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Book 3
1
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 not.
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 someone 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 involuntarily.
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 someone'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.
2
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
chosen.
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 other 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 power.
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
opinion.
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.
3
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 efforts.
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.
4
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.
5
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 voluntary.
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
self-indulgent 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 power.
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 voluntary.
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.
6
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.
7
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 directs.
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.
8
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
harangue:
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 Sicyonians.
We have, then, described the character both of brave men and of those
who are thought to be brave.
9
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 pleasant.
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.
10
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.
11
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 self-indulgent 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.
12
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 self-indulgent.
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.
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