Al-UBRARYflr \\\E-UNIVERS/A o . . |p C? %3A! I o \\\E INIVfRi 1 //, !V3 -JO a = > 3 I V*""* Tt v ->fT-^< ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. VOL. I. LONDON PRINTED BY SPOTTI8WOODB AND CO. NEW-STREET SQUARE THE ETHICS OF AKISTOTLE ILLUSTRATED WITH ESSAYS AND NOTES. BY SIB ALEXANDER GBANT, BAET., M.A., LL.D. DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION D? THE BOMBAY PRESIDENCY AKD FORMEBXY FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD. SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND COMPLETED. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOLUME THE FIRST. LONDON : LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 1866. Stack Annex > v. ( PKEFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. fTlHE AUTHOE of this work is conscious that in many J- places it requires re-writing. He would have wished to re-cast especially many parts of the 'Essays,' and to introduce into them the results of fresh reading and thought. But official duties in India have pre- cluded him from attempting such a task, and have obliged him to be content with a bare completion of his commentary, by the addition of notes (such as they are) upon the last four books of the Nicomachean Ethics. For a revision of the work in general, but more especially of the Notes, the Author is indebted to the accomplished scholarship and kind care of John Purves Esq., B. A., of Balliol College, Oxford. Several minor alterations have been introduced by Mr. Purves, with the Author's entire concurrence, into the trans- lations and notes. The same causes which have prevented the re- writing of the 'Essays,' have also prevented the fulfil- ment of certain promises formerly made to the public ; VI PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. as, for instance, of a translation of the entire Ethics of Aristotle. Indexes, however, to the matter contained in the Essays and Notes have been added by Mr. Purves. And the Verbal Index to the Nicomachean text, which appeared in Dr. Cardwell's edition, has been here reprinted, with the permission of the Delegates of the Oxford University Press. An essay on the ' Ancient Stoics,' which was contributed by the Author to the volume of ' Oxford Essays ' for 1858, has now been introduced among essays which endeavour to treat not only of the Aristotelian moral system, but also of its surroundings. CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS. ESSAY I. On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics and on the Mode of their Composition. PAGE Present view of the ' Works of Aristotle ' , . . I Chronology of the Life of .Aristotle . . . . .2 Incompleteness of his Writings ...... 3 Heave we only the Notes of his Scholars ? . . . . . 3 Strabo's Story of the Fate of his Writings .... 5 Examination of this Story . . . . . . .6 The List of his Works by Diogenes examined ... 9 Origin of the names Nicomachean Ethics, Eudemian Ethics, and Magna Moralia . . . . . . .12 Theory of Spengel . . . . . . . .16 Opening of the Three Treatises compared . . . .16 Eudemus of Ehodes . . . . . . . 19 Account of the Eudemian Ethics . . . . . .21 Account of the Magna Moralia . . . . .24. Notices of Nicomachus . ..... 25 The appearance of system in Eth. Nic. . . . . .26 The appearances of disorder in the same work . . .28 The Authorship of Books V., VI., VII. ,' . . "-33 General hypothesis as to the composition of the whole work . 42 CONTENTS OF ESSAY II. On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece previous to Aristotle. PAGE Aristotle gives no History of Ethics . . , . 44 Sketch given in the Magna Moralia . . . ... 45 Three Eras of Morality ....... 46 The First or Unconscious Era ... . 48 Elements of the popular Morality in Greece . . . -5 The Morality of Homer 51 The Morality of Hesiod 54 The Seven "Wise Men . 56 The Morality of Solon .57 General Character of the ' Gnomes ' 59 Theognis of Megara ........ 60 Simonides of Ceos . . . . . . . ' . 62 Influence of the Mysteries ....... 64 General Conceptions of the Good . . . . . . 66 Moral Opinions of the Pythagoreans, Heraclitus, and Democritus . . . . . . . . . 66 Second Era of Morality, the Sophists . . . . . 68 Question raised as to their Character . . . . . 68 History of the word ' Sophist '...... 69 Use of the word in jEschylus and Herodotus . . -. .69 In Aristophanes ......... 70 In Thucydides and Xenophon . . . . . 71 In Isocrates ........ ^ . 73 Summary of the History . . . . . . . 75 Account of the Sophists in Plato ...... 76 General Opinions entertained of the Sophists . . . -77 The Sophists as Teachers . . . . " ; . -79 Their Teaching for Money . . . . . . "> . 80 The Sophists as Authors of Rhetoric . . -.-V -. " . 83 Two Schools of Rhetoric among the Sophists . . . -84 The ' Greek ' School of Rhetoric Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias ......... 84 THE ESSAYS. IX PAGE The ' Sicilian ' School Gorgias, Polus, and Alcidamas . . 87 The place of Khetoric historically .88 Internal Character of Rhetoric . .89 Aristotle's account of ' Sophistic ' .90 The Philosophy of the Sophists, of Protagoras . . 9 1 The Philosophy of Gorgias . . . . . . 94 Dialectic of the Sophists .... -99 The Sophists in relation to Ethics i o i Their Teaching Virtue . . . . . . .102 The Fable of Prodicus 103 The Apologue of Hippias . .105 The Casuistry of the Sophists . . . . . .105 Their Opposition of ' Nature ' and ' Convention ' . . .107 History of this Doctrine . . . . . . .108 Application by the Sophists of this and other Principles . 1 09 Summary with regard to the Sophists . . . . . 1 1 o Third or Conscious Era of Morality . . . . .111 Uncertainty about the Doctrine of Socrates . . . 1 1 1 Personal Traits of Socrates . . . . . .112 His ' supernatural ' Element . . . . . .113 .The Irony of Socrates . . . . . . .114 The Statements of Aristotle regarding him . . . .115 Aristotle's Account of his Method . . . . .115 Was Socrates the ' First Moral Philosopher ? ' . . . 1 1 7 Did he divide Science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic ? . . 1 1 8 Did he believe in the Immortality of the Soul ? . . .118 Socrates as a Teacher of Youth . . . . . 1 20 His Doctrine that ' Virtue is a Science ' . . . .122 His want of Psychology '. . . . . . 1 24 His Moral Paradoxes . . . . . . . .125 His Dialectic contrasted with that of the Sophists . . .127 The Socratic Schools 127 Relation of the Cynics and Cyrenaics to Socrates . . .128 Spirit and Doctrines of the Early Cynics . . . .129 The Cyrenaic System of Ethics . . . . . .131 The Cyrenaic Doctrine of Pleasure . . . . . , 1 3 1 Relation of the Doctrine to Plato and Aristotle . . .^.132 Influence of the Cyrenaic School . . . . . 133 CONTENTS OF ESSAY HI. On tlw Relation of Aristotle s Ethics to Plato and the Platonists. PAGK Importance of Plato in the History of Philosophy . 1 3 5 His Development of the Doctrines of Socrates . . 1 3 5 The Ethical System of Plato 137 Doctrines in the Ethics of Aristotle that are borrowed from Plato, (i) Of the Nature of Politics . . . . 139 (2) Of the Chief Good . . . . . .141 (3) Of the Proper Function of Man .... 142 (4) Of the Divisions of the Mind . . . .142 (5) Of the Excellence of Philosophy . . . 143 (6) Of < the Mean ' . .... 144 (7) Of povr\ai . . . . . . . . 144 (8) Of Pleasure . . . . . . . . 145 (9) Of Friendship . . . . . . . 147 (10) Various Suggestions, Metaphors, &c., borrowed from Plato . . . . . . . .148 Aristotle's Dissent from the System of Plato . . .149 Plato's System of Ideas, its Origin and Import . ., .149 Plato's Doctrine of the Idea of Good . . . . .152 Aristotle's Rejection of this as a Principle for Ethics . . . 153 His Arguments against it as a Metaphysical Principle . . 155 Unfairness of these Arguments . . . . . .158 Arguments continued . . . . . . . . 1 59 Aristotle's Assertion of Nominalism 161 His Analytic tendencies . . . . . . .162 His Separation of Ethics from Theology . . . . 1 64 His Tone and Style of Writing . . . . . .164 Plato's Oral Teaching referred to . . . . 1 66 Reference to the Laws of Plato . . . . ....167 Characteristics of the Platonists .167 THE ESSAYS. XI ESSAY IV. On Philosophical Forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. PAGE The Importance of Aristotle's Scientific Forms . . .170 1 i ) TtXoc, its Meaning and Application . . . 1 7 1 General Doctrine of the Four Causes . . . . 1 7 1 Application of the Final Cause to Ethics . . . .172 Ethical Ends Different from Physical ..... 173 The End-in-itself of Moral Action 1 74 The End-in-itself of Thought 177 Difficulties regarding the End-in-itself in relation to Con- siderations of Time . . . . . . .178 General Aspect of the Theory . . . . . .180 (2) 'Evepy^a, its Meaning and Application . . . .181 Philosophical Doctrine of 'Evt'pyfta . . . . .181 Its Origin . j . . . . . .183 Its Universal Application . . . . . . 1 84 How it comes into Ethics . . . . . . 1 86 How it is applied to express the Moral Nature of Man . . 187 Its New Import in relation to the Mind . . . .193 Its use in the Definition of Pleasure . . . . .196 Its use in the Definition of Happiness . . . . 1 99 (3) Mffforjjc, its Meaning and Application .... 201 History of the Doctrine traced from the Pythagoreans . . 202 Its Development in Plato ....... 204 Its Adoption by Aristotle . . ? _ ..>.,:.:. . . . 205 Kelation of /iE<7oY?je to Xoyoe . . . . . . 206 Criticism of the formula as a principle of Ethics . . . 208 (4) The Syllogism as applied to express "Will and Action . 212 The Theory of the Practical Syllogism perhaps not due to Aristotle . . . . . . . . .212 Statement of the Doctrine . . . . . . .213 Its application in Eth. vi. and vn. . . . . .215 Criticism of its value . 216 Xll CONTENTS OF ESSAY V. On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. PAGE Why we are obliged to enter upon the deeper questions of Aristotle's Philosophy . . . . . . . 220 His Conception of Nature . . . . . . .221 Its relation to Chance and Necessity 221 Intelligence and Design in Nature . . . . .223 Eelation of Man to Nature as a whole ..... 226 Aristotle's Conception of Theology as a Science . . .229 His Reasonings upon the Nature of God . . . .231 Expressions relative to God in the Ethics . . , L * . 233 What Aristotle meant by 4> v xn 236 Its relation to the Body . . . . . 238 Aristotle not explicit about the Immortality of the Soul . 239 The Ethics uninfluenced by any regard to a Future Life . 241 ESSAY VI. The Ancient Stoics. The Stoics form a transition to Modern Thought . . . 243 Origin of Stoicism purely internal . . . ' . ' .244 ' Intensity ' of the Stoics . . %; . . . . . 246 Stoicism contrasted with Epicurism . . . ''; . 247 Three Periods of Stoicism ...... -J . 248 (i) Formation 248 Zeno . . . . . . . . . . . 249 Cleanthes . . . . . . . ' '. r . . 250 Chrysippus . . . . . . . . . .251 Relation of Stoicism to earlier Philosophy . . . .253 Stoicism and Cynicism . . . . - t : . .254 Stoical Formulas . . . . ... . 255 Butler compared with the Stoics . . .. . . .257 Stoic Ideal not of the Past . . . . . . 258 THE ESSAYS. The Ideal Wise Man . . . . . . . .259 The Idea of Advance . . . . . . . .261 'Duty' ....... . 262 The Stoic Cosmopolitanism . . . . . . .263 The Stoic Theology ........ 265 The Hymn of Clean thes . . . . . . .266 The Stoic Necessarianism ....... 268 The Stoics and Popular Religion ...... 270 (2) Promulgation. Stoicism brought to Rome . . . 273 Panaetius .......... 275 Posidonius .......... 276 Household Philosophers . . . . . . .277 Philosophy among the Romans . . . . . .278 (3) Roman Stoicism . . . . . . . .280 Seneca .......... 283 Suicide . . . . . . . . . .291 Epictetus - '. . . . . . . . . 293 Marcus Aurelius ......... 296 Stoicism and Roman Law . . . . . . .299 Debt of Modern Times to the Stoics ..... 303 Merits and Defects of Stoicism . . . . -304 ESSAY VII. On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern Systems. The Progress of Ethical Thought since Aristotle . . .306 Outline of Dugald Stewart's Moral System, and Comparison of it with that of Aristotle . . . . . .308 The Idea of Duty prominent in Modern Systems . . .312 The Question of Moral Obligation, how answered by Butler, Paley, and Kant . . . . . . . .314 Comparison of the points of view of Aristotle and Kant . 315 The question of Free-will never entered on by Aristotle . 316 Terms of Moral Philosophy inherited from Aristotle . .318 Alteration that such Terms have undergone . . .319 Aristotle's Ethics a Historical Monument . . . .321 XIV CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS. APPENDIX A. On the Ethical Method of Aristotle. PAGE His own Discussions on the Logic of Ethics . . . .322 His actual Procedure . . . . . . . .325 Was he a Dogmatic ? . . . . . . . .326 APPENDIX B. On the 'EEHTEPIKOI AOFOI. Story of Aulus Gellius . . , . . . .328 Examination of this . . . . . . . .328 Notices of Cicero . . . . . . . .329 Internal Evidence from Aristotle himself . f . . -33 Use of the Term 'E. \6yot by Eudemus . .. . . 332 APPENDIX C. On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. Slight influence of Political views on Aristotle's Moral System ^ . . 333 His conception of the State a Background to his Ethics . 335 His virtual separation of Ethics from Politics . . . 336 ESSAY I. On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics, and on the Mode of their Composition. TX studying the philosophy of Aristotle, we encounter at the -*- outset a very difficult question with regard to the genuine- ness, the form, and the literary character of the works in which that philosophy is contained. The question, in its full scope and real earnestness, is one of recent origin, though sceptical theories concerning the text of Aristotle have been at various times mooted, as, for instance, by Strabo and by Patricius. We stand now in a very different position with regard to Aristotle from that occupied by the middle ages, or even by the scholars of the Kenaissance. Once the whole body of what are called the writings of Aristotle were received with equal reverence, though not by any means equally studied. A sort of dogmatic completeness, and almost a verbal nicety of finish was thought to pervade the whole ; and we accordingly find Thomas Aquinas 1 discussing why it was that Aristotle makes an apology in his Ethics for attacking the theories of Plato, while in the Metaphysics he attacks them without any such apology. Aquinas decides the reason to have been that in a treatise on morals due attention to good manners was particularly neces- sary. Such criticism appears ludicrous to our times. Our I 1 Thomas Aquinas, Commentarii in bare opinionem amici non est contra Aristotdis Ethica Nicomachea, upon j Yeritatem, quse quseritur principalitt-r i. vi., ' Ideo autem potius hie hoc dicit | in aliis speculativis. Est autem contra quam in aliis libris, in quibus opini- bonos mores ; de quibus principaliter onem Platonis improbat, quia impro- agitur in hoc libro.' 2 ESSAY I. eyes have become more and more opened to the incomplete and fragmentary character of Aristotle's remains. In what are called his works we know that we have a considerable nucleus of the actual writing of Aristotle himself. Also we have a concretion of Peripatetic philosophy, some of it nearly contemporary with Aristotle, other parts far later. Also, even in books that are most essentially genuine, we can recognise the hand of the editor ; we can trace what is most probably posthumous recension, joinings added of parts before dis- united, references introduced, completion as far as possible, or the semblance of completion, given to what was really in itself left incomplete. Almost all we know of the life of Aristotle is contained in a quotation made by Diogenes Laertius (v. i. 9) from the chro- nology (Xpovuca) of Apollodorus. This Apollodorus is praised by Niebuhr as a trustworthy writer ; he appears to have lived about 140 B.C. He gives the following dates of the leading events in the life of Aristotle : ' That he was born, Olymp. 99. i (B.C. 383). That he met Plato and spent 20 years in his company, 17 years of them continuously. That he came to Mytilene 01. 108. 4 (B.C. 344). That in the first year after the death of Plato, he went to Hermeas and abode with him 3 years. That he came to Philip, 01. 109. 2 (B.C. 342), when Alexander was 15 years old. That he came to Athens, 01. in. 2 (B.C. 334). That he held his school (o-^oXacrat) in the Lyceum 13 years, and then went to Chalcis, 01. 114. 3 (B.C. 321), where he died of a disease, about 63 years old.' The different parts of this sketch have been filled up in most cases with little certainty. With regard to Aristotle's career as an author, no information has reached us, but the general opinion has been that his works were composed during his second stay at Athens, that is, while he was holding his school in the Lyceum, during the last 13 years of his life. THE WORKS OF ARISTOTLE. 3 Internal evidence, on which we have chiefly to rely, is on the whole in favour of this supposition, as the works that have come to us belong to one period of the philosopher's mind ; his system and terminology, peculiar as it is, appears through- out fully formed. It is only in minute points that a develop- ment of ideas can be traced. Another argument for the same hypothesis is, the unfinished character of almost every- thing that bears the name of Aristotle. All is characterized by vastness of conception, but also by a falling short in the attainment of what had been designed. Connected with this torso-like appearance of the philosophy as a whole, there is so great an absence of art in many portions of the works of Aristotle, as to have given rise to the opinion that we possess not his own writings, but only the notes of his disciples. This theory was first promulgated by Julius Scaliger about . some of the works of Aristotle, but subsequently has been more or less vaguely entertained about his works in general, and especially about the Nicomachean Ethics. < The waters' are said to be < from the exhaustless spring of Aristotle, but the pitchers' to have been supplied by others.' 2 The truth or falsehood of this theory seems to be a question of degree. There is no denying that the notes or compendia, of Peripatetic disciples, more or less dressed up, do go to form part of the bulk of the Aristotelian works ; for instance, we shall see that the Eudemian Ethics were a composition of this character. Also, we no doubt owe the redaction of many of Aristotle's writings to the care of his disciples. But beyond this, the theory must not be extended. The unfinished style 2 Julius Scaliger, in Arist. de Plantis, i. p. u, 'Cujusmodi commen- tationes a discipulis exceptas ejus nomine circumferri yidetis. Etenim qui Commentarii contra Zenonem et Xenophanem tanquam ab illo con- scripti leguntur, illius quidem inex- hausti fontis perennes aquas sapiunt, alveos tamen aliorum esse manifestum est.' B 2 4 ESSAY I. of the writing, the looseness or inaccuracy of quotations, the apparent familiarity of the allusions, and the occasional men- tion of * hearers,' must not lead us to conclude in a sweeping manner that we have only notes from lectures. The scientific depth and subtlety of the discussions in many parts, and their tentative rather than conclusive attitude, is incompatible with this assumption. Above all, we cannot blind our eyes to the intense individuality which seems to mark the style of Aristotle, which is no mere reproduction, but the words and the sentences of the very man himself. Even his obscurity is characteristic, and differs from the obscurity of a disciple misunderstanding and garbling the philosophy of his master. Nor must too much stress be laid on the word aicpoaa-dai. Partly, from a sort of ancient tradition, it corresponded to our conception of reading; partly (as in the name ^vcrtKal aKpodasis) it was used to denote more intimate and systematic study of a subject, as opposed to popular knowledge. Partly, Aristotle in making use of it, had in view his own oral in- structions in the gardens round the temple of the Lycean Apollo. But it must not be supposed that it would be an entire account of his works to say that they are notes for lectures any more than notes from lectures. Aristotle was designing to complete the whole sphere of knowledge; he was absorbed in his zeal for the accumulation of scientific results and the perfection of scientific form, about artistic form and literary structure he was indifferent, and death arrested his manifold beginnings. His philosophy, which was to cover the world, was springing and growing up all at once, and nothing perfect. Let us now picture to ourselves a set of philosophical treatises all elaborately conceived, but all more or less incomplete, to have been, subsequently to the death of their author, we cannot tell how soon or how simul- taneously brought forth, perhaps out of disjointed and THE STORY OF STRABO. 5 separately existing memoranda, and put together for publica- tion, and we have perhaps the most adequate notion that can be formed of the genuine parts of the so-called works of Aristotle. This conception perfectly agrees with the testimony of Cicero, 3 who speaks, on the one hand, of certain exoteric dialogues composed by Aristotle ; on the other hand, of the 'Commentaries' which he ' left behind him.' The exoteric dialogues appear to have been a few works in a popular vein of thought, finished in point of style, and exhibiting what Cicero praised as a ' golden stream ' of diction. These may in all probability have been earlier compositions, suggested by the example of Plato. The * Commentaries' have alone descended to us : harsh and incomplete in style, unequal in thought, sometimes obscure from brevity, at other times prolix and self-repeating, devoid of all artistic treatment,, setting at nought the restrictions of grammar these yet, in their rude and prematurely arrested form, outside which we can often discern the patchwork of other hands, contain the philosophy and the very words of Aristotle, and have more influenced the thought of the world than any other uninspired works. We have now taken the first step towards a proper point of view with regard to the literary history of the works of Ari- stotle. The next step will be to convince ourselves of the uncertain character of all ancient testimony on the subject, so as to feel that internal evidence and criticism of the works themselves can be our only sure guide. Let us advert then to the celebrated story of the Fate of the Writings of Aristotle, given first by Strabo, 4 and afterward repeated by Plutarch. Strabo relates (a propos of his account of Scepsis, a town in * De Finibut, v. 5. Accident. Prior. ii. xxxviii. 1 19. See infra, Appendix B. 4 Strabo, xiii. i, 418. 6 ESSAY I. the Troas) that the library and MSS. of Aristotle, being in the possession of Theophrastus, were by him bequeathed to one Neleus of Scepsis, whose heirs, to elude the book-collecting zeal of the Kings of Pergamus, concealed these treasures in a vault. There they remained for ages, till finally, corrupted with damp and worms, they were sold for a considerable sum to one Apellicon of Teos. By him they were brought to Athens, where he caused copies of them to be taken, himself filling up on conjecture the gaps in the text, not however happily, for he was more of a book-collector than a philo- sopher. Soon after the death of Apellicon, Athens was taken by Sulla, and this library was seized and brought by him to Rome. There Tyrannio, the grammarian, obtained permission to arrange the MSS. At the same time the booksellers had numerous copies made by very careless transcribers. Hence it came about (says Strabo) that the earlier Peripatetics, being deprived of all the really philosophic works of Aristotle, were reduced to mere rhetorical commonplaces in their philoso- phizing ; and the later ones, when the books came again to light, were generally compelled to resort to a conjectural in- terpretation of them, owing to their corrupt condition. The same story is repeated by Plutarch, 5 who probably took it from Strabo, and who adds to it the further statements, that Tyrannio put almost the entire MSS. into shape ; that Andronicus of Rhodes, getting numerous transcripts made, gave publicity to a generally-received text of Aristotle ; finally, that it was for no want of personal zeal or ability, but from the loss of the original writings, that the Peripatetic school had previously declined. This curious history, if literally true, would represent to * Plutarch, Fit. Sulla, c. z6. THE STORY OF STRABO. 7 us the text of Aristotle as absolutely corrupt, frequent gaps having been caused by physical circumstances, and these so unskilfully filled up as to destroy the sense. It would repre- sent to us that we possessed the works of Aristotle as a whole, but that they were defective in the parts. Internal evidence does not bear out this account. An examination of the works as we possess them does not show them to be in the condition which Strabo would imply. The Characters of Theophrastus indeed, and parts of the Eudemian Ethics, exhibit this kind of corruption, but not the works of Aristotle in general. The touches of an editorial hand often appear, but not as supply- ing Iacuna3. There is no trace of the conjectures of Apellicon. When we turn to external evidence, we find that there must have been some ground for the narrative of Strabo. Strabo was the scholar of Tyrannic and the friend of Andronicus (whose share, however, in the business he does not mention) ; he therefore had the history of Sulla's MSS. on the best authority. The adventures recorded may have happened to the autographs, or some of them, of Aristotle and Theo- phrastus. But restrictedly to these. Strabo deserts history for imagination when he says that Aristotle's philosophical writings were lost to the earlier Peripatetics. Investigations tend to prove, as far as anything can be proved about so dark a period, that all the important works of Aristotle were known to the world during the 230 years which elapsed between the death of Aristotle and the capture of Athens by Sulla. Many of these works were made the basis of fresh treatises and commentaries by his immediate followers, Theophrastus, Eudemus, Phanias, &c. It seems certain that a mass of writings under his name, some genuine, others spurious, were purchased by Ptolemy Philadelphus for the Alexandrian library. His logical works must have been known to the Stoics, who made a development of his principles. The ESSAY I. allusions to him in Cicero 6 show an amusing mixture of knowledge and ignorance. They show that Cicero himself had no scientific acquaintance with Aristotle's philosophy indeed that he possessed the most superficial and external knowledge of the subject. But he speaks as if claiming to know the philosophical Looks, and as if there was a general acquaintance with them existing among the Greek rhetoricians and educated Komans of the day. His way of speaking is quite incompatible with Strabo's account of the recovery of these books. . Nor do the earlier Greek commentators men- tion it. Boethius alone speaks of Andronicus as ' exactum diligentemque Aristotelis librorum et judicem et repertorem.' On the whole then this famous story contributes hardly anything to our knowledge of the Aristotelian text, except perhaps the following two points. ( i ) It tells us of a recen- sion by Tyrannic and Andronicus. This accordingly stands over against the Alexandrian copies, though to which of these two families our present edition of the text belongs, it seems impossible to pronounce. (2) It shows us how entire was the ignorance of Strabo as to the literature of philosophy. He speaks without knowledge and without criticism of the isolated fact that had come beneath his notice. We see with As for instance in the Topics, i. 1-3. Trebatius had seen the Topics of Aristotle in Cicero's library at the Tusculan Villa, and had asked him what the book contained. Cicero, not to avoid trouble (as he says), but thinking it more for the interest of Trebatius, advises him to read the work himself, or else consult a certain learned rhetorician. Trebatius, how- ever, was repelled by the obscurity of the writing, and the rhetorician, when consulted, said ' he knew nothing about Aristotle.' Cicero thinks this not to be wondered at, since even the philosophers hardly knew anything about him, though they ' ought to have been attracted by the incredible flow and sweetness of the diction.' Cicero now proceeds to give Trebatius an account of the Topics of Aristotle, but he evidently is only acquainted with the first few pages of them. In De Fin. v. 5, where he quotes the Nicomachcan Ethics, he shows that he has never read them, for he praises them as making happiness indepen- dent of good fortune. THE LIST OF DIOGENES. 9 how great caution we have to receive each separate testimony coming to us from periods so uncritical. Another instance of the negligence of antiquity is to be found in the catalogue of the works of Aristotle, given by Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of the Philosophers (Y. i. 22). This catalogue exhibits at first sight an immense discrepancy from the edition of Aristotle to which we are accustomed. We miss the names of the great works, such as the Physical Lectures, the Ethics, the Metaphysics. Instead of these, we find a mass of apparently small and separate treatises enumerated, often apparently popular works in the form of dialogues, and even where more scientific works are specified, there seems often to be rather a coincidence of subject than an identity of the books with those which we possess. By a rough computation, it appears probable that the list of Diogenes would correspond to a mass of writings about four times the size of what remains at present, for Diogenes specifies the sum total as amounting to 445,270 lines, which at the rate of 10,000 lines to an alphabet or ream, would give forty-four reams, whereas ten reams is the utmost extent of the present aggregate. Granting, however, that the exoteric writings and much beside are lost, the question is, How can we reconcile what we have remaining with the titles given by Diogenes ? Take, for instance, the names of ethical works scattered about in this list. Hspl Sitcaioa-vvrjs &'. Trspl r)$ovf)s d. Trspl rayadov 7'. Trspl v 'H&yu K.T.\. Internal evidence is also equally decisive against our considering the works of Aristotle to be an amalgamation of THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES. 11 smaller treatises complete in themselves. Here and there, it is true, we find subjects worked out in a separate manner, the different parts seem often to have too little relation to the whole. That various portions of the Ethics, for instance, were composed piecemeal and at different times, there seems to be every reason for believing. But at the same time there is another element in Aristotle which the list of Diogenes would ignore namely, the idea of vast completeness and organic unity which presents itself constantly as an idea, though by no means realized throughout his works. However apparent may be the separateness of different parts of his system, it is much more apparent that every science is opened with a comprehensive plan, and proposing to itself an ex- tended scope which is never carried out. Whatever therefore may have been the origin of this catalogue, it stands com- pletely beside our present Aristotle. The most probable conjecture is that it was copied from the backs of the rolls in some library, without reference to the contents of the rolls themselves. The fragmentary condition of Aristotle's works, and his separate mode of writing, no doubt sometimes favoured this mode of labelling, and transcribers may for shortness sake have separated that which the author intended to be inseparable. Another ancient catalogue which exists agrees in general with the present arrangement of the books. It is Arabian, but is merely a translation of the catalogue given by a certain Ptolemseus, a Peripatetic philosopher of unknown date, who wrote on the life and works of Aristotle. More and more we are led to rely on internal evidence alone in deciding any question concerning the works of Aristotle. Let us then apply these principles in discussing the genuineness and criticizing the composition of the Nico- machean Ethics. The latter point depends on analysis of the work itself, the former implies some consideration of the 12 ESSAY I. fact that among the reputed works of Aristotle there appear also two other ethical treatises (not to mention the small and evidently spurious fragment De Virtutibus et Vitiis), namely, the JEudemian Ethics and the Magna Moralia. We have seen before, that as early as the second century these three ethical treatises were ranked, under their present names, among the works ascribed to Aristotle. And the first point that would naturally strike the reader would be to ask an explanation of these names. Antiquity is ready, as usual, with an answer of the most hasty and uncritical de- scription, for we find Porphyry, 7 in his Prolegomena to the Categories, gravely stating, that * Aristotle's ethical works consisted of a treatise addressed to Eudemus his disciple ; another, the Great Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his father ; and a third, the Little Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his son.' Strange to say, this guess or tradition, from whatever source derived, has been echoed pretty constantly since ; and in almost all commentaries on the * Little Nicomacheans,' it is taken for granted that they are inscribed by Aristotle to his son Nicomachus. Samuel Petit was perhaps the first to see an improbability in the story. His objection was based upon the fact that Nicomachus must have been a young child at the time of the composition of the book. Petit remedies the difficulty by finding out in the list of Archons one named Nicomachus, and some other great man of the name of Eudemus, to whom Aristotle's books might be worthily dedicated ; an explanation quite in accordance with the ideas of the seventeenth century. If, unfettered by tradition, we look the question in the 7 Porphyr. Proleg. p. 9. Sm pfv yap ri> Wuibv yfypafiptva. avrf flffl irpbs EWrjjuoj/ fj.adi}r^v, KO! &\\a irpbs NiK6fj.axov rbv irarfpa TO fj.fyd\a NjKo/x rbv viov, TO ju/cpo NiKO/*d'xa. THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES. 13 face, we see at once that the account given by Porphyry is absurd ; that in the first place, it is in the highest degree improbable that Aristotle should have inscribed his books to his disciple and to his son ; and in the second place, if he had done so, that the names 'ROuca EvSijpeia and 'H0i/ea Ni/fo/ia^eta would not have implied this, still less could 'H#t/ca Mg7a\a have meant Ethics addressed to his father, (i) We do not find any work of Aristotle's composed with this sort of personal reference, for the 'PijroptKr) vrpos 'AAsf- avBpov has been proved to be spurious. Far less in the Ethics themselves is there any trace of a purpose of this kind. The stern impersonality 8 of Aristotle and the purely scientific character of his enquiries, are quite opposed to the idea of a book composed for, or inscribed to his son. Such an idea would imply a false view of the whole tendency of the treatise, which is not to be regarded as a practical compendium, but rather as a scientific treatise on moral subjects. It is indeed the first treatise on Morals, written in uncertainty as to how far they could be separated from Politics. It is characterized by the freshness of a novel enquiry, and contains nothing hortatory. Its unfinished appearance also renders it doubt- ful whether it ever appeared in its present form during the life of Aristotle. This idea of inscribing a book of Morals to a son is essentially of later date and is suitable to Cicero. But it is especially remarkable that Cicero knew nothing of this story of the Nicomacheans being addressed to Nico- machus. He knew them by their name as Ethics of Nico- machus and doubted whether they were by the father or the son (De Fin. v. v.). (2) Indeed it is only natural that ' 8 Perhaps the most remarkable ; nists is alluded to; and Sophist. Elench. places in which this impersonality relaxes itself are, Eth. Nic. i. 6, i., where his friendship for the Plato- 33, where he speaks of his being the first to have laid the foundation of logic. 14 ESSAY I. N iKopaxeia should mean Ethics of, or by, Nicomachus, and 'H0tKci EuS?7/ieia Ethics by Eudemus. Other works by Eudemus are quoted with a similar title ; cf. Alexander Aphrod. on the Topics, p. 70. sv ry TT/HUTW rfav sTrtypa^o- fttvav Eu8?7yu,etW 'Ava\VTiK(av (eTriypd^erai Ss avro KOI EuS>;- fj.ov virep TWV ' AvdXvTiKwv). Those who wish against all probability to translate Nt/co/ia^sta, as if it were Trpos Nt/co- fjia^ov, appeal to the parallel word eoSe/treta, mentioned in the Rhetoric of Aristotle, in. ix. 9. At 8s ap^al T&V Trspio- Scav tr%eSbv ev rols OsoSsKTstois e^ripiO^vrai. They assume that this means ' the Rhetoric inscribed to Theodectes.' But in fact, the contents of this book and the meaning of its name are equally unknown. In all probability, it was merely a summary by Theodectes, embodying some of the doctrines of Aristotle. The name MsyaXa 'HQiKa is an apparent anomaly, for in point of bulk, this work is the least of the three treatises. Spengel thinks that the name may have been given in refe- rence to the intended completeness of its scope. Perhaps, however, the most probable account may be, that the name is due to a merely external accident, to the humour of a copyist or librarian. The work may have been labelled 6 Great Ethics,' to distinguish it from some adjacent Ethics in the library, just as we find the Hippias [Lsifyov and Harrow of Plato distinguished by these epithets from each other. It would seem at the first glance in the highest degree im- probable, that Aristotle, engaged as he was in pushing out philosophical analysis, enquiry, and speculation in all direc- tions, and who, from the immensity of his undertakings, was forced to leave the greater part of his works uncompleted, should have been at the labour of composing three treatises on the same subject, with the same scope and the same THE THEORY OF SPEXGEL. 15 results. And this is the character of the three treatises in question. There is therefore strong a priori probability against their being all the work of Aristotle. When we ask further what can be learnt from the titles they bear, we find that the name M^aXa 'IWi/ca tells us nothing, being itself an anomaly that requires explanation ; and that the other two titles would imply, that there have come down to us two expositions of the ethical system of Aristotle, the one drawn up by Nicomachus, the other by Eudemus. These two ex- positions might stand on the same footing with each other, or, again, might have a widely different character. The re- lation between Aristotle and his expositor or editor might in such cases vary almost indefinitely. It is possible on the one hand that the editorship consisted in a mere mechanical transcription. On the other hand it is possible that we have a mere nucleus or a mere collection of episodical fragments properly belonging to Aristotle himself, while form, method, and the conception of the whole are due severally to Nico- machus or Eudemus or thirdly, the thoughts alone may be Aristotelian, and these may have been recast by the expositor and not left wholly uncoloured by his own modes of thinking. Various are the shades of these hypotheses, which might hold good according as internal evidence should enable us to decide. Fortunately, the first point to be established is one on which general consent and internal probability entirely coincide namely, that the Nicomachean treatise is to be preferred above the Eudemian, as well as above the Magna Moralia. Neither by the Greek scholiasts, nor by Thomas Aquinas, nor by the succeeding host of Latin commentators have the two latter treatises been deemed worthy of illustra- tion, while the Nicomachean Ethics have been incessantly commented on. This tacit distinction between the three 16 ESSAY I. works was the only one drawn till the days of Schleiermacher, who mooted the question of their relation to each other. He at once pronounced they could not all belong to Aristotle, and seeing clearly the irregularities in the Nicomacheans, he was led to conclude that the Magna Moralia was the original work and the source of the other two. This conclusion, how- ever, has been set aside by the deeper criticism of Spengel, 9 whose theory is now universally received in Germany, and may be looked upon almost as a matter of certainty. Spengel considers that in the Nicomachean Ethics we have on the whole the work of Aristotle himself; in the Eudemians a work by Eudemus of Ehodes, based on the former ; in the Magna Moralia a resum6 of both these preceding works, compiled by some later Peripatetic. Any one who compares the opening sentences of the three treatises will be struck at once with a difference of manner. The Nicomachean commencement Tiaaa rfyvr} ical iraa-a (J.400&OS, O/JLOIWS 8s TTpaglS T KOI TTpOCtlpSCTiS, ayadoD TIV09 ei&0ai 8o/ci is quite in the style of Aristotle. It reminds us of the beginning of the Post. Analytics Tlacra S \ia ical Trdcra f^aOrjais Siavoijriitr) SK TrpovTrapxovcnjs yvaxTScos or of the Metaphysics Hdvrss avQpanroi TOV eiSevai opsyovrai vcri. It is a universal proposition forming the first step in an elaborate argument. This argument bases the whole of Ethics upon the Aristotelian conception of TS\O?, on the practical chief good, or happiness, demonstrated to be the final cause of life. The question then follows What science is to treat of this all- important conception? The answer is ' Politics,' which answer belongs to a Platonic point of view, and shows that Ethics had not yet been separated 9 Ueber die unter dem Namen des Aristotolos erlialtenen ethischenSohrif- ten, (in den Abhandl. der Pkilos. philol. Klasse der K. Bay. Akad. 1 841 ). THE THREE OPENINGS. 17 from Politics. Considerations of the method of this science follow. All is systematic, and evinces a deep and comprehen- sive, but at the same time a tentative, view of the subject. The Eudemian Ethics commence quite differently. 'O /jisv si> A^Xa) irapa raj so) rrjv avrov yvwfirjv aTro avvsypatysv srrl TO TrpoTrvXaiov TOV ATJTWOV, ois\(0v TrdvTa TW aurcS, TO TS d^adov Kal TO KO\OV Kal TO rj&v, Ka\\iffTOv rb SiKai^TOToi/. \SffTOv 5' vyiaiveiv irdvT pr) (rvy^(i)p(t)fjiv' r\ yap svoaifiovia Kal apiaTOv airdvTwv ovcra rf^icnov scmv. In this opening we can trace several characteristic peculiarities : ( i ) There is an apparent attempt at style, the book is begun with an attractive quotation, which is alien from Aristotle's manner. (2) We recognise the quotation as having occurred in Eth. Nic. I. viii. 14. There, however, it is only mentioned in passing as one of the \sy6/j.sva with which Aristotle com- pares his definition of the chief good. Here it is amplified, and quoted with more circumstance. This is character- istic of the Eudemian Ethics, which often play a useful part in furnishing learned references and more explicit quotations for the Nicomacheans. For instance, they give in amplified form the saying of Anaxagoras on Happiness, and of Heraclitus on Anger; and a corrected statement of the doctrine of Socrates on Courage. 10 (3) We miss the 10 Eth. End. I. iv., 'A.vaa.y6pas n*v I yopias. av-rbs 5* 1i/ra 6 KXa^o/j-evios fpcarijOels T'IS 6 evSai- \ aAunws /cal Ka.6a.pus irpbs rb SlKCUov tf fj.ovfv arv j TIVOS Oecapias Koiviavovvra Qeias, TOVTOV vo(j.iets, a\A.' &TOTTOS &v TIS ffoi (paveiri.' ! ais &vQpveira.i.' On Socrates : Eth. Eud. in. i., Seurepa [avSpfia Koff dfjwiArirr"-] ^ ffrpartriK'ft ai*TTj 5 5' tfiittipiav Kal rb flSfvat, ot>x, Siffirep 'SAHCpdrys $ Seivwv. See note upon Eth. Nic. in. viii. 6. 11 In one passage, i. v., which is at first sight startling, he seems to quote Eth. Nic. u. 2. 6. Srt Si ^ tvStia Kal 77 urrep/SoA.'}) Bfipi, TOUT' iSe'iv fffriv e'/c ruv iiBiKtav. Ae? 8' inrep rwv a.v ii6iKrjlfraVTO KOI OVTOJS, S%6fJiVOV 8' av strf fjksra ravra cr/ce^raa'&ai rt Bsl avrovs \sysiv (l. i. 4). So too i. xxxv. 26, d\\a fteXriov MS ^^sts dv a.l6 nva rov ro\/jLS>VTfS 8 irpoff6elvai ytveffrtpoi 5(4 ri> iroXi/ irdvv \flirfff6cu Ttjs rov d^Spbs tvvola.s, (ifrhyayov IK ruv &\\wv avrov irpay^arftiav ra \tltrovra, ap/j.6ffa,f>res ii fjv $war6i/. 14 Cf. Ammonius on the Categories (Brandis, Schol. in Aristot. p. 28 note), ol yap fj.a6r]ral avrov Etf8?7yuoj ical Qavias Kal &e6cppacal dpsral /J-STO. \6yov (11. i. 19), which is surely not a right mode of speaking: the moral virtues are fisra Atr/ou, the intellectual excellences are Aoyot. Already we are touching upon differences not so much of style as of philosophy. The point of view of Eudemus appears different from that of Aristotle; there are several novelties and fresh questions introduced, and there is a later and more developed psychology. The difference of point of view consists in the abandonment of what might be called the scientific context of Ethics, the connection of the individual with the state, of happiness with the chief good, of human life with its final cause, being no longer preserved. This peculiarity has the effect of making the Eudemian Ethics correspond to the modern conception of a ' practical' treatise; if by practical is understood moralizing without philosophy. Another fundamental difference consists in this, that whereas Aristotle had represented contemplation as the highest human good, Eudemus seems to have set aside this idea, and to have substituted for it that of KoXoKasyaOia, the aggregate and perfection of moral virtues. The aim and standard of this perfect quality he makes the service and contemplation of Grod, so that the passions are to be subdued, and all external goods only chosen in so far as they may be subservient to that end, VIII. iii. 15. "Hrts ovv aipsvcrei cuyaOwv jronfjcrei rrjv rov (Jsov /naAurra 6s(opuiv, rj o~(i)fj,aros rj -)(pr)fMir(av r] av\7). "E^ei Se TOVTO rfj frvxfj, Kal ovros TTJS tyvxfjs 6 opos apia-Tos, ra ij/cia-ra aladd- vsadai TOV a\\ov fMspovs rf)S ^v^rjs % TOIOVTOV. TtV pev ovv opos rrjs KaXo/cayadias, Kal rls o O~KOTTOS TWV aTrXws dyadwv, eo-ra> siprjfjLevov. This elevated passage enters upon a subject which we do not find discussed by Aristotle, namely, the con- 24 ESSAY I. nection between religion and life. As far as we can judge of Aristotle's opinions on this question, the above passage gives a different view from his. The words Bspairsvsiv rov 6ebv imply a different conception of the Deity from what we are accustomed to find in Aristotle, and the connection here made between moral virtue and theological contemplation is opposed' to the broad distinction made by Aristotle between speculation and practical life, and is more like Platonism. Also we may notice something peculiar in the formulas here used, opos Trjs KaXoicayaOlas, and CTKOTTOS TWV aTrXwy ayaOwv. We have already specified in passing the chief novelties introduced into the Ethics of Eudemus. They are (i) his questions about the voluntary, which confusedly as they are treated, show a growth in psychology and in ethical science, for the want of a sufficiently profound theory of the in- dividual will had been one of the chief defects in Aristotle's system ; (2) his enquiry as to the relation of virtue to pur- pose in the moral syllogism. This is a later development than is contained in the first books, at all events, of the Nicomachean treatise ; (3) his discussion of the influence of fortune on happiness, which we find treated in a religious spirit, though obscurely ; (4) his theory of KaXoxa^adia. These differences grafted on to the system of Aristotle are not such as to entitle the Eudemian Ethics to any great praise as an independent system, but they are interesting as showing the relation of the Peripatetic school to Aristotle. The so-called Magna M or alia consist of two books. The conclusion of the second appears wanting. The whole pre- sent uniformly the appearance of a resume of foregone con- clusions, but the writer seems to have had before him not only the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics, but also some other source, perhaps the writings or the traditions of Theo- phrastus. To this latter authority we might attribute the NOTICES OF N1COMACHUS. 25 slight novelties that occur, as for instance, the sketch of the history of morals (i. i. 4-8) ; an expanded statement of the import of the word rajadov (i. i. 10, ii. n), which in its arid logical clearness forms a sort of Scholium upon Aristotle; some dfropiai on justice (u. iii.) ; and certain other minor im- provements and additions. At the beginning of Book I. the writer seems to follow Aristotle, afterwards he adheres rather more closely to Eudemus. In one case, however, where Eudemus had corrected Aristotle, namely, with regard to the doctrine of Socrates on courage, the author of the Magna, Moralia repeats the original less correct statement. The point of view coincides almost entirely with that of Eudemus : but the writer indicates some sort of advance in stating still more dogmatically than Eudemus the freedom of the will, and with regard to the intellectual apsrai he denies the name of apsTai to these at all, though he discusses the intellec- tual qualities, substituting however vTroX-rj^ts for TEXVIJ, and throughout his writing confusing the words sTriar^fjiij and Ts-)(yrj. On the whole, the Magna Moralia must be regarded as a dry compendium, executed with less clearness, and ex- hibiting the decline of the Peripatetic school, for the only originality here is one that exhausts itself in paraphrase and elucidation. After these preliminary enquiries, we may now proceed to examine the treatise that bears the name of Nicomachus, which is our immediate concern. Of Nicomachus himself scarcely anything is known. Eusebius (Prcep. Evang. xv. 2) quotes the following notice from Aristocles the Peripatetic : TlvdidSos 7ffS 'Epfttfov T\evrr)V 'ZraysipiTiv, l YJS vibs avr(p TOUTOI> $e (fxicriv opfyavov rpa(psvra irapa KOL &rj usipaKicrKov ovra a-jroOavsiv sv iroks^w. The fact of his being educated by Theophrastus may have placed him in some 26 ESSAY I. connection with the MSS. of his father. But the tradition that he died while yet a youth in war, is not consistent with the notice of him by Suidas (sub voce), which speaks of him as a philosopher, the scholar of Theophrastus, and the author of six books of Ethics, and of a commentary on his father's physical philosophy. These ' six books of ethics ' mentioned by Suidas may in all probability be a confused allusion to the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. In Diogenes Laertius also, the title seems to have caused a confusion with regard to the authorship. <&r)/3ov\ia is treated of in Book VI., without any recollection of the account of /3ov\svi\u>v TOVS % airXws \sysTai, fjLsra ravra SisXo/jLSVoi, jrspl etcarepas spov/j,sv TTWS fjLSfforrjres slcriv 6fJ,oi(as be Kal Trspl rS)V \oyiK rots s-^o^svois 8s Trspl TTJS \vTrrjs coral T(bv\ and that they interrupt the grammar of the context, perhaps it is best to consider them not Aristotle's, but added on. Some commentators imagine that the reference is to the eighth chapter of Book II., where the mean is shown to differ in degree and also in kind from the extremes. This may have suggested itself to the mind of a person interpo- lating the reference. But it is too vague and indistinct a resemblance to have been really alluded -to by Aristotle. What the form of the reference would lead one to expect is, an abstract logical discussion on the question, whether things differing in kind can be compared with each in point of degree. 3. Much of the Ethics seems written, as if the author had first divided his subject into separate parts, and then had worked out the analysis of those parts without taking thought of their mutual relation. Thus zeal for the particular en- quiries seems to overpower any consideration for the general harmonious impression. This is perhaps the extreme of the analytic tendency. The web of human life is divided into its component threads, and each thread is followed out in separation from the rest. Happiness, pleasure, virtue, wis- dom, temperance, and friendship, each have their turn. At one time Aristotle seems to speak entirely of moral virtue, at another time entirely of happiness. Virtue is said to be necessary for happiness ; but in the discussion of virtue, no 32 ESSAY I. allusion to happiness is made. For virtue, or the mean, you must have a standard in the practical reason ; but when the practical reason is defined, all mention of the mean is omitted. This characteristic gives a disjointed appearance to the N'lcomachean Ethics. Partly, it is attributable to an idiosyncrasy in the mind of Aristotle. Partly, no doubt, this idiosyncrasy has been aggravated by the really unfinished state of the present work. Not only in point of method do the different parts hang ill together, but there is also an inconsistency discernible in the manner of the writing. In tone and colour the first book and the tenth seem to har- monize. These seem to have been written together. On a level with these, both in moral elevation and in philosophical interest, we may place Books VIII. and IX. In these four books, the prominence of the metaphysical conception svsp- rysia is a token of their philosophical point of view. Books II. III. IV. seem hardly above the popular level of thought. Books V. VI. VII. are characterized by a confusion and in- distinctness from which other parts of the work seem free. Books VI. and VII. are also marked by a prevalence of logical phraseology. 4. We now come to certain marks of joining and patch- work, which are so inartificial, that they need only be set down in order to be immediately recognised, vn. x. 5. xi. i : * The nature of continence and incontinence, and the re- lation of these states to one another, has now been declared. But pleasure and pain are subjects for the consideration of the political philosopher,' &c. vn. xiv. 9 : ' About continence and incontinence, and plea- sure and pain, we have now spoken, and the nature of each, and how some of them are goods and some evils. Next we shall speak also about friendship.' vui. i. i : < But after this it would follow to discuss friendship,' &c. AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 3.1 ix. xii. 4 : ' Thus far then let the discussion of friendship go ; it will follow to investigate pleasure.' x. i. i : * But after this, perhaps the next point is to in- vestigate pleasure.' No one could imagine that such links as these would be employed to connect the parts of a work really written from end to end. The very collision between the beginnings and ends of books, the repetition in the first line of a fresh book of the same words which concluded the book before, is very awkward, and we do not find it elsewhere in Aristotle, though it is true that it appears in the Eudemian Ethics. But even passing this over, there is obviously something wrong about the arrangement of a work which first says, 'Having dis- cussed pleasure we may now discuss friendship ;' and some pages later, * We have now discussed friendship, and it follows to discuss pleasure.' And the second treatise on Pleasure proceeds accordingly in the most naive manner to bring forward arguments why pleasure should be discussed, on account of the importance of the subject, and its con- nection with morals, just as though it had never been men- tioned before. The above then are some of the most salient indications of disorder and incompleteness in the Nicomaehean Ethics. No hypothesis can entirely explain them away. You cannot, by dropping out so many chapters here and so many words there, make the work smooth and entire. The only course is to endeavour to form as fair an opinion as possible on the probable method in which Aristotle composed the work, and the condition in which he left it. And Nicomachus, or the copyist, may be answerable for the rest. The most important question on this part of the subject is as to the authorship of Books V. VI. VII. We have already seen that these books occur word for word in the D 34 ESSAY I. Eudemian Ethics. The question is, to which of the two works do they originally and properly belong ? There have been various hypotheses on the subject. The first and most moderate is that started among the moderns by Casaubon, that the treatise on Pleasure in Book VII. is not by Aristotle but by Eudemus. This supposition, if we could accept it, would no doubt remove great awkwardness from the appear- ance of the Nicomachean Ethics. But from grounds of a priori probability we may safely conclude that this sup- position cannot be the true one. For though it is possible to conceive that the whole of these three books may have been introduced into the one treatise from the other, and may have brought along with them a superfluous discussion on Pleasure to a work already treating of the subject ; it is not possible to believe that a treatise on Pleasure should be separated from its context in the Ethics of Eudemus, and un- necessarily transplanted into the Ethics of Aristotle. More- over, if the last four chapters of Book VII. were written by Eudemus and introduced here, how came it about that the remainder of Book VII,, and the whole of Books VI. and V., written by Aristotle, were afterwards transferred to the work of Eudemus ? Those who wish to operate for the benefit of the Nicomachean Ethics, must use the knife deeply or not at all. They must separate three entire books, or else leave the excrescence untouched. The second hypothesis is that adopted by a recent editor of the Eudemian Ethics (Fritzsche), who maintains that Book V. belongs to the work of Aristotle, Books VI. and VII. to that of Eudemus. For the same reasons as before, we may say that it is almost impossible to believe in this double transference. We can imagine that one treatise may have been left imperfect, or may have been mutilated, and that its deficiencies were supplied from the other. But it is hard AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 35 to believe, without any external evidence, in the imperfection or mutilation of both works, and in a system of mutual accommodation arising out of the wants of each. The only suppositions then which remain open to us are, either that the three books in question are by Aristotle, or that they are by Eudemus. If we can on other grounds allow them to be the work of Aristotle, there is no in- superable obstacle in the double treatise on Pleasure. We must at once conclude that that in Book VII. is an earlier essay, on which Aristotle afterwards improved. We might say, the treatise in Book VII. is dialectical, merely opposing the Platonists. That in Book X. is scientific, giving a more complete analysis of the subject. Instances occur in the Metaphysics of short discussions, which appear repeated in a more or less changed form. Of course a repetition of this kind is due to the editors of Aristotle. They were naturally reluctant to lose or omit any part of his writings. And hence it may have come -about, that a treatise on Pleasure super- seded and discarded by its author was afterwards revived and awkwardly grafted upon one of his works. It is not on the ground of these few last chapters that the genuineness of the whole three books is brought to an issue. The chief arguments in favour of attributing these books to Aristotle are (i) The fact that they are found in his treatise, and have been constantly received as part of it, and, in fact, are required to complete it. (2) That they appear to be quoted by Aristotle himself in the Metaphysics and Politics. (3). That they are said to be completely Aristo- telian in style. Against these arguments might be pleaded ( i) That they are found in the work of Eudemus. And if we attribute them to Eudemus, we shall be only applying to these books the hypothesis which some would apply to the whole treatise, or even to all the works of Aristotle namely, P 2 36 ESSAY I. that they consist of the notes of his scholars. Moreover, the very name, Ethics by Nicomachus, might suggest the pro- bability that something might be found in a work so called, not coming purely and entirely from Aristotle, while the fact that these books are required to complete the system does not prove their genuineness, so much as account for their having been borrowed ; especially if it turns out that they do not exactly fit, and give a seeming rather than a real com- pleteness to the Nicomachean Ethics. (2) An examination of the places where these books are said to be quoted a little weakens the argument drawn from those quotations. In Metaphys. i. i. 17, Book VI. appears to be referred to. fjisv ovv ev rots 'H^t/eots ris 8iaopa rs^vrjs Kal STTI- Kal rS)v a\\wv rwv o/j-oysvcbv ov 8' svs/ca vvv TroiovpsBa rbv \6yov, TOUT' ev rjdiK&V rl yap Kal Tial TO Si/catov KO I Ssiv Tots i crois tarov slvaL (fraonv. We see about the last of these passages that it is no quo- tation at all, but merely an assertion that, with regard to justice, people in general agree to a certain extent with the philosophic theory of ethics, &c. In the second passage, there are all the marks of an interpolated reference. In the first passage the reference is general, being to doctrine not to words. We possess no doubt the ethical doctrine of Aristotle, as far as he had completed it, but do we possess it altogether in his own words ? (3) As to the style, we must bear in mind the very close AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 37 resemblance of the style of the Eudemian Ethies to that of Aristotle. Perhaps nothing in the present books might have struck us as remarkable, but for the fact that they already stand as part of the Eudemian Ethics. And this leads us to institute a closer scrutiny. And out of this scrutiny there becomes apparent something confused, and what we might call Eudemian, about the writing, and something about the philosophy, on the one hand later and more mature, on the other hand slurred and indistinct. Many will, no doubt, feel the argument from style to be subtle and evanescent, and, de- clining to be convinced by it, they will deny the possibility of distinguishing with certainty between the hand of the Master and the imitative work of the School. To such persons we submit that at all events it is impossible to sum up and convey in a few lines the import of an evidence which is in its nature essentially cumulative. It is not on the form of this or that particular sentence by itself that the question turns, and by quoting isolated Eudemianisms (or what we consider such), we should only weaken the argument to be drawn from them. We can only refer to the disputed books themselves, and if, after going through the peculiarities in detail which will be pointed out in the notes, any one still denies that there is any difference in the writing between the Nicomachean and the Nicomacho-Eudemian books, there is nothing more to be said on the subject. As to the philosophy of these books, it is to be noticed that they prominently contain the doctrine of the practical syl- logism, which on the other hand is not applied in Book III. to the explanation of the will. There is also something very mature in the formula given in Book VI. for the definition of virtue, ^wxpdrrjs IASV ovv \6yovs ray operas (Zero slvai (sTTLarrj^uLS jap elvai Tracray), r)/j,sls Se pera Xo7oi;(xiii. 5). Again in the use of the terms opos and OTCOTTOS, we observe something 33 ESSAY I. which has no parallel in other books of Aristotle, and which is apparently an innovation introduced into the system by Eudemus. Compare Eth. Nic. VI. i. i, sv irdo-ats v b rov \6yov s^cav STTLTSLVSL teal avirja-w and VI. i. 3, aXXa Kal $i(apio-fj,vov (Set slvai) ris r ecrrlv 6 bpdos \6yos xal rovrov ris opos with Eth. Eud. II. v. 8, ris S' 6 bp6os \6yos, Kal Trpbs riva Set opov airo^Xs-novras \eav\oiy{yvovTai (xiv. 6). Not only is this practical and moral feeling characteristic of Eudemus, but also the materialistic tendency shown in these chapters, and indeed throughout Book VIL, was a tendency into which the Peripatetic scholars seem to have fallen, and which runs out into extremity in many of the 'Problems' falsely attributed to Aristotle. When we ask fairly, Do these three books complete the system of Aristotle's Ethics, on the supposition that they are genuinely his ? the answer must be, that they cannot be said to do so. What we most essentially want after the conclu- sion of Book IV. is a theory of the Aojos or moral standard. But can Book VI. be said to supply this ? In the first place, we have already noticed the awkwardness of the phrase made use of by Eudemus, al BiavorjriKal apsral /msra \6yov. This same confusion of phrase is carried all through Book VI. of 40 ESSAY I. Eth. Nic. 3>p6vr)cns equally with sTrum^r) and re^vr) is de- scribed as a egis fisra \6yov. We might perhaps have imagined that this \oyos was some deeper law of the con- sciousness, lying behind faovrjcris and regulating it. But the reverse statement occurs at the end of Book VI., where p6vr)(Tis is made to regulate the \6yos (Travres orav opitytvrai rrjv apsrrjv Trpocrridsaai, rr)v eiv, rrjv Karci rbv opBbv \oyov, opObs S' 6 Kara rrjv (pp6vr]p6vr)(ris as Aristotle's term for the moral standard, we must in the first place miss any explanation of its connection with the mean ; secondly, we do not find it harmonized with /SovXya-ts, fiovXevais, and Trpoaips&is, as they are described in Book III. Again we find it variously and incongruously set forth ; ist, as pru- dence, though its relation to happiness is not drawn out (vi. v. 2) ; 2nd, as including all human interests in its scope (vi. vii. 6) ; 3rd, as universal (vi. vii. 7) ; 4th, as particular (16.) ; 5th, as intuitive (vi. viii. 9) ; 6th, as acquired by experience (vi. viii. 5); 7th, as a faculty of ends (vi. ix. 7); 8th, as a faculty of means (vi. xii. 9); gth, as depending on the moral character (vi. xii. 10); loth, as a sort of universal wisdom and perfected condition, both of the reason and the will, so that he who possessed it could do no wrong (vi. xiii. 6, vii. ii. 5). These contradictions and incongruities, when put together, allow us perhaps to form a general conception in which they may be all reconciled ; but scattered about as they are in the sixth book of Eth. Nic. they present a very unphilosophical and unsatisfactory appearance, and make us doubt whether Aristotle himself can have been the author of this very imperfect statement. That he was the author in some sense of the theory we cannot doubt, and we know from Metaphysics, I. i. 17, that the psychology of the intel- AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 41 lect, the difference of einar^firi from a-ofyia, &c., formed part of Aristotle's ethical system, though we must also re- mark that ao(f)ia is differently represented in the Meta- physics from what it is in Eth. Nic. Book VI.. and we may well suspect that the theory of typovtiais also is to some extent coloured by the views of Eudemus. The same criticism applied to Book V. discloses also its imperfections, when considered as a supplement to the lucid account of the virtues in Books II.-IV. It gives a very in- distinct answer to the question, * In what sense are the two kinds of justice mean states?' which was proposed for dis- cussion, Eth. Nic. n. vii. 16. In Book V. Aristotle's theory of justice looms upon us vaguely through a cloud. We know that he differed from Plato in his conception of justice, that he attributed to it a more special character, but how indis- tinct are the arguments (v. ii. 1-6) by which this special character is established ! In Chapter 4th, SiopOcariKov SLKCIIOV is spoken of as applicable both to voluntary and involuntary transactions, but of the former kind there is no explanation given. What is the relation of that justice in exchange, of which the principles are stated in Chapter 5th, to this * cor- rective justice'? Granted that the two divisions of justice, viewed politically, into distributive and corrective, are of con- siderable importance (they were apparently known to Plato before Aristotle), yet these should not in a moral treatise absorb the whole account of the matter. The moral view of justice as an individual virtue or duty is here greatly defi- cient. Partly we must conclude that the theory of Aristotle was immature, partly that it is ill-stated by Eudemus. In the last chapter of the book we find an irregularity which proves the influence of unskilful editorship. There is a repetition of a question already answered. In all probability the book was meant to end at the conclusion of Chapter 10. 42 ESSAY I. Those who start with the supposition that the Nicomachean Ethics are a finished treatise from which they have only to reject glaring irregularities, are in the habit of saying that Book V. is by Aristotle except the last chapter, which is by Eudemus. For this hypothesis there is not the slightest evidence, either internal or external. Arguments might be multiplied to show that in all pro- bability Books V. VI. VII. are the work of Eudemus, just in the same sense as the Eudemian Ethics are his wcrk, namely, they are his exposition of the theory of Aristotle slightly modified by his own views. Whether, as in the case of the Metaphysics (above mentioned p. 20), parts of Aristotle's own ethical writing which corresponded to these books have been lost, and the lacuna supplied from the exposition of Eudemus, or whether never anything but an oral theory of this part of the system existed, it seems impossible to say. Aristotle's reference to the theory (Metaphys. I. i. 17), makes it more probable that something was written, but we must not hence conclude that the Ethics was ever a finished work, or pub- lished in the lifetime of Aristotle. His quotations in the Metaphysics and Politics do not by any means prove this. Aristotle was probably carrying on his various works together, and thus might naturally refer from one which was in con- ception later, to one which was in conception more complete, though not yet given to the world. It would be easy then to form a hypothesis to account for the present condition of the Nicomachean Ethics. A com- parison of their beginning and end might seem to show that the work is constructed on a scientific frame. We might say that without doubt these first and last books were written by Aristotle himself. That he probably drew out at the same time the entire plan for the intermediate books. That the separate parts of his subject, divided according to this plan, GENERAL HYPOTHESIS. 43 he must have worked out according to his custom at different times. That these parts therefore have different degrees of connection with the whole, different degrees of completeness in themselves. Thus the treatises on the Voluntary, on Pleasure, and on Friendship, have all an introduction, show- ing that they are meant to form part of an ethical system. But the treatise on Friendship in three places uses the phrase icaOairsp h dpxf) ipr)Tai (viil. ix. I, VIII. xiii. I, IX. iii. i), to denote its own earlier chapters, as if being an independent work. It also uses the same phrase (ix. ix. 5) to denote the beginning of the entire Ethics. We might say then that Books VIIL and IX. have a double nature ; on the one hand they are a separate treatise, on the other hand part of a larger work. We might conceive these ' disjecta mem- bra' of Aristotle's Ethics lying among his papers at his death, and imagine that some time may have elapsed before Nico- machus, or whoever was the first editor, took in hand their amalgamation; that in the meanwhile Eudemus may have been writing his system ; that part of the original system of Aristotle being now lost or for some cause or other wanting, Nicomachus took three of the Eudemian books as being the nearest approach to the doctrine and to the very words of Aristotle, and grafted them on with the view of presenting a completed treatise to the world. After all, however, any hypothesis of the kind could only be a mere shot in the dark. To those cautious minds who would immediately rebuke such guess-work, we would submit that, at all events, the Nicomachean Ethics are put together out of two separate, and, to some extent, heterogeneous parts. ESSAY II. On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece previous to Aristotle. IN the Ethics of Aristotle there are but few direct allusions to moral theories of other philosophers. Plato's theory of the idea of good, viewed in its relation to Ethics (i. vi.) ; Socrates' definition of courage (in. viii. 6) ; of virtue (vi. f^r^i ..xiii. 3); his opinion of incontinence (vn. ii. i) ; Eudoxus' ^, vCo- theory of pleasure (x. ii. i ) ; the Pythagorean definition of ' justice (v. v. i) ; and Solon's paradox (i. x.), are perhaps the only ones which are by name commented on. There are constant impersonal allusions to various opinions (the Xe7o- IJLSVO, on the subject in hand) ; some of these Aristotle attri- butes to ' the few,' that is, the philosophers ; others he speaks of as stamped with the consent of * the many and of ancient times.' (i. viii. 7.) But there is no connected history of ethical opinions or ethical systems to be found in this work of Aristotle. His Metaphysics, his Physical Lectures, and his De Animd, each commence with a historical introduc- tion, so that the various problems to be answered in these several sciences are made to develope themselves out of the attempts and the failures of previous enquiries. But we miss here any such opening, and the reason is that Ethics were only first beginning to have an existence as a separate science, with Aristotle. Before the fifth century, philo- sophy had been entirely physical or metaphysical ; with the Sophists and Socrates thought was directed to the rationale of human life, to discussions of virtue and justice and the THE HISTORY OF ETHICS. 45 duties of a citizen. But before Plato there were no scientific treatises on moral subjects, and even in Plato there was no separation between Morals and Politics. Aristotle beginning his treatise in a tentative way, and partly following the lead of Plato, speaks of his science as ' a sort of Polities' (i. iii. i) ; at the same time he gives it a treatment which effectually separates it from Politics. By reason then of this tentative attitude and this silence of Aristotle, we are left to discuss for ourselves the beginnings of moral philosophy in Greece ; which it is indeed necessary to do, since a system of any kind can only be properly understood by knowing its antecedents. The author of the Magna Moralia prefixes to his book the following brief sketch of the previous progress of the science. 'The first to attempt this subject was Pythagoras. His method was faulty, for he made virtue a number, justice a cube, &c. To him succeeded Socrates, who effected a great advance, but who erred in calling virtue a science, and in thus ignoring the distinction between the moral nature (jrados KCU TjOos} and the intellect. Afterwards came Plato, who made the right psychological distinctions, but who mixed up and confused ethical discussions with ontological enquiries as to the nature of the chief good.' In a shadowy way this passage represents the truth ; for it is true that in the pre-Socratic philosophy, of which the Pythagorean system may stand as a type, ethical ideas had no distinctness, they were confused with physical or mathematical notions. Also the faults in the Ethics of Socrates and Plato are here rightly stated. But it is a confusion to speak of Pythagoras as a moral philosopher, in the same sense that Socrates and Plato were so, or to speak of Socrates succeeding Pythagoras in the same way that Plato succeeded Socrates. Even were the account more accurate, that it is too barren to be in itself very useful, every one will acknowledge. 4G ESSAY II. Eenouncing any attempt to trace a succession of systems (which indeed did not exist), until we come to the limited period of development between Socrates and Aristotle, let us take a broader view of the subject, and divide morality into three eras, first, the era of popular or unconscious morals ; second, the transitional, sceptical, or sophistic era ; thirdly, the philosophic or conscious era. These different stages ap- pear to succeed each other in the national and equally in the individual mind. The simplicity and trust of childhood, the unsettled and undirected force of youth, and the wisdom of matured life. First, we believe because others do so ; then, in order to obtain personal convictions, we pass through a stage of doubt ; then we believe the more deeply and in a some- what different way from what we did at the outset. On these three distinct periods or aspects of thought about moral subjects,jnuch might be said. The first thing to remark is, that they are not only successive to each other if you regard the mind of the most cultivated and advanced thinkers of successive epochs, but also they are contemporaneous and in j uxtaposition to each other, if you regard the different de- grees of cultivation and advancement among persons of the same epoch. In Plato's Republic we find the three points of view represented by different persons in the dialogue. The question, What is justice ? being started, an answer to it is first given from the point of view of popular morality in the persons of Cephalus and of his son Polemarchus, who define it to be, in the words of Simonides, * paying to every one what you owe them.' To this definition captious diffi- culties are started, difficulties -which the popular moralit} 7 , owing to its unphilosophical tenure of all conceptions, is quite unable to meet. Then comes an answer from the Sophistical point of view, in the person of Thrasymachus, that 'justice is the advantage of the stronger.' This having been over- TIIKEE EEAS OF MOEALITY. 47 thrown, partly by an able sophistical skirmish, partly by the assertion of a deeper moral conviction, the field is left open for a philosophical answer to the question. And this ac- cordingly occupies the remainder of Plato's Republic, the different sides of the answer being represented by different personages ; Grlaucon and Adeimantus personifying the prac- tical understanding which is only gradually brought into harmony with philosophy, Socrates the higher reason and the most purely philosophical conception. Almost all the dialogues of Plato, which touch on moral questions, may be said to illustrate the collision between the above-men- tioned different periods or points of view, though none so fully as the Republic. Some dialogues, which are merely tentative, as the Euthyphro, Lysis, Charmides, Laches, OS, OvSf Tl vilKTUp Ofip6fj.evoL- xAeir^s 5e tool Scaffouffi 4 Vv. 48-105. 5 V>. 108-171. THE MORALITY OF HESIOD. 55 mortals, have gone and left us. 6 Mixed up with this sad and gloomy view of the state of the world, we find indications of a religious belief which is in some respects more elevated than the theology of Homer. Hesiod represents the mes- sengers of Zeus, thirty thousand daemons, as always pervading the earth, and watching on deeds of justice and injustice. 7 A belief in the moral government of God is here indicated, though it is expressed in a polytheistic manner, and there is a want of confidence and trust in the divine benevolence. The gods are only just, and not benign. Hesiod's book of the Works and Days is apparently a cento, containing the elements of at least two separate poems, the one an address to the poet's brother Perses, with an appeal against his in- justice ; the other perhaps by a different hand, containing maxims of agriculture, and an account of the operations at different seasons. Into this part different sententious rules of conduct are interwoven, which may be rather national and Boeotian than belonging to any one particular author. The morality of Hesiod, whatever its origin, contains a fine prac- tical view of life. It enjoins justice, energy, and above all, temperance and simplicity of living. Nothing can be finer than the saying 8 quoted by Plato (cf. Eepub. p. 466 C ; Laws, p. 690 E), * How much is the half greater than the whole ! how 1 great a blessing is there in mallows and asphodelus ! ' Plato finds fault with Hesiod that his is a merely prudential Ethics, or eudsemonism, that he recommends justice by the promise 6 Vv. 195-199. 7 V. 250 sq. rpls yap /j.vpioi flfflv M -)(Qov\ irouXu- j30Ttp?7 addvaroi Zrtvbs, v\ouces BmjTwv ai>6p- ittav ol pa ovs, N.B. 6i crsavrov (of uncertain authorship), which was inscribed on the front of the temple at Delphi, became in the hands of Socrates in a measure the foundation of philosophy. In the Ethics of Aristotle, proverbs of this epoch are occasionally quoted, though not always connected with the name of any individual sage. Thus the saying, that f Office shows the man ' (Eth. v. i. 1 6), is attributed to Bias ; but the adage vroXXas Srj i\ias a-n-poarjyopla SisXvasv (viir. v. i ), and other proverbial verses, such as sadXol IJLSV yap d-rr^ws K.T.\. (ii. vi. 14), and icd\\i- yap air fff6\a 8i5ci|eaj, crv/j.fj.io-yris, airo\fis Kal rbv 46i>ra V&OV. olffff on tv TOVTOIS /j.ti> as StSa/croD oftffi\s TTJs apfrfis \tyft; M. 3>a(vemi ye. 2. 'Ej' &\\ots 84 ye o\iyov /uera- Pds, fl S" fa TroiTjrJj/, ^Tjtri, Kal ivQe-rov avSpl v6r)fna \eyei wus on iro\\ovs Uv (jLiffOovs Kal fifyd\ovs tfpov ol Swdfaevoi TOVTO irotfiv Kal ov TTOT' &j/ ^ ayaBov Trarpbs eyfVTO KaK6s, ffaopofftv, a\\a Si- OV 7TOT6 TTOl-flffflS T&V KUKbv &VOp' aya86v. tvvoe?s '6Ti UVTOS avry ird\iv irtpl TUI/ a\iTv TO dSixsiv r) sTTia'Trj/J.rjv \a/3(i)V aire^srai avrov. Repub. p. 366 C.) The relation of the Ethics of Aristotle to the popular morality was, as we have said, rather different from that of Plato. Aristotle considers the opinion of the many worth consideration, as well as that of the philosophers. He con- stantly appeals to common language in support of his theories, and common tenets he thinks worthy of either refutation or establishment. There are certain points of view with regard to morals, which are not exactly philosophical in Plato's sense of the word, but which have a sort of philosophical character, while, at the same time, they were common property ; and these are made use of by Aristotle. Such are especially the lists and divisions of good, which seem to have been much discussed in Greece ; as, for instance, the threefold division into goods of the mind, the body, and external (Eth. I. viii. 2) ; again, the division into the admirable (ri/ua) and the praise- worthy (Eth. I. xii. i). One list of goods, not mentioned by Aristotle, pretended to give them in their order of excellence, thus, wisdom, health, beauty, wealth. The conception of a chief good seems to have been vaguely present before people's minds, and this no doubt determined primarily the form of j the question of Aristotle's Ethics. This was the natural ques- ' tion for a Greek system of Ethics ; both Plato and Aristotle tell us how wavering and inconsistent were the answers that common minds were able to give to it, when in an utterly unsystematic way it was presented to them (Repub. p. 505 B ; Ethics, i. iv. 2). Before taking leave of this period of unphilosophic morals, HERACLITUS AND DEMOCRITUS. 67 we must ask How fared the philosophers in it ? The author of the Magna Moralia, as we have seen, attributed to Pythagoras certain mathematical formula? for expressing ethical conceptions. That the Pythagoreans adopted these we know from other sources, but at how late a date it seems difficult to say, 13 perhaps not before the time of Philolaus. Of the other philosophers it may be said generally that ethical subjects did not form part of their philosophy, they made no attempt to systematize the phenomena of human society and human action. And yet they had deep thoughts on life and stood apart from other men. This standing apart was indeed their characteristic attitude. Philosophic isolation was the ' chief result of their reflections upon the world. The same thing, as M. Renouvier says, expresses itself in the symbolic tears of Heraclitus and the symbolic laughter of Democritus, a doctrine of despair and of contempt. A deep feeling pervades the utterances of Heraclitus, but it is a feeling of the insignificance of man. ' The wisest man,' he says, * is to Zeus, as an ape is to man.' In the ceaseless eddy of the creation and destruction of worlds, which he pictured to himself, individual life must have seemed as the motes in the sunbeam. He was called o^XoXo/Sopos, from his philo- 13 A quantity of spurious Pythago- rean fragments have come down to us. Patricius, in his Discussiones Peripa- tetics (Vol. IL Book Vn.), quotes these to prove that Aristotle plagia- rized from the Pythagoreans. If the fragments were genuine, they would indeed prove wholesale plagiarism. But they are plainly mere translations of Aristotle into Doric Greek. The following is attributed to Archytas. ovfitv trepov tffrtv evSaifjMvia oAA' lus, &c. XPs sKacrros avrwv aTrifcvsoiTO, Kal Srj Kal SoXeov avqp 'A.0Tjvato$. In this passage we see that there is not the slightest allusion to the so-called 'Sophists' of the 70 ESSAY II. time of Socrates ; ol irdvres EK rijs 'E\\dSo$ crofaa-Tai implies those who professed or were noted for any kind of intellectual ability. The term would include literati and statesmen, just as much as philosophers. In II. 49, Herodotus speaks of 01 sTTtysvofjisvot TOVTW (Melampus), ao(f)i aaQsvecrvdrto ffofaarfj HvOayopy, where it simply means * philosopher.' Aristophanes, though born probably about 449 B.C., began his career as a writer so extremely early, that his play of the Clouds was brought out in 423. In this play we have a most important caricature of the Sophistic spirit as an innovating and corrupting element in the education of youth. It will be worth while to advert to this picture hereafter. At present, as we are dealing only with the name * Sophist,' it is enough to remark that this name is never in the Clouds applied to the teachers of the thinking school (poirripayiSoyvx- avrat &6ffKovfft ffoQiffrds, IIISTOEY OF THE WORD ' SOPHIST.' 71 crew of subtle speculators ; 15 in v. 1 1 1 1 sq. we see expressed the popular opinion of the Sophist, i.e., a pale and attenuated student; 16 and in v. 1306 sq., the term is applied to Stre- psiades in allusion to his cheating of his creditors. 17 Thucydides (born 47 1 B.C.) who wrote at the end of the fifth century, though not much later in point of years than Herodotus, is immensely advanced beyond him in point of style and thought, and seems to belong in fact to a different era. He uses the word a-o^Lo-rai in a sense nearer to that of Plato, than Aristophanes had done, to denote those pro- fessional orators who made displays of rhetoric (sTri&sigsis) before a set audience. 18 Xenophon (born about 444 B.C.), though a disciple and friend of Socrates, stood quite aloof from the transcendental philosophy of Plato. We cannot therefore attribute his opinion of the Sophists to a mere copying of Plato's descrip-. tions, even if chronological considerations would allow this. Xenophon's point of view was totally distinct from Plato's. He rather represents the opinions ' of an educated Athenian of the day. The locus classicus in his writings with regard to the Sophists occurs at the end (as far as it remains) of the treatise on Hunting (Cynegeticus, c. xiu.). After descanting on the advantages of hunting as a moral training for youth, he is led to speak of the spurious teaching of the so-called Sophists' of his time. He says, * They pretend to teach 15 ffv re, \eTrroTara>v \-fipcav fepeO, C ' S ' ou yap &c a\\(ji y' vTraKovffai/Aeif TWV vvv /j.fTfupoffo^iffrwf ir\j]v ?) IIpoSiKifi, Tip /nee cro(pia.s Kal -yi/ttf/xTjs o'uveKa, K.T.A.. 10 AA. ctjueXej, K0fj.iei rovrov ffotpi- EIA. wxpbv juei/ ovv ol/^ai ye Kal ita- KoScti'/uoi/a. 17 KOVK fffff Situs ov rfjpepov \i)\l/e- rovroy troi\fffi -rv avff Siv irwovpyflv tfpar' e^ai KaKov Ao^etv TI. 18 Cf. in. 38. OTrAws re aKorjs rjSoyy rjff(r t) irepl ir6\fws 72 ESSAY II. virtue, but their teaching is a mere pretence.' 19 He has never seen any one made a good man by the teaching of a Sophist. He says, * Many beside me find fault with the Sophists, and not with the philosophers, because the former are subtle in words and not in thoughts.' 20 * They seek only reputation and gain, and do not like the philosophers teach with a disinterested spirit.' 21 We see that in this passage the word ' Sophist' is used in that sense which it bears uni- formly in Plato and Aristotle, namely, to denote a profes-, sional teacher, and we may also judge of the character of the instructions given by a Sophist, namely, that they mainly consisted in so-called ethical teaching (icmjs apparently in a less determinate sense to denote 'philosopher' (cf. Mem. iv. ii. i, 19 &avfj.dfa 5e ruv ffoQiffrwif KO\OV- Htvuv Sri <$>aa\ p.tv lif apfrijv tyetv ol iro\\ol rovs vtovs, &yovffi 5 s &r! TOVVO.V- riov o&rc yap &v5pa irov fwpo.Ka/j.fv Zvrii? ol i>vv ffO^uoTal ayaSbv iiroi-^rrav, ofa-t ypdfj./j.ara irape'xoirai ^{ Siv xpfy ayadovs yiyvfffBai, aAAa irtpl fifv TWV fJMTa'uav iro\\i airroiis yeypatrat cup' Siv roii viois al /iec rjooval Ktval, aperr; 5' OVK tvi. 20 Yiyowri 8e Ka \ &\\oi iroAAol TOUJ vvv (Tov\drrta()ai, ra St rtav i\o yap aotyiaral ir\ov- ffiovs KO\ vtovs Oripwyrat, ol 8e tpi\6- aotpoi iraffi Koivol Kal cj>i\ot. HISTORY OP THE WORD ' SOPHIST.' 73 rs KCU In Mem. I. i. 1 1 (o Ka\ov/Jbsvos UTTO rwv cf there seems to be an allusion to the technical nomenclature introduced or employed by the Sophists properly so called, i. e. the professional teachers. 22 In Mem. I. vi. i, Xenophon speaks of 'AvTKJt&vra TOV a-o^iarr^v. It is uncertain whether Antiphon of Rhamnus, the master of Thucydides, is here meant. Whoever is the person alluded to, he is described as making it a reproach to Socrates that he asked no pay for his teachings, to which Socrates replies that the sale of wisdom is a kind of prostitution, and that those who practise it are stigmatized with the name of Sophists. 23 We find then in Xenophon that a definite sense (on the whole) is now attached to the name Sophist, i. e. a professional teacher demanding pay for his instructions. The next testimony we have to cite is that of Isocrates,. who was born 436 B.C., and was thus seven years older than Plato. He seems to have been to some extent the pupil of Socrates, but he maintained himself afterwards by keeping a school of rhetoric, which was attended by the most distin- guished pupils. His direction was entirely practical, as is evinced by frequent passages of his works, in which he ex- presses contempt or dislike of the speculative spirit. On the one hand he uses the term ' Sophist ' in its received meaning of professional teacher, and on the other hand he is in the habit of employing it loosely and vaguely to apply to literati or philosophers in general. Isocrates was totally incapable of appreciating the philosophic spirit, and from his point of 22 Cf. Plato's Meno, p. 85 B. 8e ye Tavrt}v SidfJ-erpov ol ffoQiffrai. Cf. Protag. p. 3156, tyaii/ovro 8e irepl vi> aKvpot Tvy%dvovcriv OVTSS TOIS VO^OLS teal rats TTO\L- Tsiais rals VTTO TWV acKfriaruv V irpoy6vcav ovrcas xf, a\\a roiis KaXovfj.ffovs ^(pitnas ai>fj.a^oy Kal rovs - rayopas, d\\a Kal dX\oi Tra/ttTroXXof, ol fisv irporspov ysyovorss EKSIVOV, ol 8e Kal vvv en OVTSS. And by a still more remarkable mode of speaking, in the Ethics of Aristotle ix. i. 5-7, Pro- tagoras appears to be in a sort of way contrasted with the Sophists. 26 It is true that Plato represents Protagoras to 25 Cf. De Permutatione, 2. 'Eyb yap flSias ivlovs TU>V aoQurruv /3\affavl Kal Tlpv % tyK\-f)fj.afft yivovrai' ov yap ^iriTe- \ovffiv & &no\6y7jffav. TOVTO 5" ttrtas iroieiv ol ffo, a\\a. Bdppfi. 28 2i Se, fa 5' e'yc, irpbs Becav, OVK aio j TOI/S "EA\7jj/as airrbv irapfxfov ; N^J rbv Aia, S> s, elirep ye & Siavoov^ou XP^ 78 ESSAY II. expressed for ' those who profess to teach virtue ; ' Socrates asks, ' Is it not absurd in them to find fault with the conduct of those whom they have undertaken to make virtuous?' Callicles replies, ' Of course it is ; but why should you speak about a set of men who are absolutely worthless ? ' Socrates answers, * Because I find the procedure of the Sophist and the Khetorician identically the same.' In the Meno the question being, Is virtue teachable ? Socrates argues that if it be so, there must be teachers of it, and inquires of Anytus, * To whom shall we send Meno to learn virtue from ? Whether to the Sophists?' Anytus repudiates the idea, since 'these corrupt all who come near them.' 29 Socrates, in reply to this, urges, ' How is it possible this should be true of the Sophists ; a cobbler who professed to mend shoes but made them worse, would be found out in less than thirty days, how then could Protagoras have remained undetected and maintained so great a reputation and made so great a fortune, deceiving the whole of Greece for more than forty years ? At all events, must we not concede that if they do harm to others, they do so unconsciously, and are like men insane?' To this Anytus answers, * That they are insane who give money to the Sophists, and still more so the states who allow them to practise their art.' Socrates says, ' Some one of the Sophists must have wronged you, Anytus, or you would not be so bitter.' Anytus says, ' No, I never had anything to do with 29 P. 91 B. (TK<5irei iropik -rlvas ttv irtfj.Tromts airrbv op6>s ire/juroipfv. % Sri\ov 8$) Kara rbv &p-ri \6yov, 8rt irapci rovrovs rovs inritr^vovfiifvovs dpeTTjs SiSacr/caAov? elvai KO! a.Tcofyhvayra.'S av- TOl/S KulVuilS TWV ''L\\f]VO>V TT)(4.(i } & "SuKparfs. ftriSfva TUV ffvyyfvwv, fJ.-f)rf oiKtitov furiTf i\ servative feeling in Athens. Full justice is done in the dialogue (Meno, p. 90 A) to the eminence of his position, his wealth, and political influence. But afterwards, dramatically, his arbitrary, narrow, and unfair turn of mind comes out. Evidently we cannot say that in the Meno Plato calumniates the Sophists, or vilifies them as opponents and rivals of Socrates. Bather he makes it appear that there is something hasty and inconsidered in the' popular feeling against them (which is a true, but blundering instinct), and that the philo- sopher must consider their claims, their tendencies, and the phenomena of their success from a deeper point of view. To a similar purport Socrates is made to speak in the i Republic (p. 492 A), where he says to Adeimantus, ' Perhaps you think with the multitude that youths are corrupted by Sophists, and do not perceive that Society is itself the greatest Sophist, educating and moulding young and old. What Sophist or private instructor could withstand the powerful voice of the world ? Don't you see that the so-called Sophists do nothing else but follow public opinion? They teach nothing else but the popular dogmas. They are like keepers of a wild beast, who, when they have studied his moods and learned to understand his noises, call this a system and a philosophy.' The common accusation had been that the Sophists unsettled bO ESSAY II. young men's opinions, and turned them away from the esta- blished beliefs. Socrates implies, 1 1 am willing to exonerate them from this. Eather I have to complain that the Sophists are too unsophisticated, that they are too much merely echoes of the popular voice; that they have "plus que pw- sonne, Vesprit que tout le monde a." : Viewed externally the Sophists presented the appearance of a set of teachers, such as first appeared in Greece towards the middle of the fifth century B.C. (Protagoras was born about B.C. 480, and began to practise his art in his thirtieth year, but there were others before him). They were for the most part itinerant teachers, going from city to city. They would make displays of their rhetoric (JETT^SL^SLS\ and then invite the youths of their audience to come and receive instruction with a view to becoming able men in the state (Sswoi, habiles hommes, &c.). Their instructions were various, rhetoric and dialectic, ethics, music, and physical science. Some, such as Hippias, professed a pantological knowledge ; others, as Grorgias, confined themselves to rhetoric. Their profits no doubt varied with their success ; some must have been ill-paid and wretched, as represented by Aristo- phanes and Isocrates. The leading members of the pro- fession seem to have made large sums of money. On this point, however, Isocrates is at direct issue with Plato. Socrates says in the Meno, p. 9 1 D, that * he knew of Pro- tagoras gaining greater wealth by his profession than Phidias and ten other sculptors put together.' And in the Hippias Major (p. 282-283) Prodicus is said to have made immense sums ; 30 Hippias is made to boast that * when quite a young man he made in Sicily, in a short space of time, more than 150 minse (450^.), and that in one little village, Inycus, he 30 To?s veois avvtav xprfj/uaTa ^e Oavfjuvna 8(ra. Cf. Xen. Symp. i. 5, rv. 6z. MONBT-MAKDTG OF THE SOPHISTS. 81 made more than 20 minae' (6ol.}. He adds, however, 'that he supposes he has made more than any two Sophists put together.' In contradiction to this picture, Isocrates gives a much more limited account of the pecuniary success of the Sophists. He says (De Pei^mutatione, 155-156), ' Not one of the so-called Sophists will be found to have amassed much money. Some of them lived in small, others in very mode- rate circumstances. Oforgias of Leontium made the most on record. He lived in Thessaly, where people were very rich, attained a great age, was long given up to his business, had no settled habitation in any state, paid no taxes nor contri- bution, had no wife nor children, and so was free from this the most continual tax of all and with these advantages beyond others for acquiring a fortune, he only left behind him at the last 1000 staters' (125?.?). This oration was written in the eighty-second year of Isocrates' life, and probably much later than the above-mentioned dialogues of Plato; the fame of the achievements' of the Sophists was therefore less fresh. Isocrates, being himself a paid teacher, was complaining of the difficulty of making enough, he was therefore not likely to take a sanguine view of success in this department ; also, it is credible that the Sophists did, as is usually the case with persons whose gains are irregular, not save much or leave much behind them. Hence we need not find a great difficulty in the discrepancy of the two state- ments. Plato represents popular rumours and external surprise at the success of a new profession ; Isocrates, taking the other side, goes into details and shows that in the long run there was nothing so very wonderful effected, after all. With regard to the reproach against the Sophists, that their teaching for money at all was something discreditable an argument has been raised, that this is really no reproach, as the practice of so many respectable men among the G 82 ESSAY II. moderns may serve to testify. But we should endeavour to put ourselves into the position of the ancients, and the fol- lowing considerations may help us to do so. (i) The prac- tice of the Sophists was an innovation, and jarred on men's I feelings. There was something that to the natural prejudices ' of the mind seemed more beautiful in the old simple times, when wisdom, if imparted, was given as a gift. As soon as the Sophists began their career, the fine and free spirit of the old philosophers seemed gone. When Hippias boasts of his gains, Socrates ironically replies, ' Dear me, how much wiser men of the present day are than those of old time. You seem to be just the reverse of Anaxagoras. For he is said to have had a fortune left him and to have lost it all, such a poor Sophist was he (ovrtas avrov avorjTa (ro(j)l^sa0ai\ and other such stories are told of the ancients.' (Hipp. Major, \ p. 283 A.) (2) With the Sophists systematic education began for the first time. Undoubtedly this was a necessity. But it is equally true that about the administration of systematic education there is something that appears at first sight slavish and mechanical. The Greeks had not yet learned those principles according to which a sense of duty will dignify the meanest tasks. They tested things too exclu- sively in reference to the standard of the fine and the noble (a\6i/). (3) But it was not simply the office of the paid schoolmaster that was disliked in the Sophist. We do not find that the teachers of gymnastics or of harp-playing were held in disrepute. Those who kept schools for boys were looked down upon, it is true, 31 but were not identified with the Sophists. The latter taught not boys, but youths ; again, they taught not the necessary rudiments, but something more pretentious wisdom, philosophy, political skill, virtue, and " Cf. Demosthenes de Corond, p. 313. THE SOPHISTICAL KHETOKIC. 83 the conduct of life. To make a market of the highest sub- jects and of divine philosophy seemed to men like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, little less than a sort of simony. There was a charlatanism in the offer to teach these things to all comers, which was from different causes equally offensive to ordinary men and to the philosophers. Men like Anytus and Aristophanes complained that the Sophists corrupted youth by teaching them subtleties and unsettling their opinions. In this complaint there was a part of the truth. The philosophers added the other side, by complaining that the Sophists were shallow and rhetorical, that they flattered popular prejudices instead of displacing them. The Sophists were vilipended by the philosophers not merely as paid teachers, but as paid charlatans. 32 The most characteristic and prominent creation of the Sophistic era was, in one word, rhetoric. But as rhetoricians, the Sophists were themselves the creatures of their times. Circumstances were ripe in the Greek states for the develop- ment of this new direction of the human mind, and it came. Cicero (Brutus, c. 1 2) quoting from Aristotle's lost work, the 'Zvvaywyr) rs'xywv, tells us that Ehetoric took its rise in Sicily, 'when after the expulsion of the tyrants (i.e. Thrasybulus, B.C. 467), many lawsuits arose with regard to the claims of citizens now returning from banishment and who had been dispossessed of their property. The incessant litigation which this led to, caused Corax and Tisias to draw up systems of the art of speaking ; (for before this time there had been careful speaking and even written speeches, but no fixed method or rationale). Hence also Protagoras came to write his com- monplaces of oratory and Grorgias his encomia.' Every- 32 Kal 6 ffo(j)iffT^is xpTjjttmiTT?js airb ias, oAA' ovu aKo"r)s. Aristotle, Soph. Elench. ii. 6. o 2 84 ESSAY II. where in Greece circumstances were analogous to those in Sicily. Personal freedom gave rise to the contests of the law courts. Nothing was more necessary than that a citizen should be able to defend his own cause. The demand for instruction in rhetoric, and for the development of all its arts, means, and appliances, was met everywhere by the Sophists. Hence the impression they produced on the national speech and thought was almost unspeakably great. To trace the technical changes and advances in the various systems from Corax to Isocrates belongs to the history of rhetoric. It will suffice for the present purpose to make a few remarks on the Sophistical rhetoric in its relation to life and modes of thought. Two separate tendencies seem to have mani- fested themselves from the very outset among the masters of composition. On the one hand, the Sicilian school, repre- sented by Gorgias of Leontium, Polus of Agrigentum, and their follower, Alcidamas of Elsea, in Asia Minor, aimed at svsTrsia, 'fine speaking.' On the other hand, the Greek school, led by Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias, devoted themselves more especially to opdoejrsia, ' correct speaking.' From these opposite but concurrent tendencies arose that which may be called ' style ' in Greece, and which did not exist before the middle of the fifth century. The achievements of Protagoras and the ' Greek' rheto- ricians seem to have amounted to no less than the foundation of grammar, etymology, philology, the distinction of terms, prosody, and literary criticism. In judging of the so-called verbal quibbles of the Sophists, we have to transport our- selves to a time anterior to the commonest abstractions of grammar and logic. Protagoras was the first to introduce that thinkiug upon words which was one manifestation of the subjective tendencies of the day. His work, entitled THE SOPHISTICAL RHETORIC. 85 'OpOoe-jrsia (which is mentioned by Plato, Phcedrus, p. 267 C), most probably contained a variety of speculations, as well philological as grammatical. And even his 'A\?j0aa appears from Plato's Cratylus (p. 39 1 C) to have touched upon etymo- logical questions. From Aristotle's Rhetoric, in. v., we learn that Protagoras was the first to classify the genders of nouns, calling them appsva, Orf\.sa, and a-Ksvrj. From Soph. Elench. xiv. i, we learn that he considered the terminations -is and -r)% ought to be appropriated to the masculine gender, so that to say [M]viv ovXo/jtsvrjv would be a solecism. In the Clouds of Aristophanes (v. 668-692), Socrates is ludicrously introduced as following out these ideas, and wishing to alter M" the termination of KapBo-jros and aXs/crpvcov to suit the femi- nine gender. Another of the grammatical performances of Protagoras was the classification of the \6yos or 'form of speech,' into question, answer, command, and prayer (Dio- genes Laert. ix. 53), a classification which seems to have had some affinity with that of the moods of verbs. The allusions in the Clouds to the art of metres, versification, and rhythms, seem to imply the practice of similar studies in the school of Protagoras. Lastly, his speculations in etymology and lan- guage seem to have been made in support of his philoso- phical doctrine of ' knowing and being,' iravrtav ptrpov avdpcoTros (cf. Plato's Cratylus, I.e.}. Prodicus, who is said to have been the master of Socrates (cf. Protagoras, p. 341 A, Hippias Major, p. 282 C), was famous for his distinctions between words of cognate signification and apparently synonymous. He is reported to have said 'that a right use of words is the beginning of knowledge ' (Trpwrov 7s (fyr)TaTov OIKOV roj/Se, fj,r]8sv TOVTOV rov a^KafUiTos a%iov ajro^rjvaaOai (337 D). Of course here the pomp of the words covers vapidity of thought, but one can see the outward husk and hollow shell of style. THE RHETORIC OF GORGIAS. 87 The influence of Gorgias upon the writers of Greece pro- bably exceeded that of any other Sophist. After his first essays in speculation, he appears to have renounced philo- sophy, and to have proclaimed himself a teacher of rhetoric. He was chosen by his countrymen, the Leontines, to come as ambassador to Athens in the year 427 B.C., asking aid against Syracuse. Thucydides (in. 86), with his usual reserve on all matters the least extraneous, makes no mention of his name. Diodorus (xu. 53) has the following remarks on this event : ' At the head of the envoys was Gorgias the rhetorician, a man who far surpassed all his contemporaries in oratorical skill ; he also was the first inventor of the art of rhetoric. He amazed the Athenians, quick-witted and fond of oratory as they were (ovras sixpvsis ical (f)i\o\6 \eiv (S6KOW riivSe T^V 86%cu>, 8jcl TOVTO Topylov. irpcaTr) eyft/ffo \fis, otov 88 ESSAY II he calls 'frigidity' (^vxporrjf, Rhet. in. iii. i), produced by pompous or poetical words and compounds. He also men- tions two of the rhetorical tricks of Gorgias. One was that Gorgias boasted he could never be at a loss in speaking, * for if he is speaking of Achilles, he praises Peleus,' i. e. he will go off from his subject into something collateral (Rhet. in. xvii. 2). The other device was one full of shrewdness : he said, * You should silence your adversary's earnestness with jest, and his jest with earnest.' 34 Among the imitators of Grorgias were Agathon and Isocrates. The speech of Agathon in the Symposium of Plato is an example of the extreme of the flowery style. Socrates remarks at its conclusion, that he has been almost petrified by the speaking Gorgias (i.e. Gorgon's) head which Agathon has presented to him. The influence of Gorgias may also be extensively detected in the antitheses (often forced), the balance of sentences, and the occasionally poetical diction of Thucydides. Rhetoric, viewed historically, considered as a thinking about words and the possibilities of language, was by no means, as we have seen, coeval with the origin of states and of human thought. It was a somewhat late product of civilization. But it was a path which there was an inherent necessity for opening and exploring. From this point of view, thanks are due to the more eminent Sophists for their contributions towards the formation of Grecian prose style, for developing the idea of the period, and bringing under the domain of art that which before was left uncultivated. If in their own writing ornament was overdone, they may be considered in this, as in other things, to occupy a transition place, and to have served as pioneers to others. 34 Rhet. ra. xviii. 7. Kol 5e?j/ Popyias r^v (J.ft> ffirovSfy &V tvavriwv ytKwn, rbv 8^ yf\cara CHARACTERISTICS OF RHETORIC. 89 But there is yet another aspect in which rhetoric must be regarded, and that is, not merely as an affair of words and sentences, but as a direction and phase of thought itself. It consists in attention to form, producing neglect of matter in striving for the brilliant and the plausible, instead of for the true in decking out stale thoughts with a fresh outer garment of words in enforcing a conclusion without having tested the premises. This takes up the arts of the lawyer into the philosopher's or the teacher's chair ; it covers its ignorance with a cloak of verbosity; it will never confess there is anything it does not know. This most truly keeps the key of knowledge, and will neither enter in itself nor let other men come in. It speaks things which it does not feel ; its utterances come from the fancy, and not from the heart ; its pictures are not taken from nature ; its metaphors are unnecessary ; its pathos is hollow. If language be looked on as not separate from thought, but identical with it, then is rhetoric false thought, as opposed to true. There are, no doubt, various degrees and stages of rhetorical falsehood. The lightest kind is that which consists in some slight exag- geration in a word or an expression. This often takes place in cases where a speaker or writer fully and sincerely believes the general import of what he is asserting; but in setting forth the separate parts he allows himself to quit the stern simplicity of what he actually feels. Again, when a foregone conclusion has lost its freshness, rhetoric is called in in the hope of enlivening it. The most flagrant rhetorical falsity would, of course, consist in the advocacy of propositions which the speaker not only did not believe (in the sense of not feeling or realizing them), but absolutely disbelieved. As men are not fiends, this is extremely rare. Rhetoric usually juggles the mind of the speaker as well as of his audience. It takes off the attention of both from examining 90 ESSAY II. the truth. It is, for the most part, well-meaning, and is much rather a defender than an impugner of the common ' orthodox opinions. Hence it was that Plato defined rhetoric to be a trick of flattering the populace. Hence, also, he said that the Sophists studied the humours of society, as one might study the temper of a wild beast. In the practice of the Sophists, Plato saw rhetoric and Sophistry 35 identical. Sophistry consisted in substituting rhetoric for philosophy, words for thoughts (ev TO is ovopavi, aofy'iXpvrai KOL ovte sv rols vorjfjbacn, Xen. Cyneget. I. c.). With Plato, philosophy was a higher kind of poetry, in which reason and imagination both ! found their scope. With the Sophists, it was a harangue (gTTiSftfts) upon any given subject, with figures and periods to catch applause. Aristotle, indeed, was enabled afterwards to look at rhetoric in a mere abstract way, as the art of com- position, and so to separate the rhetorician from the Sophist, since it was not necessary that rhetoric should be used in a Sophistical spirit. But Plato always regards rhetoric as a false impulse in human thought ; he always considers it in the concrete, and never as a mere instrument to be used and abused. And that the rhetorical spirit is a reality, attaching itself above all to the highest subjects, to philosophy and religion, and, like ' the bloom of decay,' luxuriantly over- growing them, this the experience of all ages and of every thinking man can testify. If Aristotle does not identify rhetoric with Sophistry, he yet very distinctly acknowledges the existence of the latter as a phase of thought. He does not, however, any more than Plato, speak of definite doctrines belonging to the Sophists, as if they were a school of philosophers with their own metaphysical or ethical creed. When he says * Some persons Cf. Gorgias, p. 520 A. rainbv, S> (uucdpi, itrrl THE PHILOSOPHY OP PKOTAGORAS. 91 think justice to be a mere conventional distinction' (Eth. v. vii. 2), or * Hence they call justice our neighbour's good' (Eth. v. vi. 6), we are accustomed to assert that ' Aristotle is here alluding to the Sophists,' but he himself never speaks in this way of the doctrines of the Sophists. He speaks repeatedly of their practice, of their method, of certain tricks in argument commonly used by them ; he says that in their teaching they put Ehetoric on a level with Politics. Again, he treats of the position of Protagoras as a definite philo- sophical dogma, but as peculiar to Protagoras, not as common to the Sophists. Lastly he speaks of * Sophistic' as a par- ticular tendency or method in thought, which he compares with dialectic and with philosophy. Aristotle in all that he says about the Sophistical spirit no doubt accepts, analyses, and reduces to method much that is to be found in the Platonic dialogues. But it would be a most unwarrantable scepticism to consider Aristotle's statements a mere blind repetition of certain calumnies or hostile caricatures. Such an opinion would not only go against all historical evidence, but it would ignore most ungratefully one of the deepest utterances and most significant lessons of ancient philosophy. Truly, if Sophistry be a chimera, we had better close at once the volume of Plato. Sophistry, as represented in the persons of the two most eminent Sophists, sprang almost simultaneously from the north and the south. Also it may be said to have derived its origin more or less immediaitely from two directly opposite schools of previous thinkers. Protagoras of Abdera starts from the principle of Heraclitus that all is becoming; Gorgias of Leontium took up the Eleatic principle of absolute unity. Both Protagoras and Grorgias may be considered to have held their character as philosophers in some measure distinct from their professional character as rhetoricians and 92 ESSAY II. teachers, and yet the results of their philosophizing coloured their teaching. The philosophy of the two can never be said to have amalgamated, and yet it exhibits a common element. An accurate statement of the doctrine of Protagoras appears in the Thecetetus of Plato, which is intended to refute it, but which at the same time treats its author with all respect. We see at once that it was a profound doctrine, and of the greatest importance as a 'moment' in philosophy. Heraclitus had said that all is motion, or becoming, Protagoras analyses this becoming into its two sides, the active and the passive, in other words the objective and subjective. Nothing exists absolutely, things attain an existence by coming in contact with and acting on an organ of sensation, that is, a subject. Thus all existence is merely relative, and depends in each case on a relation to the individual percipient ; and therefore ' man is the measure of all things, of the existent that they exist, and of things non-existent that they do not exist.' This proposition on the one hand contains the germ of all philosophy, on the other hand it renders philosophy impossible by reducing all knowledge and existence to mere sensation. It contains the germ of all philosophy by asserting that all knowledge, and therefore all existence, as far as we can conceive it, consists in the relation between an object and a subject, that every object implies a subject and every subject an object. This cannot be gainsaid, and it is in short one of the main purposes of philosophy to lift men out of their common unreflecting belief in the absolute existence of external objects, into so much idealism as this. But the principle of Protagoras falls short in its misconception and too great limiting of the subjective side of existence. Objects exist only in relation to a subject, but not necessarily in relation to individual perceptions. If individual perception is the measure of all things, the same object will be capable THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 93 of contradicting qualities at the same moment according as it appears different to different individuals ; a thing can then be and not be at the same time ; the distinction between true and false will be done away ; even denial (avriKsyeiv) must cease. Protagoras acknowledged these results ; he said, ' What appears true to a person is true to him. I cannot call it false, I can only endeavour to make his perceptions, not truer but better, i. e. } such as are more expedient for him to entertain.' Man is indeed the measure of all things, not the individual man with his changeable and erring perceptions, but the universal reason of man, manifesting itself more or less distinctly in the deepest intuitions of those who are pure and wise, and who attain most nearly to the truth. The principle of Protagoras, by calling attention to the subjective side of knowledge, led the way to what has been called * critical ' philosophy, to a critic of cognition itself; and this was a great advance upon former systems, which regarded knowledge and existence too much as if absolutely objective. But Protagoras himself rested in sensationalism, and becoming from his own system sceptical about truth altogether, he seems to have returned, (as above-mentioned), to mere principles of expediency. His sensational theory and his scepticism about knowledge are not to be regarded as Sophistical, in the Platonic sense of the word. But with this sceptical foundation to all theories, to commence teaching virtue; to have thus reduced virtue to a matter of expediency for daily life to have combined such acute penetration with so little moral or scientific earnestness after exploding philosophy to have fallen back upon popular and prudential Ethics this indeed was to exhibit many of the essential features of that Sophistry against which Plato directed all his strength. We see traces of the same spirit of acute and 94 ESSAY II. active intellect combined with a certain trifling and unreality upon the gravest subjects in the well-known sentence of Protagoras on the gods : ' Eespecting the gods, I neither know whether they exist or do not exist ; for there is much that hinders this knowledge ; namely, the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of human life.' 36 This scepticism, as far as we can conjecture its tendency, does not consist in denying the Grecian Polytheism in order to substitute in its place some deeper conception. It cannot, therefore, be considered parallel to the philosophical contempt of Xenophanes and others for the fables of Paganism. Protagoras despairs of a theology, and proclaims his despair, and falls back upon practical success. The celebrated thesis of Grorgias, which formed the subject on his book ' On Nature, or the Non-existent,' and of which a sketch is preserved in the treatise, called Aristotle's, De Xenophane,Zenone,et Gorgia, and also in Sextus Empiricus (ad Math. vn. 65), is one of the most startling utterances of antiquity. It consists of three propositions, (i) Nothing exists. (2) If it does exist, it cannot be known. (3) If it can be known, it cannot be communicated. 37 The extravagant character of this position was denounced by Isocrates in the opening of his Helen. He is speaking of the inveterate habit of defending paradoxes which had so long prevailed, and he asks, ' Who is so behindhand (o-^ifiaO^s) as not to know that Protagoras and the Sophists of that time left us compositions of the kind I have named, and even more vexatious ? for how could any one surpass the audacity of Gorgias, who dared to 38 Diog. Laert. ix. 51, Sext. Emp. adv. Math. ix. 56. 37 O6K ilvai Qriffiv ov$tv si 8' %ffrtv, &yv(i>~ of thought, only a more flagrant development of it, as the doctrine, 'all virtue is a science.' It is always easy to set aside philosophical views as repugnant to common sense, as mere subtleties and useless paradoxes. But if we enter on philosophy at all, we must accept the dialectic of the reason. The difficulties into which it may lead us must not be rejected as subtleties, but acknowledged, and if possible reconciled with the views of common sense. Philosophy, before Gorgias, had been occupied with an abstract conception of Being, whether as One or Many. The dialectic of the Eleatics had been directed to establish, against all testimony of the senses, that the only existence possible is one immutable Being. On the other hand, the Ionics main- tained the plurality of existences ; and Heraclitus especially held the' exact contrary to the Eleatic view, that there was no permanence or unity, but all was plurality and becoming. The dialectic of Grorgias coming in here explodes all philo- sophy by a demonstration that ' nothing exists.' This part of his position he appears to have maintained by bringing ESSAY II. Eleatic arguments against the Ionic hypothesis, and Ionic arguments against the Eleatic hypothesis. 38 ' If there is existence (el 8' Icm), it must be either Not-being or Being, i It cannot be Not-being, else Being will be identical with Not-being. It cannot be Being, for then it must be either One or Many, either created or uncreate. It cannot be One, *_for One implies divisibility, i.e., plurality. It cannot be Many, for the Many is based upon the unit of which it is only the repetition, and is so essentially One. Again, it can- not be created, for it must either be created out of the existent or the non-existent. It cannot be the former, else it would have existed already. It cannot be the latter, for nothing can come from the non-existent. Nor can it be Uncreate, for that implies its being Infinite, and the Infinite ican have no existence in space.' These arguments are not to be looked at as a mere wanton sporting with words. Rather they contain a very penetrating insight into some of the diffi- culties which beset the most abstract view of existence. The same difficulties have been felt by other philosophers ; thus, in the Parmenides of Plato, great obstacles have been set forth to considering existence either as One or as Many. And Kant represents it as one of the antinomies of the reason, that the world can neither be conceived of as without a beginning, nor as having had a beginning. No blame can possibly attach to Grorgias for these speculations, nor for the conclusions to which they led. Plato himself, in the Par- menides (p. 135 D), urges and exhorts the young philosopher to follow out this sort of dialectic. ' You should exercise yourself while yet young,' says Parmenides to Socrates, 'in M Kal Sri fj.lv CVK Ian, cvvOtis TO, erepois flprifj.eva, Sffoi irtpl rStv ovrwv Aeyares, ravavria, us SOKOVITIV, ewro- tpaivuvrai O.VTMS' of /J.tv, Sri tv ical ou l 8e 08, ? KO) oj fifv on ay^yrjra ol 8e us ytvS- Hfva. liriSfiKvvvrfs, ravra ffv\\oyifrcu KOT' a.fj(t>orfpuv, Arist. De Xen. &c. 1. 1. THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 97 that which the world calls waste of time (r^s SoKovarjs a%pr t - V TroXA-eov aSoXecr^ias), else truth will escape you.' What, then, is this method ? It consists in the following out of contrary hypotheses, the one and the many, the like and the unlike, motion, rest, creation, destruction ; not only supposing the existence of each of these separate ideas, but afterwards also their non-existence ; follow out the consequences in each case, and see what comes of the antinomy. All praise, then, is due to Grorgias, from Plato's point of view, for his stringent dialectic. To the popular mind, such reasonings appear absurd or repugnant. But the philosopher is only stimulated by them to seek for a higher ground of vision, whence these seeming contradictions and difficulties may be seen to be reconciled. We can only regret that we do not possess the entire work of Grorgias, in order to know more accurately its exact purpose ; whether his arguments were meant to have a universal validity, or whether they were only relative to the Ionic and Eleatic philosophies. The latter would seem to be actually the case, whatever was meant by the author himself; for the destructive arguments of Grorgias, while they are of force against previous philo- sophy, do not touch the universe of Plato, in which there was a synthesis of the one and the many, of being and not-being. The two remaining theses of Grorgias, that being if existent could not be known, and if known could not be communicated, contain the strongest form of that subjective idealism afterwards repeated by Kant. They place an impassable gulf between things in themselves and the human mind. We can never know things in themselves, all we know is our thought, and the thought is not the thing. Still less could we com- municate them to others, for by what organs could we com- municate things in themselves? How by speech could we convey even the visible? In this part of the dialectic of H 98 ESSAY II. Gorgias we trace an affinity to the doctrines of Protagoras. They each exhibit a tendency to a disbelief in the possibility of attaining truth. The scepticism, however, does not con- stitute Sophistry. It was not peculiar to the Sophists, but is a characteristic universally of the close of the Pre-Socratic era of philosophy. Aristotle speaks against it very strongly, but he does not call it Sophistry, he attributes it to several great names (Metaphys. in. c. iv.-v.). After arguing against the saying of Protagoras, he mentions that Democritus said 1 there is no truth, or it is beyond our finding' (A7;/i6ptT6s ye (frrjaiv IJTOI ovdsv slvat a\r)0ss rj rjjjuv 7' a&j/Xov) ; that Em- pedocles said * thought changes according as men change;' that Parmenides said in the same way, * thought depends on our physical state;' that Anaxagoras said * things are accord- ing as men conceive them.' Aristotle remarks, ' It is surely an evil case, if those who have attained truth most, as loving it best, and seeking it most ardently, hold these opinions. It is enough to make one despair of attempting philosophy. It makes the search after truth a mere wild-goose chase. The cause of these opinions is that men, while speculating on existence, have considered the sensible world to be the only real existence. And this latter is full of what is uncertain and merely conditional' (Metaphys. in. v. 15, 16). Sophistry then is not constituted by any theories of cognition or existence. It consists in a certain spirit, in a particular purpose with which philosophy, or the pretence of philosophy, is followed. ' Sophistry and dialectic,' says Aristotle, * are conversant with the same matter as philosophy, but it differs from them both ; from the one in the manner of its procedure, the other in the purpose which guides its life. Dialectic is tentative about those subjects on which philosophy is con- clusive, and Sophistry is a pretence, and not a reality.' 39 . 8 * nepl fJ.tv y&p rb ainb yfvos eTcu r) i] StaAe/crj/c^ rp <(>i\offov rj ia yvwpi- ffriicfi, r) St ffO(f>ia"riKTi (paivoftevri, oStro 8' ov. Metaphys. in. ii. 20. 40 Ata rb irapa5o|o 0ov\ffdai t\ey- Eth. TO. ii. 8. 41 Oi fifv oZv rrjs vlKijs avrrjs \i\epi- Ses fioKOvfftv ti'vcti, 01 Se S^TJS ~ytipiv TTJS fls xpTj/uoTJcryubv ffo(piffTiKol. Soph. EL xi. 5. H2 100 ESSAY II. region which is dark from excess of light ; the Sophist, on the other hand, takes refuge in the murky region of the non- existent.' This * non-existent' was, as Aristotle explained it, the sphere of the accidental, the conditional, the relative, as contrasted with absolute being. Elsewhere we find that it was a trick of the Sophists to avail themselves of a traditional piece of dialectic ' older than Protagoras,' and to argue that to speak falsely was impossible, for that would be no less than uttering the non-existent, whereas the non-existent has no existence in any sense whatever, and therefore to conceive or utter it is impossible (Euthydem. p. 284-286). Plato maintains against this argument, and against the doctrines of the Eleatics, that in some sense * not-being' has an existence. We see then that to set the relative meaning of a word against its absolute signification, to play off the accidental against the essential, formed a main part of the * Eristic' art. We might have conceived that Plato's representation of the fal- lacies employed by Euthydemus and Dionysodorus was mere sport of the fancy, and beyond even an exaggeration of the reality, but Aristotle gravely tells us as a matter of fact, that these tricks were habitually employed by the Sophists. 42 How far this sort of petty success was universally aimed at by them it is hard to say. Even the more eminent among them, Gorgias, Protagoras, Hippias, and Prodicus, can hardly be exonerated. In spite of the appearance of well-meaning, and a certain dignity of conduct which they exhibit in the dialogues of Plato, yet when we read of the ' boast of Pro- tagoras' (TO Hpcorayopov S7rdyys\fjui), that ' he would make the worse cause the better,' which Aristotle says men were justly indignant at, and when we read of the devices of 42 Sophist. Elench. i. 8. "On ^v ofiv rotadrijs tylfvrat SiWjuecos otis Ka\ov/ji.fv ri Ti roiovTov \6yuv yevos, /col Sri THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 101 Grorgias (mentioned above, page 88), and also when we con- sider the rhetorical turn of these men, their activity of in- tellect, and their boldness in dealing with grave subjects, combined with their want of philosophical earnestness, we can scarcely doubt that they were liable to resort to para- logisms. Looking at the Sophists in general, we are certainly justified in considering Eristic, and fallacy growing out of it, to have been one of their characteristics. The birth and prevalence of fallacy no doubt gave rise to a sounder logic, which was necessary as a counteraction to the Sophists. Thus, his- torically, their vicious practice was advantageous, but this cannot be reckoned to them as a merit. We now come to that which is by far the most important question with regard to. the Sophists, namely, what was their influence upon ethical thought? Their influence was very great. We have seen that before the fifth century moral philosophy did not exist in Greece. Socrates is commonly spoken of as the first moral philosopher. He is said to have ' brought down philosophy from heaven.' But as in nature, so in the progress of the human mind, nothing is done * per saltum.' The thought of Socrates was necessitated by that of the Sophists. Without them as his precursors, as well as his antagonists, his life would lose half its meaning. Socrates did not so much see philosophy wandering in heaven, and bring it down to earth and human interests, but rather he found himself surrounded with a cloud of Sophistry which was covering the whole earth, and he called up a human philosophy to dispel it. From one point of view Aristophanes uttered a sort of truth when he virtually represented Socrates as the chief of the Sophists. Unspeakably greater, and deeper, and holier, as Socrates is than Grorgias or Protagoras, he has yet something in common with them, he is the leading 102 ESSAY II. figure in a new era of conscious morality which they had inaugurated. The very first characteristic that is predicated of the Sophists by Xenophon, Isocrates, and Plato is, that they * undertook to teach virtue.' To this rule, however, Gorgias was an exception. Meno, in Plato's dialogue, praises him ' because he was never heard to make any pretence of the kind, but used to ridicule those who made it, he himself thought that men ought to be made clever in speaking.' Socrates on this asks Meno, 'What, don't you then really think that the Sophists can teach virtue?' to which Meno replies, ' I know not what to say, Socrates, for I feel like most men on this question. Sometimes I think that they can teach it, and sometimes that they cannot.' (Men, p. 95 C.) A nearer definition of what this ' teaching virtue' meant is put into the mouth of Protagoras, who boasts (Plato, Protag. p. 318 E) that 'he will not mock those who come to him by teaching them mere specialities against their will, as the other Sophists do, such as dialectic, astronomy, geometry, and music. They shall learn from him nothing except what they came to be taught. His teaching will be, good counsel, both about a man's own affairs, how best to govern his own family, and also about the affairs of the state, how most ably to administer and to speak about state matters.' Socrates says, 1 You appear to me to mean the art of Politics, and to undertake to make men good citizens.' ' This is just what I undertake,' says Protagoras. To attempt to discover in this proposal anything insidious or subversive of morality would be quite absurd. Protagoras is represented by Plato through- out the dialogue as exhibiting an elevated standard of moral feelings. Thus he repudiates with contempt the doctrine that injustice can ever be good sense (p. 333 C), and from grounds of cautious morality he declines to admit that the THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 103 pleasant is identical with the good (p. 351 D). There is little reason to doubt that Protagoras may have conveyed to those who sought his instructions much prudent advice, and many shrewd maxims on the conduct of life and on the art of dealing with men in public and private relations. Of the hortatory morality of the Sophist, we have further means of forming a judgment from the celebrated composition (2i/y- 7pa/*//,a) of Prodicus, commonly called ' The Choice of Hercules.' It is preserved for us by Xenophon (Memorab. II. i. 21-34), who represents it as being quoted by Socrates with a view of enforcing the advantages of temperance and virtue. It was the most popular of the declamations of Prodicus (owsp Br) nal TrXstcrrois iTriSa/cvfTcu), and has since constantly found a place in books of elegant -extracts and moral lessons. It would be easy to criticise and find fault with this fable. It does not adequately represent the real trial and difficulty of life. If, at the period of transition from boyhood to youth (STTSI SK TraiSwv sis ij^v wppa-ro) one might go forth to a place of retirement (s^s\66vra sis rja-v^iav Ka6r\~ cr&u), and there see presented Vice and Virtue, the one meretricious in dress and form, the other beautiful, and dignified, and noble ; and if, when Vice had opened her allur- ing offers, Virtue immediately exposed their hollowness, sub- stituting her own far higher and greater promises of good ; and if, there and then, one might choose once for all between the two, who is there that would hesitate a moment to accept the guidance of Virtue ? It may be said almost universally that all youths aspire after what is good. If it depended on a choice made once for all at the opening of life, all men would be virtuous. But man's moral life consists in a struggle in detail ; and this the figure of Prodicus fails to represent. But the same criticism might be applied to other allegories. We all feel that if Christian life were literally the same as 104 ESSAY II. the Pilgrim's Progress, many more would follow it. Several parts of the exhortation which Prodicus puts into the mouth of Virtue are full of merit ; a noble perseverance and man- liness of character are inculcated; and in the denunciation of vice the following fine sentence occurs : ' You never hear that which is the sweetest sound of all, self-approbation ; and that which is the fairest of all sights you never see, a good deed done by yourself ! ' There is something rather rhetorical in the complexion of this discourse, even as it is given by the Socrates of Xenophon, and he concludes it by saying, * Prodicus dressed up his thoughts in far more splendid lan- guage than I have used at present.' But against the moral orthodoxy of the piece not a word can be said, and we may safely assert, that had all the discourses of the Sophists been of this character, they would not have fallen into such general bad repute as teachers. Plato never represents the Sophists as teaching lax morality to their disciples. He does not make sophistry to consist in the holding wicked opinions ; on the contrary, he represents it as only too orthodox in general, but capable occasionally of giving utterance to immoral paradoxes for the sake of vanity. Sophistry rather tampers and trifles with the moral con- victions than directly attacks them. It is easy to see how this came about. Greece was now full of men professing to ' teach virtue.' They were ingenious, accomplished, rivals to each other, above all things desirous of attracting attention. Their talk was on a trite subject, on which it was necessary to say something new. The procedure of the Sophists was twofold, either it was rhetorical or dialectical. They either (i) tricked out the praises of justice and virtue with citations from the old poets, with ornaments of language, and with allegories and personifications. Of this latter kind of discourse we have a specimen in the ' Choice of Hercules,' and again THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 105 we have the sketch or skeleton of a moral declamation which Hippias, in Plato's dialogue (Hipp. Major, p. 286), says he has delivered with great success, and is about to deliver again. The framework is simple enough. Neoptolemus, after the fall of Troy, is supposed to have asked Nestor's advice for his future conduct. Xestor replies by suggesting many noble maxims. ' 'Tis a fine piece,' says Hippias complacently, ' well arranged, especially in the matter of the language.' Such like compositions of the Sophists form a sort of parallel to the moral or religious novel of the present day. Or else (2) they gave an idea of their own power and subtlety, by skirmishes of language, by opening up new points of view with regard to common e very-day duties, and making the old notions appear strangely inverted. All the while that they thus argued, no doubt they professed to be maintaining a mere logomachy. But to an intellectual people like the Greeks there would be something irresistibly fascinating in this new mental exercitation. Aristophanes represents the conservative abhorrence which this new spirit awakened. He depicts in a caricature a new kind of education in which everything is sophisticated, that is, tampered with by the intellect. A sort of casuistry must have been fostered throughout Greece by various concurrent causes ; by the drama, which represented, as for instance in the Antigone, a conflict of opposing duties; by the law-courts, in which it was constantly endeavoured to * make the worse side seem the better;' and lastly, as we have seen, by the Sophists, who, in discoursing on the duties of the citizen, did not refrain from showing that there was a point of view from which 'the law' appeared a mere convention, while 'natural right' might be distinguished from it. To be able to view a conception from opposite points of sight ; to see the unsatisfactoriness of common notions ; to 106 ESSAY II. feel the difficulties which attach to all grave questions these are the first stages preparatory to obtaining a wise, settled, and philosophical conviction. Thus far the dialectic of the So- phists and that of Socrates coincide. But the Sophists went no further than these first steps ; the positive side of their teach- ing consisted in returning to the common views for the sake of expediency. That there is danger incurred by the dialec- tical process, in its first negative and destructive stages, no one has felt more strongly than Plato. He wishes, in his Republic, that dialectic, as a part of education, may be de- ferred till after thirty, because ' so much mischief attaches to it,' because * it is infected with lawlessness.' * As a suppo- sititious child having grown up to youth, reverencing those whom he thought to be his parents, when he finds out he is no child of theirs, ceases his respect for them and gives him- self up to his riotous companions ; so is it with the young mind under the influence of dialectic. There are certain dogmas relating to what is just and right, in which we have been brought up from childhood obeying and reverencing them. Other opinions recommending pleasure and license we resist, out of respect for the old hereditary maxims. Well, then, a question comes before a man ; he is asked, what is the right ? He gives some such answer as he has been taught, but is straightway refuted. He tries again and is again refuted. And when this has happened pretty often, he is reduced to the opinion, that nothing is more right than wrong ; and in the same way it happens about the just and the good and all that he before held in reverence. On this, naturally enough, he abandons his allegiance to the old principles and takes up with those that he before resisted, and so from a good citizen he becomes lawless' (Repub. pp. 537-538). It is obvious that the process of dialectic here described consists in nothing more than starting the diffi- THE OPPOSITION OP ' LAW ' AND 'NATURE.' 107 culties, in other words, stating the question of morals. Plato does not here attribute antinomian conclusions to the teachers of dialectic ; he speaks of the disciple himself drawing these, from a sort of impatience, having become dissatisfied with his old moral ideas, and not waiting to substitute deeper ones. Throughout his dialogue Plato does not attribute lax or paradoxical sentiments to the greater Sophists ; he puts these in the mouths of their pupils, such as Callicles, the pupil of Grorgias, or of the inferior and less dignified Sophists, as Thrasymachus. Sophistry consists for the most part in out- ward conformity, with a scepticism at the core ; hence it tends to break out and result occasionally in paradoxical morality, which it is far from holding consistently as a system. We shall have quite failed to appreciate the true nature of Sophistry, if we miss perceiving that the most sophistical thing about it is its chameleon-like character. One of the most celebrated ' points of view' of the Sophists was the opposition between nature and convention. Aristotle speaks of this opposition in a way which represents it to have been in use among them merely as a mode of arguing, not as a definite opinion about morals. He says (Sophist. Elench. xii. 6), ' The topic most in vogue for reducing your adversary to admit paradoxes is that which Callicles is described in the Gorgias as making use of, and which was a universal mode of arguing with the ancients, namely, the opposition of " nature" and " convention"; for these are maintained to be contraries, and thus justice is right according to convention, but not according to nature. Hence they say, when a man is speaking with reference to nature, you should meet him with conventional considerations ; when he means " conven- tionally," you should twist round the point of view to " naturally." In both ways you make him utter paradoxes. 108 ESSAY II. Now by "naturally" they meant the true, by "conven- tionally" what seems true to the many.' Who was the first author of this opposition is uncertain. Turning from the Sophists to the philosophers, we find the saying attributed to Archelaus (Diog. Laert. n. 16), 'That the just and the base exist not by nature, but by convention.' 43 This Archelaus was the last of the Ionic philosophers, said to be the disciple of Anaxagoras and the master of Socrates. * He was called the Physical Philosopher,' says Diogenes, 'because Physics ended with him, Socrates having introduced Ethics. But he, too, seems to have handled Ethics. For he philosophized on laws, and on the right and the just ; and Socrates succeeding him, because he carried out these investigations, got the credit of having started them.' About the same period Democritus is recorded to have held that ' the institutions of society are human creations, while the void and the atoms exist by nature.' 44 He also said, that the perceptions of sweet and bitter, warm and cold, were VO^IM, that is, what we should call 'subjective.' These reflections indicate the first dawn of Ethics. They show that philosophy has now come to recognize a new sphere; beyond and distinct from the eternal laws of being, there is the phenomenon of human society, with its ideas and institutions. The first glance at these sees in them only the variable as contrasted with the permanent, mere convention as opposed to nature. Ethics at its outset by no means commences with questions about the individual. It separates ' society' from 'nature,' as its first distinction. This was because in Greece the man was so much merged into the citizen ; even Aristotle says, the state is prior to the individual ; the individual has no mean- 48 Kal rb Sttcaiov ou 44 Iloir^rd & v6fj.ifj.a thai. *iS(m 8 &rofj.a Kal Ktv6v. Diog. Laert. ix. 45. THE OPPOSITION OF ' LAW ' AXD ' XATURE.' 109 ing except as a member of the state. It is a subsequent step to separate the individual from society : first sophistically, for the sake of introducing an arbitrary theory of morals ; at last, philosophically, to show that right is only valid when acknowledged by the individual consciousness, but at the same time that the broad distinctions of right and wrong are more objective and permanent than anything else, more absolutely to be believed in than even the logic of the in- tellect. Looking at the Sophists rather as the promulgators than as the inventors of this opposition between vais and z/6/u.oy, we see they applied it (as in the person of Callicles, their pupil, in the Gorgias, pp. 483-484) to support crude, para- doxical, and anti-social doctrines; to maintain that nature's right is might, while society's right (which is unnatural, and forced upon us for the benefit of the weak) is justice and obedience to the laws. It is a carrying out of exactly the same point of view, to say, as Thrasymachus is made to do in the Republic of Plato (p. 338 C), that justice is ' the advantage of the stronger.' This position is there treated as a mere piece of ' Eristic.' It is met by arguments that are themselves partly captious and sophistical. The real difficulty which lies at the root of the question is immediately restated in the second Book of the Republic, and the answer to it forms the subject of the entire work. Another ethical topic with which the Sophists would be sure to deal was the question, What is the chief good ? We have before observed that this was a leading idea in the early stages of Grecian morals. In the discourses of the Sophists various accounts would be given of the matter. Sometimes, as in the fable of Prodicus, happiness, or the chief good, would be represented as inse- parable from virtue ; at other times a rash and unscrupulous Sophist, like Polus, in the Gorgias of Plato (p. 471), would 110 ESSAY II. be found to assert that the most enviable lot consists in arbitrary power, like that of a tyrant, to follow all one's passions and inclinations. This assertion of arbitrary freedom for the individual, though, of course, not consistently main- tained by the Sophists, was yet one of the characteristics of their era. Let us now briefly sum up the conclusions to which we have been led regarding this celebrated set of men; the influence they produced upon thought ; and their relation to moral science. We have seen how the word * Sophist ' had at first a merely general import, signifying artist, or philosopher. We have seen how it came to be applied in a restricted sense to the members of a particular profession, the itinerant ' teachers of virtue,' in Greece, and how, from the bad repute into which these teachers fell, the word was now applied with a certain amount of reproach. Especially this was the case with the adjective formed from this word ; and lastly, the cha- racteristics of the Sophists and their procedure were summed up in one word * Sophistic,' which was denounced both by Plato and by Aristotle, as being a spirit utterly antagonistic to philosophy and sound thinking. In asking further in what did this * Sophistic ' consist, we found that it by no means implied directly immoral tenets, or an intention to corrupt the world. It consisted ( i ) in the making a craft or profession of philosophy ; (2) hence truth was not its aim, but reputation or emolument ; (3) hence it was rhetorical, covering with words the poverty of its thoughts ; (4) or else Eristical, using the artifices of dialectic to raise difficulties, or to maintain para- doxes. In the relation of the Sophists to society in general, the question has been raised, Did they impair the morality of Greece ? The answer must be a mixed one. Owing to the influence of the Sophists, and also to other causes, thought was less simple in Greece at the end of the fifth century than SUMMARY WITH REGARD TO THE SOPHISTS. Ill it had been at the beginning. Between the age of Pisistratus and that of Alcibiades, the fruit of the tree of knowledge had been tasted, Man had passed from an unconscious into a conscious era. All that double-sidedness with regard to ques- tions, which is found throughout the pages of Thucydides, and which could not possibly have been written a hundred years before, is a specimen of the results of the Sophistical era. The age had now become probably both better and worse. It was capable of greater good and of greater evil. A character like that of Socrates is far nobler than any that a simple stage of society is capable of producing. The political decline of the Grecian states alone prevented the full development of what must be regarded as a higher civilization. The era of the Sophists then must be looked upon as a transition period in thought as a necessary, though in itself unhappy, step in the progress of the human mind. The subjective side of knowledge and thought was now opened. Philosophy fell into abeyance for awhile, under the scepticism of Protagoras and Gorgias, but only to found a new method in Socrates and Plato. Ethics had never yet existed as a science. Popular moralizing and obedience to their laws, was all the Greeks had attained to. But now discussions on virtue, on the laws, on justice, on happiness, were heard in every corner ; at times rhetorical declamation; and at times subtle difficulties or paradoxical theories. If physical philosophy begins in wonder, Ethics may be said to have begun in scepticism. The dialec- tical overthrow of popular moral notions, begun by the Sophists and characteristic of their times, merged into the deeper philosophy and constructive method of Socrates. III. The personality of Socrates (to whom we now turn) has perhaps made a stronger impression upon the world than that of any other of the ancients, and yet, as soon as we wish to inquire accurately about him, we find something that is 112 ESSAY II. indeterminate and difficult to appreciate about his doctrines. Socrates, having contributed the greatest impulse that has ever been known to philosophy, was himself immediately absorbed in the spreading circles of the schools which he had caused. Cynic, Cyrenaic, and Platonic doctrines stand out each more definitely in themselves than the philosophy of Socrates. The causes of this are obvious, for the fact that he wrote no philo- sophical treatises gave rise to a twofold set of results, (i) On the one hand, his philosophy, being in the form of conver- sations with all comers, restricted itself for the most part to a method to a way of dealing with questions to an insight into the difficulties of a subject to a conception of what was attainable, and what ought to be sought for in knowledge. It was therefore free from dogmatism, but also wanting in systematic result. Taking even the conversations of Socrates as they are given by Xenophon, we can find in them certain inconsistencies of view. (2) From the absence of any actual works of Socrates, we are left to the accounts of others. And here we are met with the well-known discrepancy between the pictures drawn of him by his different followers, a dis- crepancy which can never be reconciled nor exactly estimated. ' We can never know exactly how far Xenophon has told us too little, and Plato too much. However, by a cautious and inductive mode of examination we may succeed in establishing a few points at all events about Socrates, and in discerning where the doubt lies about others. There seems to be no reason whatever against re- ceiving in their integrity the graphic personal traits which Plato has recorded of his master. The description of him, which is put into the mouth of Alcibiades at the end of the Symposium, seems to have in view the exhibition, in the concrete, of those highest philosophic qualities which had before been exhibited in the abstract. Plato does not shrink PERSONALITY OF SOCEATES. 113 from portraying the living irony which there was in the appearance of Socrates, his strange and grotesque exterior covering, like the images of Silenus, a figure of pure gold within. Other peculiarities of the man have a still deeper significance, being more essentially connected with his mental qualities. Not only did he excite attention by a robustness and versatility of constitution which could bear all extremes, but also by another still more strange idiosyncrasy ; he seems to have been liable to fall into fits of abstraction, almost amounting to trances. During the siege of Potidasa, while on service in the Athenian camp, he is recorded to have stood fixed in one attitude a whole night through, and when the sun rose to have roused himself and saluted it, and so re- turned to his tent. It has been observed that the peculiar nervous constitution which could give rise to this tendency, and which seems to have an affinity to the clairvoyance of Swedenborg and others among the moderns, was probably connected with that which Socrates felt to be unusual in him- self, that which he called TO Saipoviov, 'the supernatural,' an instinctive power of presentiment which warned and deterred him from certain actions, apparently both by considerations of personal well-being, and the probable issue of things, and also by moral intuitions as to right and wrong. This f super- natural' element in Socrates (which he seems to have believed to have been shared, in exceedingly rare instances, by others) cannot be resolved into the voice of conscience, nor reason, nor into the association of a strong religious feeling with moral and rational intuitions, nor again into anything merely phj^sical and mesmeric, but it was probably a combination, in greater or less degrees, of all. There are other parts of the personal character of Socrates which are also parts of his philosophical method ; for his was no mere abstract system, that could be conveyed in a book, but a living play of sense i 114 ESSAY II. and reason ; the philosopher could not be separated from the man. Of this Xenophon gives us no idea. But in Plato's representation of the irony of Socrates we have surely not only a dramatic and imaginative creation, but rather a mar- vellous reproduction (perhaps artistically enhanced) of the actual truth. To this Aristotle bears witness, in stating as a simple fact that * Irony often consists in disclaiming qualities that are held in esteem, and this sort of thing Socrates used to do' (Etli. iv. vii. 14). The irony of Socrates, like any other living characteristic of a man, presents many aspects from which it may be viewed. It has (i) a relative signi- ficance, being used to encounter, and tacitly to rebuke, rash speaking, and every kind of presumption. It was thus relative to a Sophistical and Rhetorical period, but has also a universal adaptability under similar circumstances. (2) It indicates a certain moral attitude as being suitable to philo- sophy, showing that in weakness there is strength. (3) It is a part of good-breeding, which by deference holds its own. (4) It is a point of style, a means of avoiding dogmatism. (5) It is an artifice of controversy, inducing an adversary to expose his weakness, maintaining a negative and critical position. (6) It is full of humour ; and this humour consists in an intellectual way of dealing with things, in a contrast between the conscious strength of the wise man and the humility of his pretensions, in a teacher coming to be taught, and the learner naively undertaking to teach. Such are some of the most striking features in the mien and bear- ing of Socrates, not only one of the wisest, but also one of the strangest beings that the world has ever seen ; who moved about among men that knew him not. One man alone, Plato, knew him and has handed down to us the idea of his life. When now we come to his doctrines, Plato, as is acknowledged, ceases to be a trustworthy guide. The sublime AEiSTOTLES ACCOUNT OF SOCRATES. 115 developments of philosophy made by the disciple are with a sort of pious reverence put into the mouth of the master. We are driven then to criticism, in order to assign to Socrates, as far as possible in their naked form, his own attainments. The statements of Aristotle would seem to furnish a basis for an estimate of the Socratie doctrine ; but even these can- not be received without a scrutiny, for Aristotle was so imbued with the writings of Plato, that he seems at times to regard the conversations depicted in them as something that actually had taken place. He speaks of the Platonic Socrates as of an actual person. A remarkable instance of this occurs in his Politics (n. vi. 6), where, having criticized the Republic of Plato, he proceeds to criticize the Laws also, and says, ' Now, all the discourses of Socrates exhibit genius, grace, originality, and depth of research ; but to be always right is, perhaps, more than can be expected.' 45 ' The discourses of Socrates' here stand for the dialogues of Plato, which is the more peculiar in the present case, since in the Laws of Plato, the dialogue under discussion, Socrates does not appear at all as an interlocutor. In other places, however, we may judge from Aristotle's manner of speaking that he refers to the real Socrates, and riot to the Socrates of literature. The most important passages of this kind are where he draws a distinction between Socrates and Plato, and states their rela- tion to each other ; cf. Metaphys. i. vi. 2, xn. iv. 3-5. The second of these passages contains a repetition and an expan- sion of the former ; it may, therefore, be quoted alone. Aristotle is relating the history of the doctrine of .Ideas. He tells us how it sprung from a belief in the Heraclitean prin- ciple of the flux of sensible things, and the necessity of some 45 Tb juev o5i/ irepiTTOV exown TrdWes rd Ka.ivor6fj.ov /col T& ^TjTTjri/cJj', Ka\(as l-rov Sco/cpdVous \6yoi Kal rb Koptybv Kal 5 TT&VTO. tffcas I 2 116 ESSAF II. other and permanent existences, if thought and knowledge were to be considered possible. He proceeds, that Socrates now entered on the discussion of the ethical virtues, and was the first to attempt a universal definition of them definition, except in the immature essays of Democritus and the Pytha- goreans, having had no existence previously. * Socrates was quite right in seeking a definite, determinate conception of these virtues (svXoyws e^rjrst TO TI &mi/), for his object was to obtain a demonstrative reasoning (o-v\\oyiscr0ai), and such reasonings must commence with a determinate conception. The force of dialectic did not yet exist, by means of which even without a determinate conception (^capls rov ri JO-TA), it is possible to consider contraries, and to enquire whether or not there be the same science of things contrary to one another. There are two things that we may fairly attribute to Socrates, his inductive discourses (TOVS T' eTratcriKovs Xo- yovs) and his universal definitions. These universals, how- ever, Socrates did not make transcendental and self-existent (^topia-rd), no more did he his definitions. But the Platonists made them transcendental, and then called such existences Ideas.' This interesting passage assigns to Socrates, first, his subjects of enquiry, namely, the ethical virtues ; second, his philosophical method, which was to fix a determinate con- ception or universal definition of these, by means of inductive discourses, by an appeal to experience and analogy. His definition was an immense advance on anything which had gone before, and yet it fell far short of the Platonic point of view. The reasoning of Socrates was demonstrative or syllogistic, and therefore one-sided. His conceptions were definitely fixed so as to exclude one another. He knew nothing of that higher dialectic, which, setting aside the first limited and fixed conception of a thing, from which the con- THE METHOD OF SOCRATES. 117 trary of that thing is wholly excluded, asks, Is there not the same science of things contrary to each other ? Is not a thing inseparable from, and in a way identical with, its contrary ? Is not the one also many, and the many, one ? In another point also the conceptions formed by Socrates differed from the Ideas of Plato that they had no absolute existence, they had no world of their own apart from the world of time and space. We see, then, the gulf which is set ! by this account of Aristotle's between the historic Socrates ; and the Socrates of Plato. The historic Socrates was quite , excluded from that sphere of contemplation on which the Platonic philosopher enters (Repub. p. 510), where all hypotheses and all sensible objects are left out of sight, and the mind deals with pure Ideas alone. According to Aristotle, Socrates had not attained to the higher dialectic which Plato attributes to him. No doubt, however, Plato discerned in the method which Socrates employed in his conversations, in his enquiring spirit, in his effort to connect a variety of phenomena with some general law, in his habit of testing this law by appeals to fresh experience and phenomena, hints and indications of a philosophy which could rise above mere empirical generalizations. The method was not so much to be changed as carried further, it need only pgfes on in the same direction out of subordinate into higher genera. Aristotle always says about Socrates that he confined him- self to ethical enquiries. 46 This entirely coincides with the saying of Xenophon, that * he never ceased discussing human affairs, asking, What is piety? what is impiety? what is the noble? what the base ? what is the just? what the unjust? what is temperance ? what is madness ? what is a state ? 46 flfpl p.fv TO rjOiKa irpayiJMrevo/j.fvov, irepl 5e TIJS SAijs Qvcrews ovQtv. Met. I. vi. 2. 118 ESSAY II. what constitutes the character of a citizen? what is rule over man? what makes one able to rule?' (Memor. I. i. 16.) In all this we see the foundation of moral philosophy as a science, and hence Socrates is always called the first moral philosopher. But we have already remarked (see above, p. 1 08) that the way was prepared for Socrates by Archelaus, by the Sophists, and by the entire tendencies of the age. There is another saying about Socrates which is a still greater departure from the exact historical truth, namely, that he divided science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic. It is quite a chronological error to attribute to him this distinct view of the divisions of science. He never separated his method of reasoning from his matter, nor could he ever have made the method of reasoning into a separate science. In Plato even, Logic has no separate existence; there is only a dialectic which is really metaphysics. And we may go further, and say that in Aristotle Logic has no one name, and does not form a division of philosophy. Again, Socrates probably never used the word Ethics to designate his favourite study. If he had used any distinctive term, he would have said Politics. With regard to Ethics also, we may affirm that in Plato they are not as yet a separate science, and in Aristotle only becoming so. As to Physics, Socrates appears rather to have denied their possibility, than to have established their exist- ence as a branch of philosophy. The above-mentioned divi- sion is probably not older than the Stoics. Pursuing our negative and eliminatory process with regard to the position of Socrates in the history of thought, we may next ask what was his hold upon that tenet which in Plato's dialogues appears not only closely connected with his moral and philosophical views in general, but also is made to assume the most striking historical significance in connection with his submission to the sentence of death his belief in the DID SOCRATES BELIEVE IN A FUTURE LIFE? 119 immortality of the soul. But on this point also we can only say that a different kind of impression is left on our minds by the records of the last conversations of Socrates, as severally \ furnished by Plato and by Xenophon. In Xenophon's Memo- rabilia and Apologia Socratis (the genuineness of which has been doubted, but it bears strong internal marks of being , genuine), Socrates is asked whether he has prepared his defence. He answers that * His whole life has been a pre- paration, for he has never acted unjustly.' It is possible that this answer might have had a double meaning : on the one hand a literal meaning that his conduct was the best answer to his accusers ; on the other hand a religious meaning that his life had been a prceparatio mortis', but Xenophon appears only to have understood the saying in the former and literal sense. When reminded that the judges have often condemned those that were really innocent, Socrates replies that he has twice been stopped by the supernatural sign when thinking of composing a defence that God seems to intimate to him that it was best for him to die that if he is condemned he will meet with an easy mode of death at a time when his faculties are still entire whereas, if he were to live longer, only old age and infirmities and loss of his powers would await him that he knows good men and bad are differently estimated by posterity after their deaths and that he leaves his own cause in the hands of posterity, being confident they will give a right verdict between him and his judges. The only sentence recorded by Xenophon (besides the one above- mentioned) that admits the possibility of being referred to a future life, is where Socrates is mentioned to have said in reference to Anytus, ' What a worthless fellow is this, who seems n6t to know that whichever of us has done best and most profitably for all time (els vov asl xpovov), he is the winner.' In this saying, Plato might have discovered a 120 ESSAY II. reference to immortality, but Xenophon takes it to mean merely ' the long run,' applying it to the bad way in which the son of Anytus afterwards turned out. If we separate from the speeches recorded by Xenophon the allusion which Socrates makes to his ' supernatural sign,' which shows a sort of belief in a religious sanction to the course he was taking ; the rest resolves itself into a very enlightened calculation and balance of gain against loss in submitting to die. The Phcedo of Plato has elevated this feeling into something holy; it puts out of sight those pails of the calculation which con- sisted in a desire to escape from the pains of age by a pain- less death, and in a regard to the opinion of posterity ; and it makes prominent and all-absorbing the desire for that condition on which the soul is to enter after death. Were it not for Plato, we should have had an entirely different im- pression of the death of Socrates, an entirely different kind of sublimity would have been attached to it. Instead of the i almost Christian enthusiasm and faith which we are accus- tomed to associate with it, we should only have known of a Stoical resignation and firmness, an act indeed which con- tains in itself historically the germ of Stoicism. The narra- tive of Xenophon no doubt misses something which Plato could appreciate, but it at all events enables us to understand how both the Cynic and Cyrenaic morality sprang from the teaching and life of Socrates. One more point is worth notice in the Apology of Socrates, as it is given by Xenophon. It is the way he answers the charge of corrupting youth. Having protested against the notion of his teaching vice to any, when Melitus further urges, * Why, I have known those whom you have persuaded not to obey their parents;' Socrates replies, 'Yes, about education, for this is a subject they know that I have studied. About health people obey the doctor and not their parents ; SOCRATES AS A TEACHEE. 121 in state affairs and war you choose as your leaders those that are skilled in these matters ; is it not absurd, then, if there is free trade in other things, that in the most important interest of all, education, I should not be allowed to have the credit of being better skilled than other men ?' The fallacy of this reasoning is obvious, for had Socrates claimed to be chosen 'Minister of Education' by the same persons who voted for the Archons and the Generals, or had he succeeded in per- suading the fathers that he was the best possible teacher for their sons, nothing could have been said against it. But the complaint against him was that he constituted youths, who were unfit to judge, the judges of their own education, and thus inverted all the natural ideas of family life. One can well understand the invidiousness which would be encountered by one undertaking such a position and defending it in the words recorded by Xenophon. Viewing this attitude of Socrates merely from the outside, one can justify, in a manner, the caricature of it drawn by Aristophanes. We see from this point of view how Socrates was a Sophist, and must have exhibited a merely Sophistical appearance to many of his contemporaries. But from another point of view, looking at the internal character and motives of the man, his purity and nobility of mind, his love of truth, his enthusiasm (Schwarmerei, as the Germans would call it), his obedience to some mysterious and irresistible impulse, and his genius akin to madness, we must call him the born antagonist and utter antipodes of all Sophistry. There is an opposition and a contradiction of terms in all great teachers. While they are the best men of their times, they seem to many wicked, and the corrupters of youth. The flexibility and ardour of youth make the young the most ready disciples of a new and elevated doctrine. But this goes against the principle that the children should honour the parents. Hence a great teacher sets the 122 ESSAY II. ' children against the fathers'; and the higher morality which he expounds, being freer and more independent of positive laws ; being more based on what is right in itself, and on the individual consciousness and apprehension of that right, tends also in weaker natures to assume the form of license. This is one application of the truth, that new wine cannot safely be put into old bottles. The positive results that are known to us of the ethical philosophy of Socrates are of course but few. Aristotle's allusions restrict themselves virtually to one point namely, the theory that * Virtue is a science.' This doctrine is men- tioned in its most general form Eth. vi. xiii. 3. Its application to courage is mentioned, Eth. in. viii. 6 that Socrates said courage was a science. And the corollary of the doctrine, that incontinence is impossible, for it is impossible to know what is best and not do it is stated, Eth. Til. ii. I. These allusions agree equally with the representations of Plato and of Xenophon, we may therefore treat them as historical. It remains to ask what was the occasion, the meaning, and the importance of this saying that * Virtue is a science.' The thought of Socrates was so far from being an abstract theory, it was so intimately connected with life and reality, that we are enabled to conceive how this proposition grew up in his mind, as a result of his age and circumstances, (i) It was connected with a sense of the importance of education. This feeling was no doubt caused in part by the procedure of the Sophists, which had turned the attention of all to general cultivation, and especially to ethical instruction. The ques- tion began now to be mooted, whether virtue e.g., courage, could be taught? (cf. Xen. Memor. in. ix. i.) Socrates appears on this question to have taken entirely the side of the advocates of education. The difficulties which are shown to attach to the subject in the Meno of Plato we may con- 'VIRTUE is A SCIENCE.' 123 sider to be a later development of thought, subsequent even in the mind of Plato to the Protagoras, Laches, &c. We may specify three different stages of opinion as to the ques- tion, Can virtue be taught? The Sophists said 'Yes,' from an over confidence of pretensions, and from not realizing the question with sufficient depth. Socrates said ' Yes,' giving a new meaning to the assertion ; wishing to make action into a kind of art, to make self-knowledge and wisdom predominate over every part of life. Plato said ' No,' from a feeling of the deep and spiritual character of the moral impulses. He said, * Virtue seems almost to be an inspiration from heaven sent to those who are destined to receive it.' 47 Aristotle, taking again the human side, would say 'Yes,' implying, however, that the formation of habits was an essential part of teaching, and allowing also for some differences in the natural disposition of men. (2) This doctrine was connected with the inductive and generalizing spirit of Socrates, it was an attempt to bring the various virtues, which Gorgias used to enumerate separately (cf. Plato, Meno, p. 71, Aristot. Politics, I. xiii. 10), under one universal law. Thus the four cardinal virtues, justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom, he reduced all to wisdom. (3) The doctrine had two sides. It on the one hand contained implicitly the theory of * habits,' but was at the same time a sort of empiricism. ' Courage consists in being accustomed to danger.' (This is the expression of the doctrine given, Xen. Memorab. in. ix. 2, and Aristot. Eth. in. viii. 6.) On the other hand, it implied rather self-knowledge, and a consciousness of a law ; which is quite above all mere acquaintance with particulars. This is drawn out in the Laches, where courage is shown to consist in the knowledge of good and evil ; and in the Republic it is described as that 47 eia fj.oipa iraparyiyvo^vy] &vtv vov, ois b,v irapayiyv-riTai. Mcno. p. 99 124 ESSAY II. highest kind of presence of mind, which maintains a hold of right principles even amidst danger. (4) We have said that Socrates wished to make action into a kind of art. It seems to have been a favourite analogy with him to remark that the various craftsmen studied systematically their own crafts ; but that Politics, (which would include the direction of indi- vidual life), was not so learned. Out of this analogy, no doubt, sprang the further conclusion that human life must have its own proper function (epyov, cf. Repub. p. 353). Virtue, then, according to the point of view of Socrates, became the science of living. So expressed, the doctrine easily takes a utilitarian and somewhat selfish turn ; as, indeed, it does in the Protagoras, where virtue is made the science of the good, but * the good' is identified with pleasure. Under this aspect the doctrine presents an affinity to Benthamism, and also to the practical views of Groethe, and at the same time enables us to understand how it was possible for the Cyrenaic philosophy to spring out of the school of Socrates. (5) It lays the foundation for conscious morality, by placing the grounds of right and wrong in the individual reason. It forms the contradiction to the Sophistical saying, 'justice is a convention' (vopy), by asserting that 'justice is a science,' that is, something not depending on society and external authority, but existing in and for the mind of the individual. Aristotle said that nothing could be better than this if only Socrates, instead of identifying virtue with the rational consciousness, had said it must coincide with the rational consciousness ; in other words, had he not ignored all distinc- tion between the reason and the will. This defect in the definition of Socrates exhibits one of the characteristics of early Ethics, namely, that they contain extremely little psychology. At first men are content with the rudest and most elementary mental distinctions; after- ' VIKTUE IS A SCIENCE.' 125 wards greater refinements are introduced. Plato's threefold division of the mind into Desire, Anger, and Reason, was the first scientific attempt of the kind. But even in Plato, the distinction between the moral and the intellectual sides of our nature was hardly established. Partly we shall see that this was a merit, and consciously admitted in order to elevate action into philosophy ; partly, it was a defect proceeding from the want of a more definite psychology. Socrates identified the Will with the Reason. We can understand this better, if we remember that the practical question of his day always was, not, What is Right ? but, What is Good ? Socrates argued that every one would act in accordance with their answer to this question ; that they could not help doing what they conceived to be good. Hence incontinence was im- possible. The argument, however, is a fallacy because it leaves out of sight the ambiguity of the word good. Good is either means or end. All men wish for the good as an end ; that is, good as a whole, as a universal. All wish for happiness and a good life. But good as a means does not always recommend itself. The necessary particular steps appear irksome or repulsive. Hence, as it is said, Eth. vu. iii. 5, a distinction must be drawn with regard to this phrase ' knowing the good.' In one sense a man may know it, in another not. Undoubtedly, if a perfectly clear intel- lectual conviction of the goodness of the end, and of the necessity of the means, is present to a man, he cannot act otherwise than right. There was another paradox connected with the primary doctrine of Socrates. It was that injustice, if voluntary, is better than if involuntary. This startling proposition appears to gainsay all the instincts of the understanding, and its contradictory is assumed in the Ethics (vi. v. 7). But it is stated by Socrates, and supported by arguments (Xen. 126 ESSAY II. Memorab. iv. ii. 20), and it is again maintained dialectically, though confessed to be a paradox, in Plato's dialogue called the Hippias Minor. The key to the paradox is to be found in this, that the proposition asserts, that if it were possible to act with injustice voluntarily, this would be better than if the same act were done involuntarily. But by hypothesis it is impossible for a man really to do wrong knowingly. It would be a contradiction in terms, since wrong is nothing else than ignorance. Therefore the wise man can only do what is seemingly wrong. His acts are justified to himself and are really right. The effect of this proposition is to enforce the principle that wisdom and knowledge are the first things, and action the second. The same is expressed in the Republic of Plato (p. 382 B), where it is asserted that the purest and most unmixed lie is not where the mind knows what is true and the tongue says what is false, but where the mind thinks what is false. Mutatis mutandis, we might compare these tendencies in the Socratic teaching to the elevation of Faith over Works in theological controversy. The dialectical difficulties of morality characteristic of the Sophistical era appear from Xenophon's account to have fre- quently occupied the attention of Socrates. Thus Aristippus is recorded to have assailed him with the question whether he knew anything good. Whatever he might specify, it would have been easy to show that this was, from some points of view, an evil. Socrates, being aware of the difficulty, evaded the question by declining to answer it directly. He said, * Do you ask if I know anything good for a fever ? or for the ophthalmia ? or for hunger ? For if you ask me if I know any good, that is good for nothing, t neither know it, nor wish to know it' (Xen. Memorab. in. viii. 3). This answer implies the relative character of the term good. The puzzle of Aristippus was meant to consist in playing off the relative THE SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 127 against the absolute import of ' good.' Other subtleties Socrates is mentioned to have urged himself, as for instance in the conversation with Euthydemus (Memorab. iv. 2), whose intellectual pride he wished to humble, he shows that all the acts (such as deceiving, lying, &c.) which are first specified as acts of injustice, can in particular cases appear to be just. In fact, the unsatisfactoriness of the common conceptions of justice is suggested here just as it is in the Republic of Plato. It is probable that the historic Socrates would really have advanced in the argument on justice as far as the con- clusion of the first book of the Republic. For the develop- ment of the later theory he perhaps furnished hints and indications which Plato understood and seized, and buried in his mind. Thence by degrees they grew up into something far different from what Socrates had consciously attained to. The dialectic of Socrates had an element in common with that of the Sophists, namely, it disturbed the popular con- ceptions on moral subjects. It had this different from them, and which constituted its claim to be not merely a destructive, but also a constructive method it always implied (i) that there was a higher and truer conception to be discovered by thought and research; (2) it seized upon some permanent and universal ideas amidst the mass of what was fluctuating and relative ; (3) it left the impression that the most really moral view must after all be the true one. The many-sided life of Socrates gave an impulse, as is well known, to a variety of schools of philosophy. It is usual to divide these into the imperfect and the perfect Socraticists ; the Megarians, who represented only the dialectic element in Socrates, and the Cynics and Cyrenaics, who represented each a different phase of his ethical tradition, being considered as the imperfect Socraticists ; and Plato being esteemed the full representative and natural development of all sides of his 128 ESSAY II. master's thought. Plato is so near to Aristotle, and is such a world in himself, that we may well leave his ethical system in its relation to Aristotle for separate consideration. An account of the Megarian school belongs rather to the history of Metaphysics. The Cynics and Cyrenaics then alone remain to be treated of in the present part of our sketch of the pre- Aristotelian morals. The Cynical and Cyrenaic philosophies were each, as has been remarked, rather a mode of life than an abstract theory or system. But as every system may be regarded as the development into actuality of some hitherto latent possibility of the intellect, so these modes of life may be regarded each as the natural development of a peculiar direction of the feelings. Nor do they fail to reproduce themselves. That attitude of mind which was exhibited first by Antisthenes and Diogenes has since been over and over again exhibited, with superficial differences, and in various modifications by different individuals. And many a man has essentially in the bias of his mind been a follower of Aristippus. Each of these schools was an exaggeration of a peculiar aspect of the life of Socrates. If we abstract all the Platonic picture of the urbanity, the happy humour, and at the same time the sublime thought of Socrates, and think only of the barefooted old man, indefatig- ably disputing in the open streets, and setting himself against society, we recognize in him the first of the Cynics. Again if we think of him to whom all circumstances seemed in- different, who spoke of virtue as the science of the conduct of life, and seemed at times to identify pleasure with the good, we can understand how Aristippus, the follower of Socrates, was also founder of the Cyrenaic sect. Several points these two opposite schools seem to have had in common. ( i ) They started from a common principle, namely, the assertion of the individual consciousness and will, as being above all outward THE CYNICS. 12? convention and custom, free and self-responsible. (2) They agreed in disregarding all the sciences, which was a mistaken carrying out of the intentions of Socrates. (3) They stood equally aloof from society, from the cares and duties of a citizen. (4) They seem both to have upheld the ideal of a l wise man, as being the exponent of universal reason, and the only standard of right and wrong. This ideal was no doubt ; a shadow of the personality of Socrates. We find a sort of adaptation of it by Aristotle in his Ethics (n. vi. 15), where he makes the (^povi^os to be the criterion of all virtue. The same conception was afterwards taken up and carried out to exaggeration by the Eoman Stoics. Cynicism implies sneering and snarling at the ways and institutions of society ; it implies discerning the unreality of the shows of the world and angrily despising them ; it implies a sort of embittered wisdom, as if the follies of mankind were an insult to itself. We may ask, How far did the procedure of the early Cynics justify this implication ? On the whole, very much. The anecdotes of Antisthenes and Diogenes generally describe them as being true * Cynics,' in the modern sense of the word. Their whole life was a protest against society : they lived in the open air ; they slept in the porticos of temples ; they begged; Diogenes was sold as a slave. They despised the feelings of patriotism : war and its glory they held in repug- nance ; ' Thus freed,' says M. Eenouvier, f from all the bonds of ancient society, isolated, and masters of themselves, they lived immovable, and almost divinized in their own pride.' Their hard and ascetic life set them above all wants. ' I would rather be mad,' said Antisthenes, * than enjoy pleasure.' They broke through the distinction of ranks by associating with slaves. And yet under this self-abasement was greater pride than that against which they protested. Socrates is K 130 ESSAY II. reported to have said, * I see the pride of Antisthenes through the holes in his mantle.' And when Diogenes exclaimed, while soiling with his feet the carpet of Plato, * Thus I tread on Plato's pride,' * Yes,' said Plato, ' with greater pride of your own.' The Cynics aimed at a sort of impeccability ; they were equally to be above error and above the force of circumstances. To the infirmities of age, and even to death itself, they thought themselves superior ; following the example of Socrates, they resorted to a voluntary death when they felt weakness coming on, and such an act they regarded as the last supreme effort of virtue. As their political theory, they appear to have maintained a doctrine of communism. This seems to have been extended even to a community of wives, a point of interest, as throwing light upon the origin of Plato's ideal Republic. Such notions may really have been to some extent entertained by Socrates himself. At all events we find them in one branch of his school. A life like that of the ancient Cynics presents to us a mournful picture, for we cannot but deplore the waste of so much force of will, and that individuals should be so self-tormenting. The Cynic lives by antagonism ; unless seen and noticed to be eccentric, what he does has no meaning. He can never hope to found an extended school, though he may be joined in his protest by a few disappointed spirits. In the Cynical philosophy there was little that was positive, there was no actual con- tribution to Ethical science. But the whole Cynical tone which proclaimed the value of action and the importance of the individual Will was an indication of the practical and moral direction which thought had now taken, and prepared the way for the partial discussion of the problems of the Will in Aristotle, and for their more full consideration among the Stoics. Crates, the disciple of Diogenes, was the master of Zeno. THE CYRENAICS. 131 Personally, the Cyrenaics were not nearly so interesting as the Cynics. Their position was not to protest against the world, but rather to sit loose upon the world. Aristippus, who passed part of his time at the court of Dionysius, and who lived throughout a gay, serene, and refined life, avowed openly that he resided in a foreign land to avoid the irksome- ness of mixing in the politics of his native city Gyrene. But the Cyrenaic philosophy was much more of a system than the Cynic. Like the Ethics of Aristotle, this system started with the question, What is happiness? only it gave a different answer. Aristotle probably alludes to the philosophy of Aristippus amongst others, in saying (Eth. I. viii. 6), ' Some think happiness to consist in pleasure.' But it has been observed that he chooses not Aristippus, but Eudoxus, as the representative of the doctrine formally announced, that 'pleasure is the Chief Good' (Eth. i. xii. 5, x. ii. i). This points to the fact that Aristippus did not himself entirely systematize his thoughts. He imparted them to his daughter Arete, by whom they were handed down to her son, the younger Aristippus (hence called /u-^TpoSi'Sa/tros), and in his hands the doctrines appear first to have been reduced to scientific form. If then we briefly specify the leading charac- teristics of the Cyrenaic system, as it is recorded by Diogenes Laertius, Sextus Empiricus, &c., it must be remembered that this is the after growth of the system. But though we can- not tell to what perfection Aristippus himself had brought his doctrines, there are many traces of their influence in the Ethics of Aristotle. Cyrenaic morals began with the principle, taken from Socrates, that happiness must be man's aim. Next they start a question, which is never exactly started in Aristotle, and which remains an unexplained point in his system, namely, ' What is the relation of the parts to the whole, of each suc- K a ESSAY II. cessive moment to our entire life?' The Cyrenaics answered decisively, * We have only to do with the present. Pleasure is fjiovoxpovos, 4 * fiepi/crj, an isolated moment, of this alone we have consciousness. Happiness is the sum of a number of these moments. We must exclude desire and hope and fear, which partake of the nature of pain, and confine ourselves to the pleasure of the present moment.' In this theory it must be confessed that there is consider- able affinity to Aristotle's doctrine of the r\os ; and some have thought that Aristotle alludes to Aristippus (Eth. x. vi. 3-8), where he argues that amusement cannot be considered a rsKos (cf. Politics, vm. v. 13). In short, the re\os of Aristotle is only distinguished from the ^.ovo^povos rjBovij of Aristippus by the moral earnestness which characterizes it. The Cyrenaics further asking, What is pleasure? answered by making three states of the soul possible ; one, a violent motion, or tempest, which is pain; another, a dead calm, which is the painless, or unconscious state; the third, a gentle, equable motion, which is pleasure. Pleasure was no negative state, but a motion. This doctrine seems to be alluded to in the Pkilebus of Plato (p. 53 C), 49 where Socrates, in arguing against the claims of pleasure to be the chief good, returns thanks to a certain refined set of gentlemen for supplying him with an argument, namely, their own defini- tion of pleasure, that it is not a permanent state (ouata), but a state of progress (yevea-is). It is generally thought that the Cyrenaic school are here meant. In the Ethics of Ari- stotle (vn. xii. 3), there appears to be another allusion to this 48 Here we trace something similar to the doctrine of Aristotle, that ' Plea- sure is like a monad, or a point, com- plete in itself, perfect without relation to time' (Kth. x. iv. 4). 19 'Apo irtpi ijSovrif OVK a.KTf]n6ap.fv is ael yti/fnls lonv, ovffta 5* OVK tffrt Tt ira.p6.wav rjSoin^s ; KOfj.\^ol yap 5^ rivff av TOITOV ii> \6yov tirtxetpovffi fj.r)vvfti/ r./uv, ois 8i x' * flv - THE CYREXAICS. 133 same definition, in a way which, without some explanation, it is excessively hard to understand. Aristotle (or Eudemus), in discussing pleasure, says, Some argue that pleasure cannot be a good, because it is a state of becoming (yevsais}. He afterwards denies that pleasure is a JSVSGIS, except in certain cases. And then he proceeds to explain how it was that pleasure came to be called a ISVSGIS. He says 50 ' it was from a confusion between the terms ysvscris and svspysta, it was thought to be a yevseis, because essentially a good, to express which the term ivspysia would have been appropriate.' At first sight it appears a strange contradiction to say pleasure is thought not to be a good, because it is a ysvea-is ; it is thought to be a ysvsa-is, because it is a good. The explanation is, that the two clauses do not refer to the same set of opinions. The former part refers to the Platonists, who argued, as in the Philebus, against pleasure, because it was not a permanent state ; the latter part refers to the definition of the Cyrenaics, that pleasure is a state of motion, or, as it is here called, a ryeveais. It is obvious that the Cyrenaic definition of pleasure, as far as we are aware of it, will not bear a comparison, as a scientific account, with the theory of Aristotle. Aristippus appears to have made the senses the only criterion of pleasure, and pleasure, again, the measure of actions. All actions, in themselves indifferent, were good or bad according to their results, as tending or not tending to pleasure. The Cyrenaics, however, adapting themselves to circumstances, allowed that their wise man would always maintain an outward decorum in obedience to established law and custom. The selfishness of this system at once condemns it in our eyes. For even acts of generosity and affection, according 50 Eth. vn. xii. 3. Ao/cel SI ytvfvis ris tlvai, on Kvptus aya66v ri)i> yap Ivtpyeiav ytveffiv oiwreu elvau, tan S" fTtpov. 1--54 ESSAY II. to such a system, though admitted by it to be excellent, are excellent only on this account, because, by a reflex power, they occasion pleasure to the doer. What in other systems is only concomitant to good acts is here made the primary motive, by which all morality is debased. The maintainers of such a philosophy are, perhaps, half-conscious to themselves that it never can be generally applicable, that they are maintaining a paradox. Looked into closely, this is seen to be a philosophy of despair. Those who cannot put themselves into harmony with the world, who cannot find a sphere for any noble efforts, nor peace in any round of duties, who have no ties and no objects, may easily, like Horace, ' slip back into the doctrines of Aristippus.' The profound joylessness which there is at the core of the Cyrenaic system showed itself openly in the doctrines of Hegesias, the principal successor of Aristippus. Hegesias, regarding happiness as impossible, reduced the highest good for man to a sort of apathy; thus, at the extremest point, coinciding again with the Cynics. It is instructive to see the various points of view that it is possible to take with regard to life. In the Cyrenaic system we find a bold logical following out of a particular view. In this respect the system is remarkable, for it is the first of its kind. The Sophists had trifled with such views, and not followed them out. In the prominence given to the subject of pleasure, in the Ethical systems both of Plato and Aristotle, we may trace the effects of the Cyrenaic impulse. ESSAY III. On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Plato and the Platonists. TTTE have already traced in outline the characteristics of * ' moral philosophy in Greece down to the death of Socrates, and have made brief mention of two of the schools of ' one-sided Socraticists,' as they have been called, the Cynics and Cyrenaics. It remains to resume the thread of the progress of ethical thought in Plato, compared with whom all previous philosophers sink into insignificance. In him all antecedent and contemporary Greek speculation is summed up and takes its start afresh. Especially in relation to any part of the system of Aristotle, a knowledge of Plato is of overpowering importance. To explain the relation of any one of Aristotle's treatises to Plato is almost a sufficient account of all that it contains. If one were asked what books will throw most light upon the Ethics of Aristotle, the answer must be undoubtedly, ' the dialogues of Plato.' Plato as successor to Socrates exhibits a gradual develop- ment of philosophy. To trace this progress with any cer- tainty is perhaps impossible, but perhaps the following account may be a sufficient approximation to the truth for our present purpose. At first we have purely Socratic dialogues, as the Charmides and Laches, the Euthyphro and the Lysis, &c. These exhibit only a negative dialectic. They show the insufficiency of popular views and the difficulties of the question ; they suggest the Socratic doctrine that virtue is knowledge ; but leave the problems without a dogmatic 136 ESSAY III. settlement. With these we may rank the Hippias Minor, which contains in a wavering form the Socratic paradox, that to do injustice voluntarily would be better than doing it involuntarily. To this group of dialogues there now succeeds another, which is still negative and destructive. Such are those in which Socrates is brought into collision with the Sophists, e.g. the Hippias Major, the Euthydemus, the Protagoras, and Gorgias', these are the most wonderful imaginative and dramatic creations, they contain a picture of all that is most living in the method of Socrates, and they show that the Sophistic point of view is quite as antagonistic to philosophy as the merely popular point of view. After this group there comes a transition period in the Meno, where Plato, seeing the limitations to the system of Socrates, and the weaknesses inherent in it, takes the first step to break away into a deeper and broader sphere of thought. This first step consists in seeing the difficulty about virtue and knowledge being taught. How can knowledge be acquired ? In the Meno the answer is, that knowledge is ' remembered,' not imparted from without. This leads the way to the doctrine of Ideas, but as yet they are not matured. Another group of dialogues represents the growth of Plato's mind under the influence, it is said, of the Megarian school of thought. In this the ideas come forth, but as yet sparingly, and in a dry, logical, and abstract manner, e.g. in the Parmenides, the Thecetetus, the Sophist, &c. The last element that has to be added before the Platonism of Plato is complete is a Pythagorean influence, a tendency to delight in numbers as a symbol of the absolute, and to entertain the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. This period of Plato's mind we see illustrated in the Phcedrus, the Republic, and the Timceus. In the Republic we have the full perfection of Plato's philo- sophy ; in it all the different elements are balanced against THE ETHICAL SYSTEM OF TLATO. 137 one another negative and constructive dialectic ; the manner and method of the historic Socrates, and again of a trans- cendental Platonic philosopher; the refutation of popular and of Sophistic views ; Megarian and Pythagorean influences ; a deep morality, and a metaphysic that almost denies the exist- ence of the material world ; and above all, and springing out of all these elements, we have here the doctrine of Ideas in its most deeply speculative, and at the same time its most imaginative, vivid, and many-sided aspect. As Socrates discoursed on nothing but moral subjects, so we find that the dialogues of Plato, with very few exceptions, start each with the discussion of some moral question. But the morality of Plato culminates in the Republic. Let us then briefly examine some of the distinctive features of this moral system, viewed as an advance upon Socrates. We have already seen (p. 127) that in all probability the Socrates of real life would not have progressed farther in the argument of the Republic than the conclusion of Book L, except, indeed, that he might have gone on to define justice as 4 a science.' The constructive portion of the dialogue, beginning with the foundation of a state, is probably all a development made by Plato on the beginning of his master. Here then is the first characteristic of the Ethics of Plato, namely, the principle, that ethical conceptions cannot be isolated and considered separately. All things stand in relation to one another. You must take the mind as a whole, or rather society as a whole, before you can judge of any of its parts. Now here we have not only a great advance upon the method of Socrates, who, as Aristotle said (see above, p. 116), always sought a definite conception of each moral term by itself; but also we notice a reaction against what may be called the individualizing principle in the doctrine of Socrates. This individualizing principle, which expressed itself in the saying * virtue is 138 ESSAY III. knowledge' (see above, p. 124), and which pervaded the whole independent life and thought of Socrates, was full of merit as a protest against that blind obedience which saw no other ground for morality than the dictates of the law. But it was liable to abuse, and it ran out into an obvious extreme in both the Cynic and the Cyrenaic schools. It contained in itself the germ of the dissolution of society. The whole system of the Republic of Plato contains the strongest possible reaction against this principle. Not only does it avoid to contemplate the individual asserting himself against society, but it, so to speak, absolutely annihilates the individual. Lest there should be any trace at all of imperium in imperio, even family life is swept away. An individual is debarred from what seem the first rights of individuality the holding of his own property; the possession of his own wife; and the direction of his own faculties of mind and body. How far this unsparing system of communism was meant for a practical reality, it is hard to say ; we may at all events affirm that Plato meant to imply that the state must be an organized whole, like one mind and body, with parts har- moniously adjusted and readily working together, and all under the direction of a supremely wise philosophical con- sciousness else there is no scope for virtues in the state, and it is only by conceiving of them in the state that we can learn to conceive of them in the individual. Besides this appearance of a widely constructive system, including in its view all human relations and institutions which Plato substituted for the isolated moral enquiries of Socrates, he also made another advance beyond his master by the metaphysical and the religious aspect which he gave to his Ethico-political doctrine. The knowledge of the Idea of good he makes essential as a guiding principle for the legis- lator, and the belief in a future life, and in a state of rewards AE1STOTLES DEBT TO PLATO. 139 and punishments, he considers a necessary complement to the theory of justice. One other development due to Plato makes moral science for the first time appear something like what we in modern times have been accustomed to conceive it, and that is, Plato made morals in some slight degree psychological. His account of the cardinal virtues is based on a psychological division of human nature into Desire, Anger, and Intellect. These principal traits of what morality had become in his hands may now best be estimated by comparing and con- trasting with them the Ethics of Aristotle. The Ethics of Aristotle were composed between fourteen and twenty-seven years after the death of Plato. If Plato could have come to life again and seen them, he would have been surprised in the first place at a complete terminology and set of formulaB in which for the most part they are expressed, which had been created or developed since his own day ; he would have been astonished at the growth of philosophy. In the second place he would have found a different point of view from his own upon many leading questions, and he might have complained here and there of a somewhat captious antagonism. But he must have recognized, perhaps with pride, indications in almost every page of the work of the lasting influence pro- duced by his twenty years' intercourse, and by his literary productions, on his most distinguished pupil, now become the greatest thinker of the world. In order to see at one glance how great was the debt of Aristotle to Plato, let us place together and briefly indicate those parts of the moral system of Aristotle which were inherited from his master. These were, ( i ) His conception of the science as a whole, that Politics was the science of human happiness. (2) His conception of the practical chief good, that it is rsXsiov and avrapKSs, and incapable of improvement or addition. (3) That man has an epyov, or proper function ; 140 ESSAY III. that man's apsrij perfects this, and that his well-being is inseparable from it. (4) The psychology of Plato, as a basis for moral distinctions. (5) The practical conclusion of Ethics, that philosophy is the highest good and the greatest happiness, being an approach to the nature of the Divine Being. (6) The doctrine of Meaorrjf, which is only a modification of Plato's MerptoTrjs. (7). The doctrine of ^povrjo-iy, which is an adaptation, with alterations, of a Socratico-Platonic view. (8) The theory of pleasure, its various kinds, and the tran- scendency of mental pleasures. (9) The theory of friendship, which seems based on the questions started and not answered in the Lysis of Plato. (10) Many a conception, of which mere scattered hints are to be found in Plato, appears here worked out definitely. To this we may add, that the very metaphors in the Ethics of Aristotle seem, for the most part, taken from Plato. So great an influence had the one philo- sopher produced upon the mind and writings of the other, in spite of their wide dissimilarities of nature and tendency. On each of the above heads a few remarks may be made. (i) Not only is the general point of view that the indi- vidual is inseparable from the state taken from the Republic of Plato, but also the special description of Politics as the science of human happiness appears unmistakably borrowed from the Euthydemus. It is interesting to compare the conception of Politics, and its relation to the sciences, which is expressed in Eth. i. ii. 5-6, with the following description (Euthydem. p. 291 B): farl Bs S^T^ fiacrtXiKrjv sXQovrss iiyyr]v teal btacrKOTrov/jLevoi a\nr\v^ ei avTrj eirj rj -rrjv evBat/j-oviav airep- 7ab//,e'i>77 sBo^s yap &T) r)p,lvr) 7ro\ntKT) ical rj /3aai\iKrj rs^i'tj rj ainrj slvai. ravrrj rfj r^i'U tf rs arparrfyinrj KOI al aX\ai Trapa- ap^siv r&v epywv, wv avral Srjuiovpyoi fterip, toy p,6vrj j^p^affai. Gafy&s ovv eSuxei, rjp.lv avrrj elva/, ?)u , Kol r) alria ?ov opdws irfdrrsiv ev TTJ TroXei, KOI ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 141 Kara rb ALCT^V\OV lafi^stov \iovt] sv TT; Trpvfjbvr) Ka6fj- crdai TTJS TroXewy, Trdvra KvjBspvwcra KOI jrdvTcov dp-^ovaa irdvra Xpr/cri/uLa TTOISIV. While, however, accepting this conception of Politics, Aristotle does so in a wavering way he says that his science will be ' a sort of Politics ' (TTO\I,TLK^ rty, Eth. I. ii. 9) ; and elsewhere he speaks as if it were rather a stretch to call the science of moral subjects Politics. 1 He treats Ethics in such a way as virtually to separate them from Politics ; and in his Politics, properly so called, he makes various general references, as we have seen (p. 36), to * Ethics,' as if to a separate science. (2) In Eth. i. vii. 3-6, Aristotle, in laying down his own conception of the chief good, which is to be the ap%>j for Ethics, says that it must be rsXsiov and avrapKss. These same qualities are attributed to the chief good in the Philebus (p. 20 C), a dialogue to which Aristotle seems often to refer, and from which the present doctrine is probably taken. The words are as follows : rrjv rdya6ov /juoipav Trorspov dvay/cT) TS\SOV rj fir) rs\sov elvai ; irdvrwv 8/7 TTOV reXscararov, Si ^a)Kparss. TI Bs ; i/cavbv rdyaOov ; TTWS yap ov ; K. r. \. It is to be observed, however, that Aristotle analyzes the term rs\siov, and gives it a more philosophical import than Plato had done. Plato probably meant nothing more than ( the perfect.' Aristotle analyzes this into * that which is never a means,' ' that which is in and for itself desirable.' He accepts also from the Philebus another doctrine, which is the corollary of the former, namely, that the chief good is incapable of addi- tion. He directly refers to the Philebus, Eth. x. ii. 3, saying, * Plato used just such an argument as this to prove that pleasure is not the chief good for that pleasure, with thought added to it, is better than pleasure separately ; whereas, if the 1 Bhet. I. ii. 7. Tfjs irepl TO, ^0jj irpay/nareut? $)/ SiKaidj/ tarn irpoirayopfveiv 142 ESSAY III. compound of the two is better, pleasure cannot be the chief good ; for that which is the absolute chief good cannot be made more desirable by any addition to it. And it is obvious that nothing else can be the chief good, which is made better by the addition of any other absolute good.' The reference is to Philebus, pp. 20-22. Aristotle implies the same thing, Eth. i. vii. 8, by saying that, ' When we call happiness the most desirable of all things, we can only do so on the proviso that we do not rank it with other goods, and place it in the same scale of comparison with them' (prj avvapiO^ov/jLevijv^ see infra, note on this passage) ; * else we should come to the absurdity of considering it capable of improvement by the addition of other goods to it, which, if we consider it as the ideal good for man, is impossible.' (3) The whole argument by which, from the analogy of the different trades, of the different animals, and of the separate parts of the body, the existence of an spyov or proper function for man is proved (Eth. I. vii. n), comes almost verbatim from the Republic (p. 352-3) ; as also does the account of the connexion between the apsrij of anything with its proper function, which is given, Eth. u. vi. 2. The object selected as an illustration is in each case the same namely, the eye. 2 (4) The psychology of Aristotle's Ethics is based on that of Plato, but it is also a development of it, and contains one essential difference, in the greater prominence, namely, that is given to the will. This, is is true, is virtual rather than expressed, but it lies at the root of the separation of l prac- tical virtues' from philosophy, and from ' excellencies of the reason.' Plato divides the mind into the following elements : TO XOJMTTIKOV, TO eTTiOvfjLrjTiKov, and TO 6vfj.osi8$ (Repub. p. 440). Aristotle gives a more physical account of the internal 2 Cf. Repub. p. 353 B. *Ap' &v ujj.fi.ara rb avrSiv *i>")'ov KO\WS airtpyd- ffaiino /i^ txo apir-fi" ', K. r. \. r^v a'jriav ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 143 principle (see below, Essay V.), and divides the mind into that which possesses reason and that which partakes of reason. 3 This answers at first sight to the division of Plato, since the \6yov jjurs-)(pv includes both BV/J.OS and eTndv^ia. But Aristotle pushes the analysis farther, dividing the reason into practical and speculative (which is a great discrepancy from Plato), and not attributing the same character to Ovpos as it has in the Republic, where it is made to stand for something like the instinct of honour, or the spirited and manly will, which, as Plato says, is generally on the side of the reason in any mental conflict. In Aristotle's discussions upon fiovXrja-tf, fiovXsva-is, &c., we see an attempt to found a psychology of the will, thus supplying what was a deficiency in Plato, but the theory does not appear to be by any means complete. (5) The burden of all the Platonic dialogues is the same, the excellence of philosophy, and its extreme felicity. Most completely does Aristotle reproduce this feeling when (Eth. x. vii.) having, as it were, satisfied the claims of common life by his analysis of the * practical virtues,' he indulges in his own description of that which is the highest happiness, when he says, ' Philosophy seems to afford wonderful pleasures both in purity and duration' (Eth. x. vii. 3), and ' We need not listen to the saying, " Men should think humanly," rather as far as possible one should aspire after what is immortal, and do all things so as to live according to what is highest in oneself (Eth. x. vii. 8). We are reminded generally of the enthusiastic descriptions of philosophy in the Republic, the Phcedo, and the Symposium of Plato. One particular passage of the last-named dialogue seems probably to have suggested to Aristotle the saying (Eth. X. viii. 13), that 'The philosopher of. Eth. i. xiii. 144 ESSAY III. will surely be most under the protection of heaven (#eo$i- \scnaros}, because honouring and cherishing that which is highest and most akin to God namely, the reason.' (6) The principle of MEOTOTTJS, so prominent in Aristotle's theory of moral virtue, is a modification of Plato's principle of M.STptoTr}s or Sf/z/ier/Dta. As, however, the history of the doctrine of Msaorrjs will form part of the subject of the following essay, no more need at present be said upon it. (7) Aristotle's doctrine of )j ffKiaypa-

5ec vyies ot/5' p6v re Kal ael i>v Kal dddvarov Kal wcravrus *X OV '> Ka ^ "" s ffvyyev^s ovffa, avrov df'i fj.fr' tictivov rf ylyverat, Sravirtp avrrj Ka0* aurrjj/ yev^rai Kal e|7? avrrj Kal rovro avrrjs rb iidBifjfjLa. 5 "Orav Se ye OUT)J (TJ 4 /u X^) /ca ^ > avrty ffKoirfj, e/ce?cr o?xTai fls rb KaOa- L 146 ESSAY III. these, however, are to be found in the Philebus, or any dialogue of Plato. They are, in all probability, to be attri- buted to the Platonic school. There is a direct mention, in connexion with one of the arguments, of the name of Speu- sippus (Eth. vii. xiii. i). Turning now to Book X., we find the question as to the nature of pleasure opened by the state- ment of two extreme views on the subject; one, that of the Cynics that pleasure was 'entirely evil' (/co/uS?} ) the other, that of Eudoxus, that pleasure was the chief good. The first view Aristotle sets aside as having rather a moral and practical than a speculative character ; and as being, though well-intentioned, at all events an over-statement of the truth. He specifies four arguments of Eudoxus to prove that pleasure is the chief good, (a) All creatures seek it. (6) It is contrary to pain, (c) It is sought for its own sake. (d) Added to any good, it makes that good better. He then mentions the objections (eixrrdcrsis) made to each of these four, and shows that none of the objections is valid, except that brought against the last of the arguments. He shows from Plato (see above, p. 141), that the fact that pleasure can be added to other goods disproves, instead of proving, its claim to be considered the chief good. Aristotle now mentions other general arguments that have been brought against pleasure namely, that it is not a quality: that it is indefinite (aopurrov) ; that it is a motion, a becoming, or a replenishment (icivijffis, ysveais, avaTrKrjpaxrisi] ; again, that there are many disgraceful pleasures. He answers all these objections, and having accepted the Platonic position that pleasure is, at all events, not the chief good, he proceeds to give his own theory of its nature, considering it to be, except in certain cases, a good, and analyzing its character more accurately than had hitherto been done. In all this we can- not trace anything like a direct antagonism to the Philebus ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 147 or to any other part of Plato's works. Far rather, as we shall have an opportunity of seeing more distinctly in the next Essay, Aristotle, while perfectly coinciding with and accepting Plato's general theory of pleasure, the division of its different kinds, the distinction between bodily pleasures which are preceded by desire and a sense of pain, and the mental pleasures which are free from this ; while accepting, that is, the whole theory in its moral and practical bearing, refines and improves upon it as a speculative question, sub- stituting a more accurate and appropriate definition of pleasure than is to be found in Plato. (9) We cannot doubt that Aristotle's attention was turned to the consideration of the subject of friendship by the im- portance that Plato attributed to it, and the interesting part which he makes it play in his system. Both the Lysis and the Pkcedrus are devoted to the discussion of friendship. In the former dialogue little more is done than starting the difficulties, some of which are taken up and re-stated in the beginning of Aristotle's treatise (Eth. Tin. i. 6) ; ' Whether does friendship arise from similarity, or from dis- similarity ? Does it consist in sympathy, or in the harmony of opposites ?' In the Phcedrus a passionate and enthusiastic \^n * ^V J picture of friendship is given, which renders it not distin- guishable from love ; its connexion with the highest kind of \ '* 1 *" x ; imagination, and with the philosophic spirit, is dwelt upon at length. In Aristotle nothing of this kind is to be discovered. The picture is colder, but at the same time more natural and human. In the ninth chapter of Book IX. a fine philosophic account of the true value of friendship is to be found, on which more will be said in the succeeding Essay. The whole of this subject is treated with depth and also with moral earnestness, which renders it one of the most attractive parts of Aristotle's Ethics. We see throughout that on every L 2 148 ESSAY III. point of the question the analysis has been pushed farther than Plato carried it. ( t o ) It remains now to mention, what any one will be conscious of who reads the Platonic dialogues in order to illustrate Aristotle that scattered through the pages of Plato will be found hints and suggestions afterwards worked out by his successor, and floating conceptions that in Plato have no determinate meaning, but which in the Ethics of Aristotle, as well as in his other works, have become, or are becoming, fixed and definite terms. Of course the more broad and general conceptions, such as re\os, Suva/its, TO wpicr/jbevov, ri lvla tv/j.iraffa fj.ev ap(Tft,rb 8e irtpl ras ^8oj/is Kal \VTras TfOpa.fifj.evov avrris opBias, &trrt fj.tat'iv ply a XP*I tufffiv fvBvs t apxys futxP 1 r(\ovs, ffrtpy tiv 5 a XP b ffTfpyeiv, TOUT' ainb airoTffj,eav rif \6ytp Kal ircuSfiav irpoffayoptvuv Kara yt rty THE LAWS OF PLATO. 167 called in question. The reasons for doubting it are (i) The a priori improbability of Plato's taking the trouble to com- pose so long a work, which is to a great degree a repetition of the Republic. (2) The inferiority of style. (3) The abandonment of all that is essential in Plato's point of view. Polytheistic theology and Pythagorean notions are substi- tuted for Plato's doctrine of Ideas. And, as in the place alluded to, a merely practical view of morals seems to be taken. We may ask, does all this denote a change in Plato's mind, or is his name forged, and have his views been garbled by his school ? Perhaps the strongest argument for considering the dialogue to be genuine is that it is quoted by Aristotle as Plato's; and not only quoted, but also criticized at length in the Politics (n. vi.), and compared with the Republic. Against this may be set the fact that Aristotle also quotes the Menexenus, which is of still more doubtful genuineness. Also, literary criticism was no part of his metier. Also, he was absent from Athens during thirteen years after the death of Plato. In the interval the Laws must have appeared, for even the testimony of antiquity makes it posthumous. On the whole, perhaps, the balance of probabilities may lead us to consider that the Laws stands nearly in the same relation to Plato's Republic, as the JEudemian Ethics to Aristotle's moral system ; that is, that it contains much which is actually Plato's, the whole unskilfully filled up and put together, and the point of view being slightly altered. Partly, then, it may be said to represent a certain degree of change in Plato's mind at the last, and partly also certain tendencies in the Academic school, who seem to have taken a practical direc- tion, and also more and more to have given themselves up to Pythagorean forms of thought. The chief of these Platonists was Speusippus, nephew to Plato himself, and successor to him in the leadership of the 168 ESSAY III. Academy. One of the Pythagoreizing opinions of Speusippus is alluded to by Aristotle, Eth. i. vi. 7. The Pythagorean theory on the subject seems more plausible, which places unity in the rank of the goods ; to which theory Speusippus too seems to have given in his adhesion.' The question adverted to is the identity of 'the One' with 'the Good.' The Pythagoreans appear to have placed ' the One ' among the various exhibitions of good, whether as causes or mani- festations. Among the Platonists, as we are told (Metaphys. xin. iv. 68), there arose a difference, a section of them identi- fying ' the One ' with ' the Good,' the others not considering unity identical with, but an essential element of goodness. They saw that if ' the One ' be identified with ' the Good,' it must follow that multeity, or, in other words, matter, must be the principle of evil. To avoid making 'the many' identical with evil, they found themselves forced to abandon the iden- tification of 'the One' with 'the Good.' Of this section Speusippus was leader. He seems to have adopted a Pytha- gorean formula, saying, that ' the One must be ranked among goods.' Aristotle gives a sort of provisional preference to this theory over the system of Plato. Elsewhere, however (Metaphys. xi. vii. 10), he attacks and refutes the view of ' the Pythagoreans and Speusippus,' that ' Good is rather a result of existence than the cause of it, as the flower is the result of the plant.' In morals, Speusippus seems to have continued the argu- ments begun by Plato, against the Hedonistic theory of Aristippus. In the list of his works given by Diogenes, 12 the following are mentioned jrepl ^Bovfjs a. 'Kptaninros d. His polemic appears to have been one-sided, and his views extreme. One of his arguments on the subject of pleasure is alluded to by Aristotle, Eth. x. ii. 5, and expressly men- 12 Also he seems to have written on Justice, The Citizen, Legislation, and Philosophy. THE PLATONISTS. 169 tioned with his name by Eudemus, vn. xiii. i. It seems very probable that other arguments against pleasure, which are refuted by Aristotle and Eudemus, may have occurred in the treatise on Pleasure written by Speusippus. Another Platonist, with exactly opposite views on pleasure, was Eudoxus. Of him hardly anything is known. He appears to have been an astronomer, and his personal character is highly praised by Aristotle, Eth. x. ii. i. Out of the school of Plato, Aristotle appears to have had a close personal friend, namely, Xenocrates, who accompanied him to Atarneus, on the death of Plato. He was a voluminous writer, and seems to have endeavoured to carry out the system of Plato on particular points, and to give it a more practical direction. Besides many treatises on dialectic, the Ideas, science, genera and species, divisions, thought, nature, the gods, &c., Diogenes also attributes to him two books on Happiness, two on Virtue, one on the State, one on the Power of the Law, &c. The ancients ascribed to him a high moral tone of thought, saying that he considered virtue as alone valuable in itself. He seems, however, to have allowed the existence of a Swapis inrrjpsTiKij in external fortune, which is, perhaps, alluded to by Aristotle. 13 His disciples, Polemo and Grantor, appear to have had almost exclusively an ethical direction. We must regret the loss of the writings of these early Academics, for we should, no doubt, find common to them much that is to be found in the system of Aristotle. A great work is always the creature of its times, and it is only by knowing those times that we can know it fully or judge it aright. And yet, on the whole, none of the Platonists appears individually to have been of sufficient importance to have greatly influenced Aristotle either in the way of communica- tion or of antagonism. 13 "Ertpoi 8t Kal r^v tirrbs fueTTjpicw trvfjnra.pa,\afj.ftdi'ov WXet, Eth. ill. vii. 6). In the same way the End mixes itself up with the efficient cause, the desire for the end gives the first impulse of motion, the final cause of anything becomes identical with the good of that thing, so that the end and the good become synonym- ous terms. And this is not only the case with regard to in- dividual objects, but all nature and the whole world exist for the sake of, and in dependence on, their final cause, which is the good. This, existing as an object of contemplation and desire, though itself immovable, moves all things. 1 And so the world is rendered finite, for all nature desiring the good and tending towards an end is harmonized and united. In this way is the unity of nature conceived by Aristotle, it is a unity of idea. The idea of the Good as final cause pervades the world, and the world is suspended from it. In the same form this ethical philosophy presents itself. Human life and action are rendered finite by being directed to their end or final cause, the good attainable in action. The ques- tion of the Ethics is, Tt sen TO ruv irpaKrwv T^\OS ; And we might say, altering the words quoted from the Metaphysics From this principle, from the End of action, the whole of human life is suspended. An end or final cause implies intelligence, implies a mind to see and desire it. The appearance of ends and means in nature is a proof of design in the operations of nature, and this Aristotle distinctly recognizes (Nat. Ausc. n. viii.). When vot\Tbv uTijs &pa apxys tfpvrjTai 6 ovpai/bs Kal vffis. Metaph. xi. vii. 2-6. THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IX-ITSELF. 173 we come to Ethics, What is meant by an End of human action? For whom is this an end ? Is it an end fixed by a higher in- telligence ? In short, is the principle of Aristotle the same as the religious principle, that man is born to work out the purposes of his Maker ? To this it must be answered, that Aristotle is indefinite in his physical theory as to the relation of God to the design exhibited in creation. And so, too, he is not explicit, in the Ethics, as to God's moral government of the world. On the whole, we may say at present that 4 moral government,' in our sense of the words, does not at all form part of Aristotle's system. His point of view rather is, that as physical things strive all, though unconsciously, after the good attainable by them under their several limita- tions, so man may consciously strive after the good attainable in life. We do not find in the Ethics the expression TS\OS TOV av6pa>iTOV, but TWV Trpaicrwv TS\OS (i. vii. 8), TWV avQpw- TTIVCDV TS\OS (x. vi. i), TO dvOpcoTTivov ar/aOov (i. xiii. 5). It is best, therefore, to exclude religious associations (as being un- Aristotelian) from our conception of the ethical rsXos, and then we may be free to acknowledge that it is evidently meant to have a definite relation to the nature and constitu- tion of man. Thus Aristotle assumes that the desires of man are so framed as to imply the existence of this TS\OS (Eth. i. ii. i). And he asserts that man can only realize it in the sphere of his own proper functions (sv TOO />7&> TOV avdpairov, i. vii. 10), and in accordance with the law of his proper nature and its harmonious development (teara rrjv ol/csiav dpSTijv, I. vii. 15). Is man, then, according to this system, to be regarded similarly to one of the flowers of the field, which obeying the law of its organization springs and blooms and attains its own peculiar perfection? This is no doubt one side, so to speak, of Aristotle's view. But there is also another side. For, 174 ESSAY IV. while each part of the creation realizes its proper end, and, in the language of the Bible, * is very good,' this end exists not for the inanimate or unconscious creatures themselves, it only exists in them. But the ethical W\os not only exists n man, but also for man; not only is the good realized in him, but it is recognized by him as such ; it is the end not only of his nature, but also of his desires ; it stands before his thoughts and wishes and highest consciousness as the ab- solute, that in which he can rest, that which is in and for itself desirable (aTrXoiy 8^ TS\SIOV TO /ra#' avrb alpsrbv asl, I. vii. 4). The ends of physical things are for other minds to contemplate, they are ends objectively. But ends of moral beings are ends subjectively, realized by and contemplated by those moral beings themselves. The final cause, then, in Ethics, is viewed, so to speak, from the inside. Or rather the peculiarity is, that the objective and subjective sides of the conception both have their weight in Aristotle's system, and are run into one another. The re\o$ rwv Trpaxrwv^ or abso- lute end of action, has two forms, which are not clearly sepa- rated ; in the first place it is represented subjectively as happiness, and in the second place objectively as the right. It has been said that the ancient Ethical systems were theories of the chief good, rather than theories of duty. And Kant brings against Aristotle the charge that his sys- tem is one of mere eudaemonism. We shall have an oppor- tunity in a future Essay of touching upon the relations of this conception * duty ' to the ancient systems. At present it will suffice to show that there is some unfairness in the charge brought by Kant, and that it ignores the true charac- teristics of Aristotle's Ethical doctrine. It is unfair to charge Aristotle with mere * eudsemonism ' simply on account of his making a definition of 'happiness' the leading principle of his Ethics. This word ' happiness ' is only a popular way of THE DOCTRINE OP THE END-IN-ITSELF. 175 statement ; Aristotle tells us that it is the popular word for the chief good (Eth. I. iv. 2). Again, during his whole dis- cussion on the virtues, and on moral actions, there is no men- tion of happiness as connected with these, as if good acts were to be done for the sake of happiness. There is only one place, and that is in the discussion on happiness itself, where he speaks of it as ' The end and prize of virtue.' 2 Elsewhere he speaks of ' the beautiful ' as being the end of virtue. 3 But again the * happiness ' which Aristotle defines as the chief good does not seem immediately, but only inferentially, to imply pleasure. Pleasure (as we shall see hereafter) is rather argued and proved to belong to happiness by a sort of after- thought, and is not with Aristotle a primary part of the con- ception. Happiness with Aristotle is something different from what we mean by it ; so from this point of view, above all, the charge of eudsemonism falls to the ground. Aristotle's question is, What is the chief good for man ? But this he resolves into another form, What is the r^Xsiov TeXos? What in human life and action is the End-in-itself? How deep is the moral significance of this conception the absolute end ! Can anything small or frivolous, or anything like mere pleasure and enjoyment come up to its require- ments, and appear in the deepest depths of the human con- sciousness to be something beyond which we cannot go the absolute satisfaction of our nature ? Essentially and neces- sarily, that only can be called a re\os which has in itself a moral worth and goodness. This also Aristotle says * has a sweetness and pleasure of its own, but one quite different from that which springs from any other sources. Men rarely attain to it ; but desiring the satisfaction it affords, they seize in its place the pleasure derived from amusements, on account 2 Tb TTJS aperrjs &0\ov Kal re\os. Eth. I. ix. 3. 8 ToG Ka\ov e'fEKa, TOVTO y&p rr}s operas. Eth. in vii. a. 176 ESSAY IV. of this latter having some sort of resemblance to the satisfac- tion which the mind feels in moral acts which are of the nature of an end.' 4 The deep moral pleasure which attaches to noble acts, Aristotle describes as triumphing even over the physical pain and outward horrors which may attend the exercise of courage. 5 And he acknowledges that in many cases this may be the only pleasure attending upon virtuous actions. 6 We see in these passages how the objective and subjective import of the TS\OS are blended together. The end and the consciousness of the end are not separated. In the pleasure which Aristotle speaks of as attaching to the moral r^Xos we see something that answers to what we should call * the approval of conscience.' Only to say that Aristotle meant this, would be to mix up things modern and ancient. It is better to keep before us as clearly as possible his point of view, which is, that a good action is an End-in-itself, as being the perfection 7 of our nature, and that for the sake of which (ov SVSKO) our moral faculties before existed, hence bringing a pleasure and inward satisfaction with it ; something in which the mind can rest pleased and acquiescent ; something 4 Politics vni. v. 12. 'Ev reAei ffvfjL$a.ivfi TOIS ca>6pwwois o yiyvfvBcu. . . . 2ujit|8e'j8TjKe 84 r&s iraiSias T^Aos ?x 61 jfy " iffus rjS TWO. KOI rb TtAos, aAA' ov r^v rvxov -rainrjv txtivrit', 5id rb "rep T^Aei Ttav irpd^fiov fx flv tpoiaiiJ.d TI. Cf. Eth. x. vi. 3. 4 Eth. in. ix. 2. Ou /*V aXAd 5<$|etej/ &i> flvcu rA KCITCI T$IV avSptlav T\OS ^5u. 6 Eth. in. ix. 5. Oil 5)) iv awda-ais rats aperdis rb r/5cos tvepyt'tv i TT\TIV &/>' Zaov rov TtXous 7 In another passage (Eth. m. vii. 6), Aristotle seems to use the term in a more purely objective sense to denote perfection. He says, ' The T^AOS of every individual moral act is the same with that of the formed moral character' (r^Aos 8^ irdo-ns fvep- yfias tffrl T& Kara T^V fiv). The whole passage is a difficult one ; it seems to come to this An individual act can only be said to have attained perfection when it exhibits the same qualities as the formed moral charac- ter e. g., a brave act is only perfectly brave when it is done as a brave man would do it, consciously for its own sake, or for the sake of the noble i'e/ca), &c. THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 177 which possesses the qualities of being Ka\6v, wpia-fjisvov^ and svefjysia T\sia. We observe how in the separate parts of life, in the deve- lopment of each of the various faculties, Aristotle considers an end to be attainable ; how he attaches a supreme value to particular acts, and idealizes the importance of the passing moment ; hew he attributes to each moment a capability of being converted out of a mere means, and mere link in the chain of life, to be an End-in-itself, something in which life is, as it were, summed up. But if in action, and in an exercise of the moral faculties, an end is attainable, this is, according to the system of Aristotle, only faintly and imperfectly an end, compared with what is attainable in contemplation by the exercise of the philosophic thought. In both senses of the word reXoy, both as perfection and as happiness, Aristotle seems to have placed virtue below philo- sophy. Philosophy is in the first place the highest human excellence ; it is the development of the highest faculty. 8 In the second place, it contains the most absolute satisfaction, it is most entirely desirable for its own sake, and not as a means to anything else. 9 Whereas the practical virtues are all in a sense means to this. Courage is for war, which is for the sake of the fruition of peace ; and in what does this consist ? If the practical side of our nature be summed up in the one faculty wisdom ($>pbvr)(ns), this may be regarded after all as subordinate and instrumental to philosophy aofyia), the per- fection of the speculative side. 10 So too in Politics, the end, or in other words the - highest perfection and the highest happiness, being identical for the state and the individual, in 8 Eth. X. vii. I. El 8' eff-rlv ^ euSai- /j.ovia KO.T' aperrjc fisepyfia, ftf\oyov Kara rr^v npariffrriv aim} 8' Uv f1r\ TOV api ju.rfi/7} Si" avr^v ayairaffOai. 10 Eth. VI. xiii. 8. 'E/cej'rrjs ovv eirjTaTTej, aAA* OVK e/cetcj?. 178 ESSAY IV. what is this constituted ? Not in the busy and restless action of war or diplomacy, not in means and measures to some ulterior result, but in those thoughts and contemplations which find their end and satisfaction in themselves. Philo- sophy, therefore, and speculation are, according to Aristotle, the end not only of the individual, but also of the state. 11 ' If it be true to say, that happiness consists in doing well, a life of action must be best both for the state, and for the individual. But we need not, as some do, suppose that a life of action implies relation to others, or that those only are active thoughts which are concerned with the results of action ; but far rather we must consider those speculations and thoughts to be so which have their end in themselves, and which are for their own sake.' A moment of contemplative thought (0scopr)riKr) evepyeia) is most perfectly and absolutely an end. It is sought for no result but for itself. It is a state of peace, which is the crown of all exertion (do-^oXov/ie^a Iva ). It is the realization of the divine in man, and constitutes the most absolute and all-sufficient happiness, 12 being, "as far as pos- sible in human things, independent of external circum- stances. 13 This then constitutes the most adequate answer to the great question of Ethics, What is the chief good ? or Tt ea-n TO TWV TrpaKTtav r^Xos ; as far as a separate and individual moment of life is concerned. But a difficulty suggests itself Teiv, aAAa iroAu /j.a\\ov rats avTor\eiS Kal ras ainuv 'ivtKtv fcwpfas Kal Sia- 11 Pol. vn. iii. 7. 'AA\' ravra \4ytrai KoAois Koi T^V fvScufj.ovlai' fvirpaylav 6tr4ov, Kal KOivfj Trjurrjs ir6\fa>s Uv rirj Kal naff eKacrrov Hpiffros /3ioj <5 irpo/CTiKds. 'AAAa r6v irpaKTtKbv OVK avayKaiov flvai irpos trepovs, Ka.8d- irip otovrai Ttvts, oi)8 rds Siavoias eTi/ai /uovar ravroy irpaKTiicis rds r there is an ambiguity of which probably Aristotle, himself, was half conscious ; its associations of meaning are twofold, the one popular, conveying the notion of the ' com- plete,' the 'perfect,' the other philosophic, implying that which is in itself desirable, that in which the mind finds satisfaction, the absolute. Taking a signification between the two, we may conceive Aristotle to have meant, that the chief good must be an absolute mode of the consciousness, and that this 14 'H Tf\fla 8^ etiSai/xovia aurrj tu> \tiov ovStv yap are\fS tv -rns v, Xa/3oCaa fj.r,Kos jBiou Tt- ias, Eth. x. vii. 7. N 2 180 ESSAY IV. must be attained in a sphere of outward circumstances them- selves partaking of the nature of absolute perfection. Aris- totle's conception, then, of the chief good has two sides, the one internal, ideal, out of all relation to time, which speaks of the happiness as the absolute good, that end which is the sum of all means, that which could not possibly be improved by any addition (Eth. i. vii. 8); the other side, which is external and practical, goes quite against the Cyrenaic principle of regarding the present as all in all, and also against the Cynic view which would set the mind above external circumstances (Eth. i. v. 6) ; this part of the theory considers happiness as compounded of various more or less essential elements, and shows how far the more essential parts (TO. fcvpia TTJS evSai- fioviai) can outbalance the less essential. It requires per- manence of duration, but it looks for this in the stability of the formed mental state, which is always tending to reproduce moments of absolute worth. The End-in-itself renders life a rounded whole, like a work of art, or a product of nature. The knowledge of it is to give definite ness to the aims, ' So that we shall be now like archers knowing what to shoot at' (Eth. I. ii. 2). In the realization of it, we are to feel that there need be no more reaching onwards towards infinity, for all the desires and powers will have found their satisfaction (Eth. i. ii. i). Closely connected then is this system with the view that what is finite is good. ' Life,' says Aristotle, ' is a good to the good man, because it is finite' (Eth. ix. ix. 7). At first sight these sayings suggest the idea of a cramped and limited theory of life, as if all were made round and artistic, and no room were left for the aspirations of the soul. It must be remembered, how- ever, that that which is here spoken of as making life finite, is itself the absolute, that, above and beyond the outside of which the mind can conceive nothing. And this absolute THE DOCTB3NE OF ENE1TEIA. 181 end is yet further represented as the deepest moments either of the moral consciousness, or of that philosophic reason which is an approach to the nature of the divine being. It must be remembered .also that 'the finite' (TO a)pta-/j,svov) does not mean ' the restricted/ as if expressing that in which limits have been put upon the possibilities of good, but rather the good itself. Good and even existence cannot be con- ceived except under a law, and the finite is with Aristotle an essentially positive idea. Only so much negation enters into it as is necessary to constitute definiteness and form in con- tradistinction to the chaotic. Truly we cannot in our concep- tions pass out of the human mind ; that which is absolute and an end for the mind cannot be a mere limited and re- stricted conception ; but rather nothing can be conceived beyond it. Something might be said on the relation of the Ethical rs\os to the idea of a future life, but this can be better said hereafter. II. ' Actuality ' is perhaps the nearest philosophical repre- sentative of the evepysia of Aristotle. It is derived from it through the Latin of the Schoolmen, ' actus ' being their trans- lation of svspysia, out of which the longer and more abstract form has grown. The word ' energy,' which comes more directly from evspyeia, has ceased to convey the philosophical meaning of its original, being restricted to the notion of force and vigour. The employment of the term * energy,' as a translation of svspysia, has been a material hindrance to the proper understanding of Aristotle. This is especially the case with regard to the Ethics, where there is an appearance of plausibility, though an utterly fallacious one, in such a trans- lation. To substitute ' actuality ' v in the place of ' energy ' would certainly have this advantage, that it would point to the metaphysical conception lying at the root of all the various applications of svspysia. But ' actuality ' is a word 182 ESSAY IV. with far too little flexibility to be adapted for expressing all these various applications. No conception equally plastic with tvepysia, and at all answering to it, can be found in modern thought. And therefore there is no term which will uniformly translate it. Our only course can be, first to en- deavpur to understand its philosophical meaning as part of Aristotle's system, and secondly to notice its special applica- tions in a book like the Ethics. Any rendering of its import in the various places where it occurs must be rather of the nature of paraphrase than of translation. 'Ev^yyeta is not more accurately defined by Aristotle, than as the correlative and opposite of SvvajAis. He implies, that we must rather feel its meaning than seek to define it. * Actuality ' may be in various ways opposed to * potentiality,' and the import of the conception depends entirely on their relation to each other. 16 'Now fafyyeia is the existence of a thing not in the sense of its potentially existing. The term ' potentially ' we use, for instance, of the statue in the block, and of the half in the whole, (since it might be subtracted,) and of a person knowing a thing, even when he is not think- ing of it, but might do so ; whereas evspyeta is the opposite. By applying the various instances our meaning will be plain, and one must not seek a definition in each case, but rather 15 Metaphys. vm. vi. 2. "Eo-Tt 8" ij \ Kal TO bpSiv vpbs TO /nvov /uir, o\f/iv tvepyfia Tb vwdpxtn' TO irpayfM, /*)] oS- fiov\t l >/jLf6a. \iytiv, Kal ov Sfiiravri>s Spov !/, aAAa (col ri avd\oyov ws T& otKoSo/jiovv irpis t ic6v, cupcapur/j.evr). OaTfpcp 8^ TO SwaroV. AtyeTat Se Ivtpytia ou irdvra ?i/j.o'tu>s, d\\' t) TO &vd\oyov, &s TOVTO iv To6rq> 1) trpos TOVTO, TO 8' Iv TipSe $ vpbs T6S* T& fjL^f yap &s Klvtjais irpbs Swa- fuv, Ta 8" aiy ovarla. vp6t Tiva $\t)v. THE DOCTK1NE OF EJS T E1TEIA. 183 grasp the conception of the analogy as a whole, that it is as that which builds to that which has the capacity for build- ing; as the waking to the sleeping; as that which sees to that which has sight, but whose eyes, are closed ; as the definite form to the shapeless matter ; as the complete to the unaccomplished. In this contrast, let the evepysia be set off as forming the one side, and on the other let the potential stand. Things are said to be svsp^sia not always in like manner, (except so far as there is an analogy, that as this thing is in this, or related to this, so is that in that, or related to that,) for sometimes it implies motion as opposed to the capacity for motion, and sometimes complete existence op- posed to undeveloped matter.' The word evspysia does not occur in Plato, though the opposition of the * virtual ' and the * actual ' may be found implicitly contained in 1G some parts of his writings. Perhaps there is no genuine passage 17 now extant of any writer pre- vious to Aristotle in which it occurs. It is the substantive form of the adjective svspyrjs which is to be found in Aristotle's Topics, i. xii. i. But Aristotle, by a false etymology, seems to connect it immediately with the words 18 h ep> rep iroi- OVVrl, K.r.K. 17 For the fragment of Philolaus, apud Stob. Eel. Phys. i. xx. z, is very suspicious. It is as follows: Aid teal Ka\>s fx fl A.7 e " / i^Afffjiov ?ifi.fv fftpyftw a'iSiov 0eo> re Kal yeveffios Kara ffvvaKo- Xovdiav ras fj.fr af$\aruatriv, olov ol MeyapiKoi, ftrav fvepyrj fj.6voi> Svvaffdai, 'Arav 6e pi) evepyfi ov Svvaffdai, olov rbv /ur; oil 184 ESSAY IV. dialectic of the Megarians, by which they endeavoured to establish the Eleatic principles, and to prove by the subtleties of the reason, against all evidence of the senses, that the world is absolutely one, immovable, and unchangeable. We cannot be exactly certain of the terms employed by the Megarians themselves in expressing the above-quoted posi- tion, for Aristotle is never very accurate about the exact form in which he gives the 20 opinions of earlier philosophers. We cannot be sure whether the Megarians said precisely orav evspyfj pavov Bvvao-dai. But at all events they said something equivalent, and Aristotle taking the suggestion worked out the whole theory of the contrast between Swapis and evepysta, in its almost universal applicability. At first these terms were connected, apparently with the idea of 21 motion. But since Swapis has the double meaning of ' possibility of existence ' as well as ' capacity of action,' there arose the double contrast of action opposed to the capacity for action; actual existence opposed to possible existence or potentiality. To express accurately this latter opposition Aristotle seems to have introduced the term EvreXe^eia, of which the most natural account is, that it is a compound of h rsXst s^ew, ' being in the state of perfec- tion,' an adjective 22 svreks^rjs being constructed on the analogy of vowels. But in fact this distinction between and svtpyeia is 23 not maintained. The former 50 Cf. Mitaph. XI. ii. 3. Kal &s A?7- I KivT\. In these passages Ari- stotle expresses the ideas of his pre- decessors in his own formulae. i\urra i] KtvTjffis eTvat. 22 De Gen. et Corr. n. x. n. ir\r]p Z\ov 6 Beds tyrf\txri -*> \ vn. xiv. 8. Ov yap ft.6vov Kivi}iTfopa Be TLS (fratverai r&v rsXtav TO, fisv yap elfftv evepyeiai, ret, &e Trap' airrcLs epja TWO. Having traced some of the leading features of this distinc- tion between Svvafus and evspyeia, we may now proceed to observe how this form of thought stamped itself upon Ethics. We may ask, How is the category of the actual brought to bear upon moral questions, and how far is it reacted upon by moral associations ? At the very outset of Aristotle's theory it appears. As soon as the proposition has been laid down that the chief good for man is only attainable in his proper work, 25 Metaph. x. ix. 1 1 . THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENEPFEIA. 187 and that this proper work is a peculiar kind of life, rts (&})} TOV \oyov %OVTOS, Aristotle proceeds to assume (Osrsov} that this life must be no mere possession (a#' e'iv) of certain powers and latent tendencies, but ' in actuality, for this is the distinctive form of the conception.' 26 He then transforms the qualifying term /tar' svepyeiav into a substan- tive idea, and makes it the chief part of his definition of the supreme good. 27 Thus the metaphysical category of evspysia, which comes first into Ethics merely as a form of thought, becomes henceforth material. It is identified with happi- ness. 28 In short, it becomes an ethical idea. In this connexion (like its cognate rs\os} evtpysia becomes at once something mental. It takes a subjective character, as existing now both in and for the mind. Moreover, in an exactly parallel way to the use of re'Xoy, it receives a double application. On the one hand it is applied to" express moral action and the development of the moral powers, on the other hand to happiness and the fruition of life. It is in its latter meaning that evspysia is most purely subjective. Taken as a formula to express Aristotle's theory of virtue, we may con- sider it as applied in its more objective and simpler sense, though even here it is mixed up with psychological associa- tions. We shall see how, under newly-invented metaphysical forms, Aristotle accounts for the moral nature of man. Aristotle divides Buvdfjisis into physical and mental. 29 Of these mental Suva/justs it is characteristic that they are equally capacities of producing contraries, while the physical are 28 Airrus 8e Kol ravrr)S T^IV Kar' fvepyttav Qersov Kvpuirrtpov yap avrrj So/ceT \eyea6ai. Eth. I. vii. 1 3. 27 El 5* Iffrlv fpyov avOpaiirov ^x^ J fvtpytia. Kara. \&yov, K.T.\. el 6' ovroi Tb avOfKincivov dyaBbv tyvxrjs tvfpyfia yivcrai Kar' aptr-fiv. 1. 1. 14, 15. 28 Eth. i. xiii. i. 'Eirel 5' iffrlv ij ev$ai(j.ovia <|a;x77S Ivfpytui TIS Kar' ape- T-fiv. Cf. i. x. a, ix. ix. 5, 3L vi. *. 29 Metaph. VIIL ii. I. "EireJ 5' at n\v Iv rots tyvxots tvvTrdpxovfft]' ap^al TOJ- avrat, al $' iv rots ifi^v-^ois Kai ti> $ V XP> Ka ^ T ^s fyvxys lv rtf \6yov ex ovri i Sfi\ov ftri KO! rwv Swdfji.f Se ruv Svvdfj.ewi' ovrriav Tfff6ai /col | 190 ESSAY IV. we are just already.' The answer of Aristotle to this difficulty would seem to be as follows : 1. Virtue follows the analogy of the arts, in which the first essays of the learner may by chance, or by the guidance of his master (UTTO rv^ns KOI a\\ov inroOs^vov)^ attain a sort of success and an artistic appearance, but the learner is no artist as yet. 2. These 'just acts,' by which we acquire justice, are, on nearer inspection, not really just; they want the moral qualification of that settled internal character in the heart and mind of the agent, without which no external act is virtuous in the highest sense of the term. They are ten- dencies towards the acquirement of this character, as the first essays of the artist are towards the acquirement of an art. But they are not to be confounded with those moral acts which flow from the character when developed and fixed. 3. The whole question depends on Aristotle's theory of the ets, as related to Swapcs and evspysia. There can be no such thing, properly speaking, as a Svvapis rrjs apsrrjs. As we have before seen, a Svvctfiis, except it be merely physical, admits of contraries. And therefore in the case of moral action there can only be an indefinite capacity of acting either this way or that, either well or ill, which is therefore equally a Swapis of virtue and of vice. The evepysia in this case is determined by no intrinsic law of the Swapis, (avdyKij srepov n eivcu TO xvptov, Met. vin. v. 3), but by the de- sire or the reason of the agent. The vpyeia, however, is no longer indefinite ; it has, at all events, some sort of definite- ness for good or bad. And by the principle of habit (e0os), which Aristotle seems to assume as an acknowledged law of human nature, the tvtpyeia reacts upon the Svvafiis, repro- ducing itself. Thus the Svitapis loses its indefiniteness, and passes into a definite tendency ; it ceases to be a mere Swapis, THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENEPFEIA. 191 and becomes an e%is, that is to say, a formed and fixed cha- racter, capable only of producing a certain class of evspystai. Briefly then, by the help of a few metaphysical terms, does Aristotle sum up his theory of the moral character. Kat hi STJ \6ya) SK TWV op,oio)v svspysiwv al s^sis "jivovrai. And it is quite consistent with his entire view of these metaphysical categories, that he defines virtue to be not on the one hand a StW/its, else it would be merely physical, nor on the other hand a Trades, (which is here equivalent to sv^pysia^) else it would be an isolated emotion, but a sort of egis. The l|ts, or moral state, is on the farther side, so to speak, of the evsfr/SLai. It is the sum and result of them. If sgts be re- garded as a sort of developed Svvafus, as a capacity acquired indeed and definite, but still only a capacity, it may naturally be contrasted with evepysia. Thus in the above quoted passage, Eth. I. vii. 13, StTT&s ravrrjs \syofievjjs means lead 1 sgtv and KCLT evspysiav, as we may see by comparing TII. xii. 2, Tin. v. i. From this point of view Aristotle says, that 'it is possible for a egis to exist, without producing any good. But with regard to an evspysia this is not possible.' I. viii. 9. On the other hand, however, the ei~is is a fixed tendency to a certain class of actions, and, if external circumstances do not forbid, will certainly produce these. The svspysta not only results in a egis, but also follows from it, and the test of the formation of a e%is is pleasure felt in acts resulting from it. (n. iii. i.) When Aristotle says, that there is nothing human so abiding as the ivepysiai tear apsrrjv Sia TO /uaXterra ical vvvs'xeG'ra'ra Karatfiv ev avrals TOVS pctKaptovs, he implies, of course, that these svspyeiat, are bound together by the chain of a e^is, of which in his own phraseology they are the efficient, the formal, and the final cause. It is observable, that the phrase svepysicu rfjs aperfjs occurs only twice in the ethical treatise, (ill. v. I, x. iii. i.) This is in accordance 192 ESSAY IV. with the principle that virtue cannot be regarded as a Svvafus. Therefore Aristotle seems to regard moral acts not so much as the development of a latent excellence, but rather as the development or action of our nature in accordance with a law (evepyeiai /car apsrrjv). Virtue then comes in as a regulative, rather than as a primary idea ; it is introduced as subordinate, though essential, to happiness. When we meet phrases like this just mentioned, we trans- late them, most probably, into our own formula?, into words belonging to our own moral and psychological systems. Wo speak of * moral acts,' or ' virtuous activities,' or * moral energies.' Thus we conceive of Aristotle's doctrine as amount- ing to this, that ' good acts produce good habits.' Practi- cally, no doubt, his theory does comes to this ; and if our object in studying his theory be ov , f\wiSfs Sf >coi 5jck rotOra. THE DOCTRINE OF EXEPFEIA. 195 representing them in their purest form. Aristotle never says 1 consciousness,' though we see he meant it. But one of the peculiarities of his philosophy was the want of subjective formulae, and a tendency to confuse the subjective and the objective together. About svspysia itself Aristotle is not con- sistent; sometimes he treats it purely as objective, separating the consciousness from it; as, for instance, Eth. IK. ix. 9, saTt TI TO atadavo/jLsuov OTI evspyovpev. l There is somewhat in us that takes cognizance of the exercise of our powers.' Again X. iv. 8, rs\tol TTJV evspysiav 77 77801/7) toy STriyiv6fj,ev6v TI Ts\of. ' Pleasure is a sort of superadded perfection, making perfect the exercise of our powers.' But this is at variance with his usual custom ; for not only is pleasure defined in Book VII. (whether by Aristotle or Eudemus) as svspysia dvEfjLTrooLa-TOf, but also happiness is universally defined as evspyeia. And if we wish to see the term applied in an un- deniably subjective way, we may look to Eth. ix. vii. 6. 'HSeFa S' s(TTt TOV [lev irapovros 77 evepyeia, TOV 8s peXXomos 77 e\7ri9, TOV oe ysysvrj/AEvov 77 furrjfaf, where we can hardly help translating, ' the actual consciousness of the present,' as con- trasted with ' the hope of the future,' and ' the memory of the past.' In a similar context, De Memorid, i. 4, we find Tov fjjcv Trapovros aiadTfjcris, K.T.\. In saying that the idea of ' consciousness' is implied in, and might almost always be taken to represent, Aristotle's Ethical application of svepyeta, we need not overshoot the mark, and speak as if Aristotle made the Summum Bonum to consist in self-consciousness, or self-reflection ; that would be giving far too much weight to the subjective side of the conception svepysta. Aristotle's theory rather comes to this, that -the chief good for man is to be found in life itself. Life, accord- ing to his philosophy, is no means to anything ulterior ; in the words of Goethe, ' Life itself is the end of life.' The very use o 2 196 ESSAY IV. of the term eve'pysia, as part of the definition of happiness, shows, as Aristotle tells us, that he regards the chief good as nothing external to man, but as existing in man and for man, existing in the evocation, the vividness, and the fruition of man's own powers. 38 Let that be called out into 'actuality' which is potential or latent in man, and happiness is the result. Avoiding then any overstrained application of the term ' consciousness,' and aiming rather at paraphrase than translation, it may be useful to notice one or two places in which the term evepysia occurs. Eth. i. x. 2. *Apd ys Kal e&Tiv sv8aifjLa>v TOTS eTrsiodv drroOdvr) ; *H TOVTO ys 7ravT\s TS Kal TO is ^.eyovcriv TJ/JLIV evepysiav Tiva TT)v sv8aifjLovuiv ; ' Is a man then happy, after he is dead ? Or is not this altogether absurd, especially for us who call happiness a conscious state?' i. x. 9. Kuptat 8' sla-lv at /ear' dpsrrjv ev'epysiai rfjs euSat^toi/tap. ' Happiness depends (not on fortune, but) on harmonious moods of mind.' i. x. 15. Tt'ouv K(a\vet \eysiv evSatfwva TOV /car' dpST^v Ts\siav evepyovina, K.T.\. i What hinders us calling him happy who is in posses- sion of absolute peace and harmony of mind ? ' vii. xiv. 8. Aio 6 fos del jj,iav Kal d-jr\r)v ^aipei rj8ovijv' ov ydp JJMVOV Kivrjcrsdis e&Tiv svepyeia, d\\d Kal aKivrjaias. ' God is in the fruition of one pure pleasure everlastingly. For deep con- sciousness is possible, not only of motion, but also of repose.' IX. ix. 5. MOWOTI? pep ovv ^aXsTros 6 ftlos' ov ydp pa8u)v icaff 1 avTov evspyeiv fyiiprwvirfp\^v^t odftis TivfS \tyovTai /col THE DOCTKIXE OF 197 express the nature both of pleasure and of happiness. By examining separately these two applications of the term, we shall not only gain a clearer conception of the import of svspysia itself, but also we shall be in a better position for seeing what were Aristotle's real views about happiness. i. The great point that Aristotle insists upon with regard to pleasure is, that it is not Kivrjais or vffiv airibv TraXiv a6p6av i]Sv. 41 Cf. Plato, Philebus, p. ^^ E, Eth. x. iii. 13. 198 ESSAY IV. resolves itself into one of formulae. Plato has no consistent formula to express pleasure, he calls it 'a return to one's natural state,' ' a becoming,' ' a filling up,' ' a transition.' But all these terms are only applicable to the bodily pleasures, preceded by a sense of want. Plato acknowledges that there are pleasures above these, but he seems to have no word to express them. Therefore he may be said to leave the stigma upon pleasure in general, that it is a mere state of transition. Aristotle here steps in with his formula of svspysia, and says, pleasure is not a transition, but a fruition. It is not im- perfect, but an End-in-itself. It does not arise from our coming to our natural state, but from our employing it. 42 Kant 43 defines pleasure to be s the sense of that which pro- motes life, pain of that which hinders it. Consequently,' he argues, * every pleasure must be preceded by pain ; pain is always the first. For what else would ensue upon a continued advancement of vital power, but a speedy death for joy? Moreover, no pleasure can follow immediately upon another ; but, between the one and the other, some pain must have place. It is the slight depressions of vitality, with inter- vening expansions of it, which together make up a healthy condition, which we erroneously take for a continuously-felt state of well-being ; whereas, this condition consists only of pleasurable feelings, following each other by reciprocation, that is, with continually intervening pain. Pain is the stimulus of activity, and in activity we first become conscious of life ; without it an inanimate state would ensue.' In these words the German philosopher seems almost exactly to have coincided with Plato. The * sense of that which promotes life' answers to az/aTrX^poxris, and Plato appears to have held, 42 Eth. vn. xii. 3. Oo ovfftv, a\\a -p.*vu>v. 43 Kant's Anthropology, p. 169. The above translation is given by Dr. Badham in an Appendix to his edition of Plato' s Philebus. London, 1855. THE DOCTRINE OF 'EXEPFEIA. 199 with Kant, the reciprocal action of pleasure and pain. (Cf. P/tcecZo, p. 60.) Kant's views, like Plato's, are only applicable to the bodily sensations, and do not express pleasures of the mind. Aristotle in defining pleasure as o TS\siot rrjv svspysiav, makes it, not * the sense of what promotes life,' but rather the sense of life itself; the sense of the vividness of the vital powers ; the sense that any faculty whatsoever has met its proper object. This definition then is equally applicable to the highest functions of the mind, as well as to the bodily organs. Even in the case of pleasure felt upon the supply- ing of a want, the Aristotelian 44 doctrine with regard to that pleasure was, that it was not identical with the supply, but contemporaneous ; that it resulted from the play and action of vital powers not in a state of depression, while the de- pressed organs were receiving sustenance. To account for the fact that pleasure cannot be long maintained, Aristotle would not have said, like Kant, that we are unable to bear a continuous expansion of the vital powers ; but rather, that we are unable to maintain the vivid action of the faculties. 45 Pleasure then, according to Aristotle, proceeds rather from within than from without ; it is the sense of existence ; and it is so inseparably connected with the idea of life, that we cannot tell whether life is desired for the sake of pleasure, or pleasure for the sake of life. 46 2. If happiness be defined as svspjsia ^nr^rfs, and pleasure 44 Cf. Eth. x. iii. 6. Oi>5' taeias ?iSoir' &v ns. Til. xiv. 7. Ae'7co Se Kara cos fttov rs\elov\ and implying the highest human excellence, the exercise of the highest faculties (^rv^s evsp^sut Kara TTJV Kpariarrfv apertjv). We have before alluded to the ideal character of happiness as a whole. This is shown especially by the fact, that while on the one hand Aristotle says that happiness (evepyeia ^rv^rjs) must occupy a whole life, on the other hand he speaks of brevity of dura- tion as necessarily attaching to every human svepyeut. A y, he argues, is not only a 8vva/j,is of being, but also a of not-being. This contradiction always infects our evspysuu, and, like a law of gravitation, this negative side is 47 It is true that among the un- philosophical definitions of happiness given in the Rhetoric, i. v. 3, this oc- curs, fltos /UCT* iurTaros, or most favourable external career (Eth. ix. ix. 9). In what then do these moments consist ? Chiefly in the sense of life and personality ; in the higher kind of consciousness, which is above the mere physical sense of life. This is either coupled with a sense of the good and noble, as in the con- sciousness of good deeds done (Eth. ix. vii. 4) ; or it is awakened by friendship, by the sense of love and admiration for the goodness of a friend, who is, as it were, one's self and yet not one's self (Eth. ix. ix. 10); or finally it exists to the highest degree in the evocation of the reason, which is not only each man's proper self (Eth. ix. iv. 4, x. vii. 9), as forming the deepest ground of his consciousness, but is also something divine, and more than mortal in us. III. Turning now to the consideration of Meo-or^y, we shall see that it is only one application of this formula, to use it in reference to moral subjects ; that it is indeed a most THI. viii. 1 8. Aib del evfpyft ?i\ios /col &ffrpa KOU &\os 6 ovpav6s, Kal oil (f>o/3epbi' /x^ vore ffrfj, & ol irepl 5e a- (jLvei rovro SptavTa ov yap irepl T^JV Svva.fj.iv TTJS avTicfidrrews aitrois, olov Toils QQaprois, J] Kitn\ffis. 202 ESSAY IV. widely applicable philosophical idea, and has a definite history and development previous to Aristotle. It would seem not to require a very advanced state of philosophy in order for men to discover the maxim, that ' moderation is best,' that ' excess is to be avoided.' Thus as far back as Hesiod we find the praise of /j,srpia spya. The era of the Seven Sages produced the gnome, afterwards inscribed on the temple of Delphi, MijSsv dyav. And one of the few sayings of Phocylides which remain is IloXXa HSO-OHTIV apiara, peaos 6s\o) sv TroXst slvai. Now all that is contained in these popular and prudential sayings is of course also contained in the principle of Meo-or^s, which is so conspicuous in the Ethics of Aristotle. But Aristotle's principle contains some- thing more it is not a mere application of the doctrine of moderation to the subject-matter of the various separate virtues. We see traces of a more profound source of the idea in his reference to the verse eaOXoi fj*v yap air\a)s, Travro- Scnrtas Be Kaxol. For here we are taken back to associations of the Pythagorean philosophy, and to the principle that evil is of the nature of the infinite and good of the finite. 49 To say that what is infinite is evil, that what is finite is good, may seem an entire contradiction to our own ways of thinking. We speak of ' man's finite nature,' or of * the infi- nite nature of Grod,' from a contrary point of view. But by * finite' in such sentences we mean to express limitations of power, of goodness, of knowledge, each limitation implying an inferiority as compared with a nature in which such limitation does not exist. But the Pythagoreans were not dealing with this train of thought, when they said 'the finite is good.' They were expressing what was in the first place a truth of 49 Eth. n. vi. 14. Tb ydp KO/cbv TOV dwtipov, ws ol Hv0ay6pfioi ("dcafa, rb 8' lya&bv TOV THE DOCTRIXE OF THE MEAX. 203 number, but afterwards was applied as a universal symbol ; they were speaking of goodness in reference to their own minds. The ' finite' in number is the calculable, that 50 which the mind can grasp and handle ; the ' infinite' is the incal- culable, that which baffles the mind, that which refuses to reduce itself to law, and hence remains unknowable. The ' infinite' in this sense remained an object of aversion to the Pythagoreans, and hence in drawing out their double row of goods and evils, they placed * the even ' on the side of the bad, ( the odd ' on the side of the good. This itself might seem paradoxical, until we learn that with even numbers they associated the idea of infinite subdivision, and that even numbers added together fail to produce squares ; while the series of the odd numbers if added together produces a series of squares ; and the square, by reason of its completeness and of the law which it exhibits, is evidently of the nature of the finite. The opposition of the finite and the infinite took root in Greek philosophy, and above all in the system of Plato. Unity and plurality, form and matter, genus and individuals, idea and phenomena, are all different modifications of this same opposition. The Pythagoreans themselves appear to have expressed or symbolized matter under the term TO aTTsipov, and Plato 51 seems to have yet more distinctly con- ceived of this characteristic of matter or space, saying that it was an * undefined duad,' that is, that it contained in itself an infinity in two directions, the infinitely small aad the infinitely great. Assuming therefore that the principle of the finite, or the limit (TrsTrspafffj^vov or ir'spas), may be considered as identical 511 Cf. Philolaus, apud Stob. Eel. Phys. I. xxi. 7. Kol irdvra 70 yucti/ TO. *)iyv(i>ffK6fj.fva apid/jAv exovri, ov y&p ol&v re oiiScv otirt voTjflij/xey otne yvu- &vev roifrco. Whether this fragment be genuine or not, it ex- presses the doctrine. sl Cf. AT. Metaphys. \, vi. 6. 204 ESSAY IV. with that of form or law, we may now proceed to notice what appears to be the transition from the idea of fixed law or form (sl8os\ to that of proportion or the mean (psa-orr)*}, that is, to law or form become relative. It is to be found in the Philebus of Plato, p. 23 27. Socrates there divides all existence into four classes : first, the infinite (aTretpov} ; second, the limit (irspas) ; third, things created and compounded out of the mixture of these two (etc rovrcav fiiKrrjv Kal ysysvTjfjisvrjv ovaiav) ; fourth, the cause of this mixture and of the creation of things. The infinite is that class of things admitting of degrees, more or less, hotter and colder, quicker and slower, and the like, where no fixed notion of quantity has as yet come in. The limit is this fixed notion of quantity, as, for instance, the equal or the double. The third or mixed class exhibits the law of the iripas introduced into the airsipov. Of this Socrates adduces beautiful manifestations. Thus in the human body the infinite is the tendency to extremes, to disorder, to disease, but the introduction of the limit here produces a balance of the constitution and health. In sounds you have the infinite degrees of deep and high, quick and slow ; but the limit gives rise to modulation, and harmony, and all that is delightful in music. In climate and tem- perature, where the limit has been introduced, excessive heats and violent storms subside, and the mild and genial seasons in their order follow. In the human mind, ( the goddess of the limit' checks into submission the wild and wanton passions, and gives rise to all that is good. Both in things physical and moral these two opposites, the finite and the infinite, are thus made to play into one another, and to be the joint causes of beauty and excellence. Out of their union an entire set of ideas and terms seem to spring up, symmetry, proportion, balance, harmony, moderation, and the like. And this train of associations seems to have been con- THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 205 stantly present to the mind of Plato. It suited the essentially Grreek character of his philosophy to dwell upon the goodness of beauty, and the beauty of goodness, on the morality of art, and the artistic nature of morality ; so that words like /jLSTpto-rrjs and avfji^sTpia became naturally appropriated to express excellence in life and action. 62 This Platonic principle, then, Aristotle seems to have taken up and adopted, slightly changing the formula, however, and speaking of /ASO-OTIJS instead of /j,srptoTr]s. The reason for this change may have been, that the formula became thus more exact and more capable of a close analytic application to a variety of instances, and at the same time gave scope for expressing that which is with Aristotle the complement of the theory, namely the doctrine of extremes and their relation to the mean. Aristotle does not ignore the physical and artistic meanings of the principle. On the contrary, the whole bearing of his use of the term fjbsa-orrjs is to show that moral virtue is only another expression of the same law which we see in nature and the arts. Life has been defined to be ' multeity in unity,' in other words, it is the law of the -jrspas exhibited in the airsipov. The first argument made use of by Aristotle to show that virtuous action consists in a balance between extremes is drawn from the analogy of physical life ; * For about immaterial things,' he says, ' we must use material analogies.' * Excess and deficiency equally destroy the health and strength, while what is proportionate (TO, avp,p,STpa) pre- serves and augments them' (Eth. n. ii. 6). Again, he points out that all art aims at the mean, and the finest works of art 42 Cf. Republic, p. 400 E. "Eon iron irA.7)pijs ptv ypatpiKrj av-riav Kal iraffa 77 -roiavrrj Sri/Jiiovpyia, irATjprjj 8e iKpav- TIK}\ Kal rcoiKi\ia Kal otKoSo/xfa Kal iraffa ait r) ruv &\\cav ffKfvwv epyaffia, en 5e % To>y ffcafjidrav uo, TCI tvavria TOU tvavrlov, ad re Ka 206 ESSAY IV are those which seem to have realized a subtle grace which the least addition to any part or diminution from it would overset (Eth. n. vi. 9). * And moral virtue,' he adds, * is finer than the finest art.' But it is by a mathematical expression of the formula, by reducing it to an absolutely quantitative concep- tion, that Aristotle's use of Ms, he means that our action must cor- respond to the standard which exists in the rightly-ordered mind. What is subjectively the \6yos, law or standard, that is objectively the ^SCTOT^S or balance. ' Each of our senses,' says Aristotle, ' is a sort of balance (fietrorris} between extremes in the objects of sensation, and this it is which gives us the power of judging.' 53 Thus again he says of plants, that they have no per- ceptions, ' because they have no standard ' (8ie AnimS, n. xi. 17. 'fls TT/J alffdT]ffl>S dlOV flfff6TT)T6s TWOS oCff1]S TTJS eV rots ala&rjrois tvavTuafftws, Kal Sjek rovro Kpivti TO aiffOyrd. Ti flfffOV KplTlK&V. THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 207 pain to consist in ' the consciousness, by means of the dis- criminating faculty (-rfi ai&drjTircfj ^SO-OTIJTL) of the senses, of coming in contact with good or evil.' 54 Each of the senses then is, or contains, a sort of standard of its proper object. And it is clear that Aristotle attributes to us a similar critical faculty in regard of morals. He says, that ' It is peculiar to man, as compared with the other animals, that he has a sense of good and bad, just and unjust.' 55 He seems to have regarded this ' moral sense ' as analogous to the ' musical ear,' which in some degree is almost natural to all men, but again exists in very different degrees in different men, and also may be more or less cultivated. Thus (Eth. ix. ix. 6) he speaks of the good man being ' pleased at good actions, as the musical man is at beautiful tunes.' And in Eth. x. iii. 10 he says that f It will be impossible to feel the pleasure of a just man if one is not just, as it will be to feel the pleasure of a musical man if one is not musical.' In the Ethics, its proper objective sense is preserved to Mso-drT/y, which accordingly means a * balance,' and not the ' standard ' for determining that balance, which is expressed by the term \6yos. A moment's con- sideration of this point will give an answer to the somewhat superficial question, Why does not Aristotle make the in- tellectual virtues mean states ? In the original form of the principle of MSO-OTT?? we have seen that it consisted in the introduction of the law of the ir'spas into the a-rrsLpov. The passions and desires are the infinite ; moral virtue consists in introducing limit (Trepas) into them, in bringing them under a law (X&yo) opi&iv} in making them exhibit balance, pro- portion, harmony (/LtfcroT^ra), which is the realization of the 54 Kal tort rb ^Setrflat KO! A.ujreT]ri iipbs rb uyadbv t) KO.KOV, roiaOra. De An. in. vii. a. 55 Pol. I. ii. 12. Tovro ykp irpbs AAtt ia rois dvOpiavois fStop, rb vov dyaBov Kal KOKOV KO! SiKaiov Kal tav &\\wif atadrjaiv tx ftv - 208 ESSAY IV. law. On the other hand, reason (op6b$ \6yos} is another name for the law itself. It is the standard, and therefore does not require to be regulated by the standard. The in- tellectual virtues are not fisaorijrsf, because they are \6yoi. The worth and validity of Aristotle's principle of the mean has been much canvassed and questioned. Kant has been very severe on Aristotle for making ' a merely quantitative difference between vice and virtue.' Some have thought the theory practically true, but scientifically untenable ; others, on the contrary, that scientifically and abstractedly it is true, but that practically it gives an unworthy picture of morality, that it fails to represent the absolute and awful difference between right and wrong. Aristotle himself seems to have antici- pated this last objection, by remarking 56 that * It is only according to the most abstract and metaphysical conception that virtue is a mean between vices, whereas from a moral point of view it is an extreme (i.e. utterly and extremely removed from them'). Aristotle acknowledges that the formula of the mean does not adequately express the good of virtue ; that when thinking of virtue under the category of good, and regarding it as an object for the moral feelings and desires, as an object to be striven after, we should rather seek some other formula to express its nature. In the same way it might be said in accordance with modern views, that ' the mean' does not adequately express the right of virtue in relation to the will and conscience. The objections to Aristotle's theory arise from a partial misconception of what the term MEO-OTIJS really conveys. Kant for ' the mean' substitutes ' law.' But we have already traced the identity or correlation of Aoyos and Meo-orijf, and we have seen that MSCTOTTJS really implies and expresses exactly what 56 Eth. ii. vi. 17. KOT& fikv T^V tivffiav KCU rbj/ \6yov rbi/ rl fa tlvcu \fyorra n^rys la-r\v r) dper-fi, icarek 8 rb &PUTTOI> /col rb tl aKp6rrjs. THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 209 is meant by ' law ' properly so called. The only advantage which the term ' law ' can have over Meo-or^s, as an ethical principle, comes to it unfairly. For there is a sort of ambi- guity between the two meanings of the word law ; on the one hand it may denote a general principle, or harmony, or idea in nature ; on the other hand an authoritative command of the state. In applying the word to morals the associations of both meanings are blended together, and ' the law of right' accordingly expresses not only something harmonious, the attainment of an idea in action, but also there is a sort of association of authority conveyed, of the ' must,' of some- thing binding on the will. Supposing then we take the word e law' or ' idea' as being the real representative of Meo-or^s, it may still be asked, whether a quantitative term be a fit and worthy expression for so deep a moral conception. The Pythagoreans would not have understood this objection. They thought numbers the most sublime and the only true expression for all that was good in the physical and moral world. They would have used in reference to number the exact counterpart of Wordsworth's praise of Duty ' And the most ancient heavens by thee are fresh and strong.' They would have delighted to say that virtue is a square and vice an uneven-sided figure. When we look to the arts, following the analogy that Aristotle pointed out, we see clearly how the whole of beauty seems from one point of view to depend on the more and the less. It does not derogate from a beautiful form, that more or less would spoil it. We still think of beauty as something positive, and that more or less would be the negations of this. By degrees, however, we come to figure to ourselves beauty rather as re- pelling the more and the less, than as being caused by them. The capacity for more and less is matter, the atrsipoy, the aopi(nos Svds of Plato. The idea coming in stamps itself p 210 ESSAY IV. upon this, we now have the harmonious and the beautiful, and all extremes and quantitative possibilities vanish out of sight, Matter is totally forgotten in our contemplation of form. So is it also with morals. We might fix our view upon the negative side of virtue, look at it in contrast to the extremes, and say it is constituted virtue by being a little more than vice and a little less than vice. But this would be to establish a positive idea out of the negation of its negations. To look at anything in its elements makes it appear inferior to what it seems as a whole. Kesolve the statue or the building into stone and the laws of proportion, and no worthy causes of the former beautiful result seem now left behind. So, also, resolve a virtuous act into the passions and some quantitative law, and it seems to be rather destroyed than analysed ; though, after all, what was there else that it could be resolved into ? An act of bravery seems beautiful and noble ; when we reduce this to a balance between the instincts of fear and self-confidence, the glory of it is gone. This is because the form is everything, and the matter nothing ; and yet the form, without the matter as its exponent, has no existence. It is, no doubt, true that the beauty of that brave act would have been destroyed had the boldness of it been pushed into folly ; and equally so had it been controlled into caution. The act, as it was done, exhibits the law of life, * multeity in unity ; ' or, in other words, the law of beauty. This is, then, what the term Msa-orrjs is capable of expressing ; it is the law of beauty. If virtue is harmony, grace, and beauty in action, Mfo-oTT/y perfectly expresses this. That beauty constituted virtue, was an eminently Greek idea. If we run through Aristotle's list of the virtues, we find them all embodying this idea. The law of the MscroTrjf, as exhibited in bravery, temperance, liberality, and magnanimity, THE DOCTRINE OP THE MEAN. 211 constitutes a noble, free, and brilliant type of manhood. Extend it also, as Aristotle does, to certain qualifications of temper, speech, and manners, and you have before you the portrait of a graceful Grecian gentleman. The question now is, are there other virtues which exhibit some other law than this law of beauty, and to which, therefore, the Msa-orrjs would be inapplicable? Let us take as instances, truth, humility, charity, forgiveness of injuries, and ask what is the case with these. * Truth ' is treated of in a remarkable way by Aristotle ; under this name he describes a certain straight- forwardness of manner, which he places as the mean between boastfulness and over-modesty. That deeper kind of truth which, as he says, is concerned with justice and injustice, he omits to treat of. When we come to his theory of justice taking this as an individual virtue we find it either imper- fectly developed, or else imperfectly set forth. Now, truth itself seems expressible under the law of the M.sfforr]s ; it is a balance of reticence with candour, suitable to times and seasons. But the impulse to truth the duty of not deceiving the relation of the will to this virtue, seems something quite beyond the formula of the Mean. So, also, with the other virtues specified ; humility, charity, and forgiveness of injuries being Christian qualities, are not described by Aristotle ; but if we ask if they are * mean states,' we find that they are all beautiful ; and, in so far as that, they all exhibit a certain grace and balance of the human feelings. There is a point at which each might be overstepped ; humility must not be grovelling, nor charity weak ; and forgiveness must at times give place to indigna- tion. But there seems in them something which is also their chief characteristic, and which is beyond and different from this quality of the mean. Perhaps this might be expressed in all of them as 'self-abnegation.' Now, here, we get a p 2. 212 ESSAY IV. different point of view from which to regard the virtues ; and that is, the relation of Self, of the individual Will, of the moral Subject to the objective in the sphere of action. This point of view Aristotle's principle does not touch. Meo-or?;? expresses the objective law of beauty in action, and, as cor- relative with it, the critical moral faculty in our minds, but the law of right in action as something binding on the moral subject it leaves unexpressed. To some extent this want is supplied by Aristotle's doctrine of the re\os, which raises a beautiful action into something absolute, and makes it the end of our being. But still the theory of ' Duty' cannot be said to exist in Aristotle, and all that relates to the moral will is with him only in its infancy. MSCTOTVJS, we have seen, expresses the beauty of good acts, but leaves something in the goodness of them unexpressed. In conclusion, we must remember that 'Apsrr) with Aristotle did not mean quite the same as ' virtue ' with us; he meant the excellence, or perfection of man, just as he spoke elsewhere of the Aper?; of a horse. It is no wonder then that with his Greek views he resolved this into a sort of moral beauty. IV. We have now traced the application of some of his leading philosophical forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. We have observed how he takes the same point of view in dis- cussing man as in treating of nature in general. End, form, and actuality, are in human life, as in all nature, the good. If we look into the Ethics of Eudemus, and into those three books of his which are our only exposition of part of Aristotle's system, we see a carrying out of the same tendency, an effort to bring the psychology of the Will under some broader and more general law, and to express action and purpose under the form of a logical syllogism. It is uncertain how far this doctrine, even in its beginnings, is to be attributed to THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 213 Aristotle himself. But it is worth a passing consideration. It is made the vehicle of some interesting discussions ; and it shows not only the sort of advance made by the Peripatetic school, but also it lets us know what was the nature of the psychology of the day. We have already observed that it is only in the Eudemian books of the Ethics that this formula occurs. But it is also set forth very explicitly in the treatise De Motu Animalium, which has been placed among the works of Aristotle, but which is now generally considered spurious, and is in all probability a Peripatetic compendium. For clearness' sake, let us refer at once to the summary account of the doctrine of the practical syllogism which is given in the last-mentioned work. The practical syllogism depends on this principle, that ' No creature moves or acts, except with a view to some end.' 57 What therefore the law of the so-called * sufficient reason' is to a proposition of the understanding, that the law of the final cause is to an act of the will. * Under what conditions of thought is it,' 58 asks the writer, 'that a person at one time acts, at another time does not act ; at one time is put in motion, at another time not ? It seems to be much the same case as with people thinking and reasoning about abstract matter, only there the ultimate thing to be obtained is an abstract proposition, for as soon as one has perceived the two premises, one perceives the conclusion. But here the rJ ffvfj.tr fpatrijia fr6r)fff Kal avvt- fri\Kev), etravQa 5" eVc rOav Svo irpord- ffe&v rb ffvfj.iffpafffj.a yiyverai T\ irpats, oiov OTOI/ vn^ffJ] STJ vainl BaStffreov 47 ndira TO ^s oe vowv 6re fjifv irpdrTei ore S' ov vparrei, Kal \ avQpdnrif, avrbs 5' ariponros, Kivtirai, &r( S' ov Kivtlrai ; "Eot/ce (vOftas, ar 5' Srt ovoevl fZaSiffreov vvv avBpanrcf, avrbs 5' aVfyonros, evOvs ilpfftel 1 Kal ravra a^tfu irpdrrei, av uA] n Ku\vp 7rapa7r\T)(rta)S ffVftfklirtu Kal irepl TUV v Siavoovfjifvots Kal ffv\\oyio- 'AAX' fKft fjifv 214 ESSAY IV. conclusion that arises from the two premises is the action ; as, for instance, when one has perceived, that Every man ought to walk, and I am a man, he walks immediately. Or again, that No man ought now to walk, and I am a man, he stops still immediately. Both these courses he adopts, provided he be neither hindered nor compelled That the action is the conclusion, is plain ; but the premisses of the practical syllogism are of two kinds, specifying either that something is good, or again, how it is possible.' 59 This then may shortly be said to be the form of the practical syllogism : either (i) Major Premiss. Such and such an action is universally good. Minor Premiss. This will be an action of the kind. Conclusion. Performance of the action, or (2) Major Premiss. Such and such an end is de- sirable. Minor. This step will conduce to the end. Conclusion. Taking of the step. In other words, every action implies a sense of a general principle, and the applying of that principle to a particular case ; or again, it implies desire for some end, coupled with perception of the means necessary for attaining the end. These two different ways of stating the practical syllogism are in reality coincident ; for assuming that all action is for some end, the major premiss may be said always to contain the statement of an end. 60 And again, any particular act, which is the application of a moral principle, may be said to 49 De Mot. An. vii. 4. "Ort nfv olv rj irpa^is rb v : capi(tv, K.T.A. rbv aKo^atrraivofTa a.K6\a6rfpa, K.T.A. 65 Eth. vi. xii. 10. "Ean 8' T) 5 . . . Kara fri'/x/3f/37;KOs. THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 217 might be said to lie behind this instinct. This theory acknowledges 67 that the mind constantly passes over one of the premisses of the practical syllogism, as being obvious ; that we act often instantaneously, without hesitation, just because we see an object of desire before us. Thus it is merely a way of putting it, to say that we act from a syllogism. But granting the formula, it becomes immediately a powerful analytic instrument. It seems to suggest and clear the way for a set of ulterior questions, in which most important results would be involved. For now that action has been as it were caught, put to death, and dissected, and so reduced to the level of abstract reasoning, it seems that we have only to deal with its disjointed parts in order to know the whole theory of human Will. We have only to ask what is the nature of the major premiss, and how obtained ? What is the nature of the minor premiss, and how obtained? The answer to these questions in the Ethics is not very explicit. This is exactly one of the points on which a conclusive theory seems to have been least arrived at. With regard to our possession of general principles of action, there appear to be three different accounts given in different places. (1) They are innate and intuitive (vi. xi. 4, vn. vi. 6, 7). (2) They are evolved from experience of particulars (vi. viii. 6). (3) They depend on the moral character (vi. xii. 10, vn. viii. 4). 67 De Mot. An. vii. 4, 5. "fliot, ovra r)\v erfpw irp6ra rj rfj al- ff&fitrei irpbs rb ov cpeKa tj rrj (pavraffta. f)'rtp vif, ov opeyerai, eufliis iroitt- OUT' epwrfifftws yap ^ w^creus rj rys op|ews yivfrai evtpyeia. Hor^ov fwi, rj n- Ovfiia \eyfi roSl Se iror6v, fj cdftrfrjjcrjs tiirev ft rj (pavracria ^ 6 vovs- fvdvs trivet. 218 ESSAY IV. These three accounts are not however incompatible with one another. For as in explaining the origin of speculative principles (Post. An. n. xix.) Aristotle seems to attribute them to reason as the cause and experience as the condition ; so in regard to moral principles, we might say that they were per- ceived by an intuitive faculty, but under the condition of a certain bearing of the moral character, which itself arises out of and consists in particular moral experiences. This recon- ciliation of the statements is not made for us in the Ethics. There the different points of view stand apart, and there is something immature about the whole theory. So too with regard to the minor premiss in action ; on the one hand we are told that it is a matter of perception (vr. viii. 9), as if it belonged to everybody ; on the other hand we are told that the apprehension of these particulars is exactly what distin- guishes the wise man. 68 But it is unnecessary to attempt to go beyond the lead of the Ethics in answering these questions, for we should ourselves most probably state them in an entirely different way. We see in the practical syllogism a limited and imperfect attempt to graft on a logical formula upon Aristotle's system. We also see in it a still more important fact, namely, the progress of psychology, and the tendency now manifesting itself to give attention to the phenomena of the Will. The manner in which the theory is stated, abstractedly, and with a full belief in logical formulae, rather than an appeal to life and consciousness, shows something of the scholastic spirit. To reduce action to a syllogism dogmatically is a piece of scholasticism. Plato would have put it in this way for once, and would then have passed on to other modes of expression. But it is remarkable that this formula is one of those that fis ripoKTi/cds 76 6 p6vift.os riav yap iffxa-Tuv ns. Eth. vn. ii. 5. THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 219 remains most completely stamped upon the language of man- kind. When we talk of ' acting on principle,' or speak of a man's 'principles,' perhaps we do not reflect that this expres- sion is a remnant of Aristotle's practical syllogism. ' Prin- ciple' is no other than the apxtf or major premiss. There is however this difference, that while with the Peripatetics the major premiss contained the idea of a good to be desired for its own sake (TS\OS} } e principle ' often implies an expression of duty, that is to say, rather that which is right in itself, than that which is desirable in itself. ESSAY V. On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. A RISTOTLE'S limited and separate mode of treating the " problem which he has assigned to himself in this treatise, his exclusive adherence to an ethical (or, as he would call it, a political) point of view, and his rejection of many great questions ' connected with the nature of man, because he conceived them to belong to other sciences, might seem to exonerate us from the task of discussing here his opinions on the gravest matters of all. But yet it is impossible that an ethical treatise should be written uncoloured by the writer's view of nature, the Deity, and the human soul. And accordingly we find more than one passage in this work of Aristotle which really depends on his views of those subjects. If then we make no attempt to understand parts of his philo- sophy that lie outside bis Ethics, we shall not only miss that which in the mind of Aristotle must have been the setting of the whole piece, but also we shall be in danger of substituting our own point of view for his, and thus wrongly explaining many of his allusions. In the present Essay it may be useful to collect a few passages from the different works of Aristotle, which may throw light upon the general bearing of his mind, though it would be out of place, if indeed it were possible, to 1 For instance, the metaphysical question concerning the good, Eth. i. vi. 13. The question of Providence, L ix. 3. The physical aspect of the question about friendship, vm. i. 7, &c. ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 221 give anything like a dogmatic or explicit account of his opinions, with regard to many of which we are not in a position to form a certain estimate. The most interesting notices of his general views of nature may be gathered from the second book of Aristotle's Physical Lectures. He there speaks of ' nature ' 2 as * a principle of motion and rest implanted and essentially inherent in things, whether that motion be locomotion, increase, decay, or altera- tion.' ' It is absurd 3 to try to prove the existence of nature ; to do so would be to ignore the distinction between self- evident and not self-evident things.' 'Nature 4 may be said in one way to be the simplest and most deep-lying substratum of matter in things possessing their own principle of motion and change ; in another way it may be called the form and law of such things.' That is, nature is both matter or poten- tiality and form or actuality. It is also the transition from one to the other. 'Nature,' 5 says Aristotle, 'spoken of as creation is the path to nature.' Again, 'Nature 6 is the end or final cause.' In relation to this system of causation, it remains to ask what place is to be assigned to chance or the fortuitous, to necessity and to reason? 'Some 7 deny the existence of chance altogether, saying that there is a definite cause for all things.' ' Others, 8 again, have gone so far as 2 Nat. Ausc. n. i. z. 'fis ofays rys vfffvffis \ejfrai, rj Trpdrri) (Kaffrca inroKfi[j.firt] v\rj rcav f-)(&vrs ytvtffis 68(5$ ecrriv tis . e Nat. Ausc. n. ii. 8. 'H 5e tyvffis r it\os Kal ov tveica. 7 Nat. Ausc. n. iv. ^. "Ei/iot yap Kal el effnv % fify airopovffiv ovSev yap yiveffQat airb rv^ris (pacriv, a\\a iriivruv elvai ri airiov &>pixr), &Srj\os Sf av6pirivri Siavo'ia ws 6fi6v ri oliaa. Kal Saifj.oi>iiorfpov. 10 Nat. Ausc. n. iv. 6. Tbv ovpavbv Kal TO OfiArara riav fyavtpiav. 11 Nat. Aiisc. it. vi. I. A& Kal ek Trpa/cra elvai T^J/ TV-^V eToi/ 5' STJ 5o/ct? tfroi ravrbv flvai TTJ tvrvxla t) tyyiis, rj 5* fvSaif.wvia Trpais TIS finrpa^la ydp. This passage was probably written previously to the Ethical researches of Aristotle. 12 Nat. Ausc. n. vi. 8. "fffrtpov &pa rb avr6p.arov Kal r) rv^ri Kal vov ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 223 necessarily follows that nature and reason, which are essential causes, should be presupposed, that they should be in short the causes of the universe. Has necessity, then, a conditional 13 or an absolute sway in relation to nature ? To say that it had an absolute sway, would be equivalent to assigning as the cause of the existence of a wall that the heavy stones must be put at the bottom, and the light stones and earth a-top. In reality, however, this necessity in regard to the wall is only a necessary 14 condition, not a cause, of the making of the wall. Given a certain end, and certain means to this are necessary ; thus far and no farther has necessity a sway in regard to nature. But the end is the real cause, the necessary means are a mere subor- dinate condition. Lastly, What is the position of design or intelligence in relation to nature ? Some reduce all nature to a mechanical principle ; if they recognize any other principle at all (as Empedocles spoke of ' love and hatred,' and Anaxagoras of ' reason'), they just touch it and let it drop. 15 They say it rains, not that the corn may grow, but from a mechanical necessity, because the vapours are cooled as they are drawn up, and being cooled are compelled to fall again, and by coincidence this gives growth to the corn. 16 Why should it not also be by accident and coincidence, they ask, that in the teeth of animals, for instance, the front teeth grow sharp fpepeffOat ra 8e Kovi\iav /col ttns rbv rol-^ov e| avdyKrjs ytyevrjffBai i rb ve^Kos, o 8 rbv vovv. vofjii^oi, on ra ju,ej/ /3ope'a /COTO> ir$p6irppa. IS Nat. Ausc. u. viii. 5-10. AKISTOTLE'S CONCEPTION OP NATURE. 225 products of nature, are in reality its mere exceptions. They are mistakes and errors, exactly analogous to the failures in art. It is absurd to doubt the existence of design because we cannot see deliberation actually taking place. Art does not deliberate. If the art of ship-bitilding were inherent in the wood, ship-building would be a work of nature. Perhaps the best conception we can have of nature is, if we think of a person acting as his own doctor and curing himself.' 19 On these views of Aristotle's several observations at once suggest themselves. They contain a recognition quite as strong as that in Paley's Natural Theology of the marks of design in creation. But we see that it is possible to recognize these marks of design, and to be led by them to a different view from that of Paley ; that Aristotle does not discover in them, as it were, the works of a watch, and proceed imme- diately to infer the existence of a watchmaker ; but rather that the products of nature appear to him according to the analogy of a watch that makes itself. If we ask, how it is that the watch makes itself? Aristotle would reply, that all things strive after the good ; that on the idea of the good, as seen and desired, the whole heavens and all nature depend. Aristotle views the world with a kind of natural optimism. He says (Eth. i. ix. 5), 'All things in nature are constituted in the best possible way.' If we ask, what is it that perceives the good what gives to nature this eye of reason to perceive an idea and to strive after it? on this head Aristotle is not explicit. He says there is something divine in nature. ' Even 20 in the lower creatures there is a natural good above their own level, which strives after the good proper for them.' 19 Nat. Ausc. n. viii. 1 5. MdXiffTO. Se 8ri\ov '6rav TLS larpevri avrbs eavr6v rovrcf y&p fotKfv f] (pvffis. 20 Eth. x. ii. 4. "Iffws tie Kal 2v Tols aii\ois o)Tai, TJ tie rov '6\ov ffv- (rraffis fffri n&ff^os Kal ovpav6s, OVK tu> 6 Kofffjios ylyvoiro Kal 6v, rb S iroAfr 3 TJ eru^ev TOIOUTTJ ^ap (KaffTOv 228 ESSAY Y. say that there is no relation between one thing and another ; there is such a relation. All things are indeed arranged together towards one common centre ; but as in a household the masters are by no means at liberty to do what they please, but most things, if not all, are appointed for them, while the slaves and the dogs and cats do but little towards the common weal, and mostly follow their own fancies. For so the nature of each of the different classes prompts them to act.' This curious metaphor seems to represent the universe as a house- hold. The sun and stars and all the heaven are the gentle- men and ladies, whose higher aims and more important positions in life prevent any time being left to a merely arbitrary disposal ; all is filled up with a round of the noblest duties and occupations. Other parts of the universe are like the inferior members of the family, the slaves and domestic animals, who for most part of the day can sleep in the sun, and pursue their own devices. Under this last category it seems almost as if man would be here ranked. Aristotle does not regard the unchanging and perpetual motion of the heavenly bodies as a bondage, but rather as a harmonized and blessed life. All that is arbitrary (oirws STV^S) in the human will, Aristotle does not consider a privilege. And man (espe- cially in regard of his actions, the object of tf>p6vr)v Kal irafj.ira\aia>v 4v pvOou ff-^yMri Kara- \f\ftfjifj.fva rots vffrfpov '6ri Oeoi re eltriv ovroi KOI weptfxfi rb dfiov rty 8A7JV tpvffit>. To 8e \oiirfa (ivBiKcas ijSrj irpoffffKrat irpbs T^V iretOoj nSv Tro\\f Kal -Kpbs riji/ els rovs v6fj.ovs Kal rb avutyipov xpriffiv avOptirjrofiSfis Tf yap rovrovs Kal T ' ov -rb r< 0fovs tfomo ras Ttpwras ovtrias flvai, Qf'uas ta> ftpr/adai vopifffifv, Kal Kara rb tiKbs iro\\aKis fvpT]p.fvi)s fls rb Swarbv tKaffrys Kal rf\tn]S Kal v Kal ravras ras 56as iKtivuv olov \ttyava irtpiffeffiaffOat fitxpi rov vvv. 'H fiv oZv irdrptos 5d|o /col TJ wapa r iro\\as a.v6pwir vov tvepytia. w^j, lutivos Sf r] tvtpyfia Ivtpyna. Se i] naff ain))v ^Kflvov fafy aplffrrj KOI atSios- v 6edv flvcu TT> T(i|e< rb eS ol & 5e /cal irorepcas x ( ^ T0 '' ^Xou pifffjiei'ov TI Kal avro KO0' airrS, $1 TTT}V Tdw, ^ afj.(poTfpcas Sifftrep ffTpd- 234 ESSAY V. reason' (i. vi. 3). And he gives an elaborate argument (x. viii. 7) to demonstrate that speculative thought and the exercise of the philosophic consciousness is the only human quality that can be attributed to the Deity. In this argument it is observable that he first begins by speaking of ' the gods,' saying, ' We conceive of the gods as especially blessed and happy. What actions can we attribute to them ? whether those of justice ? but it would be absurd to think of their buying and selling,' &c. He then argues that * If life be assigned to them, and all action, and still more, all production, be taken away, what remains but speculation ? ' And he con- cludes, ' The life of God then, far exceeding in blessedness, can be nothing else than a life of contemplation.' Thus he reverts to a monotheistic form of speaking, though he says again afterwards, ' The gods have all their life happy, man's life is so, in as far as it has some resemblance to the divine consciousness of thought.' This passage then contains a sort of transition from exoteric to philosophical views. Aristotle attributes to * the gods ' that same mode of existence, which in his own metaphysical system he attributed to God, accord- ing to the deepest conception that he had formed of Him. 34 It is true, however, that in assigning speculative thought to- the Deity, there is no mention made of the distinction which exists between the thought of the philosopher where object is distinct from subject, and the thought of God in which subject and object are one. The passage to which we are referring in the Ethics con- tains not only a positive assertion with regard to the nature of God, but also a negative one. It asserts that all moral virtue is unworthy of being attributed to God. This, as we 84 The same point of view is main- tained in theEudemian Book, vn. xiv. 8. ' Hence God enjoys ever one and the same pleasure ; that is, the deep consciousness of immutability.' ARISTOTLE S THEOLOGY. 235 have before noticed (see above, p. 164), was a total departure from the view of Plato. Still more opposed is this view of Aristotle's to modern ideas. We feel that however great may be the metaphysical problems about the nature of God, the deepest conception of Him that we can attain to is a moral one. In this respect there is not only a great weakness in Aristotle's ' Theology,' that it is so exclusively metaphysical, but also his ethical system suffers from this depression of all that we should call morality below philosophical specula- tion. This is one of the points which will most strikingly remind us that we are reading a Greek treatise of the 4th century B. C. It appears to be connected with the tendency in Aristotle before mentioned, to consider human actions as slight and insignificant. By his doctrine of the moral reXoy, this tendency was in some degree counteracted ; but it still remained, and it breaks out prominently in the passage just quoted. There are yet two other passages in the Ethics where theological considerations are entertained. These are both connected with the question of a divine providence for and care of men. The first is where it is asked (Eth. I. ix. i) whether happiness comes by divine allotment (/card rtva 6dav fjboipav) or by human means. The second is where the philo- sopher is spoken of (x. viii. 13) as being most under the favour of God (0o^>i\sararos). With regard to Aristotle's general views of the question of providence, it is often argued that he must have denied its existence, inasmuch as he attributes no objective thought to God. But Aristotle does not himself argue this way ; when the question comes before him, he does not appeal to his own a priori principle, and pronounce contrary to the general belief rather he declines to pronounce at all. In the former of the two passages men- tioned, he says, l One would suppose that if anything were 236 ESSAY V. the gift of God to men, happiness would be so, as it is the best of human things. But the question belongs to another science. Happiness, if not sent by God, but acquired by human means, seems at all events something divine and blessed.' The latter part of this argument partly seems to be a setting-aside of the question, partly to be a sort of reconciliation of the existence of a providence (6slov ri) with the law of cause and effect. In the second passage Aristotle repeats from Plato the assertion that the philosopher is under the favour of heaven (0so(f>L\<7raroi). He says, ' If there is any care of human things by the gods, as there is thought to be (&(nrep 8o/eet), we may conclude that they take pleasure in the highest and best thing, reason, which is most akin to themselves, and do good to those who cherish and honour it.' In these words there may possibly be an esoteric sense, meaning that the philosopher in the exercise of his thought realizes something divine. Aristotle may imply that the popular doctrine of providence admits a deeper explanation, but he by no means here or elsewhere denies it. Nor can we presume to tell what Aristotle would include in his con- ception of the subject-object thought of God. As we saw before, he is not explicit as to the relation of God to nature, neither is he as to the relation of God to man. If we ask now, What were Aristotle's opinions as to the nature of the human soul, as far as they influenced his Ethics ? we are met at once by a difficulty. For the Aristo- telian word T/rux7 does not exactly correspond with our word soul. It implies both more and less. More, as having on one side, at all events, a directly physical connexion ; less, as not in itself implying any religious associations. We cannot translate tyvxij ' vital principle,' because though it is this, it is also a great deal beside ; nor ' mind,' because this would leave out as much at the one end as the former ARISTOTLE'S THEOLOGY. 237 translation did at the other. In short, we cannot translate "ty~ v Xn a ^ a ^> we can on ly see what Aristotle meant by it. He meant (advancing, as he shows us, upon the more or less indistinct views of his predecessors) he meant in the first place to conceive of the ^v^ij as a vital principle manifesting itself 35 in an ascending scale through vegetable, animal, and human life. To this scale of life Aristotle appeals in the Ethics (i. vii. 10-12). He there argues that man must have some proper function. * This cannot be mere life in its lowest form, i. e. vegetable ; nor again merely sensational, i.e. animal, life; there remains therefore the moral and rational life.' From this point of view man is regarded as part of the chain of nature. Aristotle doubts, but on the whole concludes, that the ^rvxn i 8 t ne proper subject of physical science. 36 This he justifies by the fact 37 that the psychical phenomena, anger, desire, and the like, are inseparable from the body, and from material conditions. Keason itself, if dependent on concep- tions derived from the sense (fj,rj avsv avraux^ IffTiv ivre\e^eia 7] irpwrri crcfyiaTOS QvffiKov StWuei fafy exovros. Toiovro 5f, & &y ;; opya.vi.K6v. 238 ESSAY V. the parts. The ^rv^ij, says Aristotle, is to the body as form to matter, 39 as the impression to the wax, as sight to the eye. It is the essential idea of the body (TO TI rjv elvai rat rotwSt a-wfjMTi). It is as the master 40 to the slave, as the artist to the instrument. It is the efficient, the final, and the formal cause of the body. It is impossible to treat of the ^u%v without taking account of the body ; * as to the Pythagorean doctrine of the transmigration of souls, they might as well speak of the carpenter's art clothing itself in flutes. For a soul 41 can no more clothe itself in a foreign body, than an art can employ the instruments of some foreign art.' While maintaining this close connexion between the ^v^r) and the body, as between end and means, Aristotle was kept aloof by the whole tenour of his philosophy from anything like materialism. He sums up this part of his reasonings in the following words * That the ^rv^, therefore, is inseparable from the body is clear, or at all events some of its parts, if it be divisible. Nothing, 4 * however, hinders that some of its parts may be separable from the body, as not being actualities of the body at all. Moreover, it is not certain whether the tyvxr) be not the actuality of the body in the same way that the sailor is of the boat.' Here then is the point at which the interest in Aristotle's conception of the -ty-vyr) begins for us. As long as the soul is described as bearing the relation to the body of sight to the eye, of a flower to the seed, of the impression to the wax, we may be content to consider this a piece of ancient physical philosophy. Our interest is different when the soul is said to 89 De Animd, n. i. 7. 40 Eth. vin. xi. 6. 41 De Animd, i. iii. 16. aiov 8e Xt-yovffiv laffirtp ft ris (pair) T^V reKToviK^v fls av\ovs IvSveffQcu' 8r yap T^V fjitv Tf-)(yTiv xpyffQcu TOIS opyd- VOtS, Trll> Sf tJ'fxV T(f fftafJMTl. 42 De Animd, n. i. 12. Ou ?vt( -ye ovOtv Kfpyia. 44 De An. in. v. 2. Kal funv 6 fj.tv roLovros vovs rtf irdvra ylvr6ai, 6 5e T< Ttdvra iroie'iv, ons |ts rts, olov rb tpHos' -rp&irov yap TWO, Kal r6 ^)is irate? ra Svi/dfj.tL ovra xP^M aTa tvfpyfia Xpwfj.a.Ta. Kal OVTOS 6 vovs x w P ltr ' ros Kal cHraflJjs Kal a/jLiy^s TTJ ovala Siv evfpye'ia. 'H Kara Svvajjiiv (e'TrwrHj/iTj) Xp6v(p vpoTfpa tv ry evi, %\6apr6s, Kal avfv rovrov ovdfv voei. 240 ESSAY V. matter, or affected by it ; prior and subsequent to the indi- vidual mind. The receptive reason is necessary to individual thought, but it is perishable, and by its decay all memory, and therefore individuality, is lost to the higher and immortal reason.' In the Ethics this distinction between the creative and the receptive reason (which, were this the place for it, might be made the subject of much discussion) is not kept up. The reason is there spoken of in its entirety, as containing in itself the synthesis of the two opposite modes. It is spoken of as constituting in the deepest sense the personality of the individual. 45 On the other hand, it is spoken of as something divine, and akin to the nature of God. 46 The evocation of this into consciousness constitutes what Aristotle calls ' the divine' in happiness; it gives us, according to him, a mo- mentary glimpse of the ever-blessed life of God. If we were to follow out logically the consequences of the above-mentioned doctrine of the two modes of the reason, we should come to the conclusion that, while Aristotle held the eternity of the universal reason, it would be impossible for him to hold what is really meant by the immortality of the soul. For the only immortal part in us is one which is im- personal, bearing the same relation to individuality as light to colours, being incapable of even receiving any impressions. But we do not find in Aristotle anything like such a logical application of the doctrine. Aristotle still leaves on record the saying, * It is hard to pronounce whether the soul be not related to the body as a sailor is to his boat.' While he thus avoids dogmatism, he seems to decline entering on the ques- tion. Though the treatise De Anima is incomplete, yet we may well be surprised that it neither touches, nor shows any 44 Eth. ix. iv. 4, x. vii. 9. * Eth. x. Tiii. 13. ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OP YXH'. '241 indication of an intention to touch, upon Plato's doctrine of the immortality of the soul. With Plato the grounds of this doctrine were in the last resort moral ; they amounted to a kind of faith. With this sort of grounds Aristotle does not seem to consider it his province to deal. In the Ethics, while there is no direct contradiction of the doctrine, yet the whole system of morals is one that is irrespective of the doctrine, and uninfluenced by it. Aristotle's discussion of the gnome of Solon (Eth. i. x.) exhibits some remarkable peculiarities. He first asks, ' Can Solon have meant by this that " a man is happy when he has died ? " ' and replies, ' This would be utterly absurd, especially since we consider happiness to be an actuality.' The assertion here is merely summary and dogmatic, where there might have been an elaborate argu- ment. For does it follow that the svspysia which constitutes happiness is so entirely dependent on the body as not possibly to exist without it ? How, if the sailor at death were to step out of his boat ? Again, according to Aristotle's own view, the higher reason is an immortal eitspysia, What is the re- lation of this to personality and happiness ? Aristotle further on is led to revert again to the state after death, and to ask is one safe after death from the influence of the vicissitudes of fortune. Allowing, as a concession to popular feeling, that the dead may be affected by the fortunes of the living, he argues that the effect on them must be at any rate so small as not really to influence their happiness or unhappiness, and he reminds us, in conclusion, 47 of the extreme doubtfulness as to whether the dead do share at all in the interests of this world. Aristotle, while conceding for a moment the popular point of view, pictures the dead as shadowy existences, just as if in some Homeric Hades. There is evidently no philosophic 47 Eth. i. xi. 4; see notes on this passage. B 242 ESSAY V. earnestness about his mention of the subject, though he avoids all dogmatism and all ungracious expression of opinions. Other notices in the Ethics, such as that ' Death seems the boundary of all things, with no good or evil beyond it ' (Eth. in. vi. 6), are too slight and unscientific to bear upon the question. Nothing that Aristotle says of man's moral nature seems to have any connexion with the idea of a future life. His doctrine of the End-in-itself seems indeed rather to supersede such an idea ; it does not contradict it, but rather absorbs all thought of time and space, of present and future in itself, as being the absolute. Thus in his interesting picture of the death of the brave man (Eth. in. ix. 4), Aristotle represents him as consciously quitting a happy life he does not represent him as buoyed up by the hope of future fame, or a reward in heaven, but as attaining there and then to an End-in-itself. This ideal doctrine, which sets the mind above all circumstances, and even above death, constitutes a merit and a defect in the system of Aristotle. Its merit is the discernment of the absolute ideas of the inner consciousness. Its defect is, as we have before observed (see p. 165), that it is tinctured with philosophic pride ; that it is a doctrine for the few and not for the many. Closely connected with his apparent limitation of morality to the present life is his opinion that 'Moral virtue is unworthy of being attributed to Grod.' This view gives to the moral system of Aristotle a restricted and even shallow appearance, as compared with Plato and with modern times. ESSAY VI. The Ancient Stoics. to the time of Aristotle, Greek philosophy may be said to have lived apart. It contained within itself a gradual progress and culmination of thought, but the great philosophers who were the authors of this progress moved on a level far above the ordinary modes of comprehension. After the death of Aristotle, a new spectacle is presented, philo- sophy no longer an exclusive and esoteric property of the schools, but spreading its results over the world. Speculation has really now ceased ; the desire of knowledge purely for its own sake is gone. In the place of this we find other human needs pressing forward their claims. Perhaps we may best and most shortly express the change that at this period took place in the thought of mankind, by saying that the soul now, instead of the mind, sought for itself an explanation of the world. This change, of unspeakable importance, might be called the transition to modernism. Taking the Stoical doc- trine as the most striking, the most earnest, and the most widely -spread exposition of the results of Grecian philosophy, we shall, if we study it attentively, find reason to assert that its authors, the early Stoics, were in some sense the beginners of the modern point of view. Fully to set this forth is not the work of a few sentences, but can only be accomplished by an examination of the law or idea of Stoicism, and by tracing this in its various phases throughout its history in the Greek and Eoman world. Perhaps, as the conclusion of such a B 2 244 ESSAY VI. review, we may be enabled to explain to ourselves why it is that in any modern book of morals, or even in any practical sermon, we are sure to come upon much that has a close affinity with the modes of thinking of the ancient Stoics, while with the modes of thinking of Plato and Aristotle we shall find no real affinity at all. Stoicism took its rise after the loss of Grecian freedom, and yet not in times that were by any means dangerous or op- pressive. It sprang up in the gardens and the porch of genial Athens, where Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus lived, as Plutarch l says, ' as though they had eaten of the lotus, spell-bound on a foreign soil, enamoured of leisure, spending their long lives in books, and walks, and discourses.' It was, then, no external pressure, but the internal impulse of the human spirit, that gave birth to this new principle. Down to the death of Aristotle we see philosophers carried out of themselves in dealing with great ideas. The subjective con- sciousness was lost and overpowered in physical or dialectical conceptions. The saying, * There are many things diviner than man,' 2 might be taken as a symbol of the views of the age. Even ethics were so mixed up and involved in politics the individual was so much absorbed into the State that the will and inner consciousness of man received as yet no adequate attention. But now we enter upon a new era. A new question gradually wins its way to the light, namely, What is the position of the individual in the world ? What is the nature and destiny of man as a moral being ? And the true essence of Stoicism is, that it is an answer to this question. It may seem a paradox to assert that the problem of man's moral nature came forward at so late a period of history as the end and aftermath of Greek philosophy. The De Repugnantiis Stoicis, c. ii. | * Aristotle, Eth. Nic. vi. vii. 4. STOICISM A NEW ERA. 245 highest degree of moral consciousness seems to us moderns so natural a state, the ideas of duty and responsibility are so engrained . into our minds,- the notion that the individual stands independent and related to God alone is so habitual, that the really late introduction of this condition of thought appears strange. But, in order to explain the fact, we must remember the child-like and unconscious spirit which cha- racterised the Grecian mind, and its tendency to objective thought and the enjoyment of nature, rather than to self- reflection and subjective analysis. We must remember that the Greeks had no moral religion, and that their philosophy began with the universe as a whole, and only slowly worked its way back to the human mind. In short, if we wish to see thought, in which the moral consciousness of the individual, the moral ego, is, as it were, the centre and starting-point (as is the case, for instance, in the Psalms of David), we must look, not to the conversations of Socrates, nor to the dialogues of Plato, nor even to the ethics of Aristotle, but to the post- Aristotelian schools. It was no sudden revolution in Greece that gave to the moral problem a paramount importance. Its entrance had been prepared, first, by the gradual progress of speculation, for it was on the basis of the results of physical, ethical, and psychological enquiries that Stoicism took its start ; secondly, by the very decline of thought, which, as it fell away on the speculative side, left the moral side prominent. The new era, of which Stoicism is the beginning and the representative, was unheralded and unrecognized. Indeed, so little marked was its entry that Cicero 3 wonders why Zeno should have founded a new school, since he was an innovator in words only, while essentially he agreed with the Peripatetics. 1 De Fin. IT. ii. 3 ; iv. xxvi. 246 ESSAY VI. Again, the new attitude of thought does not seem to owe its origin to any remarkable force of genius. Rather we might say that Stoicism throughout its history, from Zeno to Marcus Aurelius, reckons no really great man, certainly no great genius, among its ranks, though it exhibits to us a series of more or less interesting personages, all of whom are characterized by a certain peculiar element. This peculiar element may be briefly expressed as intensity a quality by which the early Stoics, as well as their successors, were strongly marked. Perhaps it may be not wholly fanciful to conceive that this quality, and the kind of thought that accompanied it, may have been in some degree attributable to the influence of race. At all events, if we cast our eyes on a list of the early Stoics and their native places, we cannot avoid noticing how many of this school appear to have come of an Eastern, and often of a Semitic stock. Zeno, their founder, was from Citium, in Cyprus, by all accounts of a Phoenician family. Of his disciples, Persseus came also from Citium ; Herillus was from Carthage ; Athe- nodorus 4 from Tarsus; Cleanthes from Assos, in the Troad. The chief disciples of Cleanthes were Sphaerus of the Bos- porus; and Chrysippus, from Soli, in Cilicia. Chrysippus was succeeded by Zeno of Sidon, and Diogenes of Babylon ; the latter taught Antipater of Tarsus, who taught Panretius of Rhodes, who taught Posidonius of Apamea, in Syria. There was another Athenodorus, from Cana, in Cilicia ; and the early Stoic Archedemus is mentioned by Cicero as be- longing to Tarsus. When we notice the frequent connexion of Cilicia with this list of names, we may well be reminded of one who was born at Tarsus, in Cilicia, a citizen of no 4 Placed here by Lipsius in his Manuductio ad Stoicam Phttosophiam (Antwerp, 1604), I. x. But if this be the same as Athenodorus Cordylion, he must have lived much later. STOICISM CONTRASTED WITH EPICURISM. 247 mean city ; and we may be led to ask, is there not something in the mental characteristics of the early Stoics analogous to his ? The true character of Stoicism appears most prominently when it is placed in contrast with Epicurism, that rival system with which it stands in perpetual antithesis. If we ask on what does this antithesis rest ? we shall find that it rests on the twofold essence of man, as a thinking and as a feeling subject ; as consisting, on the one hand, of spirit, or free and self-determined thought ; and, on the other hand, of nature, or an existence determined by physical laws ex- pressing themselves in the sensuous feelings and desires. These two sides of man's being may often stand in opposition to each other ; or again, they may be harmonized so as to give either the one side or the other the precedence and authority. Either we may say * a thing is good because it is pleasant,' and thus refer the decision to the natural feelings ; or we may say f it is pleasant because it is good,' and thus refer the decision to the inner spirit or reason. How far these two sentences actually express the leading principles of the Stoic and the Epicurean schools, we may best see by considering the ideal of man which they each proposed to themselves. The Epicurean ideal was a being moving harmoniously according to natural impulses ; one, in short, in whom the spirit and thought should rather form a part of the natural life than prominently control it. The Stoic ideal, on the contrary, was a being in whom the natural impulses and desires should be absolutely subjected to the laws of abstract thought. Epicurism is essentially Greek and essentially Pagan ; the beautiful and genial Greek mythology is but a deification of the natural powers and impulses. Stoicism is a reaction against this : it consists in an inner life, in a drawing away from the body, and in 248 ESSAY VI. disregarding as worthless and of no moment the 'law in the members.' Epicurism and Stoicism both received as an inheritance the results of Grecian speculation, Epicurus reproducing the Physics of Democritus, as Zeno did those of Heraclitus. In both, the moral attitude was what was essen- tial. Of both it has been truly said that they were less and more than philosophy. Less, because they were thoroughly unspeculative in their character, and indeed consisted in the popularising of speculation ; more, because they were not mere systems of knowledge, but a principle for the whole of life. They soon lost their local and restricted character as schools ; they assimilated to themselves more and more broadly human thought, and thus became 'the two great confessions of faith of the historical world.' 5 Thus were these two ideas set against each other. Regarding, however, Stoicism, with its weakness and its strength, as far the more interesting and important, as it is, of course, also far the higher tendency of the two, we shall henceforth, in tracing its history, only incidentally allude to the fortunes of its rival. In the history of Stoicism, the following parts of the subject seem naturally to stand apart from each other, and to demand in some sort a separate treatment : First, the period of the formation of the Stoical dogma, from Zeno to Chrysippus ; second, the period of the promulgation of Stoicism and its introduction to the knowledge of the Komans ; third, Stoicism in the Roman world, its different phases, and its influence on individual thought and on public manners and institutions. I. The first period of Stoicism takes us down to the year 207 B.C., which was the date of the death of Chrysippus. The chronology of the commence- 5 Dr. Braniss, Uebersicht des Ent- widdungsganges der Philosophic (Bres- lau, 1842), p. 218, whence several points of this comparison are taken. ZENO. 249 ment of this period is difficult to fix. Zeno probably lived till after the year 260 B.C., and he may have been born rather before 340 B.C. It is uncertain whether he came to Athens in his twenty-second or his thirtieth year. On the whole, we may assume that he did not arrive there till after the death of Aristotle, which took place in the year 322 B.C. Chrysippus may possibly in early youth have heard some of the discourses of Zeno ; but Cleanthes, who succeeded Zeno as leader of the Porch, was the true link between them. By these three the Stoical doctrine, properly so called, received its completion. Nothing was afterwards added to it, except the eclectic amalgamation of other doctrines. These three personages come before us with great distinctness. The anecdotes that have been handed down about them, though perhaps in some cases mythical, are at all events highly symbolical, and give us a very definite conception of their separate characteristics. Zeno is described 6 as a slight, withered little fellow, of a swarthy complexion, and with his neck on one side. The story goes, that in trading to Athens he was shipwrecked at the Piraeus, and was thus ' cast on to the shores of philosophy.' Groing up to the city, he sat down at the stall of a bookseller, where he read the second book of the Memorabilia of Xenophon, and asked with enthusiasm 'where such men lived?' Crates, the Cynic, happened to be passing at the moment, and the bookseller cried ' Follow him.' Zeno then studied under Crates, but held himself aloof from the extravagant unseemliness of Cynicism. He is also said to have studied under the Megarians, Stilpo, Cronus, and Philo, and under the Academicians, Xenocrates and Polemo. After twenty years, he opened his school in the Stoa Pcecile, the porch adorned with the frescoes of Polygnotus. Diog. Laert. vn. i. i. 250 ESSAY VI. Zeno appears to have impressed the Athenians with the highest admiration for his character. Their treatment of him was a contrast to their treatment of Socrates. It is perhaps an apocryphal tradition which relates that they deposited the keys of their citadel with him, as being the most trustworthy person ; but it may be true that they decreed to him a golden crown, a brazen statue, and a public entomb- ment. In extreme old age he committed suicide. Cleanthes, the disciple of Zeno, was perhaps the most zealous disciple that a philosopher ever had. He is said to have been ori- ginally a boxer, and to have come to Athens with four drachmas in his possession. By his strength, his endurance, and his laborious life, he acquired the name of ' the New Hercules.' 'Falling in with Zeno,' 7 it is said, 'he took to philosophy most bravely.' He wrote notes of his master's lectures on potsherds and the bladebones of oxen, not being able to afford to purchase paper. He was summoned before the Areopagus to give an account of his way of living, since his whole days were passed in philosophy, and he had no ostensible calling nor means of support. He proved to his judges that he drew water by night for a gardener, and ground the corn for a flour-dealer, and thus earned a main- tenance. The story goes on that his judges, on hearing this account, voted him ten minse, which the rigid Zeno forbade him to accept. There is something quaint about the whole personality of Cleanthes. He was nicknamed ' the Ass,' for his stubborn patience. He seems to have left the impression that it was this indomitable perseverance, rather than the superiority of his genius, that gave him precedence over other noteworthy disciples of Zeno. * High thinking,' how- ever, appears to have accompanied the 'plain living' of ' Diogenes Laertius, vu. v. i. CLEANTHES AND CHRYSIPPUS. 251 Cleanthes. His reflections on Destiny, and his Hymn to Jupiter, will best be treated of hereafter. When asked, 8 * What is the best way to be rich ? ' he answered, ' To be poor in desires.' No reproaches or ridicule ever ruffled the sweet- ness and dignity of his presence. His calm bearing, when satirized on the stage by the comic poet Sositheus, caused the spectators to applaud him and to hiss off Sositheus. The idea of death seems to have been long present to his mind. Being taunted with his old age, he said, ' Yes, I am willing to be gone, but when I see myself sound in every part, writing and reading, I am again tempted to linger.' The story of his death is characteristic. Having suffered from an ulcer on the tongue, he was advised by his physician to abstain from eating for a while in order to facilitate the cure. Having fasted for two days he was completely cured, and his physician bade him return to his usual course of life, but he said that ' Since he had got so far on the road, it would be a pity not to finish the journey ;' so continuing his abstinence, he died. Hardly any personal details of the life of Chrysippus have come to us. On the other hand, we have more fragments of his actual writings than of those of all the early Stoics put together. In Chrysippus the man seems swallowed up in the writer and disputer. He is said 9 to have been slight in person, so that his statue in the Cerameicus was totally eclipsed by a neighbouring equestrian figure, and from this circumstance Carneades nicknamed him Oypsippus. His literary activity was almost unrivalled : he wrote above seven hundred and five works on different subjects. Epicurus alone, of the ancient philosophers, outstripped him in volu- minousness of writing. He is said to have been keen and Stobseus, Floriley.JLC.iv. 31. j B Diogenes Laertius, vn. vii. 4. 252 ESSAY VI. able on every sort of subject. He told Cleanthes that he * only wanted the doctrines and he would soon find out the proofs.' This boast appears to betray a want of earnestness as to the truth, and somewhat too much of the spirit of a dialectician. In this respect Chrysippus must have differed widely from his two distinguished predecessors, with whom Stoicism was above all things a reality and a mode of life. However, there is no doubt that Chrysippus did great service to the Stoic school by embodying their doctrines and stating them in manifold different ways. Hence the saying, l But for Chrysippus, the Porch would never have been.' He developed Stoicism on its negative and antagonistic side by arguing with trenchant dialectic against Epicurus and the Academy. We shall see that he really mooted and boldly strove to reconcile some of the deepest and most difficult contradictions of human thought difficulties which are ever present in modern metaphysics, but which had never truly occupied the ancients before the death of Aristotle. We know most about Chrysippus from Plutarch's book On the Incon- sistencies of the Stoics. It consists really of the inconsis- tencies of Chrysippus, extracted from various parts of his voluminous writings. This interesting book gives the im- pression that Plutarch is unphilosophical, though we are not able to exonerate Chrysippus from inconsistency. Such rapid and extensive writing, such a warm spirit of advocacy, such an attempt to round off and complete a doctrine in spite of all difficulties, such a various controversialism, such an elevated theory, paradoxical even in the grandeur of its aims, combined, on the other hand, with an extremely practical point of view, could not fail to give rise to manifold incon- sistencies. Chrysippus was inconsistent, just as Seneca after- wards was inconsistent, because it suited the genius of Stoicism to abandon the stern simplicity and unity of a KELATION OF STOICISM TO EARLIER PHILOSOPHY. 253 scientific principle. Stoicism became learned, complex, and eclectic; embracing in its grasp a far greater variety of problems than the philosophy of Plato or Aristotle had done, it treated these more loosely, and often oscillated between mere empiricism and an ideal point of view. Taking now the Stoical doctrine as it gradually formed itself during the entire course of the third century B.C., we may proceed to trace its essential features, though in the lack of direct writings 10 of the successive masters of the school we must give up attempting to fix their several con- tributions, and their differences from each other. Early Stoicism consisted of two elements the one might be called dynamical : it was the peculiar spirit, tendency, and mental attitude assumed ; the other element was material, being an adaptation of the results of existing philosophy. The material side of Stoicism was comparatively unimportant. This it was, however, which caused Cicero to make the mis- taken observation that Zeno was no real innovator, but only a reproducer of the Peripatetic doctrines. And indeed it is sufficiently striking at first sight of the Stoical compendia, that their ethic seems a patchwork of Peripatetic and Pla- tonic formulae; their logic, a development of the doctrine of the syllogism ; and their physic, a blending of Heraclitus with Aristotle. Yet, in spite of all this, Zeno was no mere eclectic ; all that was Peripatetic in his system was the outward, and not the inner and essential part. And in short, the vestiges of previous Greek philosophy existing in 10 No fragment even, of any length, belonging to the early Stoics, has come down to us, except the hymn of Cle- anthes. Our main sources of informa- tion -with regard to them are Cicero, Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus, Diogenes Laertius, and Stobseus. We have the reflection of their doctrine in the writings of the Roman Stoics, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius; and numberless scattered allusions to them in the later literature of antiquity may be easily combined into a complete and tolerably certain view. 254 ESSAY VI. Stoical books may be said, mutatis mutandis, to bear the same relation to Stoicism as the vestiges of Jewish and of Alexandrian ideas existing in the New Testament bear to Christianity. What we have called the dynamical ele- ment of Stoicism constitutes its real essence. This it de- rived partly from the idiosyncrasy and perhaps the national characteristics of its founder, partly from the peculiarities of the Cynical school in which it was nurtured. Zeno agreed with Crates, and Stoicism coincides with the Cynic view thus far, that it makes the starting-point of all thought to be the conception of a life. The setting of this moral and practical conception above all speculative phi- losophy separates Zeno from the previous schools of Greece. We have now to ask, What is it that distinguishes him from Crates ? what is the essential difference between the Stoic and the Cynic creeds ? This is generally stated as if the former were merely a softened edition of the latter. The Cynic said, * There is nothing good but virtue ; all else is absolutely indifferent.' The Stoic said, 'Yes, but among indifferent things some are preferable 11 to others: health, though not an absolute good, is, on the whole, preferable to sickness ; and this, though not an evil, is, on the whole, to be avoided.' Again, it is said that Cynicism is unseemly and brutal, and tramples upon society ; Stoicism is more gentle, and outwardly conforms with the world. But this com- parison does not go sufficiently deep, and does not explain the facts of the case, for the Stoics were often as paradoxical as the Cynics in denying that anything was a good besides virtue ; and if they were outwardly less ferocious, we want to 11 This was the famous Stoical dis- tinction between things trpo^y^iva, and diroirpo7j7/xeVa ; see Diog. Laert. vn. i. 6 1. It was a compromise between the paradox that ' nothing is good but virtue,' and the practical facts of life. Stoicism is forced to be full of such compromises. STOICISM AND CYNICISM. 255 know what was the inward law of their doctrine that made them so. Perhaps we nearest touch the spring of difference, by observing that Cynicism is essentially mere negation, mere protest against the external world ; while Stoicism is essentially positive, essentially constructive, and tends in many ways to leaven the external world. Cynicism despised the sciences, disdained politics, exploded the social institu- tions, and ridiculed patriotism or the distinctions of country. Zeno, on the contrary, re-arranged the sciences according to his views: he enjoined the wise to mix in affairs; and he conceived not a mere negation of patriotic prejudices, but the positive idea of cosmopolitanism. Cynicism, therefore, is a withdrawal from the world into blank isolation, while Stoicism is the withdrawal into an inner life, which forms to its votaries an object of the highest enthusiasm. Hence the elation, often hyperbolical, which tinges the Stoical austerity ; hence the attractiveness of the doctrine and its spread over the world. And connected, too, with the positive and constructive impulse of Stoicism, we may reckon its plastic character, its external eclecticism, and its tendency to be influenced and modified by the course of surrounding civilization. Lists have been preserved 12 for us by the ancients of the different formulae in which the Stoical masters expressed the leading principle of life. They are all modifications of the same idea, that 'the end for man is to live according to nature.' Nature here means that which is universal- the entire course of the world, as opposed to individual and special ideas and impulses. Until we remember this inter- pretation, the Stoical formula appears surprising; for how 12 Stobseus, Eel. ii. 134; Clemens Alexandrians, Strom, ii. ; Diog. Laert. vii. i. 53. 256 ESSAY VI. could they enjoin life according to nature, whose whole endeavour was to be superior to nature to overcome and subdue desire, sorrow, pain, the fear of death, and all that in another sense we are accustomed to call the natural instincts ? If ' nature ' were taken to mean the involuntary and immediate impulses, then the phrase * follow nature ' would express not the Stoical, but the Epicurean, principle. The Stoical * nature ' was the conception of an abstract and universal order, and was to be apprehended by the discursive Reason. This clear-sightedness and authority of the Reason is, of course, only slowly arrived at, and the Stoics explained their theory by saying that * all our duties come from nature, and wisdom among the number. But as when a man is introduced to anyone, he often thinks more of the person to whom he is introduced than of him who gave the introduc- tion, so we need not wonder that, while it was the in- stinctive impulses of nature that led us to wisdom, we hold wisdom more dear than those impulses by which we arrived at her.' 13 In order to avoid seeming to approximate to the Epicureans, they denied that pleasure and pain are among the principles of nature. In short, starting from nature, the Stoics came round utterly to supplant nature (in the usual sense), and to substitute in her room pure thought and abstract ideas. The phrase ' follow nature,' to express the highest kind of life, has never yet established itself in language. ' One touch of nature makes the whole world kin ' that is, any perfectly simple and instinctive feeling, the very opposite of anything abstract or cultivated. Again, the * natural man,' as opposed to the ' spiritual man,' denotes something utterly different from the Stoical idea of perfection. Thus, common parlance 18 Cicero, De Fin. in. vii. 23. BUTLER COMPARED WITH THE STOICS. 257 retains its own associations connected with the term nature, and rejects those of the Stoics. But it is interesting to observe that Bishop Butler has espoused their formula, and has argued that ' nature ' does not mean single impulses or desires, but the idea of the constitution of the whole, reason and conscience as regulative principles being taken into con- sideration. Butler's object in maintaining this position was obviously one relative to his own times. As in appealing to a selfish age he thought it necessary to assert that virtue was not inconsistent with the truest self-love, so also he argued that virtue was not against nature, but in reality man's natural state. He here takes up, just like the Stoics, an abstract ideal of nature ; for he makes the basis of his rea- soning a proviso that the moral rules of conscience not only exist, but that they have authority that is, that they con- trol, as they ought to do, the rest of the human principles. Into the difficulties of the question Butler has not entered. For instance, while he is perfectly successful in establishing against the Hobbists the reality of the moral elements in man's nature, he does not tell us whether or not he would agree with the Stoics in ultimately giving the entire supre- macy to man's reason and conscience, so as to supplant the other instincts, or at what point he would stop. Again, we would ask him to define more accurately his idea of ' life according to nature.' Is the life of the saints and martyrs to be called a life according to nature ? If not, is it better or worse ? and if better, is not man to aim at the better ? The whole question is not one of mere words, but implying the discussion of a very important subject namely, the way in which life is to be conceived. There is one mode of repre- sentation which describes life as a progress, a conflict, a good fight ; another which makes it the following of nature. On the one hand, there is the spirit of aspiration and effort, the s 258 ESSAY VI. tendency to asceticism, the victory of the will ; on the other hand, there are the genial, kindly, human feelings, there is the ' wise passivity ' of mind, and there is the breadth of sympathy which counterbalances an over-concentrated in- tensity of aim. To make the formula 'life according to nature ' of any value, we require to have these contradictory tendencies harmonized with each other. We should then see whether the term ' nature ' is at all capable of expressing the highest kind of life, or whether we must continue to think that this is something rather above f nature ' (as it exists in man) than a following of nature. We should see how far it is really possible to conceive a harmony, without the suppres- sion of either, not only between the * law of the members ' and the ' law of the spirit,' but also between the inner life and the interests and enjoyments of the external world. The commonest ideal of virtue according to nature is the picture of mankind in a state of innocence, whether the scene be laid in some far-off island, or remote in point of time, in the golden age of the world. To imagine a primitive and pastoral existence, in which every impulse is virtuous and every impulse is to be obeyed, this is an easy reaction from a vitiated and over-refined civilization. Some have supposed that the Stoics made this ideal of uncorrupted nature part of their views ; but in reality it would not suit the genius of Stoicism to do so. Though they railed at the actual state of the world, their remedy was placed rather in the power of the will, in the effort to progress, than in dreams of a bygone state of innocence. The only allusion which we can trace in their fragments to this conception is a saying of the later Stoic, Posidonius, that *in the golden age the government was in the hands of the philosophers.' 14 The context, how- 14 Seneca, Ep. xc. THE IDEAL WISE MAN. 259 ever, of this remark, makes it appear rather as a rhetorical praise of philosophy than as a serious piece of doctrine. Seneca, in one of whose epistles it is quoted, comments upon it in an interesting manner. After echoing for a while the strain of Virgil, and praising those times of innocence ' before the reign of Jupiter,' when men slept free and undisturbed under the canopy of heaven, he returns to the true Stoical point of view, and asserts that in those primitive times there was, in fact, no wisdom. If men did wise things, they did them unconsciously. They had not even virtue ; neither justice, nor prudence, nor temperance, nor fortitude. It is a profound truth that Seneca perceives namely, that the mind and the will evoked into consciousness and perfected even by suffering, are greater possessions than the blessings, if they were attainable, of a so-called golden age and state of nature. The Stoical principle of ' life according to nature' would have been, like Bishop Butler's, a blank formula, were it not for the further exposition of their doctrine which they have left us in their ideal of the Wise Man. This ideal exhibits not the pursuit of wisdom for its own sake not the excel- lence of philosophy in and for itself, as Plato and Aristotle used to conceive it, but rather the results of wisdom in the will and character, results which Zeno summed up in the terms an * even flow of life.' 15 The notion that equanimity is the most essential characteristic of a philosopher is perhaps traceable to this conception of the Stoics ; according to whom the Wise Man is infallible, impassive, and invulnerable. 16 And while possessing this external immunity from harm, he is in himself full of divine inspirations he is alone free, alone king and priest, alone capable of friendship or affection. 15 Efyota TOV plov. Stob. Eel. ii. 138. ' Diog. Laert vn. i. 64. s 2 260 ESSAY VI. These and other splendid and exclusive attributes did the Stoics attach to their imaginary sage, till Chrysippus, be- coming conscious in one place 17 of the paradoxical character of the picture, allows that he * may seem, through the pre- eminent greatness and beauty of his descriptions, to be giving utterance to mere fictions, things transcending man and human nature.' At the Stoical paradox Horace laughed. Plutarch wrote a book (now lost, but of which the outlines remain) to prove that it surpassed the wildest imaginations of the poets. But in truth ' the curtain was the picture ; ' the paradox was an essential part of the doctrine. For of necessity these pictures of the inner life are paradoxical. They speak of a boundless freedom and elevation, with which the narrow limits of external reality come into harsh con- trast. And in the vaunts of the Stoics we only see what is analogous to one side of Lord Bacon's famous ' character of a believing Christian, drawn out in paradoxes and seeming contradictions.' ' He is rich in poverty, and poor in the midst of riches ; he believes himself to be a king, how mean soever he be ; and how great soever he be, yet he thinks himself not too good to be servant to the poorest saint.' Some of the qualities of the Stoic ideal seem inferior to the conception of goodness afterwards developed by the school. The Wise Man of Zeno was represented as stern and pitiless, and as never conceding pardon to any one. This forms a great contrast with the gentle and forgiving spirit of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. Doubtless such harsher traits of the picture belonged to Cynicism, and were after- wards discarded during subsequent transmutations of the Stoical principle. More inward meaning is there in the saying, paradoxical as it might appear, that nothing the Wise 17 Pluturch, De Repug. Stoic, c. xv. THE IDEAS OF PERFECTION AND ADVANCE. 261 Man can do would be a crime. Cannibalism, and incest, and the most shocking things, are said to be indifferent to the sage. This, however, though stated so repulsively, can only have meant something resembling the principle that ' what- ever is of faith is no sin.' The chief interest of the Stoical ideal consists in the parallel it affords at many points to different phases of religious feeling. One of these points is the tendency, more or less vaguely connecting itself with the Stoic doctrine, to divide all the world into the good and the bad, or, as they expressed it, into the wise and the fools an idea evidently belonging to the inner life, and hard to bring into conformity with external facts. Entirely in the same direction, the Stoics said that short of virtue in other words, short of the standard of perfection all faults and vices were equal. Chrysippus, indeed, tried to soften down this asser- tion ; but in its extreme form it only reminds us of certain sayings which have been heard in modern times, about the * worthlessness of morality.' In the presence of a dazzling ideal of spiritual perfection, the minor distinctions of right and wrong seem to lose their meaning. The Stoics, after portraying their Wise Man, were free to confess that such a character did not exist, and indeed never had existed. With small logical consistency, but with much human truth, while they allowed their assertions about the worthlessness of all except absolute wisdom to remain, and always held up this unattained and unattainable ideal, they admitted another conception to stand, though unacknow- ledged, beside it namely, the conception of * advance.' 18 Zeno and the rest, though they did not claim to be wise, yet claimed to be * advancing.' This notion of conscious moral progress and self-discipline is too familiar now for us easily 18 wpoKoirf), vpoKo-irreii' (Diog. Laert. vn. i. 54). In Latin, profectus, prqficcre (Seneca, Ep. 71). 26-2 ESSAY VI. to believe that it was first introduced into Greece in the third century B.C. It may be said, indeed, to be contained implicitly in Aristotle's theory of ' habits ; ' but it is in reality the expression of a new and totally different spirit. By this spirit we shall find the later Stoics deeply penetrated. It constituted perhaps the most purely ' moral ' notion of antiquity, as implying the deepest associations which are attached to the word ' moral.' Another great idea, of which the introduction is generally attributed to the Stoics, is the idea of 'duty;' but on con- sideration we shall perceive that this, entirely conformable as it was with their point of view, was not all at once enunciated by them, but was only gradually developed in or by means of their philosophy. There were two correlative terms intro- duced by the early Stoics, signifying the ' suitable ' 19 and the * right.' The * right ' could only be said of actions having perfect moral worth. The * suitable ' included all that fitted in harmoniously with the course of life everything that could on good grounds be recommended or defended. This term, the ' suitable,' seems to fall short of the moral sig- nificance of what we mean by duty ; and yet it is remarkable that this term became translated into Latin as officium, and thus really stands to our word ' duty ' in the position of lineal antecedent. So much casuistical discussion took place upon what was, or was not, ' suitable,' that a train of associations became attached to the word, associations which were in- herited by the Eomans. Thus the idea of duty grew up, more belonging, perhaps, to the Roman than to the Grreek 19 KaOriKov and Kar6p6(afia, Stob. Eel. ii. 158. Cicero's De Officiis is taken, with but little alteration and addition, from the work of Pansetius, irtpl ruv i>i'. Cicero complains that Panaetius gave no definition of his subject (De Off. i. ii. 7). Thus we see that the Greek Stoics had really no formula to express what we mean by duty. THE STOIC COSMOPOLITANISM. 263 elements in the Stoical spirit, fostered by a national sternness and a love of law, and ultimately borrowing its modes of expression from the formulae of Eoman jurisprudence. 20 The most prominent conception in the Stoical system being the effort to attain a perfect life in conformity with universal laws, we may now ask what forms the background to this picture ? Aristotle and Plato would certainly have conceived to themselves a limited state, essentially Greek in character, the institutions of which should furnish sufficiently favourable conditions for the life of the Wise Man. But in the third century B.C. these restricted notions had become exploded. Zeno now imagined, what surpassed the Republic of Plato,, a universal state, with one government and manner of life for all mankind. This admired polity, 21 which Plutarch calls * a dream of philosophic statesmanship,' and which, he rheto- rically says, was realized by Alexander the Great, owed, no doubt, its origin to the influence upon men's minds produced by the conquests of Alexander. This influence, partly de- pressing, in so far as it diminished the sense of freedom, and robbed men of their healthy, keen, and personal interest in politics, was also partly stimulating, since it unfolded a wider horizon, and the possibility of conceiving a universal state. Thus were the national and exclusive ideas of Greece, as afterwards of Eome, changed into cosmopolitanism. The first lesson of cosmopolitanism, that said, * there is no differ- ence between Greeks and barbarians the world is our city,' must have seemed a mighty revelation. To say this was quite natural to Stoicism, which, drawing the mind away from 20 For instance, the word 'obligation' is a Latin law term. The word ' law' itself is employed with a moral mean- ing, and on consideration it will be found that our notions of duty (' what is owing') are intertwined inextricably with legal associations. 21 Plutarch, De ALexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute, c. vi. 264 ESSAY VI. surrounding objects, bids it soar into the abstract and the universal. By denying the reality and the interest of na- tional politics, the moral importance of the individual was immensely enhanced. Ethics were freed from all connexion with external institutions, and were joined in a new and close alliance to physics and theology. The cosmopolitanism of the Stoics was a cosmopolitanism in the widest etymological sense, for they regarded not the inhabited earth alone, but the whole universe, as man's city. Undistracted by political ideas, they placed the individual in direct relation to the laws of the Cosmos. Hence Chrysippus said, 22 that * no ethical subject could be rightly approached except from the preconsideration of entire nature and the ordering of the whole.' Hence his regular preamble to every discussion of good, evil, ends, justice, marriage, education, and the like, was some exordium about Fate or Providence. So close and absolute a dependence of the individual upon the Divine First Cause was asserted by the Stoics, that their theological system reminds us, to some extent, of modern Calvinism, or of the doctrines of Spinoza. Body, they said, is the only substance. Nothing incorporeal could act upon what is corporeal, or vice versa. The First Cause 23 of all is God, or Zeus the universal reason, the world-spirit, which may also be represented as the primeval fire, just as the soul of man, which is an emanation from it, consists of a warm ether. God, by transformation of his own essence, makes the world. All things come forth from the bosom of God, and into it all things will again return, when by universal conflagration the world sinks into the divine fire, and God is 2 - Ap. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoicis, c. ix. 28 For the particulars of their phy- sical and theological system, and the authorities which establish the various parts of the doctrine, see Dr. Zeller's Philosophic der Griechcn, vol. iii. This book contains the most complete and accurate account of the Stoics which has yet been written. THE THEOLOGY OF THE STOICS. 265 again left alone. The universe is a living and rational whole ; for how else could the human soul, which is but a part of that whole, be rational and conscious ? If the Cosmos be com- pared to an individual man, then Providence is like the spirit of a man. Thus all things are very good, being ordered and preordained by the divine reason. This reason is also des- tiny, which is denned to be 24 ' the law according to which what has been, has been ; what is, is ; and what shall be, shall be.' The round world hangs balanced in an infinite vacuum. It is made up of four elements fire and air, which are active powers ; water and earth, which are passive mate- rials. Within it are four classes of natural objects inorganic substances, plants, animals, and rational beings. First and highest among rational beings are the sun and the stars and all the heavenly bodies, which, as Plato and Aristotle used to say, are conscious, reasonable, and blessed existences. These, indeed, are created gods, divine but not eternal. They will at last, like all things else, return into the unity of the primeval fire. Other gods, or rather other manifesta- tions of the one divine principle, exist in the elements and the powers of nature, which, accordingly, are rightly wor- shipped by the people, and have received names expressive of their different attributes. Heroes, also, with divine qualities, are justly deified ; and the Wise Man is divine, since he bears a god within himself. In this city of Zeus, where all is holy, and earth and sky are full of gods, the individual man is but a part of the whole only one expres- sion of the universal law. Abstractedly, the theology of the Stoics appears as a mate- rialistic pantheism ; God is represented as a fire, and the world as a mode of God. But, practically, this aspect of the 21 Plutarch, DC Placitis Philosophorum, i. 28. 266 ESSAY VI. creed is softened by two feelings by their strong sense, first, of the personality of God ; and secondly, of the individuality of man. These feelings express themselves in the hymn of Cleanthes, the most devotional fragment 25 of Grecian an- tiquity. In this hymn, Zeus is addressed as highest of the gods, having many names, always omnipotent, leader of nature, and governing all things by law. ' Thee,' continues the poet, * it is lawful for all mortals to address. For 26 we are thy offspring, and alone of living creatures possess a voice which is the image of reason. Therefore, I will for ever sing thee and celebrate thy power. All this universe rolling round the earth obeys thee, and follows willingly at thy command. Such a minister hast thou in thy invincible hands, the two-edged, flaming, vivid thun- derbolt. King, most high, nothing is done without thee 25 Preserved by Stobaeus, Eel. Phys. i. 30. 26 'Ex ffov yap ytvos eer/xeV, ITJS /j.ifj.rip.a \a\6vTfs Movvoi. It is difficult to be- lieve that the first part of this line, and the hymn of Cleanthes in general, is not alluded to by St. Paul in his speech at Athens. It was after encountering certain philosophers of the Epicureans and of the Stoics that he ' stood up in the midst of Mars' Hill' and addressed the multitude. While speaking to the mass of the Athenians, and making the popular superstition his starting- point, St. Paul appears also to appeal to the philosophic part of his audience, weaving in their ideas into his speech, and referring to their literature. Thus the cosmopolitan theory of the Stoics seems to be distinctly assumed, and both Aratus and Cleanthes may be comprehended under the terms 'cer- tain of your own poets.' It is in- teresting, after reading the Stoical verses, to turn to the exact words of St. Paul : ' God, that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; neither is worshipped with men's hands as though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life and breath and all things, and hath made of one blood all nations of men, for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed and the bounds of their habitation ; that they should seek after the Lord, if haply they might feel after him and find him, though .he be not far from every one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being, as cer- tain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring.' The saying that ' God dwelleth not in tem- ples made with hands' agrees re- markably with the expressions of Zeno, ap. Plutarch, De Eepug. Stoic. THE HYMN OF CLEAXTHES. 267 neither in heaven or on earth, nor in the sea, except what the wicked do in their foolishness. Thou makest order out of disorder, and what is worthless becomes precious in thy sight; for thou hast fitted together good and evil into one, and hast established one law that exists for ever. But the wicked fly from thy law, unhappy ones, and though they desire to possess what is good, yet they see not, neither do they hear, the universal law of (rod. If they would follow it with understanding, they might have a good life. But they go astray, each after his own devices some vainly striving after reputation, others turning aside after gain excessively, others after riotous living and wantonness. Nay, but, Zeus, giver of all things, who dwellest in dark clouds, and rulest over the thunder, deliver men from their foolishness. Scatter it from their souls, and grant them to obtain wisdom, for by wisdom thou dost rightly govern all things ; that being honoured we may repay thee with honour, singing thy works without ceasing, as is right for us to do. For there is no greater thing than this, either for mortal men or for the gods, to sing rightly the universal law.' In this interesting fragment we see, above all, a belief in the unity of God. This, Plato and Aristotle had most cer- tainly arrived at. Even in the popular ideas it probably lay behind all polytheistic forms, as being a truth necessary to the mind. But Monotheism here, as in the early Hebrew Scriptures, is co-existent with a mention of other gods besides the one highest God. These are represented as inferior to Zeus, and singing his praises. The human soul is here de- picted as deriving all happiness from wisdom and a know- ledge of God. The knowledge of God and a devotional regard to Him are mentioned as needs of the human soul, though the knowledge spoken of appears partly under the aspect of an intuition into the universal and impersonal law. 268 ESSAY VI. When Cleanthes speaks of * repaying God with honour,' we see a strong assertion of the worth of the individual. Heraclitus had said of old that 'Zeus looks on the wisest man as we look on an ape.' But now the feeling about these things was changed, and Chrysippus 27 even went so far as to say, that ' the sage is not less useful to Zeus than Zeus is to the sage,' a saying which is rendered less offensive by taking it partly in a metaphysical sense, to mean that the individual is as necessary to the universal law as vice versa. As strong an assertion as this would seem almost required to counterbalance the absorbing necessarian element in early Stoicism. At first it excites surprise that a system putting so great store on the moral will should on the other hand appear to annihilate it. If all proceeds by destiny, what scope is left for individual action, for self-discipline and moral advance ? But we must leave this contradiction un- resolved. Other systems with a profoundly moral bearing have also maintained the doctrine of necessity. And it was plainly the intention of the Stoics that the Wise Man, by raising himself to the consciousness of universal necessity, should become free, while all those who had not attained to this consciousness remained in bondage. 'Lead me, Zeus, and thou Destiny,' 28 says Cleanthes, in another fragment, ' whithersoever I am by you appointed. I will follow not reluctant ; but even though I am unwilling through badness, I shall follow none the less.' Yet still with the Stoics the individual element remained equally valid ; the individual consciousness was the starting-point of their thought ; and 27 Plutarch, Adversus Stoicos, 33. 2 " &yov 8 ( & Ztv, Kal y' ij Tlf- iroff vfuv el us e\j/o/j.ai y' &OKVOS t\v 5 n^ Be\u KU/COS ytvAfjifvos, ovStv iirrov ftyofitu. These verses are translated by Seneca. THE STOIC NECESSARIAMSM. 269 hence the difficulty arose, as in modern times, how to recon- cile the opposite ideas of individual freedom, and of a world absolutely predetermined by divine reason. To the task of this reconciliation Chrysippus devoted himself, and Cicero describes him as ' labouring painfully to explain how all things happen by Fate, and yet that there is something in ourselves.' 29 To effect this, he drew a distinction between * predisposing' and ' determinant' causes, and said that only the 'predisposing' causes rested with Fate, 30 while the ' de- terminant' cause was always in the human will. This dis- tinction will hardly bear much scrutiny. When Chrysippus was confronted with what philosophers called the ' lazy . argument' 31 namely, the very simple question, Why should I do anything, if all is fated? Why, for instance, should I send for the doctor, since, whether I do so or not, the ques- tion of my recovery is already fixed by fate ? to this he replied, It is perhaps as much fated that you should send for the doctor, as that you should get well ; these things are * confatal.' In other words, the fate of the Stoics was, of course, a rational fate, acting, not supernaturally, but by the whole chain of cause and effect. The reasonings of Chry- sippus are interesting historically, as being the first attempt to meet some of the difficulties of the doctrine of human freedom ; and much that he urges has been repeated in after- times. We have already seen the optimism of Cleanthes expressed in his hymn. He says on the one hand, that nothing is evil in the hands of God ; (rod fits good and evil together into one frame. On the other hand, he says that 4 God does all that is done in the world, except the wicked- 29 Fragment of Cicero, De Fato, ap. Aul. Gell. vn. ii. 15. 30 Plut. De Sepuff. Stoic, xlvii. : ofoe ai>TOTe\ri rovrtav alriaf, a\\a. irpo/ca- fiivov &icoiiTouj, 81 Siv TO, ira.i5a.pia. rov <*i yvvcuices avfipyovai. Plut. De Bepug. Stoic, c. xii. 272 ESSAY VI. from these authorities, but from the Phcedo of Plato. It may be questioned whether a frequent dwelling on the thought of suicide, as allowable and even praiseworthy, is most often accompanied, or not, by the belief in a future life. The first Stoics, by their precept and example, recommended the wise, on occasion, to ' usher themselves out ' 35 of life. If suicide, thus dignified by a name, were an escape from mere pain or annoyance, it would be an Epicurean act ; but as a flight from what is degrading as a great piece of renunciation, it assumes a Stoical appearance. The passion for suicide reached its height in the writings of Seneca, under the wretched circum- stances of the Roman despotism ; but, on the whole, it be- longs to immature Stoicism Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius dissuaded from it. In saying this, we cannot for a moment pretend that the Stoical principle ever entirely purified itself from alloy; it was too wanting in objective elements it had too little to draw men out of themselves ever to satisfy the human spirit, ever to be otherwise than very imperfect. Stoical pride will always be a just subject of reproach ; for the de- velopment of the subjective element of morality necessary to the deepening of the thoughts of the world was overdone by the Stoics, and they supplied nothing in counterbalance. It is not as a complete system, or with any inherent capacity for completeness, certainly not as a rival to Christianity, that we regard the Stoical Idea ; but rather as the manifestation amongst the Greeks and Romans of a peculiar kind of human tendency, one which exists within Christianity also which constantly appears in history, and which meets us in daily life. 36 35 fydyftv kavrovs, f^ayaty^ is the regular word with the Stoics for sui- cide. Diog. Laert. vn. i. 66. 38 This Essay, which cannot in the least aim at being exhaustive, has hitherto omitted all mention of the non-ethical doctrines of the Stoics, their threefold division of philosophy, and their achievements in the province of logic. Suffice it to say, that these STOICISM BROUGHT TO ROME. 273 II. Let us turn now to watch the promulgation of that doctrine, the leading traits of which we have endeavoured to describe, and which was destined not to remain the property of a mere school in Athens, but rather to become an active influence among the Roman spirits, and to some extent a regenerating element in the last days of Pagan civilization. There was a direct succession, as we have seen above (p. 246), in the lists of the Stoic doctors from Chrysippus to Posidonius, and Posidonius was master to Cicero. During the interval spanned by these successive teachers (from 200 B.C. to 50 B.C.), many circumstances turned the tide of philosophy towards Rome, and commenced the intellectual subjugation of the victors in the domain of thought as well as of imaginative literature. The first awakenings of the national curiosity are somewhat obscured. Aulus Gellius records a decree of the Senate, of the date B.C. 161, for banishing from Rome philo- sophers and rhetoricians, at the instance of M. Pomponius, the praetor. This fact appears to stand in isolation. Six years later (B.C. 155), we hear of the famous embassy of the philo- were the least essential parts of Stoicism. Still they exhibit a charac- teristic approach to modern views. The division of science into logic, physic, and ethic, arose naturally out of the position which philosophy had assumed under Aristotle. But to give ethic and logic such an independent footing was original and modern. Small thanks are due to the Stoics for ele- vating logic, so-called, into a separate science. By so doing they have caused a. great waste of human thought. With them, as ever since, logic was a vague name, including grammar, rhe- toric, and metaphysics. They adopted and carried out the principles of the syllogism. One of their first ques- tions was, as to the ' Criterium,' What is the test of truth in our ideas? They seem to have professed, on this head, a sort of ' natural realism,' and a theory of knowledge similar to that of Locke. This was a descent from the old philosophic height ; it was in opposition to the scepticism of the New Academy, and was connected with their practical point of view. Chrysippus, however, as a dialectical tour deforce, wrote six books ' against custom,' in which he collected all that could be said against common ideas arising from association. Plutarch says that his arguments on his own side were not of equal force. How- ever, the Stoics remain true to their own theory as ' common-sense philo- sophers.' 274 ESSAY VI. sophers sent from Athens to Rome to obtain the remission of a fine. Doubt 37 has been thrown on the reality of this event. But independent of the constant oral tradition from Scipio and Lselius down to Cicero, the historical certainty of the embassy is established by a reference which Cicero makes 38 to the writings of Clitomachus, a Carthaginian philosopher who settled at Athens, and was disciple to Carneades imme- diately after the date assigned to the embassy, and who there- fore is an undoubted authority for the facts. However, we may easily believe that the story has been decked out and improved. In some accounts, Carneades the Academic, and Diogenes the Stoic, are mentioned as the envoys ; but other accounts, probably for completeness' sake, add Critolaus the Peripatetic. And hence it came to be said 39 that these three represented the three styles of oratory the florid, the severe, and the moderate. Cicero 40 tells us of a philosophic party at Eome, in compliment to whom these particular ambassadors were sent ; while, on the other hand, Cato the Censor viewed with impatience their favourable reception, and urged upon the Senate their speedy dismissal. The most interesting anecdote connected with this embassy is that quoted from the works of Clitomachus, that A. Albinus, the prastor, said to Carneades in the Capitol, before the Senate, ' Is it true, Car- neades, that you think I am no prator because I am not a wise man, and that this is no city, and that there is no true state in it?' To which Carneades replied, 'I don't think so, but this Stoic does.' This story amusingly represents the confusion in the mind of the Roman praBtor, who did not dis- tinguish between the philosophical schools, but was struck by the great paradox he had heard, and was not able to compre- 37 Mr. Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire, ii. p. 511, note. * 8 Academics, ii. xrv. w Aulus Gellius, vii. xiv. 3. 40 De Oratore, ii. xxxvn. PANSETIUS. 275 hend that inner point of view from which it was said that mighty Rome was no city, and the august praetor had no real office or authority at all. The anti-philosophical party seem to have continued their exertions at Rome, and under the date 93 B.C. we read 41 of a decree of the censors Domitius ^Enobarbus and Licinius Crassus against the schools in which a new sort of learning was taught by those who called themselves Latin rhetoricians, and where youths wasted their whole days in sloth. This decree is in fine grand Roman style ; it says, e these things do not please us.' But it was in vain to attempt resisting the influx of Greek philosophy, when the leading and most able men warmly welcomed it. Africanus, C. Lselius, and L. Furius were extremely pleased at the embassy, and always had learned Greeks in their company. A little later than 150 B.C., no one was more instrumental in recommending Stoicism to the Romans than Pansetius of Rhodes, whose in- structions in Athens were attended by Laelius and his son- in-law, C. Fanucius, and also by the conqueror of Carthage. Pansetius accompanied the latter on his famous mission to the courts in Asia Minor and Egypt. He is always spoken of as the friend and companion of Scipio and Lselius. He is recorded to have sent a letter to Q. Tubero, on the endurance of pain. Not only by personal intercourse did Pansetius influence the cultivated Romans, but also still more by his books. These seem to have been of a character eminently fitted for the comprehension of the Romans, being extremely practical, avoiding the harshness and severity of the early Stoics, and being free from ' the thorns of dialectic.' 42 One peculiarity above all, while it made Pansetius a worse Stoic, made him at the same time a more attractive expositor of 41 Aulus Gellius, xv. jri. | 42 Cicero, De Fin. iv. xxvni. 79. T 2 276 ESSAY VI. philosophy, and was only a fulfilment, after all, of the destiny of Stoicism namely, his tendency to eclecticism. He con- stantly had Plato, Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, Dicse- archus, in his mouth ; he was always speaking 43 of Plato as divine, most wise, most holy, and the Homer of philosophers. We can form a very good conception of his writings from Cicero's work On Offices, which is taken almost exactly from Panffitius' On Things Suitable. An extract verbatim, from the latter, is preserved by Aulus Grellius. It recom- mends those who are mixed up in affairs to be on their guard, like pugilists, against every sort of attack. It is in rhetorical style, and full of a sensible worldly prudence. Such prudence is no more alien from a particular phase of Stoicism, than it is from a particular phase of religion. Posidonius (B.C. 135-50) maintained the same intercourse with the Komans, and the same eclectic tendencies as his master. After the death of Pansetius (B.C. 112), he made some extensive travels for the sake of physical inquiry. At Cadiz he spent some time in observations on the sunset ; he visited Sicily, Dalmatia, and other countries, and finally settled in Rhodes. Strabo, with a sympathy for his geo- graphical knowledge, called him ' the most learned philoso- pher of the day.' In the year 86 B.C. he was sent as ambassador to Rome, and became acquainted with Marius. Pompey visited Posidonius twice in Rhodes (67 and 62 B.C.); and the story goes that on one of these occasions Posidonius, having a bad fit of the gout, discoursed from his bed to Pompey on the topic ' that virtue is the only good, and that pain is no evil.' Cicero also studied under him in Rhodes ; and finally, coming to Rome in his old age (B.C. 5 1 ), he died there a short time afterwards, having had as his hearers 48 Cicero, Tusculan. Disputat. i. xxxn. 79. PHILOSOPHERS IN THE HOUSEHOLD OF GREAT MEN. 277 C. Velleius, C. Gotta, Q. Lucilius Balbus, and probably Brutus. Posidonius wrote a commentary on the Timceus of Plato, apparently to reconcile it with the Stoical physics. He approximated in some things to Aristotle, and even, it is said, to Pythagoras. On divination, however, he reverted to the old Stoical view, abandoning the scepticism of Pansetius. The ancients make mention of the elegance of his style ; and Cicero, while dissenting from his opinions on fate and other subjects, speaks of him at the same time with the greatest respect. Beside those Stoics who were of eminence and originality enough to advance, though only by amalgamation, the tra- ditionary doctrine, there were by this time many others who received it merely and adopted it as an article of faith, without thinking of addition or change. Such was probably Antipater of Tyre, who became the friend and instructor of Cato the younger. And now we find, in the last half-century before Christ, frequent instances of a new fashion in Kome namely, for a great man to maintain a philosopher in his house, as in modern days a private confessor. Of this custom Cato 44 of Utica was himself an instance, for he is reported to have made a journey to Pergamus with the express object of inducing the famous Stoic Athenodorus, surnamed Cordylion, to accompany him to Eome, in which mission he succeeded, and brought back the sage in triumph, who ended his days in the house of Cato. After this, at Utica, Cato appears to have had among the members of his family Demetrius a Peripatetic, and Apollonides a Stoic. On the night before Gate's suicide, they disputed with each other on the paradox that the Wise Man only is free, Cato 44 Plutarch, Cato Minor, c. x. 278 ESSAY VI. warmly supporting the Stoical side. Another 45 Athenodorus, of the same sect, but surnarned Cananites, was highly honoured by the great Augustus. Attracting the notice of the Emperor at Apollonia, where he held a school, he was invited to Rome, and had the young Claudius placed under his instruction. In his old age returning to Tarsus, he seems to have procured some advantages for his country through his influence with Augustus. Among the few works attri- buted to him there is one with an eminently Stoical title, On Earnestness and Education. Arguing by analogy from these external indications, we may imagine the Roman nation at this period imbibing Greek philosophy, or so-called philosophy, at every pore. The Romans, indeed, had not the slightest stomach for meta- physics, and in no one of their writers do we find any trace of a real acquaintance with the systems of Plato or Aristotle. But we can find abundant traces of an acquaintance with Epicurus and Chrysippus, and Panaetius and Posidonius. The inducement of the Romans in taking up with this kind of literature was twofold : first, a natural affinity for practical moralizing and maxims of life; second, a rhetorical necessity the desire to turn sentences, to be terse, apposite, and weighty. The constant practice of declamation gave an im- mense stimulus to the sermonizing tendency of the day, and as the despotism of the Empire shut up other subjects, declamation became more and more exclusively moral. In- struction under some Greek rhetorician became part of the education of a Roman youth, and in Athens, Rhodes, Mar- seilles, and Alexandria, everywhere throughout the great Roman world, Sophists and declaimers might be heard setting forth the theses of the different schools, among which 45 Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography, sub voce. PHILOSOPHY AMOXG THE ROMANS. 279 the florid paradoxes of the Stoics were no doubt most striking and attractive. The Komans who took any side in philosophy invariably became either Epicureans, Stoics, or Academics, or else, as was not unfrequent, they combined 46 the Academical opinions on knowledge with the Stoical morals and some admixture of the Stoical physics. This was the case with L. Lucullus, with M. Brutus, and Terentius Yarro. Cicero's creed we know to have been a learned and sensible eclecticism, a qualified Stoicism with a use of the Academic arguments, and an approach in some things to the Peripatetic views. Such a compound was suitable to a statesman and a man of. letters ; it exhibits acuteness, refinement, breadth of view, and an affinity to what is elevated in the different systems : but at the same time it avoids all extremes, and shuns that unity of principle on which philosophy, properly so called, depends. When such a balance as this was wanting, the Romans joined the opposite ranks of the Stoics or the Epicureans. To either side they had certain elements that inclined them. Their capacity for the physical enjoy- ment of life, their taste for rural ease and the delights of their beautiful villas, and that healthy realism which we find expressed by Lucretius, all tended to recommend the Epicurean doctrine to the Romans. And added to these predisposing causes was the fact that the first book of philosophy written in the Latin language was the work of one Amafinius, 47 setting forth Epicurism. This treatise, though of no merit according to Cicero, had immense in- fluence, and brought over the multitude to adopt its views. 4 Other works of a similar character followed, and through 48 Bitter's History of Ancient Phi- losophy (translated by Mr. Morrison), vol. iv. pp. 78, 79- 47 Cicero, Tusc. Disp. iv. in. ; Acad. Post. n. 280 ESSAY VI. their popular style took possession of the whole of Italy.' Of this phase of feeling hardly any trace remains to us, if we except the splendid poem of Lucretius, and the record of one or two great names among the Roman Epicureans, such as Atticus, the friend of Cicero, Cassius, the murderer of Caesar, L. Torquatus, and C. Velleius. Perhaps its most lasting result was the spread of ' a wisdom,' as Livy calls it, ' which had learned to despise the gods.' Epicurism was transient in Eome, like Sentimentalism in England, because alien to the national characteristics; for on the whole the Romans were far more disposed to energy and sublime virtue, and the conquest of external circumstances, than to easy and harmonious enjoyment. Without a great intel- lectual capacity for the apprehension of the universal, there was yet something abstract about their turn of mind ; this is shown in their love of law, and in the sternness of the high Roman mood. It has been often said that the old Roman worthies were unconscious Stoics. And now, from Cato to M. Aurelius, we find through the Roman empire an im- mense diffusion of Stoical principles and of the professors of Stoicism. 48 III. These professors assumed, it appears, not only dis- tinctive principles, but also certain external marks and 48 Among the most celebrated of these is to be named Q. Sextius, con- temporary with Julius Caesar, who founded a school. This school, Seneca tells us (Quasi. Nat. vii. xxxii.), began with great eclat, but soon became ex- tinct. He says of Sextius that he was ' a great man and a Stoic, although he himself denied this.' Sextius appears to have followed Pythagoras in some points, and to have enjoined absti- nence from animal food. Sotion, the disciple of Sextius, was Seneca's mas- ter, and induced him to practise this kind of asceticism at one time ; but after a year's trial of it, he was per- suaded by his father, who ' hated phi- losophy,' and who dreaded the impu- tation of certain foreign superstitions, to return to the common mode of diet. (Ep. cviii.) What is most remarkable about Sextius is his daily habit, ac- cording to Seneca (Dc Ira, m. xxxvi.), of self-examination. This shows the spirit of the times. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ROMAN STOICS. 281 badges of their sect. We read in Juvenal 49 of the * long robe ' as synonymous with Stoicism ; in Persius we read of their close-cropped hair, 50 and their look of having sat up all night ; in Tacitus, 51 of their set countenances and gait expressive of virtue. Like their Jewish counterpart, the Pharisees, they were formal, austere, pretentious, and not unfrequently hypocritical. Under the mask of asceticism, they appear sometimes to have concealed gross licentious- ness, 52 and under their sanctimonious face the blackest heart. With bitter indignation does Tacitus 53 record the perfidy of Publius Egnatius Celer, the Stoic philosopher, the client, the instructor, and the false friend of Barea Soranus, whom, with his daughter, he betrayed to Nero, by giving the lying evidence which procured their deaths. Such cases as this, however, are to be regarded like stories of the corrup- tion of priests and monks, and to be judged apart, as giving no sufficient clue to the working of the system. Partly they illustrate the maxim that t that corruption is worst which is the corruption of the best ;' partly they show that an elevated and spiritual creed is apt, by the very nobleness of its appearance, to attract unworthy followers. We may also add that, beside the antinomian tendencies which might logically be connected with this creed, 54 there was a narrow- ness in the intensity of Stoicism, and an abstract unreality about its ideas, not favourable to the development of the more human virtues. Acknowledging these things, we may turn away from this ungracious side of the system, and leave ' <9 ' Facinus majoris abollse.' Sat. iii. 115. 50 'Insomnis . . . et detonsa juventus.' Sat. iii. 54. 51 ' P. Egnatius . . . auctoritatem Sto- icse sectse praeferebat, habitu et ore ad exprimendam imaginem honesti exer- citus.' Annal. xvi. 32. S2 'Frontis nulla fides, quis enim non vicus abundat Tristibus obscoenis ? ' Juv. Sat. ii. 8. 5S Ann. xvi. 32, 33. 54 See above, p. 261. 282 ESSAY VI. it to the tender mercies of the satirists. For even externally, Stoicism, on the whole, presented a better aspect and won a better opinion than this from intelligent observers during the early Roman empire. Nothing can be more significant than the accusation brought against C. Rubellius Plautus 55 by Tigellinus. This Plautus was son of Julia, and great-grand- son of Tiberius. Becoming an object of suspicion to Nero, he retired not from the Roman world, for that was impos- sible, but from the Court to Asia, where he lived in the pursuit of the Stoic philosophy. Tigellinus, to stir up Nero's hatred against him, declared, * That man, though of immense wealth, does not even pretend a wish for enjoyment, but is always bringing forward the examples of the ancient Romans. And he has now joined to these ideas the arrogance of the Stoics a philosophy which makes men turbulent and rest- less.' It is easy to see that this accusation was a panegyric. It was followed up by an order sent from Nero that Plautus should be put to death. His friends counselled resistance, but CaBranus and Musonius Rufus, two philosophers who were with him, preached the doctrine of resignation and fortitude; and armed with their suggestions, he met his death unmoved. This manner of death and life was not confined to Plautus : the reigns of Claudius and Nero ex- hibit a constellation of noble characters, formed on the model of the younger Cato, and showing the same repub- lican front and the same practical conception of Stoicism as he did. Such were Csecina Psetus and his heroic wife Arria, who died at the command of Claudius. Such was Soranus Barea, already mentioned, and such Thrasea, and his son-in- law Helvidius. Seneca, too, in his death, at all events, must is Tacitus, Annal. xiv. 57. Cf. Plutarch, Vit. Cleom. *Ex it & Sroii'/cij \6yos irpbs ray t*.fyd\as KO! Kal fid\iffTa f Is rb olnfiov aya6i>v LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SENECA. 283 be added to the list a list of martyrs at a time when all good eminence was sure to attract the stroke. There is something perhaps theatrical and affected about the record of these death-scenes. When we think of Cato arguing on the freedom of the wise man, and then reading the Phcedo through the night, before he stabs himself; when we think of Thrasea pouring out a libation of his own blood to Jupiter the Liberator, and discoursing in his last moments with the Cynic Demetrius on immortality it seems as if these men had played somewhat studied parts. Such scenes appeal to the rhetorical faculty, rather than to the imagination and the heart. But it is the privilege of certain unhappy periods to be rhetorical. It is the privilege of patriots in miserable days to be excited, strained, unnatural. And hence we can understand how it was that from the Girondists in France the Koman Stoics obtained such sympathy and admiration. And now let us take some notice of the character and the thought of Seneca, a man who has been most differently estimated, according to the temperament of his judges, and according as he has been taken at his best or his worst. Probably we may admit almost all the accusations against him, and yet end without judging him too hardly. When just rising into success, Seneca was banished by Claudius, on an obscure charge preferred by Messalina. From Corsica, his place of banishment, he addressed what was called a ' Consolation' to Polybius, the freedman of the Emperor, on the death of his brother. Seneca's object in this ' Consolation' was to effect his own recal, and the means he used were the most fulsome and cringing terms of flattery towards Claudius. His mean adulation quite failed in obtaining his pardon ; and he was only recalled after eight years' exile, through the influence of Agrippina, who made him tutor to her son Domitius, the future emperor Nero. In the museum at 284 ESSAY VI. Naples one sees frescoes brought from Pompeii, which repre- sent a butterfly acting as charioteer to a dragon. These designs were meant to caricature the relationship of Seueca to his pupil Nero. No doubt he was drawn violently and without the power of resistance through much that was unseemly by his impetuous charge. No doubt he tried, with the help of Burrus, to keep the reins straight. But he was obliged to connive and even assist at things which made people say, with natural surprise, ' This is a strange part for a Stoic to play.' The poor painted butterfly behind the dragon could not choose what part he should play. Other things that have been complained of in Seneca are his violent re- action of spite against Claudius, shown in the satire which he wrote upon his death ; his reputed avarice, and the enormous fortune which in a short time he actually amassed under Nero ; certain scandalous intrigues, with regard to which there really is not evidence enough to enable us to say whether Seneca was guilty of them or not; and lastly, his possible complicity in the murder of Agrippina. Seneca was no Roman, but a Spaniard, and we can fancy how the milk of his flattery towards Claudius turned sour during his eight years' exile, and how deep resentment settled in his heart. With regard to his accumulating wealth when it was in his power to do so, we may perhaps explain it to ourselves, by remembering that many ecclesiastics professing a still more unworldly creed than Stoicism have done the same. With regard to his privity to the death of Agrippina, all that can be said is that Seneca was, towards the end of his career, so thoroughly scared by Nero, that all power of independent action was taken from him. Physically timid and gentle by nature, Seneca was not born to play a consistent and unyield- ing part. Considering his hideous position, we may well con- done his offences. If we study his writings, and especially THE WORKS OF SENECA. 285 bis letters, we shall see that he possessed one essentially Stoical characteristic, namely, the intense desire for advance and improvement. The picture of the inner life of Seneca, his efforts after self-discipline, his untiring asceticism, his enthusiasm for all that he esteems holy and of good report this picture, marred as it is by pedantry, and rhetoric, and vain self-conceit, yet stands out in noble contrast to the swinishness of the Campanian villas, and is in its complex entirety very sad and affecting. The works of Seneca are over-harshly judged by those who have no taste except for metaphysical philosophy, or who, expecting to find such in Seneca, have been disappointed. But if we approach these writings from a different side, and look at them historically and psychologically, as the picture of the times and the man, we find them full of interest. If we can endure being a little cloyed with excess of richness in the style, if we can pardon occasional falsity and frequent exaggeration, we shall discover in them a most fertile genius, and a vein of French wit, so to speak, which is always neat and clever, and often surprising on the tritest moral subjects. Of all sets of letters that have ever been preserved, there is none that exhibits better and more vividly the different phases of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of a mind under the dominion of a peculiar kind of thought than the Epistles of Seneca. Let us take a glance at the more striking features of their contents, and see what sort of a working in the heart was produced by Stoicism under the circumstances of the case. The Epistles of Seneca consist of one hundred and twenty- four letters, written almost continuously in the old age of their author, and all addressed to a person of the name of Lucilius. The first point to be noticed about them is their entire abstraction from all public events of the day, an abstraction very Stoical in itself, and very significant also of 286 ESSAY VI. the ungenial atmosphere of the political world. Only one allusion is there to Nero, where Seneca takes occasion (Ep. 73) to find fault with the opinion that philosophers are necessarily turbulent and refractory, and despisers of the ruling power. * On the contrary,' he says, * none are more grateful to him who affords them security and tranquillity of life. They must regard the author of these blessings in the light of a parent.' * Like Tityrus, they must say that a god has provided them tranquillity, and left their cattle to roam and themselves to play the pipe.' ' The leisure thus granted them is indeed godlike, and raises them to the level of the gods.' In such terms does Seneca appreciate the hours of gilded oppression and treacherous reprieve which were con- ceded him. Most naturally the topics of his correspondence were not political. His letters were uniformly didactic and moral. In them we see developed the passion for self- improvement and for the cultivation of others. Both by nature and from the influences of Stoicism, Seneca was essentially a schoolmaster ; it was evidently the foible of his life to be bringing some one on ; he was a pedagogue to him- self, and he wanted somebody else whom he might lecture. Of this tendency Lucilius was made the victim. On one occasion he seems to have remonstrated, and to have reminded Seneca that he was forty years of age, and rather old for schooling (Ep. 25). But Seneca will not be deterred. He says it shall not be his fault if his friend does not improve, even though the success be not very brilliant. In every shape and from every side he urges upon him cultivation, and once fairly tells him he cannot remain on the footing of friend unless he cultivates himself and improves (Ep. 35). He hails his good deeds with triumph ; rejoices to hear that Lucilius lives on terms of familiarity with his slaves (Ep. 47) 'are they not,' he asks, men like ourselves, breathing the same air, THE WORKS OF SENECA. 287 living and dying like ourselves?' praises a book he has written, lectures him on the economy of time (Ep. i); tells him to be select in his reading (Ep. 2); bids him examine himself to see whether he is progressing in philosophy or in life, since only the latter is valuable (Ep. 16); above all, exhorts him without ceasing to get rid of the fear of death, 'that chain which binds us all' (Ep. 26), though he is half afraid, as in one place he naively confesses (Ep. 30), that Lucilius may come to dread his long-winded letters more even than death itself. However, as a compensation, he pro- mises his friend that these epistles shall ensure him a literary immortality, just as the letters of Cicero had made the name of Atticus immortal (Ep. 21). Such is a specimen of the didactic element in the letters of Seneca; the indications of his own self-discipline and conscious self-culture are equally pregnant and still more characteristic. One sentence of his might be taken as the summary and expression of his entire spirit. In speaking of the state of the * advancing man' as distinguished in Stoical parlance from the * wise man,' he says (Ep. 71), 'It is a great part of advance to will to be advancing. Of this I am con- scious to myself; I will to advance, nay, I will it with my whole heart*' In the will thus fixed and bent there is often a sort of unreal triumph, independent of actual success or failure. Seneca does not conceal from us his failures in realizing his conception of philosophic behaviour. But while he confesses, he is never humbled. Rather he seems proud of detecting his own falling off. On one occasion (Ep. 87) he relates an excursion which he made into the country with a friend, and in which he says they spent ' two delightful days.' They took very few slaves, and one rustic vehicle. On meeting with persons riding in grander equipages, he tells us, he could not refrain from blushing, and secretly wished 288 ESSAY VI. that they should not think that this sordid conveyance be- longed to him. ' I have made but little progress as yet,' he sighs, * I dare not yet openly assume frugality. I mind the opinions of passers-by.' Whereupon he proceeds to lecture down this weakness in the grandest terms, and occupies many pages of a letter in proving that riches are not a good. On another occasion he recounts a voyage which he had under- taken from Naples to Puteoli (Ep. 53). In these few miles the sea became rough, and the philosopher grew sick, and, unable to endure the horrible sufferings of his position, he commanded the pilot to set him ashore. ' As soon as I had recovered my stomach,' he says, ' I began to reflect what a forgetfulness of our defects follows us about.' Pursuing this train of reasoning, he enters upon the praises of philo- sophy, and soaring far above sea-sickness, he exclaims, ' Philosophy sets one above all men, and not far behind the gods. Indeed, in one point the wise man might be said even to surpass the Deity ; for the Deity is fearless by the gift of nature, but the wise man by his own merits.' This last saying, which is often quoted against Seneca, is perhaps the most foolish thing he ever said, and must not be taken as an average specimen of his thoughts. One failure which he ascribes to himself may be justly reckoned as a merit ; for while dissuading Lucilius (Ep. 63) from overmuch grieving at the loss of a friend, he says, ' I myself so immoderately wept for Annseus Serenus, that I must rank among the bad examples of those who have been overcome by grief.' And he reflects that the reason of this weakness must have been that he had not sufficiently considered the possibility of his friend dying first. We may also attribute it to the existence in Seneca of an affectionate heart, which had not been entirely supplanted by the abstractions of Stoicism, nor entirely * sicklied o'er by the pale cast of thought.' After alluding THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 289 to cases where Seneca confessed to have fallen from the philosophic height, it is surely fair not to leave unrecorded an occasion where he effected an important triumph of the will. The kind of self-discipline chosen was somewhat surprising; it is related in the Fifty-sixth Epistle, where Seneca tells his friend that he had taken lodgings * over a bath.' He details with minuteness the various mixed and deafening sounds by which his ears were perpetually assailed. He could hear distinctly the strong fellows taking their exer- cise throwing out their hands loaded with the dumb-bells straining and groaning hissing and wheezing -breathing in every kind of unnatural way at another moment some one having his shoulders slapped by the shampooer a hue and cry after a thief a man practising his voice in the bath people leaping and splashing down into the water the various cries of the piemen and sellers of baked meats, as they vended their wares and several other sounds, to all of which Seneca compelled his mind to be inattentive, being concentrated on itself. The power of abstraction gained by such a discipline he seems to have thought very valuable. At the end of his \ letter, he declares that as the experiment is quite successful, and as the sounds are really abominable, he has now deter- mined to change his quarters. About such moral peddling as this, there is of course nothing great. But the spirit which actuates it is in its origin deep and good, and is only not admirable when it becomes perverted. The conscious desire for moral progress becomes unfortunately very easily perverted ; it degenerates too often into small self-analysis, and that weak trifling which is most utterly opposed to real progression. We find Seneca remaining in his moral nature a strange mixture of the pedant and the schoolboy ; on the one hand always teaching himself, and on the other hand with everything to learn ; and u 290 ESSAY VI. yet still, with all its imperfections, we may question whether this attitude is not more human and better than anything like an Epicurean acquiescence and content in one's nature as it is. That self-reflection, that communing of man with his own heart, which the tendencies of Stoicism and the course of the world's history had now made common, pro- duced in Seneca occasionally intuitions into the state of the human race, which he expresses in language curious to meet with in the writings of a Pagan. He says (De dementia, i. vi.): * Conceive in this vast city, where without cease a crowd pours through the broadest streets, and like a river dashes against anything that impedes its rapid course this city, that consumes the grain of all lands what a solitude and desolation there would be if nothing were left save what a severe judge could absolve of fault ! We have all sinned (peccavimus omnes), some more gravely, others more lightly ; some from purpose, others by chance impulse, or else carried away by wickedness external to them ; others of us have wanted fortitude to stand by our resolutions, and have lost our innocence unwillingly and not without a struggle. Not only we have erred, but to the end of time we shall continue to err. Even if anyone has already so well purified his mind that nothing can shake or decoy him any more, it is through sinning that he has arrived at this state of innocence.' Those who have been anxious to obtain the authority of Aristotle for the doctrine of ' human corruption ' will find on consideration that this idea, which was historically impossible for a Greek of the fourth century B.C., came with sufficient vividness into the consciousness of persons in the position of Seneca, but not till much later than Aristotle, probably not before the beginning of our era. On the other hand, we are not to fancy that the thoughts of Seneca received any in- THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 291 fluence from Christianity. The stories of his intercourse with St. Paul are merely mythical. We learn from passages like that above quoted, not that Seneca had any acquaintance with Christian doctrines, but that some of the thoughts and feelings which St. Paul had about the world were held also by Pagans contemporaneous with him. There is one more characteristic of the letters of Seneca which ought not to be left unmentioned, and that is, the way in which they are perpetually overshadowed by the thought of death. The form assumed by this meditatio 'mortis is a constant urging of arguments against fearing to die. These arguments are, as might be expected, infinitely varied and ingenious. ' Death,' he says, ' lurks under the name of life. It begins with our infancy.' ' It is a great mistake to look forward to death, since a great part of it is already over. "We die daily' (Ep. i). 'Death is no punishment, but the law of nature.' * Children and idiots do not fear death, why can- not reason attain to that security which folly has achieved ? ' (Ep. 36). 'Death is the one port in a stormy sea it is either end or transition (aut finis est aut transitus) it brings us back to where we were before birth it must be a gain or nothing.' ' The apparatus of death is all a cheat ; if we tear off the mask, there is nothing fearful.' 'Behind fire and steel and the ferocious crowd of executioners there is death hiding merely death, which my slave or my waiting-maid has just despised' (Ep. 24). Not content with bringing forward these considerations dissuasive of terror, Seneca in other places does all he can to familiarize the mind with the idea of suicide. He says, ' There is nothing more contempti- ble than to wish for death. Why wish for that which is in your power ? die at once, if you wish to do so' (Ep. 117). He relates with approbation the suicide of his friend Marcel- linus, who being oppressed with a long and troublesome u 2 292 ESSAY VI. invalidism, was recommended by a Stoic to give up the trivial round of life ; whereupon, having distributed his goods among his weeping slaves, he effected death by a three-da^s' abs- tinence from food, betaking himself to a hot bath when his body was exhausted, wherein he fainted and died (Ep- 77). Other instances of self-destruction are scattered through the letters of Seneca, some of which give a sad illustration to the unhappiness of the times. It seems to have been not uncommon for the wretched captives who were doomed to the conflicts of the arena to steal themselves away, some- times by the most revolting modes of death. And it is surely a miserable sign when cultivated men of the day look on such deeds with pleasure and admiration. So great was the ten- dency to suicide under Claudius and Nero, that even Seneca on one occasion acknowledges that it is excessive. He says, ' We ought not to hate life any more than death, we ought not to sink into that mere life- weariness to which many are prone who see nothing before them but an unvarying routine of waking and sleeping, hungering and eating.' But the majority of Seneca's arguments are in the other direction. They are the results of a deep sense of unhappiness and insecurity, which existed side by side with his philosophic self-complacency. They were connected, on the one hand, with a timidity of nature and a real love of life ; on the other hand, with a presentiment of evil and a sense of the necessity of preparing for the worst. When death suddenly and actually came upon Seneca, like Cicero, he met it with fortitude, in spite of his timidity, and probably not on account of his previous reasonings, but from an innate elevation of mind called out on emergency. We have observed that Seneca spoke of death as ' either end or transition ;' this sums up his views of the future under an alternative. But his real ten- dency was to Platonic visions of the soul freed from the EPICTETUS. 293 trammels of the body and restored to freedom. He is un- willing that Lucilius should arouse him from the * pleasant dream' of immortality. He likes to expatiate on the tran- quillity of mind and absolute liberty which await us ' when we shall have got away from these dregs of existence into the sublime condition on high.' 56 It is a great contrast if we turn from Seneca to Epictetus. It is going from the florid to the severe, from varied feeling to the impersonal simplicity of the teacher, often from idle rhetoric to devout earnestness. No writings of Epictetus remain, but only (what is perhaps equally interesting for us) records of his didactic conversations, preserved as near as pos- sible in his own words by Arrian, the historian, who studied under him at Nicopolis. Epictetus was a lame slave, the pro- perty of Epaphroditus, who was himself the freedman and the favourite of Nero. While yet a slave, Epictetus was won over to the Stoic doctrine by Musonius Kufus. 57 Obtaining his * We have not entered upon the analysis of Seneca's philosophical works, because, in short, they are not speculative and philosophical, but of the same moralizing stamp as his letters. It is, however, just to pay a tribute to the force of imagination shown by him in preconceiving the physical discoveries of future ages (see his Naturales Qiuestiones, vn. xxxi.). ' Quam multa animalia hoc primum cognovimus saeculo ! quam multa neg- otia ne hoc quidem ! Multa venientis aevi populus ignota nobis sciet. Multa saeculis tune futuris, cum memoria nos- tri exoleverit, reservantur.' Through his vividness of mind, this Spaniard of the first century has got the credit of predicting elsewhere, in terms re- markably coincident, the discovery of America. " Musonius Rufus, whom we have noticed before as the companion of Rubellius Plautus in Asia, ' returned from exile on the accession of Galba; and when Antonius Primus, the gene- ral of Vespasian, was marching upon Rome, he joined the ambassadors that were sent by Vitellius to the victorious general, and going among the soldiers of the latter, descanted upon the bless- ings of peace and the dangers of war, but was soon compelled to put an end to his unseasonable eloquence.' (Smith's Diet, of Greek and Roman Biog.) He afterwards obtained the condemnation of Publius Celer, the traducer of Barea, (Tac. Hist. in. 81 ; iv. 10, 40.) Fragments of his philo- sophy are preserved by Stobsus. 294 ESSAY VI. freedom, he taught in Rome, and afterwards, when the philo- sophers were banished from the city by Domitian, in Nicopolis of Epirus. What is most striking about his discourses is their extremely religious spirit, and the gentle purity of the doc- trines they advocate. In them Stoicism reached its culmina- tion, and attained an almost entirely un-pagan character ; its harsher traits were abandoned, and while Epictetus draws the picture of the wise man under the name of Cynic, there is hardly a trace of anything cynical in the life which he recom- mends. To mention the subjects of some of his discourses may serve to give an idea of their nature. The following headings strike the eye : ' On things in our power and not in our power.' * How to preserve one's own character in everything.' ' How to follow out the conception that God is Father of mankind.' * On moral advance.' ' On Providence.' * On equanimity.' ' How to do all things pleasing to the Gods.' * What part of a sin is one's own.' * On moral training.' As might be conjectured, there is nothing speculative in these discourses. Epictetus both received and imparted philosophy as a fulfilling of the needs of the soul, not as a mere develop- ment of the intellect. His words on this and other subjects present very often a strange coincidence with the language of the Gospel. He says (Dissert, n. xi. i), 'The beginning of philosophy is the consciousness of one's own weakness and inability with regard to what is needful.' * The school of the philosopher is a physician's house ; you should not go out from it pleased, but in pain. For you come not whole, but sick one diseased in his shoulder and another in his head ' (Dissert, in. xxiii. 30). 'Young man, having once heard these words, go away, and say to yourself, ' Epictetus has not spoken them to me (from whence came they to him?), but some kind god by his means. It would not have come into the mind of Epictetus to say these things, since he is not EPICTETUS. 295 accustomed to reason with anyone. Come, then, let us obey (rod, lest we should move God to anger." 38 * The true Cynic should recollect that he is sent as a messenger from Zeus to men, to declare to them concerning things good and evil, and to show them that they seek good where it is not to be found, and where it is to be found they do not desire it' (Dissert. III. xxii. 23). With regard to the manifestations of Providence, Epictetus says (Dissert, i. 16, 19) : ' What, then; since ye are all blind, is there not need of one who should fill up this place, and sing in behalf of you all the hymn to God ? Of what else am I capable, who am a lame old man, except to sing the praises of God ? Were I a nightingale, I would do as the nightin- gale ; were I a swan, I would do as the swan. But now, since I have reason, I must sing of God. This is my office, and I perform it, nor will I leave my post, as far as in me lies, and I exhort you to join in the same song.' * If anyone will properly feel this truth, that we are all especially born of God, and that God is the father of men and gods, I think that such an one will henceforth allow no mean or unworthy thoughts about himself. If Caesar were to adopt you, would not your pride be unbearable ; and now that you are the son of Zeus, will you not be elated ? ' (Dissert, i. 3, i). Such sayings as these are a specimen of the vein of piety which runs through the teachings of Epictetus. In moral life, he exhorts to purity, equanimity, and forgiveness of in- juries. He draws a broad line of distinction between things in our power and things out of our power. Within our power are the will and our opinion of things ; beyond our power, the body, possessions, authority, and fame. The will itself no- thing can touch ; bonds, imprisonment, and death itself, do 58 'tva. fj.rj 0ee>x<5A.wTot S>fj.tv (Dissert, in- i. 36). 296 ESSAY VI. not impair the internal freedom of the will. Lameness im- pedes the leg, but not the will. True wisdom and happiness consist in placing all one's thoughts and hopes on things within our power, that is to say, on the will itself and the internal consciousness. This attitude will render happiness impregnable, for the wise man will enter no contest save where he is sure of the victory. In an exaltation of. the will, and in thus withdrawing into its precincts, the Stoicism of Epictetus declares itself. To some extent he provided an objective side for his thought, by the pious and theological reflections which he introduced into his philosophy. But these were not sufficiently made to per- vade his whole system, and with regard to the question of immortality he contented himself, as far as we know, with certain brief remarks, implying the utter resolution of per- sonality after death. ' Come,' he says, ' but whither ? to nothing dreadful, but only to what is near and dear to thee, to the elements whence thou hast sprung ' (Diss. in. xiii. 14). ' This is death, a mighty change, not into the non-existent, but into what is now non-existent. ' Shall / then not exist?' No, thou wilt not exist, but something else of which the universe has need ' (Diss. in. xxiv. 94). While placing the will in our own power, Epictetus at the same time adopted an entirely necessarian scheme. He followed Plato in making vice the result of ignorance, and he considered that men dif- fered from brutes, not in freedom, but only in consciousness (Diss. ii. viii. 4). The same spirit as that of Epictetus the slave expresses itself in Marcus Aurelius the emperor, whose thoughts have come down to us in the shape of a monologue in twelve books. These two last great Stoical writers appear both to have been influenced by Neo-Platonic views> for which Stoicism, on its spiritual side, had -a considerable affinity. The weakness of humanity is a leading idea with M. Aurelius. MARCUS AURELIUS. 297 ' Of human life,' he says (ii. 17), ' the duration is a point ; the substance is fleeting ; the perception is dim ; the fabric of the body is corruptible, the soul is an idle whirling ; for- tune is inscrutable, and fame beyond our judgment. In short, all that there is of the body is a stream, and all that there is of the soul is a dream and a smoke. Life is a war, and a lodging in a strange country ; the name that we leave behind us is forgetfulness. What is there, then, that can conduct us ? Philosophy alone. ... Oh, my soul ! wilt thou ever be good, and simple, and one, and naked, and more transparent than the body which clothes thee ? Wilt thou ever be full and without a want, desiring nothing, hankering after no- thing, whether animate or inanimate, for the enjoyment of pleasure, but content with thy present condition?' (x. I.) Such are the mystical ecstasies into which Antoninus rises in communing with himself. With these, honest self-examina- tions and humility of feeling are often combined, and the whole is tempered by a cold spirit of Stoical resignation. Of the philosophy of the Emperor we need not add anything further beyond one slight point, namely, that we find in him 59 the same psychological division of man into body, soul, and spirit, as was employed by St. Paul. The mode of ex- pression, however, is slightly different, showing that there was no direct borrowing, but only a general community of view. We may take our leave of the monologue of Antoninus by quoting from it his feeling about the Christian martyrs. ' The soul,' he says, ' wtien it must depart from the body, should be ready to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or to b ' J "O T( iroTf Tov-r6 fl/j.1 Kal irviVfjuLrLov KO.ITO Tjyefj.ovtK6i' (ii. 2). Cf. iii. 1 6. 2i/ua, ijx^> v v s x ii- 3. Tpio iff-rlv ^| aij/ ovv4ffTj]Ka.s, ff(afj.d,Tiov, Trvfvfj.a.riov, vovs. Cf. St. Paul, Thcssal. I. v. 23. To irvfufna Kal y tyvx^l Kal TO ffS>/jM. The irvev/Ma. of St. Paul answers to the vovs or T/'ye/u.oj't/cdV of Antoninus. 298 ESSAY VI. subsist a while longer with the body. But this readiness must proceed from its own judgment, and not from mere obstinacy, as with the Christians ; it must be arrived at with reflection and dignity, so that you could even convince another without declamation ' (xi. 3). In Marcus Aurelius we appear at first sight to have the desire of Plato fulfilled. We see a philosopher on the throne. But even absolute power does not give influence or sway. Plato wished the whole State to bend and turn under the con- trol of omnipotent wisdom, as the limbs of a man would follow the impulses of his mind. But very far was Marcus Aurelius from being gifted with that sort of electric force which could put itself out and transform the world, even if the Eoman empire were not too huge and too corrupt for such a process. Philosophy in general must be considered as some- thing incapable of coming immediately into contact with politics and practical life, and the philosophy of Antoninus consisted peculiarly in a withdrawal from the world, in self- examination, moral progress, and thoughts about Grod. While the Emperor was thus busied more with his own soul than with penetrating State reforms, the world enjoyed a halcyon time. The ruler was mild, just, and forgiving ; he had only one deficiency, but that the greatest which could possibly attach to him, namely, an utter want of insight into charac- ter. The sole exception to his clemency was that excited probably by the narrow malignance of his fellow Stoics he condescended to persecute the Christians. The adoration of the people showed how much the gentleness of Marcus Aurelius was appreciated, but it is not the mild monarchs who leave permanent blessings to their country. Among his most public tastes seems to have been a fondness for juris- prudence; he produced several volumes of Constitutions. This province of industry was the one most attractive of the STOICISM AKD ROMAN LAW. 299 day. In the absence of literature, Koman jurisprudence is the one great and lasting product of the age of the Antonines. And now a word must be said upon an often mooted and never thoroughly discussed subject the influence of the Stoic philosophy upon Koman law. Acquaintance with Grecian philosophy in general began at Rome contempo- raneously with a change in the laws. The first epoch of Roman law was an epoch of rigid forms, and a narrow but coherent system, exclusively adapted to Roman citizens. Com- merce and conquest made it necessary that law should widen so as to embrace the inhabitants of the Italian States. Hence the growth of the praetor's adjudicating power. By degrees the decisions of the prastors in regard to the hitherto over- exclusive laws of property, and the rights of persons born out of the Roman city, grew up into a body of equity by the side of the civil law. This body of equity, which was framed on the principles of natural reason, of course reflected the highest general enlightenment and the most cultivated ideas of the jurisconsults of the day. We have already seen that during the first and second centuries B.C. the most eminent Romans attached themselves to the direct study of Greek philosophy. To the list of the disciples of the Stoics we may add some names more immediately connected with jurisprudence. Q. Mutius ScaBvola (as well as Q. ^Elius Tubero) appears to have been among the hearers of Pana3tius. C. Aquilius Grallus and Lucilius Balbus, distinguished jurisconsults of the time of Cicero, studied again under Scasvola; and Balbus, who in Cicero's De Naturd Deorum is made the expositor of the Stoical view, was teacher of Servius Sulpicius. Equity at- tained in the eyes of such persons an immense preference over the civil law. To this tendency of opinions Cicero gave a great stimulus, maintaining, as he did always, that justice must be based on humanity and reason, and ' that the source 300 ESSAY VI. and rule of right were not to be sought in the laws of the Twelve Tables, but in the depths of the human 60 intelligence.' Now, if we wish to form an idea to ourselves of the sort of way in which philosophy at Rome influenced jurisprudence, we may think of the philosophy of Cicero, that is, a philo- sophy not exclusively Stoical, but eclectic, practical, and human. Even the philosophers of the Stoic school them- selves were by this time, as we have seen, all eclectic. Much more, then, would the lawyers avoid any rigid adherence to one set of formulae ; they would be sure to accept a certain mixture and modification of views. A number of humane and enlightened principles were now diffused, and it is per- haps true that the most noble of these ideas were due to Stoicism as, for instance, the cosmopolitan thought, that the world is our State, and that mankind are of one race, being all the children of God. But it is true also that the general course of history had tended to foster and develope this and other ideas which Stoicism forcibly enunciated. In the growth, then, of the Roman ' Jus Grentium,' and in the amelioration and softening of many austere legal usages (as, for instance, the absolute authority of fathers over their children), we see not simply and solely the influence of Stoicism, but of a generally enlightened practical philo- sophy, in which Stoicism was not more than an important element. But besides the material alterations which oc- curred in the spirit of the Roman laws, besides the era of the Jus Prsetorium, we must look in another direction to the era of * codification,' if we wish to trace philosophical influences. An eminent authority maintains that ' the Stoical philosophy was to Roman jurisprudence what Benthamism has been to English law' namely, a directing influence 60 Mr. Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire, vol. ii. p. 528. STOICISM AND ROMAN LAW. 301 that came into play in the absence of any absolutely deter- mining causes. These two principles of action might be said to be diametrically opposite to each other ; for Benthamism, which looks to utility, commences with the concrete ; while it is the essence of Stoicism to take an abstract point of view. The political writings of Zeno and Chrysippus are lost, and we know not the details of the ' universal state ' as conceived by the former, but we may be sure that if Stoicism had had the framing of the laws for the Eoman empire entrusted to its hands, there would have been a logical deduction from the principle of the natural freedom and equality of the whole human race. But what do we find ? That slavery, even under Justinian, was mitigated, and not abolished ; that men of different ranks were not equal in the sight of the law ; that the civil incapacity of women (which Zeno had denied) still remained ; that the application of cruel punishments, and even of torture, were treated by the new codes in a way which showed more a respect for existing usage and for the old statutes than a disposition to legislate synthetically from philosophical principles. * Grams, Ulpian, Papinian, and Paul us, appear very timid by the side of Seneca and Epictetus.' 61 Perhaps this belongs of necessity to the progress of jurisprudence, that it must not break too hastily with the past ; but we are obliged, if this view be correct, to confine the influence of Stoicism on Koman law to the introduction of an idea of form, to the endeavour to bring the actual under tha scope of certain abstract formula. We must not expect to find the logical and systematic development of these formulae, but rather we must recognise a frequent antithesis between abstract principles and the 61 M. Denis, Histoire des Theories et des Idees Morales dans VAntiquiti, vol. ii. p. 115. Paris, 1856. 302 ESSAY VI. details where one might have expected them to be applied. And yet again it appears, if we look a little further, that the philosophical ideas to which the Jurists appealed, though not immediately triumphant over all other considerations in the Roman Code, did yet in some cases come into direct application ; and what is of far more importance, that these principles, being enunciated with reverence, were held up for the admiration of posterity, and so came to exert an in- fluence on the whole bearing of subsequent jurisprudence. When we read in the Digest the stately preamble concerning the Jus Naturale which nature has taught all animals, and which is prior even to the Jus Gentium prevailing among the human race we are apt to be most struck with the abstract and, we might almost say, futile appearance of such a principle, followed out afterwards with so little consistency. But the idea of the * Law of Nature,' enunciated here and elsewhere in the Roman Code, being taken up by Grrotius and the Continental Jurists, became a leading idea of juris- prudence, the characteristic principle of a particular school, and the antithesis of Benthamism. What is the meaning of this conception, the 'Law of Nature,' and whether it has any reality or value as separate from, or opposed to, utility and experience, is a matter of keen debate amongst philoso- phical Jurists. It is not the province of the present Essay to enter upon this question. That which is our concern we may dismiss with only two remarks of recapitulation : First, the idea of the Law of Nature, as introduced into the Roman law, was not by any means purely Stoical, but was the result of the general growth of ideas in the first century B.C., and was vividly apprehended by the eclectic and practical Cicero ; second, this idea, though subsequently so influential, was not by any means uniformly applied in the details of the Corpus Juris. DEBT OF MODEKX TIMES TO THE STOICS. 303 Whatever fragments of Stoicism were preserved in the Koman law descended, no doubt, as a contribution not only to modern law, but also to modern morals. In other channels the direct connexion of our own thoughts with the ancient Stoics is hard to trace, because, long before modern thought began a separate existence, Stoicism had sunk into the world, and had influenced the ideas of men far beyond its own im- mediate school. But in acknowledging the influence of ancient civilization at all, in acknowledging the impress of Cicero and Tacitus, and even of the Fathers of the Church, we acknowledge to an appreciable extent a debt to Stoicism. This, while arising in a form of a Greek philosophy, was at the same time a reaction against the Grecian and the philo- sophical spirit. Hence its affinity to modern feelings. We have seen how it held up the delights of an inner life as preferable to all tangible and palpable enjoyments, however innocent they might be ; we have seen how it drew the mind away from external realities into an abstract ideal ; how it delighted in the conception of moral progress and the triumph of the will ; how it developed the thought of duty and the responsibility of the individual ; how, deserting the restrictions of national politics, it raised itself to conceive of all mankind as one brotherhood, each member standing in direct relation to God ; finally, we have seen how, following its natural tendencies, Stoicism became more and more exclusively theological in its views. To some extent, then, this doctrine supplied the needs of the human soul and the want of a spiritual religion. Eunning parallel with Christianity, and quite uninfluenced by it, it yet exhibited the development of pure, gentle, and unworldly thoughts in the mind. It showed us how high it was possible for the Pagans to reach. At the same time it bore upon its face its own imperfection, its onesidedness, and its unnatural and paradoxical character. 304 ESSAY VI. While Stoicism passed away, the Stoical spirit has con- tinued, and still continues to reproduce itself in the world. This spirit, in its extremest form, animates the various religious ascetics Fakirs, Trappists, and the like. The Society of Jesus, like the school of the Stoics, was founded by men the intensity of whose moral will was more pro- minent than the fineness of their intellect. The parallel presented by Calvinism in its external gloom and its high necessarianism to the Stoical system has been already hinted at, and might be followed out at length. The Puritans stood to the Cavaliers much as the Stoics to the Epicureans. We might say that, changing sides, the same spirit manifested itself in the recurring austerities of the High-Church party, only here the attention to ceremonial showed a susceptibility to what is external alien from the Stoical tendency. Stoicism is essentially abstract ; hence it is ungenial to the imagina- tion and unfavourable to poetry. While the Epicurean school could boast of Lucretius as their poet, the ancient Stoics had only the crabbed satires of Persius and the rhetorical verses of Lucan to set against him. In modern times two great works of the imagination have been claimed for the Stoical side, that is, for the Puritans ; namely, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and Milton's Paradise Lost. These works coming from such a source must be said to be exceptional ; though in the last resort no form of our religion is to be treated as if absolutely like Stoicism, or absolutely wanting in the objective element. However, in each of the works in ques- tion, traces of the spirit to which we refer can be readily traced : in Bunyan the basis of the whole conception is abstract, it is a detailed picture or history of an inner life ; in Milton, also, the imaginativeness is sublime, but cold and unearthly, and the inspiration is drawn rather from a rich learning than from vivid impressions of external MERITS AJfD DEFECTS OF STOICISM. 305 life. Stoicism, while deficient in that sensuous impressive- ness which is necessary for poetry, is, on the other hand, extremely suitable for rhetoric, for splendid didactic preach- ing, for patriotic invocations, for historical tableaux. To this cause we may attribute the partiality manifested by the French, that nation with such perfect rhetoric and so little poetry, for the ancient Stoics and all belonging to them. In fact, the works of Seneca read like a fine French sermon, and Cato and Thrasea were a model to the Girondists. On quite other grounds we may say that there is a Stoical tinge also in the English character. It might be enough to allege that Puritanism is English ; but independently of religious feeling, the tendency 'to shun delights and live laborious days,' to sacrifice life to an idea of success, this is Stoical because it is abstract. Of the spirit of Stoicism we may now take our leave, having seen in its various manifestations what it is. Existing by itself it is narrow and harsh, it has too great an affinity to pride and egotism, it is too repressive of the spontaneous feelings, of art, and poetry, and geniality of life. On the other hand, it is the stimulus to live above the world. Hence while the bare Stoical spirit, in whatever form, produces only an imperfect and repulsive character, a certain leaven of it, to say the least, is necessary ; else would, a man be wanting in all effort and aspiration of mind. ESSAY VII. On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern Systems. trace fully the historical relations of Aristotle's Ethics forwards as well as backwards would imply first an exami- nation of the Stoical system to see how in it the Ethical idea was developed. Then we should require to consider broadly the action of Christianity upon the philosophic thought of the world ; to trace in the Alexandrian schools the mingling of various elements, and to ask what in the thought of these schools was lasting and germinant, and what was only tem- porary and isolated. We should have to observe the condition of philosophy within the pale of the Church itself, to notice the awakening of the question of free-will in connection with the heresy of Pelagius ; to see how Aristotle, at first excom- municated and kept aloof by the Church, was afterwards re- ceived for the sake of his method, and then almost incor- porated with Christianity ; to see how, when he was now taken up, his point of view had been lost, and how, accord- ingly, Aristotle's words were used to set forth the point of view of the schoolmen ; how his logical, metaphysical, and ethical formulae became stamped upon the language of the world ; how at the revival of learning there was a reaction against the garbled Aristotelian philosophy of the schoolmen, which indiscriminately fell upon Aristotle himself; how in Bacon and Descartes modern philosophy took a fresh start with two divergent but highly fruitful and important ten- dencies ; how Ethics also began anew quite independently of MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 307 ancient philosophy, with a fresh problem and a deeper eye. We should find Ethics now predominated over by two per- vading and all-important conceptions, the product of ten centuries of theology, namely, the will of God, and the will of man. We should see how the first speculative Ethics of modern times, in the persons of Spinoza and Leibnitz, essayed to fix the relation to each other of these two con- ceptions by the attainment of some higher conception in which they might both be solved ; how the freedom of the will was pertinaciously, but less philosophically, re-asserted by Cudworth; how in the eighteenth century a smaller question was mooted, one, however, that was quite distinct from the ancient Ethical point of view, namely, the ground of action, whether selfishness or utility, or an internal so- called authoritative principle conscience or the moral sense; how this was variously argued, not on a metaphysical but a psychological basis, by Hobbes, Cudworth, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Butler, Mandeville, Adam Smith, Hume, and Paley; how Kant taking up the question endeavoured to throw aside, as unworthy, all external motives and induce- ments to right action, and to reduce all to the idea of duty, existing as an a priori law of the will. It is obvious that to fill up the outline which we have here merely indicated would require, not an Essay, but a Volume. At the same time it would be writing the history, not of Aristotle's Ethics, but of modern moral philosophy. All we need at present is to make, it felt, that between the point from which Aristotle started in writing his Ethics, and that from which any thinker of the present day or of the last two cen- turies would commence, a great interval is set, an interval, too, full of powerful influences, during which the whole spirit of the world has been changed. The influence of Aristotle himself is no doubt one of those that has worked upon the x 2 308 ESSAY VII. history of our thought, but only as one influence among many. It would then be an utter ignoring of facts and of the growth of the human mind if we were to try to read Aristotle's book merely as if it were a modern treatise, or to set him side by side with some modern writer and to ask, Does Aristotle agree with Bishop Butler (for instance) on this or that question, without having first recognized the essential differ- ence in their points of view. Perhaps the simplest way to set this difference in its strongest light will be to take some modern system, and place an outline of its contents in comparison and in contrast with Aristotle. Let us take, for instance, Dugald Stewart's Philo- sophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man, as being not deeply speculative and original, but at the same time able, clear, and learned, and therefore representing fairly the general run of modern Ethical science. Dugald Stewart, at the commencement of this work, proposes to begin with an analysis of the f active propensities ' of men, ' on account of the intimate relation which this analysis bears to the theory of morals, and its practical connection with our opinions on the duties and the happiness of human life. Indeed,' says Dugald Stewart, 'it is in this way alone that the light of nature enables us to form any reasonable conclusions con- cerning the ends and destination of our being, and the pur- poses for which we were sent into the world : Quid sumus et quidnam victuri gigni/mur. It forms, therefore, a necessary introduction to the science of Ethics, or rather is the founda- tion on which that science rests.' This passage set forth its writer's view of the method of Ethics, also of their matter or contents. The method, then, of Ethics, according to Dugald Stewart, is entirely psycho- logical ; our only source of knowledge consists in an analysis of ' the active propensities ' of the human mind. This is MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 309 very different from the procedure of Aristotle, who establishes his leading principle for Ethics, his conception of the prac- tical chief good, long before he commences any psychological divisions. It is true, indeed, that Aristotle gave the first im- pulse to psychology, but it was all wavering and tentative with him, and never harmonized into a completed system. In one place you have the division of the -ty-vyr] into rational, irrational, and semi-rational (J^&TS^OV \6jov) ; at another place a division into Svvapis, Trddos, egis ; then a psychology of the will with the distinctions of j3ov\ijs Bei, &c. Perhaps the most striking use of this term occurs Eth. in. i. 24, where it is argued that all desires cannot be involuntary, because there are some things one ought to desire (aroirov 8e l'a-o)s TO aKovdvai &v Set optyscrffai}. This implies the connection between duty or responsibility and the freedom of MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 313 the will. But the conception contained in this argument is not developed by Aristotle, as it might have been, systemati- cally. It is a human instinct to say, ' We ought (Ssl) to do some things;' but all that is contained in this word, 'ought,' had not been made explicit in the time of Aristotle, and certainly it was as yet by no means a leading conception. The foundation of the Ethical notion of duty is partly owing to the Stoics; but, undoubtedly, the whole idea of moral obligation and individual responsibility, which goes to make up its full significance, has taken hold of the thought of man- kind through, and by reason of, the long influence of religion and theology. This deep conception is now an heir-loom of moral philosophers, they cannot get rid of it, any more than a man can return to the unconsciousness of a child. The inheritance, then, of this conception forms the first great difference between modern Ethical philosophers and Aristotle. However comparatively feeble may be the individual thought of any modern thinker, there is yet a sort of background to his system provided by the spirit of the age ; a conception which he cannot help availing himself of, which, through no merit of his own, is on the whole deeper than anything which Aristotle had attained to. In modern times the system, or parts of the system, are often far greater than the individual thinker. The question of Ethics which has most exercised and divided the moderns is one that in Aristotle's day bad never been mooted, namely, Why are we obliged to do any particular right action instead of its contrary ? The answers to this question are virtually only two. The assignable reasons reduce themselves, in short, to (i) utility, (2) duty. Against those who assigned utility as the ground of moral obligation, it was urged, that the idea of utility could never give rise to the idea of obligation. To this Paley replied that you must 314 ESSAY VII. take into your calculation of utility some account of the consequences in another world, that is to say, of the rewards and punishments appointed by God. This fuller notion of utility, he argued, would completely explain all that was meant by obligation. In Bishop Butler's sermons a wavering account seems to be given. The inducements to right action are partly eudaBmonistic it being urged that virtue is for our interest even in this life, and how much more for our interest in case there be rewards and punishments hereafter partly they appeal to the authority of conscience. Only, what is the exact nature of conscience ; how it pronounces ; whether it be infallible ; what is its relation to the will and the reason ; and many other difficulties that might be started, Bishop Butler leaves unexplained. In these specimens of eighteenth-century Ethics we may see how little a philosophical point of view was maintained or even aimed at. Why should not Paley have taken his stand on the inherent desire for the good, inalienable from every creature, and which obliges it to pursue the course most con- ducive to the good? Why should not Butler, if he per- ceived so strongly the existence in us of this authoritative principle taking cognizance of the right, have been content to develope its nature, and to base all inducement to action upon obedience to its mandates ? Even though Aristotle himself was occasionally prone to empiricism, and to falling away from the highest point of view, yet we feel that in his principle of the chief good and of the end there is something philosophical which we utterly miss in the views above mentioned. If Aristotle could possibly ever have had the question of moral obligation put before him, we can fancy how much more great and penetrating would have been the answer given. Turning from these English divines, who were most excellent writers but not profound philosophers, HANTS ETHICS. 315 to the German thinker, Kant, we find in him no lack of endeavour to maintain a philosophical point of view. He at once discards all external inducements to action, reduces virtue to a state of the will, and the law of action to an a priori mandate of the will itself. It is true, that in carry- ing out this system, Kant is led into certain inconsistencies. He is unable to give his a priori law of duty any content, without going to experience, and asking what will be the effect if such and such a course of action were to become universal ? He seems also to think that the idea of a future life is necessary to supplement the morality of this present world, a view which is a little inconsistent with his former discarding of all notions of happiness, or of external reward for virtue. In spite of its defects and irregularities, Kant's Metaphysics of Ethics is a fine book, in which a noble and stern conception of duty is upheld, and in which there is an attempt at least to obtain a central point of view, and to give expression to some one deep principle of man's moral nature. As compared with Aristotle, Kant's characteristics are prominent. They consist in an intensifying to the utmost of the great modern ethical conception, the individual will. Kant says, ' The only good thing in the world is a good will.' We saw before (pp. 174 and 208) that he found fault with Aristotle for basing Ethics on eudsemonism, and for assigning a merely quantitative difference between virtue and vice. But we also saw there was a certain degree of misunder- standing in these criticisms upon Aristotle. When we look narrowly into it, we find that Aristotle asserts the only good to be 'an act of the consciousness duly harmonized ; ' and that if ideally he requires this to be prolonged through a life, and assisted by external good fortune, he practically speaks (Efh. I. x. 12; in. ix. 4) of the triumph of the internal consciousness over adverse external circumstances. Kant, 316 ESSAY VII. then, hardly does justice to the depth of Aristotle's moral conception. But it remains true, that the starting-point of the two philosophers was broadly different that Aristotle started with the question of his day, What is the practical chief good or, as it is popularly called, Happiness? and only gradually, by thought and the progress of his own analysis, came to assign a definition which is really above the vulgar conception of happiness. Kant, on the contrary, commencing with the stern and sublime idea of Duty due to the deeper thought of modern time, and wishing to free this from all considerations of external reward and happiness, comes round in the end to take in some account of con- sequences, and to supplement his view with the hopes of a future life thus testifying, perhaps, that the good and the right are ultimately inseparable conceptions for Ethics. We have seen above that Aristotle's principle of * the mean,' objected to by Kant, is a sufficient expression of the objective law of virtue, but only insufficient to express the subjective side of right action the feeling of duty, the attitude assumed by the will and consciousness in relation to a moral act. Kant commences burthened with the notion of obligation ; this he proceeds to analyse. Aristotle, writing as it were in the childhood of the world, commences with an idea of the beautiful and the good in human life and action, and of the inner joy of the human mind. Another question of modern Ethics, also mooted by the Stoics, but developed in its full proportions since, is the question of the freedom of the will. This may have two bearings either theological, in relation to the will of (rod ; or metaphysical, in relation to the law of cause and effect in the order of nature. How is the freedom of the will com- patible with the omnipotence of God? How is it recon- cileable with the unalterable sequence of cause and effect in NARROWNESS OF ARISTOTLE'S SYSTEM. 317 nature ? Is the will a cause only, or is it also an effect ? The various answers to these questions, in modern times, it would be out of place to discuss. The only thing to be observed here is, that the questions themselves are virtually excluded from consideration in the Ethics of Aristotle. That all theological or metaphysical considerations with regard to the freedom of the will should be set aside by Aristotle, and that he should have restricted himself to a mere e Political ' discussion (cf. Eth. in. i. i), is quite in keeping with the general tenour of his treatise ; but it must be called a weak- ness. It proceeds from an uncertainty of view about the nature of Ethics from the confusion (so often alluded to) between Ethics and Politics. We might almost say, that could Aristotle have thought and written for ten years more, this narrowness of view would have been abandoned. The question of free-will had been touched upon by Democritus, who said that ' in the whirl of necessity man was only half a slave.' Also, in the conclusion of Plato's Republic, we find man's responsibility asserted even in spite of the transmi- gration of souls. From all this aspect of the question Aristotle shuts himself out. He restricts himself to a polemic against a smaller proposition, belonging probably to the early, or Socratic Platonism namely,, that as virtue is knowledge, vice is ignorance, and therefore involuntary. Aristotle answers to this, that we act in society as if vice were free ; that vice must, after all, stand on the same level as its .contrary virtue ; that, assuming virtue to be free, vice must be free also ; that if it be said our ideas of the end (or the good) be beyond our control, that this will make virtue involuntary ; and, again, it will ignore two considera- tions first, that we probably contribute at all events some- thing to our ideas of the end ; second, that we are at all events free to choose our means to the end. Obviously all 318 ESSAY VII. these different arguments might be shown to be insufficient. It might be answered, that our acting as if free in society proves nothing that the puppet-show moves as if it were free, unless we look at the strings that legislator, judge, and criminal may all be equally under the bands of necessity that each individual step by which ' we form our own character' may be determined for us, so our 'contribution' to our own ideas comes to nothing that there is no proof given of the choice of the means being free in fact, that the idea of the end necessarily determines the means. We see, then, the insufficiency of all such merely practical arguments to solve a question of this magnitude and difficulty. Cer- tainly we may live and act without solving the question of free-will ; but if we ever attempt to solve it, we must do so in a philosophical spirit. Aristotle's method of dealing with the subject constitutes a difference between him and modern thinkers. No so great philosopher as himself could, in modern times, have virtually discarded, as not necessary for Ethics, the difficulties regarding the freedom of the will. Had Aristotle's starting-point been an idea of individual responsibility, he would, in all probability, have written otherwise. Having once known and acknowledged the deep-lying variations which exist in point of view and in spirit between any modern moral system and the early half-immature system of Aristotle, we are the better able to deal with the traces of his influence which still remain. There is indeed so great a field of derived terms and conceptions that the sense of similarity has often overpowered the sense of difference, and people have been led still further to seek for likeness between their own views and Aristotle's, where there was only dissimilarity really existing. All systems of morals present, on their surface, terms that seem perfectly Ari- NEW MEANINGS OF ARISTOTELIAN TERMS. 319 stotelian ; the ' law of habits,' the opposition of ' the passions' and ' the reason,' ' motives,' ' principles,' * energy,' the doc- trine that * extremes meet,' the contrast of ' moral ' and ' intellectual,' the ' end of man,' and perhaps others such like are instances of words and phrases which, when we first meet them in a Greek form in Aristotle, seem to us quite familiar, so that we are apt to substitute their modern context for their original and genuine philosophic import. An ex- amination, however, of these terms, will show that almost all of them are at all events slightly altered, and that we cannot understand Aristotle without restoring to them a lost asso- ciation. ' Habits ' is no doubt only the Latinized form of sgsis, but the meaning which attached to el; is does not remain pure in ' habit' as it is generally used. Bather it implies sdos, i.e. that process by which a efys is formed. The ' passions' with us, though a translation of TrdBrj, do not quite correspond with them, they more nearly answer to the eTTidv/jiiat, of Aristotle. 'Motive' is properly the * efficient cause' (odev f] Kivrjais), but applying it to action we use it invariably for the ' final cause' (ov SVSKO] which was Ari- stotle's term for the motive of an action. * Principle,' as above mentioned (p. 219), corresponds with the apxn f the practical syllogism, but according to the Peripatetic system this major premiss contained an idea of the good, while our * principle' is meant to imply an idea of the right. * Energy,' though identical in form with svepysia, has quite lost all notion of a contrast and .correlation with Swapis or poten- tiality, and implies merely the exercise of physical or moral force. In saying * extremes meet,' we forget the philoso- phical antithesis between the extremes and the mean, and all which that * mean ' originally implied. In translating Ari- stotle's yOucr) dpsrrj by the terms i moral virtue ' we omit to how much all these associations connected with the 320 ESSAY VII. individual will, which go to make up our conception of ' moral,' were wanting in Aristotle's r)0itcr) apsrij, while this, strictly speaking, might perhaps be better represented by the words ' excellence of the character,' and, as has been already made apparent, in speaking of ' the end of man,' we sub- stitute a religious for a philosophical association. The above-mentioned terms, however, have all a direct affinity to, and a lineal descent from, the system of Aristotle. They have only suffered that degree of change to which all language is liable, and which so many ancient words have undergone in their transition to modern use. Modern terms of this derivative character present, for the most part, two characteristics, as contrasted with their antique originals. In the first place, they are more definite. In the second place, they are less philosophic. The philosophy, however, that once surrounded them and formed their proper context, in ebbing away from them has really sunk into the general thought of the world and become absorbed in it. If ' energy' no longer represents evspysia, ' actuality ' and many other forms of thought contain and reproduce all that was philoso- phical in the original word. If ' habit' is not exactly efts-, the 'law of habits' is a received doctrine in all practical Ethics. And so in a variety of ways Aristotle has influenced our views, while our particular terms do not exactly square with his. Our words, we have said, are more definite than his. This with regard to psychological words is particularly the case. M^u^, as we have seen, is very inadequately repre- sented by * soul,' which, on the one hand, expresses too little, on the other hand, too much. We cannot properly translate povr)ffis by * prudence,' still less by ' conscience.' HO\ITIKIJ means something different from our ' politics.' 'Aperij conveys a somewhat false impression when translated 'virtue.' It would be an anachronism to make 'duty' stand for TO Seov. THE ETHICS REMOTE FROM MODERN SPIRIT. 321 And the most flagrant instance of all of an attempt to find modern notions among the ancients, and Christian notions among the Greeks, is where persons have thought that they have discovered in one or two places of Aristotle's Ethics the doctrine of ' human corruption.' It is only by an effort of mind, and not immediately, or at first sight, that we can understand Aristotle's Ethics, as they really are. It is a difficult task to throw aside our associa- tions and views, which all belong to what Bacon calls the * old age of the world,' and to go back to the era of Alexander, and put ourselves into the position of this early but deeply-penetrating thinker. We have seen that much of his thought has been amalgamated with our own. There, is much else in the profounder parts of his Ethical system, which is, when properly discerned and felt, a real revelation with regard to human life. Taken as a whole, however, when we consider this noble treatise in relation to modern thought, we feel there is something about it that stands apart from ourselves ; that its main interest is historical ; that we look back on it as on an ancient building shining in the fresh light of an Athenian morning. APPENDIX A. On the Ethical Method of Aristotle. Ct OME notice of Aristotle's Ethical method seems necessary * for completeness ; it is a subject too long for a note and too short for an Essay, and may be briefly dispatched here. Incidentally we have already alluded to several characteristics of his point of view. And in the last resort a philosopher's method, whatever be the subject or science, depends on the whole bearing of his mind and thought. With regard to Ethics, we may first observe, that while Aristotle seems to occupy himself much with the logic of the science, and the question, What is its appropriate method ? he is quite tenta- tive and uncertain, and to some extent confused, in all he directly answers to this question. In the second place, we may notice that his method unconsciously declares itself, not in the abstract but in the concrete, throughout the pages of his treatise. At the very outset of his work, in the first seven chapters, he has no less than three digressions on the logic of Ethics. In the first (Eth. I. iii. i 4), he cautions his readers against expecting too much a/cptfieia in the present science. This term aKptfieia (see the notes on Eth. I. vii. 18) seems to imply both mathematical exactness and also metaphysical subtlety. The Ethical treatise of Spinoza might be said to exhibit aKpifieia in both senses of the word, on account of its demonstrative statement, combined with its metaphysical ARISTOTLE S ETHICAL METHOD. 323 character of thought. Kant's system, without aiming at a mathematical method, might be called afcpi/3^s, on account of its speculative depth of view. The question then is, of how much arcpiftsia is this e branch of Politics ' (VoXm/e?/ rts) capable? Aristotle tells us, that 'the matters of which it treats virtue and justice have so much about them that is fluctuating and uncertain, as even to have given rise to the opinion that they are only conventional distinctions. Hence, with such conceptions on which to reason, we cannot expect demonstrative and exact conclusions, we must be content with rough and general theories.' It is to be observed here, that Aristotle departs from the point of view with which he had started. He started with an a priori conception of the End-in-itself, which * must be identical with the chief good for man.' Here he goes off into another point of view that which looks at action from the outside, recognizes the variations in the details of action, and allows the empirical casuistry of the Sophists to have an influence in determining the character of his science. In his second digression upon this topic (Etli. I. iv. 5) he shows even more plainly a tentative and uncertain attitude. He says, ' We must not forget the distinction drawn by Plato between the two methods of science the method which pro- ceeds from, principles, and that which proceeds to principles. The question is, Which must we adopt at present ? We must begin, at all events, with things known. But again, things are known in two ways, absolutely and relatively. Perhaps we may be content to begin with what we know (i.e., relative and not absolute truths). Hence the necessity of a good moral training previous to the study of this science. For one who has been so trained is in possession of facts which either already do, or soon can, stand in the light of principles.' In this passage there appears to be more than one play upon T 2 324 APPENDIX A. words : (i) In saying, 'we must begin with what we know,' there is a sort of bantering implication that the method of Ethics must be inductive, starting from relative and individual facts. But there is a fallacy in such an insinuation, because, though the individual must begin with what ' he knows,' there is nothing to prevent an absolute truth (TO cbrXw? ryvfoptfiov) forming part of the intuitions and experience of the individual. (2} There appears to be a play on the word apxtf ' f r while Aristotle implies that the procedure must be to principles, and not starting from them, he says, on the other hand, that ' the fact is a principle.' Now, this may mean two things. It may mean that *a moral fact or perception really amounts to a law.' But, in this case, the science of Ethics, beginning with moral facts, really begins air 1 ap%tt)v. Or it may mean that ' the fact is a beginning or start- ing-point for discussion.' In this latter case the word dp^tj should not have been used, as it introduces confusion into the present passage the upshot of which, on the whole, seems to be, to assert in a very wavering way that Ethics must be inductive rather than deductive, and must commence with experience of particulars rather than with intuitions of the universal. The third digression on the same subject occurs Eih. i. vii. 17 21, where Aristotle points out his definition of the chief good as * a sketch to be filled up ; ' and also, it would appear, as an ap^rj or leading principle, which in importance amounts to 'more than half the whole' science. In filling up the sketch, he again cautions us that too much dfcpifteut, is not to be expected. But it is plain that he has deserted his former view of the science as inductive ; he now makes it depend on a general conception of the chief good, which is to be applied and developed. Elsewhere in the Ethics Aristotle appears puzzled how to AEISTOTLE'S ETHICAL METHOD. 325 deal with the casuistry of his subject. He says (Eth. n. ii. 3 4) that 'the actions and the interests of men exhibit no fixed rule, any more than the conditions of health do ; and if this is the case with the universal theory, still more is the theory of particular acts incapable of being exactly fixed, for it falls under the domain of no art or regimen, but the actors themselves must always watch what suits the occasion, as is the way with the physician's and the pilot's art. And yet, though the theory is of such a kind, we must do what we can to help it out.' He reverts to the same point of view, Eth. ix. ii. 6, mentioning some casuistical difficulties, and saying it is impossible to give a fixed rule on such points. Much as Aristotle speaks of the logic of science, we find, when we come to examine his real procedure, how little he is influenced by his own abstract rules of method. It has been sometimes said that his Ethics exhibits a perfect specimen of the analytic method. But this is not really true. The dis- cussions are very frequently of an analytic character, different parts and elements of human life are treated separately, and indeed are not sufficiently considered in their mutual relation- ship. But the leading principles of the science are not obtained by this sort of analysis, there is not by any means a procedure JTT' ap%ds. Aristotle's bias of mind was only on one side analytical, he was on the other side deeply specula- tive and synthetical, and viewed all the world as reduced to unity under certain forms of thought, and, as we have said before, every philosopher's modes and forms of thought, his genius, his breadth of view, and his power of penetration, will constitute in reality his logic of science and his method of discovery. Aristotle's Ethical system, as we saw more in detail in Essay IV., depends on certain profound a priori conceptions, end, form, and actuality. We are enabled to some extent to 326 APPENDIX A. trace how these conceptions grew up out of Platonism, but in their ultimate depth and force they must be regarded as lightning-flashes from the genius of Aristotle. These great ideas, by which human life is explained, are no mere results of an induction, no last development of experience, rather they come in from above, and for the first time give some meaning to experience. Aristotle shows how his definition of the chief good includes all the previous notices of the requisitions for happiness. But his definition is not derived from combining these, nor yet from any analysis of happiness in the concrete, but from an inner intuition of a law of good as manifested in life. The same procedure manifests itself throughout. Whatever use Aristotle may make of his cmopiai, of appeals to language and experience, of the authority of the many and the few, these are only means of testing, correcting, illustrating, and amplifying his conceptions, and not the source from whence they spring. However, it is just the maintenance of this constant reconciliation with experi- ence and with popular points of view that is the characteristic of Aristotle's method, as distinguished from Plato's. That it gives rise at times to an empirical and unphilosophical mode of writing, we have had more than once an opportunity of observing. But it is Aristotle's strength as well as his weak- ness. His width of mind, which is as distinguished as its profundity, enabled him to sum up all the knowledge of ancient times, as well as all its philosophy. Bacon accuses him of being * a dogmatic,' and of resembling the Ottoman princes who killed all their brethren before they could reign themselves. This accusation is an invidious and utterly un- fair way of stating the real case. Aristotle is * a dogmatic,' inasmuch as his philosophy is yixapia-TiKr) ov Trsipcumtcrj., con- clusive, and not merely starting the questions. Also he shows the relationship of all previous philosophies and contem- AEISTOTLE S ETHICAL METHOD. 327 porary opinions to his own system, by which he does not so much ' kill his brethren ' as demonstrate that they are evi- dently 'younger brethren,' leaving his own right to the throne indefeasible. If in the term 'dogmatist' arrogance or assumption is implied, this would not be true either of his style of writing, or tone of thought. And he is by no means dogmatic on all points ; on some, as we have already seen (in Essay V.), he declines to decide. APPENDIX B. On the 'EHHTEPIKOl AOrOI. is a question of minor importance which has still been thought worthy of a good deal of discussion, namely, what is meant by the egwrspiicoi \6yot, which Aristotle occa- sionally mentions ? We are told by Aulus Gellius (xx. 4) that Aristotle, the master of Alexander of Macedon, had two sorts of teaching, and that his writings admit of a twofold division. That in the morning he used to give to intimate disciples instructions, which were called Acroatic, in the deeper parts of philosophy ; that in the afternoon he gave discourses, which were called exoteric, to the public in general. That Alexander, hearing that the Acroatic discourses had been published, wrote from the East to complain of what had been done, since he 'should now have no superiority over the vulgar' ; and that Aristotle replied that * the treatises, though published, were not published, since nobody would understand them.' When we look this story in the face, and ask what is its historical foundation, how much of it can be relied on ? one fact alone seems to remain with any stability, and that is, that the words e^wrspiKol \6yoi are occasionally used in the writings of Aristotle. All the rest is a mere fabrication put together to adorn the rhetorical topic of the relationship of Aristotle to Alexander. When we consider that Alexander was a mere boy when Aristotle was his tutor that he probably learnt from him Homer and mathematics that 'ESGTEPIK01 AOrOI. 329 Aristotle himself speaks of the impossibility of a boy being a proficient in ethics, physics, or philosophy that even these early years of instruction were broken by domestic troubles and the premature cares of state that Aristotle was working out for himself, up to the time of his death, the deeper parts of his philosophy, and could not have had it ready, like a sort of mystery, to reveal to his pupil when we consider all this, we may well come to the conclusion that Alexander knew no more of the Metaphysics of Aristotle than any soldier in his army ; and that as the latter part of the story is a fabrication, so the former is not worthy of the very least reliance. In short, we have not any sufficient ground for believing in the above-mentioned division of the teaching of Aristotle, and we still have to ask afresh for ourselves, what does he mean by the sgoiTspi/col \6yoi ? We have already (p. 5) accepted the tradition of Cicero, that Aristotle wrote certain exoteric, that is, popular, dis- courses. We saw that their first characteristic, as compared with the philosophical works, was that they were finished in point of style. Cicero was probably acquainted with these better than with the more difficult remains of Aristotle. He mentions other characteristics of them, namely, that they had proems to them ; he says, in writing to Atticus, * Quoniam in singulis libris utor prooamiis, ut Aristoteles in iis quos egwrspi- KOVS vocat.' Now we can trust Cicero about the proems ; but about the more subtle point of interest, that Aristotle called some of his own works- exoteric, he is not a sufficiently dis- criminating authority to be relied on. In another of his letters (Ep. ad Fa/mil, i. 9, 23), he speaks of his three books De Oratore, as '& dialogue in the style of Aristotle.' And again (Ep. ad Atticum, xui. 19) he says that he has copied Aristotle, ' who in his dialogues always assigns to himself the leading part in the conversation.' We have now gained some idea of 330 APPENDIX B. the appearance of Aristotle's popular works, as they were read by Cicero. The names probably of some of them, as, for instance, the ( GryllusJ &c., are preserved in the list of Diogenes Laertius, but the works themselves are all lost. The question then is, does Aristotle refer to this class of his writings under the name of ol e^wTSpiicoi \6 &s TWV slprj^vcov sari STTs\6slv irspl xpovov "jrpwTov be Kd\S>s s%st SiaTTopfjcrai Trspl avrov teal Sta TMV egcorspiicow \6ryow (even from the popular point of view) irorspov rwv ovrwv sailv f) T&V p,r) OVTWV, slra rls rj yap sv rots s^wrspiKois \6jois Stopi^o/jbsda Trspl avrdiv 7roXXa*ty. . (4) Politics, VII. i. 2. ~Ato Ssi TTpoorov oftoXoysio-dai, rls 6 Tracriv u>s slirstv alpsratTaros ficos' //.era 8s TOVTO, Trorspov Koivy ical %wpls o avros rj sTspos. No/iiVa^ras ovv licavws TroXXa \sje(T0ai teal rcov sv rols s^wrspiKols \6lav\ In the Eudemian book (Eth. vi. i v. i ) it is said that the popular distinction between * action' and 'production' is quite suffi- cient (srspov 8' ecrrl Trolrja-ts KOI rrpafys. Hiarevofiev 8s irepl avT' SIKCIIOV tort Trpoaayoptvttv TTO\ITIKI]V (I. ii. 7). Hence we may recognise something tentative and uncertain in Aristotle's treatment of the subject. He seems not clear as to how far he is entering on a merely practical and political science, and how far on something speculative. He professes to lay the founda- tions for his science inductively (Ch. IV. 5-7) in experience, but really obtains his own theory from a priori grounds, arguing what the Chief Good must be. That Aristotle's principle, thus obtained, is truly profound, we need not fail to acknowledge. Only, with regard to the science as a whole, we see that he was feeling his way ; and we must not expect to find, even in the First Book of his Ethics, a finished work of art. With this proviso, we may rapidly trace the sequence of ideas contained by the Book, as follows. The distinction between means and ends characterizes every part of life and action. Given the subordination of means to ends, there must be some end which is never a means. This End-in-itself of all action is obviously iden- tical with the Practical Chief Good (2/j\ov oc TOVT civ tiri rayaQov KOI TO apiarov). What, then, is this Chief Good which must be the determinator of life and which is the object of Politics, the supreme practical science ? To this question no answer is to be obtained from the common opinions of men ; nor from their lives, for the most part ; nor from the metaphysical system of Plato. The Good and the End are always identical ; hence, as already said, the Chief Good is identical with the End-in-itself. In this con- ception the idea of absoluteness and all-sufficiency would seem to be implied (TO yap rtXtcoy ayaQav ai/rape tlvai ovf). It must be realised in the proper sphere of man, which a consideration of the scale of life leads us to see must be a rational and moral existence. To give meaning to the conception of this existence, we must assume PLAN OF BOOK I. 341 that it falls under the category of the actual ; in other words, that it is ' conscious life ; ' and this must be in accordance with its own proper law of excellence, and not frustrated by external adversity or shortness of duration. Hence we get a definition of the Chief Good for man that it consists in 'a rightly harmonized consciousness in adequate external conditions.' Comparing this fundamental principle (npx'V) with the opinions and theories of others, we find that it includes or supersedes them. From it we get an answer to the common question, ' Is happiness to be acquired by human efforts ?' and by means of it we are able to see the shallowness of Solon's view implied in the saying that ' No man can be called happy while he lives.' It at once renders nugatory the question, Is happiness praiseworthy or above praise ? Assuming, then, the definition as above, let us examine its com- ponent parts. And, first, what is that law of excellence (peculiar to man) which is to regulate his mind ? A popular psychology serves as a basis for discussing this. Man is a compound of a rational and an irrational nature. Part of his irrational nature (the passions) rise into communion with reason. This part, then, and the reason itself, are two elements in which human excellence may be exhibited. According to this division, we distinguish, on the one hand, intel- lectual excellence ; on the other hand, moral excellence or virtue : and these two may henceforth be separately discussed. HGIKiiN NIKOMAXEI12N I n .vffei. As there it is first said that ' all by a natural instinct desire knowledge,' and then Aristotle proceeds to distinguish among the various kinds of knowledge a supreme kind, which is Philosophy or Meta- physics ; so here he says that every human impulse is prompted by the desire of some good, or is, in other words, a means to some end, and among ends there is one supreme end, which is never a means, the object of politics the chief good, or human happiness. The beginning of the Politics is also very similar. All actions are done for the sake of what is thought to be good. Therefore all societies aim at some good, and that society which includes all others aims at the highest good. See p. 16. " i Travel rtx^ So/ce?) ' Every art and every science, and so, too, every act and purpose, seems to aim at some good,' i. e. ' every exercise of the human powers.' The enumeration here given answers to the division of the mind (Eth. vi. ii) into specuktive, productive, and practical. Me'0o5os is literally ' way ' or ' road ' to know- ledge, i.e. a research or inquiry. The metaphor still appears in such places as Plato's Republic, vn. p. 533 c, '/ OtoAKTt7) fifOodos fj.6vri ravrr) iropfve- TCU. Phadrus 269 D, ovx JV Ttfffay iropevfTcu Soicfi fj.oi (paivto'dai rj /j.fdo- Sos. It is farther used in the sense of a regular or scientific method, and it stands here, as elsewhere (Eth. I. ii. 9, Poet. xix. 2, Phys. i. i. i), for science itself. The word is well de- fined by Simplicius (in Arist. Phys. fol. 4), i] ;uera <55oD ni/bs (vrdtcrov irp6o- 5os eVj rb yvcatrrof. Hpats and Ttpoal- ptcris, action and purpose, go to make up one conception, that of ' moral ac- tion.' They are related as language to thought, the outer to the inner. Ao/ce? does not imply any doubt in the asser- tion. Sometimes it denotes the opi- nion of others, not of Aristotle him- self (Eth. i. iii. z, x. viii. 13, where see note), but sometimes it is a part of style, to avoid the appearance of dog- matism. With this use of 8o/te? may be compared that of similar words, such as foots, ' no doubt,' (iv. viii. 9) fSfi 8" 1(T(as Kal o-Kcoirreji/ (KC\vfiv) ; axttiA", ' nearly,' ' something like,' (i. viii. 4) (TXfSbf yap eii^iatoTij ftprjrai Kal fvirpatfa ; fj.d\tara, ' upon the whole,' (i. V. 2) rpeTs ydp eiffi fudXma. ol 344 IieiKiiN NIKOMAXEmN I. [CHAP. 8s rig QciivsTai TCOV rsXcov. TCC jtxsv yap iuriv j/epye Tretyvxs ratv evspyeiSiv spya. TroAXtov 8s Trpa^sajv ovcr&v XOLI TS%vibv xai ^tov TroAXa yivsTou xai ra TS'AVJ larpixris jusv yap 6y/s/a, vauTnjyixSjs 8s TrXoTov, (rrpaT7jyix% 8s v/xij, olxovo- 7 8s 7T^ouTO. o' ej/bs eli/cu ; In such ques- tions w6rfpov is very frequent, (i. vii. n) Tlfcfpov olv rturovos /uii/ tal ffKirrtus lai\v fpya rivd. Kal vpdfis ; and tf, which generally introduces the opinion to be preferred, 1. 1. ^ KaBdirtp o3 Travrajv 5<7Tiv alpsTwrspa. TWV 'JTT' aura.' TOVTCOV yap %dpw xaxsiva Suoxsrai. %ia<$spei S' oiosv evspysiag auras stvai ra reXvj rcov Trpa^siov rj Trapa a?v/vo T/, xaQctTrsp STT) rtov El 3^ Tl TgXo^ SCTTt T&V TTpCtXTMW *' WTO fiovXopt.sQa, 2 a Ss 8ta rouro, xa} JU.TJ Travra Si' srspov aipovfj.sQa rived, through the termfacultas, which was used by the Schoolmen. This belongs to the associations connected with SiWjtis in Aristotle's metaphysi- cal system. The use of this word for ' an art ' appears, though less dis- tinctly, in Plato. Aristotle, opposing Swafjiis to ei/p7io, treats the arts as a class of Swd/uis, i. e. certain capa- bilities of action ; though they dif- fered from other SiWjueu in being them- selves not only developed into eVe'p- jf iai, but also formed out of them : cf. Eth. n. i. 4, Metaph. vm. v. i, and see Essay iv. p. 190. (3) 8^ in Iv airda-ais Si is used to mark the apodosis. This is common in Ari- stotle, cf. Eth. vn. iv. 5, x. ix. n. Looking to the protasis fiercu, we must also say that the sentence is an ana- coluthon. The whole style might be called a o'xw ' ""pb* T ^ ff-nfj.aiv6fji.fvoi'. (4) The adjective apx< TKTOl '"k> a s applied to the ' hierarchy ' of the sciences, is not found in writers before Aristotle. The metaphor implied by it may have been suggested by Plato ; cf. Politicus, p. 259 E: Kal yap opx' T - KTUV 76 was OVK avrbs epyariKos, a\\a epyarStv apxoiv- The architect con- ceives the design, the labourers carry out the details : the former is con- cerned with the end, the latter with the means. In like manner the higher arts and sciences subject to themselves the lower ; cf. Eth. i. ii. 7, n. viii. 2. 5 StaQfpfi. 5" lirKTTTjjuwi'] 'But it makes no difference (to our argument) whether the development of faculties- be in itself the end of the different actions, or something beyond this again, as in the case of the arts above mentioned,' i.e. the principle of sub- ordination in the scale of means and ends will not be affected by the fact that tvepytiai are ends as well as epya. In taking a walk, the end is walking for its own sake, i.e., an fvepyfia. In house-building, the end is the house, an external result, or %pyov. But walking may again be viewed as sub- ordinate to some other end, e.g. health or life, just as the house is. ^n-jffTTjiudw] When speaking strictly (Eth. in. iii. 9), and in his later ter- minology, as represented by Eudemus (Eth. vi. iii. i), Aristotle distinguishes between iiriffTfjuii and TS'XVTJ. But he frequently uses the former indis- criminately with the latter (cf. Eth. i. vi. 15), as also Plato had done, cf. Philebus, p. 57 E, and as ' science ' is now in common language often used for ' art.' II. i Et 8^ - &PKTTOV] ' If then there is some end of action which we wish for its own sake, while we wish 346 IIOIKftN NIKOMAXEION I. [CHAP. IT pot iff I yap ourm y s$ a-rrsipov, [j,a.TOt.!av rr^v ops^iv], SrjXoi/ &$ TOUT' av eng etou xsvr^v xcti xau TO ap' oSv xai 7rpo$ oTrryV, xa/ xafy av Tuy%dvoi[J.ev TOU ^sovrog ; s TOV /3/ov 73 sp ro^orai ^sovro s OUTCO, all other things only as a means to this and if we do not choose all things merely as means to something beyond (since in that case it will go on to infinity, so that our desire will be empty and useless), it is plain that this end of action must be the chief good and the best.' This sentence contains the ' punctum saliens ' of the whole argument on which the Ethics are based. But from the undogmatic way in which it is expressed it is ren- dered at first sight obscure. It might be put thus : We have desires, these cannot be in rain ; hence we cannot always be desiring means. There must be some end which is never a means, and which constitutes the true object of desire. rd\os TWV ir pater >v~\ This is em- phatic. Aristotle is not enquiring after a transcendental good, like the Platonic Idea, but after a good at- tainable in action. Ta vpcutrd im- plies the whole class and sphere of means and ends which fall under the control of human will. A sort of scholium upon this word is to be found in the Eudemian Ethics, i. vii. 4. jrp6ei(Ti yap ovrca *y' e ' 5 Siretpov] The opposite and correlative terms i'eVai els &ireipov and txa6nfvoi Kol olpovvrai KO! tfifv- /taAXop] i.e. 'more than if we lived at haphazard without knowledge of the true end to be aimed at.' The metaphor of the archers comes from Plato ; cf. liepnb. p. 519 B : avdyKTi /UTJre roJis airaiSfVTOVs iKavws 6.v vore ir&\iv e'iriTpoirevffcu, /iTJTe TOUT iv iraiSei'a iuflivovt Siarpi/Seij' 5a reAow, TOt/y ntv Srt ffKOirbv 4v ry flicp oiiK exovffiv fva, ov (TTO^afo^eVous Se? OTrafTa irpaTTftv a hi> irpdr-ruffiv i'Si'a re Ko.1 8i7juotT()$' 8' 73 TTOTUTJXTJ 4 5aj ' I/STa '' 5 Stof, or the u(pt\inov, or the AucriTe- AOUJ/, or the KepSoAeW, or the ^vfj.(pepov. J Cf. also Charmides, p. 164 B. Xen. Memorab. i. ii. 22. But the exact import of the term was not fixed. Aristotle in the Topics, n. iii. 4, men- tions among the iroAAxs Mydpet'o., Olov ( TO 8eov ecTTi TO crv^.(ppoi' fj TO a\oV. 3 el 8' OUTO> 8wcijuea/] ' But if this be the case, we must endea- vour to comprehend, in outline at all events, what it is, and which of the sciences or faculties it belongs to.' Aristotle, proceeding tentatively to work, does not ask, 'What science treats of the supreme end ? ' but ' To what science or art does its production belong ? ' He seems at first encum- bered with Platonic associations that virtue is a science that there is an art of life, &c. Just as in a Platonic dialogue, we might have found this train of questions ' What is the sci- ence of healing called ? ' Medicine. 'What is the science of counting called ? ' Arithmetic. ' What then is the science of the welfare of states and indiA-iduals called ? ' Politics. So here Aristotle says, ' Every art has an end. There is some supreme end : of what art then is it the end ? ' Ac- cordingly he starts with the impres- sion that the present treatise ts an art rather than a science (cf. Eth. i. iii. 6, n. ii. i ). He speaks of his present method aiming at the chief good. (i. iii. i) 'H fj.fv oZv /ue'0o5os TOV- vtav e TJ) evepyela. In the passage above, Kvpicardrris seems partly to mean ' most authoritative ' or ' abso- lute,' partly ' that which is most absolutely a science.' 5 TOtauTTj 8' i) iro\iTiK7] [j.V <5s xa\ rag s 7 ouo~a, olov 3 TavQpa)7rivov dyaQov. el yap xdl ravrov ecrTiv evi xai Tro'Xs/, jasT^o'v -ys xai TsXsaJTS^oi/ TO T^J TTO'^SCOJ Qaivsrai xa\ XajSsTv xai arw^siv dya^Tov p.lv ydp xdl svi [J.QVCO, 9 xa?vX/ov Se xa< Qstorepov 'eQvsi xdi Trohsviv. ij jotsv ouv TOUTOJV s'4>/sra/, TroAmxrj T/ ever dignified, are subordinate to this (uirb Totrrrji') and are its instruments (XP ta t J -* vr l s rauTTjs TO?S Aoiiro). Their very existence depends on the/atf of politics (/(pas tTyat xp*">v Siardfffftt). Hence, as all others are means to it, the end of politics must embrace the ends of all the other arts. Politics will be the art whose end is the chief human good. 8 t yelp al Tavrbv ir6\tffiv\ ' For even supposing the chief good to be identical for an individual and a state, that of the state appears at all events something greater and more absolute (rf\eunfpov) both to attain and to preserve. Even for an individual by himself it is indeed something one might well embrace with gladness, but for a nation and for states it is something more noble and divine.' The identity of the end for states and individuals is a principle on which would depend the relation of Morals to Politics, and to some extent that of Church to State. See Essays, Appen- dix C. In Aristotle's Politics (vn. iii. 8) the chief good, or end-in-itself, for a state is portrayed as consisting in the development and play of specu- lative thought, all fit conditions and means thereto being implied and pre- supposed. To this high, but inde- finite, ideal, the term Otiov would be naturally applied. Like the word ' divine ' with us, 0(1 os is used by Aristotle to express the highest kind of admiration, tinctured with a feeling of enthusiastic joy, but also with some degree of vagueness. It is especially applied to the inner consciousness of the reason ; cf. Eth. x. vii. i, (vovs tori) TU>V iv rjfuv rb QtiA-raTov : also to happiness (Eth. i. ix. 3), which, if not Oe6irf(j.irrov, is at all events tiav 6fidvTT) /uej/ %pia, avSpiavroiroiif 5e -)(aXK6v. The matter of a science, i. e. the facts or conceptions with which it deals, must determine its method or form, accord- ing as they admit of being stated with more or less aicpt'/Seia. It is one of the first questions about a science, how much atcpifieia. it admits : cf. De Anima. i. i. i ; Metaphys. a' \arrov, iii. 2, &c. On the different shades of meaning implied in the word aKpifaia, see below, i. vii. 18, note. It combines the notions of mathe- matical exactness, metaphysical sub- tlety, minuteness of detail, and definiteness of assertion. Also as applied to the arts (tv TOIS Syfjiiovp- yovfj.fvoi.s) it denotes finish or delicacy. 2 ra. 8e KoXo fvfi'] 'But things beautiful and just, about which the political science treats, exhibit so great a diversity and uncertainty that they are thought to exist by convention only, and not by nature.' Nothing can be more characteristic of Greek mo- rality than these words, 'the beautiful' and ' the just,' applied to sum up all that we should call ' the right.' The former is the more enthusiastic term, and is connected with all the artistic feelings of the Greeks. In the present passage we may notice two indications of the immaturity of Aristotle's ethical system, (i) He speaks of Politics as the science treating of right action. (2) He seems to accept for the mo- ment, as at all events worth consi- dering, the scepticism of the Sophists. 350 \\ 3 OS p 1I6IKS1N NIKOMAXEIftN I. [CHAP. 6s nva 7r/\.a'i/r ; v s%st xai Tayctfjot. &a TO .TT atvrV 4 cbraJAovTO 8et 8e /u^j. On the position of this opinion in the history of philosophy, see Essay II. 3 roiavTi}v 8 nva if\A.vi\v ex fl Ka ^ Ta.ya.0a] 'And things good also ex- hibit a similar sort of uncertainty.' The two leading questions of morals may be said to be, what is right ? and what is good? The ancient Ethics rather tend to absorb the former into the latter, the modern systems vice versd. Aristotle here, from his present empirical ground, says there is an equal uncertainty about things good, as about things right. Cf. Eth. v. i. 9 ; Xen. Mem. iv. ii. 34. 4> 5 ctyairrrrbj' ovv ireiratSeujieVos] ' We must be content then, while speaking on such subjects, and with such premises, that the truth should be set forth roughly and in outline, and, as we are reasoning about and from things which only amount to generalities, that our conclusions should be of the same kind also. In the same way must each particular statement be received. The man of cultivation will in each kind of subject demand exactness so far as the nature of the thing permits : for it appears equally absurd to accept probable rea- soning from a mathematician and to demand demonstration from an orator. Every one judges well of things which he knows, and of these he is a good critic. In particular subjects then the man of particular cultivation will judge, and in general the man of ge- neral cultivation.' vfpl roiovr. ol IK Toiour.] A com- mon formula in Aristotle. Cf. Rhetor. ii. i. i. 7^j/os] is with Aristotle the object of a single science ; jua firjar^ij iaivoi>7Oi Tp6iroi TT)S e'ffws dvai, S>v T^C futv fTnerT^jjUTjv TOV irpdynaros Ka\us e^et irpoaayo- pevtiv, Ti)v y olov -xaiStiav Tiid. Then follow the characteristics of the ire- , which are said to be Kptvai III.] IIGIKliN NIKOMAXEION I. 351 yap Qaivsr xov TS TnQgyoXo'youvTQg a.7rotis%=crQai xoti pyTopixw OLTTO^SI- / : ig otTraiTz'iv. sxa(TTO$ Ss xpivsi xaAto a yij/aWxs/, *a) 5 TOUTCUV IITT/V aa4o xtTy$. xa6' sxacrrov aa Q ?)svij.svog, aTrAcof o' o Trspi Trav 7TS7raiasij[j.svog. Qio rr\g TTO- yx snrTiv olxs7o axpoaT7j o vso. afrsioos yap Jfa.ro. rov 3 i/ov TTpa^rov, ot Xoyo< 3' sx rour^ov xa) TTSC) STJ 5s TO?^ 7ra^s s, ttre OUTCOS efre &\\ois). This, which was a current popular conception of iraiSeta, Aristotle not only accepts as related to all matters of science (T&J/ 8\cas irfiratSfv^ifvov irepl TrdvTuiv ws elire'ti' KpiTiltAv Tiva. rqttfyur) but also he adds a refine- ment on his own part by constituting a special irouSefa in relation to each separate science (irfp nvos tyvffeois a^upiff/J.fi'Tjs ' enj "ycfcp &v TIS erepcs irepl tv fj.6piov~). The idea of the irfiraiSe'j- fji.evos as a judge of method is to be found in Plato. Cf. Timaus, p. 53 c : ctAAo yap eirtl jtUTf'xere TOW KO.T& TTOI- Sfvffif 65>v, Si' wi> i-8fLKvvff6cu ri \fy6fj.fva accry/CTj, |u^ei|/(r0e. In the Erastce, p. 135, a popular description of the philosopher is given, exactly answering to Aristotle's TreTraiSev/xeVos. Among the qualifications is mentioned ws fwbs &v$pa e\fvOep6v re Kal Treircu- fievfjLevoi', 7ra/coAou0ri(rat re rots At7o- juei/ots virb rov Sr)[j.wvpyov oi6v re elrai Siatp6v7u>s rlav irap6vrfav. Socrates on this remarks, that it makes the philosopher like a Pentathlos, Sira- Kp6s ris, or second-best in all special- ities. We see in the present passage Aristotle's distinction of irepl irav ireiraiS. from KaQ' fKacrrov irtircuS. The latter term shows that not only is a general knowledge of logic (oi-aAtm/c^) requisite to constitute vaiStla (cf. Me- taph. i. min. iii. r, HI. iii. 5, m. iv. 2) ; but also that some acquaintance with the special subject is requisite for the connoisseur of that subject. Cf. Pol. m. xi. ii : 'larpbs 8" S re Srifiiovpybs Kal 6 apxirfKrovuths Kal rpiros 6 irfirai- Sfv/j.evos irtpl r))v rxtf)y ' flffl ydp rives roiovroi Kal irfpl Trdffas ois elireiv riy rexvas, airo?>{$o/j.ev 5e rb Kftivtiv ovtiev ffrrois rotsireirai5evv.evois t) rots elS6ffiv. Cf. Eth. End. i. vi. 6. /AadTitiaTiKov, K. T. A.] Taken from Plato, cf. Thecetetus, p. 162 E: el ^6e\oi e65iapos i) &\\os TIS TWJ/ yfta^erpdv (rf eiKdrt) -^pu^evos yeca/jLerptiv, &ios oiiS' evbs /j.6i>ov &v f1r\. ffKowi'ire oHv av re Ka\ 06(55wpos el airo?ieexsiv exao~Ta. ToTj yap vovrjTOS 73 yvuxrig yivzrai, xaQdrrsp roi$ dxpa- Tscriv' TOI$ g xara Ao'yov rag ops^sig 7roiov[JiVOi$ xai 8 TTpaTTOUO"/ 7ToAua)4>SX^ (XV S/TJ TO TTSp) TOUTCOV sJ^SVCCJ. Xa< Trepi jtxsv ax^oaTou, xa< TTCO^ ctTroSsxTeov, xa< T/ Trportbs- xa 7Tpootips(rt$ ayaftw rivo$ opsysrai, rt e&nv ou TTJV ToXIs(rQa.i xa} ri TO TTCCVTCOV axporarov 2 ru>v over, as he is given to follow his pas- sions, he will hear uselessly and with- out profit, since the end (of our science) is not knowledge but action.' Aristotle goes off into a digression here, and adds that the youth will not only be an incompetent, but also an unprofitable, student, on account of a moral disqualification in the weakness of his will. This addition, however, throws light on Aristotle's conception of his science. In saying that ' its end is action,' we must not suppose that Aristotle meant to imply that it was ' practical ' in the modern sense, i. e. hortatory, as opposed to philosophical. As before, he is view- ing Politics as a sort of supreme art. Cf. Eth. H. ii. i. /xaratws aKovcrerat] Shakespeare had seen the present passage quoted some- where, and by a remarkable anachron- ism he puts it into the mouth of Hector. Cf. Troilus and Cressida, act 11. sc. 2. 'Paris and Troilus, you have both said well : And on the cause and question now in hand Haive glozed but superficially; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy.' 7 ou 7ap irapa rbv \p&vov T\ KAAetiJ'is] ' For the deficiency is not caused by time.' Cf. Thucyd. L 141, ov yap irapa, T^]V favrov ap.e\eiav ottrai /3Ao^J'. Arnold compares irapd in this sense with the English vulgarism, 'all along of.' Cf. Eth. m. V. 19, TI KO.\ irap' avr6f. IV. J Keturning from a parenthe- tical discussion of method, Aristotle takes up (\tyf*fv 8' dva\a/33ai^.ovjav xau ol coufff, TO 8* e5 vjv xa< TO su votKri TO> suoa/jaov=Tv. Trspi TT sua/ju.ova, T S(TTIV, a|U, \ * ,. ~ A r n xai (pavsptov, oiov T^OJ/TJV V) TTAOOTOV 17 T/ja^v, 3' aXAo, 7roAAax 3s xa) o auTO erspov ' vo(t>pot>a. } &ffirtp Koi avSpetov Ka\ Sffiov ayaObv &vSpa flvcu TeAews, rbv Se ayaBbv eS re KO! Ka\cas irpd.TT(iv & kv irpdrrri, r~bv 8* e5 -rpdrrovra fj.aKapiov re Kal evSaifiova. flvcu, -rbv 5e xovj\pbv KCU Kcuccas irpaTTOira &0\tov. Aristotle was at no pains to solve the ambiguity. Cf. Eth. vi. ii. 5. 3 01 fjitv yap etyo&i] 'For the one class (i.e. the many) specify something palpable and tangible, as, for instance, pleasure, or wealth, or honour; in short, different of them give different accounts, and often the same individual gives an answer at variance with himself, for when he has fallen sick he calls it health, but being poor wealth ; and when people are con- scious of ignorance they look up with admiration to those who say some- thing fine and beyond their own powers. On the other hand certain (philosophers) have thought that be- yond all these manifold goods there is some one absolute good, which is the cause to these of their being good.' "f.vioi Se corresponds to ol (ify ydp. ' Palpable and tangible ' are analogous though not identical metaphors with evapyav n KCU (pavepwv. ffwfio6rts, K. T. A.] Consciousness of ignorance makes people fancy wis- dom to be the chief good. So the Paraphrast explains the passage. A A 354 HGIKiiN NIKOMAXEIQN I. [CHAP. d. a7rd(rag ^BV ouv e^srd^siv rag So'^aj ?(ra)$ efOuo~H' of aTro TCOV ao^wv Xo-yoi xa/ of ITT* ret dp%d$' su yap xa/ ElXaTajv ijVopsj TOUTO xa) tTro Ttov dp%S>v % STT/ ra a.p%d$ eernv sv ra> (TTOtbU CXTTO raiv afiXoQsraJv 7ri TO apxreov [J.v ovv DITTO TV yva)pi[j.a)v t raura aAAo TI naff avrb tlvai\ This of course relates to Plato's theory of the Idea. 4 Ixavkv 8e A^yoj'] 'But it is sufficient to examine the opinions most in vogue, or that seem to have some reason in them.' A similar canon of authority is given, Eth. i. viii. 7. 4irnro\aov elvai rov i)Tovfdvov. 5 From hence to the end of the chapter follows the second digression on the method of ethics. The question now is, whether the Science is to be inductive or deductive, whether the reasoning is to be ' to principles,' or ' from principles.' Aristotle gives a qualified decision in favour of the former of these alternatives. eS yap afl-Acos] ' For Plato rightly used to doubt and question whether the way was from principles or to principles, as, in the stadium, whether from the judges to thegoal, or reversely. We must begin, at all events, with things known, and these are of two kinds ; for some things are known to us, and some absolutely.' There is no particular passage in the extant works of Plato, which we can say is here referred to. That at the end of Book VL of the Republic has a widely dif- ferent scope. It does not compare the Inductive with the Deductive Me- thod, but describes dialectic as a pro- gress up the ladder of hypotheses to the idea of good, and a descent again without any help from the senses, by successive steps, which are ideas, and are connected with the idea of good. The use of the word n\druv here without the article shows that a per- sonal reference to the philosopher is intended (see note on Eth. vi. xiii. 3). The use of the imperfect ifir6pfi shows that the reference is general; when Aristotle quotes from a particular pas- sage in the Laws of Plato (Eth. n. iii. a), he says &>s & Tlkdrow <^t\a(v. ravra Se SJTTWI ra fj.fv rifi.it>, ra 8e oirAws] This is Aristotle's favourite division of knowledge, into things ' relatively ' and things ' absolutely ' IV.] NIKOMAXEmN I. ra [JLSV yap r'ja?v TO. d' d ouv 355 '56 dpxrzov ctTTo rtov r .V6v xavajg. pyri yap TO QTV xai e rouro <>a- 7 VO/TO dpxovvTwg, O'jtilv 7rpoa-$sr}(ri roD 8m. o 8s TOJOV- ro ^ e'p/5/ 7] Xa$oi av dp^ag pa/ticcg. a> ra>v ovrog fj.f.v TrayapiarroQ OQ avroQ iravTO. v\ ' Perhaps then we at all events must commence with what we know.' In a sort of bantering way, which is not unusual with him (cf. Eth. i. ix. 3, vm. vi. 4), Aristotle seems to announce the prin- ciple that personal experience must be made the basis for a scientific knowledge of morals. See Essays, Appendix A. 6 7 Sib Sti paSiias} ' Therefore he should have been well trained in A A his habits who is to study aright things beautiful and just, and in short the whole class of political subjects. For the fact is a principle, and if the fact be sufficiently apparent we need not ask the reason. Now he who has been well trained either has principles already, or can easily obtain them.'" He returns to the qualifications of the aKpoariis. But here previous know- ledge seems required in a different way from that mentioned above (i. iv. 5). The object is here not itpivfiv rat \ey6fitva, but tiriffrcurBcu. apx*> jap ri Sr] The same is re- peated below (i. vii. zo). The term a.pxh appears to be used here am- biguously. It may either mean a starting-point, or a universal principle. It seems to hover between those meanings, and to express that a moral fact has something at all events po- tentially of the nature of a universal. 'Apxds (in 7) is used definitely for universal principles. 6 5e Towt/ros] i.e., 6 KO\US fyyufiros. Such a one is in possession of moral facts, which either stand already in the light of principles, or can be at once recognised as such on the sug- gestion of the philosopher. In the former case he will resemble Hesiod's iravdpiffros, in the second case the i soixa., i\OK(p$ts. Ari- stotle's classification, which separates these, is much more true to nature. But the reason given by the Paraphrast H0IKS1N NIKOMAXEIiiN I. oiv 7ravTsA(m,'3 TO rou yap o s %apisvTss xa. Trpaxri-4- t) |3/bw yap sv roig r^a)(ri jouxAAov eTvat ^ ev TUJ Tifta)jtxeva), raya- 6ov 8s otxeTov TI xat 8ua as ne tells us pre- sently, because, as not being purely Tohmtary (fiiai6s TIS), it does not exhi- bit a conception of happiness. Though it may have many adherents, these do not seek it spontaneously, as con- taining happiness in itself. 3 ot /jiff ovf 2ap8aca7ra\] The life of sensuality is that which the vulgar propose to themselves as their ideal of happiness. This they would pursue if they could obtain the ring of Gyges (Plato, Bepub. n. p. 359, c). And though Aristotle repudiates it immediately as vile and abject, yet he places it on the scale {rvyx"- vovfft *>&- you) because great potentates (iroAAous -r!av *v rats eJoiKTicus) show themselves of the same mind as Sardanapalus, thinking nought but sensuality ' worth a fillip,' while they have everything at their disposal, and are of all men most free to choose. rvyxdvovfft \6yov~\ ' They obtain consideration,' i. e. both in the eyes of men in general, and also in the present treatise. Cf. Eth. x. vi. 3. 2ap8cwairaA.(p] Cicero, in Tusc. Disp. \. xxxv. (cf. De Finibus, n. xin.), mentions the epitaph of Sardanapalus as quoted by Aristotle. ' Ex quo Sar- danapali, opulentissimi Syrise regis, error agnoscitur, qui incidi jussit in busto : Hcec habeo, qua edi, qiueque exsatu- rata libido Hausit ; at ilia jacent multa et pra- clara relicta. Quid aliud, ait Aristoteles, in bovis, non in regis sepulcro inscriberes ? ' No such passage is to be found in any of the extant works of Aristotle. 4 of 8e x a P^ fvrS TeXor] 'But the refined and active conceive honour to' be the chief good ; for this may be said to be (JV Tipyv 8p6in)ffiv. Cf. also .ffA. i. adii. 2 : tern 70^ ti jUGWTeuojra/ Tt irti^res vra. TTJC aptr-fiv] It is the { TTJS aperris, virtue regarded as a mere quality, which Aristotle repudiates. Past merits, or the passive possession of qualities, whose existence depends on the attestation of fame, cannot be thought to constitute the chief good. Very different from this is tvtpytta /COT' ape-rffv, the consciousness of a virtuous life. tl fi^i Qeaiv 8o4>uA(TTa>j'] ' Unless defending a paradox.' e'treis in de- monstration are those unproved prin- ciples necessary to the existence of each separate science, just as d|t&j/uaTa are to the existence of reasoning in general (Post. Analytics, i. ii. 7), but 6fv yvupt/juav -rtvbs Kara 8e ruv /3iW, Kal roiv fi^v rrfs roiavrrjs etTj/uepi'os. oAA* us riay wa.yKa.iaiv ffirovdao/j.fyv irepl Kal ras fiavavirovs rtev Se fls fvSaifj.ovtKTiv rarrofJifyaiv rpiwv ovrwv. ' Now the lives of men being divided, and the one class laying no claim at all to this kind of good fortune, but being devoted to the obtaining the necessaries of life, as for instance those engaged with mean arts and lucre and sordid crafts ; while the others, which are ranked severally as in the enjoy- ment of Happiness, are three in number.' Here ovf is restored by the absolutely certain conjecture of Bonitz. /3icu($5 TU exactly corresponds with ofS" afupiffprrrovvruv trirov$ao- ntvuv, and so it is understood by the Paraphrast : Kal m /3/aioj. OCre 70? rb ayadbv SiuKft, ot/rf favv Soxei otci-Kfif. "OBevov KO\\OIS 4 tya- ffr6s ' o\iyoi yap t1\ovro irdtnjs rfjs fv fiicp V ita.Ka.ilav elirtiv nvts Trpo4\-)(6iiffa.v J &TI irdvra ravra. ecrrt OfS>i> TrAea .... TTJ iMfv 6eia Swdij.fi irpfirovra Kara- jSaAAdjuci/Oi \6yov, oil /uV rj7 -ye ova'ia. By a slight extension of meaning we have in the Politics, Kar (vm. ii. 6), Kor (via. iii. 1 1 ), ' ordinary, usual, branches of learning.' VI. Aristotle now proceeds to examine, or rather to attack, Plato's doctrine of the Idea of Good. To test the worth of this criticism be- longs to a consideration of the entire relation of Aristotle to the views of his master. See Essay III. The ar- guments used are as follows : ( i ) the Platonists allow that where there is an essential succession between two conceptions, these cannot be brought under a common idea but there is such between different manifestations of good, e. g., the useful is an essen- tially later conception. (2) If all good be one, it ought to fall under only one category, whereas it can be predicated under all. (3) If it were one, it would be treated of by only one science. (4) The Idea is, after all, only a repetition of the phenomena, for with these it is really identical. (5) Even the most essential and abso- lute goods seem incapable of being reduced to one idea. (6) It is more natural to consider good an analogous word, and to assign to it a nomina- listic, rather than a realistic, unity. V. VI.] H9IKON NIKOMAXEION I. 361 xa roug ra sjory. Oo pia. ys TTJ =i= 0* at/ i'ovo^ yap o (7) But however this may be, it is plain that the Idea can hare no rela- tion to practical life, and therefore it does not belong to ethics. I TO 5e /cafloAou aA.rjfleiaj'] ' But perhaps it were better to consider the Universal, and to ask what it means, although the inquiry is made disagree- able owing to the authors of the doc- trine of ideas being our friends. Still it is better and even incumbent on us, where the safety of truth is concerned, to sacrifice that which is nearest to us, especially as we are philosophers. For where both are dear, friends and the truth, it is our duty to prefer the truth.' Tb Ka&6\ov' the universal ' is, of course, Plato's idea of good. The Idea was the universal element in existence and in knowledge ; with- out it, according to Plato, the parti- cular could neither be, nor be known. Still the use of the word Ka.Q6\ov here is remarkable, for it does not at all distinctively belong to Plato's system. Aristotle also held the necessary ex- istence of universals, only more as a nominalist, saying that they were Kara. iroAA.cJi' (predicable of particu- lars), not Ttapa ra ToAAe (existing independent of particulars). Cf. Post. Anal. i. xi. i : Eftij nev ofiv etvai fj / Ti Trapa TO iroXAtt OVK avdjicr) e ax6- Si|(S effrai, elvat fjLtv rot ev Kara iroA- \i\ovtiKias evKO. rqs avr'iKa. Sffiov irporifj.av rrjv a^deiav] This is Plato's own sentiment about Ho- mer; Bepub. x. p. 595 c, oAA' ov po ye rys a\i)0fias ri/^ifreos avJip. He al- so applies the word Strtoi/ in a si- milar context, Sepub. n. p. 368 B: SeSoiKa yap fjc^i ovS" oaiav p Kapaye- v6fifVOV SlKOlOffVVTI KaKTiyOpOVfJ.fyT) O.W- ayopfveiv, K.T.\. z. ol Se K0p.iffa.vrts KaTevicevaov] ' Now they who introduced this opinion used not to make ideas of things of which they predicated priority and posteriority, and hence they constructed no idea of numbers.' KoniffavTts] Cf. Top. vm. v. 6, KO/U'- ovTfs oAAoTpta? Sdfas. The words 56av ravrrji' and 4foiovf ISear seem used, as if purposely, to express an arbitrary and fictitious system. With the above cf. Metaph. n. iii. 10: en tv aits TO Tcpfatpov KO\ 5trrep6v tffnv, ov% ol6v re rb eTrl rovrtav elvai ri irapa. ravra ' olov el irpcarrj rS>v apidfj.wt> TJ Svds, OVK effn ns apidpbs irapa ra elSi) r TTO/O> xa< V TO> TTpOTSpOV TY T/ TO xa oucrio. TOU T/ * OiX xcu 3xo / T< TOU ot/TOf, OJQ-T' oux av ng xoivvj rio ffiwv, OVK evSe^erai rb iroA.AoirAeia'toj' rJ) KOJJ^ Karrijopoiifjievov flvcuxvpurTdf t-ffrai "yap TOV 5iir\affiov irp6Tepov, ft ore- pous tyaalv elvai TOI/S dpiBpoiis, rbj/ fj.kv t\oina rb irpArepot/ Kal vwrepov Tots ISeas-, rbv Se /ioOvj^oTticbv TrapA ras ISe'aj. It is the ideal numbers of which Aristotle says that they stand in essential and immutable succession to and dependence on each other, and therefore can be brought under no common idea. Hence the mention of the 5ws and the 8rX r TO jasTpiov, xa} ev Tai Trpo'^ T< TO ^p>2V oux av s'/?j xoivo'v T/ xaQo'Xou xa< sv * ou yap av eXeysT' sv Trcx-fraig raig xaTrjyo- pioug, aXX' ev j,/a jao'v^. Tt 8' ITTS} Ttoi/ xaTa xai 7r/o~TV5jar], xai TCOV aya^tov aTravTcoi/ ^v av ' vvv oov xa it might be said that according to Aristotle's own account it falls (in all its manifestations, whe- ther as means or ends) under the one supreme science Politics. 5 6 airopfiiTeie 8' &v TJS i^(ni- pov] ' Now one might be puzzled to say what they mean by an "absolute" thing if for instance in man and absolute-man there is one and the same conception of man. For qua man they will not differ. If so, the same will apply to good. Nor is it any use to say that the absolute good will be more good by being eternal, since what is ever so old is not whiter than that which lasts but a day.' Aristotle brings against the idea an accusation which he has also used in the Metaphysics (i. ix._i ), that it only multiplies phenomena, as it exhibits the same law or conception as they. He adds to it a captious objection, that it is no use to say the absolute differs from the conditional, in being eternal, since length of duration does not constitute a distinction between identical qualities ; as if length of duration were the same as eternity. Cf. Eth. vi. iii. 2 ; and see Essay III. p. 1 60. 7 iridavtaTepov 5' Soffet] ' But the Pythagoreans seem to give a more probable account of it, placing unity in the row of goods ; whom Speusip- pus too, it must be observed (8^7), appears to follow.' We have to deal here with the subtle differences be- tween the Greek schools of metaphy- sical philosophy. There came in 364 H9IKHN NIKOMAXEK1N I. [CHAP. Ti6svrss ev TYJ Tibv ayoiQwv e7raxoAou5Sj Asyoir' av raya$a, xa/ ra 9 xa5' ayra, Qarepa 6s SpVavTs^ ouv a^-o v ra xa^' aura povs7v xa) opav xa) vJ xaj rift-ai ; raura ^ap sJ xa; 0*' aTiAo ri r>t/ xa#' aura aya^aJv Qsnj T/f ctv. ^ ou8' ouOsv 7rXji/ r^j J2s'a^; cocrrs jtxara/ov saivs(rQai 8si50"s/, xaSai xa< \f/*j.jau6/to rov rrjj; Xsuxo'r->jro^. Tigris Ss xa* xa) ij'8oj/7J srspoi xat %ux.$>epovTS$ ol hoyoi raurr^ TTJ a TS Se Aex^^o'"' SAXof] ' But against my arguments an objection suggests itself, namely, that the Platonic theory was not meant to apply to every good (5io rb /tr) ircpl jrav-rbs ayaBnv rovs \6yovs tlpj\aQai), but that under one head are classified those goods that are sought and loved in and for themselves (icaff aura), while things productive of these, or in any way preservative of them, or pre- ventive of their opposites, are spoken of as " secondary goods " (5a TaOro), and in another fashion.' It seems best to refer roi/s \6yovs to the Pla- tonic theory. The words naff- ev eTSos are used not in the peculiarly Platonic sense, ' under one idea,' but in the more common and also Aristo- telian sense, ' under one species.' 10 ff ou5' &\\o eI5os] 'Or is none of these, nor anything except the idea, to be called an absolute good? in which case the class good will be devoid of content and indivi- duals.' The Platonic idea was meant to be not only an iSea, or absolute existence, transcending the world of space and time, but also an elSos, or universal nature, manifesting itself in different individuals. This latter property, Aristotle argues, will be lost if we keep denying of different attainable goods, even those that seem most plainly so, that they are goods in themselves. 1 1 (t>povfiffeus'] ' Thought.' The word is used in a general sense as the substantive of Qpovfiv (cf. Eth. vn. xii. 5), and not in its technical sense as restricted to ' practical wisdom.' TJ/XTJJ Se ayaOa] ' Now honour, thought, pleasure, exhibit distinct and differing laws when viewed as goods.' The same instances are given below, i. vii. 5, of goods sought for their own sake. Obviously here Aristotle is not doing full justice by the question he has started what the 'different laws ' of good in these objects call for, 3G6 NIKOMAXEIilN I. [CHAP. aoux scrriv apa TO ayaSov xoivw n xara/x/av iSsav. aX?\.a 7rw$ 8rj XsygTa< ; ou yap soixs roTj 75 aVo rvffl MOI$. a'XX' apa ye rut a<>' si/o sli/a/, vj ?rpo si/ |(rt)i/TXsiV, ^ jU.a7v.Xoj/ xaT 5 a'vaXoy/av ; a) yap ev (ra')ju.ar< xa< aXXo 8?) g'v aXXco. aXX* TO i/ut/* e^axp<|3ouv ya^ 6;rp av enj C^iXoo-o^/a^ oJxsioVspov. 6j.o/co^ 8s xa< ei yap xa< eernv sv T; TO xoivy xaT^yopoujas rj ^copJo~To'v TJ auTo xa#' aoTo', 8>]Xov o>^ oux av g XTT;TOV av3pa)7ra>' i/5v 8s TO/OUTO'V T< rara 14 Ta/ TO. 8s TO> So^siev av fi&nov slvai yvwpt^siv xal TrpaxTa Ttov ayaStov* olov yap Trapa- 8s/yjU.a TOUT' IVOVTSJ jU.aX.Xov eJo~o'jU,s6a xa< Ta >] e ]U.7v aya^cx, xav sl8vpa \tyfrai >v ovo^-a fj.6vov KOIV&V. A nominalistic explanation of the general conception of good is here substituted provi- sionally for the realism of Plato. 13 &A.A'Ja- i . /\ ' C / T=IS/ o-jx suXoyov. aTropov 0= xai Ti a>9 ^ r /5 r ," sra ' u^a"- l6 ' Tsxra>v Trpog }(X.TplXWTsprj$ TTyV yap o*j3s TTJV TGU<) * xa.y "sxaa-Tov yap larpsvet. xai jUV TO'JTOIV 7T/ TOCToOYoV J$7^r5a). IIa?uv 8' 7ravX5a>|,v eVi TO ^VJTOUJU,VOV ayaSov, T/y TTOT' av snj. QOLIVSTOLI |U,v yap aXXo v aAXr, Trpa^si xai XeTirov /3ow\eTcu TTJS Qvtrews ovoirAij- po/'. 1 5 1 6 Kdlroi refleajteVos] ' And yet it is not likely that all artists should be ignorant of, and never so much as inquire after, so great an aid, if really existing. But it is hard to see in what a weaver or carpenter will be benefited with regard to their respective arts by knowing the abso- lute good ; or how one is to become a better doctor or general by having contemplated the absolute Idea.' It has been objected that Aristotle fixes on too mean specimens of the arts, that he might have spoken differently if he had adduced the fine arts. But the question is, whether for practical life the Idea, that is, a knowledge of the absolute, could be made available ? This forms a great point of divergence between Plato and Aristotle. The latter seems to regard the Idea as, an object of the speculative reason alone, something metaphysical and standing apart; and between the speculative and practical powers of man he sets a gulf. Plato, on the other hand, speak- ing without this analytical clearness, seems to think of the idea as an object for the imagination, as well as the reason, as being an ideal as well as an idea. In this its many-sided character he would make it affect life, as well as A*-* 1 knowledge ; for by contemplation of it the mind would become conformed to it. Cf. Eepub. TO., and see Essay in. p. i 53 . VII. I ird^iv 5' 4iravf\0 of ethics, here ' sought for,' from the transcendental supreme good of meta- physics. Failing to obtain a satisfac- tory answer to his question, either from the common opinions of men, or from the philosophers, Aristotle starts anew, by asserting that though the conception of good may vary ' in each art and action,' yet it has this unvary- ing characteristic, that it is the ' end.' From this starting-point the argument easily comes round to the position already anticipated (/irra/3aiVwj> MI 6 \6yos es ravrbv cuplicrcu), that the trpaicrbv aya06v is identical with the r^Aos T Aetov, or end-in-itself of action, and with this basis, by a series of a priori principles, some already enunciated by Plato and others pecu- liar to his own system, Aristotle de- 368 IieiKilN NIKOMAXEIilN I. [CHAP. Y] ' aAXo yap sv larpixj) xat (rTpotrrffixy xoci TOLI$ Xo<- ,' Ojao/a>. T/ ouv excarTTJs Taya$o'v ; ^ oS ppN.O, TOUT' av ei'rj TO TrpaxTov ayaQo'v, e< 6s TauTa. jasTa^a/vaiv 8^ o^.o'yoj eig TOUTO 8' 3 XTO.I. TOUTO T< jaaov ao~a7]o-aj Trstparsov. STTS 8s TrXeift* QaivsTOii TO. TeXvj, TOUTCOV 8' aipoufAeQa. TIVOC. 8<' gYepa, olov TT^OUTOV ayXou^ xa< oXa> Ta opyava, 8^Xov a>j owx SO~T< TravTa TeXsia' TO 8' oipurTov Te'Xe/o'v T< tyotlvs- TCU. WO~T' eJ /xev eo~Tiv ev TI jao'vov TS'X/OV, TOUT' av ei'rj TO VToujttevov, e 8e 7T/\e/a>, TO TeXexTov TOU 8/ srspov xal TO jOtTjSeTTOTe 81' aXXo aipsTov TCOV xai xafi' auTa xa 8ia Tou6' alpsrcbv, xai aTrXtoj 8^ TeXeiov TO xaS' awTo otlpsrov ae< xai iuSsVoTe 81' aXXo. TO; (2) Also, it must be atfrop/cw; (3) It must be found in the "Ep^oi' of man. (4) This^Ep-yoi' is a rational and moral life ; (5) We must conceive of it 'in actuality,' in other words, as 'conscious life ; ' ^ We must add the condition of conformity to its own proper law ; (7) And also the external condition of sufficient duration and prosperity. 3 oliw irA.oOTOi' ouA.oi/s Kal S\o>s TCI opycu>a] ' As for instance, wealth, flutes, and instruments in general.' Wealth is a mere means (cf. i. v. 8). AuXoi seems a stock example with Aristotle of the instruments to an art. Cf. De Animd, i. iii. z6, where he argues against the doctrine of the migration of souls, saying, you might as well speak of the carpenter's art migrating into flutes : irapa.Tr\-<]tnov ycty) T^IV fiev rf^vrjv \priv\^iv rip ffcaf^art. Cf. Xenophon, (Econ. i. 10, where Socrates says : Scnrep -ye av\ol rf fjLtv ^iritrra- fitvcp djiois \6yov av\tiv r TJ -/ xa) TSXVOIS xot.} yuvat.ixi . 8ox=7. TO 8' aurapjfsg $/ov /AovtoT^v, aXXa xai xoii oT^cog roig Qfaoig xcti 7roX/Ta/Acov TOU^ Qfaous slg aTrs/pov TTposierw. aXXa TOUTO /xev slerau- 5i 7r/0-X7TTOV, TO 8' a6VapX^ TlQsfMV [J.OVOl>[J.VOV OLlpS- TOV TTOiii TOV Qiov xou fj,rfisvo$ Iv8sa' TOIOUTOV 8s T^V su8af- jttoyi'av olofjLsQa. sivon. eri 8s TrdvTtov alpsTwrdryv j.r)TJS. 8 ert 5e irdvrwv def] ' Moreover we think it (ol6fj.e6a) the most desir- able of all goods, provided it be not (juij) reckoned as one \ among them ; but if it were so reckoned, it is B 370 IIOIKON NIKOMAXEIflN I. [CHAP. 9 TOJV TTpaxrtov ouo~a [JLOVIOLV TO apKTTOV AeyeiV 6jU.oXoyoujU.svov TI (a/vsTa/, 8' svapyeVrep ov TI SO~TIV STI Xsp^Qvjva/. ra^a ' av TOUT', si Xijc^Qsivj TO spyov TOU av5pa>- TTOU. coo~7rsp yap auAvjT'JJ xai ayaXju/xTOTrofa) xai TravTi re^vfrji, xai oXa> cov SO"TIV spyov TI xai TrpS.%-ig t Iv TO) spya) Soxs? TayaSov sTvai xai TO su, OUTCO plain that it would become more de- sirable with the addition of the slight- est good, for the addition constitutes a preponderance of goods, and the greater good is always the more de- sirable.' This remark points out the difference between the Te\eiov Kal atjrapKfs aya66v and any other thing to which the word ' best ' can ever be applied. The all-comprehensive and supreme good, happiness, is indeed the best, but not as being really placed on a level with other goods, or ranked among them ; not as being 'best of the lot," but as in- cluding all the lot in itself, so that beside it there is no good left that could possibly be added to it. The Paraphrast gives exactly this meaning to the passage, rendering the word ffvvapi6fj.ovfj.tvriv by ffvarotxov rots a\\ots ayaBois. Kal el ffvffTOixpv avT^v TOIS &\\ois iroiT], Kal OVTUIS OVK tlV eftj aVT^I Tb &KpOV TWV alpfT&v. And that the above was the meaning of Aristotle is shown by the author of the Magna Moralia (i. ii. 7), who starts the question : IIws Tb KO! avTov ffwa.pi6fjiovij.tvov ; to which he answers : 'AXA* &TOTTOV. rb yap &pt- ffrov tiffiS-fi IffTi Ti\os T^Kftov, Tb 5e Ti\fiov T^Xos us air\ws tlirt'iv ovGtv &/ &\\i> o~6titv tlvai fj (vSaiuofia, tav 8r) tb /3e\TtffTOv ffKOircav Kal avTb ffvia- pi6fj.ys, aurb avrov u- riirai bs TO 'itiiov. dopi .j, ._ ~ i " * xai a'j^Tixr^v (^COYJV. sTro^vt] 8s alo~Qir)Tixri Tig av s/Vj, S; VVr ' > \ & \ n 4. v T^siTTSTai 8>j vrpaxTixr) Tig TOV Xo'yov SVOVTOJ. / TOIJTOU 8s TO ULSV CDQ s7rnrsiB\c Xovm. TO 8' we lyov xa; TTOTS and ' most desirable ' are to be applied to the supreme good ; not meaning that which merely as a fact is better than other things, but, ideally, that than which nothing can be better. Aristotle accepts from the Platohists the doctrine, that the chief good is in- capable of addition. Cf. Eth. x. ii. 3. II trArepov ovv TSKTOVOS /c.T.A.] This argument by which, from the analogy of the different trades, of the different animals, and of the separate parts of the body, the existence of a proper function for man is proved comes almost verbatim from Plato's Republic, i. 352-3. The epyov of anything Plato there defines as that which can alone or best be accom- plished by the thing in question. 7 Apa ovv TOVTO Zip OE/TJS Kal tirtrov Kal a\\ov OTOVOW epyov o av 1? Liovti) eKeiv(f> iroiij ns $ apivra Of course fpyov in this sense is to be distin- guished from such uses as in Eth. i. i. 2, where it means an ' external re- sult ; ' iv. ii. 10, ' a work of art ; ' n. ix. 2, ' a labour,' or ' achievement.' 1 2 TO juec "yap ffv exovros] ' Now mere life is shared even by the plants, whereas we are seeking something peculiar. We may set aside therefore the life of nutrition and growth. B B Succeeding this will be a principle of life that may be called the percep- tive ; but this too appears shared by horse and ox and every animal. There remains then what may be called a moral life of the rational part.' The argument here as to the proper function of man, and the divi- sion on which it is based, belongs entirely to the physiological and psy- chological system of Aristotle. See Essay V. p. 237. The meanings of the word irpairriK&s are (i) with a genitive ' able to do,' or ' disposed to do,' as iv. iii. 27, oXiycav irpaKTtK6v, i. ix. 8, irpaKTiKovs rSiv Ka\iav. (2) ' Active,' 'practical,' opposed to quiescent or speculative, i. v. 4. Oj Se xap<'T* Kal irpaKTiKoi rifn-fiv. VI. viii. 2. (3) 'Moral,' as here, opposed to the life of animal instinct. Cf. \i. ii. a, 8e fj.^t Koiva>ve7v. Or, as vr. iv. 2, vi. xii. 10, opposed to the artistic and tho scientific. 13 TOUTOU Se 8iavoov/j.fvov] With regard to the present passage, Bekker exhibits no variation in the MSS., and the Paraphrast evidently had it in his text. All that can be said, therefore, is that the present sentence inter- rupts the sense and grammar of the 2 372 IIGIKON NIKOMAXEIftN I. [CllAl'. TO $ 8e xai TauVij Xsyojas'vrjs rr\v xar svspysiav *4xvpt(t)Tspov yap aurri 8oxsT Xs'-yso^af. < o' eo"T ysvei TOUO= xai TouSs w(nrep xiftapurTov xai <>>' ^^ /, (TTTOUdaiOU 6S TO SU * t d OlTO>, aVypCUTTOV 6S spyov a)riv riva, radrr\v 6s \J/uyvi? Ivspysiav xai pyov Xoyou, o~7rou8a/ou su xa context, and that it is conspicuously awkward in a book which for the most part reads smoothly. SITTWJ Se A.76 8' auTO (pafjifv epyov avOptairov 5e TiBffjiev tKOffTov 8' e?. The apodosis to all of these is et 8' OVTW, rb avdpumvov aya66v, where ylverai is used as de- noting a deduction from premises, just as the future tense is often em- ployed. Similar long-drawn argu- ments occur it. vi. 9, m. v. 1 7, &c. tl 8' tffrlv \6yov] ' Now if the function of man be conscious life ac- cording to a law, or implying a law.' i^ux^> substituted for the previous term C4 denotes the entire principle of life, thought, and action, in man. The additional term KOTO &6yov gives an equivalent to irpoKriicfj, since the reason necessarily introduces a moral point of view into every part of life (cf. J)e Animd, n. x. 7). It is difficult to translate KOTO \6yov, because the word \6yos is ambiguous. Partly it means reason, partly a law or standard (cf. Eth. ii. ii. 2). As compared with n$i &vev \6yov, KOTO \6yov would express a marked, direct, and prominent con- trol. In the eixpirfi? and the artaQpivv, where the desires flow naturally to what is good, reason would seem rather to be presupposed (o5 OVK &vfv) than directly to assert itself. The more significant expression, however, is that which follows, irpd^eis ^lero \6yov. A machine might be said to move Kara \6yov, ' in accordance with a law,' but not /xeri *6yov, ' with a consciousness of a law.' It is this consciousness of the law, which, ac- cording to Hegel, distinguishes mora- lity (Moralitat) from mere propriety (Sittlichkeit). On the transition of meaning from /car' frtpyfta.i> to frfpyeia tyvxys, and on the translation of these terms, see Essay IV. p. 187, 193. rb 8* oiirb ct0apt TsA=m>. ^a/a -yap 16 out/ ra.ya.yhv radry. 8s? yap i 1; av iravrog slvai Trpoayaysiv xcu oapQpa>v yeyovacriv al 7rioo(rsig' Travrog yap Trpovftifvai TO I) showing there is nothing illogical in doing so, that by taking a genus in its best form we do not go off into another genus. 1 5 fKaffTov 5' <5 onrore \eirat] ' And j everything is well completed in accor- ' dance with its own proper excellence.' Cf. Eih. n. vi. 2. This principle of the connexion between the proper function of a thing and the peculiar law of excellence of that thing is taken from Plato; cf. Repub. i. p. 353. It is introduced here to justify the term nar' aptri\v in the definition of happiness. This term is not at once to be interpreted ' according to virtue,' which would destroy the logical se- quence of the argument. It comes in at first in a general sense, ' according to the proper law of excellence in man,' whatever that may be. el 8" OUTW TeAewTctTTji/] ' If SO, I say, it results that the good for- man is conscious life according to the law of excellence ; and if the excellences be more than one, according to that which is best and most absolutely in itself desirable.' Whatever awkward- ness and strangeness there may appear in this attempt to render the definition of Aristotle, it will be found on con- sideration to approach, at all events, nearer to his meaning than the usual rendering : ' an energy of the soul, according to virtue,' &c. 1 6 en 8' eV &icp 'Xf6vos] ' But wo must add also ' in a complete period and sphere of circumstances.' For one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one day ; and so neither one day nor a brief time constitutes a man blest and happy.' flios, the ex- ternal form and condition of life, im- plies both fortunes and duration. By adding this last consideration, Ari- stotle gives a practical aspect to his definition. Ideally, a moment of con- sciousness might be called the highest good, independent of space and time. r^\eios, as we have seen above ( 4), means ' that which is of the nature of an end,' 'that which is desirable for its own sake.' But no doubt the popu- lar sense of the word comes in to some degree in the present passage ; partly Aristotle had before his mind the conception of a ' complete ' or ' perfect ' duration of life, partly of an external history and career that could be designated as ' desirable for its own sake.' 17 irepiyfypdrpdai eAAeiirw] 'Thus^ far, then, for a sketch of the chief! good ; for we ought surely to draw the 1 374 IIGIKQN NIKOMAXEIftN I. [CHAP. . xa) yap TSXTCOV xa) yswfj.s < T>jv opftrjV. o [Ji.lv yap ' o TOV auTov 20 ra trdpspya ra>v epywv TT^SKO 8' ou^e rrjv alriav sv aTranv O^XOKO^ olov xa< Trsi oov oxsov STTI- g TO TpoTrov xai ev TO/ TTOI^TSOV, oux ixavov ev TKT/ TO aj TO outline first, and afterwards to fill it up. And it would seem that any one could bring forward and complete what fits in with the sketch, and that time is a good discoverer of such things, or at least a good cooperator. Hence it is, too, that the development of the arts has taken place, for every man can supply that which is defec- tive.' From this point to the end of the chapter, Aristotle dwells on the importance of a principle (like his de- finition of the chief good) as an outline or comprehensive idea, afterwards to be developed and filled up. (Cf. a simi- lar phrase in De Gen. Anim. n. vi. 29 : Koi ykp ypcuptis vTroypa.fya.VTfs rcus ypa.fj.fMus OUTUS tva.\tlovffirdis xP^M cur ' r'b Gfov, et prsced.') He adds, how- ever, the caution that mathematical exactness must not be required in filling up the sketch. He seems here to dwell with some pride on the foun- dation he has laid for ethics ; a similar feeling betrays itself with regard to his logical discoveries, Sophist. Elench. xxxiii. 13, where is a parallel passage to the present on the importance of opx a - T & 8e f inrapxys evpt ffaOe, xpijcnjtttfrepoj' ^uira iro\\

- 21 , al 8' a! Kat irepl T^-)(in\v bitomvovv *cal /j.dOrifjia' Se? y&p TO. inrdpxotna /cal ols virdpxfi ifpl fKcurrov adpfif. Aii ras /Jiff apxaj Tas irepl eiccuTTOV ifi.- itffjias tffrl KopdSovfcu. Connecting then the recognition of opx "' with the knowledge of facts, we see that (i) tirtryGryf) is the evolution of a general law out of particular facts, (2) dfv fx etv ^" aXv o ^o /j yo, aXXa xai ex TCOV ir% * no [JLSV -yap aAr y S=r TTOLVTOL a-vvctosi ret uTra ra alone : it is a question whether even the truths of number do not derive part of their validity as necessary axioms from their frequent repetition. See Mill's Logic, book n. ch. v. VIII. We now enter upon a fresh division of the Book. From hence to the end of Chapter lath Aristotle tests his great ethical principle, his definition of the chief good, by com- paring it with various popular or philosophic opinions, and by applying to it certain commonly mooted ques- tions and distinctions of the day. i (TKemtov Si] Ta\7j0j] ' We must consider it (i.e. the first prin- ciple) therefore not only from the point of view of our own conclusion and premises, but also from that of sayings on the subject. For with what is true all experience coincides, with what is false the truth quickly shows a discrepancy.' irtpl OUTTJS] especially with 8^, can only be referred to TI fyx'k ^ n the pre- ceding line. This is a general doc- trine of science, though Aristotle im- mediately exemplifies it with regard to his definition of happiness. i S>v~\ is compressed for ^{ ixelvuv ^| S>v. The clause rf ^v roATjCes contains an indistinctness and a diffi- culty overlooked by the commenta- tors. For they content themselves with explaining that ' truth in the thought is identical with existence in 6 \6yos the thing.' *O yap eV rf \6yip a\ij6e's, roOro 7) virapis iv Ttp Zrav ovv TO virdpxoma. Ttf awa,$ei rolj irtpl O.VTOV f>ri\ov Ztv e?rj, 2rt d\7j0 (Eustratius). The difficulty is, that Aristotle is not talking of comparing theory with facts, but his own theory with the theories of others. To inrdp- XOJTO, however, cannot exactly mean ' opinions ' or ' theories.' It is plain that there is some confusion in the expressions used, which is increased by the word ToAijOe'f in the second part of the sentence answering to TO inrdpxovra in the first. There is here a mixing up of the objective and the subjective sides of knowledge. Our word ' experience ' may perhaps serve to represent TO inrdpxovra, meaning neither ' facts' nor ' opinions,' but facts as represented in opinions. In the same way ia\ri6fs is not simply the true fact, nor the true theory, but ' the truth,' that is, fact embodied in theory. TO inrapxcvra, would usually mean the natural attributes of a thing, the facts of its nature. Cf. Prior Anal. I. xxx. i (quoted above). Eth. i. x. 7. 7. yevefiitfifviav ayaOd] ' To apply our principle (5^), goods have been di- vided into three kinds, the one kind being called external goods, and the others goods of the mind and body ; and we call those that have to do with the mind most distinctively and most especially goods.' This classification VIII.] HOIKiiN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 377 rr t v oa VTTO rtbv <*Xoo-oouvTO)t/. T^sovrai xai evssiou TO ov xca ol xat or/ * oora> TO) xa /, xa xa) TO s' Trprrsiv TOV yap sj s}'pr t rai xai sitTTpa^ia. $a.ivzTa.i Ss 5 ctsv yap apsTT), roig 3= $>povr}(ri$, aX-6 is attributed by Sextus Empiricus, a?y. Ethicos xi. 51, to the Platonists and Peripatetics ; but in the Eudemian Ethics ii. i. i, it is spoken of as a popular division, Ka.Ga.Trtp 5ia.ipoviJ.f6a. ei/Tois QtoTfpiKois \6-yois. Accordingly here Aristotle calls it ' an ancient di- vision that is admitted by the philo- sophers.' It is only as in contrast to ffSifta. that we can venture to call i^f x^ 'mind.' Our psychological words are so much more definite and re- stricted than those of Aristotle, that we cannot hope to give a uniform ren- dering of terms which he employs in varying senses. We must follow his context, and try to catch the association which is for the time most prominent. 3 opSws Se ^KTrfs] 'And our definition is right in that certain actions and modes of consciousness are specified as the End. For thus it comes to be one of the goods of the mind, and not one of those that are external.' Ttpdeis stand for the development of the moral nature of man, eVe'p'yeiot more generally for the development of any part of his nature into consciousness. In either case the man departs not out of himself ; the good is one existing in and for his mind. 4 i\ia eiri(ijTt: (z) to ' search after,' I . vL 1 5, ayvoe'iv Kal fiifS' eiri^rfTtif : (3) to 'examine' or investigate,' r. vii. 19, eJTj^roOffi T^IV op&i\v. Ann. i. 6 : (4) to ' question,' like airopeiv, ix. vii. i. In the passage before us, TO, evifa- Tovneva. partly means ' the things de- manded, or thought requisite ; ' partly, as going with irepl T^V evSoufiovtav, ' the discussions or investigations on the subject of happiness.' The words Se Kai mark a transition from con- sidering the merely popular opinions, to the more philosophic 'investiga- tions ' of the subject. 6 rots fifv yap o~vfiirapa\a[ilBd- vowfa>\ As we learn from the next section, Aristotle is rather running over the chief heads of opinion than giving any accurate classification of the different schools of philosophy. The opinion that identified happiness with virtue may perhaps be attributed to the Cynics ; with practical wisdom (p6vr)ffis and ia. The rest of the argument is very simple, (i) The definition of happiness, ' conscious life under tin- law of virtue,' agrees with, includes, and improves upon the definition that says ' virtue is happiness.' For it substitutes the evocation, employment, and conscious development of virtue, for the same as a mere possession or latent quality, (z) Such a life im- plies pleasure necessarily and essen- tially (icaff aintiv rjdvs) ; for pleasure, being part of our consciousness (ri juei* yap ?iSfff6a,i TjAoTOoDros, cf. Eth. H. iii. i 3), and thus will arise out of a life of virtue to him that pursues such a life. He will experi- ence a harmony of pleasures unknown to Others (TOW i\oKu\ois effrlv i]5fa, TO. itivffei 7J56i). Hence we may super- sede the addition proposed by some philosophers of fitff ^So^i/v to the con- ception of happiness. Our conception, says Aristotle, needs no such adjunct 'to be tied on like an amulet.' (3) He accepts the requirements of Xenocrates. External prosperity is a condition without which happiness VIII.] NIKOMAXEmN I. 379 ou9 xct sv ap=T7jv rj dpsTTjV Tiva o~uvto8o^ e(TTiv 6 TTIV TJ xaT* auTrjf svspyeia. biafyepsi 8s g|/ XTrjo-7rep >e/_ \i / dycovi%o[j.voi (TOUTCUV yap Tivsg vixa)(riv\ ov TO) |Sj xa) oXttJg Ta xaT* apsTvjv TO> Ta vi^ea u.d'/STai bid TO I f\- 9 eivai, TOIS 8e <>iXoxaAoj SO-T/V ^'Sea Ta 4)uo~< rjSsa. TOI- o TO 10 o cannot practically exist, though it is not to be confounded with happiness. TTJC ap(rr)v ^ dper^v rtva] ' Virtue or excellence of some sort.' The am- biguity of the word aper^ renders it impossible to be translated uniformly. It comes into the Ethics with the general meaning of excellence, but constantly tends to restrict itself to human virtue, and indeed to moral virtue, as distinguished from other human excellence. 9 ri\6il\OKi\oKa.\fiv in Thucydides, n. c. 40. In Aristotle the meaning is more restricted to a love of the noble in action. Eth. iv. 380 IIGIKiiN NIKOMAXEION I. [CHAP. aura o' ai xar' apsryjv xa< vap>v TOV OMTTS xai TOUTO< ea-/v av a.s 8ixa07rpays7v, OUT* shevQepjov TOV j-^ ^aipnvra TOU$ sAsu^spio*^ 7rpd^, xa$' auraj av sT=v ai xar' apsTr^v Trpd^sig TjOeTa/. aXXa jutrjv xai aya^a/ -y= xa/ xa- /, xa< jaaXio"Ta rouraiv exatrrov, siVep xotJKuig xpivsi avTwv o (nro^oiiog ' xpivei 8' a> eiVojasv. oipKrrov apa xa.} xaXXTTOV xal ^8TTO* 73 su^aju.ov/a, xai pi ^iroivoujuej' o>s a^SficoST; Kai (f>i\6Ka\uf. (frvfffi 7]5ea denotes partly things that are, ought to be, and must be pleasures, according to the eternal fitness of things, in accor- dance with the whole frame of the world ; cf. uupai\ irapa, Ty 0$ r^)v avrov yvu>fJLf)v diror)i>dfi.(.i>os awfypaif/ev M rb irpoirv\aiov TOV ATJT^JOI;, K.T.\. The last line, as there given, stands TTOJ/TCOJ/ 5' rj$i(TTOt>, ov ns ipa rb rvx^v. The verses also occur among the remains of Theognis, and the same sentiment in iambics is found in a fragment of the Creusa of Sophocles, Stobaeus Scrm. VIII. IX.] H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 381 sxrog ayaa>v 7rpotr*~ 15 OjUs'vrj, xa^aTTsp siVojasi/ * a^ui/arov yap 73 ot> pcfiiov TO. xa?\.a TTparTc/v a^opTjyrjTOz/ oi/ra. 7roX?va ^xsv yap TrpaTrs- rai, xa^aTTsp 6i' opyavtov, 8*a fyfawv xai TrXouroy xai o, Tl/J/flV, tVTVXiaV, dpfrrtv ovrta yap ay avrapKfffraTos ffy, tl inrdpxot avry TO T' ei/ avry teal TO tKrbs dyadd- ov ydp fcrriv oAAo irapd ToOra. The expression in the Rhetoric 'parts of happiness,' is equiva- lent to ' instruments ' of happiness, the more accurate designation in the present passage. 1 7 Koflajrep o\>v dperVji'] ' As we have said then, it seems to require the addition of such external prosperity. Hence some identify good fortune with happiness, as another class of philo- sophers do virtue.' The Cyrenaics and Cynics appear to be alluded to here. Aristotle's doctrine contains and gives a deeper expression to all that is true in both of the two views. IX. i $6tv Kapa,yiverai\ ' Whence also the question is raised whether it (happiness) is to be attained by teaching, or habit, or any other kind of practice ; or whether it comes by some divine providence, or lastly by chance.' The word SOev expresses the thread of connexion, by which this new subject of discussion is intro- duced. Since happiness seems to be a balance of two principles, an internal one, virtue, and an external one, cir- cumstances, the question arises whether it is attainable by the individual through any prescribed means, or whether it is beyond his control. It seems chiefly, however, to be upon the word dper-riv that Aristotle goes . r ? ^' < ^ r ' r - 382 I19IKON NIKOMAXEKIN I. "-. [CHAP. eva/, xa; jW,a?u oxsioepov, aurrov svai 4 <$>aiv.Ta.i xai Qsiov TI xai paxapiov. ify 8' av xat TroX'j- 8/a TWO$ {j.a.$rii} &vfv vov, olV &> irapaytyvijTai. z 3 i yuec ovv flvai] ' Now it must be confessed that if anything else at all is a gift of gods to men, it seems reasonable that happiness too should be the gift of God, especially as it is the best of human things. But this exact point perhaps would more properly belong to another enquiry ; at all events, if happiness is not sent by God, but comes by means of virtue, through some sort of learning or practice, it appears to be one of the divinest things.' We have here a characteristic exhibition of Aristotle's way of dealing with ques- tions of the kind. We may observe : (i) His acknowledgment and admis- sion of the religious point of view, and the primd facie ground for the inter- ference of Providence in this case if in any others. (2) His strict mainte- nance of the separate spheres of the sciences. A theological question cannot belong to ethics. (3) His manner of dismissing the subject. 'Happiness, if not given by God, is at all events divine ' (cf. Eth. x. viii. 1 3) by which expression he alters the view, giving it a Pantheistic instead of a Theistic tendency; see Essay V. (4) His immediate return to the natural and practical mode of thought. 4 fir] V &v iro\vKoivov iri/xcA.c/os] This is an addition to the preceding epithets of happiness. Not only is it 'something divine and blessed,' as being ' the crown and end of virtue,' but also ' it must be widely common property, for it may be possessed through a certain course of learning and care by all who are not incapa- citated for excellence.' As it stands, this last clause is a petitio principii. Afterwards, however, the assumption is justified by arguments in its support both from reason and experience. Aristotle insisted much less than Plato on the innate difference between man and man, and approaches much more nearly to the mechanical and sophistical view, livOpuiros avOpuirov civ iro 5 6 ft 5' eVrtf ttv fit)] The argu- IX.] NIKOMAXEIQN I. 383 xa Troav , eiTrep ra Kara <>uo~iv, wg olov rs ooroi 7rec>uxi>. Ipouog 8s xa< ret xara air/av, xa jU,aXi(rra Kara TTJV apiVrr]v. TO xai xctAX/o-Tov sTTiTpe-^ai TU^TTJ Tuav 7r?oj^.e?; ai> etVj. o-t>jU,4>av 8' eo-T* xa) Ix TOW Ao'yoo TO ^TOUJU-SVOV * e/pv]- TJ yap 4f% evspysia xar apsTXjV Troia Ti. TCOI/ Os ayaflcov TCC jasv u7rap%siv avayxaTov, TO. 8s eV ituffiv n T&V SwaTWf irotovcrav "rb icd\\i(noi>. 7 ii The succeeding arguments may be briefly summed up. (2) He appeals to his definition of the chief good, that it is a certain 'development and awaking of the consciousness under the law of virtue, and with certain necessary or favourable ex- ternal conditions.' This definition obviously implies the contradictory of any theory making happiness merely and entirely a contingency or chance. (3) Since the chief good is the end of politics, whose main business it is to educate and improve the citizens this shows that education is the re- cognised means of happiness. (4) Animals are not called happy, because they are incapable of the above-men- tioned awaking of the moral consci- ousness. (5) The same applies to boys, whose age renders them inca- pable of that which has real moral worth. At this point Aristotle adds that happiness requires absolute virtue, and a completed round of life (cpfTrjs re\elas Kal jSi'ou TeA.eoi>), and ho goes off into a new train of thoughts on the uncertainty of human affairs, by which he is brought into contact with the paradox of Solon. 7 T&V Se \oLiruv ayaOeav bp'yaviKcas] The Paraphrast explains ra \oura ayaOd here to mean ra ffu^ariKd, which he divides into ra avrov rov (rd>fj.aros, such as health, which are necessary to the existence of happi- ness (fnrdpxfiv dvajKOLiov), and ra irepl rb (Tcoyua, as wealth, friends, &c., which are helps and instruments to happiness. Aristotle probably had not this exact division before his mind. He places happiness essen- tially in the consciousness ; and then speaks of other and secondary condi- tions, partly necessary and partly favourable. He in fact hovers between the ideal and the practical. Sometimes he speaks of happiness as that chief good which includes everything (Eth. I. vii. 8); at other times he analyses its more essential and less essential parts, and leaves in it a ground opeu 384 IIGIKflN NIKOMAXEIilN I. opyai/jxd>. [CHAP. TOUT" 7TOISITO.I TOU * xai xovg rwv xaAofy. elxoVwf oSv ou're /3o5v OUTS ITTTTOV our= TOJIV fypaov oJSsv su6a*juov Xsyo^sj/ * otJSsv yap ctv TS xo.a< y/vovraj xal TravroTai Tu^a/ xara rov 3/ov, xai sv^ep^sra* rov p.Oi ev ro^ ypa)i'xot$ Trsp f usra* ' TOV = xa IO Ilorspov out/ ouS' "aXXov ouSsva avQpwTrwv to chance and circumstances, which admits of being improved or impaired. agreement with what we said at start- ing.' Cf. x. vii. z : ' Ono\oyovfifvov 8e TOUT' &i> 5/ eTi^oi tal TO?S irp(J- 10 8ia TOUTJJJ' /ucucapf^brraj] In Politics, i. chap, xiii., it is discussed, from a more external point of view, whether boys are capable of the same virtue in a household as men. To which the conclusion is 'ETrei 5" 6 ira?s dTfA?';s, STJAOJ/ $T TOVTOV fj.fi> Kal r) aprr)] OVK avrov irpbs ai>r6v tffriv, aAAa irpbs T^J* T'AJOI/ icol rbf Tfyovfuevov ( 1 1 ). The boy's good qualities have not an independent existence ; they only give the promise of such. The sentiment 8ja rfyv ^AiriSa /Ltajcapi'^binrat is neatly expressed by Cicero ?e ^?ep. (quoted by Servius on Mn. \i. 877) : ' Fanni, difficilis causa laudare puerum: non enim res laudanda, sed spes est.' II tMhivovvra] aliter fixrdtvovvra. Cf. Rhet. I. v. 3, fvdyvta Kr^fidruv al ffu(j,d.Tut>, where also there is the variation eucrfleVeia. & ToTs TJpwi'/corj] aliter TptaiKois. Dr. Card well quotes Bentley, who, upon Callimachus Fragm. 208, pronounces that -/Jpwes is a false reading for Tpwes. Td ijpwiKd means ' the heroic legends.' X. The mention of /Bios TeAsios and of the Hputfiucal TUX brings Aristotle now to consider the famous paradox of Solon, that ' no one can be called happy as long as he lives.' The discussion of this question is valuable not only for its own sake as a criticism upon the old saying, but as introducing a practical considera- tion of happiness, and tending to settle the relation to it of outward circum- stances. Other points of interest are mooted rather than set at rest. I Ttfofpov oiiv aTroOdi'ij] ' Must we extend this farther, and call no man IX. X.] HGIKilN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 385 vicrr&ov a)$ av y, xara oAcova 8s %psco si 8s 8?j xa} flsrsoi/ ot>ra), apa ys xa} sVnv su8a/|uuui/ a TOTS S7Tj8av a7ro9ai/>] ; 73 TOUTO ys 7ravT=A TsOvs&Ta eu8aj|,oya, jU-v^s 3 TOOTO /SouXsTa*, aXX' OTI Trjv/xauTa av TJ aJ/ Ooxs? yap swx/ T/ TOJ TS^VSCOT; xai xaxov xai ayaQo'v, xa} TU> a>i/Ti /x^ alo~6avojasvai 8s, oloi/ rifj.au xa} xa} rexvcov xa} oAajc a7ro-yo'va)v suTTpafctoii TS xal 8uo~Tuv/a*. > / ^ ^ - ' ~ ^ ' ftft iav 6s xa/ TauTa Traps^sr TO> yap jw,axap- [J-s%pi yypfog xa} TsXsuTryravT< xaTa Xo'yov sv^sp^sTai crvpfiotivziv Trsp} rovg sxyo'vou^, xa} whatever happy as long as he lives, but, according to Solon's saying, look to the end? And, if we must allow this opinion, can we say that a man is happy after he is dead ? ' TA.OS is here used, not in the technical Ari- stotelian sense, but after the common usage, as in the Solonian proverb it- self. There were two ways in which this proverb might be understood. It might express : ( i ) That a man is posi- tively happy after death. (2) That negatively he now attains happiness, that is, safety from change ; and thus may be retrospectively congratulated. t) Tovr6 yt evScu(j.oi>ia.v] ' Nay, surely this (the first position) is alto- gether absurd, especially to us who call happiness a vivid state of con- sciousness.' 3 ex p-fv nva] ' Still even this (second way of putting it) is open to some difficulty.' It seems not so sure that the dead is safe and clear from the changes and chances of the world, for may he not be affected by the fortunes of his posterity ? 5oKt7 yap elval TI T$ TfOffoan Kal KOLKOV Kal dyad6i>, eftrep KCU T< UVTI I) fj.^1 aii(i Se] This is the read- ing of all Bekker's MSS. ; but the rendering of the Paraphrast is at va- riance with it, and seems to imply a reading of fcai instead of /i^. His words are : ird\tv Se OVK apKovffa TI \vffts SoKfi. 'Airopio yap tffTiv en, el \fyofj.ev ilval ri ry TfOveuri Kal Kan6v n KO\ dya96v, Kal aiffQavofifvcp 8e, Sxrirep Kal -rip favri. ' For it is thought that the dead has, ay and feels too, both good and evil, just as much as the living.' If the common reading be retained, we must suppose Aristotle first to have steted in the mildest form the popular belief that the happiness of the dead is connected with the fortunes of his family, and afterwards (aroirov 8e Kal rb /tijSeV) to have ex- pressed this more strongly. In that case, he here seems to say that ordinary opinion ascribes happiness and misery to the dead in a figure, that is, with reference to our idea of their happi- ness and misery ; just as good and evil may be ascribed to the living, who are unconscious of them. 4 rip yap KaTei \6yov] ' For to him who has lived in felicity till old D "**~ 38G H0IKON NIKOMAXEION I. [CHAP. xct rou xar 5 arorrov evavriag. av xcu OTS TO 6 vcov a rei/sais xa ev$ai[Ji.(ov Trahiv 8' a$/N.jToujU,evov e exs/vou. el 8^ TO TeXoj opav 8s7 xai TO'TS paxapl^eiv ?xao~TOv oup^ aJ^ oWa ]U.axapiov aXX' OTI irporspov yv, Triog oux aVoTTov, el oV so~Tiv euSa/aeov, jtx^ aXTjOs'JO-sTaj XT' TO ]a>) )3ou?y.go~3a< TOI>^ %a)VTa$ su8a<- Tat; jttSTajSoXa^, xai 8ia TO jtxo'vijoto'v TO TTJV and died accordingly,' ', ' in the same ratio ; ' cf. below, ' And it is plain that by gradual steps of removal (TOW dTrocrT^^atrt) the descendants may stand in an infinite variety of rela- tionships to their ancestors.' fKyovoi apparently answer to the 3Aws dv6- yovoi in the preceding section. The Paraphrast omits the sentence. The Scholiast gives trpits TOVS yovtis TWI> airv dir&ffra.ffiv TroAueiSrj flvat /col iroiKi\t]v dvaryKcuAi' IffTiv. 5 &Toirof 8^J yovfvffiv] 'It would be absurd, therefore, if the dead should change in sympathy with them, and become at one time happy, and then again wretched. But it would be absurd also that the fortunes of the descendants should affect the ancestors in nothing, and not for some time at least,' i. e. after death. The second part of this sentence, pronounced so strongly as it is, seems to contradict what one would have supposed to be Aristotle's philosophical creed. But he is here speaking from the popular point of view, and states strongly the two sides of the difficulty that presents itself. The question as to the dead being influenced by this world is not one that belongs properly to ethics. Aristotle seems inclined to accept the common belief on the subject (cf. I. xi. i, i. xi. 6), but to modify it so as to leave it unimportant. 6 ' But let us return to the former difficulty, for perhaps the clue to our present question also may be dis- covered from it.' ri> itp6rfpov dirop7]6(v is not a very accurate expression. Aristotle, when he stated the question now reverted to, el Set rb re\os 6pdv, gave it two meanings, and showed the impossibility of holding the first, and the difficulty that attached even to the second. He now says ' let us go back to the former difficulty.' What he means, however, is clear enough. He means to say, ' may we not after all set aside the caution of Solon in what- ever way it is stated ? May we not predicate happiness in the present as well as retrospectively? By settling the question as far as the present life goes, we may perhaps get some light as to the security or insecurity of the dead.' 7 rets Se rvxas ToAAcfois O.VO.KV- X.] II6IKQN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 387 7roAAax< avaxrjxXsicra/ Trsp rovg avrovg ; yap tog si o~uvaxoXou9onjjaV roCig Tvctig, rov aurov Tva TOV eJ8a/ju.ova aTroQaivovrsg xai craQpalg ItipvfjLzvov. r] 9 TO juiv Ta? r()^aig s7raxoAou6s7v ou8ajato opSo'v; ou -yap ev ravTOiig TO s5 73 xaxa>, aXAa 7rpoo~8sTTa< TOUTWV 6 av- Qp(t)7rwog /3/o, xa$ct7rsp ejTrajasv, xvpiai 8' slcnv al XOIT' ap=Trjv svspysiai Trig swOa/ftov/a^, ai 8' evavrtai TOU Ivav- T/OU. [AOLpTVpSl 8s TO) Xo'^OJ Xi TO VUV ^lOLTTOSV. TTS i^ \ rf t f ^5/1 ' oudsv yap ourcog i7rap%ei ra>v avQpioTrivc ro^ 7Tsp< Ta^ evspysiag rag xar apsTyv pov INCUTS pa. i v~> ~r^~ v /<>>~ xai TCOV sTTKTTrjfjiwv aural 6oxou(TJV s*va/. Tora)v 6 atmoi/ ' ' ' ">>\ on TiJuwTaTau AoviioTaTai 6ia TO sv paxapiovg ' TOUTO yap Kh.f'tffOa.i trepl roiis airrovs] ' And be- cause fortune makes many revolutions around the same individuals.' Various expressions of this sentiment are quoted from the Classics. The most beautiful is that which occurs in Soph. Trachinits, 127, d\\' eirl irrj/j.0. Kal x a P& Tlaffl KUK\OV(nv t OlOV &pKTOU (TTpOd8fS K\ev0oi. 8 ^a.^.a.i\iovTa. xal ffaQpias ISpv- (j.4vov~\ It has been remarked that these words form an iambic line, pro- bably quoted from some play. 9 if) rb fj.ev ewjrtou] ' Rather, to follow chances is altogether a mis- take, for good or evil resides not in these, but human life, as we have said, requires them as an external con- dition ; while what determines happi- ness is the rightly regulated mental consciousness, and vice versd.' 10 fiaprvpei 5e r

g gffixsXajg o y' co'g a?u)6aj>g ayafiog xa)jrgrpaya>VQg aj/eu roXXaJv 8e ytvoplvcov xara ruyv^v xa) e< xai jU,V civTix.si { , ra Oe p-syaXa xal TroXXa ytyvo'^aeva JOLSV e3 ]U,axa- piwrspov TOV fiiov 7roir)(Ti (xai yap aura o"uv7rm, viewed as a mood of the mind, is as abiding as the moral qualities, and indeed admits of more continuous exercise. Cf. Eth. x. vii. 2. irfpl avrd] (sc. frtpyttas). Cf. Eth. in. xii. 2, Pol. vii. xiii. 3, where there occur similar transitions to a neuter pronoun. Cf. Rhetoric, m. xi. 2 : TUV dyadbv &vSpa (pai'ai flvai rerpdytovov, fj.troupopd. &Hwce] ' For they naturally add a lustre.' This is said from the practical point of view, which analyses happiness into the in- ternal mood, and the external circum- stances. From the ideal point of view, which takes happiness as a whole (Eth. i. vii. 8), nothing can be added to it, or make it better. a.va.ira\iv 5i fafya\6\^vxos] 'While contrary circumstances mar and deface X.] piov huTrag rs yap H9IKON NIKOMAXEmN I. xai p.7ro^i^si 389 = xa sv \ s TO STTSI- xa aSv xa s aVa?iy7j ah^aig dyaQov xoti Travag olo^asSa raj ru^ag BiKr^r^QVcog Qepsiv xoii ex rwv tt7rap%ovT(t)v dsi ra xaXX/o-ra TrpdrTsiv, XOL} errparrjyov aya^ov rc5 Trapwri (rrparoTrsSaj xai (rxurorojaov sx TCOV SoQsvrcov auAa] 'Now if life is determined by its moments of consciousness, as we have said, no one of the blessed will ever become mise- rable, for he will never do what is hateful and mean.' /*aoptoy, which is used repeatedly here and elsewhere, is a more enthusiastic term than fvSctlfnav. Though it is applied to /Si'os in the previous section, it would seem generally more applicable to the internal feelings. By a false ety- mology, Eth. vn. xi. 2, it is connected with xv Se xai 7ra.vToia,$ S 1 5 rf oSr Treirrws] ' What hinders then to call him happy, who is in the fruition of absolute harmony of mind and is furnished sufficiently with ex- ternal goods not for a casual period, but an absolute lifetime ? or must one add " and who shall live on so and die accordingly " since the future is uncertain to us, and we assume hap- piness to be an, End-in-itself and some- thing absolute in every possible way ? ' rt\fios, as before said, has two asso- ciations ; one popular, with the com- mon sense of reAor, and thus means ' complete,' or ' perfect ; ' the other, philosophic, with the End-in-itself, and thus means that which is in and for itself desirable, that in which the mind finds satisfaction, the absolute. The word here seems to hover between its two meanings. Aristotle probably was not conscious of the collision between the frequent use of reAetov here and the question to which this chapter is an answer d xp^l T ^> TAOJ &pa.v. 1 6 ft 5' oSru ovflpwjrous] 'If so, we shall call those happy during their lifetime, who have and shall have the qualities mentioned, but still happy as men only.' Solon's view, which had rested on a too great regard to external fortune, is accordingly superseded. Happiness viewed from the inside from its most essential part may be predicated of the living, though still with a reserve, since they are still subject to the conditions of humanity. XI. i He returns to the question before incidentally mooted (i. x. 4), whether the happiness of the dead can be affected by the vicissitudes of the world they have left He will not altogether deny that some con- sciousness of events may reach the dead, but without determining this he argues that in any case the impres- sion produced by them must be too slight and unimportant to affect our notion of the dead. roTs 5JfJ.SVa)V TWV sxa&Tov jaev fiiaipsiv paxpov xa} aTrspav- QoAou 8e Xsp^Qsv xa) TOTTO! TOV' dv IxaviJog Qa.7rsp xai TWV Trspl aurov aTu%y[j.dTfov rd 3 xai pOTTTjV Trpog Tov fitov TO. ra Tree) rou (biXdtf$ bu.o((t)g \y~ * rsp/ (,a)VTotg -ir\ ra s rtov ITTSOV IV SV xou ai Trepi TTJV TO 5 si Tivog dyaQov xoivcu- ^ vovcriv i] TWV dvTixei[j.eva)v' soixs yap sx TQVTCOV el xdi TQV$ d\\' elf rts IOTI rols rere- 3 4 el Srj Sta^opov] There is a complex protasis, (i) ' S^, (z) Sta^e'pet 8e. The apodosis to both is v vepl TTJS 8ta- opas. 5 /j.a\\ov 8' fffcas dvTiKfifj.fffay] ' Or rather, perhaps ' (we must, take into account, (rv\Ao7Je?(r#ai. ' Lambinus ex Vet. Int. et Argyrop. emendat rJSe 5e, eamque lectionem Zwinger in tex- tum recepit, quse hactenus commenda- tur, quia sequenti Sid absorbed facile poterat 8^ et 8e7.' Zell. The conjec- ture is supported by the rendering of the Paraphrast, who separates this clause from the preceding one. aict- TTTeoi' o%v irepl rfjy Statpopas. ftf\rwi> 392 II6IKQN NIKOMAXEIilN I. [CHAP. irpog avTovg OTJOUI/, sir dyaftov sirs TOvvavTiov, "<} dtyavpov TI xoti [j,ixpov rj g^rXoig r) sxsivoic eJvai, e} 8s JU.TJ, ys xot.} Toiourov w(rrs JU.T) TTQISIV euSa/]U,ova^ rou^ ra^ dt'Xa)V, oAto/to^ 8s xai al 8ua~7rpa<-[/aj, Lr)Ts rou^ euSa/jaova^ JU.TJ TCOV TOiOUTfOV f ^ * t -fj.ovia$ TroTspa TWV eTraivsrtov ^"^ ^^^5) etrrv TOW rifj.ai or/ t tt- K.T.\. But against it these appear to be con- reasons: (r) The authority of ( 2 ) We should expect Siairopeij', a * ^ e sentence should stand 8' Jferws r TTOJO'V ri slvai xa) rov yap 8/xav xao~rov rto TTOIQV TWO. TTsQuxsvai xa) svs/v 7ra> 7rpo aya- #o'v r* xa) (nrwba'iov. SrjXov Ss rouro xai sx rcov Trsp; 3 rou^ Qsoug sTra'tvcav ysXoioi yap Qaivwrai irpog yfuig ava&;potj,evQi, rouro 8s (rvpfiaivei 8/a TO yivecrQoti rovg wcnrsp s'/7ra ( av. si o' scrrlv o 4- or< raiv apKTTaiv oi/x so~riv , aAAa ^sov TI xa< 3sXr/oi/, xaQaTrsp xai Qaivsrai ' rods rs yap Qsovg paxapi^opev xai euSa^ov/^Ojasv xa/ riv avftptbv Tovg QsioraTovg [j.axapio[Jt,sv. otxo/a) 8s xal rcov aya^oiv ' ooSeij yap rrjv su8a/^xov/av 8/xa/ov, aXX' a>? Qziorzpov ri xai 8s xa) Eu'So^o^ xaAco^ (TuvTjyop^o-ai r]8ov^' TO yap jU,^ s7raivsi(rQai ribv ayaQibv oixrav tt>=ro or* xpsTrrov EO~TJ rAv sTraivsrtov, roioDrov TOV $soi/ xa) rayaQov trpog raura -yap xa) raAXa ova- avAos KaxoSs, Sib 5vvd/j.ei rA TOiaCra Ka\owrtu ayafld .... AoiTrbv 8^ Kal T^raprov TUV ayadwv rb trcooTi/cbj/ Kal TroirjTiKbc d^afloP, oToi/ 3 7eAo7oi sc. ol Qeoi, Eth. x. riii. 7. Hence, in the ' Te Deum laudamtis,' laudarc is used in a different sense from ^iran/eli'. 8ta Tb ylvfffQcu rovs trratvovs Si' avcupopas] ' Because praise is made by a reference to some higher standard." 5 SoKf't 8e' a.voupfpfada.i\ ' Now Eudoxus also seems to have well pleaded the claims of pleasure to the first prize, for he argued that its not being praised, although it is a good, shows that it is above the class of things praiseworthy, as God and the chief good are, to whom all other things are referred.' On Eudoxus see Eth. x. ii. i 2, Essay III. p. 169. The metaphor of the Aristeia here seems borrowed from the Phikbus of Plato, p. 22 E : "AAA& yuV> <> ^Kparcs, epotyt So/cet vvv fj.ev rfiovi] croi ireirrw- E E 394 H9IKflN NIKOMAXEION I. [CHAP. yap TWV xa"Xwv a?ro raur^^* ra S' syxv. eoixs <$' OUTO> ep="> xa< /a TO sva< apffl ' TavT7\g yap pap'" T AOJTTC TTOLVTSS 7rpa.TTOfj.eVy TVJV ap^v Os xai TO a'lTiov TWV TtfJUOV Tl XOl 6ilOV TlQsfJLSV. 13 'ETTS} 8' cu>i(at> /ueyeOos apfrrjs . . . rb S' l-fK&iJiiov ruv epywv ivrlv . . . Sib KO.I fyKca/j.id^ofjLv irpd^av- ras. ra Se tpya (rri/j.t'ia. rfjs ee(as Iffnv, tirfl ^iraivotfufv Uv /col ft.)) irtTrpa-y^TO el TTlffT(UOlfJ.fV flvai TOIOVTOV. Cf. Etk. Eud. n. i. fb nfv yap fyicj/ce S' rlOfUfu] 'And this seems also the case from its being a principle ; for we all do all things else for the sake of this. Now the prin- ciple and the cause of goods we assume to be something admirable and divine.' The two senses of a.pxh opx^ ovarias and apx^ yvdffws (cf. Metaph. rv. xvii. 2), the origin of being and the origin of knowing the cause and the reason seem here to flow together. Happi- ness, or the practical chief good, is the a.px'il of life, as being the final cause or rtAos. In this sense apxt and reAos, the first and the last, become identical. But the idea of happiness when apprehended becomes an apx'h in another way, namely, a major pre- mise or principle for action (Cf. Eth. vi. xii. 10). When Aristotle speaks of 'something admirable and divine, the principle and the cause of all goods,' he uses terms that approach those of Plato with regard to the Idea of Good, though his point of view is different. Cf. Essay III. XIII. "With this chapter commences a new division of the treatise. Ari- stotle now opens the analysis of the terms of his definition. If happiness be ' conscious life in conformity with the law of absolute excellence,' the question arises, what this law of ex- cellence is? a question essentially belonging to Politics. The answer to this Aristotle gives by the aid of a popular and empirical Psychology. Without attempting to sound the depths of the subject, he assumes, as sufficient for his present purpose, a threefold development of the internal principle (^"X^) into (') the purely physical or vegetative, (2) the semi- XII. XIII.] HGIKflN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 395 rsXs/av, Trspi apsrris eV/o-xsTrrsov * Ta%a yap ay /3s'?\.riov xai TTS o XCCT xa) rtov vopcov UTTTJXOOU^. 7rapd!)iy[j.a 8s TOUTCOV s^Ojasv 3 U Kpjruiv xou Aaxs8ai/ voj el 8s T? aurij, S>]Xov on yevoir av v] ^Trjo"/^ xara rr ; v s^ 7Tpoap(rw. Trsp apsrr^s s 7r/ov3\ ' This, too, seems to have been the main concern of the true politician, for he wishes to make the citizens good and obedient to the laws.' As we find in Plato oAT)0eta is the quality most character- istic of the Ideas, so /far' a\rideiav here implies a thing being absolutely, deeply, essentially what it is to the ex- clusion of all mere seeming. The con- trast here would be to those irpaim/col iroAm/cot mentioned Eth. \i. viii. 2. Also to those historical and eminent statesmen whom Plato attacks in the Gorgias, p. 5150 sq., as having been entirely devoid of this object making the citizens better. 3 irapdSeijfj.a tie yeyevTjvrcu'] 'As an instance of this we have the law- givers of the Cretans and Lacedaemo- nians, and if there have been any others such like.' Aristotle seems to have inherited the preference felt by Plato and by Socrates for the Spartan constitution ; not so much as a his- torical fact, but rather as a philoso- phical idea. It presented the scheme of an entire education for the citizens, though Aristotle confesses that this became degraded into a school for gymnastic. 5 trepl aperTJs 5e tiriffK^irrtov avOpta- irivris SfjAov Sri] ' Now it is obviously about human excellence that we have to enquire.' This passage would prove, if it were necessary, the indeterminate sense with which the term aperij is in- troduced into Aristotle's Ethics. At first it appears merely as the law of excellence, quite in a general signifi- cation. Afterwards this is gradually restricted to human excellence, and then physical or bodily excellence is finally excluded. 7 et 51 ravff larpiKris] 'But if this be so, it is plain that the politician must know in a way the nature of the 2 H6IKI1N NIROMAXElilN I. [CHAP. xa or* Os7 TOV TTO^ITIXOV slosvai 7ra> ra Trspi xai TOV <>4>6aAjaou 5spa7rsoo-ovTa xa) Trat/ xa jaaA?\.ov oVa) TTs'pa xai j3sAT/)v 73 TCOV 3' iaTptov ol 8 rsuovrai Trsp rr t v TOU crw^,arog yvaxriv. TtO 7TO/v,mXtt> TTSpJ ^pr), QsOJpVJTs'oV OS TOUTOJV papJV, X/ e<>' ocrov ixavtoi, 1 ^' Trpo^ Ta ^jroujasva' TO yap ITT/ TrAsTov z^oixptfinvv epyfoSeVrspov iVa>^ sort rtov 9 ?y.7sra< 8s 7rsp< aur5)^ xa * sv TO sv/a, xa) ^pr^frrsov aurofg. o/ov ro /xsv sTva*, TO Ss Xoyov sp^ov. TauTa ^s TroVspov a^aTrep Ta TOU p yivsrai ra 4>avTao~jaaTa Ttov STTISI- or whether they are only distinguish- able in conception, while in nature they are inseparable, like the concave and convex in the circumference of a circle, makes no difference for our present purpose.' The above-men- tioned division of the xf/i'X''), which is attributed to Plato, Magna Moralia, i. i. 7, is attacked by Aristotle, De Animd, i. \. 26, and again, more de- finitely, De Animd, in. ix. 3. He here avails himself of it as popularly true, though he indicates also that from a higher point of view it will not hold good that at all events it is a dis- tinction and not a division. See Essay V. 1 1 TOU oAtfyov TJPC] ' Now of the irrational division part appears common and vegetative, I mean that which is the cause of nourishment and growth ; for this sort of power of the internal principle one must assume as existing in all things that are nourished, and even in embryos, and this same also in full-grown creatures, for it is more reasonable to suppose this than any other to be the cause of nutriment and growth.' To xb jiisj/ eonce Koiv

v(m, K.r.\. Aristotle first makes the irrational side double. Afterwards ( 19), he says that, viewing it diffe- rently, you may call the rational two- fold. Koivif, i. e., ' not distinctive of man.' T? Aeiois is used in the non-phi- losophical sense. Aristotle's psy- chology is of course constructed upon a physical basis. The principle of life developes itself into perception and reason, but the lower modes of it are necessary conditions to the higher, and exist in them. So Dryden says (Palamon and Arcite, in. sub Jin.) that man is ' First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last; Kich of three souls, and lives all three to waste.' 11 13 'Now excellence in this respect seems common, and not pe- culiarly human ; for this part or faculty seems to operate especially in sleep, and the good and the bad are least distinguishable in sleep. Hence they say that for the half of life the happy are no better off than the wretched. Now this result is as might have been expected, for sleep is an in- action of the internal principle, viewed 398 IieiKiiN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. [CHAP. TTSpl fJ.lv TOVTIOV CtA/, XOLl TO T>J dv^fxcnrix^ apsTTJf apoipov 14 XliV y TWV TV%OVT(t)V. QpsTTTtxov eareov, \eoixs 8 [J.SVTOI Try Aoyou. TOL> yap s xa< dxpaTovg TOV Xoyov xa/ T% 4/w^% TO Xoyov Vajaei/* opQwg yap xai STT) TO. j3sAri(rra TrapaxaAs?' ca/vsra 8' ev auroT^ xai aX?^o TJ Trapoi TOV Xoyov TTS^W- xo'^, o jaap^era/ rs xai dvTiTstvei Tip Xoya). ars^vto^ yap ra TrapaXeXujtxsva TOU (ra>jaaro^ jtxopia sl^ ra 8s[j.V TO as something morally good or bad, except so far as certain impulses may to a trifling extent reach it, and in this way the visions of the good will be better than those of the common sort' The physical principles here enun- ciated are stated at length in the interesting treatises .Z>e Somno et Vigilia, De Insomniis, et De Divina- tione per Somnum, which occur among Aristotle's Parva Naturalia. It may be sufficient now to allude to his de- finition of sleep and its cause (De Somno iii. 30) that it is a sort of ca- talepsy of the consciousness, caused by the rising of the vital warmth so as to clog the perceptive organ, and re- sulting necessarily from the functions of animal life, which its object is to preserve, by providing a rest for them. He speaks also (De Somno i. 15) of the nutritive particle performing its office more during sleep than wak- ing, ' since creatures grow most dur- ing sleep.' In his discussions about dreams we find a frequent recurrence of the words here used, Kt^acrci0>iaTa. He defines a dream to be ' that image resulting from the impulsion of the sensations which arises in sleep, and is dependent on the peculiar conditions of sleep.' (De Insom. iii. 19) rb di>raffMa rb curb rrjs Ku>T]fff(as TUV alaOriiJidT&v ftrav tv T$ KaOtvSeiv $, y KadtvSei, TOUT* Iffrlv tvvnviov. In his excellently wise treatise on prophetic dreams he seems especially to dwell upon the fact that in dreaming the moral dis- tinctions between men are lost, hence dreams cannot be sent by God. (i. 3) T(J TS yap 6ebv flvai rbv irefjarovra., irpbs rrj &\\y oAoyfa, /col -rb /*}) TOIS Pe\ri- OTOIS KO.\ (ppovi/juiirdrois a\\k TOIS TV- Xovfft vefjmeiv UTOVOV. (This is well illustrated by Plato, Republic tx. p. 571 c sqq.) In another place, how- ever, he connects the illusions of dreaming with the personal character, just as the coward, he says, and the lover would form different mistakes about a distant object. (De Insam. ii. 15). This last coincides with what is said above about the tpavrdfffjiara T 8 s 8= xou TOUTO >a/Wra TOV , 17 fTI wfr7rsp SITTO^SV 7r;ioip%i youv Tco Xoya> TO ro syxpa- ' U^XOOJTepo'l/ eO~TJ TO TOU 0~0)<$>pOVO X* yap bu.o($>(ovsi T7 ?\.o'yaiVTou 87518 xa* TO aXoyov SJTTO'V. TO jtxsv yap (f>uTixov possesses reason, for this exhorts them rightly, and to what is best; but there appears also to be something else in them besides the reason, which fights and strives against the reason. For just as paralysed limbs of the body, when we mean to move them to the right, go in the opposite direc- tion to the left, so it is with the mind. For the tendencies of the incontinent are in the opposite direction to reason. In the body we see the false movement, but with regard to the mind we do not see it. But perhaps not the less ought we to believe that there is in the mind something besides the reason which is opposed to it, and goes against it.' Zell mentions a conjecture, TOV yap iyKparovs /ecu evKparovs. But a slight consideration of the context shows that no change is required. It has been said that this passage exhibits the doctrine of 'human corruption.' To say this introduces a set of asso- ciations foreign to Aristotle. Ari- stotle's remark (i) does not go so deep as to the contrast between sin and holiness, purity and corruption : (2) it does not point out a radical and incurable defect in the whole race of man ; on the contrary, he says pre- sently that in the ffwpcav ' all things are in harmony with reason.' How- ever, we may well esteem the present observation, especially when first made, as one of the most penetrating pieces of moral psychology. Aristotle's purpose is to establish the existence of a principle, perex " hfyov, which is to be the sphere of the practical virtues. This he exhibits in the case of the continent and incontinent (. e. man in a state of moral conflict) as opposing and fighting against the reason. This is given as a fact of nature. This same fact viewed from the side of personal repentance might be well expressed in the language of St. Paul. Before attributing any- thing like the above-mentioned doc- trine to Aristotle, we should require to examine the whole bearing of his moral theories, instead of deciding from an isolated passage. 17 TrcDs 8' trepov, ovdev Sjo^epej] This shows that Aristotle does not propose here to seek deeply for the rationale of these phenomena in our moral nature. rt 8' iffws \6ytf\ 'And perhaps it is still more obedient in the tempe- rate and the brave. For in them all things are in harmony with reason.' In Book vn. the e7/fpaTT)s, who main- tains virtue by a conflict, is opposed to the ffdxppoov, in whom there is an absolute harmony between the passions and the reason. Here the ovSpeTos is added, as being one whose instincts coincide with his reason. This place, Book in. vi.-xii., and Book vn., exhibit different points of view. 400 HGIKQN NIKOMAXEIflN I. [CHAP. xo/vo)i/s? Ao'you, TO 8' STT.iQv[ji.r i Tixov xa) oXro opsxrixov Y) xaTrjxoov O~TIV ayToO xa) Trsi^ap^/xov. xai oup coo~7rep TCOV ]txaO>jjaaTixa>v. OT/ 8s Trs/^sTai' WTTO Xo'you TO aAoyov, jU,r y vus xa) ij vo^zrr^mg xou 19 STTlTlfJ-fjO-ls T XOU 7T(X.pO(.X\TfjtJ'ig. \ 6S ^CV) Xa/ TOUTO Xoyov sp^sjv, 8/TTOV 0-rou xai TO Ao'yov s^ov, TO |U.V * 20 xai s'v auTco, TO 8' wo~7rsp TOU TraTpog axovo-Ttxov TI. 8 \6yov v KaOdntp Kal rb \6yov l\uv X etl/ T ^ t'"''O'Tptov[A.fv 8e nal -rbv ffo$6t> is repeated in the Eudemian Ethics (n. i. 18), it is corrected in the Magna Moralia (i. v. 3), /caret y&p ravras firaivtrol \fy6/j.e9a, Kara 8e ras TOO rbv \6yov fx ovros ouSels firaivf'tTai- oi/re yap 8rt ffo<(>6s, ovStls eiraivfiTat, oijTf STI typ6vinos, ovS' 8\cas Kara, rt -rHiiv roiovrcav ovQ4v. The last line in the first Book contains an anticipation of much that is demonstrated in Books II. and III. F F PLAN OF BOOK II. THE Second Book of the Ethics goes far to determine the course of the entire succeeding work, by laying down a programme of the separate moral virtues, which is afterwards followed in Books III. and IV. ; and by suggesting for future consideration the conceptions of 'OpQog Adyoc and of Upoalpefftc. But it cannot be said that this book itself exhibits traces of pre- conceived arrangement or artistic design. On the contrary, it bears the same tentative character as Book I. Its parts are at first confused with each other, and design seems only to grow up as the book proceeds. Its contents may be arranged under the following heads : (1.) A preliminary discussion on the formation of moral states. Ch. I. IV. (2.) The formal definition of virtue according to its genus and differentia. Ch. V. VI. (3.) The exhibition of this theory in a list of the separate virtues. Ch. VII. (4.) The relation of extremes, or vices, to each other, and to the mean or virtue. Ch. VIII. (5.) Rules for action, with a view to attaining the mean. Ch. IX. Of these heads the first can with difficulty be divided from the second. The first four chapters implicitly contain the whole of the definition of virtue which is afterwards formally drawn out in Chapters V. and VI. And though the reservation of 'OpQog Aoyos (II. ii. 2) for future analysis really afterwards gives rise to Book. VI., and the account of intellectual aper?; ; yet here 'OpBoe Aoyos is by no means identified with intellectual aper//, and the whole conception of Book VI. seems to belong to a later develop- PLAN OF BOOK II. 403 merit of the Psychology of Aristotle, whether due to himself or to his school. Other marks of crudeness in detail will be adverted to in the notes. At the same time it would be unjust not to recognise the deep moral penetration exhibited by Aristotle in the different parts of his theory of Virtue. The merit of this theory can only be appreciated by a comparison with the results which had been previously arrived at, as they exhibit themselves in Plato. rr 2 HOIKilN NIKOMAXEIilN II. A ^V " be T tkftt r TO xa xa; ex fiioire or/ yej>(7/i> xa TTJV a 13 8' TJ&XTJ e sSouj TrepiyivsToii, oQev xa) /xpov 7rapsxxX?i/ov CCTTO rou eQovg. e& o5 rwv ij5v(rst >jjU,Tv eyy/- rtov ^^s/ ovrcuv a/\.Aa) sfi/gra/ olov o I. i. The discussion is taken up from the point last arrived at in the analysis of happiness, namely, the dis- tinction of intellectual from moral bpi-rfi. We are not immediately told that the consideration of the former is to be deferred. That indeed only comes out incidentally, when (11. ii. z) the discussion of bpQbs \6yos is de- ferred, which opflby \6yos is afterwards (vi. xiiL 3) identified with utrai traffi r6rf (soil, in youth) irciv tyos 5j& fGos. A mechanical theory is here given both of the intellect and the moral character, as if the one could be acquired by teaching, the other by a course of habits. That Aristotle inclined to this mechanical view has been already noticed (Eth. I. ix. 4). It is qualified, however, by admissions with regard to fixpvia, tpvffiK^j iper^, &c. (Cf. ni. v. 17.) 2 ^ ov lyylvrrcu] ' Whence also it is plain that none of the moral virtues arises in us by nature.' Additional proofs of this position are subjoined, (i) The laws of nature are unalterable, and independent of habit. (2) According to the doctrine of Swdfjifts and tvtpyttcu (see Essay IV.), moral faculties are distinguished H9IK&N NIKOMAXEKIN II. 405 TO av ai dpsraly <$>vJo-/ ours Trapoi <>uffis denotes the self-produced, or self-producing, principle, opposed especially to that which is produced by the intelligence or will of man : thus to art (Eth. vi. iv. 4) or to the moral will, care, or cultivation (x. ix. 6). It is that for which we are irre- sponsible (ibid.), rb fj.ev oHv TTJS s STJAOV ois OVK f' riiiiiv inrdpxfi. That which comes of itself (vi. xi. 6), ^5e , is TTJS Qvfffus oiTios O&TTJS. That which is innate, and out of the sphere of the will, (vi. xiii. I ), ira inrdpxeiv V a yap 8s7 p.a$ovTag TTOISIV, TauTa 7ro/oOvT olov oJxo8ojw,ouj/TS olxo8o'j,oj yivovrai xa) x<0ap/ovTS x/- 0ap/o~Ta. OUTO> 8s xai TO. jaev 8/xaia Trpdrrovrsg 8xajoi yivo'jasOa, Ta 8s vwfypova (rwtypovsg, rd 8' ai/8ps7a dv8ps7o. 5 juapTups7 8s xai TO yvo'jusvov ev TaT^ 7roXso~/v 01 yap TOL> TToX/Ta^ sQi^ovreg TToiovo'iv aya3ou, xa) TO UAXjU\ the powers possessed by a thing, (i. iii. 4) ^ TOU irpdy/jimos vv aiffdirr-fi. (in. xii. 2) ^ i&v \i'irr) eiffTT)ffi Kal tt>9fipet rr]V TOV %x ov ~ TOS 66pd>irov, limov, olalas. VI. The word is sometimes almost periphrastic ; Topics, i. i. 3, rj TOV \l/ev$ovs <]>vffis. Similar to this is the usage in Eth. Nic. i. xiii. 1 5 : &AAtj ns vffis Trjs tyvxi)s &\oyos. 4 tTi offa. avtipflot] 'Again, in the case of every faculty that comes to us by nature, we first of all possess the capacity, and only afterwards exhibit it in actual operation. This is clear with regard to the senses, for we did not get our senses by hearing often or seeing often, but on the contrary we used them because we had them, and did not have them because -we used them. But the virtues we acquire only after having first acted, which is also the case with the arts : for these things which we must learn before we can do, we learn by doing ; as for ex- ample, men become builders by build- ing, and harpers by playing on the harp. In the same manner we become just by doing just actions, temperate by doing temperate actions, and brave by doing brave actions.' On the philosophy of this doctrine, see AT. Metaph. mi. viii. and Essay IV. above, from which it will be seen that ' acts ' or ' operations ' is an inadequate translation for ^vtpytiai. On Ari- stotle's position with regard to the question whether sight is an inherent or an acquired faculty, see below, VL viii. 9, note. T&V &\\av rex^wv] 'The arts be- side,' not as if virtue were reckoned among the arts. On the idiom, cf. Plato, Gorgias, p. 473 c: uSaijtoi'i$- /j.evos virb rwv iro\iTeps< TOUTO> STJ sx rcov auruiv xai 8ia Tcoi/6 xai yivsrai Tracra apery xai QVsipsTai, o^oicog 6s xai rsyvri" ex yap TOV xiQapiteiv xai ol dyaQo} xai ol I*/ T / > \ *v v ' ^' xaxoi yivovroii xivapKrrai. avahoyov 6s xai 01 oixo(tofj.Qi xoii ol XoiTro} TTOLvrss ' ex p.lv yap TOU sS olxo^o[j.siv dya- A \ 7> / >' >5,\~ ~ / \ \ (Joi oixoOojow* ~ 5. <\ f v -.V / * si%sv, ouQsv av edsi rou 6iOaovroj, a^Xa wavrsg av ayaQo} ^ xaxoi. ovrco STJ xai STTI TCOV apsrtbv %si ' TrpaTTovTsg yap ra sv To7$ ofisiipov=$ xai Trpaoi yivovTai, ol 8' axoAaoro* xai opy/Xoi, 01 j,sv sx TOU oircocri sv aitrofg avav svsp- ysifbv al e^sig ytvwrai. 8 tiirtw (soil, (caret ri>i> opdbv \6yov) dAij9 fj.fv, ovStv 5i cra, on ?ra^ o Trspi Ttov TTpaxrcov Xoyo^ TOTTCO xa) QUX axp//3ct>f oC^s/A=< ?\.eysc\\e \v f*h tr9f- Xavfv avrois ewiffTi]fj.r] 4vovffa Kal op&bs \6yos, where it means ' a sound understanding.' In the same dialogue, p. 94 A, it occurs with the signification ' sound reasoning.' Kara -rov opQbv \6yov KdKi'as ovSefula tyvxb p.e0fet, flirtp apuovia foflv. Elsewhere \6yos is found joined with p6i>i]cris. Cf. B(pub. IX., p. 5821 A, ^uireipi'ij /cat os is. It means 'argument' (Eth. x. ii. i, eiriffrevovro 5' ol \6yoi, i. v. 8, iroAAol \6yoi). ' inference,' op- posed to intuition (vi. viii. 9, wv OVK tffTi \6yvs), ' ratio ' (v. iv. 2, Kara ritv \6yov rdv avrtv), ' reckoning ' (v. iii. 1 5, fi/ ayadov Atfyqp), ' conception ' (i. vi. 5, 6 OVTOS \6yos 6 rov wOpiairov), ' definition ' or ' formula ' (n. iii. 5, into rov \6yov 5iopiercu. n. vi. 7, rbv \6yov rov ri ?iv elyou \eyovra), &C. In Eth. i. xiii. 9, rb tie \6yov exof, it means ' reason,' but still in the present passage it seems best to avoid trans- lating Kara, rbv opdbv \6yov, ' accord- ing to right reason,' as is usually done, ( i ) because of the article, which seems to show that \6yos is used in a general sense here, and not to denote a particular faculty of the mind ; (2) be- cause, by the use of a word so definite as ' reason,' we exclude the train of as- sociations which must have been in Aristotle's mind, of 'standard,' 'pro- portion,' 'law,' &c. (see Essay IV.), and thus to some extent lose his point of view. 3 4 ra 8* Iv rats irpd^fffi KV- fifpvririKris\ ' Now the actions and the interests of men exhibit no fixed rule, any more than the conditions of health do. And if this is the case with the universal theory, still more is the theory of particular acts incapa- ble of being exactly fixed, for it falls under the domain of no art or regimen, but the actors themselves must always watch what suits the occasion, as is the case with the physician's and the pilot's art.' ra 5' 4v rats irpde <=x* Kal rayaBd K.r.\. But we may add that rb jQsn'. Trptorov oSv TOUTO Os OT< ra rojaDra TTS^JUXSV OPTTO ev8s/a xai pr(r5a<, (Set" yap UTrsp rtov a^avAv TO? xa< T>] try it lag o Trovra ra re yap UTrspjSaAAovra yujotvacria xai ra 8s xa) ra TTOTO. xa< ra analogy between health and morals. He speaks of health as a relative, not an absolute, balance of the bodily constitution, cf. EtfA. x. iii. 3. Totovrov 8' OPTOS roD Koc0o'Ayu A^you] It seems an over-statement of the un- certainty and relative character of morals, to say that ' the universal theory' is devoid of all fixedness. Rather it seems true to say (i) That in some things there is an absolute, immutable law of right and wrong. This Aristotle would himself acknow- ledge. (Cf. EM. n. vl 19, zo.) (2) That in a large class of cases there is a law universal for the conduct of all men, but admitting also of modifica- tion in relation to the individual. (3) That there is a sphere of actions yet remaining, indeterminate beforehand, entirely depending on relative and temporary circumstances for their de- termination. Aristotle however may say with truth that, on the one hand, the theory of action cannot be reduced to universal axioms, like those of mathematics ; on the other hand, that it is impossible to do what the casuists would attempt, namely, to settle scientifically the minutm of particular actions. 5 irfipa-rfov #o7j06i'] This is said in the spirit of the Platonic Socrates, only the uncertainty which Aristotle attributes to morals, he, from a diffe- rent point of view, attributed to all knowledge. 6 5r yap xf^ a.fyavwt> rois avpois paprvplois xp^f^at. One might almost fancy that the writer was quoting the Ethics of Aristotle. Spengel, however (Transactions of Philos.-Philol. Class of Bavarian Aca- demy, in. 513), remarks that the true reading must be not tit TWV T)OiKtAo- yvnvcurrla is not iro\viiovla., but exercise II.J NIKOMAXEIQN II. 411 sx rcov mria /rXso) xa. eAarra> yivopsva fysipsi rjv uysiav, TO, 8s (ru/XjU-srpa xa) TrotsTxaf au^s/ xai (rco^ei, ovrcug wv xai 7 sVi (rwQpoG-vvys xai o r= yap Travra c vcov 8s 4>o/3oujasi/0 aXXa Trpot; Travra /Sa^/^icoy Qpa.(7v$. opoicog Ss xai o jtxsv 7rao"7jj ta^ aTrsp^o/xsvo^ axoAafrro^, o 8= ot aypoTxo/, ava/o'^To^ T/^ tyb yap r] (nuQpocrvvri xai 75 avdps/a WTTO r5)^ wTrepjSoXvj^ xai {/aJ^, U7TO T^J jU,0-OTr y TO (T ai ysv(Ti$ xa) ai au^r t (rsig xat ai Ttov xa) 6:ro TCOV aurtoj/ -y/vovra;, aXXa xai at evspysiai sv TOI$ oLVToi$ etrovToti ' xat yap STT< rtov aAXtov rcov fyavspco- repajj/ ourj ' e '^ e; j ' ov STTi T% !4>povs^, xa* ysvo[j.voi a7rs^50"5ai aircov. bpoicog 8s xai STT/ Qi%o[j.svoi yap xaratypovsiv TCOV 4>o aura yjvo' ( as$a av8ps7o<, xa} yevopevoi a vwopiveiv ra fyofiepd. av- xa) in moderation. To which his opponent agrees (c), 'AAA' 6fj.o\oy(a JUT; TO TroAAd d\Aa TO fjLfTpia yu/u.i/cwno T^C U6|iov t/jLTTottiv TO?S avOpwirots. Ti 5e TO (TT(a ; ^ TO TTOXAtt ; K.T.A.. There are three points which this chapter and the next contribute tentatively to the theory of virtuous actions; (i) From the analogy of life, health, and strength, they must exhibit the law of the balance between extremes ; (2) Virtue reproduces the actions out of which it was formed ; (3) It is essen- tially concerned with pleasure, and is indeed entirely based on a regulation of pleasures and pains. 8 oAA.' ou i^ovov lerfoj ' But not only do the formation, the in- crease, the destruction of these quali- ties arise out of the same given cir- cumstances, and by the same means, the exercise also of the qualities, when formed, will be in the same sphere. We see this to be the case with things more palpable, as for instance, strength. For it arises out of taking much food and enduring much toil, and these things the strong man is especially able to do.' Virtue is developed out of, and finds its development in, the same class of fvepytiai. But only those which succeed the formation of virtue are to be called virtuous, see below, Chapter IV. 2 412 H6IKS1N NIKOMAXEIflN II. [CHAP- r$ spyoig' o p.ev yap a7rs%op.svo$ rtoi/ ijOovuiv xou aurio rourco %oupa)V crwfypwv, o 3' ^O|U,svo axo7\.aj |avj Xu7roujU,=i/o ye avpsio, o 8= XOTTOU/XSJ/O^ =pi rjoovat,* -yap xa* Xuzraj eo"Tv 73 >]Qixr) apsrvj" o/a III. i S^/ueToj/ 8e 5et\ds] ' Now we must consider the test of a formed state of mind to be the pleasure or pain that results on doing the par- ticular acts. For he who abstains from bodily indulgence, and feels pleasure in doing so, is temperate, but he who does it reluctantly is in- temperate ; and he who endures danger gladly, or at all events without pain, is brave, while he that does it with pain is a coward.' The doctrine ex- pressed here has been already antici- pated, Eth. i. viii. iz. It is an ideal perfection of virtue, in which all struggle has ceased, and nothing but pleasure is felt in the virtuous acts. Temperance and courage are pictured in this ideal way, Eth. i. xiii. 1 7. The terms o.K.6\apcov and oj/Spewj, so that ait6- \ourros has not the more technical sense which it receives farther on in the treatise. According to Aristotle's expanded doctrine, to abstain with difficulty, or to meet danger with re- luctance, shows not intemperance or cowardice, but only imperfect self- control. Trfpl riSoi/as yelp KO.\ \inras fffrlv i} TjBtK^i kpfr{\\ 'For moral virtue has to do with pleasures and pains.' On this sentence the chapter goes off, giving proofs of what is here affirmed. These proofs, to some extent, run into each other, and the whole chapter may be accused of want of method, both in itself and in relation to the entire Ethics. But we must remember that there is still something tentative about Aristotle's theory of virtue ; that psychology was still in its in- fancy ; that Aristotle was only gradu- ally winning his way to establish moral virtue as a state of the will in contradistinction to former systems, which had confounded it with a state of the intellect. From this point of view we may see the importance of urging the close connexion of morality with the feelings, instincts, desires, in short with pleasures and pains. The arguments are ( i ) Pleasures and pains induce and deter ; whence Plato said that true education consists in learning to like and dislike the right things. (2) Virtue is an affair of actions and feelings, hence of pleasure and pain, which are inseparable from these. (3) Punishment consists in pain, and therefore vice, which it corrects, must consist in pleasure. (4) So much have pleasures and pains to do with the corrupting of the mind, that some have defined virtue to consist in insen- sibility to these. (5) There are three principles which form the motives for action : the good, the profitable, the pleasant. Of these the last is in itself the most widely extended, and it enters into both the others. (6) Plea- sure is a natural instinct from infancy upwards, which it is impossible to get rid of. (7) We all, in a greater or less degree, adopt pleasure and pain as the measure of actions. (8) The very difficulty of contending with III.] II6IIO1N NIKOMAXEIQN II. \ \ f^ \ N JL. ~- f 5* \ yotp TTiV >]Oov?)V Ta cpauAa 7rpaTTo^u,sv, 6/a Tv ' 7rai\ta Kal \viri] rat /i^Trco 8ut>a/j.eviav \a&6irrcai> Sf rbv \6yov ffv^faffjffuffi rif k.6ycp, opOws flOitrBai intb T&V irpo- ffl\K&v^t>)v fdtaV avrris ff fi ufj.i>ia, Jufiirao-a fj.fi> aper-fj, rb 8e irfpl ray rjSov&s Kal AI/JTOS redpafj-fifvov airrrjs fvQvs e'J dpx^s MXP' TfAouy, ffrtpyeiv 5e a XP^) vKaaDAai y/i/ovra/, T xai C^suys/v, TJ a j.rj 8s7 ^ ors ou Ssi" ^ a>V oo 6:ro TOU Xoyou 8iOp/sTa< ra Toiau rag apsrag aTraQsictg Tivag xou yps[j.ict$' oux eu 8s, OTI a.Tr'hSig As'youo'Ji', aXX' oyp^ co tisi xai o>^ ou <5s7, 6 xa< ore, xa) ocra aAAa 7rpo}/xTv xai s'x TOWTCOV 4>avspov IT/ Trspi rtov auraiv. rpitbv yap OVTWV rcov sl^ ra^ alpstreig xai rpiu>v rcov s\g rag Q>vya.$, xaXou xai rpiatv TCOV svavT/tov, alcr^pou /3Xa- Trspi Travra jasv raDra o aya^o^ xarop^aj- O strriV o 8e xaxog ajU,apT7jTfxo', jtxaXKrra 8s Trspi TS yap atlrT) TO? ^io<^, xai 7ra ol 7rao~TS xat 8] dpsTr) Trspi rfiovag xai Xurra^, xa< OT/ TOU, UTTO TO'jTtov xai au^srai xa} QQsipsrai xa) OT< g^ av sysvsTO, Trsp} TauTa xai svspys?, ori aiv 8 T( 8" e'/c vifiriov Xuirp] ' Again, it has grown up along with us all from our infancy, and this makes it hard to rub off a feeling that is in- grained into our life. And all of us, in a greater or less degree, make pleasure and pain our standard of actions,' ff/j.fvov] The metaphor, though not its precise application, seems taken from Plato, Repub. rr. p. 429 D, where the effects of right education are compared to a dye, with which the mind is to be imbued, so as to resist the detersive effects of pleasure and pain. 10 ?TJ 8 'Hppova, 15813 eleri 8/xa/oj xa< trd>$pwt$ t a>o~7rsp si ra ypaja/xar/xa xa/ ra a, -ypa/x/xarixo* xai jaouV yiv6[J.sva TO sv %%i ev aurot, apxsl ovv TOWTa Trwg e%ovTa ysvearQai ' TO. 8s xara oux sav aura 7ra> ^73, Sixa/a)^ TJ ( aXXa xa) sav 6 TrpaTTtov Trcag sp^tov 7rparr>], jasv lav slSto^, STTS/T' sav Trpoaipoupsvos, xal 7rpoaipov[j.svo$ 8<* aura, ro 8s TpiTov xa} sav /3s/3a/a> xa< tain a sort of success and an artistic appearance, but the learner is no artist as yet. (a) A fortiori, if mere performance is no proof of art, much less is it any proof of morals. For the outward result in art is some- thing sufficient in itself. But the outward act in morals is not enough. Hence those 'just acts ' by which we acquire justice, are, on nearer in- spection, not really just ; they want the moral qualification of that settled internal character in the heart and mind of the agent, without which no external act is virtuous in the highest sense of the term. (3) As Aristotle rarely meets a difficulty arising out of his theories, without adding something in depth or completeness to those theories, so here, he deepens the con- ception of virtue previously given, by urging that knowledge is the least im- portant element in it ; and that philo- sophy without action is impotent to attain it. 3 Knowledge ; purpose ; purity of purpose (irpocupou/uewj 8' otrrf), formed and settled stability of cha- racter, are the internal requisites for constituting a good act. Knowledge is necessary to, and presupposed in, purpose. We are told presently that knowledge is of slight or no avail for virtue, while the other elements are all in all (irpbs 5e rb TOS operas -rb fj.fv ei'SeVai (j.iKpbv % ovStv l pixpov aXAa TO ?rav 8uvaTa/, aVsp sx TOU 7roAAax/ Trpdrrsiv rot, 8/xa/a xa) (ru)Q>pova Trspiyivtrcti. TO. fj.lv ouv Trpayp-aTct 8/xata xai o-a>(>pova AsysTa/, oVav4 ^| To/auTa ola av 6 8/xaio 75 o $pov &pasuv' 8/xaio^ 8s xa< p(ov SO"TIV oup^ 6 TauTa TrpaTTwv, aXXa xai 6 OUTO> Trparrcov (o$ ol S/xatoi xa) oi (rw^povsg 7rpaTTOu(riv. s5 ouv XsysTai OT< sx TOL> 8/xajU,a Msra 8s TauTa TI SO~T/V >j a sv T^ ^up^y y/vo'ftsva Tp/a O~XS^TOV. 001/ a^ij Swaps i$ good act must be chosen, loved, and done because it is beautiful (2rt KoArfv). Aristotle does not analyse further than this. a/x6Toic^jTeoj] No point is more insisted on in these Ethics than the stability of the moral '|ets, when once formed. Of. i. x. 10, i. x. 14, v. ix. 14. 6 oAA' of TroAAol (JuAoiro^oDvTes] ' But most people, instead of doing these things, take refuge in tallc about them, and flatter themselves that they are studying philosophy, and are in a fair way to become good men ; which conduct may be likened to that of those sick people who listen atten- tively to what their physician says, but do not follow a tittle of his pre- scriptions. Such a regimen will never give health of body, nor such a philo- sophy health of mind.' We often hear of 'the modernisms in Plato.' The above passage might be called a modernism in Aristotle. V. With this chapter commences a new division of the Book, in which a formal definition of virtue according to substance or genus, and quality or differentia, is given. We find the conception of this kind of definition already existing in Plato. Cf. Meno, p. 71 B : ^uaurbj/ KaTa/j.f/J.(pofJ.at us OVK eiS&s irepi apery* rb irapdirav 4 Se /xf; ol5o ri '$ov Qpda-og fyQovov p^apav $1X109 jouo-o sXsov, oXa> o/ STTSTOH rfiov-i) ^ xJrrTj, 8uva/As/ 8s rot/ran/ XsoasQa olov xa$' a Suvaroi \ /A v ^ * *. V \\ ra Traorj e%ofj.sv su 19 xaxa>, o-fi. Of these the last is in the present case excluded by its own nature, and it is only necessary to eliminate two of the remaining three. Apart from the subdivision of the category, the threefold partition of the mind might be defended upon its own merits ; for irdQos may be in a sense identified with ivtpytiat, and tis is a sort of determinate BiWjuis, a 5vva/xis, so to speak, on the other side of &ep- ytiai. Granting to the human mind the power of development, and of self- determination by the law of habits, it follows that every mode in which such a mind exists, must either be its innate, undeveloped, and potential faculties, its moments of consciousness, or its acquired and formed tendencies and states. The arguments to prove that virtue is not a vddos, are (i) an appeal to language. We are called ' good ' or ' bad ' on account of virtue or vice ; not on account of isolated feelings. (2) A passion is by its nature involun- tary ; but virtue implies deliberate choice (vpoalpetris). (3) An appeal to language ; " we speak of being ' moved ' in regard to the feelings ; of being ' disposed ' in regard to virtue or vice. Again, for the same reason, virtue is not a Svvafus. ( i ) Because we are not ' called good ' for our facul- ties. (2) Because a faculty is some- thing natural and innate (Swarol /xV 4ffftv Qvffti), and virtue is not. 2 \ey( 8e eiJ ' I mean by emo- tions, desire, anger, fear, boldness, envy, joy, friendship, hatred, longing, emulation, pity ; in short, everything that is accompanied by pain or plea- sure. I call those faculties, by reason of which we are said to be capable of feeling emotions, as, for instance, capable of being angry, of suffering pain, of feeling pity ; and I call those states by which we stand in a certain relation, good or bad, to the emotions ; as, for instance, with regard to anger, we are in a bad condition if our anger is too violent or too slack, in a V. VI.] NIKOMAXEK1N II. 419 OUTS 6/xo/ooj os xoii TTpoj raAAa. 7ra5?j [j.sv ouv oux slj OUT' S7rajvou'ju,s5a $a (ou yap sVa/i/s?ra/ o <>o/3ou/xsvo ou8s o ou8s \f/sysra/ o cbrAtoj opy/o'|asvo aXA' o xara 8s ra^ apsra^ xa) ra xaxiag eTraivoujOtsQa -^ sdot. STI opy/^OjasSa ^asv xa) <^o/3oujw,s5a a7rpoajpe-4 ai 8' apsra* 7rpoauo~st * siVo- 8s Trspi rourou Trpo'rspov. si ouv ^TS ircthf\ sio~}v a"! 6 apsra) ]U,^rs Suvajas/j, Xs/Trsra* ss< auraj sTt/a<. "O r/ jotsv ouv so~r/ ra> ysvs* >] apsr^, sjpyjra/ * 8s7 8s 6 good one, if we hit the happy medium.' Aristotle contents himself with indi- cating what he means by these diffe- rent terms, instead of giving anything like a scientific definition of them. Thus he gives specimens of the feelings in which there is no attempt at classi- fication, 'desire' being a wider term than most of the others mentioned, ' envy ' and ' emulation ' being perhaps different modes of the same feeling, &c. The words used are throughout informal, TO Iv rfj tyvxfj ytt>6/j.eva oTs eirerot ^SocTj naff &s Svvarol Kaff &s naOijTiKoi. It is easy to see that a deeper psychology might have stated all that is here said in a different and better way. In his account of e|jy there is a play on words which it is impossible to render, '{s Kaff fty exo/J-ev. Cf. the use of TTCOS 3 of the preceding chapter, Rt 8" aperal irpoaipfffets This is an extreme statement, in op- position to the Socratic doctrine that virtues were pon^(Tjs, cf. Eth. \i. xiii. 3. Aristotle immediately qualifies it. There has been no proof of this position as yet. SiaKeierflai ireos] This word is very common in Plato (as in other Greek). Cf. Repub. iv. 431 B : a.K6\affTov rbv ovrta SiaKfi^fvoi', &c. In the treatise on the Categories, which bears Aris- totle's name, it is made to imply a tiiaOtffis in contradistinction to tx 6 "*. which implies a t'lis, Cat. viii. 5, ol fj.ei> yap eeis fyovTes Kal SiaKfiv-rai ye TTOJS fear' airrds, ol 8e SiaKtlfnevoi ov VI. Having stated the generic conception of virtue (ri fari) that it is a developed state of mind, Aristotle now proceeds to determine it more exactly (iroia TIS). He lays the ground HH 2 H0imN NIKOMAXEIiiN II. [CHAP. [*.}) [Jiovov ovTcog slrrsTv, on s^i$, aXXot xa) Troj'a T<. o3v OTI Tracra apsTi], o3 av YJ apeTT?, auro re e xa< TO spyo asTr TOV re olov -yap TOU ofj.oa)$ ayaQov 3 7roXsja/ou xa Xjaou ap=TY s TS 7ro for this more accurate determination, by giving a summary (borrowed from Plato) of the characteristics of "Aper^. Every excellence is the perfection of an object, and of the functions of that object. Thus human excellence (or virtue) will be the perfection of man, and of the functions of man. This leads us to inquire more narrowly what are the characteristics of a perfect fpyov (the word is ambiguous, de- noting ' work of art,' or ' product of nature,' as well as 'function' or ' province'). From the conception of quantity, whether continuous (~), we get the conception of more, less, and equal, or excess, defect, and the mean, which in the case of human action must not be arithmetical but proportional ( 4-7). Now a glance at the arts shows us that the skill of an artist and the perfection of a work consist in the attainment and exhibition of the relative mean, so that nothing can be added or taken away without spoiling the effect ( 8-9). Accord- ing to this analogy, virtue, which, like nature, is finer than the finest art, aims at the mean, avoiding excess and deficiency in feeling and action ( 10-13). To this account of the essence of virtue witness is borne by the Pythagorean doctrine, that right is one, and wrong manifold ( 14). We need only qualify our theory and our definition of virtue, by adding that it is from an abstract point of view alone we can call virtue ' a mean state." From a moral point of view it is an extreme that is utterly re- moved from its opposite, vice ( 15- 1 7), and we must not apply the notion of the mean and the extremes to every act. Some acts are in them- selves extremes, as, for instance, acts of crime, and it will be impossible to find a mean in such as these ( 18- ao). 2 frtireov ovv woAe/xfovs] 'We must commence then by asserting that every excellence both exhibits that thing of which it is an excellence in a good state, and also causes the perfect performance of that thing's proper function, as, for instance, the excellence of an eye makes the eye good, and also the performance of its function, for we see well from the excellence of the eye. So, too, the excellence of a horse makes him both a good horse, and good in his paces, in bearing his rider, and in standing a charge." This is taken almost verbatim from Plato, Bep'ub. I. p. 353B: T Ap' &v iroTf OjUyUora -rb avrGtv Zpyov KO.\WS airepyiiffaivro fi^ lyovra. rV curruv oiKeiav liptr^y, K.T.\. An illustration had been drawn from the horse and its excellence before in the same book, p. 335 B. 3 et Srj ToDr' ^*i irdinuv ol'nvs X / > VI.] IieiKilN NIKOMAXEIilN II. 421 rat xoii a<> TOUT' so~Ta, pov, lav 5so-i. 7ra>$ 8s 4 xa< a>' Troa T xat 8ia/psTt sv TO sXaTTOV TO Aa/3sTv TO xa} TauTa XO.T auTo TO ' '/o~ov, TO 8' 8s TOV jaev 7rpa-yp.aTog pscrov TO iVov 5 OCTTSVOV a]/xa^ 8s o TOUTO 8' OU^ 5V, Ou8s TOtUTOV 7TaO- 8sxa ^voci <$>a.ysiv TroXu 860 7rpoo~Ta^s<* SO~TI yap 8s o ou yap s < ol ^ TOU avOpuiirov aper)) K.T.X.] Ari- stotle treats of human virtue as part of a general law by which all natural objects fulfil their several functions, and each in accordance with its own proper excellence. He next passes to the analogy of the arts, though he regards virtue as higher than them, and more akin to nature, (r) 8' dper^ (ffriv, Siffirep Kal i) tyvffis). In the present passage we have again to do with the conception of the spyov of man ; see above Eth. i. vii. 14. 4 irws 5e TOUT' effTai, fjSri /J.ev fipriKa.fifi'] If any special passage is referred to, it must be n. iv. 3. iv iravrl S^ ffwex*t Kal StaipeTcp] ' Now in all quantity both continuous and discrete.' The terms here are not meant to go together, as if it were, ' In all that is continuous, and at the same time capable of division ; ' but the two forms of quantity are referred to, about which we read Categories vi. I : ToG 5e Trdffou rb /j.iv effn SuopitTfj.f- vov, rb Se ffwe^es. "Eari Se Siupiff- fj.(vov (J.fv olov apiB/.As Kal \6jos (a word), ffwfx.es Se oTov ypa/j./j.'fi, ftri X>j\J/oju,Vco 73 oX/yov ' M/Xaw /xsv oX/yov, rto 8s appOjU,i/a> rutv yu^vairioiv ?roXu. 8 sTri 8po'ju.ou xai TraXrjf. OUTOJ 8rj 7ra 7no~Tvj|a jtxsv xai TTJV sXXs/\l//j> <>uys/, TO 8s jUsVov V]Ts7 xai TOU$' ajpsira/, j,sVov 8s ou TO TOU 7rpay/xaTO aXXa TO 9 :rpo rjjaa. el 8r) TraVa 7no~T?3jU,yy ouVa) TO spyov su eTTi- TO jU.eo"ov 3X7rouo-a xai sJj TOUTO ayouo-a T (o^sv ela>5ao-jv sTriXsye/v TO?^ eS e%ouf 4)de/pouj >j xa xai TO xa v 8s olov xa) xa* av so"Ti xa< xai vai xa uTrrjvjvai go"T< xa jaaXXov xa TTOV, xa Tspa oux su ' TO 8' OTS 8sT xai <$>' ol^ xai Trpoj ou^ xai ou svsxa xai a>^ 8sT, ju. 7TOT6 X76js ; ou y&p irov r6 ye roiJj/Se tpfjs' (I Hov\v8a.[*.as rm&v Kpfirrtav 6 /3(kia /cpt'a irpbs T^ trai/ia, TOVTO -rb ffiriov fivai Kai ijfuv TO?S TJTTOO'II' ^Ktlvov f,vfi. "& *' Stcupepot rb Kv xa* ei TO> TOU Qsovros sv TS xa. sv i, TTJV 8' apsryv TO jal^rov xa) supiVxs/v xai alpei- 810 xaTa ju,sv T^V awriew xal TOV Xo'yov TOV T/ ^1/ SO~T}V TJ ap=TV5, xaTa 8s TO ap/o~Tov account of irpoofpecm, and its relation to action, in the next book. The other terms of the definition have been sufficiently established in the progress of this book. The reference to the q>p6vifj.os as an impersonation of the 'law' or 'standard' of reason is a necessary modification of what would else be an entirely relative, individual, and arbitrary, theory of virtue. If the \6yos of the individual is to be a valid judge of all action, this will be returning to the sophistic principle irdi/Twv fjLfrpof &vQp rV ovoia easy to see that Aristotle means by his /xeVoy to establish something more than a merely quantitative difference between vice and virtue. 14 en T /usy afJMprdvfiv ^ovax'Ss] 'Again it is possible to err in many ways (for evil belongs to the infinite, as the Pythagoreans figured, and good to the finite), but to do right is possible only in one way.' See Essays II. and IV. The authorship of the verse ^s, a\A' fv rerrapffi ye fj.d\iffra' Kal yap rb rl ?iv flvai Kid rb Ka66\ov Kal rb yfvos ovffia SOKC? flvai ttcairrov Kal rtraprov roiirwv rb vTtoKfifj.fvov'). It is made definite however in the present place by the addition of the phrase Kal rbv \6yov rbv ri 3v flvai \eyovra, which may be regarded here as an explanation of ovaia. On \6yov \ryojra, cf. De Motu Aniinalium x. i : Kara fiey oZv rbv \6yov rbv \fyovra rfyv atriac TTJS Kiirf)fff \eyerai naff avr6) to the exclusion of all that is accidental ; (2) that it is the definition of a thing, but not of all things, for it excludes all material associations, hence that to a conception like v avopofyovia. ' TTOLVTOI yap raura xa; ra roiaura if/syera; rait auTa v oipa.pTot.vsiv eia, of which the first is made the standard of moral virtue, and the other stands apart as a perfection of the pure intellect. Justice is separated from other practical virtues, as being something externally determined (cf. Eth. v. v. 17). Plato gives, in the Protagoras, p. 349 B, another list of five virtues, holiness (6V \oiiruv. n. vii. n, farfov ovv K.T.A. ; ni. v. 2.3, a,ua 5' fffrai S^Aov Kal ir6aai flaiv.) In the Rhetoric i. ix. 5 13, we find a list of virtues (or, as they are called, Ms'pij operas) given, which is identical with the present (omitting, how- ever, i\la\ ptpr) 8e aptrrjs SiKaioffvvri, avSpla, ffufypoavvi], ia. Of those omitted it is probable that the first was included in /jLtyaXotyvxta, while the other three were excluded as possessing a less degree of moral importance. Even here Aristotle seems to set them on a somewhat lower footing than the rest. I f nev Qoippiiv UTTSO- Qpa.(rus> o ^s T> /xsi/ ^o/Ssio-Qa/ uTrepfia.X'Xajv TCO 8= otppstv sXAe/TTtoi/ Ss/XoV. Trsp rj T ^ )/ ty v xh v &P f ' r 'h> ^ T ^ opQo- irpa.'yeiv, f| rt TTe$ reks aperds, &aAa/O> XeyOjOtEV, auT> TOUTO>* uo~Tspov 8s axpijSso-Tspov Trspi 6 aurwv 8;opjo-$^o-STaj. Trsp} fie ra ^p^jOtara xaj aXXai 8*a- 5sVs/ slo~/, JW.SO-O'TTJ JOLSV jasyaAoTrpsTrsia (6 yap |,syaXo- s7T7J 8sp/ sXsuSspjoy* 6 JMSV yap Trsp} jasyaAa, o Trep) jaixpa), wTrep^oXvj ^s a7respou(raj/, ourcog %si TI$ xou 7rpo$ ri}V jasyaXoxJ/t^/av, Trspi TI^V oixrav jasyaX^jv, aur^ Trspi [juxpdv outra g(rr< yap a>^ 8s? ops'ysordai TJAOT/JU,01/ T/va 8' atT/av TOUTO 8s Trsp} TCOV XOITTCOV J O SO~T< 8s xa; Trspi opy^v xal SO~T/V OTS jasv ea/- 8' OTS TOV CL<$)l?*.OTl[J.OV. fild , sv ToT? s% i^Tjo-sTaj * vuv poTrov. xaTa TOV xai refinement with regard to courage in the fuller account of this virtue in Book III. 5 ui\offoia VII.] H9IK11N NIKOMAXEIQN II. 429 3s ovrcov atmov TOV ov Trpaov TO>V ft oixpujv o [j.sv u7Tp|3aAXa>y opy/Xo sora), TJ 0= xax/a opyjAoVv^, 6 8' eXXs/Trrov dopyrjTos Tig, 73 8' lAXs<\|/;^ aopy^o-j' xai aAAa* Tp=J JUSO-O'TTJTS^, e%oujasi/ OT* ev 7rao~iv 73 JU,SO-O'TTJ sTratvsTo'v, Ta 8' axpa OUT' op$a * XAa \J/XTa. O~TI ja=v ouv xai TOUTOJV TCC , Trsipareov 8', wcnrsp xoii ITT) Taiv QvoparoTTOis'iv (rac^rjVsiois svsxsv xa} ToO TTsp} jasv ouv TO aXTj^s^ 6 jasv [j.sjW,oXop/a xai 6 8' XX/7ra)v aypoixog rig xai T] \> ~/2' v TO V TO) P jU,V O o 8' u 8' TT TO fj.si%w TO i 8= TO aypo/xia* 7Tpi 5.\ *A'-V ^' Tjdut,' O)V (>iAO Xa< 7) svsxa, ap- xai 6 8' l 1 1 fareov o5i/ einrapaKoXoufl^Tou] ' These also must accordingly be dis- cussed, in order to show still more clearly that in everything the mean is praiseworthy, while the extremes are neither right nor praiseworthy, but blameable. Now most of these qua- lities are without names ; but we must endeavour, as in other cases, to make names ourselves for the sake of clearness and of being easily fol- lowed.' After discussing oX^Qtia, the author of the Magna Moralia says Ei fjiev o$v elfflv aurat aptral fj p.}) aperat, &AAoy &v efoj \6yos~ '6n Se fiat rwv etp-ij/^eVa. 1 ^, S^Aov, of (i. yap KO.T' auras wtTes ^iraivo xxxiii. 2). -ireiparfov K.T.X.] Aristotle's method consists partly in accepting experience as shown in common language, &c., partly in rectifying it, or re-stating it from his own point of view ; partly in finding new expressions for it, so as to discover men's thought to them- selves. He usually rather fixes the meaning of words, than creates new ones. For instance, he here assigns a peculiar and limited meaning to oA^fleta and o xaraTrXrj^, o Travra al8oujU,si/o * o 8' Ix^siirmv 7] 6 b Se xat rjSot/r^y T STTI TO?^ (TUjU.Ba/'vouo'i TO?^ TreXa^ yivo[j.eva.$' b fjisv yap vsfJLSQovspo$ vTrepfid'h'hwv rourov STT ra*, o 8' e7ri%aipsxa.XQS TO&OVTOV sXAs/Trs* TOU It is far greater than has ever been exercised by any one man beside. 14 1 5 Aristotle winds up his list by adding Ai566vos (envy), and tinxatpfKaicla. (ma- lice), are only different forms of the same state of mind. Hence they can- not be opposed as two extremes. Again, the brixaipfKaitos cannot be said TOffovrov 4\\ftireitf Siirrf K.T.\., for he does not rejoice at the success of the good which the envious man grieves at He rejoices at the mis- fortunes of the good. This mistake is set right by Eudemus (n. iii. 4), who, in his list, writes 66vos, hv&w- fwv, vtntais. Of course the opposite to 66vos must be avaiffdijaia -m. VII. VIII.] H0IKQN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 431 xa* scrra/' Trsp] Os 3ixa0ovep6s. Socrates in Xen. Memor. m. ix. 8 defines QBSvos as it is here defined. Mwovs Hr] Qovety TOVS firl rats . r!av fyi\iav fvirpa^iats avicii/Aft'ovs. Plato does not separate envy and mah'ce, cf. Philebus, p. 48 B : 'O tpOovcav ye M KO.KOIS rots TUV ire'Aas riSopfVos avaain}V \oyiKwv dperoji'] This passage is obelized, because of the term \oytKai, which- never occurs elsewhere in Aristotle or Eudemus, as applied to the Sia- voi)TiKal aperat secondly, because of the sense, since Aristotle could not possibly say that he meant to show how the intellectual excellences were fifff6Ti)Tfs thirdly, because of the extreme likelihood of an interpolation here ; see Essay I. VIII. A new conception is now developed of the relation between a virtue and the extremes lying on each side of it, and that is, the conception of ' contrariety,' of mutual repulsion and exclusiveness between the several terms. The extremes are opposed each to the other, and both to the mean. This addition tends yet further to raise the moral distinctions from being mere distinctions of quantity, into being distinctions of kind. With logical inconsistency, though with thorough truth, Aristotle proceeds to point out that one extreme is generally ' more contrary ' to the mean than the other, either because of a greater dissimilarity to virtue in 432 IieiKliN NIKOMAXEION II. [CHAP. v Trpog 8s TO ju.s?bv sXarrov, ovTtog al psorai 'e fj,ev rag sAX=nI/s/ u7rsp$aAAouo-j, Trpog 8s rag 7rouo-v 4 avaAoyov. OUTO> 8' avT/xsj/xs'vcov aXXv^Xo/f TOUTOJV, TrXs/fov ' Sa) TOU /iroo. STI Trpo^ jtxsv TO ]U,sT/a ?rpo^ TTJV sXsuQspioTrjTO. ' rots 8s axpoig evavra s TO ]U,so~ov avTxsiTa/ a;v j,sv >] >.r?.>'' j^ scp cov 6s 73 U ?' o/ov avbpsia the tendency itself, or from our fol- lowing a natural bent and pushing cut the tendency to extravagance. a i 70^ dpSpelbs 8eiA.piff/j.fvr) \6yif. And this law or standard of the absolute reason finds its exponent in the wise man, us tm & p6vi(j.os 6pifffiet>. 5 CTJ ?rpb /MI/ oire'xoi'Ta] 'Again, while some extremes appear to have a sort of similarity to the mean, as, for instance, rashness to bravery, and prodigality to liberality ; the ex- tremes have the greatest dissimilarity to each other. But things most re- moved from each other people define to be ' contraries,' therefore things more removed are more contrary to each other.' In the present passage it is easy to see a logical inconsistency. If contraries be T& irtelarov airexovra, how can we speak of them as w Ae7oi> oTre'xo^To ? Aristotle commences with an idea of absolute contrariety, and afterwards takes up one of relative contrariety, admitting of degrees. But repugnance admits of degrees, if contrariety does not, so the inac- curacy is merely verbal VIIL] H6IKQN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 433 7] oucra o(ra. < TOUTO , ov TOUTO aXXa TOUVOLVTIOV avririQefJ-sv oiov STTS} o^to/orspov sivaj Soxsi" TYJ avops/a 75 lyyurspov, dvo/Jtoiorepov 8' 7] 8e) xa TTCO, xaxuov xai on TO TOU 7raaso-i xa< 2 xav)$ syrai, 10 xa epyov ecrr} (nrou^aiov svar ev lxao~T /xev oXadews ytvfff8ai ^oAeirrfj/ K.r.A., may have been in the mind of Aristotle, who here gives a rationale of 'them, and indeed shows that it is hard not only IX.] HGIKON NIKOMAXEIQN II. 435 7ra/VTov xa 8/0 TQV rou xaj 73 KaXin|/a) Trapaivsi KOI KVpUTOQ SKTOC yap axpeov TO ]U,V uXaxTOV TO ^'8y xa) T^V TjSovv^V oi yap to become, but to 6e, good, 5a7oj> elrat, not only yevfffOat. Cf. the dis- cussion in the Protagoras. 3 KoBa-trep Kal i) Ka\wfol) irapoii/e?] There is a mistake here in which Aristotle is followed by the Para- phrast. It was Circe (not Calypso) who advised Ulysses (Od. xn. 108 109), when sailing between Scylla and Charybdis, to keep nearest to the former, as being less dangerous. Two of the MSS., with a view of setting Aristotle right, substitute Kfp/nj for the authentic reading. The verse here given Homer puts not into the mouth of Circe, but of Ulysses ordering his pilot, according to the directions he had received (Od. xn. 219, zzo.) 4 KOTO rbv SfVTtp6v afft TrAow] A common Greek proverb, which is variously explained. It is sometimes said to mean ' on the voyage home, if not on the voyage out ' ; but it seems very much better to take the words as meaning ' with oars, if not with sails,' an explanation which is twice given by Eustathius; p. 661, 6 TWV 8s 5 Kv irXovs Sfiirfpos \fyerai irXoCs, as trpcaTOv OITOS rov ir\ffiv vpbs Hvefiov. Also in p. 1453. Other in- stances of the proverb are Politics, m. xiii. 23 ; Plato, Philelws, p. 190; Pfuedo, 99 D. 5 Is rovvavrlov iroiovffiv} ' But we must drag ourselves away in the opposite direction ; for by bending ourselves a long way back from the erroneous extreme, like those who straighten crooked pieces of timber, we shall at length arrive at the mean.' The metaphor is borrowed from Plato Prolog, p. 3250, where it is applied to education, not, however, in precisely the same sense as here. Kal &v fnw fK&V WtUhfTM' (I 8 /Jl^l, SxTTffp v\OV SiaffTpftj>6i^.evov Kal Ka/J-TcrSfievov tv6v- vovffiv cwreiAews teal ir\T)ytus. 6 tv iravrl 8e a^tapTijo'djUeOa] ' But in everything we must especially be on our guard against the pleasant and pleasure. For we are not uncorrupted judges in her cause. Therefore, just as the old counsellors felt towards Helen, so ought we to feel towards 43G H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIflN II. XaO~TOl XplVOpeV aitTYjV. OTTSp OUV ol 8l}jU,OylpOVT5 TTJV 'EXsvrjv, TOUTO $si TraSsTv xa) ^'p*? 7rpo$ xa* ev TraV/ TTJV exstvcav eTTiheyetv ^cavr^V ourai 7 yap auTTjv a7ro7rsjM,7ro'jw,svo< TJTTOV a/xapTTjo-o'jw.sSa. Tat>T* o5v TOU jasVou Tuypavs/v. p^aXsTroi/ 8* iVan; rouro, xa) sv TOI$ xatf SXOKTTOV ou -yap paSioi/ 8op/o"ai ouSs yap aXXo ouSsv TCOJ/ alo~Q73Tc6v* TOC 8s roiattra ev Tjo-fii >] xpl(rt$. TO [j.ev apa TOO~OUTO 8^Aov OTI >] jaso~>] s^/f ev 7rao-iv sVaivsTij, otTroxX/vsiv 8s 8sT oVs jasv eV; T^V uTrep^oX^v OTS 8' STT} T^V iXXffi\[/iv' OUTO) yap pao~Ta TOU j,so-oy xa) TOU s5 re pleasure, and in everything apply their saying ; for by sending her out of our sight -we shall err the less.' The reference is to Homer, TZz'oc? HI. 156 160 : Oy vffUfffis Tpuas Kal Alt/us aOavdTTiai Offjs els Snra. ISOtKfV. a.\\a Ka.1 6s rofrj irep ^oDff' 4i> VT\wrl vet odea ^Tj8' ^/u.Ti' TfK^fffffl r* oirlffffu vrjfjM \iiroiTO, ' Unbribed,' ' uncorrupt- ed.' Sfxdfa, the origin of which is obscure, finds a parallel in the Latin ' decuriare,' which meant to bribe the tribes at elections. See Cicero, pro Plancio, c. xviii. 45. 8^8^ fJifXPt fivos Kal rrt ir6ffw ^/KT<5sj a condensed phrase meaning 'to what point and how far a man (may go before he) is blameable.' 4v ry alffB'fjffei f] Kpiffis] ' The de- cision of them is a matter of feeling.' Aristotle means that general rules are often inapplicable to particular cases, which must then be decided by a kind of 'intuition' or 'tact,' not derived from philosophy, but natural. Compare in. iii. 13 : fafl 5' f] rf\evraia irp6ra.ffi3 5do T6 eu.ffQr\Tov Kal Kvpla TUV 7rpoeW. 8ta rJ> pi] Ka66\ov /u?j8' itrtff-rijuovtKbv dfwiws flvai SoKtw T

. 16s. Revolutions in English History. By ROBERT VAUGHAN, D.D. 3 vols. 8vo. 45s. VOL. I. Revolutions of Race, los. VOL. II. Revolutions in Religion, 15s. VOL. III. Revolutions in Government, 15s. An Essay on the History of the English Government and Constitution, from the Reign of Henry VII. to the Present Time. By JOHN EARL RUSSELL. Third Edition, revised. Crown 8vo. 6s. The History of England during the Reign of George the Third. By the Right Hon. W. N. MASSEY. Cabinet Edition, 4 vols. post 8vo. 24s. The Constitutional History of England, since the Accession of George III. 17601860. By THOMAS ERSKINE MAY, C.B. Second Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 33s. Brodie's Constitutional History of the British Empire from the Accession of Charles I. to the Restoration. Edition. 3 vols. 8vo. 36s. Historical Studies. I. On Precursors of the French Revolution ; II. Studies from the History of the Seventeenth Century; III. Leisure Hours of a Tourist. By HERMAN MEIUVALE, M.A. 8vo. 12s. &f. Lectures on the History of Eng- land. By WILLIAM LONGMAN. VOL. I. from the Earliest Times to the Death of King Edward II. with G Maps, a coloured Plate, and 53 Woodcuts. 8vo. 15s. NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO. History of Civilization. By HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE. 2 vols. 1 17s. VOL. I. England and France, Fourth Edition, 21s. VOL. II. Spain and Scotland, Second Edition, 16s. Democracy in America. By ALEXIB DE TOCQUEVILLE. Translated \>y HENKY REEVE, with an Introductory Notice by the Translator. 2 vols. 8vo. 21s. The Spanish Conquest in America, and its Relation to the History of Slavery and to the Government of Colonies. By ARTHI:K HELPS. 4 vols. 8vo. 3. VOLS. I. & II. 28s. VOLS. III. & IV. 16s. each. History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin. By J. H. MERLB D'AUBIGNE, D.D. VOLS. I. and II. 8vo. 28s. and VOL. III. 12s. VOL. IV. nearly ready. Library History of France, in 5 vols. 8vo. By EYRE EVANS CROWE. VOL. I. 14s. VOL. II. 15*. VOL. III. 18s. VOL. IV. nearly ready. Lectures on the History of France. By the late Sir JAMES STEPHEN, LL.D. 2 vols. 8vo. 24s. The History of Greece. By C. THIRL- WALL, D.D. Lord Bishop of St. David's. 8 vols. 8vo. 3 ; or in 8 vols. fcp. 28s. The Tale of the Great Persian War, from the Histories of Herodotus. By GEORGE W. Cox, M.A. lute Scholar of Trin. Coll. Oxon. Fcp. 7s. Gd. Greek History from Themistocles to Alexander, in a Series of Lives from Plutarch. Revised and arranged by A. H. CLODGH. Fcp. with 44 Woodcuts, 6s. Critical History of the Lan- guage and Literature of Ancient Greece. By WILLIAM MUUE, of CaldwelL, 5 vols. 8vo. 3 9s. History of the Literature of Ancient Greece. By Professor K.O.MuLLER. Translated by the Right Hon. Sir GEORGE COUNEWAI.L LEWIS, Bart, and by J. W. DONALDSON, D.D. 3 vols. 8vo. 36s. History of the City of Rome from its Foundation to the Sixteenth Century of the Christian Era. By THOMAS H. DYER, LL.D. 8vo. with 2 Maps, 15s. History of the Romans under the Empire. By CHARLES MKRIVALE, B.D. Chaplain to the Speaker. Cabinet Edition, with Maps, complete in 8 vols. post 8vo. 48s. The Fall of the Roman Re- public : a Short History of the Last Cen- tury of the Commonwealth. By the same Author. 12rao. 7s. Gd. The Conversion of the Roman Empire; the Boyle Lectures for the year 1864, delivered at the Chapel Royal, White- hall. By the same. 2nd Edition, 8vo. 8s. Gd. The Conversion of the Northern Nations ; the Boyle Lectures for 1865. By the same. 8vo. 8s. Gd. Critical and Historical Essays contributed to the Edinburgh Review. By the Right Hon. Lord MACAULAY. LIBRARY EDITION, 3 vols. 8vo. 36s. TRAVELLER'S EDITION, in 1 vol. 21s. CABINET EDITION, 3 vols. fcp. 21s. PEOPLE'S EDITION, 2 vols. crown 8vo. 8s. Historical and Philosophical Essays. By NASSAU W. SENIOR. 2 vols. post 8vo. 16s. History of the Rise and Influence of the Spirit of Rationalism in Europe. By W. E. H. LECKY, M.A. Second Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 25s. The History of Philosophy, from Thales to the Present Day. By GEORGE HENRY LEWES. Third Edition, partly re- written and greatly enlarged. In 2 vols. VOL. I. Ancient Philosophy ; VOL. II. Mo- dern Philosophy. [Nearly ready. History of the Inductive Sciences. By WILLIAM WHEWELL, D.D. F.R.S. late Master of Trin. Coll. Cantab. Third Edition. 3 vols. crown 8vo. 24s. History of Scientific Ideas ; being the First Part of the Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences. By the same Author. Third Edition. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 14s, Egypt's Place in Universal His- tory ; an Historical Investigation. By C. C. J. BUNSEN, D.D. Translated by C. H. COTTRELL, M.A. With many Illus- trations. 4 vols. 8vo. 5 8s. VOL. V. is nearly ready, completing the work. Maunder's Historical Treasury ; comprising a General Introductory Outline of Universal History, and a Series of Sepa- rate Histories. Fcp. 10s. "NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LOXGMAXS AND CO. 3 Historical and Chronological En- cyclopaedia, presenting in a brief and con- venient form Chronological Notices of all the Great Events of Universal History. By B. B. WOODWARD, F.S.A. Librarian to the Queen. [7n the press. History of the Christian Church, from the Ascension of Christ to the Conver- sion of Constantine. By E. BURTON, D.D. late Regius Prof, of Divinity in the Univer- sity of Oxford. Eighth Edition. Fcp. 3s. 6d. Lectures on the History of Modern Music, delivered at the Royal Institution. By JOHN HULLAH. FIRST COURSE, with Chronological Tables, post 8vo. 6s. 6