we fight in order to win peace. But the activities of the practical 
 vu-tues are exercised in public affairs and in war, which, of all actions, seem 
 furthest removed from serenity and leisure. This is especially true of war ; for, 
 in that, serenity is impossible : (if it were otherwise, war would be sought for its 
 own sake, which of course never happens ; no one wishes to cause a war as per se 
 desirable ; it would be the act of a miscreant to maie friends into enemies for 
 the sake of war and carnage). Public affairs, too, are clearly contrary to leisure ; 
 the public man, besides managing the affairs of the state, has to obtain power 
 and honours for himself, and happiness too, only not merely for himself but for 
 'the people as well ; and this is distinctly a double work ; as is proved by his own 
 lattitude towards it ; he is not satisfied with his own happiness, but seeks that of 
 the people, thereby showing that they are distinct. 
 
 (c) E^SUMjfi : THE CONSTITUENT ELEMENTS OP THE PERFECT LIFE. 
 
 If, thereforej_amajigL_a£iiQiis_TOnform|i^^ career 
 
 of the statesman or of the soldier,_,though pre- 
 emmenT in cclat and impQctance, ■ is -ajxxious Kxbaustive rie- 
 
 , — , -; ; Yr ~- n • Bcription 01 the 
 
 and subor dinate to nlt erior purposes, anggs not philosophic life and 
 ch oiceworthy for it s own sake, whereas on the it-^ pre-eminenoo 
 other hand, the activiiy of the intellect seems action. 
 pre- eminent in moral w ortli (as being contempla- 
 tive andphHosophic)^ and aims at_Tin_end heyorifl ..jtself, and 
 involves a pleasure all its own and a pleasure which strengthens 
 the power of~nrodrta±roirrtiriTd-Tfj4irrfller, the characteristics of 
 'self-sufficiency ' and ' freedom from care ' and ' unwearyingness ' 
 (felatively to man), together with all other attributes that are 
 commonly assigned to the tarppynilnTafe' "seen to follow in the 
 Byak^ of th its . Ititsltg ntHar^tivity — this, assuredly, will be the 
 perfect happiness of man, if taken to comprise within it a full 
 term of life, nothing incomplete being compatible with the con- 
 ditions of happiness. 
 
 And since, of all actions according to virtue, those of public affairs and war 
 n are most considerable in honour and importance, and at the same time are most 
 contrary to leisure, and specially directed to some end, not being in themselves 
 desirable ; while the activity of the intellect is of higher type, (as being the 
 activity of the soul's noblest part.) and is sought for no object besides itself, nor 
 itself aims at any other object, but possesses its special pleasure, and that a 
 greater pleasure than attaches to the practical activities — which pleasure enhances 
 the activity : since, also, the activity of Intellect is at once most adequate to it- 
 self and most serene (as far at least as such states are possible to man), and 
 shares, in a word, all the qualities specially ascribed to the happy man : since, I 
 . say, all this is so, it is plain that Contemplation, which is the activity of the 
 intellect in accordance with virtue, prolonged through a complete Ufa (for neither 
 ; duration, nor any particular of happiness, should be imperfect) forms the perfect 
 '/happiness of man. 
 
568 
 
 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 7. 
 
 Such a life is ideal ; 
 yet it is attainable 
 in virtue of the 
 divinity of his 
 nature. 
 
 Moral obligation to 
 follow the life of 
 reason as the only 
 true and proper 
 lite of man (reason 
 being the truest 
 'self.') 
 
 {d) THIS IS NOT AN UNATTAINABLE NOR TRANSCENDENTAL IDEAL. 
 
 A life that fulfils these conditions will be higher than the com- 
 mon range of-nitniT — Ifo~one" can livea life l ike 
 thiOoj[aras_h e is mere ly man, but injp far as 
 there is a divme ele ment inherent i n bis nat ure. 
 In the proportio n in which this divine element 
 is superior to the complex organism of man, in 
 that degree also his InteIIectiial~oF~spiritual~lictivities" will be 
 superior to those which are' inspired by ordinary virtue. 
 
 If, therefore, intellect_Jsdivine_relativel^to man, then the 
 life wMchZis_conformable_ Jo_ injellectwill be 
 divine relatively to the.liffijof man. But,^or all 
 tha^^-^we-eraghtTTotto follow the advice of those 
 who bid us think only of human interest as 
 proper to our human life, and of that mortality 
 which all men share. Rather ought we, so far as 
 may be conf'pivable_aniL-pflsaible,-£rite]i_up. on immortalit y, and to 
 shape pjii^eveixJhougli£^i.yi.Jhaaiinu3i'J.iviji^^ 
 of the highest priDciple_w:ithin-us. Little though it be in bulk, 
 intellect far surpasses all other powers in dignity and capacity : 
 it would seem, in fact, to be each man's own ' self — if, that is, a 
 man's ' self ' is the sovereign principle, and that which is highest 
 within him. It would, therefore, be a monstrous thing if a man 
 were to prefer not the life which is peculiarly his own, but a life 
 that belongs to something else. 
 
 The view maintained (in the last Book) will harmonize with 
 the present :_that ^whicli is^ p^culiarlX-3sCT«, is 
 naturally the best and most agreeabl e to ev ery 
 creature.' So, too, if intellect be pre-eminently 
 distinctive of man, the life regulated by intellect 
 will be the life most pleasurable to man, and 
 consequently also the life most truly blessed. 
 
 The life of reason, 
 being suited to the 
 highest nature of 
 man, will give him 
 truest pleasure and 
 hijjpiness. 
 
 Such life, however, is superhuman : a man who lives it, lives it, not qua man, 
 but in 60 far as he has an element of divineness in his nature. So then, by as 
 much as the divine element excels the human admixture, by so much do its 
 activities excel the other human activities— and its virtue, the rest of moral 
 virtue. For if man is godlike qua Intellect, the life of Intellect is godlike as 
 compared with all other human life. 
 
 Let us not, however, foUow the principle inculcated by some, ' Let man think 
 man's thoughts, and mortal man heed the things of the mortal state.' Rather, 
 let each man, as far as lieth in him, grasp at immortality and do all that he can 
 to live in accordance with the highest element within him. And this element in us 
 ,ds Intellect. Granted, that in size and bulk it is inferior to all others, because it 
 is above and apart from matter — it is yet the greatest of all in power and worth. 
 It would be utterly absurd if a man v/ere to choose for himself, not his own life 
 
^^- ^- S-] Translation. 569 
 
 tut that of some one else : yet, in simple fact, a, man's true self is that in him 
 which is most eminent and best ; and he does not live for his true self, nor his 
 
 : own proper and real life, unless he lives in accordance with this best element. 
 
 ;. Indeed, what we said before will exactly apply here : what is proper and special 
 to each man's nature is best and pleasantest to him ; and the thing most proper 
 and special to man is activity according to Intellect (if, as appears to be true, a, 
 man's Intellect is his real self) and, of each thing that has any activity, the 
 special function is to develope that activity. AVhence we conclude that the life 
 according to Intellect is the highest and pleasantest life for man, and makes him 
 most truly happy, and is, consequently. Human Happiness, in a primary sense 
 and degree. 
 
 iii. — Happiness under Its social aspects compared with tlie ideal 
 happiness of Reason. 
 
 (a) CONTEMPLATION IS DIVINE : ACTION IS HUMAN. 
 
 The life jnspired by other virtues is but s_cconcl in the scale of 
 hanniaess. Actmties conformable to a law otlief Z ^ ] 
 
 ,, *■ ., , n T, , T • Happiness for man 
 
 than that 01 Iteason are proper _to man only in as a socmZ being is 
 Lis social cbaraicter. it is only" by intercourse derived from the 
 
 .., ^1 . • J 1 • moral virtues. 
 
 one With another, in commerce, in the various 
 
 kinds of business, and in the control of our feelings, that wc can 
 
 display justice and courage and perform acts corresponding to the 
 
 virtues, so as to maintain what is becoming in every relation and 
 
 circumstance. But these actions and qualities are distinctive of 
 
 our huinun rather than of our spiritual natui-e. 
 
 Some of these q ualities seem in fact to resu lt from^ our_physical 
 
 organization, and in manvways the excellence of „ 
 ■J ^j t—- ..^—v ^ _ - Some moral virtues 
 
 onr..jn.ojal jiatar.fi seems iaJ)aungepxably asso- ttredepeudentupon 
 ciated withjbe feelings. the bodily consii- 
 
 Further, the moral s.caae is_closely dependent " '"" ° ™™' 
 upon _the_ excellence of the moral naiure",^ and this again reacts 
 . upon the moral sense, since of course, the prin- 
 ciples oT the moral sense' are such as to cor- The moral sense 
 respond with the. mojal virtues, and the standard moral vii-tues, 
 of the moral virtues is one that is regulated by 
 the moral sense. 
 
 These moral PYcpllpnnppj mnTP-omMyJw-H'fHl-tijL as they arejd-th 
 the eBiotioB%-w-it I be di a play e d4 n mn n in „SQ->far 
 as he isa comnauud-Ql soul and body, and the *"'l *''^ moral vir- 
 
 ~;:, — -T^ — ■ = •' . tues are bound up 
 
 excellences of man as a complex organism are with the affections. 
 
 those which are proper to his distinctively human 
 
 nature. 
 
 Consequently both the 44£g-tiiatis-regulatcdi.by Hence the moral 
 
 the virtiies_-aJidJlie~bappin£S§3JiidLisJJi^ hlppiies") \°Tu. 
 
 duct-TCilLhfi-jJiar-a©teristTcalljT^«<»effl-%aiid-ada.pli3d man rather than 
 to the frame of man. =*^=^*'= °^ ^P'^*"^'- 
 
570 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 8. 
 
 The happiness produced by pliilosophy, on the other hand, will 
 
 be inflepp.iidp.nt nnd apart IroTT fhnmli. n intprpRt.a 
 Whereas the spin- , , , >„ , , , , 
 
 tnal life (and con- and liuwan needs. [bo much only need be 
 
 templative _ happi- gaid about it: to examine the conception more 
 ness) is divine. i- i i i j i i i i.i c 
 
 particularly would be beyond the scope of our 
 present purpose.] 
 
 The second place is held by that happiness whicli attends the exercise of the 
 other virtues. Their activities are purely human, and subsist in the mutual 
 relations of mankind. For instance, we exhibit towards each other acts of 
 justice, of courage, and of the other virtues, in mutual affairs, dealings, and 
 compacts, and we tutor our own feelings by preserving a seemly regard for our 
 neighbour : and all these things, combined, are the preservation of this life of 
 ours, in so far as its mortal admixture is concerned ; they are, in fact, distino 
 tively human. 
 
 Again, the moral virtues are at times much influenced by corporeal conditions 
 many, e.g., have naturally and constitutionally a tendency to temperance, or to 
 bravery, or to magnanimity ; and, in a general way. Moral Virtue and Insight 
 are closely connected with the feelings. (I couple together Moral Virtue ajid' 
 Insight for reasons previously stated, \.c. because Insight has its first prin- 
 ciples in the moral virtues, which supply to it the power of rightly conceiving 
 the End ; while Insight confers on Moral Virtue the knowledge of Means to the 
 End, as we have explained in the thirteenth chapter of the Sixth Book.) Siace, 
 then. Moral Virtue concerns, and is closely connected with, human feelings, and 
 Insight has been proved to be inseparable from Moral Virtue, it clearly follows 
 that every virtue that is exhibited in action is closely coimeeted with the feelings ; 
 that is, it concerns the admixture of the human element in ns, and the life 
 centred in that element, the vu-tues of which are the distinctively human virtues. 
 (Indeed, the definition of man is borrowed from the terms expressing the human 
 admixture of his nature.) 
 
 Consequently, the life and the happiness that are in accordance with these 
 activities, are the distinctively human life and happiness : while only that life 
 and happiness that are in accordance with Intellect are divine, being sundered" 
 from things purely human. To explain exactly how they are sundered, and what 
 their essential character is, would be beyond the scope of this Ti'eatise, and more 
 suited to Theology, to declare. Let it sufiHoe at present to affirm that they are 
 superhuman. 
 
 (^) CONTEMPLATION IS FAR LESS CKPENDENT UPON OUTWARD 
 CIRCUMSTANCES THAN ACTION IS. 
 
 IntellectualJiappiQesi:miuld-seem.-s^^ extern al help 
 
 only to a trifling_eilfint,J2LJiL any^^e far less 
 
 fs^'frr^'tesf tk tl'f^a xioErihrh^ppiness^ of the m^al nature. 
 
 creation of ciroum- Granted that the need of tliebiTe~riecessaries of 
 
 moraro*Ldau£ ^i^"^ ^^ ^"^^^ "^ '^oth cascs to an equal extent, 
 which presupposes thougli the citizcn of the world be more solicitous 
 a suitable field for ^^^^ ^lie body and material thino-s :— the relative 
 
 its {XCtlVltV. 
 
 difference in either case will be but slight. In 
 regard, however, to the exercise of their powers and faculties, the 
 contrast ,l)g twcen theiL_extgr nal needs wil l be considerable. The 
 liberal man wpl need resources to carry out his liberal purposes. 
 
Bk. X. 8.] Translation. 571 
 
 The jusl man •yvill need money to r eguite his oblig ations. [Mere 
 
 ' good intentions ' are uncertain and pfecariouiT~even the unjust 
 
 pretend that their desire is to act justly.] Theurave man, again, 
 
 will reguire opp ortunitie sif he is to achieve any exploit worthy of 
 
 his courage; and the temperaIeTItEnnvi-H~n«ed- moral freedom. 
 
 How, otherwise, could he, or any other character, be made 
 
 manifest ? 
 
 f Upon this point-a_ controversY h as been raised-— whether the 
 
 f'most4is±i»6ti¥e-paELi3£virtu£be the intention of 
 
 "the jgffiUa:..flifi_performaice^^^^^^^ '^^ X^f^^l 
 
 ; -iieing JjHplifid~iinjiei^,^thfiJ:-.aspect. Clearly the fore, dependent 
 
 absolute or perfect form of virtue does not reside "P"' the perform- 
 
 ^ ance oi acfs, and so, 
 
 in either intention or act singly, but in the union absolutely inter- 
 
 Ofboth. twined with extei- 
 
 „ . , nal conditions?' 
 
 However, tor the perlormance ot virtuous ac- 
 ,; tions a ni an requires mai3y"~TaY"oural)^J^onditions ; and the 
 sreater and more noble those actions are, the „ , , . , 
 
 ° -— -. -...„__,, r\ ,-\ l<reeaom and mde- 
 
 more numerous must the conditions be. Un the pendenoe of the 
 
 ■ other hand, for the philosopher in his meditations spiritual or con- 
 ,1 . 1 J? i 1 ■ L templative life, 
 
 there is no need ot any external circumstances 
 
 cooperating, so far at least as concerns the simple play of thought : 
 
 nay, external circumstances, to speak generally, are positively 
 
 t hindrances, at any rate to the practice of meditation. 
 
 I Still, so far as he is man, and Jives in the society of his fellows, 
 the philosophfiLSQUsfints— tQu-perform.. actF'tliat ■ ' 
 
 •• 1 .rr' T . , 1 ii 1 The requirements 
 
 accord wimjmorai. Virtue ; and consequently he ^f ^i^g philosopher 
 "will require such external resources as I have are the barest 
 |(iescribed, in order to play his part as a man. mmimum. 
 
 t 
 
 Our view is confirmed by the following considerations. Such a life aaid such 
 I tappiueas require no externals nor any provision from without, to support their 
 ,' activity. The life of Contemplation requires, of course, the necessaries of exis- 
 .. tenoe, inasmuch as its subject is a man ; but, for its own activity, it needs no- 
 thiug ; while the life of practical action needs bodily provision as much as that 
 of Contemplation does, (or rather more, because practical activities make a 
 greater claim on the physical powers) and, beyond and besides that, needs an 
 f external equipment, e.g. the liberal man needs money wherewith to exercise his 
 '■y. liberality ; the just man needs it, to make repayments ; and, without such ex- 
 ternal equipment, neither the one nor the other, nor any one possessing a virtue 
 parallel to these, can do anything in accordance with his special vu-tue. The 
 courageous man needs a oertaia coincidence, of opportunity and of physical 
 strength, to be able to exhibit Ms courage and endurance : the temperate man 
 needs a certain capacity and power of plunging, if he choose, into Pleasure ; and 
 so on, with the possessors of each practical virtue — all need certain coincidences 
 ■ and opportunities to exercise their virtue. 
 
 '• J?or, without action in accordance with the habit of a virtue, the desire and 
 habit of that virtue remain, utterly doubtful. Some men, rjj., without being just, 
 claim to feel the desire of dealing justly ; others, without being liberal, claim to 
 feel the desire of acting liberally. 
 
572 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 8. 
 
 Further, to have chosen a virtue deliberately is not, by itself, enough to pro- 
 duce a perfect example of it ; it is also necessary to act up to it, for its perfect 
 state needs both deliberate choice and action ; both are so requisite that it has 
 been questioned whether the choice or the action be the more essential element 
 in virtue. For its perfection, plainly, is in their combination. 
 
 We have shown, then, that practical virtue needs for its perfection a certain 
 external equipment ; and the greater and fairer the virtue is, the more it needs 
 this equipment — because its actions, if great and notable, need more external 
 opportunities to develope their exercise. But the man of contemplative virtue 
 needs no such aids and opportunities for the activity of his virtue ; nay, such 
 aids stand in the way, so to speak, of Contemplation. Still, though as philosopher 
 he win not need them, he nevertheless provides himself, as a man among men,' 
 with the necessaries of practical virtue, in order to play the part of humanity 
 properly with his f eUow-men. 
 
 (c) THE LIFE OF THE GODS SHOULD BE OUR EXAMPLE, AKD 
 THEIR LIFE IS ONE OF CONTEMPLATION. 
 
 A further proof that perfect happiness is ' intellectual activity ' 
 
 or a free exercise of thought, may be seen from 
 
 div^*e -'^ buT*'the "^^^ following considerations. The concep tion 
 
 divine 'life is not which we liave formed of the Gods is that they 
 
 one of action but ^^^ iiTffieliighest senseTJlessedTaM-teppy. 
 
 of contemplation. 9. v, -,■ \ 
 
 J3ut, as tor moral actions, what kmd, pray, 
 
 could we attribuie to Gods7 Suppsg" th-^-prTCticE-of-jusCce :— 
 surely they would appear ridiculous exchanging 
 I^sumTng^action or among One another, restoring deposits and such- 
 moral virtue to the like things? or, can we suppose them to per- 
 "° form deeds of courage, bearing up under cir- 
 
 cumstances of fear, and incurring danger because that were 
 noble? Or suppose them to perform acts of generosity: — yet 
 to whom will they make presents? It were monstrous that 
 there should be currency or anything of that kind among Gods. 
 Or suppose the practice of self-restraint : — what would that mean 
 of Geds ? Would it not be a vulgar and equivocal compliment 
 to say of them that they had no bad passions ? Indeed, if we 
 go through the whoJe--ea>talogu£s_JiL,moral_j:elations, we ^hall 
 find that they are all Jriflingj^n^^toojnad^uate^forjh^^ of 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding, we haYe_all thlsjjcl ief of the Grods t hat 
 they live, and hence that their existence is a- 
 What then is the conscious and active existence : — we cannot of 
 we^ exclude action course imagine that they sleep their life like 
 and production? an Endymion. But in the case of one who 
 thought'''*''"' "' ^«''"««» if action, and, still more, production, be 
 taken out of his range, what is there left except 
 meditation ? 
 
Bk- X- 8'] Tratislatton. 573 
 
 So, then, the activity o f the Gods, though excelling our own 
 in blesse dness, will be thepractice of meditation ; ' 
 au^Pa mong all the fom is~Qr~anTS3y3^irl-; ' a^ The life of the 
 possibleLjfor^an^that will be most blessed that Sen^'^"'™ 
 is nearest akin_tQjhe lit'e"of Ths~(jotis.- ■ 
 
 There is a new proof of this view in the fact that the animal 
 world generally have no share of happiness, de- 
 
 j ,1 J} J.^ J} IX j> Ti ,• • The same truth is 
 
 prived as they are ot the faculty of meditation m shown us by con- 
 
 the true sense of the term. trast of the animal 
 
 On the p art of the Gods, then, theirjwhole life '°° °™' 
 is bleSSSd ; TuFonThe part of men, their life is only blessed so 
 far as there is abiding in us some faint resem- 
 blance to that heavenly contemplation. But of ^^^ therefore w^iii 
 all living creatures not one, save man, is happy, be in exact ratio of 
 as having in no sense any part in the ' Vision T" ?°^^'-' °* '^''"" 
 Divine.' 
 
 J The conolu&ian.^tli f!.refore. is th is : wide_ as is the range of 
 
 i^tntelle ctual acti vi ty, so wide is the range of hap- 
 piness TTEose^ to who„se_lat_it_ falls to have a power of eontem- 
 more uninterrupted vista of truth, realize to an piation lasts, so 
 
 , — r — ,• "t — I -TT' — r — 1 -'" - long does the con- 
 
 equal exteiit-_ffiliat-4ti4S-to— be-happy — not un- sciousness of hap- 
 certainly and as matter of chance, but in right p™^^ continue. 
 of their powers of meditation, the vision of truth being precious 
 and glorious in itself. 
 
 In a word, then, happiness is a species of ec- J"on^andha*'''iif''" 
 sta gy, o r meditation upon things diviiiei ~~~^ are identical. 
 
 The follo"wingf consideration, also proves tliat perfect happiness subsists in the 
 contemplative life. Contemplation is the sole fimction of God, who is purely 
 blessed and happy. For what other occupation can we possibly ascribe to Him ? 
 Cam we say He deals justly, for instance ? Nay, it is clearly absurd to conceive 
 of Him as concluding bargains, restoring pledges, and so forth. Can we say He 
 acts with couiage ? Nay, in what sense can He have to face things terrible or 
 risk his life for honour ? The very expression is preposterous. Can He show 
 liberality ? Nay, to whom can He show it, and by gift of what ? It is absurd 
 to conceive of Him as having money which He needs for his own support, but 
 gives to others for generous motives. And how can He be temperate, having no 
 bad appetites to curb 1 All such practical qualities are petty and unworthy to 
 be ascribed to God. 
 
 But if, as all men conceive. He has life, He must have an activity — we cannot 
 think that He lies torpid and inactive, like Bndymion ! 
 
 ■ So, since He has an activity, but not, as we have shown, that of moral action, still 
 less that of production, (for it is not reasonable to think of Him as continuously 
 labouring, as handicraftsmen do, to produce material results,) what is left for 
 us to ascribe to Him but Contemplation ? 
 
 ' The activity, therefore, of God, being preeminent in blessedness, must be that 
 of Contemplation ; and perfect HajDpiness must certainly subsist in the con- 
 templative life, because there it wUl be most closely linked to the activity of 
 Gfod. A further proof is, that no irrational beings have any share in true happi- 
 ness, being wholly devoid of the activity of Contemplation. The whole life of 
 
574 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 9. 
 
 God is purely blessed : the life of man is blessed just so far as it bears tbe Hkenesa 
 and stamp of tbe divine activity ; the life of animals is not purely blessed at all, 
 inasmuch as they have no share in the contemplative faculty. All things there- 
 fore that have any share in Contemplation, have Happiness, and the larger share 
 of Contemplation, the more Happiness. In short. Happiness and Contemplation 
 are co-extensive, and that not incidentally but in virtue of Contemplation being 
 verily and indeed Happiness, and in itself honourable and precious. 
 
 The conclusion is : ' Happiness, in its highest and most complete sense, is a 
 sort of Contemplation,' 
 
 {d) THE EEQUIKEMENTS OE THE PHILOSOPHER ABE SLIGHT, AND 
 ARE SURE TO BE PROVIDED BY THE GODS, WHO APPROVE HIS 
 
 PURSUITS. 
 
 Bat on account of his human nature, the philosopher will 
 require the circumstances around him to be sunny 
 rcttemSion ^^^. ^^'ig^t. The nature of man is not sufficient, 
 is not absolute in its isolation, for the development of the spiritual 
 ::iffcfnd"ti:n: l^f^- his body must be sound and healthy: food 
 are assumed ; e.g. and the conveniences of life must be provided for 
 health and the ne- i^j^j^ Yet surely we must not suppose that, if a 
 
 cessanes of Me. • , i i i -i, • , , 
 
 man is to be happy, he will require a multitude 
 of favourable conditions, though it be not competent for any one 
 to be happy without certain external advantages. The true suf- 
 ficiency of the philosopher does not depend upon superfluity; 
 nor does our estimate of a man's character depend upon the 
 abundance of his riches ; nor does the morality of the act depend 
 upon the wealth of the agent. It is competent for a man to per- 
 form noble deeds, though he be not ' lord of earth and sea : ' even 
 with moderate resources a man may act worthy of his virtue. 
 One may see unmistakable illustrations of this truth, since 
 
 private individuals are thought to performhonour- 
 Even moral yii-tue j^yg ^cts no less than potentates ; nay, even 
 
 can exist without ^ ■ i. p j.1, 1- J ■ l 
 
 great wealth or morc SO. it IS sumcient lor the practice of virtue 
 power, though cer- tji^t a man havc a bare competency. However 
 
 tain conditions , . , ,, ... , i-/< •^^ i 
 
 must be assumed. poor his Worldly station, a mans life will be a 
 happy life when he devotes his faculties to the 
 practice of the virtues. 
 
 Solon was probably correct in the portrait he drew of the happy 
 oderate '^^^^'^ ^^"^ described them as being (1) moderately 
 means are suffi- provided with external goods, (2) as having per- 
 cient for the at- formed most noble deeds (as he reckoned them), 
 nes^rsuppoi'tcd by ^^^ (3) as having lived a temperate and sober life. 
 the authority of Thoiigh posscssed of Only moderate means, a man 
 (1) Solon, ^^^. gj^jj- pgj.fQj.jj^ jjjg (jy(_y. jjj ^Y^ jj-g relations. 
 
 Anaxagoras, again, seems to have understood by the happy rem, 
 
Bk. X. 9.] Translation. 575 
 
 not the rich and powerful, since he said that he should not be 
 ^ surprised if the happy man were thought by the 
 'i multitude a mere unfortunate. The mass of mtn naxasoras. 
 
 form their estimate by outward circumstances, of which alone have 
 
 they any perception. 
 The opinions, therefore, of our sages seem to harmonise with 
 
 my own definitions. This agreement at any rate 
 
 ~. T .. • n • /■ y-n Tile appeal to au- 
 
 anords some presumption in their favour; still, thority must be 
 
 in matters of conduct, strict truth can only be li"™^ °^^* by expe- 
 I i-jui i- e li. ji?ii rience and fact. 
 
 I ascertained by observation or results and of actual 
 
 hfe. The important element in the question depends upon par- 
 ticular circumstances. Consequently we must bring the opinions 
 and theories I have mentioned to the test of experience and of 
 real life ; and if our theories harmonize with facts we may accept 
 them, whereas if they are at variance with facts we must regard 
 them as ' idle words,' 
 
 But when a man developes a life in harmony with Reason and 
 ;, cherishes Reason above all things, he seems to be 
 most perfectly constituted and most beloved of '^}^^'°- argument : 
 
 TT o T -J? J. 1 Yi 1 • 1 1 ™s -wants of those 
 
 Heaven. Surely it any watchfulness is shown by ^ho cherish things 
 Gods for the interests of men (as men hold), it is di'^^e are sure to 
 hut natural that they should take pleasure in UeSng"°of ^the 
 that element of our nature which is highest and Gods, who care for 
 . most akin to themselves, viz. Reason, and that what they love. "^^ 
 they should requite with their blessing those who 
 love and honour Reason most truly when they see them having 
 reverence for what is pleasing to Heaven, and living just and 
 noble lives. 
 
 That all these qualities are found in the philosopher is no 
 doubtful truth. The philosopher, therefore, is 
 most beloved of the G-ods ; and it is but natural ^''"roachel^neTr^ert 
 that he should also and by the same right be most to the ideal of the 
 happy. Here then is a new proof by which philo- ^"'^^ ami is^ most 
 Sophy and happiness are shown to be identical. 
 
 Still, for tlie work of Contemplation, it is necessary to keep the body sound 
 and healthy by external aids : for it is irrational to expect any man, as suoh, 
 not to require these aids : human nature is not, in such points, self-supporting. 
 I But, of these thing-s, the man of Contemplation will need less than the man of 
 action. Absolutely, indeed, his requirements will not be many or great ; they 
 will consist merely of the necessaries of life, and of those to a moderate amount. 
 For it is not the abundance of wealth and other externals that makes the happy 
 man adequate to himself, or that persuades htm to judg-e rightly in practical 
 matters, or to do his duty therein. A man may act nobly, without possessing 
 power by land and sea ; he anay, from moderate resources, effect such things as 
 would well beseem men invested w'th dominions far and wide. We see this 
 
576 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 clearly every day, wlieii we find private nien keeping the path of Honour and 
 fair dealing, as well as, if not better than, men high in place and power. 
 
 Such moderate external provision, then, is sufficient for the truly happy man ; 
 it will enable him to practise his virtue, and to live the life of Happiness, without 
 let or hindrance. 
 
 Solon confirms this view, by defining Happiness, not as consisting in external 
 goods, but as being the lot of those who have a competency of external goods, 
 who have done deeds of fame, and have lived a temperate life : for, be it well 
 noted, men of limited possessions may equally walk in the path of duty. 
 
 Anaxagoras, also, it would appear, held that the'happy man need not be rich 
 or powerful : nay (he says) the many. would think him an absurd personage ; 
 and no wonder, for the many have no eye for anything but externals and appear- 
 ances, and are quite capable of thinking the really good and happy man a poor 
 sorry creature. 
 
 Thus the opinions of these philosophers agree with our theories as here set 
 forth — a fact which adds a certain confirmation to what we have said : though 
 of course the main confirmation of moral theories is the agreement of the facts 
 of life with them, just as their main refutation is a discrepancy of those facts. 
 Practical facts are the standing test of theory : let us therefore consider the 
 foregoing treatise and apply it to human actions and life, and, where it harmo- 
 nizes, let us accept it as ti'ue ; where it is at variance, let us presume it to be 
 words and wind. 
 
 Lastly, the following argument evinces the superior happiness of the man 
 whose activity is of the Intellect. He is the most beloved of God — whioli, in 
 itself, is the summit of Happiness. 
 
 For if (as is held by all men, and, surely, with trath) God has any regard for 
 things human and any care for their condition, in what, of aU the possessions 
 of man, should He more fittingly delight than in the noblest element of Humanity, 
 which is most akin to Himself, namely in Intellect 1 
 
 And if this be His principal delight. He wiU repay with all favour those who 
 love, honour, and exercise Intellect, as being guardians of that which He most 
 loves and to which He is most akin, and as acting in other respects well and 
 nobly. 
 
 Such is the character of the true philosopher, whose activity is that of the 
 Intellect; and he, consequently, is most loved of God, and is, naturally, the 
 happiest of men withal. 
 
 The conclusion, therefore, is that the philosopher is the tnily happy man, and 
 that Happiness subsists in the life of Contemplation. 
 
 III.— THE BORDER- LAND BETWEEN ETHICS AND 
 
 POLITICS. 
 
 (a) THE THEORY OF MORALS SUBORDINATE TO PRACTICAL 
 STATESMANSHIP. 
 
 Now that a sufficient description has been given to explain in 
 
 general outline my theory of life and virtue, of 
 
 The aim of Ethics friendship and of pleasure, are we to suppose 
 
 IS not merely the ,i , .i cl^ • m \- ■ ■, , ^T -r 
 
 anatomy of social that the purpose 01 this Treatise is complete ? Is 
 duties but the real- it not rather the truth that, as the savins: is, in 
 ization of virtue m . • . -,,,•, , . ° ' 
 
 practical life. questions concerning conduct, the end is not to 
 
 speculate nor to comprehend the bearing of every 
 
 duty, but rather to carry them into effect ? Neither assuredly, in 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation. 577 
 
 the case of virtue, is it enough to understand its meaning, we 
 must endeavour to possess it for ourselves and to put it to prac- 
 tical use, or to adopt any other means theft be by which we 
 may ourselves become virtuous. 
 
 Had theories of virtue been sufficient to make men virtuous, 
 most deservedly, as Theognis says, would they 
 have carried off many and great rewards, and it ^""^^^ speculations 
 
 .-, , 1,1 • 1 areperae profitless, 
 
 would have been our duty to have equipped our- except as an encou- 
 selves with them. In fact, however, theories are ragement to tiie 
 only found to have influence enough to urge 
 forward, and encourage to virtue, such of the young as are noble- 
 minded, and even to keep obedient to virtue characters high- 
 tempered and truly enamoured of virtue, amid the assaults of 
 evU; but on the other hand they are powerless to incite the 
 masses to the practice of virtue and the sentiment of honour. 
 
 Such in fact is the tendency of the masses, that they are con- 
 trolled by fear rather than by self-respect, and 
 they refrain from what is base through apprehen- '^^^ J°-^^ <>* ™s" 
 
 • c ■ ^ I.J.1 J.1 j> p require penal sanc- 
 
 Bion 01 punishment rather than irom a sense 01 tions rather than 
 shame. Living by the rule of their passions, "^oral appeals to 
 they foUow after such pleasures as are congenial ^ance^to duty.* ^" 
 to them, and compass opportunities by which such 
 pleasures may be gained ; so, too, they try to avoid the pains that 
 conflict with their pleasures, and they have not so much as a 
 notion of what is noble and inherently pleasurable, never having 
 tasted its sweetness. 
 
 When men have a character such as this, what argument can 
 possibly bring them to order ? It is an impos- „ , 
 
 ., ,., ,, ,.,• , (T Hopelessness of 
 
 Bible task, or at least it is no easy one, to reiorm attaining a social 
 by means of argument impressions that have reformation by 
 /.I,. T, 1 ill L means of argument. 
 
 tor a long time been stamped upon the character. 
 It is surely a result to be satisfied with, if, when all conditions 
 are provided through which we are thought likely to become 
 good, we may even so gain some share of virtue. 
 
 We have, in whac we have said, given a suitable and sufficient sketch of the 
 Virtues and of Friendship, and of Pleasure, and of Happiness : and our Treatise 
 needs no fm"ther account of them. 
 
 Is then our whole design accomplished, and has our task reached the proper 
 oonclusion ? 
 
 Not so, for our Philosophy has Action in view, and must be summed up and 
 completed in conformity with that design — whUe to know what Virtue is, o* 
 what Friendship, and soon, is theory only. 
 
 Therefore, even as the man who is aiming at vii'tue must not close his effort 
 
 P P 
 
578 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 when he has learnt what he should do and from what he should abstain, and 
 what Virtue is, and what Vice, and what the supreme end and object of Humanity 
 — but must apply himself to Action, and do the right and avoid the wrong and 
 strain erery nerve to reach true Happiness — even so, I say, he whom we may 
 call the athlete of Virtue must not be satisfied with what we have hitherto said 
 (which only shows him what each of these things — Virtue, Friendship, Pleasure, 
 Happiness — is in itself) ; he must go further and learn, as it were, to bring them 
 into being aright, and having learnt, must teach the same, feeUng that thus only 
 can he be an actual Teacher of Virtue. For the Teacher must so shape his teaching 
 as to perfect his pupil ; and perfection, for the athlete of virtue, lies in becoming 
 truly virtuous and a willing doer of all that is honourable. 
 
 Clearly therefore we must add, to what we have said about the virtues, direc- 
 tions for practice — what actions a man must do and what disposition he must 
 develop to make himself really akiu to Virtue and the Good, and really inclined 
 to hear expositions of Virtue, and capable of living according to her laws. For 
 thus our treatise on Virtue would be adequate to its own aim, by preserving 
 throughout the result it develops — viz., the virtuous character. 
 
 Therefore we must try to exhibit the method of teaching that leads to action j 
 for if a mere treatise on Virtue could induce men to be virtuous, I should indeed, 
 in the words of Theognis, 
 
 'Win me a manifold wage, ample and merited meed,' 
 
 and my Treatise would be of high value and much to be sought after. As it is, 
 such words seem able to stimulate and exhort to virtue and its practice and 
 habit, all the better and more liberal, noble, and aspiring dispositions among our 
 youth ; but not yet able to do the same by the many : of whom no one can be 
 led to choose honour and eschew baseness, merely by means of words and per- 
 suasion. For they are not led by a fine seiise of shame to abhor the veiy idea 
 of appearing base^ — but, if at all, by fear of consequences : and they do not ab- 
 stain from mean actions because they are mean and because to do them is base, 
 but because of the penalties. 
 
 And the cause of this is, that such men do not live by Reason, the parent of 
 Honour — but in obedience to their instincts, and consequently in pursuit of the 
 pleasures which follow those instincts, and in avoidance of the pains which 
 thwart them. And avoidance of pains is Fear ; and when men are in this state, 
 and, never having tasted of things truly honourable and right are unable even to 
 conceive of them, what mere Treatise can set them in a better way? It is 
 impossible, or next to it, for mere argument to remove qualities engrained and 
 confirmed by lapse of time. Other means are required ; and, even with them, we 
 must be well satisfied if one or two, out of the many, turn to Virtue and good 
 principles. 
 
 It being allowed, then, that words are not adequate to secure the object in 
 view, we must inquire what that is which is needed as a substratum, to enable 
 argument to persuade men to the Good. 
 
 (^i5) THE PROVINCE OF EDUCATION IDENTICAL WITH THAT OF LAW. 
 
 The means whereby men are made good, are variously ex- 
 plained. Some philosophers think that goodness 
 ^ioh Ke'usT^ ^s * gif<^ of nature : others that it is a formation 
 the attainment of of habit : others again, that it is the product of 
 ture"^(2f Train^*" histruction Or philosophy. 
 (3) Philosophy. ' Now, evidently, a gift of nature does not depend 
 (1) Nature is the "P°° '^'^'^ ^^^ control : it results from * chance 
 instrument of Pro- divine,' and falls only to the lot of those who are 
 « irfencc. ^j.y|y , favourites of fortune. ' 
 
Bk. X. lO.J Translation, 579 
 
 Reason and instruction certainly are not equally effectual in all 
 cases, but (to secure their influence) the soui of 
 the student must be previously moulded by the gleriiBrTliLut 
 formation of habits, with the aim that the plea- (2) previous Train- 
 sures or aversions it feels may be true and right '°^ " ^''"'P'^'^^- 
 — the soul being like the ground that is to nourish the good seed. 
 If a man live by the law of his passions he will not hear the voice 
 of reason dissuading him from his evil ways, nor yet again will 
 he understand ; and when a man is in such a frame of mind, how 
 is it possible to convince him of his folly ? In a word, passion 
 seems to yield not to Reason but to force. 
 
 Hence it is essential that the character or temper of a boy 
 should be previously shaped in some way or other 
 
 ,1. ill ■• D • L ■> ■ Essential import- 
 
 so as to be naturally receptive of virtue, loving auce of cow/ha- 
 what is noble and scorning what is base. But it bituation to the 
 is difficult for a boy to secure a right education P'""'^"' °^ ^''^'''■ 
 unless he be reared from early youth under the discipline of laws 
 framed for moral ends. To live a life of temperance and of 
 endurance is not agreeable to men in general, least of all tctthe 
 young. Their diet and pursuits ought, therefore, to be controlled 
 by legal sanctions : such a discipline will not* be painful if it be 
 made habitual. 
 
 Th.e causes of Virtue in man are, it is allowed, three— Nature, Instruction, 
 Habit. 
 
 Of these, Nature is plainly not under our own control. To have a natural, 
 disposition to Virtue comes to the truly fortunate by some divine agency. 
 Instruction, and mere argument about virtues, cannot, in every case, persuade or 
 convince, as we have already shown. 
 
 Habit is necessary, before argument. That is, the soul of him who listens to 
 the argument needs a previous equipment of good habits, whereby he feels delight 
 in, and dislike for, the proper objects. 
 
 This is the right preparation for Instruction — the soil, as it were, beat fitted 
 for the seed : and without such preparation, how can one yield to any argiunent 
 that dissuades from Pleasure 1 nay, how can he, who lives according to his 
 instincts alone, even comprehend such argument ? and if he cannot comprehend 
 it, how can it convince him of error ? 
 
 To make instincts yield to Keason plainly requires something more than 
 argument — a certain/«rcc. The words of Reason, then, being incapable by them- 
 selves of making men good. Habit must form the soil for Instruction to sow ; 
 that is. Habit must aid Instruction to qualify the leai-ner for closer Idnship 
 with Virtue, more love of the noble, more hatred of the base. 
 
 Thus we have shown that Habit, and a certain preparation of soul, must 
 precede Virtue. 
 
 How is good Habit, and sound guidance and direction towards Virtue, to be 
 secured without rules of conduct, themselves right and just and conducive to 
 Virtue? 
 
 Such rules are necessary for our education, from childhood itself. For 
 temperate and hardy life is not pleasant to average men, especially in youth ; and 
 consequently their practice, nurture, and life in general, must be placed under 
 rules ; a process which only habituation can make otherwise than painful to usi 
 
 r P 2 
 
580 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. \JS&. X. 10. 
 
 (c) THE REIGN OF LAW MUST, THEREFOEB, EXTEND TO THE 
 WHOLE OF LIFE. 
 
 Yet it is not sufficient, surely, that we should enjoy a proper 
 course of diet, and supervision only as boys: 
 S»d'Zt"be even When grown to man's estate, we must 
 continued by the practise the traditions of our boyhood and live 
 Se fee^'' *''' l^y tabit ; in the regulation of our habits, there- 
 fore, and generally in the whole conduct of life, 
 we shall need the control and guidance of the laws. Compulsion 
 rather than reason is the motive to which the masses yield 
 obedience: pains and penalties are more efficacious with them 
 than the sense of right. 
 
 Looking to the diiferent motiVes which influence men, some 
 „, „, ^ , philosophers think that our legislators in framing 
 
 The State must f , , , r i- i i P 
 
 adopt a system of laws ought to encourage and stimulate men to 
 rewards and pu- the practice of virtue for the sake of what is 
 tives to influence noble and right, with the conviction that those 
 different classes of -^^lio have been rightly brought up by a course 
 01 izens. ^£ habits will hearken to such an appeal ; on 
 
 the other hand, if men will not heed the call of duty, but are of 
 too ignoble a nature, then ought our legislators to inflict punish- 
 ments and penalties upon them, and absolutely to banish from 
 the State such as are incurable. The man who is upright and 
 guides his life by the law of honour will, they rightly think, be 
 obedient to the voice of reason ; whereas the bad man while 
 striving after pleasure is controlled, like a refractory steed, by 
 the infliction of pain. For the same reason they also maintain 
 that the pains inflicted by the laws ought to be of a character 
 the exact reverse of the pleasures which the delinquents have 
 unduly loved. 
 
 If it be the fact, then, that, as has been explained, a man must 
 „, „ , , , be morally and nobly trained and moulded to 
 
 The State must be i- i i i -^ •/.,-, i -, ^ 
 
 the guardian of the particular habits II he IS to be a good man, and 
 whole life of its then, after his character has been thus formed, 
 
 citizens, directing i • Tr • -l l- i-i l 
 
 everything to a P^'SS his lite m pursuits or occupations that are 
 noble and virtuous honourable and right, and under no circum- 
 ^" ■ stances, voluntarily or involuntarily, commit dis- 
 
 graceful deeds ; — these conditions, I say, can only be secured when 
 men's lives are ordered and their conduct constrained by some 
 form of Eeason and by a moral discipline carrying with it a power 
 of coercion. 
 
 It is not. in youth only that rules ate liecessaxy, but iti matiliOod &lsO : i(X 
 proper nurture ill youth will not suffice to make men good ; they inUst, Whefl 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation. 581 
 
 grown-up, practise honourable deeds and acoustom themselves to Virtue. So 
 that, at that stage also, and indeed aU through life, rules will be required. For 
 most men obey compulsion better than Eeason, and pen^ties better than the call 
 of Honour. 
 
 This has induced some men to think that law-givers should begin by virging people 
 to Virtue and the Good, by words and exhortations, in the name of Honour ; for 
 that the good would become better by being thus habituated to the idea of 
 excellence — and then the law-gi»ers should proceed to lay penalties and inflict 
 chastisements on the recalcitrant and less noble natures ; and, finally, should 
 banish the incurably vicious from the society of those who are, or may 
 become, sound men. The natural discipline is that the righteous man, who lives 
 for Honour, should yield loyal obedience to Reason ; and that the base man, who 
 is always craving for pleasure and obeying his animal instincts, should be 
 chastened, like a beast of burden, into obedience and improvement. Thus, we 
 are told, irrational men must be chastised by infliction of those pains which 
 are directly opposed to the pleasures they love : e.g., the covetous man should be 
 despoiled of what he has ; the hectoring braggart should be treated with con- 
 tumely ; the debauched man should be whipped, and so on. 
 
 Now if all this preliminary discipline be hard and unlovely, and if, for all that, 
 it is essential for every man to be honest and good— the process of proper nurture 
 and education must begin early. We cannot be too soon taught the habit of 
 honour, and to learn and cleave to the good practice thereof, so as to do no mean- 
 ness, either without or with intention. 
 
 This result can be reached by living a life in obedience to a certain discipline 
 and to fixed rules that hav€ both authority and efficacy. 
 
 {d) DIFFEBENCE BETWEEN THE LEGISLATION OF THE tAMILY AND 
 OF THE STATE. 
 
 Now the government of a father has no stability nor any bind- 
 ing, compulsory force. Nor, again, has the 
 ordinance of any single individual a constrain- N" authority, save 
 
 , , , T . « that of the State, 
 
 mg power, unless he be a king or a person of ig sufficiently pow- 
 similar authority. On the contrary. Law involves erfui to undertake 
 
 . , ,. . . -i 1 • • • the education of 
 
 a power 01 obligation, smce its decision is one ^\^^ citizens. 
 that issues from a kind of Moral Insight and 
 Abstract Reason. Again we hate those who on their own re- 
 sponsibility oppose our inclinations, even though they are right 
 in doing so. On the other hand Law is not offensive to us, since 
 it ordains only what is abstract right. 
 
 It is only, however, in the city of the Lacedeemonians with a 
 few others that the legislator seems to have made 
 provision for rejrulatino: the diet and pursuits of ^^^ even the 
 
 , . . T ji • -1 n ci. Z States (excepting 
 
 the Citizens, in the majority 01 btates a com- that of Sparta) are 
 plete disregard for such matters prevails, and indifferent to their 
 every citizen lives the life he chooses, after the j/^s? ^^^'^^ '" 
 fashion of the Cyclops 'legislating for his childreh 
 and his wife.' 
 
 The best cotti'sej however, is that there should be a system of 
 
582 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 moral education common to all the citizens, and that the legis- 
 Thou h the State ^^^^^^ shoTild have authority to make it compul- 
 is the proper guar- sory. But where National Education is neglected 
 dian of education, ^jy the State, it would seem to be the duty of 
 
 in default of action i •-,•■-, t , -\ ij.- t- t ^i- 
 
 by the State pri- each individual to do what m him lies lor his 
 vate and individual children and friends to promote morality among 
 
 action is necessary. ^^^^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^g.^.^ ^^ 
 
 intention of doing so. It would seem from what has been 
 said, that a man would have the best chance of carrying out his 
 purpose by cultivating the spirit of the legislator. For it is 
 evident that the administration of the State is carried out by 
 means of laws, and when the laws are good the administration 
 will be good also. 
 
 The commands of parents, however, to their children, are not, as a rule, efflca- 
 cious in compelling : nor, indeed, have those of any individual (unless he be a 
 despotic ruler or a king) force to drive average men against their will into the 
 path of Honour. 
 
 But what the commands of men cannot enforce, the Law can, because it is 
 believed to have been instituted by some superior ipind and judgment. So it is 
 that the multitude detests those who oppose, however rightly, its impulses ; but 
 no one bears amy grudge against the Law, and its directions to do the |;ood and 
 renounce the bad. For, while human teachers of virtue can be suspected of 
 inflicting pain for malicious or jealous reasons, the Law, being impersonal, 
 cannot so be suspected. Laws, therefore, of direction and control, operating in 
 favour of virtue, are necessary to us from childhood. 
 
 Among communities, however, only that of the Lacedaemonians, with, perhaps, 
 a very few others, has such laws. Most countries have disregarded the necessity 
 of them — and, in such countries, each man orders his life and household as he 
 will, with a sway as absolute as that of the Cyclops — 
 
 ' O'er wife and children.' 
 
 The true course is,_to have proper public ordinances, so that all may be able to 
 follow, and live according to, rule and Bight Reason. Where this is not so, and 
 where, consequently, the public interest is neglected, it seems to be the duty of 
 each man to help his children and friends onward on Virtue's path— or, at any 
 rate, to be ready and anxious so to help them when opportunity offers ; and a 
 careful study of the requisite laws will enable every one so to help his neighbours. 
 Now Laws are the essence of careful improvement; and pubUo improvement 
 results from public laws, and all honest and seemly improvements and instructions 
 from corresponding — i.e., honest and seemly — laws. 
 
 (e) NECESSITY OP A STATESMAN-LIKE SPIRIT, EVEN FOE PRIVATE 
 
 LEGISLATION. 
 
 It would seem to be immaterial whether the laws are written 
 
 or unwritten, or, again, whether they are such 
 
 But private edu- ^j^^t one pcrson or many will be trained by 
 
 cation* must be ,, ,i • , . p • -, i- 
 
 based upon law as them ; their precepts, i.e., are of universal appli- 
 much as State edu- cation, like those of Music or Gymnastic or 
 
 cation. - _ - 
 
 similar professions. 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation. 583 
 
 In fact the counsels of a father and the traditions he sets have 
 precisely the same influence in private families 
 as institutions and customs have in States ; nfty, tion'^arfather^'oo- 
 even more so, through the tie of blood and the "upies the position 
 benefits received. In families the members start ° * * ***®' 
 with a store of affection, and are obedient from an instinct of 
 nature. 
 
 There are, moreover, positive differences in the training suited 
 to private life and in that adapted to the com- „ 
 
 .. m, . , T ■ .1 Private education 
 
 munity. There is an exact analogy m the case ss indeed more in- 
 of medicine. As a matter of general theory, dividual and em- 
 repose and low diet are best for a man who is in ^'"°' 
 a fever, but in a particular instance possibly the reverse may be 
 the best. Again, the professor of boxing does not lay down the 
 same method of defence for all his pupils. It would seem, there- 
 fore, that special peculiarities are best and most exactly provided 
 for when the treatment bestowed is personal; the individual being 
 in that case most likely to meet with what is suitable to his own 
 condition. 
 
 But, notwithstanding, a man will deal most successfully with 
 individual cases, whether as physician, or as 
 trainer, or as a professor generally, if he knows ^^l^Jl^:^ ^'^^^^ 
 the general principle that '. . . . such and such be based upon 00m- 
 is good for all, or for particular classes or sub- ^f^j^^"^'^^ ^"°' 
 jects.' The sciences are said to be, and truly 
 are, concerned with general truths. [Still for all that, though 
 a man be a mere empiric, there is nothing to prevent his providing 
 rightly for some particular case, if he has accurately observed 
 from his own experience the special symptoms attending that 
 particular case. Just in the same way some men seem to be 
 their own best physicians, though unable to render relief to 
 any one else.] 
 
 None the less on that account would it seem that if a man 
 wishes to become a true artist and to have a 
 knowledge of the principles of things, he ought ■^eng^°^^f^ f 
 surely to go forward to the Universal and ascer- essential to success 
 tain under what conditions it may be realised, ™ treating indivi- 
 since the Universal, as has been explained, 
 constitutes the subject-matter of the Sciences. 
 
 For the same reasons, I venture to think that the man who 
 wishes by his personal guidance to make his fellows better, 
 wbethey or a larger or smaller scale, i»iigt endeavour to gaiu 
 
584 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 the mind of a statesman, since it is only by laws that we are 
 made good. It is not within the power of an 
 Therefore the pri- ordinary person to frame a law at will, nor to 
 should ouitivatethe determine the- character of a law already made: 
 faculty of framing if practical statesmanship is possible at all, it is 
 Sic^tior"'"^' possible only for the scientific student, just as 
 in the case of medicine and other subjects which 
 involve a kind of personal supervision and practical judgment, or 
 ' insight.' 
 
 It makes no difference whether these laws be written or unwritten, nor 
 whether our concern be to teach many or to regulate the conduct of one — as 
 indeed is also the case with Music, Gymnastics, and the other aocomplighmente. 
 That which will develop one athlete, will develop any number ; and what wiU make 
 one man a musician, will ' ceteris parilms' make any number of men musicians — 
 and, pice versa, what will make many men musicians, wiU make an individual a 
 musician. Correspondingly, a man who has only a single family to direct and 
 regulate, or only one man to teach, may be a legislator, in practice and theory, as 
 much as the man who governs a whole city or nation. Just as a city feels the 
 authority of its manners and customs, a single family feels the authority of the 
 father's commands : and his approval, in the matter of conduct, has a great influ- 
 ence, on the children and the rest of the household, in favour of that conduct — 
 and the gi'eater influence, because of his relationship and their obligations to him; 
 which form a much closer bond between children and their father than any which 
 subsists between citizens and their law-giver. 
 
 Therefore it is that children, though in other matters obstinate, are pretty easily 
 led by their father, and obey the laws laid down by him better, because of a natural 
 and original affection for him. 
 
 Besides, private laws are more exact in detail than public laws, and therefore 
 more effective. An analogy to this may be found in Medicine — in which indi- 
 vidual prescriptions, adapted to the constitution of a single person, are more 
 effective than universal precepts. Universal precepts afl&rm, e.g., that a spare 
 diet and rest are good for fever : but an individual case of fever may be better 
 treated in the reverse way. Thus he who prescribes for one patient will be more 
 exactly right than he who merely issues an universal order. And a boxer — if he 
 make his game by careful observation of successive opponents and by a judicious 
 varying of his defence according to circumstances, will be a better boxer. In 
 short, everything will be more advantageously treated if it gets special individual 
 attention ; for so its true requirements are more likely to be discovered. 
 
 It is plain then that he who knows the universal rule — be it in Medicine, 
 Gymnastic, or Legislation — will be a better manager of an individual case, or of 
 a small number of cases, in proportion as he can modify his scientific universal 
 by application of it to the particular case. He knows already what is good for 
 all men ia this or that condition — (for Sciences are said to be, and aie, of the 
 Universal,) but the application is also necessaiy. Indeed, a man, ignorant of the 
 Universal, but a careful observer of special symptoms, may very likely Eocceed in 
 an individual case. Some men, e.g. with no knowledge how to heal others, are 
 yet good physicians of their own bodies. So it is also with the other professions ; 
 yet, however experience may suffice, in each profession, to deal with individual 
 cases, he who wishes to become really skilled in an art, or truly capable of con- 
 templation, must diligently press on to Science, and to the Universal mth which 
 Science is concerned. 
 
 This Universal, in the sciences of Medicine, Legislation, or the like, is not to be 
 looked upon as immovable and unchangeable, but as decidedly ooiiingent : for 
 such sciences are theipselves of things contingent, not of things imSbvable. 
 
 Therefore, as we must in each case aim at the Science, the man who wishes to 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation. 585 
 
 improve other men, whether many or few, must study the Science of Legislation : 
 for it is by means of the Law that we progress towards the Good and towards 
 Virtue. As things are, it is not in the power of any casual man to direct ai-ight 
 either many or even one of his neighbours, nor to teach'them a proper relation 
 to Virtue. This is only possible, if at all, to him among men who knows 
 how to estimate existing laws and to lay down others that are required. 
 
 (/) FROM WHOM MAY THK PRINCIPLES OF LEGISLATION BE 
 LEARNT ? 
 
 Shall we, therefore, go on to consider from what sources and 
 how a man may acquire the faculty of making 
 laws ? Is it here, as in analogous cases, from those Politics have not 
 whose profession it is, i.e. from statesmen? For treateYa^ a sepa° 
 legislation seemed to us, and is commonly classed rate study, nor are 
 as, a branch of statesmanship. Or is there jL^reliS"'" 
 obviously no correspondence between the case of 
 Statesmanship and that of the sciences and professions generally ? 
 For in the various arts the artists lay down rules for their art and 
 work out those rules in their own practice, examples being painters 
 and physicians. 
 
 In regard to statesmanship, on the other hand, though the 
 Sophists undertake to teach the subject, there is tj^ c },• t ii 
 not one of them that puts his theories into framed theories, 
 practice. Practical statesmanship is left to the }>"* ^^^^ theories 
 
 ,.,. . , 11 , 1 -111 have not been 
 
 politicians, who would seem to be guided by a based upon expe- 
 kind of native talent and experience rather than "^ience. Politicians, 
 by reasoned conviction. Statesmen are not found ™iio have^'exp&'il 
 to write nor to speak upon the method of politics, ence, have left us 
 though perhaps that were a nobler occupation than ''"sener t eones. 
 elaborating speeches for the law-courts and for the forum ; nor 
 yet again do they appear to have made statesmen of their own 
 sons nor any others of their friends : yet that were a natural 
 thing for them to have assayed, if they had had the power ; nor 
 could they have bequeathed any nobler heritage to their several 
 states, nor could they have preferred any higher faculty to be 
 reserved for themselves and those dearest to them. 
 
 Yet, assuredly, experience seems to contribute in no slight 
 degree to statesmanship : otherwise men would 
 not have become, as they do, better statesmen Jut experience is 
 
 ,, , T,. 1 • i- 1 • i found to make po- 
 
 through^ political associations and intercourse, uticiacs better. 
 
 Hence those who desire to understand the science 
 
 of statesmanship seem further to have need of experience. 
 
 As for the Sophists, those who promise highly are found to be 
 
586 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 far from teaching the science of Politics : in fact, they do not so 
 ^ „ , . , much as know what, the distinctive nature of the 
 
 The Sophists have „ . . i ^ • -j. u- i. j.j. i.i 
 
 shown an utter dis- Science IS nor what is its subject-matter : other- 
 regard for the con- -vy^ige they would not have ranked it on the same 
 probiTm," ^^ level as Rhetoric or even inferior to it; nor 
 f d would they have supposed that it is easy to legis- 
 oonfused and un- late by Collecting together the most approved 
 worthy notions of among existing laws. ' It is an easy matter,' 
 * ^" ^^° ■ they say, ' to make a selection of the best laws : ' 
 
 — as though the very selection were not a matter of moral insight, 
 and as though a wise discrimination were not a matter of gravest 
 difficulty, as it is in what relates to musical composition. 
 
 Now it is only men of experience who judge of facts correctly in 
 
 all their bearings and who understand the proper 
 
 The Science of Po- means and the proper manner for bringing about 
 
 litics must be based . ■,, ji.i-i i>i i 
 
 upon a thorough each rcsult, and what kinds oi phenomena har- 
 examination of so- monize together. On the other hand, men without 
 nomenl? ^""^ ^^*' experience may be well content if they are not 
 
 deceived in their estimate whether a particular 
 piece of workmanship has been constructed well or ill, as they 
 might judge of the case of a painting. 
 
 But ' laws ' correspond to the results of statesmanship, as its 
 
 products. How then could a man become fit to 
 'Laws' must be legislate or how could ho decide what laws are 
 
 viewed [in conneo- , ° „ , . . , , ■ n /->i 
 
 tion with the facts bcst from a merely empirical observation ? Ob- 
 they are framed to vjouslv it is as impossible as for men to become 
 
 meet 
 
 physicians by the mere study of prescriptions. 
 Yet, notwithstanding, men endeavour at any rate to tell us not 
 
 only difiorent methods of treatment, but also how 
 liticia^^view poii- individuals may be cured and how we ought to 
 ticai 'effects' apart treat each case, merely classifying the various 
 from t eir causes. bodily Conditions. Such an enumeration of par- 
 ticular instances seems to be useful enough to experienced physi- 
 cians, but profitless to such as are unscientific. 
 
 Assuredly, therefore, collections of Codes and of constitutions 
 are most useful to those who are able to under- 
 Political constitu- stand the theory of them, and to iudge aright what* 
 
 tions are only use- ■'. ' ■',° °ii, 
 
 fui to those who enactments are just or the contrary, and what 
 
 understand poU- gQcial Conditions best harmonize together. But 
 tioal phenomena. .i ^ 'i. i< • j • • i_j. ^ -i • 
 
 the faculty ot judging aright cannot reside m 
 
 those who merely enumerate such particulars without an indepen- 
 dent power of their own (unless such a judgmeot could be spoo- 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation, 587 
 
 taneous and innate), though they may perhaps become more 
 expert upon such subjects. 
 
 Thus we have proved that he whom we have called ' the athlete of Virtue ' 
 muBt study legislation ; we must now inquire how that study is to be pursued. 
 
 As one leams to be a scholar, or a musician, from one who is already such, so 
 it is evident, one must learn to be a legislator from one who understands legisla- 
 tion — that is, from a statesman ; for Legislation is a branch of Statecraft. 
 
 Statecraft appears to differ, in some points, from other faculties and sciences, 
 in which the same men teach the methods and practise the activities of their 
 profession. A physician, and a painter, each practises his own art and teaches it 
 as well. But with Statecraft the case is different. The Sophists announce them- 
 selves as teaching the art of politics, though they never practise it : statesmen 
 practise it, but never teach it ; nor indeed could they do so, for they employ no 
 method or science in their practice of politics, but proceed by a sort of natural 
 aptitude, and rather by experience than by pure intelligence. The ability to 
 teach they clearly have not ; they never do teach, nor tell others by speech or 
 writing, anything about their business — though, if they could, they surely would 
 speak of it. It would surely contribute more to satisfy their ambition, if they 
 could compose works on politics, than all their forensic or popular speeches. 
 Certainly also, if they knew how to communicate the art of politics, they would 
 malce statesmen of their sons, or of some of tfieir friends : for, if they had the 
 power, they would naturally have the will, thus to benefit their friends or nearest 
 relations. Indeed the greatest and most useful gift they could bequeath to their 
 country would be written exposition and instruction in the art of Politics ; nor 
 could they desire for themselves, their sons, or their friends, anything better than 
 the ability to communicate that art. 
 
 Plainly, then, if they could teach Politics, they would wish to do so, and would 
 do so. As they obviously do not do so, it is plain that they cannot : it is plain 
 that they have not themselves acquired it by any rational or scientific method, 
 but by experience oiJy. And experience, no doubt, does contribute a good deal 
 to enable one to deal with practical politics. Men really do become statesmen, 
 or something like it, by practical familiarity with affairs of state : which .there- 
 fore ought to be acquired, as well as scientific knowledge of statecraft, by those 
 ambitious to become statesmen. 
 
 The Sophists, indeed, announce themselves as teachers of Legislation ; but 
 they do not teach it, for all their professions. Nay, so devoid are they of power 
 to speak of it aright, that they do not even imderstand its essence nor its nature. 
 They regard it as merely identical with or inferior to the Art of Rhetoric, and 
 consider it so easy as to be in the scope of every man. To collect the most 
 approved codes, and to select out of them the best laws, is their idea of Legisla- 
 tion ; and such estimation and selection they consider easy. But — in the first 
 place — it is not easy, nor possible to every man who happens to wish it, to 
 acquire the faculty of rightly judging each part of a code : it requires remark- 
 able shrewdness and intelligence to do so. Only those experienced in the details 
 of the whole subject can judge rightly of them : just as it needs a skilled musician 
 to estimate a musical performance, and a scholar to decide literary questions, and 
 so on. Such persons know how each of these performances are produced ; what 
 combinations are suitable ; what each detail implies : while the inexperienced, 
 knowing none of these things, will be unable to select, from the whole, the 
 fairer and most excellent parts. We may weU be satisfied if they reach the 
 simple knowledge that the whole result is good, or that it is bad. Exactly thus 
 it is with painting. One need not be a painter, to know of a first-rate picture 
 that it is well painted. To know that it is really first-rate, and wherein its 
 superiority lies, one needs to comprehend the art, or, at any rate, to have had 
 some experience in it. 
 
 Therefore neither the painter's work, nor the musician's, nor the scholar's, can 
 be rightly estimated without some study of tjjeir respective scieiioes ; aft4 Qoi-res- 
 
588 The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle. [Bk. X. 10. 
 
 pondingly, the statesman's business — which is the Law — cannot be estimated 
 without study of political science. 
 
 In the first place then, we repeat, it is not possible to compare laws and select 
 the best, without experience in politics. 
 
 Secondly — if we allow the possibility of correct selection and compilation of 
 laws by one unversed in politics — even this will not suffice to make a man a 
 statesman and legislator — any more than a compilation and perusal of medical 
 works will make men physicians. There are such men, no doubt, who pretend to 
 write prescriptions and boast of the recovery of their patients, and prate about 
 proper treatment and specific qualities of each complaint : but they are not phy- 
 sicians for all that : they are without the necessary experience and familiarity 
 with disease. 
 
 Of course, book-learning- and such abstract processes, do improve those who 
 have aheady some experience — but they no way enable the inexperienced to 
 practise the art of healing. So it is in matters of Law and Government. To 
 compile laws and investigate different forms of government is indeed a most 
 profitable work for those who have experience enough to contemplate each point, 
 and take a proper purview of faults, merits, and possible adaptations of those 
 governments. Such men improve thereby their own political judgment. Bui 
 men who, with no such experience and practice, investigate other forms of 
 government, waste their energy entirely as far as their ovtTi legislative faculty is 
 concerned. Only by mere luck will they ever judge rightly of what they see : 
 though it may be that by picking up some stray political laiowledge, they may 
 become somewhat shi'ewder politicians. 
 
 The conclusion is, that neither the Sophists nor our public men have developed, 
 as a rule, any power of teaching statecraft and legislation. 
 
 (^) INTEODUCTION TO THE POLITICS. 
 
 Inasmuch, therefore, as previous •writers have left the subject 
 of legislation unexplored, it is better surely that 
 s^bject^ ^ "'"^ we should ourselves investigate it more thoroughly, 
 and, in a word, the whole subject of Statesman- 
 ship, so that our survey of Social Philosophy may be brought to a 
 due completion. 
 
 In the first place, then, let us endeavour to follow out any true 
 explanations that have been given bv previous 
 
 But a certain num- ,% , . • i i i /. i ■ , 
 
 ber of useful ma- philosophers ot spccial branches oi our subject, 
 teriais has been Then, from the Consideration of the Forms of 
 may ° throw "light Government thus brought together, let us exa- 
 upon the decHne or mine into the causes which preserve or ruin 
 growth of states. gtates, and the conditions favourable or the re- 
 verse to each particular constitution, and the circumstances through 
 which some States are successfully administered and others are 
 in decay. 
 
 When these questions have been scientifically explained, we 
 The real problem, ^^^3,11 perhaps more clearly recognize what kind 
 however, is: 'what of Constitution is the perfect one, what is the 
 
 f:l''SS ^^«* "^^^^ '-"^ ^bi°^ ^""^^ sli°"ld be organized 
 ef society ?' wjd wUat laws wA customs it should adopt, 
 
Bk. X. 10.] Translation. 589 
 
 Let us then begin tlie Study of Politics from its simplest 
 conception. , 
 
 Since, as we have already proved, it ^s^ the natural duty of any Teacher of 
 Virtue to deal thoroughly with these subjects also : and since former thinkers 
 have neglected the investigation and exposition of Law and Statecraft, we had 
 hetter turn our attention thereto, and so bring to a, close, and complete in every 
 essential particular, the philosophic design which we set before us — that, namely, 
 of expounding fully human feelings and conduct in aU their bearings. Firstly, 
 therefore, let us go through, point by point, any wise sayings of our predecessors 
 on .the subject : secondly, let us compare the different forms of Government, and 
 consider by their examples tl;e causes of decay and of prosperity in States, and 
 also, what tends to establish, and what to destroy, each form of Government : 
 what, for instance, is the special strength of Monarchy, and what of Democracy, 
 and the rest : and what, again, is their special danger. Further, let us consider 
 from what causes some States are weU administered, and some the reverse. For 
 by duly surveying all these things, we shall best recognize what Form of Govern- 
 ment is best, and what ordinances, laws, and manners will most profit the citizen 
 under each form of Government. Here therefore let us commence our treatise 
 on Politics. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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PUBLISHED BY MR. MURRAY. 13 
 
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