MASTER NEGA TIVE NO. 91-80325 MICROFILMED 1991 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIBS/NEW YORK as part of the Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" Funded by the NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES Reproductions may not be made without permission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT The makin copyn, Library reserves the right to n ', in its judgement, fulfilhnent on of the copyright law. AUTHOR: ARISTOTLE TITLE: RHETORIC, POETIC, AND NICOMACHEAN ... PLACE: LONDON DA TE : 1818 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT Master Negative # _^lr_0O 3^5 - 1 BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 51 Ir'- Vforks . 2nr . Arictoooles. The Rhetoric, Poetic and ::iconachcan ethics of Aristotle, translated fro:r. the Groek, ^uy Ihonas Taylor ... London, -rintsd hy A. J. Valpy ... for James Elach, 1018. 2d ed. 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Pope's Homer's Iliad, Book 9th, v. 717. LONDON c Printed by A. J. Valpy, Tooke's Court, Chancery Lane, FOR JAMES BLACK AND SON, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1818. V .1 I ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. Having in the Introduction to this work said all that I deem sufficient respecting the nature and merit of the following works of Aristotle, I rejoice that I am able to adduce the testimony of Dr. Copleston, now Provost of Oriel Col- lege, in favour of my translation of these trea- tises, as he is one of the brightest ornaments of the University of Oxford. i ^*r^ VI ADVERTISEMENT. This testimony is contained in a letter to me, dated Oriel College, March 8. 1811, and is as follows : *^ You will not expect from me any of that microscopic criticism, in which the gentry we have been speaking of delight to indulge. I per- ceive in your translation, wherever I examine it, that prime virtue of a translator , a complete suh» ordination and subserviency to his original ; — no tampering with the exact meaning in order to evade a difficulty, or to round a period. There is also a manly plainness and integrity which com^ mands respect ; and I have seen enough to con- vince me that a student will derive satisfac- tion often, from the literal rendering you have adopted. " The Introduction I read with particular attention, as also the Notes on the Poetic. No- thing can be clearer, more correct, or more philosophical, than the view you give of the true nature of all the subjects of these treatises. I ADVERTISEMENT. rir Of dialectic in particular, it is wonderful how erroneous and confused the opinions of men in the present day are. *^ Let me also add that your explanation of the celebrated definition of Tragedy strikes me as no less just than ingenious. Twining is in- genious ; but after all his diffuse dissertation, I used to feel dissatisfied. You have, I think, offered an admirable solution, although a little difficulty still hangs about the word rmoinoov. Your sense, however, I adopt as the best which has ever been proposed.'' ■% VIII Lately pMished by the same Ajuthor, and may be had of' the same booksellers, A TRANSLATION OF THE SIX BOOKS OF PROCLUS, ON THE THEOLOGY OF PLATO; to which a Seventh Book is added, in order to supply the deficiency of anotlier Book on this subject, which was written by Proclus, but since lost ; also a trans^ lation of Proclus' Elements of Theology^ In these Volumes is also included, a Translation of the Treatise of Proclus, on Providence and Fate ; a Translation of Extracts from his Treatise entitled. Ten Doubts concerning Providence ;^ and, a Translation of Ex- tracts from his Treatise on the Subsistence of Evil ; as preserved in the Bibliotheca Gr. of Fabricius. In 2 vols, royal quarto. 230 Copies only Printed. Price 5l. 10s. SELECT WORKS OF PLOTINUS, the great restorer of the Philosophy of Plato : and extracts from the Treatise of Synesius On Providence^ translated from the Greek; with an introduction containing the substance of Porphyry's Life of Plotinus. Price 18s. boards. INTRODUCTION* THEORETIC ARITHMETIC, in three Books ; containing the substance of all that has been written on this subject by Theo of Smyrna, Nicomachus, lamblichus, and Boctius. Together with some remarkable particulars respecting perfect, amicable, and other numbers, which are not to be found in the writings of any ancient or modern mathematicians. Likewise a ispecimen of the manner in which the Pythagoreans philosophized about numbers; and a developement of their mystical and theological arithmetic* 8vo. 14s. The three treatises of which the present volume consists, have been deservedly considered by the ancients as ranking in the first class of the most exquisite productions of human wit; and even in the present frivolous age they maintain so high a degree of reputation, as to be studied at the University of Ox- ford. Indeed, so much penetration and pro- fundity of thought are displayed in the compo- sition of each, that the reader by whom they Arist. VOJ.. I, iV. ,. 11 INTRODUCTION. are thoroughly understood, will immediately subscribe to the encomium given to the Stagi- rite by the great Syrianus, that he was the most akilful and the most proUjic in his conceptions of all men, (hivoTaros koli yovtiuoTOLTog ;) and also to the assertion of another of the ancients, which njay be considered as the 7ie plus ultra of eulogy, that he dipped his pen in intellect. I. With respect to Rhetoric, which forms the first of these treatises, it is very nearly allied to dialectic ' properly so called, and which is the subject of the Topics of Aristotle ; and, there- fore, in order to explain the nature of rhetoric, it will be requisite to compare it with dialectic, and see in what they both agree, and in what they differ. Dialectic then is denominated from disputing, and is the art of disputing ; but rhetoric derives its name from speaking, and is the art of speak- * Aristotle calls dialectic, that art which is explained by him ill his Topics and Sophistical Elenchi. M^ 11 ing. The art of - the ability of if side of a propc. •speaking consists the hearer to assen From this definition the subject of dialectic it is disputable with pn« and that the subject of^ so far as it can be influence. In the second place, it maj , dialectic and rhetoric agree in tL discusses every thing; that each discv sides of a question ; and that each proc from what is true, but from what is pro.. For of the two parts of a problem contradi,, rilj opposed to each other, the one is necessa rilj false ; but dialectic and rhetoric discuss and defend each part of a problem. Hence they not only prove and defend what is true, but also what is false. As what is false, however, can- not be proved and defended from true, but only d dialectic m probable ^s, that each are proper or common. For juld discuss any .rities, they Avould nces. To which it aght to use princi- € proposed problemsr /Bmon principles alone i. Another reasoa is, /uss things from priaci- Aien, and known even tQ /ant of plarticular sciences, ;tic and rhetoric agree in this, business of each to deliver certain /^aces, or principles, from which we ^able to dispute on any proposed pro- 4 or speak in a manner adapted to persuade ^ each side of a question. They likewise ftgree in this, that they are not sciences, but certain powers and faculties. For sciences / r IN ucither prove, nc each part of con which is true, an but the power o both by dialectic ijr€ not sciences, but those things are proj, which are equally affec. Dialectic and rhetoric, h. that it is the business of tht" with probabihty before those wh<^ wise ; but of the latter, to speak iu adapted to persuade the multitude. cause it is usual to dispute with those who. partiallj wise, about universal problems, at. stracting from particular circumstances of per- sons, places and times, &c. ; but to dispute with the multitude about moral or political sub- jects, and about problems restricted to particu- lar persons, places and times; hence dialectic for the most partdiscusses universal, and rhetoric restricted problems. Thej also differ in this, that dialectic employs a strict and contracted form ta^,- .^'±^-^ ^— taM|i|ii^.__ _^ III' 1'^^^ >le and di- third place ments alone ish ; but rhe- iding not only ise manners and ly evinces in the .e Poetic, the next of 4ui3ite to observe, that /litating in measured diction aght. * The proximate genus, . jtryis,.that it is an imitative difference, through which it differs .r imitative arts, is the mode of imir y For as the other imitative arts imitate . different modes, poetry imitates by metre, or measured diction alone. From this definition, explaining the nature of poetry, it may be briefly inferred what the subject of it is, and what its employment and end. The subj^ect of poetry are things, so far as INTRODUCTION. Vll ificy can be imitated in measured diction and produce delight. The employment of poetry is, the imitation itself. And the end is, the delight produced hy the metrical imitation of things. Hence it follows that poetry ought especially \^ to imitate those things, the imitation of which ^s most delightful. But the imitation of admi- ible and probable deeds is most delightful, and v^ich, therefore, poetry ought principally to im'-jtate. In order, however, to imitate these, it is ii^quisite, in the first place, that it should de- vise admirable and probable deeds ; and in tho next place, that it should express them in ad^ mirable diction, such as is the metrical. Hence the labour of poetry ought especially to be con- versant in these two things ; first, in the inven- tion of the fable, viz. of admirable and probable deeds ; and secondly, in expressing such deeds in a measured diction which is eminently adapt- ed to them, or in other words, which is emir nently imitative of the several particulars. It is much to be regretted that this treatise, which was^ perhaps originall}'' only the 'first of I \^1U INTRODUCTIOlif. three books written by Aristotle on poetry, is all that is left of a work, the whole of which was doubtless as admirable as the part that re- mains. And the loss of the second and third books is particularly to be regretted, because there can be no doubt of Aristotle having treated in one of these books of the purification^ of the mind from depraved affections, and r*^ the correction of the manners, as the princifiri and proper end, according to the antieptSy of right poetical imitation. I say this loss is |)ar- xrc«kMply.i^:hc regretted, not only on account of the importance of the master, and the very able manner in which it was discussed, bcit be- cause an elucidation of the mode in which the mind is to be purified from depraved affections, would have fully solved a difficulty which oc- curs in the present treatise, and which has been insuperable to modern commentators. The difficulty I allude to is the assertion of Aristo- tle, that the terror and pity excited by tragedy purify the spectator from such-like passions. For, according to the modern commentators on this treatise, the meaning of Aristotle is, that the INTRODUCTION^ IX terror and pity excited by tragedy, purify the spectator from terror and pity. The reader^ however, will find in a note on this passage in the following translation, that this cannot be the meaning of Aristotle, as it contradicts wbat he asserts in his Ethics ; and I also trust that he ^ill subscribe to the opinion of the translator, tliat Aristotle meant to say, that the terror and pi)if excited by tragedy purify the spectator from tho^e perturbations which form the catastrophe ofth^ tragedy. Thus in the Ajax of Sophocles, the te*Tor and pity excited by the ratacfropix^^ purify the spectator from anger and impiety towards divinity; and in a similar manner puri- fication is effected in other tragedies. Notwithstanding, however, the loss sustained "by the want of the 2d and 3d bocks of the Poetic of Aristotle, I rejoice that there is still extant a most admirable account of the different species of poetry by Proclus, the coryphaeus, next to Pluto and Aristotle, of all true philoso- phers, whose honour will grow with increase of time, and whose fame will swim over the vj^st fe XJSTKODUCTlOiSr. INTRODUCTION. xi / extent of ages, when those,' by whom he has been defamed will be utterly forgotten. This account is extracted from his bx planation of THE MORE PIFFICULT QUESTIONS IN THE Republic of Plato, printed at the end of his Commentaries On the Timaeus of Plato, /' which Fabricius, the best of all modern critics/^ calls OPUS admirabile; and the translation pf it is as follows : 'a i .. " There are three lives in the soul, of \\)4)ich tilt, boct and most perfect is that according to which it is conjoined with the gods, and Htcs a Jifc most allied, and through the highest simiHtude united to them; no longer subsisting from itself but from them, running under its own intellect, exciting the ineffable impression of the one which it contains, and connecting like with like, its own light with that of the gods, and that which is most uniform in its own essence and life, with the one which is above all « ' Viz. All those whom Swift so admirably satirizes in his Tale of a Tub; under the appellation of true critics. essence and life. That which is second to this •in dignity and power, has a middle arrangement in the middle of the soul, according to which, indeed, it is converted to itself, descending from a divinely. inspired life, and placing intellect vand science as tlje principle of its energy, it wolves the multitude of its reasons, surveys the all-various mutations of forms, collects into sameness intellect and that which is the object of intellect, and expresses in images an intellec- tual and intelligible essence. The third life of tlie son] is, that which accords with its inferior powers, and eaergizes together with them, em- ploying phantasies and irrational senses, and being entire;]y filled with things of a subordinate natu're. ** As there are, therefore, these thjee forms of life in souls, the poetic division, also, supernally proceeds together with the nmltiform lives of the soul, and is diversified into first, middle, and last genera of energy. For of poetry, also, one kind has the highest subsistence, is full of divint^ xu INTRODUCTIOYr^ INTRODUCTIO:?^- XUl goods, and establishes the soul in the causes themselves of things, according to a certain iri-; effable union, leading that which is filled into sameness with its replenishing source ; the for- mer immaterially subjecting itself to illumina- tion, but the latter being incited to a communi'* J cation of light ; thus, according to the Oracl< * perfecting works, by mingling the rivers ^f incorruptible fire/ It also produces one divibe bond, and a unifying mixture of that whicK is participated and the participant, estabiisming the whole of that vvhich is subordinate ia th^t which is more excellent, and preparing that which is more divine alone to energize, the infe-. rior nature being withdrawn, and concealing its own peculiarity in that which is superior. This then in short is a mania better than temperance, and is distinguished by a divine characteristic. And as every different kind of poetry subsists according to a different hyparxis, or summit of divine essence, so this fills the soul energizing from divine inspiratioB, with symmetry ; and hence it adorns its last energies with measures and rhythms. As, therefore, we say that pro- phetic fiiry subsists according to truth, and the amatory according to beauty, in like manner we say that the poetic mania is defined accord- ing to divine symmetry. ** The second kind of poetry, which is subor- dilxate to this first and divinely-inspired species, ^nc^ which has a middle subsistence in the soul, is allotted its essence according to a scientific and intellectual habit. Hence, it knows the essence of things, and loves to contemplate beautiful works and reasonings, and leads forth every thing into a measured and rhythmical in- terpretation. For you will find many progeny of good poets to be of this kind, emulous of those that are truly wise, full of admonition, the best counsels, and intellectual symmetry. It likewise extends the communication of pru- dence and every other virtue, to those of a natu- rally good disposition, and affords a reminis- cence of the periods of the soul, of its eternal reasons and various powers. ii!K:-w!;,iiiiiiaa!Bliri3i>aia».tf~ ■acafa*«»ols, as under veils. For he who thinks that poets are particularly worthy of belief in affairs respecting the gods, though they speak without demonstration from divine inspiration, must certainly admire divine fables;' through whicli they deliver the truth concerning divine natures. And he who calls the poetic genus divine, can- not also ascribe to it an impious and gigantic opinion respecting divine concerns. He like- wise who evinces that the assertions of poets are attended with certain Graces and Muses, must entirely consider an inelegant, unharmo- nious and ungraceful phantasy, as very remote from the theory of divine poets. When, there- fore, in his Republic he establishes by law that poetry, and the indication through fables, are not adapted to the ears of youth, he is very far from despising poetry itself, but removes the juvenile habit, as unexercised in the hearing of ' Instead of reading roij sv toij pjSoi^, after 5ao^a(rrra.', 1 read J XXVI INTRODUCTION. INTEODUCTION XXVll such things from fiction of this kind. For, as he sajs in the second Alcibiades, ' the whole of poetry is naturally enigmatical, and is not obvious to the understanding of every one/ And hence in the Republic, he clearly says, ' that a youth is not able to distinguish what is allegory, and what is not.' We must say, there- fore, that he entirely admits inspired poetry, which he calls divine, and thinks it proper that those by whom it is possessed should be vene- rated in silence. And thus much concprning the first kind of poetry, which subsists from a divine origin in tender and solitary souls. *4rr " In the next place, let us contemplate that species of poetry, which has a scientific know- ledge of things, and which energizes according to intellect and prudence; which unfolds to men many names concerning an incorporeal nature, and leads forth into light many probable dogmas respecting a corporeal subsistence; investigates the most beautiful symmetry in manners, and the disposition contrary to this ; and adorns all these with proper measures and rhythms. The Athenian guest says, that the poetry of Theognis is of this kind, which he praises beyond that of Tyrtaeus, because Theog- • nis is a teacher of the whole of virtue, and which extends to the whole political life. For the one admits a fidelity which receives its completion from all the virtues, expels from pohties that most true vice, sedition, and leads into consent the lives of those that are persuaded. But the other praises the habit of fortitude by itself alone, and exhorts to this those that neg- lect the other virtues. It will, however, be better to hear the words themselves of Plato:' « We have too the poet Theognis a witness in our favour, who was a citizen of the Mega- rensians in Sicily, for he says. Who faithful in insane sedition keeps. With silver and with ruddy gold may vie. Wesav, therefore, that such a one will conduct himself in the most diflScult war, in a manner ' See the 1st book of the Laws. jiadBBiif-fMiifiiiisrfiiitt XXVIU INTRODUCTION. INTRODUCTION. XXIX nearly as much superior to the other, as justice, temperance, and prudence, when conjoined with fortitude, are superior to fortitude alone. For no one can be found faithful and sound in seditions without the whole of virtue/ Here, ' therefore, he admits Theognis, as partaking of political science, and all the virtues. '' But in the second Alcibiadcs, defining the most right and safe mode of prayer, he refers it to a certain wise poet:— 'To me, says he, Alcibiades, it seems probable that some wise man or other, happening to be connected with certain persons void of understanding, and ob- serving them to pursue and pray for things, which it were better for them still to be without, but which appeared to them good, composed for their use a common prayer, the words of which are nearly these: King Jupiter, grant us what is good, be it or not the subject of our prayers, and avert from us what is evil though we should pray for it/ For the scientific man alone knows how to distinguish the separation of good and evil, and a converse with a divine nature adapted to the middle habits of men. And on this account Socrates calls the poet that composed this prayer a wise man, as forming a judgment of the natures of those that prayed, neither through divine inspiration, nor right opinion, but through science alone, as regard- ing their habits and preserving that which be- comes the beneficent powers of the gods. For to convert all of them through prayer to the one royal providence of Jupiter; to suspend the subsistence of good from the power of divi- nity ; to obliterate the generation of true evils tbi^Rugh the benevolence of a more excellent nature, and in short to assert ti.at these thino-s are unknown to those that pray, but are sepa- rated by divinity according to proper bounda- ries, is the work of wisdom and science, and not of any thing casual. Very properly, there- fore, do we say that such poetry is wise and scientific. For the poetry which is able to as- sign right opinions to middle habits, must itself subsist according to perfect science. XXX iNTRODtrCTION. INTRODUCTION. XXXI " In the third place, therefore, let us speak concerning imitative poetry, which, we have already said, at one time assimilates things, and at another expresses them according to appear- ance. The Athenian guest clearly delivers to us the assimilative part of this poetry ; but So- crates in the Republic describes its phantastic part ; and how these differ from each other, I mean the assimilative and phantastic species of imitation, the Eleatean guest sufficiently in- forms us : — * For I appear, says he, to perceive two species of imitation, one, the conjectural or assimilative art, which then especially takes place when some one gives birth to imitation by imparting to every particular such things as are fit in length, breadth, and depth, according to the symmetries of its exemplar, and besides these things, colours also. Thece, Do not all imitators endeavour to effect this? Guest. Not those who perform or paint any great works. For if they were to impart to them the true symmetry of things beautiful, you know that the parts above would appear smaller, and those below larger than is fit; through the one bing seen by us afar off, and the other near. Thece. Entirely so. Artists, therefore, bidding farewell to truth, do not produce in images truly beautiful symmetries, but those which ap- pear to be so.' Very properly therefore, I think, does the Eleatean guest, at the end of the dialogue, wishing to bind the sophist by the definitive method, establish one part of the art effective of images to be assimilative, and the other phantastic ; the one fabricating the image such as is the exemplar, the other preparing that which it produces to appear like that which it imitates. However, of assimilative poetry, the Athenian guest speaks separately in the se- cond book of the Laws, where he treats of music which does not make pleasure its end, but a true and similar imitation of its exem- plar ; to which place we refer the reader. " But Socrates, speaking in this book of phan- tastic poetry, and having shown that a poet of laii^^^i^uigagiiM^^^fa^^ft&^u^^g^idfMi^li^ riSiaaSaiMrifiiifwifiiiiiinii xxxu INTIIODUCTIOIS'. this kind is the third from truth and imitative, compares such poetry to a picture, which re- presents not the works of nature but of artifi- cers, and these not such as they are, but such as they appear. Hence, he clearly evinces that the phantastic species of poetry regards pleasure alone, and the delight of those that hear it. For of imitative poetry, the phan- tastic falls short of the assimilative?, so far as the latter regards rectitude of imitation, but the former the pleasure produced in the multitude from the energies of the phantasy. Such then are the genera of poetry, which are thought worthy of distinction by Plato; one, as better tlmn science, another as scientific, a third as conversant with, and a fourth as falling off from light opinion. " Tiiese things then being determined, let us return to the poetry of Homer, and coHtem- plate resplendent in it every poetic habit, and [particularly those which regard rectitude and INTRODUCTION.. XXXUI beauty. For when he energizes enthusiasti- cally, is possessed by the Muses, and narrates mystic conceptions about the gods themselves ; th^n he energizes according to the first and di- vinely-inspired species of poetry. But when he relates the life of the soul, the diversities in its nature, and such political concerns as pertain to it, then he especially speaks scienti- fically. Again, when he presents us with forms of imitation adapted to things and persons themselves, then he employs assimilative imita- tion. But when he directs his attention to that which appears to the multitude, and not to the truth of things, and thus seduces the souls of his hearers, then he is a poet according to the phantastic species. To illustrate what I mean, that I may begin from the last imitation of the poet, he sometimes describes the rising and setting of the sun, not as each of these is, nor as each is effected, nor imitating this in his verses, but as it appears to us through dis- tance. This, then, and every thing of this kind, may be called the phantastic part of his poetry. ArisL VOL. I. d XXXIV INTRODUCTION. INTRODUCTION". XXXV But when he imitates heroes warring, or con- sulting, or speaking according to the forms of life, some as prudent, others as brave, and others as ambitious, then I should say that this is the work of assimilative poetry. Again, when in consequence of knowing either the di- versity of subsistence i-n the parts of the soul, he unfolds and teaches it, or the difference be- tween the image, and the soul by which it is used, or the order of the elements in the uni- verse, viz. of earth, water, aether, heaven, or an}' thing else of this kind, then I should con- fidently assert that this originated from the scientific power of poetry. And after all these, when he teaches us concerning the demiurgic monad, and the triple distribution of wholes, or concerning the bonds of Vulcan, or the con- nexion of the paternal intellection of Jupiter with the prolific divinity of Juno, then I should say that he is clearly enthusiastic, and that such- like fables are devised by him, in consecjuenc^ of his being possessed by the Mtises. But Homer himself also manifests, in the bard De- modocus, an energy originating from the ^ods, when Ulysses says of his song, that he began it impelled by a god, that he was divinely, inspired, and that the Muse loved him, or the god that is the leader of the Muses : The Muse, Jove's daughter, or Apollo taught Thee aptly thus the fate of Greece to sing. And all the Grecians* hardy deeds and toils. « And tfiat Homer by Demodocus intended after a manner to represent himself, ' and introduced him as a pattern of his own calamities, is an opinion sufficiently celebrated. And the verses With clouds of darkness quench'd his visual ray. But gave him skill to raise the lofty lay, appear directly to refer to the fabled blindness « Odyss. lib. 8. v. 488. * Homer never expressly mentions himself ; but, as Dio Chry- sostom justly observes, " he speaks in reality like the prophets of the gods from an unapparent place, and as it were from the adytum, or secret recess of a temple." ciXXu Tea ovti, wcTTrf/? oi a-Mri&caaf''"--^''^"-'-'^''*'*''^**"'*" -■M>-^^^A>«-!u^^-«h^-!..>.j'.ife.v>-ossible to survey the cause why some men render what they assert probable, from custom, and others from chance. But all men now will acknowledge that a thing of this kin3 is the work of art. ArisL VOL. I. THE ART OP BOOK I. At present, therefore, those who compose the arts of orations [i. e. who unfold the art of rhetoric,] explain only a small part of rhetoric. For credibility is the only artificial part of the art ; but the other parts are addi- tions. The rhetoricians, however, of the present day, say nothing about enthymemes, which are the substantial part of credibility ; but their attention is for the most part directed to thmgs foreign to the purpose. For accusation, pity, anger, and such like passions of the soul, do not pertain to the thing itself [which is to be proved,] but to the judge. Hence, if all judicial pro- cesses were conducted in the same manner as they are at present in some cities, and especially in those that are governed by good laws, these rhetoricians would not have any thing to say. For with respect to all cities, some think it necessary that the laws should thus ordain ; but this method is adopted by others, and they forbid rhetoricians to say any thing foreign to the purpose, in the same manner as in the Areopagus. And in this y'espect they thmk rightly. For it is not proper to per- vert the judge, by exciting him to anger, or envy, or pity ; since this is just as if some one should make the rule distorted which he intends to use. Again, it is likewise manifest that the only business of the litigant is to show that a thing either is, or is not, or that it has, or has not been done. But with respect to such things as the legislator has not defined whether they are great Of small, just or unjust, thg|||)ught to be known by the judge himself, and he is^^to learn them from the litigants. It is especially requisite, therefore, that laws which are rightly framed should define all such parti- culars as can be defined, and leave very little to be defined by the judge. And, in the first place, indeed, CHAP. I. RHETORIC. 3 this is requisite, because it is more easy to obtain one person, or a few, than many that are intelligent and wise, and who are able to act the part of a legislator and a judge. In the next place, the establishment of laws, is the effect of a survey from a long series of past time ; but judgments are the result of a survey from recent times ; so that it is difficult for those who judge to attri- bute what is just and advantageous in a becoming manner. That, however, which is the greatest [reason] of all is, that the judgment of the legislator is not conversant with particulars, but with future events, and universals ; but the judgment of the barrister and the judge is directed to present and definite circumstances; with which love and hatred and private advantage are fre- quently conjoined ; so that they are no longer sufficiently able to survey the truth, but their own peculiar pleasure or pain darkens their judgment. With respect to other particulars, therefore, it is necessary, as we have said, that very little should be left in the power of the judge. But with respect to the enquiry whether a thing has been done or not, or whether it will or will not take place, or is or is not, it is necessary that this should be left to the judges ; for it is not possible that these things should be foreseen by the legislator. If then this be the case, it is evident that those rheto- ricians who define [othec mrts of an oration except cre- dibility] such for instaMJH^ what the proem or the nar- ration should contain, and each of the other parts, — these exercise their art in things foreign to the purpose. For in these they effect nothing else except delivering the method by which the judge may be influenced ; but they demonstrate nothing respecting artificial credibility j THE ART OF BQOK I« viz. whence some one may become enthyniematic [or possess the power of discovering artificial proofs of that which is the subject of controversy]. Hence, though there is the same method respecting popular, and judicial orations, and the popular is better and more political than the method pertaining to contracts, yet rhetoricians of the present day are silent as to the popular method, but all of them endeavour to unfold the art pertaining to the judicial genus, because it is less advantageous in popular orations to assert what is foreign to the purpose; and a popular oration is less pernicious than a judicial discussion, but is more common. For in the former the judge decides about appropriate concerns ; so that nothing else is necessary than to show that the thing is as the counsellor asserts it to be. In judicial processes, how- ever, this is not sufficient, but it is requisite to pay atten- tion to the hearer ; for the decision is concerning things ' of a foreign nature. Hence, the judges, looking to their own advantage, and regarding their own pleasure, gratify the litigants, but do not decide with justice.- Hence, too, as I have before observed, in many places the law forbids any thing foreign to the purpose to be said ; and in these places this law is sufficiently observed by the judges themselves. Since, however, it is evident that the artificial method is conversant with credibility ; but credibility is a certain demonstration ; for we then ^■pially believe in a thing when we think it is accompaffia with demonstration ; and a rhetorical demonstration is an enthymeme ; and this in short possesses the greatest authority of all credi- bilities j but an enthymeme is a certain syllogism, and it is the province either of the whole, or of a certain part CHAP. I. RHETORIC. df dialectic to pay attention similarly to every syllogism ; this being the case, it is evident that he who is eminently capable of surveying this, viz. from what propositions and how, a syllogism may be made, he will be especially enthymematic, in consequence of assuming what the particulars are with which enthymemes are conversant, and what differences they possess with respect to logical syllogisms. For it is the province of the same power to perceive truth, and what is similar to truth ; and at the same time, men are by nature sufficiently adapted to [the perception of] truth, and for the most part obtain it. Hence, he who sagaciously conjectures probabilities, is disposed similarly to him who perceives truth. That others, therefore, artificially discuss things foreign to the purpose, and why they especially incline to judicial pre^ cepts, is evident [from what has been said]. But rhetoric is useful because things true and just are naturally more excellent than their contraries ; so that unless judgments are formed according to what is fit, what is more excellent will be vanquished by its con- trary; and this is a thing worthy of reprehension. Farther still, though we should possess the most accurate science, it is not easy when we speak to persuade some persons, by employing that science. For a scientific oration proceeds from discipline, and it is impossible from this [to persuade the unlearned,] but it is necessary [when addressing thes^ to procure credibility, and frame arguments from stWl things as are common ; just as we have asserted in the Topics, respecting a confer- ence with the multitude. Fanher still, the power of being able to persuade contraries, [or the ability of dis- putmg on each side of a question] is necessary, in the / THE ART OF BOOK I. CHAP. II. RHETORIC. same manner as in syllogisms, not in order that we may do both ; for it is not proper to persuade to what is base ; but that we may not be ignorant how contraries subsist, and that when another person employs those arguments unjustly, we may be able to solve them. No one, there- fore, of the other arts syllogistically concludes con- traries ; but this is alone effected by dialectic and rhe- toric ; for both of them are similarly conversant with contraries ; though the things which are the subjects of their consideration do not subsist similarly, but always, as I may say, things which are true, and naturally more excellent, are more syllogistic, and adapted to procure persuasion. Besides, it is absurd, that it should be shameful for a man not to be able to give assistance to his body, and that it should not be shameful for him not to be able to assist himself by the reasoning power, which is more the peculiarity of man, than the use of the body. If, however, it should be objected that he who uses unjustly the rhetorical power, may injure others in a great degree, this objection is common to every thing that is good, except virtue, and especially to the most useful things, such as strength, health, richer, and mili- tary command. For he who uses things of this kind j'UStly, may benefit others in the greatest degree, and by using them unjustly may effect the greatest injury. That rhetoric, therefore, is not conversant with one certain definite genus, but resembles in this respect dia- lectic, and that it is useful •« evident. It is likewise evident, that the employment of rhetoric is not to per- suade, but to perceive on every subject what is adapted to procure persuasion, in the same manner as in all other arts. For it is not the business of medicioe to produce health, but to do every thing as much as possible which may procure it ; since the healing art may be well exer- cised upon those that are incapable of being restored to health. In addition likewise to what has been said, it is the province of the same power to perceive what is per- suasive, and what appears to be so, just as it is the pro- vince of dialectic to discern what is a [/rwe,] and what ir» only an apparmt syllogism. For the sophistical art does not consist in the power [pi reasoning,] but in deliberate choice ; except that here indeed [viz. in the rhetorical art,] one man will be a rhetorician from science, but another from deliberate choice. There, however, [viz. in dialectic or logic,] the sophist, indeed, is from delibe- rate choice, but the logician is not from deliberate choice, but from the power [of reasoning.] CHAPTER II. Now, therefore, we shall endeavour to speak concern- ing the method itself, [i. e. the rhetorical art] and [show] how, and from what particulars we may be able to obtain the end proposed by this art. Again, therefore, as if defining from the beginning, let us discuss what remains. Let rhetoric then be the pQwer of perceiving in everjf thing thcU which is capabk of producing persuasion ; t THE ART OF BOOK I. for this is the employment of no other art ; since each of ike other arts is doctrinal and persuasive about that which is the subject of its consideration. Thus, for instance, medicine is doctrinal and persuasive about that which is salubrious and morbid ; geometry, about the properties accidental to magnitudes ; and arithmetic about number. The like also takes place in the other arts and sciences. But rhetoric, as I may say, appears to be able to survey about any given thing, what is adapted to produce per- suasion. Hence, also, we say, that it does not possess aft artificial power about any certain peculiar definite gfenus. .V With respect, however, to things which procure credi- bility, some of them are without art, but others are arti- ficial. And I call those without art, which are not devized by us, but exist prior [to all artificial invention,] such as witnesses, questions, writings, and other particu- lars of the like kind ; but those are artificial which are capable of being procured* methodically, and by us ; so that it is requisite to use the former, and discover the latter. Of the credibility, however, ' Which is procured by argument there are three species. For one kind indeed consists in the manners of the speaker ; another in the fiqx)sition of the hearer; and the third in the argument Itself, in consequence of demonstrating, or appearing to demonstrate. Credibility, therefore, is procured through manners, when the oration is delivered in such a way, as to- render the speaker worthy of belief. For about every thing, in short, we believe the worthy in a greater de- gree, and more rapidly ; but in those particulars in CHAP. II. RHETORIC. 9 which an accurate knowledge cannot be obtained, and which are ambiguous, we entirely confide in [the deci- sion of] the worthy. It is, however, requisite that this also should happen through the oration, and not [entirely] from any previous opinion respecting the speaker. For we must not admit what some teachers of rhetoric have asserted in their art, that the probity of the speaker con- tributes nothing to persuasion ; since nearly, as I may say, manners possess the most powerful and principal credibility. But credibility is procured through the hearers, when their passions are influenced by the ora- tion ; for we do not similarly form a judgment when we grieve or fejoice, love or hate ; to which [species of credibility,] we assert that those who now deliver the art of rhetoric, alone direct their attention. Each of these particulars, however, will be elucidated by us, when we speak concerning the passions. But belief is produced through arguments, when we show what is true, or ap- pears to be true from the probabilities pertaining to the several objects of enquiry. Since, however, credibility is eflPected through these things, it is evident that to obtain the three species of it [above-mentioned] is the province of him who is able to syllogize, who can survey what pertains to manners and the virtues, and in the third place what pertains to the passions, what each of them is, what quality it possesses, and from what particulars it is inge- nerated [in the hearer,] and how ; so that it happens that rhetoric is as it were something which grows upon dialec- tic and the discussion concerning manners, and it is jufet to call it political. Hence, rhetoric assumes the form of the political [science,] and those who profess it, do so partly through ignorance, j)artly from arrogance, and partly from other human causes. For it is a certain par- 10 THE ART OF BOOK I* tide and resemblance of dialectic, as we observed in the beginning of this treatise. For neither of them is the science of any thing definite, and which shows how a thing subsists, but they are certain powers of procuring arguments. And thus we have nearly spoken sufficiently concerning the power which they possess, and how they subsist with respect to each othen With respect, however, to proof either real or appa- rent, in the same manner as in dialectic, one kii^ is induction, another is [a true] syllogism, and a third is apparent syllogism ; thus, also, similarly in rhetoric ; for example, indeed, is induction ; but enthymeme is a syl- logism. But I call enthymeme, indeed, a rhetorical syl- logism ; and example a rhetorical induction. All [rhe- toricians], however, who procure belief by the proofs which they adduce, effect it, either by the examples which they bring, or by enthymemes ; and in a certain respect, there is nothing else besides these. Hence, if in short it is necessary to point out any person or thing by syllogism or induction, (but this is evident to us from the analytics) it is necessary that each of those should be the same with each of these. But what the difierence is between exam- pie and enthymeme is evident from the Topics. For there syllogism and induction are previously discussed j because if it is shown in many and similar things that what we assert is true, there indeed it is induction, but h^e it is example. When, however, certain things existing, something else besides happens from these, because these subsist either universally, or for the most part ; — ^when this is the case, iherey indeed, it is called syllogism, but here enthymeme. But it is evident that each form of rhetoric is benefited [by these two]. For CHAP. II. RHETORIC. II the like to what we have observed in the Methodical treatises takes place, also, in this treatise. For some ora- tions are of the nature of examples, but others are enthy- memadc. And in a similar manner with respect to rho* toricians, some are delighted with examples, and others with enthymemes. Arguments, therefore, from examples are no less calculated to persuade [than others,] but those from enthymemes cause greater perturbation. But the reason of this, and how each of these [viz. of exam- ples and enthymemes] is to be used, we shall hereaftei* explain. Now, however, let us more fully and clearly discuss these very particulars themselves. For that which is per- suasive, is persuasive to some one. And one thing, indeed, is immediately of itself persuasive and credible ; but another, because it appears to be proved through things that are credible. No art, however, speculates that which is particular. Thus for instance, medicine does not speculate what is salubrious to Socrates or Cal- lias, but what is so to such a one, or to such persons [in general] ; for this is artificial. But particulars are infi- nite, and are not the objects of science. Nor does rhe- toric speculate opinable particulars ; such as what is the subject of opinion to Socrates or Hippias, bat that which is the subject of opinion to such or such persons, in the same manner as dialectic. For dialectic, also, syllogizes, not from such things as are casual ; since certain things appear [to be credible] even to those that are delirious ; biK dialectic syllogizes from such things as require to be developed by a reasoning process, and rhetoric from such things as are accustomed to take place in consultation. The employment, however, of rhetoric consists in 12 THE ART OF • BOOK !• such particulars as are the subject of our cotisultadon, and respecting which we have no art, and it is also con- versant with such hearers as are incapable of perceiving [a conclusion which is deduced] through many [media,] or of syllogizing remotely, [i. e. who are incapable of a long series of reasoning.] But we consult about those things the subsistence of which appears to be possi- ble in both ways, [i. e. which may subsist otherwise than they do.] For with respect to such things as cannot either in the past, or future, or present time, have a dif- ferent subsistence, no one consults about these, conceiv- ing that they thus subsist. For it is not possible for any one to consult otherwise than thus [about things of this kind.] But it is possible to syllogize and collect, some things, indeed, from such particulars as have been pre- viously syllogistically inferred, but others from things not inferred by syllogism, but which require syllogism, because they are not probable. And it is necessary, indeed, with respect to these, that the consecution of the one should not be easy, on account of its length ; for the judge is supposed to be simple ; and that the other should not be adapted to persuade, because it does not proceed from things acknowledged, nor from such as are probable. Hence, it is necessary that enthy meme and example should be conversant with such things as for the most part admit of a various subsistence. And example, indeed, requires induction; but enthymeme, syllogism. It is, likewise, necessary that enthymeme and example should consist from a few things, and frequently from fewer than those from which the first syllogism consists. For if any one of these is known, it is not necessary to say any thing [farther;] since the hearer himself will add this. Thus for instance, for the purpose CHAP. H. RHETORIC. 13 of concluding that Doricus was victorious in that contest in which the victors were crowned, it is sufficient to say, that he conquered in the Olympic games ; but there is no occasion to add that he was crowned because he con* quered in the Olympic games ; for this is known by all men. There are, however, a few necessary things from which rhetorical syllogisms consist ; for many of the par- ticulars which are the subjects of judgment and consi- deration, may have a various subsistence, or subsist otherwise than they do ; since men make their actions the subjects of their consultation and consideration. All actions, likewise, belong to the genus of things which are contingent, and no one of these, as I may say, is from, necessity ; but things which are for the most part accidental and contingent, must necessarily be syllogisti- cally collected from other things which are of the like kind ; and such as are necessary must be deduced by syllogism from necessary propositions. But this is evident to us from the Analytics. This then being the case, i< is manifest that with respect to those things from which enthymemes are deduced, some, indeed, are necessary, but most of them are such as have a frequency of subsist- ence. For enthymemes are deduced from probabilities and signs ; so that it is necessary each of these should be the same with each.^ For the probable is that which: subsists for the most part ; but not simply, according to the definition of some persons. That, however, which is assumed respecting things which may have a various subsistence has the same relation to that to which the * 1. e. The propositions from which enthymemes are deduced arc the same with probabilities and signs. 14 THE ART OP BOOK I. probable is directed, as universal to particular. But with respect to signs, one, indeed, has such a subsistence as some one of particulars to that which is universal ; but another, as some one of universals to that which is par- ticular. And of these signs, that, indeed, which is necessary, is an argument ; but that which is not neces- sary, is anonymous according to difference. I call, therefore, those things necessary from which syllogism is produced ; on which account, also, a sign of this kind is tekmerion, or an argument. For when rhetoricians fancy that what they say cannot be solved, then they think they have adduced an argument, as being some- thing proved and definite. For tekmar, and bound, or timit, are the same, according to the ancient tongue. With respect to signs, however, that indeed which sub- sists as particular to universal, is just as if some one should say it is a sign that wise are just men; for Socrates was wise and just. This, therefore, is a sign ; but what has been asserted though true may be solved ; for it is unsyllogistic. The following, however, as, for instance, if some one should say, it is a sign that a certain person is diseased, for he has a fever ; or that some female has been delivered, because she has milk, are necessary signs; and which are the only signs that are teJcmeria. For these alone if true cannot be solved. But that which subsists as universal to particular, is as if some one should say, it is a sign that a certain person has a fever ; for he breathes short and frequently. This, however, may be solved though it is true. For it is possible that one who has not a fever may labour under a difficulty of breathing. We have, therefore, now shown what the probable, a sign, and an argument, are, and in what they differ from each other. These, however, are more CHAP. 11. RHETORIC. 15 clearly unfolded in the Analytics, where, also, it is shown from what cause some of them are unsyllogistic, but others are syllogistically deduced. And with respect to example, that it is indeed induction, and what the sub- jects are about which it is an induction, we have already shown. It is, however, neither as a part to the whole, nor as the whole to a part, nor as whole to whole ; but that which is as a part to a part, and as the similar to the similar, when both are under the same genus, but the one is more known than the other, is example. Thus for instance, that Dionysius endeavoured to establish a tyrannical government, when he required a guard, is an example ; for Pisistratus, who prior to him attempted the same thing, demanded a guard, and having obtained it, tyrannized [over the Athenians ;] and Theagenes over the Megarensians. All such others, likewise, as are known [to have acted in this manner] become an exam- ple of Dionysius, with respect to whom it is not yet known whether he requires a guard with a view to a tyrannical government. All these, however, are under the same universal, viz. that he aspires after a tyranny who requires a guard. And thus we have shown what the particulars are from which the credibility that appears to be demonstrative is derived. 16 THE ART OF BOOK I. CHAPTER III. With respect to enthyniemes, however, there is a great difference, of which nearly all [the professors of rhetoric] are particularly ignorant, and which is conversant with the dialectic method of syllogisms. For some enthy- memes pertain to rhetoric, just as some syllogisms subsist according to the dialectic method ; but others pertain to other arts and faculties, some of which are in existence, and others are not yet discovered. Hence, they are not understood by those that hear them, and if rhetoricians employ them more than is fit, they relinquish their own art, and exchange it for some other. But what we have said, will become more evident, by a more copious dis- cussion. For I say that dialectic and rhetorical syllogisms are those which are formed from propositions derived from certain places. And these are such as are conver- sant in common about things that are just and natural, and about political concerns, and many things w^hich are specifically different ; such for instance as the place re- specting the more and the less. For we cannot in any greater degree syllogize from this place, or produce an enthymeme from it respecting what is just or natural, than respecting any thing else ; though these things are specifically different. But peculiar or proper syllogisms are those which consist from propositions pertaining to each species and genus. Thus, for instance, the propo- CHAP. HI. RHETORIC, 37 sitions respecting natural things are those from which neither an enthymeme nor a syllogism respecting ethics can be formed. And ethical enthymemes are those which are formed from propositions peculiar to ethical subjects, and from which physical enthymemes cannot be produced. The like, also, take place in every subject. And those [dialectic and rhetorical syllogisms,] indeed, do not render a man wise in any kind of discussion, be* cause they are not conversant with any [definite] subject ; but \^ith respect to these [that are peculiar and approl priate,] in proportion as the selection of them is better, in such proportion will he who makes the selection latently produce a science different from dialectic and rhetoric. For if he should happen to meet with the principles [of any science] the peculiar syllogisms will no longer pertain either to dialectic or rhetoric, but to that science of which he possesses the principles. Most enthymemes, however, are derived from those forms which are particular and proper; and a few of them are derived from common [places.] As in the Topics, therefore, so here the species and the places of enthy- memes, from whence they are to be assumed, must be distinguished. But I call species, indeed, the peculiar propositions according to each genus ; and places, those propositions which are similarly common to all genera. We shall, therefore, speak first concerning the species. And in the first place we shall assume the genera of rhetoric, in order that we may ascertain how many there are, and with respect to these we shall separately assume the elements and the propositions. But the genera of rhetoric are three in number ; for so many, also, are the Arisl, VOL. I. B 18 THE ART OF BOOK It auditors of orations. For an oration is composed from three things, from the speaker, from the thing about which he speaks, and from the person to whom he speaks. The end, also, [of the speaker] is directed to this last, I mean to the hearer. But it is necessary that the auditor should cither be a spectator or a judge ; and that the judge should be a judge either of things past or future. He, however, who judges of future events, is as it were one who speaks in an assembly ; but he who judges of past events, is as it were one who determines causes ^ and he who judges of the power [of the oration,] is as it were a spectator. Hence, there will necessarily be three genera of rhetorical orations, the deliberative, or that which pertains to counsel, the judicial, and the de- monstrative. But of counsel, one part is exhortation, and another dehortation. For always, both those who privately give counsel, and those who publicly harangue, do one of these, [i. e. either exhort, or dissuade.] Of judgment, however, one part is accusation^ but another defence. For those that are engaged in controversy must necessarily do one or other of these. But of the demonstrative, one part is praise, and another blame. There are, also, times appropriated to each of these, to him who gives counsel, indeed, the future ^ for he con- sults about future events, and concerning these either exhorts, or dissuades. But the time which is adapted to him who judges, is the past ; for always concerning things which have been done, one accuses, and another apologizes. And to him who demonstrates, ' the most ■ It must be carefully observed, that demomtratton in rhetoric means only the prababU proof of a thing, and not, as in science, a syllogistic process from self-evident principles, the conclusions of which process are always necessarili/ true* CHAP. III. RHETORIC. 19 appropriate time is the present ; for all those who demon- strate praise or blame according to existing circumstances. Frequently, however, they employ the past time for tha purpose of recollecting, and they form a conjecture of future events. But the end to each of these is different : and as there are three persons there are three ends ; to him who givef^: counsel, indeed, the end is that which is advantageous and detrimental. For the advice of him who exhorts is directed to that which is better ; but he who dissuades, dissuades from that which is worse; and at the same time they assume other things with a view to this, viz. either the just or the unjust, either the beautiful in conduct, or the base. But to those who judge in courts of judicature,:^ the end is the just and the unjust ; and they also assume other things with a view to these. And to those that praise and blame, the end is the beautiful and the base ia conduct ; and they likewise refer other things to these. An indication, however, that the end to each of these, is what we have said it is, is this, that sometimes there* is- no controversy about other things. Thus for instance, he who is tried will assert that the thing was not done, or that he has committed no injury ; but he will never acknowledge that he has acted unjustly ; for if he did, the trial would be unnecessary. In like manner, those' who give counsel frequently admit other things, but will not acknowledge that they have advised what is disad- vantageous, or that they have dissuaded from what is beneficial. Frequently, however, they are not at all con- cerned whether it is not^unjust to enslave the neighbour- ing people, and those who have done them no injury. In like manner, also, ihosse who praise, and those who 20 TH£ ART OF BOOK I. blame, do not consider whether the subject of their praise or blame has acted advantageously or perniciously, but frequently applaud him because, disregarding his own interest, he performed some worthy action. Thus for instance, they praise Achilles, because he gave assist- ance to his friend Patroclus, though he knew it was necessary that he should die himself [by giving this assistance,] and that it was in his power to live. But to Achilles, indeed, a death of this kind was more honour- > able ; and to live, more advantageous. From what has been said, however, it is evident that it is necessary to possess in the first place propositions about these things. For arguments (tecmeria), probabi- lities, and signs, are rhetorical propositions. For in short, syllogism is from propositions; but enthymeme is a syllogism consisting from the above-mentioned propo- sitions. Since, however, impossibilities cannot be performed either at present or in future, but this Cjsui only be asserted of possibilities; and since, likewise, it is not possible that things which are neither done, nor will be done, should be performed at present, or in future, it is neces- sary that he who counsels, he who judges, and he who demonstrates, should possess propositions concerning the possible and impossible, and whether a thing has been done or not, and whether it will be or not. Farther still, since all those who praise and blame, who exhort and dissuade, who accuse and defend, not only endea- vour to show the particulars we have mentioned, but also something which is great or small, good or evil, beautiful or base, just or unjust, whether they speak of these ^IB*. -^.JSte**^A.. -^ ■■ -■hJ^m Hm^» ^JgJriUfc'jlMgiii^rt'* t- ■IJ> #■ ^"f xi. ' aJU.mi CHAP. IV. RHETORIC. 21 things by themselves, or compare them with each other, this being the case, it is evident that it is requisite to have propositions concerning magnitude and parvitude, the greater and the less, the universal and the particular ; such for instance as what is a greater or less good, an un' just, or a just action ; and in a similar manner in other things. And thus we have shovm what the things are concerning which it is necessary to assume propositions. CHAPTER IV. • In the next place, a distinction must be peculiarly made respecting each of these ; as for instance, what the subjects of consultation are ; with what demonstrative orations are conversant ; and in the third place what the subjects are about which judgments are employed. In the first place, therefore, it must be assumed what the kind of good or evil is about which he who advises counsels; since he does not give counsel about all things, but about such as may happen to be or not. But with respect to such things as necessarily either are or will be, or which cannot possibly exist, about these there is no consultation. Hence, neither is there consultation about all contingent events. For there are some goods from •nature, and some from fortune, which notwithstanding 22 THE ART 9F BOOK I. CHAP. IV. RHETORIC. 23 they are contingent, and may or may not be, yet coift* sultation contributes nothing to them. But it is evident that consultation is respecting such things as are naturally adapted to be referred to us, and the principle of the generation of which is in our power* For our attention is exerted thus far, till we find whether it is possible or impossible for us to perform such things. Accurately^ therefore, to enumerate the several parti- culars, and to distribute into species the subjects of po- pular discussion ; and besides this, to determine accord* ing to truth as much as is possible concerning them, it is tiot necessary at present to investigate, because it is not the province of the rhetorical art, but of an art more allied to wisdom, and more true ; for even now much more is attributed to rhetoric than pertains to its proper theorems. For that which we have before observed is true, that rhetoric is composed indeed from the analytic science, and from that political science which is conver- sant with morals ; and it is partly similar to dialectic, and partly to sophistical arguments. In proportion, however, as any one endeavours to discuss either dialectic or rhe- toric, not as powers, but as sciences^ so far he igno* rantly destroys the nature of them, by migrating through this attempt into the sciences of certain subject things^ instead of alone making a transition into the powers or faculties of words. At the same time, we shall now speak of whatever it is indeed requisite to distinguish, and which leaves matter of consideration to the political science. For nearly the subjects which are discussed by all those who give counsel, are especially five in number ; and these are, concerning wealth, war, and peace ; and besides these, the defence of the country, exports and imports y and legislation. Hence, it is requisite that he who is to give counsel about wealth, should know the revenues of the country, what they are, and how, if they are deficient, an addition may be made to them ; and how, if they are too small, they may be augmented. It is likewise necessary that he should be acquainted with all the expenses of the city, and know how any unnecessary expense may be removed, and that which is greater [than is fit] may become less. For men not only become richer by an accumulation of property, but also by a decrease of expense. And these things may not only be surveyed from the experience of private affairs ; but in order to give counsel about these, it is necessary to be skilled in what has been discovered by others. With respect however to war and peace, It is necessary to know the power of the city, what the forces of it are at present, how great they may be, what the nature of the strength is which is possessed, and what addition may be made to it j and farther still, what wars the city has had, and how they have been conducted. And it is not only necessary that he who gives counsel should understand these concerns of his own country, but also those of the neighbouring countries. He should likewise be particu- larly acquainted with those cities against which it is thought fit to wage war, in order that peace may be made with the more powerful, and war undertaken against the less powerful, if requisite. He must also know the forces of these cities, whether they are similar or dissi- milar. For in these, it is possible to be superior or infe- rior. It is likewise necessary for this purpose, that he shoD^ld not only have surveyed the wars of his own coun- try, but likewise the event of the wars of other countries. "^1 24 THE ART OF .BOOK I. For similars are naturally adapted to be known from similars. Farther still, with respect to the defence of the coun- try, it is requisite not to be ignorant how it may be de- fended, but to know the multitude of its defenders, and the form of the defence, and the places proper for garri- sons. This knowledge, however, cannot be possessed by him who is unacquainted with the country. For such knowledge is necessary, in order that if the defence is less [than it ought to be] it may be increased ; that if superfluous it may be taken away ; and that garrisons may be formed in more appropriate places. Again, it is requisite to know what expense is neces- sary to supply the city with provision, what the country will afford, and what must be supplied from abroad. , What commodities are fit to be imported, and what ex- ported, in order that conventions and compacts may be considered accordingly. For there are two descriptions of men with whom it is necessary the citizens should pre- serve themselves blameless, viz. with those that are more powerful, and with those that are beneficial to them [in a commercial point of view]. And it is necessary, indeed, to be able to survey all these particulars for the sake of security ; and in no small degree for the purpose of understanding the business of legislation. For the safety of the city is in the laws. Hence, it is necessary to know how many forms of go- vernment there are, what kind of things are advantageous to each, and by what they are naturally adapted to be corrupted, both among things appropriate and contrary CHAP, v^ RHETORIC. 25 to the polity. But I say, governments are corrupted by things appropriate, because all other polities except that which is the best, are corrupted by remission and inten- tion. Thus for instance, a democracy, not only becomes^ more imbecile by remission, so as at length to arrive at an oligarchy, but it is also weakened by vehement inten- tion ; just as an aquiline and a flat nose, not only arrive at mediocrity by remission, but likewise when they be- come very aquiline or flat, cause the nose to be so dis- posed, that it no longer appears to be a nostril. It is moreover useful for the purpose of legislation, not only to understand what is advantageous to a polity, by a survey of past events, but also to know the condition of other polities, and what is adapted to each. Hence it is evident that travelling is useful for the purposes of legis- lation ; since from hence the laws of nations may be ob- tained. But the knowledge of history is requisite to political counsels. All these particulars, however, are the business of politics, and not of rhetoric. Such, there- fore, are the principal things which he who intends to give counsel ought to possess. CHAPTER V. Let us again, however, enumerate the particulars from which it is requisite to exhort or dissuade, both respect- 26 THE ART OF BOOK I. ing these, and other things. But nearly, both privately to each individual, and in common to all men, there is a certain scope, to which choice and aversion are directed j and this is, in short, felicity, and the parts of it. Hence, for the sake of an example, we shall assume what felicity is, and from what the parts of it consist. For all exhor- tations and all dissuasions are conversant with this, and with the things which contribute to it, and the contraries to this. For it is necessary to perform such things as procure this felicity, or a certain part of it, or which ren- der it greater instead of less ; and not to do those things which corrupt or impede felicity, or produce its con- traries. Let felicity, therefore, be [defined to be} acting 'well in cmjimction ivith virtue ; or, a life sufficient to itself] or, the most pleasant life in conjunction with security ; or, a prosperous conditio^i of possessions and the body^ together with a power of preserving and effecting these. For nearly all men acknowledge that felicity is one, or more than one of these. If, therefore, felicity is a thing of this kind, it is neces- sary that the parts of it should be, nobility of birth, an abundance of friends, and these such as are worthy men, riches, a numerous progeny, and a good old age ; and besides these, the virtues of the body, such as health, beauty, strength, magnitude, agonistic power ; glory, honour, and prosperity ; virtue, or also the parts of it, prudence, fortitude, justice, and temperance. For thus a man will be most sufficient to himself, if both internal and external goods are present with him ; for there are no other goods besides these. But internal goods, in- CHAP. V. RHETORIC. 27 deed, are both those which pertain to the soul, and those which pertain to the body ; and external goods are, no^ bility of birth, friends, riches and honour ; and besides these, we think it requisite that power and fortune should be present. For thus life will be most secure- In a similar manner, therefore, we shall assume what each of these is. Nobility of birth then both to a nation and a city is when the people are indigenous or ancient, ^nd their first leaders or commanders are illustrious men, and when many persons illustrious in those things which are the objects of emulation are the progeny of these. But private nobility is derived either from men, or from women, and a legitimate procreation from both. And in this nobility as well as in that of a city, it is requisite that the first authors of the race, should be illustrious either in virtue or in riches, or in sometliing else which is honourable, and likewise that many illustrious men and women, young and old, should be the progeny of this genus. With respect to a good and numerous oflspring it is not immanifest what it is. But in a community, a good offspring is a multitude of young and worthy children ; who are worthy, indeed, according to the virtue of the body, as for instance, in magnitude, beauty, strength, and agonistic power ; and according to the virtue of the soul, in temperance and fortitude, which are the virtues of youth* Privately, however, the offspring is good and numerous, if the proper children, both male and female, are many and worthy. But the corporeal virtue of fe- males is, beauty and magnitude ; and the virtues of their soul are, temperance and sedulity without illiberality. It 28 THE ART OF BOOK I. CHAP. V. RHETORIC. 29 IS requisite, therefore, to investigate both privately and publicly the existence of each of these virtues, in men and in women ; for where these virtues are wanting in the women, as is the case with the Lacedaemonians, such women are scarcely half happy. The parts of wealth, however, are money, a great quantity of land, and the possession of farms ; and be- sides these, furniture, cattle, and slaves which are remark- able for their multitude, magnitude and beauty. All the^e possessions, likewise, ought to be secure, free, and useful. But those are more useful which are profitable ; those are free which are subservient to enjoyment ; I call those profitable which yield a revenue ; and those con- sist in enjoyment, in which nothing is estimable besides the use. But the definition of security, indeed, is for a man to possess what he has in such a place and in such a manner, that the use of it may be in his power ; and so that it may be his own property or not, when it is in his power to alienate it. But I call alienation giving and selling. In short, riches consist more in use than in pos- session. For the energy and the use of things of this kind are riches. Renown is to be esteemed by all worthy persons, or it is the possession of a thing of such a kind as is desired by all men, or which many, or good, or wise men desire. But honour is an indication of beneficent renown. And those, indeed, who have benefited others, are justly and especially honoured ; though he likewise is honoured who is able to benefit. But beneficence is that which either pertains to safety, and such things as are the causes of existence, or to wealth, or to some other of those goods, the possession of which is not easy ; and this either entirely, or in this place, or at a certain time. For many persons obtain honour from things which appear to be small ; but the modes and the occasions are the causes of it. The parts of honour, however, are, sacrifices, eulogies in prose and verse, rewards, sacred groves, pre- cedency in sitting, sepulchres, statues, and public salaries; barbaric honours, such as adoration by inclining the body, giving place, and gifts which are universally valued. For a gift is the donation of possession, and an indication of honour. Hence, the ambitious and the avaricious are desirous of gifts ; since gifts contain in themselves what each of these require. For possession is that which the avaricious desire, and it is also attended with honour, after which the ambitious aspire. But the virtue of the body is health, and this in such a way as to render those who use the body, free from dis- ease. For many persons are healthy, as Herodicus is said to be ; and yet no one will proclaim them to be happy on account of health, because [like Herodicus] they abstain from all or the greater part of human concerns. With respect to beauty it is different in every age. The beauty, therefore, of a young man is to have a body useful for the endurance of labour, viz. for the course, and for violent action, and which is also pleasing to the: view. Hence, those that contend in the five games are most beautiful, because they are naturally adapted both to violent action, and celerity. But the beauty of him who is in the acme of life, is to be capable of warlike labours, and to be terribly pleasing to the view. And the beauty of an old man, is to have a body sufficiently so THE ART or BOOK I. GHAP. V. RHETORIC. adapted to necessary labours, but without pain, because be has none of those diseases with which old age is defiled* Strength, also, is the power by which a man moves an- other thing as he pleases ; and it is necessary to move another thing, either by drawing, or impelling, or lifting, or compressing, or crushing ; so that he who is strong is strong in all, or in some of these* But the virtue of magnitude is to excel the multitude in length, depth, and breadth, so that the motions of the body may not be rendered slower, by this excess [of magnitude]. And the agonistic virtue of the body is composed from mag* nitude, strength, and celerity ; for he who is swift is strong ; since he who is able to hurl forth his legs in a certain respect, and to move them with celerity, and to a great distance, is a racer. But he who can grapple and hold fast, is a wrestler. He who can drive another per- son away by a blow, is a pugilist ; and he who can do both these, is a pancratiast. But he who excels in all these, is a pentathlian, or skilled in the five games^ A good old age, also, is, when age slowly approaches unattended with pain. For neither has a man a good old age, if he becomes rapidly old ; nor if he becomes old with difficulty, but attended with pain, A good old age, however, consists from the virtues of the body and from the goods of fortune. For an old age which is neither free from disease nor strong, will not be impas- sive to maladies, and will not be unattended with pain, or possess longevity ; nor can it be permanent without [the goods of] fortune. There is, however, another certain power of living long separate from strength and health. For many live long without the virtues of the body ; but an accurate discussion of these things is of wse at present. 31 no ^ But what the friendship of many and worthy pei^ns IS, will not be immanifest from the definition of a friend A friend, therefore, is one who performs those thin^ for the sake of his friend which he thinks will be beneficial to him ; and he who has many such, has many friends • but he with whom such men are worthy persons ha^ worthy friends. Moreover, prosperity consists in those goods of which fortune is the cause that either all, or most, or the ^rreat est of these befall us. But fortune is the cause of ""some things, indeed, of which the arts are the cause ; and like- wise of many and inartificial things, as for instance, such as those of which nature is the cause. Sometimes, however, it happens that these are preternatural. For art, indeed, is the cause of health ; but nature of beauty and magnitude. And in short, those goods are from fortune which are attended with envy. Fortune, also, is the cause of those goods which are contrary to 'reason • as when all the rest of the brothers are deformed, aud one alone is beautiful ; or when all the rest did not see the treasure, and one alone discovered it ; or when the next person happens to be pierced with an arrow, but this man escapes ; or when only one person did not come to a place where others were accustomed to come, but others who only came to it at that time were destroyed. ' For all such circumstances appear to be the effect of raod fortune. With respect to virtue, however, because it IS a topic 32 THE ART OP BOOK I. most adapted to applause, we shall then discuss it wlien we speak concerning praise. And thus we have shown what ought to be our aim in persuading or dissuading whether in reference to things present or future. For persuasion is contrary to dissuasion. CHAPTER VI. Since, however, the profitable is the scope proposed by him who counsels; but men counsel not concerning the end, but those things which refer to the end ; and these are such as are advantageous to action ; but that which is advantageous is good ; — this being the case, the elements must be assumed of the good and the ad- vantageous simply considered. Let good, therefore, be that which is itself eligible for its own sake ; and for the sake of which we chuse some- thing else. Let it, also, be that whigh all things desire, or which all things desire that have sense or intellect, or would desire if they had. Let it, likewise, be such things as intellect dictates to every one ; and whatever the in- tellect of each person dictates to each, this is the good of each. It is, also, that which when present causes its possessor to be well disposed, and sufficient to himself; and is self-sufficiency. It is, likewise, that which pro- duces or preserves things of this kind ; to which things of this kind are consequent ; and which prevents the CHAP. n. RHETORIC. 33 Brr'"' "fu^"^^ '^^"^^ '' ''' ^^-^-P^-e of these But things of this kind are consequent to food in a two fold respect; either at once or afterwards. Thus Z but hf subsists at one and the same time with h'eahV some t Tr r"" '^^^ ' ^'^'•^^f^'^ -b-ten e some indeed, [m the genus of the formal cause] as to be wel IS effective of health ; others [in the .enus of th efficient cause] as food is productive of ^a h ,, others [m the genus of the disposing cause! JT ' because this for the most part p^od u'ce^^^ ^^"^^^^' ^ These things, therefore, being admitted, it is necessarv evil is af nn<.. . ^ ' '"^ non-possession of evil IS at once consequent to the former: and the do^ session of good to the latter. The assumm ;!n . t ^ of a greater instead of a less Ld nf ' "^''' lipase ] and of a less instead 7f !^jrrZ by which the greater surpasses the less, becomes the t sumption of the one. and the rejection of the oTh r t" ^ hkewise. necessary that the virtues should t good For those who possess them are from these well dispS' and become effective of and practically good wlT. spect to each virtue, howeverf what it^and whi puT' I. y Jt possesses, we must speak separ tely. I 12 also be admitted that pleasure is good ■ for all L f naturally aspire after if c^ .u u- ' animals y aspire arter it ; so that things which are nl^^ sant and beautiful are nece^arll^ j . ^ r.^^A ■ r . necessarily good j since these are productive of pleasure. But of things which are be^u trfui. some indeed are pleasant; but' others ^rth^m elves eligible by themselves. That we may. however" speakof them sevenlly, it is necessary that th'; folrg 34, THE ART OF BOOK I. CHAP. VI. things should be good: felicity; for it is eligible for its own sake, is sufficient to itself, and we choose many thmgsfor . the sake of it. Justice, likewise, fortitude, temperance, magnanimity, magnificence, and other habits of this kind, rare necessarily good ;] for they are the virtues of the soul. This is also the case with health, beauty, and the, Uke '• for they are the virtues of the body, and are effec- tive of many thmgs. Thus, for instance health, is effec- tive of pleasure and life ; on which account, also, it ap- pears to be most excellent, because it is the cause of two things which are most honoured by the multitude, viz. pleasure and life. Wealth, also, is good ; for it is the virtue of possession, and is effective of many things. A friend, also, and friendship are good ; for a fnend is a thing eligible of itself, and is effective of many thmgs. This is also the case with honour and glory ; for they are delightful, produce many things, and those things for which men are honoured, are for the most part attend- ant upon them. The power, likewise, of speaking and acting is good ; for all such things are effective of good ; and besides these, a good disposition, memory, an aptness to learn, sagacity, and every tiling of this kind ; for these powers are productive of good. In a similar mann«r this is the case with all sciences and arts. Life itselt, also, is good ; for though it were effective of no other good, yet it is eligible of itself. The just likewise is good ; for it is in common something profitable. And these things are in general acknowledged to be good. With respect, however, to those things which are dubious, syllogisms are thus framed to prove that they are good. That is good, the contrarry to which is eyU. This is likewise the case with that, the contrary to which RHETORIC. 35 IS advantageous to enemies. Thus, if to be timid is specially advantageous to enemies, it is evident that for- Qtude IS especially beneficial to citizens. And . short the contrary to that which enemies wish, pr with which they are delighted, appears to be beneficial. Hence it was well said, "cnce, it Sure Priam will rejoice.' This, however, is not always, but for the most part true For nothing hinders but that sometimes the same thinji may be beneficial as well to our adversaries as to ul Hence, it is said that evils conciliate men. when the same thing IS permcious to both. That, also, of which there IS no excess is good ; but that which is greater than it ought to be is evil. That, likewise, is good, for the sake ot which many labours have been endured, and much wealth consumed ; for this is now an apparent good • and a thing of this kind is considered as an end, tnd a^ the end of many things. But the end is good. Hence it IS said [by Juno,'] And fame, ind«ed, to Priam will redound. And [by Ulysses,'] Longer to stay is shameful. Whence, also, the proverb, " A water-pot at the door. "* ' Iliad, 10. ' Iliad, 2. I Iliad, 2. * ™» ^»; probably said of those, who after they had broucrhta vessel full of water from a distant fountain home, suffered it to faU from their hands and to be broken at the door of the house 36 THE ART OF BOOK I* CHAP. vr. RHETORIC. 37 That, likewise, is good which is the object of desire to many persons, and which appears to be worthy of con- tention. For that which all men desire is good ; and the many appear to be as it were all. That, also, is good which is laudable ; for no one praises that which is not good. In a similar manner that is good which both enemies and bad men praise. For it is just as if all men acknowledged it to be good, if it is acknowledged to be so by those that are badly affected. For because it is apparent, it is acknowledged to be good ; just as those are bad men whom our friends blame-, and those are good men whom our enemies do not blame. Hence the Corinthians conceived themselves to be reviled by bi- monides, for saying, « lUon, however, does^ not Corinth blame." That likewise is good which is preferred by some wise person, or some good man or woman. Thus Mmerya preferred Ulysses, Theseus Helen, the goddesses Pans, Ld Homer Achilles. And in short, things which are the obiects of deliberate choice are good ; but men deli- berately choose to perform the things we have mentioned, and such as are evil to enemies, and good to friends. Things that are possible, also, are good ; but these axe twofold, viz. such as may be done, and such as may be easily done ; and those things may be easily done, which are unattended with pain, or which maybe effected . nil short time. For that which is difficult is defined either by pain, or by length of time. Things, likewise are good which are done according to our wish ; but we wish either no evil,, or less evil than good. But this will take place, if either punishment is latent, or small. Men also, wish to possess good which is their own property. and which no other person possesses. They, likewise, wish to possess superfluities ; for thus they obtain more honour. And, also, things adapted to themselves ; but things of this kind are such as are fit, both according to genus and power. Things, likewise, which they fkncy they are defective in, are the objects of their wish, though they should be little things. For they no legs delibe- rately chuse to perform these. Also, things which may be easily eflfected ; for these are possible, as being easy. But those things are most easily effected which all men, or those that are similar, or those that are inferior, have performed rightly and well. Likewise, those things with which friends are gratified, or which are odious to ene- mies. And such things as those who admire them deliberately chuse to do. Likewise, those things in which men are ingenious and expert ; for they think they shall easily accomplish them with rectitude. Also, those things which no bad man will undertake j for these are more laudable. And such things as are the objects of desire to men ; for these are not only delightful, but they also appear to be more excellent. Men, also, espe- cially chuse to do those things to which they are most propense. Thus, for instance, victory is the object of choice to the warrior ; honour to the ambitious ; riches to the covetous ; and other characters after the same manner. Concerning the good, therefore, and the ad- vantageous, credibility may from these things be derived. , so that it happens that we learn something. A variety likewise of unexpected accidents, and narrow escapes from dangers, are delect- ■ Because by learning we pass from ignorance to knowled>«> which is a natural transition to such a reasonable being as man. CHAP. XI. RHETORIC, 71 able; for all these are admirable. And because that which is according to nature is pleasant, but things which are allied are naturally conjoined with each other, hence all things that are allied and similar, are for the most part delightful ; as man with man, horse with horse, and the young with the young. Hence, also, the proverb sameness of age is delighted with sameness of age ; and, always like to like ; and, beast knows beast ; and, al- ways the blackbird to the blackbird, and others of the like kind. Since, however, that which is similar and allied to any thing is delightful to it, but every man is especially thus affected towards himself, it, necessarily fol- lows that all men are lovers of themselves more or less ; for such things [as similitude and alliance] are especially present with a man towards himself. But because all men are lovers of themselves, hence, those things which are their own, must necessarily be delightful to all men ; such as their works, and their orations. Hence, for the most part they love their flatterers, and those that love them ; they are ambitious, and love their children ; for children are their own works. It is likewise pleasant to give completion to things which are deficient ; for it now becomes our own work. And because it is most plea- sant to govern, it is likewise delightful to seem to be wise. For to be wise is a thing of a ruling nature. But wisdom is the science of many and admirable things. Farther still, since men are for the most part ambitious, it neces- sarily follows that they are delighted to rule over and reprove their neighbours. It is likewise delectable to a man to be conversant with that in which he thinks he particularly excels ; as Euripides also says, " To this he eagerly applies himself, bestowing the greatest part of every day upon it, in order that he may even surpass 72 THE ART OF BOOK I, himself." In like manner, because all recreation and re- laxation is pleasant, and laughter also is among the num- ber of things that are delectable, it necessarily follows that ridiculous things are pleasant, as well ridiculous men, as ridiculous speeches and works. Ridiculous things, however, are separately discussed by us in the treatise on Poetry. And thus much concerning things which are delectable. But things which are painful will be manifest from the contraries to these. Such, there- fore, are the particulars for the sake of which men act unjustly. CHAPTER XII. Let us now consider what the condition is of men that do an injury, and who those are whom they injure. They are, therefore, then indeed [prepared to do an injury,] when they fancy the thing is possible to be done, and it is possible to be done by them, whether they can do it latently, or so as not to suffer punishment though it should not be done latently ; or when they think that they may suffer punishment, indeed, but that the loss which they shall sustain by it, will be less than the gain which will accrue to themselves, or to those who are the objects of their care. CHAP, xn. RHETORIC. 73 With respect therefore to what appears possible to be effected, and what not, this will be afterwards explained; for these things are common to all the parts of rhetoric. Those men, however, fancy themselves especially able to do an injury with impunity, who are able both to speak and act, and who are skilled in a multitude of [forensic] contests. Those, also, fancy they can escape with impunity who have a great number of friends, and especially, indeed, if they imagine themselves to be powerful in what we have mentioned ; or if they are not, if their friends, or assistants, or accomplices are persons of this description. For through these they nj^y be able to effect their purpose latently, and without suffering punishment. This will also be the case, if they are the friends of those that are injured, or of the judges. For friends are careless of injuries, and are reconciled before prosecution. The judges, also, are willing to gratify their friends, and either entirely acquit them, or inflict a small punishment. But those are adapted to be con- cealed, who have a disposition contrary to the alleged crimes ; as for instance, a feeble man, when accused of striking another, and a poor and deformed man when ac- cused of adultery. This is also the case if the crime is com- mitted very openly, and in the eyes of all men, because in short no one would think it to be true. Or if the crimes are so great, and so many, as not to have been committed by any one person before. For men are not aware of such injuries ; since all men shun those that are accus- tomed to act ill, in the same manner as they shun diseases ; but no one avoids him that has not yet been afflicted with disease. Those, likewise, think they shall be concealed, who injure those who have none, or those who have many enemies. For if they injure the former 74 THE ART OF EOOK I. they fancy they snail be concealed, because they are not suspected; but if they injure the latter, that they shall be concealed, because it seems incredible that they would attack those who are aware of them, and because they might urge in their defence, that they did not make the attempt [because they were certain they should find re- sistance.] The like may be said of those who are pro- vided with the means of concealment, or of some place, or mode of escape which is at hand ; and also of such, who if they cannot conceal themselves, can put oft the cause by delay of justice, or by corrupting the judges. This too fiay be said of those who, if they are amerced, delay or buy off" the payment, or who through poverty have nothing to lose. And of those whose gains are apparent, or great, or near ; but their punishments either small, or unapparent, or at a distance. Likewise where the punishment is not equal to the profit, as appears to be the case in a tyranny. And also with those that gain by the injury, but are only disgraced by the punishment. And also with those to whom the contrary happens, that the injuries procure them a certain praise, as if it should happen, as it did to Zeno, that a man in avenging an injury, at the same time revenges an injury done to his father or mother ; but the punishments are either a fine or banishment, or something of this kind. For both these do an injury, whether it be done this way or that, though they are not the same persons, but contrary in their manners. Those, likewise, [are audacioiis in com- mitting injuries,] who have frequently either been con- cealed, or not been punished. This is likewise the case with those who have frequently failed in their attempts ; for in things of this kind, in the same manner as in war- like concerns, there are some who are still prepared to CHAP. XII. RHETORIC. 75 renew the fight. And also with those to whom the delightful is immediately present, but the painful follows afterwards ; or gain is immediate, but punishment pos- terior. For the intemperate are persons of this descrip- tion ; but there is intemperance with respect to all such things as are the objects of desire. Those, likewise, [confidently do an injury] to whom on the contrary the painful is immediately present, or punishment, but the delightful and the advantageous are present afterwards and later. For the continent, and those who are more prudent, pursue things of this kind. This is also the case with those who may seem to have act«l from for- tune or necessity, from nature, or from custom ; and in short, who have erred, but have not done any injury. The like too may be said of those who have been able to obtain an equitable decision ; and of such as are in want. But men are in want in a twofold respect ; either as being in want of necessaries, as is the case with the poor ; or as being in want of superfluities, as is the case with the rich. Those also [are prone to do injuries] who are renowned, and also those who are very infamous. The former, indeed, because it will not be supposed that they have done an injury ; and the latter because they will not become at all more infamous [by doing the injury.] Under these circumstances, therefore, they attempt [to act unjustly.] 76 THE ART OF BOOK I. CHAP. XIII. RHETORIC. 77 CHAPTER XIIL Men, therefore, injure those who possess things of which they are in want, whether they pertain to the ne- cessaries, or to the superfluities of life, or the enjoyment [of pleasur^.] They also injure those that live at a dis- tance, and those that live near them ; for the plunder of the latter is rapid, and the punishment attending the in- jury done to the former is slow ; as was the case with those who plundered the Carthaginians. Men likewise injure the unwary, and those who are not on their guard, but are credulous ; for it is easy to deceive all these. They also injure the indolent ; for it is the province of a diligent man to avenge the injuries he has received. And likewise the bashful j for these do not contend about gain. They also injure those who have been injured by many, and who do not avenge the injuries they have re- ceived, as being according to the proverb the Mysian prey. Likewise those whom they have never, and those whom they have frequently injured. For both these are incautious ; the former, indeed, as havhig never been injured, and the latter because they expect to be injured no more. Also those who are or may easily be scanda- lized ; for persons of this description, neither deliberately chuse [to avenge an injury] being afraid of the judges, nor are able to persuade [others that they have been in- jured 5] among the number of which are those who are hated and injured. Likewise, men injure those against whom there is a pretext, either because they themselves, or their ancestors, or friends, have acted ill, or would have acted ill, either to themselves, or to their ancestors, or to those that are under their protection. For, as the proverb says, Depravity only wants a pretence. Men, also, injure both their enemies and friends ; for to injure the one is easy, and the other pleasant. Likewise those who are without friends, and who are not skilful in speaking or acting. For these either do not endeavour to revenge the injury they have received, or they become reconciled, or they finally effect nothing. Also those who derive no advantage in waiting for judgment and recompence, such as foreigners and handicraft tradesmen ; for these are satisfied with a small recompence for the injuries they may have received, and such men easily cease from pro- secution. Men likewise injure those who have already done many injuries to others, or who have done such injuries as they now suffer. For it seems to be something near to the not doing an injury, when any one suffers such an injury, as he is accustomed to do to others. I say, for instance, as if a man should chastise him who acted inso- lently towards others. They also injure those who have acted ill, or who have wished to do so, or have this wish at present, or intend to do an injury hereafter. For it is attended both with the pleasant and the beautiful ; and this appears to be near to not acting unjustly. Men like- wise injure those, in injuring whom they gratify their friends, or those whom they admire, or love, or their masters, or in short those with whom they live, and from whom they expect to obtain some good. 'aIso those whom they have falsely accused, and their friend- ship with whom is dissolved. For things of this kind \ 78 THE ART OF BOOK !• CIJAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 79 appear to be near to the doing no injury, as was the case between Cah'ppus and Dion. They hkewise injure those who unless they were injured by them, would be op- pressed by others, as if with these there was no longer any place for consultation ; as Anesidemus is reported to have written to Gelo, when Calabria would have been depopulated by him, that he had anticipated him, as if he intended to have done the same thing himself. Also those, to whom if they have injured them they may do many things justly by way of satisfaction ; as Jason of Thessaly said, it is necessary to act unjustly in some things, in order that we may be able to do many just things. Men likewise act unjustly in those things, in which all or many persons are accustomed to act injuriously ; for they fancy they shall obtain pardon for thus acting. Also in those things which can easily be concealed. But things of this kind are such as are easily consumed, such as esculent substances ; or which are easily changed, either in their figure, or colour, or temperament ; or which may easily be concealed in many places. But things of this kind are such as are portable, and which may be concealed in small places; and which also resemble many things which he that did the injury possessed before. Men likewise commit injuries m those things which those who are injured are ashamed to disclose ; such as insolent and indecent behaviour to- wards the wife of a man, or towards himself, or his chil- dren. They also injure others in those things, which show the prosecutor to be a contentious person; but things of this kind are such as are of small consequence, and for which pardon is granted. And thus we have an nearly shown how men are capacitated when they do injury, in what things they act unjustly, what kind of men they injure, and on what account. CHAPTER XIV. Let us now distinguish between all unjust and just deeds first beginning from hence. Just and unjust deeds, therefore, are divided with reference to two laws, and with reference to the persons to whom they relate in two ways. -\ But I call law either proper or common. And the proper, indeed, is that which the several [cities and na- tions] have established among themselves. And of this law, one part is not written, but the other part is written. But common law is that which is according to nature. For there is something which is just, and something which is unjust in common naturally, and which all men prophetically pronounce to be so, though they have no communion nor compact with each other. And this the Antigone of Sophocles appears to intimate, when she asserts that it is just to bury Polynices, though forbidden to do so [by Creon the king,] because this is naturally just : i 80 THE ART OF nor could I ever think, BOOK I. CHAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 81 i A mortal's law of power or strength sufficient. To abrogate th* unwritten Jaw divine. Immutable, eternal, not like these. Of yesterday, but made ere time began. And as Empedocles says with respect to not slaying that which is animated. For this is not indeed just to some persons, but not just to others. But a fixed law in all men's breasts, where'er Heaven's light immense shines thro* wide-ruling air. And this is also confirmed by Alcidamas in his Messeniac oration. . The persons, however, to whom the just and the un- just are referred, are distinguished in a twofold respect. For what ought and what ought not to be done is either referred to the community, or to one individual of the community. Hence, also, with respect to unjust and just deeds, it is possible to act justly and unjustly in two ways ; viz. towards one definite person, or towards the commu- nity. For he who commits adultery, or strikes a man, injures some definite person ; but he who does not fight [for his country,] injures the community. Since, therefore, all unjust deeds receive a twofold division, and some have a reference to the community, but others to diflFerent private persons, after repeating what it is to be injured, we shall explain the rest. To be injured, therefore, is to suffer unjustly, by those who act voluntarily ; for we have before defined the injuring another person to be a voluntary deed. Since, however, he who is injured is necessarily hurt, and is hurt unwil- lingly ; what hurts are, indeed, is evident from what has been before said. For good and evil have been already essentially distinguished ; and voluntary deeds are such as men perform knowingly. Hence it is necessary that all crimes should either be committed against the com- mumty, or against an individual, and this either by one who IS ignorant, or by one who is unwilling, or by one who acts willingly and knowingly. And of these crimes, some are the result of deliberate choice, but others are the effect of passion. Concerning the crimes therefore which are produced from anger, we shall speak when we discuss the passions. And we have ^ready shown what are the objects of deliberate choice, and how men are disposed with respect to them. Since, however, frequently men who confess that they have done a thing of which they are accused, either deny the name by which the accuser calls the deed, and in- scribes the accusation, or deny the thing which is sig. nified by the inscription ; as for instance, that the thing was taken, indeed, but not stolen ; and that such a one gave the first blow, but did not act insolently ; and asso- ciated with the woman, indeed, but did not commit adultery with her ; or that he committed a theft, but not sacrilege ; (for he took nothing consecrated to divinity) or that he broke up land, but not belonging to the pub- he ; or that he discoursed with the enemy, but did not betray his country ; on these accounts, it will be requi- site to define what theft, insolent conduct, and adultery are, in order that if we wish to show these offences were committed or not, we may be able to declare what is ^I^St. VOL, I. J. 82 THE ART OF BOOK I. just. Every thing, however, of this kind pertains to the question whether the thing is unjust and wicked, or is not unjust ; for depravity and acting unjustly consist in deliberate choice. But appellations of this kind pr^ig-; nify deliberate choice ; as for instance, insolent conduct and theft. For it does not follow that he who strikes another acts entirely insolently towards him, but then only if he strikes him for the sake of insulting him, as for instance, with a view to disgrace him, or to please himself. Nor does it entirely follow that if a man re- ceives any thing latently, that he has stolen it ; but if he takes it away with a view to the detriment of him from whom he takes it, and of his own advantage. The like also takes place in other things, in the same manner as* in these. Since, however, there are two species of just and un- just things ; for some indeed are written, but others are not committed to writing ; of those indeed which are proclaimed by the laws we have already spoken. But of those which are not committed to writing there are two species. And of these, some indeed consist in the excess of virtue and vice, in which are disgrace and praise, ignominy and honour and gifts ; such for instance,, as to be grateful to a benefactor, to benefit him whoj benefits, to be ready to give assistance to friends, and other things of the like kind. But others are a supplement to the proper and written: law. For the equitable appears to be just ; and the. equitable is that which is juwSt, besides what is enjoined- CHAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 83 n the written law. This, however, happens partly against the will, and partly with the will of the legislators. bTZ^T ""1; •"^^^'^' -'^^^ C^J^e cringe] is lafent. But with their will when they are unable to define the thing ; and it is necessary, indeed, to assert universally that the thing does not thus subsist always, but for the most part. Legislators also omit certain things willlnglv which n is not easy to determine on account of thel^ infimty ; as for instance, [when they ordain a punish- ment] for striking a man with iron, they omit to deter- mine the quantity and the quality of the iron. For life would not be sufficient to enumerate things of this kind.- If, therefore, any thing is indefinite ; but it is requisite to make a law concerning it. the legislator must necessarily promulgate the law simply. Hence, if a man having a nng on his finger lifts up his hand against, or strikes another person, according to the written law, indeed he IS guilty, and acts unjustly ; but in reality, he does not act unjustly [by striking him with his ring;] and this is the equitable. If then what we have said be equity it is evident what kind of things are equitable and not equi- table, and also what kind of men are not equitable For those things are equitable in which it is necessary to grant pardon. It is likewise equitable not to estimate errors and injuries as deserving equal punishment, nor errors and misfortunes. But misfortunes are such things as happen contrary to expectation, and not from depra- vity. Errors are such things as do not happen contrary to expectation, and are not from depravity ; but injuries are such things as are not effected contrary to expec- tation, but proceed from depravity. For what proceeds from desire,' emanates from depravity. It is likewise • When the whole soul is considered as divided into reason, anger. 84 THE ART OF BOOK I. equitable to pardon human [frailties.] Also not to direct our attention to the law, but the legislator. And not to look to the action, but to the deliberate in- tention of him who did it. Nor to a part of a thing but the whole. Nor to consider what kind of a person a man is now, but what he always was, or for the most part. It is also the province of an equitable man rather to remember the good than the evil which he has re- ceived from another ; and to be more mindful of the good which he has received, than of the good w^hich he has done. Also to endure the being injured, patiently ; and to be more willing that a controversy should be decided by words than by deeds. He is likewise more desirous that a thing should be decided by arbitration than by the suffrages of judges. For an arbitrator looks to the equitable ; but a judge looks to the law. And recourse is had to an arbitrator for the sake of this, viz. that the equitable may prevail. And thus much con- cerning the equitable. and desire, the last of these parts is that irrational appetite which is solely directed to external objects, and to the gratification arising from the possession of them ; just as anger is an appetite directed to the avengement of incidental molestations. CHAP. XV. RHETORIC. 8S CHAPTER XV. Those mjur.es, however, are greater which proceed from greater mjustice. Hence, also, [sometimes] the kast mjunes are attended with the greatest [injustice.'] Thus for instance. Callistratus accused Melanipus for havmg defrauded the builders of the temple of three sacred vessels of an inconsiderable value. But the con- trary takes place in justice. These, however, are the greatest mjQries. because they transcend in power. For he who stole these three sacred vessels, would have committed any other unjust act. Sometimes, therefore, the mjury is thus greater ; but sometimes it is judgei [to be greater] from the harm that ensues. That injury also IS considered as greater, to which no punishment is equal but every punishmem is less than it deserves. And hl^wise that for which there is no remedy ; because « IS difficult and impossible to apply such a remedy. Also that for which the sufferer can obtain no recom- pence ; for the evil is incurable ; since justice and punish- ment are the remedies [of injuries.] Likewise, if the • Sometimes injuries, though they are the least, because they are conversant w.th the smaUest things, are seen to proceed from Ae ^atest hab.t of mjustice. and oa this account they are the gxe«! 86 THE ART OF BOOK I. suflFerer and he who is injured, cannot endure the atten- dant Ignominy ; for in this case he who did the injury deserves to be punished in a still greater degree. Thus Sophocles when pleading for Euctemon, because he who had been used insolently slew himself, said, that he who had done the injury ought not to be punished in a less degree, than he had punished himself who had been injured. The injury likewise is greater which a man does alone, or the first of all men, or with a few asso- ciates. The injury, also, is considered as greater which is often committed. And also that for the prevention of which laws and punishments have been explored. Thus in Argos those are punished, on whose account some new law is established, or a prison is built. The injury likewise is greater which is more brutal ; and also that which is more premeditated. Likewise that which ex- cites in the hearers of it, terror rather than pity. And rhetorical formulae, indeed, are of this kind, viz. that a man has subverted or transgressed many just things, such as oaths, pledges of faith, and conjugal vows ; for this is an exuberance of many injuries. And, also, that a man has committed an injury there where those that act unjustly are punished ; as is the case with false wit- nesses. For where will not he do an injury who com- mits one in a court of justice ? Likewise, that a man has done an injury which is attended with the greatest shame. And that he has injured him by whom he has been benefited ; for such a one multiplies injuries, be- cause he acts ill, and likewise does not act well. Also, the injury is greater which a man does against the un- written laws ; for it is the province of a better man to be just, not from necessity, [but voluntarily.] Written ' laws, therefore, are [observed] from necessity, but this CHAP. XVI. RHITORrC. 87 IS not the case with unviritten laws. But after another manner the injury is greater which is committed against the wntten laws. For he who acts unjustly in those things m which he may be terrified by punishment, will much more act unjustly in those things for which no punishment is ordained. And thus much concerning a greater and a less injury. r.'*- CHAPTER XVI. It follows in the next place that we should discuss what are called inartificial credibilities ; for these are peculiar to forensic orations. But they are few in num. ber, viz. the laws, witnesses, compacts, examinations, and an oath. In the first place, therefore, let us speak about laws, how they are to be used, both by him that exhorts, and him who dissuades, by him who accuses, and him who defends. For it is evident, that if the written law indeed is contrary to the affair, the common law must be used, and equity, as being more just. And it is also evident that the best decision will then be given, when the written laws are not entirely used. The equitable, likewise, always remains and never changes, and this too is the 88 THE ART OF BOOK I. case with common law ; for it is according to nature ; but written laws are frequently changed. Hence, also, it IS said in the Antigone of Sophocles, (for Antigone says as an apology, that she had acted contrary to the law of Creon, but not contrary to the unwritten law.) nor could I ever think. A mortal's law, of power or strength sufficient, To abrogate th* unwritten law divine, Immutable, eternal, not like these. Of yesterday, but made ere time began. Shall man persuade me, then, to violate. Heaven's great commands, and make the gods my foes ? It is likewise evident that the just is something true and advantageous, but not that which seems to be so ; so that what is written is not law; for it does not perform the work of law. It may likewise be said that a judge is like an assayer of silver and gold ; for it is his pro- vince to distinguish what is truly just from what is adulte- rate. And, also, that it is the business of a better man rather to use unwritten than written laws, and to abide by their decision. It must likewise be considered whether the law [in force] is contrary to a law which is approved, or is itself contrary to itself ; as when the one law com- mands all contracts to be firmly observed ; and the other forbids any contracts to be made contrary to law. It must also be considered, whether the law is ambiguous, so that it may be distorted, and then it must be seen to what part the just is to be adapted, or the advantageous, and afterwards the law is to be used. If, also, the things for which the law was established no longer remain, but the law Itself remains, this we must endeavour to render manifest, and thus the law must be opposed by showing [that things being changed, the law also is to be changed tf.^M. Jt5r..f..>rMfcjjtirSM^'a CHAP, XVI. RHETORIC. 89 and abrogated.] But if the written law is adapted to the occasion or the fact, then it must be said as the result of the best decision, that the law was established not for the sake of judging contrary to law, but in order that he may not be perjured who may happen to be ignorant what the law says. It must likewise be asserted, that no one chuses that which is simply good, but that which is good to himself. And that it makes no difference whether laws are not established, or are not used. Like- wise, that in other acts it is of no advantage to dispute against the masters of them. Thus for instance, it is not expedient for one who is sick to dispute against the prescriptions of the physician ; for the error of the phy- sician is not so injurious, as it is to be accustomed to disobey a ruler. To endeavour likewise to become wiser than the laws, is that which is forbidden in celebrated laws. And thus much concerning laws. ^ With respect to witnesses, however, there are two kinds ; for some are ancient ; but others modern. And of the latter, some are partakers of danger, but others are exempt from it. But I call ancient witnesses the poets, and other illustrious persons whose judgments [and opinions] are manifest. Thus the Athenians made use of Homer as a witness about Salamis ; the Tenedians of Periander the Corinthian, against the Sigceans ; and Cleophon made use of the elegies of Solon against Critias, in order that he might show that the family of Critias was formerly contumacious. For otherwise Solon would never have said, Bid Critias with his yellow locks. His father's will obey. 90 THE ART OF BOOK I< CHAP. XVI. RHliTORIC. Such, therefore, are the Witnesses about things that are fast. But with respect to future events those who inter- pret oracles are witnesses; as for instance, Themistocles, when he said that the wooden wall [mentioned by the oracle] signified that the Athenians must betake them- selves to their ships. Proverbs also are witnesses. Thus, if some one should deliberate whether he should form a friendship with an old man, the proverb testifies what he IS to do, which says, Never confer a benefit on an old man. Thus, also, for him who deliberates whether he shall slay the children, whose parents he has likewise slain, there is this proverb, He is a fool who hating slain the father leaves the children. Modern or recent witnesses, however, [who have no share in the danger,] are such as being illustrious have given a decision [in a court of justice.] For the judgments of these men are useful in the confirmation of what is doubtful. Thus Eubulus, in a court of justice, employed against Chares, what Plato had said against Archibius, That it was com- mon in the city for men to acknowledge themselves to he depraved. Those also are recent witnesses, who partake of the danger [of being punished] if they appear to have given false evidence. Persons, therefore, of this descrip- tion are alone witnesses in things of this kind ; viz. whether the thing has been done or not ; and whether it 15, or not. But they are not witnesses concerning the quality of the thing ; as, whether it is just or unjust, advantageous or disadvantageous. Remote witnesses, however, are most worthy of belief in things of this kind ; but the ancients are most worthy of belief; for they cannot be corrupted. The credibility, however, derived from witnesses [is to be employed as follows.J 91 ;»: When, indeed, there are no witnesses, it is necessary to judge from probabilities ; and this it is to employ the best decision. Probabilities, also, cannot be corrupted by money ; and they are not condemned for giving a false testimony. But he who has witnesses ought to say to him that has not, that witnesses may be tried and punished, but probabilities cannot. [It may also be added,] that there would be no occasion for witnesses, if arguments from probabilities were sufficient. Testimo- nies, however, are either concerning ourselves, or con- cerning our opponents ; and some, indeed, are concerning the thing itself ; but others concerning the manners of persons. Hence, it is manifest that we can never be in want of useful testimony ; for if the testimony does not relate to the thing, it wiH either be favourable to the de- fendant, or adverse to the plaintiff. But the testimony respecting manners, will either evince our probity, or the depravity of our opponent. Other particulars, however, respecting a witness, whether he be a friend, or an enemy* or neither, whether he be a man of reputation, or an infamous character, or neither, and whatever other differ- ences there may be of the like kind, must be derived from the same places from which enthymemes are de- rived. With respect to compacts, an oration is so far useful as it increases or diminishes [their authority ;] or so for as it renders them credible, or unworthy of belief. For it is favourable to the speaker to show that the compacts possess credibility and authority ; but the contrary is favourable to the opponent. The same arguments, therefore, are to be employed in showing that compacts 92 THE ART OF BOOK I. are worthy or unworthy of belief, as we have employed in the affair of witnesses. For such as those persons are who have subscribed and signed the compacts, [with respect to being worthy or unworthy of belief,] such also are the compacts. When, however, it is acknow- ledged by the litigants that compacts were made, if this acknowledgement ic appropriate, the authority of the compacts is to be increased ; for a compact is a private law, and is of a partial nature. And compacts, indeed, do not give authority to the law; but the laws give authority to legal compacts. And in short, the law Itself is a certain compact ; so that he who disbelieves in and subverts a contract, subverts the laws. Farther still, many contracts and voluntary transactions are effected by compacts ; so that if compacts lose their authority, the intercourse of men with each other must be subverted. Other things, also, which are adapted to the confirmation of compacts, the orator will perceive by himself. But if the compacts are adverse to the cause, and favourable to the op- ponents, in the first place those are adapted to the purpose which some one may urge to invalidate the force of the contrary law ; for it is absurd that we should think laws are not to be obeyed, which have not been established rightly but by fraud, and that we should not think it neces- sary to observe compacts [which have been rightly made.] In the next place it must be said that a judge is a dispen- sator of what is just ; and therefore that his attention is not to be directed to the observance of the compacts, but to that which is more just. And t^he just indeed is not to be perverted either by fraud, or by necessity ; for it has a natural subsistence ; but compacts are made both by persons who are deceived, and those who are com- CHAP. XVI. RHETORIC. 93 pelled. In addition to these things, also, it is requisite to consider whether the compact is contrary to any written or common law, and to things just or beautiful ; and besides this, whether it is contrary to any posterior or prior contracts. For either the posterior contracts are binding, but the prior have no authority ; or the prior are right, but the posterior fallacious ; and thus this contrariety of compacts may be employed with advan- tage. Again, it will be expedient to see whether the compacts are in any way adverse to the judges, and to direct the attention to other things of the like kind ; for these things may in a similar manner be easily per- ceived. *^ ^ Examinations, also, and torments are certain testimo- nies ; and they seem to possess credibility, because a cer- tain necessity is present with them. There is no diffi- culty, therefore, in perceiving what relates to these things, and mi narrating what is contingent to them ; as also in discussmg those particulars, which if they 'are adapted to our purpose we may amplify [by asserting] that these alone are true testimonies. But if they are against us, and favourable to our opponent, then the evi- dence may be invalidated by speaking against the whole genus of examinations and torments. For men tlyough compulsion no less assert what is false than what is true ; since they endure in order that they may not speak the truth, and readily assert what is false, in order that they may be more swiftly liberated from pain. For collateral confirmation, also, it is requisite that examples should be adduced, with which the judges are ac quainted. 94 THE ART OF BOOK I. With respect to oaths, however, there is a fourfold consideration. For we either give and take an oath ; or we do neither. Or we do the one, but not the other. And of these either an oath is given, but not taken ; or It IS taken, but not given. Again, either we have sworn before, and are accused by our opponent of per- jury, or the opponent swears and is accused of per- jury. He therefore who does not offer an oath to his opponent []may say] that men are easily perjured ; and that his opponent if he should take an oath, would not restore the money, but if he did not take an oath, he should think the judges would condemn him. He may also add, that as the affair is dangerous, it is better to commit it to the judges ; for he believes in them, but not in his opponent. [He likewise who does not take the oath which is offered him, may say] that he does not take it, because he is unwilling to swear for money; and that if he was a bad man he would take an oath ; fer it is better to be depraved for the sake of something than for the sake of nothing. For by taking an oath he will obtain money, but otherwise not. His not taking an oath therefore will be the effect of virtue, and will not be the consequence of the fear of perjury. The saying of Xenophanes, likewise, may be adapted to this affair, that the challenge is not equal of an impious against a pious man, but is just as if a strong man should call upon a weak man to fight with him. He also who takes an oath may say that he takes it, because he con- fides in himself, but not in his opponent. And by inverting the assertion of Xenophanes he may say, that the challenge is equal, if an impious man offers, but a pious man takes an oath. And that it is a dreadful thing CHAP. XVI. RHETORIC. 95 he should not be willing to swear respecting those things for which he thinks it right that the judges should pass sentence on those that take an oafh. But if he offers an oath he may say that it is pious to be willing to commit the affair to the gods ; and that there is no occasion ffor his opponent] to require any other judges ; since the judg- ment of the cause is committed to him through an oath. We may, likewise, say that it is absurd that his opponent shoudnot be willing to swear concerning those things about which he requires others [i. e. the judges] to swear, bmce however, the manner in which we ought to speak according to each [of these four modes,] is evident, it is ikewise evident how we ought to speak according to these modes when combined ; as for instance, if a man IS willing indeed to take, but not to give an oath; or if be gives, but is unwilling to take it ; or if he is willing both to give and take it; or is willing to do neither l^or a combination must necessarily be made from the above-mentioned modes; so that arguments also must necessardy be composed from them. If, however, any one has before taken an oath, and which is contrary fto the present oath,] it must be said that there is no peHury. For to do an injury is a voluntary thing ; but thini which are done by violence and fraud are involuntary. muted m the mmd, and not in the mouth. Bat if the opponent has before sworn, and is now unwilling to abide by his oath, it must be said that he subverts all things who does not adhere to what he has sworn ; for on this account, also, judges that have taken an oath use the laws. ^ And [it may likewise be said in the way of amplification,] shall we rejoice, indeed, that you judges 96 THE ART OF BOOK I. should abide in the decision which you have made, after taking an oath ; and shall not we abide in the oaths which we have taken ? And such other things as may be said for the purpose of amplification. And thus much concerning inartificial credibility. TirE ART OF RHETORIC. BOOK II. CHAPTER I. Such, therefore, are the particulars from which if ,, reqtusue to exhort and dissuade, to blame and pnut to accuse and defend, and such likewise are the opE'and propos«.ons wh,ch are useful in procuring cre«;t these. For concernmg these, and from these emhv memes about each genus of options are pecuLly St judgment ffoTTl ^'''''^T' "^ '^ ^or the sake of juagment (tor [the auditors of orations! iud^e of ^«n sultauons. and justice is judgment) it l ^ZII^LT' ^e o.tor should not only dirL his attention TZ ^ra tK>n, so as to cons der how it mav h. a . • ^ ^^^^' VOL. I. ^ 98 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAP. J. RHETORIC. IS of great consequence in procuring belief, especially indeed in counsels, and afterwards in judgments, that the speaker should appear to be properly qualified, and that he should be well affected towards the auditors ; and besides this, if the auditors also are properly disposed. That the speaker, therefore, should appear to be properly quaHfied, is more useful in counsels [than in judgments ;] but for the hearer to be well disposed, is more useful in judgments. For the same things do not appear to those that love and hate, nor to those that are irascible and those that are mild ; but either they appear entirely dif- ferent, or different in magnitude. For to the friend, he concerning whom he forms the judgment, will not appear to have acted unjustly, or will appear to have acted so in a small degree ; but to him who hates, the contrary will take place. And to him who desires, and is in good hope [of possessing what he desires] if that which is to come is pleasant, it also appears that it will be, and that it will be good ; but to him who has no desire, and no expectation of a thing, the contrary will take place. There are three causes, therefore, through which men become worthy of belief; for so many are the things through which we believe, besides demonstrations. And these are prudence, virtue and benevolence. For men are false in what they say, or in the counsels they give, either on account of all these, or on account of some one of these. For either they do not think rightly through imprudence ; or they do not speak what appears to be tjrue, in consequence of their depravity ; or they are pru- dent asd worthy, but not benevolent. Hence, it hap- f>ens that those do not give the best counsels who know toow to give them. And these are the only things through 99 which they fail. It Js necessary, therefore, that he who appears to possess all these, should be conJidered by his auditors as worthy of belief. Whence thZf ^ trom the divisions of the virtues • fnr f. u worthy, he may also cause another to become so Tnn cernmg benevolence, however, and friendTh p "e mu" now speak, m discussing what pertains to thepasW But the passions are those things, on account of which men bemg changed, differ in their judgments Jd to wh,ch pleasure and pain are consequeit. ' xTe pa^nT therefore, are such as anger, pity fear anH n!h fu- ' of this tmH o„j .u .^' ' ^"" °^"^'' things or tnis kmd, and the contraries to these. It is necessary, however, to give a threefold division to the particulars about each. I say, for instlnc" about anger Cwe should consider] how men are ZosS when they are angry, what the things are at whkS Z !""^^°T.V° "^^ ^ W ^"'^ -hat the qud y L 7f the thmgs wh.ch are the subjects of their anger. '^For if we only possess a knowledge of one or two' but noTof orsT r;" '' "yr^' ^° -- Vein tCau ditors J And m a similar manner in the other passions fhe same {'/''"'"'''^ propositions, we shall likewise do ^e same m cons.dermg the passions, and divide them atter the same manner. 100 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAPlTiR II. Let anger, therefore, be the appetite in man of appa- rent revenge in conjunction with pain, in consequence of a seeming neglect or contempt of himself, or of some one belonging to him. If, therefore, anger is this, it is necessary that he who is angry should always be angry with some particular person ; as for instance, with Cleon, but not with man ; and that he is angry because Cleon has done or intended to do something to himself, or to some one belonging to him. It is also necessary that a certain pleasure arising from the hope of revenge, should be consequent to all anger. For it is pleasant for a man to fancy that he shall obtain the object of his desire ; but no one aspires after those things which appear to him to be impossible. He who is angry, however, aspires after things which it is possible for him to obtain. Hence it is well said [by Achilles'3 concerning anger, that. Anger increases in the mortal breast, Sweeter than trickling honey to the taste. Foi a certjun pleasure is consequent to anger both on- ' In Iliad, 18. CHAP. n. RHETORIC. 101 this account, and because the thoughts of those who are angry are entirely employed on revenge. The nhan tasy therefore, or imagination which is then ingenerated in the soul, produces pleasure, in the same manner as the imagination whicJi is ingenerated in dreams. that which appears to deserve no regard ; (for we con- ceive that both good and evil, and what contributes To hese are worthy of attention, but such things as are no- thing, or veiy trifling, we conceive to be of no worth whatever)-hence, there are three species of neglect, viz contempt, insolence and contumely. For that which men despise they neglect ; since they despise that which they conceive to be of no worth ; and those things which are of no worth they neglect. He also who insults another person appears to despise him ; for insult is an impedi- ment to the will of another person, not that he who offers the insult may derive a certain advantage himself, but Uiat he may prevent the person insulted from deriving it Since, therefore, he does not expect to derive any ad- vantage himself, he neglects the other person. For it is evident that he does not apprehend any injury will accrue to himself from the insult ; since if he did, he would be atraid, and would not neglect [the person he insults :] nor any advantage to the person insulted, which deserves to be mentioned ; for if he did, he would be anxious to make him his friend. He, also, who acts contumeliously towards another neglects him ; for contumely is to injure and pain another person in those things in which shame befalls the sufferer, and this not that any thing else may ' be done to him than what is done, but that he may re- ceive pleasure from the act. For those who return an 102 THE ART OF BOOK II mjury do not act contumeliously, but take revenge. The cause, however, of pleasure to those that calumniate is this, that they fancy they excel in a greater degree by acting ill. Hence, young men and those that are rich are contumelious ; for they fancy that they thus acquire a superiority to others. But ignominy pertains to con- tumely ; and he who disgraces another neglects him. For that which is of no worth, has no honour either of evil or good. Hence, Achilles when angry says, And, The affront my honour stains. While he my valour's guerdon thus detams.* Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the vilest slave,* As being enraged on account of these things. Men also think it fit that they should be greatly honoured by those who are inferior to them in birth, in power, in virtue, and in short, in that in which they very much excel another person ; as for instance, the rich man excels the poor man in money ; the rhetorician excels in speaking him who is unable to speak; the governor him who is governed ; and he who fancies himself worthy to com- mand, him who deserves to be commanded. Hence, it is said. And, Great is the wrath of Jove-descended kings." For tho' we deem the short-Iiv'd fury past, *Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.* ' IHad, 9. 3 Iliad, 2. * Iliad, 9. ♦ IHad, 1. CH4P, li. RHETORIC. lOS d^cv MeT ?l^^' .°" '"°""' °^ ^h«'- transcen- dency. Men, hkew.se, think that they oupht to be greatly honoured by those by whom any one sLw J«.k they ought to be benefited; but thesl aresu r s they have benefited, or do benefit, either they themX^ o some one belonging to them, or such as t'hey dotS^' or have wished to benefit. ^ ' It is now therefore manifest from these things how men are d.sposed when they are angry, and with'whoj and from what causes they are angry. For they aT^ angry, mdeed when they are aggrieved! For he who aggrieved des.res something ; whether he is aggneved by any opposuton directly made against him, as^w^e^a man ts prevented from drinking that is thirsty ; or if an opposuton IS not directly made against him! yet ir an t'o' Wm'o d '""'""'^ -' °^ '■' ^"^ °"^ -' - "4 to him, or does not co-operate with him; or if any thin^ dse disturbs him thus disposed,-from all these cir urn' Unces he is angry. Hence the sick, the poor, thoTe that are m love, those that are thirsty, and in shor those that desire any thing, and do not act rightly, are disposS to be angry, and are easily provoked, ^d elpeciallT^^ those that neglect their present condition.^ Thusl^r mstance. the sick are angry with those that neglect thm m things pertaining to their disease; the poor wkh those that neglect them in things pertaining to 7k2 like affair.; and lovers with those that neglect them in arnatory concerns ; and in a similar manner in othe^ thmgs For each is prepared to exercise his anger gainst those that neglect them, by the inherent passiL Farther still, men are likewise disposed to be angry when 104 THE ART OF BOOK 11. things happen contrary to their expectation. For that which is very much contrary to opinion is more gnevousi just as what is very much contrary to opinion produces dehght, if that which is wished for is accomplished. Hence, also, seasons and times, and dispositions and ages render it apparent what kind of persons are easily dis- posed to anger, and when and where; and that when they are most in these circumstances, they are most easily excited to anger. Men, likewise, are angry with those that laugh at, deride and mock them; for by so acting they insult them. They are also angr>- with those that offend Aem in such things as are indications of contumely. But it is necessary that these should be things of such a kmd, as are not directed to any other end, and are of no advantage to those that do them ; for they appear to be done solely through contumely. Men also are angry with those that defame and despise things to which they are most devoted. Thus for instance, those that are ambitious of excelling in philosophy, are angry with those who speak contemptuously of philosophy ; those who pay great attention to the form and beauty of the body, are angry with those that despise it; and in a similar manner in other things. This also is much more the case, if they suspect that they either do not at all pos- sess these things, or do not firmly possess them, or do not appear to do so. But when they fancy they very much excel in those things for which they are reviled, they pay no attention to the scoffs of others. Men are likewise angry with their friends more than with those that are not their friends ; for they think it is more pro- per that they should be benefited by them than not. CHAP. II. RHETORIC. 10.5 They are also angry with those who have been accus- tomed to honour, or pay attention to them, if they no longer associate with them as formerly ; for they fancy that by so acting they are despised by them. They are likewise angry with those that do not return the kind ness which they have received, nor make an equal re- compense; and also with those who act contrary to them, if they are their inferiours ; for all such things appear to be attended with contempt ; the one indeed as ot mferiours, but the other as by inferiours. They are also angry in a greater degree, if they are despised by men of no account ; for anger was supposed by us to arise from undeserved neglect or contempt ; but it is fit that inferiours should not despise their superiours Men likewise are angry with their friends if they do not speak or act well, and still more so, if they do the con- traries to these. Also, if they are not sensible of their wants ; as was the case with the Plexippus of Antipho when he was angry with Meleager ; for it is a sign of neglect not to be sensible [of the wants of a friend ;] since those things are not concealed from us to which we pay attention. They are likewise angrv with those that rejoice in their misfortunes, and in short with those who are not at all concerned when they are in adversity ; for this is an indication either of hostility or neglect. Also with those who pay no attention to them when they are aggrieved ; on which account they are angry with those who are the messengers of evil. And likewise with those who [willingly] hear or see their maladies ; for in this case, such persons resemble either those who ne- glect them, or their enemies. For friends condole [with their fnends] in their afflictions ; and all men grieve on surveying their own maladies. They are Ukewise angry 106 THE ART OF BOOK IK With five kinds of persons by whom they are neglected ; with those with whom they stand in competition for honour ; with those they admire ; with those by whom they wish to be admired ; with those whom they reve- rence ; and with those by whom they are reverenced. For if they are neglected by any of these, they are in a greater degree angry. They are also angry with those who despise them, by injuring their parents, children, wives, and such as are in subjection to them, and whom it would be disgraceful in them not to assist. Likewise with those that are ungrateful ; for neglect or contempt from these is unbecoming. They are also angry with such as employ irony and dissimulation towards those who are seriously employed ; for irony pertains to con- tempt. Likewise with those that benefit others, but not themselves ; for this also indicates contempt, not to think a man deserving of that which all other persons are thought to deserve. Forgetfulness also is productive of anger, as for instance, of names, though it is but a trifling thing. For forgetfulness seems to be an indication of neglect; since oblivion is produced from negligence; and negligence is inattention. And thus we have shown who the persons are by whom anger is excited, how they are disposed, and from what causes others are angry with them. It is likewise evident that an orator ought to frame his auditors to such a temper as they are in when they are angry, and show that the opponents are guilty of those things which excite anger, and that they are such persons as men are accustomed to be angry with. aiMat«ia-> mhi/i.-va'atJu&M^-jijaa.Uiiii.i:^ .3i!i*:jjj»'.'-«ifc,aMagaMi3'8waMsa!'.-s> .wj- A'j8-iir!iiiiillitt!ia»BS'j CHAP. Ill, RHETORIC 107 CHAPTER IIL Since, however, the being angry is contrary to the being placable, and anger is contrary to placability, the disposition of those that are placable must be considered, who those persons are to whom they conduct themselves with placability, and through what causes they become so. Let placability then be a remission and suppression of anger. If, therefore, men are angry with those that neglect them, but neglect is a voluntary thing, it is evident that they will be placable to those who do none of these things, or do them unwillingly, or appear not to have done them voluntarily. They will likewise be placably to those who wish to have done the contrary to what they have done. And also to those who are such towards themselves, as they are towards others; for no one appears to neglect himself. Likewise, to those who acknowledge [their faults,] and repent of them. For considering the pain which they feel as a punishment for what they have done, they cease to be angry. But this is evident from what takes place in punishing ser- vants ; for we punish in a greater degree such of them as deny [the fault,] and contradict us ; but we cease to be angry with such of them as acknowledge they are 108 THE ART OF BOOK II. punished justly. The cause, however, of this is that it is impudence to deny what is manifest ; and impudence is neglect and contempt. We feel no shame, therefore, towards those whom we very much despise. Men are placable likewise to those who humble themselves to- wards them, and do not contradict them ; for thus they appear to acknowledge that they are inferior to them j but those that are inferior are afraid; and no one who is afraid is negligent. But that anger ceases towards those who humble themselves, is evident from dogs who do not bite those that prostrate themselves. Men also are placa- ble to those that act seriously, when they are acting seriously themselves; for thus they appear to be thought by them worthy of attention, and not to be despised^. Likewise to those who [if they have injured them in any respect, are afterwards] more grateful to them. Also to those that beg and intreat ; for such persons are more humble. And to those, that are neither contumelious, nor scoffers, nor neglectful, either of any person, or at least not of the worthy, or of such as they themselves are. And in short, men become placable from causes contrary to those which excite to anger. They are like- wise placable to those whom they fear, and reverence • for so long as they are thus disposed towards them they are not angry with them. For it is impossible at one and the same time to be angry with and afraid of a man. With those also who have done any thing through anger, they are either not angry, or they are angry in a less de- gree; for such persons do not appear to have acted from neglect ; since no one who is angry is neglectful. For neglect is unattended with pain ; but anger is accom- panied with pain. They are likewise placable to those CHAP. in. that RHETORIC. 109 temper' """"' ^''"'''' ''''''"" '^ '^""^'^^ '° <^on. 4 J. It is also evident that men are placable vvhen they are n a disposmon contrary to anger; as when they aJel sport, when they are laughing, when they are at a festival when they are successful, when they perform any bS happ-ly, when they are full ; and iisW. when the"" without pam, experience a pleasure unattended with indo lence, and are in good hope. They are likewise placa- ble to those by whom they have not been molested for a Jong time, and through whom they have not been ex- cited to recent anger; for time appeases anger. Venge- ance also formerly inflicted on another person, has the power of appeasing a greater anger conceived against some one. Hence, Philocrates answered well, when a certain person said, the people being enraged, why do you not defend yourself? He replied, not yet. But when will you? When I see another person condemned. For men become placable, when they have consumed their anger upon another person ; as it happened to J^rgophilus ; whom the people absolved, though they were more enraged against him than against Callisthenes, whom the day before they had condemned to death. Men also are placable towards those whom they have convicted. And likewise when they see those that are angry suffering a greater evil from their anger than they occasioned to others; for they conceive that such a one IS punished for his anger. Also if they think that they themselves have acted unjustly and suffer justly ; for anger is not excited against that which is just ; since in . this case they do not any longer fancy that they suffer undeservedly. But anger was said by us to be this, [viz .A W*. -A J 110 THli ART OF BOOK 11. to arise from a conception of unmerited contempt.] Hence, it is necessary that offenders should first be punished by words ; for slaves also when thus punished are less indignant. Those likewise are placable who conceive that the persons on whom they inflict punish- ment will not perceive that they are punished by them. For anger is excited against individuals, as is evident from its definition. Hence, Ulysses [in his speech to Polyphemus] rightly calls himself Ulysses the subvertor of cities ; as if he could not have avenged [the injuries of Polyphemus] unless he made him sensible who it was that inflicted the vengeance, and for what it was inflicted. It follows, therefore, that we are not angry with those tJiat are not sensible ; nor any longer with those that are dead, because [we fancy] they have suffered the ex* tremity of evils, and will not be pained by, or sensible of our revenge, which is the object of desire of those that are angry. Hence it is well said by the poet respect- ing Hector, who wished that the anger of Achilles towards him might cease when he was dead, On the deaf earth his rage was spent in vain. It is evident, therefore, that those who wish to render others placable must derive their arguments from these places. For those whose anger is to be appeased, must be rendered such persons as we>ave described; but ttiose persons with whom others are angry must be shown [by the orator] to be such as are to be feared, or that they are worthy of reverence, or that they have deserved well of them, or that they injured them unwillingly, or that they are very much grieved for what they have done. CHAP. IV. RHETORIC. Ill CHAPTER IV. Let us now show who those persons are that are the objects of love and hatred, and why they are so, defining for this purpose what friendship is, and friendly love Let, therefore, friendly love be defined to be, the wish ^ such ,htag, as .„ conceived ,o be g»d „',; ^t he lot of some one for his own sake, and not for the of hi^ r 7 ^"T '^' ^''^' "^^ ^'^^ '^^ endeavour of him who forms the wish to procure such good to the utmost of his power. But he is a friend whf loves, ^d ^ reciprocally beloved ; and those persons conceive them- selves to be friends, who think they are thus disposS towards each other. disposed These things, therefore, being supposed, it is necessary that a fnend should be one who reciprocally rejoices Z the good which befals another person, and is naturally pained when that person is aggrieved, and this not on account of any thing else, but on account of the person himself. For all men rejoice when they obtain the object of their wishes, but are aggrieved if the conti^ry takes place ; so that pains and pleasures are an indication of [good and bad] wishes. Those likewise are friends to each other to whom the same things are good and eviL And also those who are friends and enemies to the same 112 THli ART OF SOOK it. persons and things ; for these must necessarily wish the same things ; so that he who wishes the same things to another as to himself, appears to be a friend to that person. Men also love those that have either benefited them, or those that are under their care ; or if their kindness to them has been great, or has been cheerfully exerted^ or seasonably, and for their own sake ; and also such as they think are willing to benefit others. They likewise love the friends of their friends, and those that love the same persons that they love, and who are beloved by those who are beloved by them ; who are likewise ene- mies to those to whom they are enemies, and who hate those whom they hate, and are hated by those who are hated by them. For the same things appear to be good to . all these, and to themselves ; so that they wish the same good to them as to themselves; which was the definition of a friend. Farther still, men love those who are beneficent to them in pecuniary affairs, and in those things which regard their safety. Hence they honour liberal, brave, and just men ; and they consider those to be such who do not live on the property of others. But men of this description are those that live by th^ir own labour; and among these are those that live by agriculture, and of others, especially manual artificers. They also love those that are temperate, because they are not unjust ; and for the same reason they love those that lead a quiet life unmolested by business. We likewise love those to whom we wish to be friends, if they ap- pear to wish to be our friends. But men of this de- scription are such as are good according to virtue, and are celebrated either by all men, or by the best of men. CHAP. IV. RHETORIC. 113 or by those who are admired bv us or hv .f, ,^ admire us. Farther .till i ^ !' ^^ ^^"^ ^^^ Partner stiJl, men Jove those who are aor^ able companions and with whom they can pa^ the Z' ingenuous, who do not reprove the f^uho r.f , '''^ are not studious of contemiorno: I^rt fof I,?' "k' persons are pugnacious ; and thoseThara * '"'^ ypear to .,H things contrary r^:;L7^ iney likewise love those that have eU^r.^ menas. who can give and take a jt ; forh^^t'T"' "' striveto h. facetiou, as wi„ LJ Zl^:^ ^T:: ^ se ves Th T '' "' "^'^ ^° '■^» '^'S^^^h them. whlh J ^^ '° '''"' '^°'' *'^° P^-«^ the good thinl which they enjoy, and especially such among S! hfe. Also those, who neither reprobate the fault, IZ muted by others, nor the benefits conferred on he- for both are attended with defamation. They liW Frsuch as i:t • 1 f "^' '"' "^ ^'y --"-led. tWnk th.v n7u '^"y ''" '^^"'^^ °tJ^^«. they also hmk they will be towards themselves. They like^ love those that are not addicted to slander ^d^ orlr 1!;^'" °"'I '^'' '''- °^ theirUhbour eho^ t";t do not ' T '''' •" ''^•■^ •"-"- AJ- tnose that do not resist them when they are angry or ^riously employed ; for such like persons are puZcC L.kewise those that are seriously dispo^d to,^rS Se^ as for instance, such as admire them; consider thm to 117£L \ "' t •"^'^^' ""'^ ''^^ ^ ^' - 4 "ally thus ^ffe ed m things in which they the^selveT p^ "^^^^^ VOL. X. ^ 114 THE ART OF Book il CHAP. V. cularly wish to be admired, or to appear to be worthy, or pleasant persons. Men also love those that resemble themselves, and are engaged in the same pursuits, pro- vided they are no impediment to them, and their subsist- ence is not derived from the same profession. For thus [what Hesiod says] will take place, viz. that the potter envies the potter. They likewise love those who desire things of which it is at the same time possible for them to be partakers ; for if not, the same thing [which we have just noticed] will thus happen. They also love those towards whom they are so disposed as not to be ashamed of things which are base only according to opi- nion, and towards whom they are ashamed of things which are in reality base. And likewise those by whom they are ambitious to be honoured, or by whom they wish to be emulated, and not to be envied ; for these they either love, or wish to be their friends. They like- wise love those with whom they co-operate in the acqui- sition of some good, lest greater evil should hereafter befal themselves. And also those who similarly love their friends when absent and present -, on which account all men love those who are thus disposed towards the dead. And in short, they love those who very much love their friends, and do not forsake them ; for among the number of good men, they especially love those who are good in what relates to friendship. They likewise love those who do not act with dissimulation towards them ; but men of this description are such as are not ashamed to speak of their own defects. For we have already observed that towards friends, we should be ashamed of things which relate to opinion, \u e. which afe base in opinion only, and not in reality.] If, there- fore, he who is ashamed has not friendly Igve, he who RHETORIC. kind. Beneficence L e.S ,™„* lUe ' '*' >s productive of frienfl«h;„ , i "^^""^ another person they are bestowel F^rThXetcT^rr ^'^^" have been exerted for the sake of the Xnd n7'" '" any other account. ' ^"'^ "°* "" ; CHAPTER V. an.r, in,, ^^ oT^edr^S X^f ^ s.hTl^"'"^"""' '''''' ^'■°™ -'^^^ pertains to our- selves, butenmny may exist independent of what has reference to ourselves Fnr if • ^® aner^nnnfo !• J ^"'^ '^ ^^ conceive a man to be person of a certam description, we hate him. cultleX' 'Tff'-' '^"'^^ ^^'•^"^^ ^'^-^'^^ P-'- persons, a. for mstancc, towards Callias, or So- i: 116 THE ART OF BOOK II. crates ; but hatred is also exerted towards genera them- selves. For every man hates a thief and a sycophant. And anger indeed may be cured by time ; but hatred is incurable. The former, also, desires to give pain ; but the latter is more desirous to do harm. For he who is angry, wishes [that he with whom he is angry] may be sensible of pain ; but with him who hates this is of no consequence. All painful things, however, are objects of sensation ; but those things which are especially evils, viz. injustice and folly, are in the smallest degree objects of sensation ; for the presence of vice is attended with no paiii. And anger, indeed, is accompanied with pain ; but hatred is not ; for he who is angry is pained j but he who hates feels no pain. And the angry man, indeed, pities the subject of his anger, if many evils befal him ; but he who hates, feels no commiseration for the object of his hatred. For the former wishes that he with whom he is angry may reci- procally suffer what he feels ; but the latter wishes that the object of his hatred may no longer exist. From these things, therefore, it is evident, that it is possible [for an orator] to show who those are that are really enemies and friends, and to make those to be such who are not so. He may also dissolve the arguments by which his opponent endeavours to show that some persons are mutually friends or enemies; and that when it is dubious whether a thing was done from anger, or from enmity, . he may persuade the adoption of that part which some one may have deliberately chosen. CHAP. VI. RHETORIC. 117 CHAPTER VI. What kind of things are the objects of fear, and how those that are terrified are affected, will be evident from what follows. Let fear, therefore, be a certain pain or perturbation arising from the imagination of some future evil, which is either of a destructive nature, or attended with molestation. For not all evils are the objects of fear ; such for instance, as injustice or slow- ness ; but such as are capable of producing great moles- tation or destruction ; and these, when they are not re- mote, but seem to be near, so as to be imminent. For thmgs which are very remote are not the objects of fear ; since all men know that they shall die, yet because death IS not near, they pay no attention to it. If, however, fear is this, it is necessary that such things should be terrible as appear to possess a great power of destroying, or are productive of such harm as is attended with great molestation. Hence, also, the indications of thmgs of this kind are terrible ; for the object of fear seems to be near. For danger is this, viz. the approxi^ mation of that which is terrible. Things of this kind, however, are the enmity and anger of those who are able to effect something ; for it is evident that they are both willing and able 5 so that they are near to acting [what 118 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAP. VI. RHETORIC. 119 their enmity and anger may suggest.] Injustice, also, when it possesses power is the object of fear ; for the unjust man is unjust from deliberate choice. Virtue, likewise, when insulted and possessing power is to be feared ; for it is evident that vengeance, when it is in- sulted, is always the object of its deliberate choice ; but now it possesses power. The fear, also, of those who are able to effect something is the object of terror ; for such a one must necessarily be in preparation [for that which he dreads.]] Since, however, the multitude are depraved, are van- quished by gain, and are timid in dangers, to be in the power of another person is a thing for the most part to be feared. Hence, those who have been eye-witnesses of any dreadful deed that has been perpetrated, are to be feared, lest they should divulge it, or desert [him by whom it was committed.] Those, likewise, who are able to do an injury, are always to be feared by those who are capable of being injured ; for men for the most part act unjustly when they are able. Those also are to be feared who either have suffered an injury, or think that they have ; for they always watch for an opportu- nity [of retaliating.] Those too are to be dreaded who would do an injury if they had the power ; for they are afraid of retaliation ; and it was supposed that a thing of this kind is the object of dread. Those, likewise, are to be feared who are competitors for the same things, and which both cannot at one and the same time possess; for between men of this description there is always hosti- lity. Those also who are objects of dread to more powerful men, are to be feared by us ; for they are more able to injure us than they are to injure the more power- ful. For the same reason those persons are to be feared who are dreaded by men more powerful than themselves; and also those who have destroyed men superior to them- selves in power; and those who have attacked men mferior to themselves ; for either they are now to be dreaded, or when their power is increased. Among those that have been injured, likewise, and among enemies and opponents, such as are to be dreaded, are not those that are hasty and choleric, and who speak their mind freely, but those that are mild, who dissem- ble, and are crafty ; for [what they are machinating] is obscure, or nearly so; and hence their designs are never manifest, because they are remote [from observa- tion.] With respect however to every thing that is dreadful, such things are more to be feared, the errors pertaining to which cannot be corrected ; but it is either wholly impossible to correct them, or they cannot be corrected by those that have committed them, but by their adver- saries.^ Those things also are to be feared for which there is no help, or in which assistance cannot easily be obtained. And in short those things are to be feared which when they do or shall happen to others, are lamentable in their consequences. With respect to things which are to be feared, and which are dreaded by men, these, as I may say, are nearly the greatest. Let us now show the manner in which men are affected when they are afraid. If, therefore, fear is attended with the expectation of suffering some destructive evil, it is evident that no one is afraid who thinks that he shall not suffer any evil, and that no one dreads those things which il »Btt!gt;aa'»{litoitVg«aaii8Wlt'B- ■8afaJSa;8H!aa<«-Jfc-rfaiar-J-»MMWa<>».« 120 THE ART OF BOOK II. he does not think he shall suffer, or those persons through whom he does not imagine he shall suffer, nor then when he does not suspect [any evil to be imminent.] Hence, it is necessary that those persons should be afraid who imagine they shall suffer some evil, and from such persons, and in such things, and at such a time. Neither, however, those who are in very prosperous circumstances, and appear to be so to themselves, imagine they shall suffer any evil; (on which account such men are insolent, neglectful and audacious; and riches, strength, a multi- tude of friends, and power, produce such men) nor those who think that they have now suffered dreadfully, and whose hopes with respect to futurity are extinct, as is the case with those who are led to capital punishment. But it is necessary [where there is fear] that there should be some hope of safety, and of escaping the evils which occasion their anxiety ; of which this is an indication, that fear makes men disposed to receive counsel, though no one consults about things that are hopeless. Hence, when it is necessary that the orator should excite fear in his auditors, he must show them that they are such per- sons as may suffer [many] evils, because others greater than them have suffered them. He must also show that men similar to themselyes suffer or have suffered many evils, from those through whom they did not expect to suffer, and that they have suffered these evils and then when they did not imagine they should. CHAP. vir. RHETORIC. 121 CHAPTER VII. Since, however, with respect to fear, it is evident what It IS, and it is also evident what the objects of terror are, and how men are affected when they are afraid, it IB hkew.se manifest from these things what confidence K. what the kind of things are in which men confide and how confident men are disposed. For confidence IS contrary to fear, and that which is the object of con- fidence to that which is the object of dread. Hence cmjidence ts a hope attended mth imagination, that thoil tfmgs xvhch may be salutary to us are near at hand, but that those thmgs which are tlie octets of our dread, either do not eaist, or are remote. But the things which are effective of confidence are events of a dreadful nature, if they are remote, and such as may be confided in if they are near. Evils also which are imminent, if they may be corrected produce confi- dence ; and this is likewise the case when many or great auxiliaries, or both these, against evils, are present. Confidence also is produced, when there are neither any persons who have been injured by us, nor who have injured us. And when either, in short, we have no anta- gonists, or they have no power, or if they have power 122 THE ART OF BOOK II. they are our friends, or have received benefits from, or have conferred benefits on us. Confidence likewise is produced, when those to whom the same things are advantageous as are beneficial to us are many, or superior to us, or both these. Those, however, that are confident in dangers are such as think they can accomplish with rectitude many things, without suffering any evil ; or who, if they frequently fall into great dangers, escape from them. For men become void of perturbation in dangers in a twofold respect, either because they have not experienced them before, or because they have auxiliaries through which they may escape from them. For thus in dangers at sea, those who are unexperienced in its storms are confident they shall escape them ; and also those who have assistance in themselves from their experience. Confidence likewise is produced when there is nothing to be feared from either our equals or inferiors, and those to whom we imagine ourselves to be superior. But we imagine ourselves to be superior to those whom we have either themselves vanquished, or those that are superior to, or resemble them. Men also are confident, if they think those things are present with them in a greater number, and in a greater degree, for which those who excel others are the objects of dread ; and these are, an abundance of riches, strength of body, of friends, of country, of warlike apparatus, and either of all, or of the greatest of these. They are likewise confident if they have injured either no one, or not many, or not such as are the objects of fear. And in short, if they are well disposed with reference to what pertains to the gods, both as to other things, and to what is indicated by CHAP. VIII. RHETORIC. 123 signs and oracles. For anger is attended with confi. dence ; and not to injure, but to be injured, is effective of anger ; but divinity is conceived to give assistance to those that are injured. Men also are confident, when either having first attacked others, they neither do nor are likely to suffer any evil, or think that in so doiW they have acted rightly. And thus much concerning things which are the objects of fear and confidence CHAPTER VIII. What kind of things, however, those are which are the objects of shame, and also those for which men are not ashamed, and towards what persons they are ashamed, and how they are disposed^when under the influence of this passion,] will be evident from what follows. But let sJiame be a certain pain and perturbation with respect to evils either present, or past, or future, which appa^ rently lead to infamy. And let want of shame or impu- dence be a certain contempt and impassivity with respect to these very same things. If, therefore, shame is that which we have defined it to be, a man must necessarily be ashamed of evils of such a kind as appear to him to be base, or to those whom he regards. But things of this kind are such deeds as pro- ceed from vice ; such for instance as, for a soldier 16 124 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAP. vni. RHETORIC. throw away his shield [in battle] or fly ; for this proceeds from timidity. It is likewise base to deny a deposit ; for this is the effect of injustice. And also to lie with wo- men with whom it is not lawful to lie, or where it is not proper, or when it is not proper ; for this proceeds from intemperance. It is likewise base, to seek after gain from minute, or disgraceful, or impossible things ; as from the poor or the dead ; whence also the proverb, to take away from the dead ; for this proceeds from a desire of base gain, and from illiberality. It is also base for a man not to assist others with money when he is able, or to assist in a less degree than he is able. Likewise for a man to receive pecuniary assistance from one less rich than himself, is base ; and for him to take up money at interest, and yet seem to beg ; to beg, and yet seem to demand ; to demand, and yet seem to beg ; to praise a thing, so as that he may appear to beg it ; and though repulsed, to persist no less in begging it. For all these are indications of illiberality. It is likewise base to praise a man to his face ; for this is a sign of flattery ; also to praise above measure what is good, but extenuate what is evil ; to condole immoderately with one who is afliict- ed ; and every thing else of a similar kind ; for these are indications of flattery. It is also base not to endure labours which more elderly or delicate men, or those that have greater authority, or in short those that are more imbecile endure ; for all these are indications of effeminacy. To be benefited likewise by another, and that frequently is base ; and also to reprobate the benefits conferred on another. For all these are indications of pusillanimity and an abject mind. It is also base for a man to speak of himself, and to promise [great things of himself;] and likewise to attribute to himself the deeds of others j for 125 this is a sign of arrogance. In a similar manner in each of the other ethical vices, works, and indications, the like may be found ; for they are base and shameful. In addition to these things also, it is shameful not to participate of those beautiful things of which all men, or all those that resemble each other, or most men partici- pate. But by men that resemble each other I mean, those of the same nation, city, and age, and who are allied to each other ; and in short, those that are of an equal condition. For it is now base not to partake of these things ; as for instance, of such a portion of eru- dition, and of other things in a similar manner. But all these are more shameful when they are seen to happen to any one from himself ; for thus they proceed in a greater degree from vice, when a man is the cause to himself, of past, present, or future evils. Men likewise are ashamed of such things as lead to infamy and dis- grace if they suffer or have suffered, or are to suffer them ; and these are such things as pertain to the minis- trant services either of the body, or of base works among the number of which is having the body abused. Things also are shameful which pertain to intemperance, whether voluntary or involuntary ; but things which per- tain to violence are involuntary. For the endurance of such things unattended with revenge proceeds from sloth and timidity. These, therefore, and the like are the things of which men are ashamed. Since, however, shame is an imagination with respect to ignominy, and shame, on account of ignominy itself, and not on account of the evils virhich attend it ; but no one pays any attention to opinion except on account of 126 THE ART OF BOOK lU those who form the opinion, men must necessarily feel shame in the presence of those whom they regard [when they have acted wrong.] But they regard those who admire them, and those whom they admire, those by whom they wish to be admired, and with whom they contend for honours, and whose opinion they do not despise. They wish, therefore, to be admired by, and they admire those, who are in possession of some good which is honourable, or from whom they very much wish to obtain something which it is in their power to give them J as, for instance, is the case with lovers. Men, however, contend for honours with those that re- semble themselves. But they pay attention to prudent men, as to persons of veracity ; and men of this kind are such as are more elderly, and the erudite. Men also are ashamed of what is before their eyes, and is done openly ; whence the proverb that shame is in the eyes. On this account they are more ashamed before those that are always present with them, and who pay attention to them, because both these are before their eyes. They are likewise ashamed before those who are not obnoxious to the same crimes as themselves ; for it is evident that the opinions of the latter are contrary to those of the former. Before those also they are ashamed who are not disposed to pardon such as appear to act wrong ; for that which a man does himself he is said not to be indignant with in his neighbours ; so that it is evi- dent he will be indignant with crimes which he does not commit himself. They are likewise ashamed before those who divulge to many persons [any thing they have done amiss ;] for there is no difference between the not appearing to have done wrong, and the not divulging it. But those divulge [the faults of others] who have been CHAP* VIII. RHETORIC. 12' injured by them, because they observe their conduct, and also those who are given to defamation (for if they de- fame those who have not acted wrong, much more will they defame those that have.) Those also divulge [what they see or hear] who are attentive to the faults of others, such as those that deride, and comic poets ; for in a certain respect they are given to defamation and are babblers. Men likewise are ashamed before those by whom they have never been repulsed, but have obtained what they wished ; for they are disposed towards them, as towards persons whom they admire. Hence, also' they feel shame before those who have for the first time asked any thing of them, as not having yet done any thing by which they might lose their good opinion. Of this kind likewise are such as recently wish to be friends ; for they have perceived qualities of the most excellent nature in us. Hence, the answer of Euripides to the Syracusans was well, [when they desired his friendship.] Among those likewise who were formerly known to us we feel shame before such of them as are not conscious [of any crime we may have committed.] Men also are not only ashamed of disgraceful things, but of the indications of such things. Thus for instance they are not only ashamed of the act of venery, but likewise of the indications of it ; and not only when they do base things, but when they speak of them. In a similar man- ner, also, they are not only ashamed before the above- mentioned persons, but before those who may divulge their actions to them, such as the servants and friends of these. In short, men are not ashamed before those whose opinion with respect to veracity, is despised by many persons ; for no one is ashamed before children and brutes. Nor are men ashamed of the same thintrs 128 THE ART OF BOOK II. before persons that they know, and those who are unknown to them ; but before those whom they know, they are ashamed of such things as are base in reality, and before those that are unknown, of such things as are legally base. Men likewise when they are ashamed, are affected in the following manner. In the first place, when they are present with persons of such a description as we have shown those to be before whom they are ashamed ; but these were such as are either admired by them, or who admire them, or by whom they wish to be admired, or from whom they are in want of something advan- tageous, which they will not obtain if they are without renown. Men also are ashamed when they are seen by such persons as these, as Cydias the orator said respect- ing the division of the lands in Samos ; for he desired the Athenians to suppose that they were surrounded by the Greeks in a circle, not only as hearers, but as spec- tators of their decrees. And they are likewise ashamed, if such persons are near them, or are likely to be spec' tators of their actions. Hence, those that are unfortu. nate are unwilling to be seen by those that emulate them; for emulators are admirers. Men also are ashamed when they have any thing which disgraces the actions and affairs, either of themselves, or of their ancestors, or of certain other persons, with whom they have any alHance ; and in short, they are ashamed before those of whom they are themselves ashamed. But these are such persons as the above mentioned, and those who are referred to them, of whom they have been the preceptors or counsellors. They are likewise ashamed if there are other persons resemblbg themselves with whom they CHAP. IX. RHETORIC. 129 contend for honorary d.stinctions; for from shame they both do and om,t to do many things on account of mel of this descnpfon. Men also feel more ashamed when hey are about to be seen, and converse openly wiS those who are conscious Cof their actions J H^, command of T "'" '' "" ''' ^° P""'^^"- ^y ^^^ command of Dionysms, on seeing those who were to be executed with him. having their faces covered as they passed through the gates of the prison, said, why do you cover your faces ? Will any one of these see you'to-rn'or- row. And thus much concerning shame. But with respect to impudence, it is evident that we shall abound with what ,s to be said about it from contraries. CHAPTER IX. Those, however, to whom men are grateful and in -hat they are grateful, or how they arf affectd "1 „ they are so, will be evident when we have defined Ihat a favour or kmdness is. Let a favour, therefore, be that accordmgjo whtck he ^ho possesses a thing, is said to confer a favour m him -who is in want of it, not that he may receive any thing from him, nor that any advantage may accrue to the driver htt thm h^ r,.i - - ^ be benefited, "'" " "^. ^'^^ """^ ^^^^^* VOL. I. J 130 THE ART OF BOOK lU But a favour is great when it is conferred, either on one who is very much in want of it, or the favour itself consists of things which are great and difficult to obtain, or is bestowed opportunely, or when he who bestows it is the only one, or the first that bestows it, or who espe- cially bestows it. Wants, however, are appetites or desires, and of these particularly such as are accom- panied with pain when the desired object is not obtained. But of this kind, are such desires as love, and also those which take place in the maladies of the body, and in dangers ; for he who is in danger desires, and likewise he who is in pain. Hence, those who relieve men that are in poverty or in exile, though the relief be but small, yet on account of the magnitude of the want, and the seasonableness of the relief, they confer a favour ; as was the case with him who gave a mat [to a poor exile] in the Lyceum. It is necessary, therefore, that he who confers a favour must especially confer it in the above- mentioned circumstances ; but if not in these, in such as are equal or greater. Hence, since it is evident when and in what things a favour is to be conferred, and how those are affected that bestow a favour, it is likewise manifest that from hence, arguments must be derived for the purpose of showing that others are or have been in such like pain and want, and that those who relieved them in such want, relieved them by supplying what was mentioned. It is likewise manifest whence it may be shown that a favour has not been conferred, and that no gratitude is due, either by evincing that it is or has been conferred for the sake of those that bestowed it \ and that is not a CHAP. X. RHETORIC. 131 favour. Or it may be shown that it was conferred casually or by compulsion. Or that a kindness was returned but not conferred, whether knowinglv or not • for in both ways one thing is given for anotherV so thaJ said ,1" '' ^'' r" ' '^ ^ '^^^^^- W^^^ - have said likewise must be considered in all the categories. For It IS a favour, either because this particular thin^ is given, or so much, or a thing of such a quality, or at such a time, or in such a place. But the signs [that a favour has not been conferred] are if less has been done than at another time. And if the same, or equal, or gr^^ter things have been conferred on enemies ; for it is evident in this case, that these things have not been bestowed for our sakes. Or if things of a vile nature have been bestowed knowingly; for no one will acknow- ledge that he is in want of vile things. And thus much concermng conferring and not conferring a favour CHAPTER X. Let us now show what pity is, how men that commi- serate others are affected, and what things and persons are the objects of pity. But let pity be a certain pain arising from an apparent destructive and dohrijic evil ivhich befak some one undeservedly, and which he who 132 THE ART OF BOOK 11, feels this pain^ or some one belonging to him may e{ them. Their anger also is sharp, but imbecile. And their desires partly fail, and partly are weak ; so that they are neither prone to desire, nor disposed to act according to its impulse, but they act with a view to gain. Hence, those who are so far advanced in age appear to be temperate ; for their desires become remiss, and they are subservient to gain. They likewise live more from reasoning than from manners ; for reasoning is directed to that which is advantageous ; but manners are directed to virtue. They injure others also from malevolence, and not from insolence. Old men likewise are compas- sionate as well as young men, but not from the same cause ; for young men are compassionate from philan. thropy, but old men from imbecility; for they fancy that all evils are near them ; and this was the definition of a compassionate man. Hence, also, they are queru- lous, and are neither facetious, nor lovers of laughter ; for the querulous disposition is contrary to that which is addicted to laughter. Such, therefore, are the manners of young and elderly men.^ Hence, too, since every one willingly admits orations adapted to his manners, and which exhibit similar manners [in the orator], it is not immanifest what the manners are which an orator ought to express in his oration, so that they may be readily heard by the young or the old. CHAP, XVI. RHETORIC. 151 CHAPTER XVI. With respect to those, however, who are in the acme of life, it is evident that their manners will be between those of youth and old men, so as to take away the ex- cess of eaqh. And they are neither very confident ; for audacity is a thing of such a kind as confidence ; nor very timid, but are disposed in a becoming manner with respect to both these. Nor do they confide in all men, nor disbelieve all men, but are more disposed to judge according to truth. And neither do they alone live with a view to what is beautiful in conduct, nor with a view to what is advantageous, but with a view to both. Nor are they inclined to parsimony, nor yet to luxury, but to that [mode of life] which is appropriate, and fit./ They are aJso disposed in a similar manner with respect to anger and desire; and they are temperate in conjunc- tion with fortitude, and brave in conjunction with tem- perance. For these virtues are distributed in the young and the old ; since young men indeed are brave and in- temperate, but elderly men temperate and timid. In short, the advantages which are distributed among the young and the old, subsist in conjunction in those who are in the acme of life ; but such things as exceed, or are deficient in the young and the old, of these, that which is moderate and fit, [is possessed by men in the 152 THE ART OF BOOK II. Yigour of their age.] But the body, indeed, is in its acme from thirty to five and thirty years of age, but the soul about the forty ninth year. And thus much con- cerning the manners of youth, and oW age, and those who are in the acme of life. CHAPTER XVIL CHAP. xvnr. RHETOR re. 153 are abject. For there is a fertility in the progenies of men. m the same manner as in the productions of the earth. And sometimes if the stock is good, illustrious men are for a time produced ; but afterwards, there is agam a remission of fecundity. The progeny, also, which possessed an excellent disposition degenerates into more insane manners, as was the case with the offspring of Alcibmdes, and the elder Dionysius. But progeny of a stable disposition degenerate into stupidity and sloth'- as was the case with the descendants of Cimon, Pericle/ and Socrates. "' Let us in the next place speak concerning the goods derived from fortune, through which it happens that the manners of men become such as they are. The man- ners, therefore, of nobility are indeed such as render him' who possesses it more ambitious; for all men when any good is present with them are accustomed to accumulate it ; but nobility is a certain dignity of ancestors. But it is peculiar to those of noble birth to despise those who resemble their ancestors, [i. e. who have recently obtained those goods which their ancestors formerly possessed ;] because remote renown is more honourable than that which is recently obtained, and is attended with greater glory. A man. however, is noble from the virtue of lineage ; but he is generous through not degenerating from the nature [of his ancestors ;] which for the most part is not the case with men of noble birth, since many of them CHAPTER XVIII. But the manners which are consequent to wealth mar be easily seen by all men. For rich men are insolent and proud, and these manners they derive from the pos- session of wealth ; since they are affected in the same manner as if they possessed every good. For wealth is as It were the test by which the worth of other things is estimated ; on which account it appears that all things may be purchased by it. Rich men also are luxurious and boastful; luxurious, indeed, from their dehcate mode of living, and the ostentation of their felicity ; but they are boastful and of barbarous manners, because all men are accustomed to dwell upon that which is beloved <.- 154 THE ART OF BOOK !!• and admired by them; and because they fancy that others are emulous of that which is the object of their emula- tion. At the same time, however, they are deservedly thus affected ; for many are in want of the riches which they possess, whence, also, that saying of Simonides re- specting wise and rich men, in answer to the wife of king Hiero who asked him whether it was better to become a rich than a wise man ; for he replied, that it was better to be a rich man ; because wise men, said he, are seen wait- ing at the doors of the rich. They are also thus affected because they fancy themselves worthy to govern ; for they fancy they possess those things for the sake of which government is thought worthy of being obtained. And in short, the manners of the rich are the manners of one who is stupidly happy. The manners of the wealthy, however, who have recently become rich, differ from the manners of those who have derived their wealth from their ancestors in this, that the former have all vices in a greater degree, and with more depravity ; for wealth recently acquired is as it were a certain inerudition of riches. Rich men also injure others not from malevo- lence, but partly from insolence, and partly from intem- perance ; as when from the former they strike others, and from the latter commit adultery. CHAP. XIX. RHETORIC. -155 CHAPTER XIX. Thus too, most of the manners pertaining to power are nearly evident ; for power has partly the same, and partly better manners than wealth. For men in power are as to their manners more ambitious and more virile than rich men, because they aspire after those employ- ments which they are capable of performing through their power. They are likewise more diligent, as being compelled to direct their attention to things pertaining to power. They are also more venerable than severe ; for dignity renders them more conspicuous ; on which account they are moderate in their conduct. But vene* rableness is a mild and decorous gravity. And if they act unjustly, it is not in small affairs, but in things of great consequence. Prosperity, likewise, as to its parts, has the manners of the above-mentioned characters, [viz. of the noble, the rich, and the powerful ;] for those prosperities which appear to be the greatest tend to these. And farther still, prosperity prepares us to abound in a good offspring, and in the goods pertaining to the body. Powerful men, therefore, are more proud and inconsiderate, on account of their prosperity. Among the manners^ hoxvever^ 1.^6 THE ART OF BOOK ir« Ki'hkh are attendant on good fortune^ there is one which is most excellent^ and it is this, that the fortunate are lovers of divinity^ and are well disposed towards a divine nature ; for they believe in it [in a becoming mafiner,'] in coiisequence of the goods proceeding fiom fortune^ And thus much concerning the manners of men accord- ing to age and fortune ; for the manners which are con- trary to the before-mentioned, are evident from contrary [fortunes ;] viz. from the fortunes of the poor, the un- fortunate,, and the powerless. \ ^-.^Jn,. (^. A^]C^j it ^^^^ .v.. CHAPTER XX. Th£ use, however, of persuasive orations pertains to judgment ; for we no longer require arguments about things which we know, and of which we have formed a judgment. And though it be but one person alone whom the orator endeavours to exhort or dissuade, as is the case with those who admonish or persuade, yet that one per- son is a judge ; for he whom it is necessary to persuade, is, in short, a judge. And the like takes place, whether the oration is directed against the litigant, or against the hypothesis ; for it is necessary that an oration should be employed, and that the contrary arguments should be CHAP. XX. RHETORIC. 157 subverted, against which, as against a litigant, the oration is made. A similar method must also be adopted in demonstrative orations ; for in these the speech is di- rected to the spectators as to judges. In short, he alone is, simply speaking, a judge, who in political contests judges the subjects of investigation. For [in such con- tests] the manner in which things of a dubious nature subsist is investigated, and also those which are the sub- jects of consultation. Concerning the manners of poli- tics, however, we have already spoken in what we have said about deliberative affairs ; so that it is there explained in what manner, and through what particulars we may produce ethical orations. But since about every kind of orations there is a certain different end, and about all of ♦them opinions and propositions are assumed, from which those who consult, demonstrate, and dispute, derive cre- dibility ; and farther still, since we have also discussed those particulars, from which it is possible to compose ethical orations ; — it remains that we should discuss such things as are common. For it is necessary that all rhe- toricians in orations [of every kind] should employ what pertains to the possible and impossible, and should en- deavour to show that some things will be, and that others have been. The consideration, likewise, of mag- nitude is common to all orations ; for all orations, whe- ther they persuade or dissuade, whether they praise or blame, accuse or defend, employ diminution and ampli- fication. But these things being determined, let us en- deavour to discuss in common what pertains to enthy* memes and examples, in order that by adding what remains we may bring to an end what we proposed from the first. Of things however which are common, amph% ^cation is most adapted to demonstrative orations, as we 158 THE ART OF BOOK ir. have before observed ; but that which has been done is most adapted to judicial orations (for judgment is em- ployed about these) ; and the possible and what will be done are most adapted to deliberative orations. In the first place, therefore, let us speak concerning things possible and impossible. If then it is possible for one contrary to be, or to be effected, it would seem to be possible that the other contrary also may be. Thus, for instance, if it is possible that a man may be restored to health, it is also possible that he may be diseased ; for there is the same power of contraries so far as they are contraries. And if one similar is possible, another simi- lar likewise is possible. And if that which is more diffi- cult is possible, that also which is more easy is possible. If, likewise, it is possible for a thing to be rendered good or beautiful, it is possible, in short, for that thing to be produced ; for it is more difficult for a beautiful house, than for a house simply, to exist. That also of which the beginning is possible the end is possible ; for nothing is effected, nor begins to be effected, of things which are impossible. Thus, for instance, it will never begin to be possible, nor will it ever be possible, that the diagonal of a square should be commensurable with the side of the square. That of which the end, likewise, is possible, the beginning is possible ; for all things are produced from the beginning or principle. If that, also, which is posterior in essence, or in generation, is possible to be . effected, this is likewise the case with that which is prior; as, if it is possible for a man, it is also possibk for a child, to be generated ; for the latter is prior to the former. And if it is possible for a child to be generated, it is likewise possible for a man j for a child is the beginning, CHAP. XX. RHETORIC. 1$9 [but man is the end of this generation.] Those things, also, of which the love or desire is from nature, are pos- sible; for no one for the most part loves or desires things impossible. And it is possible for those things to be and to be effected, of which there are sciences and arts. Those things likewise are possible, the principle of the generation of which is in those things which we can compel, or persuade ; and these are things than which we are more powerful, or of which we are the masters or friends. And of those things of which the parts are possible, the whole is possible ; and of those things of which the whole, the parts also are for the most part pos- sible. For if it is possible for the ornaments of the head, and a garment to be made, it is also possible for apparel to be made ; and if apparel, it is likewise possible for the ornaments of the head, and a garment to be made. If, likewise, the whole genus is among the number of things possible to be effected, this is also the case with the species ; and if with the species, likewise with the genus. Thus, for instance, if it is possible for a ship, it is also possible for a three-banked galley to be construct- ed ; and if a three-banked galley, a ship likewise may be constructed. And if one of those things which are na- turally related to each other is possible, the other also is possible ; as if the double is possible, this is also the case with the half ; and if the half, the double also. If, like- wise, it is possible for any thing to be effected without art or preparation, it is much more possible for it to be effected through art and diligent attention ; whence, also, it is said by Agatho, Some things by fortune may effected be. And some by art we do, and from necessity. 160 THE ART OF BOOK II. And if a thing may be effected by worse, or inferior, or more imprudent persons, it may also be much more effected by persons of a contrary description ; as likewise Isocrates said, that it would be a dreadful thing, if Eu- thynus should have learnt that, which he himself was unable to discover. But with respect to things impos- sible, it is evident that they may be obtained from the contraries to the above-mentioned particulars. Whether a thing, however, has been done, or has not been done, must be considered from what follows. For in the first place, if that has been done, which is less naturally adapted to have been done, that will have been effected which is more naturally adapted to have been done." And if that which was wont to be done after- wards has been done, that also has been done, which was usually done before ; as if a man has forgotten any thing, he has once learnt that which he has forgotten. And if a man is able and willing to do a thing he has done it ; for all men act, when they are willing and able; since there is then no impediment to their acting. Far- ther still, if a man is willing to do a thing, and nothing external impedes him, he does it. And if he is able to effect any thing, and is angry, he effects it ; and this is likewise the case if he is able, and is under the influence of desire. For men for the most part do those things which they desire, and are able to effect ; depraved men, indeed, from intemperance; but worthy men because they desire what is equitable. If, also, any one intended ^ ' Thus It IS more difficult to injure another person In deeds than in words. Hence, if some one has injured another in deeds, he has iilso injured him in words. \ CHAP. XX. RHETORIC. 161 to do a thing, it is probable that he did it. And if such things are done as are naturally adapted to be done prior to a certain thing, or for the sake of it, [that thing has been done.] Thus, if it has lightened, it has also thun. dered. And if any one has endeavoured to do a certain thing, he has also done it. And if such things as are naturally adapted to have been done afterwards, or if that for the sake of which they are done has been ef. fected, that also which is done prior to them, and for the sake of which they are done, has been effected. Thus -if It has thundered, it has lightened ; and if a thing has been done, there has likewise been an endeavour to do It. With respect, however, to all these things, some of them are from necessity ; but others for the most part subsist after this manner. And as to that which has not been done, it is evident that it may be shown not to have been done from places contrary to the before-men. tioned. Evidence, likewise, with respect to what will be done may be derived from the same things ; for that which it is m the power and will of any one to do, will be done. This IS also the case with things which any one is im- pelled to do from desire and anger, and reasoning in conjunction with power. Hence, if any one is impelled, or meditates to do a thing, it will be done ; since for the most part things which are intended to be done are ef- fected, rather than those which are not. If, also, those things are done which ought to have been done first, that likewise will be done, which ought to have been done afterwards. Thus, because before it rains the clouds ought to be collected, if the clouds are collected. Arist. VOL. I. 162 THE ART OF BOOK II. it is probable it will rain. And if a thing has been dona which is for the sake of something else, it is probable that the thing will be done for the sake of which the other was done ; as if the foundation is laid, it is pro- bable the house will be built. CHAP. XXI. RHETORIC. 1C3 With respect, however, to the magnitude and parvi- tude of things, the greater and the less, and in short things which are great and small, these will be evident to us from what has been before said ; for in the discus- sion of the deliberative genus we have spoken concerning the magnitude of what is good, and in short, concerning the greater and the less. Hence, since in every oration the proposed end is good ; as for instance, the useful, the beautiful, and the just, it is evident that through these, amplifications must be assumed in all orations. But besides these, to investigate any thing concerning magnitude simply and excess, is a vain discussion. For particulars are more useful pn the composition of orations] than universals. And thus much concerning the possi- ble and impossible, and whether a thing has been done, or has not been done, and will be, or will not be ; and further still, concGrning the greatness and littleness of things. CHAPTER XXr. It now remains to speak about the credibility which is common to all [orations], since we have already spoken about the credibility which is peculiar. But there are two kinds of the credibility which is common, viz. ex- ample and enthymeme; for a sentence is a part of an enthymeme. In the first place, therefore, let us speak eoncernmg example ; for example is similar to indue tion ; but induction is a principle.' ^ But of examples there are two species ; for one spe- cies indeed of example, is to speak of things that are past, but the other is, when we ourselves feign [something simi! lax for the purpose of showing that which we wish to show.] And of this, one species is a parable, but the other fables like those of iEsop and the Africans. Ex- ample, however, is indeed a thing of the following kind, as if some one should say, <^ That it is necessary to make preparations against the Persian king, and not suffer him to subjugate Egypt ; for prior to him Darius could not pass over [the Hellespont] till he had captured ■ As in the sciences induction is employed as a principle for the purpose of proving universals, so in rhetoric txamvU is employed in order to unfold them. 164 THE ART OF BOOK 11. Egypt ; but when he had captured It, he passed into Greece*" And again, " Xerxes did not attack Greece till he had captured Egypt ; but when he had captured it, he passed over into Greece; so that this king [of Persia] also, if he should take Egypt will pass into Greece. Hence, he must not be suffered to do this." But a parable is a Socratic similitude ; as if some one should say, *' That it is not proper magistrates should be chosen by lot ; for this is just as if some one should choose athletse by lot, so as not to select those vyho are able to contend, but those on whom the lot falls ; or as if some one should choose by lot from a number of sailors, him who ought to be the pilot of a ship, as if it were proper that he should be chosen on w^hom the lot falls, and not he who is skilled in steering a ship." But a fable is such as that of Stesichorus against Phalaris, and of jEsop for a certain demagogue. For, when the Himerians had chosen Phalaris for their general with absolute authority, and were about)sto give him a guard for .his body, Stesichorus after other things which he had said, addressed this fable to them, " That a horse [once] had sole possession of a meadow, but that a stag coming into it, and destroying the pasture, the horse wishing to be revenged of the stag, asked a man, if he should be able in conjunction with him to punish the stag. But the man answered, that he should be able if he would suffer himself to be bridled, and let him get on his back, armed with darts. The horse, therefore, having consented, the man, having got on his back, in- stead of taking vengeance on the stag, made the horse his slave. In like manner, said he, do you Himerians take care, lest wishing to be revenged of your enemies, you suffer the same things as the horse. For now you CHAP. XXI. RHETORIC. 165 have received a bridle, in having chosen a general with absolute authority ; but if you allow him a guard, and suffer him to get on your backs, you will immediately be enslaved by Phalaris." But iEsop, when pleading in Samos'for a demagogue who was in danger of losing his life, said, " That a fox in passing over a river fell into a whirlpool, and not being able to get out of it, was for a long time in a miserable condition, and many canine flies adhered to his skin. But a hedgehog wandering along, as soon as he saw him, commiserating his con- dition, asked him whether he should drive away the canine flies from him. / The fox, however, would not give his permission ; and being asked by the hedgehog why he would not, replied, because these indeed are now full of me, and draw but little blood ; but if you drive these away, others will come who are hungry, and will drink up the rest of my blood. Thus, O men of Samos ! said he, this man will no longer hurt vou ; for he is rich ; but if you put him to death, other persons who are poor will succeed him, and by thieving the pub- lic property, will consume your wealth." Fables, however, are adapted to popular harangues, and they have this good, that it is difficult to find things which have been similarly transacted ; but it is easy to find fables.' For it is necessary that he who is able to perceive similitude [in things] should compose fables in the same manner as parables, which it is easy to- do from philosophy. It is ^asy, therefore, tg introduce fables; ' Fables excel examples taken from true histories in this, that it is difficult to find true histories, but fables ma,j be easily ad- duced. 166 THE ART OF BOOK II. a -j^y- but examples derived from history are more useful for the purposes of consultation ; for future, for the most part, resemble past events. But It is necessary that the orator should use examples as demonstrations when he has not enthymemes ; for credibility is obtained through these. And when he has enthymemes, he should use them as testimonies, and should employ examples in the epilogues of the enthy- memes. For examples, when they are proposed by themselves, ought to be similar to inductions ; but in- duction is not adapted to rhetorical compositions except in a few instances. And examples when adduced in confirmation of conclusions are equivalent to testimonies. But a witness is every where adapted to persuade. Hence, he who introduces examples prior to enthy- memes, must necessarily adduce many examples ; but one example is sufficient for the purpose of confirming what has been proved by enthymemes. For a credible witness, though but one, is useful. And thus we have shown how many species there are of examples, and how and when they are to be used. CHAPTER XXII. With respect to gnomology, or the doctrine of a sentence, when we have shown what a sentence, is, it CHAP. xxir. RHETORIC^ 167 will then especially become evident, about what kind of things, and when, and to what persons, it is fit to employ sentences in orations. But a sentence is an enunciation, yet not about particulars, such as what kind of person Iphicrates ' was, but about that which is universal ; yet it is not about all universals, such for instance as that a right is contrary to a curved line ; but it is about those universals with which actions are conversant, and those things which in acting are eligible or to be avoided. Hence, because enthymemes are nearly syllogisms about things of this kind, if the syllogism is taken away, the conclusions and the principles of the enthymemes are sentences. Thus for instance [what Medea m Euripides says is a sentence, viz.] ** It does not become a man of a sound mind to educate his children so as to render them transcendently wise.'* This, therefore, is a sen- tence. But the cause being added, and the *whi/y the whole is an enthymeme ; as for instance, [in the words of Medea,] " For besides the indolence which they thus acquire, they excite the baneful envy of their fellow citizens." And also, " There is no man who is in all respects happy.'* " And, «« There is not any man who is free ;" ' is a sentence ; but the following words being added, it becomes an enthymeme, viz. " For he is either the slave of wealth, or of fortune." If, therefore, a sentence is what we have said it is, there are necessarily four species of a sentence. For it * Iphicrates was an Athenian, who, though bom in obscurity, by his industry and virtue ascended to the highest dignities of the state. * Ex Schenobcea Euripid. in Prologo. ^ Ex Euripid. Hecuba. 168 T^E ART OF BOOK lU ivill either subsist in conjunction with an epilogue - or wuhout an epilogue. Those sentences, therefore/ re' quire demonstration which assert any thing paradoxical, are wthout an epilogue. But of these, it is necessar; known K ' n ' '" ^^"^^l"^"'^^ of being previously known should require no epilogue, such as for instance! Health as it appears to us, is the best of things to man. Por thus it appears to the many. But other sentences as soon as they are spoken become manifest to hose that consider them; such as, « There is no lover who does not always love." ' Of sentences, however which are with an epilogue, some indeed are the parts of an enthymeme ; as, « It does not become a man of a sound mhd." But other.: ar« ^r.,u • not a n..t r.f ^"^ °'^^'^' ^'^^ enthymematic. yet are aporoiTd tT '""^y"^^"^' -'^^^halso are especially ofX . '" ""^'""^^^ '" "f^'^^h the cause otuhatissaidisapparem; as in the following, -Being a mortal do not retain an immortal anger." ' ^For to 4! but tieTd? •°^'' 'V'''*" '"S''' ^'"^y^'" '^ ^ «^ntence he cause. Similar to this also is the sentence, « It is fit ;:;r:^:;^''^^^^^^^^"— ''-^-inim^^^^^^ From what has been said, therefore, it is manifest how £un>Ss.' "'" """''^ "^^ '° ^-^'- - the Troades of ' Thus Achilles in Pope's translation of the Iliad. Why should (alas) a mortal man, as I, Burn with a fury that can never die { Book xix CHAP. XXII. RHETORIC* 169 many species there are of a sentence, and to what kind of things each is adapted. For in things of a dubious, or paradoxical nature, a sentence is not to be used without an epilogue, but either, an epilogue being added, the sentence must be used as a conclusion ; as if any one should say, " I indeed, since it is neither proper to be envious, nor to be indolent, assert that erudition is not requisite;'* or, this being previously said, the former assertions must be subjoined. But in things which are not paradoxical indeed, yet are immanifest, the why or cause must be most concisely added. And to things of this kind Laconic apophthegms and enigmas are adapted ; as if some one should say what Stesichorus said among the Locrians, " That it is not proper to behave inso- lently, lest the grasshoppers should sing on the ground." ' A sententious mode of speaking, however, is adapted to him who is more advanced in age ; but what he senten- tiously says, must be about things in which he is skilled. Hence, it is unbecoming for one who is not so advanced in age to speak sententiously, in the same manner as it is for him to mythologize. But for a man to speak sen« tentiously about things in which he is unskilled is foolish and inerudite ; of which this is a sufficient indication, that rustics are especially sententious, and easily show that they are so. To assert, however, universally, that which is not universally true, is especially adapted to lamentation and amplification ; and in this case, such sentences must be adduced either at the beginning, or when you demon- ' Stesichorus signified by this enigma, that if the Locrians be- haved insolently to a powerful people, their country would be in danger of being laid waste by them, so that the trees being cut down, the grasshoppers (cicada) would be forced to sing on the bare ground. 170 THE ART OF BOOK II. strate. But it is requisite to employ sentences which are generally known and common, if they are useful [for the purpose ;] for in consequence of being common, as being acknowledged by all men they appear to be true. Thus he who exhorts soldiers to encounter danger, though they have not sacrificed, may employ fwhat Hector says to Polydamas,] Without a sign his sword the brave man draws. And asks no omen but his country's cause.' And when those are exhorted to fight who are inferior to their opponents in force, it may be said. In battle Mars to either side inclines.* When any one likewise is exhorted to destroy the chil. dren of enemies, though they have done no injury, he may say, « He is a fool, who having destroyed the father spares the children." Farther still, some proverbs are also sentences ; such as the proverb, ** An Attic stranger.- Sentences likewise are to be sometimes ad- duced, contrary to those which are generally received. But I mean by those that are generally received, such as Know thyself,- and « Nothing too much." And sentences contrary to these are to be adduced, when either the manners will from thence seem to be better or when the thing is spoken pathetically. But a thins' IS spoken pathetically, if some one being enraged should say, ' It ,s false that a man ought to know himself: for this man, if he had known himself, would never have sohcited the command of the army.'' And the manners ' Iliad, 12. Iliad, 18. CHAP. XXII. RHETORIC. i7r will appear to be better, if it is said, " That it is not pro- per, according to the assertion of Bias, to love as if intending hereafter to hate, but rather to hate as if intending hereafter to love." It is necessary, however, to render the choice manifest by the diction ; but if not, to subjoin the cause. Thus for instance, we may either thus speak, " That it is necessary to love, not as they say, but as if always intending to love ; for the other [i. e. he who loves as if intending hereafter to hate] loves like a treacherous person." Or thus, " What is generally asserted does not please me; for a true friend ought to love as one who will love always. Nor does that saying please me, Nothing too much j for it is necessary to hate vehemently bad men." But these sentences afford great assistance to orations, one cause of which arises from the arrogance of the hearers ; for they are delighted if any one speaking uni- versally, happens to adduce opinions which they have formed about some particular things. My meaning, however, will be manifest from what follows ; and at the same time it will be evident how these sentences are to be investigated. For a sentence is, as we have said, a universal enunciation ; but the auditors are delighted when that is universally asserted, which they have pre- conceived partially. Thus for instance, if any one hap- pens to have had bad neighbours or children, he will adopt the sentence, " That nothing is more trouble- some than vicinity,- and " That nothing is more stupid than the procreation of children." Hence, it is necessary to conjecture what the opinion of the audience will be about particulars, and afterwards to adduce universal sentences conformable to their opinion. And this is one 172 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAP. XXHI. RHETORIC. 173 use which speaking sententiously ought to possess. But there is another use, of it which is superior to this ; for it causes orations to become ethical. And those orations are ethical in which the deliberate intention of the speaker IS manifest All sentences, however, effect this, because he who employs the sentence, speaks universally about things which are the objects of deliberate choice. Hence, if the sentences are good, they cause the speaker to appear to be one who possesses worthy manners. And thus much concerning a sentence, what it is, how many speaes there are of it, how sentences are to be eiifc ployed, and what advantage they possess. CHAFrER XXIII. Let us now speak concerning enthymemes univer- sally, after what manner they are to be investigated ; and in the next place, let us show what are the places of cnthymernes; for there is a different -species of each of hese. That an enthymeme, therefore, is a certain syl- Wn' '". ^" ■' " ^ '^5'"^'^"'' "^ have before risl' V V" ''^'' " ''■^"^ fr^"" '^^^^'^'^^ ¥10- ZZ. ^.r^ "' °"S''' '^'"S^ '''^^'' '° be collected, foler .'k"^k '"^' '^""ectively assumed; since the former will be obscure from their length ; and the latter will be nugatory, through speaking of things which are obvious. For this is the reason why the unlearned are more capable of producing persuasion among the crowd, than the learned, since as the poets say, " The unlearned speak more elegantly to a mob/' For the unlearned speak of things common and universal, [which are adapted to the comprehension of the multitude ;] but the learned speak of things which they know, and which are near. Hence, rhetorical enthymemes must not be composed from every thing which is probable, but from things of a definite nature ; such as are those things which appear probable to the judges, or which the judges admit. Nor is it requisite that these things should be approved by all the auditors, but it is sufficient if they are approved by the greater part of them. It is likewise requisite not only to collect from things which are necessary, but also from things which have a frequency of subsistence. In the first place, therefore, it is necessary to assume, that concerning the thing of which it is requisite to speak and syllogize, whether by employing a political, or any other syl- logism ; concerning this it is necessary to possess all or some of the things which are inherent in it ; for if we pos- sess none of them, no conclusion can be made from nothing. I say for instance, how can we advise the Athenians to engage in war or not, unless we know what their power is, whether naval or land, or both; how great it is ; what their revenue is ; who are their friends and enemies ; and farther still, what wars they have waged, and how they were carried on, and other things of the like kind. How likewise could we praise them, if we were not acquainted with the naval battle at Salamis, or the battle at Marathon, or the deeds which 174 THE ART OF BOOK II. they performed for the Heraclid^. or any thing else of the hke kind ? For all men praise others from beautiful transactions which exist, or appear to exist. In a similar manner, also, m blaming the Athenians, we must direct our attention to the contraries to these things, consider, ing what particular of a contrary kind pertains to them, or appears to pertain to them; such as that they en- slaved the Greeks, and subdued those who fought with them agamst the Barbarian, and behaved most inLpidly, T!i'^T"'^ and Potidceat^ ; and other things of tti cL;L ' ^!l',"'^^^-- °^her crime may be laid to their charge Thus too, both those who accuse, and hose who defend, accuse and defend by directing their attention to mherent particulars ; but it makes no differ- ^1 fr T '^''^ °^ '''' ^^'^^^ - Laced^n^o- nians ; of God or man. For he who advises Achilles, who praises or blames, accuses or defends him, must as! that from these he may m praising or blaming show whe her any thing beautiful in conduct or base is inherent; m accusing or defending may show whether any thing jus or unjust is mherent; and in advising, whether any thing advantageous or detrimental is present. The like method must also be adopted in every other thing. Thus for in- stance, m mvestigating whether justice is good or not our attention must be directed to whit is inherL in jusdte o" m good. Hence since it appears that this method is adopted by all men, whether they syllogize more accurately! or from jfr '\'" ;'^'' "^""p^'^- -^ -^ ^^ from a 1 things, but from such as are inherent in each tEtoth -^'""S' .'■"""'"^^ ^'"^^ " '« -'i-' prove, -this being the case, it is obvious, as we have CHAP. XXIII. RHETORIC. 1 *7r $hown in the Topics, that about each question in things contingent, and the time best adapted to them, it is necessary to have, in the first place, things of a more select nature. The investigation, likewise, must be made after the same manner in things of an unexpected nature, so that our attention must not be directed to the indefinite, but to things inherent, which are the subject of the oration. Of the things inherent, likewise, the greater part, and those which are nearest the subject, must be included in the oration ; for by how much the greater the number of things inherent is which the orator possesses, by so much more easily will he prove that which he wishes to prove ; and by how much more proximate Qhe particulars are which he details,] by so much the mdi?e appropriate will they be, and less com- mon. But I call common things, indeed, such as to praise Achilles, because he is a man, and because he is among the number of demigods, and because he fought against Troy. For these particulars belong also to many others ; so that praise of this kind no less pertains to Achilles than to Diomed. Things peculiar, how^ever, are such as happen to no other person, than Achilles ; such as to have slain Hector the bravest of the Trojans ; and Cygnus, who being invulnerable prevented the Greeks from descending from their ships to the land ; and that being very young he entered into the army, though he was not bound by an oath to fight against the Trojans. These, and other things of the like kind, are peculiar to Achilles. This, therefore, is one place of selection, and is the first topical place. ^6 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAPTER XXIV. Let us now speak of the elements of enthymemes But I call the same thing the element and place o7an et thymeme Let us however first speak of those things which It IS necessary in .he first place to discuss. Fo'r here are two species of enthymemes. And the first spe- aes contains ostensive enthymemes, which show that a thmg IS or IS not ; but the other species is adapted to confutation. They differ also in the same manner as n dialectics an elenchus and syllogism differ. But an o" Wth 'T%"'"''" the conclusion is collected from th.ngs acknowledged ; and the enthymeme adapted to confutation is. when things not acknowledged are col- lected in the conclusion. Nearly, therefore, places have LTv'st?"?^ " ^'°" '''' ^' ^'^^ "-f^' -'i -ces! slcted y '"r"""^ ^"P^^""g ^-'^ f^-^ been selected. Hence, we have shown from what places it is requisite to derive enthymemes about good or evi , iie beautiful or the base, the just, or the unjust; and in a ^r manT" ''"" '"I '^^" ^^^'S-'^ ^X - -nc "rn mg manners, passions and habits. we should assume umversally concerning all [the three CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. 177 genera of orations,] indicating which of them are adapted to confutation, and are ostensive, and what are the places of apparent enthymemes, but which are not enthymemes m reah'ty, since neither are they syllogisms. But these things being rendered manifest, we shall discuss solutions and objections, and show whence it is requisite to adduce these against enthymemes. . One place, therefore, of ostensive enthymemes is from contraries ; for it is necessary to consider whether one contrary is inherent in another ; subverting, indeed, if It be not inherent ; but confirming if it is inherent. For mstance, [we may thus show] that to act temperately is good ; for to act intemperately is noxious. Or as in the Messeniac oration [of Alcidamas ;] for if war is the cause of the present evils, it is necessary to correct those evils with peace. For [as a certain tragic poet argues in Greek senaries,] '^ If it is not just to fall into anger with those who have done evil willingly ; neither is it fit, if any one has acted beneficently from compulsion, to be grateful to him.'* But if to speak falsely is, among mor- tals, calculated to persuade, it is requisite to think that on the contrary many things are true, which are consi- dered by mortals as incredible. Another place is from similar cases ; for it is necessary that they should be similarly inherent, or not inherent. Thus from this place it may be shown that not every thing which is just is good. For if every thing just were eligible and good, every thing which is justly done would be eligible and good; but now to die justly is not eligible. Another place is from relatives. For if some one has acted well or justly, another has suffered well or justly. And if to command is just, it is also just to obey the command ; as Arisl. VOL. I. in 178 THE ART OF BOOK II. the publican Diomedon said about the tributes. " For, irid he [to the people,] if it is not disgraceful in you to sell the tributes, neither is it disgraceful in us to buy them." And, if one man deservedly and justly suffers a loss, he who caused him to suffer it, acted well and justly. And if he who caused another to suffer a loss acted well and justly, he who sustained the loss, sus- tained it well and justly. In this place, however, it is possible to paralogize. For if a man died justly, he suffered justly ; but perhaps not by you. Hence it is necessary to consider separately, whether he who suffered deserved to suffer, and whether he who did the thing deserved to do it, and thus to infer what is adapted and appropriate. For sometimes a thing of this kind is disso- nant, and nothing impedes ; ' as in the Alcmseon of Theodectes. •* Did never any mortal hate thy mother ?" To which the answer is, « Distinctly this must be considered." Alphesibaea, also, inquiring, " How therefore have the judges condemned thee ?" Alcmseon answered, "Of death deserving she was judg'd, but I, 'Tvvas said, could not have slain my mother.'* Thus, likewise, on the trial of Demosthenes, and those who slew Nicanor, because they were judged to have it ' That is, it may happen that a man was slain justly, and yet hi who slew him, slew him unjustly^ CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. 179 slain him justly, it appeared that he wa€ justly put to death. In like manner, when a certain person was slain at Thebes, it was inquired in the court of justice whether he had been unjustly slain ; as if it were not unjust to slay him who deserved to die. Another place is from the more and the less ; such as, if even the gods do not know all things, much less do men. For the mean-- |ng of this is, if the more is not inherent in that in which It ought to be more inherent, it is evident that neither will it be inherent in that in which the less is inherent. But this place, that he will strike his neighbour who strikes his father, depends on this, that if the less is inhe- rent, the more also will be inherent.' And this place is useful for both purposes ; viz. whether it be requisite to show that a thing is inherent, or is not. Farther still, if a thing is inherent neither more nor less ; whence it is said, [in a certain tragedy,] « Is thy father to be pitied, because he has lost a son, and is not Oeneus to be equally commiserated, who has lost his son Meleager one of the most illustrious of the Greeks .?" And that if Theseus did not act unjustly [in ravishing Helen,] neither did Paris. And if the Tyndaridac [i. e. Castor and Pollux] did not act unjustly [in ravishing the daughters of Leucippus,] neither did Paris. Likewise if Hector did not act un- justly in slaying Patroclus, neither did Paris in slaying Achilles. And if other artists are not vile men, neither are philosophers. And if generals are not vile, because they are frequently conquered, neither are sophists. And that if a private person ought to be careful of your re- ■ For It is less probable that a man will strike his father, than that he will strike his neighbour j at least it tvas so in ancient times. 180 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. 181 nown, you also ought to be careful of the renown of the Greeks. Another place consists in the consideration of time; as is exemplified in what Iphicrates says in his ora- tion against Harmodius. For said he, '* If before I had done the thing, I had demanded a statue in case I did it, yon would have granted it to me, and will you not grant it, now I have done the thing ? You would not, there- fore, when expecting a benefit promise a reward, and refuse it, when you have received the benefit,'* And again, for the purpose of persuading that the Thebans ought to permit Philip to pass through their land into Attica, it may be said, " That if he had made this re- quest before he sent you assistance against the Phocenses, you would have permitted him. " It is absurd, therefore, that because he then neglected [to ask permission,] and trusted you would grant it, that you should now deny it to him.'* Another place is taken from things said, and retorted on the speaker. And this mode is eminently useful, and was employed in [the tragedy of ] Teucrus by Iphicrates against Aristophon, when he inquired of him whether he would have betrayed the ships for money? And when Aristophon denied that he would, Iphicrates afterwards said, " You therefore being Aristophon would not have betrayed them, and should I being Iphicrates have betrayed them ?" It is necessary, however, that he who is opposed should appear to have acted more unjustly than the opponent ; for if not, it would seem to be ridiculous, if any one had said this against Aristides accusing [who was hi every respect worthy of belief,] and which ought to have been said against an accuser, who did not deserve to be credited. For in short the plaintiff ought to be considered as better than the defend^it. He therefore who opposes another. should always reprobate this. And universally, that which is said is absurd, when any one reproves others in things which he himself does, or would have done pf he could ;] or who persuades others to do those things which he himself does not do, nor would have done. Another place is derived from definition ; such for in- stance as, " That which is dsemoniacal is nothing else than either God, or the work of God ; but whoever thinks that it is the work of God, must necessarily think that there are Gods."' And as Iphicrates said [against a certain person named Harmodius,] " He who is the best of men is most generous or noble ; for there was nothing generous in Harmodius and Aristogiton, till they had accomplished some generous undertaking." He added, that he was more allied to [i. e. he more resem- bled] the ancient Harmodius. " For my works," said he, "are more allied to the works of Harmodius and Aristo- giton than thine." And as in • [the oration concerning] Paris, '' All men will confess that those who are intern- perate are not satisfied with the enjoyment of one body." Hence Socrates said that he would not go to Archelaus [king of Macedonia.] « For it is disgraceful," said he, " for him who has received a benefit not to be able to recompense him from whom he received it ; just as it is disgraceful in him who has been used ill, not to return the ill treatment." For all these, defining and assuming what a thing is, syllogize about the things which are the subjects of their speech. Another place is derived from multiplicity of diction, as in the Topics, [an argument is ' This IS what Socrates says to his judges in the Apology of Plato, and is of itself sufficient to prove that Socrates was a poly- theist, independent of a great body of evidence which might be adduced in confirmation of it. ^I 182 THE ART or BOOK II. derived,] from that which has a rectitude of subsistence [being multifariously predicated.] Another place is derived from division ; as, if all men act unjustly for the sake of three things ; for they act unjustly either for the sake of this, [viz. utility,] or for the sake of this, [viz. pleasure,] or for the sake of this, [viz. because they are enraged ;] but for the sake of two of these they could not do the injury ; and the opponents themselves confess they did not do it for the sake of the third. Another place is from induction ; as from [the oration inscribed] Peparethia, in which it is said, " That women every where determine truly about the birth of children." For this is evident from what happened at Athens ; since when Mantias the rhetorician was dubious about his son, his doubts were dissolved by the mother of the child. This likewise happened at Thebes ; for when Ismenes and Stilbo contended which of them was the father of Thessalicus, Dodonis demonstrated that he was the son of Ismenes ; and on this account Thessalicus was con- sidered as the offspring of Ismenes. And again, from the law of Theodectes, if no one would commit his horses to the care of those who do not pay a proper attention to the horses of others, nor his ships to those who destroy the ships of others, and if the like takes place in all things, we ought not to commit our safety to those who have badly attended to the safety of others. And ^ as Alcidamas says, "That all men honour the wise.'* For the Parians honour Archilochus, though he blasphemed them ; the Chians honour Homer, though he was not their fellow.citizen ; and the Mitylenans Sappho, though she was a woman. The Lacedemonians, ^Iso, though they were in the smallest degree philologists, made Chilo one of their senators. The Italians likewise CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. 18S honoured Pythagoras; and the Lampsaceni buried Anaxagoras though he was a stranger, and honour him even now. Again, the Athenians by using the laws of Solon were happy ; and the Lacedaemonians by using those of Lycurgus. The city of the Thebans, also, as soon as philosophers were their governors, became happy. > Another place is derived from the judgment made about the same, or a similar, or a contrary thing. And this indeed is especially the case, if it is the judgment of all men, and always ; but if not, if it is the judg- ment of most men, or of all, or the greater part of wise men, or of good men. Or if it is the decision of those who are judges, or of those whom the judges approve, or of those against whom there is no judgment to be given, as of princes ; or of those whose judgment it is not becoming to oppose, such as the gods, a father, or preceptors. [But of this place there are many examples,] and one is, what Autocles said against Mixidemides, " If it were well indeed for the venerable goddesses [the Furies] to plead their cause in the Areopagus, can it be improper for Mixidemides to do so ?'* Another is what Sappho said, " That to die is an evil ; for the gods have judged it to be so ; since otherwise, they themselves would die." Another is, what Aristippus said against Plato asserting something as he thought too positively ; *' But our associate, said he, meaning Socrates, affirms mo such thing." Another example is that of Agesipolis, who at Delphi inquired of the god [Apollo,] having prior to this consulted the oracle of Jupiter Olympus, y Whether the son was of the same opinion as the father?'* As if it were shameful for a son to dissent from his father* 182 THE ART OF BOOK II. derived,] from that which has a rectitude of subsistence [being multifariously predicated.] Another place is derived from division ; as, if all men act unjustly for the sake of three things ; for they act unjustly either for the sake of this, [vi2. utility,] or for the sake of this, [viz. pleasure,] or for the sake of this, [viz. because they are enraged ;] but for the sake of two of these they could not do the injury ; and the opponents themselves confess they did not do it for the sake of the third. Another place is from induction ; as from [the oration inscribed] Peparethia, in which it is said, " That women every where determine truly about the birth of children." For this is evident from what happened at Athens ; since when Mantias the rhetorician was dubious about his son, his doubts were dissolved by the mother of the child. This likewise happened at Thebes ; for when Ismenes and Stilbo contended which of them was the father of Thessalicus, Dodonis demonstrated that he was the son of Ismenes ; and on this account Thessalicus was con- sidered as the offspring of Ismenes. And again, from the law of Theodectes, if no one would commit his horses to the care of those who do not pay a proper attention to the horses of others, nor his ships to those who destroy the ships of others, and if the like takes place in all things, we ought not to commit our safety to those who have badly attended to the safety of others. And ^ as Alcidamas says, "That all men honour the wise." For the Parians honour Archilochus, though he btephemed them ; the Chians honour Homer, though he was not their fellow.citizen ; and the Mitylenans Sappho, though she was a woman. The Lacedemonians, ^Iso, though they were in the smallest degree philologists, made Chilo one of their senators. The Italians likewise CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. 183 honoured Pythagoras; and the Lampsaceni buried Anaxagoras though he was a stranger, and honour him even now. Again, the Athenians by using the laws of Solon were happy ; and the Lacedaemonians by using those of Lycurgus. The city of the Thebans, also, as soon as philosophers were their governors, became happy. - Another place is derived from the judgment made about the same, or a similar, or a contrary thing. And this indeed is especially the case, if it is the judgment of all men, and always ; but if not, if it is the judg- ment of most men, or of all, or the greater part of wise men, or of good men. Or if it is the decision of those who are judges, or of those whom the judges approve, or of those against whom there is no judgment to be given, as of princes ; or of those whose judgment it is not becoming to oppose, such as the gods, a father, or preceptors. [But of this place there are many examples,] and one is, what Autocles said against Mixidemides, *' If it were well indeed for the venerable goddesses [the Furies] to plead their cause in the Areopagus, can it be improper for Mixidemides to do so ?" Another is what Sappho said, " That to die is an evil ; for the gods have judged it to be so ; since otherwise, they themselves would die." Another is, what Aristippus said against Plato asserting something as he thought too positively ; *' But our associate, said he, meaning Socrates, affirms mo such thing." Another example is that of Agesipolis, who at Delphi inquired of the god [Apollo,] having prior to this consulted the oracle of Jupiter Olympus, ** Whether the son was of the same opinion as the father?'* As if it were shameful for a son to dissent from his father 184 THE ART OF BOOK lU Another is that of Isocrates concerning Helen, who shows that she was a worthy character, because Theseus judged her to be so ; and who also says the same thiW ot Pans because the goddesses preferred [his judgment to that of other men,] He likewise asserts that Evagoras was a worthy character, - because Conon when his affairs were adverse, leaving every one else, came to Evagoras " Another place is from [the enumeration of] parts, as in the Topics [where it is inquired,] " What kind of mo- tion the soul is;" for it is either this, or that, [viz. it must euher be the motion which is a change in quality, or lation, or augmentation, or generation.]^ An ex- ample of this place is from Theodectes in his oration in defence of Socrates [when he was accused by the judges;] *'What temple has Socrates violated ? And what gods has he not reverenced among those whose honours are legally established by the city ?" Another place IS from consequent good or evil. For since in most thmgs It happens that some good and evil are con- sequent to them, we may employ consequent good for the purpose of persuading, praising, and defending, but consequent evils for the purpose of dissuading, blaming, and accusing, 1 hus for instance, [we may blame literary pursuus,] because envy is consequent to erudition, which IS an evil ; and [we may also prais, them] because they are attended with wisdom, which is a good. Hence, in the former case we may say that it is not proper to ac qmre erudition, because it is not proper to be envied ; jnd m the latter, that it is proper to acquire erudition tor It IS requisite to be wise, In this place the art of I'md^^'S'' '^' ^JP^^h^^is that the soul is a motion of st^ch a Imd, as some one of the corporeal motions. CHAP. XXIV. RHETORIC. ^ 18.; the rhetorician Calippus consists^ to which he added what pertains to the possible, and other things, of which we have already spoken. Another place is, when about two things, 'and those opposed to each other, it is requisite either to exhort or dissuade, and to use the before-men- tioned place in both ways. But it differs from that place in this, that there casual things are opposed ; but here contraries only. Thus for instance, a certain priest would not suffer his son to speak in public. " For if," said he, " you speak what is just, men will hate you ; but if what is unjust, the gods." It is necessary, however, on the other hand, to speak in public. For if you speak what is just, the gods will love you ; but if what is un- just, men will love you. This, however, is the same thing with the saying, of buying oil and salt. And this argu- ment may be retorted, when to each of two contraries good and evil are consequent, each being contrary to each. Another place is, because the same things are not praised openly and secretly ; but just and beautiful things are especially praised openly, and privately men are more inclined to praise what is advantageous. One of these, therefore, we must endeavour to collect. For this place is the most principal of paradoxes. Another place is derived from analogy, and was used by Iphicrates. For when the Athenians wished to compel his younger son, because he was large, to engage in public service, Iphicrates said, *' That if great boys were to be con- sidered as men, little men should be decreed to be boys." And Theodectes in the law said, '* You have made mer- cenaries, such as Strabaces and Charidemus, citizens, on account of their probity ; but you have not made exiles of those among the mercenaries, who have acted nefa- riously.'* Another place is, when, in consequence of the 186 THE ART OF BOOK II. same thing following from two things, it is shown that the things from which it happens to follow are the same. As when Xenophanes said, « That those were similarly impious, who assert that the gods were generated, and those who assert that they die; for in both ways it hap- pens that at a certain time the gods do not exist." And in short, that which happens from each, is always to be assumed as the same. [This place was also used by some one in the defence of Socrates ; for he said,] •* You are about to pass sentence, not on Socrates, but on his pursuit, whether it be requisite to philosophize." And, it may be said, '' That to give earth and water is to become slaves ; and that to participate of common peace is to do what is commanded to be done." But whichever of these is useful must be assumed. Another place is derived from this, that the same men do not always choose the same thing in a posterior or prior time, but conversely ; as in this enthymeme, *^ If when v;e were exiles we fought, in order that we might return ; shall we, having returned, fly, in order that we may not ' fight ?" For at one time the Athenians chose to fight, that they might return to their country, and at another time they were unwilling to leave their country lest they should be obliged to fight. Another place is, when we affirm any thing to have been done on account of some cause, through which it might have been done, though it was not in reality done through it ; as if one man should give something to another, in order that by {afterwards] taking it away, he may give him pain. Hence, also it is said [in a certain tragedy,] « The d^mon gives • ' This example is tato from ^n oration of JLysias concemink tlie Athenians^ ^ CHAPt XXIV. RHETORIC. 187 great prosperity to many, yet not with a benevolent in- tention, but in order that they may receive more conspi- cuous calamities.'* And in the Meleager of Antiphon, who [that he might praise Meleager] says, " There was a concourse of people from all Greece, not for the pur- pose of killing the boar, but fhat they might be witnesses ©f the valour of Meleager." Another example is from the Ajax of Theodectes, in which it is said, *' That Diomed preferred Ulysses [as his associate in the noc- turnal adventure,] not for the purpose of honouring him, but that he might have one to attend him who was his inferior." For it is possible he might have thus acted with this view. Another place is common both to liti- gants and counsellors, aild consists in considering what- ever pertains to exhortation and dissuasion, and for the sake of which things are done and avoided ; for these are such as ought to be done when they are present. For instance, it must be considered whether a thing is possible, and easy to be effected, and whether it is bene- ficial either to a man himself, or to his friends ; or whether it is noxious and pernicious to his enemies, or is at least attended with greater emolument than loss, And exhortations are to be derived from these places, and dehortations from the contraries. From the sarae places also accusations and defences may be derived; defence indeed, from those which pertain to dissuasion, but accusation from those which pertain to exhortation. And in this place the whole art of Pamphilus and Calip- pus consists. Another place is derived from things which appear indeed to be done, but are incredible, because they would not be credited, unless they were, or nearly were in existence ; and this in an eminent degree. For whatever is done, is apprehended to be done, either be- / 188 THE ART OF BOOK II, cause It has been truly done or is of itself credible, and probable. If, therefore, a thing is incredible, and not probable, it will be true that it has been done;' for it does not appear to have been done, in consequence of being probable and credible. Thus Androcles Pitheus accusing the law said, (the multitude being tumultuous whilst he was speaking) ^'The laws require a law to correct them." For fishes also require salt, though it may seem neither probable, nor credible, that animals nourished m salt, should require salt. And olives require oil ; though it may seem incredible, that those things from which oil is produced, should be in want or oil. CHAPTER XXV, Another place which is adapted to confutation, is derived from considering things which are not assented to ; VIZ. from considering, if any thing is not admitted, ' ^:j;f " ^ ^^^'"g P^^tly appears to have been done, and partly seems incredible, from seeming to be incredible, it may be concluded tha t has been truly done, by reasoning as follows : Whatever seem and'MT ^-\-^^- wears so because it is of itself credS^e ZteZT^:' \ ''T' ' '^^ ""^^ ^^- ^-^' B- this thing appears to have been done, and not because it is of itself probablj since ,t ,s rather very improbable. Hence, it appears to have uZ done, because it has truly been done CHAP. XXV. RHETORIC. 189 from all times, actions, and speeches. And this, indeed, may be done separately in the person of the opponent ; as, "He says that he loves you [Athenians,] and yet he has conspired with the thirty [tyrants against his coun- try."] And separately as to the person himself; as, ** He says indeed, that I am litigious, but he cannot show that I ever sued any man." It may also be done sepa- rately both as to the person himself and his opponent ; as, " And this man indeed never lent any money, but I have ransomed many of you." Another place is useful with respect to men and things that have been calum- niated, but which do not appear to have deserved it ; and this consists in assigning the cause of the paradox. For there is something which gave rise to the appear- ance. Thus for instance, a certain woman was calum- niated with reference to her son ; for in consequence of embracing him, it seemed as if she had connexion w^ith the lad; But the cause of her embracing him being assigned, the calumny was dissolved. Thus too, in the Ajax of Theodectes, Ulysses says against Ajax, that though he is braver than Ajax, yet he does not seem to be so. Another place is derived from cause, which if it exists, the effect also exists ; but if it is not, neither does the effect exist. For cause, and that of which it is the cause, subsist together, and nothing is without a cause. Thus Leodamas, in defending himself when Thrasybulus accusing him said, ** That his name had been branded with infamy on a pillar in the Acropolis, but the inscrip- tion had been erased by the thirty tyrants," replied, " That this was not possible ; for if it had taken place, the thirty tyrants would have placed more confidence in him, in consequence of his hatred to the people having been inscribed on a pillar," Another place is from cou- 190 THE ART OF BOOK IT? sidenng whether it was or is possible to .dWse, or do, or have done a thing better than it was advised to be, or B, or was done. For it is evident, that if it does not thus subsist, ,t was not done ; since no one willingly and knowingly deliberately chooses what is bad. This pbce, however, is false ; for frequently, it becomes afterwards evident how it was possible to have acted better, though this was before immanifest. Another place IS derived from considering when something is u,- tended to be done, contrary to what has been done.' Ihus Xenophanes when the Eleans asked him, "whether they^should sacrifice to Leucothea, and lament her, or not, advised them, /« If they thought her a goddess, not to lament her ; but if a mortal, not to sacrifice to her. Another place is derived from accusing or de- fending errors. Thus for instance, in the Medaa of the poet Carcmus, some persons accuse her of havine slam her children, because they no longer appear ; rfor Medoea erred in sending away her sons) but she defends herself by saying, ««That [if she had intended to commit murder] she would not have slain her children, but Jason ; for in not slaying Jason, she would have acted wrong, even if she had done the other thing [i. e. slain her children.] This place, however, and species of en- thymeme, formed the whole prior rhetorical art of Theo- dorus. Another place is derived from name; as Sopho- cles Lot a certain woman named Sidero], •Tii clear thou iron art, and beat'st the name. Thus also it Is usual to celebrate the gods [from the sig- nihcation of their names.] Conon likewise called Thm- sf/bulus, audacious. And Herodicus eaid of Thrasy. CHAP. XXV. RHETORIC. 191 machus, " Thou art always Thrasj/viachus [i. e. bold in Jigkt.2 ^^ =ilso said of Polus, " You are always Polus [i. e. a colt.'] Herodicus likewise said of Draco the legislator, " That his laws were not the laws of a man, but of a dragon ; for they were severe." Another ex- ample is derived from what Hecuba says in [the Troades of] Euripides, when speaking of Venus, " And the name of the goddess [i. e. Aphrodite] is rightly derived from aphrosune [i. e. folly.] And as Chceremon [the comic poet] says, " Pentheus was so denominated from future calamity." Those enthymemes, however, which are adapted to confutation, are more approved than those that are ostensive ; because the former are short collec- tions of contraries ; but parallels are more obvious to the hearer. Of all syllogisms, however, as well those that are adapted to confutation, as those that are ostensive, those especially excite perturbation [in the auditors] which manifest themselves as soon as they begin to be enunciated, yet not because their meaning is superficial. For the auditors are at the same time delighted that they foresaw from the beginning what would follow. This likewise is the case with those syllogisms which are un- derstood as soon as they are completely enunciated. 192 THE ART OF BOOK II. CHAPTER XXVI. Since, however, it is possible that one thing may be a sy bgism, and another not, but only appear to be so ; it IS likewise necessary with respect to an enthymeme, that this should be, and that should not be, but should only appear to be an enthymeme ; since an enthymeme also is a certam syllogism. _ But there are places of apparent enthymemes ; one indeed m the diction ; and of this, one part, as in dialec- tics, IS, when though nothing is syllogistically concluded, yet at the last it is inferred : It is not therefore this, or |hat ; or it necessarily is this or that. What also is said in enthymemes contortly and oppositely, appears to be an enthymeme. [though it is not so in reality ;] for such a chction IS the receptacle of enthymeme. And a thing of this kmd appears to be from the figure of the diction For the purpose however of speaking syllogistically in the diction. It IS useful to produce the heads of many ^llogisms. as " These he saved, others he avenged, but he hberated the Greeks." For each of these is 'de^on- strated from others. ^But from the conjunction of these something appears to be effected. Another place Tof apparent enthymemes] is derived from equivocation ; \s, If some one should say « that j.vf, mus, a mou« is a CHAP. XXVI. RHETORIC. 193 worthy animal ; for the mysteries are the most honour- able of all initiatory rites." Or, if some one making an encomium on a dog, should also comprehend in his en- comium the celestial dog, or the god Pan, because Pindar says, «* O blessed, whom the Olympian gods call the all- various dog of the great goddess." Or if it should be said, " That it is most dishonourable there should be no dog,; so that it is evident that a dog is honourable:' And to say, « That Hermes is the most communicative of all the gods ; for he alone is called common Hermes." Likewise to say, « That logos speech is most ttorthy ; because good men are worthy not of riches, but of logos speech ;" for to be worthy of logos, is most simply pre- dicated. Another place consists in speaking things which are separated, conjunctively, or things which are con- joined, disjunctively. For since [each of these modes of speaking] appears to be the same, though frequently it is not the same, it is requisite to adopt whichever of these is more useful. The first example of this place is that of Euthydemus, "To know, being in Sicily, that there is a three-banked galley in the Piraeus." ' Another example is " That he who knows the elements of a verse, knows the verse ; for a verse is the same thing" [as the elements from which it is composed.] Another example of this place is, « That since twice so much of a thing is noxious, neither can the half of that quantity be said to be salubrious ; for it is absurd, if two things are good, that one of them should be bad." Thus, therefore, this place is useful for the purpose of confutation. But it is ' See Chap. v. Book ii. of ihe Sophistical Elenchi. This is only true disjunctively ; since it is asserted of some one who at one time was in Sicily, and at another saw the galley in the Pirseus. ArlsL VOL. I. X 194 THE ART OF BOOK II. ostensive as follows ; " For one good is not two evils.** In short, this place is paralogistic. Again, another ex- ample is that of Polycrates respecting Thrasybulus, *' That he deposed the thirty tyrants." For this is con- junctive. Or what is said in the Orestes of Theodectes ; for it is from division, [or is disjunctive,] viz. " It is just that she who killed her husband should die ; and it is also just that a son should revenge his father. It is just, therefore, that the mother [Clytemnestra] should be slain by the son [Orestes.]" For if these sentences are conjoined, the conclusion perhaps will no longer be just. In this [sophism] likewise, there is a fallacy of defect ; for it is not expressed by whom it is just that the mother should be slain. Another place consists in confirming or confuting by exaggeration. And this is when a man not showing that he has done a certain deed, amplifies the thing. For thus he causes it to appear either that he has not done the deed, when he who defends the cause amplifies, or that he did it when the accuser was enraged. Hence, it is not an enthymeme. For the hearer falsely collects that he has or has not done the deed, the thing not being demonstrated. Another place is derived from a sign ; for this also is unsyllogistic. As if some one should say, •' Lovers are advantageous to cities ; for the love of Harmodius arid Aristogiton deposed the tyratit Hippar- chus." And, likewise, if some one should say, " That Dionysius was a thief ; for he was a depraved character." For this is unsyllogistic ; since not every depraved cha- racter is a thief, but every thief is a depraved character. Another place is derived from that which is accidental ; as in what Polycrates said of the mice, " That they aided CHAP. x:xvi. RHETORIC. 195 [the city] by gnawing the bowstrings [of the enemy.]" Or if some one should say, that to be invited to supper is a most honourable thing ; for Achilles, in consequence, of not being invited was enraged against the Greeks in Tenedos. But he, as being despised, was angry ; and this happened because he was not invited. Another place is derived from that which is consequent ; as for instance, in what is said of Paris, *' That he was mag- nanimous ; for, despising an association with the multi- tude, he dwelt in mount Ida by himself." For because magnanimous men are lovers of solitude, Paris also may appear to be magnanimous. And, "Since a certain person decorates himself, and wanders by night, he is an adulterer ;" because adulterers also are men of this kind. In a similar manner [it may be proved that] mendicants and exiles are happy. " Because mendicants sing and dance in temples ; and because it is permitted exiles to dwell where they please." For because, these things are present with those that appear to be happy, those also to whom these things are present, may seem to be happy. There is here however a difference in the mode ; on which account this example falls into defect, [i. e. it is a fallacy of defect.] Another place is derived from that which is causeless as if it were a cause ; as when that which is done together with another thing, or after it, is assumed as if it had been done for the sake of it. And this place is especially used by politicians, as by Demades, who said, "That the administration of Demosthenes was the cause of all evils ; since war happened after it." Another place is derived from a deficiency in the time when, and the manner in which a thing is done ; such for instance as this, " That Paris justly ravished Helen ; for the choice was given to Helen by her father [of 196 THE ART OF BOOR 11. marrying whom she pleased.]** For perhaps this choice was not given to her always, but at first ; and the autho- rity of her father over her extended so far ^ to this. Or as if some one should say^ " That to strike free men is insolence." For it is not entirely so, but when he who strikes was not provoked. Farther still, another place is when in litigious disputes, an apparent syllogism is pro- duced from that which is simply, and that which is not simply ; as in dialectics, it is shown that non-being is being. For non-being is non-being. And it is also shown that what is unknown is the object of science. For the unknown is the object of science, because it is unknown, [i. e. because it is known that it is unknown.] Thus also in orations there is an apparent enthymeme, from that which is not simpjy probable, but is a certain probable thing. This probability^ however, does not take place universally, as Agatho also says, ** Perhaps some one may say that this is probable, that many things which are not probable happen to mortals." For that which is unlikely happens. Hence, what is unlikely is likely. But if this be the case, that which is not probable is probable. This, however, is not simply true ; but as in contentious arguments a fallacy is produced, when a li- mitation restraining to a part, to a place, to time, or sig- nifying relation, is not added ; so here that which is im- probable is not simply probable, but is a certain proba- bility. But the art of Corax is composed from this place. For whether the person be not obnoxious to the crime ; as he who is weak escapes an action for an assault ; for it is not likely that he committed an assault ; or whether he be obnoxious, as being a strong man, he has the same defence, unless a certain probability is apparent. And the like takes place in other things. For a man must CHAP. XXVII. RHETORIC. 197 necessarily be obnoxious to the crime, or not. Both, therefore, appear to be probable ; and the one is indeed probable [in reality ;] but the other, not simply, but in the way we have shown. And this it is, to make the inferior argument to be the superior. Hence men were justly indignant with what Protagoras professed to ac- complish. For what he announced is false, and not true, but is apparently probable, and exists in no art but in the rhetorical and contentious. And thus much con- cerning enthymemes, both the true, and the apparent.. CHAPTER XXVIL It now follows that we should speak concerning the solutions of enthymemes. But it is possible to dissolve them by contrary reasoning, or by mtroducing an objec- tion. With respect to contrary reasoning, therefore, it is evident that it may be effected from the same places. For syllogisms are composed from things that are pro- bable ; but many probable things appear to be contrary to each other. But objections are introduced, in the same manner as in the Topics, in four ways ; for they are introduced either from the same, or from the similar^ or from the 198 THE ART OF BOOK 11. contrary, or from the judgment and authority oj others. By an objection however being introduced from the same, I mean as if for instance the enthymeme should be concerning love, that it is a v^orthy thing, an objection may be made to it in a twofold respect. For either it may be said universally, that all indigence ' is evil ; or partially that it would not be proverbially said Caunias love^ unless there was also base love. But an objection is introduced from the contrary ; when, if the enthymeme should be, " That a good man benefits all his friends j'* it may be objected, " That neither does a bad man act ill towards all his friends.*' ^ An objection also is intro- duced from similars^ when the enthymeme is, " That those who receive an injury always hate [the authors of it.]" For it may be objected, " That neither do those who are benefited always love [their benefactor.]" And objections which are introduced from the judgments of illustrious men, are as if the enthymeme were, ^' That it is requisite to pardon those who are intoxicated ; for they err ignorantly.'* The objection is, '* That Pittacus, therefore, does not deserve to be praised ; for he should not have legally established greater punishments [for intoxication,] if he who is intoxicated errs [through ig. norance.]" Enthymemes, however, are derived from four, things 5 and these four are, the probable, example, tecme- * This alludes to the definition of love given by Diotima in the Banquet of Plato ; for she there defines love to be desire, and desire to be want. * This alludes to the story of Biblis, who fell in love with her brother Caunus. ^ And, therefore, neither does a good man benefit all his friends, because a good man is with respect to beneficence, what a bad Jfidn is wiih respect to malevolence. CHAP. XXVII. RHETORIC. 199 rion [i. e. a necessary sign,] and a sign [not necessary.] But those enthymemes which are collected from things that exist for the most part, or appear to exist, are de- rived from probabilities. Those which are derived from the similar, either from one, or many similar things, (when the orator assuming what is universal, syllogisti- cally collects what is particular) exist through example. But those which exist through what is necessary and real, are through iecmerion. And those that exist through what is universal or particular, whether it really is, or not, are through signs [which are not necessary.] But a pro- bable thing is that which does not exist always, but for the most part. Hence it is manifest, that enthymemes of this kind may always be dissolved, if an objection is introduced. The solution, however, is [sometimes] ap- parent, and not always true ; for he who objects does not dissolve the enthymeme by showing that the thing is not probable, but by showing that it is not necessary. Hence, the defendant has always the advantage of the plaintiff; ' through this paralogism. For since the plaintiff demon- strates through probabilities ; but the solution is not the same [which shows] either that the thing is not probable^ or that it is not necessary ; and that which exists for the most part, is always liable to objection ; (for otherwise it would not be a probability, but would be always neces- sary) — hence the judge, if this mode of solution is adopt- ed, will think either that the thing is not probable, or that it must not be judged by him, in consequence, as we have said, of being deceived by false reasoning. For it is requisite that he should not only judge from things which are necessary, but also from probabilities. For this is to judge most judiciously. The solution, there- fore, of an enthymeme is not sufficient, which shows that 200 THE ART OF BOOK II. a thing is not necessary, but it is requisite that the solu- tion should also show, that it is not probable. But this will happen, if the objection rather shows that the thing for the most part subsists. It is possible, however, that a thing may happen for the most part, or frequently, in a twofold respect, viz. either from time, or from circum- stances ; but principally if from both. For if things which frequently happen thus subsist, this is more pro- bable. But signs [which are not necessary,] and en- thymemes derived through a sign, are solved in the way we mentioned in the first book. For that every such sign is unsyllogistic is evident to us from the analy- tics. Enthymemes, however, derived from examples are solved after the same manner as enthymemes derived from probabilities. For if we can adduce a contrary example in which the thing is not so, the enthymeme is solved, because the thing is not necessary, or because many things have happened frequently, and in a different manner. But if many things have happened frequently, and in this manner, then it must be contended either that the present circumstance is not similar, or is not similarly disposed, or has a certam difference. Tecmeria, how- ever, [i. e. necessary signs,] and enthymemes which are of the nature of tecmeria, cannot be solved in conse- quence of being unsyllogistic. But this is evident to us from the analytics.' It remains, therefore, to show that what is said, [viz. that certain premises] do liot exist. But if it is evident that the premises do exist, and that the enthymeme is derived from tecmerion, then the en- thymeme becomes insoluble. For all things now become apparent from demonstration. ' Sec the Prior Analytics, Book II. Chap. 27. CHAP. XXVIII, RHETORIC. 201 CHAPTER XXVm. To amplify, however, and diminish, are not the ele- ments of an enthymeme ; for I call the same thing an element and place. For an element, as also a place, is that into which many enthymemes fall. But to amplify and diminish are enthymemes for the purpose of show- ing, that a thing is great or small, as likewise that it is good or evil, just or unjust, or any thing else. And all these are the things with which syllogisms and enthy- memes are conversant ; so that if no one of these is the place of an enthymeme, neither are amplification and diminution. Neither are enthymemes which have the power of solving [the arguments of the opponent] any other spe- cies of enthymeme than those which are employed in confirmation. For it is evident that he solves [the argu- ments of his opponent,] who either shows [the contrary to what his opponent asserts,] or introduces an objection. But he proves the opposite. Thus, if one shows that a thing has been done, the other shows that it has not been done ; and if one shows that it has not, the other shows that it has been done ; so that here, indeed, there will be no difference j for both use the same enthy- 202 THE ART 0F RHETORIC. BOOK n. memes ; since they introduce enthymemes to show, that the thing IS, or is not. An objection, however, is not an enthymeme, but (as we have shown in the Topics) It IS to declare a certain opinion, from which it will be evident that the conclusion is not syllogistical, or that something false has been assumed. And thus much has been said by us respecdng examples and sentences ; and m short respecting what pertains to the reasoning power whence we may abound with [enthymemes,] and how we may solve them. It now remains to discuss what pertains to diction and order. >^afe< THE ART OF RHETORIC. BOOK III. CHAPTER I. There are three things which it is requisite to discuss concerning an oration ; one, indeed, from what particu- lars credibility is derived ; the second, about diction ; and the third, in what manner it is requisite to arrange the parts of an oration. Concerning credibility, there- fore, we have already spoken, and have shown from how many things it consists, and that it consists from three things. We have likewise shown what the nature is of these three, and why credibility consists from these alone. For all men are persuaded [to believe what they hear,] either because those who judge are themselves afFecXed in a certain way, or because they conceive the speakers to be worthy of belief, or because the thing is proved. We have also spoken concernijig enthymemes, and have 204 THE ART OF BOOK III, shown whence they ought to be derived ; for some thmgs indeed, are the species, but others the places of enthymemes It now, however, remains to speak concerning di«,on. For it is not only sufficient to know what ought to be said, but it is likewise necessary to speak ma proper manner. And diction contributes greatly to the quahty of the oration. The parts of rhe- tone, therefore, were investigated [by the ancients] in that order m which they are naturally arranged. But from the nature of a thing, we ought in the first place n r""" '\°^V^"^' ""^''^ ''' ^'J^P'^d to persuade. In the second place, these are to be disposed Ti. e ex- prised] by [an appropriate] diction. And that which IS to be considered m the third place, and possesses the greatest power, though it has not yet been discussed by ^y one. is what pertains to pronunciation, or action. For this was but lately introduced into tragic poetry and rhapsody. For at first, the poets themsdves ac^le ^agedies Cwhich they composed.] It is evident, there! fore that^th respect to rhetoric, there is a thing of this kmd m the same manner as with respect to poetrv • lrnnwi*nrr-i u • . ^ <"unce or action consists m £ whitT'r *'^"f ' *^ ^-^' -d themiddi™, ^or ^« 'ei"' "V^'^''^ '' ''''' °f 'he passions! there are three thmgs which the writers on pronun- CHAP. I. RHETORIC. 205 elation consider ; and these are, magnitude, harmony, and rhythm. And as in poetical contests those who ex- cel in action, for the most part obtain the prize, and the players now excel in it more than the poets themselves, thus also in forensic contests, through the depravity of politics, those orators gain their cause, who excel in action. The art, however, concerning rhetorical action has not yet been disclosed ; since, likewise, the art con- cerning diction was discovered late. And it appears to be but a slight thing, if it is well examined. But since the business concerning rhetoric pertains to opinion, we must pay attention to it, not as a thing possessing recti- tude, but as necessary ; since it is just not to require more in an oration, than that it may neither give pain, nor delight. For it is just to contend strenuously for things themselves ; so that other things besides demon- stration are superfluous. At the same time, however, diction is capable of producing great effects, as we have said, through the depravity of the hearer. Diction there- fore possesses a certain small necessity in every disci- pline. For it is of some consequence with respect to the declaration of a thing, to speak in this, or in that manner ; yet it is not very important, but all these [i. e. whatever pertains to rhetoric,] depend on the imagina- tion, and are referred to the hearer. Hence, no one teaches geometry in this way, [viz. so as to be solicitous about diction.] The art, therefore, concerning pronun- ciation, when it is employed, produces the same eflFect as acting on the stage. But some persons have endea- voured to spe^ik a little concerning it, as for instance, Thrasymachus in his treatise On Compassion. And to be disposed to act is natural, and more inartificial ; but diction is artificial. Hence^ again, rewards are given to 206 THE ART OF BOOK in.' those who excel in it, in the same manner as to those rhetoricians who excel in pronunciation. For written orations possess greater strength from diction, than from the sentiments they contain. The poets, there- fore, gave rise to diction, as it is natural they should For names are imitations ; and of all our parts, voice is the most imitative. Hence, the poets invented the poe- tical arts, viz. rhapsody, [or epic poetry,] and the art of actmg, [or dramatic poetry,] and the other arts. Be- cause, however, the poets, though they sing of frivolous thmgs, appear to have acquired their renown from dic- tion, on this account poetic diction, such as that of Gor- gias, was uitroduced [by orators;] and even now many of the unlearned fancy that those persons speak most beautifully when they speak poetically. This, however is not the case; but the diction of an oration, is different from that of poetry. And this is evident from the evem For the present writers of tragedies do not any longer employ the ancient poetic diction. But as from tetra- meters they betook themselves to iambic verse, because this measure is of all others most similar to discourse ; thus, also, they rejected such names as are foreign from familiar conversation. Those, likewise, who at present cwnpose hexameter verses, have rejected the names with which the first [dramatic poets] adorned their verses. Hence, it is ridiculous for those to imitate these poets who no longer employ that mode of diction. Hence too, It is evident that we are not accurately to discus^ every thing which may be said concerning diction, but only such things as pertain to rhetorical diction. For of poetical diction we have spoken in the treatise On roetry. CHAP. II. RHETORIC. 207 CHAPTER II. Let, therefore, what we have written in the Poetic be surveyed ; and let the virtue of diction be pyerspi- cuity ; of which this is an indication, that speech does not effect its proper work unless it renders manifest [the mind of the speaker.] Another virtue of diction is, that it be neither low, nor above its dignity, but appro- priate. For poetic diction perhaps is not low, and yet is not adapted to an oration. But of nouns and verbs, such as are proper render the diction perspicuous. Such other names, however, as are mentioned in the Poetic, cause the diction not to be low, but ornamented. For the introduction of unusual words, makes the diction appear more venerable ; since men are affected in the same manner towards diction, as they are towards strangers, and their fellow-citizens. Hence it is necessary to ren- der the dialect foreign. For we admire the language of foreigners ; and that which is admirable is pleasant. In metre, therefore, the poet does this frequently, and there it is appropriate ; for both the verse, and the subjects of the verse, are very remote from common occurrences ; but in prose much fewer foreign words are to be used. For there, if either a slave, or a very young man, or one 208 THE ART Ot BOOK HI. who speaks of very trifling things uses elegant language, it IS more indecorous. But in the language of the se persons, the becoming consists in an appropriate contrac- tion and dilatation. Unusual words, however, should be introduced by the orator latently, and he should not seem to speak fictitiously, but naturally. For natural diction is adapted to persuade ; but the fictitious has a contrary effect. For we avoid those who speak ficti- tiously as insidious persons, in the same manner as we avoid mixed wines. Thus, the voice of Theodorus was preferred to the voice of other actors ; for his seemed to be the voice of the speaker, but the voice of the others appeared to be foreign. Unusual terms, how- ever, will be well introduced latently, if he who frames a speech makes a selection from the accustomed dialect ; which Euripides does, and was the first that showed the "w^y to others. But since an oration consists from nouns and verbs, and nouns have as many species as are enumerated in the treatise On Poetry ; of these species, nouns taken from various tongues, or dialects, and also such as are double and fictitious, are seldom, and but in few places to be used. Where, however, they are to be used, and why but seldom, we shall afterwards show. For they pro* duce a greater change in the language than is becoming. But the proper, the appropriate and metaphoric^, are alone useful to prosaic diction ; of which this is an indication, that all men [in common conversation] use these alone ; for all men speak in metaphors, and in appropriate and proper terms. Hence it is evident, that if any one does this well, his dictioa will be foreign, and it may be latent CHAP, ii; KHETORIC. 209 that it is so, and he will speak with perspicuity. But this was defined by us to be the virtue of a rhetorical discourse. Of names or nouns, however, the homony- mous are useful to the sophist ; for through these they deceive. But the synonymous are useful to the poet. I call, however, proper and synonymous terms, such as to go and to walk ; for both these are proper, and syno- nymous to each other. What, therefore, each of these is, how many species there are of metaphor, and that metaphors can do much both in poetry and prose, we have shown, as we have before observed, in the treatise On Poetry. But it is so much more necessary to labour about these in prose, because it has fewer aids than verse. A metaphor also especially possesses the clear, the pleasant, and the for- eign, and it is not to be taken from another person. It is necessary, however, to use epithets and metaphors that are appropriate ; and this adaptation will be obtained from the analogous. Bur without this there will be an apparent indecorum, because contraries are especially conspicuous, when placed by each other. As a purple garment, therefore, becomes a young, but not an old man ; for the same garment is not adapted to both ; thus also certain metaphors and epithets are adapted to some things, but are not adapted to others. If likewise you are willing to praise, the metaphor must be derived from that which is better in the same genus ; but if to blame, it must be derived from things which in the same genus arc inferior. I say for instance, since contraries are m the same genus, to say, " That a beggar prays," and «* That he who prays begs," because both are petitions, Arist. VOL. I. o 210 THE ART OF BOOK III. It is expedient to do as we have said. ' Thus Iphicrates called Callias, Metragurtes^ or collector to the mother of the gods, and not Dadouchos, or torch-bearer. But Callias replied " That Iphicrates was not initiated, other- wise he would not have called him Metragurtes, but Dadouchos.*' For both these offices pertained to the goddess, but that of torch-bearer was honourable, and that of collector ignoble. The flatterers of Dionysius also employed the same artifice ; for they called them- selves artists. Both these words, however, are me- taphors ; the one, indeed, of things sordid, but the other the contrary. And robbers at present call themselves exactors. Hence, we may be allowed to say, " That he • who acts unjustly errs; and that he who errs, acts unjustly ; and also that he who steals, both takes, and •robs." There is, however, an indecorum in what Tele- phus.in Euripides says [of certain rowers] ** That they reigned over oars, and descended into Mysia." For the -word to reign is greater than the dignity of the matter [i. e. of an oar.] He does not therefore conceal his artifice. There is also a.n error in syllables, unless they - cause the words to have a pleasing sound. And this error was committed by Dionysius, surnamed ChalkouSy in his elegies. For he calls poetry " The clangcyr of Calliope,'' because both are vocal sounds. But the me- taphor is bad, which is made from sounds that are not significant. . * Farther still, nouns are not to be far-fetched, but things which are anonymous are to be denominated by- words derived from things that are allied, and of the ■ Viz. If we wish to praise him who begs, we must say that he prays j but if we wish to blame him, we must say that he begs. CHAP. II. RHETORIC. 211 same species, and w^hich show as soon as they are uttered that they are allied \ as in that celebrated enigma, " I saw a man agglutinating brass to a man with fire." For the passion is anonymous. But both are a certain addi- tion. The enigma, therefore, calls the application of the cupping glass an agglutination. And in short, fronx enigmas that are well composed, good metaphors may be assumed. For metaphors have an obscure meaning ; so that it is evident that an enigma if it is approved consists of metaphors that are well made. Metaphors also must be assumed from beautiful things. But the beauty of a name consists, as Lycimnius says, in sounds, or in the thing signified ; and in a similar manner the deformity of a name. Farther still, there is a third tiling, which solves a sophistical argument. For that which Brygon says is not true, " That no one speaks obscurely, since the same thing is signified by using this name instead of that." For this is false ; since one name is more proper and more assimilated than another, and is more adapted to place the thing before our eyes. Again, this name and that signify a thing not similarly subsisting j so that thus also, one name must be admitted to be more beauti- ful or more deformed than another. For both names, indeed, signify the beautiful and the deformed \ but not so far as beautiful, or so far as deformed. Or both sig- nify the same things, but in a greater or less degree. Metaphors, however, are hence to be derived from things which are beautiful, either in the voice, or in the power [of signification,] or to the sight, or some other sense. But it makes a difference to say, for instance, " The yosy-finger'd morn," rather than, " The purple-finger'd," or, which is still worse, " The red-finger'dJ /J »> i 212 THE ART 0? BoaK IIU In epithets, also, appositions may be made from what IS vile or base ; as, for instance, the matricide. But the apposition may be made from that which is better ; as, tfie avenger of his father. And Simonides, when he who conquered with mules, offered him a small reward, was unwilling to compose verses on the occasion, as disdain- ing to celebrate in verse semi-asses. But when he had given him a sufficient reward, then he sung. Hail daughters of the steeds that f?y With feet like whirlwinds swift* Though they were also the daughters of asses. Farther still, a thing may be praised or blamed by em- ploying diminutives. But diminution is that which renders both evil and good less. Thus Aristophanes in his Babylonics calls in derision kruston (a golden thing) krusidarian, and imation (a garment) imatida^ rim. He also calls hidoria (slander) loidoremation, and nosema (disease) nosemation. In both appositions, how- ever, and diminutives, it is requisite to be cautious, and to observe a mediocrity. CHAP. ill. RHETORIC. 213 CHAPTER IIL FiiiGiDiTY may be produced in diction in four ways. In the first place in double nouns [i. e. in compound words;] as in Lycophron when he says, "the many- fac'd heaven ; the mighty-topp'd earth ; and the narrow- mouth'd shore." And as Gorgias calls some one, a beggarlj/-mus'd flatterer ; and those who take an oath improperly, or properly, epiorkesaiitas^ and kaieuorke" Santas. And as Alcidamas [when describing some one who was in a rage,] " His soul was full of ardour, but his face was of a fiery cobur." And speaking of the promptitude of a certain person to fight to the last, he calls him telesphoros, or enduring to the end. He like- wise calls the power of persuading, telesphoros ; and the bottom of the sea kuanochroony or azure-coloured. For all these expressions appear to be poetical from duplica- tion. This, therefore, is one cause of frigid diction. Another cause arises from the use of ancient words. Thus Lycophron calls Xerxes pelorion' andra, or an ' That 9riA*5e. Again, in the fourth place, frigidity is produced in metaphors. For there are indecorous metaphors, some indeed, on account of the ridiculous ; for comic poets also use metaphors. But others are indecorous from being too venerable and tragical. Metaphors likewise are obscure, if they are far-fetched ; as those of Gorgias, who calls certain things, green and sanguineous. And, you indeed have shamefully sown, ami badly reaped these things. "For this is too poetically said. Thus too, Alcidamas calls philosophy the bulwark of the laws; 216 THE ART OF BOOK III. and the Odyssey a beautiful mirror of human life. And again he says, *' nothing of this kind introduces puerile sport {aQupfxa) in poetry.** For all these metaphors, from the causes already mentioned, are unadapted to procure persuasion. But what Gorgias said on a swal- low which dropped its excrement as it flew towards him, is the best of tragical metaphors; for he said, " This is shameful, O PhilomeV* For if he said this to the bird, the action was not shameful ; but to a virgin. It was shameful. His defamation therefore was proper, because he alluded to what the bird had been, and not to what it then was. CHAPTER IV. An image also is a metaphor ; for It differs very little from it. For when Homer says of Achilles, He like a lion rush'd, it is an image. But when he says, the lion rusKd, it is a metaphor. For because both are brave, he calls Achilles metaphorically a lion. An image also is useful in prose, though but rarely ; foi it is poetical. CHAP. IV. RHETORIC. 217 Images, however, are to be introduced in the same manner as metaphors ; for they are metaphors, diflfering in the way we have already mentioned. § But images are for instance such as what Androtlon said on Idrieus, " That he resembled whelps freed from their chains." For they bite any one that falls in their ' way, and Idrieus when freed from his bonds was morose. And as Theodamas assimilated Archidamus to Euxenus, who was ignorant of geometry ; and this from the ana- logous. For Euxenus is the geometrical Archidamus. Another instance of similitude is from the [5th book of the] Republic of Plato, " That those who in battle plunder the bodies of the dead, are similar to whelps who bite stones, but do not touch those who throw them." And [in the 6th book,] it is said of the people, " That they resemble a strong, but deaf pilot." And [in the 10th book] speaking of poetical measures, it is said, " That they resemble those who are in the prime of life, but without beauty. For these in the decline of life, and verses when they are dissolved, no longer appear the same." Another instance is that of Pericles on the Samians, " That they resembled children, who take their food crying." And on the Boeodans, ** That they resembled flints ; for flints are struck against each other, and the Boeotians fight with each other." Another instance is that of Demosthenes on [the Athenian] people, " That they resembled those who are sea-sick." And that of Democrates who assi- milated " Rhetoricians to nurses, who swallow the food themselves, and anoint the children with the spittle." And again, that of Antisthenes, who assimilated Cephisi- dotus, who was a thin man, to frankincense, " which 218 THE ART OF BOOK III* CHAP. V. RHILTORIC. 219 delights while it consumes.'* For all these similitudes may be used, both as images, and as metaphors ; so that it is evident that such words as are approved, and are used as metaphors, will also be images, and likewise that images are metaphors, which are in want of argument. It is always, however, necessary that a metaphor should be converted from the 'analogous, and be referred to the other part, and to things homogeneous. Thus if a cup may [from analogy] be called the shield of Bacchus, a shield also may appropriately be said to be the cup of Mars. From these things, therefore, an oration is composed. CHAPTER V. The principle, however, of diction is to speak with propriety; and this consists in five things. And the first indeed, is in conjunctives, ' if these are disposed in such a ^ way as their nature requires, viz. so as to be placed in an order prior and posterior to each other. ITius for instance the conjunction indeed, and I indeed, require but, and bui he. It must be remembered, how- ' Under conjunctions Aristotle also comprehends prepositions, article., and the other parts of speech, which are distinguished trom noun and verb. ever, that conjunctlotis which correspond to each other, should neither be disjoined by a great interval, nor should have so many things interposed between them, that when a conjunction corresponding to a former one is given, the prior conjunction is forgotten ; for this is appropriate but in few places. Thus, *' But /, after the thing xms related to me, for Cleon came begging and entreating, ivent taking them along with me." For here, many con- junctions are inserted prior to the conjunction which was to have been assigned. ' But if there is a great interval between But I, and 7 ttJ^f, the sentence becomes ob- scure. One thing, therefore, requisite to correct diction is a proper disposition in the conjunctions. A second is, to call things by their proper names, and not to circum- scribe them [by generic and common names.] A third is, not to use ambiguous words. But these precepts are to be observed, unless the contraries to them are pre- ferred, which those do, who when they have nothing to say, pretend to say something. For men of this kind in poetry, thus speak ; as for instance Empedocles. For circumlocution deceives, if it be much, and the auditors are affected in the same manner as the multitude are by those who predict future events, since when they speak ambiguously, the vulgar assent to what they say. ** If Croesus passes over the river Halys, he will destroy a mighty empire." [But the reason why w^hen we have nothing to say, w^e should use generic terms is] because in short, the error will be less, and on ibis account ' i. e. Since Itveiit is referred to the words hut 7, many words are interposed, from tlie interposition of which, obscurity is pro- duced. - • fa^3"'jifttty "JftF-*" ■^'" *-'''^aaj jjtght'iXMKMB. ..t.i.^-iA n-t*-^ '— .*M*»*'^ nJ^t^sA'a-^tfift-u '^fiimmttat jfc.'*- ■g..a>i,-*aftaa*jafrf:Mjita*Lhia ^20 THE ART OP BOOK III, diviners «peak through the genera of a thing. Fot in the game of even and odd, he will be less likely to err who says that a number is even or odd in general, than if he determines what number is so. And he who pre- diets that a certain event will be, is less likely to err, if he only says that it will be, than if he assigns the time when It will be. Hence, those who deliver oracles, do not define the time when a thing will happen. AH these generic and ambiguous names, therefore, are to be avoid- ed> unless they are adopted for the sake of some such ^ purpose, as we have mentioned. A fourth thing requi- site to correct diction is, as Protagoras divided the genera of nouns into masculine, feminine, and instruments [or neuter,] to employ these rightly ; as « She coming and discoursing departed.*' ' A fifth requisite is to denomi- nate rightly in many and few things ; and in one thing j as, " But they coming, struck me.'* ^ In short, it is requisite that what is written, should be $0 written as to be read and pronounced with facility. But this is not the case when there are many conjunc- tions ; and when what is written cannot be easily pointed j and such are the writings of Heraclitus. For it is labo- rious to point the writings of Heraclitus, because it is immanifest what should be conjoined with the prior or posterior part ; as in the beginning of his book. For he there says, " Of reason existing always men tre ' It is difficult to illustrate this example in English, but easy in Latin. Thus to say, « ilia vero reversa, et colloquuta, discessit," ' is right; but to say, «« ilia vero reversus, &c," is wrong. * Thus too in Latin, to say, « illi vero reverai verberayunt me*' is right ; but <* illi vero reversus, 3j^c.*' is wrong. i«^faj»»jjfai*rtrtgt,jQfa^v.j-jF^iiif«*-»»yaLfcAiM*c^*^a'w*rj»i' i&jfcf-ja-ftirjMrf&T ^■.■ .Af- .jt^i^J^VSi'^'M^iiiufiASiiLMSatSS CHAP. VI. RHETOniC. 221 ignorant;" since it is immanifest whether the word always pertaias to the prior or to the posterior part, ' Farther still, a solecism is produced in composition, when to two words, another appropriate word is not con- joined. Thus to noise and colour^ seeing is not a com- mon [i. e. is not an appropriate] word ; but sensible per^ ception is common. The composition also is rendered obscure, from the insertion of much which is intermediate, unless the part which corresponds to the first part of a sentence, is immediately subjoined, and the rest added ; as, " My intention was, after I had mentioned such and such things to him, to go." But this obscurity would be avoided by saying, " My intention was, after 1 had spoken to him, to go ;** and then to add, '* having mentioned to him such and such things." CHAPTER VL The following particulars contribute to the amplitude of diction : To use definition [or description] instead of a name ; as instead of saying a circle to say, a plane ' I. e. It is dubious whether the meaning of Heraclitus is, that ■men arc ignorant of that reason tvhich alumys exists, or, that men are alwat/s ignorant of the reason which exists. 222 THE ART OF BOOK III. figure in xs)hich all lines dra^wn from the middle to tJie circumference are equal. But the contrary contributes to conciseness, viz. to use the name instead of the defini- tion. Amplitude of diction is also effected, if when any thing disgraceful or indecorous is to be expressed, the name is used when the disgraceful thing is in the defini- tion, but the definition, if it is in the name. It is likewise eflFected by rendering a thing manifest by metaphors, and epithets, avoiding at the same time what is poetical. And by causing one thing ta be many, [i. e. by using the plural instead of the singular number,] which the poets do. For when there is but one part, they never- theless say, " into the Achaian parts." And instead of saying, " the complication of an epistle," they say, " the complications of epistles." Amplitude is also effected, by separating what we can conjoin, as, ^^ this woman, this our wife." But if we wish to speak con- cisely, we must say on the contrary, " this woman our wife." And it is effected by using a conjunction ; but if we wish to speak concisely, we must not employ a conjunction, yet the sentence must not be unconnected; as in the first case, " Going and speaking to himj" and in the second, " Going, I spoke to him." The method of Antimachus likewise is useful for this purpose, viz. to enumerate particulars, which a thing does not possess, which he does, speaking of the hill Teumessus ; for he s?iys, A little hill there is, exposM to wind^ For thus we may amplify to infinity. And this may take place both in what is good, and what is bad, by enume- raang what is not inherent, in whatever way^ it may be CHAP. VII. RHETORIC, 223 useful to the oration. Hence, also, poets derive the words, chordlesSy and lyreless melody ; for these words are derived from privations. But what we have just said, is adopted in metaphors, taken from the analogous ; such for instance as to say, " That the sound of a trumpet is a lyreless melody." CHAPTER VII. Diction, also, will possesswhat is decorous, if it Is pathetic and ethical, and analogous to the subject matter. But the analogous is effected by neither speaking of things grand and magnificent slightly, nor of abject things, venerably, [and magnificently ;] nor giving orna- ment to a vile appellation. For if this is not adopted, the composition will appear to be a comedy ; which is the case with that of Cleon. For some things which he writes, are just as if a man should say, ** A venerable Diction becomes pathetic, by reciting insolent beha- viour in the language of an angry person. But when con- duct has been impious and shameful, then the diction be- comes pathetic, by speaking indignantly, and cautiously j ' * L e. As if not daring to disclose such nefarious tonduct. 224 THE ART OF BOOK III. and when conduct has been laudable, this is effected by speaking with admiration. But in things of a lamentable nature, the pathetic is produced by a humble diction. And the like method must be adopted in other things. Appropriate diction, also, persuades to the truth of a thing. For the soul of the auditor is deceived by false reasoning, in consequence of conceiving that the orator speaks the truth ; because the auditors are thus affected in such-like orations. Hence, they fancy that things are as the orator says, though they are not so. The auditor, likewise, becomes similarly affected with him who speaks pathetically, though he should say nothing to the purpose. Hence, many astonish the hearers, by the tumultuous manner in which they deliver their ora- tions. Moreover, ethical diction is a demonstration from signs, because this when appropriate is consequent to every genus and habit. But I mean by genus, indeed, age ; such as a child, or a man, or an old man ; [sex,^ as man or woman ; [and nation,] as a Lacedsemonian, or Thessalian. And by habits, I mean those things which produce the variety of conditions In life ; for the lives of men are not such as they are according to every habit. If, therefore, the diction has appellations adapted to the habit, it will become ethical. For a rustic and a well- educated man, will not say the same things, aor speak after the same manner. But the auditors are somewhat affected by that figure, which the writers of orations abun- dantly use ; as, " Who does not know this ? All men know it." For the auditor, from shame, confesses that he participates of that knowledge, of which ever/ one else partakes. ji-oat'i»J''*teWttWiigtg«M«a'VMaif»»Si iV.g'ai.Ji ^J-M.l»ifv, CKAP. VII. RHETORIC. 225 Opportune, however, or not opportune use is common to all the species. But the remedy in every hyperbole is that celebrated advice [self-correction ;] for it is neces- sary that the orator should correct himself. For the thing then appears to be true, [though it may seem to be incredible,] because the incredibility of it is not con- cealed from the orator. Farther still, every thing analo- gous is not to be used at once ; for thus the artifice will be concealed from the hearer. I mean, for instance, that if the names are harsh, yet must not the voice, or coun- tenance, or other appropriate things, be such as to ex- press that harshness ; otherwise, it will become manifest what each of these is. But if the names are harsh, and the voice or countenance is not adapted to such names, the artifice will be latent. If, therefore, soft things be spoken harshly, and harsh things gently, they will lose the power of persuading. But epithets and compound words, if they are numerous, and especially such as are foreign, are adapted to him who speaks pathetically. For w^e pardon the orator, who when enraged calls some evil heaven-reaching, or immense. These epithets, also, and compound words, may be used by the orator, when he has already moved the auditors, and inspired them with a divine fury, either by praising or dispraising, or by exciting them to anger or love, which Isocrates does in his Panegyric^ towards the end, where he has the words *' fame and memory." And " those who endured." For those who are agitated with a divine fury, speak things of this kind, so that the auditors admit what is said, in consequence of being similarly affected. Hence, this form of diction is also adapted to poetry ; for poetry partakes of divine inspiration. Either, therefore, this AriaU vol. i. p 226 THE ART OF BOOK III. CHAP. VIII. RHETORIC. 227 form of diction must be adopted [In the cases already mentioned,] or irony must be employed, as it was by Gorgias, and Socrates in the Phasdrus of Plato. CHAPTER Vlll. With respect, however, to the figure of diction, it is necessary that it should neither be metrical, nor without rj'thm. For metrical diction is not calculated to per- suade. For it appears to be feigned, and calls the atten- tion of the auditor from the subject of the oration ; since he is led to expect a metre similar to the former. As, therefore, when the cryers proclaim to the people [when a slave is manumitted by his master,] " What patron will he who is manumitted chuse?" the boys antece- dently to the cryer exclaim, " Cleon ;" — [thus if the oration were metrical, the auditors would preoccupy the orator, and would foresee what he ought to say.] But the diction which is without rythm is indefinite. It is necessary, however, that it should be bounded, though not by metre. For the infinite is unpleasant and unknown ; and all things are bounded by number. But the number of the figure of diction is rythm, of which metres are the segments. Hence, it is necessary that an oration should have rythm, but not metre or measure ; for if it has, it will be a poem. It should not, however, possess rythm accurately, but only to a certain extent. Of rythms, however, the heroic indeed is venerable and sonorous, and requires harmony. But the iambic is the diction of the multitude. Hence, in speaking, iam- bics are uttered the most of all measures. But it is necessary that the prose of an oration should be vene- rable and very exciting. The Trochaic measure, how- ever, is more analogous to swift dancing. But this is evident from tetrameters, which are a voluble rythm.* ' Heroic feet, i. e. dactyls and spondees have an even ratio, or in other words, the ratio of one to one. For a short syllable contains one time, a long syllable contains two times ; but a spondee consists of two long syllables ; and therefore consists of two syllables measured by an equal time, and consequently has an even proportion. A dactyl consists of three syllables, the first long, the second and third short; but a long syllable contains two times ; two short syllables contain two other times ; and therefore a dactyl also consists of three syllables, of which the two posterior are measured by an equal time with the first syllable, and consequently a dactyl has an even proportion. An anapest, which is an inverted dactyl, has the same proportion, since it has the two first syllables short, and the third long. The heroic rythm, therefore, of dactyls and spondees, on account of its equability is full of majesty, is sonorous and magnificent, and re- quires harmony. Hence, it is not sufliciently adapted to prose, which ought to be without harmony, and ought to be less sonorous and less magnificent. Iambics, which consist of two syllables, the first short, and the second long, and the opposite to them, trocha- ics, which have the first syllable long, and the second short, have a duple ratio. For a long syllable contains two times, and a short syllable one time ; but iambics and trochaics consist of a long and a short syllable. Hence, they consist of two syllables, of which one has to the other the ratio of two to one, and consequently they have a duple ratio. Of these, the iambic rythm is very much • adapted to familiar conversation, and therefore the diction of the multimde for the most p^n cofuists of iambic*. The rythm, how- ^^ju^gB^^sitmtiimi^i^MMm^m THE ART OF BOOK IIU THe paean therefore remains, which was employed by orators, and originated from Thrasymachus ; yet they ever, which is adapted to prose, ought to be more grand and grave than that which is adapted to the familiar diction of the valgar ; and hence, neither is the iambic rythm very fit for prose. And the trochaic rythm has too much concitation, as is evident from tetrameters, which because they for a great part consl^st of trochees, possess a very exciting power, and almost run. Henoe, this rythm does not accord with the majesty of prose. The foot follows which is called pftan, because it was used in thff hjrmns of Apollo, who was denominated Fscan. But a paean is a foot consisting of four syllables, one long, and the remaining three short. If the first syllable is long, it is called a first paeun; if the second is long, it is called a second paean; if the third, a third paean ; and if the fourth, a fourth paean : But Aristotle, here, alone distinguishes the first and fourth paean ; and omits the other two. Thrasymachus used the first paean in prose^ whom others followed; but they could not explain what is the nature of this rythm, and what ratio it contains. This, therefore, yr-e must endeavour to explain* A paean, then, is a foot the third in order, and contains the third ratio, viz. the sesquialter, which is the ratio of three to two. The reason of this is, because it contains four syllables, one long, and three short. But a long syllable con- tains two times ; and three short syllables contain three times. Hence, the short syllables have to the long syllable, the ratio of tlirce to two, r. e. a sesquialter ratio. Hence, too, a paean ranks as th3 third foot. For in the first place are spondees, dactyls, and anapests, which contain the even ratio of one to one ; in the second plac: are iambics and trochaics, which contain the duple ratio of two to one ; and in the third place are pxans, which contain the ses- quialter ratio of three to two. As, therefore, dactyls, spondees, and anapests, and other rythms containing an even ratio, are not adapted to prose, because they art too sonorous and magnificent ; and as iambic and trochaic rythms, and other rythms containing a duple ratio, are also not adapted to prose, because they are less sonorous and magtiificent than is requisite ; but the sesquialter ratio is a me- ■■\ dium between the even and tlie duple ratio, for it exceeds mor^ tJiaa the even, and less than the double ;-^thi$ being the case,, it CHAP. vni. RHETORIC. 229 were unable to say what it was. But the psean is the tliird in order, and follows the above-mentioned mea- sures ; for it is in the ratio of three to two ; but of the others, the one [i. e. the heroic] is in the ratio of one to one 5 but the other [i. e. the iambic and trochaic] in the ratio of two to one. The sesquialter, however, is consequent to these two ratios ; and the paean consists of this ratio. The other rythms, therefore, are to be re- jected, from the above-mentioned reasons, and because they are metrical ; but the paean is to be assumed ; for from this alone of all the rythms we have men- tioned, metre is not produced ; so that it is especially latent. At present, therefore, orators use only one paean, and that at the beginning of their oration. It is necessary* however, that the end should differ from the beginning. But there are two species of paeans opposite to each other ; of which, one is adapted to the beginning of an oration, in which way also it is used by orators. But this is that paean, in which the first syllable is long, and the other three are short j as 1. e. " DeloB beg'otten, or Lyclan," [speaking of Apollo.] follows that the paean rythm is especially adapted to prose, as being less grand than the heroic, but grander than the iambic rythm, and having a middle situation between both. The truth of this is con- firmed by considering, that in prose we ought to avoid metre, and should use a rythm especially adapted to concealment. But heroic and iambic rythms are metrical, and are so manifest that they can* not be concealed. The rythm, however, of paeans is not metrical and may be concealed. Hence, we ought principally to use the pxan rythm in prose, though we may also sometimes employ other feet. 230 THE ART OF BOOK III. [where there are two paeans :] And, <* O golden-halr'd Hecate, daughter of Jove.** But m the other pasan, on the contrary, the first three syllables are short, and the last is long ; as 1. e. " Night concealed after the land, the water and the ocean.*' This paean, however, terminates the course of the ora- tion. For a short syllable, because it is imperfect, causes the oration to be mutilated. But it is necessary that it should be amputated by a long syllable, and that the end of it should be manifest, yet not from the writer, nor from a paragraph, but from the rythm. And thus we have shown that diction ought to have a proper rythm, and should not be without rythm; and also what the rythms are, and how those subsist, that produce a pro- per rythm in diction. .■I-Tg'..'.'i>.ll^«a*i.. .J J-j-i.'M J.. CHAP. IX. RHETORIC. 23 1 CHAPTER IX. It is necessary, however, that diction should either be diffuse and one by a bond, as the dilatations in dithyram- bics ; or that it should be periodic, and similar to the antistrophes of the ancient poets. Diffuse diction, there- fore, is ancient, as in the work of Herodotus the Thu- rian, the beginning of which is, *' This is the exposition of history, &c. ;" for this, formerly, all writers used, but at present it is not used by many. But I call the diction diffuse, which has of itself no end, till the thing which IS discussed be brought to a conclusion. This diction is however unpleasant, on account of the infinite ; for all men wish to see the end of a thing. Hence, racers in the turnings [round the goal,] are out of breath and faint 5 but prior to this, when they have a prospect of the goal, their labour is not so extreme. Such, there- fore, is diffuse diction. But periodic diction, is that which consists of period*. I call, however, a period, diction which has of itself a beginning and end, and a magnitude which may easily be perceived. But diction of this kind is pleasing, and easily learnt. It is pleasing, indeed, because it subsists in a way contrary to that which is boundless ; and be- 232 THE ART OF BOOK Jll. cause the hearer always fancies he obtains something, because there is always something for him which is bounded. But it is unpleasant where nothing is fore- seen, and nothing effected. It is also easily learnt, be- cause it may easily be remembered. But it may easily be remembered, because this diction has number in the periods. Hence, all men remember verse more easily than prose ; for it has number by which it is measured. It is necessary, however, that a period should contain a complete, and not a mutilated and abrupt meaning, as in the iambics of Sophocks. Calydon, the land where Pelops relgn'd.* ^ For the contrary might be thought to be true, by 4 division of the period ; as in the above instance it would seem that Calydoa is in Peloponnesus. With respect to periods, however, one is in the colony or members, but the other is simple. ^ But the period which is in the colons, is a perfect and distinct diction, and in which what is pronounced admits of easy respiration, and does not consist in a division, like the above-mentioned period of Sophocles, but is whole and entire. A colon, however, is one part of this period. But I call the period simple which consists of one colon, It is necessary, however, that the colons' and the periocJs should peither be curtailed, nor prolix. ' The sense here apparendjr is, that Calydon is the soil or land over which Pelops formerly reigned, and therefore pertains to Fe- loponnesus, though it docs not, but to ^tolia. The sense, there- fore, is abrupt and mutilated. CHAP. IX. RHETORIC. 2SS For when the periods are very short, they cause the hearer to stumble frequently. For the mind of the hearer being impelled farther to the end which he had proposed to himself, stumbles as it were, when the orator stops short. But prolix periods cause the auditors to be left by the orator; just as those who in walking pass beyond the boundaries of their walk ; for they leave their companions behind. In a similar manner, periods which are long, become themselves an oration, and resemble diffuse diction. Whence that jest of Demo- critus the Chian upon Melanippides, who dilated in his writings instead of making antistrophes. ** This man frames evil for himself, in framing evil for another. But to dilate much, is the worst of evils to him who does it." For a thing of this kind may be aptly said, to those who use long colons. Very short colons, however, do not become periods. These, therefore, hurry away the auditor with them precipitately. But of periodic diction, which consists of many colons or members, one kind is distinct, and the other opposite. And the distinct, in- deed, is such as [the beginning of the Panegyric of Isocrates ;] " I have often admired those who collected public assemblies, and instituted the Gymnastic contests.'" But the opposite is that which consists of many colons, and in which either the same thing is composed with contraries, or contraries are composed with contraries ; as, [in the Panegyric of Isocrates,] " The Athenians benefited both those that remained at home, and those that followed ; for they acquired more for those that followed them, than they possessed at home ; and they left sufficient for the support of those that stayed behind.'' Here the contraries are staying and followingy sufficient and more. [And again in the same oration J ^' So that 234 THE ART OF BOOK III. to those who were in want of money, and to those who were willing to enjoy it, &c." Here enjoyment is opposed to acquisition. Farther still, " It frequently happens in these things, that prudent men are unfortunate, and the imprudent are prosperous." And, "Immediately, in- deed, they obtained the rewards of brave men, and not long after they became masters of the sea.*' Another example is, " He sailed indeed through the continent, but walked through the sea. — He joined the Hellespont, but dug through mount Athos." And, " Being citizens by nature, but by law deprived of a city. For some of them, indeed, perished miserably, but others were shame- fully preserved." And, "Privately, indeed, they used Bar- barian servants, but publicly overlooked many of their allies that were in slavery." And, « To have them when living, or leave them when dead.'" Or what a certain per- son said against Pitholaus and Lycophron in a court of justice, " They sold you, indeed, when they were at home; but when they came to us they were themselves bought." For all these instances make the above-mentioned pe- riodic opposite diction. Diction, however, of this kind is pleasing, because contraries are most known, and when placed by each other are more known ; and also because '-' they resemble a syllogism. For an elenchus [or syllo- gism of contradiction,] is a collection of opposites. A thing, therefore, of this kind is antithesis. But adequaHan takes place when the colons or mem- bers are equal ; [as, *• The father died in battle, the son was married at home."] ■ All the above examples are taken from the .Panegyric of Is«- crates. CHAP. IX. RHETORIC. 235 And assimilation is, when both the colons have similar extremes. But it is necessary that they should have si- milar extremes, either in the beginning or the end. And the beginning indeed has always [similar] nouns ; but the end has the last syllables similar, or cases of the same noun, or the same noun. In the beginning, indeed, the similar extremes are such as in the following instances. "He received land from him, but it was uncultivated land." And Appeas'd with gifts, and mollify 'd with words:' But the similar extremes in the end are, *'They did not think that he had brought forth a boy, but that he was the cause of his birth." " In great cares, and in little hopes." Cases of the same noun, are such as, " But he deserves to have a brazen statue, though he is not worthy of brass, [i. e. of a brazen coin." * ] And an instance of the repetition of the same noun is, ** You while he was living defamed him, and now he is dead write ill of him." But an instance when there is a simi- litude alone in the last syllable is, " What evil have you suffered, if you have seen an indolent man ?"^ A period also may have all these at once, so as not only to consist ' This instance is from the 9th book of the Iliad, and is what rhoenix says to Achilles, * This is said of a most abject man. ' The instances adduced by Aristotle are obvious in Greek or Latin, but not in English. Thus the first instance, « He received land from him, but it was uncultivated land," is in Latin, « Agrum accepit quodammodo cBgrum" hoc est sterilem. And, " They did not think that he had brought forth a boy, but that he was the cause of his birth," is in Latin, « Non puerum peperisse, sed ejus cansam extitisse," in which instance the last syllables are simikr- 236 THE ART OF BOOK III. CHAP. X. RHETORIC. 23 of opposite, but also of equal, and similarly ending colons. The beginnings, however, of periods are nearly [all of them] enumerated in our Theodectean Rhetoric. There are likewise false oppositions, such as Epichar- mus made, " Then I was one of them, then I was with them." CHAPTER X- These things, therefore, being discussed, let us now show whence polite and the most approved diction is derived. To speak politely, therefore, is the province of an ingenious man, or of one who is exercised [in elocution.] But to show [the sources] from whence polite diction is derived belongs to this method, [i. e. to rhetoric] We shall, therefore, unfold and enumerate what they are. Another instance is, when the colons end in cases derived from the' same noun : as, «< He deserves to have a brazen statue, though he is not worthy of brass," i. e. « Est profecto dignus aenea statua, qui non est dignus aere." The fourth instance is, when the same word is repeated, as, « You while he was living defamed him, and now he is dead write ill of him,'' i. e. « Tu cum viveret dicebas male, et nunc in eum scribi^ male." And the fifth instance is, when the similitude is only in the last syllable as, ** What evil have you suffered, if you have seen an indolent man ?" i. e. " Quodnair^ passus es malum, si homincm vidisti ignavupi f" Let the beginning, therefore, be this : to learn easily is naturally delightful to all men; but names signify something. Hence such names as cause us to learn, are most pleasing. Foreign tongues, therefore, are unknown; but proper w^ords we know. Metaphor, however, espe- cially causes diction to be polite. For when the poet' says that " Old age is stubble," he produces in us learn- ing and knowledge through the genus, [i. e. through the agreement of old age and stubble ;] since both produce a defloration. The images, therefore, of poets produce indeed the same thing ; and hence, if they are well employed, the diction will appear to be polite. For an image, as we have before obser^-ed, is a metaphor, differing from it in the collocation ; on which account it is less pleasing because it is a longer [simile ;] and it does not say this thing is that. Hence in a metaphor the mind does not investigate the similitude ; [i. e. its attention is not diverted from the object to which it is directed.] That diction, therefore, and those enthy- memes must necessarily be polite, which cause us to learn or produce in us knowledge rapidly. Hence, neither are superficial enthymemes approved ; (for we call those enthymemes superficial, w^hich are manifest to every one, and which require no investi- gation) nor such as when produced, are not understood ; but those only render the diction polite, which are under- stood as soon as they are uttered, though there was no previous knowledge of them, or which shortly after lead us to the knowledge of something, of which we were io-norant. For by the latter enthy memos discipline is as « Odyss. lib. 13. .; I 238 THE ART OF BOOK Hi, it were produced, but by no means by the former. En- thymemes, therefore, of this kind are approved, from the sense or meaning of the diction. Urbanity, however, is produced in the figure or form of the diction, if contraries are opposed to contraries, as [m the Oration of Isocrates de Pace,] ««And they thought that the peace which is common to the other Greeks, was "war to their own private affairs." For here war is opposed to peace. Urbanity also is produced in names or words, if they are metaphorical ; and the metaphor is neither foreign for this is difficult to understand ; nor superficial for this does not affect the hearer. Farther still, urbanity in diction IS produced, if the thing itself is placed before the eyes ; for it is more necessary to see what has been than what will be done. It is requisite, therefore, to pay attention to these three things, viz. metaphor, antithesis! and energy, ' As, however, there are four kinds of metaphors, those ^ are most approved which subsist according to analogy • as when Pericles said, " That youth perishing In battle was taken away from the city, just as if some one should take away the spring from the year." And as Leptines said of the Lacedaemonians, « That the Athenians should not suffer Greece to be deprived of its other eye/^ Thus too Cephisodotus, when Chares was anxious to give an account of the Olynthiac war, said indignantly, ^^ That while he endeavoured to give the people an account of his conduct, he kept them in a furnace." And the same person once exhorting the Athenians to forage in Euboea CHAP. X. RHETORIC. 239 said, "It was necessary that the decree of Miltiades should proceed [to the Euboic expedition.] And Iphi- crates, when the Athenians had made a league with Epidaurus, and the sea coast, said indignantly, " That they had deprived themselves of the viatica of war.'* And Pitholaus, called the Athenian ship which was deno- minated Paralus, the club (ropalon) of the people. He also called Sestus,' the granary of the Pyrceum. Peri- cles, likewise, exhorted the Athenians to destroy Ogina, as the ophthalmy of the Pirceum, And Merocles, naming a certain worthy person, said, " That he was in no respect more depraved than this person, for with respect to him, he had taken three per cent, interest, but that he himself had taken ten per cent."* And the iambic of Anaxandrides upon his daughters that were a long time before they mar- ried, " The virgins have passed beyond the appointed day of wedlock."' To these may be added, what Polyeuctus said on one Speusippus who was [a restless man and] apoplectic, ** That he could not be quiet, though he was bound by fortune in the Pentesyringian* disease." Cephi- * This was a town of the Hellespont, from which every year the Athenians brought a great quantity of corn into the Pyrgeum. * In order to understand this example, it is requisite to observe, that the word tojcoj employed here by Aristotle signifies both usury ard a son. The meaning, therefore, of the passage is, that Mero- cles, who had ten sons and was accused as a depraved usurer because he had taken ten per cent, annually for the education of his ten sons, named a certain worthy man who had three sons, and took three per cent, annually for their education. ^ This metaphor is taken from a term of law relative to a court of justice, i. e. intra diem judicii non stetisse, ^ The Pentesyringus was an instrument in which there were five holes, and in which the head, arms and feet of defendants were sf5 fi"xed, that they could not by any means move themselves. Because, 240 THE ART OH BOOK 11 r. CHAP. X. RHETORIC. 241 sodotus likewise called three-hanked g allies, various haking^hQuses.' But the dog [i. e, Diogenes] called taverns, ilie Attic Phiditia.' And Asion said, " That the Athenians had poured forth their city into Sicily ;'* for this is a metaphor, and phces the thing before the eyes. Asion adds, ['* That the Athenians had so poured forth their city into Sicily,] that Greece vociferated.'* For this also is after a manner a metaphor, and places the thing before the eyes. Cephisodotus also exhorted the Athenians to beware '' That they did not make their assemblies hostile congresses.'' And Isocrates said^ *' [That the sophists addressed themselves] to those who run together in the public assemblies." And as in the funeral oration [of Lysias,] " It was but just that Greece should cut off her hair on the tomb of those who died at Salamis, because her liberty was buried with their virtue." For if he had said, " That it was but just Greece should weep, in consequence of virtue being buried [with those who died at Salamis,"] it would have been [only] a metaphor, and the thing would have been placed before the eyes. But the words « liberty was buried with virtue," have a certain antithesis. And as Iphicrates said, « The path of my oration is through the midst of the transactions of Chares." For this is a metaphor according to analogy ; and the words, "through the midst," place the thing before our eyes. And to say, " To call on dangers to give assistance to dangers," therefore, apoplexy renders a man immoveable, Polyeuctus, called Spetisippus pentesi^ringus, ' Because as baking.hou-.es supplied the city with bread, so thp three-banked gallics supplied it w iih corn. ^ * The Phiditia were the banquets or suppers of the Lawd^emo- mans. ' is to place the thing before the eyes, and is a metaphor. Another instance is that of Lycoleon in defence of Chabrias, «* Neither will you revere his suppliant brazen statue ?" For this is a metaphor in the present time, but not always, and places the thing before the eyes. For he being in danger, the statue supplicates for him ; and supplication is attributed to an inanimate statue, which is the property of an animated thing. And, ** A inonu-^ ment of the works of the city." And, ** They meditated by every possible way to have groveling conceptions." ' For to meditate is to increase something. And ao-ain, *« That God enkindled the light of intellect in the soul." For both [light and intellect] accord in illuminating. And, " For we do not dissolve war, but defer it."* For both deferring and a peace of this kind signify something future. And to say, " That the compacts of peace are a trophy much more beautiful than those which are procured in w^ar. For the latter are obtained for things of small consequence, and through one for- tune ; but the former, for every battle." ' For both [a trophy and a compact] are indications of victory. And *^That cities through the censure of men suffer great punishment."^ For punishment is a certain just injury. ■ This instance is taken from Isocrates in Panegyr. concerning the abject manners of the Persians. * This also is from the Panegyric of Isocrates, where he speaks of the Greeks of his time, who made a peace which was neither firm, nor lasting. ^ This also is from the same oratioin of Isocrates. ^ The analogy here consists in this, that as those who violate tlie laws suflfer a detriment in money, through fine, thus cities when they are badly conducted suffer through censure a detriment in honour. Arist. VOL. I, Q jf>.-gVi«8uaiLAkA»aAj'jiii?j.<' '-t-AjnEAj ■^■•«..-><:. 24^ THE ART OF BOOK III. And thus we have shown how polite diction may be de- rived from metaphor according to the analogous, and from placing a thing before the eyes. CHAPTER XL Let us now show what we mean by placing a thing before the eyes, and what is to be done in order to effect this. I say then, that those words place a thing before the eyes which signify things energizing. Thus for in- stance to say ** That a good man is a square," is meta- phorical y for both a good man and a square are perfect ; but it does not signify energy. But to say " Possessing a flourishing acme,'" signifies energy. Likewise to say, ** But you as liberated," indicates energy. And, Then with impetuous feet forth rush'd the Greeks. * Here the word impetuous is energy, and a metaphor. ^ Thus too energy is every where exhibited by Homer, ' Both this and the instance that follows it are taken from Iso- crates. * From the Iphigenia of Euripides. ' Because it is taken from the energy employed by runners in the act of running. CHAP. XI. RHETORIC. 243 who speaks of inanimate things as animated, through a metaphor. But to produce energy in every thing [as he does,] is very much applauded ; as in the following instances. Back on the ground then roll'd the shameless stone. » And, The arrow flew. ^ And, Longing to strike. ^ And, Trojan and Grecian darts in earth then stood, And longM to gorge themselves with human blood. And, The furious pointed dart then pierc'd his breast. ' For in all these instances, because the things are animat- ed, they appear to energize. For to be shameless and furious, &c. are energies. But Homer has added these through metaphor from analogy. For as the stone is to Sisyphus, so is an impudent person to him whom he impudently torments. Homer, likewise, in his celebrated ' From Odyss. II, where the labour of Sisyphus is described. * From Iliad, 13. ^ This is from the same place as the above, in which Homer attributes to an arrow the vital energy of desiring. * Iliad, 15. ' From the 15th Iliad, where Homer, speaking of a dart hurled by Menelaus, ascribes to it fury. 244 TliE ART OF BOOK ItT, images attributes to inanimate things the proper energies of such as are animated, as, Th' afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar ; The waves behind Impel the waves before, Wide-foirmg, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore* * For he makes every thing moving and living ; but energy is imitation. Metaphors, however, ought to be derived, as we have before observed, from things familiar and not obvious ; just as in philosophy, it is the province of a sa- gacious man to survey the similar in things very different from each other, as Archyras says, " That an arbiter and an altar are the same thing ; for he who is injured flies to both these." Or if some one should say " That an anchor and cremastra are the same thing.'** For both perform an office which is in a certain respect the same ; but they differ in this, that the one is fixed above, and the other beneath. To say also that cities are ano- malous [is another instance of an appropriate metaphor taken from things very dissimilar* J For as a superficies is said to be anomalous because one part rises above another, so a city may be said to be anomalous when some of the citizens in it surpass others in power. Polite diction, however, is for the most part effected through metaphor and previous deception. For the dic- tion which not only causes us to learn something of which we were before ignorant, but also something about which we had been before deceived, is more polite and ■ Iliad, 1 3, The translation by Pope. * A cremastra was a hook fixed in the ceiling of a house so tliat tilings might be suspended from it, and it resembled an anchor. X .ig .^ > ^ ■ CHAP. XI. RHETORIC. 245 pleasant, since the mind passing from error to truth Is delighted, and says to itself, " How true is this which I have learnt ! I was in an error," Of apothegms, like- wise, those are polite, which imply something different from what the words at first seem to signify ; as that apothegm of Stesichorus, ^' That the grasshoppers would sing to them on the ground." ' Good enigmas, also, are for the same reason pleasing ; for they cause us to learn something, and are metaphorical ; and, as Theodorus says, " It is pleasing to say something new." But this is effected, when what is said is paradoxical, and (as he says) is not conformable to prior opinion ; but as in ridiculous assertions is slightly transformed. This likewise is capable of being effected by jests, in which the letters of the words are somewhat changed ; for these [pleasantly] deceive the hearer. And also in verse; for something is said different from what thjj. hearer expected. '* He walk'd along, with cltUhlains (;^iju,g7Xa) on his feet." But the hearer expected it would have been said that he had sandals (ws'^i'Kol) on his feet. This kind of jest, however, ought to be immediately manifest. Para- grams, or jests formed by the mutation of letters are produced, when that is not signified which the word at first sight seemed to signify, as that jest of Theodorus upon Nicon the harper. For [Nicon having been vexed by a certain person,] Theodorus deriding him said OpotTTY) (Ts^ which appears as if he had said, " He dis* ' This was said by Stesichorus of the Locrlans, and signified that their country would be so desolate, that no tree would remain, on which the grasshoppers could ascend, so that they wotdd be forced to sing on the ground. 246 THE ART OF BOOK in. iurhsyoUy' dparTsi ra'^°^^'^' '^^' ^ diffe- rent Action is adapted to each genus of orations. For tiplied so exceedingly in a short time, as to destroy all the fruits of he land to the great detriment of the Carpathians. Hence hame Z^:s^tZ^:^ suffered a loss" frr; paMan the hare. ^ '"^' advantage. As tie Car^ WaMtii^ijSl aii!^aiL:i^■a^i^fa^•|^M«^^^i!&»^ .. CHAP. xn. RHETORIC. 251 graphic and agonistic diction [i. e. the diction employ- ed in writing and at the bar'] are not the same ; nor forensic, and that which is employed in popular ha- rangues. But It is necessary to know both these kinds of dic- tion. For to know the one, is to know how to speak properly ; and by a knowledge of the other, we are not compelled to be silent, when we wish to impart some- thing to others, which those suffer who do not know how to write. But graphic diction, or the diction pertaining to writing, is indeed most accurate ; but the agonistic, or that which belongs to the bar, is most adapted to ac- tion. Of this latter, however, there are two species ; one ethical, but the other pathetic. Hence, also, players chuse dramas of this kind, and poets chuse such like players [to act their fables.] Those poets, likewise, are most approved, whose fables delight, not only when acted, but also when read ; such as those of Chaeremon, whose diction is as accurate as that of any writer of ora- tions ; and among the dithyrambic poets, those of Licyra- nicus. When orations also are compared with each other, those which are written, will appear when recited in forensic contests to be jejune. On the other hand, those orations which when publicly delivered are heard with applause, if they are perused when written, will ap- pear to be unpolished and inaccurate; the reason of which is, that they are [merely] adapted to forensic contests. Hence, those which are adapted to action, when de- prived of action, in consequence of not accomplishing their proper work appear to be jejune. Thus, for in- stance, disjointed sentences, and frequent repetition, are rightly rejected in the diction pertaining to writing ; but 252 THE ART OF BOOK III. CHAP. xn. RHETORIC. 25: rhetoricians use these in the diction which belongs to the bar ; for both these are adapted to action. This repeti- tion, however, ought to be delivered with a change of the TOice ; which as it were prepares the way for action ; as. He u IS who robbed you ; he it is who deceived you • he It IS who at last endeavoured to betray you •" as Phi- lemon the player also did, whilst he acted in the Geron- tomana of Anaxandrides, when Rhadamanthus and Pala- medes speak ; and also in the prologue of the play call- ed the Ptous, wh^re / is frequently repeated. For if such repetitions are not accompanied with action, the actor [according to the proverb,] will seem to carry a beam. The like also must be observed with respect' to disjointed sentences ; such as, / came, I met him, 7 re- quested htm. For it is necessary that these should be accompamed with action, and not, as if only one thing was said, pronounced with the same manner, and the same tone of voice. Farther still, disjointed diction pos- sesses something peculiar ; since in an equal time many things appear to be said. For the conjunction [or con- nective copula] causes many things to be one ; so that It « is taken away, it is evident that on the contrary one thing will be many. Hence, he amplifies who says, '« I came, I spoke to him, I supplicated him much ; but he seems to despise whatever I have said, whatever I do ^y. Homer also intends to do this, when speaking of Nireus [in the 2d book of the Iliad,] he says, Tliree ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore, Nireus, whom Aglae to Charopus bore, Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace, The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race. For. he, of whom many things are said, must necessarily }0 be frequently mentioned. If, therefore, he is frequently mentioned, many things also appear to be said of him. Hence Homer, though he has only mentioned Nireus ia one place, amplifies from paralogism, ' and mentions him here, though he did not intend to mention him in any other place afterwards. The diction therefore adapted to popular harangues perfectly resembles sciagraphy ; ' for the greater the number of the spectators, the more remotely is such a picture to be seen. Hence, in both accuracy is super- fluous, and both become worse through it. But judi- cal diction is more accurate ; and it is requisite that the diction should be still more accurate, which is addressed to one judge ; for this is the least thing in rhetorical die tion. For that which is appropriate to, and that which is foreign from a thing, are more easily perceived. In this case, also, contention is absent ; so that the judg- ment is pure. Hence, the same rhetoricians are not celebrated in all these kinds of diction ; but where action is especially necessary, there accuracy is in the smallest degree requisite. And where voice, and especially a loud one is required, there action is necessary. - Homer, by thrice repeating the name of Nireus, causes us to t^:nk that much will be said of him in the Iliad, and therefore by this repetition, though he no where else mentions him m the whole Iliad, yet he so impresses the name and renown of Nireus on the memory of the reader, as if much would be said of him. » Sciagraphy was by the Greeks denominated a picture, which is only adumbrated and not coloured. Pictures of this kind, when seen at a great distance, seem to be perfected, but if inspected when near, they then appear to be only, what they are in reality, adum- brated. 254 THE ART OF BOOK III. Demonstrative diction, therefore, is most proper for writing; for demonstrative orations are composed in order that they may be read. But judicial diction is the next in order. It is however superfluous to divide dic- tion into the pleasing and magnificent. For why may it not as well be divided into the temperate and liberal, or into any other ethical virtues. For it is evident that the particulars already mentioned will render it pleasing, if the virtue of diction has been rightly defined by us. For why ought it to be perspicuous, and not abject, but decorous ? since it will not be perspicuous either if it be verbose, or concise ; but it is evident that the medium between these is appropriate. The particulars, also, be- fore-mentioned, render diction pleasing, if usual and fo- reign words are well mingled together, and likewise rythm, and that which is calculated to persuade from the decorous. And thus much concerning diction, as well in common about every, as in particular about each genus. CHAPTER XIII. It now remains that we should speak concerning the order of diction. But there are two parts of an oration ; for it is necessary to speak of the thing which is the subn CHAP. xni. RHETORIC. 2.55 ject of discussion, and then to demonstrate. Hence, it is impossible for him who narrates a thing not to de- monstrate, or that he should demonstrate without pre- vious narration. For he who demonstrates, demon- strates something, and he who propounds, propounds for the sake of demonstrating. Of these [necessary parts] of an oration, however, the one is the proposition, but the other the confirmation ; in the same manner as in the sciences, one thing is a problem, but another a de- monstration. But the division which rhetoricians now make is ridiculous. For narration belongs to a forensic oration. But in the demonstrative and deliberative genus, how can there be an oration such as they say there is, or those things which are urged against the opponent ? Or how can there be a peroration of things demonstra- tive ? The proem, however, the comparison, and the repetition, then take place in orations to the people, when there is altercation; (for in these there is frequently accusation and defence ;) but not so far as there is con- sultation in these. But neither does peroration belong to every forensic oration ; for it is not requisite, when the oration is short, or the thing can easily be remem- bered ; since in this peroration it would happen that some- thing would be taken away from the length of such an oration. The necessary parts of an oration, therefore, are proposition and proof. And these, indeed, are proper or peculiar parts. But the most numerous parts of an oration are, the proem, the proposition, proof, and peroration. For what is said against the opponent, pertains to proof; and the coni- parison is an amplification of our arguments, so that it is a certain part of the proof; for he demonstrates some- 256 THE ART OF BOOK nr. thing who does this. Neither the proem, however, nor the peroration is a part of the proof; but each is sub- servient to recollection. If, therefore, any one makes a division of things of this kind, like the followers of Theo- dorus, narration, pre-narration, supernarration, confuta- tion and superconfutation, will be different from each other. ^ It is necessary, however, that he who speaks of a certain species and difference of a thing, should give a name to it; for if not, it will become vain and nuga- tory. And this fault of needlessly introducing new names was committed by Lycimnius in his Art of Rhe- toric, when he speaks of irruption, aberration, and ramifi- cation. CHAPTER XIV. The proem, therefore, is the beginning of an oration j which in [dramatic] poetry is the prologue ; and in play- ing on the pipe the prelude. For all these are princi- ples or beginnings, and as it were preparatory to what follows. And the prelude, indeed, is similar to the proem of the demonstrative kind of orations. For as those that play on the pipe connect the prelude with the beginning of the song ; thus, also, in demonstrative ora- tions, immediately after the orator has mentioned what CHAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 257 he wishes to say, it is necessary to collect aptly with it what is to follow ; of which all rhetoricians adduce as an example, the proem of Isoc rates in his oration in praise of Helen. For Isocrates begins his encomium with blaming the sophists, which has nothing in common with the praise of Helen ; and yet because he has aptly conjoined it with the argument, he has obtained praise. But the proems of demonstrative orations are derived from praise or blame ; as in the proem of Gorgias to his Olympiac oration, " O Greeks, this is a thing worthy of general admiration.'* For he praises those who in- stituted the public spectacles. Isocrates on the contrary blames them, " Because they honoured indeed with gifts the virtues of the body ; but appointed no reward for wise men." The proems also of demonstrative ora- tions are derived from counsel and advice, such for instance as, " That it is requisite to honour good men ; on which account he [the orator] has undertaken to praise Aristides." Or [as he who wrote an oration in praise of Paris;] for he says " That it is neither requi- site to praise those who are celebrated, nor those who are of no account, but those who are good, and at the same time obscure men, such as was Paris the son of Priam." For he [who thus begins his oration] is one that gives counsel. Farther still, the proems of demon- strative orations are derived from forensic proems ; but this is from things pertaining to the hearer, if the oration is concerning something paradoxical, or difBcult, or much celebrated, so as to require pardon from the audi- tors ; such for instance as the proem of Choerilus, " But now since all things are divulged." The proems, there- fore, of demonstrative orations are derived from these things ; viz. from praise and blame ; from exhortation ArisL VOL. i. R giSftt^.^.,,j»Ji«a«ife.«Mi<»ia«gaa»*j!^^ -.^b 258 THE ART OF BOOK III. and dissuasion, and from those things which are refer- red to the hearer. It is necessary, however, that the proems should either be foreign, or appropriate to the oration. With respect to proems of the forensic kind, it is ne- cessary to assume, that they are able to effect the same thing as the prologues of dramatic, and the proems of epic poems. For dithyrambic proems are similar to those of the demonstrative kind ; as, •' On account of thee, and thy gifts or spoils." But in dramatic and epic poems, the prosms are a specimen of what is to follow, that the reader may foresee what the subject of them is, and that his mind may not be kept in suspense. For that which is indefinite causes the mind to wander. The poet, therefore, who delivers into the hands of the reader the beginning of his poem, makes him follow with attention the rest of it. Hence, Homer, And, The ivratk of Peleus* son, O goddess, sing. The man for ivisdom^s various arts renown'd, Long exercis'd in woes, O Muse, resound. And another poet. Again, O Muse, inspire my verse, and sing H(y(ii from the Asian land a mightt/ tvar Spread over Europe. Tragic poets also indicate respecting the drama, though not immediately, as Euripides does, yet they indicate what it is in the prologue, as Sophocles [in the OEdipus,] Polybius was my father. CHAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 259 And after the same manner Comic poets. The most necessary and proper office, therefore, of a proem is this, to unfold the end for the sake of which the oration was composed ; on which account, if the end is manifest, and the subject matter is trifling, the proem must be omitted. Other species of proems, however, which are used by orators, are remedies, and things of a common nature. And these are derived from the speaker and the hearer, from the subject matter, and from the oppo- nent. From the orator, therefore, and the opponent, those proems are derived which pertain to the dissolving or making an accusation. But these must not be simi- larly employed [by the plaintiff and defendant]]- For by the defendant, what peVtains to accusation must be introduced in the beginning, but by the plaintiff at the end, of the oration. But for what reason, it is not im- manifest. For it is necessary that the defendant, when he is about to introduce himself, should remove all im- pediments, so that he must dissolve the accusation at the beginning of his speech ; but the opponent should be criminated by the plaintiff at the end, in order that the hearers may remember the better. What, however, pertains to the auditor consists in rendering him bene- volent to the orator, and enraged with the opponent. Sometimes, also, it is advantageous to the cause, that the auditor should be attentive, and sometimes that he should not ; for it is not always beneficial to render him atten- tive. Hence, many orators endeavour to excite laughter in their hearers. A summary account of a thing also contributes to celerity of apprehension ; and this is like- wise effected by the or^itor's appearing to be a worthy jnan. For the audience are more attentive to men of this description. But they are attentive to great things^ 260 THE ART OF BOOK III, to things pertaining to themselves, to admirable, and to delightful things. Hence, it is necessary to inform the audience that the oration will be concerning things of this kind. On the contrary, if the orator wishes the audience not to be attentive to the cause, he must say that the subject matter is a thing of small consequence, that it does not pertain to them, and that it is a trouble- some affair. It is necessary, however, not to be ignorant that all such things are foreign to the oration ; for they pertain to a depraved hearer, and to one who attends to what is foreign to the purpose. For if he were not a person of this description, there would be no occasion for a proem, except so far as it is requisite to give a summary account of the affair, in order that the oration, as a body, may have a head. Farther still, to render the audience attentive, if it should be requisite, is common to all the parts of an oration ; because universally the audience are less attentive to what is said in the progress, than in the beginning of the oration. Hence it is ridiculous to endea- vour to procure attention in the beginning of the oration, because then all the hearers are especially attentive. Hence, attention is to be procured wherever occasion offers ; [by saying, for instance] " Give me your atten- tion ; for this business is not more mine than yours.*" And, " I will relate to you a transaction of such a nature, that you have never heard of any thing so dreadful, or so admirable.** But this is, as Prodicus says, when the audience are drowsy, to promise to say something to them from his demonstration, estimated at fifty drachms. « It is evident, however, that the proem is referred to the * Prodicus boasted that he had a demonstration which would render those who used it victorious in all causes, and he was accus- tomed to teach it for fifty drachms. CHAP. XIV. RHETORIC. 261 auditor, not so far as he is an auditor ; for all orators in the proems either criminate, or dissolve fear ; as [from the Antigone of Sophocles,] " I will tell, O king, though it was not my intention to have come hither as a messen- ger," And [from the Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides,] ** Why do you preface ?" A proem also is necessary when the cause is bad, or appears to be bad ; for in this case it is better to discuss any thing else than to dwell upon the cause. Hence, servants do not [directly] reply to the question they are asked, but their answer is cir- cuitous and prefatory. But we have shown whence it is requisite to render the audience benevolent, and have explained every thing else of this kind. Since, however, it is well said [by Ulysses to Minerva, in Odyss. 14,3 ** Give me as a friend, and a man to be pitied, to reach Phceacia's land," it is necessary to pay attention to these two things. ' But in proems of the demonstrative kind. It is necessary to make the auditor fancy, that either him- self, or his race, or his pursuits, or something else be- longing to him, is praised together with the person who IS the subject of the oration. For what Socrates says in the Menexemus of Plato, is true, " That it is not difficult to praise the Athenians among the Athenians, but among the Lacedaemonians." But the proems of popular ora- tions are derived from those of the forensic kind ; for these have not naturally any themselves ; since the audience are well acquainted with the subject. And the thing itself is not in want of any proem, but a proem is here requisite either on account of the orator or the opponents, or if the audience should not think the affair ' viz. That the defendant may appear to be a good man, and to deserve commiseration. 262 THE ART OF BOOK 111. of just SO much consequence as it is, but of greater or less consequence. Hence it is necessary either to crimi- nate the opponent, or to dissolve the accusations against him, and either to amplify or diminish the affair. But for the sake of these things a proem is requisite. Or a proem is necessary for the sake of ornament ; since without this the oration will appear to be carelessly com- posed. And such is the encomium of Gorgias on the Eleans ; for without any previous extension and graceful movement of his arms [like the Athletae before they engage,] he immediately begins, '* Elis, a happy city," CHAPTER XV. With respect, however, to the dissolution of crimes objected by the opponent, one mode is derived from those things through which the ill opinion of the audience may be removed ; for it makes no difference whether this opinion arises from what is said, or not; so that this mode is universal. Another mode consists in obviating such particulars as are dubious, either by showing that the thing which is the subject of doubt does not exist, or that it IS not noxious, or that it is not noxious to this person, or that it is not so pernicious [as the opponent contends it to be,] or that it is not unjust, or that it is not greatly 80, or that it is not disgraceful, or that it is a thing of small consequence. For things of this kind are the sub- CHAP. XV. RHETORIC. 263 jects of contention. And ftiis mode was adopted by Iphicrates against Nausicrates. For he confessed that he did what he was accused by Nausicrates of having done, and that he did harm to the person, but did not act unjustly. Or he that has injured another, may say that he has made him a compensation ; so that if what he did was noxious, yet it was beautifully done ; if pain- ful, yet it was beneficial ; or something else of the like kind may be said. Another mode consists in showing that the deed [which is objected to as a crime] was an error, or happened from misfortune, or from necessity. Thus Sophocles said, " That he trembled, not, as his accuser said, that he might seem to be an old man, but from necessity ; for he was not willingly eighty years of age." An excuse also may be made by asserting that the deed was not done with a view to that end it is said to have been done by the opponent. Thus he who is accused of having injured another person may say, '* That it was not his intention to injure him, but that the injury was accidental. And that it wo^ld be just to hate him, if the injury had been done by him voluntarily. Another mode consists in considering whether the opponent him- self, or some of his kindred, have now, or formerly, been involved in the crime which he objects to the defendant. Another mode consists in showing that those also are in- volved in the crime, whom the opponent confesses not to be obnoxious to the accusation ; as, if the opponent should confess that this man, though he is an adulterer, is pure in his conduct, then this and this man also will be pure. Another mode consists in showing that if the opponent has accused others falsely before, it is probable that he now falsely accuses the defendant. Or if it is shown that those who are now accused, have been at 264 THE ART OF BOOK III, another time falsely accused ; for then it is probable that now also they are falsely accused. In order, likewise, to remove a bad opinion, it may be said, that the same persons, who at another time have been suspected of a crime, though no one has accused them, have been found to be innocent. Another mode consists in reciprocally criminating the accuser ; for if the accuser is unworthy of belief, it is absurd that his assertions should be credi- ble. Another mode consists in showing that the present cause has been decided before ; as Euripides does in the action against Hygiaenontes, which is called a?itiJosis, who accused him as an impious person. For when he objected to Euripides, that in that verse of his, The tongue has sworn, but unsworn is the mind, he persuaded men to perjure themselves, Euripides re- plied, " That his accuser acted unjustly, in bringing de- cisions into a court of justice, which had formerly been made in the contest pertaining to Bacchus ; for in that tribunal, he had defended the verse, and would again defend it, if he was willing to accuse him in that place." Another mode consists in reprobating false accusations, and in showing how great an evil calumny is, and that It is also attended with the evil of producing other judi- cial processes. The place, however, which is derived from symbols, IS common to both [i. e. to him who accuses, and to the crimination.] Thus Ulysses [in the tragedy called Teucer,] « accuses Teucer [as the friend of the Trojans,] because he was allied to Priam." For Hesione [the mother of TeucerJ was the sister of Priam. But CHAP. XV. RHIiTORIC. 265 Teucer replied, " That his father Telamon was an enemy to Priam ; and that he (Teucer) did not discover to the Trojans the spies which the Greeks sent to Troy." Another place pertains to the accuser, and consists in praising in a small degree, in order to blame afterwards more copiously ; and if the opponent has performed any great deed, to mention it concisely ; or having enume- rated many of his good deeds, [which do not pertain to the cause,] to blame one of his actions, which does per- tain to it. But accusers of this kind are most artificial and unjust ; for they endeavour to injure by good deeds, mingling them with one evil deed. It is common, how- ever, to the accuser, and to him who dissolves the crime, since it is possible that the same thing may have been done for the sake of many things, — it is common to the accuser indeed, to represent the affair in the worst, but to him who dissolves the crime, to represent it in the best point of view. Thus it may be said, "That Diomed preferred Ulysses [as his associate in the night adventure in Iliad 10,] because he thought Ulysses to be the best of the Greeks." Or it may be said, " That he did hot prefer him for this reason, but because he alone was not his antagonist, as being a man of no conse- quence." And thus much concerning accusation. 266 THE ART OF BOOK III, CHAPTER XVI. But narration in demonstrative orations, is not con- tinued, but distinguished into parts. For it is necessary [in demonstrative orations] to enumerate those actions, from which the oration is composed. For an oration of this kind is composed, so as to be partly inartificial (since the orator is not the cause of any of the actions,) and partly artificial. This, however, consists in showing, either that the thing is, if it is incredible, or what the quality, or quantity of it is, or in exhibiting all these. On this account, sometimes it is not requisite to narrate every thing, because thus to demonstrate is adverse to facility of remembrance. [Thus, for instance, it may be said,] " That from these things it appears that he is a brave man ; but from those, a wise, or just man.'* And the one oration is more simple, [i. e. the oration in which every thing is narrated in a continued series without any confirmation and amplification ;] but the other [in which there is confirmation and amplification,] is various and not elaborate. It is necessary, however, to call to mind things and persons known and celebrat- ed ; on which account the greater part of celebrated persons and things do not require narration ; as if, for instance, you should be willing to praise Achilles ; for all men are acquainted with his actions j but it is requi- aaSiKujt'a'tayay*— ■-•&v;iy-jM'«.y3fij Ifct^^^JKiaaC afegs J CHAP. XVL RHETORIC. 9fe7 site to make use of these actions. But if you were willing to praise Critias, narration is necessary ; for he is not known by many persons, At present, however, rhetoricians ridiculously say fnat narration should be rapid ; though what a certain person said in reply to a baker, who asked, ** whether he wished that he should make soft or hard bread," may be applied to these. For his answer was, " Is it not possible to make good bread, so that it may be neither hard nor soft, but of a moderate <:ondition r^ For it is requisite neither to make a long narration, as neither is it neces- sary to make a long exordium, nor to dwell on the credi- bility of what is narrated ; since here also propriety consists neither in rapidity, nor conciseness, but in medio- crity. But this is effected by narrating such things as render the affair manifest ; or such things as induce the audience to believe that the thing has been done, or that the person has been hurt, or the injury has been com- mitted, or that the transactions were of that magnitude which the orator wishes the hearers to believe they were. Things, however, of a nature contrary to these are to be adduced by the opponent. The orator, likewise, should insert in his narration such things as pertain to his own virtue ; such^s, « But I always admonished him to act justly, and not to desert his children.'*' Or he should insert in his narration such things as pertain to the depravity of another person ; [as in the above in- stance.] " But he answered me, that wherever he was he should have other children," which Herodotus [in ' This is supposed to be said by an orator against some one who had deserted his children. 2G5 THE ART OF BOOK III. Euterpe] says, was the answer of the Egyptians, when they revolted from their king. Or he should insert such things as are pleasing to the judges. To the defendant, however, narration is less necessary ; but the subjects of controversies are, whether a thing has been done or not, whether it is detrimental or not, whether it is unjust or not, and whether it is a thing of so much consequence or not. Hence, the defendant must not dwell upon a thing that is acknowledged, unless something is said in opposition to his statement of the affair. For then he must show, that admitting the thing to have been done, yet it was not unjust. Farther still, it is necessary tJ narrate things which have not been done, as if rhey had been done, if they are calculated to produce commisera- tlon or indignation. Examples of this are, the fabulous narration of Ulysses to Alcinous, and again to Penelope, which is effected in thirty verses. Another example is that of Phayilus, [who contracted a very long poem which was called] the circle, and also the prologue of Euripides in his CEneus. But it is necessary that the narration should be ethical ; and this will be effected, if we know what produces manners. One thing, there- fore, which produces them is, a manifestation of delibe- rate choice; and manners are good or bad from the quality which they possess. But deliberate choice is such as it is from the end. On this account mathematical discussions are not ethical, because they do not contain m themselves deliberate choice ; for they have not that for the sake of which a thing is done [i. e. they do not consider the end ;] but this is the business of Socratic discussions ; for these consider things of this kind. The oration also expresses manners, which exhibits such things as are consequent to manners ; such as, *« That CHAP. XVI. RHETORIC. 269 at the same time he said these things, he went away ;'* for this manifests audacity, and rusticity of manners. The oration likewise is rendered ethical by not speaking as if from a syllogistic process, like rhetoricians of the present day, but as if from deliberate intention ; as, " I have wished," and, " For this was the object of my deliberate choice ; since, though I should desire no emo- lument from it, it is a better thing.'' For the one p. e. to speak as if from a syllogistic process] is the province of a prudent man ; but the other, [i. e. to speak from deliberate intention,] is the province of a good man. For it belongs to a prudent man to pursue what is bene- ficial, but to a good man to pursue what is beautiful in conduct. If, however, what you narrate is incredible, then the cause is to be explained ; an example of which is from the Antigone of Sophocles, " That she wzs more anxiously concerned for her brother, than for her hus- band or children ; for she might repair the loss of her husband and children [by marrying again;] but her mother and father having descended to Hades, she could never have another brother." But if you cannot assign the cause, you may say, " That you are not ignorant you relate what is incredible, but that you are naturally disposed not to admit any thing disgraceful." For man- kind do not believe that any action is performed willingly, except it is advantageous. Again, that the narration may be ethical, it is requisite that it should be pathetic j and this is effected by relating such things as are conse- quent to the passions, which are known to the audience, and which particularly relate either to the orator, or his opponent; as, *'But he departed looking after me;*' and as iEschines says of Cratylus, " That he hissed, and clapped with his hands." For these things are \ 270 THE ART OF BOOK III. adapted to persuade; because these things which the audience know, are symbols of what they do not know. ' Many things also of this kind may be assumed from Homer; as [in Odyss. 19.] Then o'er her face the beldam spread her hands. For those who begin to weep, cover their eyes with their hands. In the beginning of the oration, likewise, you should introduce yourself as a worthy, [and your oppo- nent as an unworthy] man, that the audience may survey you and your opponent as such. But this should be done latently. And that this may be easily accomplished may be seen from those who announce any thing to us ; for concerning things of which we know nothing, we at the same time form a certain opinion [of their truth or false- hood.] In many places, however, it is necessary to nar- rate, and sometimes not in the beginning of the oration. But in a popular oration, there is no need of narration, because no one makes a narration of future events. If however, there should happen to be a narration in it, it will be of past events, in order that by recalling th'em into the memory, there may be a better consultation about such as are future, either employing on this occa- sion accusation or praise ; but then he who does this, will not perform the office of a counsellor. If, however, that which is narrated is incredible, then you ought to' pro- 'I ■ For since the audience know that it is the province of an im- pudent man to hiss and clap with his hands, the orator by narrating thftse things persuades them that he who thus acted was an impu- dent man, of which perhaps they were ignorant. CHAP. XVII. RHETORIC. 271 mise the audience, that you will immediately assign the cause of it, and leave it to the audience to believe or not, as riiey please. Thus locasta in the CEdipus, of Carci- nus, when she says something incredible in answer to him who asks her concerning his son, always promises [that she would prove the truth of what she had said.] And the -^mon of Sophocles [employs the same art.] CHAPTER XVII. It is necessary, however, that credibility should be demonstrative. But it is requisite to demonstrate (since controversy is respecting four things) by adducing a demonstration of the controverted subject. Thus for instance, if it is controverted whether a thing has been done, it is especially necessary in a judicial process to give a demonstration of this ; or if it is controverted whe- ther this man has been injured, or whether he has been injured to the extent alleged, or whether justly or not. And in a similar manner of the existence of the thing controverted. Nor must we be ignorant that in this con- troversy alone, one of the persons must necessarily be de- praved ; for here ignorance is not the cause, as if certain persons were disputing about justice ; so that this contro- versy but not others must be diligently discussed. But 272 THE ART OF BOOK in. in demonstrative orations the amplification will for the most part consist in showing that actions have been beau- tiful and beneficial ; for it is necessary to believe in facts. For demonstrations are seldom given of these things un- less they are incredible, or another person is supposed to be the cause of them. In popular orations, however, it may be contended that a thing will not be ; or that what is advised will take place, but that it is not just ; or that it is not beneficial, or that it is not of such great conse- quence. It is likewise necessary to see whether the oppo- nent has asserted any thing false, which does not pertain to the cause ; since from this, as from a sign, it may be infei-red that he has also spoken falsely in other things. Examples, however, are indeed most adapted to popular orations ; but enthymemes to judicial orations. For the former are conversant with the future ; so that examples must necessarily be derived from past events. But judi- cial orations are conversant with things which exist, or do not exist, in which there is in a greater degree demon- stration and necessity. For that which has been done is attended with necessity. Enthymemes, however, must not be adduced in a continued series, but must be mingled [with other things more pleasant and easy ;] since if this is not done, they will be detrimental to each other ; for there is a boundary of quantity. [Hence, in Homer, in Odyss. 4., Menelaus praises Pisistratus, the son of Nestor, for the mediocrity of his speech.] *^ Dear youth, you have said just as much as a wise man would have said." For he does not praise him that he said such things, but so much and no more. Nor must enthymemes be investi- gated in every subject ; fo^if this [precept] is not observed, you will do that which some of those who philosophise CHAP. XVII.* RHETORIC. 273 do, who syllogistically collect things more known and credible, than the propositions from which they are de- duced. When, likewise, you wish to excite the passions, do not introduce an enthymeme [i. e. abstain from argu- ment ;] for the enthymeme will either expel the passion, or will be introduced in vain. For motions which exist at pne and the same time expel each other, and either destroy themselves, or become imbecile. Nor when the oration is ethical is it proper at the same time to search for any enthymeme ; for demonstration has neither the power of expressing manners, nor deliberate choice. Sen- tences, however, must be used both in narration and con- firmation ; for they are ethical ; as, " And I indeed en- trusted him with this, though I knew that it was not pro- per to believe in any man." But if you wish to speak pathetically, you may say, " And I do not repent though I have been injured ; for gain is with him, but justice with me." It is not without reason, however, that popu- lar orations are more difficult than such as are judicial ; because they are conversant with the future ; but the judicial are conversant with the past, which is scientifi- cally known to diviners, as Epimenides the Cretan said. For he did not predict about future events, but about such past events as were immanifest. And the law is an hypothesis in judicial orations ; but he who possesses the principle, can more easily discover the demonstration. Popular orations, likewise, have not many digressions ; such for instance as, a digression to the opponent, either respecting himself, or which may produce the pathetic ; but such orations admit these, the least of all things, unless they depart from their proper employment. It is requisite, therefore, that he should digress, who is in want of arguments } and this method is adopted by the ArisU VOL. I. 274 THE ART OF BOOK III. Athenian rhetoricians, and also by Isocrates. For giving counsel he accuses the Lacedaemonians, in his Panegy- ric; but in his oration concerning Peace, he accuses Chares. In demonstrative orations, however, it is requi- site to insert praise as an episode, as Isocrates does ; for he always introduces something which he may praise. And Gorgias employed the same art, who said, " That he should never be in want of an oration." For if he speaks of Achilles, he praises Peleus, afterwards iEacus, and afterwards the God [i. e. Jupiter, the great-grandfa- ther of Achilles.] In a similar manner he praises the fortitude of Achilles. He, therefore, who has demon- strations, may speak both ethically and demonstratively. But if you have not enthymemes, you may speak ethi- cally. And it is more adapted to a worthy man that he should appear to be a good man, than that he should deliver an accurate oration. Of enthymemes, however, those which are adapted to confutation are more ap- proved, than those which are demonstrative; because such things as produce confutation are evidently more syllogistic ; for contraries when placed by each other become more known. Arguments, however, which are employed against the opponent are not specifically different [from those which we employ in our own defence ;] but it pertams to credi- bility, to dissolve some things by objection, and others by syllogism. It is also necessary both in consultation and in a judicial process, that he who first pleads his cause, should in the first place confirm his cause, but afterwards should dissolve or extenuate the arguments contrary to his own. But if the opposing arguments are many, these must be first confuted, as Callistratus did in CHAP. xvn. RHETORIC. 275 the Messeniac assembly; for he first refuted what his adversaries could say, and then said what conduced to his own cause. He, however, who speaks in the second place, ought first to encounter the reasoning of his adver- sary, dissolving it, and syllogizing in opposition to it, and especially if the arguments of his opponent have been approved. For as the soul is not favourably disposed towards those who have been already accused of crimes, after the same manner neither does it willingly attend to an oration, if the opponent appears to have spoken well. In order to prepare the mind of the auditor, therefore, to hear an oration, it is necessary first to show that what the opponent has said is false. Hence, the orator must fight against either all the arguments of his opponent, or the greatest of them, or those which are most approved, or those which may be easily confuted, and thus render his own arguments credible. [Thus Hecuba in Euripides,] Bat first the goddesses I will assist ; For Juno, &c. For here Hecuba first confutes what was most infirm. And thus much concerning confirmation. But with respect to manners, since for a man to say certain things about himself, is either invidious, or is at- tended with circumlocution or contradiction ; and to speak of another person is attended either with slander or rusticity ; — hence, it is necessary to introduce another person speaking, as Isocrates does in his oration against Philip, and in his Antidosis ; and as Archilochus blames. For he makes the father [Lycambes] say con- cerning his daughter, in an Iambic verse, *' There is no- 276 THE ART OF BOOK III. thing which may not be expected to be done, and no- thing which will not be sworn to, through money." And in another Iambic, the beginning of which is, " I care not for the riches of Gyges," he introduces Charon the artist speaking. Thus, also, ^mon [the son of Creon, and the husband of Antigone,] in Sophocles, while he supplicates liis father Creon for the life of Antigone, commemorates the praises of Antigone not from his own proper, but from another person. It is necessary also to change enthymemes, and sometimes to change them into sentences ; as, " It is requisite that those who are intel- h'gent should form compacts with enemies, when they are in prosperity ; for thus they will be attended with the greatest advantage." But this is done enthymemati- cally as follows : '* For if it is then requisite to form compacts, when they are most useful, and replete with the most advantageous conditions, it is also necessary that they should be made in prosperity." CHAPTER XVIII. With respect to interrogation, it is then especially seasonable to employ it, when something is said by the opponent of such a nature, that by the addition of one interrogation, an absurdity will ensue. Thus Pericles CHAP. XVIII. RHETORIC. 277 asked Lampo concerning the mysteries of Ceres, who was called the saviour goddess ; but Lampo replied, " That It was unlawful for one who was uninitiated to hear them related.'/ Pericles, however, again asked him, " If he knew these mysteries ?" And Lampo replying that he did, " And how is this possible, said Pericles, since you are uninitiated ?" In the second place, it is season- able to employ interrogation, when one of the premises f from which something follows favourable to our cause] is perspicuous, but the other will be evidently granted by the opponent ; for then it is requisite to interrogate con- cerning such premise, and immediately conclude, with- out interrogating concerning the other premise, which is perspicuous. Thus Socrates when Melitus accused him of not believing there were Gods, asked him whether he thought there was any such thing as a daemoniacal na- ture ; and when Melitus acknowledged that he did, Socrates also asked him, whether daemons were not ei- ther the sons of the Gods, or something divine. But Melitus granting that they were. Is it possible, therefore, said Socrates, that any one can believe that there are sons ci the Gods, and yet that there are no Gods ? Farther still, interrogation may likewise be seasonably employed, when we wish to show that the opponent contradicts him- self, or asserts something paradoxical. In the fourth place, it may be opportunely employed, when the oppo- nent can only answer to what is said sophistically, by asserting that a certain thing is and is not, or partly is, and partly is not, or in a certain respect is, and in a cer- tain respect is not ; for the auditors are disturbed by such answers, and are dubious as to their meaning. When, however, none of the above-mentioned opportunities occur, interrogation must not be employed j for if it 278 THE ART OF BOOK III. should happen that the opponent answers properly, and eludes the interrogation, he who interrogates will appear to be vanquished. For many questions must not be asked on account of the imbecility of [the mind of J the auditor. Hence, it is especially necessary that enthy- memes should be contracted. It is likewise requisite to reply to ambiguous questions, by logically dividing, and not speaking concisely But to things apparently true, a solution must immediately be given with the answer, before the opponent can add a second interrogation, or syllogize. For it is not diffi- cult to foresee what he wishes to infer. This, however, and the solutions, [i. e. the mode of avoiding and solving captious interrogations,] will be . manifest to us from the Topics. If the question, also, of the opponent produces a conclusion [against us,] it will be opportune in the an- swer to assign the cause why it does so. Thus, Sopho- cles being asked by Pisander, whether he was of the opi- nion of the other senators that a dominion of forty per- sons should be established ? he replied that he was. And when he was again asked, " Does not this appear to you to be a base thing ? he said. It does.** " Have you therefore, Pisander replied, given your assent to this base deed ?'* " I have, said Sophocles, for no better measure could be adopted." Thus, too, that Lacon [who had been an Ephorus, or senator,] when he was desired to give an account of his conduct while he was in admi- nistration, was asked by some one, " Whether his col- leagues appeared to him to have been justly condemned? he replied they did.'* But the other then said, ** Did not you also decree the same things together with them?** He acknowledged that he did. ** Is it not CHAP. XIX. RHETORIC. 279 therefore just, the other replied, that you also should be put to death ?'* " By no means, said Lacon. For they did these things, having received money for doing them y but I did not ; since my conduct was- the result of my own judgment." Hence, neither is it proper to interro- gate after the conclusion, nor to interrogate concerning the conclusion itself, unless much truth is contained in it. With respect to ridicule, however, since it appears to possess a certain use in contests, and it is necessary, as Gorgias rightly said, that the serious arguments of the opponent should be dissolved by laughter, and his laugh- ter by serious arguments, we have shown in the Poetic, how many species of ridicule there are. But of these species, one indeed is adapted to a liberal man, and ano- ther is not. The orator, therefore, must assume that species of ridicule, which is adapted to the occasion. Irony, however, is more liberal than scurrility. For he who employs irony, produces the ridiculous for his own sake; but he who employs scurrility, for the sake of another person. CHAPTER XIX. Epilogue, however, or peroration is composed from four things j from that which may cause the auditor to 280 THE ART OF BOOK III. CHAP. XIX. RHETORIC. 281 think well of the orator, and ill of his opponent ^ from amplification, and extenuation ; from that which may excite the passions of the auditor ; and from recalling to the memory [what has been said.] For it is natural, after demonstration, for the orator to show, that what he has asserted is true, and that what his opponent has said is false ; and thus to praise, and blame, and con- ciliate the good opinion of the audience. But of two things, it is requisite that the orator should direct his at- tention to one of them, viz. either to show that he is good to the audience, or that he is simply a worthy man ; and that his opponent is bad to the audience, or that he is simply a bad man. We have shown, how.* ever, what the places are from which things of this kind are to be derived, viz. whence it may be inferred that men are worthy or depraved. In the next place, it is requisite to amplify or extenuate, according to nature, what has now been demonstrated. For it is necessary that it should be acknowledged a thing has been done, if the orator intends to speak of its magnitude ; for the increase of bodies, is from pre-existent substances. But we have already shown whence the places of amplifica- tion and extenuation are to be derived. After these things, however, since it is evident what their quality and quantity are, the orator should excite the passions of the auditor : but these are, pity and indignation ; anger and hatred ; envy, emulation and contention. And we have before shown the places of these. Hence it re- mains that in the peroration the orator should recal into the memory of the audience what has been before said. But this is to be done in such a way, as others impro- perly teach us to do in proems ; for that a thing may be easily understood, they order us to repeat it frequently. In proems, indeed, it is necessary to speak of the thing [which is the subject of discussion,] lest the audience should be ignorant what that is which is to be decided ; but here [in peroration,] the arguments which have been employed, must be summarily repeated. The begin- ning, however, of the peroration should be, " That the orator has accomplished what he promised ;" so that he must then explain what those things are of which he has spoken, and on what account they were discussed by him. But the repetition should be made from a com- parison of what has been said by the opponent. And it is requisite to compare either such things as have been said on the same subject, both by the orator and his opponent ; or such things as have not been said by both of them on the same subject ; as, " And he indeed said this on the subject, but I thatj and for these reasons." Or the repetition should be made from irony ; as, " For he said this, but I that;'' and, '• What would he have done, if he had shown that those things were transacted, and not these T Or from interrogation; as, " What has not been shown ?'* Or thus, ** What has the oppo- nent shown ?" Either, therefore, the repetition must be thus made, or it must be made from comparison, or the orator must repeat in a natural order what he has said. And again, if he is so inclined, he may repeat what his opponent has said. That mode of diction, however, is adapted to the conclusion of the oration, which is called disjunctive, in order that it may be an epilogue, and not an oration ; such as, " I have said, you have heard, you are masters of the subject, judge for yourselves.'* THE POETIC THE P O E T I G- CHAPTER I. liET us speak concerning poetry itself, and the spe- cies of it ; what power each of the species possesses, and how fables must be composed, so as to render poetry such as it ought to be : farther still, let us show of how many and what kind of parts poetry consists ; and in a similar manner with respect to such other things as pertain to this method, beginning for this purpose, conformably to nature, first from such things as ^e first. The epopee, therefore, and tragic poetry, and besides these comedy, and dithyrambic poetry, and the greatest part of the art pertaining to the flute and the lyre, all these are entirely imitations. They diflfer, however, from each other in three things ; for they differ either by imitating through instruments generically different, or by imitating. different things, orbyimiuting in a diffe- rent, and not after the same manner. For as certain per- sons asamilating, imitate many thmgs by colours and figures, some indeed through art, but others through 286 THE POETIC. CHAP. 1. custom, and others through voice ; thus also in the above- mentioned arts, all of them indeed produce imitation in rythm,' words and harmony ; and in these, either sepa- rately assumed, or mingled together. Thus, for instance, the arts pertaining to the flute and the lyre, alone em- ploy harmony and rythm ; and this will also be the case with whatever other arts there may be which possess a power of this kind ; such as the art of playing on pipes formed from reeds. But the arts pertaining to dancing imitate by rythm, without harmony ; for dancers, through figured rythms, imitate manners, and passions, and ac- tions. The epopee, however, alone imitates by mere words, viz. metres, and by these either mingling them with each other, or employing one certain genus of me- tres, which method has been adopted [from ancient to the present times.] For [without this imitation,] we should have no common name, by which we could denominate the Mimes of Sophron and Xenarchus, and the dialogues of Socrates ; or those whose imitation consists in trimetres, or elegies, or certain other things of this kind ; except that men conjoining with measure the verb to make, call some of these elegiac poets, but others epic poets, not as poets according to imitation, but denominating them in common according to measure. For they are accus- tomed thus to denominate them, if they write any thing medical or musical in measure, [i. e. in verse.] There is, however, nothing common to Homer and Empedo- cles except the measure ; on which account, it is just indeed to call the former a poet ; but the latter, a phy- siologist rather than a poet. In a similar manner though * Rythm is defined by Plato in his Laws to be, orderlt/ motion either of the body, or the voice. CHAP. ir. THE POETIC. 287 some one mingling all the measures, should produce imi- tation, as Chaeremon does, who wrote the Centaur, which is a rhapsody mingled from all the measures, yet he must not on this account be called a poet. And thus much concerning these particulars. There are, however, some kinds of poetry which employ all the before-mentioned [instruments of imitation;] viz. rythm, melody, and measure, such as dithyrambic poetry and the Nomi, and also tragedy aad comedy. But these differ, because some of them use all these at once, but others partially. I speak, therefore, of these differences of the arts in which imitation is produced. / CHAPTER II. / Since, however, imitators imitate those who do some- thing, and it is necessary that these should either be worthy or depraved persons ; (for manners are nearly always consequent to these alone, since all men differ in their manners by vice and virtue) — this being the case, it is necessary, in the same manner as painters, either to imitate those who are better than men of the present age, or those who are worse, or such as exist at present. For among painters, Polygnotus, indeed, painted men more beautiful than they are [at present,] but Pauson painted them less beautiful, and Dionysius painted them so as to 288 THE POKTIC. CHAP. 111. .resemble men of our times. It is evident, however, that each of the before-mentioned imitations has these diffe- rences ; and imitation is different, by imitating different things after this manner. For there may be dissimilitudes of this kind in dancing, in playing on the flute, and in playing on the lyre ; and also in orations and mere mea- sure. Thus Homer imitates better men than such as exist at present, but Cleophon men similar to those that now exist ; and Hegemon the Tha^ian who first made pa- rodies, and Nicocharis who wrote the Deliad, imitate men worse than those of the present age. In a similar man- ner in dithyrambics and the Nomi, * [there may be an imitation of better and worse men,] as Timotheus and Philoxenus, have imitated the Persians and the Cyclops. By this very same difference also, tragedy is separated from comedy. For the intention of comedy indeed is to imitate worse, but of tragedy, better men than such as exist at present. / I CHAPTER III. There is also a third difference of these, and this con- sists in the manner in which each of them may be imitated. 1 Lyric poems, such as those of Pindar, and in short, hymns in praise of Bacchus, are called dithyrambics. The Nomi were poems originally composed in honour of Apollo, and derived their name from being sung by shepherds among the paxiures. CHAP. III. THE POETIC. 289 For by the same [instruments,] the same things may be imitated, the poet sometimes speaking in his own person, and sometimes in that of another, as Homer does; or speaking as the same person without any mutation ; or imitating every thing as acting and energizing. But imitation consists in these three differences, as we said in the beginning ; viz. it differs either because it imitates by different instruments, or because it imitates different things, or imitates in a different manner. . Hence, Sopho- cles will partly be the same imitator as liomer, for both of them imitate celebrated characters ; and partly the same as Aristophanes ; for both of them imitate persons engaged in acting and performing ; whence also it is said that certain persons call them dramatists^ because they imitate those who are engaged in doing something. On this account the Dorians vindicate to themselves the in- vention of tragedy and comedy ; of comedy indeed the Megarensians, as well those who are natives of Greece, as being invented by them at the time when their government was a democracy, as those who migrated to Sicily. For the poet ^picharmus derived his origin from thence, who was much prior to Chonnides and Magnes. But some of those Dorians who inhabit Peloponnesus claim the in- vention of tragedy, making names an indication of this. For it is said that they call their villages komai^ but the Athenians demoi ; as if comedians were not so denomi- nated from komazein, or the celebration o/JestivalSy but from wandering through villages, in consequence of being ignominiously expelled from cities. The verb poiein also, or to make, is by the Dorians denominated hpav^ dran, but by the Athenians prattein. And thus much concerning the differences of imitation, as to their num- ber and quality. / ArisL vpL. I. 29b THE POJETIC. CHAP. IV CHAPTER IV. / Two causes, however, and these physical, appear In short to have produced poetry. For imitation is conge- nial to men from childhood. And in this they differ from other animals, that they are most imitative, and ac- quire the first disciplines through imitation ^ and that all men delight in imitations. But an indication of this is that which happens in the works [of artists.] For we are delighted on surveying very accurate images, the realities of which are painful to the view ; such as the forms of very savage animals, and dead bodies. The cause, however, of this is that learning is not only most delightful to philosophers, but in a similar manner to other persons, though they partake of it but in a small degree. For on this account, men are delighted on sur- veying images, because it happens that by this survey they learn and are able to infer what each particular is ; as, that this is an image of that ,• since, unless we happen to have seen the realities, we are not pleased with the imita- tion of them, but the delight we experiedce arises either from the elaboration of the artist, or the colour of the resemblance, or some other cause of the like kind. But imitation, harmony and rythm being natural to us, (for it is evident that measures or metres are parts of rythms) CHAP. IV.. THE POETIC, 291 those who are especially adapted to these things, making a gradual progress from the beginning, produced poetry from extemporaneous efforts. Poetry, however, was divided according to appropriate manners. For men of a. more venerable character imitated beautiful actions, and the fortunes of those by whom they were performed ; but more ignoble men imitated the actions of depraved characters, first composing vituperative verses, in the same manner as the other composed hymns and enco- miums. Prior, therefore, to Homer, we cannot mention any poem of this kind ; though it is probable that there were many such. But if we begin from Homer, we may adduce examples of each kind of poems ; such for instance as his Margites,' and some others, in which as adapted to reprehension the measure is Iambic. Hence, also, vituperative verse is now called Iambic, because in this metre, [those ancient poets after Homer] defamed each other. Of ancient poets likewise, some composed heroic poems, and others Iambic verses. But as Homer was the greatest of poets on serious subjects ; and this not only because he imitated well, but also because he made dramatic imitations ; thus too he first demonstrated the figures of comedy, not dramatically exhibiting re- prehension, but the ridiculous. For as is the Iliad and Odyssey to tragedy, so is the Margites to comedy. Of those poets, however, who were appropriately impelled to each kind of poetry, some, instead of writing Iambics, became comic poets, but others, instead of writing epic poems, became the authors of tragedies, because these forms are greater and more honourable than those. To ■ This was a satirical poem, the name of which is derived from fiapyrjs OF /lapyoj, Jbolish, ignorant. 292 THE POETIC. CHAP. IV. consider, therefore, whether tragedy is now perfect in its species or not, as well with reference to itself, as to fheatres, is the business of another treatise. Both tragedy and comedy, therefore, were at first exhibited in extem- poraneous verse. And tragedy, indeed, originated from those who sung dithyrambic verses ; but comedy, from those who sung Phallic verses,* which even now in many cities are legally established. Thus comedy became gra- dually increased, till it arrived at its present condition..- And tragedy, having experienced many mutations, rested from any further change, in consequence of having ar- rived at the perfection of its nature, -ffischylus, also, first brought the number of players from one to two. He likewise diminished the parts of the chorus, and made one of the players act the first part of the tragedy. But Sophocles introduced three players into the scene, and added scenic decoration. Farther still, tragedy having acquired magnitude from small fables, and ridiculous diction, in consequence of having received a change from satiric composition, it was late before it acquired a venerable character. The metre also of tragedy, from tetrameter, became Iambic. For at first tetrameter was ' used in tragedy, because poetry was then satirical, and' more adapted to the dance. But dialogue being adopted, nature herself discovered an appropriate metre; for the Iambic measure is of all others most adapted to conver- sation. And as an indication of this, we most frequently speak in Iambics in familiar discourse with each other ; but we seldom speak in hexameters, and then only when we exceed the limits of that harmony which is adapted * These were verses in honour of the rural deities. CHAP. V. THE POETIC. 293 to conversation. Again, tragedy is said to have been [at length] adorned, with a multitude of episodes, and other particulars. Let, therefore, thus much suffice concerning these things ; for it would perhaps be a greater labour to discuss every particular.. / CHAPTER V. /. Comedy however is, as we have said, an imitation indeed of more depraved characters, yet it does not imi- tate them according to every vice, [but according to those defects alone which excite laughter ;] since the ridiculous is a portion of turpitude. For the ridiculous is a certain error, and turpitude unattended with pain, and not of a destructive nature. Thus, for instance, a ridiculous face is something deformed, and distorted without pain. The transitions, therefore, of tragedy, and the causes through which they are produced, are not unknown \ but we are ignorant of the changes that comedy has experienced, because it was not at first an object of serious attention. For it was late before the magistrate [who presided over the games,] gave the chorus to comedians ; but prior to that period, the cho- ruses were voluntary. Comedy, however, at length hav- ing obtained a certain form, those who are said to be the 294 THE POETIC. CHAP. V. authors of it are commemorated. But it is unknown who It was that Introduced masks, or prologues, or a multitude of players, and such like particulars. Epi- charmus, however, and Phormis, began to compose fables ; which, therefore, [as both of them were Sici- lians] originated from Sicily. But among the Athenians Crates, rejecting the Iambic form of comedy, first began universally to compose speeches and fables. The epopee, therefore, is an attendant on tragedy, as far as pertains to measured diction alone, since through this it is an imi- tation of worthy persons and actions. But it diifers from tragedy in this, that it has a simple metre, and is a narration. It also differs from it in length. For tragedy is especially bounded by one period of the sun, [i. e. by one natural day,] or admits but a small variation from this period ; but the epopee is not defined within a cer- tain time, and in this it differs from tragedy ; though at first tragedy, no less than epic poetry, was not confined to any portion of time. With respect to the parts, how- ever, of the epopee and tragedy, some are the same in both, but others are peculiar to tragedy. Hence he who knows what is a good or bad tragedy, knows also what kind- of epic poetry is good or bad. For those things which the epopee possesses are also present with tragedy ; but the epopee has not every thing which tra- J gedy contains. / GH AP,- VI. THE POETIC. 295^ CHAPTER VL Concerning hexameter imitative poetry, therefore^ and comedy, we shall speak hereafter. Let us now, however, speak concerning tragedy, assuming the defi- nition of its essence as deduced from what has been already said^ Tragedy ^ therefore^ is an imitation of a worthy or iHicstriotcs, and perfect action^ possessing mag^ nityde^ delivered in pleasing language^ using separately^ tfie several species of imitation in its partSj and not through narration but through pity and fear effecting a purification from such like passions.^ But I say it is ■ When Aristotle says that tragedy through pity and fear effects a purification Jrom such tike passions, his meaning is, that it purifies from those perturbations, which kappen in the fable, and which for the most part are the cause of the peripetia, and of the un- happy event of the fable. Thus for instance, Sophocles, through pity and terror excited by the character of Ajax, intends a purifi- cation from anger and impiety towards the gods, because through this anger and impiety those misfortunes happened to Ajax ; and thus in other instances. For it must by no means be said that the meaning of Aristotle is, that tragedy through terror and pity purifies the spectators from terror and pity ; since he says in the 2d book of hb Ethics, " that he who is accustomed to timid things becomes timid, and to anger becomes angry, because habit is pro- duced from energies.'* Hence, we are so far from being able, through the medium of terror and pity in tragedy, to remote 296 THE POETIC. GHAP. VU an imitation delivered in pleasing language^ viz. in language possessing rythm, harmony, and melody. And, it uses separately the several species of imitation, because terror and pity from the spectators, that by accustoming them to objects of commiseration and terror, we shall in a greater degree subject them to these passions. Indeed, if tragedy intended through pity to purify from pity^ and through fear to purify from fear, it would follow that the same passion of the soul would be contrary to itself; for contraries are cured by contraries. Hence, fear would be contrary to itself, and pity would be contrary to pity. Hence, also, energies would be contrary to their proper habits, or rather the same energies and habits would be contrary to each other, which is repugnant to reason and experience. For we see that energies and habits are increased and established from similar energies. By no means, therefore, does Aristotle oppose Plato, in ascribing this purifying effect to tragedy. For when Plato expels tragic poets from his Republic, it is because they are not serviceable to youth who are to be educated philosophically. For a purification from all the passions is effected by philosophic discipline; but tragedy only purifies from some of the passions, by the assistance of others, viz. by terror and pity ; since it is so far from purifying the spectators from terror and pity, that it increases them. To which we may add, that philosophic discipline is not attended with the mythological imitation of ancient tragedy, which though it har- monizes with divine natures, and leads those who possess a natu- rally good disposition to the contemplation of them, yet it is not useful to legislators for the purposes of virtue and education, nor for the proper tuition of youth. For the good which such fables contain is not disciplinative, but mystic ; nor does it regard a juve- nile, but an aged habit of soul. For Socrates in the Republic justly observes, " The young person is not able to judge what is allegory, and what is not; but whatever opinions he receives at such an age, are with difficulty washed away, and are generally immoveable." None of the English translators and commentators On the Poetic of Aristotle, that I have seen, appear to have had the least glimpse of this meaning of the passage, though I trust it is sufficiently ob- vious that it is the genuine meaning of Aristotle, '-' CHAP. VI. THE POETIC. 297 some parts of the tragedy are alone perfected through metres, and again others through melody. Because, however, tragedians produce imitation by acting, in the first place the ornament of the sight [i. e. the scenic ap^ ' paratusj will be a certain part of tragedy, and in the next place the melopoeia [which comprehends rj'thm, harmony, and melody,] and the diction. For in these imitation is produced. But I call diction, indeed, the composition of the metres ; and melopoeia that, the whole power of which is apparent. Since, however, tragedy is an imitation of action, and action is effected by certain agents, who must necessarily be persons of a cer- tain description both as to their manners and their mind, (for through these we say that actions derive their quality) hence there are naturally two causes of actions, dianoia ' and manners, and through these actions all men obtain or are frustrated of the object of their wishes. But a fable, indeed, is an imitation of action ; for I mean by a fable here, the composition of things. By manners I mean those things according to which we say that agents are persons of a certain description ; and by dianoia that through which those who speak demonstrate any thmg, or unfold their meaning. It is necessary, therefore, that the parts of every tragedy should be six, from which the tragedy derives its quality. But these are, fable and manners, diction and dianoia, sight and melopoeia. Of these parts, however, two pertain to the instruments by * Dianoia hcc.c^cc in a general way, may be defined to be J«J.J... rou A.y.« ^n^yi^c i. e. the discurnve energy of reason. But accu- rately speaking, it is that po^er of soul ^Jdch reasons .Wj/fca^, denving the principles of its reasoning from inteUect. This latter definition, however, pertains to it, so far as it u not mfluenced m its reasonings by imagination and false opmions. 298 THE POETIC. CHAP. VU which tragedy imitates ; one, to the manner in which it imitates ; and three to the things which it imitates. And besides these, there are no other. Not a few tragic poets, therefore, as I may say, use all these species [i. e. partsj in composing tragedies. For every tragedy has a scenic apparatus, manners, and a fable, and melody, and in a, similar manner dianoia. But the greatest of these is the combination of the incidents. For tragedy is an imitation not of men, but of actions, of life, and of felicity and infelicity. For felicity consists in action, and the end [of tragedy,] is a certain action, and not a quality. Men, however, are persons of a certain character or quality, according to their manners ; but according to _^ their actions, they are happy, or the contrary. The end of tragedy, therefore, does not consist in imitating man- ners, but actions, and hence it embraces manners on account of actions ; so that things and fable are the end of tragedy. The end, however, is the greatest of all things ; for without action, tragedy cannot exist ; but it may exist without manners. For most modern tragedies are without manners ; and in short, many poets are such as among painters Zeuxis is when compared with Poly- gnotus. For Polygnotus, indeed, painted the manners of good men ; but the pictures of Zeuxis are without man- ners. Farther still, if any one places in a continued series ethical assertions, and dictions and conceptions well framed, he will not produce that which is the work of tragedy ; but that will be in a much greater degree a tragedy, which uses these as things subordinate, and which contains a fable and combination of incidents! To which may be added, that the greatest parts of the feble by which the soul is allured are the peripetiae, [or changes of fortune] and recognitions. Agam, it is like- CHAP. VI. THE POETIC. 299 wise an Indication of this, that those who attempt to vrrite tragedies, acquire the power of expressing a thing in tragic diction, and representing manners accurately, before they possess the ability of composing the fable, as was nearly the case with all the first poets. The fable, therefore, is the principle, and as it were the soul of tragedy ; but manners rank in the second place. For tragedy resembles the art of painting ; since the most beautiful pigments laid on the canvas [promiscuously] would be less pleasing to the view, than an image painted with a white colour alone, [i. e. than a picture in which there is nothing but light and shade.] Tragedy also is an imitation of action, and on this account is especially an imitation of agents. But dianoia ranks in the third place. And this is the ability of unfolding what is inherent in the subject, and is adapted to it, which ability is the peculiar power of politics and rhetoric. For ancient poets represent those whom they introduce as speaking politically ; but poets of the present day represent them as speaking rhetori- cally. Manners, however, are a thing of such a kind as to render manifest what the deliberate choice is, in those things in which it is not apparent whether the speaker is influenced by choice or aversion. Hence some speeches are without manners. But dianoia' is that through which it is shown that a certain thing is, or is not, or •which universally enunciates something. And the fourth part of tragedy is diction. But I say, as was before > Dianoia, therefore, cannot be. as I have seen it translated, smtiment. For can any thing be more obvious than that the power through which it is shown that a thing is or is not, and which universally enunciates something, must bft discursioe, agreeably to the definition we have before given of dianoia ? But how is this to be effected by sentiment ? 1 300 THE POETIC. CHAP. VII, observed, that diction is an interpretation through the denomination if a thing, and w/iick also has the same power in verse and prose. The melopoeia, however, ranks in the fifth place, which is the greatest of condi- ments.^ But the sight [i. e. the scenic apparatus,] pos- sesses indeed an alluring power ; yet it is most inartificial, and is in the smallest degree appropriate to poetry. For the power of tragedy remains, even when unaccompanied with scenic apparatus and players. And farther still, the art of constructing the scenic apparatus possesses greater authority than the art of the poet. ^ CHAPTER VII. These things being defined, let us ii'the next place show what the combination of the incidents ought to be, since this is the first and greatest part of tragedy. But let it be granted to us, that tragedy is the imitation of a perfect and whole action, and which possesses a certain magnitude ; for there may be a whole which has no [ap- propriate] magnitude. A whole, however, is that which has a beginning, middle, and end. And the beginning is that which necessarily is not itself posterior to another thing; but another thing is naturally adapted to be pos- terior to it. On the contrary the end is that, which is itself naturally adapted to be posterior to another thing, either from necessity, or for the most part ; but after this CHAP. VII. THE POETIC. 301 there is nothing else. But the middle is that which is Itself posterior to another thing, and posterior to which there is something else. Hence, it is necessary that those who compose fables properly, should neither begin them casually, nor end them casually, but should employ the above-mentioned ideas [of beginning, middle, and end.] Farther still, that which is beautiful, whether it be an animal, or any thing else which is a composite from cer- tain parts, ought not only to have this arrangement of beginning, middle, and end, but a magnitude also which is not casual. For the beautiful consists in magnitude and order. Hence, neither can any very small animal be beautiful ; for the survey of it is confused, since it is effected in nearly an insensible time. Nor can a very large animal be beautiful ; for it cannot be surveyed at once, but its subsistence as one and a whole eludes ihe view of the spectators ; such as if, for instance, it should be an animal of ten thousand stadia in length. Hence, as in bodies and in animals it is necessary there should be mag- nitude, but such as can easily be seen ; thus also in fables, it is necessary indeed there should be length, but this such as can easily be remembered. The defi- nition, however, of the length [of the fable] with refer- ence to contests and the senses, [i. e. with reference to external circumstances,] cannot fall under the precepts of art. For if it were requisite to perform a hundred tragedies [in one day,] as is said to have been the case more than once, the performance ought to be regulated by a clepsydra [or hour-glass.] But the definition of the length of the fable according to the nature of the thing, is this, that the fable is always more beautiful the greater it is, if at the same time it is perspicuous. Simply di- ning the thing, however, we may say, that every fable 302 THE POETIC. CHAP. VIII. has an appropriate magnitude, when the time of its dura- tion is such as to render it probable that the transition from prosperous to adverse, or from adverse to prosperous fortune which it relates, has taken place, the necessary or probable order of things being preserved, through which one thing follows from, and after another. / CHAPTER VIII. / The fable, however, is one, not as some fancy, if one person is the subject of it ; for many things and which are generically infinite happen [to one and the same man ;] from a certain number of which no one thing results. Thus, also, there are many actions of one man, from which no one action is produced ; on which account all those poets appear to have erred who have written the Heracleid, and Theseid, and such like poems. For they fancied that because Hercules was one person, it was fit that the fable should be one. Homer, however, as he excelled in other things, appears likewise to have seen this acutely, whether from art, or from nature. For in composing the Odyssey, he has not related every thing which happened to Ulysses ; such as the being wounded in Parnassus, and pretending to be insane, when the Greeks were collected into one army against the Tro- jans ; one of which taking place, it was not necessary or CHAP. IX. THE POETIC. 303 probable that the other should happen ; but he composed that poem from what relates to one action, such as we say the Odyssey is ; and he has composed the Iliad in a similar manner. It is requisite, therefore, as in other imitative arts one imitation is the imitation of one thing, thus, also, [in tragedy,] the fable should be the imitation cf one action, since it is an imitation of action, and of the whole of this, and that the parts of the transactions should be so arranged, that any one of them being trans- posed, or taken away, the whole would become diflferent and changed. For that which when present or not pre- sent produces nothing perspicuous, is not a part of the fable. / / CHAPTER IX. Jt is however evident from what has been said, that it is not the province of a poet to relate things which have been transacted, but to describe them such as they would have been had they been transacted, and to narrate things which are possible according to probability, or which would necessarily have happened. For an historian and a poet do not differ from each other, because the former writes in prose and the latter in verse ; for the history of Herodotus might be written in verse, and yet it would 304 THE POETIC. CHAP. IX. be no less a history with metre, than without. But they differ in this, that the one speaks of things which have been transacted, and the other of such as might have hap- pened. Hence, poetry is more philosophic, and more deserving of serious attention than history. For poetry speaks more of universals, but history of particulars. Universal, however, consists indeed in relating or per- forming certain things which happen to a man of a cer- tain description, either probably or necessarily, and to which the attention of poetry is directed in giving names , to men; hnt particular consists in narrating what Alci- biades did, or what he suffered. In comedy, therefore, this is now become manifest. For comic poets having composed a fable through things of a probable nature, they thus give names to the persons they introduce in the fable, and do not, like Iambic poets, write poems about particular persons. \But in tragedy the ancient names are retained. The cause, however, of this is that the possible is credible. Things, therefore, which have not yet been done, we do not yet believe to be possible ; but it is evident that things which have been done are possible ; for they would not have been done, if it was impossible that they should. Not, indeed, but that in some tragedies there is one or two of known names, and the rest are feigned ; but in othei^ there is no known name ; as for instance, in the tragedy of Agatho called the Flower. For in this tragedy, the things and the names are alike feigned, and yet it no less delights [than if they were not feigned.] Hence, ancient fables which are the subjects of tragedy, must not be entirely adhered to. For it is ridiculous to make this the object of inves- tigation, because such fables are known but to a few, though at the same time they delight all men. From CHAP. IX; THE POETIC. 305 these things, therefore, it is evident that a poet ought rather to be the author of fables than of metres, because he is principally a poet from imitation. But he imitates actions. Hence, though it should happen that he re- lates [as probable] things which have taken place, he is no less a poet. For nothing hinders but that some actions which might have been performed, are such as it is both probable and possible have happened, and by the nari'ation of such he is a poet. Of simple fables, however, and actions, the episodic are the worst. But I call the fable episodic, in which it is neither probable, nor necessary that the episodes follow each other. Such fables, however, are composed by bad poets, indeed, on their own account ; but by good poets, on account of the players. For, introducing con- tests [among the players,] and extending the fable beyond what it will admit, they are frequently compelled to dis- tort the connected order of things. Tragedy, however, IS not only an imitation of a perfect action, but also of actions which are terrible, and the objects of commisera- tion. But actions principally become such, and in a greater degree, when they happen contrary to opinion, on account of each other. For thus, they will be more admirable, than if they happened from chance and for- tune ; since, also, of things which are from fortune, those appear to be most admirable, which seem to be as it were adapted to take place. Thus the statue of Mityus fin Argos,] by falling, slew him who was the cause of the death of Mityus, as he was surveying it. For such events as these seem not to take place casually. Hence, it is necessary that fables of this kind should be more beautiful.^ Arist. VOL. I. u 306 THE POETIC. CHAP. X. XI; CHAPTER X. Of fables, however, some are simple, and others com- plex ; for the actions of which fables are the imitations, are immediately things of this kind. But I call the action simple, from which taking place, as it has been defined, with continuity and unity, there is a transition without peripetia, or recognition. And I call the action com- plex, from which there is a transition, together with recognition, or peripetia, or both. It is necessary, how- ever, that these should be effected from the composition Itself of the fable, so that from prior transactions it may happen that the same things take place either necessarily, or probably. For it makes a great difference whether these things are effected on account of these, or after these. CHAPTER XL But peripetia, indeed, is a mutation, as we have before observed, of actions into a contrary condition; and this, as we say, according to the probable, or the necessary. Thus in the CEdipus [Tyrannus of Sophocles,] the mes- CHAP. XI. THE POETIC. 307 senger who comes with an intention of delighting CEdi- pus, and liberating him from his fear respecting his mother, when he makes himself known, produces a con- trary effect. Thus too, in the tragedy called Lynceus, he indeed is introduced as one who is to die, and Danalis follows with an intention of killing him ; but it happens from the transactions of the tragedy, that Lynceus is saved, and Danalis is slain. And recognition is, as the name signifies, a mutation from ignorance to knowledge, or into the friendship or hatred of those who are in prosperous or adverse fortune. The recognition, how- ever, is most beautiful, when at the same time there are peripetias, as in the CEdipus [Tyrannus of Sophocles.]| There are, therefore, also other recognitions. For some- times it happAs, as we have before observed, that there are recognitions of things inanimate, and casual. And if some one has performed, or has not performed, a thing, there is a recognition of it ; but the recognition which especially pertains to the fable and the action, is that which we have mentioned. For a recognition and peri- ' petia of this kind, excite either pity or fear ; and tragedy is supposed by us to be an imitation of actions which- produce fear and commiseration. Again, it will happen that infelicity and felicity will be in such-like recogni- tions ; since recognition is a recognition of certain per- sons. Farther still, of recognitions, some are of one person only with reference to another, when it is evident who the other person is, but sometimes it is necessary to recognize both persons. Thus Iphigenia was recognized by Orestes through the sending an epistle ; but another recognition was requisite to his being known by Iphi- genia. 308 THE POETIC. CHAP. Xil. CHAPTER XIL Two parts of the fable, therefore, viz. peripetia and recognition, are conversant with these things; but the third part is pathos [or corporeal suffering.] And of these we have already discussed peripetia and recogni- tion. Pathos, however, is an action destructive, or lamentable j such as death when it is obvious, grievous pains, wounds, and such-like particulars. But we have before spoken of the parts of tragedy which it is requisite to use as species. The parts of tragedy, however, ac- cording to quantity, and into which it is separately divi- ded, are as follow : prologue, episode, exode, and chorus. And of the parts pertaining to the chorus, one is the parodos, but the other is the stasimon. These [five] parts, therefore, ar^ common to all tragedies j but the peculiar parts are those which are derived from the scene and the commi. And the prologue, indeed, is the whole part of the tragedy, prior to the entrance of the chorus. The episode is the whole part of the tragedy, which is between all the melody of the chorus. The exode is the whole part of the tragedy, after which there is no further melody of the chorus. And of the chorus itself, the parodos, indeed, is the first singing of the whole chorus ; but the stasimon is the melody of the chorus, widaout trochee and anapsest : and the commus is the CHAP, xni. THE POETIC. 309 common lamentation of the chorus and the scene. We have, therefore, before shown what the parts of tragedy are which must necessarily be used ; but the parts of it according to quantity, and into which it is separately di- vided, are these. I CHAPTER XIIL ' In the next place we must show, as consequent to what has been said, to what the attention ought to be directed of those who compose fables, and whence the work of tragedy is derived. Since, therefore, it is ne- cessary that the composition of the most beautiful tra- gedy should not be simple, but complex, and that it should be imitative of things of a dreadful and comml- serable nature (for this is the peculiarity of such an imi- tation)— in the first place it is evident, that it is not pro- per worthy men should be represented as changed from prosperity to adversity ; for this is neither a subject of terror nor commiseration, but is impious. Nor must depraved characters be represented as changed from adverse to prosperous fortune ; for this is the most foreign from tragedy of all things, since it possesses nothing which is proper j for it k neither philanthropic. * 310 THE POETIC. CHAP. xni. nor commiserable, nor dreadful. Nor again must a very depraved man be represented as having fallen from prosperity into adversity. For such a composition will indeed possess the philanthropic, but will neither excite pity or fear. For ^he one is conversant with a character which does not deserve to be unfortunate ; but the other, with a character similar [to most of the spectators.] And pity, indeed, is excited for one who does not deserve to be unfortunate; but fear, for one who re- sembles [the multitude ;] so that the event will neither appear to be commiserable, nor terrible. It remains, therefore, that the man who exists between these must be represented. But a character of this kind is one, who neither excels in virtue and justice, nor is changed through vice and depravity, into misfortune, from being a man of great renown and prosperity, but has expe- rienced this mutation through a certain [human] erro- neous conduct ; such as GEdipus and Thyestes, and other illustrious men of this kind. Hence, it is necessary that a fable which is well composed, should be rather simple than twofold, (though some say it should be the latter,) and that the persons which are the subjects of it should not be changed into prosperity from adversity, but on the contrary into adversity from prosperity, not through depravity, but through some great error, and that they should be such persons as we have mentioned, or better rather than worse than these. But the truth of this is indicated by that which has taken place. For ancient poets adopted any casual fables ; but now the most beautiful tragedies are composed about a few families; as for instance, about Alcmason, OEdipus, Orestes, Me- leager, Thyestes and Telephus, and such other persons as happen either to have suffered or perpetrated things CHAP. XIH. THE POETIC. 311 of a dreadful nature. The tragedy, therefore, which is most beautiful according to art, has this composition. Hence, Euripides is erroneously blamed by those, who accuse him of having done this in his tragedies, and for making many of them terminate in misfortune. For tliis method, as we have said, is right ; of which this is the greatest indication, that in the scenes, and contests of the players, simple fables which terminate unhappily, appear to be most tragical, if they are properly acted. And Euripides, though he does not manage other things well, yet appears to be the most tragic of poets. The fable, however, ranks in the second place, though by some it is said to be the first composition, which is of a twofold nature, such as the Odyssey, and which termi- nates in a contrary fortune, both in the better and worse characters [which it exhibits.] It appears, however, to rank in the first place, through the imbecility of the spectators. For the poets [by whom it is composed] accommodate themselves to the spectators, and compos©* fables conformable to their wishes. This pleasure, how- ever, is not [properly] derived from tragedy, but is rather adapted to comedy. For these, though the per- sons in the fable are most hostile to each other, as Orestes and iEgisthus, yet in the end they depart friends, and one of them does not die through the other. , ■i 312 THE POETIC. CHAP. XIV. CHAPTER XIV. Terror and pity, therefore, may be produced from the sight. But they may also be excited from the con- dition itself of the things, [i.e. from the combination of the incidents,] which is a more excellent way, and the province of a better poet. For it is necessary that the fable should be so composed without any scenic repre- sentation, that he who hears the things which are trans- acted, may be seized with horror, and feel pity, from the events ; and in this manner he who hears the fable of (Edipus is affected. But to effect this through scenic representation is more inartificial, and requires great expence. Those, however, who produce not the terrible, but the monstrous alone, through scenic representation' have nothing in common with tragedy. For it is not proper to seek for every kind of pleasure from tragedy, but for that which is appropriate. Since, however, it is necessary that the poet should procure pleasure from pity and fear through imitation, it is evident that this must be effected [in the representation of things of a terrible and commiserable nature.] We must explain therefore, what kind of events appear to be dreadful or lamentable. But it is necessary that actions of this kind should either be those of friends towards each other, or of enemies, or of neither. If, therefore, an enemy kills an enemy, he does not exhibit any thing which is an CHAP. XIV. THE POETIC. 318 object of pity, neither while he kills him, nor when he is about to kill him, except the evil which he who is slain suffers. And this will be the case, when one of those who are neither friends nor enemies kills the other. But when these things happen in friendships, as when a brother kills a brother, or a son his father, or a mother her son, or a son his mother, or intends to do it, or does any thing else of the like kind, it is not only a lamentable circumstance on account of the evil which is suffered, but also because it is inflicted by one by whom it ought not -to be inflicted. Fables, therefore, which have been re- ceived [from the ancients] are not to be dissolved [i. e. destroyed.] I mean, for instance, such as the fable of Clytemnestra slain by Orestes, and of Eriphile slain by Alcmaeon. But it is necessary that the poet should invent the fable, and use in a becoming manner those fables which are delivered [to him by tradition.] What, how- ever, we mean by using fables in a becoming manner, we will explain more clearly ; for the action may take place in such a way as the ancients have represented it, viz. accompanied with knowledge ; as Euripides repre- sents Medea killing her children. An action may also be done, by those who are ignorant of its dreadful nature, and who afterwards recognize the friendship [which they have violated,] as in the CEdipus of Sopho- cles. This, therefore, is external to the drama. But it may also be introduced into the tragedy itself ; as in the Alcmseon of Astydamas, or Telegonus [the son of Ulysses by Circe,] in the Ulysses Wounded. Farther still, besides these there is a third mode, when some one is about to perpetrate through ignorance an atrocious deed, but recognizes that it is so before he does it. And besides these, there is no other mode. For it is necessary 514 THE POETIC. CHAP* XIV, to act, or not ; and knowingly, or not knowingly. But of these, to intend to perpetrate the deed knowingly, and not to perpetrate it, is the worst ; for it is wicked and not tragical ; because it is void of pathos. Hence, no poet introduces a character of this kind except rarely; as in the Antigone [of Sophocles,] in which Hsemon [endeavours to kill his father] Creon, [but does not effect his purpose.] For the action here ranks in the second place. But it is better to perpetrate the deed ignorantly, and having perpetrated to recognize [the enormity of it ;] for then it is not attended with wicked- ness, and the recognition excites horror. The last mode, however, is the best ; I mean, as in the Cresphontes [of Euripides,] in which Merope is about to kill her son, but does not in consequence of recognizing that he was her son. Thus too, in the Iphigenia in Tauris [of Euri- pides,] in which the sister is going to kill the brother, [but recognizes him;] and in the tragedy called Helle, the son is about to slay his mother,' but is prevented by recognizing her. Hence, as we have formerly observed, tragedies are not conversant with many families; for poets were enabled to discover a thing of this kind in fables, not from art, but from fortune. They were com- pelled, therefore, to direct their attention to those fami- lies, in which calamities of this kind happened. And thus we have spoken sufficiently concerning the composition of things, [i. e. the combination of the inci- dents] and have shown what kind of fables ought to be employed. CHAP. XV. THE POETIC. 315 CHAPTER XV. With respect to manners, however, there are four things to which the attention ought to be directed ; one, indeed, and the first, that the manners may be such as are worthy. But the tragedy will indeed possess man- ners, if, as we have said, the words or the action render any deliberate intention apparent ; containing depraved manners, if the deliberate intention is depraved ; but worthy manners, if the deliberate intention is good. But manners are to be found in each genus ; for both a woman and a man servant may be good ; though perhaps of these, the one [i. e. the woman] is more imperfectly good [than the man,] and the other is [generally speak- ing] wholly bad. In the second place, the manners must be adapted to the persons. For there are manners which are characterized by fortitude, but it is not adapted to a woman to be either brave or terrible. In the third place, the manners must be similar. Foi: this, as we have before observed, differs from making the manners to be worthy and adapted. In the fourth place, they must be uniform ; for if he is anomalous, who exhibits the imitation, and expresses such-like manners, at the same time it is necessary that he should be uniformly unequal. The example, however, of depraved manners is indeed not necessary ; such for instance as that of 316 THE POETIC. CHAP. XV. Menelaus in the Orestes [of Euripides ;] but an exam- ple of unbecoming and unappropriate manners is, the lamentation of Ulysses in the tragedy of Scylla, and the speech of Menalippe [in Euripides ;] and the example of anomalous manners, in the Iphigenia in Aulis [of Euripides]. For Iphigenia supplicating does not at all resemble the Iphigenia in the latter part of the tragedy. It is requisite, however, in the manners, as well as in the combination of the incidents, always to investigate, either the necessary, or the probable ; so that such a person should say or do such things, either necessarily, or pro- bably ; and that it be necessary or probable, that this thing should be done after that. It is evident, therefore, that the solutions of fables ought to happen from the fable itself, and not as in the Medea of Euripides from the machinery, and in the tragedy called the Iliad, from the particulars respecting the return of the Greeks to their country. But machinery must be employed in things which are external to the drama, which either happened before, and which it is not possible for men to know, or which happened afterwards, and require to be previously proclaimed and announced. For we ascribe to the gods the power of seeing all things, but we do not admit the introduction of any thing absurd in the fable ; since, if it is introduced, care must be taken that it is external to the tragedy ; as in the CEdipus of Sopho- cles. Since, however, tragedy is an imitation of better things, it is necessary that we should imitate good paint- ers. For these, in giving an appropriate form to the image, preserve the similitude and increase the beautf. Thus, also, it is requisite that the poet in imitating the wrathful and the indolent, and those who are similarly affected in their manners, should form an example of CHAP. XVI. THE POETIC. 317 equity, or asperity ; such as Agatho and Homer have represented Achilles. These things, indeed, it is neces- sary to observe ; and besides these, we should pay atten- tion to such particulars as are consequent from necessity to the scenic representation. For in these, errors are frequently committed. But concerning these things, we have elsewhere sufficiently spoken. CHAPTER XVI. What recognition, however, is, we have before shown. But with respect to the species of recognition, the first indeed is the most inartificial, is that which most pQets use through ignorance, and is effected through in- dications. But of these, some are congenial, such as the lance with which the earth-born race [at Thebes] were marked, or the stars on the bodies of the sons of Thy- estes in the tragedy of Carcinus. Other indications, however, are adventitious. And of these, some are in the body, as scars ; but others are external, such as neck- laces ; and such as the indication through a small boat, in the tragedy of Tyro. These signs also may be used in a better or worse manner. Thus Ulysses, through his scar, is in one way known by his nurse, and in another by the swineherds. For the recognitions which are for 318 THE POETIC, CHAP. XVI. the sake of credibility, are more inartificial, and all of them are of this kind ; but those which are from peri- petia, such as were made [by Euryclea] in washing the feet of Ulysses, are better. And those recognitions rank in the second place, which are made by the poet, on which account they are not inartificial. Thus Orestes in the Iphigenia [in Tauris of Euripides,] recognizes his sister, and is recognized by her. For she indeed recog- nizes her brother through a letter, but he recognizes her through indications. Orestes, therefore, says what the poet pleases, but not what the fable requires ; on which account it is near to the above-mentioned error ; since , other things might have been equally well said. Thus too in the Tereus of Sophocles, the voice of the shuttle produced a recognition. ' But the third mode of recog- nition is through memory, from the sensible perception of something, as in the Cyprii of Dic^ogenes ; for on seeing the picture a certain person weeps. And in the narration at the court of Alcinous ; for Ulysses on hear- ing the lyrist [singing the fortunes of the Greeks at Troy,] and recollecting [the story,] weeps; whence also he is recognized [by Alcinous,] The fourth mode of recognition is derived from syllogism, as in the Coephori [of iEschylus]— a similar person is arrived— there is no similar person but ^stes,— flg^stes, therefore, is ar- rived. Thus too in the Iphigenia of Polyides the so- phist. For it was probable that Orestes would syllo- gistically conclude, that because his sister had been im- molated, it would likewise happen to him to be sacrificed. Thus also in the Tydeus of Theodectes, [a certain per- ' i. e. Perhaps, tlie sound made by the shuttle as Philomela was weaving occasioned her to be recognized. CHAP. XVI. THE POETIC. 319 son coming for the purpose of finding his son, says] ** I came to discover my son, and I shall be put to death." Another example also is in the Phinida?. For the women, on seeing the place, syllogistically inferred what their fate would be, viz. that they should perish in this place ; for they were exposed in it from their in- fancy. There is also a certain recognition, which is pro- duced from the paralogism of the theatre ; [i. e. of the spectator] as in the Ulysses Pseudangelus. For the one person says, he should know the bow, which he had not seen ; but the other, as if he must be known through this, on this account paralogizes. ' The best recogni- tion, however, of all, is that which arises from the things themselves, astonishment being excited through pro- bable circumstances ; as in the CEdipus of Sophocles and the tragedy of Iphigenia ; (for it is probable that she would be willing to send letters) since such things alone are without fictitious signs and necklaces. But the recognitions which rank in the second place, are those which are derived from syllogism. . > Perhaps the fable of this tragedy was composed as follows : Penelope, conceiving that Ulysses still lived, was unwilling to marry any one of the suitors ; but a false messenger respecting the death of Ulysses is introduced to Anticlea the mother of Ulysses by the suitors. This false messenger pretends that he had formerly at- tended Ulysses at the Trojan war, and affirms that Ulysses is dead. To prove, likewise, that what he says is true, he adds, that he could distinguish the bow of Ulysses from ten thousand other bows. A great quantity of bows are then placed before him, among which is the bow of Ulysses, which he knows through a sign perhaps which had been taught him by the suitors. In consequence of this, Anticlea thus paralogizes : This man knew the bow ; he could not have known it unless he had been with Ulysses ; this person, therefore, has attended Ulysses, and is a true messenger of his 320 TH£ POETIC. CHAP. XVII. CHAPTER XVII. It is necessary, however, that the poet should com- pose fables, and elaborate his diction, so as that he may especially place the thing before the eyes of the specta- tor. For thus the poet perceiving most acutely, as if present with the transactions themselves, will discover what is becoming, and whatever is repugnant will in the smallest degree be concealed from his view. An indica- tion of this is the fault with which Carcinus is reproach- ed. For Amphiaraus departs from the temple, which is concealed from the spectator, who does not perceive it. But this is wanting in the representation, and the spec- tators are on this account indignant. For the poet as much as possible should co-operate with the scenery; since those are naturally most adapted to persuade who are themselves under the influence of passion. Hence, also, he agitates others who is himself agitated, and he excites others to anger who is himself most truly en- raged. Hence, poetry is the province either of one who is naturally ingenious, or of one who is insane. For of these characters, the one is easily fashioned, but the other is prone to ecstasy. It is likewise necessary that the poet death. Then, becoming desperate through grief, she destroys her- self: y CHAP. XVII. THE POBTIC. 321 should universally exhibit the fables composed by others, and those which he composes himself, and afterwards introduce and insert episodes. But I say that he should in this manner direct his attention to what is universal. Thus for instance in the Iphigenia [in Tauris of £uri* pides,] a certain virgin being led to the altar that she might be sacrificed, and vanishing from the view of those who were to sacrifice her, and being brought to another country in which it was a law to sacrifice strangers to a certain goddess, she is made the priestess of these rites. Some time after, it happened that the brother of the priestess came to this place ; but on what account ? Be- cause some god had ordered him, for a certain reason which does not pertain to the universal [composition of the tragedy,] to come thither, but why he did so is fo- reign to the fable. The brother, therefore, coming, and being made captive, is recognized by his sister, when he is going to be sacrificed ; whether as Euripides says [by an epistle,] or as Polyides feigns, speaking accord- ing to probability, because he said, it was not only requi- site that the sister, but that he also should be sacrificed : — and hence safety arises. After these things the poet having given names to the persons should insert the episodes ; and he must be careful that the episodes are appropriate. Thus the insanity through which Ores- tes was taken captive, and his being saved through expia- tion, are appropriate. In dramas, therefore, the epi- sodes are short, but by these the epopee is lengthened. For the fable of the Odyssey is short, viz. the fable of a certain person wandering for many years by himself, and with Neptune for his foe. And besides this, his domestic affairs being so circumstanced, that his wealth is con- sumed by suitors, and stratagems are formed against the ArhU VOL. I. X 322 THE POETIC. CHAP, xviir* life of his son. But at length, driven by a tempest, he lands on his own coast, and recognizing certain persons, he attacks the suitors, and is himself saved, but destroys his enemies. This, therefore, is the peculiarity of the fable, but the rest is episode. rr CHAPTER XVUL In every tragedy, however, there is a bond [or plot^ and a solution of it. And external circumstances in- deed, and some of those that are internal, frequently form the bond ; but the rest form the solution. I call, however, the bond, the whole of that which extends from the beginning to the part which is last, from which there is a transition to good fortune ; but I deno- minate the solution that part which extends from the be- ginning of the mutation to the end. Thus in the Lyn- ceus of Theodectes, the past transactions, and the capture of the son, are the bond ; but the part which extends from the charge of murder to the end, is the solution. But of tragedy, there are four species ; for so many parts of it have also been enumerated. And one species in* deed is complex, of which the whole is peripetia and re- cognition. But another species is pathetic ; such as the tragedies of Ajax and Ixion. A third species is ethical ; such as the Phthiotides and the Peleus. But the fourth CHAP. XVIII, ' .THE POETIC. S2S species is such as the PhorcideS [of JEschylus] and the Prometheus, and the tragedies which represent what passes in Hades. It is especially necessary, therefore, that the poet should, endeavour to have all these species ; or at least that he should have the greatest and most of them, especially since men of the present age calumniate the poets. For as there have been good poets in each part of tragedy, men of the present times require one poet to excel in all the parts. But it is just to call tragedy dif- ferent and the same, though not perhaps with any refe- rence to the fable. Those tragedies, however, ought rather to be called the same, of which there is the same plot and solution. But many poets connect the fable well, and solve it badly. It is necessary, however, al- ways to labour to effect both these, and not to make tra- gedy an epic system. But I call that tragedy an epic system, which consists of many fables ; as if some one should compose a tragedy from the whole fable of the Iliad. For in the Iliad, on account of its length, the parts receive an appropriate magnitude. But in dramas, the effect produced would be entirely contrary to expec- tation. The truth of this is indicated by such as have represented [in one tragedy] the whole destruction of Troy, and not some part of it, as the Niobe or Medea of Euripides, and who have not acted like JEschylus; for these have either failed of their purpose, or have con- tended badly ; . since Agatho also failed m this alone. But in peripetiac, and in simple actions, such poets have admirably effected their purpose. For this is tragical and philanthropic. This, however, takes place, when ^ wise but a depraved man, such as Sisyphus, is deceived ; and a brave but an unjust man is vanquished. But this is probable, as Agatho says. For it is probable that 324 THE POETIC. CHAP. XIX. many things may take place contrary to probability. It is necessary likewise to conceive the chorus to be one of the players and a part of the whole, and that it co- operates with the players, not as in Euripides, but as in Sophocles. But with other tragedians, the part assign- ed to the chorus does not more belong to that fable, than to any other tragedy ; on which account the chorus sing embolima [or songs inserted in the fable,] of which Aga- tho was the inventor. What difference, however, does it make, to sing embolima, or to adapt the dicdon of one drama to another, or the whole episode ? CHAPTER XIX. Wfi have^ therefore, now discussed the other parts of tragedy. And it remains that we should speak concern- ing diction and dianoia [i. e. the discursive energy of reason.] The particulars, therefore, respecting dianoia are unfolded in the treatise On Rhetoric. For the dis- cussion of it is more the province of that treatise. But those things pertain to dianoia, which it is requisite to procure by a reasoning process. And the parts of these are, to demonstrate, to solve, and to excite the passions ; such as pity, or fi^ur, or ai^er, and the like ; and beddes dlQsej^o ampfify and extenuate. It is evident, however, I CHAP. XIX. THl POETIC. 325 that in things, also, it is requisite to derive what is useful from the same forms, when it is necessary to procure ob- jects of pity, or things of a dreadful, or great, or proba- ble nature. Except that there is this difference, that things in tragedy ought to be rendered apparent without teaching, but in an oration they are to be procured by the orator, and produced through the oration. For what employment would there be for the orator, if the things should appear of themselves pleasing, and not through the oration ? But of things pertaining to diction, there is one species of theory respecting the forms of it, which it is the province of the player to know, and of him who is a master artist in a thing of this kind. Thus, for in- stance, it is requisite he should know, what a mandate is, what a prayer, narration, threats, interrogation and an- swer are, and whatever else there may be of this kind. For from the knowledge or ignorance of these, the poe- tic art incurs no blame of any moment. For who would think that Homer errs in what he is reproved for by Protagoras ? viz. That while he fancies he prays, he com- mands, when he says. The wrath of Peleus' son, O goddess, sing. For, says he, to order a thing to be done, or not to be done, is a mandate. Hence, this must be omitted as a theorem pertainmg to another art, and not to poetry. 326 THE POETIC/ CHAP. XX. CHAPTER XX. Of all diction, however, the following are the parts ; viz. element, [or letter] syllable, conjunction, noun, verb, article, case, and sentence. Element, therefore, indeed, is an indivisible vocal sound ; yet not every such sound, but that from which an intelligible vocal sound is adapted to be produced. For there are indivisible vocal sounds of brutes, no one of which I call an element of diction. But the parts of this indivisible sound are, vowel, semivowel, and mute. And a vowel, indeed^ is that which has an audible sound, without the concur- rence of another sound ; such as a and o* But a semi- vowel is that which has an audible sound, vdth the con- currence of another sound ; as s and r. And a mute is that which, ^ven with the concurrence of the tongue, has of itself, indeed, no sound, but becomes audible in con- junction with things which have a certain sound; as g and d. But these differ by the forms of the mouth, by places, ' by density and tenuity of aspiration, by length and shortness ; and farther still, they diflfer by acuteness and gravity, and by a medium between both these ; the theory respecting each of which pertains to the metrical ' i. f . The dljBTerent organs of speech, from which letters are de- nominated nasal, dental, labial, &c. CHAP. XX. THE POETIC. 327 art. But a syllable is a sound void of signification, com- posed from a mute, and an element which has sound, [i. e. from a vowel, or semivowel] For g r without a is a syllable, ' and also with a, as §* r a. The speculation, however, of the differences of these, pertains also to the metrical art. But a conjunction is a sound void of sig- nification, which neither impedes nor produces one sig- nificant sound adapted tt) be composed from many sounds, and which may be placed either at the beginning or the end of the period, unless something requires that it should be placed by itself at the beginning ; such as p^ev, 7JT0/, Stj. Or it is a sound non-significant, composed from more sounds than one, but naturally adapted to produce one significant sound. An article is a sound void of signification, which shows the beginning or end^ or distinction of a word •, ' as to (^r^ixi, and to re^j, and others of the like kind. Or it is a sound void of signifi- cation, which neither impedes nor produces one signifi- cant sound naturally adapted to be composed from many sounds, both in the extremes and in the middle. But a noun is a composite sound, significant without time, of which no part is of itself significant. For in double [or composite] nouns, we do not use the parts as of themselves significant. Thus in the word ^solaypos, Theodorus, [though theos signifies God and dor on a . G r is an instance of a syllable composed of a mute and a semi- vowel ; and ^ r fl of a syllable composed of a mute, a vowel, and a semivowel. » This description is most obscure ; but the sense seems to be, that an article is a sound which of itself does not signify any thmg definite, but merely serves to indicate a significant sound, before or after which it is placed, or which it distinguishes from other words. 328 THE POETIC, CHAP. XX* gift,] yet doron signifies nothing. A verb is a compo- site sound, significant with time, of which no part is of itself significant, in the same manner also as in nouns. For man or white does not signify in conjunction with time ; but he walks, or he did walk^ signify, the former indeed the present, and the latter the past time. But case pertains to noun or verb. And one case, indeed, pn nouns] signifies that something is said of this thing, or is attributed to this thing, and the like ; but another is that which pertains to one thing or many things ; as men^ or man. And another case pertains to action, such as what relates to interrogation or demand. For did he walk ? Or walk is a case of a verb according to these species. And a sentence is a composite significant sound, of which certain parts of themselves signify something ; for not every sentence is composed from nouns and verbs ; (since the definition of man [a rational mortal animal,] is a sentence without a verb) but there may be a sentence without verbs. A sentence, however, will always have some part significant; as in the sentence Cleon walksy the word Cleon is significant. But a sen. tence is one in a twofold respect ; for it is either that which signifies one thing, or that which becomes one from many conjunctions. Thus the Iliad, indeed, is one by conjunction ; but the definition of man is one, be. cause it signifies one thing. CHAP. XXI. THE POETIC. 329 CHAPTER XXL With respect to the species of a noun, one is simple ; and I call the simple noun that which is not composed from things significant ; but another is twofold. And this either consists of that which is significant, and that which is without signification, or of words which are significant. A noun also may be triple and quadruple, as Is the case with many of the nouns of the Megaliotse ; such as Hermocdicoxanthus.^ But every noun is either proper or foreign, or metaphorical, or ornamental, or in- vented for the purpose, or protracted, or contracted, or changed. But I call that a proper name, which is used by every one ; and that a foreign name which is used by other nations. Hence, it is evident that the same noun may be both foreign and proper, though not to the same people. For the word X^y^vW is proper to the Cypri- ans, but foreign to us. But a metaphor is the transposi- tion of a noun to a signification different from its original import, either from the genus to the species, or from the species to the genus; or from species to species, or ac- « This Is a noun composed from the names of the three rivers Hermus, Caicus, and Xanthus. * A dart made entirely of steel. 830 THE POETIC. qpA^. XXL cording to the analogous, I call, however, a transposi- tion from genus to species, such as. There stationed is my ship.' For to be moored is something pertaining to the being stationed. But a transposition from species to genus is 8uch as. •Ten thousand valiant deeds Ulysses has achievM.* For ten thousand is a great number, and is now used in- stead of many. And a transposition from species to spe- cies is such 35, - The brazen falchion drew away his life. And, Cut by the ruthless sword. For here to draxo wway^ is used instead of to cut ; and to cut is used instead of to draw wway ; since both imply the taking something away. But I call a transposition ac- cording to the analogous, when the relation of the second term to the first, is similar to that of the fourth to the third ; for then the fourth is used instead of the second, or the second instead of the fourth. And sometimes that to which a thing is related is added instead of the thing itself. I say, for instance, a cup has a similar rela- tion to Bacchus, that a shield has to Mars. Hence, a shield may be called the cup of Mars, and a cup the shield of Bacchus. Again, evening has a similar relation to day, that old age has to life. It may therefore be said 'Odyss.lib.l. * Iliad, lib. 2. CHAP. XXI- THE POETIC. 331 that evening is the old age of day, and that old age is the evening of life ; or as Empedocles calls it, *' The setting of life." In some instances, also, where there is no ana- logous name, this method may be no less similarly em- ployed. Thus, to scatter grain is to sow ; but there is no name for the scattering of light from the sun, and yet this has a similar relation to the sun that sowing has to grain. Hence, it is said, Sowing his god-created flame. This mode of metaphor may likewise be used differently, when, calling a thing by a foreign name, something belonging to it is denied of it ; as if a shield should be called the cup, not of Mars, but without wine. But a noun invented for the purpose, is that in short which not being adopted by certain persons, is introduced by the poet himself. For it appears that there are certain nouns of this kind ; as substituting f^vwrai ' instead of xeparot for horns, and calling a priest apr^T^p, instead of isps^^g. And a noun is protracted or contracted, partly by using a vowel longer than the proper one, or by inserting a syllable ; and partly by taking something away, either from the word itself, or the inserted syllable. A pro- tracted noun, indeed, is such as ttoXt^o^ for ttoXso^,^ and TTjXTjVaScco for 7rr,A£*?o'j ; and such as npi, and So),^ are contracted nouns j and, — ,,— - The sight of both is one. . .5M,T-. is derived from e^vn, which, according to Hcsychius, sig- nifies buds or scions, * For x^l^yf, ^AffitC, ' For ^^J^j and cw, or in long a. Hence, it happens that the number of terminations for mascuKne and feminine are equal ; for the terminations of ^ and | are the same. No noun, however, ends in a mute, or in a short vowel ; and only three nouns end in i, viz. ^t X/, xdfxfih and TrsTrtpt. But five end in u ; viz. ^aiy, vaxu, yovu, 8o/?y, and atrru. And the neuter nouns end in these, and in y and $.* » Iliad, lib. 5. * The whole of this doctrine pertains rather to grammar than to philosophy or poetry, and is very mutilated and imperfect. Hence, the critics suspect that the text is greatly corrupted. CHA^. xxir. THE POETIC. S3S CHAPTER XXII. The virtue of diction, however, consists in being per- spicuous, and not abject. The diction, therefore, is most perspicuous, which is composed from proper nouns, but then it will be abject. But an example of thi^ is the poetry of Cleophon and Sthenelus. It will, how- ever, be venerable, and remote from the vulgar idiom by the use of unusual words. But I call unusual words, such words as are foreign, the metaphorical, the length- ened, and every word except the proper [name of a thing.] If, however, language wholly consisted of such words as these, it would be either an enigma, or a bar- barism. If, therefore, it were composed from meta- phors, it would be an enigma ; but if from foreign words, a barbarism. For the idea [i. e. the definition] of an enigma is this, the conjoining things impossible with the inherent properties of a thing. From the composition, therefore, of [proper] names, it is not pos- sible to effect this, but it may be effected by a metaphor ; as " I saw a man conglutinating brass to a man with fire ;" and others of the like kind. But from the composition of foreign words a barbarism is produced. Hence language should be moderately mingled with these. Foreign, there- fore, metaphorical, and ornamented words, and the other . species that have been mentioned, cause the diction nei-./ Cher to be vulgar nor abject j but proper words cause it 334 THE POETIC. CHAP. XXIK to be perspicuous. The protracting, however, contract- ing, and changing of names, contribute in no small degree to the perspicuity of the diction. For the use of words in a way different from their proper and usual sig- nification, causes the diction to be not vulgar ; but the adoption of words in their accustomed meaning, renders it perspicuous. Hence those do not blame rightly, who reprobate this mode of speech, and like the ancient Euclid ridicule the poet, for the facility with which verse might be composed, if the quantity of syllables might be lengthened at pleasure, making iambics even in commda discourse ; as Un Xx^tf n^0y Mu^eidwtrct /3et^t<^otTU» And, OVK UV ylVettli^^i TCV iKUVOf f^ iXXt/ic^6V4 It is evident, therefore, that the use of this mode of dic- tion is ridiculous. But measure is common to all the parts of diction. For the same effect would be produced by the improper and ridiculous use of metaphors, foreign words, and other forms of diction. But we may see what splendour the appropriate use of them gives to epic poetry, by putting the words in metre. And he who transfers proper names into foreign words, into meta- phors, and the other forms, will see that what we have said is true. Thus, for instance, -/Eschylus and Euri- pides made the same iambic verse ; but by only changing one word, from its proper and usual to a foreign signifi- cation, the one verse appears beautiful, and the other mean. For ^schylus indeed, in his Philoctetes, writes, A cancerous ulcer feeds upon my Ibot.^ CHAP. XXII, THE POETIC. 335 But Euripides, instead of go-flisi, feeds, uses the word fioivara/. And, [in the verse of Homer, Odyss- 9.j by Inserting proper [and common] words, it will be. And, N«» 3fc ^ tUf ^IK^9( Tl XXi xriiinKog kxi tcu^nq^^ Ai^oy xUKiXiov Kxrxdii^, o^tyriP ti t^xtti^ocu And, H'/6«5 ficournf. [Iliad, 17.] I e. If instead of saying the shores rehellou\ we should say the shores resounded. Again, Ariphrades ridicules the tragic poets for employing modes of diction, which no one would use in common conversation; such as ZoilLOLTOiV a^o, and not aTro owixarwv, i. e. honie from^ and not from home ; a-e^sv [for g-o'j ;] viv [for awrov ;] and A-x^lXKbcds Trepi^ and not Trspt AxiXk^mg^ i. e. Achilles about, and not about Achilles ; and other expressions of the like kind. For all such forms of language, because ' In this verse Polypliemus complains that he was deprived of sight by Ulysses, a littU, voealc, vile man. But Homer, instead of using the word i^ix^*?, little, uses oXiy^, which signifies fiw. In- stead of xr6mK6^, 'puny^ he uses otfT<5*w5, which]«^«£/f« a man (f »o account ; and <»xiKV5> powerless, instead of xuh^, obscure, * In this yerse, which is from the 21st book of the Odyssey, Homer, for the purpose of signifying an ignoble seat, calls it by a foreign word, auxtxi^f, and not by the usual word, f^^h^^r, and he calls the table, not fun^xy, small, but •A*y»jy,.y«c. S36 THE POETIC. CHAP* xxiin they are not in common use, remove vulgarity from the diction. But of this he was ignorant. It is, however, a great thing to use each of the above-mentioned modes in a becoming manner ; and also compound and foreign words. But the greatest thing is to employ metaphors properly. For this alone cannot be acquired from ano- ther, but is an indication of an excellent genius ; since tor employ metaphors well, is to survey similitude. But of words, the double indeed [or compound,] are especially adapted to dithyrambic verse ; the foreign to heroic, and metaphors to iambic verse. And in heroic verse, indeed, all the above-mentioned words are useful ; but for iam- bics, because they especially imitate common discourse, those words are adapted which may be used in conversa- tion, ^nd words of this description are, the proper, the metaphorical, and the ornamental. And thus much may suffice concerning tragedy, and the imitation m acting. CHAPTER XXIII. Concerning the poetry, however, which is narrative and imitative in metre, it is evident that it ought to have dramatic fables, in the same manner as tragedy, and should be conversant with one whole and perfect action, which has a beginning, middle, axid end, in order that CHAP. XXIII. THE POETIC. 337 like one whole animal it may produce its appropriate pleasure ; and that it may not be like the custom of his- tory, in which it is not necessary that a manifestation should be made of one action, but of one time, viz. of such things as have happened in that time, respecting one, or more persons, the relation of each of which to each other is just as it may happen. For as the sea-fight at Salamis, and the battle with the Carthaginians in Sicily, though they happened at the same time, contributed nothing to the same end ; thus also in successive times, one thing may sometimes be connected with another, from which no one end is produced. Nearly, however, most poets do this. Hence, as we have before observed, in this respect also Homer will appear to be divine, when com- pared with other poets, because he did not attempt to sing of the whole of the Trojan war, though it had a begin- ning and an end. For if he had, it would have been very great, and not sufficiently conspicuous ; or if it had been of a moderate size, it would have been intricate through the variety of incidents. But now having selected one part of the war, he has made use of many episodes from the other parts ; such as the catalogue of the ships, and other episodes, with which he has adorned his poem. Other poets, however, have composed a fable about one man, and one time, and one action, consisting of many parts; as the authors of the Cypriacs, and the lesser Iliad. With respect to the Iliad and Odyssey, therefore, one or two tragedies only could be made from each. But many might be made from the Cypriacs ; and from the lesser Iliad more than eight ; such as the Judgment of the Arms, Philoctetes, Neoptolemus, Eurypylus, the Ptochia, [or Ulysses in the character of a beggar,] the Lacsenae, ArisL VOL. I. 338 THE POETIC. CHAP, xxrv* the Destruction of Troy, the Return of the Greeks, Sinon, and the TroaJes- CHAPTER XXIV. Agx\in, It IS requisite that the epopee should have the same species as tragedy.. For it is necessary that it should be either simple, or complex, or ethical, or pathe- tic. The parts also are the same, except the music and the scenery. For it requires peripetia, recognition, and passion ; and besides these, the reasoning and the diction should be well formed ; all which were first used by Homer, and are used by him sufficiently. For in each of his poems he has introduced all these; the Iliad indeed containing the simple and pathetic ; but the Odys- sey the complex ; for through the whole of it there is recognition and the ethical. And besides these things, he excelled all poets in diction and reasoning. The epo- pee, however, differs from tragedy in the length of the composition, and in the metre. But the proper boun- dary of its length we have before described; for it should be such that the beginning and the end may be seen at one view. This, however, will be effected if the compo- sitions are shorter than those of the ancient poets, and CHAP. XXIV. THE POETIC. 339 brought to the same length with the multitude of trage- dies that are performed at one time. But it is the pecu* liarity of the epopee to possess abundantly the power of increasing in magnitude ; for tragedy is not capable of imitating many actions that are performed at the same time, but that part only which is represented in the scene, and acted by the players. In the epopee, how- ever, in consequence of being a narration, many events may be introduced which have happened at the same time, which are so connected as to contribute to the same end, and from which the bulk of the poem is • increased. Hence, this contributes to its magnificence, transports the hearer to different places, and adorns the poem with dissimilar episodes. For similitude of events rapidly produces satiety, and causes the failure of trage- dies. But heroic metre [i. e. hexameter verse,] is found by experience to be adapted to the epopee. For if any one should attempt narrative imitation in any other metre, or in many metres mingled together, the unfitness of it would be apparent. For heroic metre is of all others the most stable and ample. Hence it espe- cially receives foreign words and metaphors. For narra- tive imitation excels all others. But iambics and tetra- meters are of a motive nature ; the one being adapted to dancing, but the other to acting. It would, however, be still more absurd, to mingle them together, as Chasremon did. Hence, no one has composed a long poem in any other measure than the heroic ; but, as we have said, nature herself teaches us that hexameter verse is adapted to the epopee. Homer, indeed, deserves to be praised for many other things, and also because he is the only poet who was not ignorant what he ought to do himself. For it is requisite that the poet should speak in his own SIO THE POiiTIC. CHA2'. XXIW person as little as possible ; for so far as he speaks in his own person he is not an imitator. Other poets, therefore, take an active part through the whole poem, and they only imitate a few things, and seldom. But Homer", after a short preface, immediately introduces a man or a woman, or something else that has manners ; for there is nothing in his poem unattended with manners. It is ne- cessary, therefore, in tragedies to produce the wonder- ful ; but that which is contrary to reason is better fitted to be received in the epopee. Hence, the wonderful is excited in the highest degree from the agent not being keen. In the next place, the particulars respecting the pursuit of Hecifor, would appear ridiculous [when placed before the eyes] in the scene ; the Greeks indeed stand- ing still, and not pursuing, and Achilles making signs to them not to engage. But in the epopee this is con- cealed. The wonderful, however, is pleasing ; of which this IS an indication, that all men when they wish to gra- tify their hearers, add something to what they relate. Homer also in the highest degree taught others how to speak falsely [i. e. to make false narrations] in a proper manner. But this is a paralogism. For men fancy that .. when the consequent follows from the antecedent, the con- sequent may be converted, and that t-he antecedent will follow from the consequent. This, however, is false. For the antecedent may be false -, but this being otherwise, the consequent will necessarily follow. For through knowing the consequent to be true, our soul paralo- gizes, and concludes that the antecedent also is true/ ' The modems, from being ignorant of this very important truth, have committed the greatest errors in the mathematical sclecices ; for they have not been aware how possible it is to de- duce true conclusions from Jalse principles* See . my Elements of tlic True Arithmetic of Infinites. CHAP. XXIV. THE POETIC* 341 Again, things which are impossible but probable, are to be preferred to such as are possible but improbable. Fables also should not be composed from irrational parts, but as much as possible, indeed, they should have nothing irrational in them : if, however, this is impossible, care should be taken that the irrational circumstance does not pertain to the fable, as in the case of CEdipus not know- ing how Laius died. For it must not be brought into the drama, like the narration of the Pythian games in the Electra, or him who, in the tragedy of the Myskns, comes from Tegea to Mysia without speaking. It is ridiculous, therefore, to say, that otherwise the fable would be destroyed ; for such fables should not at first be composed. But if they are composed, and it appears more reasonable that they should be, the absurdity also must be admitted ; since the irrational circumstances in the Odyssey, such as Ulysses being left on the shore of Ithaca by the Phoeacians, would evidently have been intolerable, if they had been fabricated by a bad poet* But now the poet conceals the absurdity, and renders it pleasing by the addition of other delightful circum- stances. The diction, likewise, should be laboured in the sluggish parts of the poem, and which are neither ethical nor ratiocinative. For a very splendid diction conceals the manners and the reasoning. 342 THE POETIC. CHAP. XXV. CHAPTER XXV. WTUi respect to the objections of critics, and the solutions of those objections, the number and quality of their species will become apparent from surveying them as follows. Since the poet is an imitator, in the same manner as a painter, or any other person who makes likenesses, it is necessary that he should always imitate one of three things. For he must either imicate things such as they were or are, or such as they are said and appear to be, or such as they ought to be. But these must be enunciated either by [common] diction, or by foreign words and metaphors. For there are many properties of diction ; and we concede these to the poets. Besides this, there is not the same rectitude of politics and poetry, nor of any other art and poetry. But of poetry itself, the error is twofold ; the one indeed essential, the other accidental. For the error is essential, . when it attempts to imitate that which is beyond its power; but accidental, when it attempts to imitate impro- perly y as if, for instance, a horse should be described as moving both its right legs together. Or an error m each of the arts is accidentally committed in poetry, as in medicine, or any other art, when it fabricates things that are impossible. These, therefore, whatever they may be, are not the essential errors of poetry. Hence, the objections of critics must be dissolved from surveying these particulars. For in the first place, indeed, the poet errs, if what he fabricates is impossible according to CHAP. XXV. THE pomc. S43 the art itself ; but it will be right If the end of poetry is obtained by it. For we have before shown what the end is. Thus, for instance, the end of poetry will be attained, if the poet thus renders what he fabricates, or any other part of the poem, more capable of producing astonishment. An example of this is the pursuit of Hector. If, however, this end can be obtained in a greater, or even a less degree, and that according to the art pertaining to these things, then the fault will not be entitled to excuse. For it is requisite if possible to be entirely without error. Farther still, it should be consi- dered whether the error ranks among things pertaining to the poetic art, or to some other art. For it is a less fault not to know that a hind has no horns, than to make a bad imitation of a hind. Besides this, also, if the poet is blamed for not imitating things as they truly are, the solution is, that he imitates them as they ought to be. Thus Sophocles said, that he described men such as they ought to be, but Euripides such as they were. Hence, SHch must be the solution to this objection. If, how^ ever, it should be objected, that the poet neither repre- sents things such as they are, nor such as they ought to be, he may say that he represents them conformably to the general opinion, as, for instance, in things pertaining to the gods. For perhaps it is neither better thus to speak, nor true, but it is just as it may happen ; as Xe- nophanes observes, ^'In these things there is nothing cer- tain." Perhaps, however, it may be said, tha^ it is not better, indeed, thus to speak, but that the thing did at that time thus subsist ; as in this instance concerning the ^w w For all is metaphorically used for mani/ ; since all is a certain great multitude. And, CHAP. XXV, THU POETIC. S4v5 Alone unbath* J- IL. IS. IS .. said of Orion metaphorically. For that which is most known, is called alo7ie or sole. ^ Objections also may be solved from accent, asHipplas the Thasian solved the following passages : hh^if h •i [sv^dJ oc^is$Xi^ 1 % And, Of some stately oak the last remains, Or hardf fir, unperish'd by the rains. Pope, II. 2;5. Obiectlons likewise may be solved by the division of the sentence, [or interpunction •,] as in the foUowing-instance from Empedocles, . Viz. It Is coiled so comparatively with reference to what Is less known. And it is most known of this constellauon, that it does not appear to set in the ocean. . This line is not extant, and what is supplied .s from Je conjec- ture of some learned men. It allades to the -^er g'ven by Jup.ter to the dream in II. 2. to deceive Agamemnon. Here, .f ^.i^" « : d 'vitl^ an acoent in the antepenult, it will s.gn. y . XHVU TitE l^OETld. 351 should choose a fable perfectly one, the poem would necessarily either appear short, as if curtailed, or if it should be accompanied with length of metre, it would seem to be languid. But if he should compose one fable from many fables, I mean, if the poem should consist of many actions, it would not possess unity. Thus, the Iliad and Odyssey contain many such parts, which of themselves possess magnitude, though these poems are composed, as much as possible, in the most excellent manner, and are most eminently the imitation of one action. If, therefore, tragedy excels in all these particulars, and besides this, in the work of art, (for neither tragic nor epic imitation ought to produce a casual pleasure, but that which we have mentioned) it is evident that it will be more excellent than the epopee, in consequence of attaining its end in a greater degree. And thus much concerning tragedy, and the epopee, as to themselves, their species, and their parts, their number and their difference, what the causes are of their being good or bad, and also concerning the objections which may be made to them, and the solutions of the objections. - }.i\i,-«>i«.0 ■fa.jtatC-aiiaaWiarlg DATE DUE OCTl 1973 ^^^ S 6 1974 MAR S1979 jUN 1 9 t98Z novo 1 1983 \i .». «'' 81 ARISTOTELES AUTHCiR AeEt Rhetoric , P^^tic, anarillcomaSHeairirEHrcs ^ .9^^^' ■^r- :*. *«' brI' r-,- T**., 'S^'^ ^.*^*' *?l/ ,1* . tf. w^ ":i 't^» ■^** "'JSi- :%:^ .**i?if ^'^^ *^... i» i%BT5\ Cdumbia ©ntbetsttp LIBRARY lifflf ^f- 1! m. I i»M Hi THE RHETORIC, POETIC, AND NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. Arist, VOL. IT. THE RHETORIC, POETIC, AND NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK. BY THOMAS TAYLOR. TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. JOVE HONOURS ME, AND FAVOURS MY DESIGNS. Pope's Homer's Iliad, Book 9th, v. 717- LONDON : Printed hy A. J. Valpy, TooJce's Court, Chancery Lane, FOR JAMES BLACK AND SON, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1818. THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. Arist. VOL. !!• J., /i O C^ vy vJ ■ill A . .: ; r • '#»»-.(-; ol^ A4- THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. BOOK I. -e; CHAPTER L Every art and every method, and in like manner every . action and deliberate choice, appear to aspire after a cer- tain good. IJence, it is well said, that the good is that which all things desire. Of ends, however, there ap- pears to be a certain difference ; for some of them are energies ; but others of them besides these are certain works. 'But in those things in which there are certain ends besides the actions, in these the works are naturally adapted to be better than the energies. Since, however, there are many actions and arts, and sciences, there will also be many. ends.- For the end of medicine is^heaUh i ml 5f I ; ; ' I THE NICOMACHEAN SOOK 1/ of the ship-building art, a ship ; of the military art, victory; and of the economic art, wealth. But such arts as are of this kind are [^arranged] under one certain power ; just as the bridle-making art is arranged under the equestrian art, and such other arts as pertain to eques- trian instruments. Both this art, however, and every warlike action, are arranged under the military art. And after the same manner other arts are arranged under other powers. But in all these, the ends of those arts which are architectonic, or master arts, are more eligible than all the .ends of the arts which are subordinate to the master arts. For the latter are pursued for the sake of the former. It makes, however, no difference, whether the energies themselves are the ends of actions, or some- thing else besides these; in the same manner as in the above-mentioned sciences. /. CHAPTER II. * If, therefore, there is a certain end of actions, which we wish [to obtain] for its own sake, but we desire other things on account of this, and our choice is not directed to all things for the sake of something else (for thus there would be a progression to infinity, so that appetite would be empty and vain)— if this be the case, it is :i . !•: /ir^^-y^ i^.«^-v{ v^ f^^'P^ CHAP. II. ETHICS. evident that this end will be the good, and that which isf the most excellent. Will not, therefore, the knowledge of this end be of great importance with respect to life ? For by having, like archers, a mark at which we may aim, we shall obtain what is fit in a greater degree. If this, however, be the case, we must endeavour to adum- brate what it is, and show to what science or power it belongs. But it would seem that it helongs_ta that powerjffijiich is the most principal, and i s especially archi- tecjo iuc. And the_£2litk^!j!£wer [or science] appears to be a thing of this kind. For this ordains what sciences ought to be instituted in cities, and which of them ought to be learnt by the several individuals, and to what extent. We likewise see that the most honourable of the powers or faculties are arranged under this power ; as, for in- stance, the military, the economical, and the rhetorical powers. Since, however, the remaining practical sciences use this political science, and since it also legally estab- lishes what ought to be done, and frcyn what it is requi- site to abstain, the end of this science will comprehend in itself the ends of the other sciences ; so that this will be human good itself. For though the good of an indi- vidual and a city is the same, yet to obtain and preserve the good of a city, appears to be something greater and more perfect. For we must be satisfied, indeed, if we can effect the good of an individual alone ; but it is more beautiful and divine to effect the good of a nation and cities. These are the things, therefore, which the method being political requires. i ^ f^n w-. ■ m am \ t w if m ^g^ K^ wmm ■"% THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK I. CHAK nu JiTHTCS. CHAPTER III. It will, however, be discussed sufEcIently, if it is rendered perspicuous according to its subject matter. For accuracy must not be similarly investigated in all dis- cussions, as neither in all the works of art. Things beautif uj^^Ji035^3[£r*_M^_Ju^^ . scieiKe_i8jcqnversant5 possess so great a difference, and are involved in so much ambiguity, that [to some per- sons] their subsistence appears to be from law only, and not from nature. What is good^ likewise, possesses a certam ambiguity of this kind, because it happens that many persons are injured by it. For some have perished through wealth, but others through fortitude. We must be satisfied, therefore, in speaking about and from such things, if we can indicate the truth by a rude adumbra- tion, and if our conclusions in discussing things which have a frequency of subsistence are similar in accuracy to the thmgs themselves. After the same manner, like- wise, it is requisite to admit every thing that has been •ikl. For it is the province of an erudite man so far to investigate the accurate in each genus of things, as the nature of the thing will admit ; since it appears to be a similar thing to assent to a mathematician when speaking probably, and to require demonstrations from a rhetori- cian. Every one, however, judges well of those things which he knows, and of these is a good judge. Hence, the man who is learned in any thing, judges well of that ( thing ; but he in short forms a proper judgment about ' every thing, who is learned in every thing. Hence, a youth is not a proper auditor of the political science, for he is unskilled in the actions pertaining to life. But reasonings are from and about these. And besides this, if he yields to his passions, he will in vain, and without any advantage, be an auditor [of ethical doctrines ;] since the end here is not knowledge, but action. It makes, however, no difference whether a person is a youth as to his age, or has juvenile manners. For the defect is nqt frorn time, but from living, and engaging jf> every pursuit from passion ; since the knowledge of iugh persons, in the same manner as that of the intem- perate, is useless. But a knowledge of these things wJH^ be v^ry advantageous to those whose appetites and actions are conformable to reason. And thus much by way pf preface concerning the auditor [of ethics,] how he ought to admit [discussions of this kind,] and what we propose £to consider in this treatise.] I 8 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK I. CHAP. IV. ETHICS. CHAPTER IV. Repeating, therefore, what we have said, since all knowledge and deliberate choice aspires after a certain * good, let us show what that is which we say the political science desires, and what the supreme good is of all actions. By name, therefore, it is nearly acknowledged by most men ; for both the vulgar and the learned call it felicity. But they conceive that to live well and to act well, are the same thing as to be happy. Concerning felicity, however, what it is, they are dubious ; and the multitude do not form the same opinion of it as the wise. For some of them indeed conceive it to rank among the number of things which are clear and evident, such as pleasure, or wealth, or honour ; but others assert it to be something else. Frequently, likewise, the same per- son forms a different opinion of it ; for when diseased he conceives It to be health, but when poor, riches. And those who are conscious of their ignorance, admire those who assert something grand, and above their com- prehension. Some too, besides these many goods, ai'e of opinion that there is another good subsisting by itself, which is the cause to all these of their being good. To examine, therefore, all the opinions, would perhaps be a vain undertaking J but it will be sufficient to consider \ those that are most eminent, or which appear to be in some respect reasonable. We must not, however, be ignorant that arguments from principles and to principles differ from each other. For Plato well doubts about and investigates this, whether the way is from principles or to principles ; as in a race from the president of the games to the goal, or the contrary. For we must begin from things that are known. But these subsist in a two- fold respect. For some things are known to us, but others are simply known. Perhaps, therefore, we should begin from things known to us. Hence, it is necessary that the auditor of discussions about things beautiful and just, and in short about political concerns, if he is to be benefited, should be adorned with worthy manners. For the principle Is this, that the thing is so [viz. that certain actions are worthy, and others are unworthy;] and if this is sufficiently apparent, it is not at all requisite to know *why it is so. But such a one either possesses, or will easily acquire [ethical] principles. Let him, how- ever, who has neither of these, hear what Heslod says : He the first rank of excellence maintains Who from himself in ev'ry thing is wise. And what ev'n to the end is best foresees : He too is good who yields to wise advice. But he who neither from himself is wise. Nor to assent to others can endure, Is but a useless, despicable man. 10 THE l^ICOMACHEAN BOOK I. CHAPTER V, \^-' Let us, however, return from whence we have di- gressed. For it seems that men do not unreasonably form an opinion of good and felicity from [the different kinds of] livep. The vulgar, indeed, and the most worthless part of mankind, place felicity in pleasure; and on this account they embrace the life which consist^ in the enjoyment of pleasure. For there are three kind$ of lives which especially take the lead, the one we have just mentioned, the political life, and the third i$ th^ contemplative life. The multitude, therefore, appear to be perfectly servile, deliberately choosing the life of cattle ; and they support their opinion by the example of many persons in power, who have preferred a volup- tuous life, and have lived like Sardanapalus. But men of elegant minds, and those who are addicted to practical concerns, place felicity in honour ; for thi$ is nearly the end of the political life. This, however, appears to be more superficial than the good which is the object of cur investigation. For honour seems to be rather in the persons that honour, than in him who is honoured. But we prophesy that good is something appropriate, and of vhich it is difficult to deprive its possessor. Farther still, it seems that men pursue honour in order that they v» CtTAP. V. ETHICS. 11 may believe themselves to be worthy persons. TheV seek, therefore, to be honoured by wise men, and by those to whom they are known, and with a view to virtue It IS evident, therefore, that according to these men virtue IS more excellent than honour. Perhaps, however, some one may apprehend that this [viz. virtue] is rather the end of the political life. But even this appears to be more imperfect [than the chief good ought to be] For It appears to be possible that he who possesses virtue may sleep, or be unemployed through the whole of his life, and besides this may be afflicted with evils, and ex perience the greatest misfortunes. But no one wculd proclaim a man thus living to be happy, unless for the purpose of defending his position. ' And concerning these things indeed enough; for we have spoken suffi- ciently about them in our miscellaneous writings. But the third life is the contemplative, which we shall make the object of our consideration hereafter. The life however, which is engaged in the acquisition of riches' is a certain violent life, and it is evident that wealth is\ not the good which we investigate ; for wealth is useful, \ and for the sake of something else. Hence, the things which have been before mentioned may be considered as ends rather than wealth ; for they are loved on their own account. It appears, however, that neither does felicity consist in these ; though many arguments arc adduced to prove that it does. These things, therefore, we shall dismiss. 12 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK I. CHAP. VI. ETHICS. 13 CHAPTER VI. Perhaps, however, It is better to consider universal good, and inquire how it is said to subsist, though such an inquiry as this will be arduous, because the men who have introduced ideas are our friends.^ But it may ' Nothing can show m a clearer point of view that Aristotle was V^ not in reality hostile to the Platonic doctrine of ideas, than the obj ^ jections which he adduces against the existence of good considered as subsisting by itself, and the cause of all participated good. For the facility with which his objections may be answered, sum- ciently proves what we have elsewhere observed, that his opposition to this doctrine of Plato is made by him with no other view than to guard it from being perverted by men of superficial ""^^1^^^^^^^ ines. Previous, therefore, to a solution of the objections of Ans- tode, it will be requisite to relate briefly the opinion of Plato con- teming the good. The principle of the universe then was divinely denominated by Plato, the one, and the good, the former of these appellations denoting his transcendent simplicity, and causality, and the latter his subsistence as the object of desire to all thmgs. This principle, likewise, as being the one, is celebrated by Plato as superessential, because being, so far as being, cannot subsist with- out multitude. All things, therefore, derive their subsistence from this principle through its goodness, and are expanded towards and aspire after it, as from thence deriving the perfection and good which they are naturally adapted to receive. When Aristotle, therefore, says, - Perhaps it is better to consider unirersal good,- the univmal here must not be understood in the perhaps seem to be better, and indeed necessary to the salvation of truth, to subvert the opinions even of our friends. For both being our friends [i. e. Plato and truth,] it is holy to give the preference to truth. Those, however, who have introduced this opinion, do not make ideas of things in which they admit there are the prior and the posterior. Hence, neither do they establish an idea of numbers. But good is predicated of essence, of quality, and of relation. That, however, which has a subsistence *per se, and essence, are naturally prior to that which subsists as a relative. For this [i. e. a relative] resembles the branch of a tree, and an accident of being ; so that there will not be a common idea in these. Again, good is predicated in as many ways as being ; for it is predicated in essence, as god and intellect, [which are ^ essences and are said to be good ;] and in quality, as the virtues ; in quantity, as the moderate ; in relation, as utility ; in time, as occasion; and in place, as a habitation; and after the same manner in the other predicaments. It is evident, therefore, that there will not be a certain common universal and one good ; for it would not be predicated same way as in logical speculations ; for there the universal which is predicated of many things is of posterior origin, but here it is prior to the many, and the many derive their subsistence from it. In short, as all ideas, considered according to their first subsistence in a divine intellect, are tvholes and universals, having an essence prior to and exempt from the forms which are in bodies, much more must the good or the ineffable principle of things be called universal, as being the whole of all wholes, and comprehending all things in itself superessentially and ineffably. Hence, the objec- tion of Aristotle, as we shall see, applies only to that universal good which is the subject of logical predication, and not to that which is the principle of the universe ; for the former is posterior, but the latter prior to the many. 14 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK I, in all the categories, but In one alone. ' Farther still, since of things which subsist according to one idea, there is also on^ science, of all goods there would be one certain science; but now there are many sciences of things ' Plato, as we have before observed, denominated the one, tfte ineffable^ and the good, the common cause of all beings, and arran^ ged it above all things ; for he says that it is the cause of all things, but is no one of all things. On this account it is above being, and is not being ; not as falling oiF from being, but as situated above all being. All secondary goods, therefore, are referred to it as the common good, and which is participated by all goods. For every good posterior to this ineffable principle, being something else, is good according to the participation oi it, so far as each is capable of participating of it. But the good itself has a super-expanded subsistence, and is nothing else than the good. On this account also, it is properly and primarily one, as not to be surveyed in con- junction with any thing else. What impossibility, therefore, will follow, if being the cause of all things, and imparting to every thing being, which is predicated according to the ten categories, it is said to be common to all tilings, as being their cause, and the uni- versal good, as being prior to all that multitude of goods, to which it imparts being and goodness, and which by the participation of and relation to it, are said to be good ? Aristotle, indeed, himself, in the beginning of this treatise praises those who assert the good to be that which all things desire ; so that by using the words the good, and which ail things desire, it is evident that he accords with v^ Plato in acknowledging the first and most universal good. For by 1 Plato and his disciples, the term, the good, is given to the first and universal good. And Aristotle, by adding tvhich all things desire, (^vinces that this is the most ui>iversal and the first good. For if ^11 things desire it, it is n^essarily above all things ; since the term all does not permit/us to conceive any being external to it, But the good is above ati things, the first, the most causal, and the most universal of,ail things, not as in, nor as secondary to the many ; for hgyr can that which is first desire that which is second ? It is evi^fcfit, therefore, that Aristotle does not in reality oppose the doctrine of Plato concerning universal good. CHAP. VI, ETHICS, 15 which are under one category. Thus, for instance, widi occasion the art of commanding an army is conversant in war, but the medical art in disease. And with the two- derate indeed, the medical art is conversant in food, but the gymnastic art in labour. ' It may, however, be doubt- ' Again, it is evident that what Aristode now says, does not bv any means subvert the subsistence of the first good, and which is nothmg else than />5. ^00^. For that it is this which benefits aU things; and that every thing by an analogous participation of it is said to be good, w.ll not be doubted by any one endued with intel- lect. For what if one thing is more good, but another less, or If one thmgis nearer to, but another more remote from it ; or if one thmg is good per se, i.e. essentially, as health of body, and vimie of soul ; but another thing is sometbing which contributes to these, as diet and exercise, and a certain medicine and remedy ; tl '""n ?'^ ^''"^^^ '"^"^' ""^ ^''"P^"^'^^ ^ For there is an •?h? h "> l.'"^.'' '' '^"' ^'"^"^ '^'^ ""^ ^^^'"^ i^ ^^^ honour, able, but another is second, and another is third in honour, and so Zn J f '^f ^^";^'^^ °^ Sood also is present with every thin;, according to its order. And if order is good, as disorder is evil t! bemgs, how IS It reasonable to suppose that good should not be >mpar ed to things in an orderly manner > Or will any one require a^niLeTI^ f -r/r '' ^^r ^^"^' ^^ ^ '-''^ '-^> -^ ^ ^^• a. nature ? But ,f this were the case, the difference of all beings, their essence, and their order, would be subverted; nor would^here or.ttL " ifr'' ^" •''^"" transcendent,^if this be the case, "eTrert tr^. "'""^' ""^ ^^'^" ''^^--' -same way as he does justice j but he proclaims it to be blessed, as something more divine and excellent than justice. Eudoxus, likewise, in his defence of pleasure, appears to have given it the palm of victory in a proper manner ; for in consequence of its not being praised, as being among the number of good things, he considered this as an indication that it was more excellent than things that are laudable. But God and the good are things of this kind ; for other things also are referred to these. For praise, indeed, is given to virtue ; since from this we are enabled to perform beautiful deeds. Encomiums, however, pertain to deeds, and in a similar manner to bodies and souls. The accurate discussion, however, of these things, is perhaps more adapted to a treatise on Encomiums ; but to us it is evident, from what has been said, that felicity is among the number of things honour- able and perfect. It seems, likewise, that it is so, bepause it is a principle ; for we all of us do every thing else for the sake of this ; but we admit that the principle and the cause of what is good, i§ something honourable and ^ivinc. 44 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK I. CHAPTER XIII. Since, however, felicity is a certain energy of the soul, according to perfect virtue, we must direct our attention ' to virtue ; for perhaps we shall thus also speculate better concerning felicity. But it seems that he who is skilled in the administration of pubhc affairs, labours especially about this ; for he wishes to make the citizens worthy persons, and obedient to the laws ; and as an example of these we have the legislators of the Cretans and Lacedae- monians, and any others there may have been of this kind. If, however, the speculation itself is of the politi- cal science, it is evident that the inquiry will be conform- able to our intention from the beginning. But our dis- cussion must be concerning virtue, viz. human virtue ; jfor we investigate human good, and human felicity ; and jwe call human virtue, not the virtue of the body, but of /the soul ; and we say that felicity is the energy of the soul. If, however, this be the case, it is evident that he who is skilled in the administration of public affairs, ought to know whatever pertains to the soul ; just as he who intends to cure the eyes ought to have a knowledge of the whole body 5' and this in a greater ' That the physician who intends to cure a part, ought to have a knowledge of the whole body, is inculcated by Plato in the Char- midcs. { # CHAP. XIII. ETHICS. 45 degree, by how much more honourable, and excel- lent, the political is than the medicinal science. Of physicians, likewise, the more elegant are busily em- ployed about the knowledge of the body. He, there- fore, who is skilled in the administration of public affairs, must direct his attention to the soul ; but he must direct his attention to it for the sake of these things, and so far as is sufficient to the objects of inquiry. For to consider the soul still more accurately is perhaps more laborious and difficult than the present discussion requires. We have also said some things sufficiently concerning it in our popular writings, and those must be consulted ; such as that one part of the soul is irrational, but another rational. But whether these parts are separated, in the same manner as the parts of the body, and every thing which is partible, or they are two parts in definition [alone,] and are naturally inseparable, as in the periphery of a circle the convex and the concave, is of no conse- quence in the present discussion. Of the irrational part^ however, one part resembles the common and vegetative power ; I mean the power which is the cause of nutrition and increase. For such a power as this may be admitted to exist in every thing that is nourished, in embryos, and also in perfect animals ; since it is more reasonable that this power should exist in them than any other. The virtue, therefore, of this power appears to be common and not human. For this part seems especially to energize in sleep, but a good and a bad man can in the smallest degree be distinguished in sleep ; whence it is said that the happy differ in no respect from the miserable during the half of life. But this happens reasonably ; for sleep is an inactivity both of the worthy and the depraved soul ; except so far as certain motions gradually arrive at the 46 THE NICOMACHEAi^ BOOK ti CHAP, VIII. ETHICS. 47 •>f soul, and on this account the phantasms of worthy are better than those of worthless men. But of these things enough. The nutritive part, therefore, must be omitted, since it is naturally destitute of human virtue. There appears, however^ to be another certain irrational ftature of the soul, which nevertheless participates in a certain respect of reason ; for we praise the reason of the continent, and also of the incontinent man, and thai part of the soul which possesses reason ; for it rightly excites to the most excellent deeds. There appears,, however, to be in them [i. e. both in the continent and incontinent] something else naturally contrary to reason, which wars against and resists reason. For, indeed, as the paralyzed parts of the body, if we wish to move them to the right hand, are on the contrary moved to the left, thusj^also, it is in the soul. For the impulses of the in^ continent are in a direction contrary [to the dictates of reason]. In bodies, however, we see that which is moved contrary [to the intention of the will], but in the soul we do not see [that which is moved contrary to rea- son ;] though perhaps we ought nevertheless to think that in the soul, also, there is something opposite to rea- son, which is adverse and proceeds in a direction contrary to it ; but it is of no consequence in what manner it is different from reason. This part, however, appears, as we have said, to participate of reason. It is obedient, therefore, to the reason of the continent man ; and per- haps it is still more obedient to the reason of the tem- perate and brave man ; for all things are in concord with his reason. It appears, therefore, that the irrational part is twofold ; for the vegetable p?trt in no respect partici- pates of reason; but the part w^hich desires, and, in short, the orectic part, participate in a certain respect of reason, so far as they are attentive and obedient to it. In this way, therefore, we say that a man has a regard for, or pays attention to (e;^c.^---f"s become brave, but others timid. ^ The reasomng, likewise, is similar with respect o desire and anger ; for some men, indeed, become emperate and mild, but others intemperate and irascible ; these from being in this w^ay conversant with these things but those from being conversant with them in that way And m one word,^ habits are produced from similar eneri gies Hence, it is necessary to render energies endued with a certam quality; for habits follow from the differ- ences of these. It is of no small consequence, therefore, to be thus or thus accustomed immediately from our / 52 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK II. CHAPTER II. Since, therefore, the present treatise is not for the sake of theory, like other discussions; for our attention k not directed to this business, that we may know what virtue is, but that we may become good men, since other- wise no advantage would be derived from it ;— this being ' the case, it is necessary to consider with respect to actions how they are to be performed ; for as we have said, they are the mistresses of the qualities which habits possess. To act, therefore, according to right reason is common, ' and is now assumed to be so. We shall, how- ever, hereafter speak concerning this, and show what right reason is, ' and how it subsists with reference to the other virtues. But this must be previously granted, that every treatise of practical affairs ought only to be an adumbration, and not an accurate discussion, as also we observed in the beginning, because reasonings are re- quired conformable to the subject matter; and in prac- tical affairs, and things contributing to them, there is nothing stable, as neither is there in things which are » Viz. In order that actions may be good, It Is universally re- quisite that they should be performed according to right reason. * In the 6th Book. CHAP. II. ETHICS. 53 salubrious. ' Such, therefore, being the universal reason, in a still greater degree will the discussion of particulars be deficient in accuracy ; for it neither falls under art, nor under any precept. It is, however, necessary that those who are engaged in practical affairs should always direct their attention to an opportune time, in the same manner as in medicine, and in the pilot's art. But though the present discussion is of this nature, we must endeavour to give it assistance. In the first place, therefore, this must be observed, that things of this kind [viz. actions which produce in us the habits of the virtues,] are naturally adapted to be corrupted by excess and defect, as we see in strength and health, [which are the virtues of the body ; ] (for it is necessary to use things apparent as testimonies, in things which are unapparent), since exercises which are exces- sive, and also those which are deficient, corrupt the strength of the body. In like manner meat and drink, when taken in too great or too small a quantity, corrupt the health ; but these, when commensurate, produce in- crease, and preserve it. This, therefore, is also the case in temperance and fortitude, and the other virtues. For he who flies from and is afraid of all things, and endures nothing, becomes timid ; and he who in short is afraid of nothing, but marches up to all things, becomes auda- cious. In a similar manner, he indeed who gives himself up to the enjoyment of every pleasure, and abstains from none, is intemperate ; but he who flies from all pleasures, like rustic men, is an insensate person. For temperance ' For things salubrious are changed, together with the disposi- tions of bodies, and the mutations of time. 54 THE NICOMACHEAN Book ir. j and fortitude are corrupted by excess and defect, but are 5 preserved by mediocrity. Not only, however, genera- tions, increments and corruptions, are produced from and by the same things, but the energies also [of the virtues] will subsist after the same manner ; since this likewise is the case in other things which are more appa- rent ; as, for instance, in strength. For strength is pro- duced by taking much food, and enduring many labours, and the strong man is especially able to do both these. Thus, too, it is in the virtues ; for by abstaining from pleasures we become temperate, and having become temperate we are especially able to abstain from them. The like also takes place in fortitude; for by being accustomed to despise things of a terrible nature, and to endure them, we become brave, and having become brave, we are especially able to endure terrible things. CHAPTER III. It is necessary, however, to consider as an indication of habits the pleasure or pain which is attendant on ac- tions. For he who abstains from corporeal pleasures, and is delighted in so doing, is a temperate man ; but he who is grieved when he abstains from them, is intempe- rate. And he, indeed, who endures dreadful things, and CHAK HI. ETHICS. S5 is delighted with his endurance, or feels no pain from it, is a brave man ; but he who feels pain from the endu- rance of them, is a timid man. For ethical virtue is I conversant with pleasures and pains. For we act basely through the influence of pleasure ; but we abstain from beautiful conduct through the influence of pain. Hence '^ it is necessary, as Plato says, to be so educated in a certain respect immediately after our youth, that we may be de- lighted and pained with things from which it is requisite to feel pleasure or pain; for this is right education. Farther still, if the virtues are conversant with actions and \ passions, but pleasure and pain are consequent to every ; passion and action, on this account also virtue will be.' conversant with pleasures and pains. The punishments, likewise, w^hich are inflicted through these, indicate the truth of this ; for they are certain remedies ; but reme- dies are naturally adapted to operate through contraries. Again, as we have also before observed, the nature of every habit of the soul is referred to and conversant with those things, by which it is adapted to become better and worse. But habits become depraved through pleasures and pains, by pursuing or avoiding these, either such as ought not to be pursued or avoided, or when it is not proper, or in such a way as is not proper, or in as many other modes as such things are distinguished by reason. Hence, some persons define the virtues to be certain apathies and tranquillities ; but they do not define them well, because they speak simply, and do not add, in such a way as is proper, and when it is proper, and such other additions as are usually made. It is admitted, therefore, > that virtue is a thing of this kind, which is conversant with pleasures and pains, and practises thmgs of the ) most excellent nature ; but vice is the contrary. From what has been said, likewise, we may obtain still greater 56 THE NICOMACttEAN BOOK II. evidence about these things. For as there are three things which pertain to choice, and also three which pertain to aversion, viz^. the beautiful in conduct, the advantageous, -and the delightful, and three the contraries to these, the base, the disadvantageous, and the painful ; the good man, indeed, acts rightly in all these, but the bad man erroneously, and especially in what pertains to pleasure. For pleasure is common to all animals, and is consequent to every thing which is the object of choice ; for the beautiful and the advantageous appear to be delightful. Again, pleasure is co-nourished with all of us from our infancy ; on which account also it is difficult to wipe away this passion, with which our life is imbued. We likewise direct our actions by pleasure and pain, as by a rule, some of us" in a greater, and others in a less degree. On this account, therefore, it is necessary that the whole of this discussion should be conversant with these things ; ^for to rejoice or be pained properly or improperly, is of no small consequence in actions. Farther still, it is more difficult to fight with pleasure, than with anger, as Hera- clitus says. But both art and virtue are always con- versant with that which is more difficult ; for that which is well done, is better when it is effected with greater difficulty. Hence, on this account, also, the whole busi- ness both of ethics and politics is conversant with plea- sures and pains. For he who employs these well will be a good man, but he will be a bad man who employs them badly. We have shown, therefore, that virtue is con- versant with pleasures and pains, and that it is increased and corrupted by the same things by which it is produced, when they do not exist after .the same manner ; and that it likewise energizes about the things from which it originated. CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 57 CHAPTER IV. It may, however, be doubted what our meaning is In asserting that men by acting justly become just, and temperate by acting temperately ; for if they act justly and temperately, they are already just and temperate; just as those who perform things pertaining to grammar and music, are grammarians and musicians. Or shall we say, that this is not the case in the arts ? For it is pos- sible that a man may do something grammatical both from chance and the suggestion of another person. He will, therefore, then be a grammarian if he both does something grammatical and grammatically, that is, accord- ing to the grammatical art which he possesses. Again, neither is the thing similar in the arts and the virtues ; for things produced by the arts contain in themselves efficient excellence. It is sufficient, therefore, to these to be effected with a certain mode of subsistence ; but things which are performed according to the virtues, are not done justly or temperately, if they subsist in a certain way, but if he who does them does them In consequence of being disposed in a certain way. And, in the first place, indeed, if he does them knowingly, in the next place, if with deliberate choice, and also deliberately choosing to do them on their own account ; and, in the third place, if he does them with a firm and immutable 5S THE NICOMACHEAN BOOi: lU disposition of mind. These things, however, are not connumerated as requisites to the possession of the other arts, except the knowledge of them alone. But to the acquisition of the virtues, the knowledge of them is of little or no efBcacy, while the other particulars pertaining to them are capable of effecting no small thing, but are all-powerful ; and these are obtained from frequently- acting justly and temperately. Things, therefore, are said to be just and temperate, when they are such as a just or temperate man would perform. • But he is a just and temperate man, not who [merely] does these things, but who does them so as just and temperate men do them. It is well said, therefore, that a man becomes just from acting justly, and temperate from acting tem- perately, but that from not doing these things, no one will ever become a good man. The multitude, however, do not thus act, but flying to words they fancy they shall philosophize, and thus become worthy characters ; act- ing similarly to sick persons, who attentively indeed hear what the physicians say, but do nothing which they order them to do. As, therefore, these by such a method of cure, never have their body in a healthy condition, so neither is the soul of those ever well who thus philoso- phlze. CHAP. V. ETHICS. 59 CHAPTER V. In the next place, we must consider what virtue is. Since, therefore, three things are produced in the soul, viz. passions, powers, and habits, virtue will be some one of these. But I call passions, indeed, desire,' angei', audacity, envy, j®y, love, hatred, cupidity, emulation, pity, and, in short, those things to which pleasure or pain are consequent. And I denominate powers, those things according to which we are said to be susceptible of the passions ; viz. according to which we are able to be angry, or pained, or are inclined to pity. But I call habits those things according to which we are well or ill disposed towards the passions. Thus, for instance, with respect to being angry, if we arc vehemently or remissly disposed towards it, we are badly affected ; but if mode- rately, we are well affected ; and in a similar manner with respect to the other passions. Neither the virtues, therefore, nor the vices are passions ; because w^e are not said to be worthy or depraved according to the pas- sions, but we are said to be so according to the vir- tues or vices j and because according to the passions we * By desire, as I have before observed in a note on the Rhetoric, is to be understood, that irrational appetite, which is solely directed to external objects, and to the gratification arising from the posses- sion of them. 60 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK II. are neither praised nor blamed. For neither he who is afraid, nor he who is angry is praised, nor is he who is simply angry blamed, but he who is angry after a certain manner ; but we are praised or blamed according to the virtues and vices. Farther still, we may be angry and afi^d without any deliberate intention of being so ; but the virtues are certain deliberate elections, or are not without deliberate choice. In addition to this also, we are said to be moved according to the passions, but we are not said to be moved according to the virtues and vices, but to be disposed in a certain way. On this account neither are the virtues powers ; for we are nei- ther said to be good nor bad from being able simply to suffer, nor are we through this either praised or blamed. And again, we possess powers indeed from nature ; but from nature we do not become either good or bad. We have, however, spoken concerning this before. If, there- fore, the virtues are neither passions nor powers, it remains that they are habits. And thus we have shown what vir- tue is generically. CHAP. VI. ETHICS. 61 CHAPTER VI. It is necessary, however, not only to show that virtue is ajiabit, but likewise to show what kind of a habit it is7 We must say, therefore, that every virtue, renders that of which it is the virtue well disposed, and causes its work to be well accomplished. Thus, for instance, the ' virtue of the eye, causes both the eye and the work of it to be good ; for by the virtue of the eye we see well. In a similar manner the virtue of a horse causes the horse to be good for the race, for carrying his rider, and sustain- ing the enemy in battle. But if this be the case in all things, the virtue of man also will be a habit, from which man becomes good, and from which he accom- ^ plishes his own work. And how this indeed wiM be effected we have already shown ; but it will again be now manifest, if we consider what the quality is of the nature of virtue. In every thing, therefore, which is continued and divisible, it is possible, indeed, to assume the more, the less, and the equal ; and this either with respect to the thing itself, or with reference to us. But the equal is a certain middle between excess and defect. I call, however, the middle of a thing, that which is equally distant from each of the extremes, and which is one and the same in all things. But with reference to us the middle is that which neither exceeds nor falls short of the becoming. This, however, is neither one 63 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK II# nor the same in all things. Thus, for instance, if ten things are many, but two a few, six are assumed as a medium with reference to the thing, for six equally sur- passes and is surpassed. But this is a middle according to arithmetical proportion. The middle or medium, however, with reference to us, is not thus to be assumed. For if to eat ten pounds, is to eat much, but two pounds a little, it does not follow that the master of the gymnas- tic exercises will order six pounds to be eaten ; for this perhaps will be too much or too little for him who is to take food. For Milo, indeed, it would be too lit- tle; but for him who is beginning the exercises it would be too much. And the like must be understood of the course and wrestling. Thus, therefore, every scientific man will avoid excess and defect, but will search for the medium, and make this the object of his choice* He will, however, explore that medium, which is not the middle of the thing, but is a middle with reference to us^ If, therefore, every science thus well accomplishes its work, when it looks to the middle, and refers its works to this ; whence it is usual to say of works that are well finished, that nothing can be added to or taken away from them, acknowledging by this, that excess and defect corrupt that which is excellent in them, but that mediocrity preserves this ; and if good artists, as we say, operate looking to this, but virtue, in the same manner as nature, is more accurate and better than all art ; if this be the case, it will tend to the medium as a boundary. I speak, however, of ethical virtue ; for this is conversant with passions and actions ; but in these there is excess imd defect, and the middle. Thus, for instance, it is possible to be afraid, to be confident, to desire and *|lbhor, to be angry aad to pity, and, in short, to be CHAP. VI. ETHICS. 63 pleased and pained ma greater and less degree, and to be both these improperly. But to have these passions when it is proper, and in such things, towards such persons, and for the sake of that which, and as, it is proper — this is the middle and the best, and pertains to virtue. In a similar manner also in actions, there is excess and defect, and the middle ; but virtue is conversant with passions and actions, in which the excess indeed is erroneous, and the defect is blamed, but the medium is praised and pos- sesses rectitude: and both these pertain to virtue. Hence, virtue is a certain medium, and tends to the middle as a boundary. Again, to err is manifold ; for evil, as the Pythagoreans conjecture, belongs to the infinite, and good to the finite ; but it is only possible to act rightly in one way. Hence, the one is easy, but the offier diffi- cult ; it is easy, indeed, to deviate from the mark, but difficult to hit it ; and on this account, excess and defect belong to vice, but the medium to virtue. For, \ Simple the good, all-various are the bad. Virtue, therefore, is a pre-elective habit, [or a habit ac- companied with deliberate choice] existing in a medium with reference to us, and which is defined by reason, and in such a way as a prudent man would define it. It is also the medium between two vices, the one being charac- terized by excess, but the other by defect. And farther still, it is defined by this, that some of the vices fall short of, but others surpass the becoming, both in passions and actions, but virtue both discovers and chooses the medmm. Hence, according to essence, and the defini- tion which explains the very nature of a thing, virtue is a medium \ but according to that which is best, and sub- 64 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK ir. sists well, it is a summit. Not every action, however, nor every passion, receives a medium ; for some pas- sions, as soon as they are named, are complicated with depravity, such as malevolence, rejoicing in the evils of others, impudence, envy ; and in actions, adultery, theft, and murder. For all these, and others of the like kind, are thus denominated, because they are themselves bad, and not the excesses, nor the defects of them. Hence, it is not possible at any time to act rightly in these, but they are always attended with error. Nor does acting well, or not acting well, in things of this kind, consist in committing adultery, when, and as it is proper, but amply to do any oi these things is to act wrong. To require, therefore, a medium in these, is just as if some one should think it proper that there should be a medium, excess, and defect, in doing an injury, and in acting timidly and intemperately ; for thus there would be a middle of excess and defect, and an excess of excess, and a deficiency of defect. As, however, there is no excess and defect of temperance and forti- tude, because the middle is in a certain respect the sum- mit ; so neither is there a middle, excess and defect in those passions and actions, but in whatever manner they are exerted they are attended with error. For, in short, neither is there a middle of excess or defect, nor are there excess and defect of the middle. CHAP* VII. ETHICS* 65 CHAPTER VIL It is necessary, however, not only to assert this uni- yersally, but also to adapt it to particulars. For in what is said concerning actions, universal assertions indeed are more common ; but those that are particular are more true ; since actions are conversant with particulars, with which assertions ought to accord. These, therefore, are to be assumed from description. Of fear and confidence, therefore, fortitude is the medium. Of the characters' however, which exceed, the one indeed which exceeds by a privation of fear is anonymous ; but that which ex- ceeds in confidence is audacious. And he who exceeds in being afraid, but is deficient in confidence, is timid. In pleasures and pains, however, though not in all pleasures, [but in such as are corporeal, and in those especially which pertain to the touch,] and in a less degree in pains, the medium indeed is temperance, but the excess intern! perance. But those who are deficient in the pursuit of pleasures do not very frequently occur j on which account neither have they obtained a name. They may, however, be called insensate. In giving and receiving money^ the medium indeed is liberality, but the excess and defect are prodigality and illiberality 5 in which men exceed and are deficient in a contrary way. For the prodigal indeed exceeds in spending money, but is defi- cient m receiving it; and the illiberal man exceeds in receivmg, but is deficient in spending money. At present, therefore, we think it sufficient summarily to adumbrate -^^^* VOL. n. JB ^6 THE NIC0MA€HEAN BOOK lU these things ; but afterwards we shall discuss them more accurately. With respect t o wealth, however, there are also other dispositions of the mind ; and the medium, indeed, is magnificence. For the magnificent differs from the liberal man in this, that the former is conver- sant with great, but the latter with small things. The excess, however, is an ignorance of elegance and deco- rum, and illiberal profusion ; but the defect is an indeco- rous parsimony in spending money. And these vices differ from those which surround liberality ; but in what they differ, we shall afterwards show. With respect to honour and ignominy, the medium indeed is magna- nimity, but the excess"is called a certain inflation of the mind, and the defect pusillanimity. As we have said, however, that liberality corresponds to magnificence, but differs from it in this, that it is conversant with small things; so to magnanimity which is conversant with great honour, another certain virtue corresponds, and which also is itseliF conversant with what is small. For it is pos- sible to aspire after honour in such a manner as is pro- per, and more and less than is proper. But he, j^ho exceeds in his desires of honour is said to be ambitiouSjr he who is deficient is unambitious, and the middle charac- «r between both is anonymous* The dispositions also are anonymous, except the disposition of the ambitious man, which is denominated ambition* Hence, the ex- tremes contend for the middle place. And we indeed sometimes call the middle character ambitious, and some- times unambitious ; and sometimes we praise the ambi- tious, and sometimes the unambitious man. But from what cause we do this, will be shown hereafter. Now, ^however, conformably to the manner in which we begun, let us speak about the rest. CHAP. VII. ETHICS. 6'7 With respect to anger, therefore, there is likewise excess, defect, and a medium ; but since these are nearly anonymous, we call the middle character a mild man, and the medium mildness. But of the extremes, let him who exceeds be wrathful, and the vice be wrathfulness. And let him who is deficient be a man void of anger, and the defect a privation of anger. There are likewise three other media, which have, indeed, a certain simili- tude to each other, but differ from each other. For all of them are conversant with the communion of words and actions ; but they differ, because one of them is con* versant with the truth which is in them, but the others are conversant with the delectable. And of this (viz. the delectable) one kind consists in jest ; but another, in all the concerjis.of life. We must,~therefore, also speak concerning these, in order that we may in a greater de- gree perceive, that in every thing the medium is laudable, but the extremes are neither right nor laudable, but reprehensible. Of these, therefore, the greater part also are anonymous ; but we must endeavour, in the same iBftimer as in the rest, to give names to them, for the sake of perspicuity, and the facility of understanding what follows. With respect to jruth, therefore, the middle character may be called veracious, and the medium, truth ; but of (dissimulation, that kind which exaggerates may be called arrogance, and he who possesses it an arrogant man; and that which extenuates may be called irony, and he who employs it may be denominated ironical, or a dissembler. With respect, however, to the delectable, and that kind which consists in jest, the middle character, indeed, may be called facetious, and the disposition itself face- GS THE KICOMACHEAN BOOK II* tiousness ; but the excess may be denominated scurrility, and he who possesses it a scurrilous man ; and he who is deficient may be called a rustic man, and the habit itself, rusticity. In the other 'species of the delectable, which pertains to the concerns of life, he who delights in such a way as is proper, is a friend, and the medium is friend- ship ; but he who exceeds, if it is not with a view to any advantage, is studious of pleasing, but if for the sake of advantage, is a flatterer. And he who is deficient, and in all things unpleasant, is contentious, and difficult to be pleased. There are, likewise, media in the passions, and in things pertaining to the passions ; for bashfulness is not a virtue, and yet the modest man is praised. For ia these things, one indeed is called the middle character, another is said to exceed, and another to be deficient. And he indeed who exceeds, and is bashful in all things, is as it were astounded ; but he who is deficient, and is not ashamed of any thing, is impudent ; and the middle character is the modest man. Indignation is a medium between envy and joy for the calamities of others ; but these habits are conversant with the pain and ple«9W« arising from what happens to others. For he who is propense to mdignation, is indeed pained from those that do well undeservedly ; but he who is envious, surpassing the indignant man, is pained from all that do well ; and he who rejoices in the calamities of others, is so much deficient in feeling pain [from the prosperity of bad men,] that he is delighted with it. These things, how- ever, atfe discussed by us elsewhere, [i. e. in the 2nd book of the Rhetoric] With respect to justice, how- ever, since it is not predicated simply, we shall make it the subject of discussion hereafter, [viz. in the 5th book,] and show how each of its parts is a medium. In a simi- CHAP. VIII. ETHICS, 69 lar manner, also, we shall speak concerning the rational [or intellectual] virtues [in the 6th book]. CHAPTER VIIL Since, however, there are three dispositions of the soul, two indeed of vices, of which the one subsists according to excess, but the other according to defect, and since virtue is one of these dispositions, and is a medium, all these three dispositions are in a certain re- spect opposed to all. For the extremes are contrary to tlir middle, and to each other, but the middle is contrary to the extremes. For as the equal is, with reference to the less, greater, but with reference to the greater, less ; thus the middle habits exceed with reference to the defi- ciencies, but are defective with reference to the excesses, both in passions and actions. For the brave with refer- ence to the timid man appears to be audacious, but with reference to the audacious man, timid. In a similar man- ner, also, the temperate man with reference to him who is insensate appears to be intemperate, but with reference to the intemperate man, insensate. But the liberal when contrasted with the illiberal man appears to be a prodigal, but when compared with the prodigal, illiberal. Hence, 70 THE NICOMACHEAN B06K n. the extremes propel the medium each to the other, HHd the timid calls indeed the brave man audacious, but the audacious man calls him timid ; and analogously in the other extremes. These, however, being thus opposed to each other, there is a greater contrariety in the ex- tremes to each other, than to the medium; for these are more remote from each other than from the medium ; just as the great is more remote from the small, and the small from the great, than both of them are from the equal. Farther still, in some extremes there appears to be a certain similitude to the medium, as in audacity to fortitude, and in prodigality to liberality ; but in th^ ex- tremes there is the greatest dissimilitude to each other. Things, however, which are very distant from each other, are defined to be contraries ; so that those things which are more distant are more contrary to each other, fiut to the medium, in some things, indeed, the deficiency is more opposed, and in others the excess. Thus, to forti- tude, audacity, indeed, which is an excess, is not opposed, but timidity, which is a defect ; and to temperance, the want of sensibility, which is an indigence, is not opposed, but intemperance, which is an excess. This, however, happens from two causes ; one indeed from the thing itself; for one of the extremes being nearer to, and more similar to the medium than the other, hence, not this, but the contrary, is more opposed to it. Thus, for instance, since audacity appears to be more similar and nearer to fortitude, but timidity appears to be more dissi- milar, on this account we oppose the latter to fortitude rather than the former. For things which are more distant from the medium, appear to be more contrary. This, therefore, is one cause from the thing itself ; but another cause is from ourselves. For those vices to CHAP. IX. ETHICS, 11 Avhich we are naturally more adapted, appear to be more contrary to the medium. Thus, because we are naturally more adapted to pleasures, we are more easily impelled ta intemperance than to moderation in the pursuit of pleasure. Those things, therefore, are said to be in a greater degree contraries, to which a greater accession is made ; and on this account intemperance, which is an excess, is more contrary to temperance [than the other extreme]. CHAPTER IX, That ethical virtue, therefore, is a medium, and how It is 80, and that it is a medium between two vices, the one existing according to excess, but the other according to defect, and that it is such in consequence of looking to the medium in passions and actions as to a mark, has been sufficiently shown. Hence, also, it is laborious to be worthy ; for in every thing it is laborious to obtain the middle. Thus, the middle of a circle cannot be dis-l covered by every one, but by him who is skilled [inj geometry]. In like manner, to be angry, and to give and spend money, is in the power of every one, and is ^^y ; but to be angry, ^d to give and spend money to whom, and as much, ?ind when, and on what account, \ 72 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK 2I« CHAP. IX. ETlttlCS. 73 and as it is proper, cannot be accomplished by every one, nor is it easy. For this is to act rightly, and is rare, and laudable, and beautiful. Hence, it is necessary that he whose attention is directed to the medium as to a mark, shouU first recede from that which is more contrary, as Calypso also admonishes : Far from the smoke and waves direct the helm. * For of the extremes, the one, indeed, is more erroneous, but the other less. Since, therefore, it is difficult to ob- tain the medium accurately, by making a second * naviga- tion, as they say, the least of the evils must be assumed j but this will especially be effected in the way we have mentioned. It is likewise requisite to consider what the vices are to which we are most propense ; for different men are naturally prone to different vices. But this will be known from the pleasure and pain with which we are affected. We ought, however, to draw ourselves to the contrary part ; for by removing ourselves very far from error, we shall arrive at the medium, which those da who straighten distorted pieces of wood. But in every thing we should especially avoid the delectable and plea* sure; for we are not uncorrupted judges of it. In the same manner, therefore, as the Trojan nobles were affected towards Helen, we ought to be affected towards pleasure, and in every thing [where pleasure is concern* * This, however, was not the admonition of Calypso, but of Ulysses to his pilot, in consequence of the advice he had received from Circe. The passage is in Odyss. 12. v. 219. * i. e. If we fail In the first, we must make a second navigation ; if we cannot use sails, we must employ oars, in order that our voyage may be as prosperous as circumstances will permit. ec^] to employ their decision ; for thus, by dismissing it, we shall err in a less degree. By thus acting, therefore, in short, we shall be especially able to obtain the medium. Perhaps, however, this is difficult, and principally in par- ticulars ; for it is not easy to determine how, and with whom, and on what account, and for how long a time, it is requisite to be angry. For we, indeed, sometimes praise those who are defective in anger, and call them mild ; but at other times we praise those who are exaspe- rated, and call them virile. He, however, who deviates but a little from rectitude, whether he inclines to the more or to the less, is not blamed ; but he who deviates much from it ; for the error of such a one is not latent. It cannot, however, be easily determined to what extent, and how much he is blameable ; as neither is this easy in any other sensible thing. But things of this kind rank among particulars, and the judgment of them pertains to sense. Thus much, therefore, is indeed manifest, that the middle habit is in all things laudable ; and that it is necessary at one time to incline to excess, and at smother to deficiency ; for thus we shall easily obtain the medium, and rectitude of conduct. THE NICOMACIIEAN ETHICS. ■ ■ «■ l iM ^H BOOK in. eJ CHAPTER I. Since, therefore, virtue is conversant with passions and actions, and praise and blame accompany things of a voluntary nature, but pardon, and sometimes pity, such as are voluntary, it is perhaps necessary that those who speculate concerning virtue, should define the voluntary and involuntary. This will also be useful to legislators, in conferring rewards, and inflicting punishments. But those actions appear to be involuntary which are done by force, or through ignorance. And the violent is that the principle of which is external, being of such a nature, tliat it contributes nothing to the advantage of him who % 76 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK Illi- acts, or of him who suffers 5 as if, for instance, the wind, or men who are the masters of some one, should bring him to a certain place. With respect to such things, however, as are performed through the fear of greater evils, or for the sake of something beautiful in conduct j ^s if a tyrant who is the lord of parents and children, should command some one to do a certain base action, and on these conditions, that if he did it, his parents and children should be saved, but if he did not, they should die ; — with respect to such things as these, it is dubious whether they are involuntary, or voluntary. Something of the like kind also happens in losses at sea, when in a tempest the goods of the ship are thrown overboard ; for simply considered, no one throws them into the sea willingly, but every one who is endued with intellect does so for his own safety and that of the rest of the crew. Such like actions, therefore, are mixed ; but they are more similar to voluntary actions ; for they are then eligible when they are performed 5 but the end of the action is according to opportunity. A thing, there^ fore, must be said to be done voluntarily or involuntarily, then when it is done. But he threw his goods into the sea voluntarily ; for the principle of moving the organic parts in such like actions is in the man himself. But ' those things of which the principle is in himself, he has th^ power to perform or not. Such things, therefore, are voluntary, Simply considered, however, they are perhaps involuntary ; for no one would choose any one of these on its own account. But in such like actions, men are sometimes praised, when they endure something disgraceful or painful, for the sake of great and beautiful circumstances; and if they do otherwise, they are bla- \ med. For to endure the most disgraceful things, with a tnAT. u ETHICS. n view to nothing beautiful or moderate, is the part pf a bad man. To other things, however, no praise is given, but pardon is granted to them, when a man does what he ought not to do, in consequence of being compelled by such things as surpass human nature, and which no one can endure. And perhaps there are some things which we ought never to do by any compulsion, but we ought to suffer the most dreadful evils, and die rather than do them ; for those circumstances appear to be ridiculous which compelled the Alcmseon of Euripides to kill his mother. It is, however, sometimes difficult to judge what is to be chosen in preference to something else, and whether this is to be endured instead of tfial ; and it is still more difficult to persevere in our decisions; since, for the most part, things which are expected, are attended with molestation, and things which we are com- pelled to do are base. Hence, both praise and blame are given to those that act from compulsion, and to those who do not. What kind of things, therefore, are to be called violent? Shall wc say, that ihcy are then simply to Joe called so, when the cause is in things ex^rnal, and the agent contributes nothing to the action £ But things which are of themselves involuntary, indeed, Dnt are now eligible, and are eligible^ instead of certain other things, and the principle of which is in the agent, — these are of themselves indeed, involuntary, but now, and instead of certain other things, are voluntary. They are, however, more similar to voluntary actions ; for actions are con- versaut with particulars ; and these are voluntarily per- formed. It is not, however, easy to show what things are to be chosen in preference to others, for there are K many differences in particulars. But if it should be said \ that things; delectable and beautiful are violent ; for they 78 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK lit. CHAP. I.. ETHICS. 79 i:ompeI us to act, being external ;— if this should be said, / all things will thus be violent. For all men do every thing for the sake of these. And those, indeed, who act from violence, and unwillingly, act painfully ; but ^^those who are influenced by the delectable, act with plea^ Sire. It is therefore ridiculous for a man to accuse ex- ternal things, and not himself, when he is easily capti-^ ' vated by things of this kind, and to consider himself as the cause of beautiful actions, but delectable things as the . causes of his base actions. Hence, the violent appears to be that the principle of which is external, and to which the thing compelled contributes nothing. ^ ^ Every thing, however, which is done from ignorance ^^ \ is not voluntary. But that is involuntary which is at- tended with pain and repentance. For he who does any thing from ignorance, and is not at all indignant with the action, does not indeed perform it willingly, because he . acts from ignorance ; nor yet again, does he perform it unwillingly, in consequence of feeling no pain from the action. Of those, therefore, w^ho act from ignorance, he who repents of what he has done, appears to have acted unwillingly ; but he who does not repent, since he is a different character from the other, may be said to have acted not willingly. For since he is a different character, it is better that he should have a proper name. To act Jrom ignorance, likewise, appears to be a different thing from acting ignorantJy ; for he who is intoxicated or en- raged, does not appear to act from ignorance, but from some one of the above-mentioned circumstances ; yet not knowingly, but ignorantly. Every depraved man, there- fore, is ignorant what ought to be done, and from what acdons he should abstain ^ and from error of this kind. men become unjust, and in short bad. But an action ought to be called involuntary, not if he who does it is ignorant of what is advantageous ; for ignorance in the deliberate choice of a thing, is not the cause of involun- tary conduct, but of depravity. Nor is the ignorance of universal, the cause of it ; for men are blamed on this account ; but it arises from the ignorance of particularSj in which, and about which, every action is conversant* For in these there is pity and pardon ; since he who is ignorant of any one of these, acts involuntarily. Perhaps, however, it will not be amiss, to define what, and how many [the particular circumstances are which render an action involuntary.]] They are, therefore, the circum- stance of the principal agent, the circumstance of the instrumental agent, the circumstance of the end, and the circumstances of the action itself. No one, therefore, will be ignorant of all these unless he is insane^ But it is evident that neither will he who acts be ignorant of them ; for how can he be ignorant of himself. A man, however, may be ignorant of what he does ; as is the case with those who say that they have spoken unawares, or tliat they did not know that what they said was ar- cane, as jEschylus with respect to the mysteries ;* or as when some one throws a catapulta, not knowing what he throws, A person, also, may fancy, like Merope, that a son is an enemy, and that a spear which has a sharp point, is blunt like a ball, or that a stone is a pumice. A man, likewise, striking another with a view to his safety, may kill him, and wishing to show the mode of t ^schylus had divulged the mysteries in one of his tragedies, for which he was tried in the Areopagus, but was acquitted by show- ing that he was not initiated. I 80 THE i^ICOMACHEA>r *£00K IIT# exercise m wrestlings he may strike him whom he wish- ed to instruct. As there is ignorance, therefore, in all these particulars, in which there is action, he who is ig- norant of some one of them, appears to have acted in- voluntarily, and especially in those things which are of principal importance. But those appear to be of prin- cipal importance, in which there is action, and that for the sake of which action is undertaken. Since the invo- luntary, therefore, is denominated from an ignorance of this kind, it is besides this necessary that the action should be painful, and attended with repentance. But as the involuntary is that which is done from violence, and through ignorance, the voluntary will appear to be that of which the principle is in the agent, who knows the particulars in which the action consists. For perhaps it is not well said, that actions which are produced through anger or desire are involuntary. For in the first place, indeed, if this were admitted, no other animal would act voluntarily, nor would children. And in the next place, whether are any of the actions which we perform through the influence of desire or anger, done by us voluntarily ? Or, shall we say that worthy actions \ are performed by us voluntarily, but base actions invo- ^ luntarily ? Or would not this be ridiculous, since there is one cause of both these ? Perhaps too, it is absurd, to call those things involuntary, after which it is requisite to aspire. But it is necessary to be angry with certain things, and to desire others, such as health and disd^ pHne. It appears, however, that things involuntary are I painful, but that those which are the objects of desire are \ delectable. Again, what difference is there t|etween the errors which are caused by reason or by anger, with re- spect to their being involuntary ? For both are to be ^ Ap.ir. ETHICS* SI avoided. The irrational passions, also, do not appear to be less human ; but the actions of man proceed both from anger and desire. It would be absurd, therefore, to consider these as involuntary^ CHAPTER IL •-Having, therefore, defined the voluntary and invo-» luntary, it follows that we should discuss pre-election, or deliberate choice. For deliberate choice appears to be most allied to virtue, and by this [as a rule] a judg- ment may be formed of manners more than by actions* Deliberate choice, therefore, appears indeed to be a voluntary thing, yet it is not the same with what is volun- tary, but the voluntary is more extended. For of the voluntary, children, and other animals, partake, but they do not partake of deliberate choice. And we say, in- deed, that things which we do suddenly, are done volun- tarily, but not according to deliberate choice. But those who call it desire, or anger, or will, or a certain opinion, do not appear to speak rightly. For deliberate choice is not common to us and irrational animals ^ but desire and anger are. And the incontinent man, indeed, acts fiom the influence of desire, but not from deliberate choice. On the contrary, the continent man acts from \ ArisL VOL. 11. p 82 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK III. CHAPrni. ETHICS. deliberate choice, and not from the impulse of desire. And desire indeed is contrary to deliberate choice, but desire is not contrary to desire. Desire, likewise, is con- versant both with that which is delectable, and that which is painful ; but deliberate choice is neither conver- sant with the painful, nor the delectable. Much less is deliberate choice anger ; for in the smallest degree do things which are effected through anger appear to be effected by deliberate choice. Nor yet is it will, though will appears to be near to it. For deliberate choice, in- deed, is not among the number of things impossible ; and if any one should say that he deliberately chooses im- possibilities, he would appear to be stupid. The will, however, is directed to things which are impossible, as, for instance, to immortality. And the will, indeed, is also conversant wdth things which can by no means be ac- complished by him who wills ; a» that a certain flayer, or person engaged in athletic contests, may be victorious. No one, however, deliberately chooses things of this kind, but such only as he thinks can be effected through him- self. Farther still, the will, indeed, is more directed to the end, but deliberate choice to things pertaining ' to the end. Thus, we wish to be well, but we deliberately choose those things through which we become well ; and we wish indeed to be happy, and we say that this is our wish J biit it is not fit to say, that we deliberately choose to be happy. For, in short, deliberate choice appears ^to be conversant with the things that are in our power. Neither, therefore, will deliberate choice be opinion j for opinion, indeed, appears to be conversant with all things, and no less with things eternal and impossible, than with things in our power. Opinion, likewise, is di- vided into the false and the true, and not into good and 83 evil ; but deliberate choice is rather divided into the latter than into the former. In short, therefore, perhaps no one will say that deliberate choice is either the same with opinion [in general,] or with some particular opi- mon. For by deliberately choosing good or evil, we be- come affected with a certain quality ; but this does not happen to us through forming an opinion. And we de- liberately choose indeed, to obtain, or avoid, or to do something of the like kind ; but we form an opinion of what it is, or to what it is advantageous, or in what man- ner j and we do not very much opine to obtain or avoid It. And deliberate choice indeed is praised, because it pertains to that of which it is necessary to partake more abundantly, or with rectitude ; but opinion is praised for Its truth. We likewise deliberately choose those things which we especially know to be good ; but we form L opinion of things which are not very much known to us Ajid the same persons do not appear to deliberately choose and opine the most excellent things ; but some indeed opine that which is better, but from vice choose those things which ought not to be the objects of choice. It IS, however, of no consequence whether opi. mon precedes or follows deliberate choice ; for our at 'TT '!, ru' ^'"""''^ '^ '^''^ ^"^ '^ '^^ consideration whether deliberate choice is the same with a certain opi. nion. What then, or what kind of a thing is deliberate choice since it is no one of the above-mentioned parti- .- culars ? It appears, therefore, to be a voluntary thing. ! Not every thing, however, which is voluntary is the object ^ of deliberate choice, but that which has been the sub ect of previous dehberation j for deliberate choice is accom- pamed with reason and the discursive energy of reason And this the name appears to signify, the object of delil \ 1 I 84 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK III. CHAP. HI. ETHICS. berate choice being that which is eligible in preference to other things. CHAPTER III. But whether do men consult about all things,, and is every thing a subject of consuhation, or about certain things is there no consuhation ? Perhaps, however, that must be called a subject of consultation, not about which some stupid or insane person consults, but which is an object of consultation to a man endued with intellect. Concerning eternal things, however, no one consplts, sn&h as concerning the world, or the diagonal and side of a square, because they are incommensurable. Nor does any one consult about things which are in motion, but which are always passing into existence (^yivof^s^wv) after the same manner,' whether from necessity, or na- turally, or from some other cause, such as conversions and risings. Nor does any one consult about things which subsist differently at different times, such as al^ut drought and rain ; nor about fortuitous events, such as the discovery of a treasure ; nor yet about all h\mm ' Meaning the heavenly bodies, concerning which see the n the Heavens. treatise ^' 85 i? On the Heavens. concerns ; for no Laced asmoniaii consults how the po-u lity of the Scythians may be governed in the best man- ner ; since none of these things can be effected by us. But we consult about things which can be performed by us ; and these are the rest of things which we have not mentioned. For nature, necessity, and fortune, appear to be causes ; and besides these intellect, and every thing which energizes through man. The individuals, how- ever, of the human species consult about things which may be performed by them. And indeed in those sci- ences which are accurate and sufficient to themselves, there is no consultation ; as for instance, there is no consulta- tion about letters ; for there is no contention how we should write. But such things as. are effected by us, yet not always after the same manner, about these we con- eult ; as about things pertaining to medicine, and the art of procuring money, and about the artj)f th^ ji[qt. more than about the gymnastic art, because the former is much less accurate than the latter. In a similar manner also, / we consult about the rest j but we consult more in , the \ arts than in the sciences ^ for we dissent more about them. Cojisiiltation, however, takes place in things which have a frequency of subsistence, but of which 'the event is immanifest, and in things in which there is the indefinite. In things also which are of great importance, we employ counsellors, distrusting our owrr^udgment as not sufficient. We consult, however, not about ends, but about things pertaining to ends. For neither does a physician consult whether he shall heal the sick, nor a rhetorician whether he shall persuade, nor the politician whether he shall establish equitable legislation, nor does any one of the remaining characters consult about the ej^ J but proposing a certain end, they consider how,- ^^fA 86 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK III.. CHAP. lU, ETHICS. 87 and by what^cans it may be obtained. If also it ap- pears that this end is to be obtained through many me- dia, they consider through which of them it may be ob- tained in the easiest and best manner. But if through one medium, they consider how it may be accomplish, ed through this, and through what likewise this may be obtained, until they arrive at the first cause, which is discovered in the last place. For he who consults appears to investigate and analyze in the above-men- tioned manner, as if he were investigating and analyzing a diagram.* It appears, however, that not every inves- tigation is a consultation ; for mathematical inquiries are not consultations ; but every consultation is an investiga- tion ; and that which is last in analysis is first in genera- tion. And if indeed in consulting, we meet with an impossibility, we desist from consultation ; as if there should be occasion for money, and this cannot be pro- cured. But if that about which we consult appears to be possible, then we endeavour to obtain it. Those things, however, are possible which may be accomplished through ourselves ; for things which are accomplished through our friends, are in a certain respect effected ' He who consults, the end being proposed which is not imme- diately in his power, investigates the medium by which it may be obtained ; and if this medium also is not immediately in his power, he explores another, and afterwards another, till he discovers the first medium, which is immediately in his power, and in the disco- very of which the consultation is terminated, and the accomplish- ment begins, through which the end is generated and obtained. The first medium, therefore, which is the last in the analysis, or investigation, is the first in generation or accomplishment. For that which is immediately in our power, as it is discovered last, is arranged first. through ourselves ; since the principle is in us. But at one time instruments are explored, and at another time the use of them, and in a similar manner in other things ; at one time, indeed, that being investigated through which [the end may be obtained,] and at another time the manner. Man, therefore, as we have said, appears to be the principle of actions ; but consultation is about things which may be performed by man ; and actions are for the sake of other things. Hence the end will not be the object of consultation, but things which per- tain to ends. Neither, therefore, will particulars be the objects of consultation ; as, whether this thing is bread, or is well baked, or is made as it ought to be ; for these things pertain to sense ; but if a man always consults, there will be a procession to infinity. The object of con- \ sultation, however, and the pre-eligible or object of deli- ; berate choice, are the same, except that the object of pre- * election or deliberate choice is something which is now definite ; for the pre-eligible is that ivkich is preferred from consultation. For every one ceases to investigate how he shall act, when he has reduced the principle to himself, and to that part of himself which ranks as the leader; since this part is that which he deliberately chooses. But this also is evident from the ancient poli- ties which Homer has imitated ; for the kings of these polities announced to the people what they had delibe- rately chosen to do. Since, however, that which is pre- eligible is an object of consultation, appetible of things which are in our power, pre-election also, ,or deliberate choice, will be an appetite oj or tendency lo things in our po^r, accompanied with considtation ; ' for forming a * This definition of pre-election (^rgoai^ic/j) was also adopted bv the Stoics, and tliis sense of the word is of the utmost importance ^ B8 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK m* CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 89 judgment in consequence of having consulted, we desire conformably to consultation. We have, therefore, adumbrated what pre-election is, and what the things are with which it is conversant, and have shown that it belongs to things which have reference to ends. CHAPTER IV- That will, however, pertains to the end, we have •shown ; but this end to some persons appears to be the good, and to others apparent good. But it happens to those who say that the object of the will is the good, that what he wills who does not choose rightly, is not an object of will ; for if it were an object of will, it would also be ^in their philosophy. Mrs. Carter, however, in her translation of Epictetus, which is as good as a person ignorant of philosophy can be supposed to make, uniformly translates this word, wherever ft accurs, choice, as if it was ««g««r<$, and not 7rtf««<^Eo-L^m CHAP. I. ETHICS. 121 they become prompt to receive, because, through being willing to spend, they are unable to do this with facility ; for the means of spending rapidly fail them. Hence, they are compelled to procure money elsewhere ; but at the same time, because they pay no attention to the beau- tiful in conduct, they receive negligently, and from every one indiscriminately. For they desire to give ; but it is of no consequence to them how, or whence they give. On this account, neither are their gifts liberal ; for they are not beautiful, nor for the sake of this very thing the beautiful in conduct, nor are they bestowed as they ought to he ; but sometimes they cause those to be rich who ought to be poor, and give nothing to men whose man- ners are moderate, but bestow much on flatterers, or those who are the means of procuring them any other pleasures. Hence, also, most of them are intemperate ; for as they spend their money easily, they likewise spend profusely, on things of an intemperate nature ; and be- cause they do not live with a view to the beautiful in con- duct, they incline to pleasures. The prodigal, therefore, unless he is corrected, falls into these vices ; but by care and diligence, he may arrive at the medium, and to what is becoming in conduct. Illiberality, however, is incurable ; for old age, and every infirmity, appear to render men illiberal, and it is more congenial to them than prodigality. For the mul- titude are more desirous of gain, than disposed to give. Illiberality, likewise, extends widely, and is multiform 5 since there appear to be many modes of it. For, consist- ing in two things, a deficiency in giving, and excess in re- ceiving, it is not wholly and entirely present with all illi- beral men, but sometimes it is divided ; and some, in- 122 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV^ deed, exceed in receiving, but others are deficient in riving. For all those to whom such appellations apply, as, niggardly, tenacious, and sordid, are deficient in giving ; but they do not desire the property of others, nor do they wish to receive, some, indeed, through a cer- tain probity, and an avoidance of base conduct. For some of them seem to take care of their own property, or at least say that they do so, in order that they may not at any time be compelled to do any thing base. Of these characters, however, the skinflint, and every one of the like kind, is so denominated from giving to no one in excess. But others of these abstain from property which is not their own, through fear, because it is not easy for him who takes what belongs to others, to preserve his own property unviolated. Hence, they are disposed nei- ther to receive nor give. Others, again, exceed in re- ceiving, in consequence of receiving on all sides and every thing ; such as those who perform illiberal works, together with panders, usurers, gamesters, sharpers, and other depredators, and those who for the sake of a little, subject themselves to great infamy. For all these receive whence they ought not, and what they ought not. The acquisition, however, of base gain appears to be common to these ; for all of them endure disgrace for the sake of gain, and this small. For we do not call those illiberal, who receive great things whence they ought not, and such as they ought not, as, for instance, tyrants, the sub- verters of cities, and the plunderers of temples; but we rather call them depraved and impious, and unjust. The gamester, indeed, the highwayman; and the sharper, are among the number of illiberal characters ; for they are addicted to base gain ; since, for the sake of gain, they devote themselves to these employments, and endure dis- / ^. CHAP. n. ETHICS. 123 grace. And some, indeed, expose themselves to the greatest dangers for the sake of what they may get ; but others gain something from their friends to whom they ought to give. Both these, therefore, since they wish to enrich themselves whence they ought not, are addicted to base gain ; and all such receivings are illiberal. Rea- sonably, also, is illiberality said to be contrary to libe- rality ; for it is a greater evil than prodigality, and men err more in this than in the prodigality of which we have spoken above. And thus much concerning liberality, and the opposite vices. CHAPTER II. It would seem to fdllow that we should, in the next place, discuss magnificence ; for it also appears to be a certain virtue which is conversant with riches. It does not, however, in the same manner as liberality, extend to all pecuniary actions, but only to those that are sump- tuous. But in these it surpasses liberality in magnitude ; for, as its name signifies, it is a becoming costliness in great things. Magnitude, however, is a relative ; for the same expense does not become the commander of a three-ranked galley, and the president of a public spec- tacle. The becoming, therefore, subsists with reference r^ The magnanimous man, therefore, is especially con- versant with honour and dishonour. And with great honours, indeed, and those which are conferred by wor- thy men, he is moderately pleased, as being things fami- «ar and adapted to him, or rather less than he deserves ; for there can be no honour equal to the desert of all- perfect virtue. Nevertheless, he will admit these ho- nours, because they have not any thing greater .to <:onfer upon him. But he will entirely despise the honour which is paid him by casual persons, and for things of a trifling nature ; for these do not accord with his desert. And in a similar manner he will despise dis- honour ; for it will not justly befal him. The magnani- mous man, therefore, as we have said, is especially con- Yersant with honour. Nevertheless, with respect to wealth also, and power, and all prosperous and adverse fortune, he will conduct himself in these moderately, in whatever manner they may take place. And neither in prosperity will he be very much elated, nor in adversity very much dejected. For neither is he affected with respect to honour, as if it were the greatest of things, since dominion and wealth are eligible on account of honour* Those, therefore, who possess these, wish through them to be honoured. To him, however, to whom honour is , a small thing, other things also will be small. Hence, likewise, magnanimous men appear to be supercilious. Prosperity, however, seems to contribute to magnanimity. For those that are nobly born are thought worthy of ho- nour ; and also men in authority, and those that are rich ; for they surpass others. But every thing which excels in good, is more honourable. Hence also things of this kind cause men to be more magnanimous ; for they are honoured by certain persons on account of them. In reality, however, the good man alone is to be honoured ; but he who possesses both these, [i, e. good fortune and virtue,] is reckoned more deserving of ho- notir. Those, however, who possess such-like goods without virtue, neither justly think themselves worthy of great things, nor are rightly called magnanimous men ; for magnanimity cannot exist without all-perfect virtue. But those who possess things of this kind become super- cilious and insolent, and bad men ; for without virtue, it is not easy to bear prosperity elegantly. But not being able to bear prosperity, and fancying that they surpass other men, they despise them, and act in a casual manner. For they imitate the magnanimous man with- out resembling him ; and they do this in those things in which they are able. Tbey do not, therefore, act 132 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV. 'conformably to virtue, but they despise other men. The magnanimous man, however, justly despises others ; for he forms a true opinion [of men and things y\ but the opinion of the multitude is casually formed. The magnanimous man also neither exposes himself to small dangers, nor is a lover of danger, because there are but few things which he considers to be of great im- portance. But he exposes himself to great dangers, and when he is in danger, is not sparing of his life, because rbe does not consider life as a thing of great importance. nHie is likewise disposed to benefit others, but is ashamed I to be benefited ; for the former is the province of one [ who surpasses, but the latter of one who is surpassed. And the benefit which he returns exceeds what he re- ceived. For thus it will come to pass, that he who first bestowed the benefit, will be his debtor, and vnll be bene- ;fited by him. Magnanimous men also appear to remem- ber those whom they have benefited, but not those from whom they have derived any advantage ; for he who receives, is inferior to him who confers, the benefit. But the magnanimous man wishes to excel. Hence, neither does Thetis mention the benefits she had conferred on Jupiter, nor the Lacedaemonians those which they had conferred on the Athenians, but those which they had received from them. It is likewise the property of a magnanimous man to ask nothing of any one, or scarce- ly to do so, but to administer readily to the wants of others. And towards those indeed who are in a dignified situation, and in prosperous circumstances, to be great pn his behaviour,] but moderate towards those who are ia a middle condition. For to surpass the former is difR- cult and venerable, but it is easy to excel the latter. And CHAP. ni. ETHICS. 133 to conduct himself with dignity among the former is not ignoble, but among the lower class of men it is arrogant, in the same manner as it would be for a man to display his strength among the infirm. It is also the property of the magnanimous man not to betake himself to things which are held in honourable estimation, or where others possess the principal place. Likewise, to be at leisure, and given to delay, except where great honour is to be obtained, or some great work is to be accomplished ; ^^nd to perform a few things, indeed, but these great and celebrated. It is also necessary that he should openly hate and openly love ; for to conceal love or hatred is the province of one who is afraid. It is likewise the property of the magnanimous man, to regard truth more than opbion. And also to speak and act openly ; for this is the province of the man who despises others. Hence he uses the greatest freedom of speech ; for this pertains ' to him who speaks freely. Hence, too, he is a despiser of others, and a lover of truth, unless when he speaks ironically ; but his language is ironical to the vulgar. The magnanimous man, likewise, is unable to live with ^ any other person than a friend ; for it is servile. Hence all flatterers are mercenary j and all humble men are flatterers. Nor is he given to admiration ; for to him nothing is great [in human affairs.] Nor is he mindful of injuries ; for it is not the province of a magnanimous man to be mindful, and especially of evils ; but rather to overlook them. Nor does he speak about men ; for nei- ther does he speak about iiimself, nor about another per- son. For he is not concerned, either that he himself may be praised, or that others may be blamed. Nor again, is he addicted to praise. Hence, neither does he def2^e any one, not even his enemies, unless in order to 134 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV. remove contumely from himself. And in necessary, or small affairs, he is by no means querulous and suppliant ; for to be so is the province of a man who considers such affairs as of great consequence. He is likewise so dis- posed, as to prefer the possession of things beautiful and unattended vrfth advantage, to such as are advantageous and useful ; for this is more the province of one who is sufficient to himself. The motion, also, of the magnani- mous man is slow, his voice is grave, and his diction stable. For he who is earnestly attentive to but few things is not prone to be hasty ; nor is he vehemently strenuous, who considers nothing [in human affairs^ as great. But acuteness of voice, and rapidity of motion, are produced from vehemence, and considering human affairs as important. Such, therefore, is the magnani- mous man. He, however, who is deficient in magnanimity, is pusillanimous ; but he who exceeds, is proud and arro- gant. Neither, however, do these characters appear to be bad ; for they are not malevolent, but wander from the medium. For the pusillanimous man, indeed, deserv- ing good things, deprives himself of what he deserves ; and appears to have something depraved, in consequence of not thinking himself to deserve what is good. He, also, is ignorant of himself ; for if he were not, he would aspire after things of which he is worthy, such things being good. Such men, however, do not appear to be stupid, but rather to be sluggi^. But an opinion of this kind seems to render them worse ; for every one desires what is adapted to his desert. They, likewise, withdraw themselves from beautiful actions and pursuits, as if they were unworthy of them ; and in a similar manner. GHAP. IV. ETHICS. 135 from external goods. But the proud and arrogant are stupid, and ignorant of themselves, and this obviously ; for they endeavour to obtain honourable things, as if they deserved them, and afterwards are reprobated by others for so doing. They also study the ornament of dress, graceful deportment, and the like ; and diey wish that their prosperity may be apparent ; and they speak of themselves, as if they were to be honoured on account of these things. Pusillanimity, however, is more opposed to magnanimity than pride and arrogance ; for it more fre- quently occurs, and is a worse evil. Magnanimity there- fore is, as we have said, conversant with great honour* CHAPTER IV.. It seems, however, that a certain virtue is conversant with honour, as we have before observed, which would ^pear to have a similar relation to magnanimity, that liberality has to magnificence; for both these virtues are remote from magnitude, but dispose us in such a way as is proper with respect to things moderate and small. But as in the receiving and giving of money there are a medium, excess, and defect ; thus, also, in the appetition of honour, there are the more and the less 136 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV. than IS proper, and whence it is proper, and as it is pro- per. For we blame the ambitious man, as aspiring after honour more than is proper, and whence it is not proper [to obtain it] ; and we blame the unambitious man, as not deliberately choosing to be honoured even for actions that are beautiful. Sometimes, however, we praise the ambitious man as virile, and a lover of beautiful con- duct ; but the unambitious man as modest and tempe- rate, as we have before observed. But it is evident, that since the lover of a certain thing is said to be so multi- fariously, we do not always refer the lover of honour to the same thing ; but when we praise him, it is because he desires honour more than the vulgar desire it, and when we blame him, it is because he desires it more than IS proper. Since, however, the medium is anonymous, the extremes appear to contend for it as for a solitary place. But in those things in which there are excess and defect, there is also a medium. Men, also, aspire after honour more or less than is proper ; and, there- fore, they also aspire after it in such a way as is proper. Hence, this habit is praised, which is an anonymous me- dium about honour^ It appears, however, with reference to ambition, to be a privation of ambition, and to be am- bition with reference to a privation of ambition ; and to be in a certain respect both with reference to both. This also appears to be the case in the other virtues. H^re, however, the extremes are seen to be opposed to each other, because the middle is without a name. CHAP. v. ETHICS. 137 CHAPTER V. But mildness is, indeed, a medium conversant with anger. Since, however, the virtue which conducts itself moderately with respect to anger, is anonymous, and this is, also, nearly the case with the extremes, we refer mild- ness to the medium, though it appears to incline rather to the deficiency in anger, which deficiency is anonymous. But the excess may be called a certain angryness. For the passion is anger ; but the causes of it are many and \ various. He, therefore, who is angry from causes, and with persons with which it is proper to be angry, and ; farther still, in such a manner as is proper, and when, ; and as long as it is proper, is praised. Hence, he will be a mild man, since mildness is praised. For the mild man wishes to be without perturbation, and not to be led by passion ; but to be angry as reason may ordain in these , things, and for as long a time as it prescribes. He appears, however, rather to err in the deficiency with respect to anger ; for the mild man is not given to re- venge, but is rather inclined to pardon. But the defi- ciency, whether it be a certain lenity, or whatever it may be, is blamed. For those who are not angry from causes for which it is proper to be angry, appear to be stupid ; and this is also the case with those who are not angry as 138 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV* it k proper, nor when it is proper, nor with those persons with whom it is proper; since they appear to be without sensation, and to be void of pain. And, also, since they are not angry, they are not incHned to revenge. For it is servile for a man to lendure the insolent behaviour of others towards himself, and his own relations. Excess,, however, in anger has a manifold subsistence. For it is possible to be angry with persons and from causes with which it is not proper, and also more and less, and for a longer time than is proper. All these excesses, how- ever, are not inherent in the same person ; for it is not possible that they should be. For evil destroys itself^ and if it is perfect and entire is intolerable. Those, therefore, who are irascible rapidly become angry, and with things and from causes with which they ought not to be angry, and also more than is proper ; but they quickly cease to be angry, which is a most excellent thing. But this happens to them because they do not restrain their anger, but return an injury as soon as they have received it. Hence their anger, on account of its celerity, is manifest; but afterwards they cease to be angry. The extremely irascible, however, are excessively rapid in their anger, and are angry with every thing, and on every occasion, whence, also, they derive their appeU lation. But the bitterly angry, are with difficulty libe- rated from anger, and are angry for a long time ; for they detain their anger [from bursting forth.] They cease, however, to be angry when they have taken vengeance on those that angered them ; for vengeance appeases anger, producing pleasure instead of pain. But if vengeance does not take place, they are oppressed with a heavy burden ; for because the manner in which they are affected is not apparent, neither does any one CHAP, V. ETHICS. 13i> persuade them [to be appeased.] Time, however, is re- quisite for them to concoct their anger. But men of this description, are most troublesome to themselves, and to those who are especially their friends. We, likewise, call those men severe in their anger, who are angry from causes for which they ought not, and in a greater degree, and for a longer time than is proper, and who cannot be appeased without revenge or punishment. To mild- ness, however, we rather oppose the excess than the de- fect ; for it is more frequent ; since it is more human to revenge an injury. Severe men, also, are worse for the purpose of association. But that which we before ob- served, is also manifest from what we now say. For it is not easy to define how, and with what persons, and from what causes, and for how long a time, a man shoutd be angry, and also to what extent he may be so rightly, or erroneously. For he who transgresses in a small de- gree is not blamed, whether he inclines to the more, or to the less; since we sometimes praise those that are deficient, and call them mild ; and sometimes we call those who are severely angry, virile, as being men who are able to govern others. It is not, therefore, easy to explain in words, the quantity and mode of transgression which is blameable ; for the judgment of this is situated in particulars, and in sense. Thus much, however, is evident, that the middle habit indeed is laudable, accord- ing to which we are angry with those persons, and from those causes that it is proper to be so, and in such a man- nei as is proper, t and every thing else of the like kind. But the excesses and defects are blameable. And these, ( indeed, if they deviate but a little from the medium, are blameable in a small degree ; if more, in a greater de- 140 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV. gree ; and if much, they are very blameable. It is evident, therefore, that the middle habit must be retained. And thus we have discussed the habits pertaining to anger. CHAPTER VI. In the associations, however, of men with each other, and in the communication of words and deeds, some persons appear to be placid and obsequious, who praise every thing with a view to the pleasure [of those with whom they associate,] and are not their opponents in any thing, in consequence of fancying that they ought not, by any means, to offend them. Others, on the con- trary, are adverse to their associates in every thing, and are not at all concerned about whom they may offend ; and these are called morose and litigious. That the above- mentioned habits, therefore, are blameable, is not imma- nifest; and, also, that the medium between these is laudable, according to which a man admits what he ought, and as he ought, and is in a similar manner indignant. No name, however, is given to this medium ; but it seems especially to resemble friendship. For he who subsists CHAP. VL ETHICS. 141 according to this middle habit, is such a one as we wish a worthy friend to be, if he also assumes, in conjunction with it, a love resembling filial love. But it differs from friendship, because it is without passion and a love re- sembling filial love, towards those upon whom it is exer- cised. For it does not admit every thing in such a manner as is fit, in consequence of loving or hating, but from a habit of approving or reprehending properly. • For he who possesses this habit, will be similarly affable to those whom he does not, and to those whom he does know, to his associates, and to those with whom he does not associate, except that to each of these his affability will be appropriate. For it is not fit similarly to pay atten- f tion, or give pain, to familiars and strangers. We have, \ therefore, universally shown, that he will conduct himself in his associations in such a manner as is proper ; but referring his actions to the beautiful in conduct and the useful, his aim will be neither to give pain to, nor delight others, by obsequiousness. For this virtue appears to be conversant with the pains and pleasures which take place in associations. But when the possessor of this virtue cannot delight his associates worthily, or without injuring them, he is indignant, and deliberately chooses to give them pain, [rather than to injure them by obsequious- ness.] He, also, will not permit another person to be obsequious to him in those things which are attended with no small disgrace, or injury, and the contrary to which produces but little pain j but he will rather be in- dignant. He will, likewise, associate differently with those who are in a dignified situation, and any casual per- sons, and with those who are more or less known to him. in a si^iilar manner, also, in other differences, he will attribute to every one what it is fit for each person to | 142 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV, CHAP. vn. ETHICS. 143 receive. And he will, indeed, choose to give delight to others, as a thing of itself eligible, but will cautiously avoid giving them pain. And with respect to events, if they are greater, he will follow them ; I mean, he^wjU ioUgsLthe beautiful in conduct and the advantageous ; and for the sake of great pleasure afterwards, he will give jjainJaja^small degree. Such, therefore, is the middle character, but fie is without a name. With re- spect, however, to those who delight others, he who aims at pleasing, and nothing else, may be called accommodat- ing ; but he who does this in order that he may derive some pecuniary advantage, or such things as are procured through money, is a flatterer. And he who is indignant with every thing, we have already said, is morose and litigious. The extremes, however, appear to be opposed to each other, because the medium is anonymous* CHAPTER VII. The medium of arrogance, also, is nearly conversant with the same things ; but this medium, likewise, is ano- nymous. It will not, however, be foreign from the purpose to discuss such-like habits j for by discusstag each particular we shall know more of what pertains to manners, and shall be persuaded that the virtues are media, when we understand what takes place in all of them. With respect, therefore, to the associations of men with each other, we have already spoken concern- ing those who associate with a view to pleasure and pain. But let us now consider those who are men of veracity or falsehood, alike in words and deeds, and dissimula- tion. The arrogant man, therefore, appears to be one who pretends to things of a splendid nature which he does not possess, or to such as are more splendid than he possesses. The dissembler, on the contrary, denies what he possesses, or makes it to be less than it is. But the middle character, forming a just opinion of himself, is a man of veracity in his life, and in his words, acknow- ledging that he possesses what he does possess, and neither more nor less. Each of these, however, may be done for the sake of something, or for the sake of nothing. But such as a man is, such also will be his ^^ words and actions, and such also will be his life, unless he acts for the sake of something. Of itself, however, falsehood is bad and blameable ; but truth is beautiful and laudable. Hence, the man of veracity, indeed, be- ing a middle character, is laudable; but of the two characters who want veracity, both indeed are blame- able ; but the arrogant man more than the other. We shall, however, speak concerning each of these, and in the first place concerning the man of veracity. For w^e do not speak of the man who has veracity in compacts, and in things which pertain to injustice or justice ; for this will belong to another virtue ; but we speak of him . who, though nothing of this kind should occur, is a man of veracity bo^h in words and in his life, because he is X 144 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV. such from habit. But such a one will appear to be a worthy man. For he who is a lover of truth, and who speaks the truth in things in which it is of no consequence whether he does or not, will in a still greater degree speak the truth in things in which it is of consequence. For he will avoid what is false as base, and which also he will of itself avoid ; but such a man is worthy of praise. He will, however, [if it should be requisite to deviate from the medium] rather incline to what is less than the truth ; for this appears to be more elegant, be- cause excesses are troublesome and invidious. But he who pretends that he possesses things of greater conse- quence than he really does, and this for the sake of nothing else, resembles indeed the depraved man ; for otherwise he would not be delighted with falsehood ; yet he seems to be rather a vain than a bad man. If, how- ever, he does this for the sake of something, such as glory or honour, he is not very blameable, as the arro- gant man is ; but if he does it for the sake of money, or of things which pertain to money, he is more base. But the arrogant man is not characterized by capacity or power, but by deliberate choice ; for he is arrogant according to habit, and because he is such a character. Thus also with respect to the man who is without vera- city ; one delights in falsehood itself, but another delights m it in consequence of aspiring after glory or gain, /rhose, therefore, who are arrogant for the sake of glory, pretend to the possession of those things for which men are praised, or proclaimed to be happy ; but those who are arrogant for the sake of gain, pretend to be those characters with which others are delighted, and of which the non-possession may be latent ; such as to be a physi- cian, or a prophet, or a wise man. On this account. CHAP. VII. ETHICS. 145 most men pretend and arrogate to themselves things of this kind ; for they possess the above-mentioned qualities. Dissemblers, or the ironical, however, who speak less than the truth, appear indeed to be more elegant in their manners ; for they do not seem to speak for the sake of gain, but in consequence of avoiding fastidiousness. But these persons especially deny that they possess things of an illustrious nature ; as also Socrates did. Those, however, who pretend that they do not possess small things, and which are obvious, are called crafty or delicate deceivers, and are very contemptible men. Sometimes, also, this species of dissimulation appears to be arro- gance ; such, for instance, as the garments of the Lace- daemonians. For excess and very great deficiency, alike pertain to arrogance. But those who moderately use irony, and are ironical in things which are not very much known and obvious, appear to be elegant men. The arrogant man, however, seems to be opposed to the maa of veracity 5 for he is a w^orse character. Arist. VOL. II. X / 146 THE NICOMACHEAK BOOK IV, GHAP, vni. ETHICS* 147 CHAFrER viii. SiNCt, however, there is a certain relaxation in Hfe, and rest from labour, and since this remission is accompanied with jesting, it appears that here also there is a certam elegant method of conversation, in which such thmgs are said as are proper, and are delivered in a proper man- ner ; and similarly with respect to hearing what it is pro- per to hear, and hearing it in such a way as is fit. But there is a difference in speaking to some persons rather than to others, and in hearing some things rather than others It is evident, however, that in these things also there is an excess and deficiency with respect to the me- , dium. Those, therefore, who exceed in the ridiculous, appear to be scurrilous and troublesome ; for they en- tirely affect the ridiculous, and aim more at excitmg laughter, than at speaking in a becoming manner, and not civL pain to the object of their ridicule. But those who do not say themselves any thing ridiculous, and are indignant with those who do. appear to be rustic and n- ^ corous. Those, however, who jest elegantly, are called facetious and versatile, as being of a flexible genius ; for . of manners there appear to be such-like motions. But as a judgment is formed of bodies from motions, so like- \vise of manners. Since, however, there is a redundancy of the ridiculous, and most men delight in jests and ca- v'dling more than is proper ; the scurrilous also are called versatile, as being polite and pleasant men. But that they differ, and in no small degree, is evident from what has been said. To the middle habit, also, dexterity is appropriate. But it is the province of a dexterous man to say and hear such things, as are adapted to a worthy and liberal man ; for ithere are certain things which it becomes such a one to 'say and hear in jest. And the jesting of a liberal differs from that of a servile man, and again, the jesting of an erudite differs from that of an inerudite man. But the truth of this may be seen, both from ancient and modem comedies ; for in the former, the ridiculous consisted in obscenity ; but in the latter, the suspicion of obscenity rather excited laughter. These things, however, differ in no small degree with respect to the decorous and ele- gant. Whether, therefore, is he who ridicules well to be defined by this, that he says what it becomes a liberal man to say ? or by this, that he does not pain, or that he delights the hearer ? Or shall we say that a thing of this kind is indefinite? For a different thing is odious and pleasing to a diiferent person. He will also hear things of this kind, [viz. things ./hich are adapted to a worthy and liberal man ;] for such things as a man en- dures to hear, such also he appears to do. He will nor, therefore, do [or say] every thing ; for cavilling is a cer- tain invective. Legislators, however, forbid certain in- vectives ; and perhaps it would be proper that they should also forbid cavilling. The elegant and liberal man, therefore, will so conduct himself, as if he were a law 148 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IV* to himself. Hence, the middle character is a man of thrs description, whether he is to be denominated dexterous or versatile. But the scurrilous man is vanquished by the ridiculous, and neither spares himself, nor others, if he can excite laughter. He likewise says such thmgs, as the elegant man would never say ; and some things that he says, the elegant man would not even endure to hear. The rustic man, however, is useless with respect to such conversations 5 for contributing nothing, he is mdignant with all of them. But relaxation and jesting appear to be necessary to the life of man. There are, therefore, the above-mentioned three media in life ; but all of them are conversant with the communion of certam words and actions They differ, however, because one of them is conversant with truth, but the others are conversant with the delectable. But of the media which pertain to pleasure, one indeed is conversant with jests, but the other with the associations which belong to the rest ot life. CHAP. IX. rTHTC55, 149 CHAPTER IX. With respect to shame, it is not fit to speak of It as of a certain virtue ; for it resembles passion more than habit. It is defined, therefore, to be a certain dread of • infamy ; and, similar to fear, it is exercised about dread- ful things. For those who are under the influence of shame become red, or blush ; but those who have the fear of death upon them are pale. Hence both these ap- pear to be in a certain respect corporeal ; which seems rather to belong to passion than to habit. This passion, however, is not adapted to every age, but to youth. For we think it requisite that young persons should be bash- ful, because they commit many errors in consequence of living from passion, but are restrained from the commis- sion of them by shame. And we praise indeed bashful young men; but no one praises a bashful old man. For we think that he ought not to do any thing for which he should be ashamed ; for neither does shame pertain to a worthy man, since it is produced by bad conduct ; for the things which cause shame are not to be done. But it makes no difference, whether some things are in reality base, but others only base according to opinion ; for nei- ther of these are to be done ; so that shanie is not to be admitted. A thing of this kind also, viz. to do some- \50 THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. BOOK IV* thing base, k the province of a bad man. But for a man to be so disposed, as to be ashamed if he should do any thing that is base, and to fancy himself on this account to be a worthy character, is absurd. For shame pertains to voluntary actions ; but a viorthy man never volunta- rily acts basely. Shame, however, from hypothesis, may seem to be good ; for if a worthy man should act basely, he would be ashamed. But this does not pertain to the virtues ; nor if impudence is a bad thing, and not to be ashamed when acting basely, will it be at all a more wor- thy thing, to be ashamed when perforniing base deeds ? Neither is continence a virtue, but a certain mixt thing. This, however, we shall discuss hcreaftei-. But let us now speak concerning justice, THE. NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. P>OOK V. V 4A. ii CHAPTER I. Now, therefore, let us direct our attention to justice and injustice ; and consider v^^ith what kind of actions they are conversant; what kind of medium justice is, and of what things the just is the medium. But let our survey be made according to the same method as the preceding discussions. We see, therefore, that all men are willing to call that kind of habit justice, through which we practise just things, [or are inclined to the works of jus- tice,] and through which we act justly, and wish what is just. And after the same manner injustice is that habit through which men act unjustly, and wish what is uii- 152 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. just. Hence, these things must be first adumbrated by us ; 5ince there is not the same mode of subsistence in the sciences, in powers, and in habits. For there is the same power indeed, and the same science of contraries ; but there is not the same habit of contraries. Thus, for instance, contrary operations are not performed by heahh, but those only which are salubrious ; for we say that a man walks in a healthy manner, when he walks in such a way as a healthy man walks. Frequently, there- fore, a contrary habit is known from a contrary habit ; but frequently habits are known from their subjects. For if a good habit of body is apparent, a bad habit of body will also be apparent. And from things which produce a good habit of body, this good habit will be known, and from this good habit its producing causes will be known. For if a good habit of body is a density of the flesh, a bad habit of body will necessarily be a rarity of the flesh ; and that which produces a good habit of body, will be productive of density in the flesh. It follows, however, for the most part, that if one contrary is pre- dicated multifariously, the other also will be multi- fariously predicated ; ' as, if the just, so likewise the unjust. But justice and injustice are predicated multifariously, though, through the proximity of their homonymy, this is latent; nor is it more apparent,* as is the case in those things which are remote.* For the difference according to idea or form is great. Thus, for instance, xT^eis, clavk, is predicated ho- ' This dialectic precept is accurately discussed by Aristotle in the first book of his Topics. * Viz. When a name signifies many things, very distant from each other, then it is manifest that it is predicated multifariously. CHAP. I. ETHICS. 153 monymously ; for it signifies both that part which IS under the neck of animals, and that by which gates are shut, [viz. a key.] We must consider, therefore, in how many ways an unjust man is denominated. But it appears that he is an unjust man who acts illegally, and he who takes to himself more of external goods than he ought, [or who is avaricious,] and also he who is une- qual [i. e. who takes to himself less of evils than is equi- table ;] so that it is evident that he will be a just man who acts legally, and he who is equal or equitable. The j > just, therefore, will be both the legal and the equal ; \/ but the unjust will be the illegal and the unequal. Since, however, the unjust man is avaricious, he will be con- versant with good, yet not with every kind of good, but with that in which there is prosperous and adverse for- tune ; and which is indeed simply always good, but to a certain person not always. But men pray for and pur- sue this good, though they ought not. For they should pray, indeed, that things which are simply good [such as riches, &;c.] may also be good to them ; but they should choose such things as are good to their possessor, [such as virtue and wisdom.] The unjust man, however, does not always choose that which is more, but in things which are simply evil he chooses the less. But because a less evil appears in a certain respect to be good, and of what is good, there is a desire of possessing more of it than is equitable, on1:his account the unjust man appears to be avaricious. He is also unequal, and acts illegally ; for this very thing the acting illegally, or inequality, com- prehends all injustice, and is common to all injustice. Since, however, he who acts illegally is unjust, but he who acts legally is just, it is evident that every thing which is legal is in a certain respect just. For the things 152 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. just. Hence, these things must be first adumbrated by us ; §ince there is not the same mode of subsistence in the sciences, in powers, and in habits. For there is the same power indeed, and the same science of contraries ; but there is not the same habit of contraries. Thus, for instance, contrary operations are not performed by heahh, but those only which are salubrious ; for we say that a man walks in a healthy manner, when he walks in such a way as a healthy man walks. Frequently, there- fore, a contrary habit is known from a contrary habit ; but frequently habits are known from their subjects. For if a good habit of body is apparent, a bad habit of body will also be apparent. And from things which pi'oduce a good habit of body, this good habit will be known, and from this good habit its producing causes will be known. For if a good habit of body is a density of the flesh, a bad habit of body will necessarily be a rarity of the flesh ; and that which produces a good habit of body, will be productive of density in the flesh. It follows, however, for the most part, that if one contrary is pre- dicated multifariously, the other also will be multi- fariously predicated ; ' as, if the just, so likewise the unjust. But justice and injustice are predicated multifariously, though, through the proximity of their homonymy, this is latent; nor is it more apparent,' as is the case in those things which are remote.* For the difference according to idea or form is great. Thus, for instance, xXe*^, clavk^ is predicated ho- ' This dialectic precept Is accurately discussed by Aristotle in the first book of his Topics. * Viz. When a name signifies many things, very distant from Cich other, then it is manifest that it is predicated multifariously. CHAP. I. ETHICS. 153 monymously ; for it signifies both that part which IS under the neck of animals, and that by which gates are shut, [viz. a key.] We must consider, therefore, in how many ways an unjust man is denominated. But it appears that he is an unjust man who acts illegally, and he who takes to himself more of external goods than he ought, [or who is avaricious,] and also he who is une- qual [i. e. who takes to himself less of evils than is equi- table ;] so that it is evident that he will be a just man who acts legally, and he who is equal or equitable. The j / just, therefore, will be both the legal and the equal ; !/ but the unjust will be the illegal and the unequal. Since, however, the unjust man is avaricious, he will be con- versant with good, yet not with every kind of good, but with that in which there is prosperous and adverse for- tune ; and which is indeed simply always good, but to a certain person not always. But men pray for and pur- sue this good, though they ought not. For they should pray, indeed, that things which are simply good [such as riches, &c.] may also be good to them ; but they should choose such things as are good to their possessor, [such as virtue and wisdom.] The unjust man, however, does not always choose that which is more, but in things which are simply evil he chooses the less. But because a less evil appears in a certain respect to be good, and of what is good, there is a desire of possessing more of it than is equitable, on 1:his account the unjust man appears to be avaricious. He is also unequal, and acts illegally ; for this very thing the acting illegally, or inequality, com- prehends all injustice, and is common to all injustice. Since, however, he who acts illegally is unjust, but he who acts legally is just, it is evident that every thing which is legal is in a certain respect just. For the things 154 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. V^hich are defined by the legislative science are legal ; and we say that each of these is just ; but the laws speak about every thing, looking either to that which is advan- tageous in common to all men, or to the best of men, or to those in authority, and this either according to virtue, /cr some other mode, Ilencc, after one manner we call Athose things just, which are capable of producing and X [preserving felicity, and the parts of it, by political com- munion. The law, however, ordains that the works of the brave man should be dt)iic, such as that a soldier shall not leave his rank, nor fly from the enemy, nor throw away his arms ; and likewise that the works of the temperate man shall be done, such as not to commit adul- tery, nor behave with insolent wantonness ; and also those of the mild man, such as not to strike another person^ nor defame any one. And the law ordains similarly with resi^ect to the other virtues and vices, partly commanc^ng, and partly forbidding ; the law indeed, doing this rightly^ which is rightly framed, but that which is rashly framed, erroneously. This justice, therefore, [i. e. legal justice] is indeed a perfect virtue, yet not simply, but with refer- ence to another thing. And on this account justice fre- quently appears to be the best of the virtues ; nor is ei- ther the evening or the morning star so admirable. We likewise say proverbially. Every virtue is comprehended in justice. And legal justice is especially a perfect vir- tue, because it is the use of perfect virtue. But it is perfect, because he who possesses it, is also able to employ virtue towards another person, and not only towards himself. For many persons are indeed able to employ virtue in their own affairs, but not in the affairs of others. And on this account it appears to have been well said by Bias, that dominion shoves the man ; for he who governs CHAP. I. ETHICS, 155 has relation to another person, and is now conversant with the communion of life. For the very same reason also, justice alone, of all the virtues, appears to be a fa-f reign good, because it has reference to another person ;[ since it performs what is advantageous to another, viz.=] either to a ruler, or to the community at large. He,* therefore, is the worst of characters, who acts depra- vedly both towards himself and towards his friends ; but he is the best of men, not who acts virtuously towards himself, but towards another person ; for this is a diffi- cult work. This justice, therefore, is not a part of vir- tue, but is universal virtue ; nor is the injustice which is contrary to it a part of vice, but universal vice. What the difference, however, is between virtue and this jus- tic^, is evident from what has been already said ; for it is indeed the same with it, but not essentially. For so far, indeed, as it has reference to another person, it is jus- tice ; but so far as it is a habit of a certain description, it is simply virtue. 156 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. / / CHAPTER II. / v/ We investigate, however, that justice which is a part of virtue ; for there is, as we say, such a justice ; and in a similar manner we investigate the injustice which is a part of vice. But that there is such a justice is indicated by this, that he who energizes according to other depravities, acts unjustly, indeed, but does not assume to himself ' more of external good than he ought ; such, for instance, as the man who throws away his shield through timidity, or he who speaks ill of another from asperity, or who does not give pecuniary assistance to another, through illibcrality. But when he assumes to himself more than he ought, he frequently is not vicious according to any ' one of such vices, nor yet according to all the vices, but according to a certain depravity ; for we blame him, and for injustice. There is, therefore, a certain other injus^ tice, as being a certain part of universal injustice, and a certain something unjust, which is a part of the whole of the unjust that is contrary to law. Farther still, if one •person, indeed, should commit adultery for the sake of gain, and should receive money for so doing, but ano* ther should give money and sustain an injury in his pro- perty, by doing it, in consequence of being under the CHAP* II. ETHICS. 157 influence of [strong] desire, the latter, indeed, will ra- ther appear to be intemperate, than one who assumes to himself more than he ought, but the former will be un- just, but jiot intemperate ; and it is evident that he will not, because he acts with a view to gain. Again, in all other unjust deeds, there is always a reference to a cer- tain depravity. Thus, if a man commits adultery, the reference is to intemperance ; if he abandons his post in battle, the reference is to timidity ; but if he strikes ano- ther person, to anger. If, however, he obtains money by it, the reference is to no other depravity, than to in- justice. Hence, it is evident that there is a certain other 'injustice which ranks as a part, besides universal injur- tice, and which is synonymous with it ; because the de- finition of each is in the same genus. For both possess their power in a reference to another pei-son. But the injustice which ranks as a part is conversant with honour, or riches, or safety, or if all these could be compre- hended in one name, it is conversant with them ; and this on account of the pleasure which results from gain. Uni- versal injustice, however, is conversant with all such things, as a worthy man is conversant with [in the exercise of justice]. That there are many kinds of justice, there^ fore, and that there is a certain justice which is different from universal virtue, is evident. What it is, however, and what kind of a thing it is, must be explained. i The unjust, therefore, has been distinguished by us into the illegal and the unequal ; and the just into the le- .^al and the equal. But the prior injustice of which we have spoken subsists according to the illegal. Since, liowever, the illegal and the unequal are not the same, but different, as a part with reference to a whole j for 158 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK Vi every thing unequal is illegal, but not every thing which Is illegal is unequal ; hence, the unjust and injustice arel not the same with these, but diflFerent from them, in the same manner as parts and wholes. For this in^stice is a part of the whole of injustice ; and, in a similar manner, this justice is a part of the whole of justice. We must, therefore, speak concerning the justice and injustice which rank as parts, and after the same manner concerning the paitially just and unjust. The justice, therefore^ and in- justice which are arranged according to universal virtue, and of which the former is the use of the whole of vir* tue, and the latter of the whole of vice, with reference to another person, we shall omit. It is, likewise, evi- dent how the just and the unjust which are arranged con- formably to these, are to be distinguished. For nearly most of those things which are legal are ordained from universal virtue. For the law orders men to live con- formably to every virtue, and forbids them from acting conformably to any one of the vices. But the efficient causes of the whole of virtue, are those legal actions which are established by the laws for the purposes of public discipline. Concerning the discipline, however, of an individual, according to which he is simply a good man, whether it pertains to the political, or another science, will be determined hereafter.' For perhaps it is not the same thing to be a good man, and a good citi- zen. But there is one species of the justice which sub- sists according to a part, and of the just pertaining to it, and which consists in the distributions either of honour, or riches, or such other things as may be divided among those who partake of the same polity. For in these it is ■ I. e. In the third Book of the Politics, Chap. 4. CHAP, It. ETHICS. 159 possible that one person may share unequally, and equally, with another. But another species of justice is that which possesses a corrective power in contracts. Of this, however, there are two parts. For of contracts some are voluntary, but others are involuntary* The volun- tary, indeed, are, buying, selling, putting out money at interest, suretyship, lending any thing on hire, pledging, and hiring [a slave or an artificer.] But these contracts are said to be voluntary, because the principle of them is voluntary. And of hivoluntary contracts, some are clandestine, such as theft, adultery, witchcraft, prosti- tution, deceiving the slave of another person, insidious murder, and bearing false witness. But the violent are, such as blows, ' bonds, death, plunder, mutilation, slan- der and contumely. ' The reader who Is not an adept in the philosophy of Aristotle, will doubtless be surprised that he ranks blotvs among contracts. But in order to solve this apparent absurdity, it must be observed, that particular justice is divided by Aristotle into the distributive and the commutative ; and that the commutative is that which gives recti- tude to contracts, and commutations, through which a thing is transferred from one person to anotlier, and universally, to actions, through which one person acts, and another suffers. Under tlie word Tvm>.hxtyt/.ecrttj tlierefore, i. e. contracts, Aristotle, also, con:- prehends coviimutations of every description. 160 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. CHAPTER nt. \ Since, however, the unjust man is unequal, and, also, the unjust belongs to the unequal, it is evident that there is a certain medium of the unequal ; but this is the. equal. For in whatever action there is the more and the? . less, there is also the equal. If, therefore, the unjust is unequal, the just will be equal ; which, indeed, without any reasoning process, is manifest to all men. But since the equal is a medium, the just will be a certain medium. The equal, however, is in two things at least. It is neces- sary, therefore, that the just, which is a medium and equal, should be referred to a certain thing, and to cer- tain things. And so far, indeed, as it is a medium, it is referred to certain things ; but these are the more and the less. And so far as it is equal, it is referred to two things ; but so far as it is the just, it is referred to cer- tain things. Hence, it is necessary that the just should be in four things at least ; for the persons to whom the just pertains are two, and the things in which it consists are two. And there will be the same equality between s the persons to whom justice pertains, and the things in which it consists j for as is the relation of the former to each other, such, also, is that of the latter! For if th^ chAp. in. ETHICS. 161 persons are hot equal, they will not have equal things. Battles, however, and accusations hence origi- nate, when either equal persons do not obtain equal things, or those that are not equal have an equal distri- bution of things. This, also, is evident from distribu- , tion according to desert ; for all men acknowledge, that the just in distributions should be made according to a certain desert. All men, however, do not say that there IS the same desert ; but democratic men, indeed, say that desert is liberty ; and of the oligarchists, some say that it is wealth, but others that it is nobility ; but the aristo- crats say that it is virtue. The just, therefore, is some- thing analogous ; for the analogous is not only the pecu- liarity of monadic number [or number consisting of units,] but of number universally.* For analogy or proportion IS equality of ratio, and consists in four things at least. That disjunct proportion, therefore, consists in four terms is evident ; and this is also the case with con- tinned proportion. For thi5 uses one thing as two things ; as, for instance, as A is to B, so is B to C. Hence, B is twice assumed ; so that if B is placed twice, the ana- logous things will be four. But the just, also, consists m^ four things at least, and the reason is the same ; for the persons to whom justice is distributed, and the things which are distributed, are similarly divided. As the term A, therefore, is to B, so will C be to D. And, therefore, alternately, as A is to C, so is B to D. Hence, the whole will be compared with the whole, which the distribution conjoins ; and if they are thus compounded, they will be justly conjoined. The conjunction, there- « i. e. Of number applied to things, such as ten men, eigfit horses, 3cc. ArisL VOL. II, J 62 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. fore of the term A with C, and of B with D, forms the iustice which is in distribution; and the just is the me- dium of that which is foreign from the analogous. For the analogous is a medium ; and the just is analogous. Mathematicians, however, call such an analogy or pro- portion as this geometrical ; for in geometrical propor- don it happens that the whole is to the whok as all the parts to all. But this proportion is not continued; tor '.Because distributive justice is a certain proportior>aIity, it has certain properties of proportionality. The first property .s, that things vJhich are proportional to each other, are, also, alternately proportional. Thus, because, as 10 is to 5, so is 8 to 4, it wU be alternately as 10 is to 8, so is 5 to4. And this property, also, accords with distributive justice. For let there be two persons, one of whom has laboured for one month, but the other for two months ; d.stri, tutive justice in this case requires, that if one pound m money .s given to him who has laboured for one month, two pounds should be eiven to him who has laboured for two months. And then .t will be as he who has laboured for two months, is to h,m who has laboured for one month, so are two pounds to one pound. Hence, alternately, as be who has laboured for two months .s to two pounds, so is he who has laboured for one month to one pound The second property is, when there is the same rat.o of the first term to the second, as of the third term to the fourth, there .s, also, the same ratio of the first and third terms taken together, as of tie second and fourth taken together. Thus, if there .s the sarne rat.o of 10 to 5 as of 8 to 4, there is, also, the same rat.o of 10 and b taken together, to Sand 4 taTcen together, viz. there .s the same duple ratio. Tor as 10 is to 5, or as 8 is to 4, so .s 18 to 9. This property, also, accords with distributive justice. For the same ratio whiVh he who has laboured for two months has to two pounds in money, he who has laboured for one month has to one pound j and the .ame ratio, also, have two persons who have laboured for three months to three pounds. Distributive justice, therefore, so distr.- bntes common goods, that as tl.e persons are to each other, so are the goods distributed to such persons, and as are all the persons taken together, so are all tlxe things distributed coUecUvely taken. • ivAip. IV. ETHICS. 163 the same thing is not assumed as the person to whom a 'distribution is made, and as the thing distributed. This justice, therefore, consists in proportion ; but the unjust jis foreign from proportion. And hence, one person has more, but another less [than he ought ;] which, also, happens to be the case in actions. For he, indeed, who does an injury has more, but he who is injured has less of good than he ought. The contrarj', however, takes place in evil ; for a less evil has the relation of good with respect to a greater evil. For a less is more eligi- ble than a greater evil. But the eligible is good ; and that which is more eligible is a greater good. This, therefore, is one species of the just. f CHAPTER IV. The other remaining speciop of justice is corrective, which is conversant both with voluntary and involuntary ; contracts. But the form of this justice is different from the former. For the justice which is distributive of com- mon things, £or things of a public nature, 3 always subsists according to the above-mentioned proportion. For if the distribution is made from common property, it will be according to the same ratio as the things introduced have to each other ; and the unjust which is opposed to 164 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. this justice, is foreign from proportion. The just, how- ever, which is in contracts, is, indeed, a certain equahty, and the unjust is inequality ; yet not according to geo- metrical, but arithmetical proportion. For it makes no difference, whether a worthy deprives a bad man of his OToperty, or a bad a worthy man ; nor whether a worthy .pr a bad man commits adultery. But the law only looks to the difference of the injury, and uses the persons as ,if they were equal, though the one, indeed, should m- jure, but the other should be injured, and though the one should do, but the other should suffer, harm. Hence, ..this injustice, since it is unequal, the judge endeavours to equalize. For when one man, indeed, inflicts a blow, but another is struck, or one man kills, but another is killed, the suffering and the action are divided into un- equal parts ; but the judge, by the punishment which he inflicts, endeavours to produce an equality, by detracting from the gain. For in things of this kind, in short, though to some things the name will not be appropriate, the injury is denominated gain, and the endurance of the injury loss. But when the suffering is measured, the one is called loss but the other gain. Hence, of th« more and the less, the equal is the medium. With re- - spect to loss and gain, however, the one is more, but the other less contrarily ; for the more of good, but the less of evil is gain, and the contrary is loss; of which the equal is the medium, which we say is the just. Hence, the justice which is corrective will be the medium of loss and gain. Hence, too, when men contend with each other [about legal affairs] they fly to the judge •, but to go to a judge is to go to justice. For a judge is nothing eke than as it were animated justice. They, also, search for a judge who is a medium ; and some persons CHAP. IV. ETHICS. ir>5 call judges mediators, as if they should obtain justice if they obtained the medium. The just, therefor^, is a' certain medium, since the judge is also. But the judge- i equalizes, and as if a line were cut into unequal parts^ he takes away from the greater section that by which it exceeds the half, and adds it to the less section. When,. however, the whole is divided into two equal parts, then men say they have what is their own, when they obtain the equal. But the equal is the middle of the greater and the less according to arithmetical proportion. * "* Any line, or any number, may be divided into unequal parts. But between unequal lines and numbers, both an arithmetical and a geometrical medium may be obtained. An arithmetical me- dium, therefore, is that tvhick exceeds the less quantiti^ not in the same ratio hy tvhich it is exceeded hy the greater ^ but by the same quantity. But a geometrical medium is that which exceeds the les& quantity in the same ratio, but not by the same quantity, by tvhich it is exceeded by the greater. Thus, for instance, the arithmetical me- dium between tlie numbers 9 and 3 is 6, because 6 exceeds 3 as much as it is exceeded by 9 ; yet not rn the same ratio. For 6 exceeds 3 in a duple ratio, but is exceeded by 9 in a sesquialter ratio ; since 9 contains 6 once, and the half of 6 besides. On the contrary 6 is a geometrical medium between 3 and 12, because it is exceeded by 12 not in the same quantity, but in the same ratio by which 6 exceeds 3. But that it exceeds and is exceeded in the same ratio is evident. For as 6 exceeds 3 in a duple ratio, so, likewise, it is exceeded by 12 in a duple ratio. Hence, if a line of 12 inches is divided unequally into two parts, the one consisting of 9 and the other of 3 inches, a line which is an arithmetical medium is to be found, and which is a line of 6 inches. By this middle line, therefore, the imequal parts may be reduced to an equality. For if from the greater part, i. e. from the line of 9 inches, that is taken away through which it exceeds the middle line of 6 inches, i. e. if 3 inches are taken away and added to the less part, or the line of 3 inches, those two lines will become equal, and the whole line of 12 inches wfll be divided into two equal K6 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V# Hence, also, the just (^ikohov) is denominated, because it is divided into two equal parts (or* 8i;^a sa-riv), just as if it should be said to be h^o^iov ; and a judge is called hxao-rrig^ as if he were h-)(ct'iafe*«aBasfcsiat CHAP, V. ETHICS. 171 A -. B The b^sbandman. The shoemaker. C D ^he nutriment. The work of the shoemaker equal to the nutriment. t* But without this retaliation there would be no commu- nion of society. That indigence, however, connects, as being one certain thing, is evident, because when men are not in want of each other, either both, or one of them, no exchange takes place, as it does when one is in want of what the other possesses ; as, for instance, wine, for which an exportation of corn is granted. It is neces- sary, therefore, that this should be equalized. In order to future exchange, however, if nothing should at present be wanted, that it may be obtained when it is wanted,^ money becomes as it were a surety to us. For it is requi- site that he who brings money, should take what he wants in exchange for it. Money, therefore, also suffers this very same thing ; for it does not always possess an equal power, but at the same time it is more permanent. Hence, it is necessary that all things should be estimat- ed; for thus there will always be an exchange ; and if there is an exchange, there will be communion. Mo- ney, therefore, as a measure having made things com- mensurate, equalizes them. For there would be no communion without exchange, nor exchange without equality, nor equality without commensuration. In rea- lity, therefore, it is impossible that things which so much differ, should become commensurate ; but for the pur- poses of indigence, this is sufficiently possible. Hence, it is necessary that there should be one certain thing [as a measure,] and this from assumption. Hence, it is called (vojai(r]u.a) money. For this causes all things to be com- niensurate J since all things are measured by money. §72 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V# Let a house be A, ten minas: B, and a bed C. A, there- fore, will be the half of B, if the house is wortfi five minse, or is equal to the value of five minae. But let th* bed C be the tenth part of B. It is evident, therefore, how many beds are equal in value to the house, viz. five. That such, however, ^as the exchange before there was nmiey, is manifest ; for it makes no difierence whether five beds, or as much as the worth of five beds, are given for the house. Thus, therefore, we have shown what the unjust, and also what the just is. But these things being determined, it is evident that a just action is a medium between doing and receiving an injury ; for the former is to have more, but the latter less [than is just.] Justice, however, is a medium, not after the same manner with the former virtues, but be- cause it pertains to a medium ' [between the more and the less ;] but injustice pertains to extremes. And jus- tice, indeed, is that according to which a just man is^ said to act justly from deliberate choice, and to distribute" justice both to himself, in making a compact with ano- ther person, and to another who makes a compact with another ; yet not so, as to attribute more of what is eli- gible to himself, and less to his neighbour, and the con- trary of that which is hurtful, but so as to distribute the equal [to himself and others] according to analogy. And ' For the other virtues are certain mediocrities, because they are media between two vices, one of v^hich errs through excess, and the other through deficiency. On the contrary, justice is not a medium between two vices after this manner, but it is opposed to injustice alone, which errs by giving to one person more, and to another less, but gives to neither what is equal. >, CfHAP. VI. ETHICS. Ifa he adopts the same mode of conduct towards another ierson who forms a compact with another. Injustice, on the contrary, is that according to which an unjust man is said to act unjustly from deliberate choice, and to distribute injustice both to himself and others; but this is the excess and deficiency of that which is bene- ficial or hurtful, contrary to the analogous. Hence, injustice is excess' and deficiency, because it pertains to excess and deficiency. To the unjust man himself, in- deed, it is an excess of that which is simply beneficial, but a deficiency of that which is hurtful ; but to others it distributes in a manner wholly similar ; and in what- ever way the distribution may happen to be made, it^is contrary to the analogous. Of an unjust action, how- ever, the less extreme is, to be injured, and the greater, to injure. After this manner, therefore, we have dis- cussed justice and injustice, and have shown what is the nature of each ; and similarly we have discussed univer- ^ sally the just and the unjust. .4 CHAPTER VI. •r- Since, ho'wever, it is possible that he who acts un- justly may not yet be unjust, from what kind of iniqui- tous deeds will a man be unjust, according to each species 174 •Hie nicomachean ^OOK I of injustice ? For instance, will it be as a thief, or as an adulterer, or as a robber? Or thus, indeed, will the difficulty still remain ? For a man may have connexion with a woman knowing who she is, yet not from a prin- ciple of deliberate choice, but from passion. Hence, in this case, he acts unjustly, but is not unjust ; as neither is a' thief, though he may have committed theft ; nor an adulterer, though he may have committed adultery; and in a similar manner in other things. In what manner, therefore, retaliation subsists, with reference to justice, has been shown by us before. It is necessary, however, not to be ignorant that what we at present investigate, is the simply just, and the politically just. But this justice takes place among men connected together in society, and these liberal and equal men, either according to ana- logy, or according to number, with a view to a sufficiency of the necessaries of life. Hence, those among whom this is not found, have no political justice towards each other, but a certain justice, and which subsists according to a similitude to political justice. For there is justice among those with whom there ig also law ; but there is law among those with whom there is injustice. For justice is the judgment of the just and the unjust. But with those with whom there is injustice, there is also acting unjustly ; but with all those with whom there is acting unjustly, there is not injustice. But injustice consists in a man distributing to himself more of what is simply good, and less of what is simply evil [than he ought.] Hence, we do not suffer a man to govern, but reason ; because he does this to himself [i. e. distributes to himself more of what is good, and less of what is evil,] and becomes a tyrant. He, however, who governs, is the guardian of justice 4 but if of justice, he is also the CHAP^^yi. •-^* '*S' ETHICS. 175 guardian of the equal. But since, if he is a just man, it does not appear that he possesses more of external good than others ; for he does not distribute more of what is Smply good to himself, unless it belongs to him by ana- logy ; hence, he distributes the simply good to another ; and on this account it is said that justice is a foreign good, as we have before observed. A certain reward, therefore, must be given to him ; but this is honour and a gift. Those persons, however, to whom these are not sufficient, become tyrants. But despotic and paternal justice [or the justice of a master towards his servants, and of a father towards his children,] are not the same with this, but similar to it. For there is no injustice simply of a man towards his own property ; but a posses- .sion [or a slave], and a child, while he is little and not yet separated from his parents, are as it were a part of the man. And no one deliberately chooses to injure himself. Hence, there is no injustice of a man towards himself ; and consequently neither is there injustice, nor political justice. For justice is conformable to law, and subsists among those with whom law is naturally adapted to exist. But these are persons with whom there is an equality of governing, and being governed. Hence, there is more of political justice between a man and his wife, than between a father and his children, or a mas- ter and his servants. For this latter is economical jus- tice ; but this is different from political justice. 176 THE NICOMACHEAN ^fiOK V. CHAP. VIU ETHICS. 177 I CHAPTER VII. Wi I'H respect, however, to political justice, one kind is natural, but the other legal. And the natural, indeed, is that which has every where the same power, and this not because it appears or does not appear to be jusdce. But the / legal is that respecting which from the first it is of no conse- 1 quence, whether it is established in this or in that way, but when it is established, is of consequence ; such, for instance, as that captives shall be redeemed for a mina ; ' or that a goat shall be sacrificed, and not two sheep.* And far- ther still, such laws as are promulgated about particu- lars ; such as that sacrifices shall be offered to Brasidas,' and whatever is established by public decrees. To some persons, however, all political justice appears to be of this kind, because that which has a natural subsistence is_ * The Lacedaemonians and Athenians, during the Peloponnesian war, agreed that the captives on both sides should be redeemed for one mina. * The Thebans in Kgypt established a law that a goat should be sacrificed to Jupiter, and not two sheep. See the 2nd book of Herodotus. ^ The Amphibolitae ordered sacrifices to be offered to Brasidas the Lacedaemonian king, who fell fighting bravely in the Pelopon- nesian war. mutable, and every where possesses the same power j just as fire burns both here and in Persia; but just things are seen to be mutable. This, however, is not entirely, but only partially the case ; though perhaps with the gods,' It is by no means to be admitted [that justice is mutable ;] but with us there is something which is naturally muta- ble, though not every thing. But at the same time jus- tice is partly from nature and partly not. What, how- ever, the justice is which is from nature is evident from contingencies, and things which have a various subsist- cnce, and also what the justice is which is not from nature, but is legal, and established by compact, since both are similarly mutable. The same distinction, likewise, will be adapted to other things. For the right hand is naturally more excellent, [i. e. is more adapted to motion] than the left ; though it is possible that some persons may be ambidexter. The justice, however, which is from com- pact and utility resembles measures. For the measures of wine and corn are not every where equal ; but with those who buy wine and corn they are greater, and with those who sell them less. In a similar manner justice, which is not natural, but human, is not every where the same ; since neither are polities, but every wiiere one polity alone is conformable to nature, viz. that which is the most excellent. Every thing jijst, however, and every thing legal are, as universals to particulars. For actions are many, but each of them is one thing ; for it is a universal. But an unjust action and the just differ, and ' By the gods here, Aristotle means the celestial bodies, which being deified bodies, were called by the antients gods. Natural causes, therefore, with these, cannot even accidentally be changed from their mode of operation. Thus the motion of the sun can never be changed. Arisf. VOL. II. M t ITS TIIF NTCaM^CHEAN BOOK V". also a just action and the juct. For the unjust subsists either by nature or by order. But the very same thing, which when done is an unjust action, is not so before i? is done, but is unjust ; and in a simikr manner with respect to a just action. But that which is common is rather called a deed justly done, {hxairj7rpayr,ixa) ; but the correction of an unjust deed, a just deed, (oixai«)^a-) With respect to each of these, however, what the quality and number of their species are, and what the particulars •arc with which tliey are conversant, we shall hereafter consider* CHAPTER Viri. Since, therefore, things just and unjust are those %hich we have enumerated, a man then indeed does an; injury, or acts justly, when he thus acts voluntarily ; but when involuntarily, he neither does an injury, nor acts justly, except from accident. For it happens that the things which he does are ekher >ust or unjust ; but a deed unjustly done, and a just action, are defined by the voluntary and the involuntary ; for when an action is Voluntary, it is blamed ; but at the same time it is then a deed unjustly done. Hence, there will be something unjust, -which is not yet a deed unjustly done, unless the voluntary is added to it. But I call the voluntary indeed. K^^g^^^^^fagii^^S^gDfl CHAP. Viir. KtHICS. 179 as has been before observed, that which a man does of things which it is in his power to do knowingly, and not ignorantly, viz* not being ignorant of the circumstances of the action ; as for instance, who it is he strikes, and with what he strikes, and on what account, and when he does this, neither from accident, nor by tOmjAiIsion ; as would be the case, if some one taking his hand, should strike another person with it. For he would then not strike willingly, because it was not in his power to avoid giving the blow. It may hap- pen, how*ever, that he who is struck is a father ; but he who strikes him may merely know that he is a man, or some one of those who are present, but may be ignorant that it is his father. A similar distinction also must be made in that for the sake of which a thing is done, and concerning the whole action. Hence, that which is not known, or which is known indeed, but is not in the power of him who acts, or which he is compelled to do, is done involuntarily. For we both do and suffer many things which have a natural subsistence knowingly, no one of which is either voluntary or involuntary ; such as to grow old, or to die. That which is accidental, how- ever, similarly takes place in things unjust and just. For if a man returns a deposit unwillingly, and from fear, he cannot be said either to perform a just deed, or to act justly ; except from accident. In a similar manner he who, from compulsion and unwillingly, does not return a deposit, must be said to be unjust, and to do an unjust deed from accident. But of voluntary actions, some indeed we perform with previous choice, and others with- out previous choice ; with previous choice, such as have been the subjects of previous deliberation, but without it, such as have not been deliberated on previously. 180 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. Since, therefore, there are three kinds of harm in social communion, those which are accompanied with ignorance are errors, when a man neither apprehends who the person that is injured is, nor the mode, nor the instrument, nor that for the sake of which the harm is done. For in this case, he will think either that he has not struck the person, or not with this instrument, or not this person, or not on this account, but something else happened different from what he expected. Thus one man may strike another not for the purpose of wounding, but of stimulating him, and in so doing may accidentally wound him ; or he may not strike the person whom he intended to strike, or not in the way he intend- M ed. When, therefore, harm is done unintentionally, it is \ a misfortune ; but when it is done not unintentionally, yet / without vice, it is an error. For a man then errs, when the principle of the cause is in himself; but he is unfor- tunate when the principle is external to him. When, however, harm is done knowingly, but without previous deliberation, it is a deed unjustly done ; as for instance, -whatever happens to men through anger, or other pas- sions which are necessary or natural. For those who injure others, and err through the influence of these pas- sions, act indeed unjustly, and their deeds are unjustly done ; nevertheless they are not yet unjust on account of these actions, nor depraved ; for the harm which they did was not through depravity. But when a man injures another from deliberate choice, he is unjust and depraved- Hence, those deeds which are the effect of anger are well judged not to be the result of previous design. For the principle of action is not inWm who is angry, but in him who excited his anger. Again, [when one man hurts another from anger] there is no controversy about the CH^P. VIII. ETHICS. 181 deed, as to its having been done, but about the justice of it ; for anger is excited on account of apparent injustice. For here there is no controversy about the existence of the thing, as there is in contracts, in which it is necessary that one of the contractors should be a depraved charac- ter, unless his conduct is the effect of oblivion ; but acknowledging the fact, they controvert the justice of it. He, however, who hurts another person deliberately, is not ignorant of the deed. Hence, the one of these thinks he is injured, but the other thinks he is not. But he who does harm to another person from deliberate choice, acts unjustly ; and he who injures another, according to those deeds which are^ done unjustly, is unjust, when he acts contrary to proportion, or to the equal. In a simi- lar manner also, he is just when he acts justly from pre- vious choice ; but he acts justly, if he only acts willingly. Of involuntary actions, however, some deserve to be par- doned, but others do not. For such involuntary errors as are not only committed ignorantly, but also through ignorance, deserve to be pardoned ; but such as are not committed through ignorance, but ignorantly, yet from passion neither natural nor human, do not deserve to be pardoned. 182 THE NICOMACHKAN BOOK V. CHAPTER IX. Ir may, however, be doubted whether a distinction has been sufficiently made by us, between being injured, and injuring. In the first place, indeed, if the thing is as Euripides asserts it to be, when he absurdly says, " To speak briefly I may kill my mother, both of us being will- ing ; or I being unwilling, and she willing.'* For is it true or not, that a person can be willingly injured ? Or is every one unwillingly injured, in the same manner as every one who does an injury does it willingly ? Or do some persons suffer an injury voluntarily, and others involuntarily ? And a similar inquiry may also be made with respect to obtaining justice ; for to act justly is wholly a voluntary thing. Hence, the being injured and obtaining justice,' are deservedly opposed in a similar maimer to each other, so that they are either voluntary or involuntary. It may, however, appear to be absurd, that in obtaining justice, the whole should be voluntary ; for some persons obtain justice unwillingly. And this also may be doubted, whether every one who suffers something unjust is injured; or whether as it is in acting, so it is in suffering ? For it is possible in both these to obtain what is just from accident. And it is evi- dent that the like may also take place in things unjust. For it is not the same thing, to do unjust things, and to do an -CHAP* ix. ETHICS. 183 injury; nor is it the same thing to suffer unjust things, and to be injured. The like also takes place in acting justly snd obtaining justice. For it is impossible to be injured unless there is some one who does the injury; or to obtain justice, unless there is some one who acts justly^ But if to do an injury is simply to hurt some one will- ingly, and to hurt willingly is to do so knowing the per- son who is hurt, and the instrument, and the manner in which he is hurt; but the intemperate man willingly hurts himself; if this be the case, he will be voluntarily injured, and it will be possible for a man to injure him- self. This, however, is also one of the things which are dubious,. whether it is possible for a man to injure him. self. Farther still, a man may vaiuntarily, through in- temperance, be injured by another person; so that it will be possible for a man to be injured voluntarily. Or shall we say that the definition [which we have given of doing an injury, viz. that it is to hurt some one volunta.- rily,] is not right, but we must add the words, to hurtj knowhig the person xcho is hurt^ and the instrument, and the manner in xvhich he is hm% contrary to his will ? A man, therefore, may be hurt, and suffer unjust things willingly ; but no one is willingly injured. For no one wishes to be injured, not even the intemperate man ; but he acts contrary to his will. For neither does any one wish for that which he does not fancy to be good ; but the intemperate man does that, which he does not think ought to be done. But he who gives what is his own, as Homer says Glaucus gave to Diomed, For DIomed's brass arms of mean device^ For which nine oxen paid, a vulgar price. He gave his own of gold divinely wrought, A hundred beeves tlie shining purchase bought, 184 THE NICOMACHEAN -BOOK V» IS not injured ; for it is in his power to give [or not to give.] But to be injured is not in his power, but it is necessary that the person should exist by whom the injury is done. Concerning the being injured, there- fore, it is evident that it is not voluntary. Of those things, however, which we proposed to dis- cuss, two particulars remain to be explained ; whether he does an injury who distributes to another person more than he deserves, or the person who receives the distri- bution. For if what we before observed is possible, and he who distributes, but not he who possesses more, does the injury, if any one distributes to another more than to himself, knowingly and willingly, he will himself injure himself ; which modest men appear to do. For a worthy man distributes less to himself than to others. Or shall we say that neither is this thing simple ? For he who dis- tributes less to himself than to others f of certain good things,] will vindicate to himself more of some other good, if it should so happen ; as for instance, of renown, or of that which is simply beautiful in conduct. Again, the doubt is also dissolved from the definition of doing an injury ; for he who does it, suffers nothing contrary to his will. Hence he is not, on this account, injured ; but even admitting that he is, he is only hurt. It is also evident that he who distributes [more than the receiver deserves,] does an injury, but not the receiver. For it is not the person in whom injustice is inherent who does the injury, but he to whom to do this is voluntary ; but this is the man from whom the principle of the action proceeds, which is in the distributor, but not in the receiver. "Farther still, since to act is predicated multifariously, and CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 18J things inanimate in a certain respect kill, the hand as well as the servant by the command of his master j these indeed do not act injuriously, but they do unjust things. Again, if a man being indeed ignorant judges, he does not do an injury according to the legally just, nor is his judgment unjust, yet in a certain respect it is unjust. For the legally just differs from the first justice, [or that which has a natural subsistence.] But if he should judge un- justly knowingly, he will vindicate to himself more either lof favour, or of vengeance. As, therefore, if some one should partake of a deed unjustly done, thus also he who oii account of these things judges unjustly, will possess more; for in those things he who adjudges a field to another person, receives in return, not a field, but money. Men, however, are of opinion that it is in their power to do an injury, and that on this account it is easy to be just. But it is not so ; for to have connexion with the wife of a neighbour, to strike another person, and to give money with the hand, are things easy, and in, the power of those who do them ; but to do these things with a certain disposition of mind,' is neither easy, nor in the power of those who do them. In a similar manner, also, the multitude fancy that there is no portion of wis- dom in knowing what is just, and what is unjust, because it is not difficult to understand those things about which the laws speak. These things, however, are not just, except from accident, but they are then just, when they are performed after a certain manner, and distributed after a certain manner. But this is a greater work thai^ ' In order to be unjust, it is not sufficient merely to do an injury, but it is also requisite that it should be done with promptitude and delight. For this disposition of mind likewise, habit is necessary, which is not Required without difiiculty and length of time. 18G THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK V. to know things that are salubrious. For there, indeed, it is easy to know honey and wine, and hellebore, and burning and cutting ; but how it is necessary to distri- bute these, in order to produce health, and to whom, and when they are to be distributed, is as great a work as to be a physician. On this very account the multitude fancy that it is no less the province of a just [than of an unjust] man, to do an injury ; because the just man is no less, but is even more able to do each of these, [than the unjust man.] For according to them, a just man may have connexion with the wife of another man, and may strike another person, and a brave man may throw away his shield, and betaking himself to flight may run where he pleases. To act cowardly, however, and to do an injury, is not merely to do these things, except from accident, but it consists in doing them with a certain dis- position of mind [i. e. with promptitude and delight ;] just as to perform the office of a physician, and to restore to health, does not merely consist in cutting, or not cutr ting, in giving or not giving medicine, but in doing these after a certain manner. But just things subsist among those with whom there is a participation of things which aye simply good ; and in these there is also excess and defect. For to some beings, as perhaps to the gods, justice is not a good, because in them there is no excess, [or deficiency ;] but to others, as to men incurable and vicious, no part of things simply good is beneficial, but all of them are noxious ; and to others they are useful to a certain extent ; and on this account justice is a human - good. PHAP. X, CTHICS, 18' CHAPTER X, It now follows that we should speak concerning equity, and the equitable, and show how equity, indeed, subsists with reference to justice, and the equitable with reference to the just ; for to those who consider rightly, the equitable appears to be neither simply the same, nor yet different in genus from the just. And at one time, indeed, we praise the equitable, and the man of equity ; so that, also, transferring this name to other things, we praise a man by calling him a more equitable^ instead of a good man, manifesting by this, that it is a better appel- lation. But at another time, to those who follow reason, it appears to be absurd, that the equitable, if it is some- thing different from the just, should be laudable. For either the just is not a worthy thing, or the equitable is not just, if it is different from the just ; or if they arc both worthy things, both are the same. The doubt^ therefore, concerning the equitable, nearly happens through these particulars. All these, however, are after a certain manner right, and there is nothing in them >vhich is contrary and adverse to itself. For the equita- 188 THE NICOMACH£AN BOOK V. ble being something that is just, is a better just thing; and is not better than the just, as if it were some other genus. The just, therefore, and the equitable are the same thing; and both of them being wonhy things, the equitable is the more excellent of the two. A doubt, however, still remains, that though the equitable is indeed just, yet it is not the legally just, but is a correction of it. But the cause of this is, that every law, indeed, is universal ; but it cannot speak universally with rectitude about certain particulars. In those things, therefore, in which it is ne- cessary to speak universally, but in which this cannot be done rightly, the law assumes that which happens for the most part, not being ignorant of the fault which has been committed. And in thus doing, it acts no less rightly ; for the fault is not in the law, nor in the legislator, but in the nature of the thing ; for such directly is the matter of the things which pertain to action. When the law, therefore, speaks universally, and something after this should happen besides, then it is right to correct what the legislator has omitted, and the error which he has com- mitted in speaking simply, since the legislator himself would adopt such correction if he were present, and would have legally established this if he had known it. Hence, the equitable is just, and is better than a certain justice. It is not, however, better than what is simply just, but it is better than the justice which errs through \speaking simply [and generally.] And this is the nature (of the equitable, that it is a correction of law, where law |s deficient on account of speaking universally. For this is the cause why all things are not according to law, that concerning certain things it is impossible to establish a |aw. Hence, a decree is necessary ; for of the indefinite the rule also is indefinite, just as of a Lesbian building CHAF. XI. ETHICS. 189 the rule is leaden ; since the rule is bent conformable to the figure of the stone, and does not remain the same. Thus, also, a decree is adapted to things themselves. It is evident, therefore, what the equitable and the just are, and what the justice is which the equitable excels. It is likewise manifest from this who is an equitable man* For he who deliberately chooses and practises things of this kind, and who is not an accurate distributor of justice in the rigid sense of the word, but remits something of the rigour of the law, though the law is favourable to such rigour, is an equitable man. And the habit itself is equity, being a certain justice and not a different habit. CHAPTER XL From what has been said, also, it is evident whether it 16 possible for a man to injure himself or not. For there are some just things established by law, which pertain to the whole of virtue. Thus, for instance, the law does not order a man to destroy himself ; and it forbids what 190 THE NICOMACHEAi^t l30e)K Vh it does not command. Again, when one man hurts ano^ ther contrary to law. who has not hurt him, he does an injury willingly j but he does an injury willingly, who does It knowing the person whom he injures, and the .^ instrument, and the manner in which he does it. But he \ who destroys himself through anger, does this willingly /contrary to right reason, which the law does not permit. Hence, he does an injury; but to whom? Is it not to the city, but not to himself? For he voluntarily suffers; but no one is voluntarily injured. Hence, also, the city punishes him, and a certain disgrace is attached to him who destroys himself, as one who injures the city. Farther still, it is not possible for a man to injure himself in that way in which he is unjust, who only acts unjustly, and is not entirely depraved ; for this character is different from him. For the unjust man is in a certain respect so de- praved, as the timid man is ; but not as possessing the whole of depravity. Hence, neither according to this improbity does he do himself an injury ; for if he did, the same thing might be taken away and added at the same time to the same thing ; but this is impossible. It is, however, necessary that the just and the unjust should always exist in more than one person. Again, he who does an injury does it voluntarily, and from deliberate choice, and with a precedency in time* For he who injures ano- ther because he has been injured by him, does not appear to act unjustly ; but he who injures himself, suffers and does the same things at the same time. Farther still, a man would be injured willingly. To which may be added, that no one does an injury without a particular species of injustice ; but no one commits adultery with his own wife, nor does any one dig through his own wall, nor commit a theft on his own property. In short, the iifr i'Wiiir'"-'*'^'^^'^'---'^--""*^-^-*"'*"'---^ CHAP. XI. ETHICS* 191 impossibility that a man should injure himself is evident from the conclusions made by us respecting the being roluntarily injured. It is likewise evident, that both to be injured and to injure are bad things ; for the one is to have less, but the other more than the medium ; in the same manner as the salubrious in medicine, and that which contributes to a good habit of body in the gym- nastic art. At the same time, however, it is worse to injure [than to be injured.] For to do an injury is ac^ companied with vice, and is blameable ; and with vice which is either perfect, and simply vice, or nearly so. For not every thing which is voluntary is accompanied with injustice; but to be injured is without vice and injustice. Essentially, therefore, it is less bad to be injured than to do an injury ; but from accident nothing prevents it from being a greater evil. Art, however, pays no attention to this ; but it says that the pleurisy is a greater disease than a lame foot, though it may hap- pen that the latter may be a greater evil than the former, if a man, in consequence of being lame, should fall, and thus be taken by enemies, and put to death. Metaphorically speaking, however, and from similitude, the whole man is not just to the whole of himself, but | one part of him towards another part ; yet not accord- r ing to every kind of justice, but according to the des- 1 potic, or economic ; for in these discussions, it must be • admitted that the rational differs from the irrational part of the soul. And if we look to these, it appears that there is a certain injustice of a man towards him- self, because it is possible in these parts for a man to suffer something adverse to his own appetites. As, therefore, between a governor and him who is governed, 192 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK Vi there is a certain justice towards each other, this is also the case between these parts of the soul. After this man- ner, therefore, we have discussed justice, and the other ethical virtues. THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS, BOOK VI. CHAPTER I. rxf* I Since, however, we have before observed that it is necessary the medium [in conduct] should be chosen, and neither excess nor deficiency, but the medium is [to act] as right reason prescribes, let us now consider what right reason is. For in all the above-mentioned habits, as in other things, there is a certain scope, to which he who possesses reason, looking, acts with intension and remission; and there is a certain boundary of media, w^hich w^e say are situated between excess and defect, and which exist conformably to right reason. Thus, to speak, however, is indeed true, but is not at all clear. For in AfisL VOL, II. N 1 210 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VI. CHAP. n. ETHICS. 211 other pursuits, also, with which science is conversant, it IS, indeed, true to say that it is not proper to labour either more or less, nor to be indolent, but to labour moderately, and as right reason prescribes. He, how- ever, who alone knows this, will know nothing more ; as, if on inquiring what kind of things are to be administered to the body, it should be said, they are such as medicine and he who possesses the medical art prescribe. Hence,* it is necessary with respect to the habits of the soul, that this should not only be truly said, but that it should also be definitely shown what right reason is, and what Us the definition of it. But we have distributed the ^virtues of the soul, and have said, that some of them are ethical, and others dianoetical [or belonging to the discursive power of the soul.] With respect to the ethical virtues, therefore, we have indeed discussed them ; but with respect to the remaining virtues, these we shall discuss, after we have first spoken concerning the soul. It has, therefore, been before observed by us, that there are two parts of the soul, that which possesses reason, and that which is irrational. But now we shall make a division after the same manner of the part which pos- sesses reason; and it must be admitted that there are two parts possessing reason ; one, indeed, by which we sur- vey those kind of beings, the principles of which cannot subsist otherwise than they do, and the other, by which we survey things of a contingent nature. For since the objects of knowledge are specifically different, it follows that there are, also, different species of knowledge. For k is necessary that knowledge should be similar to the thing known, and that the knowledge of that which is necessary should be necessary, but contingent of that which is contingent. For all knowledge subsists accord- ing to similitude and affinity ; since it Is a certain adapta- tion and contact of that which is known, and that which knows. But of these parts of the soul, the one is called scientific, but the other ratiocinative ; for to consult and reason are the same thing. No one, however, consults about things which cannot subsist otherwise than they do ; so that the ratiocinative power is one certain part of the rational part of the soul. It must, therefore, be show^n what is the best habit of each of these. For this 16 the virtue of each. But virtue is referred to its pro- per work. CHAPTER II. There are, however, three things in the soul, which f have dominion over action and truth, viz. sense, intellect, 1 and appetite. But of these, sense is the principle of no ^ one action ; which is evident from this, that brutes have, indeed, sense, but have no communion with action [so as to have dominion over it. '] What, however, affirma- tion and negation are in the discursive energy of the rational part, that pursuit and avoidance are in appetite, ' For this pertains to beings who are capable of deliberate clioice. I 212 THE NieOMACHEAN BOOK VI. CHAP. Ill, ETHICS. 213 / Hence, since ethical virtue is a habit accompanied with deliberate choice, but deliberate choice is an appetite adapted to consultation; hence, it is necessary that reason should be true, and the appetite right, if the deliberate choice is good, and that the one should assert, and the other pursue the same things. This discursive energy cf the soul, therefore, [by which we judge that some- thing is to be desiredj is practical reason, and practical truth. But of the discursive energy of reason which is contemplative, and neither practical nor effective, the good and the evil are truth and falsehood ; for this is the work of the whole of the discursive power. The work, however, of the practical, and at the same time discursive energy of reason, is truth subsisting in concord with right appetite. The principle, therefore, of action, whence motion is derived, is deliberate choice, though this principle is not the final cause of action. But appe- tite, and that reason which is for the sake of something, [or which is directed to the final cause] are the principles of deliberate choice. Hence, deliberate choice is not without intellect, and the discursive energy of reason ; nor is it without the ethical habit ; for good conduct, and the contrary to it in action, are not without the dis- cursive energy of reason and manners. The discursive energy, however, of reason itself, does not move any thing, except that which is for the sake of something, and is practical ; since this has dominion over that which is effective. For every one who effects any thing, does it for the sake of something ; and that which is effected is not simply the end, but is a relative and pertains to something, though this is not the case with that which is practicable. For good conduct is the end of action ; but appedte is directed to the end. Hence, deliberatg , choice is either orectic intellect, or appetite possessing a 1 discursive energy ; and man is a principle of this kind. Nothing, however, that has been done is an object of de- liberate choice. Thus, for instance, no one deliberately chooses to subvert Troy ; for neither does any one deli- berate about what is past, but about that which is future and contingent. But it is not possible that what has been done should not be done. Hence, Agatho says rightly. All things to God are possible but one, That to undo which is already done. Of both the intellective parts, therefore, the work is truth. Hence, those habits according to which each of these parts enunciates the truth are the virtues of both. CHAPTER III. Assuming, therefore, a more elevated exordium, let us again speak concerning these virtues. Let, therefore, the habits by which the soul enunciates truth in aiSrming or denying, be five in number. But these are art, science, prudence, wisdom, and intellect ; for it is possible that both hi/polepsis ' and opinion may assert what is false. What ' As dianoia is the discursive or syllogistic energy of the soul y 214 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VT. science therefore is, will be from hence evident, if it is necessary to investigate accurately, and not to folkw similitudes. For all of us are of opinion that it is not possible for that which we know scientifically to subsist otherwise than it does. But with respect to things which may subsist otherwise, of these when rhey are out of our ^ view we are ignorant whether they exist or not. The object of scientific knowledge, therefore, is from neces- sity. Hence, it is eternal. For all beings which are simply from necessity are eternal j but things eternal are without generation and incorruptible. Again, all science appears to be capable of being taught, and the object of scientific knowledge may be obtained by discipline. But all doctrine is produced from things previously known, as we have said in the Analytics ; for it partly subsists through induction, and partly from syllogism. Induc- tion, therefore, is indeed a principle, and the principle of universal ; ' but syllogism is from universal. The princi- pies, therefore, from which syllogism consists, are things of which there is no syllogism.* Hence, they are obtained by induction. Science, therefore, is indeed a demonstrative habit, and such other things as we have added to the definition of it in the Analytics. For when a man believes that a thing is after a certain manner, ^ and ht/polepsis IS the assent of the soul to each term of a syllogistic process; and opinion is the assent of the soul to the conclusion solely of a syllogism. Viz. So far as it excites the perception of the universal which is latent in the soul. * Viz. The knowledge of ihem is not obtained by a syllogistic process. Viz, When he believes that the thing cannot subsist otherwise than it does. CHAP. IV, ETHICS. 215 the principles of it are known to him, he has a scientific knowledge of that thing. For if the principles are not more known to him than the conclusion, he will have a scientific knowledge from accident. Let these things, therefore, be admitted concerning science. CHAPTER IV, Of that, however, which may subsist otherwise than it does, [or which has a various subsistence, and is con^ tingent,] there is something which is effective, and some- thing which is practicable. But production and action differ. Credibility, however, may be obtained concern- ing these things from exoteric discussions; so that the practic habit in conjunction with reason, is different from the effective, or productive habit in conjunction with reason. And neither are they contained by each other j for neither is action effection ; nor is effection action. But since the building art is a habit effective in conjunc* tion with reason, and neither is there any art which is not a habit effective in conjunction with reason, nor any such habit which is not art ; art and habit effective in conjunc-. tion with true reason will be the same. All art, however, is conversant with generation, and machinates and con- 216 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK Vt. templates in order that something may be produced which is capable either of existing, or not existing ; and of which the principle is in the maker, but not in the thing made. For art neither belongs to things which necessa- rily are, or are necessarily generated, nor to things which have a natural subsistence ; for these contain in them- selves the principle. Since, however, production and action are different, it is necessary that art should pertain to production, but not to action. And after a certain manner, fortune and art are conversant with the same things, as, also, Agatho says. Art fortune loves, and fortune art. Art, therefore, as we have said, is a certain habit effective in conjunction with true reason. But the privation of art, on the contrary [or the inartificial habit,] is a habit effective in conjunction with false reason, about that which may have a various subsistence. CHAP. V. ETHICS. 217 CHAPTER V. With respect to prudence, we shall apprehend what it is, if we survey who those are whom we denominate prudent persons. It appears, therefore, to be the pro- vince of a prudent man to be able to consult well about things which are good and advantageous to him, not partially, as about what contributes to health or strength, but about what universally contributes to a happy life. But this is indicated by our calling men prudent about any thing, when they reason well, with a view to some worthy end, in things in which there is no art. So that, .in short, he who is adapted to consultation will be a •prudent man. No one, however, consults about things which cannot subsist otherwise than they do, nor about things which it is impossible for him to perform. Hence, if science indeed subsists in conjunction with demonstra- tion ; but of those things of which the principles may have a various subsistence, of these there is no demon- stration ; for all these are contingent ; and if it is not possible to consult about things which subsist from ne- cessity, prudence will neither be science nor art. It will not be science, because that which is practicable may have a various subsistence ; and it will not be art, be- cause the genus of action is different from the genus of production. It remains, therefore, that it is a true habit 218 THE NlCOMACIi£AN BOOK VI, in conjunction with reason, practical about human good and evil. For the end of production indeed is different from the production, but the end of action is not always different from action. Hence we are of opinion that Pe- r'cles, and such like persons, are prudent men, because they are able to survey what is good for themselves, and for mankind ; and we also think that economists and po^ liticians are persons of this description. Hence, also, we call temperance by this name, (/rfo^p^joo-uvrj, as pre^ serving prudence {wg a-foi^ova-a rtiv (f^povriO-iu). But it preserves an opinion of this kind. For the delectable and the painful do not corrupt or distort every opinion ; such as that a triangle has or has not angles equal to two right ; but those opinions which pertain to what is prac^ ticable. For the principles indeed of practicable things are those things for the sake of which they are perform- ed. But to him who is corrupted through pleasure or pain, the principle is not immediately apparent, nor does he perceive, that for the sake of this, and through this, it is necessary to choose and perform all things. For vice is destructive of the principle. Hence it is necessary that prudence should be a habit in conjunction with true reason, practical about human good. Moreover, of art indeed there is a virtue, but of prudence there is not. And in art, indeed, he who voluntarily errs, is to be pre^ Iferred to him who errs involuntarily ; but in prudence •he who voluntarily errs is a subordinate character, in the same manner as in the virtues. It is evident, therefore, that prudence is a certain virtue, and not art. But since there are two parts of the rational soul, prudence will be the virtue of the doxastic part, [or that part which forms opinions of things]. For both opinion and prudence are conversant with that which may have a various subsistence. GHAP. VI. ETHICS. 219 Nor yet is prudence a habit alone in conjunction with reason; of which this is an indication, that there may be an oblivion of such a habit, [i. e. it may be lost through oblivion ;] but there cannot be of prudence. CHAPTER VI. Since, how^ever, science is an assent to untversals and things which have a necessary subsistence, but there are principles of things demonstrable, and of every science ; for science is accompanied with reason; this being the case, there will neither be science, nor art, nor prudence of the principle of the object of science. For the object of science is demonstrable ; but art and prudence are conversant with things which may have a various sub- sistence ; neither, therefore, will wisdom be that through which this principle is known ; for it is the province of a wise man to have demonstration about certain things. Hence, if the habits by which we enunciate the truth, and are never deceived about things which cannot, or which can have a various subsistence, are science and prudence, wisdom and intellect, but no one of these three, can be the habit by which we know principles ; but by the three, I mean prudence, wisdom, and science ; it remains that intellect is the habit by which principles are known. 220 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VI. CHAP. vn. ETHICS* 221 $ CHAPTER VII. Z^' V p^i-*- lA- We attribute, however, wisdom in the arts, to those who are most accurately skilled in the arts. Thus we say that Phidias was a wise sculptor, and Polycletus a \ wise statuary. Here, therefore, we signify nothing else f by wisdom, than that it is the virtue of art. But, in short, we think that certain persons are wise, not partially, and that they are not any thing else than wise men, as Homer says in his Margites, The gods nor miner him, nor ploughman made ; Nor wise in any thing beside ; so that it is evident that wisdom will be the most accurate of the sciences. Hence it is necessary that the wise man should not only know those things which are infer- red from principles [or the conclusions of scientific rea- soning,] but that he should also perceive and enunciate the truth about principles themselves. Wisdom, there- fore, will be intellect and science, and will possess as a head [or summit] the science of the most honourable things, [i. e. of divine natures]. For it would be absurd for any one to fancy that the political science, or pru- dence, is a thing of all others the most excellent, unless man is the best of every thing the world contains. » If, however, what is salubrious and good is to man one thing, and another to fishes, but that which is white and that which is straight are always the same,' all men will acknowledge that a wise man is the same, but the prudent man is a mutable character. For they will say that the be- ing is prudent who surveys what is excellent in particulars according to the nature of each, and to him they will commit these particulars. Hence also they say that some brutes are prudent, viz. such as appear to have a providential power about what pertains to their life. It is evident, how^ever, that the political science and wis- dom are not the same. For if it should be said that wisdom is that which is conversant with what is useful to mankind, there will be many, kinds of wisdom ; since there is not one science which is conversant with the good of all animals, but a different science is conversant with a different good ; unless indeed there is one medical science which extends to all beings. Nor is it of any consequence, if it should be said that man is the most ex- cellent of all other animals ; for there are many animals naturally more divitie than man, such as those most ap- parent bemgsjrom 'which the world is composed.' From ' There are many, however, of the present day who are stupid enough to think that the world was made for man ; and that man, according to the rambling conceptions of Young, is « Midway from nothing to the deity.'* * Viz. the colour which has the power of dispersing the sight, is always white ; and the line which is the shortest between two points, is always a right line. , * . i , 3 Meaning the stars, which, according to both Aristotle and Plato, are divine animals. From this passage, and from what li 2212 THE NiCOMACHEAN BOOK VU* CHAP. VIII. ETHICS* 223 what has been said, therefore, it is evident that wisdom is the science and intellect of things most honourable by nature. Hence the multitude say that Anaxagoras and Thales, and such-like persons, were indeed wise, but not prudent men, in consequence of perceiving that they were ignorant of what was advantageous to them [with respect to a corporeal life ;] and they say, that they knew^ indeed things superfluous and admirable, difficult and divine, but which are useless, because they did not investigate human good. Prudence, however, is con- versant with human affairs, and with those things which are the subjects of consultation ; for we say that this is especially the work of a prudent man, to consult well. But no one consults about things which cannot subsist otherwise than they do, nor about things of which there is not a certain end, and this, practical good. He, how- ever, simply consults well, who conjectures, by a reason- ing process, what is best to man among practicable things. Nor is prudence only directed to universal, but it is also necessary that it should know particulars ; for it is practical ; but action is conversant with particu- lars. Hence, also, some persons who have only experi- mental knowledge without science, are more adapted for practical affairs, than those who possess a scientific knowledge [without experience]. For he who knows that light flesh is easily concocted, but is ignorant what more largely said on this subject, by Aristotle in his Treatise on tne Heavens, and In the 12th book of his Metaphysics, the audacity of those moderns is wonderful (if any thing pertaining to such men can be w<.nderful) who have asserted that Aristotle was not a polythe.st, or a believer in the existence of divine beings, the imme- diate progeny of one first cause of all things, and who, as Maxi- mus 1 ynus says, « are the sons of God, ruling together with him/' flesh is light, will not produce health ; but he will rather produce it who knows that the flesh of birds is light and salubrious. Prudence, however, is practical ; so that it is necessary to possess both, [viz. a knowledge of v. hat is to be done universally, and in particular circumstances,] or rather the latter than the former. But prudence here also [i. e. among the practical powers,] will be a certain architectonic power [or a power belonging to a master art.] CHAPTER Vlir. « The political science, however, and prudence are in- deed the same habit, though they have not the same essence. But of the science pertaining to a city, the one part which is legislative, is as it were architectonic pru- dence, but the other, in the same manner as particulars, is denominated by a common name, the political science. This, however, is practical, and occupied in consultation ; for a decree is a thing practicable as the extreme.' Hence those alone who possess the political science are said to act in a political capacity ; for they alone act in the same manner as manual artificers. That also appears * A decree {to ^(purfcu.) may, as Aquinas observes, be called (t* iT^uTct) the extreme, because it is the application of a law uni- versally established, to the performance of particulars. v^ 224. THE NICOMACHFAN BOOK Vl> to be efipecially prudence which a man employs about himself, and about one thing ; and this is called by a common name, prudence. But of these species of pru- dence, the one is economy, another legislation, and ano- ther the political science; and of this last, one part pertains to consultation, but another is judicial. For a man, therefore, to know his own concerns will be one species of knowledge. Nevertheless, it possesses a great difference. And he who knows things pertaining to himself, and is conversant with them, appears to be a prudent man ; but those who apply themselves to the management of public affairs, are busily employed in a multitude of concerns. Hence also Euripides says, Hew can the name of wise to me belong, Who might have mingled in the martial throng ; ^ Unvex'd with business, and exempt from care, Taking of spoils my honourable share ; Yet chose by over-anxious thought to move The direful hate of all-commanding Jove ? i For these men explore what is good for themselves, and are of opinion that it is necessary to do this. From this opinion, therefore, it comes to pass that these men are prudent ; though perhaps it is not possible for a man to know his own concerns without economic and politi- '*- cal prudence. Again, how a man ought to manage his own affairs, is a thing immanifest, and requires considera- tion. But as an indication of the truth of what has been said, a youth may become a geometrician and a mathe- matician, and may be skilled in things of this kind ; but it does not appear that he will be prudent. The cause, however, of this is, that prudence pertains to particulars, which become known from experience } but youth is - CHAP. VIII. ETHICS. 225 without experience, which is produced by length of time. Since this also deserves to be considered, why a boy may become a mathematician, but cannot be wise, or a physiologist ; shall we say it is because mathema- tical objects subsist by an ablation from matter ; but the principles of the objects of wisdom and physiology are derived from experience ? And with respect to meta- physical principles indeed, youth do not believe in, but admit them ; but with respect to mathematical principles, it IS not immanifest what they are. Farther still, error in consultation either pertains to universals, or particulars. For [in order that a man may not drink heavy, and therefore, bad water, it is requisite he should know,] ei- ther that all heavy water is bad, or that this particular water is heavy. But it is evident that prudence is not science ; for it pertains to the extreme, as we have before observed ; since that which is practicable is a thing of this kind. It is, thepefore, indeed opposed to intellect. ;For intellect is conversant with terms, [i. e. universals,] ! I which are the extremes upward, and above which there are no other principles ; but prudence is conversant with the extremes downward [which are particulars,] of which there is no science, but only a sensible perception, and this not a sensible perception of peculiarities ; but such as that by which we perceive in mathematics that a triangle is the extreme ;' for we stop there. It is, there- ' If it belongs to the mathematical science to demonstrate con- cerning things es«entiall7 inherent in triangle, and demonstration is of that which is universal, an individual and particular triangle, so far as it is such, is not the object of science, but of sense. Yet it is not an object of sense, in the same manner as colour, or sounds or any thing else, of which some one of the senses forms a judg- ment, but as an individual particular thing. But that this is a sensi- ble object, Aristode shows by saying, " for we stop there." For Arist. VOL, II. o 2^ THE NrCOMACHEAN BOOK Vi. fore, rather this sense which is pntdencej bat of that there is another species." CHAPl'ER IX. To investigate; however, and to consult differ ; for to consuU is to investigate something. But it is necessary to discuss good-consultation, and show what it is, whe- ther it is a certain science, or opinion, or good-conjecture, or some other genus. It is not, therefore, science. For men do not investigate about things which they know ; but good-consultation is a certain consultation ; and he who tonsnlts investigates and reasons. Neither is rt good-conjecture ; for good-conjecture is without reason- ing, and is something which is accomplished with celerity ; but men consult for a long time, and say that the objects of consultation ought to be performed rapidly, but that consultation should be done slowly. Again, sagacity and good-consultation also differ from each other ; but sagacity is a certain good-conjecture. Neither, there- lie vho descends from univefsaJs, stops at particulars as the down- "t\^ard extremes* . -u • -u • • » By this sense, Aristotle means the comnion sense, which is im- partible, and is able to distinguish what it is in which contraries, and things of an heterogeneous nature, diiFer from each other ; but by that sense, he means anyone ^f the partial senses, such as the sight, the hearing, «ccr fcHAK IX. feTHICSi 227 fore, is any good-consultation opinion. But since he who consults badly errs, but he who consults well con- suits rightly ; it is evident that good-consultation is a certain rectitude. Nor is good consultation either sci^ ence or opinion ; for of science, indeed, there is no recti^ tude, because there is no error ; but truth is the recti- tude of opinion ; and at the same time every thing of which there is an opinion is definite and determined. Nevertheless good-consultation is not without reasoning. It falls short, therefore, of dianoia [or the discursive energy of reason ;] for this is not yet enunciation j since opinion is not investigation, but is now a certain enun- ciation. He, however, who consults, whether he con., suits well or ill, investigates something and reasons* But good-consultation is a certain rectitude of consulta- tion ; on which account, it must in the first place be inquired what consultation is, and with what it is con- versant* Since, however, rectitude is multifariously predicated, it is evident that not every rectitude is good-consultation. For the incontinent and the bad man, obtain from rea- soning that which they propose to see ; so that they will have consulted rightly, but have procured for themselves a great evil. But to hav^ consulted well^ appears to be a certain good ; for such a rectitude of consultation, as becomes the mean of obtaining good, is good consulta- tion. Goodj however, may be obtained by false rea- soning ; and a man indeed may obtain that which ought to be done, yet not through a proper medium, but the middle term may be false.* Hence, neither will that be ' As when a man steals in order to relieve a worthy person in dls- uti,s. But as he who proves a true conclusion through fals?pre- 228 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VI. good-consultation according to which that is obtained which ought to be obtained, yet not through a proper medium. Farther still, it is possible that one man may obtain the object of his wishes by consulting for a long time, but another, by consulting rapidly. Hence nei* ther is that yet good-consultation; but the rectitude which subsists according to utility, and to what is pro- per, and as, and when it is proper. Again, it is possible simplj^ to consult well, and also with a view to :x certain end. Good consultation, therefore, simpli/ is that which proceeds with rectitude to an end simply ; but a certain ^geod consultation, i% that which proceeds with rectitude to a certain end. Hence, if to consult well is the pro- vince of prudent men, good consultation will be a recti- tude according to utility with a view to a certain end, of which prudence is the true hypothesis. CHAPTER X, Intelligence, however, and the privation of intelli- pence, according to which we denominate men intelligent or unintelligent, is neither wholly the same with science or opinion; for if it were, all men would be intelligent, miscs does not reason well ; so he who, in order to obtain a good end, assumes a bad medium, does not consult well. CHAP. X. ETHICS. 229 Nor is intelligence some one of the particular sciences, such as medicine, for it would be conversant with health ; or geometry, for it would be conversant with magnitudes. For neither is intelligence conversant with things which always are, and are immoveable, nor with things which are passing into existence ; but with those which may be the subject of doubt and consultation. Hence it is con- ' versant with the same things as prudence ; yet intelli- gence and prudence are not the same. For prudence, indeed, is of a commanding nature ; for the end of it is, what ought, or what ought not to be done. But intelli- gence is alone of a judiciary nature. For intelligence is the same as right intelligence ; since intelligent men are also rightly intelligent. Intelligence, however, is neither the possession, nor the acquisition of prudence. But as he who learns is said to understand what he learns, when he uses science, the like also takes place in the use of opinion in forming a judgment of those things with which prudence is conversant, and judging of them well^ when another person is speaking. For what is well is tlhe same with what is beautifully done. And hence the ' name intelligence was derived, according to which men are said to be rightly intelligent, viz. from intelligence in ; learning; for we frequently use the verb to learn as equivalent to the verb to understand. 230 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VK CHAPTER XL / l3uT what IS called upright decision, according ta j which we say that men decide rightly, is the right ! judgment of the equitable man. As an indication of this, however, we say that the equitable man is especially inclined to pardon others, and that it is equitable to par- don certain things. But pardon is an upright judiciary decision of the equitable man ; and the decision is up- right which is made by a man observant of truth. All these habits, however, reasonably tend to the same thing. For we speak of upright decision, intelligence, prudence, and intellect with reference to the sam^ persons, when we say that they are men of upright decision, are endued with intellect, are prudent and intelligent. For all these powers pertain to the extremes [downward,] and to particulars. And an intelligent man, and one who de- cides rightly, or a man disposed to pardon, will be one who possesses a judiciary power about things with which the prudent man is conversant ; for things of an equitable nature are common to all good men, in their intercourse with others. Every thing, however, of a practicable nature pertains to particulars, and the [downward] ex- tremes. For it is necessary that a prudent man should have a knowledge of these ; and intelligence and equita- ble decision are conversant with things of a practicable GHAP. XI. ETHICS. 231 nature ; but these are extremes. And intellect pertains both to the upward and downward extremes. For intellect, i and not the discursive energy of reason, is conversant i with both first and last terme, [i. e. with universal prin- ; ciples ;] the one indeed, i. e. the intellect, w^hich is the principle of the demonstrative sciences, is conversant with immutable and first terms ; but the intellect, wliich is occupied ui practical affairs, £or which is the principle of prudence,] is conversant with the extreme, and with that which is contingent, and the other proposition.* For these are the principles of that for the sake of which a thing is done [or the final cause ;] for universal is from particulars. Of these, therefore, it is necessary to have a sensible perception ; but this is [the practical] intellect. Hence, these [habits] appear to be natural. And no one \ indeed is wise by nature ; but every one possesses na- turally the power of deciding rightly, together with intelligence and intellect. But as an indication of this, \ we are of opinion that these habits are attendants on the ages of the life of men ; and we say that this age [i, e. old age] possesses intellect and upright decision, as if nature were the cause of this. Hence, also^ intellect is both the principle and the end ;* for from these demon? sirations are framed, and with these they are conversant. ' i. e. It assents to certain Immediate particulars, which are as- sumed as minor propositions, in order to produce the particular con- clusions of prudence, through which what is here and now to be done, is infeiTed. I * i. e. The practical intellect is both the principle and the end ! of practical demonstrations. For the principles of practical de^ Unonstrations are things from which it is concluded what is to be done ; but the end is good, which is proposed as a thing to be ob- tained through actions. 232 THE NICOMACHUAN BOOK VI* Hence, [in practical affairs] it is no less necessary to attend to the undemonstrated assertions and opinions of elderly or prudent men, than to demonstrations ; for in consequence of possessing an eye from experience, they perceive the principles [of things of a practicable nature]. And thus we have shown what wisdom and prudence are, and with what particulars each is conversant, and that each is the virtue of a different part of the soul. CHAPTER Xir. Some one, however, may doubt concerning these, in what their utility consists. For wisdom, indeed, con- templates none of those things from which men will obtain felicity ; since it is not conversant with any thing which is in generation, [or which is becoming to be, or passing into existence]. But prudence, indeed, does consider those things from which human felicity is de- rived ; yet on what account is it necessary that it should, since prudence is conversant with just and beautiful things, and which are good to man ? We do not, how- ever, become at all more practically virtuous by knowing these things, since the virtues are habits ; as neither are things s^d to be salubrious, or to conduce to a good habit of body, because they have an active power, but CHAP. XII. ETHICS, 233 because they proceed from habit. For we are not at all more practical, from possessing the medical or gym- nastic art. But if a man is not to be considered as prudent for the sake of these things, but for the sake of becoming worthy, they will not be at all useful to those who are worthy. Again, neither will prudence be use- ful to those who are not worthy ; for it is of no conse- quence whether they are prudent, or are persuaded by others that are ; since this will be sufficient, in the same manner as in what pertains to health. For when we wish to be well, we do not at the same time learn the medical art. To which we may add, that it will appear to be absurd, that prudence, which is subordinate to wisdom, should possess a greater authority ; for that which is effective, governs and presides in every thing. These things, therefore, must be discussed, for now the doubt is concerning them alone. In the first place, therefore, we say, that these virtues [wisdom and prudence] are necessarily eligible per se^ since they are the virtues of each part of the soul,' though neither of them should effect any thing. In the next place, they do indeed effect something, yet not in the same manner as medicine pro- duces health ; but as health produces the energies of a good habit of body, thus also wisdom produces felicity. For being a part of the whole of virtue, by the possession and the energy of it, it renders a man happy. Farther still, the work is accomplished by prudence and ethical virtue. For virtue renders the scope proposed by the agent right ; but prudence gives rectitude to things which tend to the scope. A virtue, however, of this kind, does not belong to the fourth, or nutritive part of the ' ' viz. Wisdom is the virtue of the contemplative, and prudence of the practical intellect. 234 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VI, soul, because its energies are not in our power, [nor are rational, either essentially or by participation.] But with respect to our not being at all more adapted to the prac- tice of things beautiful and just, through prudence, [in answer to this objection] we must begin a little higher, assuming the following principle :— For as we say that certain persons who perform just things, are not yet just, such as those who do what is ordered by the laws, either \ unwillingly, or from ignorance, or from some other cause, and not on account of the things themselves, though they do those things which ought to be done, and such as a worthy man ought to^^do ; thus also, as it seems, it is possible to do every thing with a certain disposition of mind, so as to be a good man. I mean for instance, that k is possible to do every thing [with which virtue is con- cerned] from deliberate choice, and for the sake of the things which are done. Virtue, therefore, produces a right deliberate choice ; but it is not the business of vir- tue, but of some other power, to render the deliberate choice disposed to embrace what truly contributes tq the end, ' It is requisite, however, to speak more clearly on this subject. There is, therefore, a certain power which is called skill. But this is a power of such a kind, that by Its assistance those things may be performed and obtain- ed, which contribute to the proposed scope. And if, indeed, the scope is beautiful, this power is laudable ; but if the scope is bad, this power becomes craft : on which account, also, we say that prudent men are skilful, ancj Arllr'-'"'''^'/ '^^ "^^^^s»^y here ofparaphrasing the words qi Arii^totle, m order to render his meaning intelligible. CHAP. XIII. ETHICS. 23.5 not crafty. Prudence, however, is not this power, yet does not subsist without it. But habit is not acquired by this eye of the soul without virtue, as we have said, and is evident. For the syllogisms of practical affairs ranic as a principle ; since the end is a thing of this kind, and that which is best, whatever it may be. Let the end, for instance, be something casual ; but this is not appa- rent except to a good man. For depravity distorts [the judgment,] and produces deception about the practical principles. Hence it is evident, that it is impossible for any one to be a prudent, unless he is a good man. CHAPTER XIIL Again, therefore, let us direct our attention to virtue. For as prudence is not the same, indeed, but is similar to sagacity, thus, also, natural virtue subsists similarly, with reference to that which is properly so called. For the several manners appear to all men to subsist in a cer- tain respect naturally; since v/e are just, and temperate, and brave, and possess the other virtues immediately from our birth. At the same time, however, we investi- gate something else, as that which is properly good, and are of opinion that such-like virtues are inherent after ..another manner. For the physical habits are inherent 236 THE NICOMACHEAN QOK VI. in children and brutes ; but they are seen to be noxious without intellect. Thus much^ indeed, is apparent, that as it.happens that a strong body, which is moved without sight, very much errs in its motions, in consequence of being deprived of sight ; this, likewise. Is the case here [with respect to the physical virtues. '] But if the pos- sessor of these virtues obtains intellect, also, he will ex- eel in his actions. The habit, however, being similar, will then be properly virtue. Hence, as in the doxastic part of the soul, [or that part which is characterised by opinion,] there are two species, skill and prudence ; thus^ also, in the ethical part, there are two species, one of which is physical virtue, but the other is virtue properly so called. And of these, virtue properly so called, is not without prudence. Hence, it is said, that all the vir- ' In the physical virtues, which are the forerunners of the other virtues, the possession of the senses in perfection, and especially of the most honourable of the senses, the sight and hearing, may be called corporeal prudence. In the second place, corporeal strength may be denominated corporeal fortitude. In the third place, cor- poreal beauty may be called corporeal temperance. For as tem- perance consists in the symphony and consent of the powers of the soul, so beauty in the body consists in a certain symmetry of its organical parts. And in the fourth place, health may be called corporeal justice. For justice is that habit which keeps the parts of the soul free from sedition ; and health is that which produces con- cord and arrangement among the disorderly elements of the body. These physical virtues are common to brutes, being mingled with the temperaments, and for the most part contrary to each other ; or ratlier pertaining to the animal. Or it may be said, that they are illuminations from reason, when not impeded by a certain bad temperament ; or that they are the result of energies in s^ former life. CHAP, xnu ETHICS. 237 tues are prudences. And Socrates,* indeed, investi* gated partly with rectitude, and partly with error. For because he thought that all the virtues are prudences, he erred ; but it is well said by him, that the virtues are not without prudence. But as an indication of this, all men now, when they define virtue, add to the definition habit, and that they energise according to right reason. And right reason is that which subsists according to prudence. All men, therefore, appear in a certain respect to pro- phesy, that a habit of this kind, which subsists according to prudence, is virtue. It is necessary, however, to change, in a small degree, the definition ; for not only a habit according to right reason, but also a habit in con- junction with right reason,* is virtue. But prudence is right reason energising about things of this kind. So- ^ Socrates, in the Republic of Plato, calls the virtues prudences or sciences, because the energies of all the virtues are according to rieht reason. Hence, he gives them this appellation, from the better and superior part of the soul, just as we denominate man simply a rational animal, though he contains both rational and irra- tional powers. But we thus denominate him, because his irrational powers are in a certain respect rendered rational, by being obedient to reason, and because it is more appropriate to denominate him from the more exceUent and ruling part. Hence, there is no real disagreement between Socrates and Aristotle, in what is here said of the virtues; the former denominating them according to what is the characteristic of their e.sence ; but the latter considering the virtues, and that which characterises them, as different ^^'"^' A man performs something according to reason, both when he is excited by another, and when he regards the end, m the same manner as nature produces according to reason ; but he acts in conjunction mth reason, when he acts from knowledge ; and regard- J the end, operates according to reason." Paraphrase on the Nicomachean Ethics. The translation by Mr. Bndgman. 235 TItn mCOUXCHF,An ETHICS. BOOK Vt^ ci^atcs therefore thought, that the virtues, indeed, were reasons ; because all of them are sciences ^ \mt we think that they subsist in conjunction with reason. Hence, it is evident, from what has been said, that it is not possible to be a good man, properly, without prudence ; nor a prudent man without ethical virtue. After this manner^ also, the reasoning may be dissolved, by which some one may contend, that the virtues are separated from each other ; for the same person is not naturally well adapted to all the virtues; Hence, he has now obtained this, but nbt yet tliat virtue; for this may, indeed, happen ac- cording to the physical virtues, but is not possible in those virtues, according to which a man is said to be simply a good man. For all the virtues are present, at the same time that prudence, which is one virtue, is pre- sent. But it is evident, that though prudence were not a practical thing, it would be necessary, because It is the virtue of a part of the soul, and because delibe- rate choice will not be right without prudence, nor with^ out virtue ; for one of these is the end, but the other causes us to do things which contribute to the end. Pru- dence, however, neither has dominion over wisdom, nor over the better part of the soul, as neither has the medi- cal science dominion over health ; for it does not use .health, but considers how it maybe obtained. It pre- scribeSj therefore, for the sake of health, but has no do- minion over it* Again, to say that prudence rules over wisdom, is just as if some one should say, that the poli- tical science rules over the gods, because it orders every thing which is done in the city. ■•*>* fi Tiir. NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. BOOK Yll. CHAPTER I. After these things, making another beginning, it I must be observed by us, that there are three species of I things which are to be avoided in manners, viz. vice, in- I continence, and brutality. But the contraries to two of I these are indeed evident ; for we call one of the contra- ' ries virtue, and the other continence. , To brutality, how- ever, it will be most appropriate to say, that the virtue is opposed, which is a certain heroical ' and divine virtue, * Heroical virtue is that virtue by which men act with rectitude, magnificently, and enthusiastically, or under the influence of divine 240 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII. as Homer represents Priam saying of Hector, that he was a very good man : inspiration, both in practical affairs, and according to intellectual energy. For the sake of the liberal and philosophical reader, the following account of the heroic character is subjoined, from the manuscript Scholia of Proclus, on the Cratylus. If any apology were necess^y for the insertion of this extract, it will be sufficient merely to ^dd, that independent of its excellence, the manuscript from which it is taken, is among the number of the rarest at pre- sent existing. « Every where, the extremities of a prior, are conjoined with the summits of a secondary order. Thus, for instance, our master Her- mes, (• Jia^dTuj tifMt^ t^nu) being an archangelic monad, is celebrat- ed as a god. But Plato calls the whole extent between gods and men, daemons ; and they, indeed, are demons by nature. Those demons, however, that are now mentioned, together with the demi- gods, or heroes, are not daimons and heroes by nature, for they do not always follow the gods ; but they are only so from habitude, being souls who naturally deliver themselves to generation, such as was the great Hercules, and others of the like kind. But the pecu- liarity of heroic souls is magnitude of operation, the elevated and the magnificent ; and such heroes it is necessary to honour, and to perform funeral rites to their memory, conformably to the exhorta- tion of the Athenian guest. This heroic genus of souls, therefore, does not always follow the gods, but is undefiled and more intel! lectual than other souls. And it descends, indeed, for the benefit of the life of men, as partaking of a destiny inclining downwards; but it has much of an elevated nature, and which is properly libe- rated from matter. Hence, souls of this kind are easily led back to the intelligible world, in which they live for many periods ; while, on the contrary, the more irrational kind of souls are either never led back, or this is accomplished with great difficulty, or con- tinues for a very inconsiderable period of time. « Each of the gods, also, is perfectly exempt from secondary natures ; and the first, and more total of daemons are likewise esta- blished above a habitude of tliis kind. They employ, however, terrestrial and partial spirits in the generations of some of the CHAP. I. ETHICS. 241 [Wretch that I am ! my bravest offspring slain, You the disgrace of Priam's house remain ! human race ; not physically mingling with mortals, but moving nature, perfecting its power, expanding the path of generation, and removing all impediments. Fables, therefore, through the similitude of appellation, conceal the things themselves. For spirits of this kind, are similarly denominated with the gods, the leading causes of their series. Hence, they say, cither that gods have con- nexion with women, or men with goddesses. But if they were willing to speak plainly and clearly, they would say that Venus, Mars, Thetis, and the other divinities produce their respective series, beginning from on high, as far as to the last of things ; each of which series comprehends in itself many essences differing from each other ; such as the angelical, daemoniacal, heroical, nymphical, and the like. The lowest powers, therefore, of these orders, have much communion with the human race : for the extremities of first, are connascent with the summits of secondary natures. And they contribute to our other natural operations, and to the production of our species. On this account it frequently appears, that from the mixture of these powers with men, heroes are generated, who appear to possess a certain prerogative above human nature. But not only a daemoniacal genus of this kind physically sympa- thizes with men, but a different genus sympathizes with other animals, as Nymphs with trees, others with fountains, and others with stags, or serpents. " But how is it that at one time the gods are said" to have con- nexion with mortal females, and at another time mortal females with the gods ? We reply, that the communion of gods with goddesses gives subsistence to gods, or daemons, eternally ; but heroic souls, having a twofold form of life, viz. doxastic and dianoetic, the former of which is called, by Plato, in the Timaeus, the circle of difference, and the latter, the circle of sameness, and which are characterised by the properties of wale and female ; — hence, these souls at one time exhibit a deiform power, by energising according to the mas- culine prerogative of their nature, or the circle of sameness, and at another time according to their feminine prerogative, or the circle of difference; yet so, as that according to botli these energies they act with rectitude, and without merging themselves ArisL VOL. ii. $► 242 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII. Mestor the brave, renown'd in ranks of war, With Troilus, dreadful in his rushing car ;] in the darkness of body.. They likewise know the natures prior to their own, and exercise a providential care over inferior concerns, without, at the same time, having that propensity to such concerns which is found in the bulk of mankind. But the souls which act erroneously, according to the energies of both these circles, or which, in other words, neither exhibit accurate specimens of practical or intellectual virtue — these differ in no respect from gregarious souls, or the herd of mankind, w^ith whom the circle of sameness is fettered, and the circle of difference sustains all-various fractures and distortions. " As it is' impossible, therefore, that these heroic souls can act •with equal vigour and perfection, according to both these circles at once, sliice this is the province of natures more divine than the human, it is necessary that they should sometimes descend and energise, principally according to their doxastic part, and some- times according to their more intellectual part. Hence, one of these circles must energise naturally, and the other be hindered from its proper energy. On this account heroes are called demi- gods, (r.^uihoi), as having only one of their circles illuminated by the gods. Such of these, therefore, as have the circle of sameness unfettered, as are excited to an intellectual life, and are moved about it, according to a deiiic energy — these are said to have a god for their father, and a mortal for their mother, through a defect with respect to the doxastic form of life. But such, on the con- trary, as energise without impediment, according to the circle of difference, who act with becoming rectitude in practic^ affairs, and at the same time enthusiast icallij, or in other words, under the in- spiring influence of divinity — these are said to have a mortal for their fatlier, and a goddess for their mother. In short, rectitude of energy in each of these circles is to be ascribed to a divine cause*. Hence, when the circle of sameness has dominion, the divine cause of illumination is said to be masculine and paternal ; * Let, it, however, be can fully observed, that this divine cause illuminates, iiivljiorates, and excites these circles in the most unrestrained and impassive uiaunci, without destroying freedom of energy in the circles themselves, or t^dusing any partial afiection, syuipathy, or teudeiicy '\\\ iiluaiinating deity. CHAP. I. ETHICS. 243 And last, great Hector, more than man divine. For sure he seem'd not of terrestrial line ! * Hence, if, as it is said, men from being men become gods ' through excess of virtue, the habit which is op- posed to a brutal habit, will, indeed, be such as this. For as there is neither the vice nor virtue of a brute, so but when the circle of difference predominates, it is said to be maternal. Hence too Achilles, in Homer, acts with rectitude in practical affairs, and at the same time exhibits specimens of mag- nificent, vehement, and divinely-inspired energy, as being the son of a goddess. And such is his attachment to practical virtue, that even when in Hades, he desires a union with body, in order that he may assist his father. While, on the contrary, Minos and Rhadamanthus, who were heroes illuminated by Jupiter, raised themselves from generation to true being, and meddled with mortal concerns no farther than absolute necessity required." Priam, in Homer, complains that the bravest of his sons, Mes- tor, Troilus, and Hector, had fallen in battle, and that cowardly sons only survived. I have given the whole passage ; for Aristotle only cites what relates to Hector. The passage is to be found in Iliad, 24^. v. 255, &c. The translation is by Pope. * The wisest of the ancients never supposed that men, however exalted their virtue might be while living, actually become at length gods ; for this was an opinion that prevailed only during the cor- ruption of the heathen religion, and especially during the decline and fall of the Roman empire. This opinion, in short, is diame- trically opposite to the most fundamental principles of heathenism, as is evident from the golden verses ascribed to Pythagoras, and from the writings of Plato ; not to mention other respectable autho- rities which might be adduced in confirmation of this assertion. It is necessary to observe, therefore, that very good men were said by the ancients to become gods, through the similitude which they bear to divinity. Hence, Plato, in the Sophista, calls the Elean guest, or stranger, a god. In short, as Proclus well observes, Plato, in many places, venerates the participants of the gods by die same names as the gods, and calls them gods. Thus, not only; \ 244 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIJ. CHAP. I. ETHICS. 245 neither is there of a god ; but the one habit, indeed, is more honourable than virtue, and the other is of a different genus from vice. Since, however, the existence of a divine man is rare, (just as the Lacedsemonians, when they very much admire a man, are accustomed to say, O divine man,) thus, also the brutal nature is rare among men ; but when it does exist, it is principally found among the barbarians. Some men, however, be- come brutalized through diseases and mutilations of the body. And we thus denominate, by a defamatory appel- lation, those who surpass other men in vice. But of such a disposition of the soul as this, we shall hereafter make mention ; and we have before spoken concerning vice. Let us now, therefore, speak concerning incontinence^ and effeminacy, and luxury, and concerning [their oppo- sites,] continence and endurance. For each of these must not be considered as if they were the same habits with virtue and vice, nor yet as if they were of a genus different from them. It is necessary, however, as we have done in other things, having first premised what is the Athenian guest in the Laws, but also Socrates in the Phacdrus, calls a divine soul, a god. Nor is it wonderful that beings who are always united to the gods, and who complete one golden chain together with them, should be denominated gods. Plato, likewise, in many places, calls daemons gods, though they are essentially sub- ordinate to, and subsist about the gods. For in the Phaedrus and Timaeus, and other dialogues, you will find that he extends the appellation of gods as far as to daemons. Hence, according to Plato, and the wisest of the heathens, that nature is simply a god, which is characterised by a superessential unity. Intellectual natures are gods according to union. Divine souls are gods according to participation. Daemons are gods according to a contact with the gods. And the souls of men are gods through similitude. apparent, [i. e. what is commonly admitted as true,] and proposed doubts, in the next place to show every thing which is especially probable, about these passions ; but if not every thing, at least the greater part, and the prin- cipal. For if such doubts as are difficult are dissolved, and those things which are probable are left, we shall have sufficiently accomplished our purpose. Continence, therefore, and endurance, appear to be among the number of worthy and laudable things ; but incontinence and effeminacy, among the number of things bad and blameable. And the continent man, and h6 who abides in the decision of reason, are the same person ; and the incontinent man is the same with him who departs from the decision of reason. And the incontinent man, indeed, knowing that the things are bad, does them through passion ; but the continent man, knowing that desires are bad, does not follow them, in consequence of being obedient to reason. And all men, indeed, admit that the temperate man is continent, and possesses the virtue of endurance ; but with respect to a man of this description, some say that he is in every respect temperate, but others say that he is not. And some confusedly say, that the intemperate man is incon- tinent, and the incontinent man is intemperate; but others say that they differ from each other. But with respect to the prudent man, sometimes they say that he cannot be incontinent ; and sometimes, that certain per- sons who are prudent and skilful are incontinent. And farther still, men are said to be incontinent of anger, of honour, and of gain. Such, therefore, are the asser- tions concerning continence and incontinence. 246 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VH. CHAP, n^ ETHICS.. 247 CHAPTER IL \ It may, however, be doubted, how he who thinks rightly can act incontinently. Some say, therefore, that it is impossible for a man to act incontinently who knows that he ought not ; for it would be a dreadful thing, when science is inherent as Socrates thought, that any thing else should have dominion, and draw the man about like a slave. For Socrates, in short, opposed reason by this opinion, as if there were no such thing as incontinence ; since he said that no one acted contrary to what he apprehended it was best to do, except from ignorance [of what was best]. This assertion, therefore, is adverse to those things which are clearly apparent ; and it is requisite to inquire concerning the passion, if any one acts incontinently through ignorance, what the [ mode of this ignorance is? For it is evident, that he who acts incontinently does not think he ought so to act, till he is under the influence of the passion. There are, however, certain persons who admit some of these things, but not others. For they grant, indeed, that nothing is better than science ; but they do not admit that no one acts contrary to ,what appears to him to be better. And on this account they say, that the incontinent man, not having science but opinion, is vanquished by pleasures. If, however, it is opinion, and neither science nor a strong but a weak hypolepsis which resists, as it is in those who are dubious, pardon is to be granted to him who yields to strong desires; but improbity is not to be pardoned, nor any thing else which is blameable. The incontinent man, therrfore, Is vanquished by desire, prudence at the same time resisting ; for this is most strong. But this is absurd ; for the same person will be^ at the same time, prudent and incontinent. No one, however, will say that It is the province of a prudent man to perform voluntarily the most base actions. To which j may be added, what we have before shown, that the ■ prudent is a practical man ; for he is conversant with particulars, and possesses the other virtues.. Again, if the continent man consists in having strong and base desires, the temperate man will not be a conti- nent man, nor the continent a temperate man ; for it is not the province of the temperate man to have too muchl [desire] or to have base desires* But It would be requi- ' site that he should, if this were admitted ; for if, indeed, the desires are good, the habit which prevents a man from following them Is bad ; so that not all continence will be good. If, however, the desires are weak, but not bad, there is nothing venerable [in continence ;] and if they are bad and weak, there is nothing great in it. Far- ther still, if continence gives permanency to every opi- nion, and even to false opinion, it is a bad thing ; and if incontinence produces a departure from every opinion, there will be a certain incontinence which is good ; such as that of Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles. For he is to be praised for not persevering in what he was 248 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIU persuaded to do by Ulysses, because it was painful to him to lie. Again, that reasoning of the sophists which is denominated lying or dissembling, is perplexed with doubt. For with these men, in consequence of wishing to produce an assent to paradoxes, in order that when they obtain their end, they may appear to be skilful per- sons, the syllogism formed by their reasoning becomes very dubious. For the discursive energy of reason is bound, when the person whose assent they wish to pro- cure is unwilling to persist, because the conclusion does not please him ; but is unable to proceed, because he cannot dissolve the argument. From a certain reason, however, it may happen, that imprudence, together with incontinence, is a virtue. For a man through in- continence may do the contrary to what he apprehends ought to be done ; but he apprehends that good things are evil, and that they ought not to be done. Hence, he will do what is good, and not what is evil. Again, he who performs and pursues what is delectable, in conse- quence of being persuaded, and deliberately choosing so to do, will appear to be a better character than the man who does so, not from reasoning, but from incontinence ; for he may be more easily cured, because he may be induced to change his opinion. But the incontinent man is ob- noxious to the proverb, in which we say, " When water suffocates, wluit occasion is there to drink r For if, in- deed, ^ he were persuaded to do what he did, if he had been induced to change his opinion he would have de- sisted ; but now, not being persuaded, he nevertheless acts in this manner. Farther still, if incontinence and conti- nence are conversant with all things, who is the man that IS simply incontinent ? For no one has every species of mcontmence ; and we say that some persons are simply CHAP. III. ETHICS. 249 incontinent. Such, therefore, are the doubts which hap- pen on this subject. But of these, it is necessary to take away some, and to leave others ; for the solution of a doubt is the discovery [of what is investigated.] CHAPTER III. In the first place, therefore, it must be considered, whether the incontinent act knowingly, or not, and in what manner they act knowingly. In the next place, with what kind of things the incontinent and the conti- nent man are conversant. I mean, whether they are conversant with all pleasure and pain, or with certain definite pleasures and pains; and whether the con- tinent and the enduring man are the same, or dif- ferent characters. And in a similar manner we must consider such other things as are allied to this theory. The beginning, however, of the speculation is, whether the continent and incontinent man differ in the things with which they are conversant, or in the mode in which they are conversant with them. My meaning is this, whether the incontinent man is alone incontinent, or not, because he is conversant with these particular things ? or whether it is because he is thus affected, or not ? or whe- ther it is from both these ? In the next place, whether 250 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK vrr» incontinence and continence are conversant with all things, or not ? For he who is simply incontinent is not conver- sant with all things, but with those things with which the intemperate man is conversant ; nor is he denominated incontinent from being simply affected towards these ; for if he were, incontinence would be the same with intem- perance ; but from being affected towards them in this particular manner. For the intemperate man, indeed, is led [by his desires] from deliberate choice, thinking that it is always necessary to pursue the present delight ; but the incontinent man does not think this is necessary ; yet pursues it. With respect, therefore, to the assertion that it is true opinion and not science, through which mea act incontinently, it is of no consequence to the present discussion ; for some of those who form opinions of things, entertain no doubt of their truth, but think that they know accurately. If, therefore, those who form an opinion, act in a greater degree contrary to their opinion, than those who have a scientific knowledge, because they believe negligently, science will in no respect differ from opinion. For some persons believe no less firmly in things of which they form an opinion, than others ia things which they know scientifically. But this is evi- dent from Heraclitus.' Since, however, we say that a man knows scientifically in a two-fold respect ; for both he who possesses science, indeed, but does not use it, and he who uses it, are said to have scientific knowledge ; it makes a difference whether a man possessing science, * ** Thus Heraclltus fancied that he knew, with scientific accuracy* the things which he opined ; as for instance, that there is no suck thing as motion, and other notions which he maintained." Para- phrase on the Nicomachean Ethics. The translation by Mr. Bridg- man. CHAP. HI. ETHICS. 251 but not contemplating, does what he ought not to do, or whether possessing science and contemplating, he acts improperly. For this appears to be absurd, but it is not if he does not contemplate. Again, since there are two modes of propositions, [i. e. universal and particular pro- positions,] nothing hinders but that he who possesses both these, may act contrary to science ; using indeed the universal proposition, but not the particular one ; for particulars are practicable. There is a difference, also, as to the universal ; for one difference, indeed, is in the man himself, but the other is in the thing. Thus, for instance, a man may know that dry food is beneficial to every man ; and that this person is a man ; or that a thing of such a kind is dry food ; but whether this is a thing of such a kind, he either does not know, or he does not energise as if he did know. There is an im- mense difference, therefore, according to these modes ; so that no absurdity follows, for a man thus to know ; but for him to know in any other way, it would be won- derful. Farther still, science may be inherent in men in a way different from that which we have just now men- tioned. For we see that habit differs in possessing, ia- deed, but not using science ; so that a man possesses, in a certain respect, and does not possess science ; as is the case with him who is asleep, or insane, or intoxicated. jBut in this way men are disposed, who are under the influence of the passions ; for anger, and the desire of venereal pleasures, and certain other things of this kind, evidently produce a change in the body ; and in some persons, also, they produce insanity. It is manifest, therefore, that the incontinent man must be said to be af- fected similarly to these persons. Nor is it any indica- tion of the contrary, if such persons utter sentences which 252 THE NICOMACHliAN BOOK VIK are the progeny 0f science ; for those who are under the influence of these passions, will recite demonstrations, and the verses of Empedocles. And those who first learn [a science] connect indeed the words, but do not yet know their meaning ; for it is necessary that science should increase with advancing age ; but this requires time. Hence, it must be admitted that the incontinent speak after the manner of players, [i. e. without attending to the meaning of what they say.] Again, the cause of this may also be physically sur- veyed as follows : opinion, indeed, is either universal or particular, of which latter sense is now the mistress. But when one reason is produced from both these, it is necessary that, so far as pertains to theory, the soul should enunciate the conclusion, but so far as pertains to practice, should immediately act. Thus, for instance, if every thing sweet ought to be tasted, but this thing is sweet as being some one of particulars, it necessarily fol- lows, that he who is able, and is not impeded, must at the same time that he says this, act, [i. e. taste the sweet thing.] When, therefore, the universal proposition is indeed inherent, which prohibits a thing from being tasted ; but another proposition says, that every thing which is sweet is delectable ; and another, that this par- ticular thing is §weet; and this causes the man to ener- gise ; and when, also, desire happens to be inherent — then the universal proposition, indeed, says, this thing is to be avoided, but desire leads [to the fruition of it]. For each of the parts of the soul is able to move, or ex- cite. Hence it happens, that a man acts incontinently both from reason, in a certain respect, and opinion; though opinion is not essentially, but from accident, con- CHAP. III. ETHICS. 253 trary to reason. For desire, but not opinion, is contrary to right reason. Hence, on this account, also, brutes are not incontinent, because they have not a perception of universal, but an imagination and memory of parti- culars. With respect to the manner, however, in which ignorance is dissolved, and the incontinent man again be- comes in possession of scientific knowledge, the reason- ing is the same as concerning him who is intoxicated or asleep, and is not peculiar to this passion ; but the expla- nation of it must be obtained from physiologists. Be- cause, however, the last proposition is the opinion of the sensible object, and is the mistress of actions, he who is under the influence of passion either has not this propo- sition, or he has it in such a way, that from possessing he has not a scientific knowledge of it, but merely enun- ciates it, just as he who is intoxicated recites the verses of Empedocles ; and likewise because the last propo- sition is not universal, and does not appear to be similarly scientific with that proposition which is univer- sal. That also which Socrates * investigated, appears in ' * Here Aristotle obviously shows, that in apparently opposing Socrates, (or, which is the same thing, Plato,) he in reality explains his opinion. For when, as Aristotle informs us in the 2d chapter, Socrates said, « That no one acted contrary to what he apprehended it was best to do, except from ignorance of what was best," his meaning was, that no one acted contrary to what he thought was best, when he possessed science properly so called ; viz. when he had not only a scientific knowledge of the universal, but also of the particulai^proposition. But the incontinent man errs, because he alone knows, scientifically, the universal proposition, that a certain tiling universally is not to be done ; but he does not know that this particular thing is not to be done, and that it is not now to be done. Conformably to this also, Plato says, that all errors are involun- tary, because there is need of a false proposition, to the existence 254 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII. this case to happen. For the passion is not produced, when that which is science, properly so called, is seen to be present ; nor is this science drawn about [so as to co- operate with passion,] but this must be asserted of the sensitive power. And thus much concerning the know- ledge and ignorance of the incontinent man, and how he may act incontinently accompanied with knowledge. CHAPTER IV. But whether any one is simply incontinent, or all that are incontinent are partially so, and if there is any one who is simply incontinent, what the things are with which he is conversant, must in the next place be shown by us. That the continent, therefore, and men of endurance, and that the incontinent and effeminate, are conversant of error. And the falsehood takes place about the major proposi- tion. Thus Orestes says, " My mother has killed my father : Every woman who kills her own husband ought to be killed : My mother, therefore, ought to be killed." Here it is evident, that Orestes erred through the major proposition. For though every woman who kills her husband ought to be killed, yet not by her own son. Since, therefore, the major proposition is false, on this ac- count Orestes is said to have erred involuntarfly, because we fall into falsehood involuntarily. For no one willmgly admits what is false, since all men naturally love truth. / C> CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 255 wnth pleasures and pains, is evident. Of those things, however, which produce pleasure, some indeed are ne- cessary ; but others, though they are eligible of them- selves, yet have excess. But necessaries, indeed, are things which have reference to the body ; I mean such things as pertain to food, and the use of venereal plea- sures, and such-like corporeal concerns, about which we place intemperance and temperance. Other things, how- e\^er, are not indeed necessary, yet are eligible of them- selves ; 1 mean such as victory, honour, wealth, and such-like good and delectable things. Those, therefore, who exceed in these contrary to the right reason which is in them, we do not indeed denominate simply inconti- nent, but with an addition we call them incontinent of riches, of gain, of honour, and of anger ; but we do not call them simply incontinent, as being different from those that are so, and denominated from similitude ; just as the name of a certain person who was victorious in the Olympic games, was Jnthropos, i. e. ma7i ; for he had as a proper the common name of man, and yet at the same time he was different [from man universal, or the species man, as being an individual.] As an indica- tion of this, incontinence indeed is blamed, not only as an error, but also as a certain vice, either simply, or par- tially ; but no one blames those who are incontinent of honour, or gain, &c. as simply bad. With respect, how- ever, to those who are conversant with corporeal enjoy- ments, with which we say the temperate and intemper- ate man are conversant, he who without deliberate choice pursues the excesses of delectable, and avoids the ex- cesses of painful things, viz. hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and every thing pertaining to the touch and the taste, yet contrary to deliberate choice and the reasoning 256 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII. power, is called incontinent, not with an addition of this or that thing, as of anger, but he is only simply called incontinent. But as an indication of this, those who are conversant with the one are called effeminate, but not those who are conversant with the other. Hence, we arrange the incontinent and intemperate, and also the continent and temperate man, in the same class, but not those who are incontinent of honour, or gain, &c. be- cause they are, in a certain respect, conversant with the same pleasures and pains. Though, however, they are conversant with the same things, yet not after the same manner ; for the intemperate, indeed, pursue depraved pleasures from deliberate choice, but the incontinent do not. Hence, we rather call him intemperate, who ei- ther not at all desiring, or desiring slightly, pursues excessive pleasures, and avoids moderate pains, than him who pursues the one and avoids the other, in conse- quence of being influenced by vehement desire. For what would the former character do if he were impelled by robust desire, and suffered violent pain from the want of necessary things ? Since, however, of desires and pleasures, some rank in the genus of things beautiful and worthy ; for of things delectable, some are natu- rally eligible, others are contrary to these, and others have an intermediate subsistence, agreeably to the divi- sion we have before made ; and these last are such as riches, gain, victory, and honour : in all these, therefore, and things of the like kind, and in those that have an intermediate subsistence, men are not blamed for being merely influenced by the passions, and for desiring and loving, but for the manner in which they are influenced by them, and for indulging them to excess. Hence, with respect to those who are vanquished by the passions, or CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 257 pursue any thing naturally beautiful and good, contrary to reason, such as those who pursue honour more than is proper, or are irrationally attached to their parents and children ; for these also rank among the number of things that are good, and those who pay attention to these are praised ; yet there is at the same time a certain excess even in these things, if any one, like Niobe, con- tends about them even with the gods, or like Satyrus, who for his attachment to his father was called Philopa- tor ; for he appeared through this attachment to be very infatuated. There is, therefore, no depravity, indeed, in these things, for the reason already assigned, because each of these things is naturally eligible of itself; but the excesses of them are bad, and are to be avoided. This, however, is not the case with incontinence ; for in- continence is not only to be avoided, but is also among the number of blameable things. But from the simili- tude of the passion, in speaking about each of these, it is usual to add the term incontinence, just as we say, that a man is a bad physician, or a bad player, whom we should not simply call a bad man. As, therefore, we do not here call these, simply bad men, because each of these is not a vice, but similar to vice from analogy; so like- wise there, [viz. in the immoderate pursuit of honour, gain, &c.] those things only are to be considered as in- continence and continence, which are conversant with the same things as temperance and intemperance. But with respect to incontinence in anger, we speak of it from similitude. Hence, also, by making an addition, we say that a man is incontinent of anger, just as we say, that he is incontinent of honour or gain. Arist. VOL. II. 0-55 THE NICOMACIIEAN BOOK Vlf. CHAPIER V. Since, however, some things are naturally delectable, ^nd of these some are simply so, but others to the ge- nera of animals and men ; but other things are not na- turally delectable, but some things are pleasing in con- sequence of mutilationfi, and others are so partly from custom, and partly from depraved natures — this being the case, simif^ar habits may be perceived in each of these. But by savage habits, I mean such a habit as that of the woman who is said to have cut open the bellies of preg- nant women, and to have devoured the fcetus ; or such habits as certain savage nations about Pontus are said to possess. For of these, some are delighted to feed on faw, and others on human flesh, and others at banquets feast each other with their own children. Or such a ha- bit as Phalaris is said to have possessed, [for he is re- ported to have eaten his own son.] These habits, there- fore, are savage. Some of these habits, however, are produced in certain persons from disease and insanity, as was the case with him who immolated and eat his mo- ther,' and also with him who eat the Hver of his fellow- ' O Ssgln? rejy Tligra-) /BocrtXiv? ^ocm^i i^xyvi rnv ixvrov f^Yin^et xge*y^- vn^r^^. AspAsius.— i. e. « Xerxes, king of the Persians, being i'^- sane, ^at his mother, having for this purpose torn her in pieces.'* m- CHAP. V. ETHICS, 2zr9 servant. But other savage habits, either originate from disease, or from custom, such as evulsions of the hairs, biting the nails, and besides these eating coals and earth ; to which may be added the venereal connexion of males with males. For these habits are produced in some per- sons by nature, but in others from custom ; as being ac- customed to them from childhood. No one, therefore, would call those in whom nature is the cause of these habits, incontinent ; as neither are women called incon- tinent, because in the venereal connexion they are not active, but passive. And in a similar manner those are not called incontinent, who are in a diseased condition from custom. The possession, therefore, of each of these, is something beyond the boundaries of vice, in the same manner as a savage nature. But when possessing these propensities, to subdue, or be subdued by them, is not simple continence or incontinence, but is only so from similitude, just as he who subsists after this man- ner with respect to anger is incontinent of this passion, but passion is not be called incontinent. For every vice, folly, timidity, intemperance and ferocity, when excessive^ is either savage or the effect of disease. For he who is naturally so disposed as to be afraid of every thing, even though a mouse should make a noise, is timid according to a savage timidity; but he who is afraid of a cat is timid from disease. And among the number of the stu- pid, those who are most irrational from nature, and live only from sense, resemble savage animals, as is the case with some nations of remote barbarians ; but those who are so from disease, such as epilepsy, or insanity, these are in a morbid state. It is, however, possible, that some one may sometimes possess these habits, and yet not be 260 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK Vll. vanquished by them ; I mean, as if, for instance, Pha- laris desiring to eat his son should refrain from so domg, or should abstain from absurd venereal pleasure. And it is not only possible to have these propensities, but also to be vanquished by them. As, therefore, with respect to depravity, that which pertains to man, is simply said to be depravity ; but that which subsists with an addition, IS said to be a savage or diseased depravity, but is not simple depravity ; after the same manner with respect to incontinence, it is evident that one kind is savage, but another the effect of disease, while that alone is simply m- continence which subsists according to human intempe- ranee. It is evident, therefore, that incontinence and continence are alone conversant with those things with which intemperance and temperance are conversant, and that another species of incontinence subsists about other things, which is denominated metaphorically, and not simply. CHAP. VI. ETHICS. 261 CHAPTER VI. Let us, however, now consider whether the inconti- nence of anger is not less base than the incontinence of desires. For anger, indeed, seems to hear something of reason, but to hear it negligently ; just like hasty ser- vants, who run away before they have heard the whole of what is said to them, and thus err in the performance of what they are ordered to do ; or like dogs who bark at a noise alone, before they perceive whether he who makes it is a friend or not. Thus also anger, through the heat and celerity of its nature, hears, indeed, reason, but does not hear its mandates, in consequence of impe- tuously tending to vengeance. For reason, indeed, or the imagination, renders it evident that something has been done attended with insolence or contempt ; but anger, as if syllogistically concluding that it is necessary to be hostile to one who has acted in this manner, is immediately enraged. Desire, however, if sense, or rea- son [corrupted by sense], only says that a thing is delec- table, rushes to the enjoyment of it. Hence, anger in a certain respect follows reason ; but desire does not. De- sire, therefore, is more base than anger. For he who is incontinent of anger, is after a manner vanquished by reason ; but he who is incontinent of desire, is subdued by desire, and not by reason. Again, it is more pardon- 2e^ THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII. able to follow the natural appetites, since such desires as are common to all men are more pardonable, and so far as they are common. But anger and asperity are more natural than desires which are excessive, and which are not necessary. Thus one who was accused of striking his father said, as an apology for it, that his own father, and even his grandfather, committed the same fault; and pointing to his child, he likewise, said he, will strike me when he becomes a man ; for this is a family fail- ing. A certain person, also, being dragged about by his son, ordered him to stop at the gates of his house ; for he likewise had dragged his father as far as to that place. Farther still, those who act more insidiously are more unjust. The irascible man, therefore, is not insidious, nor is anger, but he is open in what he does. Desire^ however, is fraudulent, as it is said of Venus, The Cyprian goddess, skilPd In weaving wiles. ^ And as Homer says, [speaking of her cestus, J In this was every art, and every charm. To win the wisest, and the coldest warm ; Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire. The kind deceit, the still reviving lire. Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes. ' Hence, if this incontinence is more unjust, it is also more base than that which pertains to anger^ and this is sim- ' Iliad, 14, V. 214, &c. The translation by Pope. I have given the whole passage to which Aristotle alludes ; for he only quotes the two last words of the first line of the original and the last line. <:HAP. VI. ETHICS. 263 ply incontinence, and in a certain respect vice. Again, no one who is pained acts insolently [i. e. lasciviously] towards another person ; but every one who acts from the impulse of anger, acts with pain. He, however, who conducts himself insolently towards another, acts witfi pleasure. If, therefore, those things with which it is especially just to be angry are more unjust, the inconti- nence, also, which subsists through desire is more un- just ; for anger is not attended with insolence. ' Hence, it is evident that the incontinence which is conversant with desires, is more base than that which is conversant with anger, and, also, that continence and incontinence are conversant with corporeal pleasures. The differen- ces, however, of these must be assumed. For, as we said in the beginning, some desires are human and natural, both in their genus and magnitude ; but others are sa- vage ; and others subsist from mutilations and diseases. But with the first of these, temperance and intemperance are alone conversant. Hence, we neither call brutes tem- perate, nor intemperate, except metaphorically, though one genus of animals differs in short from another, in in- solence, in salaciousness, and in voracity. For they have neither any deliberate choice, nor reasoning process ; but they revolt from nature, in the same manner as insane men. Ferocity, however, is a less evil than vice, but it is more terrible ; for that which is most excellent, is not corrupted through this, as it is in men ; but those that labour under this malady are deprived of it, [i. e. of rea- son.] It is just, therefore, as if that which is inanimate should be compared with that which is animated, in order ' By y^^<5 here, or insolence, Aristotle probably means the insKJ- Icnce which accompanies lascivioubness. 264 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII- to know which of the two is the worse. For the impro- bity is always more innoxious which is without a princi- ple ; but intellect is a principle. Hence, a similar thing takes place, as if injustice should be compared with an unjust man ; for it is possible that the one may be worse than the other. For a bad man may be the cause of aa infinitely greater number of evils than a brute. CHAPTER VII. With respect, however, to the pleasures and pains which subsist through the touch and the taste, and also with respect to the desires and aversions pertaining to these, about which intemperance and temperance have been before defined ; it is possible, indeed, that a man may be so disposed, as to be vanquished by those plea- sures and pains, to which the multitude are superior ; and it is also possible, that he may vanquish those by which the multitude are vanquished. But of these cha- racters, he who is vanquished by pleasures is incontinent, and he who vanquishes them is continent. He, also, who is vanquished by pains is effeminate, but he who van- quishes them is a man of endurance. The habits, how- ever, of most men are between these, though they rather verge to the worse habits. Since, however, of pleasures. CHAP. VH. ETHICS. 265 some are necessary, but others are not, and those that are necessary are so to a certain extent ; but the excesses and defects are not necessary ; and the like also takes place in desires and pains ; — this being the case, he who pursues the excesses of pleasures, or who pursues plea- sures excessively, or from deliberate choice, and on their own account, and not from any thing else which may happen, is an intemperate man. For this man will ne- cessarily nbt repent of his conduct ; so that he is incura- ble. But he who is deficient in the pursuit of pleasures, IS opposed to this character ; and he who subsists in a medium between both, is the temperate man. In a simi- lar manner, also, he is intemperate, who avoids corporeal pains, not because he is vanquished by them, but from deliberate choice. But of those who pursue pleasures, yet not from deliberate choice, one, indeed, is led to the pursuit through pleasure ; but another through an avoid- ance of pain ; so that they differ from each other. It will, however, be obvious to every one, that he is a worse character, who not desiring, or desiring but slight- ly, does any thing which is base, than him who desires vehemently; and also that he who not being angry strikes a man, is a worse character than the man who strikes another through the impulse of anger. For what would such a one do, if he were influenced by passion ? Hence, the intemperate is worse than the incontinent man. Of the characters, therefore, that we have mentioned, the one has more the form of effeminacy, but the other is incontinent. But the continent is opposed to the incon- tinent, and the man of endurance to the effeminate man. For endurance, indeed, consists in resisting, but conti- nence in subduing. It is one thing, however, to resist, and another to subdue, just as it is one thing not to be f I 266 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VU. vanquished, and another to vanquish. Hence, conti- nence is more eh'gible than endurance. But he who fails in those things in which the multitude resist, and are able to resist, is effeminate and luxuriously dehcate. For luxurious delicacy is a certain effeminacy ; as when a man draws his garment on the ground lest he should be pain- ed by the labour of {lolding it up ; and [by his manner of living] imitates one who is ill, yet does not think he is miserable, though he resembles one who is 'miserable. The like, also, takes place with respect to continence and incontinence. For it is not wonderful if a man is vanquished by strong and transcendent pleasures or pains ; but he deserves to be pardoned, if, tliough van- quished, he makes a resistance, like the Philoctetes of Theodectes, when bit by a viper, or the Cercyon of Car- cinus in his Alope ; ' or like those who endeavouring to restrain their laughter burst forth into a profuse laugh, as it happened to Xenophantus. But he is very blame- able who is vanquished by those pleasures which the multitude are able to resist, and is unable to oppose them ; and this not through the nature of his race, or from disease, as is the case with the Persian kings, with whom effeminacy is hereditary, and who on this account are as females when compared to males. The jocose man, also, appears to be intemperate, but he is effemi- nate ; for jesting is a relaxation, since it is a repose [from serious and laborious pursuits.] But the jocose man ranks among the number of those who exceed in ' " Carcinus was a tmglc pocr, and Alope was the daughter of Cercyon, who, understanding that the chastity of his daughter had been violated, could no longer bear to live, through the grie£ which he felt on the occasion." Aspasius. CHAP. VIII. ETHICS. 267 this relaxation. Witli respect to incontinence, however, one kind is precipitate, but another is from imbecility. For some, indeed, having deliberated, do not persist in what they have deliberated, on account of passion ; but others, in consequence of not having deliberated, are led {[captive] by passion. For some persons, just as those who have previously tickled themselves, are not tickled by others, so these, in consequence of previously per- ceiving, and foreseeing [the future perturbation,] and having pre-excited themselves, and their reasoning power, are not vanquished by passion, whether it be de- lectable, or painful. But persons of acute feelings, and those who are melancholy, are especially incontinent, ac- cording to precipitate incontinence. For the former, in- deed, through celerity, and the latter through vehemence, do not wait for the decision of reason, because they are disposed to follow the imagination. CHAPTER VIII. The intemperate man, however, as we have before observed, is not inclined to repentance ; for he persists ^^ in his deliberate choice ; but every incontinent man is ■ inclined to repent. Hence, the thing is not as we doubted it might be j but the intemperate man, indeed. 268 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. is incurable, and the incontinent man is curable. For depravity appears to resemble the diseases of the dropsy and consumption, but incontinence seems to resemble the epilepsy; since the former, indeed, is continued without interruption, but the latter is not a continued improbity. And, in short, the genus of incontinence is different from that of vice; for vice, indeed, is latent, but incontinence is not latent. But of these characters, the precipitately incontinent are better than those who possess reason, in- deed, but do not abide in its decisions ; for the latter are vanquished by a less passion, and not without previous deliberation, like the former. For the man who is incon- tinent from imbecility, resembles those who become rapidly intoxicated, and from a little wine, and from less than that through which most men become intoxicated. That incontinence, therefore, is not a vice is evident ; but perhaps it is partially so. For incontinence is contrary, but vice is conformable to deliberate choice. The intern- perate, and the incontinent man, however, are similar in their actions, just as Demodocus said of the Milesians : viz. " The Milesians are not indeed foolish, yet they act as if they were so." Thus, also, incontinent men are not indeed unjust, yet they act unjustly. Since, there- fore, the incontinent man is one who does not pursue cor- poreal pleasures in excess and contrary to right reason, from persuasion, but the intemperate man because he is intemperate is persuaded to pursue such pleasures ; — this being the case, the former is easily induced to change his opinion, but the latter is not. For virtue preserves the principle [of right conduct,] but depravity corrupts It ; and in actions that for the salce of which [or the end] is the principle, in the same manner as hypotheses are principles in the mathematics. Hence, neither in the CHAP. viir. ETHICS* 269 mathematics, nor here, are principles to be taught ; but virtue, either physical or ethical, is the cause of right opi- nion concerning the principle [of conduct.] A man of this description, therefore, is temperate, but the contrary character is an intemperate man. There is also a certain person who through passion departs from right reason, whom passion, indeed, so subdues, that he does not act conformably to right reason ; but yet passion does not so far subdue him as to cause him to be persuaded, that pleasures of this description ought to be largely pursued. This person is the incontinent man, who is better than the intemperate, and is not absolutely a bad man. For in him that which is best, the principle [of right con- duct,] is saved. But there is another person contrary to this [viz. the continent man,] who persists [in the deci- sion of reason,] and is not diverted from it through pas- sion. From these things, therefore, it is evident, that one of these habits is worthy, but the other bad. 570 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK vir« CHAPTER IX. Whether, therefore, is he the continent man, who per- sists in any kind of reason, and in any kind of deliberate choice, or he who persists in riglit reason ? And whe- ther is he the incontinent man, who does not persist in any kind of deliberate choice, nor in any kind of reason, or he who persists in a false reason, and in an erroneous deliberate choice, as it was doubted by us before ? Or Khali we say that the continent man is one who persists from accident in any kind of reason and deliberate choice, but essentially in true reason, and right deliberate choice, but that the incontinent man does not thus persist ? For >f any one chooses, or pursues, that thing on account of this, he pursues, indeed, and chooses this thing per se ; but the former thing from accident. We speak, however, of that which is per se simply. Hence, it is possible that the one may persist in any kind of opinion, but that the other may abandon any kind of opinion ; but the one ?,rrnply persists in true opinion, and the other does not. There are, however, some persons who are disposed to persist in an opinion, and these are those who are called pertinacious, such as the obstinate, and those who are not easily persuaded to relinquish their opinion, who have^ mdeed, something similar to the continent man, in the CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 271 same manner as the prodigal has to the liberal, and the audacious to the confident man ; but in many things they are different.- For the confident man, indeed, is not I changed through passion and desire ; since when it so happens, he is easily persuaded. But the pertinacious I man is not persuaded by reason ; since most of this de- \scription admit desire, and are led by pleasures. Those persons, however, are pertinacious, who have certain opinions of their own, and also unlearned and rustic men. And those, indeed, who have certain opinions of their own, are pertinacious through pleasure and pain. For they rejoice when they are victorious, if they are not in- duced to change their opinion, and they are grieved when their opinions, as if they were decrees, are without efficacy. Hence, they resemble the incontinent more than the continent man. But there are certain persons who do not persist in their opinions, yet not through in- continence, such as Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles ; since he did not persist in his opinion, yet, not on account of pleasure, but on account of the beauti- ful in conduct. For to him it was beautiful to speak the truth, though he was persuaded by Ulysses to lie. For not every one vi^ho does any thing on account of pleasure is intemperate, or a bad, or an incontinent man ; but he is intemperate who does it on account of base pleasure. Since, however, there is a character of such a kind as to be delighted less than is proper with corporeal pleasures, and not to abide in the decisions of reason, the continent man is a medium between this character and the inconti- nent man. For the incontinent man, indeed, does not abide in the decisions of reason, because he is delighted with corporeal pleasures more than is proper, but this man, because he is delighted with them less than is pro- 272 THE NICOMACHKAN BOOK VII. per. The continent man, however, abides in the decision of reason, and is not changed through any thing else. It is also necessary, if continence is a good thing, that both the contrary habits should be bad, as it appears that they are. Because, however, one of these characters [viz. the man who is delighted less than is proper with corporeal pleasures,] exists but among a few men, and is rarely seen ; hence, as temperance appears to be contrary to in- temperance alone, thus, also, continence to incontinence. But since many things are denominated from similitude, the continence also of the temperate man follows accord- ing to similitude. For both the continent and the tem- perate man, do nothing contrary to reason, through the influence of corporeal pleasures ; but the one, indeed, [viz. the continent man] possesses, but the other does not possess depraved desires. And the one, indeed, is a man of such a description, as not to be delighted contrary to reason, but the other is delighted, indeed, yet is not led by this delight. The incontinent, and the intemperate man, also resemble each other, though, indeed, they are diflferent characters. Both, however, pursue corporeal delights ; but the latter, indeed, thinking that it is pro- per, and the other not thinking that it is proper, to pur- sue them. CHAP. X. ETHICS. 273 CHAPTER X. Nor is it possible that the same person can at one and the same time be prudent and incontinent ; for it has been shown by us that a prudent man, is at the same time a man of worthy manners. Again, a man is not only pru- dent from knowing what ought to be done, but also from acting properly ; but the incontinent man does not act properly. Nothing, however, prevents the incontinent man from being skilful. Hence, also, sometimes certain persons appear to be prudent, but incontinent, because skilfulness differs from prudence, in the way we have before explained ; and these, so far as pertains to reason, indeed, are near to each other, but they differ according to deliberate choice. Neither, therefore, does the incon- tinent man [possess reason] as one who knows and con- templates, but as one who is asleep, or intoxicated. And he acts, indeed, voluntarily ; for after a certain manner he acts knowing both what he does, and for the sake of what he acts as he does. But he is not depraved ; for his deliberate choice is good ; so that he is half depraved, and not unjust, because he is not insidious. For one incontinent man, indeed, [i. e. the man who is inconti- nent from debility] does not persist in what he has deli- berated ; and he who is of a melancholy temperament. ArisL VOL. II. R 274 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK vn* [i. e. the man who is precipitately incontinent,] is not, in short, disposed to deliberate. The incontinent man, therefore, resembles a city, which decrees, indeed, every thing that is proper, and has good laws, but uses none of them, as Anaxandrides revilingly said. The state consults, but Its own laws neglects. But the bad man resembles a city, which uses indeed laws, but uses bad laws. Incontinence, however, and continence, are conversant with that which exceeds the habit of the multitude ; for the continent man persists more, but the incontinent man less, than the multitude are able to do, [in the decisions of reason.] The incon- tinence, however, of the melancholy, is more easily cured, than the incontinence of those who deliberate, indeed, but do not persist in doing what they have deliberated to do. Those, also, who are incontinent from custom, may be more easily cured than those who are naturally so ; for it is more easy to change custom than nature. For on this very account it is difficult to change custom, viz. because it resembles nature, as Evenus also says. By long attention custom is produc'd. And is at length as nature to mankind. We have shown, therefore, what continence and inconti- nence, and also what endurance and effeminacy are, and how these habits subsist with reference to each other. CHAK xu fiTHICSk 275 CHAPTER XI. The discussion, however, of pleasure and pain, per- tains to him who philosophizes about the political science ; for he is the architect [as it were] of the end, looking to which we say that one thing is evil, but another is simply good. Again, it is likewise necessary that we should make these the objects of consideration. For we admit , that ethical virtue and vice are conversant with pleasures | and pains ; and most men assert that felicity is accom- 1 panied with pleasure* Hence, also, they denominate the \ blessed man, {[xaxotptnv), from especially rejoicing (axo rou fjLOLXitrra ^(aipzivJ) To some, therefore, no pleasure appears to be good, neither essentially, nor from acci- dent ; for good and pleasure are not the same thing. But to others, some pleasures appear to be good, but many of them to be bad. Others again in the third place assert, that though all pleasures were good, yet at the same time that which is most excellent cannot be pleasure. In short, therefore, they say, pleasure is not good, because all plea- sure is a generation tending to a sensible nature [as to its ■end;] but no generation is allied to ends; as no act of building a house, [i. e. the energy of building, Gixo8ojOL7j If pleasure is opposed to pain, as the greater is to the less and the equal, then it will be opposed as excess to defect ; and pleasure will be of Itself an evil. H 280 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII, « there are unimpeded energies, whether felicity is the ener- gy of all the habits, or of some one of them, this energy, if it is unimpeded, is most eligible. But this is pleasure ; so that a certain pleasure will be the best of things, many pleasures, if it should so happen, being simply bad. And on this account all men are of opinion that a happy is a delectable life, and they reasonably connect pleasure with felicity. For no energy is perfect when it is impeded ; but felicity is among the number of perfect energies. Hence, the happy man requires the goods pertaining to the body, and external possessions, and also good for- tune, lest [the want of]) these should be an impediment [to his felicity.] Those, however, who say, that a man, if he is a good man, may be happy, though he should be tormented in a wheel, and fall into the greatest calamities, say nothing to the purpose,' whether they assert this will- ingly or unwillingly. Because, however, the happy man requires good fortune, prosperity appears to some persons to be the same with felicity, though it is not the same ; since prosperity, when it is excessive, is an impediment to felicity. Perhaps, likewise, it is no longer just to call prosperity [when it is excessive] good fortune ; for the definition of prosperity has a reference to felicity. That all brutes too, and all men, pursue pleasure, is an indica- tion that pleasure is in a certain respect the best of things. That fame which crowds of human kind extol. Will ne'er completely perish. ' The distinction mentioned in a former note must here be care- fully remembered, viz. that the felicity of the worthy man, in the most calamitous circumstances, will not be * es^tntially destroyed, but will be as it were in a dormant state. CHAP. XIII. THICS. 281 Because, however, neither the same nature, nor the same habit, either is, or appears to be the best, neither do all men pursue the same pleasure, though pleasure is pursued by all men. Perhaps, also, they pursue not the pleasure which they fancy, nor that which they say they pursue, but the same pleasure ; for all things naturally possess something divine.^ Corporeal pleasures, however, obtain the inheritance of the name, because men are for the most part occupied in them, and all animals partake of them. Because, therefore, these pleasures alone are [generally] known, these are the only pleasures which are fancied to have an existence. It is, however, evident, that unless pleasure is good, and also energy, it will not be possible for the happy man to live delectably. For on what account would delight be requisite to a happy life, ' This is most Platonically said by Aristotle, that all men pursue the same pleasure, by which he means the pleasure which is good ; because all things naturally possess so^nething divine. For in conse- quence of every thing possessing this symbol, or impression of divi- nity in its essence, there is in every thing an innate desire of the first principle, as the end of all things ; and hence, prior to appetite, there is a certain occult perception of that which is first. Hence, too, in consequence of this natural sense or perception, which is entirely concealed from the other senses, things heavy and light choose in a rectilinear direction a place adapted to their natures, and reject the contrary. Hence, the roots of trees pursue moisture, and avoid dryness ; and leaves sagaciously turn from the shade, and joyfully associate to themselves the light of the sun, in conjunction with his invigorating warmth. Through this wonderful sense and appetite, therefore, all things are converted to the first witliout knowing the first ; and as the great Theodorus, the Platonist, says, ** All things pray except the firsts In a similar manner, also, the soul, prior to manifest knowledge and the election of the will, from a natural sense and inclination impressed in her essence through the one-i desires the one itself 282 THE NICOMAGHEAN BOOK pii CHAP. XIV. 1f^^\.% ETHICS, 283 if it is not good ? But it would also be possible for life to be happy, though attended with pain ; for pain will neither be evil nor good, if pleasure is not good. Why, therefore, is pain to be avoided? Neither, therefore. Will the life of the worthy man be more delectable, un* less his energies are more delectable. CHAPTER XIV. With respect, however, to corporeal pleasures, we must direct our attention to the assertions of those who say, that some pleasures are very eligible, viz. such as are worthy ; but not corporeal pleasures, with which the intemperate man is conversant. Why, therefore, are the pains contrary to these pleasures depraved ? For good is contrary to evil. Or shall we say, that necessary pleasures are so far good, because that which is not evil is good, or that they are good to a certain extent ? For in those habits and motions, in which there is no excess of that which is better, there is no excess of pleasure j but in those in which there is an excess of what is better, there is also an excess of pleasure. But of corporeal goods there is an excess ; and the bad man becomes bad by pursuing the excess of pleasure, and not necessary pleasures. For all depraved men are delighted with meats and wine, and venery, but not in such a manner as is proper. And they are affected in a contrary way with respect to pain; for they do not avoid the excess o£/ pain, but pain altogether. For pain is not contrary toV excess, but to him who pursues excess. Since, however, i it is not only necessary to speak the truth, but also to assign the cause of a false assertion ; for this contributes to credibility ; since when the cause why a thing seems to be true, though it is not, appears to be reasonable, it then gives greater credibility to the truth ; — this being the case, it must be shown why corporeal pleasures appear to be more eligible. In the first place, therefore, they appear to be so, because they expel pain, and because excessive, and in short, corporeal pleasure is pursued on account of the excesses of pain, as a remedy. But the remedies are vehement, and on this account corporeal pleasures are pursued, because they become more appa- rent when placed by that whiqh is contrary to them. Pleasure, therefore, does not appear to be good, for these two reasons, as we have before observed ; because some pleasures, indeed, are the actions of a depraved nature, either from the birth of the animal, as those of a brute, or they originate from custom, such as those of bad men ; but other pleasures are remedies, because they are ' the pleasures of that which is in want, and it is better to have them, than for them to be passing into existence; and others happen to be the pleasures of that which is in a perfect condition, ' From accident, therefore, they ' i. e. When ^ ^ ft ^^. T CHAPTER I. After these things, it follows that we should discuss friendship ; for it is a certain virtue, or subsists in con- \ junction with virtue. And besides this, it is most neces- • saiT to life ; for no one would choose to live without / friends, though he possessed every other good. For the I rich, princes, and magistrates, appear to be especially in want of friends. For what advantage is there in a^^ prosperity of this kind, if beneficence is taken away, which is especially exerted towlros friends, and is most praised when thus exerted ? Or how can prosperity be preserved and saved, without friends? For by how much **• i 288 THE NICOMACHEAN BOO^ VIII. ^ the greater, by so much the more insecure it is. But in poverty and other misfortunes, friends are considered [to be the only refuge. Friendship, also, is useful to \70uth, in preventing them from error, and to elderly knen, by the attention which it pays to their wants, and I the assistance it affords to their deficiency in action, /arising from the imbecility of age. To those likewise in the acme of life it is useful, because it aids them in the performance of beautiful actions. When two in concord meet. ' For they are more able through it both to conceive and act. Friendship, also, appears to be naturally inherent in that which begets towards that which is begotten ; and this not only in the human race, but likewise in birds, in most animals, in those of the same nation towards each other, and especially among men ; and hence, we praise those that are philanthropic. It may also be seen, in travelling, how accommodating and friendly every man |is to man. It seems, too, that friendship connects cities Itogether ; and legislators pay more attention to it than j to justice. For concord appears to be something similar Ito friendship ; but this legislators are especially desirous of effecting, and they principally £xpel sedition, which ^is hostile to concord. And when the citizens, indeed, are friends, there is no need of justice ; but though they are just, they require friendship. Among just things, also, that which is especially just, appears to be of a friendly nature. Nor is friendship alone necessary, but It is also a beautiful thing. For we praise those who are ' A hemistic of Homer, Iliad, 10. v. 224, and so known as to become proverbial. CHAP. I, ETHICS. 289 lovers of friends ; and an abundance of friends, appears / to be one among the number of beautiful things. Again, ' some are of opinion that the same persons are good men and friends. There is, however, no small controversy concerning friendship. For some consider it to be a certain similitude, and that similar persons are friends- whence, also, it is said « like tends to like, a jackdaw to a jackdaw," &c. Others on the contrary say, that all such persons are potters to each other. ' ' And they in- vestigate concerning these things from a higher and more physical origin ; Euripides, indeed, saying. Earth, when slie's dry, rejoices in the rain ; And venerable heav'n, with rain when fill'd, On earth delights to fall.— , And Heraclitus asserting *^that what is adverse is advan- tageous ; that the most beautiful harmony results from things of a different nature ; and that all things originate i IVom strife." Others, however, are of a contrary opi- / nion respecting friendship, and among these is Empe- docles. For he says, « that the similar aspires after the similar." Such of these doubts, therefore, as are of a physical nature we shall omit ; for they are not adapted to the present speculation. But we shall direct our atten- tion to such of them as pertain to human affairs, and to the manners and passions of men ; such as, whether there ' Alluding to the following verse of Hesiod, which gave rise to the above-mentioned proverb : i. e. " The potter envies the potter, and the carpenter the penter." > ArisL car« VOL. II. S 290 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. is friendship among ail men, or it is not possible that de- praved men can be friends ? And whether there is one, or many species of friendship ? For those who are of opinion that there is but one species of it, because it receives the more and the less, do not found their opi- nion on a sufficient argument. For things specifically different receive the more and the less : but of these we have spoken before- CHAPTER II. These things, however, will perhaps become evident, when that which is the object of friendly love is known; for it seems that not every thing is beloved, but that only which is the object of love ; but this is either what is good, or what is delectable, or what is useful. That, 'however, may appear to be useful through which some good or pleasure is procured. Hence, the good and the delectable will be objects of love, as ends. Whether, therefore, do men love that which is [simply] good, or that which is good to them ? For these sometimes are discordant. A similar inquiry, also, may be made con- cerning the delectable. It appears, however, that every one loves that which is good to himself ; and that good is that which is simply the object of love, but that what £MaaM!W;iriMfc.atwiw/jtef JBf&^&hjLfraK'ssi&ii.iiM^^ feWfc.a CHAP. II. ETHICS. 291 is good to each person, is the object of love to each. Each person, however, loves not that which is really good to him, but that which appears to be so. But this makes no difference ; for that which appears to be good, will be the object of love. Since, however, there are three things through which love is produced, [viz. the good, the delectable, and the useful,] in the love of things in- animate there is not said to be friendship ; for there is no reciprocal love, nor a wish that any good may befal . them. For it w^ould be perhaps ridiculous to wish that some good might befal wine ; but if a man does, he wishes that it may be preserved, in order that he may j have it. But it is said to be requisite to wish well to a f friend for his own sake ; and those who entertain this wish for their friends, are said to be benevolent, though the same wish should not be made by them. For it Is said that benevolence, in reciprocal regard, is friendship ; to which perhaps it should be added, if the benevolence is not latent. For many persons are benevolent to those whom they never saw, in consequence of believing them to be worthy or useful men. And those whom they never saw may also be benevolent to them. They appear, therefore, indeed, to be benevolent to each other ; but how can it be said that they are friends, when they are ignorant of the manner in which they are mutually affected ? Hence, it is necessary, in order to their being friends, that they should be benevolent to, and wish well to each other, on account of one of the things we have mentioned, [viz. on account of the good, the delectable, or the useful.] M \^ 292 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOR VIH. CHAP. III. ETHICS. 293 CHAPTER III. These, however, are specifically different from each other ; and, therefore, the loves also, and the friend- ships differ. For there are three species of friendship, equal in number to the objects of friendly love ; since in each there is a reciprocal love which is not latent. But those who love each other, wish well to each other, so far as they love. Those, therefore, who love each other on account of utility, do not mutually love tor their own sake, but so far as they obtain some good from each other. This is also the case with those who love on account of pleasure. For they do not love those who are versatile, because they possess cert^n qua- lities, but because they afford them pleasure. And those who love on account of utility, possess this friendly love on account of the good which they derive from it. Those, likewise, who love on account of pleasure, love on ac- count of that which is delectable to them. And the attach- \ment of these is not personal, but is produced so far as Ithe object of their attachment is useful or delectable. These friendships, therefore, are accidental ; for the ob- iect of their attachment is not beloved, so far as he is such a person as he is, but so far as he administers to them some good, or some pleasure. Such friendships. r\ therefore, are easily dissolved, the objects of them not remaining in a similar condition ; for if they are no longer delectable or useful, they cease to be beloved. And the useful is not permanent, but at a different time becomes different. Hence, that through which they were friends being dissolved, their friendship also is dis- solved, in consequence of existing for the sake of it. A friendship, however, of this kind, appears especially to subsist among elderly men ; for those who have arrived at this period of life, do not pursue the delectable, but the useful ; nor is the delectable pursued by such young men in the acme of life, as make utility the object of their pursuit. But such persons do not very much live together ; for sometimes they are not pleasing to each other. They do not, therefore, require an association of this kind, unless they are useful ; for they are delecta- ble to each other so far as they hope for some good. Among these friendships, also, [viz. those of utility,] hospitable friendship is ranked. But the friendship of young men appears to subsist on account of pleasure ; for they live according to passion, and especially pursue that which is delectable to them, and that which is pre- sent. In consequence of the mutation of age, however, other things become delectable ; on which account they rapidly become and cease to be friends. For their friendship is changed together with that which is delec- table. But the mutation of such a pleasure is rapid. Young men also are amorous ; for much of the amatory propensity subsists according to passion, and on account of pleasure. Hence they love, and rapidly cease to love, frequently changing in the same day. They wish, how- ever, to spend the day with each other, and to live toge- ther J for thus they obtain what friendship requires. The 294 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. friendship, however, of good men, and of those who are ^j^imilar in virtue, is perfect ; for they similarly wish well to each other, so far as they are good ; but they are good of themselves. But those who wish well to their friends for their sake, are especially friends ; for they are thus aflFected towards them on their own account, [i. e. per- sonally,] and not from accident. The friendship, there- > fore, of these remains as long as they are good men j but Virtue is stable. And each of these is simply good, and igood to his friend ; for good men are simply good, and are useful to each other. In a similar manner, also, they are delectable to each other ; for good mpn are simply and mutually delectable. For to each their proper actions, and such-like actions, [viz. such as are similarly virtuous,] are attended with pleasure. But the actions of good men are such as these, or resemble them. It reasonably follows, also, that such a friendship is stable ; for all such things subsist in it connectedly as ought to be present with friends. For all friendship is on account of good, or on account of pleasure, either simply, or to him who loves, and this according to a certain similitude. But in this friendship [i. e. in the friendship founded on virtue] all the above-mentioned particulars are essen- tially inherent ; since in this all the rest are similar, and that which is simply good is also simply delectable. These things, however, are especially lovely ; and in these the most excellent love and friendship principally i subsist. But it is likely that such friendships are rare; for persons of this description are few. Farther still, virtuous friendship requires time and custom ; for ac- cording to the proverb, it is not possible for men to know each other till they have eaten a peck of salt toge- / ther. Nor is it proper for one person to become inti- GHAP. IV. ETHICS. 295 mate with, or a friend to another, till he appears to be \ amiable to him, and worthy of belief. But those who rapidly perform towards each other the offices of friend- ship, wish indeed to be friends, but are not, unless they are amiable, and know that they are so. They rapidly, therefore, contract the wish to be friends, but they do not contract friendship. Hence, virtuous friendship is perfect according to time, [as being lasting,] and accord- ing to other things, and consists from all these. Each friend, likewise, is in this friendship similar to each, which is a thing necessary to friends. CHAPTER IV. The friendship, however, which subsists on account of the delectable, has a similitude to virtuous friendship ; for good men also are delectable to each other. This is likewise the case vrith the friendship which subsists on account of utility ; for good men are also such [i. e. use- ful] to each other. But among these [viz. those who Wre friends through the delectable] friendships are espe- icially permanent, when an. equality, as for instance, of pleasure subsists between them. And not only so, but likewise from the same thing, as is the case with men of versatile manners, and not as between the lover and the 296 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VII I ^ beloved person. For these are not delighted with the same things, but the lover is delighted with [the sight of] the beloved person, and he who is beloved is delighted with the attention which is paid him by the lover. When the flower of age, however, is no more, sometimes the friendship also ends. For to the one the sight of his friend is no longer pleasing, and to the other bland zu tention is no longer paid. Many of these, however, coq* tinue permanent in their friendship, if each loves the manners of each from custom, in consequence of pos- sessing similar manners. Those, however, who do not reciprocally exchange delight in amatory affairs, but uti^ lity, are friends in a less degree, and their friendship is less permanent. But the friendship of those who are friends on account of utility, is dissolved together with advantage ; for they were not friends of each other, but of the profitable. On account of pleasure, therefore, and on accpunt of utility, it is possible for bad men to be friends to each other, and also for worthy with bad men, and for those who are neither good nor bad with each other, and with the good or the bad ; but it is evident that the good alone can be friends through or on account of themselves. For bad men are not delighted with each other, unless each derives some advantage from the other. And the friendship of good men alone is unattended with calumny ; for it is not easy to believe any thing [bad^ of him, who has been tried by us for a long time. Among these also there is mutual credibility, and a confidence that the one will not injure the other, and such other particulars as are thought worthy to be ranked in true friendship. In other friendships, however, there is nothing to prevent things of this kind from taking place. For since men denominate friends those who arc con- CHAP. IV, ETHICS. 297 nected together on account of utility, in ^the same man- ner as cities (for to cities warlike confederacies appear to take place for the sake of advantage) ; and since those likewise are called friends who like boys love each other on account of pleasure, perhaps, indeed, it is necessary that we also should call such persons friends, and should admit that there are many species of friendship. And we must denominate, indeed, the friendship of good men so far as they are good, that which is primarily and pro- perly so called ; but we must admit that the rest are called friendships from similitude. For they are friends €0 far as there is something good and similar among them; since the delectable is something good to the lovers of pleasure. These friendships, however, are not very much conjoined, nor do the same persons become friends on account of the useful and the delectable ; for things which are from accident are not very much united. But friendship being distributed into these species, bad jneir, indeed, will be friends on account of pleasure or advantage, through which they are similar ; but good men will be friends on their own account ; for they are friends so far as they are good. These, therefore, are simply friends ; but those from accident, and from being assimilated to these. 298 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIlIvv CHAPTER V. As, however, in the virtues, some men are said to be good according to habit, but others according to energy, thus also it is in friendship. For those friends who live together are delighted with, and impart good to each other; but those who are asleep, or are separated by places, do not indeed energize, and yet they are so dis- posed as to be able to energizfe in such a way as friend- ship requires. For places do not dissolve friendship simply, but only the energy of it. If, however, the ab- sence is long, it seems to produce an oblivion of friend- ship ; whence it is said, that tacituryiity dissolves many Jriciidships. But neither elderly nor austere men appear jto be adapted to friendship ; for in them there is but little of pleasure. No one, however, can constantly as- sociate with one who is sorrowful, or with one who is not I pleasant. For nature appears especially to avoid the /painful, and to aspire after the pleasing. But those who admit the company of each other, and yet do not live together, rather resemble benevolent persons than friends ; since nothing is so much the province of friends as living together. For those who are in want aspire after advan- tage. Those, also, who are blessed constantly associate with each other ; for it is not in the smallest degree fit CHAP. V. ETHICS. 299 that these should lead a solitary life. But it is not pos- sible for men to live together whose company is not de- lightful, and who are not pleased with the same things, which fellowship appears to possess. The friendship, therefore, of good men is eminently friendship, as we have frequently observed. For that which is simply good or delectable, appears to be lovely and eligible ; but to every one that is lovely and eligible which is to him a thing of this kind. A good man, however, is lovely and eligible to a good man through both these. Dilection, however, is similar to passion, but friendship to habit ; for dilection is no less exerted towards inani- mate things. But reciprocal love exists in conjunction with deliberate choice ; and deliberate choice is from habit. We, likewise, wish well to those whom we love for their own sake, not according to passion, but accord- ing to habit. And those who love a friend, love that which is good to themselves ; for a good man becoming a friend, becomes a good to him to whom he is a friend. Each, therefore, loves that which is good to himself, and they mutually impart to each other that which is equal, both in wishing well and affording delight ; for equality is said to be friendship. But these things are especially present with the friendship of good men. 300 TH£ NICOMACHEAN BOOK Vlll. CHAPTER VI. Friendship, however, subsists in a less degree among {lustere and elderly men, in proportion as they are more morose, and less delighted with associations ; for these appear to be especially friendly, and effective of friend- ship. Hence, young men rapidly become friends, but not elderly men ; for they do not become friends to those with whom they are not delighted. In a similar man- ner neither do the austere become rapidly friends. But men of this description are indeed benevolent to each other; for they wish well, and afford assistance to the wants of each other. They are not, however, very much friends, because they do not constantly associate, nor are delighted with each other ; which things appear to be especially of a friendly nature. But it is not possible to be a friend to many, according to perfect friendship, as neither is it possible to love many at one and the same time ; for this resembles excess ; and a thing of this kind is naturally adapted to take place towards one person. Moreover, it is not easy for many persons to please the same person very much at one and the same time, nor perhaps would it be a good thing if it were easy. Ex- perience and custom, likewise, are necessary [to a per- i'iS!ft.'-,i-..^iii:^isf^st!LtiSiasii^iUi-ri»iif'-ttt!^si: i8BS.!tw5j;aig but then as from the transcendency of the divine nature, there is no reciprocation of similitude, when it Is also said that God is the friend of good men, nothing more is to be understood by this assertion, tlian that divinity is participated by him through proximity, alliance and aptitude, as much as is possi* ble to human nature. And in this way, the following beautiful passage of Diogenes must be understoood : — « All things are the possessions of the gods ; good men are the friends of the gods ; and friends have all things in common. It is impossible, therefore, that a man beloved by the gods should not be happy, or that d wise and just man should not be beloved by the gods.' » CHAP. VII. ETHICS. 305 thy to be their friends. Nor do those who are of no worth aspire to be friends of the best or the wisest of men. In such as these, therefore, there is no accurate definition, as long as they are the friends of some one. For many things being taken away, the friendship may yet remain ; but if they are separated by a great interval from each other, as is the case with man and divinity, friendship no longer remains. Whence, also, it is doubted, whether friends would wish for their friends the greatest of goods, such, for instance, as for them to be gods ; for in this case they would no longer be friends to them. Neither, therefore, would they be a good to them ; for friends are a good to each other. Hence, if it is well said, that a friend wishes well to his friend for his sake, it is requi- site that he should remain such as he is. But he wishes The greatest good may befal him, still remaining a man. And perhaps he does not wish that every good may befal him ; for every one especially wishes to obtain good himself. Arist. VOL. II. \ \ S06 THE KICOMACHBAN 10OK VIII. CHAP. vin. ETHICS. S 07 :^.. CHAPTER Vni. The multitude, however, appear from ambition to be more desirous of being beloved than of loving. Hence, the multitude love flatterers. For a flatterer is a friend who b surpassed [by him whom he flatters,] or pretends to be so, and also professes to love in a greater degree than he is beloved. But to be beloved appears to be proximate to the being honoured, after which the multi- tude aspire. It seems, however, that they do not choose honour on its own account, but from accident. For the multitude are delighted when they are honoured by those in power, through the hope [of the benefits they may thence derive ;] for they fancy they shall obtain from them that of which they are in want. They are delighted, therefore, with honour, as an indication that they shall be benefited. But those who aspire after honour from worthy and intelligent men, desire to con- firm their own opinion of themselves. They rejoice, therefore, that they are worthy persons, believing in the judgment of those who say that they are worthy; but they are delighted to be beloved per se. Hence, it would seem that this is a better thing than to be honour- ed. and that friendship is a thing eligible of itself. Friend- ship, however, seems to consist more in loving than m being beloved ; of which this is an indication, that mo« thers rejoice in loving [their children]. For some mo- thers give their children to be privately educated by others, and love them knowing them to be their own offspring, but are not anxious to be beloved in return if both cannot be effected, but it appears to them to be sufficient if they see their children doing well. And they love their offspring, though the offspring are unable to pay that attention to their mother which is fit, because they are ignorant of her. Since, therefore, friendship consists rather in loving than in being beloved, and we praise those who are lovers of friends, to love appears to be the vh-tue of friends. Hence, those in whom this exists according to desert, are stable friends, and the friendship of such as these is stable. But thus, also, those who are unequal may especially become friends ; for thus they will be equalized. Equality, however, and • similitude are friendship, and especially the sln^ilitude of those who resemble each other in virtue ; for being of themselves stable, they are also stable towards each other, and neither require any thing depraved, nor are subser- Tient to any thing of this kind, but, as I may say, they prohibit what is base. For it is the province of good men, neither to err themselves, nor permit their friends to be subservient to erroneous conduct. But depraved men have no stability ; for they do not remain similar to themselves; but are only friends for a short time, being delighted with the depravity of each other, Use- ful, however, and pleasing men, remain friends for a longer time ; for they continue friends as long as they impart to each other pleasure and advantage. But the friendship which subsists on account of utility, appears to be composed from contraries ; such as the frieadship of 308 THE NICOMACHEAK BOOK Vlll. CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 309 the poor with the rich man, and of the unlearned with the learned man. For he who is in want of any thing, aspiring to the possession of it, recompenses with some- thing else him from whom he obtains what he wants. Hither, also, may be referred the lover and the beloved, the beautiful and the deformed. Hence, lovers some- times appear to be ridiculous when they think they ought to be beloved as much as they love. If, therefore, they are similarly amiable, perhaps it is fit they should thus think; but it is ridiculous if they possess nothing of this kind. Perhaps, also, neither does one contrary desire another essentially, but only from accident. But the appetite is directed to the medium ; for this is good. Thas, for instance, it is good to a dry thing not to be- come moist, but to arrive at the medium [between dry- ness and moisture ;] and in a similar manner to a hot thing, and to other substances. I'hese things, however, must be omitted; for they are more foreign than is proper. ♦-J CHAPTER IX. It seems, however, as we said in the beginning, that both friendship and justice are conversant with and exist in the same things ; for in all society there appears to be a certain justice and friendship. Men, therefore, call their fellow-sailors, and fellow-soldiers friends, and in a similar manner those who associate with them in other employments. But such as is the extent of their associations, such also is the extent of their friendship ; for such likewise is the extent of justice. The proverb, too, rightly says, " that all things are common among friends ;" for friendship consists in communion. Among brothers, however, and associates, all things are com- mon; but among others they are limited to certain bounds ; and to some indeed more so, but to others less ; for with respect to friendship, also, some are friendships in a greater and others in a less degree. Just things, also, differ ; for there is not the same justice between parents and children, as between brothers towards each other, nor as between associates and fellow-citizens. And the like takes place in other friendships. Injuries, there- fore, are different towards each of these, and they re- ceive an increase, by how much the more the persons . injured are friends. Thus, for instance, it is a more dire \ 310 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VI II. CHAP. X. ETHICS. 311 thing to defraud an associate of money than a fellow-- citizen ; and not to assist a brother than to refuse assist- ance to a stranger ; and to strike a father, than to strike any other person. But the just is naturally adapted to be increased at one and the same time with friendship, as subsistnig in the same things, and being equally extend- ed. All communions or societies, however, resemble the parts of the political or civil communion. For men journey together with a view to a certain advantage, and in order to procure something which pertains to human life. Political communion, also, appears to exist for the sake of advantage, to have been established with a view to this from the beginning, and to continue so. For the attention of legislators is directed to this, and they say that what is advantageous in common is just. Other communions, therefore, partially aspire after utility. Thus, sailors aspire after the utility pertaining to naviga- tion, or to the acquisition of wealth, or something of the like kind ; but soldiers aspire after the utility pertaining- to war, whether riches are the object of their desire, or victory, or the capture of cities. The like, also, takes place among tribes and the populace. Some commu- nions, however, appear to have been formed on account of pleasure, such as the communion from the celebration of festivals, or from societies instituted to promote good fellowship ; for these subsist for the sake of sacrificmg and aussodation. But all these appear to be subject to poUtical communion ; for political communion does not aspire after present advantage, but to that which pertains to the whole of life ; performing sacrifices, and for this purpose forming assemblies, bestowing honours on the gtnis, and affording a cessation from labour, in conjunc- tion with pleasure. For ancient sacrifices and assemblies a^)ear to have been instituted after collecting the fruits of the earth, as first fruits. All communions, therefore, appear to be parts of the political communion. But such-like friendships follow such-like communions. \ CHAPTER X. There are, however, three species of a polity, and as many deviations from them, which are, as it were, the corruptions of these polities. But the polities indeed are, a kingdom, an aristocracy, and the third is derived from tlje distribution of honours through the medium of wealth^ which as it seems may be appropriately called a timo- ' cracy. Most men, however, are accustomed to call it j^simply] a polity. But of these, a kingdom is the best,' and a timocracy is the worst. The deviation, also, from a kingdom, is indeed a tyranny ; for both are monar- chies. They differ, however, very much from each other. For the tyrant, indeed, looks to his own advan- Uge ; but the king to the advantage of those whom he governs. For he is not a king who is not st^^cient to \ himself, and who does not surpass his subjects in ev&rjf Vind of good. But a man of this description is in w»t pf nothing. Hence, his attention wili not be directed 312 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIU. to what is advantageous to himself, but to the benefit of those whom he governs ; for he who is not a person of this description, will be a :ertain elected king. A tyrant, however, is the contrary to a king [properly so called ;] for he pursues his own good. And from this it is more evident that he is the worst of rulers ; for that which is contrary to the best, is the worst. But the transition from a kingdom is into a tyranny ; for a tyranny is the depravity of a monarchy. And a depraved king becomes a tyrant. The transition from an aristocracy is into an oligarchy, through the vice of the governors, who dis- tribute civil offices in a manner contrary to desert ; bestow upon themselves all, or the greater part of every thing that is good, and always appoint the same persons magis- trates, paying more attention to wealth than to any thing else. Those, therefore, that govern are few, and are depraved instead of being the most worthy men. But the transition from a timocracy is into a democracy ; since these polities border on each other. For in a timo- cracy, also, the multitude have dominion, and all those that are rich are equal. A democracy, however, is in the smallest degree depraved ; for it deviates but little from the form of a polity, [i. e. from a timocracy]. After this manner, therefore, polities are especially x:hanged ; for thus they are changed the least, and the most easily. The resemblances, however, and as it were paradigms of them may be derived from families. For the communion, or society, between a father and his children has the form of a kingdom ; for a father pays attention to his children [for their own sakes]. Hence, also, Homer calls Jupiter father; for the intention of a kingdom is to be a paternal government. But among the Persians the government of a father is tyraimical ; CHAP. X. ETHICS. 313 for they use their children as slaves. The government, likewise, of a master towards his servants is tyrannical ; for in this government that alone which is advantageous to the master is performed. This, therefore, appears to be right ; but the Persian government is erroneous. For , of things that are different, the governments also are dif- ! ferent. But the government of man and wife appears i to be aristocratic. For the man governs according to desert, and in those things in which it is proper for the man to govern ; but he permits his wife to rule over such things as are adapted to be governed by a woman. If the man, however, has dominion in all things, the go- vernment is changed into an oligarchy ; for he does this contrary to desert, and not so far as he is the better cha- racter. But it sometimes happens that women, in conse- quence of being heiresses, govern [even in things per- taining to men]. The government, therefore, in this case, is not according to virtue, but is through wealth and power, in the same manner as in oligarchies. And^ the government of brothers resembles a timocraqy ; for they are equal, except so far as they differ in their ages. Hence, if there is »a great difference in their ages, the friendship is no longer fraternal. But a democratic go- vernment is especially to be seen in those families which are without a master : for here all govern equally. In ' those families, also, where he who govern^ is a man of a weak understanding, every one has the power of acting as he pleases. 314 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. CHAPTER XL In each of the polides, however, friendship appears to have the same extent as justice. And the friendship, indeed, between a king and his subjects, consists in tran- scendency of beneficence ; for he benefits his subjects, since, being a good man, he is attentive to their interest like a shepherd, in order that they may do well. Whence, also, Homer calls Agamemnon the shepherd of the people. Such, likewise, is paternal friendship; but it differs in the magnitude of the benefits which it confers. For the father is the cause of the existence of his child, which appears to be a thing of the greatest consequence, and also procures him nutriment and education. The same things, likewise, are attributed to progenitors ; for a father is naturally adapted to rule over his children, and progenitors over the offspring of their children, and kings over their subjects. Bnt these friendships consist in transcendency ; on which account, also, parents are honoured. The just, therefore, in these is not the same, but subsists according to desert ; for thus, also, the friendship subsists. There is likewise, the same friend- ship between a husband and wife, as in an aristocracy ; for it subsists according to virtue, and a more ample good is attributed to the better character, and that which is CBTAP. xr. ETHICS. 515 adapted and appropriate is attributed to each. For thus, also, justice is effected. But the friendship of brothers resembles that of associates ; for they are equal, and of the same age; and persons of this description, apply themselves for the most part to the same disciplines, and are similar in their manners. The friendship, therefore, which exists in a timocracy resembles this ; for in this government it is requisite that the citizens should be equal and worthy persons. Hence, they alternately and equally govern. Such, therefore, is the friendship of brothers. In corrupt polities, however, as the justice is \^ but small, so likewise is the friendship, and it eidsts in \ the smallest degree in the worst polity. For in a ty- ranny there is either no friendship, or very little ; since | among those with whom there is nothing common be- tween the governor and the governed, there is not any friendship ; for neither is there any justice. But tKe\ friendship between them, resembles that which is betweea an artist and his instrument, between the soul and the ■ body, and between a master and his servant ; for these indeed are benefited by those that use them. There Is not, however, any friendship with, nor justice towards things inanimate, as neither is there towards a horse or an ox, or towards a slave so far as he is a slave, since there is nothing common between these. For a slave is an animated instrument ; but an instrument is an inani- mate slave. So far, therefore, as he is a slave, there is no friendship between him and his master; but there may be so for as he is a man. For it appears that there is a certain justice due from every man towards every man who is able to partake of law and compact ; and therefore there may also be a friendship between any one man and another, so far as each is a man. In tyrannical 316 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. governments, however, there is but little friendship and justice ; but there is very much of each in democra- cies ; for among those that are equal, many things are con^mon. CHAPTER XII. U^^ .V -K All friendship, therefore, as we have before observed, i consists in communion ; but it may be divided into that which subsists between kindred, and that which subsists between associates. But political friendships, the friend- ships of those of the same tribe, of those who sail toge- ther, and such like, are more similar to the friendships of associates ; for they appear to exist as it were from com- pact. Among these, also, hospitable friendship may be ranked. The friendship, likewise, of kindred appears to be multiform, and the whole of it depends from paternal friendship. For parents love their children, as being something of themselves ; but children love their parents, as being something proceeding from them. Parents, however, have a greater knowledge of their offspring, [so as to know more accurately that they are their offspring,] than the offspring know that they proceeded from their parents ; and that from which a thing is generated has a greater familiarity and alliance with the thing produced. CHAP. XII. ETHICS. 317 than the thing produced has with its maker. For that which originates from a thing, is the property of that from which it originates ; as a tooth, or a hair, or any thing else, is the property of its possessor; but that from which a thing originates, is not the property of any one of the things which originate from it, or is so in a less degree.* The love also of parents to their children is superior to that of children to their parents, by length of time ; for parents love their children as soon as they are bom ; but children their parents in process of time, when they begin to understand or perceive that they are their parents. From these things, likewise, it is evident on what account mothers love their children more [than fathers love them]. Parents, indeed, therefore, love their children as themselves ; for those that proceed from them are as it were their other selves, by being separated from them j but children love their parents, as proceeding from them. Brothers, however, love each other in consequence of being born from the same parents ; for sameness with their parents causes them to be the same with each other. Hence it is said, that they have the same blood, the same root, and such like expressions. They are, therefore, in a certain respect, one and the same in separate bodies. The being educated together also, and equality of age, greatly contribute to friendship ; for [according to the proverb,] « Equal delights in equal age." ' When cause and effect are of such a nature, that the latter de- rives Its existence from the former, then the effect is the property of the cause ; since previously to proceeding from, it was contained in it. But the cause is not, properly speaking, the property of the effect ; for the effect only participates of the cause, but does not con- tain the whole of it in itself. *I8 THE NiCOMACHEAN BOOK Villi And those who are accustomed to the same things are associates. Hence, also, fraternal friendship is assimi- lated to the friendship of associates. Cousins, likewise, and the remaining kindred become conjoined from the friendship of brothers, in consequence of [mediately] originating from the same persons. Some, however, be- come more united in friendship, and others less, in con- sequence of the source of their race being nearer, or more remote. But the friendship of children towards their parents, and of men towards the gods, is as towards that which is good and transcendent. For parents and the gods confer the greatest benefits ; for they are the causes of existence and of being nourished, and when they are of a proper age, of being educated. A friendship, also, of this kind, possesses the delectable and the useful in a greater degree than the friendship of strangers, becausie their life is in a greater degree more common. Those things, however, are to be found in fraternal friendship, which exist in the friendship of associates; and in a greater degree in those that are worthy, and in short, in those that are similar, in proportion as they are more familiar, and love each other from their birth ; and in proportion as those who are born from the same parents, who are nourished together, and simi- larly educated, are more similar in their manners. In this friendship, likewise, the proof which is obtained from time, is most abundant, and most firm. And things pertaining to friendship subsist analogously in the remain- ing gradations of kindred. But the friendship between man and wife appears to be according to nature ; for man is more a connubial thjLn a political animal ; and this by how much more a family is prior to, and more necessary than a city, and the procreation of offspring is more com- I CHAP. XII. ETHICS. 319 mon to all animals. In other animals, therefore, the com- munion proceeds thus far, [i. e. as for as to the procre- ation of offspring ;] but men and women not only cohabit for the sake of begetting children, but also with a view to the necessaries and conveniences of life. For their employments are immediately divided, and those of the husband are different from those of the wife. Hence, they assist each other, referring their own private posses- sions to the common [good of the family]. On account of these things, therefore, both the useful and the delec- table appear to be contained in this friendship. It will also exist on account of virtue, if the husband and wife are worthy characters. For there is a virtue pertaining to each, and they will rejoice in a thing of this kind. Children, however, appear to be a bond ; and hence those marriages that are without children are more swiftly dissolved. For children are a common good to both the husband and wife ; and that which is common connects. To mquire also how a husband ought to live ' with his wife, and in short, one friend with another, appears to be nothmg else than to inquire how justice subsists between them. For it does not appear that there j is the same justice between one friend and another, nor between one stranger, one associate, and one disciple, with another. ..«fc «»' 320 THE NICOMACHEAN JJOOK VJll* ^m CHAFrER XIII. Since, therefore, there are three kinds of friendship, as was observed in the beginning, and according to each some are friends in equality, but others according to transcendency ; for similarly good men are friends, and [between worthy men who are not equally worthy^ the more may be the friend of the less worthy, and in a simi- lar manner with respect to friendships which subsist on account of delight, and on account of utility, they may be equal or unequal, and different in the ad- vantages with which they are attended ; — this being the case,* it is requisite that those friends who are equal should be equalized in loving and other things, [pertaining to friendship,] but that those who are une- qual, should render to themselves that which is analogous m tran^endencies/ Accusations, however, and complaints reasonably take place in that friendship alone, or princi- pally, ^which is founded in utility. For those who are ^ ' friend^, on account of virtue, are readily disposed to bene- fit each other ; for this is the peculiarity of virttfe and friendship. But with those who contend with each other in kindness, there are no accusations noncontests ; Viz. By how muc^more one friend is better tha^mg^juby so much the more he ought to be beloved. , ^ GHAP. xril. ETHICS. 321 for no one is indignant with him who loves and benefits him ; but if he is grateful, he will recompense him by benefiting him in return. He, however, who transcends [in the benefits which he confers,] obtaining that which he desires, will not accuse his friend y for each aspires after good. Nor do accusations and complaints very much take place in the friendships which are founded in pleasure ; for at one and the same time both obtain the object of their desire, if they rejoice to live together. He, however, will appear to be ridiculous who accuses him by whom he is not delighted, when it is not possible to spend his time with him. But the friendship which is founded in utility, is full of accusations and complaints ; for since they make use of each other with a view to ad- vantage, they are always in want of more, and fancy they have less than is proper, and blame their friends because they do not obtain as much as they are in want of, though they deserve to obtain it. But those who benefit are not able to supply as much as those who are benefited require. It appears, however, that as the just is twofold, for one kind is unwritten, but the other is legal, thus also with respect to the friendship which is founded in utility, one kind indeed is ethical, but the other is legal. Accusa- tions, therefore, then especially take place, when com- pacts are formed and dissolved, not with a view to the Hpime friendship [as that by which they are united]. But the legal friendship founded in utility, is that which sub- sists by compacts ; one kind, indeed, being entirely venal, from hand to hand, [viz. such as takes place in buying and selling ;] but another kind is more liberal, in which one thing is to be given for another at a stated titne, but from compact. In this friendship, however, that which is owing is manifest, and is not ambiguous, but a friendly ArisL VOL. ii. u 322 THE NICOMACHEAN Book viii. delay is permitted to take place. Hence, with some of these, there are no judicial processes, but they think it is i:equisite to love those who form compacts, from the obli- gation of fidelity. But the ethical friendship does not consist in compacts, but what it gives, it gives as to a friend, and this is also the case with whatever is imparted by the one to the other. He, however, who gives thinks it fit that he should receive in return an equivalent, or more than an equivalent, as if he had not given but lent ; but if he does not receive the retribution which he expected from the contract, he accuses his friend. And this hap- pens because all or most men wish to obtain things which are truly beautiful, but deliberately choose what is advan- tageous. But it is beautiful to benefit, not with a view to be benefited in return ; and it is advantageous to be bene- fited. He, therefore, who is able, ought to make a retri- bution equivalent to the benefit he has received, and willingly ; for a friend must not return kindness unwil- lingly. If, therefore, he has erred from the first, and has been benefited by an improper person ; for he was not benefited by a friend, nor by one who did this for his sake ;— if this be the case, retribution must be made, as if he had been benefited by compact. Hence, he who has been benefited by such a one, ought to promise that he will make a retribution if he can ; but if he cannot, he who conferred the benefit ought not to think it fit ths^ he should be recompensed, so that if possible, retribution is to be made. In the beginning, however, it is requisite, when a benefit is offered, to consider by whom it is offered, and with what view, so as either to accept or ire- fuse It. But it may be doubted, whether retribution is to be measured by the advantage of him who receives it, or by the beneficence of him who made it. For those » « CHAP. XIII. ETHICS. 323 who receive it say in extenuation that they receive such things from benefactors as are of little use to them and which they might have received from others ; but, on the contrary, the benefactors say that they bestow the greatest things which it was in their power to give, and which could not be obtained from others, and that they conferred them in dangerous circumstances, or such-like necessities. Since, therefore, this'friendshTp subsists on account of utility, the measure of it is the advantage of him who is benefited. For he is the person who is in jjrant, and his friend assists him, in order that he may receive an equal benefit in return. The assistance, there- fore, afforded by him who is benefited, will be as great as that which he received. And as much or even more must be given by him in return ; for it is more beautiful and becoming. But in those friendships which are founded in virtue, there are no accusations^ and the deli- berate choice of him who benefits resembles a measure. jFor the authority of virtue and manners consists in deli- berate choice. 2I^ up I ,' u - V ii ^r% ■** 324 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK VIII. ^CHAPTER XIV. Dissensions, however, take place in those friend- ships which subsist accor»p«l^^ 328 THE NICOMACHEAN B0DK IX. SO happen, he has nothing which can excite love. Fre- quently, however, she who is beloved complains that her lover, having formerly promised every thing, now per- forms nothing [that he had promised]. But things of this kind happen, when the one indeed loves the object of his love on account of pleasure, but the other loves her lover on account of utility ; and these things are not ^present with both. For since the friendship exists on account of these things, a dissolution of it takes place, when those things are not accomplished which are the final causes of their love. For they do not love each other, but what each possesses, which is not stable. Hence, such also are their friendships, [viz. they are not stable]. The friendship, however, which is founded in manners [i. e. virtuous friendship] since it exists per se, [or independent of external circumstances] is permanent, as we have before observed. But friends also disagree when other things happen to them, and not those which were the objects of their desire ; for when a man does not obtain that which he desired, it is just as if he ob- tained nothing. Thus, a certain person promised a harper that he would reward him in proportion to the excellence of his singing. But in the morning, when the harper demanded the fulfilment of his promise, he said that he had returned pleasure for pleasure.* If, therefore, this [i. e, pleasure] had been the wish of each, the harper would have been sufficiently recompensed ; but if the object of the one was delight, and of the other gain, and if the object of the one was accomplished, but not of the. other, the compact between them was not well fulfilled. ' Plutarch attributes this deed to Dionysius the Syracusan tyrant. .^ -■*j<: j-jiirt*.-a>fft ,^iAAK.-A^-j^V-*r..^''.M¥'&i'*,ii*^^Ara.f~iu,'*-JA^i^'''*^^'it£SiAiiai£l^^ u CHAP. I. ETHICS. 329 F^r a man will attend to those things of which he is in want, and for the sake of them will give what is requisite. With respect, however, to the recompense which ought to be made, whether ought it to be estimated by him who gives, or by him who receives ? For he who gives first, seems to leave to the receiver what the recompense should be; which they say Protagoras' also did. For when he had taught any thing, he ordered the learner to estimate what appeared to him to be the worth of the knowledge he had gained, and he received accord- ing to his valuation. But in things of this kind, to some persons it is sufficient to say. Sufficient be the price a friend appoints.* Those, however, who having first received money, after- wards perform nothing which they had promised to do, on account of the excessive magnitude of their promise, are deservedly accused ; for they do not perform what they had agreed to accomplish. But the sophists perhaps are compelled to do this, because no one would give money for those things which they know. These, therefore, ^ because they do not perform that for which they received a reward, are justly blamed. With those persons, how- ever, among whom there is no compact for services per- formed, we have already observed that those who fir&t give to others on their own account, are not to be blamed ; for of this kind is the friendship which is founded in virtue. Retribution, also, must be made ac- cording to deliberate choice ; for this is the province of * See my translation of the Protagoras of Plato. * This verse is from the Works and Days of Hesiod ; but die half of it only is quoted by Aristode. 330 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. a friend, and of virtue. This conduct, likewise/ as it seems, should be adopted by those who are associates in philosophy ; for the worth of philosophy is not to be measured by money, nor can any honour be conferred equivalent to its dignity. But perhaps it is sufficient that a recompense as great as possible is made, in the same manner as towards the gods and parents.^ Where, how- ever, the gift is not such as this, but is conferred with a view to a certain thing, [i. e. with a view to some recom- pense,] a remuneration perhaps ought especially to be made, which to both friends will appear to be according to desert. But if this should not happen to take place, it may not only appear to be necessary, but also to be just, that he who first received, should determine what is an equal compensation. For if as much advantage or plea-' sure is returned as was received, the remuneration will be according to desert. For this also appears to take place in traffic ; and in some places there are laws which forbid any judicial processes respecting voluntary con- tracts ; as if it were fit that in communions of this kind there should be no other judge, nor any other law, but that all differences should be decided by the person in whom trust is reposed, and by whom such contracts are used. For they think that he who was intrusted to esti- mate the retribution, will judge more justly than he who reposed that trust ; since, for the most ^art, those who possess, and those who wish to receive any thing, do not estimate equitably. For every one thinks that his own property and what he gives are of great value. At the Same time, however, the retribution should be as great as it is determined to be by those who receive the gift. Perhaps, however, a thing is not to be estimated to be worth so much as it appeared to its possessor, but to be CHAP. II. ETHICS. 331 worth as much as he would have estimated it to be before he possessed it. CHAPTER II. Such particulars, however, as the following are du- bious, viz. whether all things are to be assigned to a father, and he is to be obeyed in all things. Or whether the sick man ought indeed to obey the physician ; and he who votes for the general of an army, ought to give tbe preference to a man skilled in warlike concerns. And in a similar manner, whether it is proper to be sub- servient to a friend rather than to a worthy man. And whether remuneration is rather to be made to a benefac- tor than to an associate, if it is impossible to make it to both. It is not therefore easy to determine all such particulars accurately; for they have many and all- various differences, in magnitude and parvitude, in the 'beautiful and the necessary. But it is not immanifest that not all things are to be given to the same person ; 'and that for the most part benefits are rather to be ■ returned to those from whom they were received, than 'gifts are to be bestowed on associates : just as it is more proper to return a loan to him from whom it was bor- rowed, than to make a present to an associate. Perhaps, I 3S2 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. CHAP. II. ETHICS. 333 however, this must not always be done. For if any one should be made a prisoner by robbers, it may be inquired whether he who redeems him should be redeemed in his turn, be he who he may : or, whether the price of redemption should be given to him who demands it as his due, though he has not been taken prisoner ; or whe- ther, in preference to all these, a father ought to be re- deemed. For it would seem that a man should rather ransom his father than himself. Universally, therefore, as we have said, a debt ought to be paid ; but if the /: donation surpasses in the beautiful or the necessary, wc should incline to it, [rather than to the discharge of a debt.] For sometimes it is not equitable to return a benefit which another person has first conferred, when he indeed conferred the benefit knowing that it was bestowed on a worthy man, but the retribution will be made to one whom he who is to make it believes to be a depraved man. For neither sometimes is a loan to be granted to Hm who has lent. For the one indeed, [i. e. the depraved man] thinking that he shall receive back what he has lent, grants a loan to the worthy man, but the other [i. e. the worthy man,] does not expect that what he has lent will be returned by the depraved man. Whether, therefore, the thing thus exists in reality, the merit of the parties is not equal, or whether it does not thus exist, but it is fancied that it dges, they will not appear to act absurdly. Therefore, as it has frequently been ob- served, assertions concerning passions and actions arc similarly definite and certain with the things about which ' they are conversant. It is not, therefore,- immanifest, that the same things are not to be bestowed on all men, nor all things on a father, as neither are all things to be sacrificed to Jupiter. Since, however, different things are to be returned to parents, brothers, associates, and bene- factors, a retribution is to be made to each of such thmgs i are proper and appropriate. And thus indeed men J^arVact. For'they invite, their kindred to wed dijgs -, since the genus of these is common, and, there- fore, the actions also which are conversant with this are common. For the same reason, likewise, they think it especially necessary that kindred should be present at fu- nerals But it would seem that it is especially necessary to supply our parents with nutriment, because we are their debtors ; and it is more beautiful to supply with these things the causes of our existence than ourselves Honour also is to be paid to parents as to the gods ; yet not every honour is to be paid to them. For neither is . the same honour to be paid to a father and mother ; nor again, to a wise man, or the general of an army ; but to 'a father paternal, and to a mother maternal honour is to be paid. To every elderly man, likewise, honour is to be paid according to his age, by rising ^om-^ur seat and resigning it to him, and by other things of the like kmd To associates again, and brothers, freedom of speech must be granted, and a participation in common of all things. To kindred, also, to those of the same tribe, to fellow-citizens, and to all the rest of mankind, we should endeavour lo distribute what is appropriate, and judi- ciously determine what pertains to each according to fami- liarity and virtue, or use. A judgment, therefore, may more easily be made respecting those who are of the same senus ; but in those of a different genus, the decision is more difficult. We must not, however, on this ac<:ount idesist, but determine as far as circumstances will permit, 334 THE NICOMACHEAN BPOK IX. CHAPTER III. The dissolution also of friendships is attended with a doubt, viz. whether friendship is to be dissolved with those who do not continue to be our friends. Or shall we say that with those who are friends on account of advan- tage and delight, when they no longer possess these, it is by no means absurd that the friendship should be dis- solved ? For they were the friends of these things [viz. of things advantageous and delectable,] and these failing, it is reasonable to suppose that they will no longer be attached to each other. He, however, may be [justly] accused, who loving another person on account of advan- tage or delight, pretends that he loves on account of manners, [i. e. virtuously]. For as we said in the begin- ning, numerous dissensions take place among friends, when they are not in reality such friends as they fancy they are. When, therefore, any one is deceived, an'd apprehends that he is beloved on account of his manners, though at the same time he does nothing that is virtuotis, he should blame himself. But when he is deceived by the pretensions of the other, it is just to accuse the de- ceiver, and more so than those who adulterate money, because the improbity pertains to a more honourable thing. If, however, he admittedhim into his friendship CHAP. HL ETHICS. 335 as a good man, but he becomes a bad man, or should appear to have become a bad man, is he still to be be- loved ? Or is this not possible ? Since not every thing deserves to be beloved, but that only which is good. Neither, therefore, is a bad man to be beloved, nor is it necessary that he should. For it is not fit to be a lover of what is depraved, nor to be assimilated to a bad man. And we have already observed that the similar is a friend to the similar. Is the friendship, therefore, to be imme- diately dissolved ? Or shall we say, not with all persons, but with those who are incurable on account of their depravity ? For assistance ought rather to be given to the manners of those who are capable of being correct- ed, than to their worldly possessions, because this is better, and more adapted to friendship. He, however, who dissolves such a friendship will appear not to act at all absurdly ; for he was not a friend to this man, or to a man of this description. Hence, as he cannot restore him, being thus changed, to virtue, he abandons him. But if the one indeed continues [such as he was at first,] and the other should become more worthy, so as very mxch to transcend in virtue, is the latter still to use the former as a friend ? Or is this not possible ? This, how- ever, becomes especially evident in a great interval, as in the friendships formed from childhood. For if one of these should still remain a child in understanding, but the other |^uld be a most excellent man, how can they be friends, when they are neither addicted to the same pursuits, nor delighted and pained with the same things ? JFor neither will these be present with them towards each ' other. But without' these they cannot be friends ; for they cannot live together. Concerning these particulars, iowever, we have already spoken, St§ll we say, there- 336 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. fore, [that when the friendship is dissolved,] the one ought nevertheless so to conduct himself towards the other as if he had never been his friend ? Or is it neces- sary that he should still retain the memory of their past friendship ? And as we think it is proper to gratify friends rather than strangers, thus also shall we say, something must be conceded to former friends, on account of pris- tine friendship, when the dissolution of it was not occa- sioned by an excess of depravity ? CHAPTER IV. With respect, however, to friendly offices, and those things by which friendships are defined, they seem to pro- ceed from the conduct of a man towards himself. For he is defined to be a friend who wishes well to another, and performs things which are really or apparently good for his sake ; or who wishes his friend to exist and live for his sake ; just as mothers are affected towards? their children, or friends who [for a time,] are offended with each other. Others, however, define a friend to be otie who lives with another person, and who chooses the same things, or mutually grieves and rejoices with him. But this also especially happens to mothers. By some om CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 337 of these particulars, likewise, they define friendship. Each of these, however, exists in the worthy man towards himself; but they exist in other men, so far as they ap- prehend themselves to be worthy. For it seems, as we have before observed, that virtue and a worthy man are a measure to every one ; since a worthy man accords \^ith himself, and aspires after the same things with his whole soul, [i. e. with both the rational and irrational part.] Hence, he wishes for himself both real and appa- rent good, and acts conformably to his wishes. For it is the province of a worthy man to labour in what is good, and this for his own sake ; since he labours for the sake of his dianoetic part, which each of us appears to be, [i. e. in which our very essence consists]. He also wishes that he himself rmy live and be preserved, and especially this part, by which he is wise ; for to a worthy man existence is a good thing. Every one, however, wishes well to himself. But there is no one, who, if he should become a different person from what he is, would choose [having lost his identity,] that the person into whom he is changed should possess all things. For now also God possesses good, but he [^alwai/s'] remains such as he is, whatever that mat/ be, * It would seem, however, that each of us is that which energizes intellectually, or that each of us is principally this. Such a man also wishes ^: » * Aristotle speaks thus reverentially of the inefFable principle of things, conformably to the practice of all the great philosophers and theologists of antiquity, who for the most part, as I have shown in my translation of Plato, pa&sed over this immense principle in silence, as well knowing it is only to be apprehended by extending in silence the ineffable parturitions of the soul, to its ineffable co- sensation. Hence, it was venerated by the Egyptians, as a thrice unknotum darkness, Arist, VOL. II. * X 33Q THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. fore, [that when the friendship is dissolved,] the one ought nevertheless so to conduct himself tovi^ards the other as if he had never been his friend? Or is it neces- sary that he should still retain the memory of their past friendship ? And as v^^e think it is proper to gratify friends rather than strangers, thus also shall we say, something must be conceded to former friends, on account of pris- tine friendship, when the dissolution of it was not occa- sioned by an excess of depravity ? CHAPTER IV. With respect, however, to friendly offices, and those things by which friendships are defined, they seem to pro- ceed from the conduct of a man towards himself. For he is defined to be a friend who wishes well to another, and performs things which are really or apparently good for his sake ; or who wishes his friend to exist and live for his sake ; just as mothers are affected towards their children, or friends who [for a time,] are offended with each other. Others, however, define a friend to be one who lives with another person, and who chooses the same things, or mutually grieves and rejoices with him. But this also especially happens to mothers. By some om CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 337 of these particulars, likewise, they define friendship. Each of these, however, exists in the worthy man towards himself; but they exist in other men, so far as they ap- prehend themselves to be worthy. For it seems, as we have before observed, that virtue and a worthy man are a measure to every one ; since a worthy man accords with himself, and aspires after the same things with his whole soul, [i. e. with both the rational and irrational part.] Hence, he wishes for himself both real and appa- rent good, and acts conformably to his wishes. For it is the province of a worthy man to labour in what is good, and this for his own sake ; since he labours for the sake of his dianoetic part, which each of us appears to be, [i. e. in which our very essence consists]. He also wishes that he himself mzy live and be preserved, and especially this part, by which he is wise ; for to a worthy man existence is a good thing. Every one, however, wishes well to himself. But there is no one, who, if he should become a different person from what he is, would choose [having lost his identity,] that the person into whom he is changed should possess all things. For now also God possesses good, but he [always] remains such as he is, whatever that may he, ^ It would seem, however, that each of us is that which energizes intellectually, or that each of us is principally this. Such a man also wishes * Aristotle speaks thus reverentially of the inefFable principle of things, conformably to the practice of all the great philosophers and theologists of antiquity, who for the most part, as I have shown in my translation of Plato, passed over this immense principle in silence, as well knowing it is only to be apprehended by extending in silence the ineffable parturitions of the soul, to its ineffable co- sensation. Hence, it was venerated by the Egyptians, as a thrice unknoum darkness, . Arist, VOL. II. X t 338 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX* to live with himself ; since he does this willingly. Fof the remembrance of what he has done is delightful 16 him, and his hopes of what is future are good ; but such things are delectable. He abounds likewise in his dianoe- tic part with contemplations ; and he is especially pained and pleased in conjunction with himself. For the same thing is always painful and pleasing to him, and not a different thing at a different time ; since, as I may say, he is without repentance, [i. e. he does nothing of which he has occasion to repent]. ' Since, therefore, each of « What Aristotle here says concerning the worthy man living with hhnself, accords with what Plato, in the Timaeus, asserts of the soul of the world. For among other prerogatives possessed by this soul, he says, "That the demiurgus, or its fabricating cause, esta- blished the world one single solitary nature, able through virtue to associate with itself, indigent of nothing external, and sufficiently known and friendly to itself. And on all these accounts he rendered the universe a happy god.^' On which passage, Proclus beautifully observes as follows ; « In what is now said, Plato clearly shows what the solitude is which he ascribes to the world, and that he calls that being solitary which looks to itself, and its own apparatus, and to the proper measure of its nature. For those who live in solitude are the saviours of themselves, so far as pertains to human causes. The universe, therefore, is after this manner solitary, as being sufficient to, and possessing the power of preserving itself, not through any diminution, but through a transcendency of power. He also add^, that it is sufficient to itself through virtue. ^ For among partial animals [such as men,] he alone who possesses virtue, is able to associate with, and love himself. But every bad man looking to his inward baseness, is indignant with himself, and his own essence, but is stupidly astonished by external things, and pur^ sues an association with others, in consequence of not being able to look into himself. The worthy man, however, perceiving him- self beautiful, rejoices and is delighted, and bringing forth in him- self beautiful conceptions, embraces the converse with himself. For we naturally become familiar with the beautiful, but turn awav from deformity.'^ . ^ CHAP. IV. ETHICS. S39 these things is present with the worthy man towards him- self, but he is disposed towards his friend in the same manner as towards himself; for a friend is another self; this being the case, the friendship also of these appears to be something, and those with whom these things are present appear to be friends. At present, however, we shall omit the consideratioti whether or not there can be friendship between a man and himself. But it would seem that there may be friendship between a man and himself, when the rational and irrational parts are no longer two things but one thing [through their union and consent ;] ' and also because an excess of friendship re- sembles the regard which a man has for himself. The particulars likewise which we have mentioned are seen to take place among the multitude, though they are de- praved characters. ' Shall we say, therefore, that so far as they are pleasing to themselves, and apprehend them- selves to be worthy, so far they participate of these things ? For these things are not inherent, nor do they even appear to be inherent in any one of those who are very depraved and wicked ; and nearly indeed they are not inherent even in those who are merely depraved. For they are discordant with themselves ; and, like the incontinent, they desire one thing, but wish another; for they choose delectable things which are noxious, instead of those things which appear to them to be good. Others, again, through timidity and indolence abstain from doing those things which they think are best for them- selves. But those by whom many and dreadful deeds are performed, and who are hated on account of then- » I have here adopted the reading mentioned by Eustratius, as morfe conformable to the meaning of Aristotle. 340 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. depravity, fly from life, and destroy themselves. De- praved men, likewise, search for those with whom they may pass their time, but fly from themselves ; for they recollect when they are alone the many crimes they have committed, and expect the evils which are attendant on such wickedness will befal them ; but they forget these when they are with others. Possessing likewise nothing amiable, they are not affected in a friendly manner to- wards themselves. Persons, therefore, of this descrip- tion, neither rejoice nor condole with themselves ; for their soul is in a state of sedition ; and one part of it in- deed is pained on account of depravity, when it abstains from certain things, but the other part is delighted. And the one part indeed draws thisy but the other that way, the soul as it were being lacerated [by sense and reason]. If, however, it is not possible for him to be at one and the same time pained and pleased, yet after a short time he is pained that he was pleased, and wishes that these delectable things had not befallen him ; for bad men are full of repentance. The bad man, therefore, does not appear to be disposed in a friendly manner even towards himself, because he possesses nothing amiable. But if it is very miserable to be in this condition, every one should strenuously fly from depravity, and endeavour to be worthy ; for thus a man will be disposed in a friendly manner towards himself, and will become the friend of others. ltSllte^VJit-'**«»M'"—'---^*"'P-"- ■'Jg-^— « J-''»-- ■■•^Ji.J.i- CHAP. V. ETHICS. 341 CHAPTER V.,- 'vi^-- J Benevolence, however, resembles indeed friendship, !yet is not friendship ; for benevolence may be exerted itowards unknown persons, and latently -, but friendship i cannot. These things, therefore, have been asserted before. But neither is it dilection ; for it has not either impulse or appetite ; and these are consequent to dilec tion. And dilection indeed subsists in conjunction with custom ; but benevolence may be suddenly produced. Thus the spectators sometimes become suddenly bene- volent towards those who contend for prizes at public solemnities, and unite with them in their wishes for suc- cess ; but they do not at all co-operate with them. For, as we have said, they become suddenly benevolent towards ^ them, and love them superficially. Benevolence, there, fore, appears to be the beginning of friendship ; just as the pleasure received through the sight is the begmnmg of love ; for no one loves who has not been previously delighted with the form [of the beloved object.]' He, » This observation of Aristotle, that the beginning of love is through the sight, reminds me of a very beautiful passage m the romance of Achilles Tatius. entitled the Loves of Chtophon and Leucippe, and which I earnestly recommend to the attentive perusal of every one who is incontinent in amatory concerns. The passage 842 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX, CHAP. V. ETHICS. 343 I however, who is dehghted with this form, does not love the more on that account, but his love is then more ardent, when he longs for the object of his love when absent, and desires her presence. Thus, also, it is im^ possible for men to be friends, unless they have been first benevolent. But those who are benevolent [only,] do not on this account love each other the more ; for they only wish well to those to whom they are benevOf lent ; but they do not co-operate with them in any thing, IS as follows : (lib. I.) Ovk ot^a^ dtov ttrnv i^u^in fcect fiMTirofiivn J ^u^o)M r^vriv ft»j it xecTOTTTpai rut (rufAotruv roe, iioaXx' i) oi rev KxXXovi eCTro^^ont ^* tnuTHf Ui T>j» ^^v^nv xur etf^^iov ITU,, i^'t tocs /t6<|.j^. S52 THE N1C0MACH£AN BOOK IX. if that which is really beautiful in conduct was that for which all men contended, and if they endeavoured to perform the most beautiful deeds, whatever is becoming would be possessed by all men in common, and the greatest of goods by every one particularly ; since virtue is a thing of this kind. Hence, it is necessary that a good man should be a lover of himself; for he himself is benefited by acting well, and he also benefits others. I But it is not proper that a depraved man should be a lover of himself ; for he will hurt both himself and his neighbours, in consequence of being subservient to base passions. With the depraved man, therefore, there is a dissonance between what he ought to do, and what he does ; but with tfie worthy man^ those things which he ought to do^ he also does. For every intellect chooses that which is best for itself; and the worthy man is obe- dient to intellect. That, however, which is asserted of the worthy man is true, that for the sake of his friends and his country, he will do many things, even though it should be requisite to die for them ; for he will give up riches and honours, and in short those goods which are the objects of contention vnth mankind, in order that he may vindicate to himself that which is beautiful in con- duct. For he will rather choose to be very much de- lighted for a short time, than to experience a small delight for a long time, and to live worthily for one year, than casually for many years. He will also prefer one beautiful and great action, to many and small actions. And this perhaps happened to be the case with those who have died [for their country, or their friends]. Worthy men, therefore, choose a great good for themselves ; and will give up their riches in order that they may obtain a greater number of friends. For thus, indeed, riches befal CHAP. VIII. ETHICS. 353 the friend of the worthy man, but that which is really beautiful befals the worthy man himself; but he distri- butes to himself the greater good. There is also the same mode of conduct with him as to honours and do- minion ; for he will give up all these to his friend ; for this to him is beautiful and laudable. Reasonably, there- fore, does he appear to be a worthy man, who chooses that which is beautiful in conduct instead of these things. It may likewise happen, that he may give up actions to his friend, and that it may be better for him to be the cause of their being performed by his friend, than to do them himself. Hence, in all laudable things, the worthy man appears to distribute to himself more of that which is truly beautiful. After this manner, therefore, as we have said, it is necessary that a man should be a lover of himself, but it is not proper he should be so in the way in which the multitude love themselves. Arist. VOL. H. 354, THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. CHAPTER IX. With respect to the happy man, also, it is doubted, whether he will be in want of friends or not. For it is said, that those who are blessed and sufficient to them- , selves have no need of friends ; because things ttuly Lood are present with them. As they are, therefore, Ly they) sufficient to themselves, they are not m want of any thing ; but a friend being a man's other self, im- parts to him those things which he cannot obtain through himself. Whence, also, it is said, « When divinity is propitious, what need is there of friends ?" It seems, , however, to be absurd that those who attnbute every \ good to the happy man, should not give him fne^ . I which appear to be the greatest of external goods. But ' if it is the province of a friend rather to benefit than to be benefited, and if it is also the province of a good man and of virtue to benefit, and it is better to do good to friends than to strangers, the worthy man will want those ^vho may be benefited by him. Hence, likewise, it is inquired, whether there is more need of friends in adver- shy tha; in prosperity ; because he who is unfortunate is in want of those by whom he may be benefited and the fortunate are in want of those whom they may bene- fit. Perhaps, however, it is also absurd- to make the blessed man a solitary being j for no one would choose. CHAP. IX< ETHICS. 355 to possess every good by himself; since man is a social /animal, and is naturally adapted to live with others. I This, therefore, will also be the case with the happy man ; for he possesses those things which are naturally I good. But it is evident, that it is better to pass the time ^ i with friends and worthy men, than with strangers and ^casual persons. Hence, the happy man has need of friends. In what respect, therefore, is the first assertion true [that the happy man is not in want of friends?] Is it because the multitude think those persons to be friends who are useful to them ? The blessed man, therefore, will not be in any want of such persons, since real good is present with him. Neither, therefore, will he be in want of those who are friends on account of the delecta- ble, or he will want them but for a short time ; for since his life is delightful, he will be in no want of adventitious pleasure. But not being in want of friends of this de- scription, he does not appear to be in want of friends. This, however, perhaps is not true. For it was ob- / served by us in the beginning, that felicity is a certain 1 energy ; but with respect to energy, it is evident that it is in generation, or is passing into existence,* and is not present with him who energizes, like a certain possession. But if to be happy consists in living and energizing, and the energy of the good man is of itself worthy and de- lectable, as we observed in the beginning ; if also that which is appropriate ranks among the number of things that are delightful, but we are more able to survey our / • yMxat. This word both with Aristotle and Plato signifies an extension of subsistence, and not mere existence, like tbe words TO iiViitf and ro «y. 356 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. / neighbours than ourselves, and their actions than our own ; and if the actions of worthy men that are friends, are delightful to good men, (for both have those things which are naturally delectable) — if this be the case, the blessed man will be in want of such friends as these, since he deliberately chooses to survey worthy and ap- propriate actions. But the actions of a good man who lis a friend are of this description. It is likewise thought to be necessary, that the happy man should live delect- ably. The life^ therefore, of a solitary man is indeed dif- ficult ; for it is not easy for a man to energize continually by himself, but with others, and towards others it is easy. > The energy, therefore, will be more continued which is i delectable by itself; which should necessarily be present with the blessed man. For the worthy man, so far as he is worthy, rejoices in the actions which are conformable to virtue, but is indignant with those which proceed from vice ; just as a musician is delighted with beautiful melo- dies, but is pained with those that are bad. A certain ex- ercise of virtue likewise will be produced from living with good men, as also Theognis says. To those, how- ever, who consider this affair more physically, it appears that a worthy friend is naturally eligible to a worthy man ; for it has been said by us, that what is naturally good, is of itself to a worthy man good and delectable. I To live, however, is in animals defined by the power of i sense, but in men by the power of sense or intellection. But power is referred to energy ; and that which has the principal authority in a thing consists in energy. It seems, therefore, that to live is properly either to perceive sensibly, or intellectually ; and to live is among the num- ber of things which are good and delectable ; for it is a definite thing. But that which is definite pertains to the CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 3,57 nature of the good, [as it also appeared to the Pythago- reans ;] and that which is naturally good, is also good to the worthy man. Hence to live appears to all men to be delightful. A depraved and corrupted life, however, ought not to be assumed, nor a life of pain ; for such a life is indefinite, as well as the things which belong to it. This^ however, will be more evident in what we shall say concerning pain hereafter. But if to live is itself good, it is also delectable. And it appears that it is so from this, that all men aspire after it, and especially wor- thy and blessed men ; for to these life is most eligible, and the life of these is most blessed. He, however, who sees, perceives that he sees, he who hears, perceives that he hears, and he who walks, perceives that he walks ; and in I a similar manner in other things there is something which perceives that we energize. But we may perceive that we perceive, and we may understand that we under- stand. For us, however, to perceive that we perceive, or to understand that we understand, is for us to be ; for we have said that our very being consists in perceiving sen- sibly or intellectually. But for a man to perceive that he lives, is among the number of things essentially delecta- ble; for life is naturally good. And for a man to per- ceive that good is present with him is delightful. But to live is eligible, and especially to good men, because existence to them is good and delectable; for, having a co-sensation of essential good, they are delighted. As however, the worthy man is disposed towards himself' thus also he is disposed towards his friend ; for a friend is another self. As, therefore, it is eligible to every one for himself to exist, thus also or similariy it is eligible to him for his friend to exist. But we have said, that ex- istence is eligible, because it is for a man to perceive S58 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. himself, which is good ; and a sensation of this kind is of itself delightful. It is necessary, therefore, that he should at the same time perceive that his friend exists ; but this will be effected by living together with him, and in a communication with him of words and thoughts, for it would seem that in this way men are said to live toge- ther, and not as cattle, by feeding in the same place. If, therefore, existence is of itself eligible to the blessed man, since it is naturally good and delectable, the like also must be asserted of a friend ; and hence a friend will be among the number of eligible things to the happy man. But that which is eligible to him, ought to be pre- ent with him ; or in this respect he will be indigent. pThe man, therefore, who is to be happy will require jworthy friends. CHAPTER X. Are numerous friends, therefore, to be procured ? or, as it appears to be elegantly said of hospitality, Want not, nor be of multitudes a guest ; may it also in friendship be appropriately said, that a man should neither be without a friend, nor again should have itMN8afiaiife^ ?.g*iBW»WMa*8r!5 CHAP. X. ETHICS. 3,59 an excessive multitude of friends ? This assertion there- fore, will indeed appear to be very much adapted to those who regard utility in friendship ; for to be alter- nately subservient to many persons is laborious, and life [is not sufficient to them to perform this. Hence, more j friends than are sufficient for the proper purposes of life, lare superfluous, and are impediments to a worthy life. JHence there is no need of them. And with respect to the friends that are procured for the sake of pleasure, a very few are sufficient ; in the same manner as sauce to food. But whether or not ought a good man to have many worthy friends ? Or shall we say that there is a certain measure of a multitude of friends, in the same manner as there is of a city ? For a city will not consist of ten men, nor is it any longer a city if it is composed of a hundred thousand men,' Perhaps, however, one certain number of citizens cannot be assigned, but every number may be admitted which is between certain defi- nite terms. Of friends, therefore, there is also a certain definite multitude ; and perhaps those persons are not numerous * with whom it is possible for a man to live ; for this appears to be a thing of a most friendly nature. ' For in a city consisting of a hundred thousand persons, the ci- tizens cannot be known to each other, and therefore it will not be so much a city as a region. Besides in a city properly so called, there must be orderly and good government : but it is impossible in a community of a hundred thousand men, for the governors to know the way in which every man lives, though this is essentially neces- sary to good government. Hence, in London, which is said to consist of a million of inhabitants, it is well known that twenty or thirty thousand persons rise every morning, without knowing how they shall subsist through the day. * In the original, «« TrXurroi ; but it should evidently be «o nXurr^i, 360 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX* But that It IS not possible for a man to live with many, and distribute himself among them, is not immanifest. Farther still, it is necessary [if the friends are numerous] that they should be friends to each other, if all of them intend to pass the time with each other ; but this among many friends is laborious. It is likewise difficult to re- joice and grieve appropriately together with many per- sons ; for it is probable that it may at one and the same time happen, that a man ought to rejoice together with >*.-».A^ ^■.j^^^^j^iit^^ 364 tHE NICOMACHEAN BOOK IX. CHAPTER XII. Whether, therefore, as to lovers the sight of the beloved object is most delectable, and they prefer this sense to the rest, because love especially subsists and is produced from this, thus also, it is most eligible to friends to live together? For friendship is communion. And m the same manner as a man is affected towards himself he is also affected towards his friend. But it is eligible to' every one to perceive with respect to himself, [that he exists and lives ;] and, therefore, this is also eligible with respect to a friend. This energy, however, is effected among fnends by living together ; so that this is reason- ably desired by them. And that in which to every one his very being consists, or for the sake of which he chooses to live, in this he wishes to pass his life with his friends. Hence some friends indeed drink together, others play at dice together, others engage in gymnastic exercises and hunt together, or philosophize together. But they severally pass their time together, in that to which of all things in life they are most attached. For wishing to live with their friends, they do these things, and communicate with them in these, through which they re of opinion they associate together. The friendship. CHAP. xn. ETHICS. 365 • 9^ ^therefore, of bad men is depraved ; for being unstable, "HnETiey communicate with each other in bad things ; and ^'they become depraved, being assimilated to each other. ? But the friendship of worthy men is worthy, and is mu- tually increased by mutual converse. They also appear to become better by energizing with and correcting each other. For they mutually express those things with which they are delighted ; whence it is said, 1 From good men what is good is learnt. ' And thus much concerning friendship. It remains to discuss, in the next place, pleasure. ' Theognis, v. 85. THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. BOOK X. \ Ptt^ tV CHAPTER I. '«.* After these things perhaps it follows that we should discuss pleasure;" for this appears to be especially fami- liar and allied to our race. Hence those who educate youth regulate them by pleasure and pain, as by a rud- « Aristotle in the 7th book considered pleasure so far as it is the matter of continence ; but in this book he considers it so far as it is the companion of felicity. Hence it appears that those critics were egregiously mistaken, who fancied that what is said concerning plea- sure near the end of the 7th book is spurious. But such mistakes witli mere verbalists, are by no means wonderful. ** 368 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. w 4 der. But It appears to be a thing of the greatest conse- quence with respect to the virtue of manners to rejoice m those things in which it is proper to rejoice, and to hate those things which it is proper to hate. For these things extend through the whole of life, and have a prepondera- tion and power towards virtue, and a happy life ; since things which are delectable, are indeed the objects of de- liberate choice, but those that are painful are avoided. It seems, however, that things of this kind are by no means to be passed over in silence, especially since they possess an abundant ambiguity. For some, indeed, say that good ; Itself is pleasure, but others on the contrary assert that pleasure is a very bad thing ; the former, indeed, being perhaps persuaded that it is so ; but the latter thinkbg that It will be more beneficial to our life, to evince that pleasure ranks among bad things, even though it should \ not. For the multitude tend to it, and are subservient to i-pleasures. Hence, say they, it is necessary to lead them ^jo the pursuit of the contrary to pleasure ; for thus they may arrive at the medium. Perhaps, however, this is not well said. For words respecting things which pertain to passions and actions, are less credible than deeds. When, therefore, they are discordant with the perceptions of sense, being despised they also subvert the truth. For he who blames pleasure, if he is at any time seen to de- - are it, seems to incline towards it, as if every pleasure was of this attractive nature ; for to distinguish [one ^pleasure from another,] is not the province of the multi- tude. True assertions, therefore, appear not only to be most useful with respect to knowledge, but also with respect to life ; for they are believed when they accord with deeds. Hence they exhort those who understand them to live conformably to them. ' Of things of this CHAP. II. ETHICS. 369 Idnd, therefore, thus much may suffice. Let us now dis- cuss the assertions of others concerning pleasure. CHAPTER II. EuDoxus, therefore, thought that pleasure was good itself, because all animals are seen to desire if, both such as are rational and such as are irrational. But in all things the eligible is good, and that which is especially eligible is the best of things. And because all things tend to the same thing, it is an indication that the object to which they tend, is to all things that which is most excellent. For every thing discovers that which is good ^o It, m the same manner as it discovers nutriment. Hence that which is good to all things, and which all things desire, is good itself. These arguments, however, are rendered credible, more through the virtuous man- ners of their author than through themselves ; for it appears that he was a remarkably temperate man. It does not seem, therefore, that he made these assertions as the friend of pleasure, but because he believed them to be true. It likewise appeared to him to be no less evident that pleasure is good itself, from the contrary. For pain is of itself avoided by all animals ; and in a similar manner, the contrary to pain is eligible to all Arisf. VOL. n. z 370 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. animals. But that is especially eligible, which w& choose not on account of something else, nor for the sake of another thing. It is, however, acknowledged that pleasure is a thing of this kind ; for no one asks another person what the final cause is why he is delighted ? as if pleasure were a thing eligible of itself, and which renders the good to which it is added more eligible ; such, for instance, as to act justly and temperately. The good, therefore, is itself increased by itself. This argument, ^ therefore, evinces that pleasure ranks among the number ; of goods, and that it is not more good than another good. For every good in conjunction with another good, is more eligible than when it is alone. Plato also subverts an argument of this kind, that pleasure is not good itself; for he says that a delectable life, in con- junction with wisdom, is more eligible than without it. But if the mixed life is better [than a life of pleasure alone,] pleasure will not be good itself; for good itself will not become more eligible by any thing being added to it. It is evident, however, that neither will any thing else be good itself, which in conjunction with something which is of itself good, becomes i^ore eligible. ' What, * What is here asserted by Aristotle, apparently in opposition to the doctrine of Plato in the Philebus, may be easily solved, by directing our attention, with Proclus, to the three orders of good, which are employed by Plato as so many steps in ascending to the supreme good. These three orders are, that good which is impar- ticipable and superessential ; that which is imparticipable and es- sential ; and that which is essential and participable. Of these, the last is such as our nature contains : the good which ranks among forms or ideas is essential ; and that which is beyond forms is superessential. Or wc may say, that the good which subsists in us may be considered as a habit, in consequence of its subsisting in a CHAP. II. ETHICS. 371 therefore, is the thing of this kind, of which we also pai:ticipate ? For a thing of this kind is the object of investigation. Those, however, who deny that it is good which all beings desire, say nothing to the purpose ; for we say that the thing which appears to all beings to exist, does exist. But he who subverts this belief, does not assert that which is very much more credible. For if they denied that to be good which is desired by beings subject ; the next to this ranks as essence, and a part of essence, I mean the good which subsists among forms ; and the last ranks as that which is neither a habit nor a part. When, therefore, Socra- tes, in the Republic, says, « That to the multitude pleasure seems, to be the good, and to the more elegant it seems to be prudence," he signifies that good which is resident in our nature, and which from its being an impression of the ineflPable principle of things, xn:iy be called the summit or flower of our essence. And when he also says that the idea of the good is the greatest discipline, which renders both such things as are just, and other things which employ it, useful and profitable, and that we do not sufficiently know it ; — these assertions accord with the good which is in us, with that which is in forms, and with that which is understood to be prior to all things. For the idea of the good signifies a partici- pated form, a separate intelligible, and that which has a separate subsistence prior to intelligibles ; since the term idea, according to | Plato, indicates that object of desire which is established prior to all things, vi», prior to all things belonging to a certain series. Thus, for instance, the good in our nature is prior to every thing else pertaining to the soul ; the good which ranks among forms is prior to every thing which is the source of essential perfection ; and the good which reigns in the intelligible world is prior to every series, and to all things. In consequence of this triple meaning, therefore, of the term the good, the objections of Aristotle are made as if Plato, in what he says of good in the Philebus, directed his attention to the supreme good, the principle of all things, and not to that good which is resr* dent in our nature, and is derived from the supreme good. •\«,/ S72 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. destitute of intellect, there would be some truth in what they say ; but if they also deny that to be good which beings endued with prudence and wisdom desire, how will they say any thing which can be admitted ? Perhaps, also, even in bad men there is a certain natural good, which transcends their depravity,' and which aspires after its proper good. Neither does that which is assert- ed of the contrary to pleasure appear to be well said. For it does not follow, say they, that if pain is an evil, pleasure is good ; since evil is opposed to evil, and both good and evil are opposed to that which is neither. And these things, indeed, are asserted by them not badly, yet they are not true when applied to the present subject. For if both pleasure and pain were bad, it would be requisite that both should be avoided; but if neither is bad, neither is to be avoided, or each is similarly to be avoided. But now, indeed, it appears that pain is avoid- ed as an evil, and that pleasure is chosen as a good. In this manner, therefore, they are opposed to each other. « Conformably to this, also, Plato in his Laws says, " That in the souls of certain vicious persons, there is something divine^ and a power of distinguishing well." CHAP. III. ETHICS. 373 CHAPTER III. Neither does it follow that if pleasure is not among the number of qualities, it is not on this account good ; for neither are the energies of virtue qualities, nor is felicity a quality. They say, therefore, that good is definite, but that pleasure is indefinite, because it receives the more and the less. Hence, if they form this judg- ment from the being delighted, the same thing will also take place injustice, and the other virtues, in which men evidently assert that there is more and less of things of this kind ; for some are more just and brave than others. It is likewise possible to act justly and to live temperate- ly, in a greater and less degree. But if they admit this to take place in pleasures, they do not seem to have as- signed the cause of it ; if some pleasures indeed are un- mingled, but others are mingled. What however hin- ders but that, in the same manner as health, which is a definite thing, receives the more and the less ; this, also, may be the case with pleasure? For there is not jthe same symmetry in all things, nor is there always one certain symmetry in the same thing ; but suffering a re- mission, it remains for a certain time, and differs in the more and the less. A thing of this kind, therefore; may also happen to pleasure. As tiley likewise admit that good itself is perfect, but that motions and genera- 374 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X, CHAP. HI. ETHICS, 375 tions are imperfect, they endeavour to show that pleasure IS motion and generation. They do not, however, ap- pear to assert this well, since pleasure is not motion. For to all motion swiftness and slowness appear to be appro- priate, and though not per se, such as to the motion of the world, ' yet they are appropriate with reference to another motion. But neither of these is inherent in pleasure. For it is possible, indeed, to be rapidly de- lighted, in the same manner as it is possible to be swift- ly enraged ; but it is not possible for the delight itself to be swift or slow, not even with reference to something else. It IS possible, however, that walking and augmen- tation, may be swift or slow, and every thing else of the like kind. Hence, it is possible to be changed quickly and slowly into pleasure ; but it is not possible to ener- gize swiftly according to it 3 viz. to be delighted swiftly according to it. And in what manner will pleasure be generation ? For It appears that not any casual thing is generated from any casual thing, but that a thing is dissolved into that from which it was generated. And that of which pleasure is the generation, of this pain is the corruption. They also say, that pain is the indigence of that which is according to nature ; but that pleasure is the complete fulness of it. But these are corporeal passions. If, therefore, pleasure is the complete fulness of that which subsists according to n^iture, that in which this fulness takes place will also * Viz. Of the inerratic sphere. For this sphere, in consequence of the equability of its motion, receives neither swiftness nor slow- ness, as is demonstrated in the treatise On the Heavens ; but if it is compared with the motions of the planets, it will be found that it* motion is much swifter than their motions.— -Eustratius. be delighted. Hence, the body will be delighted ; but . it does not appear that this is the case. Pleasure, there- fore, is not complete fulness. But complete fulness, in- deed, taking place, some one may be delighted, and when cut he may be pained. This opinion, however, appears to have originated from the pleasures and pains pertain- ing to food ; for when we are in want of nutriment, and have been previously pained in consequence of this want, we are delighted with being completely filled. This, however, does not happen to be the case in all pleasures. For mathematical pleasures are unattended with pain, and also those sertsible pleasures which subsist through the smell, the hearing, and the sight. Many recollec- tions, also, and hopes are unattended with pain. Of what, therefore, will these be the generations ? For in these there has been no previous indigence of any thing, of which these may be the complet« fulness. But to those who adduce disgraceful pleasures [in confirmation of this opinion, it may be said that these are not simply j delectable. For it must not be admitted, that if these are delightful to those who are badly disposed, they are also simply delectable, but that they are so to these only; as neither are those things simply salubrious, or sweet, or bitter, which appear to be so to those who are dis- eased ; nor, again, are those things white whic4i appear to be so to those whose eyes are dimmed with rheum. It may likewise be said in reply, that pleasures are indeed eligible, yet not from these things ; just as to be rich is eligible, yet not by treachery ; and to be well is eligible, yet not by eating any kind of food. Or it may be said, that pleasures are specificaily different. For those plea-^ sures which are produced by worthy, are different from 1 those which are produced by base pursuits, and it is not ^ y 376 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. possible for any one to be delighted with the pleasure of a just man who is not just, or with the pleasure of a musician who is not a lover of music ; ajid in a similar manner in other things. A friend, also, who is a diffe- rent person from a flatterer, appears to evince that plea- sure is not good, or that pleasures are specifically diffe- rent ; for it seems that the association of a friend is with a view to good, but of a flatterer, with a view to plea- sure ; and the one is reprobated, but the other is praised, in consequence of their associations being directed to different ends. Besides, no one would choose to live, possessing a puerile understanding through the whole of life, and being delighted as much as possible with those things which, are the objects of puerile delight ; nor would any one choose so to rejoice in doing something most base, as never to be grieved for having done it. We likewise earnestly apply ourselves to many things, though they should procure us no pleasure, such as to see, to recollect, to know, and to possess the virtues. But it makes no difference, if pleasure follows these things from necessity ; for we should choose these, though no pleasure should be produced from them. That plea- sure, therefore, is not good itself, and that all pleasure is not eligible, appears to be evident, as likewise that some pleasures are eligible of themselves, but differ in species, or in the things from which they are produced. And thus much may suffice with respect to what is asserted by others concerning pleasure and pain. t i^icSJii^ ti ife«tf^tfai!8BA^ 'fa'gtbaitoa' j^^'&^^Jte^. SsSf^^-^ m- . 4 *- ■■■ f J ■" -lii CHAP. IV. ETHICS. 377 CHAPTER IV. What pleasure, however, is, or what kind of thing it is, will become more evident, by resuming the consi- deration of it from the beginning. For the sight, in- deed, seems to be perfect at any time ; since it is not indigent of any thing, which, taking place afterwards, will give perfection to its form. But pleasure seems to re- semble a thing of this kind ; for it is a certain whole. Nor can a pleasure be assumed at any time, the form of which would be perfected by the accession of a longer time. Hence, neither is it motion ; for all motion is in time, and is referred to a certain end. Thus, for instance, the motion which exists in building a temple is perfect, when it effects that which it desires to accomplish. It is perfect, therefore, either in the whole of the time, or in this time. But in the parts of the time, all the motions are imperfect, and are specifically different from the whole motion, and from each other. For the composi- tion of the stones is different from the erection of the pillar at right angles, and these motions are different from the fabrication of the temple. And the motion, indeed, employed in building the temple is perfect ; for it is in want of nothing to the propos^ end ; but the motion employed in laying the foundation and the roof is 378 THE NICOMACHJZAN fiOQK X. CHAP. IV. ETHICS. S79 imperfect ; for each pertains to a part. The motions, therefore, are specifically different, and it is not possible to assume a motion perfect in its species in any time, ex- cept the whole time. The like also takes place in walk- mg and other motions. For if lation is a motion from one place to another, the specific differences of this mo- tion are, flying, walking, leaping, and the like. And not only so, but in walking itself there is a difference ; for the motion from one place to another in walking, is not the same in the stadium and a part of the stadium, and in the different parts of it. Nor is the mutation of place the same in passing through this line and t!iat, [viz. in passing through a curve and a straight line.] For not only a line is passed through, but a line existing in place ; and this line is in a different place from that. We have, therefore, accurately discussed motion else-* where, [i. e. in the 5th book of the Physics.] Hence, it appears that motion is not perfect in every time, but that the multitude of motions are imperfect, and specifi. cally different, since they are formalized by proceeding from one place to another. The form however of plea- sure is perfect in any time. It is evident, therefore, that motion and pleasure are different from each other', and that pleasure is something whole and perfect. This would also seem to be evident, from the impos- sibility of being moved except in time, but the possibility of being delighted without time, [i. e. in an instant ;] for that which is effected in the now, or an instant, is'a cmain whole. From these things, however, it is mani- fest, that it is not well said that pleasure is motion or gene^tion; for motion and generation are not predi- cated of all things, but of those only which may be dis- tributed into parts, and are not wholes. For there is not generation of sight, nor of a point, nor of the monad ; nor is there either motion or generation of these. Nei- ther, therefore, is there of pleasure ; for it is a certain whole. Hence, from what has been said, it is evident that a certain pleasure is conjoined with every sense I in energy, which energizes without being impeded, *" ^But the energy of the sense is perfect which is well dis- posed towards the most beautiful of the objects that fall under that sense ; for perfect energy appears to be espe- cially a thing of this kind. It is, however, of no conse- quence, whether it is said, that the sense itself energizes, or that in which it exists. But in every thing, the energy is the most excellent of that which is disposed in the best manner towards the most excellent of the things which are subject to it. But this energy will be most perfect and most delightful. For there is pleasure ac- cording to every sense ; and in a similar manner, accord- , ing to every discursive energy of the soul, and every ! contemplation. But lijie most perfect energy is the most I delectable ; and that is the most perfect which is the i energy of that whicl^f is well disposed towards the best of \ the things subject to it. Pleasure, however, perfects ■ energy. But pleasure does not perfect energy after the stme manner as the object of sense perfects sense, when both are in a good condition ; just as neither are health and a physician similarly the cause of being made well. It is evident, however, that pleasure is produced accord- ' ing to each of the senses ; for we say that things which are seen, and things which are heard, are delectable. And it is also evident, that they are especially delectable, when > I have here adopted the emendation proposed by Eustratius, 380 THE NICOMACHBAN BOOK X. the sense is most excellent, and energises about the most excellent object. But where the sensible object, and / that which perceives it, are things of this kind, there will / always be pleasure, the agent and patient being present / ^^^'.^o^^li.2?Siects^,^ergY, not as an inherent habit, but as a certain supervening end, such as the flower of age in those who are in their acme. As long, how- ever, as that which is sensible or intelligible, is such as it ought to be, and also that which judges or contemplates, pleasure will be in energy ; for when that which is pas- sive and that which is active are similar, and subsisting after the same manner with reference to each other, the same thing is naturally adapted to be produced. How therefore, does it happen that no one is continually de' lighted ? Is it because he becomes [at length] weary ? For all human concerns are incapable of energizing coni tmually. Neither, therefore, can pleasure be generated m an uninterrupted continuity ; for it is consequent to energy. Some things, however, delight when they are new ; but afterwards for this reason [because pleasure cannot be generated incessantly] do net similarly delight. For at first, indeed, the discursive power of the soul in- clines towards, and intently energizes about these, in the same manner as those who look intently at any thing. Afterwards, however, an energy of this kind is no longer /produced, but it becomes remiss. Hence, the plea- / sure also is obscured. It may, however, be thought that all men aspire after pleasure, because all of them desire to live; but life is a certain energy; and every / one energizes about and in those things which he espe- V cially loves. Thus, for instance, the musician energizes with the hearing about melodies, but the lover of disci- plines energizes with the discursive power of his soul ^^XffSlfK^JlMiAi£lli'«i. "■ Hb-i-Jw - ■ ti. CHAP. V. ETHICS. 381 about theorems, and in a similar manner the lover of other pursuits. But pleasure perfects energies ; andjt likewise per£ects-fife, which is the abject of desire. Rea- sonably, therefore, do all men aspire after pleasure ; for it gives perfection to the life of each, which is an eligible thing. We shall, however, omit for the present to con- j sider, whether we choose to live on account of pleasure, or choose pleasure for the sake of living ; for these things appear to be conjoined, and do not admit of being sepa- ^ rated. For pleasure is not produced without energy, and pleasure gives perfection to every energy. CHAPTER V. Hence, also, pleasures appear to be specifically diffe- rent ; for we are of opinion that things specifically diffe- rent, are perfected through [perfections] specifically dif- ferent. For this appears to be the case both with natu- ral and artificial productions ; as, for instance, with ani- mals and trees, pictures and statues, houses and furniture. In a similar manner, therefore, we are of opinion, that energies specifically different, are perfected by things that differ in spefcies. But the energies of the discursive powers of reason, differ from the energies of the senses. 382 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. CHAP. V. ETHICS. 383 and these are specifically different from each other Hence, also the pleasures which give perfection to these' are specifically different. This, however, will also be- come apparent from hence, that each of the pleasures is intimately familiarized with the energy which it perfects. For appropriate pleasures co-increase energy ; smce those who energize in conjunction with pleasure, energize ,about every thing more accurately, and with more exqui- ; sue judgment. Thus, for instance, those become [more / excellent] geometricians, who are delighted to geome- V trize, and they understand in a greater degree evei^ thing geomemcal. The like also takes place with the lover! of music, the lovers of architecture, and the lovers of the other arts ; for each of these makes a proficiency in his ^. proper employment, if he delights in it. Pleasures ^ therefore, co-increase energies ; but things which co' increase are appropriate ; and to things which are spe- cifically different, the things also which are appropriate are specifically different. Again, this will in a greater degree become apparent, from considering that pleasures which are produced from different thing? are an impedt ment to energies. For the lovers of the flute cajinot attend to discourse if they hear any one playing on the tiute, in consequence of being more delighted with the inelody of the flute, than with the present energy fi e than with what is said.] The pleasure, therefore which .s produced by the melody of the flute, corrupts the energy of discourse. And in a similar manner, this also happens m other things, when a man energizes at cne and the same time about two things ; for the more delectable energy expels the other ; and this in a still greater degree. |f it very much surpasses in pleasure, so as to reader ,t impossible to energjze according to the Other energy. Hence, when we are very much deh'ghted with any thing, we do not in any great degree perform any thing else ; but w^hen we are only moderately pleas- ed with certain things, we can do others. Thus, those who in the theatres eat sweetmeats, are especially accus- tomed to do this when the performers act badly. Since, however, appropriate pleasure gives accuracy to energies, and renders them more lasting and better, but foreign pleasures corrupt them, it is evident that these pleasures differ very much from each other. For nearly foreign pleasures effect the same thing as appropriate pains, p. e. as the pains which are consequent to certain energies.] Thus, if it is unpleasant and painful to any one to write \ or to any one to reason ; the former, indeed, will not v^Tite, and the latter will not reason, in consequence of the energy being painful. From appropriate pleasures and pains, therefore, that which is contrary happens about energies. But those pleasures and pains are ap- propriate, which are essentially consequent to energy. And with respect to foreign pleasures, we have already observed, that they effect something similar to pain, for they corrupt, though not in a similar manner. Since, however, energies differ in probity and depra- vity, and some of them indeed being eligible, but others to be avoided, and others being neither, pleasures also have a similar mode of subsistence : for there is an ap* prppXiM^Bk?^?.l^^.§ JiL6 v^ry ,eiiergy^ The pleasure, there- fore, which is appropriate to a worthy energy is v/orthy, but that which is appropriate to a bad energy, is de- praved ; for the desires, indeed, of things truly beautiful are laudable, but of base things are blameable. The \ I -f i*«''ji ..-■«■-»■■■ 384 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. J ■ \ pleasures however which are in energies, are more appro- priate to the energies than desires are. For desires, indeed, are separated [from energies,] by times, and by nature ; but pleasures are proximate to energies, and are so indistinct from them, as to render it dubious, whe- ther energy is the same with pleasure. It does not appear, however, that pleasure is either the discursive energy of reason or sense j for it would be absurd [to suppose that it is ;j though on account of the inseparabi- hty of pleasure from energy, it seems to certain persons to be the same with it. As, therefore, energies are dif. ferent, so likewise pleasures. But the sight differs from the touch in purity, and the hearing and the smell from the taste. Hence, the pleasures also of these senses similarly differ ; and those which pertain to the discur- sive energy of reason, likewise differ, and both these differ from each other. It seems, however, that there is an appropriate pleasure to every animal, just as there also is an appropriate work ; for this pleasure is that which sub- sists according to energy. And this will be apparent from a survey of each particular. For there is one plea- sure of a horse, another of a dog, and another of a man; and, as Heraclitus says, an iss would prefer straw to gold; because food is more delectable to asses than gold. The pleasures, therefore, of animals specifically different, are likewise specifically different, but it is reasonable to sup- pose that the pleasures of the same animals are without a [specific] difference. There is no small variety, how- iever,in pleasures among men; for the same things are pamful to some and pleasing to others ; and to «ome, in- .deed, they are painful and odious, but to others delecta- ble and lovely. This, likewise, happens to be the case in sweet things ; for the same things do not appear sweet to CHAP. V. ETHICS. 385 a man in a fever, and to one who is well ; nor does the same thing appear to be hot to him who is weak, and to him who is of a good habit of body. And in a similar man- ner this happens to be the case in other things. In all such things as these, however, that [is simply delectable J which appears to be so to the worthy man. But if this is well said, as it appears that it is, and virtue is the measure of every thing, and a good man so far as he is good, those things will be pleasures which appear to be so to the good man, and those things will be delectable in which 1 he rejoices. It is, however, by fio means wonderful, if things which appear to him to be of a troublesome na- tare, should to another person [of a different character,] appear to be delectable. For many corruptions and noxious circumstances happen to men; but these are not [simply] delectable, except to these persons, and to those who are thus disposed. With respect, therefore, to those plea- sures which are acknowledged to be base, it is evident that they are not to be called pleasures, except by cor- rupt men. But with respect to those pleasures which appear to be worthy, what is the quality of the pleasure, or what shall we say the pleasure is, which is proper to men ? Or shall we say, that this is evident from energies ? For pleasures are consequent to these. Whether, there- fore, there is one energy, or whether there are many energies of the perfect and blessed man, the pleasures which give perfection to these, may be properly called the pleasures of man ; but the remaining pleasures, in the same manner as the energies, may be denommated the pleasures of man secondarily and multifariously. ArisL VOL. II. o A ^iae;»*;aad». ijtJx\at. JWwai><'^Vidfci.»twrfsiCfjtiawrf^»*'>i 386 THE JJICOMACHEAN BOOK X. CHAP. VI. CHAPTER VI. Havikg therefore spoken concerning the virtues, and friendships, and pleasures, it remains that we should delineate felicity, since we admit that it is the end of human concerns. Hence, by recapitulating what we have before said, the discussion will be more concise. We have said, then, that felicity is not a habit ; for if it were, it might be present with him who passes the whole of his life in sleep, living the life of a plant, and also with him who is involved in the greatest calamities. If, therefore, these things cannot be admitted, but felicity musi^^rather be referred to a certain energy, as we have before observed, but of energies, some are necessary and eligible on account of other things, and others are eligible of themselves; — if this be the case, it is evident that felici- ty must be admitted to be some one of the energies which are of themselves eligible, and not one of those which are eligible on account of something else. For felicity is not indigent of any thing, but is sufficient to itself. But those energies are eligible of themselves, from which nothing except the energy is the object of investigation. But the actions which are conformable to virtue, appear to be things of this kind j for to perform beautiful and ETHICS. 387 irorthy deeds ,s among the number of things which are of themselves eligible ; and among diversions, this is also the case wuh those that are delectable; since they are not chosen on account of other things. For those who are addicted to them are rather injured than benefited m consequence of neglecting their bodies and possessions! / Many of those, however, who are said to be happy men fly to diversions ; on which account those who are versa! lie msuch-hke methods of spending their time are e^ eemed by tyrants For they render themselves pleasing m those things which they desire ; and they are in want of persons of this description. These things, therefore appear to pertain to felicity, because men in authority" and power are at leisure for these. Perhaps, however persons of this description are no indication [that these' things pertain to felicity.] For neither virtue, nor intef- ^ect, from which worthy energies proceed, consist i4 cbmimon and power. Nor, if these men, not having V tasted of genmne and liberal pleasure, fly to corporeal p easures, must it be supposed that on this account these pleasures are more eligible ; for children also fancy that thmgs which are honoured by them, are the best of thmgs. It ,s reasonable, therefore, to admit, that as dif- ferent things appear to be honourable to children and men, so likewise to bad and worthy men. Hence, as we have frequently said, those things are honourable and de- lectable, which are so to the worthy man. But the energy to every one is most eligible which is according to an appropriate habit ; and to the worthy man the energy is most eligible which is according to virtue Feli ' city, therefore, does not consist in diversions. For it is \ absurd to admit that diversion is the end [i. e. the chief good of man,] and that the whole of life is to be busily ' / II 388 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X, employed, and molestations endured for the sake of in- - dulging in sports; since, as I may say, we choose all things for the sake of something else, except felicity ; for this is the end. But to act seriously, and to labour for the sake of diversion, appears to be foolish and very puerile. He, however, who engages in sports, in order that he may act seriously, which Anacharsis thought was proper, appears to be right ; for diversion resembles re- pose. But as men are incapable of labouring incessantly, they require relaxation. Relaxation, however, is not an end ; for it subsists for the sake of energy. But a happy life appears to be conformable to virtue ; and this is a Worthy life, and does not consist in amusements. We likewise say that serious pursuits are better than those that are ridiculous and accompanied with jesting and sport, and that the energy of the better part and tlie better man is always more worthy. But the energy of that which is better is more excellent, and more adapted to felicity. Any casual person, also, and a slave may enjoy corporeal pleasures no less than the best of men. No one, however, would ascribe felicity to a slave, unless they also ascribe to him a worthy life. For felicity does not consist in sports and corporeal pleasures, but in the energies according to virtue, as we have before ob- served. LJ/Hjf.^ CHAT. VII. ETHICS. 389 CHAPTER VII. If, however, felicity is an energy according to virtue, it is reasonable to suppose that it is an energy according to the most excellent virtue ; and this will be the virtue of the most excellent [part or power.'] Whether, ' Aristotle having spoken of the physical virtues in the 6th book, (p. 463,) and having largely discussed the ethical and political vir- tues, as far as to the present book, now directs his attention to the vir- tues called theoretic, or contemplative. In order, however, to show that the division made by Plato and the best of his disciples, of the virtues, is also adopted by Aristotle, the following summary ac- count of them from the Platonic Olympiodorus is subjoined r The first of the virtues are the physical, which (as has been before observed) are common to brutes, being mingled with the tempera- ments, and for the most part contrary to each other ; or rather per- taining to the animal. Of these virtues Plato speaks in the Politicus and the Laws. The ethical virtues, which are above these, are inge- nerated by custom, and a certain right opinion, and are the virtues of children when well educated. These virtues, also, are to be found in some brute animals. They likewise transcend the tempera- ments, and on this account are not contrary to each other. These virtues Plato delivers in the Laws. They pertain, however, at the same time both to reason and the irrational nature. In the third rank above these are the political virtues, which pertain to reason alone ; for they are scientific. But they are the virtues of reason adorning the irrational part as its instrument : through prudence adorning the gnostic, through fortitude the irascible power, and 390 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. merefore, this be the intellect, or something else which appears to rule and be the leader by nature, and to have a conception of things beautiful and divine ; or whether through temperance, the power of the soul which is characterized by desire ; but adorning all the parts of the irrational nature through justice. And of these virtues P)ato speaks much in the Republic. These virtues, too, follow each other. Above these are the cathartic virtues, which pertain to reason alone, withdrawing from other thmgs to itself, throwing aside the instruments of sense as va.n, repressing also the energies through these instruments, and hberatmg the soul from the bonds of generation. Plato particularly discusses these virtues in the Phsedo. Prior to these, however are the theoretic virtues, which pertain to the soul, introducing' Itself to natures superior to itself, not only gnostically. as some one may be mduced to thi„k from the name, but also orectically ; for it hastens to become, as it were, intellect instead of soul ; and intellect possesses both desire and knowledge. These virtues are the' con- verse of the political ; for as the latter energize about things subor- dmate accordmg to reason, so the former about things more excel- lent accordmg to intellect. These virtues Plato delivers in the Thztetus. I omit to mention another gradation of the virtues besides these VIZ. the paradigmatic, because they are not mentioned by Aristotle But for an account of them, I refer the reader to my translation of Plato, vol. IV. p. 273. I shall only add, that to the superficial reader it will doubtless appear that Aristotle has omitted to mention the cathartic virtues, and that these virtues therefore form no part of the Peripatetic sys- tem of ethics. To this I reply, that Aristotle does not indeed expressly mention these virtues, but that he evidently alludes to their existence in the eighth chapter of this book, when he says that the ethical virtue, are connected Mi the passions, and subsist about the composite Jrom soul and body. Hence, as the theoretic virtues are not connected with the passionsj and therefore, as he says, the hfe accordmg to intellect is divine, with respect to human life these virtues evidently require to their existence a previous purification rom the passions ; and this purification frqm the passions consti- tutes the cathartic virtues. \ ■■^/esSeamiiit.^ tt* ■- CHAP. VII. ETHICS. S91 it IS Itself divine, or the most divine of all our parts ; the energy of this, according to its proper virtue, will be-^ perfect felicity. But we have said that this energy is con- templative. And this appears to accord with what we before asserted, and also with truth. For this energy is the most excellent ; since intellect is the best of all our parts, and of objects of knowledge those are the most ex- cellent about which intellect is conversant. This energy * also is most continued : for we are able to contemplate more iricessantly than to perform any action whatever. We likewise think that pleasure ought to be mingled with felicity; but the energy according to wisdom is acknowledged to be the most delectable of all the ener- gies according to virtue. Wisdom, therefore, appears to possess pleasures admirable both for their purity and sta- bility. It is reasonable also to think that those who pos- i I sess knowledge, live more pleasantly than those who \ \ investigate. That, too, which is called self-sufficiency, ' ) will especially subsist about the contemplative energy. ' For of the necessaries of life, the wise and the just man, and the rest of those who possess the moral virt:ues, are in want ; but even when they are sufficiently supplied with these, the just man is in want of those towards whom, and together with whom, he may act justly ; and in like manner the temperate and the brave man, and each of the rest. But the wise man when alone is able to contemplate ; and by how much the wiser he is, by so much the more does he possess this ability. Perhaps, , indeed, he will contemplate better when he has others to |. co-operate with him ; but at the same time he is most ' sufficient to himself. This energy alone, likewise, will \ appear to be beloved for its own sake, for nothing else is \ produced from it besides contemplation. But from ' 392 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X; I things of a practical nature we obtain something more or less besides the action itself. Felicity also appears to consist in leisure : for we engage in business that we may jbe at leisure, and we wage war that we may live in peace. JThe energies therefore of the political virtues consist either in political or in military transactions ; but the ac- tions which are conversant with these appear to be full of employment. This indeed is perfectly the case with military transactions : for no ©ne chooses to wage war, or prepare for it, for the sake of waging war ; since he would appear to be perfectly a homicide who should make enemies of his friends for the sake of fighting and '^^ slaughter. The energy too of the politician is of a busy ^. nature, and, besides the management of public affairs, is '^ employed in procuring dominion and honour, or a felicity for himself and the citizens different from the political- energy, which, also, as something different, we evidently investigate. If, therefore, political and military actions surpass in beauty and magnitude all other virtuous ac- tions, but these are of a busy nature, aspire after a certain end, and are not eligible for their own sakes; but the energy of intellect, which is contemplative, appears to j excel other energies in ardor, and to desire no other end ' besides itself; if also it possesses a proper pleasure, which increases its energy, and has, in addition to this, self- sufficiency, leisure, and unwearied power, so far as the condition of human nature will permit, with whatever else is attributed to the blessed, and appears to subsist ac-. cording to this energy ;— if such be the case, this will be the perfect felicity of man, when it receives a perfect length of life : for nothing belonging to felicity is imper- lect. Such a life, however, will be more excellent than that which is merely human 5 for man will not thus live so i chap: VII. ETHICS. 393, far as he is man, but so far as he contains in himself some- / thing divine. And as much as this part excels the composite, so much does its energy surpass the energy belonging to every other virtue. If, therefore, intellect is divine with respect to man, the life, also, according to intellect will be divine with respect to human life. Nor ought we, according to the exhortation of certain persons, to be {Wise in human affairs, since we are men, nor to regard \ jmortal concerns, since we are mortal ; but as much as f^^ J>ossible we should immortalize ourselves, and do every thing in order to live according to our most excellent : ipart. For this part, though it is small in bulk, far excels * 11 things in power and dignity. It would seem, also, that each of us is this part,' since that which obtains do- minion is also more excellent. It would therefore be absurd for a nxan not to choose his own life, but the life of something else. That too which was before asserted, accords with what is now said : for that which is inti- mately allied to any nature is most excellent and pleasant to that nature ; and hence, a life according to intellect I will be most excellent and pleasant to man, since this \ part is most eminently man. This life, therefore, is also most happy. ' The true man, both according to Aristotle and Plato, is intel- \ lect : for the essence of every thing is the summit of its nature. j » V •' I ■^f 394 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOKX. CHAPTER VIII. But that felicity ranks in the second place which sub- sists according to another virtue;' for the energies ac- cording to this virtue are human. For we act justly and bravely, and perform other things conformable to the virtues, towards each other, in contracts, in necessaries, in all-various actions, and in the passions, preserving to every one that which is fit and decorous. All these things, however, appear to be human. Some things,, likewise, appear to happen from the body, and the virtue of manners is in many instances conjoined, and rendered familiar with the passions. Prudence, also, is conjoined with the virtue of manners, and the virtue of manners with pru- dence ; since the principles, indeed, of prudence subsist ac- cording to the ethical virtues, and the rectitude of the ethi- cal virtues subsists according to prudence. These, however, are connected with the passions, and will subsist about the composite [or that which consists of soul and body]. But the virtues of the composite are human. The life, therefore, and the felicity conformable to them, will also be human. The felicity, however, of intellect is separate ; Viz. The felicity which consists in an active life, or in the exercise of prudence, and the moral virtues. CHAP. VIII, ETHIOS. 395 for thus much may be asserted concerning it;' since to discuss it accurately is a greater undertaking than is adapted to the present treatise. It would also seem that this felicity requires but little of external supply, or less than^ ethical felicity. For let it be admitted that both require necessaries, and this equally ; (though the politi- cal character labours in a greater degree about the bodv and things of this kind) since this is but of small conse- quence ; yet it makes a great difference with respect to energies. For the liberal man will be in want of wealth, I in order to perform liberal deeds, and also the just man, in order to make retributions. For the wills of men are immanifest, and those who are not just pretend they wish to act justly. But the brave man will be in want of pow- er, in order to effect something conformable to the virtue of fortitude ; and the temperate man will be in want of the means of acting temperately. For how will this man, or he who possesses any one of the other virtues, become manifest ? It becomes, however, an object of inquiry, whether deliberate choice possesses greater au- thority in virtue, or whether it is possessed by actions, virtue subsisting in both these. It is evident, therefore* that the perfect will be in both. But many things are requisite to the perfection of actions ; and in proportion as they are greater and more beautiful, a greater number of things are necessary. To him, however, who ener- gizes according to theoretic virtue, there is no need of things of this Idnd so far as pertains to this energy, but, as I may say, they are impediments to his contempla- tion. Yet so far as he is a man, and lives with many ' Aristotle says this, because he professedly discusses these things m the 3rd book of his treatise On tlie Soul. SD6 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. Others, he also chooses to perform actions conformable to virtue. He will therefore require external things in order that he may act like a man. But that perfect felicity is a certain contemplative ener- gy, may become apparent from hence, that we consider the gods to be especially blessed and happy. What kind jof actions, however, is it fit to ascribe to them ? Shall we say just actions ? Or will they not appear ridiculous, if they form contracts and return deposits, and do other things of the like kind ? Shall we say then that they are brave; sustaining things of a terrible nature, and en- countering dangers because it is beautiful so to do ? Or that they are liberal ? But to whom will they give ? It would, however, be absurd to suppose that there is mo- ney with them, or any thing of this kind. And if they are temperate, what will this temperance be ? Or is not the praise unapt which celebrates them as not having de- praved desires ? But if we should enumerate every thing pertaining to actions, it would appear to be small and un- worthy of the gods.' All men, however, acknowledge that they live ; and therefore that they energize ; for it must not be supposed that they pass their life in sleep like Endymion. Hence, if action is taken away from * All the virtues subsist in divinity, but according to a divine and not a human characteristic ; for the virtues are good, and all goodness originates from divinity. Prior, likewise, to beings which sometimes participate the virtues, as is our case, it is necessary there should be natures which always participate them. Aristotle, therefore, when he excludes from the gods all the virtues except the theoretic, intends only to signify that they do not subsist in them as they do in us, but are in them essentially different, as being characterized by a divine intellect. CHAP. VIII. ETHICS. 807 that which lives, and in a still greater degree production, what remains except contemplation ? So that the energy lof God, since it excels in blessedness, will be contempla- itive.' And of human energies, therefore^ that which is ■ This contemplative energy of divinity is beautifully illustrated by Proclus as follows, in his admirable MS. Commentary on the Parmenides of Plato : — " It is by no means proper to disbelieve in the indivisible knowledge of divinhy, which knows sensibles with- out possessing sense, and divisible natures without possessing a di- visible energy, and which, without being present to things in place, knows them prior to all local presence, and imparts to every thing that which every thing is capable of receiving. The unstable essence, therefore, of apparent natures is not known by him in an unstable, but in a definite manner ; nor does he know that which is subject to all-various mutations dubiously, but in a manner per- petually the same. For by knowing himself, he knows every thing of which he is the cause, possessing a knowledge transcendently more accurate than that which is co-ordinate to the objects of know- ledge ; since a casual knowledge of every thing is superior to every other kind of knowledge. Divinity, therefore, knows, with- out busily attending to the objects of his intellection, because he •abides in himself, and, by alone knowing himself, knows all things. Nor is he indigent of sense, or opinion, or science, in order to know sensible natures ; for it is himself that produces all these, and that, in the unfathomable depths of the intellection of himself, compre- hends an united knowledge of them, according to cause, and in one simplicity of perception. Just as if some one having built a ship, should place in it men of his own formation, and, in consequence cf possessing a various art, should add a sea to the ship, produce certain winds, and afterwards launch the ship into the new-created main. Let us suppose too, that he causes these to have an existence by merely conceiving them to exist, so that by imagining all this to take place, he gives an external subsistence to his inward phan- tacms ; it is evident that, in this case, he will contain the cause of every thing which happens to the ship through the wnads on the sea, and that by contemplating his own conceptions, without being indigent of outward conversion, he will at the same time both ta- 398 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. I most allied to this [energy of God,] will be most adapted 'to procure felicity. But as an indication of the truth of this, other animals which are perfectly deprived of an energy of this kind, do not partake of felicity. For the whole life of the gods is indeed blessed ; but that of men is blessed so far as they possess a certain similitude of such an energy as this. Of other animals, however, ho one is happy, because they do not in any respect par- ticipate of contemplation. As far, therefore, as contempla- tion extends itself, so far also is felicity extended ; and the felicity of those beings is greater, in whom there is more of the contemplative energy; and this not from accident, but according to contemplation ; for this is of itself ho- nourable. Hence, felicity will be a certain contemplation. bricate and know these external particulars. Thus, and In a far greater degree, that divine intellect the artificer of the universe, possessing the causes of all things, both gives subsistence to, and contemplates whatever the universe contains, without departing from the speculation of himself But if with respect to intellect, one kind is more partial, and another more total, it is evident that there is not the same intellectual perfection of all things, but that where intelligibles have a more total and undistributed subsistence, there the knowledge is more total and indivisible, and where the number of forms proceeds into multitude and extension, there the knowledge is both one and multiform. Hence, this being admitted, we cannot wonder on hearing the Orphic verses, in which the the- ologist says : AvTTt Oi ZtiVOg KXf £» 6U^,SC(ri TTCCr^O^ UVXKTO^f 1. e. There, in the sight of Jove the parent king, Th' immortal gods and mortal men reside, With all that ever was, and shall hereafter be." y^^ GHAP. VIII. ETHICS. f 399 j^ / .^ External prosperity, however, will be requisite [to ^ivci .who energizes according to theoretic virtue,] since he is a man ; for human nature is not sufficient to itself for the purposes of contemplation ; but it is also requisite that the body should be well, and that it should be supplied with food, and other necessaries. It must not, however, be supposed, that because it is not possible for a man to be blessed without external goods, the happy man will therefore require many of these, and such as are great ; for neither a condition of being sufficient to itself, nor judgment, nor action, consists in an excess [of external goods]. But it is possible for those who have nO' domi- nion over the earth and sea to perform beautiful deeds ; since a man, from moderate possessions, may be able to act according to virtue. The truth of this, however, may be clearly seen ; for private persons appear to act no less equitably, but even more so than potentates. But mo- derate possessions are sufficient for this purpose ; for the life of him will be happy who energizes according to virtue. And Solon perhaps well defined those who , are happy, by saying, that they are such as are mode- rately furnished with external possessions, and who per- form the most beautiful actions, and live temperately ; since It is possible for those whose possessions are but moderate, to do those things which ought to be done. Anaxagoras likewise appears to have thought that the happy man was neither the rich man nor the potentate, when he says, ** that it would not be at all wonderful, if I should be considered by the multitude as an absurd and miserable man.** For the multitude judge from! external circumstances, having a sensible perception oP these alone. The opinions, also, of the wise seem to accord with these assertions. Things of this kind, there- i XM iWeA •'> 400 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X, CHAP. fX. ETHICS. 401 fore, are attended with a certain credibility. A judg- ment, however, is to be formed of the truth in practical affairs from deeds and the life ; for in these that which possesses principal authority consists. Hence, it is re- quisite to consider what has been before said, by referring it to deeds and the life of a man. And when the as- sertions accord with deeds, they are to be admitted ; but when they are dissonant, they are to be considered as nothing but words. But the man who energizes accord- ing to intellect, who cultivates this, and is mentally dis- posed in the best manner, is also, it would seem, most dear to divinity. For if any attention is paid by the gods to human affairs, as it appears there is, it is also reasonable to suppose that they will be delighted with that which is most excellent, and most allied to themselves ; but this is intellect ; and likewise that they will remunerate those who especially love and honour this, as taking care of that which is dear to themselves, and acting rightly and well. It is, however, not imma- xiifest, that all these things are especially present with the wise man. Hence, he is most dear to divinity. It is also probable that the same man is most happy. So that thus, also, the wise man will be especially happy. ■* * v CHAPTER IX. Are we therefore to think, that if these things and the virtues, and likewise friendship and pleasure, have been sufficiently delineated, oiir purpose is completely effected ? Or shall we say, as has been before observed, .that the end in practical aflfairs is not to survey and know each particular, but rather to perform it? Ndther, therefore, is it sufficient in virtue to know it, biit there should also be an endeavour to possess and use it; or in some other way must we strive to become good men ? If, therefore, words were sufficient of themselves to make men worthy, they ought justly, as Theognis says, to be valued at a great price, and it would be necessary to pro- cure them. Now, however, they appear to be suffi- ciently powerful to exhort and excite liberal young men, and to make those whose manners are noble, and who are truly lovers of beautiful conduct, obedient to virtue ; but they are incapable of exhorting the multitude to pro- bity. For the multitude are not naturally adapted to be obedient from shame, but from fear ; nor to abstain from bad conduct through the disgrace with which it is at- Arist. VOL. n. 2 b 402 THE NICOMACHEAN BOOK X. CHAP. IX. El'HICS. 403 tended, but through punishment. For, living from pas- sion, they pursue their pleasures, and those things through which they may be procured ; but they avoid the pains opposed to these. They have not, however, any conception of that which is beautiful in conduct, and truly delectable, in consequence of not having tasted of it. What discourse, therefore, can dispose such men to orderly conduct? For it is not possible, or at feast it is not easy, to obliterate by words, things which have been for a long time impressed in the manners. But perhaps we must be satisfied, if every thing being present with us, through which we are accustomed to become wor- thy, we may be able to partake of virtue. Some, however, are of opinion t^iat men become good from nature, others that they become good from custom, and others from doctrine. As to goodness from nature, therefore, it is evident that this is not in our power, but that it is inherent in those who are truly fortunate, through a certain divine cause. But it must be considered whe- ther it is not true, that words and precepts are not ac- companied with power towards all men, but it is requi- site that the soul of the auditor should have been pre- viously excited by manners, to rejoice and hate properly, like land which is intended to nourish seed. For he who lives under the influence of passion, will not attend to the reasoning which dissuades him from such a life. How, therefore, is it possible to induce one who is so disposed, to alter his mode of conduct ? In short, passion does not appear to yield to reason, but to violence. Hence, it IS necessary, that manners should pre-exist, in a certain respect appropriate to virtue, in order that their possessor may love what is beautiful, and be mdignant with what is disgraceful in conduct.. ' To obtain, however, a right education for virtue, from our youth, is difficult, without being nurtured by laws which enforce the offices of vir- tue. For to live temperately and accustomed to endur- ance, is not pleasing to the multitude, and especially to youth. Hence, it is necessary that education, studies and pursuits^ should be ordained by laws ; for by custom they will cease to be painful. But perhaps it is not sufficient for youth to obtain a right education, and to have pro- per attention paid to them, but it is also necessary, when they have arrived at the perfection of manhood, that they should study and be* accustomed to these things ; and in these we shall hkewise require the assistance of the laws ; and in short, through the whole of life. For the multitude are more obedient to necessity than to rea- •son, and to punishment than to the beautiful in conduct. • Hence, some persons are of opinion that legislators ought indeed to excite men to virtue, and exhort them to it for the sake of the beautiful in conduct, because -worthy men will precedaneously from their manners obey their exhortations ; but that castigations and pu- nishments should be inflicted on those who disobey them, and who are naturally more unapt; and that the in- curable should beentirely exterminated from the com- munity. For, say they, the worthy man, and he who lives with a view to the beautiful in conduct, will be obe- dient to reason; but the bad man who aspires after ple^. sure, is to be punished by pain, like a beast of burden. , Hence, they add, it is necessary that such pains should be employed, as are especially contrary to the pleasures which they embrace. * .... • .•' If, therefore, as we have said, it is requisite that he »•■' r Mi 4- f 404 THE NICOMACHJEAN BOOK X. t * I sV. i who is to be a good man should be .well educated, and accustomed to virtuous conduct, and afterwards should thus live in worthy studies and pursuits, and neither un- willingly nor willingly perform base deeds; and if these things may happen to those who live conformably to a certain intellect and right order, possessing power: and .strength ;— if this be the case, the paternal mandate, in- . deed, is neither accompanied with strength nor necessity, nor. in short the mandate of one man, unless he is a king, or a person endued with a similar authoruy \ but the law possesses a necessarily-compelling power, being a mandate proceeding from a certain prudence and intellect. And those, indeed, who are adverse to the impulses of depraved men, though they are right in so doing; are abated [by the multitude]. Law, however, ' when it orr dains what is equitable, is not attended with molestation. But in the city of the Lacedaemonians alone,-^' the legisla- tor appears to have paid attention to education and studies, or pursuits ; while in most cities things of this kind are neglected, and every one, after the manner of the Cy- clops, lives as he pleases. By these no statutes and no rights are known, No council held, no monarch fills thathrone ; But high on hills or airy cliffs they dwell, Or deep in caves whose entrance leads to hell. Each rules his race, his neighbour not his care. Heedless of others, to his own severe. ' ^ CHAF, IX. ETHICS. , • <• I . ^.^ It Is best, therefore, that a common and right attention should be paid to the citizens, and that there should be * Odyss. lib. 9. v. 112, &c. Aristotle quotes the last line but one only of these verses. The translation is by Pope. ' — • ■• h\ 405 f*- an ability of effecting this. But if these things are neg- lected in common, it would seem to be fit that every one should contribute to the promotion of his children and friends in virtue, or should pre-determine to do so. From what has been said, however, it would seem that this may especially be effected by him who possesses the power of a legislator. For attentions to the general welfare are effected through the laws ; but equitable attentions arc accomplished through worthy men. It does not, how- ever, seem to make any difference, whether the laws are written or unwritten, nor whether one person or many are disciplined by them, as neither does it make any difference in music, and gymnastic and other disciplines. For as in cities legal institutions and manners are effica- cious, so in families paternal mandates and manners; and they are still more efficacious on account of alliance, and the benefits conferred by parents on their children. For children previous to these mandates loved their parents, and are naturally disposed to be obedient to them. Far- ther still, private differs from public education, in the same manner as in medicme [particular differ from uni- versal prescriptions]. For univeraally, indeed, abstinence and quiet are advantageous to one who has a fever; but to this particular person perhaps they are not. And he virho is a master in the pugilistic art will not perhaps en- join the same mode of fighting to all his pupils. It would seem, however, that particulars will be more accurately managed, when private attention is paid to them ; for then each individual will in a greater degree obtain that which is adapted to him. But the physician, the master of gymnastic exercises, and every other artist, will in the best manner pay attention to an individual^ if they know universally what is beneficial to all persons, or to persons 406 THE NICOMACHUAN BOOK X. of a certain description ; Jot sciences are said to be, and are in reality, of that which is common. Nothing, faowi ever, perhaps hinders but that a man may pay attention to one certain thing in a proper manner, though he is destitute of science, while he accurately surveys from experience what happens to each particular thing, just as some persons appear to be most excellent physidans to themselves, but are unable to give medical assistance to another person. Perhaps, however, it would seem [not- withstanding this] to be no less requisite for him who wishes to become an artist and to be theoretic, to proceed to that which is universal, and to know this as far as it can be known; for we have already observed, that seiences are conversant with this. Perhaps also it is re- quisite, that he who wishes to make others better by the attention which he pays to them, whether they be many or few, should endeavour to become skilled in legislation, if we can be rendered good men through the laws. Hence, it 16 not the province of any casual person to render some man, or one committed to his care, fitly disposed to become virtuous, but if it belongs to any one to effect this, it is the province of the man of science ; just as in medicine, and the other arts, to which a certain attention and prudence pertain. Is it requisite, therefore, after this to consider whence or how a man may acquire a legisla- tive skill ? Or, as in other arts, is this to be learned from those who are conversant with the management of public affairs ? For this appears to be a part of the political science. Or shall we say that a similar thing does not seem to take place in the political science, and the other sciences and powers ? For in the others, the same per- sons are seen to impart the powers, and to energize from them 5 as is evideot in physicians and painters. But the CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 407 sophists profess indeed to teach politics, yet no one of them acts in a political capacity. And it would seem that those who are engaged in the management of public affairs, do this by a certain power and experience, rather than by the exercise of the reasoning faculty. For they do not appear either to write or speak about things of this kind, though perhaps this would be better than to com- pose forensic or popular orations ; nor again, is it seen that they have made either their own children political characters, or some other children of their friends. It is reasonable, however, to suppose that they would have done this, if they had been able ; for neither could they have left any thing better to cities, nor could they have deliberately chosen any thing more excellent than this power, either for themselves, or their dearest friends. Nevertheless experience appears to contribute in no small degree [to the management of public affairs ; J for other- wise men would not become more political through be- ing accustomed to political affairs. Hence, experience seems to be necessary to those who desire to be skilled in the political science. Those sophists, however, who profess to teach the political science, appear to be very far from possessing this ability; for, in short, they neither know what kind of a thing it is, nor what the things are with which it is conversant. For if they did, they would not suppose it to be the same with the rhetorical art, or inferior to it ; nor would they think it is easy for him to act the part of a legislator, who has collected the most celebrated and approved laws ; since they say that the best laws are to be selected, just as if the selection did not require intelligence, or as if to judge rightly was not one of the greatest of things, in the same manner as in what pertains to music. For skilful men judge rightly respect- 408 TH£ NICOMACHEAN BOOK X, ing the works in which they are skilled, and understand through what means, or in what manner they may be ^ accomplished, and what the appropriate adaptations of them are ; but to the unskilful it is sufficient not to be ignorant, whether a work is well or ill done, in the same manner as in the painter's art. Laws, however, resemble political works. How, therefore, can any one be adapted to become a legislator from these, or to judge which of them are the best ? For neither does it appear that men become skilled in medicine, by reading medical books ; though these books not only endeavour to point out the cures, but likewise the remedies which are to be applied, and the methods of cure, distinguishing also the habits of each person. It seems, however, that these things are beneficial to skilful persons, but useless to the un- scientific. Perhaps, therefore, collections of laws and politics may be useful to those who are able to survey and judge what is well established or the contrary, and what the appropriate adaptations are in these ; but those who discuss things of this kind without the political habit, will never be able to judge well, except from chance ; though perhaps they will become more intelligent in these particulars. Since, therefore, the politicians prior to us have omitted to investigate legislation, it will perhaps be better for us to consider it more attentively, and in short to discuss a polity [universally,] in order that the philo- sophy which pertains to human affairs may as much as possible be brought to perfection. In the first place, therefore, if any thing has been well said by the ancients on this subject, we shall endeavour to relate it. In the next place, from the collections which have been made of polities, we shall endeavour to survey what the nature is of the things which preserve and corrupt cities and the CHAP. IX. ETHICS. 409 several polities, and from what causes some of them are well but others ill governed. For these things being surveyed, perhaps we shall be able in a greater degree to perceive what kind of polity is the best ; how each is to be arranged, and what laws and manners it should use. We shall begin, therefore, the discussion of politics. 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' "The Reader has now seen these Memoirs, and though some, who know mankind, and the various foll.es, faults,'and virtues that are blended in our imperfect natures, may smile ^ith me at this free relation of what I have seen and known, yet I am aware that more will be offended at the liberty I have taken in paiuting men as they are; and that manv, from private connexions of party and family, will dislike meeting such unflattered portraits of written'[rn?; Tl '^''''""•- ""'' ^'"' ' ''''' "^"^^ ^>"«y' ^ '"^^ -- - -y history " Thus much I shall premise: If I had intended a romance, I would not have chosen real fntZT I- *'%''^*'" '° •^' '^^ ™^° ^^"^ "^ '""^ P»«-°- Of perfect virtue. If I had ntended a satire, I would not have amassed so many facts, which if not true would only tend to discredit the Author, not those he may censure. Yet councils and transrctions not pe sons, are what I any where mean to blame. The celebrated Bayle has indeed offerera notable excuse for all who may offend on the severer side:-' The perfection of hTsto,?'!av^ he, '1, when it displeases all sects and all nations, this being a proo'f that the A« or ndth L am not 7%?^' ""^ f k'^"' '"' *^"' ''^ ''''''' *« ^" P-ti-.'-A latitude this, n wll-h I ITich h ; 1''^r ""' ''"°" comprehended, nor very reconcileable with a notion of hi ory which he has laid down in another place. "isiory "For the facts, Buch as were not public, I received chiefly from my father and Mr. Fox both men of veracity, and some from communication with the Dukb of Bedkoku at the very time they were in agitation. I am content to rest their authenticity on the sincerity of such men; at the same time, I beg it may be remembered, that I never assert any thing positive! v unless from very good authority; and it may be observed, that where I am not certain I always say, H was said, it was believed, it was supposed, or u»e some such phrase "l Extract/rom Lord Orford's Postscript. XIV. ORIGINAL LETTERS, written during the REIGNS of HENRY VI EDWARD IV. and V., RICHARD III., and HENRY VII., By various Persons of Rank or Consequence, containing many curious Anec- dotes, relative to that turbulent, bloody, but hitherto dark, period of our History ; and elucidating, not only Public Matters of State, but likewise the Private Manners of the Age ; Digested in Chronological Order ; with Notes, Historical and Explanatory ; and authenticated by Engravings of Portraits, Autographs, Fac-Similes, Paper Marks and Seals. By the late Sir JOHN FENN, Knt. M.A., F.A.S. 2 vols. 4to Vols. V. and VI. PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. XV. The LIFE of the RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN. 4to. By THOMAS MOORE, Esq., Author of Lalla Rookb. XVI. HISTORICAL MEMOIRS of the ENGLISH, IRISH, and SCOTTISH CATHOLICS, since the Reformation. With a Succinct Account of the Principal Events in the Ecclesiastical History of this Country antecedent to that period, and in the Histories of the Established Church, and the Dissenting and Evangelical Congrega- tions ; and some Historical Minutes respecting the Guelphic Family, and the Society of Jesus. Third Edition, corrected, revised, and considerably augmented, 4 vols. 8vo. By CHARLES BUTLER, Esq. xvn. And, by the same Author, REMINISCENCES. One volume 8vo. XVIIl. A SKETCH of the STATE of IRELAND, Past and Present. A New Edition, Octavo, revised by the Author, Dedicated to the Marquis Wellesley. XIX. TRAVELS IN ETHIOPIA, Containing a Description of the hitherto-unexplored Countries of DAR MAHASS, DO'NGOLA, and DAR SHEYGY'A ; Accounts of the Man- ners and Character of the Natives, and a History of the Expulsion of the Mamelouks from D6ngola, and the Campaign of Ismael Pasha against the Sheygy'a Arabs. The Work will be illustrated by a Chart of the Course of the Nile through those Countries ; with Remarks on the probable Situation of the antient Cities; and by numerous Plans and Drawings of the Pyramids, and other Antiquities there discovered. 4to. By GEORGE WADDINGTON, Esq., A.M., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge ; And the Reverend BARNARD HANBURY, A.M Of Jesus' College. iinttMiilhiii^uHh^MMiitt PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. XX. HISTORY of the LATE WAR in SPAIN and PORTUGAL. Three Vols. Quarto. By ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq. The First Volume is nearly ready for Publication. XXI. TRAVELS in SYRIA and MOUNT SINAI, With Maps, &c. 4to. By the late JOHN LEWIS BURCKHARDT. Viz. 1. A Journey from Aleppo to Damascus.-2. A Tour in the District of Mount Libanus and Antilibanus.-3. A Tour in the Hauran— 4. A Second Tour in the Hanran.-5. A Jonrnev froni Damascus through Arabia Petr«a. and the Desert El Ty, to Cairo.-O. A Tour in the Pcnmsnla of Mount Sinai. XXII. NARRATIVE of the OPERATIONS and RECENT DISCOVERIES within the PYRAMIDS, TEMPLES, TOMBS and EXCAVATIONS in EGYPT and NUBIA. By G. BELZONI. Third Edition, 2 Volumes Octavo. XXIII. MEMOIR, descriptive of the HYDROGRAPHY, RESOURCES, and INHABITANTS of SICILY and its ISLANDS. Interspersed with Antiquarian and other Notices. With 12 Plates, Quarto. By Captain WILLIAM HENRY SMYTH, R. N., K.S. F. Fellow of the Astronomical and Antiquarian Societies of London. Dedicated by Permission to the Lords Commissioners of the AdmiraUy. XXIV. A DESCRIPTION of the ANTIQUITIES and OTHER CURIOSITIES of ROME. 8vo. By the Reverend EDWARD BURTON, M.A., Student of Christ Church. XXV. LETTERS of MARY LEPEL, LADY HERVEY. With a Memoir, and illustrative Notes. 8vo. PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. XXVI. An ACCOUNT of the ABIPONES, An EQUESTRIAN PEOPLE in the INTERIOR of SOTITH AMERICA, Translated from the Original Latin of Martin Dobrizhoffer, one of the Ex-Jesuits, two-and- twenty years a Missionary in Paraguay. 2 vols. 8vo. " The Abipones have been in one thing fortunate above all other savages ; for the history of their manners and fortunes by Martin Dobrizhoffer, a German Jesuit, who devoted the prime of his years to the task of converting them, and in old age, after the extinction of his order, found consolation in recording the knowledge which he had so painfully acquired, and the labours which had so miserably been frustrated, is, of all books relating to savage life, the most curious, and, in every respect, the most interesting.— SouTHEV, in his History of the Brazils. XXVII. The BOOK of the CHURCH. 8vo. By ROBERT SOUTHEY. • XXVIII. A SEVENTH EDITION of CURIOSITIES of LITERATURE. Materially revised, in 5 vols, post 8vo. ; with Four additional volumes. By J. D'ISRAELT. XXIX. THE LITERARY CHARACTER. Illustrated by the History of MEN of GENIUS, drawn from their own Feelings and Confessions. Third Edition, enlarged and improved. 2 vols, post 8vo. It may be necessary to observe that the present Third Edition, materially' differs from the preceding ones. The greater part may be considered as entirely new ; the principles are more fully developed, the illustrations are more numerous, and several new topics connected with the main subject, have been introduced. XXX. SERMONS, Chiefly delivered in the Chapel of the East India College, Hertfordshire. One volume, Svo. By the REV. CHARLES WEBB LE BAS, A. M. Professor of Mathematics at the E. I. College, and late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. XXXI. HISTORY of the MODES of BELIEF, Usually termed THE SUPERSTITIONS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. With curious Plates, 4to. XXXII. CHINESE NOVELS J viz. The SHADOW iu the WATER ; The TWIN SISTERS. To which are added, PROVERBS and MORAL MAXIMS, Collected from their Classical Books and other Sources. The whole prefaced by Observations on the Language and Literature of China. 3 vols. fc. Svo. Translated from the Chinese, By JOHN FRANCIS DAVIS, Of the East India Company's Civil Service. XXXIII. MISCELLANEOUS NOTICES relating to CHINA, And our Commercial Intercourse with that Country, including a few Trans- lations from the Chinese Language. Svo. 1. A Portion of the Emperor Fowg-^c/uw^f Book of Sacred Instructions.— 2. A popular Game among the Chinese, called Tsoey-moey.—Z. Extract from a Chinese Work, calle I tt