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Nichomachaen Ethics

                                     350 BC
                               NICOMACHEAN ETHICS
                                  by Aristotle
                            translated by W. D. Ross

  EVERY art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and pursuit,
is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good has
rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim. But a
certain difference is found among ends; some are activities, others
are products apart from the activities that produce them. Where
there are ends apart from the actions, it is the nature of the
products to be better than the activities. Now, as there are many
actions, arts, and sciences, their ends also are many; the end of
the medical art is health, that of shipbuilding a vessel, that of
strategy victory, that of economics wealth. But where such arts fall
under a single capacity- as bridle-making and the other arts concerned
with the equipment of horses fall under the art of riding, and this
and every military action under strategy, in the same way other arts
fall under yet others- in all of these the ends of the master arts
are to be preferred to all the subordinate ends; for it is for the
sake of the former that the latter are pursued. It makes no difference
whether the activities themselves are the ends of the actions, or
something else apart from the activities, as in the case of the
sciences just mentioned.

  If, then, there is some end of the things we do, which we desire for
its own sake (everything else being desired for the sake of this), and
if we do not choose everything for the sake of something else (for
at that rate the process would go on to infinity, so that our desire
would be empty and vain), clearly this must be the good and the
chief good. Will not the knowledge of it, then, have a great influence
on life? Shall we not, like archers who have a mark to aim at, be more
likely to hit upon what is right? If so, we must try, in outline at
least, to determine what it is, and of which of the sciences or
capacities it is the object. It would seem to belong to the most
authoritative art and that which is most truly the master art. And
politics appears to be of this nature; for it is this that ordains
which of the sciences should be studied in a state, and which each
class of citizens should learn and up to what point they should
learn them; and we see even the most highly esteemed of capacities
to fall under this, e.g. strategy, economics, rhetoric; now, since
politics uses the rest of the sciences, and since, again, it
legislates as to what we are to do and what we are to abstain from,
the end of this science must include those of the others, so that this
end must be the good for man. For even if the end is the same for a
single man and for a state, that of the state seems at all events
something greater and more complete whether to attain or to
preserve; though it is worth while to attain the end merely for one
man, it is finer and more godlike to attain it for a nation or for
city-states. These, then, are the ends at which our inquiry aims,
since it is political science, in one sense of that term.

  Our discussion will be adequate if it has as much clearness as the
subject-matter admits of, for precision is not to be sought for
alike in all discussions, any more than in all the products of the
crafts. Now fine and just actions, which political science
investigates, admit of much variety and fluctuation of opinion, so
that they may be thought to exist only by convention, and not by
nature. And goods also give rise to a similar fluctuation because they
bring harm to many people; for before now men have been undone by
reason of their wealth, and others by reason of their courage. We must
be content, then, in speaking of such subjects and with such premisses
to indicate the truth roughly and in outline, and in speaking about
things which are only for the most part true and with premisses of the
same kind to reach conclusions that are no better. In the same spirit,
therefore, should each type of statement be received; for it is the
mark of an educated man to look for precision in each class of
things just so far as the nature of the subject admits; it is
evidently equally foolish to accept probable reasoning from a
mathematician and to demand from a rhetorician scientific proofs.
  Now each man judges well the things he knows, and of these he is a
good judge. And so the man who has been educated in a subject is a
good judge of that subject, and the man who has received an
all-round education is a good judge in general. Hence a young man is
not a proper hearer of lectures on political science; for he is
inexperienced in the actions that occur in life, but its discussions
start from these and are about these; and, further, since he tends
to follow his passions, his study will be vain and unprofitable,
because the end aimed at is not knowledge but action. And it makes
no difference whether he is young in years or youthful in character;
the defect does not depend on time, but on his living, and pursuing
each successive object, as passion directs. For to such persons, as to
the incontinent, knowledge brings no profit; but to those who desire
and act in accordance with a rational principle knowledge about such
matters will be of great benefit.
  These remarks about the student, the sort of treatment to be
expected, and the purpose of the inquiry, may be taken as our preface.

  Let us resume our inquiry and state, in view of the fact that all
knowledge and every pursuit aims at some good, what it is that we
say political science aims at and what is the highest of all goods
achievable by action. Verbally there is very general agreement; for
both the general run of men and people of superior refinement say that
it is happiness, and identify living well and doing well with being
happy; but with regard to what happiness is they differ, and the
many do not give the same account as the wise. For the former think it
is some plain and obvious thing, like pleasure, wealth, or honour;
they differ, however, from one another- and often even the same man
identifies it with different things, with health when he is ill,
with wealth when he is poor; but, conscious of their ignorance, they
admire those who proclaim some great ideal that is above their
comprehension. Now some thought that apart from these many goods there
is another which is self-subsistent and causes the goodness of all
these as well. To examine all the opinions that have been held were
perhaps somewhat fruitless; enough to examine those that are most
prevalent or that seem to be arguable.
  Let us not fail to notice, however, that there is a difference
between arguments from and those to the first principles. For Plato,
too, was right in raising this question and asking, as he used to
do, 'are we on the way from or to the first principles?' There is a
difference, as there is in a race-course between the course from the
judges to the turning-point and the way back. For, while we must begin
with what is known, things are objects of knowledge in two senses-
some to us, some without qualification. Presumably, then, we must
begin with things known to us. Hence any one who is to listen
intelligently to lectures about what is noble and just, and generally,
about the subjects of political science must have been brought up in
good habits. For the fact is the starting-point, and if this is
sufficiently plain to him, he will not at the start need the reason as
well; and the man who has been well brought up has or can easily get
startingpoints. And as for him who neither has nor can get them, let
him hear the words of Hesiod:

     Far best is he who knows all things himself;
      Good, he that hearkens when men counsel right;
      But he who neither knows, nor lays to heart
      Another's wisdom, is a useless wight.

  Let us, however, resume our discussion from the point at which we
digressed. To judge from the lives that men lead, most men, and men of
the most vulgar type, seem (not without some ground) to identify the
good, or happiness, with pleasure; which is the reason why they love
the life of enjoyment. For there are, we may say, three prominent
types of life- that just mentioned, the political, and thirdly the
contemplative life. Now the mass of mankind are evidently quite
slavish in their tastes, preferring a life suitable to beasts, but
they get some ground for their view from the fact that many of those
in high places share the tastes of Sardanapallus. A consideration of
the prominent types of life shows that people of superior refinement
and of active disposition identify happiness with honour; for this is,
roughly speaking, the end of the political life. But it seems too
superficial to be what we are looking for, since it is thought to
depend on those who bestow honour rather than on him who receives
it, but the good we divine to be something proper to a man and not
easily taken from him. Further, men seem to pursue honour in order
that they may be assured of their goodness; at least it is by men of
practical wisdom that they seek to be honoured, and among those who
know them, and on the ground of their virtue; clearly, then, according
to them, at any rate, virtue is better. And perhaps one might even
suppose this to be, rather than honour, the end of the political life.
But even this appears somewhat incomplete; for possession of virtue
seems actually compatible with being asleep, or with lifelong
inactivity, and, further, with the greatest sufferings and
misfortunes; but a man who was living so no one would call happy,
unless he were maintaining a thesis at all costs. But enough of
this; for the subject has been sufficiently treated even in the
current discussions. Third comes the contemplative life, which we
shall consider later.
  The life of money-making is one undertaken under compulsion, and
wealth is evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely
useful and for the sake of something else. And so one might rather
take the aforenamed objects to be ends; for they are loved for
themselves. But it is evident that not even these are ends; yet many
arguments have been thrown away in support of them. Let us leave
this subject, then.


  We had perhaps better consider the universal good and discuss
thoroughly what is meant by it, although such an inquiry is made an
uphill one by the fact that the Forms have been introduced by
friends of our own. Yet it would perhaps be thought to be better,
indeed to be our duty, for the sake of maintaining the truth even to
destroy what touches us closely, especially as we are philosophers
or lovers of wisdom; for, while both are dear, piety requires us to
honour truth above our friends.
  The men who introduced this doctrine did not posit Ideas of
classes within which they recognized priority and posteriority
(which is the reason why they did not maintain the existence of an
Idea embracing all numbers); but the term 'good' is used both in the
category of substance and in that of quality and in that of
relation, and that which is per se, i.e. substance, is prior in nature
to the relative (for the latter is like an off shoot and accident of
being); so that there could not be a common Idea set over all these
goods. Further, since 'good' has as many senses as 'being' (for it
is predicated both in the category of substance, as of God and of
reason, and in quality, i.e. of the virtues, and in quantity, i.e.
of that which is moderate, and in relation, i.e. of the useful, and in
time, i.e. of the right opportunity, and in place, i.e. of the right
locality and the like), clearly it cannot be something universally
present in all cases and single; for then it could not have been
predicated in all the categories but in one only. Further, since of
the things answering to one Idea there is one science, there would
have been one science of all the goods; but as it is there are many
sciences even of the things that fall under one category, e.g. of
opportunity, for opportunity in war is studied by strategics and in
disease by medicine, and the moderate in food is studied by medicine
and in exercise by the science of gymnastics. And one might ask the
question, what in the world they mean by 'a thing itself', is (as is
the case) in 'man himself' and in a particular man the account of
man is one and the same. For in so far as they are man, they will in
no respect differ; and if this is so, neither will 'good itself' and
particular goods, in so far as they are good. But again it will not be
good any the more for being eternal, since that which lasts long is no
whiter than that which perishes in a day. The Pythagoreans seem to
give a more plausible account of the good, when they place the one
in the column of goods; and it is they that Speusippus seems to have
  But let us discuss these matters elsewhere; an objection to what
we have said, however, may be discerned in the fact that the
Platonists have not been speaking about all goods, and that the
goods that are pursued and loved for themselves are called good by
reference to a single Form, while those which tend to produce or to
preserve these somehow or to prevent their contraries are called so by
reference to these, and in a secondary sense. Clearly, then, goods
must be spoken of in two ways, and some must be good in themselves,
the others by reason of these. Let us separate, then, things good in
themselves from things useful, and consider whether the former are
called good by reference to a single Idea. What sort of goods would
one call good in themselves? Is it those that are pursued even when
isolated from others, such as intelligence, sight, and certain
pleasures and honours? Certainly, if we pursue these also for the sake
of something else, yet one would place them among things good in
themselves. Or is nothing other than the Idea of good good in
itself? In that case the Form will be empty. But if the things we have
named are also things good in themselves, the account of the good will
have to appear as something identical in them all, as that of
whiteness is identical in snow and in white lead. But of honour,
wisdom, and pleasure, just in respect of their goodness, the
accounts are distinct and diverse. The good, therefore, is not some
common element answering to one Idea.
  But what then do we mean by the good? It is surely not like the
things that only chance to have the same name. Are goods one, then, by
being derived from one good or by all contributing to one good, or are
they rather one by analogy? Certainly as sight is in the body, so is
reason in the soul, and so on in other cases. But perhaps these
subjects had better be dismissed for the present; for perfect
precision about them would be more appropriate to another branch of
philosophy. And similarly with regard to the Idea; even if there is
some one good which is universally predicable of goods or is capable
of separate and independent existence, clearly it could not be
achieved or attained by man; but we are now seeking something
attainable. Perhaps, however, some one might think it worth while to
recognize this with a view to the goods that are attainable and
achievable; for having this as a sort of pattern we shall know
better the goods that are good for us, and if we know them shall
attain them. This argument has some plausibility, but seems to clash
with the procedure of the sciences; for all of these, though they
aim at some good and seek to supply the deficiency of it, leave on one
side the knowledge of the good. Yet that all the exponents of the arts
should be ignorant of, and should not even seek, so great an aid is
not probable. It is hard, too, to see how a weaver or a carpenter will
be benefited in regard to his own craft by knowing this 'good itself',
or how the man who has viewed the Idea itself will be a better
doctor or general thereby. For a doctor seems not even to study health
in this way, but the health of man, or perhaps rather the health of
a particular man; it is individuals that he is healing. But enough
of these topics.

  Let us again return to the good we are seeking, and ask what it
can be. It seems different in different actions and arts; it is
different in medicine, in strategy, and in the other arts likewise.
What then is the good of each? Surely that for whose sake everything
else is done. In medicine this is health, in strategy victory, in
architecture a house, in any other sphere something else, and in every
action and pursuit the end; for it is for the sake of this that all
men do whatever else they do. Therefore, if there is an end for all
that we do, this will be the good achievable by action, and if there
are more than one, these will be the goods achievable by action.
  So the argument has by a different course reached the same point;
but we must try to state this even more clearly. Since there are
evidently more than one end, and we choose some of these (e.g. wealth,
flutes, and in general instruments) for the sake of something else,
clearly not all ends are final ends; but the chief good is evidently
something final. Therefore, if there is only one final end, this
will be what we are seeking, and if there are more than one, the
most final of these will be what we are seeking. Now we call that
which is in itself worthy of pursuit more final than that which is
worthy of pursuit for the sake of something else, and that which is
never desirable for the sake of something else more final than the
things that are desirable both in themselves and for the sake of
that other thing, and therefore we call final without qualification
that which is always desirable in itself and never for the sake of
something else.
  Now such a thing happiness, above all else, is held to be; for
this we choose always for self and never for the sake of something
else, but honour, pleasure, reason, and every virtue we choose
indeed for themselves (for if nothing resulted from them we should
still choose each of them), but we choose them also for the sake of
happiness, judging that by means of them we shall be happy. Happiness,
on the other hand, no one chooses for the sake of these, nor, in
general, for anything other than itself.
  From the point of view of self-sufficiency the same result seems
to follow; for the final good is thought to be self-sufficient. Now by
self-sufficient we do not mean that which is sufficient for a man by
himself, for one who lives a solitary life, but also for parents,
children, wife, and in general for his friends and fellow citizens,
since man is born for citizenship. But some limit must be set to this;
for if we extend our requirement to ancestors and descendants and
friends' friends we are in for an infinite series. Let us examine this
question, however, on another occasion; the self-sufficient we now
define as that which when isolated makes life desirable and lacking in
nothing; and such we think happiness to be; and further we think it
most desirable of all things, without being counted as one good
thing among others- if it were so counted it would clearly be made
more desirable by the addition of even the least of goods; for that
which is added becomes an excess of goods, and of goods the greater
is always more desirable. Happiness, then, is something final and
self-sufficient, and is the end of action.
  Presumably, however, to say that happiness is the chief good seems a
platitude, and a clearer account of what it is still desired. This
might perhaps be given, if we could first ascertain the function of
man. For just as for a flute-player, a sculptor, or an artist, and, in
general, for all things that have a function or activity, the good and
the 'well' is thought to reside in the function, so would it seem to
be for man, if he has a function. Have the carpenter, then, and the
tanner certain functions or activities, and has man none? Is he born
without a function? Or as eye, hand, foot, and in general each of
the parts evidently has a function, may one lay it down that man
similarly has a function apart from all these? What then can this
be? Life seems to be common even to plants, but we are seeking what is
peculiar to man. Let us exclude, therefore, the life of nutrition
and growth. Next there would be a life of perception, but it also
seems to be common even to the horse, the ox, and every animal.
There remains, then, an active life of the element that has a rational
principle; of this, one part has such a principle in the sense of
being obedient to one, the other in the sense of possessing one and
exercising thought. And, as 'life of the rational element' also has
two meanings, we must state that life in the sense of activity is what
we mean; for this seems to be the more proper sense of the term. Now
if the function of man is an activity of soul which follows or implies
a rational principle, and if we say 'so-and-so-and 'a good
so-and-so' have a function which is the same in kind, e.g. a lyre, and
a good lyre-player, and so without qualification in all cases,
eminence in respect of goodness being idded to the name of the
function (for the function of a lyre-player is to play the lyre, and
that of a good lyre-player is to do so well): if this is the case,
and we state the function of man to be a certain kind of life, and
this to be an activity or actions of the soul implying a rational
principle, and the function of a good man to be the good and noble
performance of these, and if any action is well performed when it is
performed in accordance with the appropriate excellence: if this is
the case, human good turns out to be activity of soul in accordance
with virtue, and if there are more than one virtue, in accordance with
the best and most complete.
  But we must add 'in a complete life.' For one swallow does not
make a summer, nor does one day; and so too one day, or a short
time, does not make a man blessed and happy.
  Let this serve as an outline of the good; for we must presumably
first sketch it roughly, and then later fill in the details. But it
would seem that any one is capable of carrying on and articulating
what has once been well outlined, and that time is a good discoverer
or partner in such a work; to which facts the advances of the arts are
due; for any one can add what is lacking. And we must also remember
what has been said before, and not look for precision in all things
alike, but in each class of things such precision as accords with
the subject-matter, and so much as is appropriate to the inquiry.
For a carpenter and a geometer investigate the right angle in
different ways; the former does so in so far as the right angle is
useful for his work, while the latter inquires what it is or what sort
of thing it is; for he is a spectator of the truth. We must act in the
same way, then, in all other matters as well, that our main task may
not be subordinated to minor questions. Nor must we demand the cause
in all matters alike; it is enough in some cases that the fact be well
established, as in the case of the first principles; the fact is the
primary thing or first principle. Now of first principles we see
some by induction, some by perception, some by a certain
habituation, and others too in other ways. But each set of
principles we must try to investigate in the natural way, and we
must take pains to state them definitely, since they have a great
influence on what follows. For the beginning is thought to be more
than half of the whole, and many of the questions we ask are cleared
up by it.

  We must consider it, however, in the light not only of our
conclusion and our premisses, but also of what is commonly said
about it; for with a true view all the data harmonize, but with a
false one the facts soon clash. Now goods have been divided into three
classes, and some are described as external, others as relating to
soul or to body; we call those that relate to soul most properly and
truly goods, and psychical actions and activities we class as relating
to soul. Therefore our account must be sound, at least according to
this view, which is an old one and agreed on by philosophers. It is
correct also in that we identify the end with certain actions and
activities; for thus it falls among goods of the soul and not among
external goods. Another belief which harmonizes with our account is
that the happy man lives well and does well; for we have practically
defined happiness as a sort of good life and good action. The
characteristics that are looked for in happiness seem also, all of
them, to belong to what we have defined happiness as being. For some
identify happiness with virtue, some with practical wisdom, others
with a kind of philosophic wisdom, others with these, or one of these,
accompanied by pleasure or not without pleasure; while others
include also external prosperity. Now some of these views have been
held by many men and men of old, others by a few eminent persons;
and it is not probable that either of these should be entirely
mistaken, but rather that they should be right in at least some one
respect or even in most respects.
  With those who identify happiness with virtue or some one virtue our
account is in harmony; for to virtue belongs virtuous activity. But it
makes, perhaps, no small difference whether we place the chief good in
possession or in use, in state of mind or in activity. For the state
of mind may exist without producing any good result, as in a man who
is asleep or in some other way quite inactive, but the activity
cannot; for one who has the activity will of necessity be acting,
and acting well. And as in the Olympic Games it is not the most
beautiful and the strongest that are crowned but those who compete
(for it is some of these that are victorious), so those who act win,
and rightly win, the noble and good things in life.
  Their life is also in itself pleasant. For pleasure is a state of
soul, and to each man that which he is said to be a lover of is
pleasant; e.g. not only is a horse pleasant to the lover of horses,
and a spectacle to the lover of sights, but also in the same way
just acts are pleasant to the lover of justice and in general virtuous
acts to the lover of virtue. Now for most men their pleasures are in
conflict with one another because these are not by nature pleasant,
but the lovers of what is noble find pleasant the things that are by
nature pleasant; and virtuous actions are such, so that these are
pleasant for such men as well as in their own nature. Their life,
therefore, has no further need of pleasure as a sort of adventitious
charm, but has its pleasure in itself. For, besides what we have said,
the man who does not rejoice in noble actions is not even good;
since no one would call a man just who did not enjoy acting justly,
nor any man liberal who did not enjoy liberal actions; and similarly
in all other cases. If this is so, virtuous actions must be in
themselves pleasant. But they are also good and noble, and have each
of these attributes in the highest degree, since the good man judges
well about these attributes; his judgement is such as we have
described. Happiness then is the best, noblest, and most pleasant
thing in the world, and these attributes are not severed as in the
inscription at Delos-

     Most noble is that which is justest, and best is health;
     But pleasantest is it to win what we love.

  For all these properties belong to the best activities; and these,
or one- the best- of these, we identify with happiness.
  Yet evidently, as we said, it needs the external goods as well;
for it is impossible, or not easy, to do noble acts without the proper
equipment. In many actions we use friends and riches and political
power as instruments; and there are some things the lack of which
takes the lustre from happiness, as good birth, goodly children,
beauty; for the man who is very ugly in appearance or ill-born or
solitary and childless is not very likely to be happy, and perhaps a
man would be still less likely if he had thoroughly bad children or
friends or had lost good children or friends by death. As we said,
then, happiness seems to need this sort of prosperity in addition; for
which reason some identify happiness with good fortune, though
others identify it with virtue.

  For this reason also the question is asked, whether happiness is
to be acquired by learning or by habituation or some other sort of
training, or comes in virtue of some divine providence or again by
chance. Now if there is any gift of the gods to men, it is
reasonable that happiness should be god-given, and most surely
god-given of all human things inasmuch as it is the best. But this
question would perhaps be more appropriate to another inquiry;
happiness seems, however, even if it is not god-sent but comes as a
result of virtue and some process of learning or training, to be among
the most godlike things; for that which is the prize and end of virtue
seems to be the best thing in the world, and something godlike and
  It will also on this view be very generally shared; for all who
are not maimed as regards their potentiality for virtue may win it
by a certain kind of study and care. But if it is better to be happy
thus than by chance, it is reasonable that the facts should be so,
since everything that depends on the action of nature is by nature
as good as it can be, and similarly everything that depends on art
or any rational cause, and especially if it depends on the best of all
causes. To entrust to chance what is greatest and most noble would
be a very defective arrangement.
  The answer to the question we are asking is plain also from the
definition of happiness; for it has been said to be a virtuous
activity of soul, of a certain kind. Of the remaining goods, some must
necessarily pre-exist as conditions of happiness, and others are
naturally co-operative and useful as instruments. And this will be
found to agree with what we said at the outset; for we stated the
end of political science to be the best end, and political science
spends most of its pains on making the citizens to be of a certain
character, viz. good and capable of noble acts.
  It is natural, then, that we call neither ox nor horse nor any other
of the animals happy; for none of them is capable of sharing in such
activity. For this reason also a boy is not happy; for he is not yet
capable of such acts, owing to his age; and boys who are called
happy are being congratulated by reason of the hopes we have for them.
For there is required, as we said, not only complete virtue but also a
complete life, since many changes occur in life, and all manner of
chances, and the most prosperous may fall into great misfortunes in
old age, as is told of Priam in the Trojan Cycle; and one who has
experienced such chances and has ended wretchedly no one calls happy.

  Must no one at all, then, be called happy while he lives; must we,
as Solon says, see the end? Even if we are to lay down this
doctrine, is it also the case that a man is happy when he is dead?
Or is not this quite absurd, especially for us who say that
happiness is an activity? But if we do not call the dead man happy,
and if Solon does not mean this, but that one can then safely call a
man blessed as being at last beyond evils and misfortunes, this also
affords matter for discussion; for both evil and good are thought to
exist for a dead man, as much as for one who is alive but not aware of
them; e.g. honours and dishonours and the good or bad fortunes of
children and in general of descendants. And this also presents a
problem; for though a man has lived happily up to old age and has
had a death worthy of his life, many reverses may befall his
descendants- some of them may be good and attain the life they
deserve, while with others the opposite may be the case; and clearly
too the degrees of relationship between them and their ancestors may
vary indefinitely. It would be odd, then, if the dead man were to
share in these changes and become at one time happy, at another
wretched; while it would also be odd if the fortunes of the
descendants did not for some time have some effect on the happiness
of their ancestors.
  But we must return to our first difficulty; for perhaps by a
consideration of it our present problem might be solved. Now if we
must see the end and only then call a man happy, not as being happy
but as having been so before, surely this is a paradox, that when he
is happy the attribute that belongs to him is not to be truly
predicated of him because we do not wish to call living men happy,
on account of the changes that may befall them, and because we have
assumed happiness to be something permanent and by no means easily
changed, while a single man may suffer many turns of fortune's
wheel. For clearly if we were to keep pace with his fortunes, we
should often call the same man happy and again wretched, making the
happy man out to be chameleon and insecurely based. Or is this keeping
pace with his fortunes quite wrong? Success or failure in life does
not depend on these, but human life, as we said, needs these as mere
additions, while virtuous activities or their opposites are what
constitute happiness or the reverse.
  The question we have now discussed confirms our definition. For no
function of man has so much permanence as virtuous activities (these
are thought to be more durable even than knowledge of the sciences),
and of these themselves the most valuable are more durable because
those who are happy spend their life most readily and most
continuously in these; for this seems to be the reason why we do not
forget them. The attribute in question, then, will belong to the happy
man, and he will be happy throughout his life; for always, or by
preference to everything else, he will be engaged in virtuous action
and contemplation, and he will bear the chances of life most nobly and
altogether decorously, if he is 'truly good' and 'foursquare beyond
  Now many events happen by chance, and events differing in
importance; small pieces of good fortune or of its opposite clearly do
not weigh down the scales of life one way or the other, but a
multitude of great events if they turn out well will make life happier
(for not only are they themselves such as to add beauty to life, but
the way a man deals with them may be noble and good), while if they
turn out ill they crush and maim happiness; for they both bring pain
with them and hinder many activities. Yet even in these nobility
shines through, when a man bears with resignation many great
misfortunes, not through insensibility to pain but through nobility
and greatness of soul.
  If activities are, as we said, what gives life its character, no
happy man can become miserable; for he will never do the acts that are
hateful and mean. For the man who is truly good and wise, we think,
bears all the chances life becomingly and always makes the best of
circumstances, as a good general makes the best military use of the
army at his command and a good shoemaker makes the best shoes out of
the hides that are given him; and so with all other craftsmen. And
if this is the case, the happy man can never become miserable;
though he will not reach blessedness, if he meet with fortunes like
those of Priam.
  Nor, again, is he many-coloured and changeable; for neither will
he be moved from his happy state easily or by any ordinary
misadventures, but only by many great ones, nor, if he has had many
great misadventures, will he recover his happiness in a short time,
but if at all, only in a long and complete one in which he has
attained many splendid successes.
  When then should we not say that he is happy who is active in
accordance with complete virtue and is sufficiently equipped with
external goods, not for some chance period but throughout a complete
life? Or must we add 'and who is destined to live thus and die as
befits his life'? Certainly the future is obscure to us, while
happiness, we claim, is an end and something in every way final. If
so, we shall call happy those among living men in whom these
conditions are, and are to be, fulfilled- but happy men. So much for
these questions.

  That the fortunes of descendants and of all a man's friends should
not affect his happiness at all seems a very unfriendly doctrine,
and one opposed to the opinions men hold; but since the events that
happen are numerous and admit of all sorts of difference, and some
come more near to us and others less so, it seems a long- nay, an
infinite- task to discuss each in detail; a general outline will
perhaps suffice. If, then, as some of a man's own misadventures have a
certain weight and influence on life while others are, as it were,
lighter, so too there are differences among the misadventures of our
friends taken as a whole, and it makes a difference whether the
various suffering befall the living or the dead (much more even than
whether lawless and terrible deeds are presupposed in a tragedy or
done on the stage), this difference also must be taken into account;
or rather, perhaps, the fact that doubt is felt whether the dead share
in any good or evil. For it seems, from these considerations, that
even if anything whether good or evil penetrates to them, it must be
something weak and negligible, either in itself or for them, or if
not, at least it must be such in degree and kind as not to make
happy those who are not happy nor to take away their blessedness
from those who are. The good or bad fortunes of friends, then, seem to
have some effects on the dead, but effects of such a kind and degree
as neither to make the happy unhappy nor to produce any other change
of the kind.

  These questions having been definitely answered, let us consider
whether happiness is among the things that are praised or rather among
the things that are prized; for clearly it is not to be placed among
potentialities. Everything that is praised seems to be praised because
it is of a certain kind and is related somehow to something else;
for we praise the just or brave man and in general both the good man
and virtue itself because of the actions and functions involved, and
we praise the strong man, the good runner, and so on, because he is of
a certain kind and is related in a certain way to something good and
important. This is clear also from the praises of the gods; for it
seems absurd that the gods should be referred to our standard, but
this is done because praise involves a reference, to something else.
But if if praise is for things such as we have described, clearly what
applies to the best things is not praise, but something greater and
better, as is indeed obvious; for what we do to the gods and the
most godlike of men is to call them blessed and happy. And so too with
good things; no one praises happiness as he does justice, but rather
calls it blessed, as being something more divine and better.
  Eudoxus also seems to have been right in his method of advocating
the supremacy of pleasure; he thought that the fact that, though a
good, it is not praised indicated it to be better than the things that
are praised, and that this is what God and the good are; for by
reference to these all other things are judged. Praise is
appropriate to virtue, for as a result of virtue men tend to do
noble deeds, but encomia are bestowed on acts, whether of the body
or of the soul. But perhaps nicety in these matters is more proper
to those who have made a study of encomia; to us it is clear from what
has been said that happiness is among the things that are prized and
perfect. It seems to be so also from the fact that it is a first
principle; for it is for the sake of this that we all do all that we
do, and the first principle and cause of goods is, we claim, something
prized and divine.

  Since happiness is an activity of soul in accordance with perfect
virtue, we must consider the nature of virtue; for perhaps we shall
thus see better the nature of happiness. The true student of politics,
too, is thought to have studied virtue above all things; for he wishes
to make his fellow citizens good and obedient to the laws. As an
example of this we have the lawgivers of the Cretans and the Spartans,
and any others of the kind that there may have been. And if this
inquiry belongs to political science, clearly the pursuit of it will
be in accordance with our original plan. But clearly the virtue we
must study is human virtue; for the good we were seeking was human
good and the happiness human happiness. By human virtue we mean not
that of the body but that of the soul; and happiness also we call an
activity of soul. But if this is so, clearly the student of politics
must know somehow the facts about soul, as the man who is to heal
the eyes or the body as a whole must know about the eyes or the
body; and all the more since politics is more prized and better than
medicine; but even among doctors the best educated spend much labour
on acquiring knowledge of the body. The student of politics, then,
must study the soul, and must study it with these objects in view, and
do so just to the extent which is sufficient for the questions we
are discussing; for further precision is perhaps something more
laborious than our purposes require.
  Some things are said about it, adequately enough, even in the
discussions outside our school, and we must use these; e.g. that one
element in the soul is irrational and one has a rational principle.
Whether these are separated as the parts of the body or of anything
divisible are, or are distinct by definition but by nature
inseparable, like convex and concave in the circumference of a circle,
does not affect the present question.
  Of the irrational element one division seems to be widely
distributed, and vegetative in its nature, I mean that which causes
nutrition and growth; for it is this kind of power of the soul that
one must assign to all nurslings and to embryos, and this same power
to fullgrown creatures; this is more reasonable than to assign some
different power to them. Now the excellence of this seems to be common
to all species and not specifically human; for this part or faculty
seems to function most in sleep, while goodness and badness are
least manifest in sleep (whence comes the saying that the happy are
not better off than the wretched for half their lives; and this
happens naturally enough, since sleep is an inactivity of the soul
in that respect in which it is called good or bad), unless perhaps
to a small extent some of the movements actually penetrate to the
soul, and in this respect the dreams of good men are better than those
of ordinary people. Enough of this subject, however; let us leave
the nutritive faculty alone, since it has by its nature no share in
human excellence.
  There seems to be also another irrational element in the soul-one
which in a sense, however, shares in a rational principle. For we
praise the rational principle of the continent man and of the
incontinent, and the part of their soul that has such a principle,
since it urges them aright and towards the best objects; but there
is found in them also another element naturally opposed to the
rational principle, which fights against and resists that principle.
For exactly as paralysed limbs when we intend to move them to the
right turn on the contrary to the left, so is it with the soul; the
impulses of incontinent people move in contrary directions. But
while in the body we see that which moves astray, in the soul we do
not. No doubt, however, we must none the less suppose that in the soul
too there is something contrary to the rational principle, resisting
and opposing it. In what sense it is distinct from the other
elements does not concern us. Now even this seems to have a share in a
rational principle, as we said; at any rate in the continent man it
obeys the rational principle and presumably in the temperate and brave
man it is still more obedient; for in him it speaks, on all matters,
with the same voice as the rational principle.
  Therefore the irrational element also appears to be two-fold. For
the vegetative element in no way shares in a rational principle, but
the appetitive and in general the desiring element in a sense shares
in it, in so far as it listens to and obeys it; this is the sense in
which we speak of 'taking account' of one's father or one's friends,
not that in which we speak of 'accounting for a mathematical property.
That the irrational element is in some sense persuaded by a rational
principle is indicated also by the giving of advice and by all reproof
and exhortation. And if this element also must be said to have a
rational principle, that which has a rational principle (as well as
that which has not) will be twofold, one subdivision having it in
the strict sense and in itself, and the other having a tendency to
obey as one does one's father.
  Virtue too is distinguished into kinds in accordance with this
difference; for we say that some of the virtues are intellectual and
others moral, philosophic wisdom and understanding and practical
wisdom being intellectual, liberality and temperance moral. For in
speaking about a man's character we do not say that he is wise or
has understanding but that he is good-tempered or temperate; yet we
praise the wise man also with respect to his state of mind; and of
states of mind we call those which merit praise virtues.
                              BOOK II

  VIRTUE, then, being of two kinds, intellectual and moral,
intellectual virtue in the main owes both its birth and its growth
to teaching (for which reason it requires experience and time),
while moral virtue comes about as a result of habit, whence also its
name (ethike) is one that is formed by a slight variation from the
word ethos (habit). From this it is also plain that none of the
moral virtues arises in us by nature; for nothing that exists by
nature can form a habit contrary to its nature. For instance the stone
which by nature moves downwards cannot be habituated to move
upwards, not even if one tries to train it by throwing it up ten
thousand times; nor can fire be habituated to move downwards, nor
can anything else that by nature behaves in one way be trained to
behave in another. Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature
do the virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted by nature to receive
them, and are made perfect by habit.
  Again, of all the things that come to us by nature we first
acquire the potentiality and later exhibit the activity (this is plain
in the case of the senses; for it was not by often seeing or often
hearing that we got these senses, but on the contrary we had them
before we used them, and did not come to have them by using them); but
the virtues we get by first exercising them, as also happens in the
case of the arts as well. For the things we have to learn before we
can do them, we learn by doing them, e.g. men become builders by
building and lyreplayers by playing the lyre; so too we become just by
doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing
brave acts.
  This is confirmed by what happens in states; for legislators make
the citizens good by forming habits in them, and this is the wish of
every legislator, and those who do not effect it miss their mark,
and it is in this that a good constitution differs from a bad one.
  Again, it is from the same causes and by the same means that every
virtue is both produced and destroyed, and similarly every art; for it
is from playing the lyre that both good and bad lyre-players are
produced. And the corresponding statement is true of builders and of
all the rest; men will be good or bad builders as a result of building
well or badly. For if this were not so, there would have been no
need of a teacher, but all men would have been born good or bad at
their craft. This, then, is the case with the virtues also; by doing
the acts that we do in our transactions with other men we become
just or unjust, and by doing the acts that we do in the presence of
danger, and being habituated to feel fear or confidence, we become
brave or cowardly. The same is true of appetites and feelings of
anger; some men become temperate and good-tempered, others
self-indulgent and irascible, by behaving in one way or the other in
the appropriate circumstances. Thus, in one word, states of
character arise out of like activities. This is why the activities
we exhibit must be of a certain kind; it is because the states of
character correspond to the differences between these. It makes no
small difference, then, whether we form habits of one kind or of
another from our very youth; it makes a very great difference, or
rather all the difference.

  Since, then, the present inquiry does not aim at theoretical
knowledge like the others (for we are inquiring not in order to know
what virtue is, but in order to become good, since otherwise our
inquiry would have been of no use), we must examine the nature of
actions, namely how we ought to do them; for these determine also
the nature of the states of character that are produced, as we have
said. Now, that we must act according to the right rule is a common
principle and must be assumed-it will be discussed later, i.e. both
what the right rule is, and how it is related to the other virtues.
But this must be agreed upon beforehand, that the whole account of
matters of conduct must be given in outline and not precisely, as we
said at the very beginning that the accounts we demand must be in
accordance with the subject-matter; matters concerned with conduct and
questions of what is good for us have no fixity, any more than matters
of health. The general account being of this nature, the account of
particular cases is yet more lacking in exactness; for they do not
fall under any art or precept but the agents themselves must in each
case consider what is appropriate to the occasion, as happens also
in the art of medicine or of navigation.
  But though our present account is of this nature we must give what
help we can. First, then, let us consider this, that it is the
nature of such things to be destroyed by defect and excess, as we
see in the case of strength and of health (for to gain light on things
imperceptible we must use the evidence of sensible things); both
excessive and defective exercise destroys the strength, and
similarly drink or food which is above or below a certain amount
destroys the health, while that which is proportionate both produces
and increases and preserves it. So too is it, then, in the case of
temperance and courage and the other virtues. For the man who flies
from and fears everything and does not stand his ground against
anything becomes a coward, and the man who fears nothing at all but
goes to meet every danger becomes rash; and similarly the man who
indulges in every pleasure and abstains from none becomes
self-indulgent, while the man who shuns every pleasure, as boors do,
becomes in a way insensible; temperance and courage, then, are
destroyed by excess and defect, and preserved by the mean.
  But not only are the sources and causes of their origination and
growth the same as those of their destruction, but also the sphere
of their actualization will be the same; for this is also true of
the things which are more evident to sense, e.g. of strength; it is
produced by taking much food and undergoing much exertion, and it is
the strong man that will be most able to do these things. So too is it
with the virtues; by abstaining from pleasures we become temperate,
and it is when we have become so that we are most able to abstain from
them; and similarly too in the case of courage; for by being
habituated to despise things that are terrible and to stand our ground
against them we become brave, and it is when we have become so that we
shall be most able to stand our ground against them.

  We must take as a sign of states of character the pleasure or pain
that ensues on acts; for the man who abstains from bodily pleasures
and delights in this very fact is temperate, while the man who is
annoyed at it is self-indulgent, and he who stands his ground
against things that are terrible and delights in this or at least is
not pained is brave, while the man who is pained is a coward. For
moral excellence is concerned with pleasures and pains; it is on
account of the pleasure that we do bad things, and on account of the
pain that we abstain from noble ones. Hence we ought to have been
brought up in a particular way from our very youth, as Plato says,
so as both to delight in and to be pained by the things that we ought;
for this is the right education.
  Again, if the virtues are concerned with actions and passions, and
every passion and every action is accompanied by pleasure and pain,
for this reason also virtue will be concerned with pleasures and
pains. This is indicated also by the fact that punishment is inflicted
by these means; for it is a kind of cure, and it is the nature of
cures to be effected by contraries.
  Again, as we said but lately, every state of soul has a nature
relative to and concerned with the kind of things by which it tends to
be made worse or better; but it is by reason of pleasures and pains
that men become bad, by pursuing and avoiding these- either the
pleasures and pains they ought not or when they ought not or as they
ought not, or by going wrong in one of the other similar ways that may
be distinguished. Hence men even define the virtues as certain
states of impassivity and rest; not well, however, because they
speak absolutely, and do not say 'as one ought' and 'as one ought not'
and 'when one ought or ought not', and the other things that may be
added. We assume, then, that this kind of excellence tends to do
what is best with regard to pleasures and pains, and vice does the
  The following facts also may show us that virtue and vice are
concerned with these same things. There being three objects of
choice and three of avoidance, the noble, the advantageous, the
pleasant, and their contraries, the base, the injurious, the
painful, about all of these the good man tends to go right and the bad
man to go wrong, and especially about pleasure; for this is common
to the animals, and also it accompanies all objects of choice; for
even the noble and the advantageous appear pleasant.
  Again, it has grown up with us all from our infancy; this is why
it is difficult to rub off this passion, engrained as it is in our
life. And we measure even our actions, some of us more and others
less, by the rule of pleasure and pain. For this reason, then, our
whole inquiry must be about these; for to feel delight and pain
rightly or wrongly has no small effect on our actions.
  Again, it is harder to fight with pleasure than with anger, to use
Heraclitus' phrase', but both art and virtue are always concerned with
what is harder; for even the good is better when it is harder.
Therefore for this reason also the whole concern both of virtue and of
political science is with pleasures and pains; for the man who uses
these well will be good, he who uses them badly bad.
  That virtue, then, is concerned with pleasures and pains, and that
by the acts from which it arises it is both increased and, if they are
done differently, destroyed, and that the acts from which it arose are
those in which it actualizes itself- let this be taken as said.

  The question might be asked,; what we mean by saying that we must
become just by doing just acts, and temperate by doing temperate acts;
for if men do just and temperate acts, they are already just and
temperate, exactly as, if they do what is in accordance with the
laws of grammar and of music, they are grammarians and musicians.
  Or is this not true even of the arts? It is possible to do something
that is in accordance with the laws of grammar, either by chance or at
the suggestion of another. A man will be a grammarian, then, only when
he has both done something grammatical and done it grammatically;
and this means doing it in accordance with the grammatical knowledge
in himself.
  Again, the case of the arts and that of the virtues are not similar;
for the products of the arts have their goodness in themselves, so
that it is enough that they should have a certain character, but if
the acts that are in accordance with the virtues have themselves a
certain character it does not follow that they are done justly or
temperately. The agent also must be in a certain condition when he
does them; in the first place he must have knowledge, secondly he must
choose the acts, and choose them for their own sakes, and thirdly
his action must proceed from a firm and unchangeable character.
These are not reckoned in as conditions of the possession of the arts,
except the bare knowledge; but as a condition of the possession of the
virtues knowledge has little or no weight, while the other
conditions count not for a little but for everything, i.e. the very
conditions which result from often doing just and temperate acts.
  Actions, then, are called just and temperate when they are such as
the just or the temperate man would do; but it is not the man who does
these that is just and temperate, but the man who also does them as
just and temperate men do them. It is well said, then, that it is by
doing just acts that the just man is produced, and by doing
temperate acts the temperate man; without doing these no one would
have even a prospect of becoming good.
  But most people do not do these, but take refuge in theory and think
they are being philosophers and will become good in this way, behaving
somewhat like patients who listen attentively to their doctors, but do
none of the things they are ordered to do. As the latter will not be
made well in body by such a course of treatment, the former will not
be made well in soul by such a course of philosophy.

  Next we must consider what virtue is. Since things that are found in
the soul are of three kinds- passions, faculties, states of
character, virtue must be one of these. By passions I mean appetite,
anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, friendly feeling, hatred, longing,
emulation, pity, and in general the feelings that are accompanied by
pleasure or pain; by faculties the things in virtue of which we are
said to be capable of feeling these, e.g. of becoming angry or being
pained or feeling pity; by states of character the things in virtue of
which we stand well or badly with reference to the passions, e.g. with
reference to anger we stand badly if we feel it violently or too
weakly, and well if we feel it moderately; and similarly with
reference to the other passions.
  Now neither the virtues nor the vices are passions, because we are
not called good or bad on the ground of our passions, but are so
called on the ground of our virtues and our vices, and because we
are neither praised nor blamed for our passions (for the man who feels
fear or anger is not praised, nor is the man who simply feels anger
blamed, but the man who feels it in a certain way), but for our
virtues and our vices we are praised or blamed.
  Again, we feel anger and fear without choice, but the virtues are
modes of choice or involve choice. Further, in respect of the passions
we are said to be moved, but in respect of the virtues and the vices
we are said not to be moved but to be disposed in a particular way.
  For these reasons also they are not faculties; for we are neither
called good nor bad, nor praised nor blamed, for the simple capacity
of feeling the passions; again, we have the faculties by nature, but
we are not made good or bad by nature; we have spoken of this
before. If, then, the virtues are neither passions nor faculties,
all that remains is that they should be states of character.
  Thus we have stated what virtue is in respect of its genus.

  We must, however, not only describe virtue as a state of
character, but also say what sort of state it is. We may remark, then,
that every virtue or excellence both brings into good condition the
thing of which it is the excellence and makes the work of that thing
be done well; e.g. the excellence of the eye makes both the eye and
its work good; for it is by the excellence of the eye that we see
well. Similarly the excellence of the horse makes a horse both good in
itself and good at running and at carrying its rider and at awaiting
the attack of the enemy. Therefore, if this is true in every case, the
virtue of man also will be the state of character which makes a man
good and which makes him do his own work well.
  How this is to happen we have stated already, but it will be made
plain also by the following consideration of the specific nature of
virtue. In everything that is continuous and divisible it is
possible to take more, less, or an equal amount, and that either in
terms of the thing itself or relatively to us; and the equal is an
intermediate between excess and defect. By the intermediate in the
object I mean that which is equidistant from each of the extremes,
which is one and the same for all men; by the intermediate
relatively to us that which is neither too much nor too little- and
this is not one, nor the same for all. For instance, if ten is many
and two is few, six is the intermediate, taken in terms of the object;
for it exceeds and is exceeded by an equal amount; this is
intermediate according to arithmetical proportion. But the
intermediate relatively to us is not to be taken so; if ten pounds are
too much for a particular person to eat and two too little, it does
not follow that the trainer will order six pounds; for this also is
perhaps too much for the person who is to take it, or too little- too
little for Milo, too much for the beginner in athletic exercises.
The same is true of running and wrestling. Thus a master of any art
avoids excess and defect, but seeks the intermediate and chooses
this- the intermediate not in the object but relatively to us.
  If it is thus, then, that every art does its work well- by looking
to the intermediate and judgling its works by this standard (so that
we often say of good works of art that it is not possible either to
take away or to add anything, implying that excess and defect
destroy the goodness of works of art, while the mean preserves it; and
good artists, as we say, look to this in their work), and if, further,
virtue is more exact and better than any art, as nature also is,
then virtue must have the quality of aiming at the intermediate. I
mean moral virtue; for it is this that is concerned with passions
and actions, and in these there is excess, defect, and the
intermediate. For instance, both fear and confidence and appetite
and anger and pity and in general pleasure and pain may be felt both
too much and too little, and in both cases not well; but to feel
them at the right times, with reference to the right objects,
towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way,
is what is both intermediate and best, and this is characteristic of
virtue. Similarly with regard to actions also there is excess, defect,
and the intermediate. Now virtue is concerned with passions and
actions, in which excess is a form of failure, and so is defect, while
the intermediate is praised and is a form of success; and being
praised and being successful are both characteristics of virtue.
Therefore virtue is a kind of mean, since, as we have seen, it aims at
what is intermediate.
  Again, it is possible to fail in many ways (for evil belongs to the
class of the unlimited, as the Pythagoreans conjectured, and good to
that of the limited), while to succeed is possible only in one way
(for which reason also one is easy and the other difficult- to miss
the mark easy, to hit it difficult); for these reasons also, then,
excess and defect are characteristic of vice, and the mean of virtue;

     For men are good in but one way, but bad in many.

  Virtue, then, is a state of character concerned with choice, lying
in a mean, i.e. the mean relative to us, this being determined by a
rational principle, and by that principle by which the man of
practical wisdom would determine it. Now it is a mean between two
vices, that which depends on excess and that which depends on
defect; and again it is a mean because the vices respectively fall
short of or exceed what is right in both passions and actions, while
virtue both finds and chooses that which is intermediate. Hence in
respect of its substance and the definition which states its essence
virtue is a mean, with regard to what is best and right an extreme.
  But not every action nor every passion admits of a mean; for some
have names that already imply badness, e.g. spite, shamelessness,
envy, and in the case of actions adultery, theft, murder; for all of
these and suchlike things imply by their names that they are
themselves bad, and not the excesses or deficiencies of them. It is
not possible, then, ever to be right with regard to them; one must
always be wrong. Nor does goodness or badness with regard to such
things depend on committing adultery with the right woman, at the
right time, and in the right way, but simply to do any of them is to
go wrong. It would be equally absurd, then, to expect that in
unjust, cowardly, and voluptuous action there should be a mean, an
excess, and a deficiency; for at that rate there would be a mean of
excess and of deficiency, an excess of excess, and a deficiency of
deficiency. But as there is no excess and deficiency of temperance and
courage because what is intermediate is in a sense an extreme, so
too of the actions we have mentioned there is no mean nor any excess
and deficiency, but however they are done they are wrong; for in
general there is neither a mean of excess and deficiency, nor excess
and deficiency of a mean.

  We must, however, not only make this general statement, but also
apply it to the individual facts. For among statements about conduct
those which are general apply more widely, but those which are
particular are more genuine, since conduct has to do with individual
cases, and our statements must harmonize with the facts in these
cases. We may take these cases from our table. With regard to feelings
of fear and confidence courage is the mean; of the people who
exceed, he who exceeds in fearlessness has no name (many of the states
have no name), while the man who exceeds in confidence is rash, and he
who exceeds in fear and falls short in confidence is a coward. With
regard to pleasures and pains- not all of them, and not so much with
regard to the pains- the mean is temperance, the excess
self-indulgence. Persons deficient with regard to the pleasures are
not often found; hence such persons also have received no name. But
let us call them 'insensible'.
  With regard to giving and taking of money the mean is liberality,
the excess and the defect prodigality and meanness. In these actions
people exceed and fall short in contrary ways; the prodigal exceeds in
spending and falls short in taking, while the mean man exceeds in
taking and falls short in spending. (At present we are giving a mere
outline or summary, and are satisfied with this; later these states
will be more exactly determined.) With regard to money there are
also other dispositions- a mean, magnificence (for the magnificent
man differs from the liberal man; the former deals with large sums,
the latter with small ones), an excess, tastelessness and vulgarity,
and a deficiency, niggardliness; these differ from the states
opposed to liberality, and the mode of their difference will be stated
later. With regard to honour and dishonour the mean is proper pride,
the excess is known as a sort of 'empty vanity', and the deficiency is
undue humility; and as we said liberality was related to magnificence,
differing from it by dealing with small sums, so there is a state
similarly related to proper pride, being concerned with small
honours while that is concerned with great. For it is possible to
desire honour as one ought, and more than one ought, and less, and the
man who exceeds in his desires is called ambitious, the man who
falls short unambitious, while the intermediate person has no name.
The dispositions also are nameless, except that that of the
ambitious man is called ambition. Hence the people who are at the
extremes lay claim to the middle place; and we ourselves sometimes
call the intermediate person ambitious and sometimes unambitious,
and sometimes praise the ambitious man and sometimes the
unambitious. The reason of our doing this will be stated in what
follows; but now let us speak of the remaining states according to the
method which has been indicated.
  With regard to anger also there is an excess, a deficiency, and a
mean. Although they can scarcely be said to have names, yet since we
call the intermediate person good-tempered let us call the mean good
temper; of the persons at the extremes let the one who exceeds be
called irascible, and his vice irascibility, and the man who falls
short an inirascible sort of person, and the deficiency
  There are also three other means, which have a certain likeness to
one another, but differ from one another: for they are all concerned
with intercourse in words and actions, but differ in that one is
concerned with truth in this sphere, the other two with
pleasantness; and of this one kind is exhibited in giving amusement,
the other in all the circumstances of life. We must therefore speak of
these too, that we may the better see that in all things the mean is
praise-worthy, and the extremes neither praiseworthy nor right, but
worthy of blame. Now most of these states also have no names, but we
must try, as in the other cases, to invent names ourselves so that
we may be clear and easy to follow. With regard to truth, then, the
intermediate is a truthful sort of person and the mean may be called
truthfulness, while the pretence which exaggerates is boastfulness and
the person characterized by it a boaster, and that which understates
is mock modesty and the person characterized by it mock-modest. With
regard to pleasantness in the giving of amusement the intermediate
person is ready-witted and the disposition ready wit, the excess is
buffoonery and the person characterized by it a buffoon, while the man
who falls short is a sort of boor and his state is boorishness. With
regard to the remaining kind of pleasantness, that which is
exhibited in life in general, the man who is pleasant in the right way
is friendly and the mean is friendliness, while the man who exceeds is
an obsequious person if he has no end in view, a flatterer if he is
aiming at his own advantage, and the man who falls short and is
unpleasant in all circumstances is a quarrelsome and surly sort of
  There are also means in the passions and concerned with the
passions; since shame is not a virtue, and yet praise is extended to
the modest man. For even in these matters one man is said to be
intermediate, and another to exceed, as for instance the bashful man
who is ashamed of everything; while he who falls short or is not
ashamed of anything at all is shameless, and the intermediate person
is modest. Righteous indignation is a mean between envy and spite, and
these states are concerned with the pain and pleasure that are felt at
the fortunes of our neighbours; the man who is characterized by
righteous indignation is pained at undeserved good fortune, the
envious man, going beyond him, is pained at all good fortune, and
the spiteful man falls so far short of being pained that he even
rejoices. But these states there will be an opportunity of
describing elsewhere; with regard to justice, since it has not one
simple meaning, we shall, after describing the other states,
distinguish its two kinds and say how each of them is a mean; and
similarly we shall treat also of the rational virtues.

  There are three kinds of disposition, then, two of them vices,
involving excess and deficiency respectively, and one a virtue, viz.
the mean, and all are in a sense opposed to all; for the extreme
states are contrary both to the intermediate state and to each
other, and the intermediate to the extremes; as the equal is greater
relatively to the less, less relatively to the greater, so the
middle states are excessive relatively to the deficiencies,
deficient relatively to the excesses, both in passions and in actions.
For the brave man appears rash relatively to the coward, and
cowardly relatively to the rash man; and similarly the temperate man
appears self-indulgent relatively to the insensible man, insensible
relatively to the self-indulgent, and the liberal man prodigal
relatively to the mean man, mean relatively to the prodigal. Hence
also the people at the extremes push the intermediate man each over to
the other, and the brave man is called rash by the coward, cowardly by
the rash man, and correspondingly in the other cases.
  These states being thus opposed to one another, the greatest
contrariety is that of the extremes to each other, rather than to
the intermediate; for these are further from each other than from
the intermediate, as the great is further from the small and the small
from the great than both are from the equal. Again, to the
intermediate some extremes show a certain likeness, as that of
rashness to courage and that of prodigality to liberality; but the
extremes show the greatest unlikeness to each other; now contraries
are defined as the things that are furthest from each other, so that
things that are further apart are more contrary.
  To the mean in some cases the deficiency, in some the excess is more
opposed; e.g. it is not rashness, which is an excess, but cowardice,
which is a deficiency, that is more opposed to courage, and not
insensibility, which is a deficiency, but self-indulgence, which is an
excess, that is more opposed to temperance. This happens from two
reasons, one being drawn from the thing itself; for because one
extreme is nearer and liker to the intermediate, we oppose not this
but rather its contrary to the intermediate. E.g. since rashness is
thought liker and nearer to courage, and cowardice more unlike, we
oppose rather the latter to courage; for things that are further
from the intermediate are thought more contrary to it. This, then,
is one cause, drawn from the thing itself; another is drawn from
ourselves; for the things to which we ourselves more naturally tend
seem more contrary to the intermediate. For instance, we ourselves
tend more naturally to pleasures, and hence are more easily carried
away towards self-indulgence than towards propriety. We describe as
contrary to the mean, then, rather the directions in which we more
often go to great lengths; and therefore self-indulgence, which is
an excess, is the more contrary to temperance.

  That moral virtue is a mean, then, and in what sense it is so, and
that it is a mean between two vices, the one involving excess, the
other deficiency, and that it is such because its character is to
aim at what is intermediate in passions and in actions, has been
sufficiently stated. Hence also it is no easy task to be good. For
in everything it is no easy task to find the middle, e.g. to find
the middle of a circle is not for every one but for him who knows; so,
too, any one can get angry- that is easy- or give or spend money; but
to do this to the right person, to the right extent, at the right
time, with the right motive, and in the right way, that is not for
every one, nor is it easy; wherefore goodness is both rare and
laudable and noble.
  Hence he who aims at the intermediate must first depart from what is
the more contrary to it, as Calypso advises-

     Hold the ship out beyond that surf and spray.

  For of the extremes one is more erroneous, one less so; therefore,
since to hit the mean is hard in the extreme, we must as a second
best, as people say, take the least of the evils; and this will be
done best in the way we describe. But we must consider the things
towards which we ourselves also are easily carried away; for some of
us tend to one thing, some to another; and this will be recognizable
from the pleasure and the pain we feel. We must drag ourselves away to
the contrary extreme; for we shall get into the intermediate state
by drawing well away from error, as people do in straightening
sticks that are bent.
  Now in everything the pleasant or pleasure is most to be guarded
against; for we do not judge it impartially. We ought, then, to feel
towards pleasure as the elders of the people felt towards Helen, and
in all circumstances repeat their saying; for if we dismiss pleasure
thus we are less likely to go astray. It is by doing this, then, (to
sum the matter up) that we shall best be able to hit the mean.
  But this is no doubt difficult, and especially in individual
cases; for or is not easy to determine both how and with whom and on
what provocation and how long one should be angry; for we too
sometimes praise those who fall short and call them good-tempered, but
sometimes we praise those who get angry and call them manly. The
man, however, who deviates little from goodness is not blamed, whether
he do so in the direction of the more or of the less, but only the man
who deviates more widely; for he does not fail to be noticed. But up
to what point and to what extent a man must deviate before he
becomes blameworthy it is not easy to determine by reasoning, any more
than anything else that is perceived by the senses; such things depend
on particular facts, and the decision rests with perception. So
much, then, is plain, that the intermediate state is in all things
to be praised, but that we must incline sometimes towards the
excess, sometimes towards the deficiency; for so shall we most
easily hit the mean and what is right.
                              BOOK III

  SINCE virtue is concerned with passions and actions, and on
voluntary passions and actions praise and blame are bestowed, on those
that are involuntary pardon, and sometimes also pity, to distinguish
the voluntary and the involuntary is presumably necessary for those
who are studying the nature of virtue, and useful also for legislators
with a view to the assigning both of honours and of punishments. Those
things, then, are thought-involuntary, which take place under
compulsion or owing to ignorance; and that is compulsory of which
the moving principle is outside, being a principle in which nothing is
contributed by the person who is acting or is feeling the passion,
e.g. if he were to be carried somewhere by a wind, or by men who had
him in their power.
  But with regard to the things that are done from fear of greater
evils or for some noble object (e.g. if a tyrant were to order one
to do something base, having one's parents and children in his
power, and if one did the action they were to be saved, but
otherwise would be put to death), it may be debated whether such
actions are involuntary or voluntary. Something of the sort happens
also with regard to the throwing of goods overboard in a storm; for in
the abstract no one throws goods away voluntarily, but on condition of
its securing the safety of himself and his crew any sensible man
does so. Such actions, then, are mixed, but are more like voluntary
actions; for they are worthy of choice at the time when they are done,
and the end of an action is relative to the occasion. Both the
terms, then, 'voluntary' and 'involuntary', must be used with
reference to the moment of action. Now the man acts voluntarily; for
the principle that moves the instrumental parts of the body in such
actions is in him, and the things of which the moving principle is
in a man himself are in his power to do or not to do. Such actions,
therefore, are voluntary, but in the abstract perhaps involuntary; for
no one would choose any such act in itself.
  For such actions men are sometimes even praised, when they endure
something base or painful in return for great and noble objects
gained; in the opposite case they are blamed, since to endure the
greatest indignities for no noble end or for a trifling end is the
mark of an inferior person. On some actions praise indeed is not
bestowed, but pardon is, when one does what he ought not under
pressure which overstrains human nature and which no one could
withstand. But some acts, perhaps, we cannot be forced to do, but
ought rather to face death after the most fearful sufferings; for
the things that 'forced' Euripides Alcmaeon to slay his mother seem
absurd. It is difficult sometimes to determine what should be chosen
at what cost, and what should be endured in return for what gain,
and yet more difficult to abide by our decisions; for as a rule what
is expected is painful, and what we are forced to do is base, whence
praise and blame are bestowed on those who have been compelled or have
  What sort of acts, then, should be called compulsory? We answer that
without qualification actions are so when the cause is in the external
circumstances and the agent contributes nothing. But the things that
in themselves are involuntary, but now and in return for these gains
are worthy of choice, and whose moving principle is in the agent,
are in themselves involuntary, but now and in return for these gains
voluntary. They are more like voluntary acts; for actions are in the
class of particulars, and the particular acts here are voluntary. What
sort of things are to be chosen, and in return for what, it is not
easy to state; for there are many differences in the particular cases.
  But if some one were to say that pleasant and noble objects have a
compelling power, forcing us from without, all acts would be for him
compulsory; for it is for these objects that all men do everything
they do. And those who act under compulsion and unwillingly act with
pain, but those who do acts for their pleasantness and nobility do
them with pleasure; it is absurd to make external circumstances
responsible, and not oneself, as being easily caught by such
attractions, and to make oneself responsible for noble acts but the
pleasant objects responsible for base acts. The compulsory, then,
seems to be that whose moving principle is outside, the person
compelled contributing nothing.
  Everything that is done by reason of ignorance is not voluntary;
it is only what produces pain and repentance that is involuntary.
For the man who has done something owing to ignorance, and feels not
the least vexation at his action, has not acted voluntarily, since
he did not know what he was doing, nor yet involuntarily, since he
is not pained. Of people, then, who act by reason of ignorance he
who repents is thought an involuntary agent, and the man who does
not repent may, since he is different, be called a not voluntary
agent; for, since he differs from the other, it is better that he
should have a name of his own.
  Acting by reason of ignorance seems also to be different from acting
in ignorance; for the man who is drunk or in a rage is thought to
act as a result not of ignorance but of one of the causes mentioned,
yet not knowingly but in ignorance.
  Now every wicked man is ignorant of what he ought to do and what
he ought to abstain from, and it is by reason of error of this kind
that men become unjust and in general bad; but the term
'involuntary' tends to be used not if a man is ignorant of what is
to his advantage- for it is not mistaken purpose that causes
involuntary action (it leads rather to wickedness), nor ignorance of
the universal (for that men are blamed), but ignorance of particulars,
i.e. of the circumstances of the action and the objects with which
it is concerned. For it is on these that both pity and pardon
depend, since the person who is ignorant of any of these acts
  Perhaps it is just as well, therefore, to determine their nature and
number. A man may be ignorant, then, of who he is, what he is doing,
what or whom he is acting on, and sometimes also what (e.g. what
instrument) he is doing it with, and to what end (e.g. he may think
his act will conduce to some one's safety), and how he is doing it
(e.g. whether gently or violently). Now of all of these no one could
be ignorant unless he were mad, and evidently also he could not be
ignorant of the agent; for how could he not know himself? But of
what he is doing a man might be ignorant, as for instance people say
'it slipped out of their mouths as they were speaking', or 'they did
not know it was a secret', as Aeschylus said of the mysteries, or a
man might say he 'let it go off when he merely wanted to show its
working', as the man did with the catapult. Again, one might think
one's son was an enemy, as Merope did, or that a pointed spear had a
button on it, or that a stone was pumicestone; or one might give a man
a draught to save him, and really kill him; or one might want to touch
a man, as people do in sparring, and really wound him. The ignorance
may relate, then, to any of these things, i.e. of the circumstances of
the action, and the man who was ignorant of any of these is thought to
have acted involuntarily, and especially if he was ignorant on the
most important points; and these are thought to be the circumstances
of the action and its end. Further, the doing of an act that is called
involuntary in virtue of ignorance of this sort must be painful and
involve repentance.
  Since that which is done under compulsion or by reason of
ignorance is involuntary, the voluntary would seem to be that of which
the moving principle is in the agent himself, he being aware of the
particular circumstances of the action. Presumably acts done by reason
of anger or appetite are not rightly called involuntary. For in the
first place, on that showing none of the other animals will act
voluntarily, nor will children; and secondly, is it meant that we do
not do voluntarily any of the acts that are due to appetite or
anger, or that we do the noble acts voluntarily and the base acts
involuntarily? Is not this absurd, when one and the same thing is
the cause? But it would surely be odd to describe as involuntary the
things one ought to desire; and we ought both to be angry at certain
things and to have an appetite for certain things, e.g. for health and
for learning. Also what is involuntary is thought to be painful, but
what is in accordance with appetite is thought to be pleasant.
Again, what is the difference in respect of involuntariness between
errors committed upon calculation and those committed in anger? Both
are to be avoided, but the irrational passions are thought not less
human than reason is, and therefore also the actions which proceed
from anger or appetite are the man's actions. It would be odd, then,
to treat them as involuntary.

  Both the voluntary and the involuntary having been delimited, we
must next discuss choice; for it is thought to be most closely bound
up with virtue and to discriminate characters better than actions do.
  Choice, then, seems to be voluntary, but not the same thing as the
voluntary; the latter extends more widely. For both children and the
lower animals share in voluntary action, but not in choice, and acts
done on the spur of the moment we describe as voluntary, but not as
  Those who say it is appetite or anger or wish or a kind of opinion
do not seem to be right. For choice is not common to irrational
creatures as well, but appetite and anger are. Again, the
incontinent man acts with appetite, but not with choice; while the
continent man on the contrary acts with choice, but not with appetite.
Again, appetite is contrary to choice, but not appetite to appetite.
Again, appetite relates to the pleasant and the painful, choice
neither to the painful nor to the pleasant.
  Still less is it anger; for acts due to anger are thought to be less
than any others objects of choice.
  But neither is it wish, though it seems near to it; for choice
cannot relate to impossibles, and if any one said he chose them he
would be thought silly; but there may be a wish even for
impossibles, e.g. for immortality. And wish may relate to things
that could in no way be brought about by one's own efforts, e.g.
that a particular actor or athlete should win in a competition; but no
one chooses such things, but only the things that he thinks could be
brought about by his own efforts. Again, wish relates rather to the
end, choice to the means; for instance, we wish to be healthy, but
we choose the acts which will make us healthy, and we wish to be happy
and say we do, but we cannot well say we choose to be so; for, in
general, choice seems to relate to the things that are in our own
  For this reason, too, it cannot be opinion; for opinion is thought
to relate to all kinds of things, no less to eternal things and
impossible things than to things in our own power; and it is
distinguished by its falsity or truth, not by its badness or goodness,
while choice is distinguished rather by these.
  Now with opinion in general perhaps no one even says it is
identical. But it is not identical even with any kind of opinion;
for by choosing what is good or bad we are men of a certain character,
which we are not by holding certain opinions. And we choose to get
or avoid something good or bad, but we have opinions about what a
thing is or whom it is good for or how it is good for him; we can
hardly be said to opine to get or avoid anything. And choice is
praised for being related to the right object rather than for being
rightly related to it, opinion for being truly related to its
object. And we choose what we best know to be good, but we opine
what we do not quite know; and it is not the same people that are
thought to make the best choices and to have the best opinions, but
some are thought to have fairly good opinions, but by reason of vice
to choose what they should not. If opinion precedes choice or
accompanies it, that makes no difference; for it is not this that we
are considering, but whether it is identical with some kind of
  What, then, or what kind of thing is it, since it is none of the
things we have mentioned? It seems to be voluntary, but not all that
is voluntary to be an object of choice. Is it, then, what has been
decided on by previous deliberation? At any rate choice involves a
rational principle and thought. Even the name seems to suggest that it
is what is chosen before other things.

  Do we deliberate about everything, and is everything a possible
subject of deliberation, or is deliberation impossible about some
things? We ought presumably to call not what a fool or a madman
would deliberate about, but what a sensible man would deliberate
about, a subject of deliberation. Now about eternal things no one
deliberates, e.g. about the material universe or the
incommensurability of the diagonal and the side of a square. But no
more do we deliberate about the things that involve movement but
always happen in the same way, whether of necessity or by nature or
from any other cause, e.g. the solstices and the risings of the stars;
nor about things that happen now in one way, now in another, e.g.
droughts and rains; nor about chance events, like the finding of
treasure. But we do not deliberate even about all human affairs; for
instance, no Spartan deliberates about the best constitution for the
Scythians. For none of these things can be brought about by our own
  We deliberate about things that are in our power and can be done;
and these are in fact what is left. For nature, necessity, and
chance are thought to be causes, and also reason and everything that
depends on man. Now every class of men deliberates about the things
that can be done by their own efforts. And in the case of exact and
self-contained sciences there is no deliberation, e.g. about the
letters of the alphabet (for we have no doubt how they should be
written); but the things that are brought about by our own efforts,
but not always in the same way, are the things about which we
deliberate, e.g. questions of medical treatment or of money-making.
And we do so more in the case of the art of navigation than in that of
gymnastics, inasmuch as it has been less exactly worked out, and again
about other things in the same ratio, and more also in the case of the
arts than in that of the sciences; for we have more doubt about the
former. Deliberation is concerned with things that happen in a certain
way for the most part, but in which the event is obscure, and with
things in which it is indeterminate. We call in others to aid us in
deliberation on important questions, distrusting ourselves as not
being equal to deciding.
  We deliberate not about ends but about means. For a doctor does
not deliberate whether he shall heal, nor an orator whether he shall
persuade, nor a statesman whether he shall produce law and order,
nor does any one else deliberate about his end. They assume the end
and consider how and by what means it is to be attained; and if it
seems to be produced by several means they consider by which it is
most easily and best produced, while if it is achieved by one only
they consider how it will be achieved by this and by what means this
will be achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in the
order of discovery is last. For the person who deliberates seems to
investigate and analyse in the way described as though he were
analysing a geometrical construction (not all investigation appears to
be deliberation- for instance mathematical investigations- but all
deliberation is investigation), and what is last in the order of
analysis seems to be first in the order of becoming. And if we come on
an impossibility, we give up the search, e.g. if we need money and
this cannot be got; but if a thing appears possible we try to do it.
By 'possible' things I mean things that might be brought about by
our own efforts; and these in a sense include things that can be
brought about by the efforts of our friends, since the moving
principle is in ourselves. The subject of investigation is sometimes
the instruments, sometimes the use of them; and similarly in the other
cases- sometimes the means, sometimes the mode of using it or the
means of bringing it about. It seems, then, as has been said, that man
is a moving principle of actions; now deliberation is about the things
to be done by the agent himself, and actions are for the sake of
things other than themselves. For the end cannot be a subject of
deliberation, but only the means; nor indeed can the particular
facts be a subject of it, as whether this is bread or has been baked
as it should; for these are matters of perception. If we are to be
always deliberating, we shall have to go on to infinity.
  The same thing is deliberated upon and is chosen, except that the
object of choice is already determinate, since it is that which has
been decided upon as a result of deliberation that is the object of
choice. For every one ceases to inquire how he is to act when he has
brought the moving principle back to himself and to the ruling part of
himself; for this is what chooses. This is plain also from the ancient
constitutions, which Homer represented; for the kings announced
their choices to the people. The object of choice being one of the
things in our own power which is desired after deliberation, choice
will be deliberate desire of things in our own power; for when we have
decided as a result of deliberation, we desire in accordance with
our deliberation.
  We may take it, then, that we have described choice in outline,
and stated the nature of its objects and the fact that it is concerned
with means.

  That wish is for the end has already been stated; some think it is
for the good, others for the apparent good. Now those who say that the
good is the object of wish must admit in consequence that that which
the man who does not choose aright wishes for is not an object of wish
(for if it is to be so, it must also be good; but it was, if it so
happened, bad); while those who say the apparent good is the object of
wish must admit that there is no natural object of wish, but only what
seems good to each man. Now different things appear good to
different people, and, if it so happens, even contrary things.
  If these consequences are unpleasing, are we to say that
absolutely and in truth the good is the object of wish, but for each
person the apparent good; that that which is in truth an object of
wish is an object of wish to the good man, while any chance thing
may be so the bad man, as in the case of bodies also the things that
are in truth wholesome are wholesome for bodies which are in good
condition, while for those that are diseased other things are
wholesome- or bitter or sweet or hot or heavy, and so on; since the
good man judges each class of things rightly, and in each the truth
appears to him? For each state of character has its own ideas of the
noble and the pleasant, and perhaps the good man differs from others
most by seeing the truth in each class of things, being as it were the
norm and measure of them. In most things the error seems to be due
to pleasure; for it appears a good when it is not. We therefore choose
the pleasant as a good, and avoid pain as an evil.

  The end, then, being what we wish for, the means what we
deliberate about and choose, actions concerning means must be
according to choice and voluntary. Now the exercise of the virtues
is concerned with means. Therefore virtue also is in our own power,
and so too vice. For where it is in our power to act it is also in our
power not to act, and vice versa; so that, if to act, where this is
noble, is in our power, not to act, which will be base, will also be
in our power, and if not to act, where this is noble, is in our power,
to act, which will be base, will also be in our power. Now if it is in
our power to do noble or base acts, and likewise in our power not to
do them, and this was what being good or bad meant, then it is in
our power to be virtuous or vicious.
  The saying that 'no one is voluntarily wicked nor involuntarily
happy' seems to be partly false and partly true; for no one is
involuntarily happy, but wickedness is voluntary. Or else we shall
have to dispute what has just been said, at any rate, and deny that
man is a moving principle or begetter of his actions as of children.
But if these facts are evident and we cannot refer actions to moving
principles other than those in ourselves, the acts whose moving
principles are in us must themselves also be in our power and
  Witness seems to be borne to this both by individuals in their
private capacity and by legislators themselves; for these punish and
take vengeance on those who do wicked acts (unless they have acted
under compulsion or as a result of ignorance for which they are not
themselves responsible), while they honour those who do noble acts, as
though they meant to encourage the latter and deter the former. But no
one is encouraged to do the things that are neither in our power nor
voluntary; it is assumed that there is no gain in being persuaded
not to be hot or in pain or hungry or the like, since we shall
experience these feelings none the less. Indeed, we punish a man for
his very ignorance, if he is thought responsible for the ignorance, as
when penalties are doubled in the case of drunkenness; for the
moving principle is in the man himself, since he had the power of
not getting drunk and his getting drunk was the cause of his
ignorance. And we punish those who are ignorant of anything in the
laws that they ought to know and that is not difficult, and so too
in the case of anything else that they are thought to be ignorant of
through carelessness; we assume that it is in their power not to be
ignorant, since they have the power of taking care.
  But perhaps a man is the kind of man not to take care. Still they
are themselves by their slack lives responsible for becoming men of
that kind, and men make themselves responsible for being unjust or
self-indulgent, in the one case by cheating and in the other by
spending their time in drinking bouts and the like; for it is
activities exercised on particular objects that make the corresponding
character. This is plain from the case of people training for any
contest or action; they practise the activity the whole time. Now
not to know that it is from the exercise of activities on particular
objects that states of character are produced is the mark of a
thoroughly senseless person. Again, it is irrational to suppose that a
man who acts unjustly does not wish to be unjust or a man who acts
self-indulgently to be self-indulgent. But if without being ignorant a
man does the things which will make him unjust, he will be unjust
voluntarily. Yet it does not follow that if he wishes he will cease to
be unjust and will be just. For neither does the man who is ill become
well on those terms. We may suppose a case in which he is ill
voluntarily, through living incontinently and disobeying his
doctors. In that case it was then open to him not to be ill, but not
now, when he has thrown away his chance, just as when you have let a
stone go it is too late to recover it; but yet it was in your power to
throw it, since the moving principle was in you. So, too, to the
unjust and to the self-indulgent man it was open at the beginning
not to become men of this kind, and so they are unjust and
selfindulgent voluntarily; but now that they have become so it is
not possible for them not to be so.
  But not only are the vices of the soul voluntary, but those of the
body also for some men, whom we accordingly blame; while no one blames
those who are ugly by nature, we blame those who are so owing to
want of exercise and care. So it is, too, with respect to weakness and
infirmity; no one would reproach a man blind from birth or by
disease or from a blow, but rather pity him, while every one would
blame a man who was blind from drunkenness or some other form of
self-indulgence. Of vices of the body, then, those in our own power
are blamed, those not in our power are not. And if this be so, in
the other cases also the vices that are blamed must be in our own
  Now some one may say that all men desire the apparent good, but have
no control over the appearance, but the end appears to each man in a
form answering to his character. We reply that if each man is
somehow responsible for his state of mind, he will also be himself
somehow responsible for the appearance; but if not, no one is
responsible for his own evildoing, but every one does evil acts
through ignorance of the end, thinking that by these he will get
what is best, and the aiming at the end is not self-chosen but one
must be born with an eye, as it were, by which to judge rightly and
choose what is truly good, and he is well endowed by nature who is
well endowed with this. For it is what is greatest and most noble, and
what we cannot get or learn from another, but must have just such as
it was when given us at birth, and to be well and nobly endowed with
this will be perfect and true excellence of natural endowment. If this
is true, then, how will virtue be more voluntary than vice? To both
men alike, the good and the bad, the end appears and is fixed by
nature or however it may be, and it is by referring everything else to
this that men do whatever they do.
  Whether, then, it is not by nature that the end appears to each
man such as it does appear, but something also depends on him, or
the end is natural but because the good man adopts the means
voluntarily virtue is voluntary, vice also will be none the less
voluntary; for in the case of the bad man there is equally present
that which depends on himself in his actions even if not in his end.
If, then, as is asserted, the virtues are voluntary (for we are
ourselves somehow partly responsible for our states of character,
and it is by being persons of a certain kind that we assume the end to
be so and so), the vices also will be voluntary; for the same is
true of them.
  With regard to the virtues in general we have stated their genus
in outline, viz. that they are means and that they are states of
character, and that they tend, and by their own nature, to the doing
of the acts by which they are produced, and that they are in our power
and voluntary, and act as the right rule prescribes. But actions and
states of character are not voluntary in the same way; for we are
masters of our actions from the beginning right to the end, if we know
the particular facts, but though we control the beginning of our
states of character the gradual progress is not obvious any more
than it is in illnesses; because it was in our power, however, to
act in this way or not in this way, therefore the states are
  Let us take up the several virtues, however, and say which they
are and what sort of things they are concerned with and how they are
concerned with them; at the same time it will become plain how many
they are. And first let us speak of courage.

  That it is a mean with regard to feelings of fear and confidence has
already been made evident; and plainly the things we fear are terrible
things, and these are, to speak without qualification, evils; for
which reason people even define fear as expectation of evil. Now we
fear all evils, e.g. disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness,
death, but the brave man is not thought to be concerned with all;
for to fear some things is even right and noble, and it is base not to
fear them- e.g. disgrace; he who fears this is good and modest, and
he who does not is shameless. He is, however, by some people called
brave, by a transference of the word to a new meaning; for he has in
him something which is like the brave man, since the brave man also is
a fearless person. Poverty and disease we perhaps ought not to fear,
nor in general the things that do not proceed from vice and are not
due to a man himself. But not even the man who is fearless of these is
brave. Yet we apply the word to him also in virtue of a similarity;
for some who in the dangers of war are cowards are liberal and are
confident in face of the loss of money. Nor is a man a coward if he
fears insult to his wife and children or envy or anything of the kind;
nor brave if he is confident when he is about to be flogged. With what
sort of terrible things, then, is the brave man concerned? Surely with
the greatest; for no one is more likely than he to stand his ground
against what is awe-inspiring. Now death is the most terrible of all
things; for it is the end, and nothing is thought to be any longer
either good or bad for the dead. But the brave man would not seem to
be concerned even with death in all circumstances, e.g. at sea or in
disease. In what circumstances, then? Surely in the noblest. Now
such deaths are those in battle; for these take place in the
greatest and noblest danger. And these are correspondingly honoured in
city-states and at the courts of monarchs. Properly, then, he will
be called brave who is fearless in face of a noble death, and of all
emergencies that involve death; and the emergencies of war are in
the highest degree of this kind. Yet at sea also, and in disease,
the brave man is fearless, but not in the same way as the seaman;
for he has given up hope of safety, and is disliking the thought of
death in this shape, while they are hopeful because of their
experience. At the same time, we show courage in situations where
there is the opportunity of showing prowess or where death is noble;
but in these forms of death neither of these conditions is fulfilled.

  What is terrible is not the same for all men; but we say there are
things terrible even beyond human strength. These, then, are terrible
to every one- at least to every sensible man; but the terrible
things that are not beyond human strength differ in magnitude and
degree, and so too do the things that inspire confidence. Now the
brave man is as dauntless as man may be. Therefore, while he will fear
even the things that are not beyond human strength, he will face
them as he ought and as the rule directs, for honour's sake; for
this is the end of virtue. But it is possible to fear these more, or
less, and again to fear things that are not terrible as if they
were. Of the faults that are committed one consists in fearing what
one should not, another in fearing as we should not, another in
fearing when we should not, and so on; and so too with respect to
the things that inspire confidence. The man, then, who faces and who
fears the right things and from the right motive, in the right way and
from the right time, and who feels confidence under the
corresponding conditions, is brave; for the brave man feels and acts
according to the merits of the case and in whatever way the rule
directs. Now the end of every activity is conformity to the
corresponding state of character. This is true, therefore, of the
brave man as well as of others. But courage is noble. Therefore the
end also is noble; for each thing is defined by its end. Therefore
it is for a noble end that the brave man endures and acts as courage
  Of those who go to excess he who exceeds in fearlessness has no name
(we have said previously that many states of character have no names),
but he would be a sort of madman or insensible person if he feared
nothing, neither earthquakes nor the waves, as they say the Celts do
not; while the man who exceeds in confidence about what really is
terrible is rash. The rash man, however, is also thought to be
boastful and only a pretender to courage; at all events, as the
brave man is with regard to what is terrible, so the rash man wishes
to appear; and so he imitates him in situations where he can. Hence
also most of them are a mixture of rashness and cowardice; for,
while in these situations they display confidence, they do not hold
their ground against what is really terrible. The man who exceeds in
fear is a coward; for he fears both what he ought not and as he
ought not, and all the similar characterizations attach to him. He
is lacking also in confidence; but he is more conspicuous for his
excess of fear in painful situations. The coward, then, is a
despairing sort of person; for he fears everything. The brave man,
on the other hand, has the opposite disposition; for confidence is the
mark of a hopeful disposition. The coward, the rash man, and the brave
man, then, are concerned with the same objects but are differently
disposed towards them; for the first two exceed and fall short,
while the third holds the middle, which is the right, position; and
rash men are precipitate, and wish for dangers beforehand but draw
back when they are in them, while brave men are keen in the moment
of action, but quiet beforehand.
  As we have said, then, courage is a mean with respect to things that
inspire confidence or fear, in the circumstances that have been
stated; and it chooses or endures things because it is noble to do so,
or because it is base not to do so. But to die to escape from
poverty or love or anything painful is not the mark of a brave man,
but rather of a coward; for it is softness to fly from what is
troublesome, and such a man endures death not because it is noble
but to fly from evil.

  Courage, then, is something of this sort, but the name is also
applied to five other kinds.
  First comes the courage of the citizen-soldier; for this is most
like true courage. Citizen-soldiers seem to face dangers because of
the penalties imposed by the laws and the reproaches they would
otherwise incur, and because of the honours they win by such action;
and therefore those peoples seem to be bravest among whom cowards
are held in dishonour and brave men in honour. This is the kind of
courage that Homer depicts, e.g. in Diomede and in Hector:
  First will Polydamas be to heap reproach on me then; and

     For Hector one day 'mid the Trojans shall utter his vaulting
     Afraid was Tydeides, and fled from my face.

  This kind of courage is most like to that which we described
earlier, because it is due to virtue; for it is due to shame and to
desire of a noble object (i.e. honour) and avoidance of disgrace,
which is ignoble. One might rank in the same class even those who
are compelled by their rulers; but they are inferior, inasmuch as they
do what they do not from shame but from fear, and to avoid not what is
disgraceful but what is painful; for their masters compel them, as
Hector does:

     But if I shall spy any dastard that cowers far from the fight,
     Vainly will such an one hope to escape from the dogs.

  And those who give them their posts, and beat them if they
retreat, do the same, and so do those who draw them up with trenches
or something of the sort behind them; all of these apply compulsion.
But one ought to be brave not under compulsion but because it is noble
to be so.
  (2) Experience with regard to particular facts is also thought to be
courage; this is indeed the reason why Socrates thought courage was
knowledge. Other people exhibit this quality in other dangers, and
professional soldiers exhibit it in the dangers of war; for there seem
to be many empty alarms in war, of which these have had the most
comprehensive experience; therefore they seem brave, because the
others do not know the nature of the facts. Again, their experience
makes them most capable in attack and in defence, since they can use
their arms and have the kind that are likely to be best both for
attack and for defence; therefore they fight like armed men against
unarmed or like trained athletes against amateurs; for in such
contests too it is not the bravest men that fight best, but those
who are strongest and have their bodies in the best condition.
Professional soldiers turn cowards, however, when the danger puts
too great a strain on them and they are inferior in numbers and
equipment; for they are the first to fly, while citizen-forces die
at their posts, as in fact happened at the temple of Hermes. For to
the latter flight is disgraceful and death is preferable to safety
on those terms; while the former from the very beginning faced the
danger on the assumption that they were stronger, and when they know
the facts they fly, fearing death more than disgrace; but the brave
man is not that sort of person.
  (3) Passion also is sometimes reckoned as courage; those who act
from passion, like wild beasts rushing at those who have wounded them,
are thought to be brave, because brave men also are passionate; for
passion above all things is eager to rush on danger, and hence Homer's
'put strength into his passion' and 'aroused their spirit and
passion and 'hard he breathed panting' and 'his blood boiled'. For all
such expressions seem to indicate the stirring and onset of passion.
Now brave men act for honour's sake, but passion aids them; while wild
beasts act under the influence of pain; for they attack because they
have been wounded or because they are afraid, since if they are in a
forest they do not come near one. Thus they are not brave because,
driven by pain and passion, they rush on danger without foreseeing any
of the perils, since at that rate even asses would be brave when
they are hungry; for blows will not drive them from their food; and
lust also makes adulterers do many daring things. (Those creatures are
not brave, then, which are driven on to danger by pain or passion.)
The 'courage' that is due to passion seems to be the most natural, and
to be courage if choice and motive be added.
  Men, then, as well as beasts, suffer pain when they are angry, and
are pleased when they exact their revenge; those who fight for these
reasons, however, are pugnacious but not brave; for they do not act
for honour's sake nor as the rule directs, but from strength of
feeling; they have, however, something akin to courage.
  (4) Nor are sanguine people brave; for they are confident in danger
only because they have conquered often and against many foes. Yet they
closely resemble brave men, because both are confident; but brave
men are confident for the reasons stated earlier, while these are so
because they think they are the strongest and can suffer nothing.
(Drunken men also behave in this way; they become sanguine). When
their adventures do not succeed, however, they run away; but it was
the mark of a brave man to face things that are, and seem, terrible
for a man, because it is noble to do so and disgraceful not to do
so. Hence also it is thought the mark of a braver man to be fearless
and undisturbed in sudden alarms than to be so in those that are
foreseen; for it must have proceeded more from a state of character,
because less from preparation; acts that are foreseen may be chosen by
calculation and rule, but sudden actions must be in accordance with
one's state of character.
  (5) People who are ignorant of the danger also appear brave, and
they are not far removed from those of a sanguine temper, but are
inferior inasmuch as they have no self-reliance while these have.
Hence also the sanguine hold their ground for a time; but those who
have been deceived about the facts fly if they know or suspect that
these are different from what they supposed, as happened to the
Argives when they fell in with the Spartans and took them for
  We have, then, described the character both of brave men and of
those who are thought to be brave.

  Though courage is concerned with feelings of confidence and of fear,
it is not concerned with both alike, but more with the things that
inspire fear; for he who is undisturbed in face of these and bears
himself as he should towards these is more truly brave than the man
who does so towards the things that inspire confidence. It is for
facing what is painful, then, as has been said, that men are called
brave. Hence also courage involves pain, and is justly praised; for it
is harder to face what is painful than to abstain from what is
  Yet the end which courage sets before it would seem to be
pleasant, but to be concealed by the attending circumstances, as
happens also in athletic contests; for the end at which boxers aim
is pleasant- the crown and the honours- but the blows they take are
distressing to flesh and blood, and painful, and so is their whole
exertion; and because the blows and the exertions are many the end,
which is but small, appears to have nothing pleasant in it. And so, if
the case of courage is similar, death and wounds will be painful to
the brave man and against his will, but he will face them because it
is noble to do so or because it is base not to do so. And the more
he is possessed of virtue in its entirety and the happier he is, the
more he will be pained at the thought of death; for life is best worth
living for such a man, and he is knowingly losing the greatest
goods, and this is painful. But he is none the less brave, and perhaps
all the more so, because he chooses noble deeds of war at that cost.
It is not the case, then, with all the virtues that the exercise of
them is pleasant, except in so far as it reaches its end. But it is
quite possible that the best soldiers may be not men of this sort
but those who are less brave but have no other good; for these are
ready to face danger, and they sell their life for trifling gains.
  So much, then, for courage; it is not difficult to grasp its
nature in outline, at any rate, from what has been said.

  After courage let us speak of temperance; for these seem to be the
virtues of the irrational parts. We have said that temperance is a
mean with regard to pleasures (for it is less, and not in the same
way, concerned with pains); self-indulgence also is manifested in
the same sphere. Now, therefore, let us determine with what sort of
pleasures they are concerned. We may assume the distinction between
bodily pleasures and those of the soul, such as love of honour and
love of learning; for the lover of each of these delights in that of
which he is a lover, the body being in no way affected, but rather the
mind; but men who are concerned with such pleasures are called neither
temperate nor self-indulgent. Nor, again, are those who are
concerned with the other pleasures that are not bodily; for those
who are fond of hearing and telling stories and who spend their days
on anything that turns up are called gossips, but not
self-indulgent, nor are those who are pained at the loss of money or
of friends.
  Temperance must be concerned with bodily pleasures, but not all even
of these; for those who delight in objects of vision, such as
colours and shapes and painting, are called neither temperate nor
self-indulgent; yet it would seem possible to delight even in these
either as one should or to excess or to a deficient degree.
  And so too is it with objects of hearing; no one calls those who
delight extravagantly in music or acting self-indulgent, nor those who
do so as they ought temperate.
  Nor do we apply these names to those who delight in odour, unless it
be incidentally; we do not call those self-indulgent who delight in
the odour of apples or roses or incense, but rather those who
delight in the odour of unguents or of dainty dishes; for
self-indulgent people delight in these because these remind them of
the objects of their appetite. And one may see even other people, when
they are hungry, delighting in the smell of food; but to delight in
this kind of thing is the mark of the self-indulgent man; for these
are objects of appetite to him.
  Nor is there in animals other than man any pleasure connected with
these senses, except incidentally. For dogs do not delight in the
scent of hares, but in the eating of them, but the scent told them the
hares were there; nor does the lion delight in the lowing of the ox,
but in eating it; but he perceived by the lowing that it was near, and
therefore appears to delight in the lowing; and similarly he does
not delight because he sees 'a stag or a wild goat', but because he is
going to make a meal of it. Temperance and self-indulgence, however,
are concerned with the kind of pleasures that the other animals
share in, which therefore appear slavish and brutish; these are
touch and taste. But even of taste they appear to make little or no
use; for the business of taste is the discriminating of flavours,
which is done by winetasters and people who season dishes; but they
hardly take pleasure in making these discriminations, or at least
self-indulgent people do not, but in the actual enjoyment, which in
all cases comes through touch, both in the case of food and in that of
drink and in that of sexual intercourse. This is why a certain
gourmand prayed that his throat might become longer than a crane's,
implying that it was the contact that he took pleasure in. Thus the
sense with which self-indulgence is connected is the most widely
shared of the senses; and self-indulgence would seem to be justly a
matter of reproach, because it attaches to us not as men but as
animals. To delight in such things, then, and to love them above all
others, is brutish. For even of the pleasures of touch the most
liberal have been eliminated, e.g. those produced in the gymnasium
by rubbing and by the consequent heat; for the contact
characteristic of the self-indulgent man does not affect the whole
body but only certain parts.

  Of the appetites some seem to be common, others to be peculiar to
individuals and acquired; e.g. the appetite for food is natural, since
every one who is without it craves for food or drink, and sometimes
for both, and for love also (as Homer says) if he is young and
lusty; but not every one craves for this or that kind of nourishment
or love, nor for the same things. Hence such craving appears to be our
very own. Yet it has of course something natural about it; for
different things are pleasant to different kinds of people, and
some things are more pleasant to every one than chance objects. Now in
the natural appetites few go wrong, and only in one direction, that of
excess; for to eat or drink whatever offers itself till one is
surfeited is to exceed the natural amount, since natural appetite is
the replenishment of one's deficiency. Hence these people are called
belly-gods, this implying that they fill their belly beyond what is
right. It is people of entirely slavish character that become like
this. But with regard to the pleasures peculiar to individuals many
people go wrong and in many ways. For while the people who are 'fond
of so and so' are so called because they delight either in the wrong
things, or more than most people do, or in the wrong way, the
self-indulgent exceed in all three ways; they both delight in some
things that they ought not to delight in (since they are hateful), and
if one ought to delight in some of the things they delight in, they do
so more than one ought and than most men do.
  Plainly, then, excess with regard to pleasures is self-indulgence
and is culpable; with regard to pains one is not, as in the case of
courage, called temperate for facing them or self-indulgent for not
doing so, but the selfindulgent man is so called because he is
pained more than he ought at not getting pleasant things (even his
pain being caused by pleasure), and the temperate man is so called
because he is not pained at the absence of what is pleasant and at his
abstinence from it.
  The self-indulgent man, then, craves for all pleasant things or
those that are most pleasant, and is led by his appetite to choose
these at the cost of everything else; hence he is pained both when
he fails to get them and when he is merely craving for them (for
appetite involves pain); but it seems absurd to be pained for the sake
of pleasure. People who fall short with regard to pleasures and
delight in them less than they should are hardly found; for such
insensibility is not human. Even the other animals distinguish
different kinds of food and enjoy some and not others; and if there is
any one who finds nothing pleasant and nothing more attractive than
anything else, he must be something quite different from a man; this
sort of person has not received a name because he hardly occurs. The
temperate man occupies a middle position with regard to these objects.
For he neither enjoys the things that the self-indulgent man enjoys
most-but rather dislikes them-nor in general the things that he should
not, nor anything of this sort to excess, nor does he feel pain or
craving when they are absent, or does so only to a moderate degree,
and not more than he should, nor when he should not, and so on; but
the things that, being pleasant, make for health or for good
condition, he will desire moderately and as he should, and also
other pleasant things if they are not hindrances to these ends, or
contrary to what is noble, or beyond his means. For he who neglects
these conditions loves such pleasures more than they are worth, but
the temperate man is not that sort of person, but the sort of person
that the right rule prescribes.

  Self-indulgence is more like a voluntary state than cowardice. For
the former is actuated by pleasure, the latter by pain, of which the
one is to be chosen and the other to be avoided; and pain upsets and
destroys the nature of the person who feels it, while pleasure does
nothing of the sort. Therefore self-indulgence is more voluntary.
Hence also it is more a matter of reproach; for it is easier to become
accustomed to its objects, since there are many things of this sort in
life, and the process of habituation to them is free from danger,
while with terrible objects the reverse is the case. But cowardice
would seem to be voluntary in a different degree from its particular
manifestations; for it is itself painless, but in these we are upset
by pain, so that we even throw down our arms and disgrace ourselves in
other ways; hence our acts are even thought to be done under
compulsion. For the self-indulgent man, on the other hand, the
particular acts are voluntary (for he does them with craving and
desire), but the whole state is less so; for no one craves to be
  The name self-indulgence is applied also to childish faults; for
they bear a certain resemblance to what we have been considering.
Which is called after which, makes no difference to our present
purpose; plainly, however, the later is called after the earlier.
The transference of the name seems not a bad one; for that which
desires what is base and which develops quickly ought to be kept in
a chastened condition, and these characteristics belong above all to
appetite and to the child, since children in fact live at the beck and
call of appetite, and it is in them that the desire for what is
pleasant is strongest. If, then, it is not going to be obedient and
subject to the ruling principle, it will go to great lengths; for in
an irrational being the desire for pleasure is insatiable even if it
tries every source of gratification, and the exercise of appetite
increases its innate force, and if appetites are strong and violent
they even expel the power of calculation. Hence they should be
moderate and few, and should in no way oppose the rational
principle-and this is what we call an obedient and chastened state-and
as the child should live according to the direction of his tutor, so
the appetitive element should live according to rational principle.
Hence the appetitive element in a temperate man should harmonize
with the rational principle; for the noble is the mark at which both
aim, and the temperate man craves for the things be ought, as he
ought, as when he ought; and when he ought; and this is what
rational principle directs.
  Here we conclude our account of temperance.
                              BOOK IV

  LET us speak next of liberality. It seems to be the mean with regard
to wealth; for the liberal man is praised not in respect of military
matters, nor of those in respect of which the temrate man is
praised, nor of judicial decisions, but with regard to the giving
and taking of wealth, and especially in respect of giving. Now by
'wealth' we mean all the things whose value is measured by money.
Further, prodigality and meanness are excesses and defects with regard
to wealth; and meanness we always impute to those who care more than
they ought for wealth, but we sometimes apply the word 'prodigality'
in a complex sense; for we call those men prodigals who are
incontinent and spend money on self-indulgence. Hence also they are
thought the poorest characters; for they combine more vices than
one. Therefore the application of the word to them is not its proper
use; for a 'prodigal' means a man who has a single evil quality,
that of wasting his substance; since a prodigal is one who is being
ruined by his own fault, and the wasting of substance is thought to be
a sort of ruining of oneself, life being held to depend on
possession of substance.
  This, then, is the sense in which we take the word 'prodigality'.
Now the things that have a use may be used either well or badly; and
riches is a useful thing; and everything is used best by the man who
has the virtue concerned with it; riches, therefore, will be used best
by the man who has the virtue concerned with wealth; and this is the
liberal man. Now spending and giving seem to be the using of wealth;
taking and keeping rather the possession of it. Hence it is more the
mark of the liberal man to give to the right people than to take
from the right sources and not to take from the wrong. For it is
more characteristic of virtue to do good than to have good done to
one, and more characteristic to do what is noble than not to do what
is base; and it is not hard to see that giving implies doing good
and doing what is noble, and taking implies having good done to one or
not acting basely. And gratitude is felt towards him who gives, not
towards him who does not take, and praise also is bestowed more on
him. It is easier, also, not to take than to give; for men are apter
to give away their own too little than to take what is another's.
Givers, too, are called liberal; but those who do not take are not
praised for liberality but rather for justice; while those who take
are hardly praised at all. And the liberal are almost the most loved
of all virtuous characters, since they are useful; and this depends on
their giving.
  Now virtuous actions are noble and done for the sake of the noble.
Therefore the liberal man, like other virtuous men, will give for
the sake of the noble, and rightly; for he will give to the right
people, the right amounts, and at the right time, with all the other
qualifications that accompany right giving; and that too with pleasure
or without pain; for that which is virtuous is pleasant or free from
pain-least of all will it be painful. But he who gives to the wrong
people or not for the sake of the noble but for some other cause, will
be called not liberal but by some other name. Nor is he liberal who
gives with pain; for he would prefer the wealth to the noble act,
and this is not characteristic of a liberal man. But no more will
the liberal man take from wrong sources; for such taking is not
characteristic of the man who sets no store by wealth. Nor will he
be a ready asker; for it is not characteristic of a man who confers
benefits to accept them lightly. But he will take from the right
sources, e.g. from his own possessions, not as something noble but
as a necessity, that he may have something to give. Nor will he
neglect his own property, since he wishes by means of this to help
others. And he will refrain from giving to anybody and everybody, that
he may have something to give to the right people, at the right
time, and where it is noble to do so. It is highly characteristic of a
liberal man also to go to excess in giving, so that he leaves too
little for himself; for it is the nature of a liberal man not to
look to himself. The term 'liberality' is used relatively to a man's
substance; for liberality resides not in the multitude of the gifts
but in the state of character of the giver, and this is relative to
the giver's substance. There is therefore nothing to prevent the man
who gives less from being the more liberal man, if he has less to give
those are thought to be more liberal who have not made their wealth
but inherited it; for in the first place they have no experience of
want, and secondly all men are fonder of their own productions, as are
parents and poets. It is not easy for the liberal man to be rich,
since he is not apt either at taking or at keeping, but at giving
away, and does not value wealth for its own sake but as a means to
giving. Hence comes the charge that is brought against fortune, that
those who deserve riches most get it least. But it is not unreasonable
that it should turn out so; for he cannot have wealth, any more than
anything else, if he does not take pains to have it. Yet he will not
give to the wrong people nor at the wrong time, and so on; for he
would no longer be acting in accordance with liberality, and if he
spent on these objects he would have nothing to spend on the right
objects. For, as has been said, he is liberal who spends according
to his substance and on the right objects; and he who exceeds is
prodigal. Hence we do not call despots prodigal; for it is thought not
easy for them to give and spend beyond the amount of their
possessions. Liberality, then, being a mean with regard to giving
and taking of wealth, the liberal man will both give and spend the
right amounts and on the right objects, alike in small things and in
great, and that with pleasure; he will also take the right amounts and
from the right sources. For, the virtue being a mean with regard to
both, he will do both as he ought; since this sort of taking
accompanies proper giving, and that which is not of this sort is
contrary to it, and accordingly the giving and taking that accompany
each other are present together in the same man, while the contrary
kinds evidently are not. But if he happens to spend in a manner
contrary to what is right and noble, he will be pained, but moderately
and as he ought; for it is the mark of virtue both to be pleased and
to be pained at the right objects and in the right way. Further, the
liberal man is easy to deal with in money matters; for he can be got
the better of, since he sets no store by money, and is more annoyed if
he has not spent something that he ought than pained if he has spent
something that he ought not, and does not agree with the saying of
  The prodigal errs in these respects also; for he is neither
pleased nor pained at the right things or in the right way; this
will be more evident as we go on. We have said that prodigality and
meanness are excesses and deficiencies, and in two things, in giving
and in taking; for we include spending under giving. Now prodigality
exceeds in giving and not taking, while meanness falls short in
giving, and exceeds in taking, except in small things.
  The characteristics of prodigality are not often combined; for it is
not easy to give to all if you take from none; private persons soon
exhaust their substance with giving, and it is to these that the
name of prodigals is applied- though a man of this sort would seem to
be in no small degree better than a mean man. For he is easily cured
both by age and by poverty, and thus he may move towards the middle
state. For he has the characteristics of the liberal man, since he
both gives and refrains from taking, though he does neither of these
in the right manner or well. Therefore if he were brought to do so
by habituation or in some other way, he would be liberal; for he
will then give to the right people, and will not take from the wrong
sources. This is why he is thought to have not a bad character; it
is not the mark of a wicked or ignoble man to go to excess in giving
and not taking, but only of a foolish one. The man who is prodigal
in this way is thought much better than the mean man both for the
aforesaid reasons and because he benefits many while the other
benefits no one, not even himself.
  But most prodigal people, as has been said, also take from the wrong
sources, and are in this respect mean. They become apt to take because
they wish to spend and cannot do this easily; for their possessions
soon run short. Thus they are forced to provide means from some
other source. At the same time, because they care nothing for
honour, they take recklessly and from any source; for they have an
appetite for giving, and they do not mind how or from what source.
Hence also their giving is not liberal; for it is not noble, nor
does it aim at nobility, nor is it done in the right way; sometimes
they make rich those who should be poor, and will give nothing to
people of respectable character, and much to flatterers or those who
provide them with some other pleasure. Hence also most of them are
self-indulgent; for they spend lightly and waste money on their
indulgences, and incline towards pleasures because they do not live
with a view to what is noble.
  The prodigal man, then, turns into what we have described if he is
left untutored, but if he is treated with care he will arrive at the
intermediate and right state. But meanness is both incurable (for
old age and every disability is thought to make men mean) and more
innate in men than prodigality; for most men are fonder of getting
money than of giving. It also extends widely, and is multiform,
since there seem to be many kinds of meanness.
  For it consists in two things, deficiency in giving and excess in
taking, and is not found complete in all men but is sometimes divided;
some men go to excess in taking, others fall short in giving. Those
who are called by such names as 'miserly', 'close', 'stingy', all fall
short in giving, but do not covet the possessions of others nor wish
to get them. In some this is due to a sort of honesty and avoidance of
what is disgraceful (for some seem, or at least profess, to hoard
their money for this reason, that they may not some day be forced to
do something disgraceful; to this class belong the cheeseparer and
every one of the sort; he is so called from his excess of
unwillingness to give anything); while others again keep their hands
off the property of others from fear, on the ground that it is not
easy, if one takes the property of others oneself, to avoid having
one's own taken by them; they are therefore content neither to take
nor to give.
  Others again exceed in respect of taking by taking anything and from
any source, e.g. those who ply sordid trades, pimps and all such
people, and those who lend small sums and at high rates. For all of
these take more than they ought and from wrong sources. What is common
to them is evidently sordid love of gain; they all put up with a bad
name for the sake of gain, and little gain at that. For those who make
great gains but from wrong sources, and not the right gains, e.g.
despots when they sack cities and spoil temples, we do not call mean
but rather wicked, impious, and unjust. But the gamester and the
footpad (and the highwayman) belong to the class of the mean, since
they have a sordid love of gain. For it is for gain that both of
them ply their craft and endure the disgrace of it, and the one
faces the greatest dangers for the sake of the booty, while the
other makes gain from his friends, to whom he ought to be giving.
Both, then, since they are willing to make gain from wrong sources,
are sordid lovers of gain; therefore all such forms of taking are
  And it is natural that meanness is described as the contrary of
liberality; for not only is it a greater evil than prodigality, but
men err more often in this direction than in the way of prodigality as
we have described it.
  So much, then, for liberality and the opposed vices.


  It would seem proper to discuss magnificence next. For this also
seems to be a virtue concerned with wealth; but it does not like
liberality extend to all the actions that are concerned with wealth,
but only to those that involve expenditure; and in these it
surpasses liberality in scale. For, as the name itself suggests, it is
a fitting expenditure involving largeness of scale. But the scale is
relative; for the expense of equipping a trireme is not the same as
that of heading a sacred embassy. It is what is fitting, then, in
relation to the agent, and to the circumstances and the object. The
man who in small or middling things spends according to the merits
of the case is not called magnificent (e.g. the man who can say
'many a gift I gave the wanderer'), but only the man who does so in
great things. For the magnificent man is liberal, but the liberal
man is not necessarily magnificent. The deficiency of this state of
character is called niggardliness, the excess vulgarity, lack of
taste, and the like, which do not go to excess in the amount spent
on right objects, but by showy expenditure in the wrong
circumstances and the wrong manner; we shall speak of these vices
  The magnificent man is like an artist; for he can see what is
fitting and spend large sums tastefully. For, as we said at the
begining, a state of character is determined by its activities and
by its objects. Now the expenses of the magnificent man are large
and fitting. Such, therefore, are also his results; for thus there
will be a great expenditure and one that is fitting to its result.
Therefore the result should be worthy of the expense, and the
expense should be worthy of the result, or should even exceed it.
And the magnificent man will spend such sums for honour's sake; for
this is common to the virtues. And further he will do so gladly and
lavishly; for nice calculation is a niggardly thing. And he will
consider how the result can be made most beautiful and most becoming
rather than for how much it can be produced and how it can be produced
most cheaply. It is necessary, then, that the magnificent man be
also liberal. For the liberal man also will spend what he ought and as
he ought; and it is in these matters that the greatness implied in the
name of the magnificent man-his bigness, as it were-is manifested,
since liberality is concerned with these matters; and at an equal
expense he will produce a more magnificent work of art. For a
possession and a work of art have not the same excellence. The most
valuable possession is that which is worth most, e.g. gold, but the
most valuable work of art is that which is great and beautiful (for
the contemplation of such a work inspires admiration, and so does
magnificence); and a work has an excellence-viz. magnificence-which
involves magnitude. Magnificence is an attribute of expenditures of
the kind which we call honourable, e.g. those connected with the
gods-votive offerings, buildings, and sacrifices-and similarly with
any form of religious worship, and all those that are proper objects
of public-spirited ambition, as when people think they ought to
equip a chorus or a trireme, or entertain the city, in a brilliant
way. But in all cases, as has been said, we have regard to the agent
as well and ask who he is and what means he has; for the expenditure
should be worthy of his means, and suit not only the result but also
the producer. Hence a poor man cannot be magnificent, since he has not
the means with which to spend large sums fittingly; and he who tries
is a fool, since he spends beyond what can be expected of him and what
is proper, but it is right expenditure that is virtuous. But great
expenditure is becoming to those who have suitable means to start
with, acquired by their own efforts or from ancestors or connexions,
and to people of high birth or reputation, and so on; for all these
things bring with them greatness and prestige. Primarily, then, the
magnificent man is of this sort, and magnificence is shown in
expenditures of this sort, as has been said; for these are the
greatest and most honourable. Of private occasions of expenditure
the most suitable are those that take place once for all, e.g. a
wedding or anything of the kind, or anything that interests the
whole city or the people of position in it, and also the receiving
of foreign guests and the sending of them on their way, and gifts
and counter-gifts; for the magnificent man spends not on himself but
on public objects, and gifts bear some resemblance to votive
offerings. A magnificent man will also furnish his house suitably to
his wealth (for even a house is a sort of public ornament), and will
spend by preference on those works that are lasting (for these are the
most beautiful), and on every class of things he will spend what is
becoming; for the same things are not suitable for gods and for men,
nor in a temple and in a tomb. And since each expenditure may be great
of its kind, and what is most magnificent absolutely is great
expenditure on a great object, but what is magnificent here is what is
great in these circumstances, and greatness in the work differs from
greatness in the expense (for the most beautiful ball or bottle is
magnificent as a gift to a child, but the price of it is small and
mean),-therefore it is characteristic of the magnificent man, whatever
kind of result he is producing, to produce it magnificently (for
such a result is not easily surpassed) and to make it worthy of the
  Such, then, is the magnificent man; the man who goes to excess and
is vulgar exceeds, as has been said, by spending beyond what is right.
For on small objects of expenditure he spends much and displays a
tasteless showiness; e.g. he gives a club dinner on the scale of a
wedding banquet, and when he provides the chorus for a comedy he
brings them on to the stage in purple, as they do at Megara. And all
such things he will do not for honour's sake but to show off his
wealth, and because he thinks he is admired for these things, and
where he ought to spend much he spends little and where little,
much. The niggardly man on the other hand will fall short in
everything, and after spending the greatest sums will spoil the beauty
of the result for a trifle, and whatever he is doing he will
hesitate and consider how he may spend least, and lament even that,
and think he is doing everything on a bigger scale than he ought.
  These states of character, then, are vices; yet they do not bring
disgrace because they are neither harmful to one's neighbour nor
very unseemly.

  Pride seems even from its name to be concerned with great things;
what sort of great things, is the first question we must try to
answer. It makes no difference whether we consider the state of
character or the man characterized by it. Now the man is thought to be
proud who thinks himself worthy of great things, being worthy of them;
for he who does so beyond his deserts is a fool, but no virtuous man
is foolish or silly. The proud man, then, is the man we have
described. For he who is worthy of little and thinks himself worthy of
little is temperate, but not proud; for pride implies greatness, as
beauty implies a goodsized body, and little people may be neat and
well-proportioned but cannot be beautiful. On the other hand, he who
thinks himself worthy of great things, being unworthy of them, is
vain; though not every one who thinks himself worthy of more than he
really is worthy of in vain. The man who thinks himself worthy of
worthy of less than he is really worthy of is unduly humble, whether
his deserts be great or moderate, or his deserts be small but his
claims yet smaller. And the man whose deserts are great would seem
most unduly humble; for what would he have done if they had been less?
The proud man, then, is an extreme in respect of the greatness of
his claims, but a mean in respect of the rightness of them; for he
claims what is accordance with his merits, while the others go to
excess or fall short.
  If, then, he deserves and claims great things, and above all the
great things, he will be concerned with one thing in particular.
Desert is relative to external goods; and the greatest of these, we
should say, is that which we render to the gods, and which people of
position most aim at, and which is the prize appointed for the noblest
deeds; and this is honour; that is surely the greatest of external
goods. Honours and dishonours, therefore, are the objects with respect
to which the proud man is as he should be. And even apart from
argument it is with honour that proud men appear to be concerned;
for it is honour that they chiefly claim, but in accordance with their
deserts. The unduly humble man falls short both in comparison with his
own merits and in comparison with the proud man's claims. The vain man
goes to excess in comparison with his own merits, but does not
exceed the proud man's claims.
  Now the proud man, since he deserves most, must be good in the
highest degree; for the better man always deserves more, and the
best man most. Therefore the truly proud man must be good. And
greatness in every virtue would seem to be characteristic of a proud
man. And it would be most unbecoming for a proud man to fly from
danger, swinging his arms by his sides, or to wrong another; for to
what end should he do disgraceful acts, he to whom nothing is great?
If we consider him point by point we shall see the utter absurdity
of a proud man who is not good. Nor, again, would he be worthy of
honour if he were bad; for honour is the prize of virtue, and it is to
the good that it is rendered. Pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown
of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without
them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible
without nobility and goodness of character. It is chiefly with honours
and dishonours, then, that the proud man is concerned; and at
honours that are great and conferred by good men he will be moderately
Pleased, thinking that he is coming by his own or even less than his
own; for there can be no honour that is worthy of perfect virtue,
yet he will at any rate accept it since they have nothing greater to
bestow on him; but honour from casual people and on trifling grounds
he will utterly despise, since it is not this that he deserves, and
dishonour too, since in his case it cannot be just. In the first
place, then, as has been said, the proud man is concerned with
honours; yet he will also bear himself with moderation towards
wealth and power and all good or evil fortune, whatever may befall
him, and will be neither over-joyed by good fortune nor over-pained by
evil. For not even towards honour does he bear himself as if it were a
very great thing. Power and wealth are desirable for the sake of
honour (at least those who have them wish to get honour by means of
them); and for him to whom even honour is a little thing the others
must be so too. Hence proud men are thought to be disdainful.
  The goods of fortune also are thought to contribute towards pride.
For men who are well-born are thought worthy of honour, and so are
those who enjoy power or wealth; for they are in a superior
position, and everything that has a superiority in something good is
held in greater honour. Hence even such things make men prouder; for
they are honoured by some for having them; but in truth the good man
alone is to be honoured; he, however, who has both advantages is
thought the more worthy of honour. But those who without virtue have
such goods are neither justified in making great claims nor entitled
to the name of 'proud'; for these things imply perfect virtue.
Disdainful and insolent, however, even those who have such goods
become. For without virtue it is not easy to bear gracefully the goods
of fortune; and, being unable to bear them, and thinking themselves
superior to others, they despise others and themselves do what they
please. They imitate the proud man without being like him, and this
they do where they can; so they do not act virtuously, but they do
despise others. For the proud man despises justly (since he thinks
truly), but the many do so at random.
  He does not run into trifling dangers, nor is he fond of danger,
because he honours few things; but he will face great dangers, and
when he is in danger he is unsparing of his life, knowing that there
are conditions on which life is not worth having. And he is the sort
of man to confer benefits, but he is ashamed of receiving them; for
the one is the mark of a superior, the other of an inferior. And he is
apt to confer greater benefits in return; for thus the original
benefactor besides being paid will incur a debt to him, and will be
the gainer by the transaction. They seem also to remember any
service they have done, but not those they have received (for he who
receives a service is inferior to him who has done it, but the proud
man wishes to be superior), and to hear of the former with pleasure,
of the latter with displeasure; this, it seems, is why Thetis did
not mention to Zeus the services she had done him, and why the
Spartans did not recount their services to the Athenians, but those
they had received. It is a mark of the proud man also to ask for
nothing or scarcely anything, but to give help readily, and to be
dignified towards people who enjoy high position and good fortune, but
unassuming towards those of the middle class; for it is a difficult
and lofty thing to be superior to the former, but easy to be so to the
latter, and a lofty bearing over the former is no mark of
ill-breeding, but among humble people it is as vulgar as a display
of strength against the weak. Again, it is characteristic of the proud
man not to aim at the things commonly held in honour, or the things in
which others excel; to be sluggish and to hold back except where great
honour or a great work is at stake, and to be a man of few deeds,
but of great and notable ones. He must also be open in his hate and in
his love (for to conceal one's feelings, i.e. to care less for truth
than for what people will think, is a coward's part), and must speak
and act openly; for he is free of speech because he is contemptuous,
and he is given to telling the truth, except when he speaks in irony
to the vulgar. He must be unable to make his life revolve round
another, unless it be a friend; for this is slavish, and for this
reason all flatterers are servile and people lacking in self-respect
are flatterers. Nor is he given to admiration; for nothing to him is
great. Nor is he mindful of wrongs; for it is not the part of a
proud man to have a long memory, especially for wrongs, but rather
to overlook them. Nor is he a gossip; for he will speak neither
about himself nor about another, since he cares not to be praised
nor for others to be blamed; nor again is he given to praise; and
for the same reason he is not an evil-speaker, even about his enemies,
except from haughtiness. With regard to necessary or small matters
he is least of all me given to lamentation or the asking of favours;
for it is the part of one who takes such matters seriously to behave
so with respect to them. He is one who will possess beautiful and
profitless things rather than profitable and useful ones; for this
is more proper to a character that suffices to itself.
  Further, a slow step is thought proper to the proud man, a deep
voice, and a level utterance; for the man who takes few things
seriously is not likely to be hurried, nor the man who thinks
nothing great to be excited, while a shrill voice and a rapid gait are
the results of hurry and excitement.
  Such, then, is the proud man; the man who falls short of him is
unduly humble, and the man who goes beyond him is vain. Now even these
are not thought to be bad (for they are not malicious), but only
mistaken. For the unduly humble man, being worthy of good things, robs
himself of what he deserves, and to have something bad about him
from the fact that he does not think himself worthy of good things,
and seems also not to know himself; else he would have desired the
things he was worthy of, since these were good. Yet such people are
not thought to be fools, but rather unduly retiring. Such a
reputation, however, seems actually to make them worse; for each class
of people aims at what corresponds to its worth, and these people
stand back even from noble actions and undertakings, deeming
themselves unworthy, and from external goods no less. Vain people,
on the other hand, are fools and ignorant of themselves, and that
manifestly; for, not being worthy of them, they attempt honourable
undertakings, and then are found out; and tetadorn themselves with
clothing and outward show and such things, and wish their strokes of
good fortune to be made public, and speak about them as if they
would be honoured for them. But undue humility is more opposed to
pride than vanity is; for it is both commoner and worse.
  Pride, then, is concerned with honour on the grand scale, as has
been said.

  There seems to be in the sphere of honour also, as was said in our
first remarks on the subject, a virtue which would appear to be
related to pride as liberality is to magnificence. For neither of
these has anything to do with the grand scale, but both dispose us
as is right with regard to middling and unimportant objects; as in
getting and giving of wealth there is a mean and an excess and defect,
so too honour may be desired more than is right, or less, or from
the right sources and in the right way. We blame both the ambitious
man as am at honour more than is right and from wrong sources, and the
unambitious man as not willing to be honoured even for noble
reasons. But sometimes we praise the ambitious man as being manly
and a lover of what is noble, and the unambitious man as being
moderate and self-controlled, as we said in our first treatment of the
subject. Evidently, since 'fond of such and such an object' has more
than one meaning, we do not assign the term 'ambition' or 'love of
honour' always to the same thing, but when we praise the quality we
think of the man who loves honour more than most people, and when we
blame it we think of him who loves it more than is right. The mean
being without a name, the extremes seem to dispute for its place as
though that were vacant by default. But where there is excess and
defect, there is also an intermediate; now men desire honour both more
than they should and less; therefore it is possible also to do so as
one should; at all events this is the state of character that is
praised, being an unnamed mean in respect of honour. Relatively to
ambition it seems to be unambitiousness, and relatively to
unambitiousness it seems to be ambition, while relatively to both
severally it seems in a sense to be both together. This appears to
be true of the other virtues also. But in this case the extremes
seem to be contradictories because the mean has not received a name.

  Good temper is a mean with respect to anger; the middle state
being unnamed, and the extremes almost without a name as well, we
place good temper in the middle position, though it inclines towards
the deficiency, which is without a name. The excess might called a
sort of 'irascibility'. For the passion is anger, while its causes are
many and diverse.
  The man who is angry at the right things and with the right
people, and, further, as he ought, when he ought, and as long as he
ought, is praised. This will be the good-tempered man, then, since
good temper is praised. For the good-tempered man tends to be
unperturbed and not to be led by passion, but to be angry in the
manner, at the things, and for the length of time, that the rule
dictates; but he is thought to err rather in the direction of
deficiency; for the good-tempered man is not revengeful, but rather
tends to make allowances.
  The deficiency, whether it is a sort of 'inirascibility' or whatever
it is, is blamed. For those who are not angry at the things they
should be angry at are thought to be fools, and so are those who are
not angry in the right way, at the right time, or with the right
persons; for such a man is thought not to feel things nor to be pained
by them, and, since he does not get angry, he is thought unlikely to
defend himself; and to endure being insulted and put up with insult to
one's friends is slavish.
  The excess can be manifested in all the points that have been
named (for one can be angry with the wrong persons, at the wrong
things, more than is right, too quickly, or too long); yet all are not
found in the same person. Indeed they could not; for evil destroys
even itself, and if it is complete becomes unbearable. Now
hot-tempered people get angry quickly and with the wrong persons and
at the wrong things and more than is right, but their anger ceases
quickly-which is the best point about them. This happens to them
because they do not restrain their anger but retaliate openly owing to
their quickness of temper, and then their anger ceases. By reason of
excess choleric people are quick-tempered and ready to be angry with
everything and on every occasion; whence their name. Sulky people
are hard to appease, and retain their anger long; for they repress
their passion. But it ceases when they retaliate; for revenge relieves
them of their anger, producing in them pleasure instead of pain. If
this does not happen they retain their burden; for owing to its not
being obvious no one even reasons with them, and to digest one's anger
in oneself takes time. Such people are most troublesome to
themselves and to their dearest friends. We call had-tempered those
who are angry at the wrong things, more than is right, and longer, and
cannot be appeased until they inflict vengeance or punishment.
  To good temper we oppose the excess rather than the defect; for
not only is it commoner since revenge is the more human), but
bad-tempered people are worse to live with.
  What we have said in our earlier treatment of the subject is plain
also from what we are now saying; viz. that it is not easy to define
how, with whom, at what, and how long one should be angry, and at what
point right action ceases and wrong begins. For the man who strays a
little from the path, either towards the more or towards the less,
is not blamed; since sometimes we praise those who exhibit the
deficiency, and call them good-tempered, and sometimes we call angry
people manly, as being capable of ruling. How far, therefore, and
how a man must stray before he becomes blameworthy, it is not easy
to state in words; for the decision depends on the particular facts
and on perception. But so much at least is plain, that the middle
state is praiseworthy- that in virtue of which we are angry with the
right people, at the right things, in the right way, and so on,
while the excesses and defects are blameworthy- slightly so if they
are present in a low degree, more if in a higher degree, and very
much if in a high degree. Evidently, then, we must cling to the
middle state.- Enough of the states relative to anger.

  In gatherings of men, in social life and the interchange of words
and deeds, some men are thought to be obsequious, viz. those who to
give pleasure praise everything and never oppose, but think it their
duty 'to give no pain to the people they meet'; while those who, on
the contrary, oppose everything and care not a whit about giving
pain are called churlish and contentious. That the states we have
named are culpable is plain enough, and that the middle state is
laudable- that in virtue of which a man will put up with, and will
resent, the right things and in the right way; but no name has been
assigned to it, though it most resembles friendship. For the man who
corresponds to this middle state is very much what, with affection
added, we call a good friend. But the state in question differs from
friendship in that it implies no passion or affection for one's
associates; since it is not by reason of loving or hating that such
a man takes everything in the right way, but by being a man of a
certain kind. For he will behave so alike towards those he knows and
those he does not know, towards intimates and those who are not so,
except that in each of these cases he will behave as is befitting; for
it is not proper to have the same care for intimates and for
strangers, nor again is it the same conditions that make it right to
give pain to them. Now we have said generally that he will associate
with people in the right way; but it is by reference to what is
honourable and expedient that he will aim at not giving pain or at
contributing pleasure. For he seems to be concerned with the pleasures
and pains of social life; and wherever it is not honourable, or is
harmful, for him to contribute pleasure, he will refuse, and will
choose rather to give pain; also if his acquiescence in another's
action would bring disgrace, and that in a high degree, or injury,
on that other, while his opposition brings a little pain, he will
not acquiesce but will decline. He will associate differently with
people in high station and with ordinary people, with closer and
more distant acquaintances, and so too with regard to all other
differences, rendering to each class what is befitting, and while
for its own sake he chooses to contribute pleasure, and avoids the
giving of pain, he will be guided by the consequences, if these are
greater, i.e. honour and expediency. For the sake of a great future
pleasure, too, he will inflict small pains.
  The man who attains the mean, then, is such as we have described,
but has not received a name; of those who contribute pleasure, the man
who aims at being pleasant with no ulterior object is obsequious,
but the man who does so in order that he may get some advantage in the
direction of money or the things that money buys is a flatterer; while
the man who quarrels with everything is, as has been said, churlish
and contentious. And the extremes seem to be contradictory to each
other because the mean is without a name.

  The mean opposed to boastfulness is found in almost the same sphere;
and this also is without a name. It will be no bad plan to describe
these states as well; for we shall both know the facts about character
better if we go through them in detail, and we shall be convinced that
the virtues are means if we see this to be so in all cases. In the
field of social life those who make the giving of pleasure or pain
their object in associating with others have been described; let us
now describe those who pursue truth or falsehood alike in words and
deeds and in the claims they put forward. The boastful man, then, is
thought to be apt to claim the things that bring glory, when he has
not got them, or to claim more of them than he has, and the
mock-modest man on the other hand to disclaim what he has or
belittle it, while the man who observes the mean is one who calls a
thing by its own name, being truthful both in life and in word, owning
to what he has, and neither more nor less. Now each of these courses
may be adopted either with or without an object. But each man speaks
and acts and lives in accordance with his character, if he is not
acting for some ulterior object. And falsehood is in itself mean and
culpable, and truth noble and worthy of praise. Thus the truthful
man is another case of a man who, being in the mean, is worthy of
praise, and both forms of untruthful man are culpable, and
particularly the boastful man.
  Let us discuss them both, but first of all the truthful man. We
are not speaking of the man who keeps faith in his agreements, i.e. in
the things that pertain to justice or injustice (for this would belong
to another virtue), but the man who in the matters in which nothing of
this sort is at stake is true both in word and in life because his
character is such. But such a man would seem to be as a matter of fact
equitable. For the man who loves truth, and is truthful where
nothing is at stake, will still more be truthful where something is at
stake; he will avoid falsehood as something base, seeing that he
avoided it even for its own sake; and such a man is worthy of
praise. He inclines rather to understate the truth; for this seems
in better taste because exaggerations are wearisome.
  He who claims more than he has with no ulterior object is a
contemptible sort of fellow (otherwise he would not have delighted
in falsehood), but seems futile rather than bad; but if he does it for
an object, he who does it for the sake of reputation or honour is (for
a boaster) not very much to be blamed, but he who does it for money,
or the things that lead to money, is an uglier character (it is not
the capacity that makes the boaster, but the purpose; for it is in
virtue of his state of character and by being a man of a certain
kind that he is boaster); as one man is a liar because he enjoys the
lie itself, and another because he desires reputation or gain. Now
those who boast for the sake of reputation claim such qualities as
will praise or congratulation, but those whose object is gain claim
qualities which are of value to one's neighbours and one's lack of
which is not easily detected, e.g. the powers of a seer, a sage, or
a physician. For this reason it is such things as these that most
people claim and boast about; for in them the above-mentioned
qualities are found.
  Mock-modest people, who understate things, seem more attractive in
character; for they are thought to speak not for gain but to avoid
parade; and here too it is qualities which bring reputation that
they disclaim, as Socrates used to do. Those who disclaim trifling and
obvious qualities are called humbugs and are more contemptible; and
sometimes this seems to be boastfulness, like the Spartan dress; for
both excess and great deficiency are boastful. But those who use
understatement with moderation and understate about matters that do
not very much force themselves on our notice seem attractive. And it
is the boaster that seems to be opposed to the truthful man; for he is
the worse character.

  Since life includes rest as well as activity, and in this is
included leisure and amusement, there seems here also to be a kind
of intercourse which is tasteful; there is such a thing as saying-
and again listening to- what one should and as one should. The
kind of people one is speaking or listening to will also make a
difference. Evidently here also there is both an excess and a
deficiency as compared with the mean. Those who carry humour to excess
are thought to be vulgar buffoons, striving after humour at all costs,
and aiming rather at raising a laugh than at saying what is becoming
and at avoiding pain to the object of their fun; while those who can
neither make a joke themselves nor put up with those who do are
thought to be boorish and unpolished. But those who joke in a tasteful
way are called ready-witted, which implies a sort of readiness to turn
this way and that; for such sallies are thought to be movements of the
character, and as bodies are discriminated by their movements, so
too are characters. The ridiculous side of things is not far to
seek, however, and most people delight more than they should in
amusement and in jestinly. and so even buffoons are called
ready-witted because they are found attractive; but that they differ
from the ready-witted man, and to no small extent, is clear from
what has been said.
  To the middle state belongs also tact; it is the mark of a tactful
man to say and listen to such things as befit a good and well-bred
man; for there are some things that it befits such a man to say and to
hear by way of jest, and the well-bred man's jesting differs from that
of a vulgar man, and the joking of an educated man from that of an
uneducated. One may see this even from the old and the new comedies;
to the authors of the former indecency of language was amusing, to
those of the latter innuendo is more so; and these differ in no
small degree in respect of propriety. Now should we define the man who
jokes well by his saying what is not unbecoming to a well-bred man, or
by his not giving pain, or even giving delight, to the hearer? Or is
the latter definition, at any rate, itself indefinite, since different
things are hateful or pleasant to different people? The kind of
jokes he will listen to will be the same; for the kind he can put up
with are also the kind he seems to make. There are, then, jokes he
will not make; for the jest is a sort of abuse, and there are things
that lawgivers forbid us to abuse; and they should, perhaps, have
forbidden us even to make a jest of such. The refined and well-bred
man, therefore, will be as we have described, being as it were a law
to himself.
  Such, then, is the man who observes the mean, whether he be called
tactful or ready-witted. The buffoon, on the other hand, is the slave
of his sense of humour, and spares neither himself nor others if he
can raise a laugh, and says things none of which a man of refinement
would say, and to some of which he would not even listen. The boor,
again, is useless for such social intercourse; for he contributes
nothing and finds fault with everything. But relaxation and
amusement are thought to be a necessary element in life.
  The means in life that have been described, then, are three in
number, and are all concerned with an interchange of words and deeds
of some kind. They differ, however, in that one is concerned with
truth; and the other two with pleasantness. Of those concerned with
pleasure, one is displayed in jests, the other in the general social
intercourse of life.

  Shame should not be described as a virtue; for it is more like a
feeling than a state of character. It is defined, at any rate, as a
kind of fear of dishonour, and produces an effect similar to that
produced by fear of danger; for people who feel disgraced blush, and
those who fear death turn pale. Both, therefore, seem to be in a sense
bodily conditions, which is thought to be characteristic of feeling
rather than of a state of character.
  The feeling is not becoming to every age, but only to youth. For
we think young people should be prone to the feeling of shame
because they live by feeling and therefore commit many errors, but are
restrained by shame; and we praise young people who are prone to
this feeling, but an older person no one would praise for being
prone to the sense of disgrace, since we think he should not do
anything that need cause this sense. For the sense of disgrace is
not even characteristic of a good man, since it is consequent on bad
actions (for such actions should not be done; and if some actions
are disgraceful in very truth and others only according to common
opinion, this makes no difference; for neither class of actions should
be done, so that no disgrace should be felt); and it is a mark of a
bad man even to be such as to do any disgraceful action. To be so
constituted as to feel disgraced if one does such an action, and for
this reason to think oneself good, is absurd; for it is for
voluntary actions that shame is felt, and the good man will never
voluntarily do bad actions. But shame may be said to be
conditionally a good thing; if a good man does such actions, he will
feel disgraced; but the virtues are not subject to such a
qualification. And if shamelessness-not to be ashamed of doing base
actions-is bad, that does not make it good to be ashamed of doing such
actions. Continence too is not virtue, but a mixed sort of state; this
will be shown later. Now, however, let us discuss justice.
                              BOOK V

  WITH regards to justice and injustice we must (1) consider what kind
of actions they are concerned with, (2) what sort of mean justice
is, and (3) between what extremes the just act is intermediate. Our
investigation shall follow the same course as the preceding
  We see that all men mean by justice that kind of state of
character which makes people disposed to do what is just and makes
them act justly and wish for what is just; and similarly by
injustice that state which makes them act unjustly and wish for what
is unjust. Let us too, then, lay this down as a general basis. For the
same is not true of the sciences and the faculties as of states of
character. A faculty or a science which is one and the same is held to
relate to contrary objects, but a state of character which is one of
two contraries does not produce the contrary results; e.g. as a result
of health we do not do what is the opposite of healthy, but only
what is healthy; for we say a man walks healthily, when he walks as
a healthy man would.
  Now often one contrary state is recognized from its contrary, and
often states are recognized from the subjects that exhibit them; for
(A) if good condition is known, bad condition also becomes known,
and (B) good condition is known from the things that are in good
condition, and they from it. If good condition is firmness of flesh,
it is necessary both that bad condition should be flabbiness of
flesh and that the wholesome should be that which causes firmness in
flesh. And it follows for the most part that if one contrary is
ambiguous the other also will be ambiguous; e.g. if 'just' is so, that
'unjust' will be so too.
  Now 'justice' and 'injustice' seem to be ambiguous, but because
their different meanings approach near to one another the ambiguity
escapes notice and is not obvious as it is, comparatively, when the
meanings are far apart, e.g. (for here the difference in outward
form is great) as the ambiguity in the use of kleis for the
collar-bone of an animal and for that with which we lock a door. Let
us take as a starting-point, then, the various meanings of 'an
unjust man'. Both the lawless man and the grasping and unfair man
are thought to be unjust, so that evidently both the law-abiding and
the fair man will be just. The just, then, is the lawful and the fair,
the unjust the unlawful and the unfair.
  Since the unjust man is grasping, he must be concerned with
goods-not all goods, but those with which prosperity and adversity
have to do, which taken absolutely are always good, but for a
particular person are not always good. Now men pray for and pursue
these things; but they should not, but should pray that the things
that are good absolutely may also be good for them, and should
choose the things that are good for them. The unjust man does not
always choose the greater, but also the less-in the case of things bad
absolutely; but because the lesser evil is itself thought to be in a
sense good, and graspingness is directed at the good, therefore he
is thought to be grasping. And he is unfair; for this contains and
is common to both.
  Since the lawless man was seen to be unjust and the law-abiding
man just, evidently all lawful acts are in a sense just acts; for
the acts laid down by the legislative art are lawful, and each of
these, we say, is just. Now the laws in their enactments on all
subjects aim at the common advantage either of all or of the best or
of those who hold power, or something of the sort; so that in one
sense we call those acts just that tend to produce and preserve
happiness and its components for the political society. And the law
bids us do both the acts of a brave man (e.g. not to desert our post
nor take to flight nor throw away our arms), and those of a
temperate man (e.g. not to commit adultery nor to gratify one's lust),
and those of a good-tempered man (e.g. not to strike another nor to
speak evil), and similarly with regard to the other virtues and
forms of wickedness, commanding some acts and forbidding others; and
the rightly-framed law does this rightly, and the hastily conceived
one less well. This form of justice, then, is complete virtue, but not
absolutely, but in relation to our neighbour. And therefore justice is
often thought to be the greatest of virtues, and 'neither evening
nor morning star' is so wonderful; and proverbially 'in justice is
every virtue comprehended'. And it is complete virtue in its fullest
sense, because it is the actual exercise of complete virtue. It is
complete because he who possesses it can exercise his virtue not
only in himself but towards his neighbour also; for many men can
exercise virtue in their own affairs, but not in their relations to
their neighbour. This is why the saying of Bias is thought to be true,
that 'rule will show the man'; for a ruler is necessarily in
relation to other men and a member of a society. For this same
reason justice, alone of the virtues, is thought to be 'another's
good', because it is related to our neighbour; for it does what is
advantageous to another, either a ruler or a copartner. Now the
worst man is he who exercises his wickedness both towards himself
and towards his friends, and the best man is not he who exercises
his virtue towards himself but he who exercises it towards another;
for this is a difficult task. Justice in this sense, then, is not part
of virtue but virtue entire, nor is the contrary injustice a part of
vice but vice entire. What the difference is between virtue and
justice in this sense is plain from what we have said; they are the
same but their essence is not the same; what, as a relation to one's
neighbour, is justice is, as a certain kind of state without
qualification, virtue.

  But at all events what we are investigating is the justice which
is a part of virtue; for there is a justice of this kind, as we
maintain. Similarly it is with injustice in the particular sense
that we are concerned.
  That there is such a thing is indicated by the fact that while the
man who exhibits in action the other forms of wickedness acts
wrongly indeed, but not graspingly (e.g. the man who throws away his
shield through cowardice or speaks harshly through bad temper or fails
to help a friend with money through meanness), when a man acts
graspingly he often exhibits none of these vices,-no, nor all
together, but certainly wickedness of some kind (for we blame him) and
injustice. There is, then, another kind of injustice which is a part
of injustice in the wide sense, and a use of the word 'unjust' which
answers to a part of what is unjust in the wide sense of 'contrary
to the law'. Again if one man commits adultery for the sake of gain
and makes money by it, while another does so at the bidding of
appetite though he loses money and is penalized for it, the latter
would be held to be self-indulgent rather than grasping, but the
former is unjust, but not self-indulgent; evidently, therefore, he
is unjust by reason of his making gain by his act. Again, all other
unjust acts are ascribed invariably to some particular kind of
wickedness, e.g. adultery to self-indulgence, the desertion of a
comrade in battle to cowardice, physical violence to anger; but if a
man makes gain, his action is ascribed to no form of wickedness but
injustice. Evidently, therefore, there is apart from injustice in
the wide sense another, 'particular', injustice which shares the
name and nature of the first, because its definition falls within
the same genus; for the significance of both consists in a relation to
one's neighbour, but the one is concerned with honour or money or
safety-or that which includes all these, if we had a single name for
it-and its motive is the pleasure that arises from gain; while the
other is concerned with all the objects with which the good man is
  It is clear, then, that there is more than one kind of justice,
and that there is one which is distinct from virtue entire; we must
try to grasp its genus and differentia.
  The unjust has been divided into the unlawful and the unfair, and
the just into the lawful and the fair. To the unlawful answers the
afore-mentioned sense of injustice. But since unfair and the
unlawful are not the same, but are different as a part is from its
whole (for all that is unfair is unlawful, but not all that is
unlawful is unfair), the unjust and injustice in the sense of the
unfair are not the same as but different from the former kind, as part
from whole; for injustice in this sense is a part of injustice in
the wide sense, and similarly justice in the one sense of justice in
the other. Therefore we must speak also about particular justice and
particular and similarly about the just and the unjust. The justice,
then, which answers to the whole of virtue, and the corresponding
injustice, one being the exercise of virtue as a whole, and the
other that of vice as a whole, towards one's neighbour, we may leave
on one side. And how the meanings of 'just' and 'unjust' which
answer to these are to be distinguished is evident; for practically
the majority of the acts commanded by the law are those which are
prescribed from the point of view of virtue taken as a whole; for
the law bids us practise every virtue and forbids us to practise any
vice. And the things that tend to produce virtue taken as a whole
are those of the acts prescribed by the law which have been prescribed
with a view to education for the common good. But with regard to the
education of the individual as such, which makes him without
qualification a good man, we must determine later whether this is
the function of the political art or of another; for perhaps it is not
the same to be a good man and a good citizen of any state taken at
  Of particular justice and that which is just in the corresponding
sense, (A) one kind is that which is manifested in distributions of
honour or money or the other things that fall to be divided among
those who have a share in the constitution (for in these it is
possible for one man to have a share either unequal or equal to that
of another), and (B) one is that which plays a rectifying part in
transactions between man and man. Of this there are two divisions;
of transactions (1) some are voluntary and (2) others
involuntary- voluntary such transactions as sale, purchase, loan for
consumption, pledging, loan for use, depositing, letting (they are
called voluntary because the origin of these transactions is
voluntary), while of the involuntary (a) some are clandestine, such as
theft, adultery, poisoning, procuring, enticement of slaves,
assassination, false witness, and (b) others are violent, such as
assault, imprisonment, murder, robbery with violence, mutilation,
abuse, insult.

  (A) We have shown that both the unjust man and the unjust act are
unfair or unequal; now it is clear that there is also an
intermediate between the two unequals involved in either case. And
this is the equal; for in any kind of action in which there's a more
and a less there is also what is equal. If, then, the unjust is
unequal, just is equal, as all men suppose it to be, even apart from
argument. And since the equal is intermediate, the just will be an
intermediate. Now equality implies at least two things. The just,
then, must be both intermediate and equal and relative (i.e. for
certain persons). And since the equall intermediate it must be between
certain things (which are respectively greater and less); equal, it
involves two things; qua just, it is for certain people. The just,
therefore, involves at least four terms; for the persons for whom it
is in fact just are two, and the things in which it is manifested, the
objects distributed, are two. And the same equality will exist between
the persons and between the things concerned; for as the latter the
things concerned-are related, so are the former; if they are not
equal, they will not have what is equal, but this is the origin of
quarrels and complaints-when either equals have and are awarded
unequal shares, or unequals equal shares. Further, this is plain
from the fact that awards should be 'according to merit'; for all
men agree that what is just in distribution must be according to merit
in some sense, though they do not all specify the same sort of
merit, but democrats identify it with the status of freeman,
supporters of oligarchy with wealth (or with noble birth), and
supporters of aristocracy with excellence.
  The just, then, is a species of the proportionate (proportion
being not a property only of the kind of number which consists of
abstract units, but of number in general). For proportion is
equality of ratios, and involves four terms at least (that discrete
proportion involves four terms is plain, but so does continuous
proportion, for it uses one term as two and mentions it twice; e.g.
'as the line A is to the line B, so is the line B to the line C';
the line B, then, has been mentioned twice, so that if the line B be
assumed twice, the proportional terms will be four); and the just,
too, involves at least four terms, and the ratio between one pair is
the same as that between the other pair; for there is a similar
distinction between the persons and between the things. As the term A,
then, is to B, so will C be to D, and therefore, alternando, as A is
to C, B will be to D. Therefore also the whole is in the same ratio to
the whole; and this coupling the distribution effects, and, if the
terms are so combined, effects justly. The conjunction, then, of the
term A with C and of B with D is what is just in distribution, and
this species of the just is intermediate, and the unjust is what
violates the proportion; for the proportional is intermediate, and the
just is proportional. (Mathematicians call this kind of proportion
geometrical; for it is in geometrical proportion that it follows
that the whole is to the whole as either part is to the
corresponding part.) This proportion is not continuous; for we
cannot get a single term standing for a person and a thing.
  This, then, is what the just is-the proportional; the unjust is what
violates the proportion. Hence one term becomes too great, the other
too small, as indeed happens in practice; for the man who acts
unjustly has too much, and the man who is unjustly treated too little,
of what is good. In the case of evil the reverse is true; for the
lesser evil is reckoned a good in comparison with the greater evil,
since the lesser evil is rather to be chosen than the greater, and
what is worthy of choice is good, and what is worthier of choice a
greater good.
  This, then, is one species of the just.

  (B) The remaining one is the rectificatory, which arises in
connexion with transactions both voluntary and involuntary. This
form of the just has a different specific character from the former.
For the justice which distributes common possessions is always in
accordance with the kind of proportion mentioned above (for in the
case also in which the distribution is made from the common funds of a
partnership it will be according to the same ratio which the funds put
into the business by the partners bear to one another); and the
injustice opposed to this kind of justice is that which violates the
proportion. But the justice in transactions between man and man is a
sort of equality indeed, and the injustice a sort of inequality; not
according to that kind of proportion, however, but according to
arithmetical proportion. For it makes no difference whether a good man
has defrauded a bad man or a bad man a good one, nor whether it is a
good or a bad man that has committed adultery; the law looks only to
the distinctive character of the injury, and treats the parties as
equal, if one is in the wrong and the other is being wronged, and if
one inflicted injury and the other has received it. Therefore, this
kind of injustice being an inequality, the judge tries to equalize it;
for in the case also in which one has received and the other has
inflicted a wound, or one has slain and the other been slain, the
suffering and the action have been unequally distributed; but the
judge tries to equalize by means of the penalty, taking away from
the gain of the assailant. For the term 'gain' is applied generally to
such cases, even if it be not a term appropriate to certain cases,
e.g. to the person who inflicts a woundand 'loss' to the sufferer;
at all events when the suffering has been estimated, the one is called
loss and the other gain. Therefore the equal is intermediate between
the greater and the less, but the gain and the loss are respectively
greater and less in contrary ways; more of the good and less of the
evil are gain, and the contrary is loss; intermediate between them is,
as we saw, equal, which we say is just; therefore corrective justice
will be the intermediate between loss and gain. This is why, when
people dispute, they take refuge in the judge; and to go to the
judge is to go to justice; for the nature of the judge is to be a sort
of animate justice; and they seek the judge as an intermediate, and in
some states they call judges mediators, on the assumption that if they
get what is intermediate they will get what is just. The just, then,
is an intermediate, since the judge is so. Now the judge restores
equality; it is as though there were a line divided into unequal
parts, and he took away that by which the greater segment exceeds
the half, and added it to the smaller segment. And when the whole
has been equally divided, then they say they have 'their own'-i.e.
when they have got what is equal. The equal is intermediate between
the greater and the lesser line according to arithmetical
proportion. It is for this reason also that it is called just
(sikaion), because it is a division into two equal parts (sicha), just
as if one were to call it sichaion; and the judge (sikastes) is one
who bisects (sichastes). For when something is subtracted from one
of two equals and added to the other, the other is in excess by
these two; since if what was taken from the one had not been added
to the other, the latter would have been in excess by one only. It
therefore exceeds the intermediate by one, and the intermediate
exceeds by one that from which something was taken. By this, then,
we shall recognize both what we must subtract from that which has
more, and what we must add to that which has less; we must add to
the latter that by which the intermediate exceeds it, and subtract
from the greatest that by which it exceeds the intermediate. Let the
lines AA', BB', CC' be equal to one another; from the line AA' let the
segment AE have been subtracted, and to the line CC' let the segment
CD have been added, so that the whole line DCC' exceeds the line EA'
by the segment CD and the segment CF; therefore it exceeds the line
BB' by the segment CD. (See diagram.)
  These names, both loss and gain, have come from voluntary
exchange; for to have more than one's own is called gaining, and to
have less than one's original share is called losing, e.g. in buying
and selling and in all other matters in which the law has left
people free to make their own terms; but when they get neither more
nor less but just what belongs to themselves, they say that they
have their own and that they neither lose nor gain.
  Therefore the just is intermediate between a sort of gain and a sort
of loss, viz. those which are involuntary; it consists in having an
equal amount before and after the transaction.

  Some think that reciprocity is without qualification just, as the
Pythagoreans said; for they defined justice without qualification as
reciprocity. Now 'reciprocity' fits neither distributive nor
rectificatory justice-yet people want even the justice of Rhadamanthus
to mean this:

  Should a man suffer what he did, right justice would be done

-for in many cases reciprocity and rectificatory justice are not in
accord; e.g. (1) if an official has inflicted a wound, he should not
be wounded in return, and if some one has wounded an official, he
ought not to be wounded only but punished in addition. Further (2)
there is a great difference between a voluntary and an involuntary
act. But in associations for exchange this sort of justice does hold
men together-reciprocity in accordance with a proportion and not on
the basis of precisely equal return. For it is by proportionate
requital that the city holds together. Men seek to return either
evil for evil-and if they cana not do so, think their position mere
slavery-or good for good-and if they cannot do so there is no
exchange, but it is by exchange that they hold together. This is why
they give a prominent place to the temple of the Graces-to promote the
requital of services; for this is characteristic of grace-we should
serve in return one who has shown grace to us, and should another time
take the initiative in showing it.
  Now proportionate return is secured by cross-conjunction. Let A be a
builder, B a shoemaker, C a house, D a shoe. The builder, then, must
get from the shoemaker the latter's work, and must himself give him in
return his own. If, then, first there is proportionate equality of
goods, and then reciprocal action takes place, the result we mention
will be effected. If not, the bargain is not equal, and does not hold;
for there is nothing to prevent the work of the one being better
than that of the other; they must therefore be equated. (And this is
true of the other arts also; for they would have been destroyed if
what the patient suffered had not been just what the agent did, and of
the same amount and kind.) For it is not two doctors that associate
for exchange, but a doctor and a farmer, or in general people who
are different and unequal; but these must be equated. This is why
all things that are exchanged must be somehow comparable. It is for
this end that money has been introduced, and it becomes in a sense
an intermediate; for it measures all things, and therefore the
excess and the defect-how many shoes are equal to a house or to a
given amount of food. The number of shoes exchanged for a house (or
for a given amount of food) must therefore correspond to the ratio
of builder to shoemaker. For if this be not so, there will be no
exchange and no intercourse. And this proportion will not be
effected unless the goods are somehow equal. All goods must
therefore be measured by some one thing, as we said before. Now this
unit is in truth demand, which holds all things together (for if men
did not need one another's goods at all, or did not need them equally,
there would be either no exchange or not the same exchange); but money
has become by convention a sort of representative of demand; and
this is why it has the name 'money' (nomisma)-because it exists not by
nature but by law (nomos) and it is in our power to change it and make
it useless. There will, then, be reciprocity when the terms have
been equated so that as farmer is to shoemaker, the amount of the
shoemaker's work is to that of the farmer's work for which it
exchanges. But we must not bring them into a figure of proportion when
they have already exchanged (otherwise one extreme will have both
excesses), but when they still have their own goods. Thus they are
equals and associates just because this equality can be effected in
their case. Let A be a farmer, C food, B a shoemaker, D his product
equated to C. If it had not been possible for reciprocity to be thus
effected, there would have been no association of the parties. That
demand holds things together as a single unit is shown by the fact
that when men do not need one another, i.e. when neither needs the
other or one does not need the other, they do not exchange, as we do
when some one wants what one has oneself, e.g. when people permit
the exportation of corn in exchange for wine. This equation
therefore must be established. And for the future exchange-that if
we do not need a thing now we shall have it if ever we do need
it-money is as it were our surety; for it must be possible for us to
get what we want by bringing the money. Now the same thing happens
to money itself as to goods-it is not always worth the same; yet it
tends to be steadier. This is why all goods must have a price set on
them; for then there will always be exchange, and if so, association
of man with man. Money, then, acting as a measure, makes goods
commensurate and equates them; for neither would there have been
association if there were not exchange, nor exchange if there were not
equality, nor equality if there were not commensurability. Now in
truth it is impossible that things differing so much should become
commensurate, but with reference to demand they may become so
sufficiently. There must, then, be a unit, and that fixed by agreement
(for which reason it is called money); for it is this that makes all
things commensurate, since all things are measured by money. Let A
be a house, B ten minae, C a bed. A is half of B, if the house is
worth five minae or equal to them; the bed, C, is a tenth of B; it
is plain, then, how many beds are equal to a house, viz. five. That
exchange took place thus before there was money is plain; for it makes
no difference whether it is five beds that exchange for a house, or
the money value of five beds.
  We have now defined the unjust and the just. These having been
marked off from each other, it is plain that just action is
intermediate between acting unjustly and being unjustly treated; for
the one is to have too much and the other to have too little.
Justice is a kind of mean, but not in the same way as the other
virtues, but because it relates to an intermediate amount, while
injustice relates to the extremes. And justice is that in virtue of
which the just man is said to be a doer, by choice, of that which is
just, and one who will distribute either between himself and another
or between two others not so as to give more of what is desirable to
himself and less to his neighbour (and conversely with what is
harmful), but so as to give what is equal in accordance with
proportion; and similarly in distributing between two other persons.
Injustice on the other hand is similarly related to the unjust,
which is excess and defect, contrary to proportion, of the useful or
hurtful. For which reason injustice is excess and defect, viz. because
it is productive of excess and defect-in one's own case excess of what
is in its own nature useful and defect of what is hurtful, while in
the case of others it is as a whole like what it is in one's own case,
but proportion may be violated in either direction. In the unjust
act to have too little is to be unjustly treated; to have too much
is to act unjustly.
  Let this be taken as our account of the nature of justice and
injustice, and similarly of the just and the unjust in general.

  Since acting unjustly does not necessarily imply being unjust, we
must ask what sort of unjust acts imply that the doer is unjust with
respect to each type of injustice, e.g. a thief, an adulterer, or a
brigand. Surely the answer does not turn on the difference between
these types. For a man might even lie with a woman knowing who she
was, but the origin of his might be not deliberate choice but passion.
He acts unjustly, then, but is not unjust; e.g. a man is not a
thief, yet he stole, nor an adulterer, yet he committed adultery;
and similarly in all other cases.
  Now we have previously stated how the reciprocal is related to the
just; but we must not forget that what we are looking for is not
only what is just without qualification but also political justice.
This is found among men who share their life with a view to
selfsufficiency, men who are free and either proportionately or
arithmetically equal, so that between those who do not fulfil this
condition there is no political justice but justice in a special sense
and by analogy. For justice exists only between men whose mutual
relations are governed by law; and law exists for men between whom
there is injustice; for legal justice is the discrimination of the
just and the unjust. And between men between whom there is injustice
there is also unjust action (though there is not injustice between all
between whom there is unjust action), and this is assigning too much
to oneself of things good in themselves and too little of things
evil in themselves. This is why we do not allow a man to rule, but
rational principle, because a man behaves thus in his own interests
and becomes a tyrant. The magistrate on the other hand is the guardian
of justice, and, if of justice, then of equality also. And since he is
assumed to have no more than his share, if he is just (for he does not
assign to himself more of what is good in itself, unless such a
share is proportional to his merits-so that it is for others that he
labours, and it is for this reason that men, as we stated
previously, say that justice is 'another's good'), therefore a
reward must be given him, and this is honour and privilege; but
those for whom such things are not enough become tyrants.
  The justice of a master and that of a father are not the same as the
justice of citizens, though they are like it; for there can be no
injustice in the unqualified sense towards thing that are one's own,
but a man's chattel, and his child until it reaches a certain age
and sets up for itself, are as it were part of himself, and no one
chooses to hurt himself (for which reason there can be no injustice
towards oneself). Therefore the justice or injustice of citizens is
not manifested in these relations; for it was as we saw according to
law, and between people naturally subject to law, and these as we saw'
are people who have an equal share in ruling and being ruled. Hence
justice can more truly be manifested towards a wife than towards
children and chattels, for the former is household justice; but even
this is different from political justice.

  Of political justice part is natural, part legal, natural, that
which everywhere has the same force and does not exist by people's
thinking this or that; legal, that which is originally indifferent,
but when it has been laid down is not indifferent, e.g. that a
prisoner's ransom shall be a mina, or that a goat and not two sheep
shall be sacrificed, and again all the laws that are passed for
particular cases, e.g. that sacrifice shall be made in honour of
Brasidas, and the provisions of decrees. Now some think that all
justice is of this sort, because that which is by nature is
unchangeable and has everywhere the same force (as fire burns both
here and in Persia), while they see change in the things recognized as
just. This, however, is not true in this unqualified way, but is
true in a sense; or rather, with the gods it is perhaps not true at
all, while with us there is something that is just even by nature, yet
all of it is changeable; but still some is by nature, some not by
nature. It is evident which sort of thing, among things capable of
being otherwise, is by nature, and which is not but is legal and
conventional, assuming that both are equally changeable. And in all
other things the same distinction will apply; by nature the right hand
is stronger, yet it is possible that all men should come to be
ambidextrous. The things which are just by virtue of convention and
expediency are like measures; for wine and corn measures are not
everywhere equal, but larger in wholesale and smaller in retail
markets. Similarly, the things which are just not by nature but by
human enactment are not everywhere the same, since constitutions
also are not the same, though there is but one which is everywhere
by nature the best. Of things just and lawful each is related as the
universal to its particulars; for the things that are done are many,
but of them each is one, since it is universal.
  There is a difference between the act of injustice and what is
unjust, and between the act of justice and what is just; for a thing
is unjust by nature or by enactment; and this very thing, when it
has been done, is an act of injustice, but before it is done is not
yet that but is unjust. So, too, with an act of justice (though the
general term is rather 'just action', and 'act of justice' is
applied to the correction of the act of injustice).
  Each of these must later be examined separately with regard to the
nature and number of its species and the nature of the things with
which it is concerned.

  Acts just and unjust being as we have described them, a man acts
unjustly or justly whenever he does such acts voluntarily; when
involuntarily, he acts neither unjustly nor justly except in an
incidental way; for he does things which happen to be just or
unjust. Whether an act is or is not one of injustice (or of justice)
is determined by its voluntariness or involuntariness; for when it
is voluntary it is blamed, and at the same time is then an act of
injustice; so that there will be things that are unjust but not yet
acts of injustice, if voluntariness be not present as well. By the
voluntary I mean, as has been said before, any of the things in a
man's own power which he does with knowledge, i.e. not in ignorance
either of the person acted on or of the instrument used or of the
end that will be attained (e.g. whom he is striking, with what, and to
what end), each such act being done not incidentally nor under
compulsion (e.g. if A takes B's hand and therewith strikes C, B does
not act voluntarily; for the act was not in his own power). The person
struck may be the striker's father, and the striker may know that it
is a man or one of the persons present, but not know that it is his
father; a similar distinction may be made in the case of the end,
and with regard to the whole action. Therefore that which is done in
ignorance, or though not done in ignorance is not in the agent's
power, or is done under compulsion, is involuntary (for many natural
processes, even, we knowingly both perform and experience, none of
which is either voluntary or involuntary; e.g. growing old or
dying). But in the case of unjust and just acts alike the injustice or
justice may be only incidental; for a man might return a deposit
unwillingly and from fear, and then he must not be said either to do
what is just or to act justly, except in an incidental way.
Similarly the man who under compulsion and unwillingly fails to return
the deposit must be said to act unjustly, and to do what is unjust,
only incidentally. Of voluntary acts we do some by choice, others
not by choice; by choice those which we do after deliberation, not
by choice those which we do without previous deliberation. Thus
there are three kinds of injury in transactions between man and man;
those done in ignorance are mistakes when the person acted on, the
act, the instrument, or the end that will be attained is other than
the agent supposed; the agent thought either that he was not hiting
any one or that he was not hitting with this missile or not hitting
this person or to this end, but a result followed other than that
which he thought likely (e.g. he threw not with intent to wound but
only to prick), or the person hit or the missile was other than he
supposed. Now when (1) the injury takes place contrary to reasonable
expectation, it is a misadventure. When (2) it is not contrary to
reasonable expectation, but does not imply vice, it is a mistake
(for a man makes a mistake when the fault originates in him, but is
the victim of accident when the origin lies outside him). When (3)
he acts with knowledge but not after deliberation, it is an act of
injustice-e.g. the acts due to anger or to other passions necessary or
natural to man; for when men do such harmful and mistaken acts they
act unjustly, and the acts are acts of injustice, but this does not
imply that the doers are unjust or wicked; for the injury is not due
to vice. But when (4) a man acts from choice, he is an unjust man
and a vicious man.
  Hence acts proceeding from anger are rightly judged not to be done
of malice aforethought; for it is not the man who acts in anger but he
who enraged him that starts the mischief. Again, the matter in dispute
is not whether the thing happened or not, but its justice; for it is
apparent injustice that occasions rage. For they do not dispute
about the occurrence of the act-as in commercial transactions where
one of the two parties must be vicious-unless they do so owing to
forgetfulness; but, agreeing about the fact, they dispute on which
side justice lies (whereas a man who has deliberately injured
another cannot help knowing that he has done so), so that the one
thinks he is being treated unjustly and the other disagrees.
  But if a man harms another by choice, he acts unjustly; and these
are the acts of injustice which imply that the doer is an unjust
man, provided that the act violates proportion or equality. Similarly,
a man is just when he acts justly by choice; but he acts justly if
he merely acts voluntarily.
  Of involuntary acts some are excusable, others not. For the mistakes
which men make not only in ignorance but also from ignorance are
excusable, while those which men do not from ignorance but (though
they do them in ignorance) owing to a passion which is neither natural
nor such as man is liable to, are not excusable.

  Assuming that we have sufficiently defined the suffering and doing
of injustice, it may be asked (1) whether the truth in expressed in
Euripides' paradoxical words:

     I slew my mother, that's my tale in brief.
     Were you both willing, or unwilling both?

  Is it truly possible to be willingly treated unjustly, or is all
suffering of injustice the contrary involuntary, as all unjust
action is voluntary? And is all suffering of injustice of the latter
kind or else all of the former, or is it sometimes voluntary,
sometimes involuntary? So, too, with the case of being justly treated;
all just action is voluntary, so that it is reasonable that there
should be a similar opposition in either case-that both being unjustly
and being justly treated should be either alike voluntary or alike
involuntary. But it would be thought paradoxical even in the case of
being justly treated, if it were always voluntary; for some are
unwillingly treated justly. (2) One might raise this question also,
whether every one who has suffered what is unjust is being unjustly
treated, or on the other hand it is with suffering as with acting.
In action and in passivity alike it is possible to partake of
justice incidentally, and similarly (it is plain) of injustice; for to
do what is unjust is not the same as to act unjustly, nor to suffer
what is unjust as to be treated unjustly, and similarly in the case of
acting justly and being justly treated; for it is impossible to be
unjustly treated if the other does not act unjustly, or justly treated
unless he acts justly. Now if to act unjustly is simply to harm some
one voluntarily, and 'voluntarily' means 'knowing the person acted on,
the instrument, and the manner of one's acting', and the incontinent
man voluntarily harms himself, not only will he voluntarily be
unjustly treated but it will be possible to treat oneself unjustly.
(This also is one of the questions in doubt, whether a man can treat
himself unjustly.) Again, a man may voluntarily, owing to
incontinence, be harmed by another who acts voluntarily, so that it
would be possible to be voluntarily treated unjustly. Or is our
definition incorrect; must we to 'harming another, with knowledge both
of the person acted on, of the instrument, and of the manner' add
'contrary to the wish of the person acted on'? Then a man may be
voluntarily harmed and voluntarily suffer what is unjust, but no one
is voluntarily treated unjustly; for no one wishes to be unjustly
treated, not even the incontinent man. He acts contrary to his wish;
for no one wishes for what he does not think to be good, but the
incontinent man does do things that he does not think he ought to
do. Again, one who gives what is his own, as Homer says Glaucus gave

  Armour of gold for brazen, the price of a hundred beeves for nine,

is not unjustly treated; for though to give is in his power, to be
unjustly treated is not, but there must be some one to treat him
unjustly. It is plain, then, that being unjustly treated is not
  Of the questions we intended to discuss two still remain for
discussion; (3) whether it is the man who has assigned to another more
than his share that acts unjustly, or he who has the excessive
share, and (4) whether it is possible to treat oneself unjustly. The
questions are connected; for if the former alternative is possible and
the distributor acts unjustly and not the man who has the excessive
share, then if a man assigns more to another than to himself,
knowingly and voluntarily, he treats himself unjustly; which is what
modest people seem to do, since the virtuous man tends to take less
than his share. Or does this statement too need qualification? For (a)
he perhaps gets more than his share of some other good, e.g. of honour
or of intrinsic nobility. (b) The question is solved by applying the
distinction we applied to unjust action; for he suffers nothing
contrary to his own wish, so that he is not unjustly treated as far as
this goes, but at most only suffers harm.
  It is plain too that the distributor acts unjustly, but not always
the man who has the excessive share; for it is not he to whom what
is unjust appertains that acts unjustly, but he to whom it
appertains to do the unjust act voluntarily, i.e. the person in whom
lies the origin of the action, and this lies in the distributor, not
in the receiver. Again, since the word 'do' is ambiguous, and there is
a sense in which lifeless things, or a hand, or a servant who obeys an
order, may be said to slay, he who gets an excessive share does not
act unjustly, though he 'does' what is unjust.
  Again, if the distributor gave his judgement in ignorance, he does
not act unjustly in respect of legal justice, and his judgement is not
unjust in this sense, but in a sense it is unjust (for legal justice
and primordial justice are different); but if with knowledge he judged
unjustly, he is himself aiming at an excessive share either of
gratitude or of revenge. As much, then, as if he were to share in
the plunder, the man who has judged unjustly for these reasons has got
too much; the fact that what he gets is different from what he
distributes makes no difference, for even if he awards land with a
view to sharing in the plunder he gets not land but money.
  Men think that acting unjustly is in their power, and therefore that
being just is easy. But it is not; to lie with one's neighbour's wife,
to wound another, to deliver a bribe, is easy and in our power, but to
do these things as a result of a certain state of character is neither
easy nor in our power. Similarly to know what is just and what is
unjust requires, men think, no great wisdom, because it is not hard to
understand the matters dealt with by the laws (though these are not
the things that are just, except incidentally); but how actions must
be done and distributions effected in order to be just, to know this
is a greater achievement than knowing what is good for the health;
though even there, while it is easy to know that honey, wine,
hellebore, cautery, and the use of the knife are so, to know how, to
whom, and when these should be applied with a view to producing
health, is no less an achievement than that of being a physician.
Again, for this very reason men think that acting unjustly is
characteristic of the just man no less than of the unjust, because
he would be not less but even more capable of doing each of these
unjust acts; for he could lie with a woman or wound a neighbour; and
the brave man could throw away his shield and turn to flight in this
direction or in that. But to play the coward or to act unjustly
consists not in doing these things, except incidentally, but in
doing them as the result of a certain state of character, just as to
practise medicine and healing consists not in applying or not applying
the knife, in using or not using medicines, but in doing so in a
certain way.
  Just acts occur between people who participate in things good in
themselves and can have too much or too little of them; for some
beings (e.g. presumably the gods) cannot have too much of them, and to
others, those who are incurably bad, not even the smallest share in
them is beneficial but all such goods are harmful, while to others
they are beneficial up to a point; therefore justice is essentially
something human.
  Our next subject is equity and the equitable (to epiekes), and their
respective relations to justice and the just. For on examination
they appear to be neither absolutely the same nor generically
different; and while we sometime praise what is equitable and the
equitable man (so that we apply the name by way of praise even to
instances of the other virtues, instead of 'good' meaning by
epieikestebon that a thing is better), at other times, when we
reason it out, it seems strange if the equitable, being something
different from the just, is yet praiseworthy; for either the just or
the equitable is not good, if they are different; or, if both are
good, they are the same.
  These, then, are pretty much the considerations that give rise to
the problem about the equitable; they are all in a sense correct and
not opposed to one another; for the equitable, though it is better
than one kind of justice, yet is just, and it is not as being a
different class of thing that it is better than the just. The same
thing, then, is just and equitable, and while both are good the
equitable is superior. What creates the problem is that the
equitable is just, but not the legally just but a correction of
legal justice. The reason is that all law is universal but about
some things it is not possible to make a universal statement which
shall be correct. In those cases, then, in which it is necessary to
speak universally, but not possible to do so correctly, the law
takes the usual case, though it is not ignorant of the possibility
of error. And it is none the less correct; for the error is in the law
nor in the legislator but in the nature of the thing, since the matter
of practical affairs is of this kind from the start. When the law
speaks universally, then, and a case arises on it which is not covered
by the universal statement, then it is right, where the legislator
fails us and has erred by oversimplicity, to correct the omission-to
say what the legislator himself would have said had he been present,
and would have put into his law if he had known. Hence the equitable
is just, and better than one kind of justice-not better than
absolute justice but better than the error that arises from the
absoluteness of the statement. And this is the nature of the
equitable, a correction of law where it is defective owing to its
universality. In fact this is the reason why all things are not
determined by law, that about some things it is impossible to lay down
a law, so that a decree is needed. For when the thing is indefinite
the rule also is indefinite, like the leaden rule used in making the
Lesbian moulding; the rule adapts itself to the shape of the stone and
is not rigid, and so too the decree is adapted to the facts.
  It is plain, then, what the equitable is, and that it is just and is
better than one kind of justice. It is evident also from this who
the equitable man is; the man who chooses and does such acts, and is
no stickler for his rights in a bad sense but tends to take less
than his share though he has the law oft his side, is equitable, and
this state of character is equity, which is a sort of justice and
not a different state of character.

  Whether a man can treat himself unjustly or not, is evident from
what has been said. For (a) one class of just acts are those acts in
accordance with any virtue which are prescribed by the law; e.g. the
law does not expressly permit suicide, and what it does not
expressly permit it forbids. Again, when a man in violation of the law
harms another (otherwise than in retaliation) voluntarily, he acts
unjustly, and a voluntary agent is one who knows both the person he is
affecting by his action and the instrument he is using; and he who
through anger voluntarily stabs himself does this contrary to the
right rule of life, and this the law does not allow; therefore he is
acting unjustly. But towards whom? Surely towards the state, not
towards himself. For he suffers voluntarily, but no one is voluntarily
treated unjustly. This is also the reason why the state punishes; a
certain loss of civil rights attaches to the man who destroys himself,
on the ground that he is treating the state unjustly.
  Further (b) in that sense of 'acting unjustly' in which the man
who 'acts unjustly' is unjust only and not bad all round, it is not
possible to treat oneself unjustly (this is different from the
former sense; the unjust man in one sense of the term is wicked in a
particularized way just as the coward is, not in the sense of being
wicked all round, so that his 'unjust act' does not manifest
wickedness in general). For (i) that would imply the possibility of
the same thing's having been subtracted from and added to the same
thing at the same time; but this is impossible-the just and the unjust
always involve more than one person. Further, (ii) unjust action is
voluntary and done by choice, and takes the initiative (for the man
who because he has suffered does the same in return is not thought
to act unjustly); but if a man harms himself he suffers and does the
same things at the same time. Further, (iii) if a man could treat
himself unjustly, he could be voluntarily treated unjustly. Besides,
(iv) no one acts unjustly without committing particular acts of
injustice; but no one can commit adultery with his own wife or
housebreaking on his own house or theft on his own property,
  In general, the question 'can a man treat himself unjustly?' is
solved also by the distinction we applied to the question 'can a man
be voluntarily treated unjustly?'
  (It is evident too that both are bad, being unjustly treated and
acting unjustly; for the one means having less and the other having
more than the intermediate amount, which plays the part here that
the healthy does in the medical art, and that good condition does in
the art of bodily training. But still acting unjustly is the worse,
for it involves vice and is blameworthy-involves vice which is
either of the complete and unqualified kind or almost so (we must
admit the latter alternative, because not all voluntary unjust
action implies injustice as a state of character), while being
unjustly treated does not involve vice and injustice in oneself. In
itself, then, being unjustly treated is less bad, but there is nothing
to prevent its being incidentally a greater evil. But theory cares
nothing for this; it calls pleurisy a more serious mischief than a
stumble; yet the latter may become incidentally the more serious, if
the fall due to it leads to your being taken prisoner or put to
death the enemy.)
  Metaphorically and in virtue of a certain resemblance there is a
justice, not indeed between a man and himself, but between certain
parts of him; yet not every kind of justice but that of master and
servant or that of husband and wife. For these are the ratios in which
the part of the soul that has a rational principle stands to the
irrational part; and it is with a view to these parts that people also
think a man can be unjust to himself, viz. because these parts are
liable to suffer something contrary to their respective desires; there
is therefore thought to be a mutual justice between them as between
ruler and ruled.
  Let this be taken as our account of justice and the other, i.e.
the other moral, virtues.
                              BOOK VI

  SINCE we have previously said that one ought to choose that which is
intermediate, not the excess nor the defect, and that the intermediate
is determined by the dictates of the right rule, let us discuss the
nature of these dictates. In all the states of character we have
mentioned, as in all other matters, there is a mark to which the man
who has the rule looks, and heightens or relaxes his activity
accordingly, and there is a standard which determines the mean
states which we say are intermediate between excess and defect,
being in accordance with the right rule. But such a statement,
though true, is by no means clear; for not only here but in all
other pursuits which are objects of knowledge it is indeed true to say
that we must not exert ourselves nor relax our efforts too much nor
too little, but to an intermediate extent and as the right rule
dictates; but if a man had only this knowledge he would be none the
wiser e.g. we should not know what sort of medicines to apply to our
body if some one were to say 'all those which the medical art
prescribes, and which agree with the practice of one who possesses the
art'. Hence it is necessary with regard to the states of the soul also
not only that this true statement should be made, but also that it
should be determined what is the right rule and what is the standard
that fixes it.
  We divided the virtues of the soul and a said that some are
virtues of character and others of intellect. Now we have discussed in
detail the moral virtues; with regard to the others let us express our
view as follows, beginning with some remarks about the soul. We said
before that there are two parts of the soul-that which grasps a rule
or rational principle, and the irrational; let us now draw a similar
distinction within the part which grasps a rational principle. And let
it be assumed that there are two parts which grasp a rational
principle-one by which we contemplate the kind of things whose
originative causes are invariable, and one by which we contemplate
variable things; for where objects differ in kind the part of the soul
answering to each of the two is different in kind, since it is in
virtue of a certain likeness and kinship with their objects that
they have the knowledge they have. Let one of these parts be called
the scientific and the other the calculative; for to deliberate and to
calculate are the same thing, but no one deliberates about the
invariable. Therefore the calculative is one part of the faculty which
grasps a rational principle. We must, then, learn what is the best
state of each of these two parts; for this is the virtue of each.

  The virtue of a thing is relative to its proper work. Now there
are three things in the soul which control action and truth-sensation,
reason, desire.
  Of these sensation originates no action; this is plain from the fact
that the lower animals have sensation but no share in action.
  What affirmation and negation are in thinking, pursuit and avoidance
are in desire; so that since moral virtue is a state of character
concerned with choice, and choice is deliberate desire, therefore both
the reasoning must be true and the desire right, if the choice is to
be good, and the latter must pursue just what the former asserts.
Now this kind of intellect and of truth is practical; of the intellect
which is contemplative, not practical nor productive, the good and the
bad state are truth and falsity respectively (for this is the work
of everything intellectual); while of the part which is practical
and intellectual the good state is truth in agreement with right
  The origin of action-its efficient, not its final cause-is choice,
and that of choice is desire and reasoning with a view to an end. This
is why choice cannot exist either without reason and intellect or
without a moral state; for good action and its opposite cannot exist
without a combination of intellect and character. Intellect itself,
however, moves nothing, but only the intellect which aims at an end
and is practical; for this rules the productive intellect, as well,
since every one who makes makes for an end, and that which is made
is not an end in the unqualified sense (but only an end in a
particular relation, and the end of a particular operation)-only
that which is done is that; for good action is an end, and desire aims
at this. Hence choice is either desiderative reason or ratiocinative
desire, and such an origin of action is a man. (It is to be noted that
nothing that is past is an object of choice, e.g. no one chooses to
have sacked Troy; for no one deliberates about the past, but about
what is future and capable of being otherwise, while what is past is
not capable of not having taken place; hence Agathon is right in

     For this alone is lacking even to God,
     To make undone things thathave once been done.)

  The work of both the intellectual parts, then, is truth. Therefore
the states that are most strictly those in respect of which each of
these parts will reach truth are the virtues of the two parts.

  Let us begin, then, from the beginning, and discuss these states
once more. Let it be assumed that the states by virtue of which the
soul possesses truth by way of affirmation or denial are five in
number, i.e. art, scientific knowledge, practical wisdom,
philosophic wisdom, intuitive reason; we do not include judgement
and opinion because in these we may be mistaken.
  Now what scientific knowledge is, if we are to speak exactly and not
follow mere similarities, is plain from what follows. We all suppose
that what we know is not even capable of being otherwise; of things
capable of being otherwise we do not know, when they have passed
outside our observation, whether they exist or not. Therefore the
object of scientific knowledge is of necessity. Therefore it is
eternal; for things that are of necessity in the unqualified sense are
all eternal; and things that are eternal are ungenerated and
imperishable. Again, every science is thought to be capable of being
taught, and its object of being learned. And all teaching starts
from what is already known, as we maintain in the Analytics also;
for it proceeds sometimes through induction and sometimes by
syllogism. Now induction is the starting-point which knowledge even of
the universal presupposes, while syllogism proceeds from universals.
There are therefore starting-points from which syllogism proceeds,
which are not reached by syllogism; it is therefore by induction
that they are acquired. Scientific knowledge is, then, a state of
capacity to demonstrate, and has the other limiting characteristics
which we specify in the Analytics, for it is when a man believes in
a certain way and the starting-points are known to him that he has
scientific knowledge, since if they are not better known to him than
the conclusion, he will have his knowledge only incidentally.
  Let this, then, be taken as our account of scientific knowledge.

  In the variable are included both things made and things done;
making and acting are different (for their nature we treat even the
discussions outside our school as reliable); so that the reasoned
state of capacity to act is different from the reasoned state of
capacity to make. Hence too they are not included one in the other;
for neither is acting making nor is making acting. Now since
architecture is an art and is essentially a reasoned state of capacity
to make, and there is neither any art that is not such a state nor any
such state that is not an art, art is identical with a state of
capacity to make, involving a true course of reasoning. All art is
concerned with coming into being, i.e. with contriving and considering
how something may come into being which is capable of either being
or not being, and whose origin is in the maker and not in the thing
made; for art is concerned neither with things that are, or come
into being, by necessity, nor with things that do so in accordance
with nature (since these have their origin in themselves). Making
and acting being different, art must be a matter of making, not of
acting. And in a sense chance and art are concerned with the same
objects; as Agathon says, 'art loves chance and chance loves art'.
Art, then, as has been is a state concerned with making, involving a
true course of reasoning, and lack of art on the contrary is a state
concerned with making, involving a false course of reasoning; both are
concerned with the variable.

  Regarding practical wisdom we shall get at the truth by
considering who are the persons we credit with it. Now it is thought
to be the mark of a man of practical wisdom to be able to deliberate
well about what is good and expedient for himself, not in some
particular respect, e.g. about what sorts of thing conduce to health
or to strength, but about what sorts of thing conduce to the good life
in general. This is shown by the fact that we credit men with
practical wisdom in some particular respect when they have
calculated well with a view to some good end which is one of those
that are not the object of any art. It follows that in the general
sense also the man who is capable of deliberating has practical
wisdom. Now no one deliberates about things that are invariable, nor
about things that it is impossible for him to do. Therefore, since
scientific knowledge involves demonstration, but there is no
demonstration of things whose first principles are variable (for all
such things might actually be otherwise), and since it is impossible
to deliberate about things that are of necessity, practical wisdom
cannot be scientific knowledge nor art; not science because that which
can be done is capable of being otherwise, not art because action
and making are different kinds of thing. The remaining alternative,
then, is that it is a true and reasoned state of capacity to act
with regard to the things that are good or bad for man. For while
making has an end other than itself, action cannot; for good action
itself is its end. It is for this reason that we think Pericles and
men like him have practical wisdom, viz. because they can see what
is good for themselves and what is good for men in general; we
consider that those can do this who are good at managing households or
states. (This is why we call temperance (sophrosune) by this name;
we imply that it preserves one's practical wisdom (sozousa tan
phronsin). Now what it preserves is a judgement of the kind we have
described. For it is not any and every judgement that pleasant and
painful objects destroy and pervert, e.g. the judgement that the
triangle has or has not its angles equal to two right angles, but only
judgements about what is to be done. For the originating causes of the
things that are done consist in the end at which they are aimed; but
the man who has been ruined by pleasure or pain forthwith fails to see
any such originating cause-to see that for the sake of this or because
of this he ought to choose and do whatever he chooses and does; for
vice is destructive of the originating cause of action.) Practical
wisdom, then, must be a reasoned and true state of capacity to act
with regard to human goods. But further, while there is such a thing
as excellence in art, there is no such thing as excellence in
practical wisdom; and in art he who errs willingly is preferable,
but in practical wisdom, as in the virtues, he is the reverse.
Plainly, then, practical wisdom is a virtue and not an art. There
being two parts of the soul that can follow a course of reasoning,
it must be the virtue of one of the two, i.e. of that part which forms
opinions; for opinion is about the variable and so is practical
wisdom. But yet it is not only a reasoned state; this is shown by
the fact that a state of that sort may forgotten but practical
wisdom cannot.

  Scientific knowledge is judgement about things that are universal
and necessary, and the conclusions of demonstration, and all
scientific knowledge, follow from first principles (for scientific
knowledge involves apprehension of a rational ground). This being
so, the first principle from which what is scientifically known
follows cannot be an object of scientific knowledge, of art, or of
practical wisdom; for that which can be scientifically known can be
demonstrated, and art and practical wisdom deal with things that are
variable. Nor are these first principles the objects of philosophic
wisdom, for it is a mark of the philosopher to have demonstration
about some things. If, then, the states of mind by which we have truth
and are never deceived about things invariable or even variable are
scientific knowlededge, practical wisdom, philosophic wisdom, and
intuitive reason, and it cannot be any of the three (i.e. practical
wisdom, scientific knowledge, or philosophic wisdom), the remaining
alternative is that it is intuitive reason that grasps the first

  Wisdom (1) in the arts we ascribe to their most finished
exponents, e.g. to Phidias as a sculptor and to Polyclitus as a
maker of portrait-statues, and here we mean nothing by wisdom except
excellence in art; but (2) we think that some people are wise in
general, not in some particular field or in any other limited respect,
as Homer says in the Margites,

     Him did the gods make neither a digger nor yet a ploughman
     Nor wise in anything else.

Therefore wisdom must plainly be the most finished of the forms of
knowledge. It follows that the wise man must not only know what
follows from the first principles, but must also possess truth about
the first principles. Therefore wisdom must be intuitive reason
combined with scientific knowledge-scientific knowledge of the highest
objects which has received as it were its proper completion.
  Of the highest objects, we say; for it would be strange to think
that the art of politics, or practical wisdom, is the best
knowledge, since man is not the best thing in the world. Now if what
is healthy or good is different for men and for fishes, but what is
white or straight is always the same, any one would say that what is
wise is the same but what is practically wise is different; for it
is to that which observes well the various matters concerning itself
that one ascribes practical wisdom, and it is to this that one will
entrust such matters. This is why we say that some even of the lower
animals have practical wisdom, viz. those which are found to have a
power of foresight with regard to their own life. It is evident also
that philosophic wisdom and the art of politics cannot be the same;
for if the state of mind concerned with a man's own interests is to be
called philosophic wisdom, there will be many philosophic wisdoms;
there will not be one concerned with the good of all animals (any more
than there is one art of medicine for all existing things), but a
different philosophic wisdom about the good of each species.
  But if the argument be that man is the best of the animals, this
makes no difference; for there are other things much more divine in
their nature even than man, e.g., most conspicuously, the bodies of
which the heavens are framed. From what has been said it is plain,
then, that philosophic wisdom is scientific knowledge, combined with
intuitive reason, of the things that are highest by nature. This is
why we say Anaxagoras, Thales, and men like them have philosophic
but not practical wisdom, when we see them ignorant of what is to
their own advantage, and why we say that they know things that are
remarkable, admirable, difficult, and divine, but useless; viz.
because it is not human goods that they seek.
  Practical wisdom on the other hand is concerned with things human
and things about which it is possible to deliberate; for we say this
is above all the work of the man of practical wisdom, to deliberate
well, but no one deliberates about things invariable, nor about things
which have not an end, and that a good that can be brought about by
action. The man who is without qualification good at deliberating is
the man who is capable of aiming in accordance with calculation at the
best for man of things attainable by action. Nor is practical wisdom
concerned with universals only-it must also recognize the particulars;
for it is practical, and practice is concerned with particulars.
This is why some who do not know, and especially those who have
experience, are more practical than others who know; for if a man knew
that light meats are digestible and wholesome, but did not know
which sorts of meat are light, he would not produce health, but the
man who knows that chicken is wholesome is more likely to produce
  Now practical wisdom is concerned with action; therefore one
should have both forms of it, or the latter in preference to the
former. But of practical as of philosophic wisdom there must be a
controlling kind.

  Political wisdom and practical wisdom are the same state of mind,
but their essence is not the same. Of the wisdom concerned with the
city, the practical wisdom which plays a controlling part is
legislative wisdom, while that which is related to this as particulars
to their universal is known by the general name 'political wisdom';
this has to do with action and deliberation, for a decree is a thing
to be carried out in the form of an individual act. This is why the
exponents of this art are alone said to 'take part in politics'; for
these alone 'do things' as manual labourers 'do things'.
  Practical wisdom also is identified especially with that form of
it which is concerned with a man himself-with the individual; and this
is known by the general name 'practical wisdom'; of the other kinds
one is called household management, another legislation, the third
politics, and of the latter one part is called deliberative and the
other judicial. Now knowing what is good for oneself will be one
kind of knowledge, but it is very different from the other kinds;
and the man who knows and concerns himself with his own interests is
thought to have practical wisdom, while politicians are thought to
be busybodies; hence the word of Euripides,

     But how could I be wise, who might at ease,
     Numbered among the army's multitude,
     Have had an equal share?
     For those who aim too high and do too much.

Those who think thus seek their own good, and consider that one
ought to do so. From this opinion, then, has come the view that such
men have practical wisdom; yet perhaps one's own good cannot exist
without household management, nor without a form of government.
Further, how one should order one's own affairs is not clear and needs
  What has been said is confirmed by the fact that while young men
become geometricians and mathematicians and wise in matters like
these, it is thought that a young man of practical wisdom cannot be
found. The cause is that such wisdom is concerned not only with
universals but with particulars, which become familiar from
experience, but a young man has no experience, for it is length of
time that gives experience; indeed one might ask this question too,
why a boy may become a mathematician, but not a philosopher or a
physicist. It is because the objects of mathematics exist by
abstraction, while the first principles of these other subjects come
from experience, and because young men have no conviction about the
latter but merely use the proper language, while the essence of
mathematical objects is plain enough to them?
  Further, error in deliberation may be either about the universal
or about the particular; we may fall to know either that all water
that weighs heavy is bad, or that this particular water weighs heavy.
  That practical wisdom is not scientific knowledge is evident; for it
is, as has been said, concerned with the ultimate particular fact,
since the thing to be done is of this nature. It is opposed, then,
to intuitive reason; for intuitive reason is of the limiting
premisses, for which no reason can be given, while practical wisdom is
concerned with the ultimate particular, which is the object not of
scientific knowledge but of perception-not the perception of qualities
peculiar to one sense but a perception akin to that by which we
perceive that the particular figure before us is a triangle; for in
that direction as well as in that of the major premiss there will be a
limit. But this is rather perception than practical wisdom, though
it is another kind of perception than that of the qualities peculiar
to each sense.

  There is a difference between inquiry and deliberation; for
deliberation is inquiry into a particular kind of thing. We must grasp
the nature of excellence in deliberation as well whether it is a
form of scientific knowledge, or opinion, or skill in conjecture, or
some other kind of thing. Scientific knowledge it is not; for men do
not inquire about the things they know about, but good deliberation is
a kind of deliberation, and he who deliberates inquires and
calculates. Nor is it skill in conjecture; for this both involves no
reasoning and is something that is quick in its operation, while men
deliberate a long time, and they say that one should carry out quickly
the conclusions of one's deliberation, but should deliberate slowly.
Again, readiness of mind is different from excellence in deliberation;
it is a sort of skill in conjecture. Nor again is excellence in
deliberation opinion of any sort. But since the man who deliberates
badly makes a mistake, while he who deliberates well does so
correctly, excellence in deliberation is clearly a kind of
correctness, but neither of knowledge nor of opinion; for there is
no such thing as correctness of knowledge (since there is no such
thing as error of knowledge), and correctness of opinion is truth; and
at the same time everything that is an object of opinion is already
determined. But again excellence in deliberation involves reasoning.
The remaining alternative, then, is that it is correctness of
thinking; for this is not yet assertion, since, while even opinion
is not inquiry but has reached the stage of assertion, the man who
is deliberating, whether he does so well or ill, is searching for
something and calculating.
  But excellence in deliberation is a certain correctness of
deliberation; hence we must first inquire what deliberation is and
what it is about. And, there being more than one kind of
correctness, plainly excellence in deliberation is not any and every
kind; for (1) the incontinent man and the bad man, if he is clever,
will reach as a result of his calculation what he sets before himself,
so that he will have deliberated correctly, but he will have got for
himself a great evil. Now to have deliberated well is thought to be
a good thing; for it is this kind of correctness of deliberation
that is excellence in deliberation, viz. that which tends to attain
what is good. But (2) it is possible to attain even good by a false
syllogism, and to attain what one ought to do but not by the right
means, the middle term being false; so that this too is not yet
excellence in deliberation this state in virtue of which one attains
what one ought but not by the right means. Again (3) it is possible to
attain it by long deliberation while another man attains it quickly.
Therefore in the former case we have not yet got excellence in
deliberation, which is rightness with regard to the
expedient-rightness in respect both of the end, the manner, and the
time. (4) Further it is possible to have deliberated well either in
the unqualified sense or with reference to a particular end.
Excellence in deliberation in the unqualified sense, then, is that
which succeeds with reference to what is the end in the unqualified
sense, and excellence in deliberation in a particular sense is that
which succeeds relatively to a particular end. If, then, it is
characteristic of men of practical wisdom to have deliberated well,
excellence in deliberation will be correctness with regard to what
conduces to the end of which practical wisdom is the true

  Understanding, also, and goodness of understanding, in virtue of
which men are said to be men of understanding or of good
understanding, are neither entirely the same as opinion or
scientific knowledge (for at that rate all men would have been men
of understanding), nor are they one of the particular sciences, such
as medicine, the science of things connected with health, or geometry,
the science of spatial magnitudes. For understanding is neither
about things that are always and are unchangeable, nor about any and
every one of the things that come into being, but about things which
may become subjects of questioning and deliberation. Hence it is about
the same objects as practical wisdom; but understanding and
practical wisdom are not the same. For practical wisdom issues
commands, since its end is what ought to be done or not to be done;
but understanding only judges. (Understanding is identical with
goodness of understanding, men of understanding with men of good
understanding.) Now understanding is neither the having nor the
acquiring of practical wisdom; but as learning is called understanding
when it means the exercise of the faculty of knowledge, so
'understanding' is applicable to the exercise of the faculty of
opinion for the purpose of judging of what some one else says about
matters with which practical wisdom is concerned-and of judging
soundly; for 'well' and 'soundly' are the same thing. And from this
has come the use of the name 'understanding' in virtue of which men
are said to be 'of good understanding', viz. from the application of
the word to the grasping of scientific truth; for we often call such
grasping understanding.

  What is called judgement, in virtue of which men are said to 'be
sympathetic judges' and to 'have judgement', is the right
discrimination of the equitable. This is shown by the fact that we say
the equitable man is above all others a man of sympathetic
judgement, and identify equity with sympathetic judgement about
certain facts. And sympathetic judgement is judgement which
discriminates what is equitable and does so correctly; and correct
judgement is that which judges what is true.
  Now all the states we have considered converge, as might be
expected, to the same point; for when we speak of judgement and
understanding and practical wisdom and intuitive reason we credit
the same people with possessing judgement and having reached years
of reason and with having practical wisdom and understanding. For
all these faculties deal with ultimates, i.e. with particulars; and
being a man of understanding and of good or sympathetic judgement
consists in being able judge about the things with which practical
wisdom is concerned; for the equities are common to all good men in
relation to other men. Now all things which have to be done are
included among particulars or ultimates; for not only must the man
of practical wisdom know particular facts, but understanding and
judgement are also concerned with things to be done, and these are
ultimates. And intuitive reason is concerned with the ultimates in
both directions; for both the first terms and the last are objects
of intuitive reason and not of argument, and the intuitive reason
which is presupposed by demonstrations grasps the unchangeable and
first terms, while the intuitive reason involved in practical
reasonings grasps the last and variable fact, i.e. the minor
premiss. For these variable facts are the starting-points for the
apprehension of the end, since the universals are reached from the
particulars; of these therefore we must have perception, and this
perception is intuitive reason.
  This is why these states are thought to be natural endowments-why,
while no one is thought to be a philosopher by nature, people are
thought to have by nature judgement, understanding, and intuitive
reason. This is shown by the fact that we think our powers
correspond to our time of life, and that a particular age brings
with it intuitive reason and judgement; this implies that nature is
the cause. (Hence intuitive reason is both beginning and end; for
demonstrations are from these and about these.) Therefore we ought
to attend to the undemonstrated sayings and opinions of experienced
and older people or of people of practical wisdom not less than to
demonstrations; for because experience has given them an eye they
see aright.
  We have stated, then, what practical and philosophic wisdom are, and
with what each of them is concerned, and we have said that each is the
virtue of a different part of the soul.

  Difficulties might be raised as to the utility of these qualities of
mind. For (1) philosophic wisdom will contemplate none of the things
that will make a man happy (for it is not concerned with any coming
into being), and though practical wisdom has this merit, for what
purpose do we need it? Practical wisdom is the quality of mind
concerned with things just and noble and good for man, but these are
the things which it is the mark of a good man to do, and we are none
the more able to act for knowing them if the virtues are states of
character, just as we are none the better able to act for knowing
the things that are healthy and sound, in the sense not of producing
but of issuing from the state of health; for we are none the more able
to act for having the art of medicine or of gymnastics. But (2) if
we are to say that a man should have practical wisdom not for the sake
of knowing moral truths but for the sake of becoming good, practical
wisdom will be of no use to those who are good; again it is of no
use to those who have not virtue; for it will make no difference
whether they have practical wisdom themselves or obey others who
have it, and it would be enough for us to do what we do in the case of
health; though we wish to become healthy, yet we do not learn the
art of medicine. (3) Besides this, it would be thought strange if
practical wisdom, being inferior to philosophic wisdom, is to be put
in authority over it, as seems to be implied by the fact that the
art which produces anything rules and issues commands about that
  These, then, are the questions we must discuss; so far we have
only stated the difficulties.
  (1) Now first let us say that in themselves these states must be
worthy of choice because they are the virtues of the two parts of
the soul respectively, even if neither of them produce anything.
  (2) Secondly, they do produce something, not as the art of
medicine produces health, however, but as health produces health; so
does philosophic wisdom produce happiness; for, being a part of virtue
entire, by being possessed and by actualizing itself it makes a man
  (3) Again, the work of man is achieved only in accordance with
practical wisdom as well as with moral virtue; for virtue makes us aim
at the right mark, and practical wisdom makes us take the right means.
(Of the fourth part of the soul-the nutritive-there is no such virtue;
for there is nothing which it is in its power to do or not to do.)
  (4) With regard to our being none the more able to do because of our
practical wisdom what is noble and just, let us begin a little further
back, starting with the following principle. As we say that some
people who do just acts are not necessarily just, i.e. those who do
the acts ordained by the laws either unwillingly or owing to ignorance
or for some other reason and not for the sake of the acts themselves
(though, to be sure, they do what they should and all the things
that the good man ought), so is it, it seems, that in order to be good
one must be in a certain state when one does the several acts, i.e.
one must do them as a result of choice and for the sake of the acts
themselves. Now virtue makes the choice right, but the question of the
things which should naturally be done to carry out our choice
belongs not to virtue but to another faculty. We must devote our
attention to these matters and give a clearer statement about them.
There is a faculty which is called cleverness; and this is such as
to be able to do the things that tend towards the mark we have set
before ourselves, and to hit it. Now if the mark be noble, the
cleverness is laudable, but if the mark be bad, the cleverness is mere
smartness; hence we call even men of practical wisdom clever or smart.
Practical wisdom is not the faculty, but it does not exist without
this faculty. And this eye of the soul acquires its formed state not
without the aid of virtue, as has been said and is plain; for the
syllogisms which deal with acts to be done are things which involve
a starting-point, viz. 'since the end, i.e. what is best, is of such
and such a nature', whatever it may be (let it for the sake of
argument be what we please); and this is not evident except to the
good man; for wickedness perverts us and causes us to be deceived
about the starting-points of action. Therefore it is evident that it
is impossible to be practically wise without being good.

  We must therefore consider virtue also once more; for virtue too
is similarly related; as practical wisdom is to cleverness-not the
same, but like it-so is natural virtue to virtue in the strict
sense. For all men think that each type of character belongs to its
possessors in some sense by nature; for from the very moment of
birth we are just or fitted for selfcontrol or brave or have the other
moral qualities; but yet we seek something else as that which is
good in the strict sense-we seek for the presence of such qualities in
another way. For both children and brutes have the natural
dispositions to these qualities, but without reason these are
evidently hurtful. Only we seem to see this much, that, while one
may be led astray by them, as a strong body which moves without
sight may stumble badly because of its lack of sight, still, if a
man once acquires reason, that makes a difference in action; and his
state, while still like what it was, will then be virtue in the strict
sense. Therefore, as in the part of us which forms opinions there
are two types, cleverness and practical wisdom, so too in the moral
part there are two types, natural virtue and virtue in the strict
sense, and of these the latter involves practical wisdom. This is
why some say that all the virtues are forms of practical wisdom, and
why Socrates in one respect was on the right track while in another he
went astray; in thinking that all the virtues were forms of
practical wisdom he was wrong, but in saying they implied practical
wisdom he was right. This is confirmed by the fact that even now all
men, when they define virtue, after naming the state of character
and its objects add 'that (state) which is in accordance with the
right rule'; now the right rule is that which is in accordance with
practical wisdom. All men, then, seem somehow to divine that this kind
of state is virtue, viz. that which is in accordance with practical
wisdom. But we must go a little further. For it is not merely the
state in accordance with the right rule, but the state that implies
the presence of the right rule, that is virtue; and practical wisdom
is a right rule about such matters. Socrates, then, thought the
virtues were rules or rational principles (for he thought they were,
all of them, forms of scientific knowledge), while we think they
involve a rational principle.
  It is clear, then, from what has been said, that it is not
possible to be good in the strict sense without practical wisdom,
nor practically wise without moral virtue. But in this way we may also
refute the dialectical argument whereby it might be contended that the
virtues exist in separation from each other; the same man, it might be
said, is not best equipped by nature for all the virtues, so that he
will have already acquired one when he has not yet acquired another.
This is possible in respect of the natural virtues, but not in respect
of those in respect of which a man is called without qualification
good; for with the presence of the one quality, practical wisdom, will
be given all the virtues. And it is plain that, even if it were of
no practical value, we should have needed it because it is the
virtue of the part of us in question; plain too that the choice will
not be right without practical wisdom any more than without virtue;
for the one deter, mines the end and the other makes us do the
things that lead to the end.
  But again it is not supreme over philosophic wisdom, i.e. over the
superior part of us, any more than the art of medicine is over health;
for it does not use it but provides for its coming into being; it
issues orders, then, for its sake, but not to it. Further, to maintain
its supremacy would be like saying that the art of politics rules
the gods because it issues orders about all the affairs of the state.
                              BOOK VII

  LET us now make a fresh beginning and point out that of moral states
to be avoided there are three kinds-vice, incontinence, brutishness.
The contraries of two of these are evident,-one we call virtue, the
other continence; to brutishness it would be most fitting to oppose
superhuman virtue, a heroic and divine kind of virtue, as Homer has
represented Priam saying of Hector that he was very good,

              For he seemed not, he,
     The child of a mortal man, but as one that of God's seed came.

  Therefore if, as they say, men become gods by excess of virtue, of
this kind must evidently be the state opposed to the brutish state;
for as a brute has no vice or virtue, so neither has a god; his
state is higher than virtue, and that of a brute is a different kind
of state from vice.
  Now, since it is rarely that a godlike man is found-to use the
epithet of the Spartans, who when they admire any one highly call
him a 'godlike man'-so too the brutish type is rarely found among men;
it is found chiefly among barbarians, but some brutish qualities are
also produced by disease or deformity; and we also call by this evil
name those men who go beyond all ordinary standards by reason of vice.
Of this kind of disposition, however, we must later make some mention,
while we have discussed vice before we must now discuss incontinence
and softness (or effeminacy), and continence and endurance; for we
must treat each of the two neither as identical with virtue or
wickedness, nor as a different genus. We must, as in all other
cases, set the observed facts before us and, after first discussing
the difficulties, go on to prove, if possible, the truth of all the
common opinions about these affections of the mind, or, failing
this, of the greater number and the most authoritative; for if we both
refute the objections and leave the common opinions undisturbed, we
shall have proved the case sufficiently.
  Now (1) both continence and endurance are thought to be included
among things good and praiseworthy, and both incontinence and soft,
ness among things bad and blameworthy; and the same man is thought
to be continent and ready to abide by the result of his
calculations, or incontinent and ready to abandon them. And (2) the
incontinent man, knowing that what he does is bad, does it as a result
of passion, while the continent man, knowing that his appetites are
bad, refuses on account of his rational principle to follow them (3)
The temperate man all men call continent and disposed to endurance,
while the continent man some maintain to be always temperate but
others do not; and some call the self-indulgent man incontinent and
the incontinent man selfindulgent indiscriminately, while others
distinguish them. (4) The man of practical wisdom, they sometimes say,
cannot be incontinent, while sometimes they say that some who are
practically wise and clever are incontinent. Again (5) men are said to
be incontinent even with respect to anger, honour, and gain.-These,
then, are the things that are said.

  Now we may ask (1) how a man who judges rightly can behave
incontinently. That he should behave so when he has knowledge, some
say is impossible; for it would be strange-so Socrates thought-if when
knowledge was in a man something else could master it and drag it
about like a slave. For Socrates was entirely opposed to the view in
question, holding that there is no such thing as incontinence; no one,
he said, when he judges acts against what he judges best-people act so
only by reason of ignorance. Now this view plainly contradicts the
observed facts, and we must inquire about what happens to such a
man; if he acts by reason of ignorance, what is the manner of his
ignorance? For that the man who behaves incontinently does not, before
he gets into this state, think he ought to act so, is evident. But
there are some who concede certain of Socrates' contentions but not
others; that nothing is stronger than knowledge they admit, but not
that on one acts contrary to what has seemed to him the better course,
and therefore they say that the incontinent man has not knowledge when
he is mastered by his pleasures, but opinion. But if it is opinion and
not knowledge, if it is not a strong conviction that resists but a
weak one, as in men who hesitate, we sympathize with their failure
to stand by such convictions against strong appetites; but we do not
sympathize with wickedness, nor with any of the other blameworthy
states. Is it then practical wisdom whose resistance is mastered? That
is the strongest of all states. But this is absurd; the same man
will be at once practically wise and incontinent, but no one would say
that it is the part of a practically wise man to do willingly the
basest acts. Besides, it has been shown before that the man of
practical wisdom is one who will act (for he is a man concerned with
the individual facts) and who has the other virtues.
  (2) Further, if continence involves having strong and bad appetites,
the temperate man will not be continent nor the continent man
temperate; for a temperate man will have neither excessive nor bad
appetites. But the continent man must; for if the appetites are
good, the state of character that restrains us from following them
is bad, so that not all continence will be good; while if they are
weak and not bad, there is nothing admirable in resisting them, and if
they are weak and bad, there is nothing great in resisting these
  (3) Further, if continence makes a man ready to stand by any and
every opinion, it is bad, i.e. if it makes him stand even by a false
opinion; and if incontinence makes a man apt to abandon any and
every opinion, there will be a good incontinence, of which
Sophocles' Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes will be an instance; for
he is to be praised for not standing by what Odysseus persuaded him to
do, because he is pained at telling a lie.
  (4) Further, the sophistic argument presents a difficulty; the
syllogism arising from men's wish to expose paradoxical results
arising from an opponent's view, in order that they may be admired
when they succeed, is one that puts us in a difficulty (for thought is
bound fast when it will not rest because the conclusion does not
satisfy it, and cannot advance because it cannot refute the argument).
There is an argument from which it follows that folly coupled with
incontinence is virtue; for a man does the opposite of what he judges,
owing to incontinence, but judges what is good to be evil and
something that he should not do, and consequence he will do what is
good and not what is evil.
  (5) Further, he who on conviction does and pursues and chooses
what is pleasant would be thought to be better than one who does so as
a result not of calculation but of incontinence; for he is easier to
cure since he may be persuaded to change his mind. But to the
incontinent man may be applied the proverb 'when water chokes, what is
one to wash it down with?' If he had been persuaded of the rightness
of what he does, he would have desisted when he was persuaded to
change his mind; but now he acts in spite of his being persuaded of
something quite different.
  (6) Further, if incontinence and continence are concerned with any
and every kind of object, who is it that is incontinent in the
unqualified sense? No one has all the forms of incontinence, but we
say some people are incontinent without qualification.

  Of some such kind are the difficulties that arise; some of these
points must be refuted and the others left in possession of the field;
for the solution of the difficulty is the discovery of the truth.
(1) We must consider first, then, whether incontinent people act
knowingly or not, and in what sense knowingly; then (2) with what
sorts of object the incontinent and the continent man may be said to
be concerned (i.e. whether with any and every pleasure and pain or
with certain determinate kinds), and whether the continent man and the
man of endurance are the same or different; and similarly with
regard to the other matters germane to this inquiry. The
starting-point of our investigation is (a) the question whether the
continent man and the incontinent are differentiated by their
objects or by their attitude, i.e. whether the incontinent man is
incontinent simply by being concerned with such and such objects,
or, instead, by his attitude, or, instead of that, by both these
things; (b) the second question is whether incontinence and continence
are concerned with any and every object or not. The man who is
incontinent in the unqualified sense is neither concerned with any and
every object, but with precisely those with which the self-indulgent
man is concerned, nor is he characterized by being simply related to
these (for then his state would be the same as self-indulgence), but
by being related to them in a certain way. For the one is led on in
accordance with his own choice, thinking that he ought always to
pursue the present pleasure; while the other does not think so, but
yet pursues it.
  (1) As for the suggestion that it is true opinion and not
knowledge against which we act incontinently, that makes no difference
to the argument; for some people when in a state of opinion do not
hesitate, but think they know exactly. If, then, the notion is that
owing to their weak conviction those who have opinion are more
likely to act against their judgement than those who know, we answer
that there need be no difference between knowledge and opinion in this
respect; for some men are no less convinced of what they think than
others of what they know; as is shown by the of Heraclitus. But (a),
since we use the word 'know' in two senses (for both the man who has
knowledge but is not using it and he who is using it are said to
know), it will make a difference whether, when a man does what he
should not, he has the knowledge but is not exercising it, or is
exercising it; for the latter seems strange, but not the former.
  (b) Further, since there are two kinds of premisses, there is
nothing to prevent a man's having both premisses and acting against
his knowledge, provided that he is using only the universal premiss
and not the particular; for it is particular acts that have to be
done. And there are also two kinds of universal term; one is
predicable of the agent, the other of the object; e.g. 'dry food is
good for every man', and 'I am a man', or 'such and such food is dry';
but whether 'this food is such and such', of this the incontinent
man either has not or is not exercising the knowledge. There will,
then, be, firstly, an enormous difference between these manners of
knowing, so that to know in one way when we act incontinently would
not seem anything strange, while to know in the other way would be
  And further (c) the possession of knowledge in another sense than
those just named is something that happens to men; for within the case
of having knowledge but not using it we see a difference of state,
admitting of the possibility of having knowledge in a sense and yet
not having it, as in the instance of a man asleep, mad, or drunk.
But now this is just the condition of men under the influence of
passions; for outbursts of anger and sexual appetites and some other
such passions, it is evident, actually alter our bodily condition, and
in some men even produce fits of madness. It is plain, then, that
incontinent people must be said to be in a similar condition to men
asleep, mad, or drunk. The fact that men use the language that flows
from knowledge proves nothing; for even men under the influence of
these passions utter scientific proofs and verses of Empedocles, and
those who have just begun to learn a science can string together its
phrases, but do not yet know it; for it has to become part of
themselves, and that takes time; so that we must suppose that the
use of language by men in an incontinent state means no more than
its utterance by actors on the stage. (d) Again, we may also view
the cause as follows with reference to the facts of human nature.
The one opinion is universal, the other is concerned with the
particular facts, and here we come to something within the sphere of
perception; when a single opinion results from the two, the soul
must in one type of case affirm the conclusion, while in the case of
opinions concerned with production it must immediately act (e.g. if
'everything sweet ought to be tasted', and 'this is sweet', in the
sense of being one of the particular sweet things, the man who can act
and is not prevented must at the same time actually act
accordingly). When, then, the universal opinion is present in us
forbidding us to taste, and there is also the opinion that 'everything
sweet is pleasant', and that 'this is sweet' (now this is the
opinion that is active), and when appetite happens to be present in
us, the one opinion bids us avoid the object, but appetite leads us
towards it (for it can move each of our bodily parts); so that it
turns out that a man behaves incontinently under the influence (in a
sense) of a rule and an opinion, and of one not contrary in itself,
but only incidentally-for the appetite is contrary, not the opinion-to
the right rule. It also follows that this is the reason why the
lower animals are not incontinent, viz. because they have no universal
judgement but only imagination and memory of particulars.
  The explanation of how the ignorance is dissolved and the
incontinent man regains his knowledge, is the same as in the case of
the man drunk or asleep and is not peculiar to this condition; we must
go to the students of natural science for it. Now, the last premiss
both being an opinion about a perceptible object, and being what
determines our actions this a man either has not when he is in the
state of passion, or has it in the sense in which having knowledge did
not mean knowing but only talking, as a drunken man may utter the
verses of Empedocles. And because the last term is not universal nor
equally an object of scientific knowledge with the universal term, the
position that Socrates sought to establish actually seems to result;
for it is not in the presence of what is thought to be knowledge
proper that the affection of incontinence arises (nor is it this
that is 'dragged about' as a result of the state of passion), but in
that of perceptual knowledge.
  This must suffice as our answer to the question of action with and
without knowledge, and how it is possible to behave incontinently with

  (2) We must next discuss whether there is any one who is incontinent
without qualification, or all men who are incontinent are so in a
particular sense, and if there is, with what sort of objects he is
concerned. That both continent persons and persons of endurance, and
incontinent and soft persons, are concerned with pleasures and
pains, is evident.
  Now of the things that produce pleasure some are necessary, while
others are worthy of choice in themselves but admit of excess, the
bodily causes of pleasure being necessary (by such I mean both those
concerned with food and those concerned with sexual intercourse,
i.e. the bodily matters with which we defined self-indulgence and
temperance as being concerned), while the others are not necessary but
worthy of choice in themselves (e.g. victory, honour, wealth, and good
and pleasant things of this sort). This being so, (a) those who go
to excess with reference to the latter, contrary to the right rule
which is in themselves, are not called incontinent simply, but
incontinent with the qualification 'in respect of money, gain, honour,
or anger',-not simply incontinent, on the ground that they are
different from incontinent people and are called incontinent by reason
of a resemblance. (Compare the case of Anthropos (Man), who won a
contest at the Olympic games; in his case the general definition of
man differed little from the definition peculiar to him, but yet it
was different.) This is shown by the fact that incontinence either
without qualification or in respect of some particular bodily pleasure
is blamed not only as a fault but as a kind of vice, while none of the
people who are incontinent in these other respects is so blamed.
  But (b) of the people who are incontinent with respect to bodily
enjoyments, with which we say the temperate and the self-indulgent man
are concerned, he who pursues the excesses of things pleasant-and
shuns those of things painful, of hunger and thirst and heat and
cold and all the objects of touch and taste-not by choice but contrary
to his choice and his judgement, is called incontinent, not with the
qualification 'in respect of this or that', e.g. of anger, but just
simply. This is confirmed by the fact that men are called 'soft'
with regard to these pleasures, but not with regard to any of the
others. And for this reason we group together the incontinent and
the self-indulgent, the continent and the temperate man-but not any of
these other types-because they are concerned somehow with the same
pleasures and pains; but though these are concerned with the same
objects, they are not similarly related to them, but some of them make
a deliberate choice while the others do not.
  This is why we should describe as self-indulgent rather the man
who without appetite or with but a slight appetite pursues the
excesses of pleasure and avoids moderate pains, than the man who
does so because of his strong appetites; for what would the former do,
if he had in addition a vigorous appetite, and a violent pain at the
lack of the 'necessary' objects?
  Now of appetites and pleasures some belong to the class of things
generically noble and good-for some pleasant things are by nature
worthy of choice, while others are contrary to these, and others are
intermediate, to adopt our previous distinction-e.g. wealth, gain,
victory, honour. And with reference to all objects whether of this
or of the intermediate kind men are not blamed for being affected by
them, for desiring and loving them, but for doing so in a certain way,
i.e. for going to excess. (This is why all those who contrary to the
rule either are mastered by or pursue one of the objects which are
naturally noble and good, e.g. those who busy themselves more than
they ought about honour or about children and parents, (are not
wicked); for these too are good, and those who busy themselves about
them are praised; but yet there is an excess even in them-if like
Niobe one were to fight even against the gods, or were to be as much
devoted to one's father as Satyrus nicknamed 'the filial', who was
thought to be very silly on this point.) There is no wickedness, then,
with regard to these objects, for the reason named, viz. because
each of them is by nature a thing worthy of choice for its own sake;
yet excesses in respect of them are bad and to be avoided. Similarly
there is no incontinence with regard to them; for incontinence is
not only to be avoided but is also a thing worthy of blame; but
owing to a similarity in the state of feeling people apply the name
incontinence, adding in each case what it is in respect of, as we
may describe as a bad doctor or a bad actor one whom we should not
call bad, simply. As, then, in this case we do not apply the term
without qualification because each of these conditions is no
shadness but only analogous to it, so it is clear that in the other
case also that alone must be taken to be incontinence and continence
which is concerned with the same objects as temperance and
self-indulgence, but we apply the term to anger by virtue of a
resemblance; and this is why we say with a qualification
'incontinent in respect of anger' as we say 'incontinent in respect of
honour, or of gain'.

  (1) Some things are pleasant by nature, and of these (a) some are so
without qualification, and (b) others are so with reference to
particular classes either of animals or of men; while (2) others are
not pleasant by nature, but (a) some of them become so by reason of
injuries to the system, and (b) others by reason of acquired habits,
and (c) others by reason of originally bad natures. This being so,
it is possible with regard to each of the latter kinds to discover
similar states of character to those recognized with regard to the
former; I mean (A) the brutish states, as in the case of the female
who, they say, rips open pregnant women and devours the infants, or of
the things in which some of the tribes about the Black Sea that have
gone savage are said to delight-in raw meat or in human flesh, or in
lending their children to one another to feast upon-or of the story
told of Phalaris.
  These states are brutish, but (B) others arise as a result of
disease (or, in some cases, of madness, as with the man who sacrificed
and ate his mother, or with the slave who ate the liver of his
fellow), and others are morbid states (C) resulting from custom,
e.g. the habit of plucking out the hair or of gnawing the nails, or
even coals or earth, and in addition to these paederasty; for these
arise in some by nature and in others, as in those who have been the
victims of lust from childhood, from habit.
  Now those in whom nature is the cause of such a state no one would
call incontinent, any more than one would apply the epithet to women
because of the passive part they play in copulation; nor would one
apply it to those who are in a morbid condition as a result of
habit. To have these various types of habit is beyond the limits of
vice, as brutishness is too; for a man who has them to master or be
mastered by them is not simple (continence or) incontinence but that
which is so by analogy, as the man who is in this condition in respect
of fits of anger is to be called incontinent in respect of that
feeling but not incontinent simply. For every excessive state
whether of folly, of cowardice, of self-indulgence, or of bad
temper, is either brutish or morbid; the man who is by nature apt to
fear everything, even the squeak of a mouse, is cowardly with a
brutish cowardice, while the man who feared a weasel did so in
consequence of disease; and of foolish people those who by nature
are thoughtless and live by their senses alone are brutish, like
some races of the distant barbarians, while those who are so as a
result of disease (e.g. of epilepsy) or of madness are morbid. Of
these characteristics it is possible to have some only at times, and
not to be mastered by them. e.g. Phalaris may have restrained a desire
to eat the flesh of a child or an appetite for unnatural sexual
pleasure; but it is also possible to be mastered, not merely to have
the feelings. Thus, as the wickedness which is on the human level is
called wickedness simply, while that which is not is called wickedness
not simply but with the qualification 'brutish' or 'morbid', in the
same way it is plain that some incontinence is brutish and some
morbid, while only that which corresponds to human self-indulgence
is incontinence simply.
  That incontinence and continence, then, are concerned only with
the same objects as selfindulgence and temperance and that what is
concerned with other objects is a type distinct from incontinence, and
called incontinence by a metaphor and not simply, is plain.

  That incontinence in respect of anger is less disgraceful than
that in respect of the appetites is what we will now proceed to see.
(1) Anger seems to listen to argument to some extent, but to mishear
it, as do hasty servants who run out before they have heard the
whole of what one says, and then muddle the order, or as dogs bark
if there is but a knock at the door, before looking to see if it is
a friend; so anger by reason of the warmth and hastiness of its
nature, though it hears, does not hear an order, and springs to take
revenge. For argument or imagination informs us that we have been
insulted or slighted, and anger, reasoning as it were that anything
like this must be fought against, boils up straightway; while
appetite, if argument or perception merely says that an object is
pleasant, springs to the enjoyment of it. Therefore anger obeys the
argument in a sense, but appetite does not. It is therefore more
disgraceful; for the man who is incontinent in respect of anger is
in a sense conquered by argument, while the other is conquered by
appetite and not by argument.
  (2) Further, we pardon people more easily for following natural
desires, since we pardon them more easily for following such appetites
as are common to all men, and in so far as they are common; now
anger and bad temper are more natural than the appetites for excess,
i.e. for unnecessary objects. Take for instance the man who defended
himself on the charge of striking his father by saying 'yes, but he
struck his father, and he struck his, and' (pointing to his child)
'this boy will strike me when he is a man; it runs in the family';
or the man who when he was being dragged along by his son bade him
stop at the doorway, since he himself had dragged his father only as
far as that.
  (2) Further, those who are more given to plotting against others are
more criminal. Now a passionate man is not given to plotting, nor is
anger itself-it is open; but the nature of appetite is illustrated
by what the poets call Aphrodite, 'guile-weaving daughter of
Cyprus', and by Homer's words about her 'embroidered girdle':

         And the whisper of wooing is there,
     Whose subtlety stealeth the wits of the wise, how prudent soe'er.

Therefore if this form of incontinence is more criminal and
disgraceful than that in respect of anger, it is both incontinence
without qualification and in a sense vice.
  (4) Further, no one commits wanton outrage with a feeling of pain,
but every one who acts in anger acts with pain, while the man who
commits outrage acts with pleasure. If, then, those acts at which it
is most just to be angry are more criminal than others, the
incontinence which is due to appetite is the more criminal; for
there is no wanton outrage involved in anger.
  Plainly, then, the incontinence concerned with appetite is more
disgraceful than that concerned with anger, and continence and
incontinence are concerned with bodily appetites and pleasures; but we
must grasp the differences among the latter themselves. For, as has
been said at the beginning, some are human and natural both in kind
and in magnitude, others are brutish, and others are due to organic
injuries and diseases. Only with the first of these are temperance and
self-indulgence concerned; this is why we call the lower animals
neither temperate nor self-indulgent except by a metaphor, and only if
some one race of animals exceeds another as a whole in wantonness,
destructiveness, and omnivorous greed; these have no power of choice
or calculation, but they are departures from the natural norm, as,
among men, madmen are. Now brutishness is a less evil than vice,
though more alarming; for it is not that the better part has been
perverted, as in man,-they have no better part. Thus it is like
comparing a lifeless thing with a living in respect of badness; for
the badness of that which has no originative source of movement is
always less hurtful, and reason is an originative source. Thus it is
like comparing injustice in the abstract with an unjust man. Each is
in some sense worse; for a bad man will do ten thousand times as
much evil as a brute.

  With regard to the pleasures and pains and appetites and aversions
arising through touch and taste, to which both self-indulgence and
temperance were formerly narrowed down, it possible to be in such a
state as to be defeated even by those of them which most people
master, or to master even those by which most people are defeated;
among these possibilities, those relating to pleasures are
incontinence and continence, those relating to pains softness and
endurance. The state of most people is intermediate, even if they lean
more towards the worse states.
  Now, since some pleasures are necessary while others are not, and
are necessary up to a point while the excesses of them are not, nor
the deficiencies, and this is equally true of appetites and pains, the
man who pursues the excesses of things pleasant, or pursues to
excess necessary objects, and does so by choice, for their own sake
and not at all for the sake of any result distinct from them, is
self-indulgent; for such a man is of necessity unlikely to repent, and
therefore incurable, since a man who cannot repent cannot be cured.
The man who is deficient in his pursuit of them is the opposite of
self-indulgent; the man who is intermediate is temperate. Similarly,
there is the man who avoids bodily pains not because he is defeated by
them but by choice. (Of those who do not choose such acts, one kind of
man is led to them as a result of the pleasure involved, another
because he avoids the pain arising from the appetite, so that these
types differ from one another. Now any one would think worse of a
man with no appetite or with weak appetite were he to do something
disgraceful, than if he did it under the influence of powerful
appetite, and worse of him if he struck a blow not in anger than if he
did it in anger; for what would he have done if he had been strongly
affected? This is why the self-indulgent man is worse than the
incontinent.) of the states named, then, the latter is rather a kind
of softness; the former is self-indulgence. While to the incontinent
man is opposed the continent, to the soft is opposed the man of
endurance; for endurance consists in resisting, while continence
consists in conquering, and resisting and conquering are different, as
not being beaten is different from winning; this is why continence
is also more worthy of choice than endurance. Now the man who is
defective in respect of resistance to the things which most men both
resist and resist successfully is soft and effeminate; for
effeminacy too is a kind of softness; such a man trails his cloak to
avoid the pain of lifting it, and plays the invalid without thinking
himself wretched, though the man he imitates is a wretched man.
  The case is similar with regard to continence and incontinence.
For if a man is defeated by violent and excessive pleasures or
pains, there is nothing wonderful in that; indeed we are ready to
pardon him if he has resisted, as Theodectes' Philoctetes does when
bitten by the snake, or Carcinus' Cercyon in the Alope, and as
people who try to restrain their laughter burst out into a guffaw,
as happened to Xenophantus. But it is surprising if a man is
defeated by and cannot resist pleasures or pains which most men can
hold out against, when this is not due to heredity or disease, like
the softness that is hereditary with the kings of the Scythians, or
that which distinguishes the female sex from the male.
  The lover of amusement, too, is thought to be self-indulgent, but is
really soft. For amusement is a relaxation, since it is a rest from
work; and the lover of amusement is one of the people who go to excess
in this.
  Of incontinence one kind is impetuosity, another weakness. For
some men after deliberating fail, owing to their emotion, to stand
by the conclusions of their deliberation, others because they have not
deliberated are led by their emotion; since some men (just as people
who first tickle others are not tickled themselves), if they have
first perceived and seen what is coming and have first roused
themselves and their calculative faculty, are not defeated by their
emotion, whether it be pleasant or painful. It is keen and excitable
people that suffer especially from the impetuous form of incontinence;
for the former by reason of their quickness and the latter by reason
of the violence of their passions do not await the argument, because
they are apt to follow their imagination.

  The self-indulgent man, as was said, is not apt to repent; for he
stands by his choice; but incontinent man is likely to repent. This is
why the position is not as it was expressed in the formulation of
the problem, but the selfindulgent man is incurable and the
incontinent man curable; for wickedness is like a disease such as
dropsy or consumption, while incontinence is like epilepsy; the former
is a permanent, the latter an intermittent badness. And generally
incontinence and vice are different in kind; vice is unconscious of
itself, incontinence is not (of incontinent men themselves, those
who become temporarily beside themselves are better than those who
have the rational principle but do not abide by it, since the latter
are defeated by a weaker passion, and do not act without previous
deliberation like the others); for the incontinent man is like the
people who get drunk quickly and on little wine, i.e. on less than
most people.
  Evidently, then, incontinence is not vice (though perhaps it is so
in a qualified sense); for incontinence is contrary to choice while
vice is in accordance with choice; not but what they are similar in
respect of the actions they lead to; as in the saying of Demodocus
about the Milesians, 'the Milesians are not without sense, but they do
the things that senseless people do', so too incontinent people are
not criminal, but they will do criminal acts.
  Now, since the incontinent man is apt to pursue, not on
conviction, bodily pleasures that are excessive and contrary to the
right rule, while the self-indulgent man is convinced because he is
the sort of man to pursue them, it is on the contrary the former
that is easily persuaded to change his mind, while the latter is
not. For virtue and vice respectively preserve and destroy the first
principle, and in actions the final cause is the first principle, as
the hypotheses are in mathematics; neither in that case is it argument
that teaches the first principles, nor is it so here-virtue either
natural or produced by habituation is what teaches right opinion about
the first principle. Such a man as this, then, is temperate; his
contrary is the self-indulgent.
  But there is a sort of man who is carried away as a result of
passion and contrary to the right rule-a man whom passion masters so
that he does not act according to the right rule, but does not
master to the extent of making him ready to believe that he ought to
pursue such pleasures without reserve; this is the incontinent man,
who is better than the self-indulgent man, and not bad without
qualification; for the best thing in him, the first principle, is
preserved. And contrary to him is another kind of man, he who abides
by his convictions and is not carried away, at least as a result of
passion. It is evident from these considerations that the latter is
a good state and the former a bad one.

  Is the man continent who abides by any and every rule and any and
every choice, or the man who abides by the right choice, and is he
incontinent who abandons any and every choice and any and every
rule, or he who abandons the rule that is not false and the choice
that is right; this is how we put it before in our statement of the
problem. Or is it incidentally any and every choice but per se the
true rule and the right choice by which the one abides and the other
does not? If any one chooses or pursues this for the sake of that, per
se he pursues and chooses the latter, but incidentally the former. But
when we speak without qualification we mean what is per se.
Therefore in a sense the one abides by, and the other abandons, any
and every opinion; but without qualification, the true opinion.
  There are some who are apt to abide by their opinion, who are called
strong-headed, viz. those who are hard to persuade in the first
instance and are not easily persuaded to change; these have in them
something like the continent man, as the prodigal is in a way like the
liberal man and the rash man like the confident man; but they are
different in many respects. For it is to passion and appetite that the
one will not yield, since on occasion the continent man will be easy
to persuade; but it is to argument that the others refuse to yield,
for they do form appetites and many of them are led by their
pleasures. Now the people who are strong-headed are the opinionated,
the ignorant, and the boorish-the opinionated being influenced by
pleasure and pain; for they delight in the victory they gain if they
are not persuaded to change, and are pained if their decisions
become null and void as decrees sometimes do; so that they are liker
the incontinent than the continent man.
  But there are some who fail to abide by their resolutions, not as
a result of incontinence, e.g. Neoptolemus in Sophocles'
Philoctetes; yet it was for the sake of pleasure that he did not stand
fast-but a noble pleasure; for telling the truth was noble to him, but
he had been persuaded by Odysseus to tell the lie. For not every one
who does anything for the sake of pleasure is either self-indulgent or
bad or incontinent, but he who does it for a disgraceful pleasure.
  Since there is also a sort of man who takes less delight than he
should in bodily things, and does not abide by the rule, he who is
intermediate between him and the incontinent man is the continent man;
for the incontinent man fails to abide by the rule because he delights
too much in them, and this man because he delights in them too little;
while the continent man abides by the rule and does not change on
either account. Now if continence is good, both the contrary states
must be bad, as they actually appear to be; but because the other
extreme is seen in few people and seldom, as temperance is thought
to be contrary only to self-indulgence, so is continence to
  Since many names are applied analogically, it is by analogy that
we have come to speak of the 'continence' the temperate man; for
both the continent man and the temperate man are such as to do nothing
contrary to the rule for the sake of the bodily pleasures, but the
former has and the latter has not bad appetites, and the latter is
such as not to feel pleasure contrary to the rule, while the former is
such as to feel pleasure but not to be led by it. And the incontinent
and the self-indulgent man are also like another; they are different,
but both pursue bodily pleasures- the latter, however, also thinking
that he ought to do so, while the former does not think this.

  Nor can the same man have practical wisdom and be incontinent; for
it has been shown' that a man is at the same time practically wise,
and good in respect of character. Further, a man has practical
wisdom not by knowing only but by being able to act; but the
incontinent man is unable to act-there is, however, nothing to prevent
a clever man from being incontinent; this is why it is sometimes
actually thought that some people have practical wisdom but are
incontinent, viz. because cleverness and practical wisdom differ in
the way we have described in our first discussions, and are near
together in respect of their reasoning, but differ in respect of their
purpose-nor yet is the incontinent man like the man who knows and is
contemplating a truth, but like the man who is asleep or drunk. And he
acts willingly (for he acts in a sense with knowledge both of what
he does and of the end to which he does it), but is not wicked,
since his purpose is good; so that he is half-wicked. And he is not
a criminal; for he does not act of malice aforethought; of the two
types of incontinent man the one does not abide by the conclusions
of his deliberation, while the excitable man does not deliberate at
all. And thus the incontinent man like a city which passes all the
right decrees and has good laws, but makes no use of them, as in
Anaxandrides' jesting remark,

     The city willed it, that cares nought for laws;

but the wicked man is like a city that uses its laws, but has wicked
laws to use.
  Now incontinence and continence are concerned with that which is
in excess of the state characteristic of most men; for the continent
man abides by his resolutions more and the incontinent man less than
most men can.
  Of the forms of incontinence, that of excitable people is more
curable than that of those who deliberate but do not abide by their
decisions, and those who are incontinent through habituation are
more curable than those in whom incontinence is innate; for it is
easier to change a habit than to change one's nature; even habit is
hard to change just because it is like nature, as Evenus says:

     I say that habit's but a long practice, friend,
     And this becomes men's nature in the end.

  We have now stated what continence, incontinence, endurance, and
softness are, and how these states are related to each other.


  The study of pleasure and pain belongs to the province of the
political philosopher; for he is the architect of the end, with a view
to which we call one thing bad and another good without qualification.
Further, it is one of our necessary tasks to consider them; for not
only did we lay it down that moral virtue and vice are concerned
with pains and pleasures, but most people say that happiness
involves pleasure; this is why the blessed man is called by a name
derived from a word meaning enjoyment.
  Now (1) some people think that no pleasure is a good, either in
itself or incidentally, since the good and pleasure are not the
same; (2) others think that some pleasures are good but that most
are bad. (3) Again there is a third view, that even if all pleasures
are good, yet the best thing in the world cannot be pleasure. (1)
The reasons given for the view that pleasure is not a good at all
are (a) that every pleasure is a perceptible process to a natural
state, and that no process is of the same kind as its end, e.g. no
process of building of the same kind as a house. (b) A temperate man
avoids pleasures. (c) A man of practical wisdom pursues what is free
from pain, not what is pleasant. (d) The pleasures are a hindrance
to thought, and the more so the more one delights in them, e.g. in
sexual pleasure; for no one could think of anything while absorbed
in this. (e) There is no art of pleasure; but every good is the
product of some art. (f) Children and the brutes pursue pleasures. (2)
The reasons for the view that not all pleasures are good are that
(a) there are pleasures that are actually base and objects of
reproach, and (b) there are harmful pleasures; for some pleasant
things are unhealthy. (3) The reason for the view that the best
thing in the world is not pleasure is that pleasure is not an end
but a process.

  These are pretty much the things that are said. That it does not
follow from these grounds that pleasure is not a good, or even the
chief good, is plain from the following considerations. (A) (a) First,
since that which is good may be so in either of two senses (one
thing good simply and another good for a particular person), natural
constitutions and states of being, and therefore also the
corresponding movements and processes, will be correspondingly
divisible. Of those which are thought to be bad some will be bad if
taken without qualification but not bad for a particular person, but
worthy of his choice, and some will not be worthy of choice even for a
particular person, but only at a particular time and for a short
period, though not without qualification; while others are not even
pleasures, but seem to be so, viz. all those which involve pain and
whose end is curative, e.g. the processes that go on in sick persons.
  (b) Further, one kind of good being activity and another being
state, the processes that restore us to our natural state are only
incidentally pleasant; for that matter the activity at work in the
appetites for them is the activity of so much of our state and
nature as has remained unimpaired; for there are actually pleasures
that involve no pain or appetite (e.g. those of contemplation), the
nature in such a case not being defective at all. That the others
are incidental is indicated by the fact that men do not enjoy the same
pleasant objects when their nature is in its settled state as they
do when it is being replenished, but in the former case they enjoy the
things that are pleasant without qualification, in the latter the
contraries of these as well; for then they enjoy even sharp and bitter
things, none of which is pleasant either by nature or without
qualification. The states they produce, therefore, are not pleasures
naturally or without qualification; for as pleasant things differ,
so do the pleasures arising from them.
  (c) Again, it is not necessary that there should be something else
better than pleasure, as some say the end is better than the
process; for leasures are not processes nor do they all involve
process-they are activities and ends; nor do they arise when we are
becoming something, but when we are exercising some faculty; and not
all pleasures have an end different from themselves, but only the
pleasures of persons who are being led to the perfecting of their
nature. This is why it is not right to say that pleasure is
perceptible process, but it should rather be called activity of the
natural state, and instead of 'perceptible' 'unimpeded'. It is thought
by some people to be process just because they think it is in the
strict sense good; for they think that activity is process, which it
is not.
  (B) The view that pleasures are bad because some pleasant things are
unhealthy is like saying that healthy things are bad because some
healthy things are bad for money-making; both are bad in the respect
mentioned, but they are not bad for that reason-indeed, thinking
itself is sometimes injurious to health.
  Neither practical wisdom nor any state of being is impeded by the
pleasure arising from it; it is foreign pleasures that impede, for the
pleasures arising from thinking and learning will make us think and
learn all the more.
  (C) The fact that no pleasure is the product of any art arises
naturally enough; there is no art of any other activity either, but
only of the corresponding faculty; though for that matter the arts
of the perfumer and the cook are thought to be arts of pleasure.
  (D) The arguments based on the grounds that the temperate man avoids
pleasure and that the man of practical wisdom pursues the painless
life, and that children and the brutes pursue pleasure, are all
refuted by the same consideration. We have pointed out in what sense
pleasures are good without qualification and in what sense some are
not good; now both the brutes and children pursue pleasures of the
latter kind (and the man of practical wisdom pursues tranquil
freedom from that kind), viz. those which imply appetite and pain,
i.e. the bodily pleasures (for it is these that are of this nature)
and the excesses of them, in respect of which the self-indulgent man
is self-indulent. This is why the temperate man avoids these
pleasures; for even he has pleasures of his own.

  But further (E) it is agreed that pain is bad and to be avoided; for
some pain is without qualification bad, and other pain is bad
because it is in some respect an impediment to us. Now the contrary of
that which is to be avoided, qua something to be avoided and bad, is
good. Pleasure, then, is necessarily a good. For the answer of
Speusippus, that pleasure is contrary both to pain and to good, as the
greater is contrary both to the less and to the equal, is not
successful; since he would not say that pleasure is essentially just a
species of evil.
  And (F) if certain pleasures are bad, that does not prevent the
chief good from being some pleasure, just as the chief good may be
some form of knowledge though certain kinds of knowledge are bad.
Perhaps it is even necessary, if each disposition has unimpeded
activities, that, whether the activity (if unimpeded) of all our
dispositions or that of some one of them is happiness, this should
be the thing most worthy of our choice; and this activity is pleasure.
Thus the chief good would be some pleasure, though most pleasures
might perhaps be bad without qualification. And for this reason all
men think that the happy life is pleasant and weave pleasure into
their ideal of happiness-and reasonably too; for no activity is
perfect when it is impeded, and happiness is a perfect thing; this
is why the happy man needs the goods of the body and external goods,
i.e. those of fortune, viz. in order that he may not be impeded in
these ways. Those who say that the victim on the rack or the man who
falls into great misfortunes is happy if he is good, are, whether they
mean to or not, talking nonsense. Now because we need fortune as
well as other things, some people think good fortune the same thing as
happiness; but it is not that, for even good fortune itself when in
excess is an impediment, and perhaps should then be no longer called
good fortune; for its limit is fixed by reference to happiness.
  And indeed the fact that all things, both brutes and men, pursue
pleasure is an indication of its being somehow the chief good:

     No voice is wholly lost that many peoples...

But since no one nature or state either is or is thought the best
for all, neither do all pursue the same pleasure; yet all pursue
pleasure. And perhaps they actually pursue not the pleasure they think
they pursue nor that which they would say they pursue, but the same
pleasure; for all things have by nature something divine in them.
But the bodily pleasures have appropriated the name both because we
oftenest steer our course for them and because all men share in
them; thus because they alone are familiar, men think there are no
  It is evident also that if pleasure, i.e. the activity of our
faculties, is not a good, it will not be the case that the happy man
lives a pleasant life; for to what end should he need pleasure, if
it is not a good but the happy man may even live a painful life? For
pain is neither an evil nor a good, if pleasure is not; why then
should he avoid it? Therefore, too, the life of the good man will
not be pleasanter than that of any one else, if his activities are not
more pleasant.

  (G) With regard to the bodily pleasures, those who say that some
pleasures are very much to be chosen, viz. the noble pleasures, but
not the bodily pleasures, i.e. those with which the self-indulgent man
is concerned, must consider why, then, the contrary pains are bad. For
the contrary of bad is good. Are the necessary pleasures good in the
sense in which even that which is not bad is good? Or are they good up
to a point? Is it that where you have states and processes of which
there cannot be too much, there cannot be too much of the
corresponding pleasure, and that where there can be too much of the
one there can be too much of the other also? Now there can be too much
of bodily goods, and the bad man is bad by virtue of pursuing the
excess, not by virtue of pursuing the necessary pleasures (for all men
enjoy in some way or other both dainty foods and wines and sexual
intercourse, but not all men do so as they ought). The contrary is the
case with pain; for he does not avoid the excess of it, he avoids it
altogether; and this is peculiar to him, for the alternative to excess
of pleasure is not pain, except to the man who pursues this excess.
  Since we should state not only the truth, but also the cause of
error-for this contributes towards producing conviction, since when
a reasonable explanation is given of why the false view appears
true, this tends to produce belief in the true view-therefore we
must state why the bodily pleasures appear the more worthy of
choice. (a) Firstly, then, it is because they expel pain; owing to the
excesses of pain that men experience, they pursue excessive and in
general bodily pleasure as being a cure for the pain. Now curative
agencies produce intense feeling-which is the reason why they are
pursued-because they show up against the contrary pain. (Indeed
pleasure is thought not to be good for these two reasons, as has
been said, viz. that (a) some of them are activities belonging to a
bad nature-either congenital, as in the case of a brute, or due to
habit, i.e. those of bad men; while (b) others are meant to cure a
defective nature, and it is better to be in a healthy state than to be
getting into it, but these arise during the process of being made
perfect and are therefore only incidentally good.) (b) Further, they
are pursued because of their violence by those who cannot enjoy
other pleasures. (At all events they go out of their way to
manufacture thirsts somehow for themselves. When these are harmless,
the practice is irreproachable; when they are hurtful, it is bad.) For
they have nothing else to enjoy, and, besides, a neutral state is
painful to many people because of their nature. For the animal
nature is always in travail, as the students of natural science also
testify, saying that sight and hearing are painful; but we have become
used to this, as they maintain. Similarly, while, in youth, people
are, owing to the growth that is going on, in a situation like that of
drunken men, and youth is pleasant, on the other hand people of
excitable nature always need relief; for even their body is ever in
torment owing to its special composition, and they are always under
the influence of violent desire; but pain is driven out both by the
contrary pleasure, and by any chance pleasure if it be strong; and for
these reasons they become self-indulgent and bad. But the pleasures
that do not involve pains do not admit of excess; and these are
among the things pleasant by nature and not incidentally. By things
pleasant incidentally I mean those that act as cures (for because as a
result people are cured, through some action of the part that
remains healthy, for this reason the process is thought pleasant);
by things naturally pleasant I mean those that stimulate the action of
the healthy nature.
  There is no one thing that is always pleasant, because our nature is
not simple but there is another element in us as well, inasmuch as
we are perishable creatures, so that if the one element does
something, this is unnatural to the other nature, and when the two
elements are evenly balanced, what is done seems neither painful nor
pleasant; for if the nature of anything were simple, the same action
would always be most pleasant to it. This is why God always enjoys a
single and simple pleasure; for there is not only an activity of
movement but an activity of immobility, and pleasure is found more
in rest than in movement. But 'change in all things is sweet', as
the poet says, because of some vice; for as it is the vicious man that
is changeable, so the nature that needs change is vicious; for it is
not simple nor good.
    We have now discussed continence and incontinence, and pleasure
and pain, both what each is and in what sense some of them are good
and others bad; it remains to speak of friendship.
                              BOOK VIII

  AFTER what we have said, a discussion of friendship would
naturally follow, since it is a virtue or implies virtue, and is
besides most necessary with a view to living. For without friends no
one would choose to live, though he had all other goods; even rich men
and those in possession of office and of dominating power are
thought to need friends most of all; for what is the use of such
prosperity without the opportunity of beneficence, which is
exercised chiefly and in its most laudable form towards friends? Or
how can prosperity be guarded and preserved without friends? The
greater it is, the more exposed is it to risk. And in poverty and in
other misfortunes men think friends are the only refuge. It helps
the young, too, to keep from error; it aids older people by
ministering to their needs and supplementing the activities that are
failing from weakness; those in the prime of life it stimulates to
noble actions-'two going together'-for with friends men are more
able both to think and to act. Again, parent seems by nature to feel
it for offspring and offspring for parent, not only among men but
among birds and among most animals; it is felt mutually by members
of the same race, and especially by men, whence we praise lovers of
their fellowmen. We may even in our travels how near and dear every
man is to every other. Friendship seems too to hold states together,
and lawgivers to care more for it than for justice; for unanimity
seems to be something like friendship, and this they aim at most of
all, and expel faction as their worst enemy; and when men are
friends they have no need of justice, while when they are just they
need friendship as well, and the truest form of justice is thought
to be a friendly quality.
  But it is not only necessary but also noble; for we praise those who
love their friends, and it is thought to be a fine thing to have
many friends; and again we think it is the same people that are good
men and are friends.
  Not a few things about friendship are matters of debate. Some define
it as a kind of likeness and say like people are friends, whence
come the sayings 'like to like', 'birds of a feather flock
together', and so on; others on the contrary say 'two of a trade never
agree'. On this very question they inquire for deeper and more
physical causes, Euripides saying that 'parched earth loves the
rain, and stately heaven when filled with rain loves to fall to
earth', and Heraclitus that 'it is what opposes that helps' and
'from different tones comes the fairest tune' and 'all things are
produced through strife'; while Empedocles, as well as others,
expresses the opposite view that like aims at like. The physical
problems we may leave alone (for they do not belong to the present
inquiry); let us examine those which are human and involve character
and feeling, e.g. whether friendship can arise between any two
people or people cannot be friends if they are wicked, and whether
there is one species of friendship or more than one. Those who think
there is only one because it admits of degrees have relied on an
inadequate indication; for even things different in species admit of
degree. We have discussed this matter previously.

  The kinds of friendship may perhaps be cleared up if we first come
to know the object of love. For not everything seems to be loved but
only the lovable, and this is good, pleasant, or useful; but it
would seem to be that by which some good or pleasure is produced
that is useful, so that it is the good and the useful that are lovable
as ends. Do men love, then, the good, or what is good for them?
These sometimes clash. So too with regard to the pleasant. Now it is
thought that each loves what is good for himself, and that the good is
without qualification lovable, and what is good for each man is
lovable for him; but each man loves not what is good for him but
what seems good. This however will make no difference; we shall just
have to say that this is 'that which seems lovable'. Now there are
three grounds on which people love; of the love of lifeless objects we
do not use the word 'friendship'; for it is not mutual love, nor is
there a wishing of good to the other (for it would surely be
ridiculous to wish wine well; if one wishes anything for it, it is
that it may keep, so that one may have it oneself); but to a friend we
say we ought to wish what is good for his sake. But to those who
thus wish good we ascribe only goodwill, if the wish is not
reciprocated; goodwill when it is reciprocal being friendship. Or must
we add 'when it is recognized'? For many people have goodwill to those
whom they have not seen but judge to be good or useful; and one of
these might return this feeling. These people seem to bear goodwill to
each other; but how could one call them friends when they do not
know their mutual feelings? To be friends, then, the must be
mutually recognized as bearing goodwill and wishing well to each other
for one of the aforesaid reasons.

  Now these reasons differ from each other in kind; so, therefore,
do the corresponding forms of love and friendship. There are therefore
three kinds of friendship, equal in number to the things that are
lovable; for with respect to each there is a mutual and recognized
love, and those who love each other wish well to each other in that
respect in which they love one another. Now those who love each
other for their utility do not love each other for themselves but in
virtue of some good which they get from each other. So too with
those who love for the sake of pleasure; it is not for their character
that men love ready-witted people, but because they find them
pleasant. Therefore those who love for the sake of utility love for
the sake of what is good for themselves, and those who love for the
sake of pleasure do so for the sake of what is pleasant to themselves,
and not in so far as the other is the person loved but in so far as he
is useful or pleasant. And thus these friendships are only incidental;
for it is not as being the man he is that the loved person is loved,
but as providing some good or pleasure. Such friendships, then, are
easily dissolved, if the parties do not remain like themselves; for if
the one party is no longer pleasant or useful the other ceases to love
  Now the useful is not permanent but is always changing. Thus when
the motive of the friendship is done away, the friendship is
dissolved, inasmuch as it existed only for the ends in question.
This kind of friendship seems to exist chiefly between old people (for
at that age people pursue not the pleasant but the useful) and, of
those who are in their prime or young, between those who pursue
utility. And such people do not live much with each other either;
for sometimes they do not even find each other pleasant; therefore
they do not need such companionship unless they are useful to each
other; for they are pleasant to each other only in so far as they
rouse in each other hopes of something good to come. Among such
friendships people also class the friendship of a host and guest. On
the other hand the friendship of young people seems to aim at
pleasure; for they live under the guidance of emotion, and pursue
above all what is pleasant to themselves and what is immediately
before them; but with increasing age their pleasures become different.
This is why they quickly become friends and quickly cease to be so;
their friendship changes with the object that is found pleasant, and
such pleasure alters quickly. Young people are amorous too; for the
greater part of the friendship of love depends on emotion and aims
at pleasure; this is why they fall in love and quickly fall out of
love, changing often within a single day. But these people do wish
to spend their days and lives together; for it is thus that they
attain the purpose of their friendship.
  Perfect friendship is the friendship of men who are good, and
alike in virtue; for these wish well alike to each other qua good, and
they are good themselves. Now those who wish well to their friends for
their sake are most truly friends; for they do this by reason of own
nature and not incidentally; therefore their friendship lasts as
long as they are good-and goodness is an enduring thing. And each is
good without qualification and to his friend, for the good are both
good without qualification and useful to each other. So too they are
pleasant; for the good are pleasant both without qualification and
to each other, since to each his own activities and others like them
are pleasurable, and the actions of the good are the same or like. And
such a friendship is as might be expected permanent, since there
meet in it all the qualities that friends should have. For all
friendship is for the sake of good or of pleasure-good or pleasure
either in the abstract or such as will be enjoyed by him who has the
friendly feeling-and is based on a certain resemblance; and to a
friendship of good men all the qualities we have named belong in
virtue of the nature of the friends themselves; for in the case of
this kind of friendship the other qualities also are alike in both
friends, and that which is good without qualification is also
without qualification pleasant, and these are the most lovable
qualities. Love and friendship therefore are found most and in their
best form between such men.
  But it is natural that such friendships should be infrequent; for
such men are rare. Further, such friendship requires time and
familiarity; as the proverb says, men cannot know each other till they
have 'eaten salt together'; nor can they admit each other to
friendship or be friends till each has been found lovable and been
trusted by each. Those who quickly show the marks of friendship to
each other wish to be friends, but are not friends unless they both
are lovable and know the fact; for a wish for friendship may arise
quickly, but friendship does not.

  This kind of friendship, then, is perfect both in respect of
duration and in all other respects, and in it each gets from each in
all respects the same as, or something like what, he gives; which is
what ought to happen between friends. Friendship for the sake of
pleasure bears a resemblance to this kind; for good people too are
pleasant to each other. So too does friendship for the sake of
utility; for the good are also useful to each other. Among men of
these inferior sorts too, friendships are most permanent when the
friends get the same thing from each other (e.g. pleasure), and not
only that but also from the same source, as happens between
readywitted people, not as happens between lover and beloved. For
these do not take pleasure in the same things, but the one in seeing
the beloved and the other in receiving attentions from his lover;
and when the bloom of youth is passing the friendship sometimes passes
too (for the one finds no pleasure in the sight of the other, and
the other gets no attentions from the first); but many lovers on the
other hand are constant, if familiarity has led them to love each
other's characters, these being alike. But those who exchange not
pleasure but utility in their amour are both less truly friends and
less constant. Those who are friends for the sake of utility part when
the advantage is at an end; for they were lovers not of each other but
of profit.
  For the sake of pleasure or utility, then, even bad men may be
friends of each other, or good men of bad, or one who is neither
good nor bad may be a friend to any sort of person, but for their
own sake clearly only good men can be friends; for bad men do not
delight in each other unless some advantage come of the relation.
  The friendship of the good too and this alone is proof against
slander; for it is not easy to trust any one talk about a man who
has long been tested by oneself; and it is among good men that trust
and the feeling that 'he would never wrong me' and all the other
things that are demanded in true friendship are found. In the other
kinds of friendship, however, there is nothing to prevent these
evils arising. For men apply the name of friends even to those whose
motive is utility, in which sense states are said to be friendly
(for the alliances of states seem to aim at advantage), and to those
who love each other for the sake of pleasure, in which sense
children are called friends. Therefore we too ought perhaps to call
such people friends, and say that there are several kinds of
friendship-firstly and in the proper sense that of good men qua
good, and by analogy the other kinds; for it is in virtue of something
good and something akin to what is found in true friendship that
they are friends, since even the pleasant is good for the lovers of
pleasure. But these two kinds of friendship are not often united,
nor do the same people become friends for the sake of utility and of
pleasure; for things that are only incidentally connected are not
often coupled together.
  Friendship being divided into these kinds, bad men will be friends
for the sake of pleasure or of utility, being in this respect like
each other, but good men will be friends for their own sake, i.e. in
virtue of their goodness. These, then, are friends without
qualification; the others are friends incidentally and through a
resemblance to these.

  As in regard to the virtues some men are called good in respect of a
state of character, others in respect of an activity, so too in the
case of friendship; for those who live together delight in each
other and confer benefits on each other, but those who are asleep or
locally separated are not performing, but are disposed to perform, the
activities of friendship; distance does not break off the friendship
absolutely, but only the activity of it. But if the absence is
lasting, it seems actually to make men forget their friendship;
hence the saying 'out of sight, out of mind'. Neither old people nor
sour people seem to make friends easily; for there is little that is
pleasant in them, and no one can spend his days with one whose company
is painful, or not pleasant, since nature seems above all to avoid the
painful and to aim at the pleasant. Those, however, who approve of
each other but do not live together seem to be well-disposed rather
than actual friends. For there is nothing so characteristic of friends
as living together (since while it people who are in need that
desire benefits, even those who are supremely happy desire to spend
their days together; for solitude suits such people least of all); but
people cannot live together if they are not pleasant and do not
enjoy the same things, as friends who are companions seem to do.
  The truest friendship, then, is that of the good, as we have
frequently said; for that which is without qualification good or
pleasant seems to be lovable and desirable, and for each person that
which is good or pleasant to him; and the good man is lovable and
desirable to the good man for both these reasons. Now it looks as if
love were a feeling, friendship a state of character; for love may
be felt just as much towards lifeless things, but mutual love involves
choice and choice springs from a state of character; and men wish well
to those whom they love, for their sake, not as a result of feeling
but as a result of a state of character. And in loving a friend men
love what is good for themselves; for the good man in becoming a
friend becomes a good to his friend. Each, then, both loves what is
good for himself, and makes an equal return in goodwill and in
pleasantness; for friendship is said to be equality, and both of these
are found most in the friendship of the good.

  Between sour and elderly people friendship arises less readily,
inasmuch as they are less good-tempered and enjoy companionship
less; for these are thou to be the greatest marks of friendship
productive of it. This is why, while men become friends quickly, old
men do not; it is because men do not become friends with those in whom
they do not delight; and similarly sour people do not quickly make
friends either. But such men may bear goodwill to each other; for they
wish one another well and aid one another in need; but they are hardly
friends because they do not spend their days together nor delight in
each other, and these are thought the greatest marks of friendship.
  One cannot be a friend to many people in the sense of having
friendship of the perfect type with them, just as one cannot be in
love with many people at once (for love is a sort of excess of
feeling, and it is the nature of such only to be felt towards one
person); and it is not easy for many people at the same time to please
the same person very greatly, or perhaps even to be good in his
eyes. One must, too, acquire some experience of the other person and
become familiar with him, and that is very hard. But with a view to
utility or pleasure it is possible that many people should please one;
for many people are useful or pleasant, and these services take little
  Of these two kinds that which is for the sake of pleasure is the
more like friendship, when both parties get the same things from
each other and delight in each other or in the things, as in the
friendships of the young; for generosity is more found in such
friendships. Friendship based on utility is for the commercially
minded. People who are supremely happy, too, have no need of useful
friends, but do need pleasant friends; for they wish to live with some
one and, though they can endure for a short time what is painful, no
one could put up with it continuously, nor even with the Good itself
if it were painful to him; this is why they look out for friends who
are pleasant. Perhaps they should look out for friends who, being
pleasant, are also good, and good for them too; for so they will
have all the characteristics that friends should have.
  People in positions of authority seem to have friends who fall
into distinct classes; some people are useful to them and others are
pleasant, but the same people are rarely both; for they seek neither
those whose pleasantness is accompanied by virtue nor those whose
utility is with a view to noble objects, but in their desire for
pleasure they seek for ready-witted people, and their other friends
they choose as being clever at doing what they are told, and these
characteristics are rarely combined. Now we have said that the good
man is at the same time pleasant and useful; but such a man does not
become the friend of one who surpasses him in station, unless he is
surpassed also in virtue; if this is not so, he does not establish
equality by being proportionally exceeded in both respects. But people
who surpass him in both respects are not so easy to find.
  However that may be, the aforesaid friendships involve equality; for
the friends get the same things from one another and wish the same
things for one another, or exchange one thing for another, e.g.
pleasure for utility; we have said, however, that they are both less
truly friendships and less permanent.
  But it is from their likeness and their unlikeness to the same thing
that they are thought both to be and not to be friendships. It is by
their likeness to the friendship of virtue that they seem to be
friendships (for one of them involves pleasure and the other
utility, and these characteristics belong to the friendship of
virtue as well); while it is because the friendship of virtue is proof
against slander and permanent, while these quickly change (besides
differing from the former in many other respects), that they appear
not to be friendships; i.e. it is because of their unlikeness to the
friendship of virtue.

  But there is another kind of friendship, viz. that which involves an
inequality between the parties, e.g. that of father to son and in
general of elder to younger, that of man to wife and in general that
of ruler to subject. And these friendships differ also from each
other; for it is not the same that exists between parents and children
and between rulers and subjects, nor is even that of father to son the
same as that of son to father, nor that of husband to wife the same as
that of wife to husband. For the virtue and the function of each of
these is different, and so are the reasons for which they love; the
love and the friendship are therefore different also. Each party,
then, neither gets the same from the other, nor ought to seek it;
but when children render to parents what they ought to render to those
who brought them into the world, and parents render what they should
to their children, the friendship of such persons will be abiding
and excellent. In all friendships implying inequality the love also
should be proportional, i.e. the better should be more loved than he
loves, and so should the more useful, and similarly in each of the
other cases; for when the love is in proportion to the merit of the
parties, then in a sense arises equality, which is certainly held to
be characteristic of friendship.
  But equality does not seem to take the same form in acts of
justice and in friendship; for in acts of justice what is equal in the
primary sense is that which is in proportion to merit, while
quantitative equality is secondary, but in friendship quantitative
equality is primary and proportion to merit secondary. This becomes
clear if there is a great interval in respect of virtue or vice or
wealth or anything else between the parties; for then they are no
longer friends, and do not even expect to be so. And this is most
manifest in the case of the gods; for they surpass us most
decisively in all good things. But it is clear also in the case of
kings; for with them, too, men who are much their inferiors do not
expect to be friends; nor do men of no account expect to be friends
with the best or wisest men. In such cases it is not possible to
define exactly up to what point friends can remain friends; for much
can be taken away and friendship remain, but when one party is removed
to a great distance, as God is, the possibility of friendship
ceases. This is in fact the origin of the question whether friends
really wish for their friends the greatest goods, e.g. that of being
gods; since in that case their friends will no longer be friends to
them, and therefore will not be good things for them (for friends
are good things). The answer is that if we were right in saying that
friend wishes good to friend for his sake, his friend must remain
the sort of being he is, whatever that may be; therefore it is for him
oily so long as he remains a man that he will wish the greatest goods.
But perhaps not all the greatest goods; for it is for himself most
of all that each man wishes what is good.

  Most people seem, owing to ambition, to wish to be loved rather than
to love; which is why most men love flattery; for the flatterer is a
friend in an inferior position, or pretends to be such and to love
more than he is loved; and being loved seems to be akin to being
honoured, and this is what most people aim at. But it seems to be
not for its own sake that people choose honour, but incidentally.
For most people enjoy being honoured by those in positions of
authority because of their hopes (for they think that if they want
anything they will get it from them; and therefore they delight in
honour as a token of favour to come); while those who desire honour
from good men, and men who know, are aiming at confirming their own
opinion of themselves; they delight in honour, therefore, because they
believe in their own goodness on the strength of the judgement of
those who speak about them. In being loved, on the other hand,
people delight for its own sake; whence it would seem to be better
than being honoured, and friendship to be desirable in itself. But
it seems to lie in loving rather than in being loved, as is
indicated by the delight mothers take in loving; for some mothers hand
over their children to be brought up, and so long as they know their
fate they love them and do not seek to be loved in return (if they
cannot have both), but seem to be satisfied if they see them
prospering; and they themselves love their children even if these
owing to their ignorance give them nothing of a mother's due. Now
since friendship depends more on loving, and it is those who love
their friends that are praised, loving seems to be the
characteristic virtue of friends, so that it is only those in whom
this is found in due measure that are lasting friends, and only
their friendship that endures.
  It is in this way more than any other that even unequals can be
friends; they can be equalized. Now equality and likeness are
friendship, and especially the likeness of those who are like in
virtue; for being steadfast in themselves they hold fast to each
other, and neither ask nor give base services, but (one may say)
even prevent them; for it is characteristic of good men neither to
go wrong themselves nor to let their friends do so. But wicked men
have no steadfastness (for they do not remain even like to
themselves), but become friends for a short time because they
delight in each other's wickedness. Friends who are useful or pleasant
last longer; i.e. as long as they provide each other with enjoyments
or advantages. Friendship for utility's sake seems to be that which
most easily exists between contraries, e.g. between poor and rich,
between ignorant and learned; for what a man actually lacks he aims
at, and one gives something else in return. But under this head,
too, might bring lover and beloved, beautiful and ugly. This is why
lovers sometimes seem ridiculous, when they demand to be loved as they
love; if they are equally lovable their claim can perhaps be
justified, but when they have nothing lovable about them it is
ridiculous. Perhaps, however, contrary does not even aim at contrary
by its own nature, but only incidentally, the desire being for what is
intermediate; for that is what is good, e.g. it is good for the dry
not to become wet but to come to the intermediate state, and similarly
with the hot and in all other cases. These subjects we may dismiss;
for they are indeed somewhat foreign to our inquiry.

  Friendship and justice seem, as we have said at the outset of our
discussion, to be concerned with the same objects and exhibited
between the same persons. For in every community there is thought to
be some form of justice, and friendship too; at least men address as
friends their fellow-voyagers and fellowsoldiers, and so too those
associated with them in any other kind of community. And the extent of
their association is the extent of their friendship, as it is the
extent to which justice exists between them. And the proverb 'what
friends have is common property' expresses the truth; for friendship
depends on community. Now brothers and comrades have all things in
common, but the others to whom we have referred have definite things
in common-some more things, others fewer; for of friendships, too,
some are more and others less truly friendships. And the claims of
justice differ too; the duties of parents to children, and those of
brothers to each other are not the same, nor those of comrades and
those of fellow-citizens, and so, too, with the other kinds of
friendship. There is a difference, therefore, also between the acts
that are unjust towards each of these classes of associates, and the
injustice increases by being exhibited towards those who are friends
in a fuller sense; e.g. it is a more terrible thing to defraud a
comrade than a fellow-citizen, more terrible not to help a brother
than a stranger, and more terrible to wound a father than any one
else. And the demands of justice also seem to increase with the
intensity of the friendship, which implies that friendship and justice
exist between the same persons and have an equal extension.
  Now all forms of community are like parts of the political
community; for men journey together with a view to some particular
advantage, and to provide something that they need for the purposes of
life; and it is for the sake of advantage that the political community
too seems both to have come together originally and to endure, for
this is what legislators aim at, and they call just that which is to
the common advantage. Now the other communities aim at advantage bit
by bit, e.g. sailors at what is advantageous on a voyage with a view
to making money or something of the kind, fellow-soldiers at what is
advantageous in war, whether it is wealth or victory or the taking
of a city that they seek, and members of tribes and demes act
similarly (Some communities seem to arise for the sake or pleasure,
viz. religious guilds and social clubs; for these exist respectively
for the sake of offering sacrifice and of companionship. But all these
seem to fall under the political community; for it aims not at present
advantage but at what is advantageous for life as a whole), offering
sacrifices and arranging gatherings for the purpose, and assigning
honours to the gods, and providing pleasant relaxations for
themselves. For the ancient sacrifices and gatherings seem to take
place after the harvest as a sort of firstfruits, because it was at
these seasons that people had most leisure. All the communities, then,
seem to be parts of the political community; and the particular
kinds friendship will correspond to the particular kinds of community.

  There are three kinds of constitution, and an equal number of
deviation-forms--perversions, as it were, of them. The constitutions
are monarchy, aristocracy, and thirdly that which is based on a
property qualification, which it seems appropriate to call timocratic,
though most people are wont to call it polity. The best of these is
monarchy, the worst timocracy. The deviation from monarchy is
tyrany; for both are forms of one-man rule, but there is the
greatest difference between them; the tyrant looks to his own
advantage, the king to that of his subjects. For a man is not a king
unless he is sufficient to himself and excels his subjects in all good
things; and such a man needs nothing further; therefore he will not
look to his own interests but to those of his subjects; for a king who
is not like that would be a mere titular king. Now tyranny is the very
contrary of this; the tyrant pursues his own good. And it is clearer
in the case of tyranny that it is the worst deviation-form; but it
is the contrary of the best that is worst. Monarchy passes over into
tyranny; for tyranny is the evil form of one-man rule and the bad king
becomes a tyrant. Aristocracy passes over into oligarchy by the
badness of the rulers, who distribute contrary to equity what
belongs to the city-all or most of the good things to themselves,
and office always to the same people, paying most regard to wealth;
thus the rulers are few and are bad men instead of the most worthy.
Timocracy passes over into democracy; for these are coterminous, since
it is the ideal even of timocracy to be the rule of the majority,
and all who have the property qualification count as equal.
Democracy is the least bad of the deviations; for in its case the form
of constitution is but a slight deviation. These then are the
changes to which constitutions are most subject; for these are the
smallest and easiest transitions.
  One may find resemblances to the constitutions and, as it were,
patterns of them even in households. For the association of a father
with his sons bears the form of monarchy, since the father cares for
his children; and this is why Homer calls Zeus 'father'; it is the
ideal of monarchy to be paternal rule. But among the Persians the rule
of the father is tyrannical; they use their sons as slaves. Tyrannical
too is the rule of a master over slaves; for it is the advantage of
the master that is brought about in it. Now this seems to be a correct
form of government, but the Persian type is perverted; for the modes
of rule appropriate to different relations are diverse. The
association of man and wife seems to be aristocratic; for the man
rules in accordance with his worth, and in those matters in which a
man should rule, but the matters that befit a woman he hands over to
her. If the man rules in everything the relation passes over into
oligarchy; for in doing so he is not acting in accordance with their
respective worth, and not ruling in virtue of his superiority.
Sometimes, however, women rule, because they are heiresses; so their
rule is not in virtue of excellence but due to wealth and power, as in
oligarchies. The association of brothers is like timocracy; for they
are equal, except in so far as they differ in age; hence if they
differ much in age, the friendship is no longer of the fraternal type.
Democracy is found chiefly in masterless dwellings (for here every one
is on an equality), and in those in which the ruler is weak and
every one has licence to do as he pleases.

  Each of the constitutions may be seen to involve friendship just
in so far as it involves justice. The friendship between a king and
his subjects depends on an excess of benefits conferred; for he
confers benefits on his subjects if being a good man he cares for them
with a view to their well-being, as a shepherd does for his sheep
(whence Homer called Agamemnon 'shepherd of the peoples'). Such too is
the friendship of a father, though this exceeds the other in the
greatness of the benefits conferred; for he is responsible for the
existence of his children, which is thought the greatest good, and for
their nurture and upbringing.
  These things are ascribed to ancestors as well. Further, by nature a
father tends to rule over his sons, ancestors over descendants, a king
over his subjects. These friendships imply superiority of one party
over the other, which is why ancestors are honoured. The justice
therefore that exists between persons so related is not the same on
both sides but is in every case proportioned to merit; for that is
true of the friendship as well. The friendship of man and wife, again,
is the same that is found in an aristocracy; for it is in accordance
with virtue the better gets more of what is good, and each gets what
befits him; and so, too, with the justice in these relations. The
friendship of brothers is like that of comrades; for they are equal
and of like age, and such persons are for the most part like in
their feelings and their character. Like this, too, is the
friendship appropriate to timocratic government; for in such a
constitution the ideal is for the citizens to be equal and fair;
therefore rule is taken in turn, and on equal terms; and the
friendship appropriate here will correspond.
  But in the deviation-forms, as justice hardly exists, so too does
friendship. It exists least in the worst form; in tyranny there is
little or no friendship. For where there is nothing common to ruler
and ruled, there is not friendship either, since there is not justice;
e.g. between craftsman and tool, soul and body, master and slave;
the latter in each case is benefited by that which uses it, but
there is no friendship nor justice towards lifeless things. But
neither is there friendship towards a horse or an ox, nor to a slave
qua slave. For there is nothing common to the two parties; the slave
is a living tool and the tool a lifeless slave. Qua slave then, one
cannot be friends with him. But qua man one can; for there seems to be
some justice between any man and any other who can share in a system
of law or be a party to an agreement; therefore there can also be
friendship with him in so far as he is a man. Therefore while in
tyrannies friendship and justice hardly exist, in democracies they
exist more fully; for where the citizens are equal they have much in

  Every form of friendship, then, involves association, as has been
said. One might, however, mark off from the rest both the friendship
of kindred and that of comrades. Those of fellow-citizens,
fellow-tribesmen, fellow-voyagers, and the like are more like mere
friendships of association; for they seem to rest on a sort of
compact. With them we might class the friendship of host and guest.
The friendship of kinsmen itself, while it seems to be of many
kinds, appears to depend in every case on parental friendship; for
parents love their children as being a part of themselves, and
children their parents as being something originating from them. Now
(1) arents know their offspring better than there children know that
they are their children, and (2) the originator feels his offspring to
be his own more than the offspring do their begetter; for the
product belongs to the producer (e.g. a tooth or hair or anything else
to him whose it is), but the producer does not belong to the
product, or belongs in a less degree. And (3) the length of time
produces the same result; parents love their children as soon as these
are born, but children love their parents only after time has
elapsed and they have acquired understanding or the power of
discrimination by the senses. From these considerations it is also
plain why mothers love more than fathers do. Parents, then, love their
children as themselves (for their issue are by virtue of their
separate existence a sort of other selves), while children love
their parents as being born of them, and brothers love each other as
being born of the same parents; for their identity with them makes
them identical with each other (which is the reason why people talk of
'the same blood', 'the same stock', and so on). They are, therefore,
in a sense the same thing, though in separate individuals. Two
things that contribute greatly to friendship are a common upbringing
and similarity of age; for 'two of an age take to each other', and
people brought up together tend to be comrades; whence the
friendship of brothers is akin to that of comrades. And cousins and
other kinsmen are bound up together by derivation from brothers,
viz. by being derived from the same parents. They come to be closer
together or farther apart by virtue of the nearness or distance of the
original ancestor.
  The friendship of children to parents, and of men to gods, is a
relation to them as to something good and superior; for they have
conferred the greatest benefits, since they are the causes of their
being and of their nourishment, and of their education from their
birth; and this kind of friendship possesses pleasantness and
utility also, more than that of strangers, inasmuch as their life is
lived more in common. The friendship of brothers has the
characteristics found in that of comrades (and especially when these
are good), and in general between people who are like each other,
inasmuch as they belong more to each other and start with a love for
each other from their very birth, and inasmuch as those born of the
same parents and brought up together and similarly educated are more
akin in character; and the test of time has been applied most fully
and convincingly in their case.
  Between other kinsmen friendly relations are found in due
proportion. Between man and wife friendship seems to exist by
nature; for man is naturally inclined to form couples-even more than
to form cities, inasmuch as the household is earlier and more
necessary than the city, and reproduction is more common to man with
the animals. With the other animals the union extends only to this
point, but human beings live together not only for the sake of
reproduction but also for the various purposes of life; for from the
start the functions are divided, and those of man and woman are
different; so they help each other by throwing their peculiar gifts
into the common stock. It is for these reasons that both utility and
pleasure seem to be found in this kind of friendship. But this
friendship may be based also on virtue, if the parties are good; for
each has its own virtue and they will delight in the fact. And
children seem to be a bond of union (which is the reason why childless
people part more easily); for children are a good common to both and
what is common holds them together.
    How man and wife and in general friend and friend ought mutually
to behave seems to be the same question as how it is just for them
to behave; for a man does not seem to have the same duties to a
friend, a stranger, a comrade, and a schoolfellow.

  There are three kinds of friendship, as we said at the outset of our
inquiry, and in respect of each some are friends on an equality and
others by virtue of a superiority (for not only can equally good men
become friends but a better man can make friends with a worse, and
similarly in friendships of pleasure or utility the friends may be
equal or unequal in the benefits they confer). This being so, equals
must effect the required equalization on a basis of equality in love
and in all other respects, while unequals must render what is in
proportion to their superiority or inferiority. Complaints and
reproaches arise either only or chiefly in the friendship of
utility, and this is only to be expected. For those who are friends on
the ground of virtue are anxious to do well by each other (since
that is a mark of virtue and of friendship), and between men who are
emulating each other in this there cannot be complaints or quarrels;
no one is offended by a man who loves him and does well by him-if he
is a person of nice feeling he takes his revenge by doing well by
the other. And the man who excels the other in the services he renders
will not complain of his friend, since he gets what he aims at; for
each man desires what is good. Nor do complaints arise much even in
friendships of pleasure; for both get at the same time what they
desire, if they enjoy spending their time together; and even a man who
complained of another for not affording him pleasure would seem
ridiculous, since it is in his power not to spend his days with him.
  But the friendship of utility is full of complaints; for as they use
each other for their own interests they always want to get the
better of the bargain, and think they have got less than they
should, and blame their partners because they do not get all they
'want and deserve'; and those who do well by others cannot help them
as much as those whom they benefit want.
  Now it seems that, as justice is of two kinds, one unwritten and the
other legal, one kind of friendship of utility is moral and the
other legal. And so complaints arise most of all when men do not
dissolve the relation in the spirit of the same type of friendship
in which they contracted it. The legal type is that which is on
fixed terms; its purely commercial variety is on the basis of
immediate payment, while the more liberal variety allows time but
stipulates for a definite quid pro quo. In this variety the debt is
clear and not ambiguous, but in the postponement it contains an
element of friendliness; and so some states do not allow suits arising
out of such agreements, but think men who have bargained on a basis of
credit ought to accept the consequences. The moral type is not on
fixed terms; it makes a gift, or does whatever it does, as to a
friend; but one expects to receive as much or more, as having not
given but lent; and if a man is worse off when the relation is
dissolved than he was when it was contracted he will complain. This
happens because all or most men, while they wish for what is noble,
choose what is advantageous; now it is noble to do well by another
without a view to repayment, but it is the receiving of benefits
that is advantageous. Therefore if we can we should return the
equivalent of what we have received (for we must not make a man our
friend against his will; we must recognize that we were mistaken at
the first and took a benefit from a person we should not have taken it
from-since it was not from a friend, nor from one who did it just
for the sake of acting so-and we must settle up just as if we had been
benefited on fixed terms). Indeed, one would agree to repay if one
could (if one could not, even the giver would not have expected one to
do so); therefore if it is possible we must repay. But at the outset
we must consider the man by whom we are being benefited and on what
terms he is acting, in order that we may accept the benefit on these
terms, or else decline it.
  It is disputable whether we ought to measure a service by its
utility to the receiver and make the return with a view to that, or by
the benevolence of the giver. For those who have received say they
have received from their benefactors what meant little to the latter
and what they might have got from others-minimizing the service; while
the givers, on the contrary, say it was the biggest thing they had,
and what could not have been got from others, and that it was given in
times of danger or similar need. Now if the friendship is one that
aims at utility, surely the advantage to the receiver is the
measure. For it is he that asks for the service, and the other man
helps him on the assumption that he will receive the equivalent; so
the assistance has been precisely as great as the advantage to the
receiver, and therefore he must return as much as he has received,
or even more (for that would be nobler). In friendships based on
virtue on the other hand, complaints do not arise, but the purpose
of the doer is a sort of measure; for in purpose lies the essential
element of virtue and character.

  Differences arise also in friendships based on superiority; for each
expects to get more out of them, but when this happens the
friendship is dissolved. Not only does the better man think he ought
to get more, since more should be assigned to a good man, but the more
useful similarly expects this; they say a useless man should not get
as much as they should, since it becomes an act of public service
and not a friendship if the proceeds of the friendship do not answer
to the worth of the benefits conferred. For they think that, as in a
commercial partnership those who put more in get more out, so it
should be in friendship. But the man who is in a state of need and
inferiority makes the opposite claim; they think it is the part of a
good friend to help those who are in need; what, they say, is the
use of being the friend of a good man or a powerful man, if one is
to get nothing out of it?
  At all events it seems that each party is justified in his claim,
and that each should get more out of the friendship than the other-not
more of the same thing, however, but the superior more honour and
the inferior more gain; for honour is the prize of virtue and of
beneficence, while gain is the assistance required by inferiority.
  It seems to be so in constitutional arrangements also; the man who
contributes nothing good to the common stock is not honoured; for what
belongs to the public is given to the man who benefits the public, and
honour does belong to the public. It is not possible to get wealth
from the common stock and at the same time honour. For no one puts
up with the smaller share in all things; therefore to the man who
loses in wealth they assign honour and to the man who is willing to be
paid, wealth, since the proportion to merit equalizes the parties
and preserves the friendship, as we have said. This then is also the
way in which we should associate with unequals; the man who is
benefited in respect of wealth or virtue must give honour in return,
repaying what he can. For friendship asks a man to do what he can, not
what is proportional to the merits of the case; since that cannot
always be done, e.g. in honours paid to the gods or to parents; for no
one could ever return to them the equivalent of what he gets, but
the man who serves them to the utmost of his power is thought to be
a good man. This is why it would not seem open to a man to disown
his father (though a father may disown his son); being in debt, he
should repay, but there is nothing by doing which a son will have done
the equivalent of what he has received, so that he is always in
debt. But creditors can remit a debt; and a father can therefore do so
too. At the same time it is thought that presumably no one would
repudiate a son who was not far gone in wickedness; for apart from the
natural friendship of father and son it is human nature not to
reject a son's assistance. But the son, if he is wicked, will
naturally avoid aiding his father, or not be zealous about it; for
most people wish to get benefits, but avoid doing them, as a thing
unprofitable.-So much for these questions.
                              BOOK IX

  IN all friendships between dissimilars it is, as we have said,
proportion that equalizes the parties and preserves the friendship;
e.g. in the political form of friendship the shoemaker gets a return
for his shoes in proportion to his worth, and the weaver and all other
craftsmen do the same. Now here a common measure has been provided
in the form of money, and therefore everything is referred to this and
measured by this; but in the friendship of lovers sometimes the
lover complains that his excess of love is not met by love in return
though perhaps there is nothing lovable about him), while often the
beloved complains that the lover who formerly promised everything
now performs nothing. Such incidents happen when the lover loves the
beloved for the sake of pleasure while the beloved loves the lover for
the sake of utility, and they do not both possess the qualities
expected of them. If these be the objects of the friendship it is
dissolved when they do not get the things that formed the motives of
their love; for each did not love the other person himself but the
qualities he had, and these were not enduring; that is why the
friendships also are transient. But the love of characters, as has
been said, endures because it is self-dependent. Differences arise
when what they get is something different and not what they desire;
for it is like getting nothing at all when we do not get what we aim
at; compare the story of the person who made promises to a
lyre-player, promising him the more, the better he sang, but in the
morning, when the other demanded the fulfilment of his promises,
said that he had given pleasure for pleasure. Now if this had been
what each wanted, all would have been well; but if the one wanted
enjoyment but the other gain, and the one has what he wants while
the other has not, the terms of the association will not have been
properly fulfilled; for what each in fact wants is what he attends to,
and it is for the sake of that that that he will give what he has.
  But who is to fix the worth of the service; he who makes the
sacrifice or he who has got the advantage? At any rate the other seems
to leave it to him. This is what they say Protagoras used to do;
whenever he taught anything whatsoever, he bade the learner assess the
value of the knowledge, and accepted the amount so fixed. But in
such matters some men approve of the saying 'let a man have his
fixed reward'. Those who get the money first and then do none of the
things they said they would, owing to the extravagance of their
promises, naturally find themselves the objects of complaint; for they
do not fulfil what they agreed to. The sophists are perhaps
compelled to do this because no one would give money for the things
they do know. These people then, if they do not do what they have been
paid for, are naturally made the objects of complaint.
  But where there is no contract of service, those who give up
something for the sake of the other party cannot (as we have said)
be complained of (for that is the nature of the friendship of virtue),
and the return to them must be made on the basis of their purpose (for
it is purpose that is the characteristic thing in a friend and in
virtue). And so too, it seems, should one make a return to those
with whom one has studied philosophy; for their worth cannot be
measured against money, and they can get no honour which will
balance their services, but still it is perhaps enough, as it is
with the gods and with one's parents, to give them what one can.
  If the gift was not of this sort, but was made with a view to a
return, it is no doubt preferable that the return made should be one
that seems fair to both parties, but if this cannot be achieved, it
would seem not only necessary that the person who gets the first
service should fix the reward, but also just; for if the other gets in
return the equivalent of the advantage the beneficiary has received,
or the price lie would have paid for the pleasure, he will have got
what is fair as from the other.
  We see this happening too with things put up for sale, and in some
places there are laws providing that no actions shall arise out of
voluntary contracts, on the assumption that one should settle with a
person to whom one has given credit, in the spirit in which one
bargained with him. The law holds that it is more just that the person
to whom credit was given should fix the terms than that the person who
gave credit should do so. For most things are not assessed at the same
value by those who have them and those who want them; each class
values highly what is its own and what it is offering; yet the
return is made on the terms fixed by the receiver. But no doubt the
receiver should assess a thing not at what it seems worth when he
has it, but at what he assessed it at before he had it.

  A further problem is set by such questions as, whether one should in
all things give the preference to one's father and obey him, or
whether when one is ill one should trust a doctor, and when one has to
elect a general should elect a man of military skill; and similarly
whether one should render a service by preference to a friend or to
a good man, and should show gratitude to a benefactor or oblige a
friend, if one cannot do both.
  All such questions are hard, are they not, to decide with precision?
For they admit of many variations of all sorts in respect both of
the magnitude of the service and of its nobility necessity. But that
we should not give the preference in all things to the same person
is plain enough; and we must for the most part return benefits
rather than oblige friends, as we must pay back a loan to a creditor
rather than make one to a friend. But perhaps even this is not
always true; e.g. should a man who has been ransomed out of the
hands of brigands ransom his ransomer in return, whoever he may be (or
pay him if he has not been captured but demands payment) or should
he ransom his father? It would seem that he should ransom his father
in preference even to himself. As we have said, then, generally the
debt should be paid, but if the gift is exceedingly noble or
exceedingly necessary, one should defer to these considerations. For
sometimes it is not even fair to return the equivalent of what one has
received, when the one man has done a service to one whom he knows
to be good, while the other makes a return to one whom he believes
to be bad. For that matter, one should sometimes not lend in return to
one who has lent to oneself; for the one person lent to a good man,
expecting to recover his loan, while the other has no hope of
recovering from one who is believed to be bad. Therefore if the
facts really are so, the demand is not fair; and if they are not,
but people think they are, they would be held to be doing nothing
strange in refusing. As we have often pointed out, then, discussions
about feelings and actions have just as much definiteness as their
  That we should not make the same return to every one, nor give a
father the preference in everything, as one does not sacrifice
everything to Zeus, is plain enough; but since we ought to render
different things to parents, brothers, comrades, and benefactors, we
ought to render to each class what is appropriate and becoming. And
this is what people seem in fact to do; to marriages they invite their
kinsfolk; for these have a part in the family and therefore in the
doings that affect the family; and at funerals also they think that
kinsfolk, before all others, should meet, for the same reason. And
it would be thought that in the matter of food we should help our
parents before all others, since we owe our own nourishment to them,
and it is more honourable to help in this respect the authors of our
being even before ourselves; and honour too one should give to one's
parents as one does to the gods, but not any and every honour; for
that matter one should not give the same honour to one's father and
one's mother, nor again should one give them the honour due to a
philosopher or to a general, but the honour due to a father, or
again to a mother. To all older persons, too, one should give honour
appropriate to their age, by rising to receive them and finding
seats for them and so on; while to comrades and brothers one should
allow freedom of speech and common use of all things. To kinsmen, too,
and fellow-tribesmen and fellow-citizens and to every other class
one should always try to assign what is appropriate, and to compare
the claims of each class with respect to nearness of relation and to
virtue or usefulness. The comparison is easier when the persons belong
to the same class, and more laborious when they are different. Yet
we must not on that account shrink from the task, but decide the
question as best we can.

  Another question that arises is whether friendships should or should
not be broken off when the other party does not remain the same.
Perhaps we may say that there is nothing strange in breaking off a
friendship based on utility or pleasure, when our friends no longer
have these attributes. For it was of these attributes that we were the
friends; and when these have failed it is reasonable to love no
longer. But one might complain of another if, when he loved us for our
usefulness or pleasantness, he pretended to love us for our character.
For, as we said at the outset, most differences arise between
friends when they are not friends in the spirit in which they think
they are. So when a man has deceived himself and has thought he was
being loved for his character, when the other person was doing nothing
of the kind, he must blame himself; when he has been deceived by the
pretences of the other person, it is just that he should complain
against his deceiver; he will complain with more justice than one does
against people who counterfeit the currency, inasmuch as the
wrongdoing is concerned with something more valuable.
  But if one accepts another man as good, and he turns out badly and
is seen to do so, must one still love him? Surely it is impossible,
since not everything can be loved, but only what is good. What is evil
neither can nor should be loved; for it is not one's duty to be a
lover of evil, nor to become like what is bad; and we have said that
like is dear like. Must the friendship, then, be forthwith broken off?
Or is this not so in all cases, but only when one's friends are
incurable in their wickedness? If they are capable of being reformed
one should rather come to the assistance of their character or their
property, inasmuch as this is better and more characteristic of
friendship. But a man who breaks off such a friendship would seem to
be doing nothing strange; for it was not to a man of this sort that he
was a friend; when his friend has changed, therefore, and he is unable
to save him, he gives him up.
  But if one friend remained the same while the other became better
and far outstripped him in virtue, should the latter treat the
former as a friend? Surely he cannot. When the interval is great
this becomes most plain, e.g. in the case of childish friendships;
if one friend remained a child in intellect while the other became a
fully developed man, how could they be friends when they neither
approved of the same things nor delighted in and were pained by the
same things? For not even with regard to each other will their
tastes agree, and without this (as we saw) they cannot be friends; for
they cannot live together. But we have discussed these matters.
  Should he, then, behave no otherwise towards him than he would if he
had never been his friend? Surely he should keep a remembrance of
their former intimacy, and as we think we ought to oblige friends
rather than strangers, so to those who have been our friends we
ought to make some allowance for our former friendship, when the
breach has not been due to excess of wickedness.

    Friendly relations with one's neighbours, and the marks by which
friendships are defined, seem to have proceeded from a man's relations
to himself. For (1) we define a friend as one who wishes and does what
is good, or seems so, for the sake of his friend, or (2) as one who
wishes his friend to exist and live, for his sake; which mothers do to
their children, and friends do who have come into conflict. And (3)
others define him as one who lives with and (4) has the same tastes as
another, or (5) one who grieves and rejoices with his friend; and this
too is found in mothers most of all. It is by some one of these
characterstics that friendship too is defined.
  Now each of these is true of the good man's relation to himself (and
of all other men in so far as they think themselves good; virtue and
the good man seem, as has been said, to be the measure of every
class of things). For his opinions are harmonious, and he desires
the same things with all his soul; and therefore he wishes for himself
what is good and what seems so, and does it (for it is
characteristic of the good man to work out the good), and does so
for his own sake (for he does it for the sake of the intellectual
element in him, which is thought to be the man himself); and he wishes
himself to live and be preserved, and especially the element by virtue
of which he thinks. For existence is good to the virtuous man, and
each man wishes himself what is good, while no one chooses to
possess the whole world if he has first to become some one else (for
that matter, even now God possesses the good); he wishes for this only
on condition of being whatever he is; and the element that thinks
would seem to be the individual man, or to be so more than any other
element in him. And such a man wishes to live with himself; for he
does so with pleasure, since the memories of his past acts are
delightful and his hopes for the future are good, and therefore
pleasant. His mind is well stored too with subjects of
contemplation. And he grieves and rejoices, more than any other,
with himself; for the same thing is always painful, and the same thing
always pleasant, and not one thing at one time and another at another;
he has, so to speak, nothing to repent of.
  Therefore, since each of these characteristics belongs to the good
man in relation to himself, and he is related to his friend as to
himself (for his friend is another self), friendship too is thought to
be one of these attributes, and those who have these attributes to
be friends. Whether there is or is not friendship between a man and
himself is a question we may dismiss for the present; there would seem
to be friendship in so far as he is two or more, to judge from the
afore-mentioned attributes of friendship, and from the fact that the
extreme of friendship is likened to one's love for oneself.
  But the attributes named seem to belong even to the majority of men,
poor creatures though they may be. Are we to say then that in so far
as they are satisfied with themselves and think they are good, they
share in these attributes? Certainly no one who is thoroughly bad
and impious has these attributes, or even seems to do so. They
hardly belong even to inferior people; for they are at variance with
themselves, and have appetites for some things and rational desires
for others. This is true, for instance, of incontinent people; for
they choose, instead of the things they themselves think good,
things that are pleasant but hurtful; while others again, through
cowardice and laziness, shrink from doing what they think best for
themselves. And those who have done many terrible deeds and are
hated for their wickedness even shrink from life and destroy
themselves. And wicked men seek for people with whom to spend their
days, and shun themselves; for they remember many a grevious deed, and
anticipate others like them, when they are by themselves, but when
they are with others they forget. And having nothing lovable in them
they have no feeling of love to themselves. Therefore also such men do
not rejoice or grieve with themselves; for their soul is rent by
faction, and one element in it by reason of its wickedness grieves
when it abstains from certain acts, while the other part is pleased,
and one draws them this way and the other that, as if they were
pulling them in pieces. If a man cannot at the same time be pained and
pleased, at all events after a short time he is pained because he
was pleased, and he could have wished that these things had not been
pleasant to him; for bad men are laden with repentance.
  Therefore the bad man does not seem to be amicably disposed even
to himself, because there is nothing in him to love; so that if to
be thus is the height of wretchedness, we should strain every nerve to
avoid wickedness and should endeavour to be good; for so and only so
can one be either friendly to oneself or a friend to another.

  Goodwill is a friendly sort of relation, but is not identical with
friendship; for one may have goodwill both towards people whom one
does not know, and without their knowing it, but not friendship.
This has indeed been said already.' But goodwill is not even
friendly feeling. For it does not involve intensity or desire, whereas
these accompany friendly feeling; and friendly feeling implies
intimacy while goodwill may arise of a sudden, as it does towards
competitors in a contest; we come to feel goodwill for them and to
share in their wishes, but we would not do anything with them; for, as
we said, we feel goodwill suddenly and love them only superficially.
  Goodwill seems, then, to be a beginning of friendship, as the
pleasure of the eye is the beginning of love. For no one loves if he
has not first been delighted by the form of the beloved, but he who
delights in the form of another does not, for all that, love him,
but only does so when he also longs for him when absent and craves for
his presence; so too it is not possible for people to be friends if
they have not come to feel goodwill for each other, but those who feel
goodwill are not for all that friends; for they only wish well to
those for whom they feel goodwill, and would not do anything with them
nor take trouble for them. And so one might by an extension of the
term friendship say that goodwill is inactive friendship, though
when it is prolonged and reaches the point of intimacy it becomes
friendship-not the friendship based on utility nor that based on
pleasure; for goodwill too does not arise on those terms. The man
who has received a benefit bestows goodwill in return for what has
been done to him, but in doing so is only doing what is just; while he
who wishes some one to prosper because he hopes for enrichment through
him seems to have goodwill not to him but rather to himself, just as a
man is not a friend to another if he cherishes him for the sake of
some use to be made of him. In general, goodwill arises on account
of some excellence and worth, when one man seems to another
beautiful or brave or something of the sort, as we pointed out in
the case of competitors in a contest.

  Unanimity also seems to be a friendly relation. For this reason it
is not identity of opinion; for that might occur even with people
who do not know each other; nor do we say that people who have the
same views on any and every subject are unanimous, e.g. those who
agree about the heavenly bodies (for unanimity about these is not a
friendly relation), but we do say that a city is unanimous when men
have the same opinion about what is to their interest, and choose
the same actions, and do what they have resolved in common. It is
about things to be done, therefore, that people are said to be
unanimous, and, among these, about matters of consequence and in which
it is possible for both or all parties to get what they want; e.g. a
city is unanimous when all its citizens think that the offices in it
should be elective, or that they should form an alliance with
Sparta, or that Pittacus should be their ruler-at a time when he
himself was also willing to rule. But when each of two people wishes
himself to have the thing in question, like the captains in the
Phoenissae, they are in a state of faction; for it is not unanimity
when each of two parties thinks of the same thing, whatever that may
be, but only when they think of the same thing in the same hands, e.g.
when both the common people and those of the better class wish the
best men to rule; for thus and thus alone do all get what they aim at.
Unanimity seems, then, to be political friendship, as indeed it is
commonly said to be; for it is concerned with things that are to our
interest and have an influence on our life.
  Now such unanimity is found among good men; for they are unanimous
both in themselves and with one another, being, so to say, of one mind
(for the wishes of such men are constant and not at the mercy of
opposing currents like a strait of the sea), and they wish for what is
just and what is advantageous, and these are the objects of their
common endeavour as well. But bad men cannot be unanimous except to
a small extent, any more than they can be friends, since they aim at
getting more than their share of advantages, while in labour and
public service they fall short of their share; and each man wishing
for advantage to himself criticizes his neighbour and stands in his
way; for if people do not watch it carefully the common weal is soon
destroyed. The result is that they are in a state of faction,
putting compulsion on each other but unwilling themselves to do what
is just.

  Benefactors are thought to love those they have benefited, more than
those who have been well treated love those that have treated them
well, and this is discussed as though it were paradoxical. Most people
think it is because the latter are in the position of debtors and
the former of creditors; and therefore as, in the case of loans,
debtors wish their creditors did not exist, while creditors actually
take care of the safety of their debtors, so it is thought that
benefactors wish the objects of their action to exist since they
will then get their gratitude, while the beneficiaries take no
interest in making this return. Epicharmus would perhaps declare
that they say this because they 'look at things on their bad side',
but it is quite like human nature; for most people are forgetful,
and are more anxious to be well treated than to treat others well. But
the cause would seem to be more deeply rooted in the nature of things;
the case of those who have lent money is not even analogous. For
they have no friendly feeling to their debtors, but only a wish that
they may kept safe with a view to what is to be got from them; while
those who have done a service to others feel friendship and love for
those they have served even if these are not of any use to them and
never will be. This is what happens with craftsmen too; every man
loves his own handiwork better than he would be loved by it if it came
alive; and this happens perhaps most of all with poets; for they
have an excessive love for their own poems, doting on them as if
they were their children. This is what the position of benefactors
is like; for that which they have treated well is their handiwork, and
therefore they love this more than the handiwork does its maker. The
cause of this is that existence is to all men a thing to be chosen and
loved, and that we exist by virtue of activity (i.e. by living and
acting), and that the handiwork is in a sense, the producer in
activity; he loves his handiwork, therefore, because he loves
existence. And this is rooted in the nature of things; for what he
is in potentiality, his handiwork manifests in activity.
  At the same time to the benefactor that is noble which depends on
his action, so that he delights in the object of his action, whereas
to the patient there is nothing noble in the agent, but at most
something advantageous, and this is less pleasant and lovable. What is
pleasant is the activity of the present, the hope of the future, the
memory of the past; but most pleasant is that which depends on
activity, and similarly this is most lovable. Now for a man who has
made something his work remains (for the noble is lasting), but for
the person acted on the utility passes away. And the memory of noble
things is pleasant, but that of useful things is not likely to be
pleasant, or is less so; though the reverse seems true of expectation.
  Further, love is like activity, being loved like passivity; and
loving and its concomitants are attributes of those who are the more
  Again, all men love more what they have won by labour; e.g. those
who have made their money love it more than those who have inherited
it; and to be well treated seems to involve no labour, while to
treat others well is a laborious task. These are the reasons, too, why
mothers are fonder of their children than fathers; bringing them
into the world costs them more pains, and they know better that the
children are their own. This last point, too, would seem to apply to

  The question is also debated, whether a man should love himself
most, or some one else. People criticize those who love themselves
most, and call them self-lovers, using this as an epithet of disgrace,
and a bad man seems to do everything for his own sake, and the more so
the more wicked he is-and so men reproach him, for instance, with
doing nothing of his own accord-while the good man acts for honour's
sake, and the more so the better he is, and acts for his friend's
sake, and sacrifices his own interest.
  But the facts clash with these arguments, and this is not
surprising. For men say that one ought to love best one's best friend,
and man's best friend is one who wishes well to the object of his wish
for his sake, even if no one is to know of it; and these attributes
are found most of all in a man's attitude towards himself, and so
are all the other attributes by which a friend is defined; for, as
we have said, it is from this relation that all the characteristics of
friendship have extended to our neighbours. All the proverbs, too,
agree with this, e.g. 'a single soul', and 'what friends have is
common property', and 'friendship is equality', and 'charity begins at
home'; for all these marks will be found most in a man's relation to
himself; he is his own best friend and therefore ought to love himself
best. It is therefore a reasonable question, which of the two views we
should follow; for both are plausible.
  Perhaps we ought to mark off such arguments from each other and
determine how far and in what respects each view is right. Now if we
grasp the sense in which each school uses the phrase 'lover of
self', the truth may become evident. Those who use the term as one
of reproach ascribe self-love to people who assign to themselves the
greater share of wealth, honours, and bodily pleasures; for these
are what most people desire, and busy themselves about as though
they were the best of all things, which is the reason, too, why they
become objects of competition. So those who are grasping with regard
to these things gratify their appetites and in general their
feelings and the irrational element of the soul; and most men are of
this nature (which is the reason why the epithet has come to be used
as it is-it takes its meaning from the prevailing type of self-love,
which is a bad one); it is just, therefore, that men who are lovers of
self in this way are reproached for being so. That it is those who
give themselves the preference in regard to objects of this sort
that most people usually call lovers of self is plain; for if a man
were always anxious that he himself, above all things, should act
justly, temperately, or in accordance with any other of the virtues,
and in general were always to try to secure for himself the honourable
course, no one will call such a man a lover of self or blame him.
  But such a man would seem more than the other a lover of self; at
all events he assigns to himself the things that are noblest and best,
and gratifies the most authoritative element in and in all things
obeys this; and just as a city or any other systematic whole is most
properly identified with the most authoritative element in it, so is a
man; and therefore the man who loves this and gratifies it is most
of all a lover of self. Besides, a man is said to have or not to
have self-control according as his reason has or has not the
control, on the assumption that this is the man himself; and the
things men have done on a rational principle are thought most properly
their own acts and voluntary acts. That this is the man himself, then,
or is so more than anything else, is plain, and also that the good man
loves most this part of him. Whence it follows that he is most truly a
lover of self, of another type than that which is a matter of
reproach, and as different from that as living according to a rational
principle is from living as passion dictates, and desiring what is
noble from desiring what seems advantageous. Those, then, who busy
themselves in an exceptional degree with noble actions all men approve
and praise; and if all were to strive towards what is noble and strain
every nerve to do the noblest deeds, everything would be as it
should be for the common weal, and every one would secure for
himself the goods that are greatest, since virtue is the greatest of
  Therefore the good man should be a lover of self (for he will both
himself profit by doing noble acts, and will benefit his fellows), but
the wicked man should not; for he will hurt both himself and his
neighbours, following as he does evil passions. For the wicked man,
what he does clashes with what he ought to do, but what the good man
ought to do he does; for reason in each of its possessors chooses what
is best for itself, and the good man obeys his reason. It is true of
the good man too that he does many acts for the sake of his friends
and his country, and if necessary dies for them; for he will throw
away both wealth and honours and in general the goods that are objects
of competition, gaining for himself nobility; since he would prefer
a short period of intense pleasure to a long one of mild enjoyment,
a twelvemonth of noble life to many years of humdrum existence, and
one great and noble action to many trivial ones. Now those who die for
others doubtless attain this result; it is therefore a great prize
that they choose for themselves. They will throw away wealth too on
condition that their friends will gain more; for while a man's
friend gains wealth he himself achieves nobility; he is therefore
assigning the greater good to himself. The same too is true of
honour and office; all these things he will sacrifice to his friend;
for this is noble and laudable for himself. Rightly then is he thought
to be good, since he chooses nobility before all else. But he may even
give up actions to his friend; it may be nobler to become the cause of
his friend's acting than to act himself. In all the actions,
therefore, that men are praised for, the good man is seen to assign to
himself the greater share in what is noble. In this sense, then, as
has been said, a man should be a lover of self; but in the sense in
which most men are so, he ought not.

  It is also disputed whether the happy man will need friends or
not. It is said that those who are supremely happy and self-sufficient
have no need of friends; for they have the things that are good, and
therefore being self-sufficient they need nothing further, while a
friend, being another self, furnishes what a man cannot provide by his
own effort; whence the saying 'when fortune is kind, what need of
friends?' But it seems strange, when one assigns all good things to
the happy man, not to assign friends, who are thought the greatest
of external goods. And if it is more characteristic of a friend to
do well by another than to be well done by, and to confer benefits
is characteristic of the good man and of virtue, and it is nobler to
do well by friends than by strangers, the good man will need people to
do well by. This is why the question is asked whether we need
friends more in prosperity or in adversity, on the assumption that not
only does a man in adversity need people to confer benefits on him,
but also those who are prospering need people to do well by. Surely it
is strange, too, to make the supremely happy man a solitary; for no
one would choose the whole world on condition of being alone, since
man is a political creature and one whose nature is to live with
others. Therefore even the happy man lives with others; for he has the
things that are by nature good. And plainly it is better to spend
his days with friends and good men than with strangers or any chance
persons. Therefore the happy man needs friends.
  What then is it that the first school means, and in what respect
is it right? Is it that most identify friends with useful people? Of
such friends indeed the supremely happy man will have no need, since
he already has the things that are good; nor will he need those whom
one makes one's friends because of their pleasantness, or he will need
them only to a small extent (for his life, being pleasant, has no need
of adventitious pleasure); and because he does not need such friends
he is thought not to need friends.
  But that is surely not true. For we have said at the outset that
happiness is an activity; and activity plainly comes into being and is
not present at the start like a piece of property. If (1) happiness
lies in living and being active, and the good man's activity is
virtuous and pleasant in itself, as we have said at the outset, and
(2) a thing's being one's own is one of the attributes that make it
pleasant, and (3) we can contemplate our neighbours better than
ourselves and their actions better than our own, and if the actions of
virtuous men who are their friends are pleasant to good men (since
these have both the attributes that are naturally pleasant),-if this
be so, the supremely happy man will need friends of this sort, since
his purpose is to contemplate worthy actions and actions that are
his own, and the actions of a good man who is his friend have both
these qualities.
  Further, men think that the happy man ought to live pleasantly.
Now if he were a solitary, life would be hard for him; for by
oneself it is not easy to be continuously active; but with others
and towards others it is easier. With others therefore his activity
will be more continuous, and it is in itself pleasant, as it ought
to be for the man who is supremely happy; for a good man qua good
delights in virtuous actions and is vexed at vicious ones, as a
musical man enjoys beautiful tunes but is pained at bad ones. A
certain training in virtue arises also from the company of the good,
as Theognis has said before us.
  If we look deeper into the nature of things, a virtuous friend seems
to be naturally desirable for a virtuous man. For that which is good
by nature, we have said, is for the virtuous man good and pleasant
in itself. Now life is defined in the case of animals by the power
of perception in that of man by the power of perception or thought;
and a power is defined by reference to the corresponding activity,
which is the essential thing; therefore life seems to be essentially
the act of perceiving or thinking. And life is among the things that
are good and pleasant in themselves, since it is determinate and the
determinate is of the nature of the good; and that which is good by
nature is also good for the virtuous man (which is the reason why life
seems pleasant to all men); but we must not apply this to a wicked and
corrupt life nor to a life spent in pain; for such a life is
indeterminate, as are its attributes. The nature of pain will become
plainer in what follows. But if life itself is good and pleasant
(which it seems to be, from the very fact that all men desire it,
and particularly those who are good and supremely happy; for to such
men life is most desirable, and their existence is the most
supremely happy) and if he who sees perceives that he sees, and he who
hears, that he hears, and he who walks, that he walks, and in the case
of all other activities similarly there is something which perceives
that we are active, so that if we perceive, we perceive that we
perceive, and if we think, that we think; and if to perceive that we
perceive or think is to perceive that we exist (for existence was
defined as perceiving or thinking); and if perceiving that one lives
is in itself one of the things that are pleasant (for life is by
nature good, and to perceive what is good present in oneself is
pleasant); and if life is desirable, and particularly so for good men,
because to them existence is good and pleasant for they are pleased at
the consciousness of the presence in them of what is in itself
good); and if as the virtuous man is to himself, he is to his friend
also (for his friend is another self):-if all this be true, as his own
being is desirable for each man, so, or almost so, is that of his
friend. Now his being was seen to be desirable because he perceived
his own goodness, and such perception is pleasant in itself. He needs,
therefore, to be conscious of the existence of his friend as well, and
this will be realized in their living together and sharing in
discussion and thought; for this is what living together would seem to
mean in the case of man, and not, as in the case of cattle, feeding in
the same place.
  If, then, being is in itself desirable for the supremely happy man
(since it is by its nature good and pleasant), and that of his
friend is very much the same, a friend will be one of the things
that are desirable. Now that which is desirable for him he must
have, or he will be deficient in this respect. The man who is to be
happy will therefore need virtuous friends.

  Should we, then, make as many friends as possible, or-as in the case
of hospitality it is thought to be suitable advice, that one should be
'neither a man of many guests nor a man with none'-will that apply
to friendship as well; should a man neither be friendless nor have
an excessive number of friends?
  To friends made with a view to utility this saying would seem
thoroughly applicable; for to do services to many people in return
is a laborious task and life is not long enough for its performance.
Therefore friends in excess of those who are sufficient for our own
life are superfluous, and hindrances to the noble life; so that we
have no need of them. Of friends made with a view to pleasure, also,
few are enough, as a little seasoning in food is enough.
  But as regards good friends, should we have as many as possible,
or is there a limit to the number of one's friends, as there is to the
size of a city? You cannot make a city of ten men, and if there are
a hundred thousand it is a city no longer. But the proper number is
presumably not a single number, but anything that falls between
certain fixed points. So for friends too there is a fixed number
perhaps the largest number with whom one can live together (for
that, we found, thought to be very characteristic of friendship);
and that one cannot live with many people and divide oneself up
among them is plain. Further, they too must be friends of one another,
if they are all to spend their days together; and it is a hard
business for this condition to be fulfilled with a large number. It is
found difficult, too, to rejoice and to grieve in an intimate way with
many people, for it may likely happen that one has at once to be happy
with one friend and to mourn with another. Presumably, then, it is
well not to seek to have as many friends as possible, but as many as
are enough for the purpose of living together; for it would seem
actually impossible to be a great friend to many people. This is why
one cannot love several people; love is ideally a sort of excess of
friendship, and that can only be felt towards one person; therefore
great friendship too can only be felt towards a few people. This seems
to be confirmed in practice; for we do not find many people who are
friends in the comradely way of friendship, and the famous friendships
of this sort are always between two people. Those who have many
friends and mix intimately with them all are thought to be no one's
friend, except in the way proper to fellow-citizens, and such people
are also called obsequious. In the way proper to fellow-citizens,
indeed, it is possible to be the friend of many and yet not be
obsequious but a genuinely good man; but one cannot have with many
people the friendship based on virtue and on the character of our
friends themselves, and we must be content if we find even a few such.

  Do we need friends more in good fortune or in bad? They are sought
after in both; for while men in adversity need help, in prosperity
they need people to live with and to make the objects of their
beneficence; for they wish to do well by others. Friendship, then,
is more necessary in bad fortune, and so it is useful friends that one
wants in this case; but it is more noble in good fortune, and so we
also seek for good men as our friends, since it is more desirable to
confer benefits on these and to live with these. For the very presence
of friends is pleasant both in good fortune and also in bad, since
grief is lightened when friends sorrow with us. Hence one might ask
whether they share as it were our burden, or-without that
happening-their presence by its pleasantness, and the thought of their
grieving with us, make our pain less. Whether it is for these
reasons or for some other that our grief is lightened, is a question
that may be dismissed; at all events what we have described appears to
take place.
  But their presence seems to contain a mixture of various factors.
The very seeing of one's friends is pleasant, especially if one is
in adversity, and becomes a safeguard against grief (for a friend
tends to comfort us both by the sight of him and by his words, if he
is tactful, since he knows our character and the things that please or
pain us); but to see him pained at our misfortunes is painful; for
every one shuns being a cause of pain to his friends. For this
reason people of a manly nature guard against making their friends
grieve with them, and, unless he be exceptionally insensible to
pain, such a man cannot stand the pain that ensues for his friends,
and in general does not admit fellow-mourners because he is not
himself given to mourning; but women and womanly men enjoy
sympathisers in their grief, and love them as friends and companions
in sorrow. But in all things one obviously ought to imitate the better
type of person.
  On the other hand, the presence of friends in our prosperity implies
both a pleasant passing of our time and the pleasant thought of
their pleasure at our own good fortune. For this cause it would seem
that we ought to summon our friends readily to share our good fortunes
(for the beneficent character is a noble one), but summon them to
our bad fortunes with hesitation; for we ought to give them as
little a share as possible in our evils whence the saying 'enough is
my misfortune'. We should summon friends to us most of all when they
are likely by suffering a few inconveniences to do us a great service.
  Conversely, it is fitting to go unasked and readily to the aid of
those in adversity (for it is characteristic of a friend to render
services, and especially to those who are in need and have not
demanded them; such action is nobler and pleasanter for both persons);
but when our friends are prosperous we should join readily in their
activities (for they need friends for these too), but be tardy in
coming forward to be the objects of their kindness; for it is not
noble to be keen to receive benefits. Still, we must no doubt avoid
getting the reputation of kill-joys by repulsing them; for that
sometimes happens.
  The presence of friends, then, seems desirable in all circumstances.

  Does it not follow, then, that, as for lovers the sight of the
beloved is the thing they love most, and they prefer this sense to the
others because on it love depends most for its being and for its
origin, so for friends the most desirable thing is living together?
For friendship is a partnership, and as a man is to himself, so is
he to his friend; now in his own case the consciousness of his being
is desirable, and so therefore is the consciousness of his friend's
being, and the activity of this consciousness is produced when they
live together, so that it is natural that they aim at this. And
whatever existence means for each class of men, whatever it is for
whose sake they value life, in that they wish to occupy themselves
with their friends; and so some drink together, others dice
together, others join in athletic exercises and hunting, or in the
study of philosophy, each class spending their days together in
whatever they love most in life; for since they wish to live with
their friends, they do and share in those things which give them the
sense of living together. Thus the friendship of bad men turns out
an evil thing (for because of their instability they unite in bad
pursuits, and besides they become evil by becoming like each other),
while the friendship of good men is good, being augmented by their
companionship; and they are thought to become better too by their
activities and by improving each other; for from each other they
take the mould of the characteristics they approve-whence the saying
'noble deeds from noble men'.-So much, then, for friendship; our
next task must be to discuss pleasure.
                              BOOK X

  AFTER these matters we ought perhaps next to discuss pleasure. For
it is thought to be most intimately connected with our human nature,
which is the reason why in educating the young we steer them by the
rudders of pleasure and pain; it is thought, too, that to enjoy the
things we ought and to hate the things we ought has the greatest
bearing on virtue of character. For these things extend right
through life, with a weight and power of their own in respect both
to virtue and to the happy life, since men choose what is pleasant and
avoid what is painful; and such things, it will be thought, we
should least of all omit to discuss, especially since they admit of
much dispute. For some say pleasure is the good, while others, on
the contrary, say it is thoroughly bad-some no doubt being persuaded
that the facts are so, and others thinking it has a better effect on
our life to exhibit pleasure as a bad thing even if it is not; for
most people (they think) incline towards it and are the slaves of
their pleasures, for which reason they ought to lead them in the
opposite direction, since thus they will reach the middle state. But
surely this is not correct. For arguments about matters concerned with
feelings and actions are less reliable than facts: and so when they
clash with the facts of perception they are despised, and discredit
the truth as well; if a man who runs down pleasure is once seen to
be alming at it, his inclining towards it is thought to imply that
it is all worthy of being aimed at; for most people are not good at
drawing distinctions. True arguments seem, then, most useful, not only
with a view to knowledge, but with a view to life also; for since they
harmonize with the facts they are believed, and so they stimulate
those who understand them to live according to them.-Enough of such
questions; let us proceed to review the opinions that have been
expressed about pleasure.

  Eudoxus thought pleasure was the good because he saw all things,
both rational and irrational, aiming at it, and because in all
things that which is the object of choice is what is excellent, and
that which is most the object of choice the greatest good; thus the
fact that all things moved towards the same object indicated that this
was for all things the chief good (for each thing, he argued, finds
its own good, as it finds its own nourishment); and that which is good
for all things and at which all aim was the good. His arguments were
credited more because of the excellence of his character than for
their own sake; he was thought to be remarkably self-controlled, and
therefore it was thought that he was not saying what he did say as a
friend of pleasure, but that the facts really were so. He believed
that the same conclusion followed no less plainly from a study of
the contrary of pleasure; pain was in itself an object of aversion
to all things, and therefore its contrary must be similarly an
object of choice. And again that is most an object of choice which
we choose not because or for the sake of something else, and
pleasure is admittedly of this nature; for no one asks to what end
he is pleased, thus implying that pleasure is in itself an object of
choice. Further, he argued that pleasure when added to any good,
e.g. to just or temperate action, makes it more worthy of choice,
and that it is only by itself that the good can be increased.
  This argument seems to show it to be one of the goods, and no more a
good than any other; for every good is more worthy of choice along
with another good than taken alone. And so it is by an argument of
this kind that Plato proves the good not to be pleasure; he argues
that the pleasant life is more desirable with wisdom than without, and
that if the mixture is better, pleasure is not the good; for the
good cannot become more desirable by the addition of anything to it.
Now it is clear that nothing else, any more than pleasure, can be
the good if it is made more desirable by the addition of any of the
things that are good in themselves. What, then, is there that
satisfies this criterion, which at the same time we can participate
in? It is something of this sort that we are looking for. Those who
object that that at which all things aim is not necessarily good
are, we may surmise, talking nonsense. For we say that that which
every one thinks really is so; and the man who attacks this belief
will hardly have anything more credible to maintain instead. If it
is senseless creatures that desire the things in question, there might
be something in what they say; but if intelligent creatures do so as
well, what sense can there be in this view? But perhaps even in
inferior creatures there is some natural good stronger than themselves
which aims at their proper good.
  Nor does the argument about the contrary of pleasure seem to be
correct. They say that if pain is an evil it does not follow that
pleasure is a good; for evil is opposed to evil and at the same time
both are opposed to the neutral state-which is correct enough but does
not apply to the things in question. For if both pleasure and pain
belonged to the class of evils they ought both to be objects of
aversion, while if they belonged to the class of neutrals neither
should be an object of aversion or they should both be equally so; but
in fact people evidently avoid the one as evil and choose the other as
good; that then must be the nature of the opposition between them.

  Nor again, if pleasure is not a quality, does it follow that it is
not a good; for the activities of virtue are not qualities either, nor
is happiness. They say, however, that the good is determinate, while
pleasure is indeterminate, because it admits of degrees. Now if it
is from the feeling of pleasure that they judge thus, the same will be
true of justice and the other virtues, in respect of which we
plainly say that people of a certain character are so more or less,
and act more or less in accordance with these virtues; for people
may be more just or brave, and it is possible also to act justly or
temperately more or less. But if their judgement is based on the
various pleasures, surely they are not stating the real cause, if in
fact some pleasures are unmixed and others mixed. Again, just as
health admits of degrees without being indeterminate, why should not
pleasure? The same proportion is not found in all things, nor a single
proportion always in the same thing, but it may be relaxed and yet
persist up to a point, and it may differ in degree. The case of
pleasure also may therefore be of this kind.
  Again, they assume that the good is perfect while movements and
comings into being are imperfect, and try to exhibit pleasure as being
a movement and a coming into being. But they do not seem to be right
even in saying that it is a movement. For speed and slowness are
thought to be proper to every movement, and if a movement, e.g. that
of the heavens, has not speed or slowness in itself, it has it in
relation to something else; but of pleasure neither of these things is
true. For while we may become pleased quickly as we may become angry
quickly, we cannot be pleased quickly, not even in relation to some
one else, while we can walk, or grow, or the like, quickly. While,
then, we can change quickly or slowly into a state of pleasure, we
cannot quickly exhibit the activity of pleasure, i.e. be pleased.
Again, how can it be a coming into being? It is not thought that any
chance thing can come out of any chance thing, but that a thing is
dissolved into that out of which it comes into being; and pain would
be the destruction of that of which pleasure is the coming into being.
  They say, too, that pain is the lack of that which is according to
nature, and pleasure is replenishment. But these experiences are
bodily. If then pleasure is replenishment with that which is according
to nature, that which feels pleasure will be that in which the
replenishment takes place, i.e. the body; but that is not thought to
be the case; therefore the replenishment is not pleasure, though one
would be pleased when replenishment was taking place, just as one
would be pained if one was being operated on. This opinion seems to be
based on the pains and pleasures connected with nutrition; on the fact
that when people have been short of food and have felt pain beforehand
they are pleased by the replenishment. But this does not happen with
all pleasures; for the pleasures of learning and, among the sensuous
pleasures, those of smell, and also many sounds and sights, and
memories and hopes, do not presuppose pain. Of what then will these be
the coming into being? There has not been lack of anything of which
they could be the supplying anew.
  In reply to those who bring forward the disgraceful pleasures one
may say that these are not pleasant; if things are pleasant to
people of vicious constitution, we must not suppose that they are also
pleasant to others than these, just as we do not reason so about the
things that are wholesome or sweet or bitter to sick people, or
ascribe whiteness to the things that seem white to those suffering
from a disease of the eye. Or one might answer thus-that the pleasures
are desirable, but not from these sources, as wealth is desirable, but
not as the reward of betrayal, and health, but not at the cost of
eating anything and everything. Or perhaps pleasures differ in kind;
for those derived from noble sources are different from those
derived from base sources, and one cannot the pleasure of the just man
without being just, nor that of the musical man without being musical,
and so on.
  The fact, too, that a friend is different from a flatterer seems
to make it plain that pleasure is not a good or that pleasures are
different in kind; for the one is thought to consort with us with a
view to the good, the other with a view to our pleasure, and the one
is reproached for his conduct while the other is praised on the ground
that he consorts with us for different ends. And no one would choose
to live with the intellect of a child throughout his life, however
much he were to be pleased at the things that children are pleased at,
nor to get enjoyment by doing some most disgraceful deed, though he
were never to feel any pain in consequence. And there are many
things we should be keen about even if they brought no pleasure,
e.g. seeing, remembering, knowing, possessing the virtues. If
pleasures necessarily do accompany these, that makes no odds; we
should choose these even if no pleasure resulted. It seems to be
clear, then, that neither is pleasure the good nor is all pleasure
desirable, and that some pleasures are desirable in themselves,
differing in kind or in their sources from the others. So much for the
things that are said about pleasure and pain.

  What pleasure is, or what kind of thing it is, will become plainer
if we take up the question aga from the beginning. Seeing seems to
be at any moment complete, for it does not lack anything which
coming into being later will complete its form; and pleasure also
seems to be of this nature. For it is a whole, and at no time can
one find a pleasure whose form will be completed if the pleasure lasts
longer. For this reason, too, it is not a movement. For every movement
(e.g. that of building) takes time and is for the sake of an end,
and is complete when it has made what it aims at. It is complete,
therefore, only in the whole time or at that final moment. In their
parts and during the time they occupy, all movements are incomplete,
and are different in kind from the whole movement and from each other.
For the fitting together of the stones is different from the fluting
of the column, and these are both different from the making of the
temple; and the making of the temple is complete (for it lacks nothing
with a view to the end proposed), but the making of the base or of the
triglyph is incomplete; for each is the making of only a part. They
differ in kind, then, and it is not possible to find at any and
every time a movement complete in form, but if at all, only in the
whole time. So, too, in the case of walking and all other movements.
For if locomotion is a movement from to there, it, too, has
differences in kind-flying, walking, leaping, and so on. And not
only so, but in walking itself there are such differences; for the
whence and whither are not the same in the whole racecourse and in a
part of it, nor in one part and in another, nor is it the same thing
to traverse this line and that; for one traverses not only a line
but one which is in a place, and this one is in a different place from
that. We have discussed movement with precision in another work, but
it seems that it is not complete at any and every time, but that the
many movements are incomplete and different in kind, since the
whence and whither give them their form. But of pleasure the form is
complete at any and every time. Plainly, then, pleasure and movement
must be different from each other, and pleasure must be one of the
things that are whole and complete. This would seem to be the case,
too, from the fact that it is not possible to move otherwise than in
time, but it is possible to be pleased; for that which takes place
in a moment is a whole.
  From these considerations it is clear, too, that these thinkers
are not right in saying there is a movement or a coming into being
of pleasure. For these cannot be ascribed to all things, but only to
those that are divisible and not wholes; there is no coming into being
of seeing nor of a point nor of a unit, nor is any of these a movement
or coming into being; therefore there is no movement or coming into
being of pleasure either; for it is a whole.
  Since every sense is active in relation to its object, and a sense
which is in good condition acts perfectly in relation to the most
beautiful of its objects (for perfect activity seems to be ideally
of this nature; whether we say that it is active, or the organ in
which it resides, may be assumed to be immaterial), it follows that in
the case of each sense the best activity is that of the
best-conditioned organ in relation to the finest of its objects. And
this activity will be the most complete and pleasant. For, while there
is pleasure in respect of any sense, and in respect of thought and
contemplation no less, the most complete is pleasantest, and that of a
well-conditioned organ in relation to the worthiest of its objects
is the most complete; and the pleasure completes the activity. But the
pleasure does not complete it in the same way as the combination of
object and sense, both good, just as health and the doctor are not
in the same way the cause of a man's being healthy. (That pleasure
is produced in respect to each sense is plain; for we speak of
sights and sounds as pleasant. It is also plain that it arises most of
all when both the sense is at its best and it is active in reference
to an object which corresponds; when both object and perceiver are
of the best there will always be pleasure, since the requisite agent
and patient are both present.) Pleasure completes the activity not
as the corresponding permanent state does, by its immanence, but as an
end which supervenes as the bloom of youth does on those in the flower
of their age. So long, then, as both the intelligible or sensible
object and the discriminating or contemplative faculty are as they
should be, the pleasure will be involved in the activity; for when
both the passive and the active factor are unchanged and are related
to each other in the same way, the same result naturally follows.
  How, then, is it that no one is continuously pleased? Is it that
we grow weary? Certainly all human beings are incapable of
continuous activity. Therefore pleasure also is not continuous; for it
accompanies activity. Some things delight us when they are new, but
later do so less, for the same reason; for at first the mind is in a
state of stimulation and intensely active about them, as people are
with respect to their vision when they look hard at a thing, but
afterwards our activity is not of this kind, but has grown relaxed;
for which reason the pleasure also is dulled.
  One might think that all men desire pleasure because they all aim at
life; life is an activity, and each man is active about those things
and with those faculties that he loves most; e.g. the musician is
active with his hearing in reference to tunes, the student with his
mind in reference to theoretical questions, and so on in each case;
now pleasure completes the activities, and therefore life, which
they desire. It is with good reason, then, that they aim at pleasure
too, since for every one it completes life, which is desirable. But
whether we choose life for the sake of pleasure or pleasure for the
sake of life is a question we may dismiss for the present. For they
seem to be bound up together and not to admit of separation, since
without activity pleasure does not arise, and every activity is
completed by the attendant pleasure.

  For this reason pleasures seem, too, to differ in kind. For things
different in kind are, we think, completed by different things (we see
this to be true both of natural objects and of things produced by art,
e.g. animals, trees, a painting, a sculpture, a house, an
implement); and, similarly, we think that activities differing in kind
are completed by things differing in kind. Now the activities of
thought differ from those of the senses, and both differ among
themselves, in kind; so, therefore, do the pleasures that complete
  This may be seen, too, from the fact that each of the pleasures is
bound up with the activity it completes. For an activity is
intensified by its proper pleasure, since each class of things is
better judged of and brought to precision by those who engage in the
activity with pleasure; e.g. it is those who enjoy geometrical
thinking that become geometers and grasp the various propositions
better, and, similarly, those who are fond of music or of building,
and so on, make progress in their proper function by enjoying it; so
the pleasures intensify the activities, and what intensifies a thing
is proper to it, but things different in kind have properties
different in kind.
  This will be even more apparent from the fact that activities are
hindered by pleasures arising from other sources. For people who are
fond of playing the flute are incapable of attending to arguments if
they overhear some one playing the flute, since they enjoy
flute-playing more than the activity in hand; so the pleasure
connected with fluteplaying destroys the activity concerned with
argument. This happens, similarly, in all other cases, when one is
active about two things at once; the more pleasant activity drives out
the other, and if it is much more pleasant does so all the more, so
that one even ceases from the other. This is why when we enjoy
anything very much we do not throw ourselves into anything else, and
do one thing only when we are not much pleased by another; e.g. in the
theatre the people who eat sweets do so most when the actors are poor.
Now since activities are made precise and more enduring and better
by their proper pleasure, and injured by alien pleasures, evidently
the two kinds of pleasure are far apart. For alien pleasures do pretty
much what proper pains do, since activities are destroyed by their
proper pains; e.g. if a man finds writing or doing sums unpleasant and
painful, he does not write, or does not do sums, because the
activity is painful. So an activity suffers contrary effects from
its proper pleasures and pains, i.e. from those that supervene on it
in virtue of its own nature. And alien pleasures have been stated to
do much the same as pain; they destroy the activity, only not to the
same degree.
  Now since activities differ in respect of goodness and badness,
and some are worthy to be chosen, others to be avoided, and others
neutral, so, too, are the pleasures; for to each activity there is a
proper pleasure. The pleasure proper to a worthy activity is good
and that proper to an unworthy activity bad; just as the appetites for
noble objects are laudable, those for base objects culpable. But the
pleasures involved in activities are more proper to them than the
desires; for the latter are separated both in time and in nature,
while the former are close to the activities, and so hard to
distinguish from them that it admits of dispute whether the activity
is not the same as the pleasure. (Still, pleasure does not seem to
be thought or perception-that would be strange; but because they are
not found apart they appear to some people the same.) As activities
are different, then, so are the corresponding pleasures. Now sight
is superior to touch in purity, and hearing and smell to taste; the
pleasures, therefore, are similarly superior, and those of thought
superior to these, and within each of the two kinds some are
superior to others.
  Each animal is thought to have a proper pleasure, as it has a proper
function; viz. that which corresponds to its activity. If we survey
them species by species, too, this will be evident; horse, dog, and
man have different pleasures, as Heraclitus says 'asses would prefer
sweepings to gold'; for food is pleasanter than gold to asses. So
the pleasures of creatures different in kind differ in kind, and it is
plausible to suppose that those of a single species do not differ. But
they vary to no small extent, in the case of men at least; the same
things delight some people and pain others, and are painful and odious
to some, and pleasant to and liked by others. This happens, too, in
the case of sweet things; the same things do not seem sweet to a man
in a fever and a healthy man-nor hot to a weak man and one in good
condition. The same happens in other cases. But in all such matters
that which appears to the good man is thought to be really so. If this
is correct, as it seems to be, and virtue and the good man as such are
the measure of each thing, those also will be pleasures which appear
so to him, and those things pleasant which he enjoys. If the things he
finds tiresome seem pleasant to some one, that is nothing
surprising; for men may be ruined and spoilt in many ways; but the
things are not pleasant, but only pleasant to these people and to
people in this condition. Those which are admittedly disgraceful
plainly should not be said to be pleasures, except to a perverted
taste; but of those that are thought to be good what kind of
pleasure or what pleasure should be said to be that proper to man?
Is it not plain from the corresponding activities? The pleasures
follow these. Whether, then, the perfect and supremely happy man has
one or more activities, the pleasures that perfect these will be
said in the strict sense to be pleasures proper to man, and the rest
will be so in a secondary and fractional way, as are the activities.

  Now that we have spoken of the virtues, the forms of friendship, and
the varieties of pleasure, what remains is to discuss in outline the
nature of happiness, since this is what we state the end of human
nature to be. Our discussion will be the more concise if we first
sum up what we have said already. We said, then, that it is not a
disposition; for if it were it might belong to some one who was asleep
throughout his life, living the life of a plant, or, again, to some
one who was suffering the greatest misfortunes. If these
implications are unacceptable, and we must rather class happiness as
an activity, as we have said before, and if some activities are
necessary, and desirable for the sake of something else, while
others are so in themselves, evidently happiness must be placed
among those desirable in themselves, not among those desirable for the
sake of something else; for happiness does not lack anything, but is
self-sufficient. Now those activities are desirable in themselves from
which nothing is sought beyond the activity. And of this nature
virtuous actions are thought to be; for to do noble and good deeds
is a thing desirable for its own sake.
  Pleasant amusements also are thought to be of this nature; we choose
them not for the sake of other things; for we are injured rather
than benefited by them, since we are led to neglect our bodies and our
property. But most of the people who are deemed happy take refuge in
such pastimes, which is the reason why those who are ready-witted at
them are highly esteemed at the courts of tyrants; they make
themselves pleasant companions in the tyrants' favourite pursuits, and
that is the sort of man they want. Now these things are thought to
be of the nature of happiness because people in despotic positions
spend their leisure in them, but perhaps such people prove nothing;
for virtue and reason, from which good activities flow, do not
depend on despotic position; nor, if these people, who have never
tasted pure and generous pleasure, take refuge in the bodily
pleasures, should these for that reason be thought more desirable; for
boys, too, think the things that are valued among themselves are the
best. It is to be expected, then, that, as different things seem
valuable to boys and to men, so they should to bad men and to good.
Now, as we have often maintained, those things are both valuable and
pleasant which are such to the good man; and to each man the
activity in accordance with his own disposition is most desirable,
and, therefore, to the good man that which is in accordance with
virtue. Happiness, therefore, does not lie in amusement; it would,
indeed, be strange if the end were amusement, and one were to take
trouble and suffer hardship all one's life in order to amuse
oneself. For, in a word, everything that we choose we choose for the
sake of something else-except happiness, which is an end. Now to exert
oneself and work for the sake of amusement seems silly and utterly
childish. But to amuse oneself in order that one may exert oneself, as
Anacharsis puts it, seems right; for amusement is a sort of
relaxation, and we need relaxation because we cannot work
continuously. Relaxation, then, is not an end; for it is taken for the
sake of activity.
  The happy life is thought to be virtuous; now a virtuous life
requires exertion, and does not consist in amusement. And we say
that serious things are better than laughable things and those
connected with amusement, and that the activity of the better of any
two things-whether it be two elements of our being or two men-is the
more serious; but the activity of the better is ipso facto superior
and more of the nature of happiness. And any chance person-even a
slave-can enjoy the bodily pleasures no less than the best man; but no
one assigns to a slave a share in happiness-unless he assigns to him
also a share in human life. For happiness does not lie in such
occupations, but, as we have said before, in virtuous activities.

  If happiness is activity in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable
that it should be in accordance with the highest virtue; and this will
be that of the best thing in us. Whether it be reason or something
else that is this element which is thought to be our natural ruler and
guide and to take thought of things noble and divine, whether it be
itself also divine or only the most divine element in us, the activity
of this in accordance with its proper virtue will be perfect
happiness. That this activity is contemplative we have already said.
  Now this would seem to be in agreement both with what we said before
and with the truth. For, firstly, this activity is the best (since not
only is reason the best thing in us, but the objects of reason are the
best of knowable objects); and secondly, it is the most continuous,
since we can contemplate truth more continuously than we can do
anything. And we think happiness has pleasure mingled with it, but the
activity of philosophic wisdom is admittedly the pleasantest of
virtuous activities; at all events the pursuit of it is thought to
offer pleasures marvellous for their purity and their enduringness,
and it is to be expected that those who know will pass their time more
pleasantly than those who inquire. And the self-sufficiency that is
spoken of must belong most to the contemplative activity. For while
a philosopher, as well as a just man or one possessing any other
virtue, needs the necessaries of life, when they are sufficiently
equipped with things of that sort the just man needs people towards
whom and with whom he shall act justly, and the temperate man, the
brave man, and each of the others is in the same case, but the
philosopher, even when by himself, can contemplate truth, and the
better the wiser he is; he can perhaps do so better if he has
fellow-workers, but still he is the most self-sufficient. And this
activity alone would seem to be loved for its own sake; for nothing
arises from it apart from the contemplating, while from practical
activities we gain more or less apart from the action. And happiness
is thought to depend on leisure; for we are busy that we may have
leisure, and make war that we may live in peace. Now the activity of
the practical virtues is exhibited in political or military affairs,
but the actions concerned with these seem to be unleisurely. Warlike
actions are completely so (for no one chooses to be at war, or
provokes war, for the sake of being at war; any one would seem
absolutely murderous if he were to make enemies of his friends in
order to bring about battle and slaughter); but the action of the
statesman is also unleisurely, and-apart from the political action
itself-aims at despotic power and honours, or at all events happiness,
for him and his fellow citizens-a happiness different from political
action, and evidently sought as being different. So if among
virtuous actions political and military actions are distinguished by
nobility and greatness, and these are unleisurely and aim at an end
and are not desirable for their own sake, but the activity of
reason, which is contemplative, seems both to be superior in serious
worth and to aim at no end beyond itself, and to have its pleasure
proper to itself (and this augments the activity), and the
self-sufficiency, leisureliness, unweariedness (so far as this is
possible for man), and all the other attributes ascribed to the
supremely happy man are evidently those connected with this
activity, it follows that this will be the complete happiness of
man, if it be allowed a complete term of life (for none of the
attributes of happiness is incomplete).
  But such a life would be too high for man; for it is not in so far
as he is man that he will live so, but in so far as something divine
is present in him; and by so much as this is superior to our composite
nature is its activity superior to that which is the exercise of the
other kind of virtue. If reason is divine, then, in comparison with
man, the life according to it is divine in comparison with human life.
But we must not follow those who advise us, being men, to think of
human things, and, being mortal, of mortal things, but must, so far as
we can, make ourselves immortal, and strain every nerve to live in
accordance with the best thing in us; for even if it be small in bulk,
much more does it in power and worth surpass everything. This would
seem, too, to be each man himself, since it is the authoritative and
better part of him. It would be strange, then, if he were to choose
not the life of his self but that of something else. And what we
said before' will apply now; that which is proper to each thing is
by nature best and most pleasant for each thing; for man, therefore,
the life according to reason is best and pleasantest, since reason
more than anything else is man. This life therefore is also the

  But in a secondary degree the life in accordance with the other kind
of virtue is happy; for the activities in accordance with this befit
our human estate. Just and brave acts, and other virtuous acts, we
do in relation to each other, observing our respective duties with
regard to contracts and services and all manner of actions and with
regard to passions; and all of these seem to be typically human.
Some of them seem even to arise from the body, and virtue of character
to be in many ways bound up with the passions. Practical wisdom,
too, is linked to virtue of character, and this to practical wisdom,
since the principles of practical wisdom are in accordance with the
moral virtues and rightness in morals is in accordance with
practical wisdom. Being connected with the passions also, the moral
virtues must belong to our composite nature; and the virtues of our
composite nature are human; so, therefore, are the life and the
happiness which correspond to these. The excellence of the reason is a
thing apart; we must be content to say this much about it, for to
describe it precisely is a task greater than our purpose requires.
It would seem, however, also to need external equipment but little, or
less than moral virtue does. Grant that both need the necessaries, and
do so equally, even if the statesman's work is the more concerned with
the body and things of that sort; for there will be little
difference there; but in what they need for the exercise of their
activities there will be much difference. The liberal man will need
money for the doing of his liberal deeds, and the just man too will
need it for the returning of services (for wishes are hard to discern,
and even people who are not just pretend to wish to act justly); and
the brave man will need power if he is to accomplish any of the acts
that correspond to his virtue, and the temperate man will need
opportunity; for how else is either he or any of the others to be
recognized? It is debated, too, whether the will or the deed is more
essential to virtue, which is assumed to involve both; it is surely
clear that its perfection involves both; but for deeds many things are
needed, and more, the greater and nobler the deeds are. But the man
who is contemplating the truth needs no such thing, at least with a
view to the exercise of his activity; indeed they are, one may say,
even hindrances, at all events to his contemplation; but in so far
as he is a man and lives with a number of people, he chooses to do
virtuous acts; he will therefore need such aids to living a human
  But that perfect happiness is a contemplative activity will appear
from the following consideration as well. We assume the gods to be
above all other beings blessed and happy; but what sort of actions
must we assign to them? Acts of justice? Will not the gods seem absurd
if they make contracts and return deposits, and so on? Acts of a brave
man, then, confronting dangers and running risks because it is noble
to do so? Or liberal acts? To whom will they give? It will be
strange if they are really to have money or anything of the kind.
And what would their temperate acts be? Is not such praise
tasteless, since they have no bad appetites? If we were to run through
them all, the circumstances of action would be found trivial and
unworthy of gods. Still, every one supposes that they live and
therefore that they are active; we cannot suppose them to sleep like
Endymion. Now if you take away from a living being action, and still
more production, what is left but contemplation? Therefore the
activity of God, which surpasses all others in blessedness, must be
contemplative; and of human activities, therefore, that which is
most akin to this must be most of the nature of happiness.
  This is indicated, too, by the fact that the other animals have no
share in happiness, being completely deprived of such activity. For
while the whole life of the gods is blessed, and that of men too in so
far as some likeness of such activity belongs to them, none of the
other animals is happy, since they in no way share in contemplation.
Happiness extends, then, just so far as contemplation does, and
those to whom contemplation more fully belongs are more truly happy,
not as a mere concomitant but in virtue of the contemplation; for this
is in itself precious. Happiness, therefore, must be some form of
  But, being a man, one will also need external prosperity; for our
nature is not self-sufficient for the purpose of contemplation, but
our body also must be healthy and must have food and other
attention. Still, we must not think that the man who is to be happy
will need many things or great things, merely because he cannot be
supremely happy without external goods; for self-sufficiency and
action do not involve excess, and we can do noble acts without
ruling earth and sea; for even with moderate advantages one can act
virtuously (this is manifest enough; for private persons are thought
to do worthy acts no less than despots-indeed even more); and it is
enough that we should have so much as that; for the life of the man
who is active in accordance with virtue will be happy. Solon, too, was
perhaps sketching well the happy man when he described him as
moderately furnished with externals but as having done (as Solon
thought) the noblest acts, and lived temperately; for one can with but
moderate possessions do what one ought. Anaxagoras also seems to
have supposed the happy man not to be rich nor a despot, when he
said that he would not be surprised if the happy man were to seem to
most people a strange person; for they judge by externals, since these
are all they perceive. The opinions of the wise seem, then, to
harmonize with our arguments. But while even such things carry some
conviction, the truth in practical matters is discerned from the facts
of life; for these are the decisive factor. We must therefore survey
what we have already said, bringing it to the test of the facts of
life, and if it harmonizes with the facts we must accept it, but if it
clashes with them we must suppose it to be mere theory. Now he who
exercises his reason and cultivates it seems to be both in the best
state of mind and most dear to the gods. For if the gods have any care
for human affairs, as they are thought to have, it would be reasonable
both that they should delight in that which was best and most akin
to them (i.e. reason) and that they should reward those who love and
honour this most, as caring for the things that are dear to them and
acting both rightly and nobly. And that all these attributes belong
most of all to the philosopher is manifest. He, therefore, is the
dearest to the gods. And he who is that will presumably be also the
happiest; so that in this way too the philosopher will more than any
other be happy.

  If these matters and the virtues, and also friendship and
pleasure, have been dealt with sufficiently in outline, are we to
suppose that our programme has reached its end? Surely, as the
saying goes, where there are things to be done the end is not to
survey and recognize the various things, but rather to do them; with
regard to virtue, then, it is not enough to know, but we must try to
have and use it, or try any other way there may be of becoming good.
Now if arguments were in themselves enough to make men good, they
would justly, as Theognis says, have won very great rewards, and
such rewards should have been provided; but as things are, while
they seem to have power to encourage and stimulate the generous-minded
among our youth, and to make a character which is gently born, and a
true lover of what is noble, ready to be possessed by virtue, they are
not able to encourage the many to nobility and goodness. For these
do not by nature obey the sense of shame, but only fear, and do not
abstain from bad acts because of their baseness but through fear of
punishment; living by passion they pursue their own pleasures and
the means to them, and and the opposite pains, and have not even a
conception of what is noble and truly pleasant, since they have
never tasted it. What argument would remould such people? It is
hard, if not impossible, to remove by argument the traits that have
long since been incorporated in the character; and perhaps we must
be content if, when all the influences by which we are thought to
become good are present, we get some tincture of virtue.
  Now some think that we are made good by nature, others by
habituation, others by teaching. Nature's part evidently does not
depend on us, but as a result of some divine causes is present in
those who are truly fortunate; while argument and teaching, we may
suspect, are not powerful with all men, but the soul of the student
must first have been cultivated by means of habits for noble joy and
noble hatred, like earth which is to nourish the seed. For he who
lives as passion directs will not hear argument that dissuades him,
nor understand it if he does; and how can we persuade one in such a
state to change his ways? And in general passion seems to yield not to
argument but to force. The character, then, must somehow be there
already with a kinship to virtue, loving what is noble and hating what
is base.
  But it is difficult to get from youth up a right training for virtue
if one has not been brought up under right laws; for to live
temperately and hardily is not pleasant to most people, especially
when they are young. For this reason their nurture and occupations
should be fixed by law; for they will not be painful when they have
become customary. But it is surely not enough that when they are young
they should get the right nurture and attention; since they must, even
when they are grown up, practise and be habituated to them, we shall
need laws for this as well, and generally speaking to cover the
whole of life; for most people obey necessity rather than argument,
and punishments rather than the sense of what is noble.
  This is why some think that legislators ought to stimulate men to
virtue and urge them forward by the motive of the noble, on the
assumption that those who have been well advanced by the formation
of habits will attend to such influences; and that punishments and
penalties should be imposed on those who disobey and are of inferior
nature, while the incurably bad should be completely banished. A
good man (they think), since he lives with his mind fixed on what is
noble, will submit to argument, while a bad man, whose desire is for
pleasure, is corrected by pain like a beast of burden. This is, too,
why they say the pains inflicted should be those that are most opposed
to the pleasures such men love.
  However that may be, if (as we have said) the man who is to be
good must be well trained and habituated, and go on to spend his
time in worthy occupations and neither willingly nor unwillingly do
bad actions, and if this can be brought about if men live in
accordance with a sort of reason and right order, provided this has
force,-if this be so, the paternal command indeed has not the required
force or compulsive power (nor in general has the command of one
man, unless he be a king or something similar), but the law has
compulsive power, while it is at the same time a rule proceeding
from a sort of practical wisdom and reason. And while people hate
men who oppose their impulses, even if they oppose them rightly, the
law in its ordaining of what is good is not burdensome.
  In the Spartan state alone, or almost alone, the legislator seems to
have paid attention to questions of nurture and occupations; in most
states such matters have been neglected, and each man lives as he
pleases, Cyclops-fashion, 'to his own wife and children dealing
law'. Now it is best that there should be a public and proper care for
such matters; but if they are neglected by the community it would seem
right for each man to help his children and friends towards virtue,
and that they should have the power, or at least the will, to do this.
  It would seem from what has been said that he can do this better
if he makes himself capable of legislating. For public control is
plainly effected by laws, and good control by good laws; whether
written or unwritten would seem to make no difference, nor whether
they are laws providing for the education of individuals or of
groups-any more than it does in the case of music or gymnastics and
other such pursuits. For as in cities laws and prevailing types of
character have force, so in households do the injunctions and the
habits of the father, and these have even more because of the tie of
blood and the benefits he confers; for the children start with a
natural affection and disposition to obey. Further, private
education has an advantage over public, as private medical treatment
has; for while in general rest and abstinence from food are good for a
man in a fever, for a particular man they may not be; and a boxer
presumably does not prescribe the same style of fighting to all his
pupils. It would seem, then, that the detail is worked out with more
precision if the control is private; for each person is more likely to
get what suits his case.
  But the details can be best looked after, one by one, by a doctor or
gymnastic instructor or any one else who has the general knowledge
of what is good for every one or for people of a certain kind (for the
sciences both are said to be, and are, concerned with what is
universal); not but what some particular detail may perhaps be well
looked after by an unscientific person, if he has studied accurately
in the light of experience what happens in each case, just as some
people seem to be their own best doctors, though they could give no
help to any one else. None the less, it will perhaps be agreed that if
a man does wish to become master of an art or science he must go to
the universal, and come to know it as well as possible; for, as we
have said, it is with this that the sciences are concerned.
  And surely he who wants to make men, whether many or few, better
by his care must try to become capable of legislating, if it is
through laws that we can become good. For to get any one
whatever-any one who is put before us-into the right condition is
not for the first chance comer; if any one can do it, it is the man
who knows, just as in medicine and all other matters which give
scope for care and prudence.
  Must we not, then, next examine whence or how one can learn how to
legislate? Is it, as in all other cases, from statesmen? Certainly
it was thought to be a part of statesmanship. Or is a difference
apparent between statesmanship and the other sciences and arts? In the
others the same people are found offering to teach the arts and
practising them, e.g. doctors or painters; but while the sophists
profess to teach politics, it is practised not by any of them but by
the politicians, who would seem to do so by dint of a certain skill
and experience rather than of thought; for they are not found either
writing or speaking about such matters (though it were a nobler
occupation perhaps than composing speeches for the law-courts and
the assembly), nor again are they found to have made statesmen of
their own sons or any other of their friends. But it was to be
expected that they should if they could; for there is nothing better
than such a skill that they could have left to their cities, or
could prefer to have for themselves, or, therefore, for those
dearest to them. Still, experience seems to contribute not a little;
else they could not have become politicians by familiarity with
politics; and so it seems that those who aim at knowing about the
art of politics need experience as well.
  But those of the sophists who profess the art seem to be very far
from teaching it. For, to put the matter generally, they do not even
know what kind of thing it is nor what kinds of things it is about;
otherwise they would not have classed it as identical with rhetoric or
even inferior to it, nor have thought it easy to legislate by
collecting the laws that are thought well of; they say it is
possible to select the best laws, as though even the selection did not
demand intelligence and as though right judgement were not the
greatest thing, as in matters of music. For while people experienced
in any department judge rightly the works produced in it, and
understand by what means or how they are achieved, and what harmonizes
with what, the inexperienced must be content if they do not fail to
see whether the work has been well or ill made-as in the case of
painting. Now laws are as it were the' works' of the political art;
how then can one learn from them to be a legislator, or judge which
are best? Even medical men do not seem to be made by a study of
text-books. Yet people try, at any rate, to state not only the
treatments, but also how particular classes of people can be cured and
should be treated-distinguishing the various habits of body; but while
this seems useful to experienced people, to the inexperienced it is
valueless. Surely, then, while collections of laws, and of
constitutions also, may be serviceable to those who can study them and
judge what is good or bad and what enactments suit what circumstances,
those who go through such collections without a practised faculty will
not have right judgement (unless it be as a spontaneous gift of
nature), though they may perhaps become more intelligent in such
  Now our predecessors have left the subject of legislation to us
unexamined; it is perhaps best, therefore, that we should ourselves
study it, and in general study the question of the constitution, in
order to complete to the best of our ability our philosophy of human
nature. First, then, if anything has been said well in detail by
earlier thinkers, let us try to review it; then in the light of the
constitutions we have collected let us study what sorts of influence
preserve and destroy states, and what sorts preserve or destroy the
particular kinds of constitution, and to what causes it is due that
some are well and others ill administered. When these have been
studied we shall perhaps be more likely to see with a comprehensive
view, which constitution is best, and how each must be ordered, and
what laws and customs it must use, if it is to be at its best. Let
us make a beginning of our discussion.

                              THE END


This text is part of the Internet Ancient History Sourcebook. The Sourcebook is a collection of public domain and copy-permitted texts related to ancient history. Unless otherwise indicated the specific electronic form of the document is copyright. Permission is granted for electronic copying, distribution in print form for educational purposes and personal use. If you do reduplicate the document, indicate the source. No permission is granted for commercial use.

Paul Halsall, February 2023

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