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ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. 



VOL. I. 



LONDON 

PRINTED BY SPOTTI8WOODB AND CO. 
NEW-STREET SQUARE 



THE 



ETHICS OF AKISTOTLE 



ILLUSTRATED WITH 



ESSAYS AND NOTES. 



BY 



SIB ALEXANDER GBANT, BAET., M.A., LL.D. 

DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION D? THE BOMBAY PRESIDENCY 
AKD FORMEBXY FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD. 



SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND COMPLETED. 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 



VOLUME THE FIRST. 



LONDON : 
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

1866. 



Stack 
Annex 

> 



v. ( 
PKEFACE 

TO 

THE SECOND EDITION. 



fTlHE AUTHOE of this work is conscious that in many 
J- places it requires re-writing. He would have 
wished to re-cast especially many parts of the 'Essays,' 
and to introduce into them the results of fresh reading 
and thought. But official duties in India have pre- 
cluded him from attempting such a task, and have 
obliged him to be content with a bare completion of 
his commentary, by the addition of notes (such as they 
are) upon the last four books of the Nicomachean 
Ethics. 

For a revision of the work in general, but more 
especially of the Notes, the Author is indebted to 
the accomplished scholarship and kind care of John 
Purves Esq., B. A., of Balliol College, Oxford. Several 
minor alterations have been introduced by Mr. Purves, 
with the Author's entire concurrence, into the trans- 
lations and notes. 

The same causes which have prevented the re- 
writing of the 'Essays,' have also prevented the fulfil- 
ment of certain promises formerly made to the public ; 



VI PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

as, for instance, of a translation of the entire Ethics of 
Aristotle. Indexes, however, to the matter contained 
in the Essays and Notes have been added by Mr. Purves. 
And the Verbal Index to the Nicomachean text, which 
appeared in Dr. Cardwell's edition, has been here 
reprinted, with the permission of the Delegates of the 
Oxford University Press. An essay on the ' Ancient 
Stoics,' which was contributed by the Author to the 
volume of ' Oxford Essays ' for 1858, has now been 
introduced among essays which endeavour to treat 
not only of the Aristotelian moral system, but also 
of its surroundings. 



CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS. 



ESSAY I. 

On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics and on the 
Mode of their Composition. 

PAGE 

Present view of the ' Works of Aristotle ' , . . I 

Chronology of the Life of .Aristotle . . . . .2 

Incompleteness of his Writings ...... 3 

Heave we only the Notes of his Scholars ? . . . . . 3 

Strabo's Story of the Fate of his Writings .... 5 

Examination of this Story . . . . . . .6 

The List of his Works by Diogenes examined ... 9 
Origin of the names Nicomachean Ethics, Eudemian Ethics, 

and Magna Moralia . . . . . . .12 

Theory of Spengel . . . . . . . .16 

Opening of the Three Treatises compared . . . .16 

Eudemus of Ehodes . . . . . . . 19 

Account of the Eudemian Ethics . . . . . .21 

Account of the Magna Moralia . . . . .24. 

Notices of Nicomachus . ..... 25 

The appearance of system in Eth. Nic. . . . . .26 

The appearances of disorder in the same work . . .28 
The Authorship of Books V., VI., VII. ,' . . "-33 

General hypothesis as to the composition of the whole work . 42 



CONTENTS OF 



ESSAY II. 

On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece 
previous to Aristotle. 

PAGE 

Aristotle gives no History of Ethics . . , . 44 

Sketch given in the Magna Moralia . . . ... 45 

Three Eras of Morality ....... 46 

The First or Unconscious Era ... . 48 

Elements of the popular Morality in Greece . . . -5 

The Morality of Homer 51 

The Morality of Hesiod 54 

The Seven "Wise Men . 56 

The Morality of Solon .57 

General Character of the ' Gnomes ' 59 

Theognis of Megara ........ 60 

Simonides of Ceos . . . . . . . ' . 62 

Influence of the Mysteries ....... 64 

General Conceptions of the Good . . . . . . 66 

Moral Opinions of the Pythagoreans, Heraclitus, and 

Democritus . . . . . . . . . 66 

Second Era of Morality, the Sophists . . . . . 68 

Question raised as to their Character . . . . . 68 

History of the word ' Sophist '...... 69 

Use of the word in jEschylus and Herodotus . . -. .69 
In Aristophanes ......... 70 

In Thucydides and Xenophon . . . . . 71 

In Isocrates ........ ^ . 73 

Summary of the History . . . . . . . 75 

Account of the Sophists in Plato ...... 76 

General Opinions entertained of the Sophists . . . -77 
The Sophists as Teachers . . . . " ; . -79 

Their Teaching for Money . . . . . . "> . 80 

The Sophists as Authors of Rhetoric . . -.-V -. " . 83 
Two Schools of Rhetoric among the Sophists . . . -84 
The ' Greek ' School of Rhetoric Protagoras, Prodicus, and 

Hippias ......... 84 



THE ESSAYS. IX 

PAGE 

The ' Sicilian ' School Gorgias, Polus, and Alcidamas . . 87 

The place of Khetoric historically .88 

Internal Character of Rhetoric . .89 

Aristotle's account of ' Sophistic ' .90 

The Philosophy of the Sophists, of Protagoras . . 9 1 

The Philosophy of Gorgias . . . . . . 94 

Dialectic of the Sophists .... -99 

The Sophists in relation to Ethics i o i 

Their Teaching Virtue . . . . . . .102 

The Fable of Prodicus 103 

The Apologue of Hippias . .105 

The Casuistry of the Sophists . . . . . .105 

Their Opposition of ' Nature ' and ' Convention ' . . .107 

History of this Doctrine . . . . . . .108 

Application by the Sophists of this and other Principles . 1 09 

Summary with regard to the Sophists . . . . . 1 1 o 

Third or Conscious Era of Morality . . . . .111 

Uncertainty about the Doctrine of Socrates . . . 1 1 1 

Personal Traits of Socrates . . . . . .112 

His ' supernatural ' Element . . . . . .113 

.The Irony of Socrates . . . . . . .114 

The Statements of Aristotle regarding him . . . .115 

Aristotle's Account of his Method . . . . .115 

Was Socrates the ' First Moral Philosopher ? ' . . . 1 1 7 

Did he divide Science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic ? . . 1 1 8 

Did he believe in the Immortality of the Soul ? . . .118 

Socrates as a Teacher of Youth . . . . . 1 20 

His Doctrine that ' Virtue is a Science ' . . . .122 

His want of Psychology '. . . . . . 1 24 

His Moral Paradoxes . . . . . . . .125 

His Dialectic contrasted with that of the Sophists . . .127 

The Socratic Schools 127 

Relation of the Cynics and Cyrenaics to Socrates . . .128 

Spirit and Doctrines of the Early Cynics . . . .129 

The Cyrenaic System of Ethics . . . . . .131 

The Cyrenaic Doctrine of Pleasure . . . . . , 1 3 1 

Relation of the Doctrine to Plato and Aristotle . . .^.132 

Influence of the Cyrenaic School . . . . . 133 



CONTENTS OF 



ESSAY HI. 

On tlw Relation of Aristotle s Ethics to Plato 
and the Platonists. 

PAGK 

Importance of Plato in the History of Philosophy . 1 3 5 

His Development of the Doctrines of Socrates . . 1 3 5 

The Ethical System of Plato 137 

Doctrines in the Ethics of Aristotle that are borrowed from 

Plato, (i) Of the Nature of Politics . . . . 139 

(2) Of the Chief Good . . . . . .141 

(3) Of the Proper Function of Man .... 142 

(4) Of the Divisions of the Mind . . . .142 

(5) Of the Excellence of Philosophy . . . 143 

(6) Of < the Mean ' . .... 144 

(7) Of <f>povr\ai . . . . . . . . 144 

(8) Of Pleasure . . . . . . . . 145 

(9) Of Friendship . . . . . . . 147 

(10) Various Suggestions, Metaphors, &c., borrowed 
from Plato . . . . . . . .148 

Aristotle's Dissent from the System of Plato . . .149 

Plato's System of Ideas, its Origin and Import . ., .149 

Plato's Doctrine of the Idea of Good . . . . .152 

Aristotle's Rejection of this as a Principle for Ethics . . . 153 

His Arguments against it as a Metaphysical Principle . . 155 

Unfairness of these Arguments . . . . . .158 

Arguments continued . . . . . . . . 1 59 

Aristotle's Assertion of Nominalism 161 

His Analytic tendencies . . . . . . .162 

His Separation of Ethics from Theology . . . . 1 64 

His Tone and Style of Writing . . . . . .164 

Plato's Oral Teaching referred to . . . . 1 66 

Reference to the Laws of Plato . . . . ....167 

Characteristics of the Platonists .167 



THE ESSAYS. XI 

ESSAY IV. 
On Philosophical Forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. 

PAGE 

The Importance of Aristotle's Scientific Forms . . .170 

1 i ) TtXoc, its Meaning and Application . . . 1 7 1 
General Doctrine of the Four Causes . . . . 1 7 1 
Application of the Final Cause to Ethics . . . .172 
Ethical Ends Different from Physical ..... 173 

The End-in-itself of Moral Action 1 74 

The End-in-itself of Thought 177 

Difficulties regarding the End-in-itself in relation to Con- 
siderations of Time . . . . . . .178 

General Aspect of the Theory . . . . . .180 

(2) 'Evepy^a, its Meaning and Application . . . .181 

Philosophical Doctrine of 'Evt'pyfta . . . . .181 

Its Origin . j . . . . . .183 

Its Universal Application . . . . . . 1 84 

How it comes into Ethics . . . . . . 1 86 

How it is applied to express the Moral Nature of Man . . 187 
Its New Import in relation to the Mind . . . .193 

Its use in the Definition of Pleasure . . . . .196 

Its use in the Definition of Happiness . . . . 1 99 

(3) Mffforjjc, its Meaning and Application .... 201 

History of the Doctrine traced from the Pythagoreans . . 202 
Its Development in Plato ....... 204 

Its Adoption by Aristotle . . ? _ ..>.,:.:. . . . 205 

Kelation of /iE<7oY?je to Xoyoe . . . . . . 206 

Criticism of the formula as a principle of Ethics . . . 208 

(4) The Syllogism as applied to express "Will and Action . 212 
The Theory of the Practical Syllogism perhaps not due to 

Aristotle . . . . . . . . .212 

Statement of the Doctrine . . . . . . .213 

Its application in Eth. vi. and vn. . . . . .215 

Criticism of its value . 216 



Xll CONTENTS OF 

ESSAY V. 

On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics 
of Aristotle. 

PAGE 

Why we are obliged to enter upon the deeper questions of 

Aristotle's Philosophy . . . . . . . 220 

His Conception of Nature . . . . . . .221 

Its relation to Chance and Necessity 221 

Intelligence and Design in Nature . . . . .223 

Eelation of Man to Nature as a whole ..... 226 

Aristotle's Conception of Theology as a Science . . .229 
His Reasonings upon the Nature of God . . . .231 

Expressions relative to God in the Ethics . . , L * . 233 
What Aristotle meant by 4> v xn 236 

Its relation to the Body . . . . . 238 

Aristotle not explicit about the Immortality of the Soul . 239 
The Ethics uninfluenced by any regard to a Future Life . 241 



ESSAY VI. 
The Ancient Stoics. 

The Stoics form a transition to Modern Thought . . . 243 

Origin of Stoicism purely internal . . . ' . ' .244 

' Intensity ' of the Stoics . . %; . . . . . 246 

Stoicism contrasted with Epicurism . . . ''; . 247 

Three Periods of Stoicism ...... -J . 248 

(i) Formation 248 

Zeno . . . . . . . . . . . 249 

Cleanthes . . . . . . . ' '. r . . 250 

Chrysippus . . . . . . . . . .251 

Relation of Stoicism to earlier Philosophy . . . .253 

Stoicism and Cynicism . . . . - t : . .254 

Stoical Formulas . . . . ... . 255 

Butler compared with the Stoics . . .. . . .257 

Stoic Ideal not of the Past . . . . . . 258 



THE ESSAYS. 



The Ideal Wise Man . . . . . . . .259 

The Idea of Advance . . . . . . . .261 

'Duty' ....... . 262 

The Stoic Cosmopolitanism . . . . . . .263 

The Stoic Theology ........ 265 

The Hymn of Clean thes . . . . . . .266 

The Stoic Necessarianism ....... 268 

The Stoics and Popular Religion ...... 270 

(2) Promulgation. Stoicism brought to Rome . . . 273 
Panaetius .......... 275 

Posidonius .......... 276 

Household Philosophers . . . . . . .277 

Philosophy among the Romans . . . . . .278 

(3) Roman Stoicism . . . . . . . .280 

Seneca .......... 283 

Suicide . . . . . . . . . .291 

Epictetus - '. . . . . . . . . 293 

Marcus Aurelius ......... 296 

Stoicism and Roman Law . . . . . . .299 

Debt of Modern Times to the Stoics ..... 303 

Merits and Defects of Stoicism . . . . -304 



ESSAY VII. 
On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern Systems. 

The Progress of Ethical Thought since Aristotle . . .306 
Outline of Dugald Stewart's Moral System, and Comparison 

of it with that of Aristotle . . . . . .308 

The Idea of Duty prominent in Modern Systems . . .312 
The Question of Moral Obligation, how answered by Butler, 

Paley, and Kant . . . . . . . .314 

Comparison of the points of view of Aristotle and Kant . 315 
The question of Free-will never entered on by Aristotle . 316 
Terms of Moral Philosophy inherited from Aristotle . .318 
Alteration that such Terms have undergone . . .319 

Aristotle's Ethics a Historical Monument . . . .321 



XIV CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS. 

APPENDIX A. 

On the Ethical Method of Aristotle. 

PAGE 

His own Discussions on the Logic of Ethics . . . .322 

His actual Procedure . . . . . . . .325 

Was he a Dogmatic ? . . . . . . . .326 

APPENDIX B. 
On the 'EEHTEPIKOI AOFOI. 

Story of Aulus Gellius . . , . . . .328 

Examination of this . . . . . . . .328 

Notices of Cicero . . . . . . . .329 

Internal Evidence from Aristotle himself . f . . -33 

Use of the Term 'E. \6yot by Eudemus . .. . . 332 



APPENDIX C. 

On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. 

Slight influence of Political views on Aristotle's Moral 

System ^ . . 333 

His conception of the State a Background to his Ethics . 335 

His virtual separation of Ethics from Politics . . . 336 



ESSAY I. 



On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics, and on 
the Mode of their Composition. 

TX studying the philosophy of Aristotle, we encounter at the 
-*- outset a very difficult question with regard to the genuine- 
ness, the form, and the literary character of the works in which 
that philosophy is contained. The question, in its full scope 
and real earnestness, is one of recent origin, though sceptical 
theories concerning the text of Aristotle have been at various 
times mooted, as, for instance, by Strabo and by Patricius. We 
stand now in a very different position with regard to Aristotle 
from that occupied by the middle ages, or even by the scholars 
of the Kenaissance. Once the whole body of what are called 
the writings of Aristotle were received with equal reverence, 
though not by any means equally studied. A sort of dogmatic 
completeness, and almost a verbal nicety of finish was thought 
to pervade the whole ; and we accordingly find Thomas 
Aquinas 1 discussing why it was that Aristotle makes an 
apology in his Ethics for attacking the theories of Plato, while 
in the Metaphysics he attacks them without any such apology. 
Aquinas decides the reason to have been that in a treatise on 
morals due attention to good manners was particularly neces- 
sary. Such criticism appears ludicrous to our times. Our 



I 



1 Thomas Aquinas, Commentarii in bare opinionem amici non est contra 

Aristotdis Ethica Nicomachea, upon j Yeritatem, quse quseritur principalitt-r 

i. vi., ' Ideo autem potius hie hoc dicit | in aliis speculativis. Est autem contra 

quam in aliis libris, in quibus opini- bonos mores ; de quibus principaliter 

onem Platonis improbat, quia impro- agitur in hoc libro.' 



2 ESSAY I. 

eyes have become more and more opened to the incomplete 
and fragmentary character of Aristotle's remains. In what 
are called his works we know that we have a considerable 
nucleus of the actual writing of Aristotle himself. Also we 
have a concretion of Peripatetic philosophy, some of it nearly 
contemporary with Aristotle, other parts far later. Also, even 
in books that are most essentially genuine, we can recognise 
the hand of the editor ; we can trace what is most probably 
posthumous recension, joinings added of parts before dis- 
united, references introduced, completion as far as possible, 
or the semblance of completion, given to what was really in 
itself left incomplete. 

Almost all we know of the life of Aristotle is contained in 
a quotation made by Diogenes Laertius (v. i. 9) from the chro- 
nology (Xpovuca) of Apollodorus. This Apollodorus is praised 
by Niebuhr as a trustworthy writer ; he appears to have lived 
about 140 B.C. He gives the following dates of the leading 
events in the life of Aristotle : ' That he was born, Olymp. 99. 
i (B.C. 383). That he met Plato and spent 20 years in his 
company, 17 years of them continuously. That he came to 
Mytilene 01. 108. 4 (B.C. 344). That in the first year after 
the death of Plato, he went to Hermeas and abode with him 

3 years. That he came to Philip, 01. 109. 2 (B.C. 342), when 
Alexander was 15 years old. That he came to Athens, 01. 
in. 2 (B.C. 334). That he held his school (o-^oXacrat) in 
the Lyceum 13 years, and then went to Chalcis, 01. 114. 3 
(B.C. 321), where he died of a disease, about 63 years old.' 
The different parts of this sketch have been filled up in most 
cases with little certainty. With regard to Aristotle's career 
as an author, no information has reached us, but the general 
opinion has been that his works were composed during his 
second stay at Athens, that is, while he was holding his 
school in the Lyceum, during the last 13 years of his life. 



THE WORKS OF ARISTOTLE. 3 

Internal evidence, on which we have chiefly to rely, is on the 
whole in favour of this supposition, as the works that have 
come to us belong to one period of the philosopher's mind ; 
his system and terminology, peculiar as it is, appears through- 
out fully formed. It is only in minute points that a develop- 
ment of ideas can be traced. Another argument for the 
same hypothesis is, the unfinished character of almost every- 
thing that bears the name of Aristotle. All is characterized 
by vastness of conception, but also by a falling short in the 
attainment of what had been designed. Connected with this 
torso-like appearance of the philosophy as a whole, there is 
so great an absence of art in many portions of the works of 
Aristotle, as to have given rise to the opinion that we possess 
not his own writings, but only the notes of his disciples. 
This theory was first promulgated by Julius Scaliger about . 
some of the works of Aristotle, but subsequently has been 
more or less vaguely entertained about his works in general, 
and especially about the Nicomachean Ethics. 

< The waters' are said to be < from the exhaustless spring of 
Aristotle, but the pitchers' to have been supplied by others.' 2 
The truth or falsehood of this theory seems to be a question 
of degree. There is no denying that the notes or compendia, 
of Peripatetic disciples, more or less dressed up, do go to form 
part of the bulk of the Aristotelian works ; for instance, we 
shall see that the Eudemian Ethics were a composition of 
this character. Also, we no doubt owe the redaction of many 
of Aristotle's writings to the care of his disciples. But beyond 
this, the theory must not be extended. The unfinished style 



2 Julius Scaliger, in Arist. de 
Plantis, i. p. u, 'Cujusmodi commen- 
tationes a discipulis exceptas ejus 
nomine circumferri yidetis. Etenim 
qui Commentarii contra Zenonem et 



Xenophanem tanquam ab illo con- 
scripti leguntur, illius quidem inex- 
hausti fontis perennes aquas sapiunt, 
alveos tamen aliorum esse manifestum 



est.' 



B 2 



4 ESSAY I. 

of the writing, the looseness or inaccuracy of quotations, the 
apparent familiarity of the allusions, and the occasional men- 
tion of * hearers,' must not lead us to conclude in a sweeping 
manner that we have only notes from lectures. The scientific 
depth and subtlety of the discussions in many parts, and their 
tentative rather than conclusive attitude, is incompatible with 
this assumption. Above all, we cannot blind our eyes to 
the intense individuality which seems to mark the style of 
Aristotle, which is no mere reproduction, but the words and 
the sentences of the very man himself. Even his obscurity 
is characteristic, and differs from the obscurity of a disciple 
misunderstanding and garbling the philosophy of his master. 
Nor must too much stress be laid on the word aicpoaa-dai. 
Partly, from a sort of ancient tradition, it corresponded to 
our conception of reading; partly (as in the name ^vcrtKal 
aKpodasis) it was used to denote more intimate and systematic 
study of a subject, as opposed to popular knowledge. Partly, 
Aristotle in making use of it, had in view his own oral in- 
structions in the gardens round the temple of the Lycean 
Apollo. But it must not be supposed that it would be an 
entire account of his works to say that they are notes for 
lectures any more than notes from lectures. Aristotle was 
designing to complete the whole sphere of knowledge; he 
was absorbed in his zeal for the accumulation of scientific 
results and the perfection of scientific form, about artistic 
form and literary structure he was indifferent, and death 
arrested his manifold beginnings. His philosophy, which was 
to cover the world, was springing and growing up all at once, 
and nothing perfect. Let us now picture to ourselves a set 
of philosophical treatises all elaborately conceived, but all 
more or less incomplete, to have been, subsequently to the 
death of their author, we cannot tell how soon or how simul- 
taneously brought forth, perhaps out of disjointed and 



THE STORY OF STRABO. 5 

separately existing memoranda, and put together for publica- 
tion, and we have perhaps the most adequate notion that can 
be formed of the genuine parts of the so-called works of 
Aristotle. This conception perfectly agrees with the testimony 
of Cicero, 3 who speaks, on the one hand, of certain exoteric 
dialogues composed by Aristotle ; on the other hand, of the 
'Commentaries' which he ' left behind him.' The exoteric 
dialogues appear to have been a few works in a popular vein 
of thought, finished in point of style, and exhibiting what 
Cicero praised as a ' golden stream ' of diction. These may 
in all probability have been earlier compositions, suggested 
by the example of Plato. The * Commentaries' have alone 
descended to us : harsh and incomplete in style, unequal in 
thought, sometimes obscure from brevity, at other times 
prolix and self-repeating, devoid of all artistic treatment,, 
setting at nought the restrictions of grammar these yet, in 
their rude and prematurely arrested form, outside which we 
can often discern the patchwork of other hands, contain the 
philosophy and the very words of Aristotle, and have more 
influenced the thought of the world than any other uninspired 
works. 

We have now taken the first step towards a proper point of 
view with regard to the literary history of the works of Ari- 
stotle. The next step will be to convince ourselves of the 
uncertain character of all ancient testimony on the subject, 
so as to feel that internal evidence and criticism of the works 
themselves can be our only sure guide. Let us advert then 
to the celebrated story of the Fate of the Writings of Aristotle, 
given first by Strabo, 4 and afterward repeated by Plutarch. 
Strabo relates (a propos of his account of Scepsis, a town in 



* De Finibut, v. 5. Accident. Prior. 
ii. xxxviii. 1 19. See infra, Appendix B. 



4 Strabo, xiii. i, 418. 



6 ESSAY I. 

the Troas) that the library and MSS. of Aristotle, being in the 
possession of Theophrastus, were by him bequeathed to one 
Neleus of Scepsis, whose heirs, to elude the book-collecting 
zeal of the Kings of Pergamus, concealed these treasures in a 
vault. There they remained for ages, till finally, corrupted 
with damp and worms, they were sold for a considerable sum 
to one Apellicon of Teos. By him they were brought to 
Athens, where he caused copies of them to be taken, himself 
filling up on conjecture the gaps in the text, not however 
happily, for he was more of a book-collector than a philo- 
sopher. Soon after the death of Apellicon, Athens was taken 
by Sulla, and this library was seized and brought by him to 
Rome. There Tyrannio, the grammarian, obtained permission 
to arrange the MSS. At the same time the booksellers had 
numerous copies made by very careless transcribers. Hence 
it came about (says Strabo) that the earlier Peripatetics, being 
deprived of all the really philosophic works of Aristotle, were 
reduced to mere rhetorical commonplaces in their philoso- 
phizing ; and the later ones, when the books came again to 
light, were generally compelled to resort to a conjectural in- 
terpretation of them, owing to their corrupt condition. 

The same story is repeated by Plutarch, 5 who probably took 
it from Strabo, and who adds to it the further statements, 
that Tyrannio put almost the entire MSS. into shape ; that 
Andronicus of Rhodes, getting numerous transcripts made, 
gave publicity to a generally-received text of Aristotle ; finally, 
that it was for no want of personal zeal or ability, but from 
the loss of the original writings, that the Peripatetic school 
had previously declined. 

This curious history, if literally true, would represent to 



* Plutarch, Fit. Sulla, c. z6. 



THE STORY OF STRABO. 7 

us the text of Aristotle as absolutely corrupt, frequent gaps 
having been caused by physical circumstances, and these so 
unskilfully filled up as to destroy the sense. It would repre- 
sent to us that we possessed the works of Aristotle as a whole, 
but that they were defective in the parts. Internal evidence 
does not bear out this account. An examination of the works 
as we possess them does not show them to be in the condition 
which Strabo would imply. The Characters of Theophrastus 
indeed, and parts of the Eudemian Ethics, exhibit this kind 
of corruption, but not the works of Aristotle in general. The 
touches of an editorial hand often appear, but not as supply- 
ing Iacuna3. There is no trace of the conjectures of Apellicon. 
When we turn to external evidence, we find that there must 
have been some ground for the narrative of Strabo. Strabo 
was the scholar of Tyrannic and the friend of Andronicus 
(whose share, however, in the business he does not mention) ; 
he therefore had the history of Sulla's MSS. on the best 
authority. The adventures recorded may have happened to 
the autographs, or some of them, of Aristotle and Theo- 
phrastus. But restrictedly to these. Strabo deserts history 
for imagination when he says that Aristotle's philosophical 
writings were lost to the earlier Peripatetics. Investigations 
tend to prove, as far as anything can be proved about so dark 
a period, that all the important works of Aristotle were known 
to the world during the 230 years which elapsed between the 
death of Aristotle and the capture of Athens by Sulla. Many 
of these works were made the basis of fresh treatises and 
commentaries by his immediate followers, Theophrastus, 
Eudemus, Phanias, &c. It seems certain that a mass of 
writings under his name, some genuine, others spurious, were 
purchased by Ptolemy Philadelphus for the Alexandrian 
library. His logical works must have been known to the 
Stoics, who made a development of his principles. The 



ESSAY I. 



allusions to him in Cicero 6 show an amusing mixture of 
knowledge and ignorance. They show that Cicero himself 
had no scientific acquaintance with Aristotle's philosophy 
indeed that he possessed the most superficial and external 
knowledge of the subject. But he speaks as if claiming to 
know the philosophical Looks, and as if there was a general 
acquaintance with them existing among the Greek rhetoricians 
and educated Komans of the day. His way of speaking is 
quite incompatible with Strabo's account of the recovery of 
these books. . Nor do the earlier Greek commentators men- 
tion it. Boethius alone speaks of Andronicus as ' exactum 
diligentemque Aristotelis librorum et judicem et repertorem.' 
On the whole then this famous story contributes hardly 
anything to our knowledge of the Aristotelian text, except 
perhaps the following two points. ( i ) It tells us of a recen- 
sion by Tyrannic and Andronicus. This accordingly stands 
over against the Alexandrian copies, though to which of these 
two families our present edition of the text belongs, it seems 
impossible to pronounce. (2) It shows us how entire was 
the ignorance of Strabo as to the literature of philosophy. 
He speaks without knowledge and without criticism of the 
isolated fact that had come beneath his notice. We see with 



As for instance in the Topics, i. 
1-3. Trebatius had seen the Topics of 
Aristotle in Cicero's library at the 
Tusculan Villa, and had asked him 
what the book contained. Cicero, 
not to avoid trouble (as he says), but 
thinking it more for the interest of 
Trebatius, advises him to read the 
work himself, or else consult a certain 
learned rhetorician. Trebatius, how- 
ever, was repelled by the obscurity of 
the writing, and the rhetorician, when 
consulted, said ' he knew nothing 
about Aristotle.' Cicero thinks this 



not to be wondered at, since even the 
philosophers hardly knew anything 
about him, though they ' ought to 
have been attracted by the incredible 
flow and sweetness of the diction.' 
Cicero now proceeds to give Trebatius 
an account of the Topics of Aristotle, 
but he evidently is only acquainted 
with the first few pages of them. In 
De Fin. v. 5, where he quotes the 
Nicomachcan Ethics, he shows that 
he has never read them, for he praises 
them as making happiness indepen- 
dent of good fortune. 



THE LIST OF DIOGENES. 9 

how great caution we have to receive each separate testimony 
coming to us from periods so uncritical. 

Another instance of the negligence of antiquity is to be 
found in the catalogue of the works of Aristotle, given by 
Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of the Philosophers (Y. i. 22). 
This catalogue exhibits at first sight an immense discrepancy 
from the edition of Aristotle to which we are accustomed. 
We miss the names of the great works, such as the Physical 
Lectures, the Ethics, the Metaphysics. Instead of these, we 
find a mass of apparently small and separate treatises 
enumerated, often apparently popular works in the form of 
dialogues, and even where more scientific works are specified, 
there seems often to be rather a coincidence of subject than 
an identity of the books with those which we possess. By 
a rough computation, it appears probable that the list of 
Diogenes would correspond to a mass of writings about 
four times the size of what remains at present, for Diogenes 
specifies the sum total as amounting to 445,270 lines, which 
at the rate of 10,000 lines to an alphabet or ream, would give 
forty-four reams, whereas ten reams is the utmost extent of 
the present aggregate. Granting, however, that the exoteric 
writings and much beside are lost, the question is, How can 
we reconcile what we have remaining with the titles given by 
Diogenes ? Take, for instance, the names of ethical works 
scattered about in this list. Hspl Sitcaioa-vvrjs &'. Trspl r)$ovf)s 
d. Trspl rayadov 7'. Trspl <f)i\ias a. rjOiicwv s. Trspl rj$ovf)s d 
(repeated). Tlspl SKOV<TIOV d. 6e<rsis <pi\iicai ft'. Trspl Sifcaicov {?. 
Can we find anything in what we call Aristotle corresponding 
to these names ? 

If the list in question were to be relied upon, it would 
follow that Aristotle wrote nothing but comparatively iso- 
lated treatises, which have been amalgamated by other hands. 
More than one writer has accepted this hypothesis, and has 



10 ESSAY I. 

attempted to find in the works as we possess them many of 
the treatises named by Diogenes. For instance, on this 
principle the Nicomachean Ethics may be resolved into * four 
books of Ethics,' plus 'One book on the Voluntary' (intro- 
duced into Eth. Nic. in.), plus two treatises on Pleasure, 
plus 'One Book on the Good' (corresponding to Eth. Nic. 
x.), plus 4 One Book on Friendship,' and 'Two Books of 
Theses on Friendship' (forming Eth. Nic. Till, ix.) ; though 
it would still be difficult to fit in the ( Four Books on Justice,' 
and the ' Two Books on the Just,' and also to find anything 
answering in the list to Book VI. of the Nic. Ethics. But 
even were all difficulties of detail surmounted, a broader 
view of the question shows us that the above-mentioned 
hypothesis has only the most superficial plausibility, it will 
not stand the test of either internal or external evidence. 
Certainly the authority of Diogenes is not such as by itself 
to weigh against probabilities. His work is a mere thought- 
less compilation, written at a time when literature was in the 
dregs, about the end of the second century. His debris of 
anecdotes and quotations about the old philosophers is of 
inestimable value from the lack of other information. But 
every statement must be weighed by itself. 

External authority at once contradicts the catalogue of 
Diogenes. For authors earlier than he make mention of 
entire works, of which he takes no notice. Not only does 
Cicero specify the Nicomachean Ethics (De Fin. v. 5), but 
also Atticus, a Platonic philosopher of the reign of Marcus 
Aurelius, cited by Eusebius (Prceparatio Evangelica, xv. 4), 
speaks of the ethical works under their present titles, as 
follows : at <yovv 'ApiaroreXovs Trspl ravra Trpay/jLarsiai 
fistoi TS KOI NtKO/ia^ftot KOI Meja\Q>v 'H&yu 
K.T.\. Internal evidence is also equally decisive against our 
considering the works of Aristotle to be an amalgamation of 



THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES. 11 

smaller treatises complete in themselves. Here and there, it 
is true, we find subjects worked out in a separate manner, the 
different parts seem often to have too little relation to the 
whole. That various portions of the Ethics, for instance, 
were composed piecemeal and at different times, there seems 
to be every reason for believing. But at the same time there 
is another element in Aristotle which the list of Diogenes 
would ignore namely, the idea of vast completeness and 
organic unity which presents itself constantly as an idea, 
though by no means realized throughout his works. However 
apparent may be the separateness of different parts of his 
system, it is much more apparent that every science is opened 
with a comprehensive plan, and proposing to itself an ex- 
tended scope which is never carried out. Whatever therefore 
may have been the origin of this catalogue, it stands com- 
pletely beside our present Aristotle. The most probable 
conjecture is that it was copied from the backs of the rolls in 
some library, without reference to the contents of the rolls 
themselves. The fragmentary condition of Aristotle's works, 
and his separate mode of writing, no doubt sometimes favoured 
this mode of labelling, and transcribers may for shortness 
sake have separated that which the author intended to be 
inseparable. Another ancient catalogue which exists agrees 
in general with the present arrangement of the books. It is 
Arabian, but is merely a translation of the catalogue given 
by a certain Ptolemseus, a Peripatetic philosopher of unknown 
date, who wrote on the life and works of Aristotle. 

More and more we are led to rely on internal evidence 
alone in deciding any question concerning the works of 
Aristotle. Let us then apply these principles in discussing 
the genuineness and criticizing the composition of the Nico- 
machean Ethics. The latter point depends on analysis of 
the work itself, the former implies some consideration of the 



12 



ESSAY I. 



fact that among the reputed works of Aristotle there appear 
also two other ethical treatises (not to mention the small 
and evidently spurious fragment De Virtutibus et Vitiis), 
namely, the JEudemian Ethics and the Magna Moralia. 
We have seen before, that as early as the second century 
these three ethical treatises were ranked, under their present 
names, among the works ascribed to Aristotle. And the 
first point that would naturally strike the reader would be 
to ask an explanation of these names. Antiquity is ready, as 
usual, with an answer of the most hasty and uncritical de- 
scription, for we find Porphyry, 7 in his Prolegomena to the 
Categories, gravely stating, that * Aristotle's ethical works 
consisted of a treatise addressed to Eudemus his disciple ; 
another, the Great Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his father ; 
and a third, the Little Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his 
son.' Strange to say, this guess or tradition, from whatever 
source derived, has been echoed pretty constantly since ; and 
in almost all commentaries on the * Little Nicomacheans,' it 
is taken for granted that they are inscribed by Aristotle to 
his son Nicomachus. Samuel Petit was perhaps the first to 
see an improbability in the story. His objection was based 
upon the fact that Nicomachus must have been a young 
child at the time of the composition of the book. Petit 
remedies the difficulty by finding out in the list of Archons 
one named Nicomachus, and some other great man of the 
name of Eudemus, to whom Aristotle's books might be 
worthily dedicated ; an explanation quite in accordance with 
the ideas of the seventeenth century. 

If, unfettered by tradition, we look the question in the 



7 Porphyr. Proleg. p. 9. Sm pfv 
yap ri> Wuibv yfypafiptva. avrf flffl 
irpbs EWrjjuoj/ fj.adi}r^v, KO! 



&\\a irpbs NiK6fj.axov rbv irarfpa TO 
fj.fyd\a NjKo/x<xa, /cal irpbs 
X<> rbv viov, TO ju/cpo NiKO/*d'xa. 



THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES. 13 

face, we see at once that the account given by Porphyry is 
absurd ; that in the first place, it is in the highest degree 
improbable that Aristotle should have inscribed his books 
to his disciple and to his son ; and in the second place, if he 
had done so, that the names 'ROuca EvSijpeia and 'H0i/ea 
Ni/fo/ia^eta would not have implied this, still less could 
'H#t/ca Mg7a\a have meant Ethics addressed to his father, 
(i) We do not find any work of Aristotle's composed with 
this sort of personal reference, for the 'PijroptKr) vrpos 'AAsf- 
avBpov has been proved to be spurious. Far less in the 
Ethics themselves is there any trace of a purpose of this kind. 
The stern impersonality 8 of Aristotle and the purely scientific 
character of his enquiries, are quite opposed to the idea of a 
book composed for, or inscribed to his son. Such an idea 
would imply a false view of the whole tendency of the treatise, 
which is not to be regarded as a practical compendium, but 
rather as a scientific treatise on moral subjects. It is indeed 
the first treatise on Morals, written in uncertainty as to how 
far they could be separated from Politics. It is characterized 
by the freshness of a novel enquiry, and contains nothing 
hortatory. Its unfinished appearance also renders it doubt- 
ful whether it ever appeared in its present form during the 
life of Aristotle. This idea of inscribing a book of Morals to 
a son is essentially of later date and is suitable to Cicero. 
But it is especially remarkable that Cicero knew nothing of 
this story of the Nicomacheans being addressed to Nico- 
machus. He knew them by their name as Ethics of Nico- 
machus and doubted whether they were by the father or the 
son (De Fin. v. v.). (2) Indeed it is only natural that ' 



8 Perhaps the most remarkable ; nists is alluded to; and Sophist. Elench. 



places in which this impersonality 
relaxes itself are, Eth. Nic. i. 6, i., 
where his friendship for the Plato- 



33, where he speaks of his being the 
first to have laid the foundation of 
logic. 



14 ESSAY I. 

N iKopaxeia should mean Ethics of, or by, Nicomachus, and 
'H0tKci EuS?7/ieia Ethics by Eudemus. Other works by 
Eudemus are quoted with a similar title ; cf. Alexander 
Aphrod. on the Topics, p. 70. sv ry TT/HUTW rfav sTrtypa^o- 
fttvav Eu8?7yu,etW 'Ava\VTiK(av (eTriypd^erai Ss avro KOI EuS>;- 
fj.ov virep TWV ' AvdXvTiKwv). Those who wish against all 
probability to translate Nt/co/ia^sta, as if it were Trpos Nt/co- 
fjia^ov, appeal to the parallel word eoSe/treta, mentioned in 
the Rhetoric of Aristotle, in. ix. 9. At 8s ap^al T&V Trspio- 
Scav tr%eSbv ev rols OsoSsKTstois e^ripiO^vrai. They assume 
that this means ' the Rhetoric inscribed to Theodectes.' But 
in fact, the contents of this book and the meaning of its name 
are equally unknown. In all probability, it was merely a 
summary by Theodectes, embodying some of the doctrines of 
Aristotle. 

The name MsyaXa 'HQiKa is an apparent anomaly, for in 
point of bulk, this work is the least of the three treatises. 
Spengel thinks that the name may have been given in refe- 
rence to the intended completeness of its scope. Perhaps, 
however, the most probable account may be, that the name 
is due to a merely external accident, to the humour of a 
copyist or librarian. The work may have been labelled 
6 Great Ethics,' to distinguish it from some adjacent Ethics 
in the library, just as we find the Hippias [Lsifyov and 
Harrow of Plato distinguished by these epithets from each 
other. 

It would seem at the first glance in the highest degree im- 
probable, that Aristotle, engaged as he was in pushing out 
philosophical analysis, enquiry, and speculation in all direc- 
tions, and who, from the immensity of his undertakings, was 
forced to leave the greater part of his works uncompleted, 
should have been at the labour of composing three treatises 
on the same subject, with the same scope and the same 



THE THEORY OF SPEXGEL. 15 

results. And this is the character of the three treatises in 
question. There is therefore strong a priori probability 
against their being all the work of Aristotle. When we ask 
further what can be learnt from the titles they bear, we find 
that the name M^aXa 'IWi/ca tells us nothing, being itself 
an anomaly that requires explanation ; and that the other 
two titles would imply, that there have come down to us two 
expositions of the ethical system of Aristotle, the one drawn 
up by Nicomachus, the other by Eudemus. These two ex- 
positions might stand on the same footing with each other, 
or, again, might have a widely different character. The re- 
lation between Aristotle and his expositor or editor might in 
such cases vary almost indefinitely. It is possible on the one 
hand that the editorship consisted in a mere mechanical 
transcription. On the other hand it is possible that we have 
a mere nucleus or a mere collection of episodical fragments 
properly belonging to Aristotle himself, while form, method, 
and the conception of the whole are due severally to Nico- 
machus or Eudemus or thirdly, the thoughts alone may 
be Aristotelian, and these may have been recast by the 
expositor and not left wholly uncoloured by his own modes 
of thinking. 

Various are the shades of these hypotheses, which might 
hold good according as internal evidence should enable us to 
decide. Fortunately, the first point to be established is one 
on which general consent and internal probability entirely 
coincide namely, that the Nicomachean treatise is to be 
preferred above the Eudemian, as well as above the Magna 
Moralia. Neither by the Greek scholiasts, nor by Thomas 
Aquinas, nor by the succeeding host of Latin commentators 
have the two latter treatises been deemed worthy of illustra- 
tion, while the Nicomachean Ethics have been incessantly 
commented on. This tacit distinction between the three 



16 



ESSAY I. 



works was the only one drawn till the days of Schleiermacher, 
who mooted the question of their relation to each other. He 
at once pronounced they could not all belong to Aristotle, 
and seeing clearly the irregularities in the Nicomacheans, he 
was led to conclude that the Magna Moralia was the original 
work and the source of the other two. This conclusion, how- 
ever, has been set aside by the deeper criticism of Spengel, 9 
whose theory is now universally received in Germany, 
and may be looked upon almost as a matter of certainty. 
Spengel considers that in the Nicomachean Ethics we have 
on the whole the work of Aristotle himself; in the Eudemians 
a work by Eudemus of Ehodes, based on the former ; in the 
Magna Moralia a resum6 of both these preceding works, 
compiled by some later Peripatetic. 

Any one who compares the opening sentences of the three 
treatises will be struck at once with a difference of manner. 
The Nicomachean commencement Tiaaa rfyvr} ical iraa-a 

(J.400&OS, O/JLOIWS 8s TTpaglS T KOI TTpOCtlpSCTiS, ayadoD TIV09 

e<f>i&0ai 8o/ci is quite in the style of Aristotle. It reminds 
us of the beginning of the Post. Analytics Tlacra S 
\ia ical Trdcra f^aOrjais Siavoijriitr) SK TrpovTrapxovcnjs 
yvaxTScos or of the Metaphysics Hdvrss avQpanroi TOV eiSevai 
opsyovrai <f>vcri. It is a universal proposition forming the 
first step in an elaborate argument. This argument bases 
the whole of Ethics upon the Aristotelian conception of TS\O?, 
on the practical chief good, or happiness, demonstrated to be 
the final cause of life. The question then follows What 
science is to treat of this all- important conception? The 
answer is ' Politics,' which answer belongs to a Platonic point 
of view, and shows that Ethics had not yet been separated 



9 Ueber die unter dem Namen des 
Aristotolos erlialtenen ethischenSohrif- 



ten, (in den Abhandl. der Pkilos. 
philol. Klasse der K. Bay. Akad. 1 841 ). 



THE THREE OPENINGS. 17 

from Politics. Considerations of the method of this science 
follow. All is systematic, and evinces a deep and comprehen- 
sive, but at the same time a tentative, view of the subject. 

The Eudemian Ethics commence quite differently. 'O 
/jisv si> A^Xa) irapa raj so) rrjv avrov yvwfirjv aTro 
avvsypatysv srrl TO TrpoTrvXaiov TOV ATJTWOV, ois\(0v 

TrdvTa TW aurcS, TO TS d^adov Kal TO KO\OV Kal TO rj&v, 



Ka\\iffTOv rb SiKai^TOToi/. \SffTOv 5' vyiaiveiv 
irdvT<av S' rjSio'TOJ', ou TIS epo rb TU%e?^. 

' avTo> pr) (rvy^(i)p(t)fjiv' r\ yap svoaifiovia 
Kal apiaTOv airdvTwv ovcra rf^icnov scmv. In this opening 
we can trace several characteristic peculiarities : ( i ) There 
is an apparent attempt at style, the book is begun with an 
attractive quotation, which is alien from Aristotle's manner. 
(2) We recognise the quotation as having occurred in Eth. 
Nic. I. viii. 14. There, however, it is only mentioned in 
passing as one of the \sy6/j.sva with which Aristotle com- 
pares his definition of the chief good. Here it is amplified, 
and quoted with more circumstance. This is character- 
istic of the Eudemian Ethics, which often play a useful 
part in furnishing learned references and more explicit 
quotations for the Nicomacheans. For instance, they give 
in amplified form the saying of Anaxagoras on Happiness, 
and of Heraclitus on Anger; and a corrected statement of 
the doctrine of Socrates on Courage. 10 (3) We miss the 



10 Eth. End. I. iv., 'A.vaa.y6pas n*v I yopias. av-rbs 5* 1<r<as tpf-ro rbv a>i/ra 

6 KXa^o/j-evios fpcarijOels T'IS 6 evSai- \ aAunws /cal Ka.6a.pus irpbs rb SlKCUov tf 

fj.ovf<TTa,Tos, ' ouOels,' elirev, ' o>v arv j TIVOS Oecapias Koiviavovvra Qeias, TOVTOV 

vo(j.iets, a\A.' &TOTTOS &v TIS ffoi (paveiri.' ! ais &vQp<Ttov eliretv jj.aKa.pLov elvou. On 



TOVTOV 5' avtKpivaTO Tbv -rp6irov tKeivos 
6pcav Tbv tp6fj.fvov afiwaTOV viroA.a/u- 
Ka\bv tj 
7S irpoff-ri- 



fjifyav UVTO. 



Heraclitus : Eth. Eud. u. vii., eoi/ce 5e 
Kal 'Upd.K\iros \eyeiv els T^V Iffxyv 
TOV 6vfj.ov ^A.\J/os OTI \\nrripa. ^ K&Kvffis 



18 



ESSAY I. 



tentative attitude, and gradually developed argument. In 
the place of them we find a disposition to set forth results. 
Above all we miss what is most philosophical in Aristotle's 
system, the conception of the End, the identification of this 
with the chief good ; the definition of Politics and of their 
method. 

The Magna Moralia open with grammatical distinctness, 
but with some confusedness of thought. ^EtrsiBr} Trpoaipov- 
ftsOa \sysiv virsp rjditcwv, irpwrov av ilrj O-KSTTTSOV rivos earl 
p,spos TO rjOos. 'fly IJL&V ovv (Tvvrofjia)! SiTrelv, Boicsl OVK a\\i)s 
rj TTJS TToXiTiK'fjs elvai fjispos. "Ecrrt <yap ovdsv Iv TOIS TroXiTi- 
KOIS Svvarov irpa^ai avsv rov TTOLQV nva slvai, \syo) 8* olov 
cnrovSalov. Surely Aristotle would never have used this 
argument, that ' the character is part of Politics, because one 
cannot act in political matters without exhibiting some moral 
character.' Aristotle's connexion of Ethics with Politics was 
for greater and deeper reasons ; partly it was due to the his- 
tory of Grecian moral science, which commenced with ques- 
tions about the nature of justice, the law, the state, &c. ; 
partly it was from a grand conception of the state as a living 
whole, including the individual as a subordinate part. The 
writer of the Magna Moralia understands nothing of this. 
He evidently writes at a later period, when practical Ethics 
have attained an independent footing, and he tries to go back 
and reproduce Aristotle's point of view. He speaks after- 
wards as if standing as the representative of the Peripatetic 11 



ty o>veira.i.' On 
Socrates : Eth. Eud. in. i., Seurepa 
[avSpfia Koff dfjwiArirr"-] ^ ffrpart<i>riK'ft 
ai*TTj 5 5' tfiittipiav Kal rb flSfvat, 
ot>x, Siffirep 'SAHCpdrys $<pi], ret Seiva, 
aAA' 8ri T&S Por)6fias TUI> Seivwv. See 
note upon Eth. Nic. in. viii. 6. 

11 In one passage, i. v., which is at 



first sight startling, he seems to quote 
Eth. Nic. u. 2. 6. Srt Si ^ tvStia Kal 77 
urrep/SoA.'}) <f>Bfipi, TOUT' iSe'iv fffriv e'/c 
ruv iiBiKtav. Ae? 8' inrep rwv a.<pavwv 
rots <pai/epois paprvpiois xP^ ff ^ ai - 
Spengel, however, acutely remarks 
that the true reading must be not 
(K rS>v ii6iK<av, but 4x roov 



EUDEMUS OF KHODES. 19 

philosophy. Thus, after mentioning the former systems of 
Ethics, those of Pythagoras, Socrates, and Plato, he adds, 

OVTOl p,SV OVV STTi TO(TOVTOV S(f>rjlfraVTO KOI OVTOJS, S%6fJiVOV 8' 

av strf fjksra ravra cr/ce^raa'&ai rt Bsl avrovs \sysiv (l. i. 4). So 
too i. xxxv. 26, d\\a fteXriov MS ^^sts d<f)opio/j,sv. These ex- 
pressions, however, are a mere echo of Aristotle's way of 
speaking. Spengel observes that the use of \nrip in inrep 
ijdiK&v (1. c.) is not in accordance with the practice of Ari- 
stotle, who employs irspl in similar cases. It is found how- 
ever in Theophrastus. We presently meet with the words 
Trp&Tos IJLSV ovv sv-)(slpr)as TlvQayopas. Aristotle always says 
oi Tlvdayopsiot. 

Passing on from these first sentences, the more we examine 
the treatises in question, the more we are confirmed in accept- 
ing Spengel's hypothesis with regard to them. Let us then 
consider the hypothesis as provisionally established, and pro- 
ceed to take such a general survey of the nature and contents 
of the two subsequent and collateral Aristotelian treatises, as 
may serve to show their relationship to Aristotle's own ethical 
system. Let us commence with a brief notice of Eudemus 
and the Eudemian Ethics. 

Eudemus of Khodes was a leading scholar of Aristotle. 
We have no particulars of his life. Aulus Grellius gives a 
silly story of Aristotle deciding in^ favour of Theophrastus 
over Eudemus as his successor, by saying, that he ' preferred 
Lesbian wine to Bhodian.' Simplicius 12 has preserved a more 



confirming this conjecture by the 
words of Stobseus, who, with regard 
to the Peripatetic Ethics, says, irpbs 
Se T^V tv$eitv Tovrov -rots K rS>v 
a.l<rQijfff<av paprvplois ^pSiVTO-i. This 
writer is therefore only borrowing, 
not quoting, from Aristotle. 



12 Simplic. ad Aristot. Phys. fol. 
216, a, 7. This passage is referred 
to by Stahr in his article on Eudemus, 
in Smith's Dictionary of Biography, 
and may be found in Brandis's Scholia 
upon Aristotle, p. 404, b. 9. See upon 
it Stahr, Arislotelia, n. p. 100, 189. 



c 2 



'20 



ESSAY I. 



important notice, namely, a passage of the work of Andro- 
nicus Rhodius on Aristotle and his writings, which contains 
a fragment of a letter of Eudemus to Theophrastus, asking 
for an accurate copy of a MS. of the fifth book of Aristotle's 
Physics. This testifies to the editorial labours of Eudemus. 
Asclepius 13 records that Aristotle committed his MS. of the 
Metaphysics to Eudemus, who was dissatisfied with the form 
of the work, by which its publication was delayed ; that on 
the death of Aristotle some parts of the MS. were missing, 
and that these had to be completed from the other writings 
of Aristotle by his survivors. We know that Eudemus u and 
Theophrastus, and others of the Peripatetics, set themselves 
to compose treatises on subjects already treated of by Ari- 
stotle. In this they were probably actuated by a desire of 
systematizing and making known his philosophy. They no 
doubt endeavoured to complete what was obscure, and to 
supply links in the arguments, derived from their recollections 
of the oral teaching of the philosopher himself. They thus 
furnished a sort of paraphrase 15 or commentary. Of the 
writings of Eudemus, the following 16 are mentioned by 
ancient Greek authorities : a History of Geometry, a History 



11 Asclepius, Protm.in Aristot. Meta- 
phys. (Brandis, Schol. in Arist. p. 5 1 9, 
b. 39) ypdtyas r^v irapovffav irpa-y/aa- 



avr))v B 
flra 



rlf fralpqi 
os tv6u.iae 



KO.I 



rfiav 

avrov r<f ' 
fj.^1 ilvai 
iro\\ovs ri\\iK 

T(f ol)V fiffftf 

5te<f>6<ipriffdt> nva rov 

ro\/jLS>VTfS 8 irpoff6elvai 

ytveffrtpoi 5(4 ri> iroXi/ irdvv \flirfff6cu 

Ttjs rov d^Spbs tvvola.s, (ifrhyayov IK 

ruv &\\wv avrov irpay^arftiav ra 

\tltrovra, ap/j.6ffa,f>res ii fjv $war6i/. 



14 Cf. Ammonius on the Categories 
(Brandis, Schol. in Aristot. p. 28 note), 
ol yap fj.a6r]ral avrov Etf8?7yuoj ical Qavias 
Kal &e6cppa<rros Kara f]\ovrov SiSaffitd- 
\ov yeypa<p-fiKatri Karriyopias Kal irepl 
fpnyveias Kal ava\vriK-l]v. 

15 Simplicius on the Physics, fol. 
279 a. Kal o yt E^STJ/AOS Tra.pa<ppdfav 
ffXfobv Kal aiirbs ra 'Apiffrorf\ovs, 
riO-qffi, K.r.\. Brandis, Schol. p. 43 1 a. 

16 The authorities for these works 
are given by Fritzseheinhis edition of 
Eth. Eud. (Eatisbon, 1851). ProL 
p. xv. 



THE EUDEMIAX ETHICS. 



21 



of Astrology, Analytics, Categories, De Interpretatione, De 
Dictione, Physics, and lastly Ethics. These Ethics are quoted 
by Aspasius in a Scholium on Eth. Nic. Tin. p. 141, \sysi Se 
Kal Ev8r)/j,os teal so^pacrros on KOI at ttaff inrspo^rfv <pi\iat 
sv Tols avrots rylvovrai, r) St ^ovrjv r) Bia TO %pijo'ifjiov rj Bi 
dpsTrjv. The reference is to Eth. Eudem. vn. x. 9. 

The JEudemian Ethics have suffered more from time than 
the Nicomacheans. The text is notoriously corrupt. Parts of 
the work are evidently lost, as for instance the eighth book 
refers to a previous mention of KaXoKcvyadia, which is not 
now to be found. And there are also numerous unfulfilled 
promises. As they stand, these Ethics consist of eight 17 
books, of which the last is incomplete. Their contents may 
be said roughly to be a reproduction in other words of the 
contents of the Nicomachean treatise. 

Books I. and II. correspond with Eth. Nic. I. in. v. 

Book III. corresponds with Eth. Nic. in. vi.-xii., iv. 

Books IV. V. VI. are word for word identical with Eth. 
Nic. v. vi. vn. 

Book VII. contains in a compressed form Eth. Nic. vin. 
and ix. 

Book VIII. is a mere fragment, of which the beginning is 
wanting, and it is not probable that the author meant to end 
his whole work where this present portion ends. It contains 
entirely new matter, namely, certain airoplai as to the possi- 
bility of misusing virtue, and as to the nature of good fortune, 
and a discussion upon Ka\oKcuya6la. 

The most remarkable point about the contents of the 
Eudemian Ethics is the absolute identity of three books 



17 Printed as seven books in Bek- 
ker's edition. But in some MSS. 
the last three chapters are placed 



separate, and they certainly stand by 
themselves. 



22 ESSAY I. 

with three in the Nicomacheans. Hence arises the difficult 
question of the authorship of these books. To which of the 
treatises do they originally belong ? This question may be 
reserved for discussion in connexion with the composition of 
the Nicomachean Ethics. We have spoken of the one treatise 
being in general a reproduction of the other, let us now 
advert to such differences and peculiarities as ar& discernible 
in the exposition of Eudemus, 

First, as regards style. The phraseology and the turn of 
the sentences are, for the most part, a close approximation to 
the writing of Aristotle. An abundance of quotations, and a 
predominance of logical formulae may however be observed. 
But the greatest divergence from Aristotle occurs at that 
point where style ceases to be an affair of particular words, 
where method and general modes of thought exert an in- 
fluence. Eudemus re-arranges and restates the ethical theory, 
and here we at once perceive a difference ; for while the parts 
are more summarily and dogmatically stated, about the whole 
there seems a sort of confusion, so that it is almost impossible 
to hold in one's head the thread of one of the Eudemian 
books. Also there are places where Eudemus is no longer 
reproducing Aristotle. He sometimes enters upon questions 
and aTToplai of his own, as, for instance, with regard to the 
voluntary (Eth. Eud. n. 7), whether it consists in knowledge 
or desire. 

In these places he is more indistinct, more involved, and 
unsatisfactory than even the obscure parts of Aristotle him- 
self. The obscurity, too, seems of a kind which is due rather 
to weakness than to depth of thought, it seems to arise from 
an inability to maintain steadily a philosophic point of view. 
An instance of this latter failing occurs in the question, 
* Whether does virtue make the end right, or the means?' 
(Eth. Eud. II. xi.), on which we shall have more to say here- 



THE EUDEMIAX ETHICS. 23 

after ; and in the expression, ai Siavor)Ti>cal dpsral /J-STO. \6yov 
(11. i. 19), which is surely not a right mode of speaking: the 
moral virtues are fisra Atr/ou, the intellectual excellences are 
Aoyot. Already we are touching upon differences not so much 
of style as of philosophy. The point of view of Eudemus 
appears different from that of Aristotle; there are several 
novelties and fresh questions introduced, and there is a later 
and more developed psychology. The difference of point of 
view consists in the abandonment of what might be called the 
scientific context of Ethics, the connection of the individual 
with the state, of happiness with the chief good, of human 
life with its final cause, being no longer preserved. This 
peculiarity has the effect of making the Eudemian Ethics 
correspond to the modern conception of a ' practical' treatise; 
if by practical is understood moralizing without philosophy. 
Another fundamental difference consists in this, that whereas 
Aristotle had represented contemplation as the highest human 
good, Eudemus seems to have set aside this idea, and to have 
substituted for it that of KoXoKasyaOia, the aggregate and 
perfection of moral virtues. The aim and standard of this 
perfect quality he makes the service and contemplation of Grod, 
so that the passions are to be subdued, and all external goods 
only chosen in so far as they may be subservient to that end, 
VIII. iii. 15. "Hrts ovv aips<ris Kal KTTJO-IS r&v <f>vcrei cuyaOwv 
jronfjcrei rrjv rov (Jsov /naAurra 6s(opuiv, rj o~(i)fj,aros rj -)(pr)fMir(av r] 
<f)i\b)v r) TWV aXktav d<ya6S)V, avrrj dpio~Trj, ical ovros 6 opos 
fcd\\i(rros. Et" TIP S' rj St' evSeiav rj Si vTrepftoXrjv K(o\vei TOV 
6sov dspcnrsvsiv KOI dswpelv, avrrj Ss <f>av\7). "E^ei Se TOVTO rfj 
frvxfj, Kal ovros TTJS tyvxfjs 6 opos apia-Tos, ra ij/cia-ra aladd- 
vsadai TOV a\\ov fMspovs rf)S ^v^rjs % TOIOVTOV. TtV pev ovv 
opos rrjs KaXo/cayadias, Kal rls o O~KOTTOS TWV aTrXws dyadwv, 
eo-ra> siprjfjLevov. This elevated passage enters upon a subject 
which we do not find discussed by Aristotle, namely, the con- 



24 ESSAY I. 

nection between religion and life. As far as we can judge of 
Aristotle's opinions on this question, the above passage gives 
a different view from his. The words Bspairsvsiv rov 6ebv 
imply a different conception of the Deity from what we are 
accustomed to find in Aristotle, and the connection here 
made between moral virtue and theological contemplation is 
opposed' to the broad distinction made by Aristotle between 
speculation and practical life, and is more like Platonism. 
Also we may notice something peculiar in the formulas here 
used, opos Trjs KaXoicayaOlas, and CTKOTTOS TWV aTrXwy ayaOwv. 

We have already specified in passing the chief novelties 
introduced into the Ethics of Eudemus. They are (i) his 
questions about the voluntary, which confusedly as they are 
treated, show a growth in psychology and in ethical science, 
for the want of a sufficiently profound theory of the in- 
dividual will had been one of the chief defects in Aristotle's 
system ; (2) his enquiry as to the relation of virtue to pur- 
pose in the moral syllogism. This is a later development 
than is contained in the first books, at all events, of the 
Nicomachean treatise ; (3) his discussion of the influence of 
fortune on happiness, which we find treated in a religious 
spirit, though obscurely ; (4) his theory of KaXoxa^adia. 
These differences grafted on to the system of Aristotle are 
not such as to entitle the Eudemian Ethics to any great 
praise as an independent system, but they are interesting as 
showing the relation of the Peripatetic school to Aristotle. 

The so-called Magna M or alia consist of two books. The 
conclusion of the second appears wanting. The whole pre- 
sent uniformly the appearance of a resume of foregone con- 
clusions, but the writer seems to have had before him not 
only the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics, but also some 
other source, perhaps the writings or the traditions of Theo- 
phrastus. To this latter authority we might attribute the 



NOTICES OF N1COMACHUS. 25 

slight novelties that occur, as for instance, the sketch of the 
history of morals (i. i. 4-8) ; an expanded statement of the 
import of the word rajadov (i. i. 10, ii. n), which in its arid 
logical clearness forms a sort of Scholium upon Aristotle; 
some dfropiai on justice (u. iii.) ; and certain other minor im- 
provements and additions. At the beginning of Book I. the 
writer seems to follow Aristotle, afterwards he adheres rather 
more closely to Eudemus. In one case, however, where 
Eudemus had corrected Aristotle, namely, with regard to the 
doctrine of Socrates on courage, the author of the Magna, 
Moralia repeats the original less correct statement. The 
point of view coincides almost entirely with that of Eudemus : 
but the writer indicates some sort of advance in stating still 
more dogmatically than Eudemus the freedom of the will, 
and with regard to the intellectual apsrai he denies the name 
of apsTai to these at all, though he discusses the intellec- 
tual qualities, substituting however vTroX-rj^ts for TEXVIJ, and 
throughout his writing confusing the words sTriar^fjiij and 
Ts-)(yrj. On the whole, the Magna Moralia must be regarded 
as a dry compendium, executed with less clearness, and ex- 
hibiting the decline of the Peripatetic school, for the only 
originality here is one that exhausts itself in paraphrase and 
elucidation. 

After these preliminary enquiries, we may now proceed to 
examine the treatise that bears the name of Nicomachus, 
which is our immediate concern. Of Nicomachus himself 
scarcely anything is known. Eusebius (Prcep. Evang. xv. 2) 
quotes the following notice from Aristocles the Peripatetic : 
TlvdidSos 7ffS 'Epfttfov T\evrr)V 

'ZraysipiTiv, l YJS vibs avr(p 
TOUTOI> $e (fxicriv opfyavov rpa(psvra irapa 
KOL &rj usipaKicrKov ovra a-jroOavsiv sv iroks^w. The fact of his 
being educated by Theophrastus may have placed him in some 



26 ESSAY I. 

connection with the MSS. of his father. But the tradition 
that he died while yet a youth in war, is not consistent with 
the notice of him by Suidas (sub voce), which speaks of him 
as a philosopher, the scholar of Theophrastus, and the author 
of six books of Ethics, and of a commentary on his father's 
physical philosophy. These ' six books of ethics ' mentioned 
by Suidas may in all probability be a confused allusion to 
the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. In Diogenes Laertius 
also, the title seems to have caused a confusion with regard 
to the authorship. <&r)<rl 8* avrov Nt/co/ota^oy o 'ApiaroTsXovs 
Trjv rjSovrjv \4ysiv TO ayadov (viu. viii. 2). This refers to the 
mention of Eudoxus, Eih. Nic. x. ii. i. Taking then, on the 
whole, this as the result of the testimony of antiquity, that 
though nothing certain is known of Nicomachus, the son of 
Aristotle, tradition agrees in coupling his name with the 
chief of the ethical treatises among the Aristotelian works ; 
not (as we have already proved) as being the person to whom 
they are addressed, but as being in some sort redactor, 
editor, or expositor of the ethical system : we may proceed at 
once with certain confidence to pronounce that Nicomachus 
was not the author of the Nicomachean Ethics in the same 
way that Eudemus was of the Eudemians. None among all 
the works of Aristotle is more definitely marked with the 
signs of genuineness than the greater part of this treatise. 
We have here all the qualities of an original work, the merits 
and the faults of a fresh enquiry ; style, manner, the philo- 
sophy, the relation to Plato, all bespeak for this book the 
actual composition of Aristotle himself, except in certain dis- 
puted portions. And yet anything like a careful examina- 
tion brings out equally clear traces of the hand of an editor. 
If we take the first book and in connexion with it the 
tenth book from the sixth chapter onwards, we cannot but 
feel that here is a systematic ground-work for a science con- 



THE XICOMACHEAX ETHICS. 27 

ceived as a whole. In the first book the question is stated, 
what is the chief good or end for man? Partly from a 
Platonic way of viewing the subject, partly from Greek 
notions in general, Aristotle identifies the end for the state 
and the individual, and calls his science of the chief good 
for man, ' a kind of Politics.' This point of view is taken 
up again at the close of Book X., which in fact is a transi- 
tion to Politics proper. But not only do the beginning and 
the end of the Ethics coincide. Beside this, we see other 
evidences of system equally strong in the preconceived idea 
of the method of what is to follow, betraying itself in the 
first two books. An instance of this may be noticed in the 
deferring of any discussion upon the Contemplative life. 
Had the first book been in any sense an isolated treatise, the 
discussion could not have been deferred. Again, Aristotle 
having given his definition of Happiness, and having com- 
pared it with the theories of others, the last chapter of the 
book opens a methodical analysis of the different parts of 
that definition. This analysis is based upon a distinction 
between moral and intellectual excellence. The second book 
takes up the discussion, defers the consideration of the 
\6yos or moral standard, and gives that table of the virtues 
which is afterwards followed in books third and fourth. On 
the whole, speaking roughly, there appears at first sight 
perfect logical sequence from the beginning of the first book 
to the end of the sixth, and between the first six books and 
the close of Book X. Suppose we grant also that continence, 
pleasure, and friendship, are subjects essential to Ethics, we 
might then say that the whole ten books possess a systematic 
unity, though in truth the existence of two separate treatises 
on pleasure suggests a difficulty, which some persons evade 
by denying that the treatise in Book VII. properly belongs to 
this work of Aristotle. 



28 ESSAY I. 

Further consideration must oblige us very considerably 
to modify these views. In the first place it soon becomes 
apparent, that whatever general idea of system they may 
contain, the Nicomachean Ethics cannot be regarded as a 
finished work of art. In the best of Plato's dialogues there 
is an organic unity, a sort of omnipresence of the writer's 
mind throughout the various parts of his work; there are 
subtle anticipations and subtle references backward ; nothing 
seems redundant and nothing omitted. It would be in vain 
to look for anything of this kind in the Ethics of Aristotle. 
Repetitions, unfulfilled promises, wandering from the point 
of view, unskilful joining of parts apparently written sepa- 
rate, these things induce the conviction, that if there is an 
element of order and of unity in this book, there is also 
another element of irregularity, confusion, and patchwork. 
Not to leave these charges unsubstantiated, it may be as well 
to give some instances of each, and it will afterwards remain 
to state what seems the most probable hypothesis as to the 
composition of the work. 

i. Under the head of * repetitions' may be comprehended 
all those parts of the book which seem unnaturally to ignore 
each other. The most striking instance of this is the co- 
existence of the two treatises on Pleasure, which the most 
strenuous partisan for the unity of the Ethics would never be 
able to justify. These treatises are absolutely independent of 
each other, and the latter partly repeats and partly contradicts 
the former. But even setting this aside, even on the suppo- 
sition that only one of the two belongs to this work, how are 
we to justify on principles of art the arguments on the con- 
nexion between pleasure and morals, which occur in the 
third chapter of Book II. ? Would it not have been possible 
to find a more philosophical arrangement for this very deep 
and important question, the relation of pleasure to morals ? 



MARKS OP DISORDER. 29 

Are not the arguments in Book II. shallow as regards the 
view of pleasure, and is not the treatise in Book X. too 
isolated as regards morals? Another instance of repetition 
occurs in Book V., where the voluntariness of an action is 
discussed in terms rendered unnecessary by what had pre- 
ceded in Book III. It is true that there is a reference back- 
ward, v. viii. 3, Aeyo) 8" s/covcriov wcrirsp xal Trporepov stpijTai, 
K.T.X. but this would be so natural an interpolation either 
of the editor or of some later hand, that no stress can be laid 
on it. The question is one not of external references, but of 
internal method and unity. So too si>/3ov\ia is treated of in 
Book VI., without any recollection of the account of /3ov\sv<ns 
in Book III. ; and TroXtriK^ is defined and subdivided in the 
8th chapter of Book VI. in a way that quite ignores the men- 
tion of Tlo\iTiKij as a science at the opening of the Ethics.. 
Lastly, it must strike the reader as at all events strange, that 
the account of 2o$i'a in Book VI. should contain no allusion 
to the discussion of contemplation, as connected with happi- 
ness, which is reserved for Book X , and that in the latter 
discussion, there is no reference backward to all that had 
before been said upon 2o<ta. The question raised at the end 
of Book VI. as to whether 2o<i'a produces happiness, is quite 
incompatible with any recollection of the mention of the 
contemplative life in Book I. or any prescience of the con- 
cluding argument in Book X. 

2. Unfulfilled promises and fallacious references, forward as 
well as backward, may be genuine, or they may be interpolated. 
Where they are genuine, they testify to an idea of method, 
and of an extended scope. But they equally show that the 
idea has not been realized, that the last hand of the writer is 
wanting. Where they have the appearance of interpolations, 
they point to the composite character of the book, and to the 
meddling of the editor or the scribe. The first instance of 



30 ESSAY I. 

the kind seems natural and genuine. I. vii. 7. : TOVTWV &e 

\r)7TTSOS OpO9 TIS' STTSKTSlVOVTl jdp STrl TOVS JOVStS teal TOVS 

airoyovovs Kal TOJV <f>i\u>v TOVS <pl\ovs sis ajrsipov Trposta-u: 
'A\\a TOVTO ftsv slaavQis sTriffKSTrrsov. This question, as to 
where the circle is drawn round a man within which his 
avrdpKsia radiates, is never reconsidered. 

The next instance to be noticed occurs II. vii. 1 6 : 'A\\a 
Trepl fj,sv TOVTMV Kal a\\o0i tcatpos Herat * Trspl Ss Bifcai.- 
oavvrjs, STrsl oi>% airXws \sysTai, fjLsra ravra SisXo/jLSVoi, jrspl 
etcarepas spov/j,sv TTWS fjLSfforrjres slcriv 6fJ,oi(as be Kal Trspl rS)V 
\oyiK<ov dperuv. The first part of this programme corresponds 
well enough to Books III. IV. V. But it cannot be said 
that the last part corresponds to Book VI. For is it there 
discussed, how the intellectual excellences are mean states ? 
On the whole, however, these last few words have so ex- 
tremely suspicious an appearance, that we may almost con- 
fidently pronounce them not to have been written by Ari- 
stotle. The very phrase \oyiical apsrai belongs to a later 
style than that of Aristotle. Whether Nicomachus is respon- 
sible for the sentence, is a different question. Another un- 
fulfilled promise occurs, IX. ix. 8 : Ov 8si S Xapftaveiv /xo- 
av (ar)v Kal St<pdapjj.evr)v, ovS* sv \inrats' dopurros jap f) 
KaOdirsp ra inrdp^ovra avrfj. 'Ei> rots s-^o^svois 8s 
Trspl TTJS \vTrrjs coral <f)avspa)Tspov. Now * in what follows' 
there is no question about the nature of pain, except so far 
as its nature is implied in its being the contrary of pleasure. 
Certainly there is no explanation of the ' indefinite ' character 
of pain, though in x. iii. i, it is argued, that pleasure is not 
indefinite. We cannot say then whether a vague recollection 
of this latter point induced the editor or the copyist to intro- 
duce the reference, or whether we have here an unfulfilled 
promise made by Aristotle himself. A reference of another 
kind, suggesting some difficulty, occurs in Yin. i. 7 : Ot fisv 



INEQUALITIES OF WRITING. 31 



<yap fv olo/Asvoi, on sTriSs^srai TO /j.a\\ov /cat TO TJTTOV, 
iicavco 7r7ricrTSVKaa-i ar)/j,ia)' oV^STat yap TO //.aA-Xov Kal TO 
rJTTov Kal ra 'srspa rut siSsi. Efy^Tat S' virsp avrwv s^Trpocr6sv. 
The Scholiast on the passage observes, that something now 
lost appears to be referred to, sows Ss slpijaOai sv rots sKirsTr- 
Tcotco&t, TWV Nt/eo/tta^eiW. This is evidently a mere conjec- 
ture. Considering how separate the last words in the sentence 
stand, that they contain an un-Aristotelian formula (vtrep 
ai>T(bv\ and that they interrupt the grammar of the context, 
perhaps it is best to consider them not Aristotle's, but added 
on. Some commentators imagine that the reference is to 
the eighth chapter of Book II., where the mean is shown to 
differ in degree and also in kind from the extremes. This 
may have suggested itself to the mind of a person interpo- 
lating the reference. But it is too vague and indistinct a 
resemblance to have been really alluded -to by Aristotle. 
What the form of the reference would lead one to expect is, 
an abstract logical discussion on the question, whether things 
differing in kind can be compared with each in point of 
degree. 

3. Much of the Ethics seems written, as if the author had 
first divided his subject into separate parts, and then had 
worked out the analysis of those parts without taking thought 
of their mutual relation. Thus zeal for the particular en- 
quiries seems to overpower any consideration for the general 
harmonious impression. This is perhaps the extreme of the 
analytic tendency. The web of human life is divided into 
its component threads, and each thread is followed out in 
separation from the rest. Happiness, pleasure, virtue, wis- 
dom, temperance, and friendship, each have their turn. At 
one time Aristotle seems to speak entirely of moral virtue, 
at another time entirely of happiness. Virtue is said to be 
necessary for happiness ; but in the discussion of virtue, no 



32 ESSAY I. 

allusion to happiness is made. For virtue, or the mean, you 
must have a standard in the practical reason ; but when the 
practical reason is defined, all mention of the mean is 
omitted. This characteristic gives a disjointed appearance 
to the N'lcomachean Ethics. Partly, it is attributable to an 
idiosyncrasy in the mind of Aristotle. Partly, no doubt, this 
idiosyncrasy has been aggravated by the really unfinished 
state of the present work. Not only in point of method do 
the different parts hang ill together, but there is also an 
inconsistency discernible in the manner of the writing. In 
tone and colour the first book and the tenth seem to har- 
monize. These seem to have been written together. On a 
level with these, both in moral elevation and in philosophical 
interest, we may place Books VIII. and IX. In these four 
books, the prominence of the metaphysical conception svsp- 
rysia is a token of their philosophical point of view. Books 
II. III. IV. seem hardly above the popular level of thought. 
Books V. VI. VII. are characterized by a confusion and in- 
distinctness from which other parts of the work seem free. 
Books VI. and VII. are also marked by a prevalence of 
logical phraseology. 

4. We now come to certain marks of joining and patch- 
work, which are so inartificial, that they need only be set 
down in order to be immediately recognised, vn. x. 5. xi. 
i : * The nature of continence and incontinence, and the re- 
lation of these states to one another, has now been declared. 
But pleasure and pain are subjects for the consideration of 
the political philosopher,' &c. 

vn. xiv. 9 : ' About continence and incontinence, and plea- 
sure and pain, we have now spoken, and the nature of each, 
and how some of them are goods and some evils. Next we 
shall speak also about friendship.' vui. i. i : < But after 
this it would follow to discuss friendship,' &c. 



AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 3.1 

ix. xii. 4 : ' Thus far then let the discussion of friendship 
go ; it will follow to investigate pleasure.' 

x. i. i : * But after this, perhaps the next point is to in- 
vestigate pleasure.' 

No one could imagine that such links as these would be 
employed to connect the parts of a work really written from 
end to end. The very collision between the beginnings and 
ends of books, the repetition in the first line of a fresh book 
of the same words which concluded the book before, is very 
awkward, and we do not find it elsewhere in Aristotle, though 
it is true that it appears in the Eudemian Ethics. But even 
passing this over, there is obviously something wrong about 
the arrangement of a work which first says, 'Having dis- 
cussed pleasure we may now discuss friendship ;' and some 
pages later, * We have now discussed friendship, and it 
follows to discuss pleasure.' And the second treatise on 
Pleasure proceeds accordingly in the most naive manner to 
bring forward arguments why pleasure should be discussed, 
on account of the importance of the subject, and its con- 
nection with morals, just as though it had never been men- 
tioned before. 

The above then are some of the most salient indications 
of disorder and incompleteness in the Nicomaehean Ethics. 
No hypothesis can entirely explain them away. You cannot, 
by dropping out so many chapters here and so many words 
there, make the work smooth and entire. The only course is 
to endeavour to form as fair an opinion as possible on the 
probable method in which Aristotle composed the work, and 
the condition in which he left it. And Nicomachus, or the 
copyist, may be answerable for the rest. 

The most important question on this part of the subject 
is as to the authorship of Books V. VI. VII. We have 
already seen that these books occur word for word in the 

D 



34 ESSAY I. 

Eudemian Ethics. The question is, to which of the two 
works do they originally and properly belong ? There have 
been various hypotheses on the subject. The first and most 
moderate is that started among the moderns by Casaubon, 
that the treatise on Pleasure in Book VII. is not by Aristotle 
but by Eudemus. This supposition, if we could accept it, 
would no doubt remove great awkwardness from the appear- 
ance of the Nicomachean Ethics. But from grounds of 
a priori probability we may safely conclude that this sup- 
position cannot be the true one. For though it is possible 
to conceive that the whole of these three books may have 
been introduced into the one treatise from the other, and 
may have brought along with them a superfluous discussion 
on Pleasure to a work already treating of the subject ; it is 
not possible to believe that a treatise on Pleasure should be 
separated from its context in the Ethics of Eudemus, and un- 
necessarily transplanted into the Ethics of Aristotle. More- 
over, if the last four chapters of Book VII. were written by 
Eudemus and introduced here, how came it about that the 
remainder of Book VII,, and the whole of Books VI. and V., 
written by Aristotle, were afterwards transferred to the work 
of Eudemus ? Those who wish to operate for the benefit 
of the Nicomachean Ethics, must use the knife deeply or not 
at all. They must separate three entire books, or else leave 
the excrescence untouched. 

The second hypothesis is that adopted by a recent editor 
of the Eudemian Ethics (Fritzsche), who maintains that 
Book V. belongs to the work of Aristotle, Books VI. and VII. 
to that of Eudemus. For the same reasons as before, we 
may say that it is almost impossible to believe in this double 
transference. We can imagine that one treatise may have 
been left imperfect, or may have been mutilated, and that 
its deficiencies were supplied from the other. But it is hard 



AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 35 

to believe, without any external evidence, in the imperfection 
or mutilation of both works, and in a system of mutual 
accommodation arising out of the wants of each. 

The only suppositions then which remain open to us are, 
either that the three books in question are by Aristotle, or 
that they are by Eudemus. If we can on other grounds 
allow them to be the work of Aristotle, there is no in- 
superable obstacle in the double treatise on Pleasure. We 
must at once conclude that that in Book VII. is an earlier 
essay, on which Aristotle afterwards improved. We might 
say, the treatise in Book VII. is dialectical, merely opposing 
the Platonists. That in Book X. is scientific, giving a more 
complete analysis of the subject. Instances occur in the 
Metaphysics of short discussions, which appear repeated in a 
more or less changed form. Of course a repetition of this 
kind is due to the editors of Aristotle. They were naturally 
reluctant to lose or omit any part of his writings. And hence 
it may have come -about, that a treatise on Pleasure super- 
seded and discarded by its author was afterwards revived 
and awkwardly grafted upon one of his works. It is not on 
the ground of these few last chapters that the genuineness of 
the whole three books is brought to an issue. 

The chief arguments in favour of attributing these books 
to Aristotle are (i) The fact that they are found in his 
treatise, and have been constantly received as part of it, and, 
in fact, are required to complete it. (2) That they appear 
to be quoted by Aristotle himself in the Metaphysics and 
Politics. (3). That they are said to be completely Aristo- 
telian in style. Against these arguments might be pleaded 
( i) That they are found in the work of Eudemus. And if we 
attribute them to Eudemus, we shall be only applying to 
these books the hypothesis which some would apply to the 
whole treatise, or even to all the works of Aristotle namely, 

P 2 



36 ESSAY I. 

that they consist of the notes of his scholars. Moreover, the 
very name, Ethics by Nicomachus, might suggest the pro- 
bability that something might be found in a work so called, 
not coming purely and entirely from Aristotle, while the fact 
that these books are required to complete the system does 
not prove their genuineness, so much as account for their 
having been borrowed ; especially if it turns out that they do 
not exactly fit, and give a seeming rather than a real com- 
pleteness to the Nicomachean Ethics. 

(2) An examination of the places where these books are 
said to be quoted a little weakens the argument drawn from 
those quotations. 

In Metaphys. i. i. 17, Book VI. appears to be referred to. 
fjisv ovv ev rots 'H^t/eots ris 8ia<f>opa rs^vrjs Kal STTI- 
Kal rS)v a\\wv rwv o/j-oysvcbv ov 8' svs/ca vvv TroiovpsBa 
rbv \6yov, TOUT' e<rriv. tc.r.X. 

In Politics in. ix. 3, Book V. seems quoted, war eirsl TO 
SiKaiov ncriv, teal SiyprjTai TOV avrov rporrov STTI rs rwv irpay- 
fj,drei)v Kal oly, tcaOaTrep stprjTai Trporspov ev rols rjOiicols. 

So too in Politics in. xii. i, SOKSI &e iracnv i<rov rt TO Bi/caiov 
elvai teat, n&'xpi ysTivos opoXoyova-t, TOIS Kara ^iXocro^tav Xoyoty, 
ev ols SuapiCTTai, frspl ra>v rjdiK&V rl yap Kal Tial TO Si/catov 
KO I Ssiv Tots i crois tarov slvaL (fraonv. 

We see about the last of these passages that it is no quo- 
tation at all, but merely an assertion that, with regard to 
justice, people in general agree to a certain extent with the 
philosophic theory of ethics, &c. In the second passage, there 
are all the marks of an interpolated reference. In the first 
passage the reference is general, being to doctrine not to 
words. We possess no doubt the ethical doctrine of Aristotle, 
as far as he had completed it, but do we possess it altogether 
in his own words ? 

(3) As to the style, we must bear in mind the very close 



AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 37 

resemblance of the style of the Eudemian Ethies to that of 
Aristotle. Perhaps nothing in the present books might have 
struck us as remarkable, but for the fact that they already 
stand as part of the Eudemian Ethics. And this leads us to 
institute a closer scrutiny. And out of this scrutiny there 
becomes apparent something confused, and what we might 
call Eudemian, about the writing, and something about the 
philosophy, on the one hand later and more mature, on the 
other hand slurred and indistinct. Many will, no doubt, feel 
the argument from style to be subtle and evanescent, and, de- 
clining to be convinced by it, they will deny the possibility of 
distinguishing with certainty between the hand of the Master 
and the imitative work of the School. To such persons we 
submit that at all events it is impossible to sum up and 
convey in a few lines the import of an evidence which is in 
its nature essentially cumulative. It is not on the form of 
this or that particular sentence by itself that the question 
turns, and by quoting isolated Eudemianisms (or what we 
consider such), we should only weaken the argument to be 
drawn from them. We can only refer to the disputed books 
themselves, and if, after going through the peculiarities in 
detail which will be pointed out in the notes, any one still 
denies that there is any difference in the writing between 
the Nicomachean and the Nicomacho-Eudemian books, there 
is nothing more to be said on the subject. 

As to the philosophy of these books, it is to be noticed that 
they prominently contain the doctrine of the practical syl- 
logism, which on the other hand is not applied in Book III. 
to the explanation of the will. There is also something very 
mature in the formula given in Book VI. for the definition 
of virtue, ^wxpdrrjs IASV ovv \6yovs ray operas (Zero slvai 
(sTTLarrj^uLS jap elvai Tracray), r)/j,sls Se pera Xo7oi;(xiii. 5). Again 
in the use of the terms opos and OTCOTTOS, we observe something 



33 ESSAY I. 

which has no parallel in other books of Aristotle, and which 
is apparently an innovation introduced into the system by 
Eudemus. Compare Eth. Nic. VI. i. i, sv irdo-ats <yap rats 
slprjpsvais "efyvi, KaOcnrep Kal sTrl rwv aX\(av, sari ris CTKOTTOS 
rrpos ov airo[3\8Tru>v b rov \6yov s^cav STTLTSLVSL teal avirja-w 
and VI. i. 3, aXXa Kal $i(apio-fj,vov (Set slvai) ris r ecrrlv 6 
bpdos \6yos xal rovrov ris opos with Eth. Eud. II. v. 8, ris 
S' 6 bp6os \6yos, Kal Trpbs riva Set opov airo^Xs-novras \e<yi,v 
TO fieo-ov, va-rspov STTIO-KSTTTSOV. As we have seen, Eudemus 
makes the great opos to consist in the contemplation and 
service of God. Eth. Eud. vin. iii. 16, ris pev ovv opos rrjs 
as^ Kal ris 6 CTKOTTOS r&v cnrXws dyaOwv, sarrco 
Surely this new formula is a confusion of Ari- 
stotle's ethical philosophy, for whereas before bpOos \6yos AV.MS 
made the standard of virtue, here a standard of that standard 
is introduced, Kal TOUTOV ris opos. Again, does not the 
mention of O-KOTTOS in this formal way (not merely in a meta- 
phorical sense, as in Eth. Nic. I. ii. 2) clash, as it were, with 
Aristotle's doctrine of T\OS ? 

Another piece of Eudemian philosophy shows itself in the 
theory that virtue gives us the end, and wisdom the means 
(or as they are here called, rov O-KOTTOV and ra Trpbs rovrov}, 
see Eth. Nic. vi. xii. 6, vi. xii. 10, vii. viii. 4. Whatever be 
the value of this doctrine in itself, it does not harmonize with 
the theory of moral faculties given in Eth. Nic. Book III. ; 
but it coincides perfectly with the Eudemian Ethics, where 
this very question is the subject of a chapter (Eth. Eud. u. 
xi.). Hdrspov T] apsrrj iroiel rov O-KOTTOV 77 ra rrpos rov Q-KOTTOV ; 
With regard to the treatise on Pleasure in Eth. Nic. Book 
VII., we may notice that it opens with a reference back 
which is rather more applicable to the Eudemians than to 
the Nicomacheans. Trfv re yap apsrrjv Kal rrjv Kaiciav rrjv 
Trspl \v7ras Kal -fj^ovas eOepev (xi. 2). This might indeed 



AUTHOKSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 39 

allude to Eth. Nic. n. iii. 10, COOTS ital Sia TOVTO irspi rjSovasr 
/cat \v7ras Trdaa 77 TrpayjMaTSia Kal TTJ apery Kal TTJ iro\iriKy. 
But the identification of virtue and vice with pleasure and 
pain is more definitely expressed in Eth. End. n. i. 24, n. ii. 
i, n. v. 8. And it is more after Aristotle's manner to begin 
a treatise without such a reference, as we find him doing 
Eth. Nic. x. i. i. The distinctive characteristic of the trea- 
tise in Book VII., as compared with the latter, seems to be 
that it is less of a scientific account, and exhibits a more 
practical tendency. On the one hand, the formula for ex- 
pressing pleasure is less exact, and the relation of pleasure to 
the chief good is less clearly enunciated. On the other hand, 
there seems to be some reference to the theory of incon- 
tinence. While it is acknowledged that all pleasure is not 
bodily pleasure, bodily pleasure is in reality almost exclu- 
sively discussed ; and it is pointed out, how by necessities of 
nature and temperament men are led to run into bodily plea- 
sures. Kal Sia Tavra aKoXaaroi, Kal (j>av\oiy{yvovTai (xiv. 6). 
Not only is this practical and moral feeling characteristic of 
Eudemus, but also the materialistic tendency shown in these 
chapters, and indeed throughout Book VIL, was a tendency 
into which the Peripatetic scholars seem to have fallen, and 
which runs out into extremity in many of the 'Problems' 
falsely attributed to Aristotle. 

When we ask fairly, Do these three books complete the 
system of Aristotle's Ethics, on the supposition that they are 
genuinely his ? the answer must be, that they cannot be said 
to do so. What we most essentially want after the conclu- 
sion of Book IV. is a theory of the Aojos or moral standard. 
But can Book VI. be said to supply this ? In the first place, 
we have already noticed the awkwardness of the phrase made 
use of by Eudemus, al BiavorjriKal apsral /msra \6yov. This 
same confusion of phrase is carried all through Book VI. of 



40 ESSAY I. 

Eth. Nic. 3>p6vr)cns equally with sTrum^r) and re^vr) is de- 
scribed as a egis fisra \6yov. We might perhaps have 
imagined that this \oyos was some deeper law of the con- 
sciousness, lying behind faovrjcris and regulating it. But the 
reverse statement occurs at the end of Book VI., where 
<f>p6vr)(Tis is made to regulate the \6yos (Travres orav opitytvrai 
rrjv apsrrjv Trpocrridsaai, rr)v eiv, rrjv Karci rbv opBbv \oyov, 
opObs S' 6 Kara rrjv (pp6vr]<riv. xiii. 4). Thus there is a careless- 
ness of formula, which impairs the value of this part of the 
theory. Suppose we accept <f>p6vr)(ris as Aristotle's term for 
the moral standard, we must in the first place miss any 
explanation of its connection with the mean ; secondly, we 
do not find it harmonized with /SovXya-ts, fiovXevais, and 
Trpoaips&is, as they are described in Book III. Again we 
find it variously and incongruously set forth ; ist, as pru- 
dence, though its relation to happiness is not drawn out (vi. 
v. 2) ; 2nd, as including all human interests in its scope (vi. 
vii. 6) ; 3rd, as universal (vi. vii. 7) ; 4th, as particular (16.) ; 
5th, as intuitive (vi. viii. 9) ; 6th, as acquired by experience 
(vi. viii. 5); 7th, as a faculty of ends (vi. ix. 7); 8th, as a 
faculty of means (vi. xii. 9); gth, as depending on the moral 
character (vi. xii. 10); loth, as a sort of universal wisdom 
and perfected condition, both of the reason and the will, so 
that he who possessed it could do no wrong (vi. xiii. 6, 
vii. ii. 5). These contradictions and incongruities, when put 
together, allow us perhaps to form a general conception in 
which they may be all reconciled ; but scattered about as 
they are in the sixth book of Eth. Nic. they present a very 
unphilosophical and unsatisfactory appearance, and make us 
doubt whether Aristotle himself can have been the author of 
this very imperfect statement. That he was the author in 
some sense of the theory we cannot doubt, and we know 
from Metaphysics, I. i. 17, that the psychology of the intel- 



AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 41 

lect, the difference of einar^firi from a-ofyia, &c., formed 
part of Aristotle's ethical system, though we must also re- 
mark that ao(f)ia is differently represented in the Meta- 
physics from what it is in Eth. Nic. Book VI.. and we may 
well suspect that the theory of typovtiais also is to some 
extent coloured by the views of Eudemus. 

The same criticism applied to Book V. discloses also its 
imperfections, when considered as a supplement to the lucid 
account of the virtues in Books II.-IV. It gives a very in- 
distinct answer to the question, * In what sense are the two 
kinds of justice mean states?' which was proposed for dis- 
cussion, Eth. Nic. n. vii. 16. In Book V. Aristotle's theory 
of justice looms upon us vaguely through a cloud. We know 
that he differed from Plato in his conception of justice, that 
he attributed to it a more special character, but how indis- 
tinct are the arguments (v. ii. 1-6) by which this special 
character is established ! In Chapter 4th, SiopOcariKov SLKCIIOV 
is spoken of as applicable both to voluntary and involuntary 
transactions, but of the former kind there is no explanation 
given. What is the relation of that justice in exchange, of 
which the principles are stated in Chapter 5th, to this * cor- 
rective justice'? Granted that the two divisions of justice, 
viewed politically, into distributive and corrective, are of con- 
siderable importance (they were apparently known to Plato 
before Aristotle), yet these should not in a moral treatise 
absorb the whole account of the matter. The moral view of 
justice as an individual virtue or duty is here greatly defi- 
cient. Partly we must conclude that the theory of Aristotle 
was immature, partly that it is ill-stated by Eudemus. In 
the last chapter of the book we find an irregularity which 
proves the influence of unskilful editorship. There is a 
repetition of a question already answered. In all probability 
the book was meant to end at the conclusion of Chapter 10. 



42 ESSAY I. 

Those who start with the supposition that the Nicomachean 
Ethics are a finished treatise from which they have only to 
reject glaring irregularities, are in the habit of saying that 
Book V. is by Aristotle except the last chapter, which is by 
Eudemus. For this hypothesis there is not the slightest 
evidence, either internal or external. 

Arguments might be multiplied to show that in all pro- 
bability Books V. VI. VII. are the work of Eudemus, just in 
the same sense as the Eudemian Ethics are his wcrk, namely, 
they are his exposition of the theory of Aristotle slightly 
modified by his own views. Whether, as in the case of the 
Metaphysics (above mentioned p. 20), parts of Aristotle's own 
ethical writing which corresponded to these books have been 
lost, and the lacuna supplied from the exposition of Eudemus, 
or whether never anything but an oral theory of this part of 
the system existed, it seems impossible to say. Aristotle's 
reference to the theory (Metaphys. I. i. 17), makes it more 
probable that something was written, but we must not hence 
conclude that the Ethics was ever a finished work, or pub- 
lished in the lifetime of Aristotle. His quotations in the 
Metaphysics and Politics do not by any means prove this. 
Aristotle was probably carrying on his various works together, 
and thus might naturally refer from one which was in con- 
ception later, to one which was in conception more complete, 
though not yet given to the world. 

It would be easy then to form a hypothesis to account for 
the present condition of the Nicomachean Ethics. A com- 
parison of their beginning and end might seem to show that 
the work is constructed on a scientific frame. We might say 
that without doubt these first and last books were written by 
Aristotle himself. That he probably drew out at the same 
time the entire plan for the intermediate books. That the 
separate parts of his subject, divided according to this plan, 



GENERAL HYPOTHESIS. 43 

he must have worked out according to his custom at different 
times. That these parts therefore have different degrees of 
connection with the whole, different degrees of completeness 
in themselves. Thus the treatises on the Voluntary, on 
Pleasure, and on Friendship, have all an introduction, show- 
ing that they are meant to form part of an ethical system. 
But the treatise on Friendship in three places uses the phrase 
icaOairsp h dpxf) ipr)Tai (viil. ix. I, VIII. xiii. I, IX. iii. i), to 
denote its own earlier chapters, as if being an independent 
work. It also uses the same phrase (ix. ix. 5) to denote the 
beginning of the entire Ethics. We might say then that 
Books VIIL and IX. have a double nature ; on the one 
hand they are a separate treatise, on the other hand part 
of a larger work. We might conceive these ' disjecta mem- 
bra' of Aristotle's Ethics lying among his papers at his death, 
and imagine that some time may have elapsed before Nico- 
machus, or whoever was the first editor, took in hand their 
amalgamation; that in the meanwhile Eudemus may have 
been writing his system ; that part of the original system of 
Aristotle being now lost or for some cause or other wanting, 
Nicomachus took three of the Eudemian books as being the 
nearest approach to the doctrine and to the very words of 
Aristotle, and grafted them on with the view of presenting 
a completed treatise to the world. After all, however, any 
hypothesis of the kind could only be a mere shot in the dark. 
To those cautious minds who would immediately rebuke 
such guess-work, we would submit that, at all events, the 
Nicomachean Ethics are put together out of two separate, 
and, to some extent, heterogeneous parts. 



ESSAY II. 



On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece 
previous to Aristotle. 

IN the Ethics of Aristotle there are but few direct allusions 
to moral theories of other philosophers. Plato's theory 
of the idea of good, viewed in its relation to Ethics (i. vi.) ; 
Socrates' definition of courage (in. viii. 6) ; of virtue (vi. f^r^i 
..xiii. 3); his opinion of incontinence (vn. ii. i) ; Eudoxus' ^, vCo- 
theory of pleasure (x. ii. i ) ; the Pythagorean definition of ' 
justice (v. v. i) ; and Solon's paradox (i. x.), are perhaps the 
only ones which are by name commented on. There are 
constant impersonal allusions to various opinions (the Xe7o- 
IJLSVO, on the subject in hand) ; some of these Aristotle attri- 
butes to ' the few,' that is, the philosophers ; others he speaks 
of as stamped with the consent of * the many and of ancient 
times.' (i. viii. 7.) But there is no connected history of 
ethical opinions or ethical systems to be found in this work 
of Aristotle. His Metaphysics, his Physical Lectures, and 
his De Animd, each commence with a historical introduc- 
tion, so that the various problems to be answered in these 
several sciences are made to develope themselves out of the 
attempts and the failures of previous enquiries. But we miss 
here any such opening, and the reason is that Ethics were 
only first beginning to have an existence as a separate 
science, with Aristotle. Before the fifth century, philo- 
sophy had been entirely physical or metaphysical ; with the 
Sophists and Socrates thought was directed to the rationale 
of human life, to discussions of virtue and justice and the 



THE HISTORY OF ETHICS. 45 

duties of a citizen. But before Plato there were no scientific 
treatises on moral subjects, and even in Plato there was no 
separation between Morals and Politics. Aristotle beginning 
his treatise in a tentative way, and partly following the lead 
of Plato, speaks of his science as ' a sort of Polities' (i. iii. i) ; 
at the same time he gives it a treatment which effectually 
separates it from Politics. By reason then of this tentative 
attitude and this silence of Aristotle, we are left to discuss 
for ourselves the beginnings of moral philosophy in Greece ; 
which it is indeed necessary to do, since a system of any kind 
can only be properly understood by knowing its antecedents. 
The author of the Magna Moralia prefixes to his book the 
following brief sketch of the previous progress of the science. 
'The first to attempt this subject was Pythagoras. His 
method was faulty, for he made virtue a number, justice a 
cube, &c. To him succeeded Socrates, who effected a great 
advance, but who erred in calling virtue a science, and in 
thus ignoring the distinction between the moral nature 
(jrados KCU TjOos} and the intellect. Afterwards came Plato, 
who made the right psychological distinctions, but who 
mixed up and confused ethical discussions with ontological 
enquiries as to the nature of the chief good.' In a shadowy 
way this passage represents the truth ; for it is true that in 
the pre-Socratic philosophy, of which the Pythagorean system 
may stand as a type, ethical ideas had no distinctness, they 
were confused with physical or mathematical notions. Also 
the faults in the Ethics of Socrates and Plato are here rightly 
stated. But it is a confusion to speak of Pythagoras as a 
moral philosopher, in the same sense that Socrates and Plato 
were so, or to speak of Socrates succeeding Pythagoras in the 
same way that Plato succeeded Socrates. Even were the 
account more accurate, that it is too barren to be in itself 
very useful, every one will acknowledge. 



4G ESSAY II. 

Eenouncing any attempt to trace a succession of systems 
(which indeed did not exist), until we come to the limited 
period of development between Socrates and Aristotle, let us 
take a broader view of the subject, and divide morality into 
three eras, first, the era of popular or unconscious morals ; 
second, the transitional, sceptical, or sophistic era ; thirdly, 
the philosophic or conscious era. These different stages ap- 
pear to succeed each other in the national and equally in the 
individual mind. The simplicity and trust of childhood, the 
unsettled and undirected force of youth, and the wisdom of 
matured life. First, we believe because others do so ; then, 
in order to obtain personal convictions, we pass through a stage 
of doubt ; then we believe the more deeply and in a some- 
what different way from what we did at the outset. On 
these three distinct periods or aspects of thought about moral 
subjects,jnuch might be said. The first thing to remark is, 
that they are not only successive to each other if you regard 
the mind of the most cultivated and advanced thinkers of 
successive epochs, but also they are contemporaneous and in 
j uxtaposition to each other, if you regard the different de- 
grees of cultivation and advancement among persons of the 
same epoch. In Plato's Republic we find the three points 
of view represented by different persons in the dialogue. 
The question, What is justice ? being started, an answer to 
it is first given from the point of view of popular morality in 
the persons of Cephalus and of his son Polemarchus, who 
define it to be, in the words of Simonides, * paying to every 
one what you owe them.' To this definition captious diffi- 
culties are started, difficulties -which the popular moralit} 7 , 
owing to its unphilosophical tenure of all conceptions, is quite 
unable to meet. Then comes an answer from the Sophistical 
point of view, in the person of Thrasymachus, that 'justice 
is the advantage of the stronger.' This having been over- 



TIIKEE EEAS OF MOEALITY. 47 

thrown, partly by an able sophistical skirmish, partly by the 
assertion of a deeper moral conviction, the field is left open 
for a philosophical answer to the question. And this ac- 
cordingly occupies the remainder of Plato's Republic, the 
different sides of the answer being represented by different 
personages ; Grlaucon and Adeimantus personifying the prac- 
tical understanding which is only gradually brought into 
harmony with philosophy, Socrates the higher reason and 
the most purely philosophical conception. Almost all the 
dialogues of Plato, which touch on moral questions, may 
be said to illustrate the collision between the above-men- 
tioned different periods or points of view, though none so 
fully as the Republic. Some dialogues, which are merely 
tentative, as the Euthyphro, Lysis, Charmides, Laches, <fcc., 
content themselves with showing the unsatisfactoriness of the 
popular conceptions ; common definitions are overthrown ; 
the difficulty of the subject is exposed ; a deeper method is 
suggested ; but the question is left at last without an answer. 
In others, as in the Hippias Major, Protagoras, Gorgias, 
and Euthydemus, various aspects of the Sophistical point of 
view are exposed; (on which we shall find much material for 
discussion hereafter) ; in all the dialogues a glimpse, at all 
events, of true philosophy is suggested ; in a few only, as in 
(the Philebus, is there anything like a proportion of con- 
structive to the destructive dialectic. 

Plato's wonderful dramatic pictures hold up a mirror to 
the different phases of error and truth in the human mind, 
so that we turn to his dialogues as to real life. But all 
reasonings on morality must exhibit the distinction existing 
between the popular, the sophistic, and the philosophical 
points of view. This distinction will be found marked in the 
Ethics of Aristotle, only Aristotle is less hostile than Plato to 
the popular conceptions, and rather considers them as the 



48 ESSAY II. 

exponents of a true instinct with which his own theories must 
be brought into harmony. Also, being more concerned with 
the attainment and enunciation of truth than with recording 
its genesis, he does not dwell on the relation of the sophistical 
spirit to morality. He touches on certain sceptical and arbi- 
trary opinions concerning morals which may be considered as 
the remnants of sophistry. But we must not reckon among 
these philosophical opinions with which he disagrees, since 
philosophy may be mistaken and yet be philosophy, if its 
spirit be pure. 

Without laying too much stress on our three divisions, we 
may at all events regard them as convenient chronological 
heads. And let us now proceed to make some remarks on 
the characteristics of the first period of Grecian Ethics. 

I. It has been said that 'before Socrates there was no 
morality in Greece, but only propriety of conduct.' l This 
sentence conveys the same meaning as the argument in 
Plato's Phcedo (p. 68 D), that ' without philosophy there is no 
morality, for the popular courage is a sort of fear, and the 
popular temperance a sort of intemperance.' It rightly 
asserts that the highest kind of goodness is inseparable from 
wisdom, from a distinct consciousness of the meaning of acts 
from a sense of the absoluteness of right in itself. ' Morality' 
according to this view only exists when the individual can 
say, ' I am a law to myself, the edicts of the state and of 
society are valid to me because they are my edicts because 
they are pronounced by the voice of reason and of right that 
is in me.' It however puts perhaps too great a restriction 
upon the term * morality,' as if nothing but the highest moral 
goodness were * morality ' at all. It seems absurd to charac- 



1 Hegel, Gcschichte dcr Philosophic, 
ii. 43 : ' Die Athener vor Socrates 



waren gittliche, nicht morali&chc Men- 
schen.' 



THE FIRST ERA OF MORALITY. 49 

terize as mere 'propriety of conduct' the acts of generosity, 
patriotism, endurance, and devotion, which were done, and the 
blameless lives that were led, long before there was any 
philosophy of right and wrong. Indeed there is something 
that seems more attractive about instinctive acts of noble- 
ness, than about a reasoned goodness. To some the innocent 
obedience of the child appears more lovely than the virtue 
of the man. Still instinct is inferior to reason, the child is 
less than the man; and if God makes us what we are in 
childhood, we must re-make ourselves in maturer age ; and 
it is the law of our nature that what was at first only 
potential in us, and only dimly felt as an instinct, should 
become realized by us and present to our consciousness. The 
very word ( conscience,' on which right so much depends, is 
only another term to express 'consciousness,' and a man 
differs from a machine in this, that the one has a law in 
itself, is moved, as Aristotle would say, Kara \6yov, the 
other is moved pera \6yov, has the law both in and for 
himself. 

Without entering into speculations on the origin of society, 
we may safely assert that, as far as historical evidence goes, 
the broad distinctions between crime and virtue seem always 
to have been marked. National temperament, organization, 
climate, and a certain latent national idea that has to be 
gradually developed these go some way to mould the 
general human instincts of right and wrong, and these pro- 
duce whatever is special in the national life and customs and 
code of laws (for occasion calls forth legislation, and so a code 
of laws grows up) ; and thus men live and do well or ill, and 
obtain praise or blame, are punished and rewarded. But as 
yet there is no rationale of all this. It is an age of action 
rather than of reflection of poetry rather than analysis. To 
this succeeds a time when the first generalizations about life, 





50 ESSAY II. 

in the shape of proverbs and maxims, begin to spring up. 
These are wise, but they do not constitute philosophy. They 
seldom rise above the level of prudential considerations, or 
empirical remarks on life, but they serve the requirements 
of those for whom they are made. Later, however, poetry 
and proverbs cease to satisfy the minds of thinkers ; the 
thoroughly-awakened intellect now calls in question the old 
saws and maxims, the authority of the poets, and even the 
validity of the institutions of society itself. After this has 
come to pass, the age of unconscious morality, for cultivated 
men at least, has ceased for ever. In the quickly ripening 
mind of Greece, the different stages of the progress we have 
described succeed each other in distinct and rapid succession. 
In Christendom, from a variety of causes, it was impossible 
that the phenomenon should be re-enacted with the same 
simplicity. 

The popular morality which is represented in the dialogues 
of Plato may serve to embody the results which were arrived 
at in Greece without scepticism and without philosophy. The 
following are its chief characteristics: (i) It is based upon 
texts and maxims, and these maxims are for the most part 
merely prudential. (2) It is apt to connect itself with a 
superstitious and unworthy idea of religion, such as was set 
forth in the mysteries, and which constituted the trade of 
juggling hierophants. With regard to the former point, 
nothing is more marked than the unbounded reverence of 
the Greeks for the old national literature. Homer, Hesiod, 
and the Gnomic poets, constituted the educational course. 
Add to these the saws of the Seven Wise Men and a set of 
aphorisms of the same calibre, which sprung up in the sixth 
century, and we have before us the main sources of Greek 
views of life. It was perhaps in the age of the Pisistratidse 
that the formation and promulgation of this system of texts 



THE MORALITY OF HOMER. 51 

took place most actively. In the little dialogue called Hip- 
parchus, attributed to Plato, but of uncertain authorship, 
we find an episode (from which the dialogue is named) re- 
counting a fact, if not literally, at all events symbolically true. 
It relates that Hipparchus, the wisest of the sons of Pisis- 
tratus, wishing to educate the citizens, introduced the poems 
of Homer, and made Rhapsodes recite them at the Pana- 
thensea. Also, that he kept Simonides near him, and sent to 
fetch Anacreon of Teos. Also, that he set up obelisks along 
the streets and the roads, carved with sentences of wisdom, 
selected from various sources, or invented by himself, some 
of which even rivalled the ' Know thyself,' and other famous 
inscriptions at Delphi. 

It is obvious how much the various influences here specified 
worked on the Athenian mind. The mouths of the people 
were full of these maxims, and when Socrates asked for the 
definition of any moral term, he was answered by a quotation 
from Simonides, Hesiod, or Homer. The same tendency was 
not confined to Athens, but was doubtless, with modifications, 
prevalent throughout Greece. With regard to the worth of 
the authorities above specified, a few words may be said, 
taking each separately. The morality in Homer is what you 
would expect. It is concrete, not abstract ; it expresses the 
conception of a heroic life rather than a philosophical theory. 
It is mixed up with a religion which really consists in a cele- 
bration of the beauty of the world, and in a deification of the 
strong, bright, and brilliant qualities of human nature. It 
is a morality uninfluenced by a regard to a future life. It 
clings with intense enjoyment and love to the present world, 
and the state after death looms in the distance as a cold and 
repugnant shadow. And yet it would often hold death pre- 
ferable to disgrace. The distinction between a noble and an 
ignoble nature is strongly marked in Homer, and yet the 

K 2 



52 ESSAY II. 

sense of right and wrong about particular actions seems very 
fluctuating. A sensuous conception of happiness and the 
chief good is often apparent, and there is great indistinctness 
about all psychological terms and conceptions. Life and 
mind, breath and soul, thought and sensation, seem blended 
or confused together. Plato's opinion of Homer was a re- 
action against the popular enthusiasm, and we must take 
Plato's expressions not as an absolute verdict, but as relative 
to the unthinking reverence of his countrymen. He speaks 
as if irritated at the wide influence exercised by a book in 
which there was so little philosophy. 

If we consider Homer in his true light, as the product and 
exponent, rather than as the producer of the national modes 
of thought, Plato's criticisms will then appear merely as 
directed against the earliest and most instinctive conceptions 
of morality, as a protest against perpetuating these and 
treating them as if they were adequate for a more advanced 
age. Socrates says (Repub. p. 606 E), 'You will find the 
praisers of Homer maintaining that this poet has educated all 
Greece, and that with a view to the direction and cultivation 
of human nature he is worthy to be taken up and learnt by 
heart; that in short one should frame one's whole life ac- 
cording to this poet. To these gentlemen,' continues So- 
crates, * you should pay all respect, and concede to them that 
Homer was a great poet and first of the tragic writers 
(TTOirfriKtararov elvai ical Trpwrov rcav Tpar/q)&o7roi(ov) ; but you 
should hold to the conviction that poetry is only to be ad- 
mitted into a state in the shape of hymns to the Gods and 
encomia on the good.' The point of view from which this is 
said is evidently that, in comparison with the vast importance 
of a philosophic morality, everything else is to be considered 
of little value and to be set aside. The faults that Plato 
finds with Homer in detail are, that he recommends justice 



THE MORALITY OF HOMER. 53 

by the inducements of temporal rewards (Repub. pp. 363 A, 
612 B), thus turning morality into prudence; that he makes 
Grod the source of evil as well as of good (Repub. p. 379 C) ; 
that he makes God changeable (p. 38 1 D) ; that he represents 
the gods as capable of being bribed with offerings (p. 364 D) ; 
that he gives a gloomy picture of the soul after death, 
describing the future world in a way which is calculated 
to depress the mind and fill it with unmanly forebodings 
(p. 387); that he represents his heroes as yielding to ex- 
cessive and ungoverned emotion, and that even his gods give 
way to immoderate laughter (pp. 388-9); and that instances 
of intemperance, both in language, and in the indulgence of 
the appetites, often form a part of his narrative (p. 390). In 
the Ethics of Aristotle the poems of Homer are frequently 
referred to for the sake of illustration as being a perfectly 
well known literature. Thus the warning of Calypso or, 
as it should have been, Circe (Eih. II. ix. 3) ; the dangerous 
charms of Helen (n. ix. 6) ; and the procedure of the Homeric 
Kings (in. iii. 18) ; are used as figures to illustrate moral 
or psychological truths. Again, instances of any particular 
phenomenon are hence cited ; as for example, Diomede and 
Hector are cited as an instance of political courage (in. viii. 
2), and Grlaucus and Diomede of an unequal bargain where 
no wrong is done (v. ix. 7). In other places Aristotle appeals 
to the words of Homer, in the same way that he does to the 
popular language, namely, as containing a latent philosophy 
in itself, and as bearing witness to the conclusions of philo- 
sophy. Thus Homer's use of the word <ro<f)bs (vi. vii. 2 ) ; 
his calling Agamemnon ' shepherd of the people ' (vni. xi. i ) ; 
his mention of the superhuman qualities of Hector (vii. i. i ) ; 
his description of the girdle of Venus (vii. vi. 3) ; and his 
physical descriptions of courage (in. viii. 10), are all appealed 
to as containing, or testifying to, a philosophical truth. 



54 



ESSAY II. 



Turning from Homer to Hesiod, we discover at once a 
certain change or difference in spirit, and in the views that 
are taken of human life. In the Works and Days those that 
fought at Troy are represented as ' a race of demi-gods and 
beatified heroes,' dwelling in the 'happy isles' free from care 
or sorrow ; whereas with Homer, these personages are merely 
illustrious mortals, subject to the same passions and suffer- 
ings as their descendants, and condemned at their death to 
the same dismal after life of Hades, so gloomily depicted in 
the Odyssey." 1 Not only does this difference point to a de- 
velopment in the Grecian mythology, indicating the matured 
growth of the popular hero-worship ; it also shows a feeling 
which characterizes other parts of Hesiod, a sense that a 
bright period is lost, and ' that there had passed away a glory 
from the earth.' 

The poet is no longer carried out of himself in thinking of 
the deeds of Achilles and Hector. He laments that he has 
fallen on evil days, that he lives in the last and worst of 
the Five Ages of the World. 3 He finds * all things full of 
labour.' He is conscious of a Fall of Man, and accounts for 
this by two inconsistent episodes, the one 4 representing man- 
kind, through the fatal gift of Pandora, blighted at the very 
outset ; the other 5 describing a gradual decadence from the 
primeval Golden Age. Once the gods dwelt upon earth, but 
now even Honour that does no wrong, and Betribution that 
suffers no wrong (Ai&uy xal N^scrty), the last of the Im- 



2 Mure' 8 Literature of Greece, Vol. 
II. p. 401. 

3 V. 1 71 sqq. 



avSpdfftv, oAA.' ^ irp6ffQf 



vvv -ykp $)i ytvos IffTt ffiUfipeov ouSe 
TOT' fffiap 

KO.VffOVTO.1 KO./J.O.TOV KO.} Oll>OS, OvSf Tl 
vilKTUp 

<j>Ofip6fj.evoL- xAeir^s 5e tool Scaffouffi 



4 Vv. 48-105. 

5 V>. 108-171. 



THE MORALITY OF HESIOD. 



55 



mortals, have gone and left us. 6 Mixed up with this sad and 
gloomy view of the state of the world, we find indications of 
a religious belief which is in some respects more elevated 
than the theology of Homer. Hesiod represents the mes- 
sengers of Zeus, thirty thousand daemons, as always pervading 
the earth, and watching on deeds of justice and injustice. 7 
A belief in the moral government of God is here indicated, 
though it is expressed in a polytheistic manner, and there is 
a want of confidence and trust in the divine benevolence. 
The gods are only just, and not benign. Hesiod's book of 
the Works and Days is apparently a cento, containing the 
elements of at least two separate poems, the one an address 
to the poet's brother Perses, with an appeal against his in- 
justice ; the other perhaps by a different hand, containing 
maxims of agriculture, and an account of the operations at 
different seasons. Into this part different sententious rules 
of conduct are interwoven, which may be rather national and 
Boeotian than belonging to any one particular author. The 
morality of Hesiod, whatever its origin, contains a fine prac- 
tical view of life. It enjoins justice, energy, and above all, 
temperance and simplicity of living. Nothing can be finer 
than the saying 8 quoted by Plato (cf. Eepub. p. 466 C ; Laws, 
p. 690 E), * How much is the half greater than the whole ! how 1 
great a blessing is there in mallows and asphodelus ! ' Plato 
finds fault with Hesiod that his is a merely prudential Ethics, 
or eudsemonism, that he recommends justice by the promise 



6 Vv. 195-199. 

7 V. 250 sq. 

rpls yap /j.vpioi flfflv M -)(Qov\ irouXu- 

j30Ttp?7 

addvaroi Zrtvbs, <f>v\ouces BmjTwv ai>6p<!>- 

ittav 
ol pa <pv\<iffffova'iv Tf 8'iKas /col 



T)fpa 

a?<w. 

8 V. 40 sq. 
ifffirioi, ouSe taaaiv 



ov e 
* oveiap 



re *col 



5G 



ESSAY II. 



of temporal advantage (Repub. p. 363 A). Many of his maxims 
are indeed not above the level of a yeoman's morality, con- 
sisting in advice about the treatment of neighbours, servants, 
&c. One of these Aristotle alludes to (Eth. ix. i. 6). It is 
the recommendation that, even between friends, wages should 
be stipulated and the bargain kept. Of a different stamp, 
however, is that passage of Hesiod, which has been so re- 
peatedly quoted. 9 It contains the same figure to represent 
virtue and vice, which was afterwards consecrated in the 
mouth of Christ : ' The road to vice may easily be travelled 
by crowds, for it is smooth, and she dwells close at hand. 
But the path of virtue is steep and difficult, and the gods 
have ordained that only by toil can she be reached.' And 
this truth is rendered still deeper by the addition, that ' He 
is best who acts on his own convictions, while he is second- 
best who acts in obedience to the counsel of others.' Ari- 
stotle cites this latter saying (Eth. I. iv. 7), which contains 
more than, in all probability, its author was conscious of. 
He also quotes from Hesiod another most acute remark, 10 
which is to the effect that society is constructed upon a basis 
of competition, that a principle of strife which makes 
' potter foe to potter' (Eth. vili. i. 6), produces all honourable 
enterprises. It may truly be said that if Hesiod was no 
moral philosopher, he was a very great moralist. 

Passing on now to the ' Seven Wise Men,' the heroes of 
the sixth century B.C., who are separated from Hesiod by we 
cannot tell how wide a chronological interval, we do not find 



Xen. Memorab. n. i. 20. Plato, 
liepub. p. 364 C. Laws, p. 718 E. Pro- 
tagoras, p. 340 D, &c. 

10 V. ii sqq. 
OVK &pa. pMvvov iijy iplSwv yivos, oAA' 

fitl ydiav 



), K.r.\. 
.... ayaO)i 5' tpm {} 
roifft 
(coJ Ktpa/j.(vs Ktpa.fi.ti icortfi, <coj 

T^KTUf. 



THE SEVEN WISE MEN. 57 

any great advance made beyond him in their moral point of 
view, but rather a following out of the same direction. We 
find still a prudential Ethics dealing in a disjointed, but often 
a forcible and pregnant manner, with the various parts of 
life. Of the ' Seven,' it was well said by Dicsearchus (ap. 
Diog. Laert. i. 40) that ' they were neither speculators nor 
philosophers (pvrs crofyovs OVTS <$i,\oa6(f>ovs, N.B. <ro(f)ovs is 
here used in a restricted and Aristotelian sense), but men of 
insight, with a turn for legislation (crvverovs 8s nvas KOI 
vopoQsriKovs}' They belonged to an era of political change, 
which was calculated to teach experience and to call forth 
worldly wisdom, the era of the overthrow of hereditary 
monarchs in Greece. All the sages were either tyrants, or 
legislators, or the advisers of those in power. The number 
seven is of later date, and probably a mere attempt at com- 
pleteness. There is no agreement as to the list, but the 
names most generally specified are Thales, Solon, Periander, 
Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias, Pittacus. Of these Thales ought to 
be exempted from the criticism of Dicsearchus, for though 
many adages are attributed to him, he was no mere politician, 
but a deep thinker, and the first speculative philosopher of 
Greece. All that was most distinctive in Thales does not 
belong to the level of thought which we are now considering. 
Of the rest it was said by Anaximenes (ap. Diog. Laert. I. c.), 
that they ( all tried their hand at poetry.' This is charac- 
teristic of a period antecedent to the formation of anything 
like a prose style. Of the poems of Solon, considerable pas- 
sages are preserved to us ; they consist of elegies, in which 
the political circumstances of Solon's lifetime are recorded, 
and into which sufficient general reflections on human nature 
are interwoven to entitle him to be called a Gnomic poet. 
Solon's views of life, as far as they appear in his poetry, are 
characterized by a manliness which contrasts them with the 



58 ESSAY II. 

soft Lydian effeminacy of Mimnermus, to one of whose sen- 
timents Solon made answer. Mimnermus having expressed 
a wish for a painless life and a death at the age of sixty, 
Solon answers : * Bear me no ill will for having thought on 
this subject better than you alter the words and sing, May 
the fate of death reach me in my eightieth year.' In one 
passage of his works Solon divides human life into periods of 
seven years, and assigns to each its proper physical and 
mental occupations (Frag. 14) ; in another the multifarious 
pursuits of men are described, and their inability to com- 
mand success, because fate brings good and ill to mortals, 
and man cannot escape from the destiny allotted to him by 
the gods (Fr. 5). Let us now compare these two last senti- 
ments with that saying which is always connected with the 
name of Solon, and which was thought worthy of a careful 
examination by Aristotle (Eth. I. x.-xi.), the saying, that 
' One must look to the end,' or that ( No one can be called 
happy while he lives.' The story of Solon's conversation 
with Cro3sus, as given by Herodotus, is in all probability 
totally without historical foundation. It has the aspect of a 
rhetorical sTrlSsi^is dressed up by some Sophist to illustrate 
the gnome of Solon. However, the beauty of the story as 
related by Herodotus, no one can deny. The gnome itself in 
its present form has this merit, that it is perhaps the first 
attempt to regard life as a whole. It denies the name of 
happiness to the pleasure or prosperity of a moment. But 
its fault is, as Aristotle points out, that it makes happiness 
purely to consist in external fortune, it implies too little faith 
in, and too little regard for, the internal consciousness, which 
after all is far the most essential element of happiness. 
Moreover, there is a sort of superstition manifested in this 
view, and in the above-quoted verses of Solon. It represents 
the Deity as 'envious' of human happiness. This view is 



THE SEVEN WISE MEX. 59 

elsewhere reprobated by Aristotle (Metaphys. i. ii. 13); it 
was a view, perhaps, natural in a period of political change 
and personal vicissitude, previous to the development of 
any philosophy which could read the permanent behind the 
changeable. 

The remainder of the * Seven' hardly need a mention in 
detail. The sayings attributed to them are too little con- 
nected to merit a criticism from a scientific point of view. 
' The uncertainty of human things, the brevity of life, the 
unhappiness of the poor, the blessing of friendship, the 
sanctity of an oath, the force of necessity, the power of time, 
such are the most ordinary subjects of their gnomes, when they 
do not reduce themselves to the simple rules of prudence.' n 
However, some of the utterances of this era of proverbial 
philosophy stand conspicuous among the rest, containing a 
depth of meaning of which their authors could have been 
only half conscious. This meaning was drawn out and de- 
veloped by later philosophers. The M^Sey cvyav of Solon, 
and the Merpov apicnov of Cleobulus passed almost into some- 
thing new in the fjLSTptorrjs of Plato, and the Tva>6i crsavrov 
(of uncertain authorship), which was inscribed on the front 
of the temple at Delphi, became in the hands of Socrates in 
a measure the foundation of philosophy. In the Ethics of 
Aristotle, proverbs of this epoch are occasionally quoted, 
though not always connected with the name of any individual 
sage. Thus the saying, that f Office shows the man ' (Eth. v. 
i. 1 6), is attributed to Bias ; but the adage vroXXas Srj <j>i\ias 
a-n-poarjyopla SisXvasv (viir. v. i ), and other proverbial verses, 
such as sadXol IJLSV yap d-rr^ws K.T.\. (ii. vi. 14), and icd\\i- 
<rrov TO StKawTctTov K.T.\. (i. viii. 14.), which belong to the 
gnomic period, are cited without a name. 



" Renouvier, Manuel de Phil. Anc. i. p. 1*7. 



60 ESSAY II. 

Two more poets may be mentioned who will serve to com- 
plete our specimens of the sixth century thought on moral 
subjects. These are Theognis and Simonides. They both 
were great authorities, as is evinced by their being so fre- 
quently cited in the writings of the ancients. They both 
have this in common that their verse betrays a constant re- 
flectiveness on human life. But the tone is to some extent 
different. Theognis draws a darker picture than Simonides. 
Theognis exhibits traces of a harassed and unfortunate life, 
and the pressure of circumstances. Simonides, who lived 
through the Persian wars, writes in a more manly strain, as 
if inspired by the times and the glorious deeds of his country- 
men, which he celebrated in his poetry. Theognis appears 
to have lived during the latter half of the sixth century. His 
writings are chiefly autobiographical, and consist of reflections 
caused by the political events of his life and of his native 
city Megara. He seems to have belonged to the aristocratic 
party and to have suffered exile, losing all his property and 
barely escaping with his life. His feelings of indignation 
are constantly expressed in his poems in which perhaps the 
greatest peculiarity is, that in them the terms dyaOoi and 
fcrd\ot are used to designate his own party, the nobles, while 
the commons are called Kcucoi and Bsi\oi. It must not be 
supposed that these terms had hitherto no ethical meaning, 
though of course scientific ethical definitions had as yet never 
been attempted. But the words ea0\6s and KCUCQS occur in 
Hesiod in quite as distinctive a sense, as the terms * good 
man,' and ' bad man,' are used in general now. It is the 
extreme of political partizanship expressing itself in a naive 
and unconscious manner which causes Theognis to identify 
goodness with the aristocratic classes, and badness with the 
commonalty of his city. We can find a strange intermixture 
and confusion in his writings of political and ethical thoughts. 



THEOGNIS OP MEGARA. 



61 



In the celebrated passage which dwells on the influence of 
associates, he begins by saying ' You should eat and drink 
with those who have great power' (i. e. the nobles), ' for from 
the good you will learn what is good, but by mixing with the 
bad you will lose what reason you have.' Here an undeniable 
moral axiom is made to assume a political aspect, which in- 
deed impairs its force. Plato, in the Meno, quotes this 
passage and shows that it is contradicted by another passage 
of Theognis, which declares education to be of no effect. 
Theognis appears to have felt at different times with equal 
force the two points of view about education. At one time 
education appears to be everything, at another time, nothing. 
All the expressions of Theognis, as indeed of the other 
Gnomic poets, seem characterized by perfect naturalness, if 
such a word might be used. They contain no attempt to 
reduce life to a theory ; they flow from the heart of the indi- 
vidual according as he feels joy or sorrow. They exhibit no 
striving to be above circumstances, rather the full, unre- 
strained wail of one who bitterly feels the might of circum- 
stances. They do not seek to be logical ; on the contrary, 



12 OlffQa 8e '6n ov pSvov ffol Tt KOI 

ToTs &\\OLS TOIS TTOXlTlKOlS TOVTO So/Ce? 

TOTS fj.ev flvai 5t8aKT(!j', rare 8' oij, 
aAAo Kal Qfoyvw -rbj/ TTOIIJT^V olffff 'An 
TavTo Tavra \eyei ; M. 'Ep iroiois eire- 
ffiv ; 2. 'Ei/ roTs fXryeiois, ov \tyti 
Kal irapa Tolffiv tiivf Kal fffSie /cal /J.erd, 

TOlffLV 

'le Kal avSave TOIS &v 



oSv fj.ei> yap air fff6\a 8i5ci|eaj, 



crv/j.fj.io-yris, airo\fis Kal rbv 46i>ra 

V&OV. 

olffff on tv TOVTOIS /j.ti> as StSa/croD 
oftffi\s TTJs apfrfis \tyft; M. 3>a(vemi 
ye. 2. 'Ej' &\\ots 84 ye o\iyov /uera- 



Pds, fl S" fa TroiTjrJj/, ^Tjtri, Kal ivQe-rov 
avSpl v6r)fna \eyei wus on 

iro\\ovs Uv (jLiffOovs Kal fifyd\ovs 

t<f>fpov 
ol Swdfaevoi TOVTO irotfiv Kal 

ov TTOT' &j/ ^ ayaBov Trarpbs eyfVTO 
KaK6s, 

ffao<f>pofftv, a\\a Si- 

OV 7TOT6 TTOl-flffflS T&V KUKbv &VOp' 

aya86v. 

tvvoe?s '6Ti UVTOS avry ird\iv irtpl TUI/ 
a\iT<av TwavTla \eyei ; 95 C sqq. 
Both of these passages of Theognis 
are alluded to by Aristotle in the 
Ethics (ix. ix. i, x. ix. 3). 



<i-2 ESSAY II. 

they are full of inconsistencies. In one place Theognis says 
(173-182), * if one is poor it is better to die than live ; one 
should cast oneself from some high cliff into the sea.' In 
another place (315-318), * Many of the bad are rich, and 
the good poor, yet one would not exchange one's virtue for 
riches.' In the views of Theognis, as we saw before in those 
of Solon, there may be traced a superstitious feeling of the 
resistless power, and at the same time the arbitrary will of 
the gods. As to the standard of duty in his poems, such a 
conception must needs be held to have been very wavering 
in him who could write (363 sq.), * Flatter your enemy, and 
when you have got him into your power, wreak your ven- 
geance, and do not spare him.' It is obvious that the elegiac 
form adopted by Theognis gave an air of universality to 
maxims which were only suitable to his own troubled times, 
and his own angry spirit. To accept the cynicism and the 
complaints of Byron as if of universal applicability, would 
be almost a parallel to what actually took place in Greece, 
when the verses of Theognis were quoted as an authority in 
morals. That this could ever have been the case, shows how 
great was the want of a more fixed standard, and almost 
justifies the sweeping attacks made by Plato upon the poets. 
In the verses of Simonides of Ceos there is, as we have 
said, a more healthy spirit. His life (B.C. 556-467) was 
prosperous, and was spent at different courts, especially those 
of Hipparchus at Athens, of the Aleuads and Scopads in 
Thessaly, of Hiero at Syracuse. If Theognis be compared to 
Byron among the moderns, Simonides may, in some respects, 
be compared to Goethe, though Goethe exhibits no parallel 
to his spirited and even impassioned songs on the heroic in- 
cidents of the war. But the courtly demeanour of Simonides, 
to which he seems to have somewhat sacrificed his inde- 
pendence, his worldly wisdom, his moderation of views, his 



SIMONIDES OF CEOS. 63 

realistic tendencies with regard to life, and his efforts for a 
calm and unruffled enjoyment, remind one a little of the 
great German. Beyond heroism in war, Simonides does not 
appear to have held any exalted notions of the possibilities of 
virtue. There is a very interesting discussion in the Protagoras 
of Plato (pp. 339-346), on the meaning of some strophes in 
one of the Epinician odes of Simonides. This discussion has 
the effect of exhibiting the critical ability of Socrates as 
superior to that of Protagoras. The import of the passage 
criticized appears to be, that, ' while absolute perfection (rs- 
rpdycavov avsv tyoyov ysvsaBat) is well-nigh impossible, yet 
Simonides will not accept the saying of Pittacus, * it is hard 
to be good,' for misfortune makes a man bad and prosperity 
good ; good is mixed with evil, and Simonides will be satisfied 
if a man be not utterly evil and useless ; he will give up 
vain and impracticable hopes, and praise and love all who do 
not voluntarily commit base actions.' These expressions are 
very characteristic of Simonides. We may remark in them 
(i) the criticism upon Pittacus, which shows the advance of 
reflective morality ; (2) the point of view taken, namely, a 
sort of worldly moderation. Simonides complains that Pittacus 
has set up too high an ideal of virtue, and then proclaimed 
the difficulty of attaining it. Simonides proposes to substitute 
a more practical standard. 

In thus discussing one of the gnomes of the Seven Sages, 
Simonides approaches in some degree to the mode of thought 
of the Sophists, but in later times he was taken as the re- 
presentative of the old school, in contradistinction to ' young 
Athens,' with its sophistical ideas. Thus in the Clouds of 
Aristophanes (1355-1362), Strepsiades calls for one of the 
Scolia of Simonides, while his son treats them with con- 
tempt. A sort of sententious wisdom appears to have been 
aimed at by this courtly poet ; a specimen of it is given in 



64 ESSAY II. 

the Republic of Plato (p. 331 E), where justice is defined 
according to Simonides, to consist in ' paying one's debts.' 
It is easy to show this definition inadequate, and yet it was a 
beginning. The quickly developing mind of Greece could 
not long remain in that stage to which Simonides had at- 
tained ; it was imperatively necessary that it should break 
away, and by force of questioning, obtain a more scientific 
view. We might say of the aphoristic morality of the poets 
and sages what Aristotle says of the early philosophers, 
namely, that * without being skilled boxers, they sometimes 
give a good blow' (Metaphysics, i. iv. 4). 

There was another element specified by Plato in his picture 
of the popular morality of Greece, which we have hitherto 
left unnoticed, namely, the tendency to accept unworthy 
conceptions of religion, such as would essentially interfere 
with the purity and absoluteness of any ideas of right and 
wrong. Not only was there prevalent a belief in the envious- 
ness and Nemesis of the Deity, such as forms the constant 
theme of the reflections of Herodotus ; not only was there a 
superstitious hankering after signs and oracles, which tended 
to disturb the manly calmness of the mind ; not only was 
there a mean and anthropomorphic conception of God, which 
reduced religion to hero-worship, and really stood quite beside, 
and distinct from, all morality ; but also there was a direct 
tampering with morality itself on the part of certain religious 
hierophants. These were the professors of mysteries, re- 
specting whom Adeimantus is made to say in the Republic of 
Plato (p. 364 B sq.), * The most astonishing theories of all are 
those which you shall hear about the gods and about virtue 
that the gods themselves have actually allotted to many 
good men misfortunes and an evil life, and to the bad a 
directly opposite lot. On the other hand, seers and jugglers 
come to the doors of the rich, and persuade them that they 



THE ORPHIC MYSTERIES. 65 

have a power given them by the gods of expiating by offerings 
and charms all offences, whether committed by a man's self 
or his ancestors, and this quite pleasantly merely by holding 
a feast ; and if any one wants to be revenged on an enemy, 
they will, for a trifling cost, do the fellow a harm (they say) 
whether he be a good man or a bad man by forcing the 
gods with their incantations and spells to serve them. They 
cite the poets as authorities for their assertions, to prove that 
the path of vice is easy, and that of virtue rugged and difficult. 
They prove from Homer that the gods are not inexorable, 
but may be turned by the prayers and offerings of men. And 
they adduce a whole swarm of the books of Musseus and 
Orpheus, the kinsmen (as they say) of Selene and of the 
Muses, according to which they perform their rites, and per- 
suade not only individuals, but whole states, that actually by 
means of feastings and pleasure, expiations and releases may 
be provided both for the living and also for the dead, which 
will free men from all the penalties of the future life ; but 
that for any one not using their rites a most horrible fate 
remains.' 

Of the Orphic mysteries here alluded to, and of the other 
mysteries in general, it will not be necessary for our present 
purpose to say much. They appear to have originally possessed 
an oriental character, and to have been in themselves not 
without a deep meaning. They were a protest against Grecian 
anthropomorphism. They seem to have contained the asser- 
tion of two deep ideas, the immortality of the soul, and the 
impurity of sin, which required expiation. That they had 
become debased before becoming popular, we learn from this 
account of Plato. A perverted religion that offered ' masses 
for the soul,' and a preference to the rich over the .poor, 
joined with the traditional, unreflecting, and prudential 
morality that was rife in Greece produced a state of feeling 

F 



66 ESSAY II. 

that made Plato say in the person of Adeimantus ' The 
only hope is, either if a person have a sort of inspiration of 
natural goodness, or obtain a scientific apprehension of the 
absolute difference between right and wrong.' (ir\r}v si ris 
Osia <f>v<rsi Sv<r%epaiva)i> TO dSixsiv r) sTTia'Trj/J.rjv \a/3(i)V aire^srai 
avrov. Repub. p. 366 C.) 

The relation of the Ethics of Aristotle to the popular 
morality was, as we have said, rather different from that 
of Plato. Aristotle considers the opinion of the many worth 
consideration, as well as that of the philosophers. He con- 
stantly appeals to common language in support of his theories, 
and common tenets he thinks worthy of either refutation or 
establishment. There are certain points of view with regard 
to morals, which are not exactly philosophical in Plato's sense 
of the word, but which have a sort of philosophical character, 
while, at the same time, they were common property ; and 
these are made use of by Aristotle. Such are especially the 
lists and divisions of good, which seem to have been much 
discussed in Greece ; as, for instance, the threefold division 
into goods of the mind, the body, and external (Eth. I. viii. 2) ; 
again, the division into the admirable (ri/ua) and the praise- 
worthy (Eth. I. xii. i). One list of goods, not mentioned by 
Aristotle, pretended to give them in their order of excellence, 
thus, wisdom, health, beauty, wealth. The conception of a 
chief good seems to have been vaguely present before people's 
minds, and this no doubt determined primarily the form of j 
the question of Aristotle's Ethics. This was the natural ques- ' 
tion for a Greek system of Ethics ; both Plato and Aristotle 
tell us how wavering and inconsistent were the answers that 
common minds were able to give to it, when in an utterly 
unsystematic way it was presented to them (Repub. p. 505 B ; 
Ethics, i. iv. 2). 

Before taking leave of this period of unphilosophic morals, 



HERACLITUS AND DEMOCRITUS. 67 

we must ask How fared the philosophers in it ? The author 
of the Magna Moralia, as we have seen, attributed to 
Pythagoras certain mathematical formula? for expressing 
ethical conceptions. That the Pythagoreans adopted these 
we know from other sources, but at how late a date it seems 
difficult to say, 13 perhaps not before the time of Philolaus. 
Of the other philosophers it may be said generally that ethical 
subjects did not form part of their philosophy, they made no 
attempt to systematize the phenomena of human society and 
human action. And yet they had deep thoughts on life and 
stood apart from other men. This standing apart was indeed 
their characteristic attitude. Philosophic isolation was the ' 
chief result of their reflections upon the world. The same 
thing, as M. Renouvier says, expresses itself in the symbolic 
tears of Heraclitus and the symbolic laughter of Democritus, 
a doctrine of despair and of contempt. A deep feeling 
pervades the utterances of Heraclitus, but it is a feeling of 
the insignificance of man. ' The wisest man,' he says, * is to 
Zeus, as an ape is to man.' In the ceaseless eddy of the 
creation and destruction of worlds, which he pictured to 
himself, individual life must have seemed as the motes in 
the sunbeam. He was called o^XoXo/Sopos, from his philo- 



13 A quantity of spurious Pythago- 
rean fragments have come down to us. 
Patricius, in his Discussiones Peripa- 
tetics (Vol. IL Book Vn.), quotes 
these to prove that Aristotle plagia- 
rized from the Pythagoreans. If the 
fragments were genuine, they would 
indeed prove wholesale plagiarism. 
But they are plainly mere translations 
of Aristotle into Doric Greek. The 
following is attributed to Archytas. 



ovfitv trepov tffrtv evSaifjMvia oAA' 



lus, &c. 
XP<rts operas iv UTt/x'<?- Able as the 

r 2 



work of Patricius is, it labours under 
the disadvantages of its era, criticism 
having as yet hardly an existence. 
As a specimen of his judgment he 
calls it 'a lie' on the part of Aristotle 
to attribute the authorship of the 
Ideas to Plato, since this doctrine had 
been known before Plato, to the Py- 
thagoreans, Orpheus, the Chaldeans, 
and the Egyptians! His authorities 
are such works as lamblichus, Psel- 



68 ESSAY II. 

sophic exclusiveness. Democritus, though a pre-Socratic 
philosopher, yet lived into and was influenced by the thought 
of the Sophistic era. He seems to have considered the human 
will as something apart in the world, and thus while subject- 
ing the atoms to the power of necessity, he is reported to 
have said, { Man is only a half-slave of necessity.' The chief 
good he considered to be 'Ara/aafta or an unruffled serenity 
of mind. In a similar spirit Anaxagoras affirmed that ' he 
considered happiness something different from what most 
men supposed, and that they would be astonished to hear his 
conception of it' (cf. Eth. x. viii. 1 1), meaning that it consisted 
not in material advantages, but in wisdom and philosophy. 
The moral doctrines of these early philosophers come before 
us in general in the form of aphorisms, they seem to belong 
rather to the personal character of the men than to the result 
of their systems. 

II. We pass now from the period of unconscious morality in 
Greece, and enter upon the era of the Sophists. A difficult 
subject for discussion now presents itself. The question, 
What was the character and position of the Sophists ? is one 
with regard to which it is hard to obtain the exact truth, 
and lately it has been made matter of controversy whether we 
are to trust the testimony of antiquity at all with regard to 
the Sophists, whether we have not been all along entertaining 
an illusion ; whether Plato's portraits of them are not mere 
caricatures prompted by a spirit of antagonism, whether 
Aristotle's allusions to them are not a mere reproduction of 
the calumnies in Plato, whether, in short, the existence of 
what we have been accustomed to call * Sophistry,' or the 
* Sophistical spirit,' is not altogether a chimera as far as 
regards those personages to whom the name ao<j)iarral was 
first distinctively applied. To answer those doubts it will be 
necessary to employ as much as possible an inductive method, 



HISTORY OF THE WORD 'SOPHIST.' 69 

and to bring together the exact words of ancient authorities 
upon the subject. 

In the term ' Sophist/ we have to deal with a word of in- 
definite, progressive, and variable signification. The original 
vagueness of its meaning in the early writers, is mentioned 
by Diogenes Laertius, I. 12, who says the term used to be 
applied to the poets. (Ot 8s <ro<ot /ecu cro<toTat /ca\ovvTo. 
Keu ov fjiovov, aXXa Kai ol Troiijral crofyiarai. Kada Kal 
KpctTivos sv 'Ap^Xo^w Toits i rrpl"Ofj,r)pov Kal 'HaloSov liraiv&v 
otmos /eaXei.) It is plainly distinguished from <ro<j)os in that 
it implies 4 one who by profession practises or exhibits some 
kind of wisdom or cleverness.' ^Eschylus (born 525 B.C.) 
makes Hermes apply the term obviously with sarcasm to 
Prometheus. Cf. P. V. 944 sqq. : 

<re TOV ffofyiffTi]v, TOV iriKpws inrepiriKpov, 
TOV e'|(tyiapT<W es Beovs, 



but the sneer consists in addressing Prometheus as ' you the 
craftsman,' * the planner,' * the deviser,' when in so helpless a 
situation. In the same play, v. 62, it occurs without any 
such irony 

'iva. 
jueiflr? tro^icTT^s Siv Aiis vwQfffrepos. 

1 duller in his art than Zeus.' In one of the fragments of 
^Eschylus ao$i<rrr)s is applied to Orpheus, denoting 'musician,' 
or ' master.' 

Herodotus (born 484 B.C.) uses the word without any good 
or bad intent to denote a man distinguished for wisdom or 
philosophy ; cf. I. 29, airncvsovrai ss %dpSis aKfj,aovcras irKovrut 
re ol travTZS SK Trjs 'EXXaSos <ro<pi<rTai, ol TOVTOV TOV 
srvy^avov SOVTSS, a>s sKacrros avrwv aTrifcvsoiTO, Kal Srj 
Kal SoXeov avqp 'A.0Tjvato$. In this passage we see that there 
is not the slightest allusion to the so-called 'Sophists' of the 



70 ESSAY II. 

time of Socrates ; ol irdvres EK rijs 'E\\dSo$ crofaa-Tai implies 
those who professed or were noted for any kind of intellectual 
ability. The term would include literati and statesmen, just 
as much as philosophers. In II. 49, Herodotus speaks of 01 
sTTtysvofjisvot TOVTW (Melampus), ao(f)i<rra^ meaning something 
analogous to ' the Theosophists who came after him.' In 
IV. 95 he applies the term to Pythagoras, 'EXXrjvwv ov T&> 
aaQsvecrvdrto ffofaarfj HvOayopy, where it simply means 
* philosopher.' 

Aristophanes, though born probably about 449 B.C., began 
his career as a writer so extremely early, that his play of the 
Clouds was brought out in 423. In this play we have a most 
important caricature of the Sophistic spirit as an innovating 
and corrupting element in the education of youth. It will 
be worth while to advert to this picture hereafter. At present, 
as we are dealing only with the name * Sophist,' it is enough 
to remark that this name is never in the Clouds applied to 
the teachers of the thinking school (<f>poirri<mjpiov\ which is 
made the subject of ridicule. The word occurs three or four 
times in the play. It appears in what might be called its 
fifth century signification. It no longer has its old indeter- 
minate meaning of artist' or ' philosopher,' free from all 
reproach implied; nor, again, has it reached the limited 
Platonic sense of ' paid instructor in rhetoric and philosophy.' 
While it is still used to denote the 'professors' of various 
arts and sciences, an association of subtlety and over-refine- 
ment, in fact what we now understand by ' sophistry,' attaches 
to it, cf. v. 331, where it is said that the clouds are the main- 
tainers of many such idle and dreamy professors ; u in v. 361, 
Socrates and Prodicus are spoken of as the chief amongst the 



11 ov yap fj.ct Af olffff &TI)) ir\(lffTOVs I 6ovpiofMimeis ) larp<n^i'as t <r<(>payiSoyvx- 
avrat &6ffKovfft ffoQiffrds, 



IIISTOEY OF THE WORD ' SOPHIST.' 



71 



crew of subtle speculators ; 15 in v. 1 1 1 1 sq. we see expressed 
the popular opinion of the Sophist, i.e., a pale and attenuated 
student; 16 and in v. 1306 sq., the term is applied to Stre- 
psiades in allusion to his cheating of his creditors. 17 

Thucydides (born 47 1 B.C.) who wrote at the end of the 
fifth century, though not much later in point of years than 
Herodotus, is immensely advanced beyond him in point of 
style and thought, and seems to belong in fact to a different 
era. He uses the word a-o^Lo-rai in a sense nearer to that of 
Plato, than Aristophanes had done, to denote those pro- 
fessional orators who made displays of rhetoric (sTri&sigsis) 
before a set audience. 18 

Xenophon (born about 444 B.C.), though a disciple and 
friend of Socrates, stood quite aloof from the transcendental 
philosophy of Plato. We cannot therefore attribute his 
opinion of the Sophists to a mere copying of Plato's descrip-. 
tions, even if chronological considerations would allow this. 
Xenophon's point of view was totally distinct from Plato's. 
He rather represents the opinions ' of an educated Athenian 
of the day. The locus classicus in his writings with regard 
to the Sophists occurs at the end (as far as it remains) of the 
treatise on Hunting (Cynegeticus, c. xiu.). After descanting 
on the advantages of hunting as a moral training for youth, 
he is led to speak of the spurious teaching of the so-called 
Sophists' of his time. He says, * They pretend to teach 



15 ffv re, \eTrroTara>v \-fipcav fepeO, 

<pptie irp&s f]fj.as '6 Tt XP?>C ' S ' 
ou yap &c a\\(ji y' vTraKovffai/Aeif TWV 

vvv /j.fTfupoffo^iffrwf 
ir\j]v ?) IIpoSiKifi, Tip /nee cro(pia.s Kal 

-yi/ttf/xTjs o'uveKa, K.T.A.. 
10 AA. ctjueXej, K0fj.iei rovrov ffotpi- 

<TTT)V 5fl6v. 

4>EIA. wxpbv juei/ ovv ol/^ai ye Kal ita- 
KoScti'/uoi/a. 



17 KOVK fffff Situs ov rfjpepov \i)\l/e- 



rovroy troi\fffi -rv 
avff Siv irwovpyflv tfpar' e^ai 

KaKov Ao^etv TI. 

18 Cf. in. 38. OTrAws re aKorjs rjSoyy 
rjff(r<a/j.evoi Kal ffOfpiffruv OeaTa'is eoiK6- 
res Ka6rifj.(vois (j.a\\oi> t) irepl ir6\fws 



72 



ESSAY II. 



virtue, but their teaching is a mere pretence.' 19 He has 
never seen any one made a good man by the teaching of a 
Sophist. He says, * Many beside me find fault with the 
Sophists, and not with the philosophers, because the former 
are subtle in words and not in thoughts.' 20 * They seek only 
reputation and gain, and do not like the philosophers teach 
with a disinterested spirit.' 21 We see that in this passage 
the word ' Sophist' is used in that sense which it bears uni- 
formly in Plato and Aristotle, namely, to denote a profes-, 
sional teacher, and we may also judge of the character of the 
instructions given by a Sophist, namely, that they mainly 
consisted in so-called ethical teaching (<f)a<rl fj,ev FTT' dpsTrjv 
aysiv) and in rhetoric (sv rois ovofJM.a't, croty^ovraC). Xenophon 
testifies to their rapacious spirit, and to the general disrepute 
in which the profession and the name of Sophist was held 
(i/reyovtn Bs Kal aXXoi 7roX\o2 o ecmv ovsiSos rrapa ys rots sv 
(j)povov<ri}. The charge that they * hunted after rich young 
men,' may have emanated from Socrates. It is repeated in 
the half humorous definition of their character, given in 
Plato's Sophist. 

In one passage of the Memorabilia Xenophon uses the 
word <ro<f>icmjs apparently in a less determinate sense to 
denote 'philosopher' (cf. Mem. iv. ii. i, 



19 &avfj.dfa 5e ruv ffoQiffrwif KO\OV- 
Htvuv Sri <$>aa\ p.tv lif apfrijv tyetv ol 
iro\\ol rovs vtovs, &yovffi 5 s &r! TOVVO.V- 
riov o&rc yap &v5pa irov fwpo.Ka/j.fv 
Zvrii? ol i>vv ffO^uoTal ayaSbv iiroi-^rrav, 
ofa-t ypdfj./j.ara irape'xoirai ^{ Siv xpfy 
ayadovs yiyvfffBai, aAAa irtpl fifv TWV 
fJMTa'uav iro\\i airroiis yeypatrat cup' 
Siv roii viois al /iec rjooval Ktval, aperr; 
5' OVK tvi. 

20 Yiyowri 8e Ka \ &\\oi iroAAol TOUJ 
vvv (To<piffTas Kal ov TOVS <pi\ov6<povs, 
on tv rois ofSficurt fftxplfairai KCU OVK 



iv rets voi]fj.a<nv. 

21 Oi ffo<pt<rral S" M r$ 
\eyovffi Kal ypd<povffiir M r favriav 
KfpSei Kal ouStva ovSfv w<pf\ovcnv ou84 
yap ffo<pds avrcav tytvero ouSfls ovS' 
tffriv, aAAa Kal apKti eKdffrcp ffo<fnffr$iv 
K\7)OT)vai t 8 Iffnv ovtiSos vapd yt rots 
fv <ppovov<n. ra ntv oSv r<av ffofyiirriov 
irafjayy^nara Trapatvw <j>v\drrta()ai, 
ra St rtav <f>i\o<r6<ptav IvOvpfifiuira /n^ 
a.riftAfiv. ol fjt.fi> yap aotyiaral ir\ov- 
ffiovs KO\ vtovs Oripwyrat, ol 8e tpi\6- 
aotpoi iraffi Koivol Kal cj>i\ot. 



HISTORY OP THE WORD ' SOPHIST.' 



73 



rs KCU 



In Mem. I. i. 1 1 (o Ka\ov/Jbsvos UTTO rwv cf 
there seems to be an allusion to the technical nomenclature 
introduced or employed by the Sophists properly so called, 
i. e. the professional teachers. 22 In Mem. I. vi. i, Xenophon 
speaks of 'AvTKJt&vra TOV a-o^iarr^v. It is uncertain whether 
Antiphon of Rhamnus, the master of Thucydides, is here 
meant. Whoever is the person alluded to, he is described as 
making it a reproach to Socrates that he asked no pay for his 
teachings, to which Socrates replies that the sale of wisdom 
is a kind of prostitution, and that those who practise it are 
stigmatized with the name of Sophists. 23 We find then in 
Xenophon that a definite sense (on the whole) is now 
attached to the name Sophist, i. e. a professional teacher 
demanding pay for his instructions. 

The next testimony we have to cite is that of Isocrates,. 
who was born 436 B.C., and was thus seven years older than 
Plato. He seems to have been to some extent the pupil of 
Socrates, but he maintained himself afterwards by keeping a 
school of rhetoric, which was attended by the most distin- 
guished pupils. His direction was entirely practical, as is 
evinced by frequent passages of his works, in which he ex- 
presses contempt or dislike of the speculative spirit. On the 
one hand he uses the term ' Sophist ' in its received meaning 
of professional teacher, and on the other hand he is in the 
habit of employing it loosely and vaguely to apply to literati 
or philosophers in general. Isocrates was totally incapable of 
appreciating the philosophic spirit, and from his point of 



22 Cf. Plato's Meno, p. 85 B. 
8e ye Tavrt}v SidfJ-erpov ol ffoQiffrai. 
Cf. Protag. p. 3156, tyaii/ovro 8e irepl 
<f>v<Tas re Kal "rcav /Aerewpcav affrpovo- 
fjLiKa. &TTO, Bjepwroc rbv 'lirirtav. 



23 T^)p (Tcx/ncw wffavTcas robs /j.ev dp- 
yvpiov rtf Pov\ofj.fvcp ir<a\owras, ffo- 
<pi(?Tas faffirep ir&pvovs diroKa.\ovffiv, 

K.T.\. 13. 



74 ESSAY II. 

view, which regarded practical success as alone worth having, 
he ignored altogether any distinction between the philo- 
sopher and the Sophist. His aversion to speculation vents 
itself in a confused and indiscriminate carping at the literary 
profession and the philosophers. His oration Kara TWV 
2o$i<rT<wi', which is fragmentary, contains an attack on ' those 
who undertake to teach.' He ridicules the magnitude of 
their promises, their imposture in offering to impart to 
youths virtue and the art of attaining happiness; and the 
absurdity of their demanding in return for these inestimable 
advantages, the paltry sum of three or four minae. This 
class of teachers he calls the disputants (ol Trspl ras eptSas 
SiarplftovTss} ; from them he passes on to censure those that 
offer to impart political discourses, being all the while them- 
selves incompetent, and speaking as if such discourses had no 
relation to particular occasions, but could, like the art of 
writing, be acquired once for all. The reproaches he makes 
use of are some of them identical with those to be found in 
the dialogues of Plato, as, for instance, that the Sophists 
cannot trust those very pupils to whom they are undertaking 
to teach justice. He laughs at their affecting to despise 
wealth, and says that their mean condition, and adherence to 

f */ 

mere verbal distinctions, has made many prefer to remain 
unscientific, as despising such a kind of exercise. 

What Isocrates upholds, however, in contrast to this is not 
a deeper philosophy, but a more polished rhetoric, and he 
names mental qualifications for it, which are precisely such as 
Plato thought most undesirable, lavra 8s TroXkrjs eTripsXsias 
Ssia-Oai Kal tyvxf)s av^piKrfs Kal 8ot;aa-Tiicf)s epyov slvai. In 
another passage (Philippus, 12), Isocrates uses the term 
Sophist with what seems to be an undeniable allusion to 
Plato's Republic and Laivs. Speaking of the futility of 
abstract political speculations, he says, d\X' 6fioi(s ol roiovroi 



HISTORY OF THE WORD ' SOPHIST.' 



TCOV \6ya>i> aKvpot Tvy%dvovcriv OVTSS TOIS VO^OLS teal rats TTO\L- 
Tsiais rals VTTO TWV acKfriaruv <y<ypa/j,fj,sv(us. In his oration, 
De Pemnutatione ( 235), he says that Solon, through his 
attention to rhetoric, * came to be called one of the Seven 
Sophists, and took the appellation now dishonoured and cen- 
sured by you,' and in 313, he affirms that Solon was the 
first of the Athenians to be called a Sophist. 24 This last 
statement is at variance with that of Plato, who makes Pro- 
tagoras to have been the first who accepted the appellation 
' Sophist.' The discrepancy depends on the ambiguity and 
change of meaning in the term. Solon may have been the 
first Athenian who was called Sophist, in the old sense of the 
word, i. e. philosopher. Protagoras was the first who adopted 
the name in its later sense, i. e. professional teacher of 
philosophy. 

Hitherto we have dealt with what might be called the 
external side of the character of the Sophists. \Ve have 
seen the impression they produced upon cultivated men, who 
were not troubled to estimate very deeply their tendencies, 
viewed as a direction or ' moment ' in philosophy. In 
Aristophanes we have seen them broadly caricatured, and 
Socrates mixed up with them as their representative. By 
Thucydides they are alluded to as rhetoricians, exhibiting 
their displays of art before an audience. Xenophon, as a 
gentleman and a soldier, expresses contempt for a set of men, 
whom he regards as impostors in teaching, while, on the 
other hand, he respects the philosopher who is free from all 
mercenary motives. Isocrates speaks of them partly with the 
bitterness of a rival teacher, and one who has experienced 



24 OVKOVV eiri ye T>V irpoy6vcav ovrcas 
xf, a\\a roiis KaXovfj.ffovs ^(pitnas 

ai>fj.a^oy Kal rovs <Tvv6vTas avrdis 
frJAow. 2oAwi/a fJ-ev yap, rbv 



TUV iroKnwv Aa/3(Wa T^V tmam^ttsof 
Taimrjv Trpoffra.Trjv Tj^icaffav rrjs ir6\f<as 
tlvai. 



76 



ESSAY II. 



hostility 25 from some of them, and partly he despises the 
useless and unpractical character of their teaching, its empty 
pretence, and idle verbal subtleties. Passing on now to 
Plato, we shall first be able to gain much additional informa- 
tion from him as to this same external side of the Grecian 
Sophists ; afterwards we shall learn from him to appreciate 
the inner essence of that spirit which he calls 77 a-o^iariKtj,, 
and which may undoubtedly be looked upon as an actual 
phase of human thought, by no means confined to the age of 
Socrates. 

It has been a common mistake to understand, under the 
name of ' the Sophist,' certain particular individuals, Prota- 
goras, Gorgias, Prodicus, Hippias, Polus, Thrasymachus, and 
one or two others, who figure in the dialogues of Plato. 
Enough has been said to show that in earlier writers the 
name is never used to indicate a sect in philosophy, and it is 
equally true that in Plato it is the name of a profession, not 
of a sect ; nor is it ever restricted by him to the above- 
mentioned individuals, who are merely eminent members of 
what was indeed a very wide-spread profession. In the Meno, 
p. 9 1 E, Socrates is made to speak as if Protagoras was not by 
any means even the first of the Sophists, Kal ov povov Hpa>- 
rayopas, d\\a Kal dX\oi Tra/ttTroXXof, ol fisv irporspov ysyovorss 
EKSIVOV, ol 8e Kal vvv en OVTSS. And by a still more remarkable 
mode of speaking, in the Ethics of Aristotle ix. i. 5-7, Pro- 
tagoras appears to be in a sort of way contrasted with the 
Sophists. 26 It is true that Plato represents Protagoras to 



25 Cf. De Permutatione, 2. 'Eyb 
yap flSias ivlovs TU>V aoQurruv /3\aff<pr)- 
Hovmas irtpl TTJS ^/XTJS Siarpi^s Kal 
\tyovras &s iffn irtpl SiKoypatpiav. 

28 'O yap irpoi^ntvos eotK ticiTpeirfiv 
"Oirtp <t>avl Kal Tlp<OT<xy6pa.v 

fiv '6-re yap SiSd^dtv aS^Trorf, Tt- 



S|ia MffTaadai, Kal t'Aa/x/Sai/e roffov- 
TOV. Ot o irpo\aftoi/Ts T& apyvpiov- 
elra /XTjOev TojoCrres S>v %<paaav, Sto ray 
virfpfio\as TUV iirayyeKtiav, tixoTajs 
ti> tyK\-f)fj.afft yivovrai' ov yap ^iriTe- 
\ovffiv & &no\6y7jffav. TOVTO 5" ttrtas 
iroieiv ol ffo<piaral avayna^oinai Sick rb 
l^ifOfva av Sovvai apyvpwv wv ttr'iffTairrai. 



GENERAL OPINION ABOUT THE SOPHISTS. 



77 



have been the first to assume openly the name of Sophist 
(cf. Protag. p. 317), but he also gives a humorous picture in 
the same dialogue, p. 314 D, of the crowds of Sophists nocking 
to the house of Callias, so that the porter mistaking Socrates 
and Hippocrates for members of the profession, would scarcely 
open the door to them. 27 Within the house they find a con- 
clave of persons, ' most of them foreigners whom Protagoras, 
like another Orpheus, had drawn after him from their own 
cities' amongst others, ' Antimoerus the Mendaean, the most 
famous of the pupils of Protagoras, who was learning with 
professional objects, meaning to be a Sophist' (STTI rfyvr) pav- 
Odvsi, MS aofftHrrrjs saojjisvos), Protagoras takes great merit 
to himself for openly declaring his art, for he confesses ' that 
a certain amount of envy attaches to it ; that, going about 
drawing away youths from their kindred and connexions 
under the promise of making them better if they associated 
with him he was likely to be assailed with hostility ; old as 
he is, however, no harm has ever come to him on account of 
his candour.' (pp. 316-317.) 

It is interesting to trace in Plato the indications of general 
opinion about the Sophists. In spite of their great success he 
represents them to have been held in dislike and suspicion by 
persons of honour, who at the same time made no pretensions to 
philosophy. This feeling is instinctively expressed by the young 
] Hippocrates (Protag. p. 312 A), who being asked whether 
he is going to Protagoras in order himself to become a Sophist, 
confesses that he should consider this a great disgrace. 28 By 
Callicles, in the Gorgias (p. 519 E), a sweeping contempt is 



27 v Ea, e(pi], ffo<pt(TTai rives' ov ffX~ 
X); avry. 'AA\' 5 'yade, ffpnv, oSre 
napa. Ka\\lav 77/co/xej/ ofae crotpiaTai 
tfffj.fi>, a\\a. Bdppfi. 

28 2i Se, fa 5' e'yc, irpbs Becav, OVK 



aio j TOI/S "EA\7jj/as airrbv 

irapfxfov ; N^J rbv Aia, S> 

s, elirep ye & Siavoov^ou XP^ 



78 



ESSAY II. 



expressed for ' those who profess to teach virtue ; ' Socrates 
asks, ' Is it not absurd in them to find fault with the conduct 
of those whom they have undertaken to make virtuous?' 
Callicles replies, ' Of course it is ; but why should you speak 
about a set of men who are absolutely worthless ? ' Socrates 
answers, * Because I find the procedure of the Sophist and 
the Khetorician identically the same.' In the Meno the 
question being, Is virtue teachable ? Socrates argues that if 
it be so, there must be teachers of it, and inquires of Anytus, 
* To whom shall we send Meno to learn virtue from ? Whether 
to the Sophists?' Anytus repudiates the idea, since 'these 
corrupt all who come near them.' 29 Socrates, in reply to this, 
urges, ' How is it possible this should be true of the Sophists ; 
a cobbler who professed to mend shoes but made them 
worse, would be found out in less than thirty days, how then 
could Protagoras have remained undetected and maintained 
so great a reputation and made so great a fortune, deceiving 
the whole of Greece for more than forty years ? At all events, 
must we not concede that if they do harm to others, they do 
so unconsciously, and are like men insane?' To this Anytus 
answers, * That they are insane who give money to the 
Sophists, and still more so the states who allow them to 
practise their art.' Socrates says, ' Some one of the Sophists 
must have wronged you, Anytus, or you would not be so 
bitter.' Anytus says, ' No, I never had anything to do with 



29 P. 91 B. (TK<5irei iropik -rlvas ttv 
irtfj.Tromts airrbv op6>s ire/juroipfv. % 
Sri\ov 8$) Kara rbv &p-ri \6yov, 8rt irapci 
rovrovs rovs inritr^vovfiifvovs dpeTTjs 
SiSacr/caAov? elvai KO! a.Tcofyhvayra.'S av- 

TOl/S KulVuilS TWV ''L\\f]VO>V T<f &OU\0- 

, fjna&bv rovrov raa/*e- 
Ktd irpaTTOfj.fvovs ', AN. Kal 
tts TOVTOVS, & 2c6cpoTy ; 2A. 



O7<r0a S^irou Kal ab 8-ri ovrol tl 
o'tovs ol &vOpuiroL KaXovffi (To<piffTds. 
AN. 'HpowAeir, ev<(>T)(4.(i } & "SuKparfs. 
ftriSfva TUV ffvyyfvwv, fJ.-f)rf oiKtitov 
furiTf <t>i\<av, fi-tyrf curraiy ^i^re fttv, 
roiainri fMvlu \dftoi, Start irapi rov- 
rowy t\Q6vra \u&r]8rivai, tirfl oirroi ye 
(pavfpd fan \<a&ri re Kl SiatpOopat run 



GENERAL OPINION ABOUT THE SOPHISTS. 79 

them.' Socrates asks, 'How then can you know what they 
are like ? ' Anytus says, ' Oh, I know well enough what they 
are like without having had anything to do with them.' 
Socrates implies that Anytus is speaking not from knowledge 
but prejudice. He dismisses the subject by adding, ' after 
all, there is perhaps something in what you say' (/cat ICTUS Tt 
\sysis, Meno, p. 92 D). 

In this discussion it is observable that the abuse of the 
Sophists is put into the mouth of Anytus, the accuser of 

Socrates, who may be looked at as the representative of con- 

f> 
servative feeling in Athens. Full justice is done in the 

dialogue (Meno, p. 90 A) to the eminence of his position, his 
wealth, and political influence. But afterwards, dramatically, 
his arbitrary, narrow, and unfair turn of mind comes out. 
Evidently we cannot say that in the Meno Plato calumniates 
the Sophists, or vilifies them as opponents and rivals of 
Socrates. Bather he makes it appear that there is something 
hasty and inconsidered in the' popular feeling against them 
(which is a true, but blundering instinct), and that the philo- 
sopher must consider their claims, their tendencies, and the 
phenomena of their success from a deeper point of view. 

To a similar purport Socrates is made to speak in the 
i Republic (p. 492 A), where he says to Adeimantus, ' Perhaps 
you think with the multitude that youths are corrupted by 
Sophists, and do not perceive that Society is itself the greatest 
Sophist, educating and moulding young and old. What 
Sophist or private instructor could withstand the powerful 
voice of the world ? Don't you see that the so-called Sophists 
do nothing else but follow public opinion? They teach nothing 
else but the popular dogmas. They are like keepers of a wild 
beast, who, when they have studied his moods and learned to 
understand his noises, call this a system and a philosophy.' 
The common accusation had been that the Sophists unsettled 



bO ESSAY II. 

young men's opinions, and turned them away from the esta- 
blished beliefs. Socrates implies, 1 1 am willing to exonerate 
them from this. Eather I have to complain that the Sophists 
are too unsophisticated, that they are too much merely 
echoes of the popular voice; that they have "plus que pw- 
sonne, Vesprit que tout le monde a." : 

Viewed externally the Sophists presented the appearance 
of a set of teachers, such as first appeared in Greece towards 
the middle of the fifth century B.C. (Protagoras was born 
about B.C. 480, and began to practise his art in his thirtieth 
year, but there were others before him). They were for the 
most part itinerant teachers, going from city to city. They 
would make displays of their rhetoric (JETT^SL^SLS\ and then 
invite the youths of their audience to come and receive 
instruction with a view to becoming able men in the state 
(Sswoi, habiles hommes, &c.). Their instructions were 
various, rhetoric and dialectic, ethics, music, and physical 
science. Some, such as Hippias, professed a pantological 
knowledge ; others, as Grorgias, confined themselves to rhetoric. 
Their profits no doubt varied with their success ; some must 
have been ill-paid and wretched, as represented by Aristo- 
phanes and Isocrates. The leading members of the pro- 
fession seem to have made large sums of money. On this 
point, however, Isocrates is at direct issue with Plato. 
Socrates says in the Meno, p. 9 1 D, that * he knew of Pro- 
tagoras gaining greater wealth by his profession than Phidias 
and ten other sculptors put together.' And in the Hippias 
Major (p. 282-283) Prodicus is said to have made immense 
sums ; 30 Hippias is made to boast that * when quite a young 
man he made in Sicily, in a short space of time, more than 
150 minse (450^.), and that in one little village, Inycus, he 



30 To?s veois avvtav xprfj/uaTa ^e Oavfjuvna 8(ra. Cf. Xen. Symp. i. 5, rv. 6z. 



MONBT-MAKDTG OF THE SOPHISTS. 81 

made more than 20 minae' (6ol.}. He adds, however, 'that 
he supposes he has made more than any two Sophists put 
together.' In contradiction to this picture, Isocrates gives a 
much more limited account of the pecuniary success of the 
Sophists. He says (De Pei^mutatione, 155-156), ' Not one 
of the so-called Sophists will be found to have amassed much 
money. Some of them lived in small, others in very mode- 
rate circumstances. Oforgias of Leontium made the most on 
record. He lived in Thessaly, where people were very rich, 
attained a great age, was long given up to his business, had 
no settled habitation in any state, paid no taxes nor contri- 
bution, had no wife nor children, and so was free from this 
the most continual tax of all and with these advantages 
beyond others for acquiring a fortune, he only left behind him 
at the last 1000 staters' (125?.?). This oration was written 
in the eighty-second year of Isocrates' life, and probably 
much later than the above-mentioned dialogues of Plato; 
the fame of the achievements' of the Sophists was therefore 
less fresh. Isocrates, being himself a paid teacher, was 
complaining of the difficulty of making enough, he was 
therefore not likely to take a sanguine view of success in this 
department ; also, it is credible that the Sophists did, as is 
usually the case with persons whose gains are irregular, not 
save much or leave much behind them. Hence we need not 
find a great difficulty in the discrepancy of the two state- 
ments. Plato represents popular rumours and external 
surprise at the success of a new profession ; Isocrates, taking 
the other side, goes into details and shows that in the long 
run there was nothing so very wonderful effected, after all. 

With regard to the reproach against the Sophists, that 
their teaching for money at all was something discreditable 
an argument has been raised, that this is really no reproach, 
as the practice of so many respectable men among the 

G 



82 ESSAY II. 

moderns may serve to testify. But we should endeavour to 
put ourselves into the position of the ancients, and the fol- 
lowing considerations may help us to do so. (i) The prac- 
tice of the Sophists was an innovation, and jarred on men's 
I feelings. There was something that to the natural prejudices 
' of the mind seemed more beautiful in the old simple times, 
when wisdom, if imparted, was given as a gift. As soon as 
the Sophists began their career, the fine and free spirit of the 
old philosophers seemed gone. When Hippias boasts of his 
gains, Socrates ironically replies, ' Dear me, how much wiser 
men of the present day are than those of old time. You 
seem to be just the reverse of Anaxagoras. For he is said to 
have had a fortune left him and to have lost it all, such a 
poor Sophist was he (ovrtas avrov avorjTa (ro(j)l^sa0ai\ and 
other such stories are told of the ancients.' (Hipp. Major, 
\ p. 283 A.) (2) With the Sophists systematic education began 
for the first time. Undoubtedly this was a necessity. But 
it is equally true that about the administration of systematic 
education there is something that appears at first sight 
slavish and mechanical. The Greeks had not yet learned 
those principles according to which a sense of duty will 
dignify the meanest tasks. They tested things too exclu- 
sively in reference to the standard of the fine and the noble 
(a\6i/). (3) But it was not simply the office of the paid 
schoolmaster that was disliked in the Sophist. We do not 
find that the teachers of gymnastics or of harp-playing were 
held in disrepute. Those who kept schools for boys were 
looked down upon, it is true, 31 but were not identified with 
the Sophists. The latter taught not boys, but youths ; again, 
they taught not the necessary rudiments, but something more 
pretentious wisdom, philosophy, political skill, virtue, and 



" Cf. Demosthenes de Corond, p. 313. 



THE SOPHISTICAL KHETOKIC. 83 

the conduct of life. To make a market of the highest sub- 
jects and of divine philosophy seemed to men like Socrates, 
Plato, and Aristotle, little less than a sort of simony. There 
was a charlatanism in the offer to teach these things to all 
comers, which was from different causes equally offensive to 
ordinary men and to the philosophers. Men like Anytus 
and Aristophanes complained that the Sophists corrupted 
youth by teaching them subtleties and unsettling their 
opinions. In this complaint there was a part of the truth. 
The philosophers added the other side, by complaining that 
the Sophists were shallow and rhetorical, that they flattered 
popular prejudices instead of displacing them. The Sophists 
were vilipended by the philosophers not merely as paid 
teachers, but as paid charlatans. 32 

The most characteristic and prominent creation of the 
Sophistic era was, in one word, rhetoric. But as rhetoricians, 
the Sophists were themselves the creatures of their times. 
Circumstances were ripe in the Greek states for the develop- 
ment of this new direction of the human mind, and it came. 
Cicero (Brutus, c. 1 2) quoting from Aristotle's lost work, the 
'Zvvaywyr) rs'xywv, tells us that Ehetoric took its rise in Sicily, 
'when after the expulsion of the tyrants (i.e. Thrasybulus, 
B.C. 467), many lawsuits arose with regard to the claims of 
citizens now returning from banishment and who had been 
dispossessed of their property. The incessant litigation which 
this led to, caused Corax and Tisias to draw up systems of the 
art of speaking ; (for before this time there had been careful 
speaking and even written speeches, but no fixed method or 
rationale). Hence also Protagoras came to write his com- 
monplaces of oratory and Grorgias his encomia.' Every- 



32 Kal 6 ffo(j)iffT^is xpTjjttmiTT?js airb <pa.ivop.fvrjs <ro<t>ias, oAA' ovu aKo"r)s. Aristotle, 
Soph. Elench. ii. 6. 

o 2 



84 ESSAY II. 

where in Greece circumstances were analogous to those in 
Sicily. Personal freedom gave rise to the contests of the 
law courts. Nothing was more necessary than that a citizen 
should be able to defend his own cause. The demand for 
instruction in rhetoric, and for the development of all its 
arts, means, and appliances, was met everywhere by the 
Sophists. 

Hence the impression they produced on the national 
speech and thought was almost unspeakably great. To trace 
the technical changes and advances in the various systems 
from Corax to Isocrates belongs to the history of rhetoric. 
It will suffice for the present purpose to make a few remarks 
on the Sophistical rhetoric in its relation to life and modes 
of thought. Two separate tendencies seem to have mani- 
fested themselves from the very outset among the masters of 
composition. On the one hand, the Sicilian school, repre- 
sented by Gorgias of Leontium, Polus of Agrigentum, and 
their follower, Alcidamas of Elsea, in Asia Minor, aimed at 
svsTrsia, 'fine speaking.' On the other hand, the Greek 
school, led by Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias, devoted 
themselves more especially to opdoejrsia, ' correct speaking.' 
From these opposite but concurrent tendencies arose that 
which may be called ' style ' in Greece, and which did not 
exist before the middle of the fifth century. 

The achievements of Protagoras and the ' Greek' rheto- 
ricians seem to have amounted to no less than the foundation 
of grammar, etymology, philology, the distinction of terms, 
prosody, and literary criticism. In judging of the so-called 
verbal quibbles of the Sophists, we have to transport our- 
selves to a time anterior to the commonest abstractions of 
grammar and logic. Protagoras was the first to introduce 
that thinkiug upon words which was one manifestation of 
the subjective tendencies of the day. His work, entitled 



THE SOPHISTICAL RHETORIC. 85 

'OpOoe-jrsia (which is mentioned by Plato, Phcedrus, p. 267 C), 
most probably contained a variety of speculations, as well 
philological as grammatical. And even his 'A\?j0aa appears 
from Plato's Cratylus (p. 39 1 C) to have touched upon etymo- 
logical questions. From Aristotle's Rhetoric, in. v., we learn 
that Protagoras was the first to classify the genders of nouns, 
calling them appsva, Orf\.sa, and a-Ksvrj. From Soph. Elench. 
xiv. i, we learn that he considered the terminations -is and 
-r)% ought to be appropriated to the masculine gender, so 
that to say [M]viv ovXo/jtsvrjv would be a solecism. In the 
Clouds of Aristophanes (v. 668-692), Socrates is ludicrously 
introduced as following out these ideas, and wishing to alter 
M" the termination of KapBo-jros and aXs/crpvcov to suit the femi- 
nine gender. Another of the grammatical performances of 
Protagoras was the classification of the \6yos or 'form of 
speech,' into question, answer, command, and prayer (Dio- 
genes Laert. ix. 53), a classification which seems to have had 
some affinity with that of the moods of verbs. The allusions 
in the Clouds to the art of metres, versification, and rhythms, 
seem to imply the practice of similar studies in the school of 
Protagoras. Lastly, his speculations in etymology and lan- 
guage seem to have been made in support of his philoso- 
phical doctrine of ' knowing and being,' iravrtav ptrpov 
avdpcoTros (cf. Plato's Cratylus, I.e.}. 

Prodicus, who is said to have been the master of Socrates (cf. 
Protagoras, p. 341 A, Hippias Major, p. 282 C), was famous 
for his distinctions between words of cognate signification and 
apparently synonymous. He is reported to have said 'that 
a right use of words is the beginning of knowledge ' (Trpwrov 
7<zp, a>s (fyr)<rt TIpoBiKOf, Trspl ovo/iartov 6p0oTr)Tos p,a6siv Ssi, 
Euthydem. p. 277 E). In Plato's Protagoras, p. 337, a speech 
is put into his mouth, which exhibits an amusing caricature 
of his style. Every sentence contains a verbal refinement, 



86 ESSAY II. 

and is thrown back on itself, in order to furnish out some 
antithetical distinction in language. * We must be impartial, 
but not indifferent listeners (KOIVOVS p.ev slvai, foovs Se 
The speakers should dispute, not wrangle (afjL<f)UT{3r)Tlv 
ipi^eiv Be ^07). So they will gain our esteem, rather than our 
applause (si/SoKipoirs real OVK eTratvolaOe}, and we shall feel 
rather joy than pleasure (svcfrpaivoifAsOa, ov% qSolpsBa).' 

In themselves, many of the distinctions drawn by Prodicus 
were probably of little value many were overstrained, and 
even false; cf. Charmides, p. 163, where a distinction is 
given which is said to be after the manner of Prodicus. It 
is between TTOITJO-IS and Trpagis irpa^is is denned to be 
iroiijcris T(OV ayaOwv, but we must acknowledge the merit of 
this first attempt at separating the different shades of lan- 
guage, and fixing a nomenclature. The powerful influence 
of this example (not always a healthy one) may be traced in 
the style of Thucydides. And its full development was 
attained in the accurate terminology of Aristotle. 

The short speech assigned to Hippias in the Protagoras of 
Plato (p. 337), and that in Hipp. Maj. p. 282, being obvious 
caricatures, give us still a conception of his manner. He 
appears to have united some of the splendour of the Sicilian 
school to the self-conscious and introverted writing of the 
Greek rhetoricians. This combination gives the sentences 
attributed to him a shadowy resemblance to the style of 
Thucydides, as, for instance, the following : ^fids ovv alaxpbv 
rrjv JJLSV (frvGiv TWV Trpayftdrcov siS&ai, crofytardrovs 8s ovras 
rant 'Ei\\ijv(i)v Kal KOT* avrb TOVTO vvv <rvv\r)\v06Ta$ TTJS TS 
'Et\\dSos els avrb TO Trpvravsiov rijs arofylas Kal avrijs Trjs 
TToXstas els rov fj&yia-rov Kal 6\(3ta>TaTov OIKOV roj/Se, fj,r]8sv 
TOVTOV rov a^KafUiTos a%iov ajro^rjvaaOai (337 D). Of course 
here the pomp of the words covers vapidity of thought, but 
one can see the outward husk and hollow shell of style. 



THE RHETORIC OF GORGIAS. 



87 



The influence of Gorgias upon the writers of Greece pro- 
bably exceeded that of any other Sophist. After his first 
essays in speculation, he appears to have renounced philo- 
sophy, and to have proclaimed himself a teacher of rhetoric. 
He was chosen by his countrymen, the Leontines, to come as 
ambassador to Athens in the year 427 B.C., asking aid against 
Syracuse. Thucydides (in. 86), with his usual reserve on all 
matters the least extraneous, makes no mention of his name. 
Diodorus (xu. 53) has the following remarks on this event : 
' At the head of the envoys was Gorgias the rhetorician, a 
man who far surpassed all his contemporaries in oratorical 
skill ; he also was the first inventor of the art of rhetoric. 
He amazed the Athenians, quick-witted and fond of oratory 
as they were (ovras sixpvsis ical (f)i\o\6<yovi), by the strange- 
ness (TW gsvi&vTi} of his language, by his extraordinary avrl- 
0Ta, and tcro/cwXa, and Trdpura, and ofioioTsXsvra, and other 
figures of the same kind, which at that time from the novelty 
of their style were deemed worthy of adoption, but are now 
looked upon as affected and ridiculous when used in such 
nauseous superabundance.' The speeches of Gorgias were 
thus most elaborately constructed, and in addition to their 
almost metrical character, bordered upon poetry also in their 
use of metaphors and of compound words. Aristotle com- 
ments upon the fault of writing prose as if it were poetry, 
and he severely says that this was done by the first prose 
writers because they observed how great was the success of 
poets in covering by their diction the emptiness of their 
thoughts. 33 Aristotle in another place quotes from Gorgias 
and from Alcidamas, his follower, several instances of what 



83 Bhet. ni. i. 9. 'ETrel 8' ol iroirjraJ 
\eyovTfs fvfidri Sick rrji> \eiv (S6KOW 
riivSe T^V 86%cu>, 8jcl TOVTO 



Topylov. 



irpcaTr) eyft/ffo \fis, otov 



88 



ESSAY II 



he calls 'frigidity' (^vxporrjf, Rhet. in. iii. i), produced by 
pompous or poetical words and compounds. He also men- 
tions two of the rhetorical tricks of Gorgias. One was that 
Gorgias boasted he could never be at a loss in speaking, * for 
if he is speaking of Achilles, he praises Peleus,' i. e. he will 
go off from his subject into something collateral (Rhet. in. 
xvii. 2). The other device was one full of shrewdness : he 
said, * You should silence your adversary's earnestness with 
jest, and his jest with earnest.' 34 Among the imitators of 
Grorgias were Agathon and Isocrates. The speech of Agathon 
in the Symposium of Plato is an example of the extreme of 
the flowery style. Socrates remarks at its conclusion, that 
he has been almost petrified by the speaking Gorgias (i.e. 
Gorgon's) head which Agathon has presented to him. The 
influence of Gorgias may also be extensively detected in the 
antitheses (often forced), the balance of sentences, and the 
occasionally poetical diction of Thucydides. 

Rhetoric, viewed historically, considered as a thinking 
about words and the possibilities of language, was by no 
means, as we have seen, coeval with the origin of states and 
of human thought. It was a somewhat late product of 
civilization. But it was a path which there was an inherent 
necessity for opening and exploring. From this point of 
view, thanks are due to the more eminent Sophists for their 
contributions towards the formation of Grecian prose style, 
for developing the idea of the period, and bringing under 
the domain of art that which before was left uncultivated. 
If in their own writing ornament was overdone, they may be 
considered in this, as in other things, to occupy a transition 
place, and to have served as pioneers to others. 



34 Rhet. ra. xviii. 7. Kol 5e?j/ 
Popyias r^v (J.ft> ffirovSfy 



&V tvavriwv ytKwn, rbv 8^ yf\cara 



CHARACTERISTICS OF RHETORIC. 89 

But there is yet another aspect in which rhetoric must be 
regarded, and that is, not merely as an affair of words and 
sentences, but as a direction and phase of thought itself. It 
consists in attention to form, producing neglect of matter 
in striving for the brilliant and the plausible, instead of for 
the true in decking out stale thoughts with a fresh outer 
garment of words in enforcing a conclusion without having 
tested the premises. This takes up the arts of the lawyer 
into the philosopher's or the teacher's chair ; it covers its 
ignorance with a cloak of verbosity; it will never confess 
there is anything it does not know. This most truly keeps 
the key of knowledge, and will neither enter in itself nor 
let other men come in. It speaks things which it does not 
feel ; its utterances come from the fancy, and not from the 
heart ; its pictures are not taken from nature ; its metaphors 
are unnecessary ; its pathos is hollow. If language be looked 
on as not separate from thought, but identical with it, then 
is rhetoric false thought, as opposed to true. There are, no 
doubt, various degrees and stages of rhetorical falsehood. 
The lightest kind is that which consists in some slight exag- 
geration in a word or an expression. This often takes place 
in cases where a speaker or writer fully and sincerely believes 
the general import of what he is asserting; but in setting 
forth the separate parts he allows himself to quit the stern 
simplicity of what he actually feels. Again, when a foregone 
conclusion has lost its freshness, rhetoric is called in in the 
hope of enlivening it. The most flagrant rhetorical falsity 
would, of course, consist in the advocacy of propositions 
which the speaker not only did not believe (in the sense of 
not feeling or realizing them), but absolutely disbelieved. 
As men are not fiends, this is extremely rare. Rhetoric 
usually juggles the mind of the speaker as well as of his 
audience. It takes off the attention of both from examining 



90 ESSAY II. 

the truth. It is, for the most part, well-meaning, and is 
much rather a defender than an impugner of the common 

' orthodox opinions. Hence it was that Plato defined rhetoric 
to be a trick of flattering the populace. Hence, also, he said 
that the Sophists studied the humours of society, as one 
might study the temper of a wild beast. In the practice of 
the Sophists, Plato saw rhetoric and Sophistry 35 identical. 
Sophistry consisted in substituting rhetoric for philosophy, 
words for thoughts (ev TO is ovopavi, aofy'iXpvrai KOL ovte sv rols 
vorjfjbacn, Xen. Cyneget. I. c.). With Plato, philosophy was a 
higher kind of poetry, in which reason and imagination both 

! found their scope. With the Sophists, it was a harangue 
(gTTiSftfts) upon any given subject, with figures and periods 
to catch applause. Aristotle, indeed, was enabled afterwards 
to look at rhetoric in a mere abstract way, as the art of com- 
position, and so to separate the rhetorician from the Sophist, 
since it was not necessary that rhetoric should be used in a 
Sophistical spirit. But Plato always regards rhetoric as a 
false impulse in human thought ; he always considers it in 
the concrete, and never as a mere instrument to be used and 
abused. And that the rhetorical spirit is a reality, attaching 
itself above all to the highest subjects, to philosophy and 
religion, and, like ' the bloom of decay,' luxuriantly over- 
growing them, this the experience of all ages and of every 
thinking man can testify. 

If Aristotle does not identify rhetoric with Sophistry, he 
yet very distinctly acknowledges the existence of the latter 
as a phase of thought. He does not, however, any more than 
Plato, speak of definite doctrines belonging to the Sophists, 
as if they were a school of philosophers with their own 
metaphysical or ethical creed. When he says * Some persons 



Cf. Gorgias, p. 520 A. rainbv, S> (uucdpi, itrrl 



THE PHILOSOPHY OP PKOTAGORAS. 91 

think justice to be a mere conventional distinction' (Eth. v. 
vii. 2), or * Hence they call justice our neighbour's good' 
(Eth. v. vi. 6), we are accustomed to assert that ' Aristotle is 
here alluding to the Sophists,' but he himself never speaks 
in this way of the doctrines of the Sophists. He speaks 
repeatedly of their practice, of their method, of certain tricks 
in argument commonly used by them ; he says that in their 
teaching they put Ehetoric on a level with Politics. Again, 
he treats of the position of Protagoras as a definite philo- 
sophical dogma, but as peculiar to Protagoras, not as common 
to the Sophists. Lastly he speaks of * Sophistic' as a par- 
ticular tendency or method in thought, which he compares 
with dialectic and with philosophy. Aristotle in all that he 
says about the Sophistical spirit no doubt accepts, analyses, 
and reduces to method much that is to be found in the 
Platonic dialogues. But it would be a most unwarrantable 
scepticism to consider Aristotle's statements a mere blind 
repetition of certain calumnies or hostile caricatures. Such 
an opinion would not only go against all historical evidence, 
but it would ignore most ungratefully one of the deepest 
utterances and most significant lessons of ancient philosophy. 
Truly, if Sophistry be a chimera, we had better close at once 
the volume of Plato. 

Sophistry, as represented in the persons of the two most 
eminent Sophists, sprang almost simultaneously from the 
north and the south. Also it may be said to have derived its 
origin more or less immediaitely from two directly opposite 
schools of previous thinkers. Protagoras of Abdera starts 
from the principle of Heraclitus that all is becoming; 
Gorgias of Leontium took up the Eleatic principle of absolute 
unity. Both Protagoras and Grorgias may be considered to 
have held their character as philosophers in some measure 
distinct from their professional character as rhetoricians and 



92 ESSAY II. 

teachers, and yet the results of their philosophizing coloured 

their teaching. The philosophy of the two can never be said 

to have amalgamated, and yet it exhibits a common element. 

An accurate statement of the doctrine of Protagoras appears 

in the Thecetetus of Plato, which is intended to refute it, but 

which at the same time treats its author with all respect. 

We see at once that it was a profound doctrine, and of the 

greatest importance as a 'moment' in philosophy. Heraclitus 

had said that all is motion, or becoming, Protagoras 

analyses this becoming into its two sides, the active and the 

passive, in other words the objective and subjective. Nothing 

exists absolutely, things attain an existence by coming in 

contact with and acting on an organ of sensation, that is, a 

subject. Thus all existence is merely relative, and depends 

in each case on a relation to the individual percipient ; and 

therefore ' man is the measure of all things, of the existent 

that they exist, and of things non-existent that they do not 

exist.' This proposition on the one hand contains the germ 

of all philosophy, on the other hand it renders philosophy 

impossible by reducing all knowledge and existence to mere 

sensation. It contains the germ of all philosophy by asserting 

that all knowledge, and therefore all existence, as far as we 

can conceive it, consists in the relation between an object and 

a subject, that every object implies a subject and every 

subject an object. This cannot be gainsaid, and it is in 

short one of the main purposes of philosophy to lift men out 

of their common unreflecting belief in the absolute existence 

of external objects, into so much idealism as this. But the 

principle of Protagoras falls short in its misconception and 

too great limiting of the subjective side of existence. Objects 

exist only in relation to a subject, but not necessarily in 

relation to individual perceptions. If individual perception 

is the measure of all things, the same object will be capable 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 93 

of contradicting qualities at the same moment according as it 
appears different to different individuals ; a thing can then be 
and not be at the same time ; the distinction between true 
and false will be done away ; even denial (avriKsyeiv) must 
cease. Protagoras acknowledged these results ; he said, 
' What appears true to a person is true to him. I cannot call 
it false, I can only endeavour to make his perceptions, not 
truer but better, i. e. } such as are more expedient for him to 
entertain.' 

Man is indeed the measure of all things, not the individual 
man with his changeable and erring perceptions, but the 
universal reason of man, manifesting itself more or less 
distinctly in the deepest intuitions of those who are pure and 
wise, and who attain most nearly to the truth. The principle 
of Protagoras, by calling attention to the subjective side of 
knowledge, led the way to what has been called * critical ' 
philosophy, to a critic of cognition itself; and this was a great 
advance upon former systems, which regarded knowledge 
and existence too much as if absolutely objective. But 
Protagoras himself rested in sensationalism, and becoming 
from his own system sceptical about truth altogether, he 
seems to have returned, (as above-mentioned), to mere 
principles of expediency. His sensational theory and his 
scepticism about knowledge are not to be regarded as 
Sophistical, in the Platonic sense of the word. But with 
this sceptical foundation to all theories, to commence teaching 
virtue; to have thus reduced virtue to a matter of expediency 
for daily life to have combined such acute penetration with 
so little moral or scientific earnestness after exploding 
philosophy to have fallen back upon popular and prudential 
Ethics this indeed was to exhibit many of the essential 
features of that Sophistry against which Plato directed all 
his strength. We see traces of the same spirit of acute and 



94 



ESSAY II. 



active intellect combined with a certain trifling and unreality 
upon the gravest subjects in the well-known sentence of 
Protagoras on the gods : ' Eespecting the gods, I neither know 
whether they exist or do not exist ; for there is much that 
hinders this knowledge ; namely, the obscurity of the subject, 
and the shortness of human life.' 36 This scepticism, as far 
as we can conjecture its tendency, does not consist in denying 
the Grecian Polytheism in order to substitute in its place 
some deeper conception. It cannot, therefore, be considered 
parallel to the philosophical contempt of Xenophanes and 
others for the fables of Paganism. Protagoras despairs of a 
theology, and proclaims his despair, and falls back upon 
practical success. 

The celebrated thesis of Grorgias, which formed the subject 
on his book ' On Nature, or the Non-existent,' and of which 
a sketch is preserved in the treatise, called Aristotle's, De 
Xenophane,Zenone,et Gorgia, and also in Sextus Empiricus 
(ad Math. vn. 65), is one of the most startling utterances of 
antiquity. It consists of three propositions, (i) Nothing 
exists. (2) If it does exist, it cannot be known. (3) If it 
can be known, it cannot be communicated. 37 The extravagant 
character of this position was denounced by Isocrates in the 
opening of his Helen. He is speaking of the inveterate habit 
of defending paradoxes which had so long prevailed, and he 
asks, ' Who is so behindhand (o-^ifiaO^s) as not to know that 
Protagoras and the Sophists of that time left us compositions 
of the kind I have named, and even more vexatious ? for how 
could any one surpass the audacity of Gorgias, who dared to 



38 Diog. Laert. ix. 51, Sext. Emp. 
adv. Math. ix. 56. 

37 O6K ilvai Qriffiv ov$tv si 8' %ffrtv, 



&yv(i><rTov flvai' ft Si icol tarn /cal yvu- 
oToV, a\X' oil Sf]\urbv &\\ots. Arist. 
De Xenophane, &c. c. v. 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF GOEGIAS. 95 

say that nothing of existing things exists ? ' Isocrates adds 
to the name of Gforgias, those of Zeno and Melissus ; he had 
before specified as ridiculous paradoxes the theses that * it is 
impossible to speak falsehood ' that ' it is impossible to deny ' 
that 'all virtue is one' that 'virtue is a science.' Else- 
where (De Permutat. 268), he mentions as the 'theories of 
the old Sophists,' that ' the number of existences was accord- 
ing to Empedocles, four ; according to Ion, three ; according 
to Alcmseon, two; according to Parmenides and Melissus, 
one ; according to Grorgias, absolutely none.' We see then 
that the point of view which Isocrates takes is that of so- 
called common sense, and practical life that he declines to 
enter upon philosophical questions at all. He regards the 
absolute Nihilism of Grorgias as belonging to the same sphere ^ h+->~ 
of thought, only a more flagrant development of it, as the 
doctrine, 'all virtue is a science.' It is always easy to set 
aside philosophical views as repugnant to common sense, as 
mere subtleties and useless paradoxes. But if we enter on 
philosophy at all, we must accept the dialectic of the reason. 
The difficulties into which it may lead us must not be rejected 
as subtleties, but acknowledged, and if possible reconciled 
with the views of common sense. 

Philosophy, before Gorgias, had been occupied with an 
abstract conception of Being, whether as One or Many. The 
dialectic of the Eleatics had been directed to establish, against 
all testimony of the senses, that the only existence possible is 
one immutable Being. On the other hand, the Ionics main- 
tained the plurality of existences ; and Heraclitus especially 
held the' exact contrary to the Eleatic view, that there was 
no permanence or unity, but all was plurality and becoming. 
The dialectic of Grorgias coming in here explodes all philo- 
sophy by a demonstration that ' nothing exists.' This part 
of his position he appears to have maintained by bringing 



ESSAY II. 



Eleatic arguments against the Ionic hypothesis, and Ionic 
arguments against the Eleatic hypothesis. 38 ' If there is 
existence (el 8' Icm), it must be either Not-being or Being, 
i It cannot be Not-being, else Being will be identical with 
Not-being. It cannot be Being, for then it must be either 
One or Many, either created or uncreate. It cannot be One, 
*_for One implies divisibility, i.e., plurality. It cannot be 
Many, for the Many is based upon the unit of which it is 
only the repetition, and is so essentially One. Again, it can- 
not be created, for it must either be created out of the 
existent or the non-existent. It cannot be the former, else 
it would have existed already. It cannot be the latter, for 
nothing can come from the non-existent. Nor can it be 
Uncreate, for that implies its being Infinite, and the Infinite 
ican have no existence in space.' These arguments are not 
to be looked at as a mere wanton sporting with words. Rather 
they contain a very penetrating insight into some of the diffi- 
culties which beset the most abstract view of existence. The 
same difficulties have been felt by other philosophers ; thus, 
in the Parmenides of Plato, great obstacles have been set 
forth to considering existence either as One or as Many. And 
Kant represents it as one of the antinomies of the reason, 
that the world can neither be conceived of as without a 
beginning, nor as having had a beginning. No blame can 
possibly attach to Grorgias for these speculations, nor for the 
conclusions to which they led. Plato himself, in the Par- 
menides (p. 135 D), urges and exhorts the young philosopher 
to follow out this sort of dialectic. ' You should exercise 
yourself while yet young,' says Parmenides to Socrates, 'in 



M Kal Sri fj.lv CVK Ian, cvvOtis TO, 
erepois flprifj.eva, Sffoi irtpl rStv ovrwv 
Aeyares, ravavria, us SOKOVITIV, ewro- 
tpaivuvrai O.VTMS' of /J.tv, Sri tv ical ou 



l 8e 08, ? 

KO) oj fifv on ay^yrjra ol 8e us ytvS- 
Hfva. liriSfiKvvvrfs, ravra ffv\\oyifrcu 
KOT' a.fj(t>orfpuv, Arist. De Xen. &c. 1. 1. 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 97 

that which the world calls waste of time (r^s SoKovarjs a%pr t - 
<TTOV elvai real tca\ovp,svr)s VTTO TU>V TroXA-eov aSoXecr^ias), else 
truth will escape you.' What, then, is this method ? It 
consists in the following out of contrary hypotheses, the one 
and the many, the like and the unlike, motion, rest, creation, 
destruction ; not only supposing the existence of each of these 
separate ideas, but afterwards also their non-existence ; follow 
out the consequences in each case, and see what comes of the 
antinomy. All praise, then, is due to Grorgias, from Plato's 
point of view, for his stringent dialectic. To the popular 
mind, such reasonings appear absurd or repugnant. But the 
philosopher is only stimulated by them to seek for a higher 
ground of vision, whence these seeming contradictions and 
difficulties may be seen to be reconciled. We can only regret 
that we do not possess the entire work of Grorgias, in order 
to know more accurately its exact purpose ; whether his 
arguments were meant to have a universal validity, or whether 
they were only relative to the Ionic and Eleatic philosophies. 
The latter would seem to be actually the case, whatever was 
meant by the author himself; for the destructive arguments 
of Grorgias, while they are of force against previous philo- 
sophy, do not touch the universe of Plato, in which there was 
a synthesis of the one and the many, of being and not-being. 
The two remaining theses of Grorgias, that being if existent 
could not be known, and if known could not be communicated, 
contain the strongest form of that subjective idealism 
afterwards repeated by Kant. They place an impassable gulf 
between things in themselves and the human mind. We can 
never know things in themselves, all we know is our thought, 
and the thought is not the thing. Still less could we com- 
municate them to others, for by what organs could we com- 
municate things in themselves? How by speech could we 
convey even the visible? In this part of the dialectic of 

H 



98 ESSAY II. 

Gorgias we trace an affinity to the doctrines of Protagoras. 
They each exhibit a tendency to a disbelief in the possibility 
of attaining truth. The scepticism, however, does not con- 
stitute Sophistry. It was not peculiar to the Sophists, but is 
a characteristic universally of the close of the Pre-Socratic 
era of philosophy. Aristotle speaks against it very strongly, 
but he does not call it Sophistry, he attributes it to several 
great names (Metaphys. in. c. iv.-v.). After arguing against 
the saying of Protagoras, he mentions that Democritus said 
1 there is no truth, or it is beyond our finding' (A7;/i6ptT6s 
ye (frrjaiv IJTOI ovdsv slvat a\r)0ss rj rjjjuv 7' a&j/Xov) ; that Em- 
pedocles said * thought changes according as men change;' 
that Parmenides said in the same way, * thought depends on 
our physical state;' that Anaxagoras said * things are accord- 
ing as men conceive them.' Aristotle remarks, ' It is surely 
an evil case, if those who have attained truth most, as loving 
it best, and seeking it most ardently, hold these opinions. It 
is enough to make one despair of attempting philosophy. It 
makes the search after truth a mere wild-goose chase. The 
cause of these opinions is that men, while speculating on 
existence, have considered the sensible world to be the only 
real existence. And this latter is full of what is uncertain 
and merely conditional' (Metaphys. in. v. 15, 16). Sophistry 
then is not constituted by any theories of cognition or 
existence. It consists in a certain spirit, in a particular 
purpose with which philosophy, or the pretence of philosophy, 
is followed. ' Sophistry and dialectic,' says Aristotle, * are 
conversant with the same matter as philosophy, but it differs 
from them both ; from the one in the manner of its procedure, 
the other in the purpose which guides its life. Dialectic is 
tentative about those subjects on which philosophy is con- 
clusive, and Sophistry is a pretence, and not a reality.' 39 . 



8 * nepl fJ.tv y&p rb ainb yfvos 



<J>eTcu r) <ro^>i<m/d? KO,} >] StaAe/crj/c^ rp 



<(>i\offo<plq, a\\a Stoupepti rrjs 



Tp6ir<f Trjs SvvdfjLfuSj TTJS 5i rov fiiov ry 



THE SOPHISTICAL DIALECTIC. 99 

None of the remaining great Sophists, besides Protagoras 
and Grorgias, appear to have entered upon metaphysical ques- 
tions. Sophistry far rather consists in the absence of fixed 
opinions, than in any tenets whether good or bad. As before 
said, we shall find that Aristotle always speaks of it as a 
spirit, a tendency, a trick, and not as a set of doctrines. In 
one place he speaks of Sophistry as consisting in rhetoric 
applied with certain aims (Rhetoric, I. i. 14). Elsewhere he 
says it is the near neighbour of dialectic (Soph. El. xxxiii. 
1 1 ). It consists in using wrangling unfair arguments, with 
a view of astounding the listener, 40 in order that out of this 
triumph, reputation, and out of reputation, gain, may accrue. 41 

The false arguments used for this purpose seem to have 
become a sort of professional prerogative ; so that the Sophis- 
tical art, as dramatically represented by Plato, and as analysed 
and reduced to system by Aristotle, may claim the distinction 
of having exhausted all the resources of fallacy of having 
boldly entered on and utterly explored the possibilities of 
error in human reasoning. Aristotle says that ' Plato gave 
no bad definition of Sophistry in making it to be concerned 
with the non-existent. For the arguments of almost all the 
Sophists may be said to be concerned with the accidental 
(i. e. that which has no absolute existence) ; as, for instance, 
their question whether Coriscus, the musician, is the same as 
plain Coriscus ; whether, by becoming musical, one absolutely 
comes into being,' &c. (Metaphys. y. ii. 4). Plato had said 
(Sophist, p. 254 A), that * while the philosopher is ever devoted 
to the idea of the absolutely existent, and thus lives in a 



irpoaiptcrei. "Effri 8e ^ 8iaAe/CTt/c}j iret- 
paffriKT) Trepl S>v rj <pi\offO(j>ia yvwpi- 
ffriicfi, r) St ffO(f>ia"riKTi (paivoftevri, oStro 
8' ov. Metaphys. in. ii. 20. 
40 Ata rb irapa5o|o 0ov\ffdai t\ey- 


Eth. TO. ii. 8. 
41 Oi fifv oZv rrjs vlKijs avrrjs \<ipiv 
roiovroi fpiffriKoi &v6p<aTroi Kai <f>i\epi- 
Ses fioKOvfftv ti'vcti, 01 Se S^TJS ~ytipiv TTJS 
fls xpTj/uoTJcryubv ffo(piffTiKol. Soph. EL 
xi. 5. 



H2 



100 ESSAY II. 

region which is dark from excess of light ; the Sophist, on the 
other hand, takes refuge in the murky region of the non- 
existent.' This * non-existent' was, as Aristotle explained it, 
the sphere of the accidental, the conditional, the relative, as 
contrasted with absolute being. Elsewhere we find that it 
was a trick of the Sophists to avail themselves of a traditional 
piece of dialectic ' older than Protagoras,' and to argue that 
to speak falsely was impossible, for that would be no less 
than uttering the non-existent, whereas the non-existent has 
no existence in any sense whatever, and therefore to conceive 
or utter it is impossible (Euthydem. p. 284-286). Plato 
maintains against this argument, and against the doctrines of 
the Eleatics, that in some sense * not-being' has an existence. 
We see then that to set the relative meaning of a word against 
its absolute signification, to play off the accidental against 
the essential, formed a main part of the * Eristic' art. We 
might have conceived that Plato's representation of the fal- 
lacies employed by Euthydemus and Dionysodorus was mere 
sport of the fancy, and beyond even an exaggeration of the 
reality, but Aristotle gravely tells us as a matter of fact, that 
these tricks were habitually employed by the Sophists. 42 
How far this sort of petty success was universally aimed at 
by them it is hard to say. Even the more eminent among 
them, Gorgias, Protagoras, Hippias, and Prodicus, can hardly 
be exonerated. In spite of the appearance of well-meaning, 
and a certain dignity of conduct which they exhibit in the 
dialogues of Plato, yet when we read of the ' boast of Pro- 
tagoras' (TO Hpcorayopov S7rdyys\fjui), that ' he would make 
the worse cause the better,' which Aristotle says men were 
justly indignant at, and when we read of the devices of 



42 Sophist. Elench. i. 8. "On ^v ofiv rotadrijs tylfvrat SiWjuecos otis Ka\ov/ji.fv 
ri Ti roiovTov \6yuv yevos, /col Sri 



THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 101 

Grorgias (mentioned above, page 88), and also when we con- 
sider the rhetorical turn of these men, their activity of in- 
tellect, and their boldness in dealing with grave subjects, 
combined with their want of philosophical earnestness, we 
can scarcely doubt that they were liable to resort to para- 
logisms. 

Looking at the Sophists in general, we are certainly justified 
in considering Eristic, and fallacy growing out of it, to have 
been one of their characteristics. The birth and prevalence of 
fallacy no doubt gave rise to a sounder logic, which was 
necessary as a counteraction to the Sophists. Thus, his- 
torically, their vicious practice was advantageous, but this 
cannot be reckoned to them as a merit. 

We now come to that which is by far the most important 
question with regard to. the Sophists, namely, what was their 
influence upon ethical thought? Their influence was very 
great. We have seen that before the fifth century moral 
philosophy did not exist in Greece. Socrates is commonly 
spoken of as the first moral philosopher. He is said to have 
' brought down philosophy from heaven.' But as in nature, 
so in the progress of the human mind, nothing is done * per 
saltum.' The thought of Socrates was necessitated by that 
of the Sophists. Without them as his precursors, as well as 
his antagonists, his life would lose half its meaning. Socrates 
did not so much see philosophy wandering in heaven, and 
bring it down to earth and human interests, but rather he 
found himself surrounded with a cloud of Sophistry which 
was covering the whole earth, and he called up a human 
philosophy to dispel it. From one point of view Aristophanes 
uttered a sort of truth when he virtually represented Socrates 
as the chief of the Sophists. Unspeakably greater, and 
deeper, and holier, as Socrates is than Grorgias or Protagoras, 
he has yet something in common with them, he is the leading 



102 ESSAY II. 

figure in a new era of conscious morality which they had 
inaugurated. 

The very first characteristic that is predicated of the 
Sophists by Xenophon, Isocrates, and Plato is, that they 
* undertook to teach virtue.' To this rule, however, Gorgias 
was an exception. Meno, in Plato's dialogue, praises him 
' because he was never heard to make any pretence of the 
kind, but used to ridicule those who made it, he himself 
thought that men ought to be made clever in speaking.' 
Socrates on this asks Meno, 'What, don't you then really 
think that the Sophists can teach virtue?' to which Meno 
replies, ' I know not what to say, Socrates, for I feel like 
most men on this question. Sometimes I think that they 
can teach it, and sometimes that they cannot.' (Men, p. 95 C.) 
A nearer definition of what this ' teaching virtue' meant is 
put into the mouth of Protagoras, who boasts (Plato, Protag. 
p. 318 E) that 'he will not mock those who come to him by 
teaching them mere specialities against their will, as the other 
Sophists do, such as dialectic, astronomy, geometry, and 
music. They shall learn from him nothing except what they 
came to be taught. His teaching will be, good counsel, both 
about a man's own affairs, how best to govern his own family, 
and also about the affairs of the state, how most ably to 
administer and to speak about state matters.' Socrates says, 
1 You appear to me to mean the art of Politics, and to 
undertake to make men good citizens.' ' This is just what I 
undertake,' says Protagoras. To attempt to discover in this 
proposal anything insidious or subversive of morality would 
be quite absurd. Protagoras is represented by Plato through- 
out the dialogue as exhibiting an elevated standard of moral 
feelings. Thus he repudiates with contempt the doctrine 
that injustice can ever be good sense (p. 333 C), and from 
grounds of cautious morality he declines to admit that the 



THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 103 

pleasant is identical with the good (p. 351 D). There is little 
reason to doubt that Protagoras may have conveyed to those 
who sought his instructions much prudent advice, and many 
shrewd maxims on the conduct of life and on the art of 
dealing with men in public and private relations. Of the 
hortatory morality of the Sophist, we have further means of 
forming a judgment from the celebrated composition (2i/y- 
7pa/*//,a) of Prodicus, commonly called ' The Choice of 
Hercules.' It is preserved for us by Xenophon (Memorab. 
II. i. 21-34), who represents it as being quoted by Socrates 
with a view of enforcing the advantages of temperance and 
virtue. It was the most popular of the declamations of 
Prodicus (owsp Br) nal TrXstcrrois iTriSa/cvfTcu), and has since 
constantly found a place in books of elegant -extracts and 
moral lessons. It would be easy to criticise and find fault 
with this fable. It does not adequately represent the real 
trial and difficulty of life. If, at the period of transition from 
boyhood to youth (STTSI SK TraiSwv sis ij^v wppa-ro) one might 
go forth to a place of retirement (s^s\66vra sis rja-v^iav Ka6r\~ 
cr&u), and there see presented Vice and Virtue, the one 
meretricious in dress and form, the other beautiful, and 
dignified, and noble ; and if, when Vice had opened her allur- 
ing offers, Virtue immediately exposed their hollowness, sub- 
stituting her own far higher and greater promises of good ; 
and if, there and then, one might choose once for all between 
the two, who is there that would hesitate a moment to accept 
the guidance of Virtue ? It may be said almost universally 
that all youths aspire after what is good. If it depended on 
a choice made once for all at the opening of life, all men 
would be virtuous. But man's moral life consists in a struggle 
in detail ; and this the figure of Prodicus fails to represent. 
But the same criticism might be applied to other allegories. 
We all feel that if Christian life were literally the same as 



104 ESSAY II. 

the Pilgrim's Progress, many more would follow it. Several 
parts of the exhortation which Prodicus puts into the mouth 
of Virtue are full of merit ; a noble perseverance and man- 
liness of character are inculcated; and in the denunciation 
of vice the following fine sentence occurs : ' You never hear 
that which is the sweetest sound of all, self-approbation ; and 
that which is the fairest of all sights you never see, a good 
deed done by yourself ! ' There is something rather rhetorical 
in the complexion of this discourse, even as it is given by 
the Socrates of Xenophon, and he concludes it by saying, 
* Prodicus dressed up his thoughts in far more splendid lan- 
guage than I have used at present.' But against the moral 
orthodoxy of the piece not a word can be said, and we may 
safely assert, that had all the discourses of the Sophists been 
of this character, they would not have fallen into such general 
bad repute as teachers. 

Plato never represents the Sophists as teaching lax morality 
to their disciples. He does not make sophistry to consist in 
the holding wicked opinions ; on the contrary, he represents 
it as only too orthodox in general, but capable occasionally of 
giving utterance to immoral paradoxes for the sake of vanity. 
Sophistry rather tampers and trifles with the moral con- 
victions than directly attacks them. It is easy to see how 
this came about. Greece was now full of men professing to 
' teach virtue.' They were ingenious, accomplished, rivals to 
each other, above all things desirous of attracting attention. 
Their talk was on a trite subject, on which it was necessary 
to say something new. The procedure of the Sophists was 
twofold, either it was rhetorical or dialectical. They either 
(i) tricked out the praises of justice and virtue with citations 
from the old poets, with ornaments of language, and with 
allegories and personifications. Of this latter kind of discourse 
we have a specimen in the ' Choice of Hercules,' and again 



THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 105 

we have the sketch or skeleton of a moral declamation which 
Hippias, in Plato's dialogue (Hipp. Major, p. 286), says he 
has delivered with great success, and is about to deliver again. 
The framework is simple enough. Neoptolemus, after the 
fall of Troy, is supposed to have asked Nestor's advice for his 
future conduct. Xestor replies by suggesting many noble 
maxims. ' 'Tis a fine piece,' says Hippias complacently, ' well 
arranged, especially in the matter of the language.' Such 
like compositions of the Sophists form a sort of parallel to 
the moral or religious novel of the present day. Or else (2) 
they gave an idea of their own power and subtlety, by 
skirmishes of language, by opening up new points of view 
with regard to common e very-day duties, and making the 
old notions appear strangely inverted. All the while that 
they thus argued, no doubt they professed to be maintaining 
a mere logomachy. But to an intellectual people like the 
Greeks there would be something irresistibly fascinating in 
this new mental exercitation. Aristophanes represents the 
conservative abhorrence which this new spirit awakened. He 
depicts in a caricature a new kind of education in which 
everything is sophisticated, that is, tampered with by the 
intellect. A sort of casuistry must have been fostered 
throughout Greece by various concurrent causes ; by the 
drama, which represented, as for instance in the Antigone, a 
conflict of opposing duties; by the law-courts, in which it 
was constantly endeavoured to * make the worse side seem 
the better;' and lastly, as we have seen, by the Sophists, who, 
in discoursing on the duties of the citizen, did not refrain 
from showing that there was a point of view from which 
'the law' appeared a mere convention, while 'natural right' 
might be distinguished from it. 

To be able to view a conception from opposite points of 
sight ; to see the unsatisfactoriness of common notions ; to 



106 ESSAY II. 

feel the difficulties which attach to all grave questions these 
are the first stages preparatory to obtaining a wise, settled, 
and philosophical conviction. Thus far the dialectic of the So- 
phists and that of Socrates coincide. But the Sophists went no 
further than these first steps ; the positive side of their teach- 
ing consisted in returning to the common views for the sake 
of expediency. That there is danger incurred by the dialec- 
tical process, in its first negative and destructive stages, no 
one has felt more strongly than Plato. He wishes, in his 
Republic, that dialectic, as a part of education, may be de- 
ferred till after thirty, because ' so much mischief attaches to 
it,' because * it is infected with lawlessness.' * As a suppo- 
sititious child having grown up to youth, reverencing those 
whom he thought to be his parents, when he finds out he is 
no child of theirs, ceases his respect for them and gives him- 
self up to his riotous companions ; so is it with the young 
mind under the influence of dialectic. There are certain 
dogmas relating to what is just and right, in which we have 
been brought up from childhood obeying and reverencing 
them. Other opinions recommending pleasure and license 
we resist, out of respect for the old hereditary maxims. Well, 
then, a question comes before a man ; he is asked, what is 
the right ? He gives some such answer as he has been taught, 
but is straightway refuted. He tries again and is again 
refuted. And when this has happened pretty often, he is 
reduced to the opinion, that nothing is more right than 
wrong ; and in the same way it happens about the just and 
the good and all that he before held in reverence. On this, 
naturally enough, he abandons his allegiance to the old 
principles and takes up with those that he before resisted, 
and so from a good citizen he becomes lawless' (Repub. pp. 
537-538). It is obvious that the process of dialectic here 
described consists in nothing more than starting the diffi- 



THE OPPOSITION OP ' LAW ' AND 'NATURE.' 107 

culties, in other words, stating the question of morals. Plato 
does not here attribute antinomian conclusions to the teachers 
of dialectic ; he speaks of the disciple himself drawing these, 
from a sort of impatience, having become dissatisfied with 
his old moral ideas, and not waiting to substitute deeper 
ones. 

Throughout his dialogue Plato does not attribute lax or 
paradoxical sentiments to the greater Sophists ; he puts these 
in the mouths of their pupils, such as Callicles, the pupil of 
Grorgias, or of the inferior and less dignified Sophists, as 
Thrasymachus. Sophistry consists for the most part in out- 
ward conformity, with a scepticism at the core ; hence it tends 
to break out and result occasionally in paradoxical morality, 
which it is far from holding consistently as a system. We 
shall have quite failed to appreciate the true nature of 
Sophistry, if we miss perceiving that the most sophistical 
thing about it is its chameleon-like character. One of the 
most celebrated ' points of view' of the Sophists was the 
opposition between nature and convention. Aristotle speaks 
of this opposition in a way which represents it to have been 
in use among them merely as a mode of arguing, not as a 
definite opinion about morals. He says (Sophist. Elench. xii. 
6), ' The topic most in vogue for reducing your adversary to 
admit paradoxes is that which Callicles is described in the 
Gorgias as making use of, and which was a universal mode 
of arguing with the ancients, namely, the opposition of 
" nature" and " convention"; for these are maintained to be 
contraries, and thus justice is right according to convention, 
but not according to nature. Hence they say, when a man 
is speaking with reference to nature, you should meet him 
with conventional considerations ; when he means " conven- 
tionally," you should twist round the point of view to 
" naturally." In both ways you make him utter paradoxes. 



108 ESSAY II. 

Now by "naturally" they meant the true, by "conven- 
tionally" what seems true to the many.' Who was the first 
author of this opposition is uncertain. Turning from the 
Sophists to the philosophers, we find the saying attributed to 
Archelaus (Diog. Laert. n. 16), 'That the just and the base 
exist not by nature, but by convention.' 43 This Archelaus 
was the last of the Ionic philosophers, said to be the disciple 
of Anaxagoras and the master of Socrates. * He was called 
the Physical Philosopher,' says Diogenes, 'because Physics 
ended with him, Socrates having introduced Ethics. But he, 
too, seems to have handled Ethics. For he philosophized on 
laws, and on the right and the just ; and Socrates succeeding 
him, because he carried out these investigations, got the 
credit of having started them.' About the same period 
Democritus is recorded to have held that ' the institutions 
of society are human creations, while the void and the atoms 
exist by nature.' 44 He also said, that the perceptions of 
sweet and bitter, warm and cold, were VO^IM, that is, what we 
should call 'subjective.' These reflections indicate the first 
dawn of Ethics. They show that philosophy has now come 
to recognize a new sphere; beyond and distinct from the 
eternal laws of being, there is the phenomenon of human 
society, with its ideas and institutions. The first glance at 
these sees in them only the variable as contrasted with the 
permanent, mere convention as opposed to nature. Ethics 
at its outset by no means commences with questions about 
the individual. It separates ' society' from 'nature,' as its 
first distinction. This was because in Greece the man was 
so much merged into the citizen ; even Aristotle says, the 
state is prior to the individual ; the individual has no mean- 



48 Kal rb Sttcaiov 



ou 



44 Iloir^rd & v6fj.ifj.a thai. *iS(m 8 
&rofj.a Kal Ktv6v. Diog. Laert. ix. 45. 



THE OPPOSITION OF ' LAW ' AXD ' XATURE.' 109 

ing except as a member of the state. It is a subsequent step 
to separate the individual from society : first sophistically, 
for the sake of introducing an arbitrary theory of morals ; 
at last, philosophically, to show that right is only valid when 
acknowledged by the individual consciousness, but at the 
same time that the broad distinctions of right and wrong 
are more objective and permanent than anything else, more 
absolutely to be believed in than even the logic of the in- 
tellect. 

Looking at the Sophists rather as the promulgators than 
as the inventors of this opposition between <f>vais and z/6/u.oy, 
we see they applied it (as in the person of Callicles, their 
pupil, in the Gorgias, pp. 483-484) to support crude, para- 
doxical, and anti-social doctrines; to maintain that nature's 
right is might, while society's right (which is unnatural, and 
forced upon us for the benefit of the weak) is justice and 
obedience to the laws. It is a carrying out of exactly the 
same point of view, to say, as Thrasymachus is made to do in 
the Republic of Plato (p. 338 C), that justice is ' the advantage 
of the stronger.' This position is there treated as a mere 
piece of ' Eristic.' It is met by arguments that are themselves 
partly captious and sophistical. The real difficulty which 
lies at the root of the question is immediately restated in the 
second Book of the Republic, and the answer to it forms the 
subject of the entire work. Another ethical topic with which 
the Sophists would be sure to deal was the question, What 
is the chief good ? We have before observed that this was a 
leading idea in the early stages of Grecian morals. In the 
discourses of the Sophists various accounts would be given 
of the matter. Sometimes, as in the fable of Prodicus, 
happiness, or the chief good, would be represented as inse- 
parable from virtue ; at other times a rash and unscrupulous 
Sophist, like Polus, in the Gorgias of Plato (p. 471), would 



110 ESSAY II. 

be found to assert that the most enviable lot consists in 
arbitrary power, like that of a tyrant, to follow all one's 
passions and inclinations. This assertion of arbitrary freedom 
for the individual, though, of course, not consistently main- 
tained by the Sophists, was yet one of the characteristics of 
their era. 

Let us now briefly sum up the conclusions to which we 
have been led regarding this celebrated set of men; the 
influence they produced upon thought ; and their relation to 
moral science. We have seen how the word * Sophist ' had at 
first a merely general import, signifying artist, or philosopher. 
We have seen how it came to be applied in a restricted sense 
to the members of a particular profession, the itinerant 
' teachers of virtue,' in Greece, and how, from the bad repute 
into which these teachers fell, the word was now applied with 
a certain amount of reproach. Especially this was the case 
with the adjective formed from this word ; and lastly, the cha- 
racteristics of the Sophists and their procedure were summed 
up in one word * Sophistic,' which was denounced both by 
Plato and by Aristotle, as being a spirit utterly antagonistic 
to philosophy and sound thinking. In asking further in what 
did this * Sophistic ' consist, we found that it by no means 
implied directly immoral tenets, or an intention to corrupt 
the world. It consisted ( i ) in the making a craft or profession 
of philosophy ; (2) hence truth was not its aim, but reputation 
or emolument ; (3) hence it was rhetorical, covering with words 
the poverty of its thoughts ; (4) or else Eristical, using the 
artifices of dialectic to raise difficulties, or to maintain para- 
doxes. In the relation of the Sophists to society in general, 
the question has been raised, Did they impair the morality of 
Greece ? The answer must be a mixed one. Owing to the 
influence of the Sophists, and also to other causes, thought 
was less simple in Greece at the end of the fifth century than 



SUMMARY WITH REGARD TO THE SOPHISTS. Ill 

it had been at the beginning. Between the age of Pisistratus 
and that of Alcibiades, the fruit of the tree of knowledge had 
been tasted, Man had passed from an unconscious into a 
conscious era. All that double-sidedness with regard to ques- 
tions, which is found throughout the pages of Thucydides, 
and which could not possibly have been written a hundred 
years before, is a specimen of the results of the Sophistical era. 
The age had now become probably both better and worse. It 
was capable of greater good and of greater evil. A character 
like that of Socrates is far nobler than any that a simple 
stage of society is capable of producing. The political decline 
of the Grecian states alone prevented the full development of 
what must be regarded as a higher civilization. The era of 
the Sophists then must be looked upon as a transition period 
in thought as a necessary, though in itself unhappy, step 
in the progress of the human mind. The subjective side of 
knowledge and thought was now opened. Philosophy fell 
into abeyance for awhile, under the scepticism of Protagoras 
and Gorgias, but only to found a new method in Socrates and 
Plato. Ethics had never yet existed as a science. Popular 
moralizing and obedience to their laws, was all the Greeks 
had attained to. But now discussions on virtue, on the laws, 
on justice, on happiness, were heard in every corner ; at times 
rhetorical declamation; and at times subtle difficulties or 
paradoxical theories. If physical philosophy begins in wonder, 
Ethics may be said to have begun in scepticism. The dialec- 
tical overthrow of popular moral notions, begun by the 
Sophists and characteristic of their times, merged into the 
deeper philosophy and constructive method of Socrates. 

III. The personality of Socrates (to whom we now turn) 
has perhaps made a stronger impression upon the world than 
that of any other of the ancients, and yet, as soon as we wish 
to inquire accurately about him, we find something that is 



112 ESSAY II. 

indeterminate and difficult to appreciate about his doctrines. 
Socrates, having contributed the greatest impulse that has ever 
been known to philosophy, was himself immediately absorbed 
in the spreading circles of the schools which he had caused. 
Cynic, Cyrenaic, and Platonic doctrines stand out each more 
definitely in themselves than the philosophy of Socrates. The 
causes of this are obvious, for the fact that he wrote no philo- 
sophical treatises gave rise to a twofold set of results, (i) 
On the one hand, his philosophy, being in the form of conver- 
sations with all comers, restricted itself for the most part to a 
method to a way of dealing with questions to an insight 
into the difficulties of a subject to a conception of what was 
attainable, and what ought to be sought for in knowledge. 
It was therefore free from dogmatism, but also wanting in 
systematic result. Taking even the conversations of Socrates 
as they are given by Xenophon, we can find in them certain 
inconsistencies of view. (2) From the absence of any actual 
works of Socrates, we are left to the accounts of others. And 
here we are met with the well-known discrepancy between 
the pictures drawn of him by his different followers, a dis- 
crepancy which can never be reconciled nor exactly estimated. 
' We can never know exactly how far Xenophon has told us 
too little, and Plato too much. 

However, by a cautious and inductive mode of examination 
we may succeed in establishing a few points at all events 
about Socrates, and in discerning where the doubt lies about 
others. There seems to be no reason whatever against re- 
ceiving in their integrity the graphic personal traits which 
Plato has recorded of his master. The description of him, 
which is put into the mouth of Alcibiades at the end of the 
Symposium, seems to have in view the exhibition, in the 
concrete, of those highest philosophic qualities which had 
before been exhibited in the abstract. Plato does not shrink 



PERSONALITY OF SOCEATES. 113 

from portraying the living irony which there was in the 
appearance of Socrates, his strange and grotesque exterior 
covering, like the images of Silenus, a figure of pure gold 
within. Other peculiarities of the man have a still deeper 
significance, being more essentially connected with his mental 
qualities. Not only did he excite attention by a robustness 
and versatility of constitution which could bear all extremes, 
but also by another still more strange idiosyncrasy ; he seems 
to have been liable to fall into fits of abstraction, almost 
amounting to trances. During the siege of Potidasa, while on 
service in the Athenian camp, he is recorded to have stood 
fixed in one attitude a whole night through, and when the 
sun rose to have roused himself and saluted it, and so re- 
turned to his tent. It has been observed that the peculiar 
nervous constitution which could give rise to this tendency, 
and which seems to have an affinity to the clairvoyance of 
Swedenborg and others among the moderns, was probably 
connected with that which Socrates felt to be unusual in him- 
self, that which he called TO Saipoviov, 'the supernatural,' an 
instinctive power of presentiment which warned and deterred 
him from certain actions, apparently both by considerations 
of personal well-being, and the probable issue of things, and 
also by moral intuitions as to right and wrong. This f super- 
natural' element in Socrates (which he seems to have believed 
to have been shared, in exceedingly rare instances, by others) 
cannot be resolved into the voice of conscience, nor reason, 
nor into the association of a strong religious feeling with 
moral and rational intuitions, nor again into anything merely 
phj^sical and mesmeric, but it was probably a combination, 
in greater or less degrees, of all. There are other parts of 
the personal character of Socrates which are also parts of his 
philosophical method ; for his was no mere abstract system, 
that could be conveyed in a book, but a living play of sense 

i 



114 ESSAY II. 

and reason ; the philosopher could not be separated from the 
man. Of this Xenophon gives us no idea. But in Plato's 
representation of the irony of Socrates we have surely not 
only a dramatic and imaginative creation, but rather a mar- 
vellous reproduction (perhaps artistically enhanced) of the 
actual truth. To this Aristotle bears witness, in stating as a 
simple fact that * Irony often consists in disclaiming qualities 
that are held in esteem, and this sort of thing Socrates used 
to do' (Etli. iv. vii. 14). The irony of Socrates, like any 
other living characteristic of a man, presents many aspects 
from which it may be viewed. It has (i) a relative signi- 
ficance, being used to encounter, and tacitly to rebuke, rash 
speaking, and every kind of presumption. It was thus 
relative to a Sophistical and Rhetorical period, but has also 
a universal adaptability under similar circumstances. (2) It 
indicates a certain moral attitude as being suitable to philo- 
sophy, showing that in weakness there is strength. (3) It 
is a part of good-breeding, which by deference holds its 
own. (4) It is a point of style, a means of avoiding 
dogmatism. (5) It is an artifice of controversy, inducing an 
adversary to expose his weakness, maintaining a negative and 
critical position. (6) It is full of humour ; and this humour 
consists in an intellectual way of dealing with things, in a 
contrast between the conscious strength of the wise man and 
the humility of his pretensions, in a teacher coming to be 
taught, and the learner naively undertaking to teach. Such 
are some of the most striking features in the mien and bear- 
ing of Socrates, not only one of the wisest, but also one of 
the strangest beings that the world has ever seen ; who 
moved about among men that knew him not. One man 
alone, Plato, knew him and has handed down to us the idea 
of his life. When now we come to his doctrines, Plato, as is 
acknowledged, ceases to be a trustworthy guide. The sublime 



AEiSTOTLES ACCOUNT OF SOCRATES. 115 

developments of philosophy made by the disciple are with a 
sort of pious reverence put into the mouth of the master. 
We are driven then to criticism, in order to assign to 
Socrates, as far as possible in their naked form, his own 
attainments. 

The statements of Aristotle would seem to furnish a basis 
for an estimate of the Socratie doctrine ; but even these can- 
not be received without a scrutiny, for Aristotle was so imbued 
with the writings of Plato, that he seems at times to regard 
the conversations depicted in them as something that actually 
had taken place. He speaks of the Platonic Socrates as of 
an actual person. A remarkable instance of this occurs in 
his Politics (n. vi. 6), where, having criticized the Republic 
of Plato, he proceeds to criticize the Laws also, and says, 
' Now, all the discourses of Socrates exhibit genius, grace, 
originality, and depth of research ; but to be always right is, 
perhaps, more than can be expected.' 45 ' The discourses of 
Socrates' here stand for the dialogues of Plato, which is the 
more peculiar in the present case, since in the Laws of Plato, 
the dialogue under discussion, Socrates does not appear at all 
as an interlocutor. In other places, however, we may judge 
from Aristotle's manner of speaking that he refers to the 
real Socrates, and riot to the Socrates of literature. The 
most important passages of this kind are where he draws a 
distinction between Socrates and Plato, and states their rela- 
tion to each other ; cf. Metaphys. i. vi. 2, xn. iv. 3-5. The 
second of these passages contains a repetition and an expan- 
sion of the former ; it may, therefore, be quoted alone. 
Aristotle is relating the history of the doctrine of .Ideas. He 
tells us how it sprung from a belief in the Heraclitean prin- 
ciple of the flux of sensible things, and the necessity of some 



45 Tb juev o5i/ irepiTTOV exown TrdWes rd Ka.ivor6fj.ov /col T& ^TjTTjri/cJj', Ka\(as 



l-rov Sco/cpdVous \6yoi Kal rb Koptybv Kal 



5 TT&VTO. tffcas 



I 2 



116 ESSAF II. 

other and permanent existences, if thought and knowledge 
were to be considered possible. He proceeds, that Socrates 
now entered on the discussion of the ethical virtues, and was 
the first to attempt a universal definition of them definition, 
except in the immature essays of Democritus and the Pytha- 
goreans, having had no existence previously. * Socrates was 
quite right in seeking a definite, determinate conception of 
these virtues (svXoyws e^rjrst TO TI &mi/), for his object was 
to obtain a demonstrative reasoning (o-v\\oyiscr0ai), and such 
reasonings must commence with a determinate conception. 
The force of dialectic did not yet exist, by means of which 
even without a determinate conception (^capls rov ri JO-TA), it 
is possible to consider contraries, and to enquire whether or 
not there be the same science of things contrary to one 
another. There are two things that we may fairly attribute 
to Socrates, his inductive discourses (TOVS T' eTratcriKovs Xo- 
yovs) and his universal definitions. These universals, how- 
ever, Socrates did not make transcendental and self-existent 
(^topia-rd), no more did he his definitions. But the Platonists 
made them transcendental, and then called such existences 
Ideas.' 

This interesting passage assigns to Socrates, first, his 
subjects of enquiry, namely, the ethical virtues ; second, his 
philosophical method, which was to fix a determinate con- 
ception or universal definition of these, by means of inductive 
discourses, by an appeal to experience and analogy. His 
definition was an immense advance on anything which had 
gone before, and yet it fell far short of the Platonic point of 
view. The reasoning of Socrates was demonstrative or 
syllogistic, and therefore one-sided. His conceptions were 
definitely fixed so as to exclude one another. He knew 
nothing of that higher dialectic, which, setting aside the first 
limited and fixed conception of a thing, from which the con- 



THE METHOD OF SOCRATES. 117 

trary of that thing is wholly excluded, asks, Is there not 
the same science of things contrary to each other ? Is not 
a thing inseparable from, and in a way identical with, its 
contrary ? Is not the one also many, and the many, one ? 
In another point also the conceptions formed by Socrates 
differed from the Ideas of Plato that they had no absolute 
existence, they had no world of their own apart from the 
world of time and space. We see, then, the gulf which is set ! 
by this account of Aristotle's between the historic Socrates ; 
and the Socrates of Plato. The historic Socrates was quite , 
excluded from that sphere of contemplation on which the 
Platonic philosopher enters (Repub. p. 510), where all 
hypotheses and all sensible objects are left out of sight, and 
the mind deals with pure Ideas alone. According to Aristotle, 
Socrates had not attained to the higher dialectic which Plato 
attributes to him. No doubt, however, Plato discerned in 
the method which Socrates employed in his conversations, 
in his enquiring spirit, in his effort to connect a variety of 
phenomena with some general law, in his habit of testing 
this law by appeals to fresh experience and phenomena, 
hints and indications of a philosophy which could rise 
above mere empirical generalizations. The method was not 
so much to be changed as carried further, it need only pgfes 
on in the same direction out of subordinate into higher 
genera. 

Aristotle always says about Socrates that he confined him- 
self to ethical enquiries. 46 This entirely coincides with the 
saying of Xenophon, that * he never ceased discussing human 
affairs, asking, What is piety? what is impiety? what is the 
noble? what the base ? what is the just? what the unjust? 
what is temperance ? what is madness ? what is a state ? 



46 flfpl p.fv TO rjOiKa irpayiJMrevo/j.fvov, irepl 5e TIJS SAijs Qvcrews ovQtv. Met. I. vi. 2. 



118 ESSAY II. 

what constitutes the character of a citizen? what is rule 
over man? what makes one able to rule?' (Memor. I. i. 16.) 
In all this we see the foundation of moral philosophy as 
a science, and hence Socrates is always called the first moral 
philosopher. But we have already remarked (see above, p. 
1 08) that the way was prepared for Socrates by Archelaus, 
by the Sophists, and by the entire tendencies of the age. 
There is another saying about Socrates which is a still greater 
departure from the exact historical truth, namely, that he 
divided science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic. It is quite 
a chronological error to attribute to him this distinct view of 
the divisions of science. He never separated his method of 
reasoning from his matter, nor could he ever have made the 
method of reasoning into a separate science. In Plato even, 
Logic has no separate existence; there is only a dialectic 
which is really metaphysics. And we may go further, and say 
that in Aristotle Logic has no one name, and does not form 
a division of philosophy. Again, Socrates probably never 
used the word Ethics to designate his favourite study. If he 
had used any distinctive term, he would have said Politics. 
With regard to Ethics also, we may affirm that in Plato they 
are not as yet a separate science, and in Aristotle only 
becoming so. As to Physics, Socrates appears rather to have 
denied their possibility, than to have established their exist- 
ence as a branch of philosophy. The above-mentioned divi- 
sion is probably not older than the Stoics. 

Pursuing our negative and eliminatory process with regard 
to the position of Socrates in the history of thought, we may 
next ask what was his hold upon that tenet which in Plato's 
dialogues appears not only closely connected with his moral 
and philosophical views in general, but also is made to assume 
the most striking historical significance in connection with 
his submission to the sentence of death his belief in the 



DID SOCRATES BELIEVE IN A FUTURE LIFE? 119 

immortality of the soul. But on this point also we can only 
say that a different kind of impression is left on our minds 
by the records of the last conversations of Socrates, as severally \ 
furnished by Plato and by Xenophon. In Xenophon's Memo- 
rabilia and Apologia Socratis (the genuineness of which has 
been doubted, but it bears strong internal marks of being , 
genuine), Socrates is asked whether he has prepared his 
defence. He answers that * His whole life has been a pre- 
paration, for he has never acted unjustly.' It is possible that 
this answer might have had a double meaning : on the one 
hand a literal meaning that his conduct was the best answer 
to his accusers ; on the other hand a religious meaning that 
his life had been a prceparatio mortis', but Xenophon appears 
only to have understood the saying in the former and literal 
sense. When reminded that the judges have often condemned 
those that were really innocent, Socrates replies that he has 
twice been stopped by the supernatural sign when thinking 
of composing a defence that God seems to intimate to him 
that it was best for him to die that if he is condemned he 
will meet with an easy mode of death at a time when his 
faculties are still entire whereas, if he were to live longer, 
only old age and infirmities and loss of his powers would 
await him that he knows good men and bad are differently 
estimated by posterity after their deaths and that he leaves 
his own cause in the hands of posterity, being confident they 
will give a right verdict between him and his judges. The 
only sentence recorded by Xenophon (besides the one above- 
mentioned) that admits the possibility of being referred to a 
future life, is where Socrates is mentioned to have said in 
reference to Anytus, ' What a worthless fellow is this, who 
seems n6t to know that whichever of us has done best and 
most profitably for all time (els vov asl xpovov), he is the 
winner.' In this saying, Plato might have discovered a 



120 ESSAY II. 

reference to immortality, but Xenophon takes it to mean 
merely ' the long run,' applying it to the bad way in which the 
son of Anytus afterwards turned out. If we separate from the 
speeches recorded by Xenophon the allusion which Socrates 
makes to his ' supernatural sign,' which shows a sort of belief 
in a religious sanction to the course he was taking ; the rest 
resolves itself into a very enlightened calculation and balance 
of gain against loss in submitting to die. The Phcedo 
of Plato has elevated this feeling into something holy; it 
puts out of sight those pails of the calculation which con- 
sisted in a desire to escape from the pains of age by a pain- 
less death, and in a regard to the opinion of posterity ; and 
it makes prominent and all-absorbing the desire for that 
condition on which the soul is to enter after death. Were it 
not for Plato, we should have had an entirely different im- 
pression of the death of Socrates, an entirely different kind 
of sublimity would have been attached to it. Instead of the i 
almost Christian enthusiasm and faith which we are accus- 
tomed to associate with it, we should only have known of a 
Stoical resignation and firmness, an act indeed which con- 
tains in itself historically the germ of Stoicism. The narra- 
tive of Xenophon no doubt misses something which Plato 
could appreciate, but it at all events enables us to understand 
how both the Cynic and Cyrenaic morality sprang from the 
teaching and life of Socrates. 

One more point is worth notice in the Apology of Socrates, 
as it is given by Xenophon. It is the way he answers the 
charge of corrupting youth. Having protested against the 
notion of his teaching vice to any, when Melitus further 
urges, * Why, I have known those whom you have persuaded 
not to obey their parents;' Socrates replies, 'Yes, about 
education, for this is a subject they know that I have studied. 
About health people obey the doctor and not their parents ; 



SOCRATES AS A TEACHEE. 121 

in state affairs and war you choose as your leaders those that 
are skilled in these matters ; is it not absurd, then, if there is 
free trade in other things, that in the most important interest 
of all, education, I should not be allowed to have the credit 
of being better skilled than other men ?' The fallacy of this 
reasoning is obvious, for had Socrates claimed to be chosen 
'Minister of Education' by the same persons who voted for 
the Archons and the Generals, or had he succeeded in per- 
suading the fathers that he was the best possible teacher for 
their sons, nothing could have been said against it. But the 
complaint against him was that he constituted youths, who 
were unfit to judge, the judges of their own education, and 
thus inverted all the natural ideas of family life. One can 
well understand the invidiousness which would be encountered 
by one undertaking such a position and defending it in the 
words recorded by Xenophon. Viewing this attitude of 
Socrates merely from the outside, one can justify, in a manner, 
the caricature of it drawn by Aristophanes. We see from 
this point of view how Socrates was a Sophist, and must 
have exhibited a merely Sophistical appearance to many of 
his contemporaries. But from another point of view, looking 
at the internal character and motives of the man, his purity 
and nobility of mind, his love of truth, his enthusiasm 
(Schwarmerei, as the Germans would call it), his obedience to 
some mysterious and irresistible impulse, and his genius akin 
to madness, we must call him the born antagonist and utter 
antipodes of all Sophistry. There is an opposition and a 
contradiction of terms in all great teachers. While they are 
the best men of their times, they seem to many wicked, and 
the corrupters of youth. The flexibility and ardour of youth 
make the young the most ready disciples of a new and elevated 
doctrine. But this goes against the principle that the children 
should honour the parents. Hence a great teacher sets the 



122 ESSAY II. 

' children against the fathers'; and the higher morality which 
he expounds, being freer and more independent of positive 
laws ; being more based on what is right in itself, and on the 
individual consciousness and apprehension of that right, 
tends also in weaker natures to assume the form of license. 
This is one application of the truth, that new wine cannot 
safely be put into old bottles. 

The positive results that are known to us of the ethical 
philosophy of Socrates are of course but few. Aristotle's 
allusions restrict themselves virtually to one point namely, 
the theory that * Virtue is a science.' This doctrine is men- 
tioned in its most general form Eth. vi. xiii. 3. Its application 
to courage is mentioned, Eth. in. viii. 6 that Socrates said 
courage was a science. And the corollary of the doctrine, 
that incontinence is impossible, for it is impossible to know 
what is best and not do it is stated, Eth. Til. ii. I. These 
allusions agree equally with the representations of Plato and 
of Xenophon, we may therefore treat them as historical. It 
remains to ask what was the occasion, the meaning, and the 
importance of this saying that * Virtue is a science.' The 
thought of Socrates was so far from being an abstract theory, 
it was so intimately connected with life and reality, that we 
are enabled to conceive how this proposition grew up in his 
mind, as a result of his age and circumstances, (i) It was 
connected with a sense of the importance of education. This 
feeling was no doubt caused in part by the procedure of the 
Sophists, which had turned the attention of all to general 
cultivation, and especially to ethical instruction. The ques- 
tion began now to be mooted, whether virtue e.g., courage, 
could be taught? (cf. Xen. Memor. in. ix. i.) Socrates 
appears on this question to have taken entirely the side of 
the advocates of education. The difficulties which are shown 
to attach to the subject in the Meno of Plato we may con- 



'VIRTUE is A SCIENCE.' 123 

sider to be a later development of thought, subsequent even 
in the mind of Plato to the Protagoras, Laches, &c. We 
may specify three different stages of opinion as to the ques- 
tion, Can virtue be taught? The Sophists said 'Yes,' from 
an over confidence of pretensions, and from not realizing the 
question with sufficient depth. Socrates said ' Yes,' giving 
a new meaning to the assertion ; wishing to make action into 
a kind of art, to make self-knowledge and wisdom predominate 
over every part of life. Plato said ' No,' from a feeling of 
the deep and spiritual character of the moral impulses. He 
said, * Virtue seems almost to be an inspiration from heaven 
sent to those who are destined to receive it.' 47 Aristotle, 
taking again the human side, would say 'Yes,' implying, 
however, that the formation of habits was an essential part of 
teaching, and allowing also for some differences in the natural 
disposition of men. (2) This doctrine was connected with 
the inductive and generalizing spirit of Socrates, it was an 
attempt to bring the various virtues, which Gorgias used to 
enumerate separately (cf. Plato, Meno, p. 71, Aristot. Politics, 
I. xiii. 10), under one universal law. Thus the four cardinal 
virtues, justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom, he reduced 
all to wisdom. (3) The doctrine had two sides. It on the 
one hand contained implicitly the theory of * habits,' but was 
at the same time a sort of empiricism. ' Courage consists in 
being accustomed to danger.' (This is the expression of the 
doctrine given, Xen. Memorab. in. ix. 2, and Aristot. Eth. in. 
viii. 6.) On the other hand, it implied rather self-knowledge, 
and a consciousness of a law ; which is quite above all mere 
acquaintance with particulars. This is drawn out in the 
Laches, where courage is shown to consist in the knowledge 
of good and evil ; and in the Republic it is described as that 



47 eia fj.oipa iraparyiyvo^vy] &vtv vov, ois b,v irapayiyv-riTai. Mcno. p. 99 



124 ESSAY II. 

highest kind of presence of mind, which maintains a hold of 
right principles even amidst danger. (4) We have said that 
Socrates wished to make action into a kind of art. It seems 
to have been a favourite analogy with him to remark that 
the various craftsmen studied systematically their own crafts ; 
but that Politics, (which would include the direction of indi- 
vidual life), was not so learned. Out of this analogy, no 
doubt, sprang the further conclusion that human life must 
have its own proper function (epyov, cf. Repub. p. 353). 
Virtue, then, according to the point of view of Socrates, 
became the science of living. So expressed, the doctrine 
easily takes a utilitarian and somewhat selfish turn ; as, indeed, 
it does in the Protagoras, where virtue is made the science 
of the good, but * the good' is identified with pleasure. Under 
this aspect the doctrine presents an affinity to Benthamism, 
and also to the practical views of Groethe, and at the same 
time enables us to understand how it was possible for the 
Cyrenaic philosophy to spring out of the school of Socrates. 
(5) It lays the foundation for conscious morality, by placing 
the grounds of right and wrong in the individual reason. It 
forms the contradiction to the Sophistical saying, 'justice is 
a convention' (vopy), by asserting that 'justice is a science,' 
that is, something not depending on society and external 
authority, but existing in and for the mind of the individual. 
Aristotle said that nothing could be better than this if only 
Socrates, instead of identifying virtue with the rational 
consciousness, had said it must coincide with the rational 
consciousness ; in other words, had he not ignored all distinc- 
tion between the reason and the will. 

This defect in the definition of Socrates exhibits one of the 
characteristics of early Ethics, namely, that they contain 
extremely little psychology. At first men are content with 
the rudest and most elementary mental distinctions; after- 



' VIKTUE IS A SCIENCE.' 125 

wards greater refinements are introduced. Plato's threefold 
division of the mind into Desire, Anger, and Reason, was the 
first scientific attempt of the kind. But even in Plato, the 
distinction between the moral and the intellectual sides of our 
nature was hardly established. Partly we shall see that this 
was a merit, and consciously admitted in order to elevate 
action into philosophy ; partly, it was a defect proceeding from 
the want of a more definite psychology. Socrates identified 
the Will with the Reason. We can understand this better, if 
we remember that the practical question of his day always 
was, not, What is Right ? but, What is Good ? Socrates 
argued that every one would act in accordance with their 
answer to this question ; that they could not help doing what 
they conceived to be good. Hence incontinence was im- 
possible. The argument, however, is a fallacy because it 
leaves out of sight the ambiguity of the word good. Good 
is either means or end. All men wish for the good as an 
end ; that is, good as a whole, as a universal. All wish for 
happiness and a good life. But good as a means does not 
always recommend itself. The necessary particular steps 
appear irksome or repulsive. Hence, as it is said, Eth. vu. 
iii. 5, a distinction must be drawn with regard to this 
phrase ' knowing the good.' In one sense a man may know 
it, in another not. Undoubtedly, if a perfectly clear intel- 
lectual conviction of the goodness of the end, and of the 
necessity of the means, is present to a man, he cannot act 
otherwise than right. 

There was another paradox connected with the primary 
doctrine of Socrates. It was that injustice, if voluntary, is 
better than if involuntary. This startling proposition appears 
to gainsay all the instincts of the understanding, and its 
contradictory is assumed in the Ethics (vi. v. 7). But it 
is stated by Socrates, and supported by arguments (Xen. 



126 ESSAY II. 

Memorab. iv. ii. 20), and it is again maintained dialectically, 
though confessed to be a paradox, in Plato's dialogue called 
the Hippias Minor. The key to the paradox is to be found 
in this, that the proposition asserts, that if it were possible 
to act with injustice voluntarily, this would be better than if 
the same act were done involuntarily. But by hypothesis it 
is impossible for a man really to do wrong knowingly. It 
would be a contradiction in terms, since wrong is nothing 
else than ignorance. Therefore the wise man can only do 
what is seemingly wrong. His acts are justified to himself 
and are really right. The effect of this proposition is to 
enforce the principle that wisdom and knowledge are the first 
things, and action the second. The same is expressed in the 
Republic of Plato (p. 382 B), where it is asserted that the 
purest and most unmixed lie is not where the mind knows 
what is true and the tongue says what is false, but where the 
mind thinks what is false. Mutatis mutandis, we might 
compare these tendencies in the Socratic teaching to the 
elevation of Faith over Works in theological controversy. 

The dialectical difficulties of morality characteristic of the 
Sophistical era appear from Xenophon's account to have fre- 
quently occupied the attention of Socrates. Thus Aristippus 
is recorded to have assailed him with the question whether 
he knew anything good. Whatever he might specify, it would 
have been easy to show that this was, from some points of 
view, an evil. Socrates, being aware of the difficulty, evaded 
the question by declining to answer it directly. He said, 
* Do you ask if I know anything good for a fever ? or for the 
ophthalmia ? or for hunger ? For if you ask me if I know 
any good, that is good for nothing, t neither know it, nor 
wish to know it' (Xen. Memorab. in. viii. 3). This answer 
implies the relative character of the term good. The puzzle 
of Aristippus was meant to consist in playing off the relative 



THE SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 127 

against the absolute import of ' good.' Other subtleties 
Socrates is mentioned to have urged himself, as for instance 
in the conversation with Euthydemus (Memorab. iv. 2), whose 
intellectual pride he wished to humble, he shows that all the 
acts (such as deceiving, lying, &c.) which are first specified 
as acts of injustice, can in particular cases appear to be just. 
In fact, the unsatisfactoriness of the common conceptions of 
justice is suggested here just as it is in the Republic of 
Plato. It is probable that the historic Socrates would really 
have advanced in the argument on justice as far as the con- 
clusion of the first book of the Republic. For the develop- 
ment of the later theory he perhaps furnished hints and 
indications which Plato understood and seized, and buried in 
his mind. Thence by degrees they grew up into something 
far different from what Socrates had consciously attained to. 
The dialectic of Socrates had an element in common with 
that of the Sophists, namely, it disturbed the popular con- 
ceptions on moral subjects. It had this different from them, 
and which constituted its claim to be not merely a destructive, 
but also a constructive method it always implied (i) that 
there was a higher and truer conception to be discovered by 
thought and research; (2) it seized upon some permanent 
and universal ideas amidst the mass of what was fluctuating 
and relative ; (3) it left the impression that the most really 
moral view must after all be the true one. 

The many-sided life of Socrates gave an impulse, as is well 
known, to a variety of schools of philosophy. It is usual to 
divide these into the imperfect and the perfect Socraticists ; 
the Megarians, who represented only the dialectic element in 
Socrates, and the Cynics and Cyrenaics, who represented each 
a different phase of his ethical tradition, being considered as 
the imperfect Socraticists ; and Plato being esteemed the full 
representative and natural development of all sides of his 



128 ESSAY II. 

master's thought. Plato is so near to Aristotle, and is such a 
world in himself, that we may well leave his ethical system 
in its relation to Aristotle for separate consideration. An 
account of the Megarian school belongs rather to the history 
of Metaphysics. The Cynics and Cyrenaics then alone remain 
to be treated of in the present part of our sketch of the pre- 
Aristotelian morals. 

The Cynical and Cyrenaic philosophies were each, as has 
been remarked, rather a mode of life than an abstract theory 
or system. But as every system may be regarded as the 
development into actuality of some hitherto latent possibility 
of the intellect, so these modes of life may be regarded each 
as the natural development of a peculiar direction of the 
feelings. Nor do they fail to reproduce themselves. That 
attitude of mind which was exhibited first by Antisthenes and 
Diogenes has since been over and over again exhibited, with 
superficial differences, and in various modifications by different 
individuals. And many a man has essentially in the bias of 
his mind been a follower of Aristippus. Each of these schools 
was an exaggeration of a peculiar aspect of the life of Socrates. 
If we abstract all the Platonic picture of the urbanity, the 
happy humour, and at the same time the sublime thought of 
Socrates, and think only of the barefooted old man, indefatig- 
ably disputing in the open streets, and setting himself against 
society, we recognize in him the first of the Cynics. Again 
if we think of him to whom all circumstances seemed in- 
different, who spoke of virtue as the science of the conduct of 
life, and seemed at times to identify pleasure with the good, 
we can understand how Aristippus, the follower of Socrates, 
was also founder of the Cyrenaic sect. Several points these 
two opposite schools seem to have had in common. ( i ) They 
started from a common principle, namely, the assertion of the 
individual consciousness and will, as being above all outward 



THE CYNICS. 12? 

convention and custom, free and self-responsible. (2) They 
agreed in disregarding all the sciences, which was a mistaken 
carrying out of the intentions of Socrates. (3) They stood 
equally aloof from society, from the cares and duties of a 
citizen. (4) They seem both to have upheld the ideal of a l 
wise man, as being the exponent of universal reason, and the 
only standard of right and wrong. This ideal was no doubt ; 
a shadow of the personality of Socrates. We find a sort of 
adaptation of it by Aristotle in his Ethics (n. vi. 15), where 
he makes the (^povi^os to be the criterion of all virtue. The 
same conception was afterwards taken up and carried out to 
exaggeration by the Eoman Stoics. 

Cynicism implies sneering and snarling at the ways and 
institutions of society ; it implies discerning the unreality of 
the shows of the world and angrily despising them ; it implies 
a sort of embittered wisdom, as if the follies of mankind 
were an insult to itself. 

We may ask, How far did the procedure of the early Cynics 
justify this implication ? On the whole, very much. The 
anecdotes of Antisthenes and Diogenes generally describe 
them as being true * Cynics,' in the modern sense of the word. 
Their whole life was a protest against society : they lived in 
the open air ; they slept in the porticos of temples ; they 
begged; Diogenes was sold as a slave. They despised the 
feelings of patriotism : war and its glory they held in repug- 
nance ; ' Thus freed,' says M. Eenouvier, f from all the bonds 
of ancient society, isolated, and masters of themselves, they 
lived immovable, and almost divinized in their own pride.' 
Their hard and ascetic life set them above all wants. ' I 
would rather be mad,' said Antisthenes, * than enjoy pleasure.' 
They broke through the distinction of ranks by associating 
with slaves. And yet under this self-abasement was greater 
pride than that against which they protested. Socrates is 

K 



130 ESSAY II. 

reported to have said, * I see the pride of Antisthenes through 
the holes in his mantle.' And when Diogenes exclaimed, 
while soiling with his feet the carpet of Plato, * Thus I tread 
on Plato's pride,' * Yes,' said Plato, ' with greater pride of 
your own.' The Cynics aimed at a sort of impeccability ; 
they were equally to be above error and above the force of 
circumstances. To the infirmities of age, and even to death 
itself, they thought themselves superior ; following the 
example of Socrates, they resorted to a voluntary death when 
they felt weakness coming on, and such an act they regarded 
as the last supreme effort of virtue. As their political theory, 
they appear to have maintained a doctrine of communism. 
This seems to have been extended even to a community of 
wives, a point of interest, as throwing light upon the origin 
of Plato's ideal Republic. Such notions may really have been 
to some extent entertained by Socrates himself. At all events 
we find them in one branch of his school. A life like that 
of the ancient Cynics presents to us a mournful picture, for 
we cannot but deplore the waste of so much force of will, and 
that individuals should be so self-tormenting. The Cynic 
lives by antagonism ; unless seen and noticed to be eccentric, 
what he does has no meaning. He can never hope to found 
an extended school, though he may be joined in his protest 
by a few disappointed spirits. In the Cynical philosophy 
there was little that was positive, there was no actual con- 
tribution to Ethical science. But the whole Cynical tone 
which proclaimed the value of action and the importance of 
the individual Will was an indication of the practical and 
moral direction which thought had now taken, and prepared 
the way for the partial discussion of the problems of the Will 
in Aristotle, and for their more full consideration among the 
Stoics. Crates, the disciple of Diogenes, was the master of 
Zeno. 



THE CYRENAICS. 131 

Personally, the Cyrenaics were not nearly so interesting as 
the Cynics. Their position was not to protest against the 
world, but rather to sit loose upon the world. Aristippus, 
who passed part of his time at the court of Dionysius, and 
who lived throughout a gay, serene, and refined life, avowed 
openly that he resided in a foreign land to avoid the irksome- 
ness of mixing in the politics of his native city Gyrene. But 
the Cyrenaic philosophy was much more of a system than the 
Cynic. Like the Ethics of Aristotle, this system started with 
the question, What is happiness? only it gave a different 
answer. Aristotle probably alludes to the philosophy of 
Aristippus amongst others, in saying (Eth. I. viii. 6), ' Some 
think happiness to consist in pleasure.' But it has been 
observed that he chooses not Aristippus, but Eudoxus, as the 
representative of the doctrine formally announced, that 
'pleasure is the Chief Good' (Eth. i. xii. 5, x. ii. i). This 
points to the fact that Aristippus did not himself entirely 
systematize his thoughts. He imparted them to his daughter 
Arete, by whom they were handed down to her son, the 
younger Aristippus (hence called /u-^TpoSi'Sa/tros), and in his 
hands the doctrines appear first to have been reduced to 
scientific form. If then we briefly specify the leading charac- 
teristics of the Cyrenaic system, as it is recorded by Diogenes 
Laertius, Sextus Empiricus, &c., it must be remembered that 
this is the after growth of the system. But though we can- 
not tell to what perfection Aristippus himself had brought 
his doctrines, there are many traces of their influence in the 
Ethics of Aristotle. 

Cyrenaic morals began with the principle, taken from 
Socrates, that happiness must be man's aim. Next they start 
a question, which is never exactly started in Aristotle, and 
which remains an unexplained point in his system, namely, 
' What is the relation of the parts to the whole, of each suc- 

K a 



ESSAY II. 



cessive moment to our entire life?' The Cyrenaics answered 
decisively, * We have only to do with the present. Pleasure 
is fjiovoxpovos, 4 * fiepi/crj, an isolated moment, of this alone we 
have consciousness. Happiness is the sum of a number of 
these moments. We must exclude desire and hope and fear, 
which partake of the nature of pain, and confine ourselves to 
the pleasure of the present moment.' 

In this theory it must be confessed that there is consider- 
able affinity to Aristotle's doctrine of the r\os ; and some 
have thought that Aristotle alludes to Aristippus (Eth. x. vi. 
3-8), where he argues that amusement cannot be considered 
a rsKos (cf. Politics, vm. v. 13). In short, the re\os of 
Aristotle is only distinguished from the ^.ovo^povos rjBovij of 
Aristippus by the moral earnestness which characterizes it. 
The Cyrenaics further asking, What is pleasure? answered 
by making three states of the soul possible ; one, a violent 
motion, or tempest, which is pain; another, a dead calm, 
which is the painless, or unconscious state; the third, a 
gentle, equable motion, which is pleasure. Pleasure was no 
negative state, but a motion. This doctrine seems to be 
alluded to in the Pkilebus of Plato (p. 53 C), 49 where Socrates, 
in arguing against the claims of pleasure to be the chief 
good, returns thanks to a certain refined set of gentlemen for 
supplying him with an argument, namely, their own defini- 
tion of pleasure, that it is not a permanent state (ouata), but 
a state of progress (yevea-is). It is generally thought that 
the Cyrenaic school are here meant. In the Ethics of Ari- 
stotle (vn. xii. 3), there appears to be another allusion to this 



48 Here we trace something similar 
to the doctrine of Aristotle, that ' Plea- 
sure is like a monad, or a point, com- 
plete in itself, perfect without relation 
to time' (Kth. x. iv. 4). 



19 'Apo irtpi ijSovrif OVK a.KTf]n6ap.fv 
is ael yti/fnls lonv, ovffta 5* OVK tffrt 
Tt ira.p6.wav rjSoin^s ; KOfj.\^ol yap 5^ rivff 
av TOITOV ii> \6yov tirtxetpovffi fj.r)vvfti/ 
r./uv, ois 8i x' * flv - 



THE CYREXAICS. 



133 



same definition, in a way which, without some explanation, it 
is excessively hard to understand. Aristotle (or Eudemus), 
in discussing pleasure, says, Some argue that pleasure cannot 
be a good, because it is a state of becoming (yevsais}. He 
afterwards denies that pleasure is a JSVSGIS, except in certain 
cases. And then he proceeds to explain how it was that 
pleasure came to be called a ISVSGIS. He says 50 ' it was from 
a confusion between the terms ysvscris and svspysta, it was 
thought to be a yevseis, because essentially a good, to express 
which the term ivspysia would have been appropriate.' At 
first sight it appears a strange contradiction to say pleasure is 
thought not to be a good, because it is a ysvea-is ; it is thought 
to be a ysvsa-is, because it is a good. The explanation is, that 
the two clauses do not refer to the same set of opinions. The 
former part refers to the Platonists, who argued, as in the 
Philebus, against pleasure, because it was not a permanent 
state ; the latter part refers to the definition of the Cyrenaics, 
that pleasure is a state of motion, or, as it is here called, a 
ryeveais. It is obvious that the Cyrenaic definition of pleasure, 
as far as we are aware of it, will not bear a comparison, as a 
scientific account, with the theory of Aristotle. Aristippus 
appears to have made the senses the only criterion of pleasure, 
and pleasure, again, the measure of actions. All actions, in 
themselves indifferent, were good or bad according to their 
results, as tending or not tending to pleasure. The Cyrenaics, 
however, adapting themselves to circumstances, allowed that 
their wise man would always maintain an outward decorum 
in obedience to established law and custom. 

The selfishness of this system at once condemns it in our 
eyes. For even acts of generosity and affection, according 



50 Eth. vn. xii. 3. Ao/cel SI ytvfvis 
ris tlvai, on Kvptus aya66v ri)i> yap 



Ivtpyeiav ytveffiv oiwreu elvau, tan S" 
fTtpov. 



1--54 ESSAY II. 

to such a system, though admitted by it to be excellent, are 
excellent only on this account, because, by a reflex power, they 
occasion pleasure to the doer. What in other systems is only 
concomitant to good acts is here made the primary motive, 
by which all morality is debased. The maintainers of such a 
philosophy are, perhaps, half-conscious to themselves that it 
never can be generally applicable, that they are maintaining a 
paradox. Looked into closely, this is seen to be a philosophy 
of despair. Those who cannot put themselves into harmony 
with the world, who cannot find a sphere for any noble efforts, 
nor peace in any round of duties, who have no ties and no 
objects, may easily, like Horace, ' slip back into the doctrines 
of Aristippus.' The profound joylessness which there is at 
the core of the Cyrenaic system showed itself openly in the 
doctrines of Hegesias, the principal successor of Aristippus. 
Hegesias, regarding happiness as impossible, reduced the 
highest good for man to a sort of apathy; thus, at the 
extremest point, coinciding again with the Cynics. It is 
instructive to see the various points of view that it is possible 
to take with regard to life. In the Cyrenaic system we find a 
bold logical following out of a particular view. In this 
respect the system is remarkable, for it is the first of its kind. 
The Sophists had trifled with such views, and not followed 
them out. In the prominence given to the subject of pleasure, 
in the Ethical systems both of Plato and Aristotle, we may 
trace the effects of the Cyrenaic impulse. 



ESSAY III. 



On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Plato and 
the Platonists. 

TTTE have already traced in outline the characteristics of 
* ' moral philosophy in Greece down to the death of 
Socrates, and have made brief mention of two of the schools 
of ' one-sided Socraticists,' as they have been called, the 
Cynics and Cyrenaics. It remains to resume the thread of 
the progress of ethical thought in Plato, compared with whom 
all previous philosophers sink into insignificance. In him all 
antecedent and contemporary Greek speculation is summed 
up and takes its start afresh. Especially in relation to any 
part of the system of Aristotle, a knowledge of Plato is of 
overpowering importance. To explain the relation of any one 
of Aristotle's treatises to Plato is almost a sufficient account 
of all that it contains. If one were asked what books will 
throw most light upon the Ethics of Aristotle, the answer 
must be undoubtedly, ' the dialogues of Plato.' 

Plato as successor to Socrates exhibits a gradual develop- 
ment of philosophy. To trace this progress with any cer- 
tainty is perhaps impossible, but perhaps the following 
account may be a sufficient approximation to the truth for 
our present purpose. At first we have purely Socratic 
dialogues, as the Charmides and Laches, the Euthyphro and 
the Lysis, &c. These exhibit only a negative dialectic. They 
show the insufficiency of popular views and the difficulties of 
the question ; they suggest the Socratic doctrine that virtue 
is knowledge ; but leave the problems without a dogmatic 



136 ESSAY III. 

settlement. With these we may rank the Hippias Minor, 
which contains in a wavering form the Socratic paradox, that 
to do injustice voluntarily would be better than doing it 
involuntarily. To this group of dialogues there now succeeds 
another, which is still negative and destructive. Such are 
those in which Socrates is brought into collision with the 
Sophists, e.g. the Hippias Major, the Euthydemus, the 
Protagoras, and Gorgias', these are the most wonderful 
imaginative and dramatic creations, they contain a picture of 
all that is most living in the method of Socrates, and they 
show that the Sophistic point of view is quite as antagonistic 
to philosophy as the merely popular point of view. After 
this group there comes a transition period in the Meno, where 
Plato, seeing the limitations to the system of Socrates, and 
the weaknesses inherent in it, takes the first step to break 
away into a deeper and broader sphere of thought. This 
first step consists in seeing the difficulty about virtue and 
knowledge being taught. How can knowledge be acquired ? 
In the Meno the answer is, that knowledge is ' remembered,' 
not imparted from without. This leads the way to the doctrine 
of Ideas, but as yet they are not matured. Another group 
of dialogues represents the growth of Plato's mind under the 
influence, it is said, of the Megarian school of thought. In 
this the ideas come forth, but as yet sparingly, and in a dry, 
logical, and abstract manner, e.g. in the Parmenides, the 
Thecetetus, the Sophist, &c. The last element that has to 
be added before the Platonism of Plato is complete is a 
Pythagorean influence, a tendency to delight in numbers as a 
symbol of the absolute, and to entertain the doctrine of the 
transmigration of souls. This period of Plato's mind we see 
illustrated in the Phcedrus, the Republic, and the Timceus. 
In the Republic we have the full perfection of Plato's philo- 
sophy ; in it all the different elements are balanced against 



THE ETHICAL SYSTEM OF TLATO. 137 

one another negative and constructive dialectic ; the manner 
and method of the historic Socrates, and again of a trans- 
cendental Platonic philosopher; the refutation of popular and 
of Sophistic views ; Megarian and Pythagorean influences ; a 
deep morality, and a metaphysic that almost denies the exist- 
ence of the material world ; and above all, and springing out 
of all these elements, we have here the doctrine of Ideas in 
its most deeply speculative, and at the same time its most 
imaginative, vivid, and many-sided aspect. 

As Socrates discoursed on nothing but moral subjects, so 
we find that the dialogues of Plato, with very few exceptions, 
start each with the discussion of some moral question. But 
the morality of Plato culminates in the Republic. Let us 
then briefly examine some of the distinctive features of this 
moral system, viewed as an advance upon Socrates. We have 
already seen (p. 127) that in all probability the Socrates of 
real life would not have progressed farther in the argument of 
the Republic than the conclusion of Book L, except, indeed, 
that he might have gone on to define justice as 4 a science.' 
The constructive portion of the dialogue, beginning with the 
foundation of a state, is probably all a development made by 
Plato on the beginning of his master. Here then is the first 
characteristic of the Ethics of Plato, namely, the principle, 
that ethical conceptions cannot be isolated and considered 
separately. All things stand in relation to one another. You 
must take the mind as a whole, or rather society as a whole, 
before you can judge of any of its parts. Now here we have 
not only a great advance upon the method of Socrates, who, 
as Aristotle said (see above, p. 116), always sought a definite 
conception of each moral term by itself; but also we notice 
a reaction against what may be called the individualizing 
principle in the doctrine of Socrates. This individualizing 
principle, which expressed itself in the saying * virtue is 



138 ESSAY III. 

knowledge' (see above, p. 124), and which pervaded the 
whole independent life and thought of Socrates, was full of 
merit as a protest against that blind obedience which saw no 
other ground for morality than the dictates of the law. But 
it was liable to abuse, and it ran out into an obvious extreme 
in both the Cynic and the Cyrenaic schools. It contained in 
itself the germ of the dissolution of society. The whole 
system of the Republic of Plato contains the strongest possible 
reaction against this principle. Not only does it avoid to 
contemplate the individual asserting himself against society, 
but it, so to speak, absolutely annihilates the individual. 
Lest there should be any trace at all of imperium in imperio, 
even family life is swept away. An individual is debarred 
from what seem the first rights of individuality the holding 
of his own property; the possession of his own wife; and 
the direction of his own faculties of mind and body. How 
far this unsparing system of communism was meant for a 
practical reality, it is hard to say ; we may at all events 
affirm that Plato meant to imply that the state must be an 
organized whole, like one mind and body, with parts har- 
moniously adjusted and readily working together, and all 
under the direction of a supremely wise philosophical con- 
sciousness else there is no scope for virtues in the state, and 
it is only by conceiving of them in the state that we can 
learn to conceive of them in the individual. 

Besides this appearance of a widely constructive system, 
including in its view all human relations and institutions 
which Plato substituted for the isolated moral enquiries of 
Socrates, he also made another advance beyond his master by 
the metaphysical and the religious aspect which he gave to 
his Ethico-political doctrine. The knowledge of the Idea of 
good he makes essential as a guiding principle for the legis- 
lator, and the belief in a future life, and in a state of rewards 



AE1STOTLES DEBT TO PLATO. 139 

and punishments, he considers a necessary complement to the 
theory of justice. One other development due to Plato makes 
moral science for the first time appear something like what 
we in modern times have been accustomed to conceive it, and 
that is, Plato made morals in some slight degree psychological. 
His account of the cardinal virtues is based on a psychological 
division of human nature into Desire, Anger, and Intellect. 
These principal traits of what morality had become in his 
hands may now best be estimated by comparing and con- 
trasting with them the Ethics of Aristotle. The Ethics of 
Aristotle were composed between fourteen and twenty-seven 
years after the death of Plato. If Plato could have come to 
life again and seen them, he would have been surprised in the 
first place at a complete terminology and set of formulaB in 
which for the most part they are expressed, which had been 
created or developed since his own day ; he would have been 
astonished at the growth of philosophy. In the second place 
he would have found a different point of view from his own 
upon many leading questions, and he might have complained 
here and there of a somewhat captious antagonism. But he 
must have recognized, perhaps with pride, indications in 
almost every page of the work of the lasting influence pro- 
duced by his twenty years' intercourse, and by his literary 
productions, on his most distinguished pupil, now become the 
greatest thinker of the world. 

In order to see at one glance how great was the debt of 
Aristotle to Plato, let us place together and briefly indicate 
those parts of the moral system of Aristotle which were 
inherited from his master. These were, ( i ) His conception of 
the science as a whole, that Politics was the science of human 
happiness. (2) His conception of the practical chief good, 
that it is rsXsiov and avrapKSs, and incapable of improvement 
or addition. (3) That man has an epyov, or proper function ; 



140 ESSAY III. 

that man's apsrij perfects this, and that his well-being is 
inseparable from it. (4) The psychology of Plato, as a basis 
for moral distinctions. (5) The practical conclusion of Ethics, 
that philosophy is the highest good and the greatest happiness, 
being an approach to the nature of the Divine Being. (6) 
The doctrine of Meaorrjf, which is only a modification of 
Plato's MerptoTrjs. (7). The doctrine of ^povrjo-iy, which is 
an adaptation, with alterations, of a Socratico-Platonic view. 
(8) The theory of pleasure, its various kinds, and the tran- 
scendency of mental pleasures. (9) The theory of friendship, 
which seems based on the questions started and not answered 
in the Lysis of Plato. (10) Many a conception, of which 
mere scattered hints are to be found in Plato, appears here 
worked out definitely. To this we may add, that the very 
metaphors in the Ethics of Aristotle seem, for the most part, 
taken from Plato. So great an influence had the one philo- 
sopher produced upon the mind and writings of the other, in 
spite of their wide dissimilarities of nature and tendency. On 
each of the above heads a few remarks may be made. 

(i) Not only is the general point of view that the indi- 
vidual is inseparable from the state taken from the Republic 
of Plato, but also the special description of Politics as the 
science of human happiness appears unmistakably borrowed 
from the Euthydemus. It is interesting to compare the 
conception of Politics, and its relation to the sciences, which 
is expressed in Eth. i. ii. 5-6, with the following description 
(Euthydem. p. 291 B): farl Bs S^T^ fiacrtXiKrjv sXQovrss iiyyr]v 
teal btacrKOTrov/jLevoi a\nr\v^ ei avTrj eirj rj -rrjv evBat/j-oviav airep- 
7ab//,e'i>77 sBo^s yap &T) r)p,lvr) 7ro\ntKT) ical rj /3aai\iKrj rs^i'tj rj 
ainrj slvai. ravrrj rfj r^i'U tf rs arparrfyinrj KOI al aX\ai Trapa- 
ap^siv r&v epywv, wv avral Srjuiovpyoi fterip, toy p,6vrj 
j^p^affai. Gafy&s ovv eSuxei, rjp.lv avrrj elva/, ?)u 
, Kol r) alria ?ov opdws irfdrrsiv ev TTJ TroXei, KOI 



ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 141 



Kara rb ALCT^V\OV lafi^stov \iovt] sv TT; Trpvfjbvr) Ka6fj- 
crdai TTJS TroXewy, Trdvra KvjBspvwcra KOI jrdvTcov dp-^ovaa irdvra 
Xpr/cri/uLa TTOISIV. While, however, accepting this conception 
of Politics, Aristotle does so in a wavering way he says that 
his science will be ' a sort of Politics ' (TTO\I,TLK^ rty, Eth. I. ii. 
9) ; and elsewhere he speaks as if it were rather a stretch to 
call the science of moral subjects Politics. 1 He treats Ethics 
in such a way as virtually to separate them from Politics ; 
and in his Politics, properly so called, he makes various 
general references, as we have seen (p. 36), to * Ethics,' as if 
to a separate science. 

(2) In Eth. i. vii. 3-6, Aristotle, in laying down his own 
conception of the chief good, which is to be the ap%>j for 
Ethics, says that it must be rsXsiov and avrapKss. These 
same qualities are attributed to the chief good in the Philebus 
(p. 20 C), a dialogue to which Aristotle seems often to refer, 
and from which the present doctrine is probably taken. The 
words are as follows : rrjv rdya6ov /juoipav Trorspov dvay/cT) 
TS\SOV rj fir) rs\sov elvai ; irdvrwv 8/7 TTOV reXscararov, Si 
^a)Kparss. TI Bs ; i/cavbv rdyaOov ; TTWS yap ov ; K. r. \. It is to 
be observed, however, that Aristotle analyzes the term rs\siov, 
and gives it a more philosophical import than Plato had done. 
Plato probably meant nothing more than ( the perfect.' 
Aristotle analyzes this into * that which is never a means,' 
' that which is in and for itself desirable.' He accepts also 
from the Philebus another doctrine, which is the corollary of 
the former, namely, that the chief good is incapable of addi- 
tion. He directly refers to the Philebus, Eth. x. ii. 3, saying, 
* Plato used just such an argument as this to prove that 
pleasure is not the chief good for that pleasure, with thought 
added to it, is better than pleasure separately ; whereas, if the 



1 Bhet. I. ii. 7. Tfjs irepl TO, ^0jj irpay/nareut? $)/ SiKaidj/ tarn irpoirayopfveiv 



142 



ESSAY III. 



compound of the two is better, pleasure cannot be the chief 
good ; for that which is the absolute chief good cannot be 
made more desirable by any addition to it. And it is obvious 
that nothing else can be the chief good, which is made better 
by the addition of any other absolute good.' The reference 
is to Philebus, pp. 20-22. Aristotle implies the same thing, 
Eth. i. vii. 8, by saying that, ' When we call happiness the 
most desirable of all things, we can only do so on the proviso 
that we do not rank it with other goods, and place it in the 
same scale of comparison with them' (prj avvapiO^ov/jLevijv^ 
see infra, note on this passage) ; * else we should come to 
the absurdity of considering it capable of improvement by 
the addition of other goods to it, which, if we consider it as 
the ideal good for man, is impossible.' 

(3) The whole argument by which, from the analogy of the 
different trades, of the different animals, and of the separate 
parts of the body, the existence of an spyov or proper function 
for man is proved (Eth. I. vii. n), comes almost verbatim 
from the Republic (p. 352-3) ; as also does the account of 
the connexion between the apsrij of anything with its proper 
function, which is given, Eth. u. vi. 2. The object selected 
as an illustration is in each case the same namely, the eye. 2 

(4) The psychology of Aristotle's Ethics is based on that 
of Plato, but it is also a development of it, and contains one 
essential difference, in the greater prominence, namely, that 
is given to the will. This, is is true, is virtual rather than 
expressed, but it lies at the root of the separation of l prac- 
tical virtues' from philosophy, and from ' excellencies of the 
reason.' Plato divides the mind into the following elements : 
TO XOJMTTIKOV, TO eTTiOvfjLrjTiKov, and TO 6vfj.osi8$ (Repub. p. 
440). Aristotle gives a more physical account of the internal 



2 Cf. Repub. p. 353 B. *Ap' &v 
ujj.fi.ara rb avrSiv *i>")'ov KO\WS airtpyd- 



ffaiino /i^ txo 
apir-fi" ', K. r. \. 



r^v a'jriav 



ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 143 

principle (see below, Essay V.), and divides the mind into 
that which possesses reason and that which partakes of reason. 3 
This answers at first sight to the division of Plato, since the 
\6yov jjurs-)(pv includes both BV/J.OS and eTndv^ia. But 
Aristotle pushes the analysis farther, dividing the reason into 
practical and speculative (which is a great discrepancy from 
Plato), and not attributing the same character to Ovpos as it 
has in the Republic, where it is made to stand for something 
like the instinct of honour, or the spirited and manly will, 
which, as Plato says, is generally on the side of the reason in 
any mental conflict. In Aristotle's discussions upon fiovXrja-tf, 
fiovXsva-is, &c., we see an attempt to found a psychology of 
the will, thus supplying what was a deficiency in Plato, but 
the theory does not appear to be by any means complete. 

(5) The burden of all the Platonic dialogues is the same, 
the excellence of philosophy, and its extreme felicity. Most 
completely does Aristotle reproduce this feeling when (Eth. x. 
vii.) having, as it were, satisfied the claims of common life by 
his analysis of the * practical virtues,' he indulges in his own 
description of that which is the highest happiness, when he 
says, ' Philosophy seems to afford wonderful pleasures both in 
purity and duration' (Eth. x. vii. 3), and ' We need not listen 
to the saying, " Men should think humanly," rather as far as 
possible one should aspire after what is immortal, and do all 
things so as to live according to what is highest in oneself 
(Eth. x. vii. 8). We are reminded generally of the enthusiastic 
descriptions of philosophy in the Republic, the Phcedo, and 
the Symposium of Plato. One particular passage of the 
last-named dialogue seems probably to have suggested to 
Aristotle the saying (Eth. X. viii. 13), that 'The philosopher 



of. Eth. i. xiii. 



144 ESSAY III. 

will surely be most under the protection of heaven (#eo$i- 
\scnaros}, because honouring and cherishing that which is 
highest and most akin to God namely, the reason.' 

(6) The principle of MEOTOTTJS, so prominent in Aristotle's 
theory of moral virtue, is a modification of Plato's principle 
of M.STptoTr}s or Sf/z/ier/Dta. As, however, the history of the 
doctrine of Msaorrjs will form part of the subject of the 
following essay, no more need at present be said upon it. 

(7) Aristotle's doctrine of <ppoviicris, as far as we can under- 
stand it in the Eudemian exposition, which alone remains to 
us (see above, p. 40), seems to be partly an adoption and 
partly a correction of a Socratico-Platonic doctrine of similar 
import. This doctrine, beginning with the form that l Virtue 
is knowledge (JTHCTTJ;//?;), or thought (^pov^crts),' and being 
afterwards developed by Plato into the form that ' Virtue is, 
or implies, philosophy,' is accepted, with two corrections, by 
Aristotle. He denies the identification of ' thought' with 
virtue, saying instead virtue must 'be accompanied by' 
thought ; and he distinguishes and divides thought or wisdom 
((f)p6vr)<ris) from philosophy (<ro<ia). The former of these 
corrections was directed more against Socrates than against 
Plato ; the latter, we shall see, is an important correction of 
the system of Plato, one that is connected with differences as 
to the whole view of Ethics. Plato speaks quite decisively of 
the necessity of (ppovrj&is to make moral action of any worth. 
In a celebrated passage of the Thecetetus (p. 176 A), he says, 
* We should strive to fly from the evil of the world ; the flight 
consists in as far as possible being made like to God ; and this 
" being made like" consists in becoming just and holy with 
thought accompanying' (o/j-oiwais 8s &i/caiov xal ocriov f^sra 
(frpovrjffsws yev&Qai). In the Phcedo (p. 69 B), he descants 
upon the worthlessness of moral acts if performed without 
<j)p6rr)<ns : he says, 'Such virtue is a mere shadow and in 



ARISTOTLES DEBT TO PLATO. 145 

reality a slavish quality, with nothing sound or true about 
it.' 4 But a little further on (p. 79 D) he defines ^povrjats 
to be the contemplation of the absolute. 5 We see then 
that Plato requires that every act should be accompanied 
by an absolute consciousness and this absolute conscious- 
ness he does not separate from that which takes place in 
speculation and philosophy. Aristotle says a moral con- 
sciousness must accompany every act, a sort of wisdom 
which is the centre to all the moral virtues (Eth. vi. xiii. 6), 
but this kind of consciousness is quite distinct from the 
philosophic reason, it deals with the contingent and not with 
the absolute. 

(8) Of the two treatises on Pleasure contained in the Ethics 
of Aristotle, we may assume (see above, p. 39), that the one 
which appears in Book VII. is the work of Eudemus. It 
has then a totally different kind of interest from that in 
Book X. It illustrates, not so much Aristotle's relation to 
Plato, as rather the growth of the Peripatetic school. It is 
in its main outline borrowed from the treatise in Book X., 
but it also contains some peculiarities belonging to the views 
of Eudemus, of which the chief are a practical, and at the 
same time a materialistic tendency. It is antagonistic to 
the views of 4 some' who argued that no pleasure could be a 
good, because it is a state of becoming {^/svsais}. This argu- 
ment is refuted by Aristotle himself in Book X. Eudemus 
adds other arguments for the same position, not mentioned 
in Book X., which he criticizes and overthrows. None of 



\arr6peva avrl a\\-h\(av, >)j ffKiaypa- 
<p 10 TIS $ T] roiavrrj aper^i Kal ftp ovri 
e Kal oi>5ec vyies ot/5' 



p6v re Kal ael i>v Kal dddvarov Kal 
wcravrus *X OV '> Ka ^ "" s ffvyyev^s ovffa, 
avrov df'i fj.fr' tictivov rf ylyverat, 
Sravirtp avrrj Ka0* aurrjj/ yev^rai Kal 
e|7? avrrj Kal rovro avrrjs rb iidBifjfjLa. 
5 "Orav Se ye OUT)J (TJ 4 /u X^) /ca ^ > 
avrty ffKoirfj, e/ce?cr o?xTai fls rb KaOa- 

L 



146 ESSAY III. 

these, however, are to be found in the Philebus, or any 
dialogue of Plato. They are, in all probability, to be attri- 
buted to the Platonic school. There is a direct mention, in 
connexion with one of the arguments, of the name of Speu- 
sippus (Eth. vii. xiii. i). Turning now to Book X., we find 
the question as to the nature of pleasure opened by the state- 
ment of two extreme views on the subject; one, that of the 
Cynics that pleasure was 'entirely evil' (/co/uS?} <aOXoi>) 
the other, that of Eudoxus, that pleasure was the chief good. 
The first view Aristotle sets aside as having rather a moral 
and practical than a speculative character ; and as being, 
though well-intentioned, at all events an over-statement of 
the truth. He specifies four arguments of Eudoxus to prove 
that pleasure is the chief good, (a) All creatures seek it. 
(6) It is contrary to pain, (c) It is sought for its own sake. 
(d) Added to any good, it makes that good better. He then 
mentions the objections (eixrrdcrsis) made to each of these 
four, and shows that none of the objections is valid, except 
that brought against the last of the arguments. He shows 
from Plato (see above, p. 141), that the fact that pleasure 
can be added to other goods disproves, instead of proving, 
its claim to be considered the chief good. Aristotle now 
mentions other general arguments that have been brought 
against pleasure namely, that it is not a quality: that it is 
indefinite (aopurrov) ; that it is a motion, a becoming, or a 
replenishment (icivijffis, ysveais, avaTrKrjpaxrisi] ; again, that 
there are many disgraceful pleasures. He answers all these 
objections, and having accepted the Platonic position that 
pleasure is, at all events, not the chief good, he proceeds to 
give his own theory of its nature, considering it to be, except 
in certain cases, a good, and analyzing its character more 
accurately than had hitherto been done. In all this we can- 
not trace anything like a direct antagonism to the Philebus 



ARISTOTLE S DEBT TO PLATO. 147 

or to any other part of Plato's works. Far rather, as we 
shall have an opportunity of seeing more distinctly in the 
next Essay, Aristotle, while perfectly coinciding with and 
accepting Plato's general theory of pleasure, the division of 
its different kinds, the distinction between bodily pleasures 
which are preceded by desire and a sense of pain, and the 
mental pleasures which are free from this ; while accepting, 
that is, the whole theory in its moral and practical bearing, 
refines and improves upon it as a speculative question, sub- 
stituting a more accurate and appropriate definition of 
pleasure than is to be found in Plato. 

(9) We cannot doubt that Aristotle's attention was turned 
to the consideration of the subject of friendship by the im- 
portance that Plato attributed to it, and the interesting part 
which he makes it play in his system. Both the Lysis and 
the Pkcedrus are devoted to the discussion of friendship. 
In the former dialogue little more is done than starting 
the difficulties, some of which are taken up and re-stated 
in the beginning of Aristotle's treatise (Eth. Tin. i. 6) ; 
' Whether does friendship arise from similarity, or from dis- 
similarity ? Does it consist in sympathy, or in the harmony 
of opposites ?' In the Phcedrus a passionate and enthusiastic \^n * ^V J 
picture of friendship is given, which renders it not distin- 
guishable from love ; its connexion with the highest kind of \ '* 1 *" x ; 
imagination, and with the philosophic spirit, is dwelt upon at 
length. In Aristotle nothing of this kind is to be discovered. 
The picture is colder, but at the same time more natural and 
human. In the ninth chapter of Book IX. a fine philosophic 
account of the true value of friendship is to be found, on 
which more will be said in the succeeding Essay. The whole 
of this subject is treated with depth and also with moral 
earnestness, which renders it one of the most attractive parts 
of Aristotle's Ethics. We see throughout that on every 

L 2 



148 ESSAY III. 

point of the question the analysis has been pushed farther 
than Plato carried it. 

( t o ) It remains now to mention, what any one will be 
conscious of who reads the Platonic dialogues in order to 
illustrate Aristotle that scattered through the pages of 
Plato will be found hints and suggestions afterwards worked 
out by his successor, and floating conceptions that in Plato 
have no determinate meaning, but which in the Ethics of 
Aristotle, as well as in his other works, have become, or are 
becoming, fixed and definite terms. Of course the more 
broad and general conceptions, such as re\os, Suva/its, TO 
wpicr/jbevov, ri l<ru; and irolov rl',, and a host of other meta- 
physical and logical formulae, are developments of what is to 
be found in Plato. But also more special conceptions appear, 
in germ at least, to have been borrowed. Take, for instance, 
opOos \6yos (Eth. ii. ii. 2) ; this term, which appears used 
first in a tentative sort of way in the Aristotelian philosophy, 
and afterwards more definitely (Eth. vi. i. i) to express the 
moral standard, occurs here and there in the Platonic pages 
coupled with ITI-IOTT?/^ and other such terms, in an approxi- 
mation to Aristotle's meaning, but by no means reaching it 
(see infra, note on Eth. n. ii. 2). So also the conception 
of TraiSsia to express a general connoisseurship of science, 
and especially some acquaintance with the logic of science, 
as it is used Eth. i. iii. 4 (on which see the notes ad locum), 
is to be found in the Timceus, p. 53 C, and in the so-called 
Erastce of Plato, p. 135. 

We have said that the very metaphors in Aristotle seem 
often to have been inherited. That of the ' bowmen ' (Eth. 
i. ii. 2) occurs in Republic, p. 519 C. That of the 'Aristeia 
for pleasure' (Eth. I. xii. 5) comes from thePhilebus, p. 32 E. 
The analogy between the political philosopher and an oculist 
(Eth. i. xiii. 7) is from the Chaimides, p. 155 B. The com- 



ARISTOTLE S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 149 

parison of mental extremes to excesses in gymnastic training 
(Eth. n. ii. 6) occurs in the Erastce, p. 1 34. The metaphor 
of * straightening bent wood' (Eth. n. ix. 5) is from the 
Protagoras, p. 325 D. The comparison of those who 
have made their own fortune to poets and mothers, who 
love their offspring (Eth. iv. i. 20, ix. vii. 7), is from the 
Republic, p. 330 C. This list of examples might doubtless 
be increased. 

We have traced hitherto the close connexion of the Ethics 
of Aristotle in almost all its parts with the system of Plato. 
We have now to show that this connexion was not only one 
of succession, inheritance, and development, but also was one 
of antagonism. Already we have seen that even Aristotle's 
following of Plato was often tinged with discrepancy. We 
have now to notice those parts of his Ethics which are directly 
characterized and even prompted by a spirit of difference and 
of polemic. 

The greatest difference between Plato and Aristotle is that 
expressed in the sixth Chapter of Book I. Aristotle's dissent 
from the theory of the Idea of good. Elsewhere, Aristotle 
criticizes the Ideas altogether ; here, in conformity with his 
present purpose, he confines himself to the Idea of good. To 
exactly comprehend and explain Plato's Ideas has always 
been a problem. Aristotle tells us they rose from a union 
between the universal definitions of Socrates and the Hera- 
clitean doctrine of the fleeting character of all objects of 
sense. To put this a little more clearly, the position is as 
follows : we desire some permanent and certain knowledge. 
Let us take some object and try to know it, e. g. ' this man.' 
Looking closely into it we find at once that, in ' this man,' 
we are in possession of a conception made up of two ele- 
ments, a universal and a particular. 'Man' is universal, 
'this' is particular. Now 'this' may be infinitely various. 



150 ESSAY III. 

It is purely relative, entirely changeable. It baffles all 
attempts at knowledge. The more we analyze ' this,' the 
more it escapes us, and comes to actually nothing. What 
constitutes ' this ' man ? Particular time and place, particular 
qualities, such as form, colour, size, and the like. But time 
and place, form, colour, and size are all in themselves uni- 
versals. 'This* man is determined by 'this' time, place, 
form, &c. But, again, what is ' this time ' ? The particular 
element in 'this time' is equally unknowable and unex- 
pressible with the particular element in ' this man.' Hence 
Heraclitus said, OVK ea-rtv eTna-Tr^r) r&v altrOijT&v. Let us 
now take the other side, and look at the universal element, 
* man.' This is something permanent and stable ; this con- 
stitutes a unity in the midst of plurality ; this the mind can 
rest in contemplating. We give to this universal element 
the name of form or idea (eZSoy, ISea), a name borrowed 
probably from Democritus, who spoke of the 'forms' of 
things being emanations from things themselves, and consti- 
tuting our knowledge of the things. And now another step 
has to be taken ; we must throw out all distinction between 
knowledge and existence. Since things exist for us solely 
through our knowledge of them, and we cannot conceive 
them existing at all, except as either for our minds or for 
some other minds, we must give up entirely that dualism 
which would suppose two terms standing opposite each other, 
namely, the object and the mind, and we must speak now of 
one term alone. Nothing exists except what we know. 
Knowledge and existence are identical, since, as Protagoras 
said (only in an altered sense), the mind is ' the measure of 
all things ; of existing things that they exist, of non-existent 
things that they do not exist.' Taking as established the - 
identity of knowledge and existence, we may use one term 
to express this identity, namely, 'truth' (dXyOeia), which 



HIS CRITICISM OF THE ' IDEA OF GOOD.' 151 

equally implies reality of existence in things, and the right 
apprehension of them in the mind. 

What is it that possesses truth, or reality ? Not particulars, 
which, as we saw before, are (in so far as they are particulars) 
unknowable, but the universal, the idea. The universal ele- 
ment, or idea, may hence be said to be the only real existence, 
while the particulars have only a sort of illusory, or mock 
existence ; when we look closely into them we find they are 
mere shadows of reality. Hence Plato, following out this 
train of thought, said, by a forcible metaphor, that common 
persons who fancy the particulars to be real existences are 
like men in a dimly-lighted cave, taking the shadows on the 
wall to be realities. By an equally strong metaphor, which 
Aristotle speaks of as mere poetry (Metaphys. I. ix. 1 2), Plato 
called the Ideas archetypes (irapa^si^^aTa) of sensible things. 
In this metaphor several points are expressed, (i) That 
knowledge is rather prior to experience than derived from 
it. Experience is the occasion, and not the cause of know- 
ledge. This Plato expressed by saying that all our know- 
ledge is ( reminiscence.' Things in the world are constantly 
reminding us of, and calling up, the reminiscence of the Ideas 
which we saw in their pure state, before we were born. (2) 
That the forms of the mind are permanent, while the material 
universe is fleeting. The mind is always prior to, and greater 
than, the world. This points, as Plato argued in the Phcedo, 
to the immortality of the soul. (3) The Eleatics had denied 
the existence of motion, plurality, change ; in short, the whole 
sensible creation. Plato does not go so far as this ; though 
infinitely less real than the Ideas, he allows that it has some 
share of reality. Metaphorically, he says, ' it partakes of the 
Ideas.' The Ideas are archetypes of things ; in other words, 
in the midst of the unknowable, the fleeting, the chaotic, 
the moveable there is law, unity, form, order, symmetry, 



152 ESSAY III. 

the permanent, and the absolute, existing not materially, but 
as ideas, dimly seen by the mind, because it is not pure 
enough ; seen more distinctly, according to the purity and 
elevation of the mind, and always more or less suggested. 

We are now brought to that part of Plato's doctrine where 
he spoke of the ' Idea of good.' Of this he says (Repub. p. 
509 B), that * As the sun affords to all visible objects not only 
the power of being seen, but also growth, increase, and nourish- 
ment ; so is there afforded to all objects of knowledge by the 
good not only the being known, but also their very being 
and existence. The good is not existence, but is above and 
beyond existence (STL sTrexsiva rr)y ova-iai) in dignity and 
power.' In the Philebus (p. 65 A), it is said that * the good 
cannot be comprehended in one idea alone, but it may be 
taken in three manifestations ; beauty, symmetry, and truth.' 
We see what a metaphysical world we have now to deal with. 
It is not the material world immediately, but the world of 
pure cognitions (ra yivcaa-tcofteva), that depend on the good 
for their existence. Every cognition must have the Idea of 
good present in it. We cannot conceive anything existing 
except as being good. Evil, in the shape of disease, crime, 
pain, &c., Plato, from this point of view, would call the non- 
existent ; it is the negation of existence, the want of existence 
in some way or other ; it is the chaotic, the formless, that 
which has no universality or absoluteness, that which the 
mind cannot deal with. The Idea of good in the world of 
thought Plato compared to the sun in the material world ; 
following out this metaphor, evil would be as the shadows 
which are the mere negation of light, and yet they are neces- 
sary to relieve the light, for were all light, nothing would be 
visible ; and so too evil, as the negation of good, may be 
said to be necessary to its existence. * Good,' says Plato, ' is 
the cause of existence and knowledge.' This opens a sublime 



HIS CRITICISM OF THE ' IDEA OF GOOD.' 153 

conception, on the one hand, of a world in which all things 
are very good ; on the other hand, of a philosophy whose 
method of the deepest knowledge consists in no mere abstract 
investigations, nor any mere accumulation of experience, but 
in apprehending with enthusiasm and joy the all-pervading 
idea of Good, as it manifests itself under the three forms of 
beauty, symmetry, and truth. The Idea of good Plato 
would by no means confine to metaphysics, as if it had no 
application to the other sciences. On the contrary, his great 
object was to raise Morals and Politics above all mere em- 
piricism into philosophy properly so called. Hence he says 
that 'States will never prosper till philosophers are kings'; 
again, he says, ' The guardian of the state must know with 
certainty that which all vaguely seek and aspire after 
namely, what is the good' (Repub. p. 505-6). The Idea of 
good then, according to Plato, is to be a principle influencing 
human action, and necessarily forming a part of any system 
of Politics or Morals worthy of being called so. 

With this position Aristotle joins issue. After stating the 
theory in the following words (Eth. I. iv. 3), 'Some have 
thought that besides all these manifold goods upon earth, 
there is some other absolute good, which is the cause to all 
these of their being good' ; he proceeds to criticize the tena- 
bility of such a conception, and concludes his argument by 
saying, ' But we may dismiss the Idea at present, for if there 
is any one good, universal and generic, or transcendental 
(xwpicrTov) and absolute, it obviously can neither be realized 
nor possessed by man, whereas something of this latter kind 
is what we are inquiring after' (Eth. i. vi. 13). He follows 
up those remarks by saying that ' Perhaps some may think 
the knowledge of the idea may be useful as a pattern 
(jrapd&i<y/j,a) by which to judge of relative good.' Against 
this he argues that ' There is no trace of the arts making any 



154 ESSAY III. 

use of such a conception; the cobbler, the carpenter, the 
physician, and the general, all pursue their vocations without 
respect to the absolute good, nor is it easy to see how they 
could be advantaged by apprehending it.' 

This criticism is a direct denial of Plato's point of view. 
Plato, who had expressed himself utterly dissatisfied with the 
empirical and prudential morality of his countrymen, and 
who wished to raise morality and Politics (which with him 
was but morality on an extended scale) into something wise, 
philosophical, and absolute made certain requisitions for 
this. He demanded that a full philosophic consciousness 
should govern everything. He required that a knowledge of 
the good-in-itself should be present to the mind. He ac- 
knowledges, it is true, that the philosopher, after dealing with 
sublime speculations, may seem dazzled and confused when 
he is suddenly confronted with the petty details of life, the 
quibbles of law-courts, &c. But on the other hand he seems 
to have considered, not only that philosophy was indispensable 
to morality, but also that the mind, by contemplating the 
Idea of good, would become conformed to it. This Idea, 
then, was not merely an object for the abstract reason ; it 
was an object for the imagination also, and an attraction for 
the highest kind of desires. It was not only an idea, but 
also an ideal. Aristotle, in a clearer and more analytic way, 
regards the Idea as something out of all relation to action 
(ov irpaKTOv\ as a metaphysical conception simply, if, indeed, 
it could be entertained at all. He then entirely separates it 
from Ethics. He considers that the guiding principle (ap^4) 
for Ethics must be not this absolute transcendental good, but 
a practical good, which he envisaged as happiness, or the end 
for man. These two views must stand for ever apart, and on 
each side there seems to be some degree of merit and some 
degree of fault Fine as is Plato's conception of science, it 



HIS CRITICISM OF THE 'IDEA OF GOOD.' 155 

must be confessed that there is some degree of vagueness 
about it. We need not put ourselves in the position of Plato's 
contemporaries, those of whom the story is related that 
4 They went to him expecting to hear about the chief good 
for man, but they were disappointed, for he put them off with 
a quantity of remarks about numbers and things they could 
not understand.' But even taking Plato as f a philosopher 
for philosophers,' there seems to be something not quite 
explained in his system. Infinitely rich as he was in invention 
and suggestion, we might almost say that he required an 
Aristotle as his successor to give definiteness to his conceptions. 
When then we turn to Aristotle, we find the power that is 
gained by a division of the sciences. We find no longer an 
effort to attain to that highest point of union for all know- 
ledge and all existence, which is far above the ordinary ken, 
and which can hardly be viewed otherwise than by occasional 
glimpses but rather an effort after clearness and complete- 
ness, after the arrangement of all experience under appropriate 
and separate leading conceptions. It is easy to see what an 
immense field is at once laid open. Eapid indeed and won- 
derful were the achievements of a mind like that of Aristotle. 
But when all is done, one feels also that something has also 
been lost by this separate treatment of different subjects. 
One desires again to see Ethics not dissevered from Theology 
and Metaphysics. 

As yet we have only spoken of Aristotle's treatment of the 
Idea of good in its relation to ethical science ; we must now 
advert to bis general treatment of it as a theory. In the first 
place, we remark that Aristotle gives a very limited and re- 
stricted representation of the theory before criticizing it. He 
does not enter upon, or even mention, that most striking 
characteristic of the Idea of good, which Plato assigns to it, 
namely, that it is the cause of existence to all objects of cog- 



156 ESSAY III. 

nition, and also the cause of our knowing them. Aristotle 
merely speaks of it as ' The cause to all other goods of their 
being good.' He also calls it 'the Universal' (TO Ka66\ov\ 
and enquires in what sense its existence is asserted (TTWS 
\syerai). He leaves out then all discussion of that higher 
and at the same time more difficult part of the theory which 
makes the good the central cause of all ' knowing and being' ; 
he makes the question a drily logical one, as to the nature of 
universals. What is the meaning of this word good ? Is all 
good one ? Is there one absolute conception of good under 
which you can reduce all separate goods ? Is there the same 
law of good (TOV TayaOov \dyov, Eth. I. vi. 1 1 ) in all goods 
properly so called ? Else how is the universal name to be 
accounted for? These are the questions which Aristotle 
seems to propose to himself. We see how totally different 
from Plato's is his point of view at starting. 

After an expression of respect and good feeling towards 
the Platonic school, he proceeds directly to bring a series of 
arguments against the tenability of their doctrine, and these 
arguments are briefly as follows : ( i ) The Platonists them- 
selves allowed that where there is an essential succession (TO 
irporspov Kal TO va-repov) between any two conceptions, these 
could not be brought under a common idea. But this suc- 
cession occurs in different kinds of good, (rood in relation, 
e.g. the useful, is essentially later than good in substance, 
and therefore cannot fall under the same idea. (2) If all 
good were one, it ought to be predicated under only one 
category, whereas it can be predicated under all. (3) If it 
were one, it would be treated of by only one science. (4) 
The Idea is only a repetition of phenomena, for with these it 
is really identical. (5) Even the most essential and un- 
doubted goods seem incapable of being reduced to one idea. 
Every one has felt the unsatisfactoriness of these arguments ; 



HIS CRITICISM OF THE ' IDEA OF GOOD.' 157 

they seem captious, verbal, unreal, and not to touch the point 
at issue. Let us examine them separately. Argument (i) 
seems to beg the question. It refers to the Platonic doctrine 
of the ideal numbers (referred to Metaphys. xii. vi. 7), which 
they held to stand in absolute and immutable succession to 
each other, and to be incapable of being brought themselves 
under one common Idea. To this Aristotle compares the 
relation between relative and absolute goods ; he says the one 
stands in immutable succession to the other, therefore there 
can be no common idea of them. A Platonist might reply, 
that this is a mere assumption ; that in the case of the ideal 
numbers, Unity and Duality, for instance, stand in such 
essential contradistinction to each other, that they are Ideas 
themselves, and therefore there cannot be Ideas of them. 
But with regard to the goods, all that is relative in them is 
merely the particular, the non-existent, which the philoso- 
phical reason cannot deal with. It is absurd to make the 
relativity of the relative good an immutable and permanent 
quality, which is for ever to distinguish it from the good in 
itself. (2) The second argument is a mere repetition of the 
first. Aristotle takes certain categories, namely, substance, 
quality, quantity, relation, time and place, &c. (/cot srspa 
roiaOra), and shows that there are different modes of the 
good under these different categories. Now, these categories 
might all be reduced to substance and relation, and then 
the argument is, ' You have good in substance, and good in 
different relations; can these be considered the same?' (3) 
The argument of the sciences is a carrying out of the same 
objection. Aristotle argues that the sciences point to a still 
greater subdivision of good. For good, in relation to time, 
for instance, that is, opportunity, may be treated of by 
strategics, or by medicine ; and so on with good under the 
other categories ; the sciences still more minutely subdivide it. 



158 ESSAY III. 

Plato might well complain of this subdivision of the 
sciences being brought as an argument against him, when he 
had so anxiously urged (Repub. p. 534 E) that in dialectic all 
sciences united, and dialectic was the science of the idea of 
good. Even Aristotle had made a union of the practical 
sciences in Politics (Eth. I. ii. 6), and had he contented him- 
self with maintaining here that the irpaKTov ayaBov, the 
subject of Politics and its subordinate sciences, must always 
be distinct from the vorjrov dya66v, the subject of metaphysics, 
we must have allowed that such a point of view was fair and 
admissible. But his present mode of statement makes the 
argument, both relatively to Plato and also in itself, worth- 
less. When we look back on the whole of these three argu- 
ments, it seems almost inconceivable that Aristotle should 
have believed them to be valid. We can only say with regret, 
that on some points this great mind seems to have descended 
to a sort of smallness. We must also consider that to be 
able with perfect fairness to represent an antagonist's system 
was not commonly the merit of antiquity. Certainly it was 
not always the merit of Aristotle. His accounts of other 
philosophers, as, for instance, in the first book of the Meta- 
physics, frequently contain something garbled. Again, the 
direction of his mind was totally different from Plato's ; his 
leaning was predominantly towards experience, and though 
by no means a mere empiricist or a mere nominalist, yet he 
was excessively unequal in his views, and sometimes relapses ' 
into what seems a merely popular level of thought. To keep 
his mind at the Platonic point of view would have been to 
Aristotle a great difficulty, especially for the simple purpose 
of criticizing Plato. Probably he went with Plato at one 
period in his youth, then became dissatisfied with parts of the 
system, with its poetical and enthusiastic character, and with 
its want of analytic distinctness ; then he worked out his own 



HIS CRITICISM OF THE ' IDEA OF GOOD.' 159 

system, which at times bears a close similarity to that of 
Plato ; then, after an interval of perhaps twenty years' 
alienation, he set himself to refute his master's doctrines. 
If we picture to ourselves this course, we shall be able in 
some degree to explain the tone of the arguments used in the 
present place, and elsewhere where Aristotle attacks the 
system of ideas. 

To resume our examination, the fourth argument is one of 
which Aristotle seems fond, that the idea (avrosKaarov] is a 
mere repetition of phenomena, exhibiting the same law as the 
particulars, indistinguishable from them, and therefore per- 
fectly useless. This objection is expressed in the Metaphysics 
(i. ix. i) by saying that 'The Ideas are as if one was unable 
to count a few things, and thought it would be easier to count 
them when they were more.' Nothing could be a greater 
misstatement of Plato's view, for this argument assumes the 
reality, the substantive and absolute existence of the par- 
ticulars, and then speaks of the idea or the universal being 
appended to the end of the row, in order to explain them. 
Whereas Plato would say the particulars disappear out of 
sight, on looking into them I find they have no existence, 
while the universal grows more and more in reality, and 
absorbs all the attention of the mind. Instead of * multi- 
plying phenomena,' Plato would say, *The idea reduces 
phenomena to unity.' Aristotle's account represents the 
universal or absolute existence as if it was gained inductively 
from a set of particulars, and added to the end of them ; 
whereas Plato's account is that the idea is prior to all the 
particulars ; we do not obtain it inductively, we are reminded 
of it, but we saw it before we were born. Another most 
captious objection quite unworthy of the gravity of a philo- 
sopher, Aristotle here adds ; it is that ' Perhaps the idea of 
good may be said to be distinguished from the number of 



160 ESSAY III. 

phenomenal goods by being eternal. But in short this is 
no difference, the good is not any more good for this. Length 
of duration does not constitute a distinction between identical 
qualities. A white thing is not more white if it lasts long 
than if it only lasts for a day.' Perhaps this argument need 
only be stated for its weakness to be seen. Plato would never 
have consented to this confusion between length of duration 
(Tro\v%p6viov) and eternity (ai'Siov). It is true, that in popular 
thinking we picture to ourselves the eternal under the form 
of duration of time, but the philosophical conception of the 
eternal is the necessary (causa sui), the absolute, the uncon- 
ditional, the uncreate and indestructible (Eth. vi. iii. 2), that 
which is out of all relation to time. Aristotle's argument, 
then, consists in setting the popular way of thinking against 
the philosophical. He represents the idea to be a copy taken 
from the particular and made lasting. Whereas Plato meant, 
that without which we cannot know the particular or conceive 
it to exist ; that which is utterly independent of this or that 
particular, though the particulars depend on it ; that which is 
independent of yesterday, or to-day, or a thousand years hence. 
At this point of the discussion Aristotle seems to have 
become conscious to himself (Eth. I. vi. 8) that the Platonists 
may complain of his attempting to disprove the unity of good 
by always setting relative goods in opposition to those that 
are good in themselves. He proposes then to take certain 
specimens of things good in themselves, and to make these 
the test of the theory. The specimens he adduces are 
' thought, sight, and some pleasures and honours ' ; he adds 
that c If these be not esteemed goods in themselves, nothing 
else but the pure Idea will remain to be called a good in itself; 
thus the Idea as a universal or class will lose all its meaning, 
having no individuals ranked under it.' 6 The question then 

6 *H oi55' &\\o ovSfv irXV TTJS Ititas ; Sia-rf pdraiov ftrrat rb 



HIS CRITICISM OP THE 'IDEA OF GOOD.' 161 

is, Do these goods, which are sought for their own sake, 
exhibit the same, or different laws of good ? To answer this 
question would require a very deep and subtle investigation ; 
this Aristotle does not enter upon, but he merely gives a 
summary assertion that ' The laws exhibited by honour, 
thought, and pleasure, viewed as goods, are distinct and 
different from one another.' This appears to be mere dog- 
matism and a trifling with the question. For we might urge 
that honour is not properly speaking a good sought for its 
own sake (cf. Eth. I. v. 5), and that thought, sight, and plea- 
sure, are all of them evtyystai and therefore do according to 
the Aristotelian views exhibit the same law of good. 

Aristotle winds up his polemic by assuming as concluded, 
that there is no realistic unity in the good. 7 He asks, * What 
is the account then of this one word good ? It cannot surely 
have arisen from a mere chance coincidence in language. It 
must be either that all goods proceed from one source or 
tend to one end or rather that they are analogous to one 
another.' He substitutes then arbitrarily, without proof or 
discussion (for he says these belong to metaphysics), a nominal- 
istic theory for the realism of Plato. His view is apparently, 
that men inductively from a set of similar particulars formed 
the universal * good,' and by analogy, where cases were 
analogous, came to extend the same term to dissimilar par- 
ticulars. Plato's view was that by experience of a particular 
there is awakened in the mind the knowledge of a universal, 
which existed there prior to the particular, and is the law of 
the existence of that particular, and that by many different 
particulars we ' are reminded' of this same law or idea, and 
that hence arises sameness of name 8 by reason of a sameness 



7 OVK tffTiv &pa rb a.ja.Q'bi' Koiv6v TI 
KOT& niav t'SeW. 



TOIS eftieffu'. AT. Meta- 



phys. I. vi. 3. 



M 



162 ESSAY III. 

of law under different relative circumstances and modifica- 
tions. Realism makes the universal prior to and more real 
than the particular. Nominalism makes the particulars more 
real than the universal. Aristotle is by no means consistently 
a nominalist, though here he avows a sort of nominalism for 
the time. That he was not prepared with an answer to this 
question as to the nature of good, that he did not lay it down 
as the basis of his Ethics, is one indication amongst many of 
the tentative and uncertain method with which he approached 
the science. 

The real difference between the metaphysical point of 
view of Plato and of Aristotle, and between their respective 
theories of cognition and existence, it would require a most 
subtle discussion to set forth, and one which it is quite out of 
the question at present to attempt. Their moral systems are 
characterized in general by divergent tendencies, which might 
be briefly summed up under the names synthetic and analytic. 
One of the points in regard to which the analytic tendency 
of Aristotle displays itself is his departure from Plato's list of 
the cardinal virtues. In his Politics 9 (i. xiii. 10) he approves 
of the method of Gorgias, in enumerating the virtues in de- 
tail, saying that ' People deceive themselves by general defi- 
nitions, as that virtue consists in a good condition of the soul, 
or again in uprightness of action (opOofrpayslv}, or some such 
thing.' And in the same spirit he says (Eth. n. vii. i) that 
' While general theories are of wider application ' (KO WOT spot, 
see infra, the note on this passage), ' those that go into 
detail have more reality, since action consists in detail,' &c. 
Accordingly he proceeds to give a list of virtues which con- 
tain an exemplification of his principle of MSVOTIJS. This 
list does not appear formed on any scientific basis, it does not 



9 The allusion is to the Meno of Plato, p. 71. 



ARISTOTLE'S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 163 

start afresh with any new psychological classification. It 
seems first to accept, in a way, the list of cardinal virtues, 
placing courage and temperance in the front of its ranks, 
reserving justice as being something peculiar, and dividing 
wisdom into practical and speculative. It then adds to these, 
different qualities, some of them sufficiently external, which 
were held in honour among the Greeks. In this procedure 
there is something which must be called empirical. Aristotle 
has two sides, the one speculative and profoundly penetrating 
and philosophic ; the other side tending to the accumulation 
of details and of experience, regardless of a philosophic point 
of view, content with a shallow system of classification. His 
list, when formed, Aristotle seems to have believed in as 
complete. The same is repeated in the Rhetoric (i. ix. 5) 
with the omission of three here mentioned. 

In Aristotle's theory of justice, as far as we can judge of it, 
there seems to be the same analytical reaction against Plato. 
Aristotle appears to regard with dislike the attempt to reduce 
all acts of justice to the manifestations of one general law, 
harmony, or balance in the mind, so as to make justice, in 
short, not different from virtue viewed as a whole. He wishes 
to separate and distinguish from this justice, which is no other 
than universal right, a distinct quality which shall deal with 
property alone or all that can be estimated as property. The 
way in which this subject is treated in the Eudemian book 
(Eth. v.) is very indistinct. Certain principles seem first laid 
down for the regulation of justice in the state, principles 
in short of Politics, Jurisprudence, and Political Economy. 
Then, by some remarks on the voluntary and by some casuis- 
tical problems, there is an apparent transition to consideration 
of this quality as existent in the mind of the individual. 
We cannot think that we have here Aristotle's theory in its 
entirety, any more than we should have his theory of pleasure 

M 2 



J04 



ESSAY III. 



if we Lad only the Eudemian account in Book VII. to rely 
upon. But the general bearings of the account of justice are 
discernible, and amongst these is a polemic against Plato. 
This is perhaps to be traced in the remark that ' It is only by 
a sort of metaphor you can speak of justice in a man's own 
self between his higher and lower parts.' (Eth. Y. xi. 9.) 

We have seen already the separation made by Aristotle 
between Ethics and Metaphysics. The same of course holds 
good of Theology, this being with Aristotle but another name 
for Metaphysics. Practical theology was not a conception 
that Aristotle could have admitted. His great divergence 
from Plato on this head may be seen in the fact that while 
Plato speaks of ' being made like to Grod, through becoming 
just and holy, with thought and consciousness of the same' 
(loc. cit.y see above, p. 144), Aristotle, on the contrary, speaks 
of moral virtue as being totally unworthy of the (rods (Eth. x. 
viii. 7 ). If we compare Plato and Aristotle as to the tone in 
which they write, it will appear that Aristotle is on the one 
hand more human than Plato : this he shows in his respect for 
the opinions of the multitude. He will not affirm that the 
dead have no connexion with this life, because it would be 
'a hard doctrine and going against opinions too much' (\tav 
a(f)i\ov KOL rals Soats svavriov. Eth. I. xi. I ). He is totally 
opposed to anything unnatural in life or institutions. And 
he recognizes, with a sort of enthusiasm, the worth of moral 
virtue, 10 without the incessant demand which Plato made, 
that this should be accompanied by philosophy. On the other 
hand, Aristotle is less delicate and reverent than Plato in his 
mode of speaking of human happiness, especially as attained 
by the philosopher. In Plato there seems often, if not always, 
present, a sense of the weakness of the individual as contrasted 



10 Cf. Eth. I. x. 12. AiaXcfyiTrei -rb 
Ka\6v, said of the good man in mis- 
fortune. Cf. also the account of the 



dying for a noble cause. m. 



x. 4. 



THE STYLE OF ARISTOTLE. 165 

with the eternal and the divine. If Plato requires philosophy 
to make morality, he also always infuses morality into philo- 
sophy ; the philosopher in his pictures does not triumph over 
the world, but rather is glad to seize on 'some tradition' 
* like a stray plank,' to prevent his being lost ; he feels that 
Ms philosophy on earth is but ' knowing in part.' Aristotle, 
on the contrary, rather represents the strength than the 
weakness of human nature. And in his picture of the happi- 
ness of philosophy we cannot but feel that there is over much 
elation, and something that requires toning down. In the 
manner of the writing it is obvious that we miss the art, the 
grace, the rich and delicate imagination of Plato. Above all, 
we miss the subtle humour which plays round all the moral 
phenomena. Aristotle does not show any trace of archness. 
There are sayings in the Ethics which might cause a smile, . 
but they are apparently given unconsciously, in illustration 
of the point in question. In Eth. x. v. 8, to show that the 
different creatures have each their different proper pleasures, 
Aristotle quotes from Heraclitus the saying that ' An ass 
likes hay better than gold,' without any sense of anything 
ludicrous in the illustration. The same thing occurs in one 
of the Eudemian books (vn. vi. 2), where it is mentioned to 
illustrate the hereditariness of hot temper, that ( A father 
being kicked out by his son, begged him to stop at the door, 
for he said he had kicked his father as far as that.' This is 
mentioned with perfect gravity among a list of arguments. 
Aristotle's rich and manifold knowledge of human nature 
exhibits itself in his Ethics. It might be doubted whether 
Plato would have written the masterly analytic account of 
the various virtues in Books III. and IV. These are not 
living dramatic portraits such as Plato would have made, 
there is nothing personal or dramatic about them ; but they 
are a wonderful catalogue and analysis of very subtle charac- 
teristics. 



166 



ESSAY III. 



Before quitting Plato, it may be well to mention two refe- 
rences made to him in the Ethics of Aristotle, each for different 
reasons worth notice. The first occurs Eth. I. iv. 5. ' Plato 
rightly used to doubt and question whether the course were 
from principles or to principles, as in the stadium whether 
from the judges to the goal, or reversely.' There is no 
passage in the extant dialogues of Plato corresponding to 
this reference. Hence it has been believed that the oral 
philosophy of Plato is here referred to, and this the use of the 
imperfect tense would seem to favour. But the metaphor 
here given is something definite, and probably belonged to 
Plato himself. This leads then to the conclusion, that Plato 
in speaking was accustomed to use the same imaginative 
illustrations as in his writings. The other reference occurs 
Eth. ii. iii. 2. ' One ought to be well trained from youth up, 
as Plato says, to feel pleasure and pain at the right objects.' 
The passage alluded to is in the Laws, p. 653 A. 11 It contains 
a doctrine quite in accordance with Aristotle's own, but, at 
the same time, at variance with the view maintained in other 
dialogues of Plato. It gives a dogmatic theory of the incul- 
cation of virtue, of the relation of nature to instruction, and 
of true education consisting in the learning to feel pleasure 
and pain aright. This then is a departure from the tentative 
uncertain attitude of the Meno. It is in harmony with the 
popular point of view, and much in the tone which Aristotle 
might himself have adopted. The peculiarity is that the 
genuineness of the dialogue called the Laws has been gravely 



11 Ae'-yto rolvvv ruv iraiStav ireuSiKV 
tlvat irpitnriv a1ff0i)ffiv r)tiov)iv xal \\rm\v, 
Kal iv oTs aptTT} tyvxfi to! ta/cfo irapa- 
yiyvfTat irpurrov, TOUT' flvai. ircuSeiav 
STJ \tyca ryv irapayiyvofjievriv irpwrov 
jraicrlv apfTTiv, riSov^i 5e Kal <pi\ia Kal 
\inrr) Kal fjiiffos kv op6ias iv tyvxais y- 



\6yov ffv 



vjiffwffi -r!f \&y<f, opQtas (IdlffOai inrb itav 
TrpoffTiK6vr<av tOuv avrris ff fj av/4<pa>vla 
tv/j.iraffa fj.ev ap(Tft,rb 8e irtpl ras ^8oj/is 
Kal \VTras TfOpa.fifj.evov avrris opBias, 
&trrt fj.tat'iv ply a XP*I tufffiv fvBvs t 
apxys futxP 1 r(\ovs, ffrtpy tiv 5 a XP b 
ffTfpyeiv, TOUT' ainb airoTffj,eav rif \6ytp 
Kal ircuSfiav irpoffayoptvuv Kara yt rty 



THE LAWS OF PLATO. 167 

called in question. The reasons for doubting it are (i) The 
a priori improbability of Plato's taking the trouble to com- 
pose so long a work, which is to a great degree a repetition 
of the Republic. (2) The inferiority of style. (3) The 
abandonment of all that is essential in Plato's point of view. 
Polytheistic theology and Pythagorean notions are substi- 
tuted for Plato's doctrine of Ideas. And, as in the place 
alluded to, a merely practical view of morals seems to be 
taken. We may ask, does all this denote a change in Plato's 
mind, or is his name forged, and have his views been garbled 
by his school ? 

Perhaps the strongest argument for considering the dialogue 
to be genuine is that it is quoted by Aristotle as Plato's; 
and not only quoted, but also criticized at length in the 
Politics (n. vi.), and compared with the Republic. Against 
this may be set the fact that Aristotle also quotes the 
Menexenus, which is of still more doubtful genuineness. 
Also, literary criticism was no part of his metier. Also, he 
was absent from Athens during thirteen years after the death 
of Plato. In the interval the Laws must have appeared, for 
even the testimony of antiquity makes it posthumous. On 
the whole, perhaps, the balance of probabilities may lead us 
to consider that the Laws stands nearly in the same relation 
to Plato's Republic, as the JEudemian Ethics to Aristotle's 
moral system ; that is, that it contains much which is actually 
Plato's, the whole unskilfully filled up and put together, and 
the point of view being slightly altered. Partly, then, it may 
be said to represent a certain degree of change in Plato's 
mind at the last, and partly also certain tendencies in the 
Academic school, who seem to have taken a practical direc- 
tion, and also more and more to have given themselves up to 
Pythagorean forms of thought. 

The chief of these Platonists was Speusippus, nephew to 
Plato himself, and successor to him in the leadership of the 



168 ESSAY III. 

Academy. One of the Pythagoreizing opinions of Speusippus 
is alluded to by Aristotle, Eth. i. vi. 7. The Pythagorean 
theory on the subject seems more plausible, which places 
unity in the rank of the goods ; to which theory Speusippus 
too seems to have given in his adhesion.' The question 
adverted to is the identity of 'the One' with 'the Good.' 
The Pythagoreans appear to have placed ' the One ' among 
the various exhibitions of good, whether as causes or mani- 
festations. Among the Platonists, as we are told (Metaphys. 
xin. iv. 68), there arose a difference, a section of them identi- 
fying ' the One ' with ' the Good,' the others not considering 
unity identical with, but an essential element of goodness. 
They saw that if ' the One ' be identified with ' the Good,' it 
must follow that multeity, or, in other words, matter, must be 
the principle of evil. To avoid making 'the many' identical 
with evil, they found themselves forced to abandon the iden- 
tification of 'the One' with 'the Good.' Of this section 
Speusippus was leader. He seems to have adopted a Pytha- 
gorean formula, saying, that ' the One must be ranked among 
goods.' Aristotle gives a sort of provisional preference to 
this theory over the system of Plato. Elsewhere, however 
(Metaphys. xi. vii. 10), he attacks and refutes the view of 
' the Pythagoreans and Speusippus,' that ' Good is rather a 
result of existence than the cause of it, as the flower is the 
result of the plant.' 

In morals, Speusippus seems to have continued the argu- 
ments begun by Plato, against the Hedonistic theory of 
Aristippus. In the list of his works given by Diogenes, 12 the 
following are mentioned jrepl ^Bovfjs a. 'Kptaninros d. His 
polemic appears to have been one-sided, and his views 
extreme. One of his arguments on the subject of pleasure 
is alluded to by Aristotle, Eth. x. ii. 5, and expressly men- 

12 Also he seems to have written on Justice, The Citizen, Legislation, and 
Philosophy. 



THE PLATONISTS. 169 

tioned with his name by Eudemus, vn. xiii. i. It seems 
very probable that other arguments against pleasure, which 
are refuted by Aristotle and Eudemus, may have occurred in 
the treatise on Pleasure written by Speusippus. Another 
Platonist, with exactly opposite views on pleasure, was 
Eudoxus. Of him hardly anything is known. He appears 
to have been an astronomer, and his personal character is 
highly praised by Aristotle, Eth. x. ii. i. 

Out of the school of Plato, Aristotle appears to have had a 
close personal friend, namely, Xenocrates, who accompanied 
him to Atarneus, on the death of Plato. He was a voluminous 
writer, and seems to have endeavoured to carry out the system 
of Plato on particular points, and to give it a more practical 
direction. Besides many treatises on dialectic, the Ideas, 
science, genera and species, divisions, thought, nature, the 
gods, &c., Diogenes also attributes to him two books on 
Happiness, two on Virtue, one on the State, one on the Power 
of the Law, &c. The ancients ascribed to him a high moral 
tone of thought, saying that he considered virtue as alone 
valuable in itself. He seems, however, to have allowed the 
existence of a Swapis inrrjpsTiKij in external fortune, which is, 
perhaps, alluded to by Aristotle. 13 His disciples, Polemo and 
Grantor, appear to have had almost exclusively an ethical 
direction. We must regret the loss of the writings of these 
early Academics, for we should, no doubt, find common to 
them much that is to be found in the system of Aristotle. A 
great work is always the creature of its times, and it is only 
by knowing those times that we can know it fully or judge it 
aright. And yet, on the whole, none of the Platonists appears 
individually to have been of sufficient importance to have 
greatly influenced Aristotle either in the way of communica- 
tion or of antagonism. 



13 "Ertpoi 8t Kal r^v tirrbs fueTTjpicw trvfjnra.pa,\afj.ftdi'ov<ni'. Etk. I. viii. 6. 



ESSAY IV. 



On the Philosophical Forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. 



shade of Plato, we have observed, might have admired 
in the Ethics of Aristotle the advance of philosophy. 
This advance was twofold : on the one hand material, con- 
sisting in a rapid accumulation of experience and the carrying 
out of analysis in all directions ; on the other hand it was 
formal, consisting in a new and more definite terminology, 
and the forms, categories, or leading ideas, upon which science 
was now made to depend. No account of the Ethics would 
be complete without some examination of what is most 
exclusively Aristotelian, not only in the material ideas which 
are interwoven with the subject, namely, those views of 
nature, the Deity, and the human soul, which to some extent 
pervade it ; but also in the forms of thought on which the 
system is constructed, and which might be said to constitute 
the warp of the entire texture. Let us, then, first consider 
the formal element of this philosophy, leaving for a future 
Essay some notice of the physical and theological views of 
Aristotle, in so far as they influence his moral theories. The 
forms of thought which Aristotle worked out for himself are 
the most remarkable feature of his system ; he applied them 
to all subjects, and to a great extent has left them stamped 
on language ever since. Besides the host of logical formulae, 
which before Aristotle had no definite existence, the most 
universal of his leading ideas may be said to have been the 
doctrine of the four causes, and the opposition of Svva/jus and 
ivspysia. These forms we find repeatedly occurring in the 



ARISTOTLE S FORMS OF THOUGHT. 171 

pages of the ethical treatise, and the more deeply we study it, 
the more we become aware that these are not mere modes of 
expression, but that in truth they constitute most important 
points of view in the analysis of human life and action. 
Another peculiarity has to be noticed, and that is, that these 
metaphysical ideas are re-acted on and changed by being 
brought into Ethics. TsXos and ivspysia are no longer mere 
abstractions, but are full of moral meaning. Unless we 
understand the philosophical bearing and the purport of these 
conceptions, not only will many a sentence of Aristotle remain 
for us written in an absolutely unknown language, but also it 
will be hopeless and out of the question to think of compre- 
hending his moral system as a whole. To the above- 
mentioned, we may add some consideration of the doctrine of 
MsaoT^y, as containing in itself an application to ethical sub- 
jects of a more general philosophical formula, and if we 
subjoin to these some account of the ' Practical Syllogism,' 
as it appears in Books VI. and VII., we shall be able to see 
how what was begun by Aristotle in these matters was carried 
out further by the Peripatetic school. 

I. Aristotle's doctrine of the four causes arose probably 
from a combination and modification of conceptions which 
occur separately in Plato, namely, the contrast of matter and 
form, of means and end, of production and existence. Every 
individual object might be said to be the meeting-point of 
these oppositions ; it is what it is by reason of the matter out 
of which it has sprung, the motive cause which gave it birth, 
the idea or form which it realizes, the end or object which it 
was intended to attain. Thus knowledge of anything implies 
knowing it from these four points of view, or knowing its 
four causes. The End or final cause, however, as is natural, 
rises to an eminence beyond the other conceptions, and 
though it must always stand opposed to matter, it tends to 



172 



ESSAY IV. 



merge the other two causes into itself. The end of anything, 
that for sake of which anything exists, can hardly be separated 
from the perfection of that thing, from its idea and form ; 
thus the formal cause or definition becomes absorbed into the 
final cause (oplQrat, jap etcaa-rov TO> WXet, Eth. ill. vii. 6). 

In the same way the End mixes itself up with the efficient 
cause, the desire for the end gives the first impulse of motion, 
the final cause of anything becomes identical with the good 
of that thing, so that the end and the good become synonym- 
ous terms. And this is not only the case with regard to in- 
dividual objects, but all nature and the whole world exist for 
the sake of, and in dependence on, their final cause, which is 
the good. This, existing as an object of contemplation and 
desire, though itself immovable, moves all things. 1 And so 
the world is rendered finite, for all nature desiring the good 
and tending towards an end is harmonized and united. 

In this way is the unity of nature conceived by Aristotle, 
it is a unity of idea. The idea of the Good as final cause 
pervades the world, and the world is suspended from it. In 
the same form this ethical philosophy presents itself. Human 
life and action are rendered finite by being directed to their 
end or final cause, the good attainable in action. The ques- 
tion of the Ethics is, Tt sen TO ruv irpaKrwv T^\OS ; And we 
might say, altering the words quoted from the Metaphysics 
From this principle, from the End of action, the whole of 
human life is suspended. 

An end or final cause implies intelligence, implies a mind 
to see and desire it. The appearance of ends and means in 
nature is a proof of design in the operations of nature, and 
this Aristotle distinctly recognizes (Nat. Ausc. n. viii.). When 



vot\Tbv 



uTijs &pa apxys tfpvrjTai 6 ovpai/bs Kal 
<f>vffis. Metaph. xi. vii. 2-6. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IX-ITSELF. 173 

we come to Ethics, What is meant by an End of human action? 
For whom is this an end ? Is it an end fixed by a higher in- 
telligence ? In short, is the principle of Aristotle the same 
as the religious principle, that man is born to work out the 
purposes of his Maker ? To this it must be answered, that 
Aristotle is indefinite in his physical theory as to the relation 
of God to the design exhibited in creation. And so, too, he 
is not explicit, in the Ethics, as to God's moral government 
of the world. On the whole, we may say at present that 
4 moral government,' in our sense of the words, does not at 
all form part of Aristotle's system. His point of view rather 
is, that as physical things strive all, though unconsciously, 
after the good attainable by them under their several limita- 
tions, so man may consciously strive after the good attainable 
in life. We do not find in the Ethics the expression TS\OS 
TOV av6pa>iTOV, but TWV Trpaicrwv TS\OS (i. vii. 8), TWV avQpw- 
TTIVCDV TS\OS (x. vi. i), TO dvOpcoTTivov ar/aOov (i. xiii. 5). It is 
best, therefore, to exclude religious associations (as being un- 
Aristotelian) from our conception of the ethical rsXos, and 
then we may be free to acknowledge that it is evidently 
meant to have a definite relation to the nature and constitu- 
tion of man. Thus Aristotle assumes that the desires of man 
are so framed as to imply the existence of this TS\OS (Eth. i. 
ii. i). And he asserts that man can only realize it in the 
sphere of his own proper functions (sv TOO />7&> TOV avdpairov, 
i. vii. 10), and in accordance with the law of his proper 
nature and its harmonious development (teara rrjv ol/csiav 
dpSTijv, I. vii. 15). 

Is man, then, according to this system, to be regarded 
similarly to one of the flowers of the field, which obeying the 
law of its organization springs and blooms and attains its own 
peculiar perfection? This is no doubt one side, so to speak, 
of Aristotle's view. But there is also another side. For, 



174 ESSAY IV. 

while each part of the creation realizes its proper end, and, 
in the language of the Bible, * is very good,' this end exists 
not for the inanimate or unconscious creatures themselves, it 
only exists in them. But the ethical W\os not only exists 
n man, but also for man; not only is the good realized in 
him, but it is recognized by him as such ; it is the end not 
only of his nature, but also of his desires ; it stands before 
his thoughts and wishes and highest consciousness as the ab- 
solute, that in which he can rest, that which is in and for 
itself desirable (aTrXoiy 8^ TS\SIOV TO /ra#' avrb alpsrbv asl, I. 
vii. 4). The ends of physical things are for other minds to 
contemplate, they are ends objectively. But ends of moral 
beings are ends subjectively, realized by and contemplated 
by those moral beings themselves. The final cause, then, in 
Ethics, is viewed, so to speak, from the inside. Or rather the 
peculiarity is, that the objective and subjective sides of the 
conception both have their weight in Aristotle's system, and 
are run into one another. The re\o$ rwv Trpaxrwv^ or abso- 
lute end of action, has two forms, which are not clearly sepa- 
rated ; in the first place it is represented subjectively as 
happiness, and in the second place objectively as the right. 

It has been said that the ancient Ethical systems were 
theories of the chief good, rather than theories of duty. 
And Kant brings against Aristotle the charge that his sys- 
tem is one of mere eudaemonism. We shall have an oppor- 
tunity in a future Essay of touching upon the relations of 
this conception * duty ' to the ancient systems. At present 
it will suffice to show that there is some unfairness in the 
charge brought by Kant, and that it ignores the true charac- 
teristics of Aristotle's Ethical doctrine. It is unfair to charge 
Aristotle with mere * eudsemonism ' simply on account of his 
making a definition of 'happiness' the leading principle of 
his Ethics. This word ' happiness ' is only a popular way of 



THE DOCTRINE OP THE END-IN-ITSELF. 



175 



statement ; Aristotle tells us that it is the popular word for 
the chief good (Eth. I. iv. 2). Again, during his whole dis- 
cussion on the virtues, and on moral actions, there is no men- 
tion of happiness as connected with these, as if good acts were 
to be done for the sake of happiness. There is only one place, 
and that is in the discussion on happiness itself, where he 
speaks of it as ' The end and prize of virtue.' 2 Elsewhere he 
speaks of ' the beautiful ' as being the end of virtue. 3 But 
again the * happiness ' which Aristotle defines as the chief good 
does not seem immediately, but only inferentially, to imply 
pleasure. Pleasure (as we shall see hereafter) is rather 
argued and proved to belong to happiness by a sort of after- 
thought, and is not with Aristotle a primary part of the con- 
ception. Happiness with Aristotle is something different 
from what we mean by it ; so from this point of view, above 
all, the charge of eudsemonism falls to the ground. 

Aristotle's question is, What is the chief good for man ? 
But this he resolves into another form, What is the r^Xsiov 
TeXos? What in human life and action is the End-in-itself? 
How deep is the moral significance of this conception the 
absolute end ! Can anything small or frivolous, or anything 
like mere pleasure and enjoyment come up to its require- 
ments, and appear in the deepest depths of the human con- 
sciousness to be something beyond which we cannot go the 
absolute satisfaction of our nature ? Essentially and neces- 
sarily, that only can be called a re\os which has in itself a 
moral worth and goodness. This also Aristotle says * has a 
sweetness and pleasure of its own, but one quite different 
from that which springs from any other sources. Men rarely 
attain to it ; but desiring the satisfaction it affords, they seize 
in its place the pleasure derived from amusements, on account 



2 Tb TTJS aperrjs &0\ov Kal re\os. 
Eth. I. ix. 3. 



8 ToG Ka\ov e'fEKa, TOVTO y&p 
rr}s operas. Eth. in vii. a. 



176 



ESSAY IV. 



of this latter having some sort of resemblance to the satisfac- 
tion which the mind feels in moral acts which are of the 
nature of an end.' 4 

The deep moral pleasure which attaches to noble acts, 
Aristotle describes as triumphing even over the physical pain 
and outward horrors which may attend the exercise of courage. 5 
And he acknowledges that in many cases this may be the 
only pleasure attending upon virtuous actions. 6 

We see in these passages how the objective and subjective 
import of the TS\OS are blended together. The end and the 
consciousness of the end are not separated. In the pleasure 
which Aristotle speaks of as attaching to the moral r^Xos we 
see something that answers to what we should call * the 
approval of conscience.' Only to say that Aristotle meant 
this, would be to mix up things modern and ancient. It is 
better to keep before us as clearly as possible his point of 
view, which is, that a good action is an End-in-itself, as being 
the perfection 7 of our nature, and that for the sake of which 
(ov SVSKO) our moral faculties before existed, hence bringing 
a pleasure and inward satisfaction with it ; something in 
which the mind can rest pleased and acquiescent ; something 



4 Politics vni. v. 12. 'Ev 
reAei ffvfjL$a.ivfi TOIS ca>6pwwois o 
yiyvfvBcu. . . . 2ujit|8e'j8TjKe 84 
r&s iraiSias T^Aos ?x 61 jfy " iffus rjS 
TWO. KOI rb TtAos, aAA' ov r^v rvxov 



-rainrjv txtivrit', 5id rb "rep T^Aei Ttav 
irpd^fiov fx flv tpoiaiiJ.d TI. Cf. Eth. x. 
vi. 3. 

4 Eth. in. ix. 2. Ou /*V aXAd 5<$|etej/ 
&i> flvcu rA KCITCI T$IV avSptlav T\OS ^5u. 

6 Eth. in. ix. 5. Oil 5)) iv awda-ais 
rats aperdis rb r/5cos tvepyt'tv i 

TT\TIV &/>' Zaov rov TtXous 

7 In another passage (Eth. m. vii. 
6), Aristotle seems to use the term 



in a more purely objective sense 
to denote perfection. He says, ' The 
T^AOS of every individual moral act is 
the same with that of the formed 
moral character' (r^Aos 8^ irdo-ns fvep- 
yfias tffrl T& Kara T^V fiv). The 
whole passage is a difficult one ; it 
seems to come to this An individual 
act can only be said to have attained 
perfection when it exhibits the same 
qualities as the formed moral charac- 
ter e. g., a brave act is only perfectly 
brave when it is done as a brave man 
would do it, consciously for its own 
sake, or for the sake of the noble 
i'e/ca), &c. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 



177 



which possesses the qualities of being Ka\6v, wpia-fjisvov^ and 
svefjysia T\sia. 

We observe how in the separate parts of life, in the deve- 
lopment of each of the various faculties, Aristotle considers 
an end to be attainable ; how he attaches a supreme value to 
particular acts, and idealizes the importance of the passing 
moment ; hew he attributes to each moment a capability of 
being converted out of a mere means, and mere link in the 
chain of life, to be an End-in-itself, something in which life is, 
as it were, summed up. But if in action, and in an exercise 
of the moral faculties, an end is attainable, this is, according 
to the system of Aristotle, only faintly and imperfectly an 
end, compared with what is attainable in contemplation by 
the exercise of the philosophic thought. 

In both senses of the word reXoy, both as perfection and as 
happiness, Aristotle seems to have placed virtue below philo- 
sophy. Philosophy is in the first place the highest human 
excellence ; it is the development of the highest faculty. 8 In 
the second place, it contains the most absolute satisfaction, it 
is most entirely desirable for its own sake, and not as a means 
to anything else. 9 Whereas the practical virtues are all in 
a sense means to this. Courage is for war, which is for the 
sake of the fruition of peace ; and in what does this consist ? 
If the practical side of our nature be summed up in the one 
faculty wisdom ($>pbvr)(ns), this may be regarded after all as 
subordinate and instrumental to philosophy aofyia), the per- 
fection of the speculative side. 10 So too in Politics, the end, 
or in other words the - highest perfection and the highest 
happiness, being identical for the state and the individual, in 



8 Eth. X. vii. I. El 8' eff-rlv ^ euSai- 
/j.ovia KO.T' aperrjc fisepyfia, ftf\oyov 
Kara rr^v npariffrriv aim} 8' Uv f1r\ TOV 
api<nov, lo.T.A.. 



9 Eth. x. vii. 5. A<5|cu T" &j> 
ju.rfi/7} Si" avr^v ayairaffOai. 

10 Eth. VI. xiii. 8. 'E/cej'rrjs ovv 
eirjTaTTej, aAA* OVK e/cetcj?. 



178 



ESSAY IV. 



what is this constituted ? Not in the busy and restless action 
of war or diplomacy, not in means and measures to some 
ulterior result, but in those thoughts and contemplations 
which find their end and satisfaction in themselves. Philo- 
sophy, therefore, and speculation are, according to Aristotle, 
the end not only of the individual, but also of the state. 11 
' If it be true to say, that happiness consists in doing well, 
a life of action must be best both for the state, and for the 
individual. But we need not, as some do, suppose that a 
life of action implies relation to others, or that those only are 
active thoughts which are concerned with the results of action ; 
but far rather we must consider those speculations and thoughts 
to be so which have their end in themselves, and which are 
for their own sake.' 

A moment of contemplative thought (0scopr)riKr) evepyeia) is 
most perfectly and absolutely an end. It is sought for no 
result but for itself. It is a state of peace, which is the crown 
of all exertion (do-^oXov/ie^a Iva <rjo\aiu/Ai>). It is the 
realization of the divine in man, and constitutes the most 
absolute and all-sufficient happiness, 12 being, "as far as pos- 
sible in human things, independent of external circum- 
stances. 13 

This then constitutes the most adequate answer to the 
great question of Ethics, What is the chief good ? or Tt ea-n 
TO TWV TrpaKTtav r^Xos ; as far as a separate and individual 
moment of life is concerned. But a difficulty suggests itself 

Teiv, aAAa iroAu /j.a\\ov rats avTor\eiS 
Kal ras ainuv 'ivtKtv fcwpfas Kal Sia- 



11 Pol. vn. iii. 7. 'AA\' ravra 
\4ytrai KoAois Koi T^V fvScufj.ovlai' 
fvirpaylav 6tr4ov, Kal KOivfj Trjurrjs 
ir6\fa>s Uv rirj Kal naff eKacrrov Hpiffros 
/3ioj <5 irpo/CTiKds. 'AAAa r6v irpaKTtKbv 
OVK avayKaiov flvai irpos trepovs, Ka.8d- 
irip otovrai Ttvts, oi)8 rds Siavoias eTi/ai 
/uovar ravroy irpaKTiicis rds r<av oiro- 



&aiv&VT<av x^P l 



v irpdr- 



'* Eth. x. viii. 7. 'H Tt\ela evSai- 
fMvla. OecapririK-fi ris lativ ivtfiyfia,. 

13 Eth. x. vii. 4. "H T \(yo/jievrj 
aiirdpKeia vtpl -r^v 
av (Uri. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 179 

with regard to life viewed as a whole. v Philosophic thought,' 
says Aristotle, f will be absolutely perfect happiness if extended 
over a whole life. For in happiness there must be no short- 
coming.' u But, as we shall see more clearly with regard to 
evspysia, it cannot actually be so extended. What then is 
the result ? If Aristotle accepts the absolute satisfaction and 
worth of a moment as the end of life, his principle becomes 
identical with the /j,ovd%povos rjSovrf of the Cyrenaics (see 
above, p. 132). If, again, he requires an absolute rs\os of 
permanent duration, his theory of human good becomes a 
mere ideal. Here then is a dilemma between the horns of 
which Aristotle endeavours to steer, on the one hand acknow- 
ledging (Eth. i. vii. 1 6), that ( A single swallow will not make 
a summer' ; on the other hand urging objections against the 
saying of Solon (Eth. I. x.), that 'No man can be called 
happy as long as he lives.' He says the chief good must be 
ev film T\ei6), not a perfect life, but in a perfect life indi- 
cating by this expression that the absolute good, as it exists 
in and for the consciousness, is independent of time and dura- 
tion ; but still, as we belong to a world of time and space, that 
this inner supreme good must have its setting in an adequate 
complete sphere of external circumstances. About this word 
T\eiq> there is an ambiguity of which probably Aristotle, 
himself, was half conscious ; its associations of meaning are 
twofold, the one popular, conveying the notion of the ' com- 
plete,' the 'perfect,' the other philosophic, implying that which 
is in itself desirable, that in which the mind finds satisfaction, 
the absolute. Taking a signification between the two, we 
may conceive Aristotle to have meant, that the chief good 
must be an absolute mode of the consciousness, and that this 



14 'H Tf\fla 8^ etiSai/xovia aurrj tu> \tiov ovStv yap are\fS t<rn ru>v -rns 



v, Xa/3oCaa fj.r,Kos jBiou Tt- 



ias, Eth. x. vii. 7. 



N 2 



180 ESSAY IV. 

must be attained in a sphere of outward circumstances them- 
selves partaking of the nature of absolute perfection. Aris- 
totle's conception, then, of the chief good has two sides, the 
one internal, ideal, out of all relation to time, which speaks of 
the happiness as the absolute good, that end which is the sum 
of all means, that which could not possibly be improved by 
any addition (Eth. i. vii. 8); the other side, which is external 
and practical, goes quite against the Cyrenaic principle of 
regarding the present as all in all, and also against the Cynic 
view which would set the mind above external circumstances 
(Eth. i. v. 6) ; this part of the theory considers happiness as 
compounded of various more or less essential elements, and 
shows how far the more essential parts (TO. fcvpia TTJS evSai- 
fioviai) can outbalance the less essential. It requires per- 
manence of duration, but it looks for this in the stability of 
the formed mental state, which is always tending to reproduce 
moments of absolute worth. 

The End-in-itself renders life a rounded whole, like a work 
of art, or a product of nature. The knowledge of it is to give 
definite ness to the aims, ' So that we shall be now like archers 
knowing what to shoot at' (Eth. I. ii. 2). In the realization 
of it, we are to feel that there need be no more reaching 
onwards towards infinity, for all the desires and powers will 
have found their satisfaction (Eth. i. ii. i). Closely connected 
then is this system with the view that what is finite is good. 
' Life,' says Aristotle, ' is a good to the good man, because 
it is finite' (Eth. ix. ix. 7). At first sight these sayings 
suggest the idea of a cramped and limited theory of life, as 
if all were made round and artistic, and no room were left for 
the aspirations of the soul. It must be remembered, how- 
ever, that that which is here spoken of as making life finite, 
is itself the absolute, that, above and beyond the outside of 
which the mind can conceive nothing. And this absolute 



THE DOCTB3NE OF ENE1TEIA. 181 

end is yet further represented as the deepest moments either 
of the moral consciousness, or of that philosophic reason 
which is an approach to the nature of the divine being. It 
must be remembered .also that 'the finite' (TO a)pta-/j,svov) 
does not mean ' the restricted/ as if expressing that in which 
limits have been put upon the possibilities of good, but rather 
the good itself. Good and even existence cannot be con- 
ceived except under a law, and the finite is with Aristotle an 
essentially positive idea. Only so much negation enters into 
it as is necessary to constitute definiteness and form in con- 
tradistinction to the chaotic. Truly we cannot in our concep- 
tions pass out of the human mind ; that which is absolute 
and an end for the mind cannot be a mere limited and re- 
stricted conception ; but rather nothing can be conceived 
beyond it. Something might be said on the relation of the 
Ethical rs\os to the idea of a future life, but this can be 
better said hereafter. 

II. ' Actuality ' is perhaps the nearest philosophical repre- 
sentative of the evepysia of Aristotle. It is derived from it 
through the Latin of the Schoolmen, ' actus ' being their trans- 
lation of svspysia, out of which the longer and more abstract 
form has grown. The word ' energy,' which comes more 
directly from evspyeia, has ceased to convey the philosophical 
meaning of its original, being restricted to the notion of force 
and vigour. The employment of the term * energy,' as a 
translation of svspysia, has been a material hindrance to the 
proper understanding of Aristotle. This is especially the case 
with regard to the Ethics, where there is an appearance of 
plausibility, though an utterly fallacious one, in such a trans- 
lation. To substitute ' actuality ' v in the place of ' energy ' 
would certainly have this advantage, that it would point to 
the metaphysical conception lying at the root of all the 
various applications of svspysia. But ' actuality ' is a word 



182 ESSAY IV. 

with far too little flexibility to be adapted for expressing all 
these various applications. No conception equally plastic 
with tvepysia, and at all answering to it, can be found in 
modern thought. And therefore there is no term which will 
uniformly translate it. Our only course can be, first to en- 
deavpur to understand its philosophical meaning as part of 
Aristotle's system, and secondly to notice its special applica- 
tions in a book like the Ethics. Any rendering of its import 
in the various places where it occurs must be rather of the 
nature of paraphrase than of translation. 

'Ev^yyeta is not more accurately defined by Aristotle, than 
as the correlative and opposite of SvvajAis. He implies, that 
we must rather feel its meaning than seek to define it. 
* Actuality ' may be in various ways opposed to * potentiality,' 
and the import of the conception depends entirely on their 
relation to each other. 16 'Now fafyyeia is the existence of a 
thing not in the sense of its potentially existing. The term 
' potentially ' we use, for instance, of the statue in the block, 
and of the half in the whole, (since it might be subtracted,) 
and of a person knowing a thing, even when he is not think- 
ing of it, but might do so ; whereas evspyeta is the opposite. 
By applying the various instances our meaning will be plain, 
and one must not seek a definition in each case, but rather 



15 Metaphys. vm. vi. 2. "Eo-Tt 8" ij \ Kal TO bpSiv vpbs TO /nvov /uir, o\f/iv 

tvepyfia Tb vwdpxtn' TO irpayfM, /*)] oS- <X OI/ ) Ka ^ T0 airoKtKpi.ft.tvov fa TIJS 

TOJS Siffirep \tyofitv Swdfj.fi. AeyofjLtv vpos T^IV v\tiv, KOI TO avtipyaafitvov 

Se Swd/jifi, olov, $v T$ ^v\<f ''E.pfj.ijv Kal irpbs TO avtpyatrTov. Tatrris 8i TTJS 

Trj o\y T^IV T]fj.iffftav, 8ri atpaipfQfir) ! Sicupopas QaTtpov /j.6ptov ftrrw ^ tvipytm 



kv, Kal tirtffrfifiova, Kal rbv fi.$i Otwpovvra, 
tav Svvarbs if OewpTJirai rb 84 tvtpyeiq, 
orj\ov 8* ^irl TUV itaff tKOfra rij lirayioyfj, 
t> fiov\t l >/jLf6a. \iytiv, Kal ov Sfiiravri>s Spov 



!/, aAAa (col ri avd\oyov 
ws T& otKoSo/jiovv irpis t 



ic6v, 



cupcapur/j.evr). OaTfpcp 8^ TO SwaroV. 
AtyeTat Se Ivtpytia ou irdvra ?i/j.o'tu>s, 
d\\' t) TO &vd\oyov, &s TOVTO iv To6rq> 
1) trpos TOVTO, TO 8' Iv TipSe $ vpbs 



T6S* T& fjL^f yap &s Klvtjais irpbs Swa- 
fuv, Ta 8" aiy ovarla. vp6t Tiva $\t)v. 



THE DOCTK1NE OF EJS T E1TEIA. 



183 



grasp the conception of the analogy as a whole, that it is 
as that which builds to that which has the capacity for build- 
ing; as the waking to the sleeping; as that which sees to 
that which has sight, but whose eyes, are closed ; as the 
definite form to the shapeless matter ; as the complete to the 
unaccomplished. In this contrast, let the evepysia be set off 
as forming the one side, and on the other let the potential 
stand. Things are said to be svsp^sia not always in like 
manner, (except so far as there is an analogy, that as this 
thing is in this, or related to this, so is that in that, or related 
to that,) for sometimes it implies motion as opposed to the 
capacity for motion, and sometimes complete existence op- 
posed to undeveloped matter.' 

The word evspysia does not occur in Plato, though the 
opposition of the * virtual ' and the * actual ' may be found 
implicitly contained in 1G some parts of his writings. Perhaps 
there is no genuine passage 17 now extant of any writer pre- 
vious to Aristotle in which it occurs. It is the substantive 
form of the adjective svspyrjs which is to be found in Aristotle's 
Topics, i. xii. i. But Aristotle, by a false etymology, seems to 
connect it immediately with the words 18 h ep<y<p. To all ap- 
pearance the idea of its opposition to Swapis was first suggested 
by the Megarians, who asserted that ( Nothing could be said to 
have a capacity for doing any thing, unless it was in the act 
of doing that thing.' 19 This assertion itself was part of the 



16 Cf. Theaitetus, p. 1 57 A. Of/re yap 
noiovv fort n, irplv 'av rip -K^ayjivri 
we\0ri, afire Tra.ffx.ovt irplv &>> rep iroi- 

OVVrl, K.r.K. 

17 For the fragment of Philolaus, 
apud Stob. Eel. Phys. i. xx. z, is very 
suspicious. It is as follows: Aid teal 
Ka\>s fx fl A.7 e " / i^Afffjiov ?ifi.fv fftpyftw 
a'iSiov 0eo> re Kal yeveffios Kara ffvvaKo- 
Xovdiav ras fj.fr af$\aru<as Qvffios. 



18 Cf. Metaphys. vni. viii. u. Ato 
Kal roijvo(j.a evepyeia \eyerai Kara rd 
ep^ov Kal ffwreivei irpds rty evre\t- 

10 * Met. viii. iii. i. Erl Se rives o't 
<t>atriv, olov ol MeyapiKoi, ftrav fvepyrj 
fj.6voi> Svvaffdai, 'Arav 6e pi) evepyfi ov 
Svvaffdai, olov rbv /ur; oil 



184 ESSAY IV. 

dialectic of the Megarians, by which they endeavoured to 
establish the Eleatic principles, and to prove by the subtleties 
of the reason, against all evidence of the senses, that the 
world is absolutely one, immovable, and unchangeable. We 
cannot be exactly certain of the terms employed by the 
Megarians themselves in expressing the above-quoted posi- 
tion, for Aristotle is never very accurate about the exact form 
in which he gives the 20 opinions of earlier philosophers. We 
cannot be sure whether the Megarians said precisely orav 
evspyfj pavov Bvvao-dai. But at all events they said something 
equivalent, and Aristotle taking the suggestion worked out 
the whole theory of the contrast between Swapis and evepysta, 
in its almost universal applicability. 

At first these terms were connected, apparently with the 
idea of 21 motion. But since Swapis has the double meaning 
of ' possibility of existence ' as well as ' capacity of action,' 
there arose the double contrast of action opposed to the 
capacity for action; actual existence opposed to possible 
existence or potentiality. To express accurately this latter 
opposition Aristotle seems to have introduced the term 
EvreXe^eia, of which the most natural account is, that it is 
a compound of h rsXst s^ew, ' being in the state of perfec- 
tion,' an adjective 22 svreks^rjs being constructed on the 
analogy of vowels. But in fact this distinction between 
and svtpyeia is 23 not maintained. The former 



50 Cf. Mitaph. XI. ii. 3. Kal &s A?7- I KivT\<rt<av fiaXiffra, SoKti ykp TJ 



fj.6Kptr6s tyriffiv, -fiv dfjiov irdvra Swdfid, 
tvfpyfia. 5' ov. xi. vi. 7. Aid Zvioi 
iToiovcriv del 4vtpyfiav, ofov Aeu/ctmroj 
Kal n\drwi>. In these passages Ari- 
stotle expresses the ideas of his pre- 
decessors in his own formulae. 



i\urra i] KtvTjffis eTvat. 
22 De Gen. et Corr. n. x. n. 



ir\r]p<afff -ri> Z\ov 6 Beds tyrf\txri -*<ni\- 
ffas TV yivfffiv. 

23 Cf. Metaph. vin. i. 2. 'EirJ irKtov 
ydp lanv rj Svva.fj.ts Kal 77 fi/fpyeia TWV 



21 Metaph. THI. iii. 9. 'EA^Xufle 8' I p&vov Keyopivtav *cari K(VT\<JIV. Eth. 
fvfpytta roijvofj.a, i] irpos evTf\ex (la>> \ vn. xiv. 8. Ov yap ft.6vov Kivi}iTf<as t<mv 
wTi6efi.tvri Kai M rd &\\a, K r&v ' fvepyeia aAAa Kal 



THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENE1TEIA. 



185 



word is of comparatively rare occurrence, while we find 
everywhere throughout Aristotle svepysia, as he says, Trpbs 
svrsXs-^siav avvTi6e/*vr] ' mixed up with the idea of complete 
existence.' As we saw above, it is contrasted with Suvapu, 
sometimes as implying motion, sometimes as e form opposed 
to matter.' 

In Physics Swapis answers to the necessary conditions for 
the existence of anything before that thing exists. It thus 
corresponds to v\r), both to the Trpfarrj v\rj, or matter abso- 
lutely devoid of all qualities, which is capable of becoming 
any definite substance, as, for instance, marble ; and also to 
the sa-^aTr} vA?7, or matter capable of receiving form, as marble 
the form of the statue. Marble then exists 8vvdfj,si in the 
simple elements before it is marble. The statue exists Bwdfist, 
in the marble before it is carved out. All objects of thought 
exist either purely Svvdftsi, or purely evspysiq, or both 8vvdfj,i 
and tvspyeia. This division makes an entire chain of all the 
world. At the one end is matter, the Trpmrr] v\ij, which has 
a merely potential existence, which is necessary as a condi- 
tion, but which, having no form and no qualities, is totally 
incapable of being realized by the mind. So it is also with 
the infinitely small or great ; they exist always as possibilities, 
but, as is obvious, they never can be actually grasped by the 
perception. At the other end of the chain is Grod, ovaia 
diSios KOI svspysta avsv Bwdpscas, who cannot be thought of 
as non-existing, 24 as otherwise than actual, who is the abso- 
lute, and the unconditioned. Between these two extremes is 
the whole row of creatures, which out of potentiality spring 
into actual being. In this theory we see the affinity between 



24 It might be said that the being of 
God cannot be fully grasped or realized 
by our minds ; but, according to the 
views of Aristotle, the everlasting 



existence of God is an tvtpyeia. for His 
own mind. He is above all, the in 
and for Himself existing. 



186 ESSAY IV. 



and matter, evspysia and form. Thus Aristotle's con- 
ceptions are made to run into one another. Another affinity 
readily suggests itself, and that is between svspysia and re\os. 
The progress from tvvafiis to svepyeia is motion or produc- 
tion (icii"r)<rif or ytvsais). But this motion or production, 
aiming at or tending to an end, is in itself imperfect (arfX^s), 
it is a mere process not in itself and for its own sake desirable. 
And thus arises a contrast between Kiwrjvis and svepyeia, for 
the latter, if it implies motion, is a motion desirable for its 
own sake, having its end in itself. Viewed relatively, how- 
ever, Kivya-is may sometimes be called svfyysia. In reference 
to the capacity of action before existing, the action calls out 
into actuality that which was before only potential. Thus, 
for instance, in the process of building a house there is an 
evfyyeia of what was before the Svvafus ol/coSofju/eij. Viewed 
however in reference to the house itself, this is a mere process 
to the end aimed at, a ryevscris, or if it be called evepyeta, it 
must strictly speaking be qualified as evepysid ns areX^y. 25 
In short, just as the term r6\os is relatively applied to very 
subordinate ends, so too svspyeia is relatively applied to what 
is from another point of view a mere yevetns or KIVTJO-IS. 
This we find in Eth. I. i. 2, Sia<f>opa Be TLS (fratverai r&v rsXtav 
TO, fisv yap elfftv evepyeiai, ret, &e Trap' airrcLs epja TWO. 

Having traced some of the leading features of this distinc- 
tion between Svvafus and evspyeia, we may now proceed to 
observe how this form of thought stamped itself upon Ethics. 
We may ask, How is the category of the actual brought to 
bear upon moral questions, and how far is it reacted upon by 
moral associations ? At the very outset of Aristotle's theory it 
appears. As soon as the proposition has been laid down that 
the chief good for man is only attainable in his proper work, 

25 Metaph. x. ix. 1 1 . 



THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENEPFEIA. 



187 



and that this proper work is a peculiar kind of life, 
rts (&})} TOV \oyov %OVTOS, Aristotle proceeds to assume 
(Osrsov} that this life must be no mere possession (a#' e'iv) 
of certain powers and latent tendencies, but ' in actuality, for 
this is the distinctive form of the conception.' 26 He then 
transforms the qualifying term /tar' svepyeiav into a substan- 
tive idea, and makes it the chief part of his definition of the 
supreme good. 27 Thus the metaphysical category of evspysia, 
which comes first into Ethics merely as a form of thought, 
becomes henceforth material. It is identified with happi- 
ness. 28 In short, it becomes an ethical idea. 

In this connexion (like its cognate rs\os} evtpysia becomes 
at once something mental. It takes a subjective character, as 
existing now both in and for the mind. Moreover, in an 
exactly parallel way to the use of re'Xoy, it receives a double 
application. On the one hand it is applied to" express moral 
action and the development of the moral powers, on the other 
hand to happiness and the fruition of life. It is in its latter 
meaning that evspysia is most purely subjective. Taken as a 
formula to express Aristotle's theory of virtue, we may con- 
sider it as applied in its more objective and simpler sense, 
though even here it is mixed up with psychological associa- 
tions. We shall see how, under newly-invented metaphysical 
forms, Aristotle accounts for the moral nature of man. 

Aristotle divides Buvdfjisis into physical and mental. 29 Of 
these mental Suva/justs it is characteristic that they are equally 
capacities of producing contraries, while the physical are 



28 Airrus 8e Kol ravrr)S 
T^IV Kar' fvepyttav Qersov Kvpuirrtpov 
yap avrrj So/ceT \eyea6ai. Eth. I. vii. 1 3. 

27 El 5* Iffrlv fpyov avOpaiirov ^x^ J 
fvtpytia. Kara. \&yov, K.T.\. el 6' ovroi 
Tb avOfKincivov dyaBbv tyvxrjs tvfpyfia 
yivcrai Kar' aptr-fiv. 1. 1. 14, 15. 

28 Eth. i. xiii. i. 'Eirel 5' iffrlv ij 



ev$ai(j.ovia <|a;x77S Ivfpytui TIS Kar' ape- 
T-fiv. Cf. i. x. a, ix. ix. 5, 3L vi. *. 

29 Metaph. VIIL ii. I. "EireJ 5' at n\v 
Iv rots tyvxots tvvTrdpxovfft]' ap^al TOJ- 
avrat, al $' iv rots ifi^v-^ois Kai ti> 
$ V XP> Ka ^ T ^s fyvxys lv rtf \6yov ex ovri i 
Sfi\ov ftri KO! rwv Swdfji.f<af al fjikv tffov- 
rai &\<ryoi, al 8e /u.eri \6yov. 



188 ESSAY IV. 

restricted to one side of two contraries. The capacity of heat, 
for instance, is capable of producing heat alone ; whereas the 
Svvafjiis larpiicri, as being a mental capacity, and connected 
with the discursive reason, can produce indifferently either 
health or sickness. From this Aristotle deduces the first step 
of the doctrine of free-will, namely, that the mind is not 
bound by any physical necessity. For he argues that, given 
the requisite active and passive conditions, there is a necessity 
for a physical Svvafus to act or suffer in a particular way ; 
but since the mental Bvva^ts is equally a capacity of contraries, 
if there were any necessity for its development, it must be 
necessitated to produce contraries at the same time, which is 
impossible. Therefore there must be some other influence 
which controls the mental Suva/us, and determines into which 
side of the two contraries it shall be developed, and this is 
either desire or reasonable purpose. 30 Connected with this 
point is another of still greater importance for the ethical 
theory. Not only in the use and exercise of a moral or mental 
Bvvafiis is the individual above the control of mere external or 
physical circumstances, but also the very acquirement of these 
SwdfAsis depends on the individual. For the higher capacities 
are not inherent, but acquired. 

In considering how this can be, we may follow the logical 
order of the question according to Aristotle, and ask which 
exists first, the Svvafiis or the svepysia ? The answer is, that 
as a conception, in point of thought (Xoya}, the evspysia must 
necessarily be prior ; in short, we know nothing of the Bvvafiis, 
except from our knowledge of the evspysia. In point of time 
(xpova)} the case is different ; each individual creature exists 
first SwdfUt, afterwards evepyeia. This assertion, however, 
must be confined to each individual ; for, as a necessity of 

30 'Avdyicr) &pa eVepo'c TI flvcu rb Kirpiov. Atyu Si TOUTO upefij/ ^ vpoalptffiv. 
Mitapkys. vin. v. 3. 



THE DOCTRINE OF EXEPFEIA. 189 

thought, we are led to refer the potential existence of each 
thing to the actual existence of something before (a flower, 
for instance, owes its potential existence in the seed, to the 
actual existence of another flower before it) ; and so the world 
is eternal, for an svsp<ysta must be supposed as everlastingly 
pre-existing. But even in the individual there are some 
things in which the svepysia seems prior to the Svvafus ; there 
are things which the individual seems to have no ' power of 
doing' until he does them ; he acquires the power, in fact, by 
doing them. 31 This phenomenon gives rise to a classification 
of Swapeis into the physical, the passive, and the inherent on 
the one hand, and the mental or acquired on the other. 32 The 
merely physical capacities of our nature exist independent of 
any act or effort on the part of the individual. 33 And so, also, 
fe it with the senses. 34 But the contrary is the case with 
regard to moral virtue, which does not exist in us as a capacity 
(Svva/jiis} ; in other words, not as a gift of nature ((frva-ei), 
previous to moral action. 30 We acquire the capacity for 
virtue by doing virtuous things. It will be seen at once that 
a sort of paradox is here involved. ' How can it be said that 
we become just by doing just things ? If we do just things, 



31 Metaphys. vm. viii. 6. Atb /col aijeo~6ai) eV oirofft TOIS Tpftyopevots Set?; 
5oe? aSwoTov elvai o'iKo56^ov elvai /n^J I TJS a? *col ^c TO?S epfipvots So/ce? fv 
otKoSofj.'fjffavTa priOev, if) Kidapiar^v faj- rots vtcvois evepyeiv /ua\t(TTO rb pJpiov 
iirai/rcr 6 yap fj.avddvav Ki0a- rovro Kal TJ 8vva/j.is aurr). 

* 4 Eth. n. i. 4. ras Swdpeis rovrtav 
irporepov Ko/xi(.'o'/xe0a, vffTfpov Se ras 
evepyeias dvoSiSoiJiev. This doctrine is 
opposed to some of the modern dis- 
coveries of psychology, as, for instance, 
Berkeley's ' Theory of Vision.' It is 
corrected, however, in some degree by 
Aristotle's doctrine of KOIV^I atff9i\<ns. 

35 Ibid. Tos 5" operas \afj.pdvofj.ei' 
evepy^ffavres irporepov, Scrirep /col eVl 



tfuini Se KCU OL &\\OL. 

32 Metaphys. Yin. v. i . 'Aircur<ai> Se 
ruv Svvdfj.ewi' ovrriav T<av fjiev ffvyye- 
vcav, oiov Ttav alffd'fjfftcav ' T<av 8e efl, 
oToc rfjs rov au\e'iv TUV Se jua07J(rej, 
oiov TJJJ TWV rexycav, ras p.ev avdynrj 



\6ycf TO.S Se /j.$i -rotaiiras Kol ras eirl 



rov 



33 Eth. I. xiii. II. Tjjv roiavryv yap I ruv a\\(a 
Svva./.uv TT/S IJ/KX^S (roO rpf(f>fff6ai /col | 



190 ESSAY IV. 

we are just already.' The answer of Aristotle to this difficulty 
would seem to be as follows : 

1. Virtue follows the analogy of the arts, in which the first 
essays of the learner may by chance, or by the guidance of 
his master (UTTO rv^ns KOI a\\ov inroOs^vov)^ attain a sort of 
success and an artistic appearance, but the learner is no 
artist as yet. 

2. These 'just acts,' by which we acquire justice, are, on 
nearer inspection, not really just; they want the moral 
qualification of that settled internal character in the heart 
and mind of the agent, without which no external act is 
virtuous in the highest sense of the term. They are ten- 
dencies towards the acquirement of this character, as the first 
essays of the artist are towards the acquirement of an art. 
But they are not to be confounded with those moral acts 
which flow from the character when developed and fixed. 

3. The whole question depends on Aristotle's theory of the 
ets, as related to Swapcs and evspysia. There can be no 
such thing, properly speaking, as a Svvapis rrjs apsrrjs. As 
we have before seen, a Svvctfiis, except it be merely physical, 
admits of contraries. And therefore in the case of moral 
action there can only be an indefinite capacity of acting 
either this way or that, either well or ill, which is therefore 
equally a Swapis of virtue and of vice. The evepysia in this 
case is determined by no intrinsic law of the Swapis, 
(avdyKij srepov n eivcu TO xvptov, Met. vin. v. 3), but by the de- 
sire or the reason of the agent. The vpyeia, however, is no 
longer indefinite ; it has, at all events, some sort of definite- 
ness for good or bad. And by the principle of habit (e0os), 
which Aristotle seems to assume as an acknowledged law of 
human nature, the tvtpyeia reacts upon the Svvafiis, repro- 
ducing itself. Thus the Svitapis loses its indefiniteness, and 
passes into a definite tendency ; it ceases to be a mere Swapis, 



THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENEPFEIA. 191 

and becomes an e%is, that is to say, a formed and fixed cha- 
racter, capable only of producing a certain class of evspystai. 
Briefly then, by the help of a few metaphysical terms, does 
Aristotle sum up his theory of the moral character. Kat hi 
STJ \6ya) SK TWV op,oio)v svspysiwv al s^sis "jivovrai. And it is 
quite consistent with his entire view of these metaphysical 
categories, that he defines virtue to be not on the one hand 
a StW/its, else it would be merely physical, nor on the other 
hand a Trades, (which is here equivalent to sv^pysia^) else it 
would be an isolated emotion, but a sort of egis. The l|ts, 
or moral state, is on the farther side, so to speak, of the 
evsfr/SLai. It is the sum and result of them. If sgts be re- 
garded as a sort of developed Svvafus, as a capacity acquired 
indeed and definite, but still only a capacity, it may naturally 
be contrasted with evepysia. Thus in the above quoted 
passage, Eth. I. vii. 13, StTT&s ravrrjs \syofievjjs means lead 1 
sgtv and KCLT evspysiav, as we may see by comparing TII. xii. 2, 
Tin. v. i. From this point of view Aristotle says, that 'it 
is possible for a egis to exist, without producing any good. 
But with regard to an evspysia this is not possible.' I. viii. 9. 
On the other hand, however, the ei~is is a fixed tendency to a 
certain class of actions, and, if external circumstances do not 
forbid, will certainly produce these. The svspysta not only 
results in a egis, but also follows from it, and the test of the 
formation of a e%is is pleasure felt in acts resulting from it. 
(n. iii. i.) When Aristotle says, that there is nothing human 
so abiding as the ivepysiai tear apsrrjv Sia TO /uaXterra ical 
vvvs'xeG'ra'ra Karatfiv ev avrals TOVS pctKaptovs, he implies, of 
course, that these svspyeiat, are bound together by the chain 
of a e^is, of which in his own phraseology they are the 
efficient, the formal, and the final cause. It is observable, 
that the phrase svepysicu rfjs aperfjs occurs only twice in the 
ethical treatise, (ill. v. I, x. iii. i.) This is in accordance 



192 ESSAY IV. 

with the principle that virtue cannot be regarded as a 
Svvafus. Therefore Aristotle seems to regard moral acts not 
so much as the development of a latent excellence, but rather 
as the development or action of our nature in accordance 
with a law (evepyeiai /car apsrrjv). Virtue then comes in as 
a regulative, rather than as a primary idea ; it is introduced 
as subordinate, though essential, to happiness. 

When we meet phrases like this just mentioned, we trans- 
late them, most probably, into our own formula?, into words 
belonging to our own moral and psychological systems. Wo 
speak of * moral acts,' or ' virtuous activities,' or * moral 
energies.' Thus we conceive of Aristotle's doctrine as amount- 
ing to this, that ' good acts produce good habits.' Practi- 
cally, no doubt, his theory does comes to this ; and if our 
object in studying his theory be ov <yvw<ns d\\a irpa^is, no 
better or more useful principle could be deduced from it. 
But in so interpreting him, we really strip Aristotle of all his 
philosophy. When he spoke of evspyeia KCLT aperrjv, a wide 
range of metaphysical associations accompanied the expression. 
He was bringing the mind and moral powers of man into the 
entire chain of nature, at one end of which was matter, and 
at the other end Grod. He had in his thoughts, that a moral 
evspyeia was to the undeveloped capacities as a flower to the 
seed, as a statue to the block, as the waking to the sleeping, 
as the finite to the undefined. And he yet farther implied 
that this evepysta was no mere process or transition to some- 
thing else, but contained its end in itself, and was desirable 
for its own sake. The distinctness of modern language, and 
the separation between the various spheres of modem thought, 
prevent us from reproducing in any one term all the various 
associations that attach to this formula of ancient philosophy. 
As said before, we must rather feel, than endeavour to express 
them. 



THE DOCTRINE OF 'ENEPrEIA. 193 

Hitherto we have only alluded to those conceptions which 
evspyeia, as a universal category, imported into Ethics. We 
have now to advert to those which necessarily accrue to it by 
reason of its introduction into this science. It is clear that a 
psychical svspysia must be different from the same category 
exhibited in any external object. Life, the mind, the moral 
faculties, must have their * existence in actuality ' distin- 
guished from their mere ' potentiality ' by some special dif- 
ference, not common to other existences. What is it that 
distinguishes vitality from the conditions of life, waking from 
sleeping, thought from the dormant faculties, moral action 
from the unevoked moral capacities ? In all these contrasts 
there is no conception that approaches nearer towards sum- 
ming up the distinction than that of ' consciousness.' 

Viewed from without, or objectively, svspysia must mean an 
existence fully developed in itself, or an activity desirable for 
its own sake, so that the mind could contemplate it without 
seeing in it a means or a condition to anything beyond. But 
when taken subjectively, as being an ivspysia of the mind 
itself, as existing not only for the mind but also in the mind, 
it acquires a new aspect and character. Henceforth it is not 
only the rounded whole, the self-ending activity, the bloom- 
ing of something perfect, in the contemplation of which the 
mind could repose ; but it is the mind itself called out into 
actuality. It springs out of the mind and ends in the mind. 
It is not only life, but the sense of life ; not only waking, but 
the feeling of the powers ; not only perception or thought, 
but a consciousness of one's own faculties as well as of the 
external object. 

This conscious vitality of the life and the mind is not to be 
considered a permanent condition, but one that arises in us. 36 



18 Eth. ix. ix. 5. ytvfTCU Kal ov-% wirdpx*' #<rirp KTTJJM& n. 
O 



194 



ESSAY IV. 



Oftenest it is like a thrill of joy, a momentary intuition. Were 
it abiding, if our mind were capable of a perpetual evspysta, 
we should be as God, who is evspysta avsv Swdfjuscos. But that 
which we attain to for a brief period gives us a glimpse of the 
divine, and of the life of God. 37 ' The life of God is of a 
kind with those highest moods which with us last a brief 
space, it being impossible that they should be permanent, 
whereas with Him they are permanent, since His ever-present 
consciousness is pleasure itself. And it is because they are 
vivid states of consciousness that waking and perception and 
thought are the sweetest of all things, and in a secondary 
degree hope and memory.' 

This passage seems of itself an almost sufficient answer to 
those who would argue that Aristotle did not mean to imply 
consciousness in his definition of happiness. If our happi- 
ness, which is defined as evspyeia tyvxfis, gives us a conception 
of the blessedness of God,' which is elsewhere defined as the 
' thinking upon thought,' we can hardly escape the conclusion, 
that it is the deepest and most vivid consciousness in us that 
constitutes our happiness. The more this idea is followed 
out, the more completely will it be found applicable to the 
theory of Aristotle ; the more will it justify his philosophy 
and be justified by it. But here it is necessary to confess, 
that in using the term * consciousness' to express the chief 
import of evepyeia, as applied to the mind and to the 
theory of happiness, we are using a distinct modern term, 
whereas the ancient one was indistinct; we are making 
explicit what was only implicit in Aristotle ; we are rather 
applying to him a deduction from his principles than exactly 



" Mctaph. xi. Tii. 6. 
tff-r\v o'la. f) apiffTfi (juKpb 
ovria yap del tK(iv6 effrtv 
dSiWroj') eircl Kol rjSov^ rj 



7<ip 



rovrov /col 5<i rovro lypfryopffts of- 
fffrriffts v6i]ffis $/8i<TToi>, f\wiSfs Sf >coi 
5jck rotOra. 



THE DOCTRINE OF EXEPFEIA. 195 

representing them in their purest form. Aristotle never says 
1 consciousness,' though we see he meant it. But one of the 
peculiarities of his philosophy was the want of subjective 
formulae, and a tendency to confuse the subjective and the 
objective together. About svspysia itself Aristotle is not con- 
sistent; sometimes he treats it purely as objective, separating 
the consciousness from it; as, for instance, Eth. IK. ix. 9, 
saTt TI TO atadavo/jLsuov OTI evspyovpev. l There is somewhat 
in us that takes cognizance of the exercise of our powers.' 
Again X. iv. 8, rs\tol TTJV evspysiav 77 77801/7) toy STriyiv6fj,ev6v TI 
Ts\of. ' Pleasure is a sort of superadded perfection, making 
perfect the exercise of our powers.' But this is at variance 
with his usual custom ; for not only is pleasure defined in 
Book VII. (whether by Aristotle or Eudemus) as svspysia 
dvEfjLTrooLa-TOf, but also happiness is universally defined as 
evspyeia. And if we wish to see the term applied in an un- 
deniably subjective way, we may look to Eth. ix. vii. 6. 
'HSeFa S' s(TTt TOV [lev irapovros 77 evepyeia, TOV 8s peXXomos 77 
e\7ri9, TOV oe ysysvrj/AEvov 77 furrjfaf, where we can hardly help 
translating, ' the actual consciousness of the present,' as con- 
trasted with ' the hope of the future,' and ' the memory of 
the past.' In a similar context, De Memorid, i. 4, we find 
Tov fjjcv Trapovros aiadTfjcris, K.T.\. 

In saying that the idea of ' consciousness' is implied in, and 
might almost always be taken to represent, Aristotle's Ethical 
application of svepyeta, we need not overshoot the mark, and 
speak as if Aristotle made the Summum Bonum to consist in 
self-consciousness, or self-reflection ; that would be giving 
far too much weight to the subjective side of the conception 
svepysta. Aristotle's theory rather comes to this, that -the 
chief good for man is to be found in life itself. Life, accord- 
ing to his philosophy, is no means to anything ulterior ; in the 
words of Goethe, ' Life itself is the end of life.' The very use 

o 2 



196 ESSAY IV. 

of the term eve'pysia, as part of the definition of happiness, 
shows, as Aristotle tells us, that he regards the chief good as 
nothing external to man, but as existing in man and for 
man, existing in the evocation, the vividness, and the 
fruition of man's own powers. 38 Let that be called out 
into 'actuality' which is potential or latent in man, and 
happiness is the result. Avoiding then any overstrained 
application of the term ' consciousness,' and aiming rather at 
paraphrase than translation, it may be useful to notice one or 
two places in which the term evepysia occurs. Eth. i. x. 2. 
*Apd ys Kal e&Tiv sv8aifjLa>v TOTS eTrsiodv drroOdvr) ; *H TOVTO ys 
7ravT\<ws aTorrov, a\X&>s TS Kal TO is ^.eyovcriv TJ/JLIV evepysiav 
Tiva TT)v sv8aifjLovuiv ; ' Is a man then happy, after he is dead ? 
Or is not this altogether absurd, especially for us who call 
happiness a conscious state?' i. x. 9. Kuptat 8' sla-lv at /ear' 
dpsrrjv ev'epysiai rfjs euSat^toi/tap. ' Happiness depends (not on 
fortune, but) on harmonious moods of mind.' i. x. 15. Tt'ouv 
K(a\vet \eysiv evSatfwva TOV /car' dpST^v Ts\siav evepyovina, 
K.T.\. i What hinders us calling him happy who is in posses- 
sion of absolute peace and harmony of mind ? ' vii. xiv. 8. 
Aio 6 fos del jj,iav Kal d-jr\r)v ^aipei rj8ovijv' ov ydp JJMVOV 
Kivrjcrsdis e&Tiv svepyeia, d\\d Kal aKivrjaias. ' God is in the 
fruition of one pure pleasure everlastingly. For deep con- 
sciousness is possible, not only of motion, but also of repose.' 
IX. ix. 5. MOWOTI? pep ovv ^aXsTros 6 ftlos' ov ydp pa8u)v icaff 1 
avTov evspyeiv <rvi/e^wy, /u,g^' eTspwv 8e Kal vrpbs d\\ovs paov. 
' Now to the solitary individual life is grievous ; for it is not 
easy to maintain a glow of mind by one's self, but in company 
with some one else, and in relation to others, this is easier.' 
The formula we are discussing is applied by Aristotle to 



58 Eth. I. viii. 3. 'Op6us 5e KO< Sri Tf\os,oSro>fyiiprwvirfp\^v^t 
odftis TivfS \tyovTai /col 



THE DOCTKIXE OF 



197 



express the nature both of pleasure and of happiness. By 
examining separately these two applications of the term, 
we shall not only gain a clearer conception of the import 
of svspysia itself, but also we shall be in a better position 
for seeing what were Aristotle's real views about happiness. 
i. The great point that Aristotle insists upon with regard to 
pleasure is, that it is not Kivrjais or <yev(ris, but evepyeta 
(Eth. vii. xii. 3, x. iii. 4-5. x. iv. 2). What is the meaning 
of the distinction ? In Aristotle's Rhetoric^ we find pleasure 
defined in exactly the terms here repudiated, namely, as ' a 
certain motion of the vital powers, and a settling down per- 
ceptibly and suddenly into one's proper nature, while pain is 
the contrary.' This definition is there given merely as a 
popular one, sufficient for the purposes of the orator, who does 
not require metaphysical exactness. It corresponds with that 
given in Plato's Timceus. 40 It seems to have been originally 
due to the Cyrenaics ; for these are said to be referred to by 
Socrates in the Pkilebus of Plato (p. 53 C), under the name 
of * a refined set of men (*o/r\Jrot rives}, who maintain that 
pleasure is always a state of becoming (ysvsa-is), and never 
a state of being (ojWa)' (see above, p. 132). Now in all 
essential parts of their views on pleasure Aristotle and Plato 
were quite agreed. Both would have said, 41 pleasure is not 
the chief good ; both would have made a distinction between 
the bodily pleasures, which are preceded by desire and a sense 
of pain and the mental pleasures, which are free from this ; 
both would have asserted the pleasure of the philosopher to be 
higher than all other pleasures.' The difference between them 



** Shet. i. xi. i. 'tiroKtiffOw 5" 
flvcu T7)/ ijSoriiv Kivrfffiv riva, rfjs 
Kal Kardffracnv a.6p6av KO.\ 
els TV inrdpxovffav <pv<riv, \vmjv 
"TOVVOLVT'IOV. 

Cf. Plato, Timaus, p. 640. 



trapa fyiiaiv Kal fiicuov yiyv6fi.evov adpiov 
Trap r)fjuv irddos a\yfiv6v, rb 5* els <f>vffiv 
airibv TraXiv a6p6av i]Sv. 

41 Cf. Plato, Philebus, p. ^^ E, Eth. 
x. iii. 13. 



198 



ESSAY IV. 



resolves itself into one of formulae. Plato has no consistent 
formula to express pleasure, he calls it 'a return to one's 
natural state,' ' a becoming,' ' a filling up,' ' a transition.' 
But all these terms are only applicable to the bodily pleasures, 
preceded by a sense of want. Plato acknowledges that there 
are pleasures above these, but he seems to have no word to 
express them. Therefore he may be said to leave the stigma 
upon pleasure in general, that it is a mere state of transition. 
Aristotle here steps in with his formula of svspysia, and says, 
pleasure is not a transition, but a fruition. It is not im- 
perfect, but an End-in-itself. It does not arise from our 
coming to our natural state, but from our employing it. 42 

Kant 43 defines pleasure to be s the sense of that which pro- 
motes life, pain of that which hinders it. Consequently,' he 
argues, * every pleasure must be preceded by pain ; pain is 
always the first. For what else would ensue upon a continued 
advancement of vital power, but a speedy death for joy? 
Moreover, no pleasure can follow immediately upon another ; 
but, between the one and the other, some pain must have 
place. It is the slight depressions of vitality, with inter- 
vening expansions of it, which together make up a healthy 
condition, which we erroneously take for a continuously-felt 
state of well-being ; whereas, this condition consists only of 
pleasurable feelings, following each other by reciprocation, 
that is, with continually intervening pain. Pain is the 
stimulus of activity, and in activity we first become conscious 
of life ; without it an inanimate state would ensue.' In these 
words the German philosopher seems almost exactly to have 
coincided with Plato. The * sense of that which promotes 
life' answers to az/aTrX^poxris, and Plato appears to have held, 



42 Eth. vn. xii. 3. Oo 

ovfftv, a\\a -p<a\>.*vu>v. 

43 Kant's Anthropology, p. 169. 



The above translation is given by Dr. 
Badham in an Appendix to his edition 
of Plato' s Philebus. London, 1855. 



THE DOCTRINE OF 'EXEPFEIA. 



199 



with Kant, the reciprocal action of pleasure and pain. (Cf. 
P/tcecZo, p. 60.) Kant's views, like Plato's, are only applicable 
to the bodily sensations, and do not express pleasures of the 
mind. 

Aristotle in defining pleasure as o TS\siot rrjv svspysiav, 
makes it, not * the sense of what promotes life,' but rather 
the sense of life itself; the sense of the vividness of the vital 
powers ; the sense that any faculty whatsoever has met its 
proper object. This definition then is equally applicable to 
the highest functions of the mind, as well as to the bodily 
organs. Even in the case of pleasure felt upon the supply- 
ing of a want, the Aristotelian 44 doctrine with regard to that 
pleasure was, that it was not identical with the supply, but 
contemporaneous ; that it resulted from the play and action 
of vital powers not in a state of depression, while the de- 
pressed organs were receiving sustenance. To account for 
the fact that pleasure cannot be long maintained, Aristotle 
would not have said, like Kant, that we are unable to bear a 
continuous expansion of the vital powers ; but rather, that we 
are unable to maintain the vivid action of the faculties. 45 
Pleasure then, according to Aristotle, proceeds rather from 
within than from without ; it is the sense of existence ; and it 
is so inseparably connected with the idea of life, that we 
cannot tell whether life is desired for the sake of pleasure, or 
pleasure for the sake of life. 46 

2. If happiness be defined as svspjsia ^nr^rfs, and pleasure 



44 Cf. Eth. x. iii. 6. Oi>5' t<rnv &pa 
avair\-lipcains f) TjSoini, a\\a yivo^fv^s 
Itfv avair\Tipd>aeias ?iSoir' &v ns. Til. 
xiv. 7. Ae'7co Se Kara <ru;u/3e/3TjKbs t)$fa 
ra larpfvovra- Sri yap <rujuj8aivei jo- 
rpeveffOai rov vTropevovros vyiovs irpar- 
-rovr6s TL, 5io rovro r]8v So/ce? eli/ai, i.e. 
that it is the play, in some sort, of 
the undepressed vital functions, while 



those that were depressed are being 
recruited. 

45 Eth. x. iv. 9. Uavra yap TO. av- 
dpcaireia aSuj/OTeT ffwe^cas fftpytiv. 

46 Eth. X. iv. II. ~S.uvt(vxOa.i (iff 
yap ravra (palverai Kal xcapifffj.bv ov 
SexeffOvu ' avev -re yap tvepyeias ov 
yiverai TjSovfi, iratyav re fvepyfiav re- 
\fiol fj r)Soirf). 



200 



ESSAY IV. 



as o TS\SIOI TTJV evepysiav, what is the relation between them ? 
Perhaps it is unfair to Aristotle to bring the different parts 
of his work thus into collision. Probably he worked out the 
treatise on Pleasure in Book X. without much regard to the 
theory of happiness, but merely availing himself of the for- 
mulae which seemed most applicable. It is only in Book VII. 
(xui. 2) which we have seen reason to consider a later 
work, and the compilation of Eudemus, that pleasure and 
happiness are brought together on the grounds that they 
both consist in ' the free play of conscious life ' (evepysia 
avsfjLTTo^icrros). This is a carrying out of Aristotle's doctrine 
beyond what we find in Books I. and X. 47 Aristotle had 
prepared the way in these for the identification of happiness 
with the highest kind of pleasure, but had not himself 
arrived at it. However, we can find no other distinction in 
his theory between pleasure and happiness, than that the 
latter is something ideal and essentially moral (rs\os KOI 
reXstov iravrrj irdirrws], and extended over an entire life 
(\a(3ovcra /j,rj>cos fttov rs\elov\ and implying the highest 
human excellence, the exercise of the highest faculties (^rv^s 
evsp^sut Kara TTJV Kpariarrfv apertjv). We have before alluded 
to the ideal character of happiness as a whole. This is 
shown especially by the fact, that while on the one hand 
Aristotle says that happiness (evepyeia ^rv^rjs) must occupy a 
whole life, on the other hand he speaks of brevity of dura- 
tion as necessarily attaching to every human svepyeut. A 
y, he argues, is not only a 8vva/j,is of being, but also a 
of not-being. This contradiction always infects our 
evspysuu, and, like a law of gravitation, this negative side is 



47 It is true that among the un- 
philosophical definitions of happiness 
given in the Rhetoric, i. v. 3, this oc- 
curs, fltos /UCT* iur<pa\flas fjSioroj. 



Not only is this unphilosophical, but 
also the Rhetoric may be considered 
later in conception than the Ethics. 



THE DOCTKIXE OF THE MEAN. 



201 



always tending to bring them to a stop. The heavenly 
bodies, being divine and eternal, move perpetually and un- 
weariedly, 48 for in them this law of contradiction does not 
exist. But to mortal creatures it is impossible to long main- 
tain an evspyeia, that vividness of the faculties, on which 
joy and pleasure depend. Happiness then, as a permanent 
condition, is something ideal ; Aristotle figures it as the 
whole of life summed up into a vivid moment of conscious- 
ness ; or again, as the aggregate of such moments with the 
intervals omitted; or again, that these moments are its 
essential part (TO itvptov pepo* TTJS svBaifxovias}, constituting 
the most blessed state of the internal life (far) fuueapiwrdrr)}, 
while the framework for these will be the ftios alpsT(i>Taros, 
or most favourable external career (Eth. ix. ix. 9). In what 
then do these moments consist ? Chiefly in the sense of life 
and personality ; in the higher kind of consciousness, which 
is above the mere physical sense of life. This is either 
coupled with a sense of the good and noble, as in the con- 
sciousness of good deeds done (Eth. ix. vii. 4) ; or it is 
awakened by friendship, by the sense of love and admiration 
for the goodness of a friend, who is, as it were, one's self and 
yet not one's self (Eth. ix. ix. 10); or finally it exists to the 
highest degree in the evocation of the reason, which is not 
only each man's proper self (Eth. ix. iv. 4, x. vii. 9), as 
forming the deepest ground of his consciousness, but is also 
something divine, and more than mortal in us. 

III. Turning now to the consideration of Meo-or^y, we 
shall see that it is only one application of this formula, to 
use it in reference to moral subjects ; that it is indeed a most 



THI. viii. 1 8. Aib del 
evfpyft ?i\ios /col &ffrpa KOU &\os 6 
ovpav6s, Kal oil (f>o/3epbi' /x^ vore ffrfj, & 
ol irepl <pvfffws. Ot>5e a- 



(jLvei rovro SptavTa ov yap irepl T^JV 
Svva.fj.iv TTJS avTicfidrrews aitrois, olov 
Toils QQaprois, J] Kitn\ffis. 



202 ESSAY IV. 

widely applicable philosophical idea, and has a definite history 
and development previous to Aristotle. It would seem not 
to require a very advanced state of philosophy in order for 
men to discover the maxim, that ' moderation is best,' that 
' excess is to be avoided.' Thus as far back as Hesiod we 
find the praise of /j,srpia spya. The era of the Seven Sages 
produced the gnome, afterwards inscribed on the temple 
of Delphi, MijSsv dyav. And one of the few sayings of 
Phocylides which remain is IloXXa HSO-OHTIV apiara, peaos 
6s\o) sv TroXst slvai. Now all that is contained in these 
popular and prudential sayings is of course also contained in 
the principle of Meo-or^s, which is so conspicuous in the 
Ethics of Aristotle. But Aristotle's principle contains some- 
thing more it is not a mere application of the doctrine of 
moderation to the subject-matter of the various separate 
virtues. We see traces of a more profound source of the idea 
in his reference to the verse eaOXoi fj*v yap air\a)s, Travro- 
Scnrtas Be Kaxol. For here we are taken back to associations 
of the Pythagorean philosophy, and to the principle that evil 
is of the nature of the infinite and good of the finite. 49 

To say that what is infinite is evil, that what is finite is 
good, may seem an entire contradiction to our own ways of 
thinking. We speak of ' man's finite nature,' or of * the infi- 
nite nature of Grod,' from a contrary point of view. But by 
* finite' in such sentences we mean to express limitations of 
power, of goodness, of knowledge, each limitation implying an 
inferiority as compared with a nature in which such limitation 
does not exist. But the Pythagoreans were not dealing with 
this train of thought, when they said 'the finite is good.' 
They were expressing what was in the first place a truth of 



49 Eth. n. vi. 14. Tb ydp KO/cbv TOV dwtipov, ws ol Hv0ay6pfioi ("dcafa, rb 8' 
lya&bv TOV 



THE DOCTRIXE OF THE MEAX. 



203 



number, but afterwards was applied as a universal symbol ; 
they were speaking of goodness in reference to their own 
minds. The ' finite' in number is the calculable, that 50 which 
the mind can grasp and handle ; the ' infinite' is the incal- 
culable, that which baffles the mind, that which refuses to 
reduce itself to law, and hence remains unknowable. The 
' infinite' in this sense remained an object of aversion to the 
Pythagoreans, and hence in drawing out their double row of 
goods and evils, they placed * the even ' on the side of the 
bad, ( the odd ' on the side of the good. This itself might 
seem paradoxical, until we learn that with even numbers 
they associated the idea of infinite subdivision, and that even 
numbers added together fail to produce squares ; while the 
series of the odd numbers if added together produces a series 
of squares ; and the square, by reason of its completeness and 
of the law which it exhibits, is evidently of the nature of the 
finite. The opposition of the finite and the infinite took root 
in Greek philosophy, and above all in the system of Plato. 
Unity and plurality, form and matter, genus and individuals, 
idea and phenomena, are all different modifications of this 
same opposition. The Pythagoreans themselves appear to 
have expressed or symbolized matter under the term TO 
aTTsipov, and Plato 51 seems to have yet more distinctly con- 
ceived of this characteristic of matter or space, saying that it 
was an * undefined duad,' that is, that it contained in itself 
an infinity in two directions, the infinitely small aad the 
infinitely great. 

Assuming therefore that the principle of the finite, or the 
limit (TrsTrspafffj^vov or ir'spas), may be considered as identical 



511 Cf. Philolaus, apud Stob. Eel. 
Phys. I. xxi. 7. Kol irdvra 70 yucti/ TO. 
*)iyv(i>ffK6fj.fva apid/jAv exovri, ov y&p 
ol&v re oiiScv otirt voTjflij/xey otne yvu- 



&vev roifrco. Whether this 
fragment be genuine or not, it ex- 
presses the doctrine. 

sl Cf. AT. Metaphys. \, vi. 6. 



204 ESSAY IV. 

with that of form or law, we may now proceed to notice what 
appears to be the transition from the idea of fixed law or 
form (sl8os\ to that of proportion or the mean (psa-orr)*}, that 
is, to law or form become relative. It is to be found in the 
Philebus of Plato, p. 23 27. Socrates there divides all 
existence into four classes : first, the infinite (aTretpov} ; second, 
the limit (irspas) ; third, things created and compounded out 
of the mixture of these two (etc rovrcav fiiKrrjv Kal ysysvTjfjisvrjv 
ovaiav) ; fourth, the cause of this mixture and of the creation 
of things. The infinite is that class of things admitting of 
degrees, more or less, hotter and colder, quicker and slower, 
and the like, where no fixed notion of quantity has as yet 
come in. The limit is this fixed notion of quantity, as, for 
instance, the equal or the double. The third or mixed class 
exhibits the law of the iripas introduced into the airsipov. 
Of this Socrates adduces beautiful manifestations. Thus in 
the human body the infinite is the tendency to extremes, to 
disorder, to disease, but the introduction of the limit here 
produces a balance of the constitution and health. In sounds 
you have the infinite degrees of deep and high, quick and 
slow ; but the limit gives rise to modulation, and harmony, 
and all that is delightful in music. In climate and tem- 
perature, where the limit has been introduced, excessive heats 
and violent storms subside, and the mild and genial seasons 
in their order follow. In the human mind, ( the goddess of 
the limit' checks into submission the wild and wanton 
passions, and gives rise to all that is good. 

Both in things physical and moral these two opposites, the 
finite and the infinite, are thus made to play into one another, 
and to be the joint causes of beauty and excellence. Out of 
their union an entire set of ideas and terms seem to spring up, 
symmetry, proportion, balance, harmony, moderation, and the 
like. And this train of associations seems to have been con- 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 



205 



stantly present to the mind of Plato. It suited the essentially 
Grreek character of his philosophy to dwell upon the goodness 
of beauty, and the beauty of goodness, on the morality of 
art, and the artistic nature of morality ; so that words like 
/jLSTpto-rrjs and avfji^sTpia became naturally appropriated to 
express excellence in life and action. 62 

This Platonic principle, then, Aristotle seems to have taken 
up and adopted, slightly changing the formula, however, and 
speaking of /ASO-OTIJS instead of /j,srptoTr]s. The reason for this 
change may have been, that the formula became thus more 
exact and more capable of a close analytic application to a 
variety of instances, and at the same time gave scope for 
expressing that which is with Aristotle the complement of 
the theory, namely the doctrine of extremes and their relation 
to the mean. Aristotle does not ignore the physical and 
artistic meanings of the principle. On the contrary, the whole 
bearing of his use of the term fjbsa-orrjs is to show that moral 
virtue is only another expression of the same law which we see 
in nature and the arts. Life has been defined to be ' multeity 
in unity,' in other words, it is the law of the -jrspas exhibited 
in the airsipov. The first argument made use of by Aristotle 
to show that virtuous action consists in a balance between 
extremes is drawn from the analogy of physical life ; * For 
about immaterial things,' he says, ' we must use material 
analogies.' * Excess and deficiency equally destroy the health 
and strength, while what is proportionate (TO, avp,p,STpa) pre- 
serves and augments them' (Eth. n. ii. 6). Again, he points 
out that all art aims at the mean, and the finest works of art 



42 Cf. Republic, p. 400 E. "Eon 
iron irA.7)pijs ptv ypatpiKrj av-riav Kal iraffa 
77 -roiavrrj Sri/Jiiovpyia, irATjprjj 8e iKpav- 
TIK}\ Kal rcoiKi\ia Kal otKoSo/xfa Kal iraffa 
ait r) ruv &\\cav ffKfvwv epyaffia, en 5e 
% To>y ffcafjidrav <j>u<ris Kal fi -riev a\\<av 



yap TOVTOIS 



aff-)(jf\fU)irvvT\ Kal appvdfj.ia. Kal av 
KaKo\oytas Kal KaKorjBfias d5eA</>o, TCI 
tvavria TOU tvavrlov, a<atypov6s re K 
dyadov fjQuvs, dSf\<f>d re Ka 



206 



ESSAY IV 



are those which seem to have realized a subtle grace which the 
least addition to any part or diminution from it would overset 
(Eth. n. vi. 9). * And moral virtue,' he adds, * is finer than 
the finest art.' But it is by a mathematical expression of the 
formula, by reducing it to an absolutely quantitative concep- 
tion, that Aristotle's use of Ms<r6rr]s is chiefly distinguished. 
He says, that all quantity, whether space or number (sv Travri 
Brj a-vv%el KCU 8iaipSTw\ admits of the terms more, less, and 
equal. On making these terms relative, you have excess, 
deficiency, and the mean. The mean, then, is in geometrical 
proportion what the equal is in arithmetical progression. 
The middle term arithmetically is that which is equidistant 
from the terms on each side of it. Geometrically, the mean is 
not an absolute mean, but a relative mean, that is, if applied 
to action, it expresses the consideration of persons and of cir- 
cumstances (Eth. II. vi. 4-5). This opposition of the mean to 
the too much and too little becomes henceforward a formula 
of almost universal application. It is no mere negative 
principle, not the mere avoiding of extremes, but rather the 
realization of a law. When Aristotle says that the fj,a-6rrjs 
must be wptcrfisvt] \oyq>, he means that our action must cor- 
respond to the standard which exists in the rightly-ordered 
mind. What is subjectively the \6yos, law or standard, that 
is objectively the ^SCTOT^S or balance. ' Each of our senses,' 
says Aristotle, ' is a sort of balance (fietrorris} between extremes 
in the objects of sensation, and this it is which gives us the 
power of judging.' 53 

Thus again he says of plants, that they have no per- 
ceptions, ' because they have no standard ' (8i<i TO pr) s^siv 
, Zte An. ii. xii. 4). Again, he defines pleasure and 



M Z>e AnimS, n. xi. 17. 'fls TT/J 

alffdT]ffl>S dlOV flfff6TT)T6s TWOS oCff1]S 

TTJS eV rots ala&rjrois tvavTuafftws, Kal 



Sjek rovro Kpivti TO aiffOyrd. Ti 

flfffOV KplTlK&V. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 



207 



pain to consist in ' the consciousness, by means of the dis- 
criminating faculty (-rfi ai&drjTircfj ^SO-OTIJTL) of the senses, of 
coming in contact with good or evil.' 54 Each of the senses 
then is, or contains, a sort of standard of its proper object. 
And it is clear that Aristotle attributes to us a similar critical 
faculty in regard of morals. He says, that ' It is peculiar to 
man, as compared with the other animals, that he has a sense 
of good and bad, just and unjust.' 55 He seems to have 
regarded this ' moral sense ' as analogous to the ' musical ear,' 
which in some degree is almost natural to all men, but again 
exists in very different degrees in different men, and also may 
be more or less cultivated. Thus (Eth. ix. ix. 6) he speaks of 
the good man being ' pleased at good actions, as the musical 
man is at beautiful tunes.' And in Eth. x. iii. 10 he says 
that f It will be impossible to feel the pleasure of a just man 
if one is not just, as it will be to feel the pleasure of a musical 
man if one is not musical.' In the Ethics, its proper objective 
sense is preserved to Mso-drT/y, which accordingly means a 
* balance,' and not the ' standard ' for determining that balance, 
which is expressed by the term \6yos. A moment's con- 
sideration of this point will give an answer to the somewhat 
superficial question, Why does not Aristotle make the in- 
tellectual virtues mean states ? In the original form of the 
principle of MSO-OTT?? we have seen that it consisted in the 
introduction of the law of the ir'spas into the a-rrsLpov. The 
passions and desires are the infinite ; moral virtue consists in 
introducing limit (Trepas) into them, in bringing them under 
a law (X&yo) opi&iv} in making them exhibit balance, pro- 
portion, harmony (/LtfcroT^ra), which is the realization of the 



54 Kal tort rb ^Setrflat KO! A.ujreT<r(?cu 
Tb evtpyfiv rrj alffdririKTj fj.ear6T>]ri iipbs 
rb uyadbv t) KO.KOV, roiaOra. De An. 
in. vii. a. 



55 Pol. I. ii. 12. Tovro ykp irpbs 
AAtt ia rois dvOpiavois fStop, rb 
vov dyaBov Kal KOKOV KO! SiKaiov Kal 
tav &\\wif atadrjaiv tx ftv - 



208 ESSAY IV. 

law. On the other hand, reason (op6b$ \6yos} is another 
name for the law itself. It is the standard, and therefore 
does not require to be regulated by the standard. The in- 
tellectual virtues are not fisaorijrsf, because they are \6yoi. 

The worth and validity of Aristotle's principle of the mean 
has been much canvassed and questioned. Kant has been 
very severe on Aristotle for making ' a merely quantitative 
difference between vice and virtue.' Some have thought the 
theory practically true, but scientifically untenable ; others, on 
the contrary, that scientifically and abstractedly it is true, but 
that practically it gives an unworthy picture of morality, that 
it fails to represent the absolute and awful difference between 
right and wrong. Aristotle himself seems to have antici- 
pated this last objection, by remarking 56 that * It is only 
according to the most abstract and metaphysical conception 
that virtue is a mean between vices, whereas from a moral 
point of view it is an extreme (i.e. utterly and extremely 
removed from them'). Aristotle acknowledges that the 
formula of the mean does not adequately express the good of 
virtue ; that when thinking of virtue under the category of 
good, and regarding it as an object for the moral feelings and 
desires, as an object to be striven after, we should rather seek 
some other formula to express its nature. In the same way 
it might be said in accordance with modern views, that ' the 
mean' does not adequately express the right of virtue in 
relation to the will and conscience. 

The objections to Aristotle's theory arise from a partial 
misconception of what the term MEO-OTIJS really conveys. Kant 
for ' the mean' substitutes ' law.' But we have already traced 
the identity or correlation of Aoyos and Meo-orijf, and we have 
seen that MSCTOTTJS really implies and expresses exactly what 



56 Eth. ii. vi. 17. KOT& fikv T^V 
tivffiav KCU rbj/ \6yov rbi/ rl fa tlvcu 



\fyorra n^rys la-r\v r) dper-fi, icarek 



8 rb &PUTTOI> /col rb tl aKp6rrjs. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 209 

is meant by ' law ' properly so called. The only advantage 
which the term ' law ' can have over Meo-or^s, as an ethical 
principle, comes to it unfairly. For there is a sort of ambi- 
guity between the two meanings of the word law ; on the one 
hand it may denote a general principle, or harmony, or idea 
in nature ; on the other hand an authoritative command of 
the state. In applying the word to morals the associations 
of both meanings are blended together, and ' the law of right' 
accordingly expresses not only something harmonious, the 
attainment of an idea in action, but also there is a sort of 
association of authority conveyed, of the ' must,' of some- 
thing binding on the will. 

Supposing then we take the word e law' or ' idea' as being 
the real representative of Meo-or^s, it may still be asked, 
whether a quantitative term be a fit and worthy expression 
for so deep a moral conception. The Pythagoreans would not 
have understood this objection. They thought numbers the 
most sublime and the only true expression for all that was 
good in the physical and moral world. They would have used 
in reference to number the exact counterpart of Wordsworth's 
praise of Duty ' And the most ancient heavens by thee are 
fresh and strong.' They would have delighted to say that 
virtue is a square and vice an uneven-sided figure. When we 
look to the arts, following the analogy that Aristotle pointed 
out, we see clearly how the whole of beauty seems from one 
point of view to depend on the more and the less. It does 
not derogate from a beautiful form, that more or less would 
spoil it. We still think of beauty as something positive, and 
that more or less would be the negations of this. By degrees, 
however, we come to figure to ourselves beauty rather as re- 
pelling the more and the less, than as being caused by them. 
The capacity for more and less is matter, the atrsipoy, the 
aopi(nos Svds of Plato. The idea coming in stamps itself 

p 



210 ESSAY IV. 

upon this, we now have the harmonious and the beautiful, and 
all extremes and quantitative possibilities vanish out of sight, 
Matter is totally forgotten in our contemplation of form. So 
is it also with morals. We might fix our view upon the 
negative side of virtue, look at it in contrast to the extremes, 
and say it is constituted virtue by being a little more than 
vice and a little less than vice. But this would be to establish 
a positive idea out of the negation of its negations. 

To look at anything in its elements makes it appear 
inferior to what it seems as a whole. Kesolve the statue or 
the building into stone and the laws of proportion, and no 
worthy causes of the former beautiful result seem now left 
behind. So, also, resolve a virtuous act into the passions and 
some quantitative law, and it seems to be rather destroyed 
than analysed ; though, after all, what was there else that it 
could be resolved into ? An act of bravery seems beautiful 
and noble ; when we reduce this to a balance between the 
instincts of fear and self-confidence, the glory of it is gone. 
This is because the form is everything, and the matter nothing ; 
and yet the form, without the matter as its exponent, has no 
existence. It is, no doubt, true that the beauty of that 
brave act would have been destroyed had the boldness of it 
been pushed into folly ; and equally so had it been controlled 
into caution. The act, as it was done, exhibits the law of 
life, * multeity in unity ; ' or, in other words, the law of 
beauty. This is, then, what the term Msa-orrjs is capable of 
expressing ; it is the law of beauty. If virtue is harmony, 
grace, and beauty in action, Mfo-oTT/y perfectly expresses 
this. 

That beauty constituted virtue, was an eminently Greek 
idea. If we run through Aristotle's list of the virtues, we find 
them all embodying this idea. The law of the MscroTrjf, as 
exhibited in bravery, temperance, liberality, and magnanimity, 



THE DOCTRINE OP THE MEAN. 211 

constitutes a noble, free, and brilliant type of manhood. 
Extend it also, as Aristotle does, to certain qualifications of 
temper, speech, and manners, and you have before you the 
portrait of a graceful Grecian gentleman. The question now 
is, are there other virtues which exhibit some other law than 
this law of beauty, and to which, therefore, the Msa-orrjs 
would be inapplicable? Let us take as instances, truth, 
humility, charity, forgiveness of injuries, and ask what is the 
case with these. * Truth ' is treated of in a remarkable way 
by Aristotle ; under this name he describes a certain straight- 
forwardness of manner, which he places as the mean between 
boastfulness and over-modesty. That deeper kind of truth 
which, as he says, is concerned with justice and injustice, he 
omits to treat of. When we come to his theory of justice 
taking this as an individual virtue we find it either imper- 
fectly developed, or else imperfectly set forth. Now, truth 
itself seems expressible under the law of the M.sfforr]s ; it is 
a balance of reticence with candour, suitable to times and 
seasons. But the impulse to truth the duty of not deceiving 
the relation of the will to this virtue, seems something quite 
beyond the formula of the Mean. 

So, also, with the other virtues specified ; humility, charity, 
and forgiveness of injuries being Christian qualities, are not 
described by Aristotle ; but if we ask if they are * mean 
states,' we find that they are all beautiful ; and, in so far 
as that, they all exhibit a certain grace and balance of the 
human feelings. There is a point at which each might be 
overstepped ; humility must not be grovelling, nor charity 
weak ; and forgiveness must at times give place to indigna- 
tion. But there seems in them something which is also their 
chief characteristic, and which is beyond and different from 
this quality of the mean. Perhaps this might be expressed 
in all of them as 'self-abnegation.' Now, here, we get a 

p 2. 



212 ESSAY IV. 

different point of view from which to regard the virtues ; and 
that is, the relation of Self, of the individual Will, of the 
moral Subject to the objective in the sphere of action. This 
point of view Aristotle's principle does not touch. Meo-or?;? 
expresses the objective law of beauty in action, and, as cor- 
relative with it, the critical moral faculty in our minds, but 
the law of right in action as something binding on the moral 
subject it leaves unexpressed. To some extent this want is 
supplied by Aristotle's doctrine of the re\os, which raises a 
beautiful action into something absolute, and makes it the 
end of our being. 

But still the theory of ' Duty' cannot be said to exist in 
Aristotle, and all that relates to the moral will is with him 
only in its infancy. MSCTOTVJS, we have seen, expresses the 
beauty of good acts, but leaves something in the goodness of 
them unexpressed. In conclusion, we must remember that 
'Apsrr) with Aristotle did not mean quite the same as ' virtue ' 
with us; he meant the excellence, or perfection of man, just 
as he spoke elsewhere of the Aper?; of a horse. It is no 
wonder then that with his Greek views he resolved this into 
a sort of moral beauty. 

IV. We have now traced the application of some of his 
leading philosophical forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. We 
have observed how he takes the same point of view in dis- 
cussing man as in treating of nature in general. End, form, 
and actuality, are in human life, as in all nature, the good. 
If we look into the Ethics of Eudemus, and into those three 
books of his which are our only exposition of part of Aristotle's 
system, we see a carrying out of the same tendency, an effort 
to bring the psychology of the Will under some broader and 
more general law, and to express action and purpose under 
the form of a logical syllogism. It is uncertain how far this 
doctrine, even in its beginnings, is to be attributed to 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 213 

Aristotle himself. But it is worth a passing consideration. 
It is made the vehicle of some interesting discussions ; and it 
shows not only the sort of advance made by the Peripatetic 
school, but also it lets us know what was the nature of the 
psychology of the day. We have already observed that it is 
only in the Eudemian books of the Ethics that this formula 
occurs. But it is also set forth very explicitly in the treatise 
De Motu Animalium, which has been placed among the works 
of Aristotle, but which is now generally considered spurious, 
and is in all probability a Peripatetic compendium. 

For clearness' sake, let us refer at once to the summary 
account of the doctrine of the practical syllogism which is 
given in the last-mentioned work. 

The practical syllogism depends on this principle, that ' No 
creature moves or acts, except with a view to some end.' 57 
What therefore the law of the so-called * sufficient reason' is 
to a proposition of the understanding, that the law of the 
final cause is to an act of the will. * Under what conditions 
of thought is it,' 58 asks the writer, 'that a person at one 
time acts, at another time does not act ; at one time is put in 
motion, at another time not ? It seems to be much the same 
case as with people thinking and reasoning about abstract 
matter, only there the ultimate thing to be obtained is an 
abstract proposition, for as soon as one has perceived the 
two premises, one perceives the conclusion. But here the 



rJ ffvfj.tr fpatrijia fr6r)fff Kal avvt- 
fri\Kev), etravQa 5" eVc rOav Svo irpord- 
ffe&v rb ffvfj.iffpafffj.a yiyverai T\ irpats, 
oiov OTOI/ vn^ffJ] STJ vainl BaStffreov 



47 ndira TO ^<po Kal Kivei Kal Ktvfi-rai Tt\os (orav yap ras Svo irpordfffis 
fvtKo. rivos, &ffre rovr' effrw tcvrots 

jrdffris rrjs xnijtretoj irfpas, ib ov fvena.. 
De Mot. An. vi. 2. 

48 De Mot. An. vii. i. nS>s oe vowv 

6re fjifv irpdrTei ore S' ov vparrei, Kal \ avQpdnrif, avrbs 5' ariponros, 
Kivtirai, &r( S' ov Kivtlrai ; "Eot/ce (vOftas, ar 5' Srt ovoevl fZaSiffreov vvv 

avBpanrcf, avrbs 5' aVfyonros, evOvs 
ilpfftel 1 Kal ravra a^tfu irpdrrei, av uA] 
n Ku\vp 



7rapa7r\T)(rta)S ffVftfklirtu Kal irepl TUV 
v Siavoovfjifvots Kal ffv\\oyio- 
'AAX' fKft fjifv 



214 



ESSAY IV. 



conclusion that arises from the two premises is the action ; as, 
for instance, when one has perceived, that Every man ought 
to walk, and I am a man, he walks immediately. Or again, 
that No man ought now to walk, and I am a man, he stops 
still immediately. Both these courses he adopts, provided he 

be neither hindered nor compelled That the action is 

the conclusion, is plain ; but the premisses of the practical 
syllogism are of two kinds, specifying either that something 
is good, or again, how it is possible.' 59 This then may 
shortly be said to be the form of the practical syllogism : 
either (i) Major Premiss. Such and such an action is 

universally good. 
Minor Premiss. This will be an action of the 

kind. 

Conclusion. Performance of the action, 
or (2) Major Premiss. Such and such an end is de- 
sirable. 

Minor. This step will conduce to the end. 
Conclusion. Taking of the step. 

In other words, every action implies a sense of a general 
principle, and the applying of that principle to a particular 
case ; or again, it implies desire for some end, coupled with 
perception of the means necessary for attaining the end. 
These two different ways of stating the practical syllogism 
are in reality coincident ; for assuming that all action is for 
some end, the major premiss may be said always to contain 
the statement of an end. 60 And again, any particular act, 
which is the application of a moral principle, may be said to 



49 De Mot. An. vii. 4. "Ort nfv olv 
rj irpa^is rb <rujuire'paoyta, <pavep6v al 
5 irporafffis al iroiT)Ti/cai Sta Svo fiSuv 
yivotnat, 5id Tt roD ajaBov /cal 5io TOV 



80 Eth. vi. xii. .10. Ol yap <rv\\o- 
ytfffjiol rutv irpaKTuv ap^V f^oiTw 
flffiv, ticfi&l) ToidvSt rb re\os K<d rb 
apiffrov. 



THE DOCTRIXE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 215 

be the means necessary to the realization of the principle. 
' Temperance is good,' may be called either a general prin- 
ciple, or an expression of a desire for the habit of temperance. 
' To abstain now will be temperate,' is an application of the 
principle, or again, it is the absolutely necessary means 
toward the attainment of the habit. For 'it is absurd,' as 
Aristotle tells us, 'when one acts unjustly to talk of not 
wishing to be unjust, or when one acts intemperately of not 
wishing to be intemperate.' 61 

The distinction between end and means, which plays so 
important a part throughout the moral system of Aristotle, 
comes out, as might be expected, very prominently in Book 
III., where what must be called a sort of elementary psycho- 
logy of the Will is given. But no application is there made 
of the scheme of the syllogism. Indeed a mathematical 
formula seems used in Book III., where a logical formula is 
in Book VI. : for in the former, the process of deliberation is 
compared to the analysis of a diagram (Eth. m. iii. n); in 
the latter, error of deliberation is spoken of as a false syl- 
logism, where the right end is attained by a wrong means, 
that is, by a false middle term. 62 

It is to Books VI. and VII. that we must look to see the 
use made of the practical syllogism. It is applied, first, to 
the explanation of the nature of Wisdom (Qpovrja-is), which is 
shown to contain a universal and a particular element. 63 
2. To show the intuitive character of moral judgments and 



sl Eth. m. V. 1 3. "ETJ 8' &\oyov -r)>v : <pp6trr)ffis -riav KO06\ov /j.6vov, d\\a 8e? 

O. f*rj &ov\fff6cu &SIKW tlvau fj Kcd TO naff fKcurra yi>capi(tv, K.T.A. 

rbv aKo^atrraivofTa a.K6\a<Trov. TL viii. 7. "En rj afutprla % trepl rii 

62 Eth. VI. ix. 5. 'AX\' tffTi KO! ' Ka66\ov ev ry &ov\tvcra.ff6ai t) irepl rb 
rovrov 4/u5r ffv\\oyiffiJ.(f rvxtiv, KO.\ & | tiaff fKcurrov 1) yap ZTI Trdrra ra /3a- 
fi.tv Set irotTJcrai vv-)(t1v, St' o5 8' otf, ' pvffTaOfia vSara, <pav\a, t) Sri roSl 
aAAa i^euS^ rbv fifaov &pov fivcu. 

63 Eth. vi. vii. 7. OuS' fff-rly ri 



216 



ESSAY IV. 



knowledge. 64 3. To prove the necessary and inseparable 
connexion of wisdom and virtue. 65 4. In answer to the 
question, how is it possible to know the good, and yet act 
contrary to one's knowledge ? In short, how is incontinence 
possible ? This phenomenon is explained in two ways ; either 
the incontinent man does not apply a minor premiss to his 
universal principle, and so the principle remains dormant, 
and his knowledge of the good remains merely implicit ; or, 
again, desire constructs a sort of syllogism of its own, in- 
consistent with, though not directly contradictory to, the 
arguments of the moral reason. 66 Incontinence therefore 
implies knowing the good, and at the same time not knowing 
it. It would be impossible to act contrary to a complete 
syllogism which applied the knowledge of the good to a case 
in point; for the necessary conclusion to such a syllogism 
would be good action. But there is broken knowledge and 
moral obliviousness in the mind of the incontinent man, and 
the practical syllogism gives a formula for expressing this. 

The foregoing references serve to show, that in itself this 
formula is only a way of stating certain psychological facts. 
The question whether people do really go through a syllogism 
in or before every action, is much like the question whether 
we always reason in syllogisms. Most reasonings seem to be 
from particular to particular, that is to say, by analogy ; and 
yet some sort of universal conception, if it be only the sense 
of the uniformity of nature, lies at the bottom of all in- 
ference. And so too in action, most acts seem prompted by 
the instinct of the moment, and yet some general "idea, as, 
for instance, the desire of the creature for its proper good, 



64 Eth. VI. xi. 4. Kol & vovs rcav 
(ff-)(a.T(av fir' d/j.<f>6rfpa, K.T.A. 

65 Eth. vi. xii. 10. "Ean 8' T) <p6- 



86 Eth. vn. iii. 6. "En &rl . . . OVK. 
fvfpyei. vil. iii. 9, 10. "En /cal a>5 . . . 
Kara fri'/x/3f/37;KOs. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 217 



might be said to lie behind this instinct. This theory 
acknowledges 67 that the mind constantly passes over one of 
the premisses of the practical syllogism, as being obvious ; 
that we act often instantaneously, without hesitation, just 
because we see an object of desire before us. Thus it is 
merely a way of putting it, to say that we act from a syllogism. 
But granting the formula, it becomes immediately a powerful 
analytic instrument. It seems to suggest and clear the way 
for a set of ulterior questions, in which most important results 
would be involved. For now that action has been as it were 
caught, put to death, and dissected, and so reduced to the 
level of abstract reasoning, it seems that we have only to 
deal with its disjointed parts in order to know the whole 
theory of human Will. We have only to ask what is the 
nature of the major premiss, and how obtained ? What is 
the nature of the minor premiss, and how obtained? The 
answer to these questions in the Ethics is not very explicit. 
This is exactly one of the points on which a conclusive theory 
seems to have been least arrived at. With regard to our 
possession of general principles of action, there appear to be 
three different accounts given in different places. 

(1) They are innate and intuitive (vi. xi. 4, vn. vi. 6, 7). 

(2) They are evolved from experience of particulars (vi. 
viii. 6). 

(3) They depend on the moral character (vi. xii. 10, vn. 
viii. 4). 



67 De Mot. An. vii. 4, 5. "fl<rirep 
8e T<av fp<ar<avr<av ei>iot, ovra r)\v 
erfpw irp6ra<nv ri]v Sfaijv oi)5' 77 5ia- 
VOLO. efyiffraffo, ffKoirei ovSev olov el rb 
&aSitiv dyaBbv dvdp&irtf, Sri curbs 
avdpwTros, OVK fvSiarpi&fi. Aib KO! o<ra 
/UTJ \oyiffdfj.fvoi irpa.rrop.ev, ra^y irpar- 
roptv. "Orav yap fvfpryh<rr> rj rfj al- 



ff&fitrei irpbs rb ov cpeKa tj rrj (pavraffta. 
f)'rtp vif, ov opeyerai, eufliis iroitt- OUT' 
epwrfifftws yap ^ w^creus rj rys op|ews 
yivfrai evtpyeia. Hor^ov fwi, rj n- 
Ovfiia \eyfi roSl Se iror6v, fj cdftrfrjjcrjs 
tiirev ft rj (pavracria ^ 6 vovs- fvdvs 
trivet. 



218 ESSAY IV. 

These three accounts are not however incompatible with 
one another. For as in explaining the origin of speculative 
principles (Post. An. n. xix.) Aristotle seems to attribute them 
to reason as the cause and experience as the condition ; so in 
regard to moral principles, we might say that they were per- 
ceived by an intuitive faculty, but under the condition of a 
certain bearing of the moral character, which itself arises out 
of and consists in particular moral experiences. This recon- 
ciliation of the statements is not made for us in the Ethics. 
There the different points of view stand apart, and there is 
something immature about the whole theory. So too with 
regard to the minor premiss in action ; on the one hand we 
are told that it is a matter of perception (vr. viii. 9), as if it 
belonged to everybody ; on the other hand we are told that 
the apprehension of these particulars is exactly what distin- 
guishes the wise man. 68 But it is unnecessary to attempt to 
go beyond the lead of the Ethics in answering these questions, 
for we should ourselves most probably state them in an entirely 
different way. 

We see in the practical syllogism a limited and imperfect 
attempt to graft on a logical formula upon Aristotle's system. 
We also see in it a still more important fact, namely, the 
progress of psychology, and the tendency now manifesting 
itself to give attention to the phenomena of the Will. The 
manner in which the theory is stated, abstractedly, and with 
a full belief in logical formulae, rather than an appeal to life 
and consciousness, shows something of the scholastic spirit. 
To reduce action to a syllogism dogmatically is a piece of 
scholasticism. Plato would have put it in this way for once, 
and would then have passed on to other modes of expression. 
But it is remarkable that this formula is one of those that 



fis ripoKTi/cds 76 6 <f>p6vift.os riav yap iffxa-Tuv ns. Eth. vn. ii. 5. 



THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 219 

remains most completely stamped upon the language of man- 
kind. When we talk of ' acting on principle,' or speak of a 
man's 'principles,' perhaps we do not reflect that this expres- 
sion is a remnant of Aristotle's practical syllogism. ' Prin- 
ciple' is no other than the apxtf or major premiss. There is 
however this difference, that while with the Peripatetics the 
major premiss contained the idea of a good to be desired for 
its own sake (TS\OS} } e principle ' often implies an expression 
of duty, that is to say, rather that which is right in itself, 
than that which is desirable in itself. 



ESSAY V. 



On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics 
of Aristotle. 

A RISTOTLE'S limited and separate mode of treating the 
" problem which he has assigned to himself in this 
treatise, his exclusive adherence to an ethical (or, as he would 
call it, a political) point of view, and his rejection of many 
great questions ' connected with the nature of man, because 
he conceived them to belong to other sciences, might seem to 
exonerate us from the task of discussing here his opinions on 
the gravest matters of all. But yet it is impossible that an 
ethical treatise should be written uncoloured by the writer's 
view of nature, the Deity, and the human soul. And 
accordingly we find more than one passage in this work of 
Aristotle which really depends on his views of those subjects. 
If then we make no attempt to understand parts of his philo- 
sophy that lie outside bis Ethics, we shall not only miss that 
which in the mind of Aristotle must have been the setting of 
the whole piece, but also we shall be in danger of substituting 
our own point of view for his, and thus wrongly explaining 
many of his allusions. In the present Essay it may be useful 
to collect a few passages from the different works of Aristotle, 
which may throw light upon the general bearing of his mind, 
though it would be out of place, if indeed it were possible, to 



1 For instance, the metaphysical 
question concerning the good, Eth. i. 
vi. 13. The question of Providence, 



L ix. 3. The physical aspect of the 
question about friendship, vm. i. 7, 
&c. 



ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 



221 



give anything like a dogmatic or explicit account of his 
opinions, with regard to many of which we are not in a 
position to form a certain estimate. 

The most interesting notices of his general views of nature 
may be gathered from the second book of Aristotle's Physical 
Lectures. He there speaks of ' nature ' 2 as * a principle of 
motion and rest implanted and essentially inherent in things, 
whether that motion be locomotion, increase, decay, or altera- 
tion.' ' It is absurd 3 to try to prove the existence of nature ; 
to do so would be to ignore the distinction between self- 
evident and not self-evident things.' 'Nature 4 may be said 
in one way to be the simplest and most deep-lying substratum 
of matter in things possessing their own principle of motion 
and change ; in another way it may be called the form and 
law of such things.' That is, nature is both matter or poten- 
tiality and form or actuality. It is also the transition from 
one to the other. 'Nature,' 5 says Aristotle, 'spoken of as 
creation is the path to nature.' Again, 'Nature 6 is the end 
or final cause.' In relation to this system of causation, it 
remains to ask what place is to be assigned to chance or the 
fortuitous, to necessity and to reason? 'Some 7 deny the 
existence of chance altogether, saying that there is a definite 
cause for all things.' ' Others, 8 again, have gone so far as 



2 Nat. Ausc. n. i. z. 'fis ofays rys 
<f>vfff<es apxys rwbs Kal curias rov KI- 
vficrOai Kal ypffj.fiv ev $ inrdpxfi irptarcas 
Kaff avrb Kal ^ Kara ffV(j.f)fl3r)K6s. 

3 Nat. Ausc. n. i. 4. 'G.s S' earlv y 
<pvffis TreipaffBai SeiKvvvai, ye\oiov . . . 
ou Svva.fj.evov Kpivfiv effrl rb Si avrb 
Kal fj.1) Si avrb yvwpifiov. 

4 Nat. Ausc. n. i. 8. "Eva /J.fv ovv 
rp6irov ovrcas T) <f>vffis \ejfrai, rj Trpdrri) 
(Kaffrca inroKfi[j.firt] v\rj rcav f-)(&vr<av fv 
aurois apx^iv Ktirtifffias Kal /tTO/3o\7jr, 



oA.Aoj' 5e rp&icov T\ fJ-op<pij Kal rb 
rb Kara rbv \6yov. 

5 Nat. Ausc. ir. i. n. *Ert 8* q 
ipviris i] \fyofjievT] &>s ytvtffis 68(5$ ecrriv 
tis <pvffu>. 

e Nat. Ausc. n. ii. 8. 'H 5e tyvffis 
r it\os Kal ov tveica. 

7 Nat. Ausc. n. iv. ^. "Ei/iot yap 
Kal el effnv % fify airopovffiv ovSev yap 
yiveffQat airb rv^ris (pacriv, a\\a iriivruv 
elvai ri airiov &>pi<ffj.evov. 

8 Nat. Ausc. n. iv. 5. EtVi Se rives 



222 



ESSAY V. 



to assign the fortuitous as the cause of the existence of the 
heaven and the whole universe.' 'Others 9 believe in the 
existence of chance, but say that it is something mysterious 
and supernatural, which baffles the human understanding.' 
With none of these opinions does Aristotle seem exactly to 
agree. He will not hear of attributing the existence of ' the 
heaven 10 and the divinest things that meet our eyes' to blind 
chance. Again, while allowing the existence of chance as an 
undefined or incalculable principle of causation, and awarding 
to it a certain sphere, namely, things contingent, he does not 
appear to have believed in anything supernatural attaching 
to it. He distinguishes ' the fortuitous' from ' chance,' con- 
sidering * chance ' to be only a species of the latter, and re- 
stricted to the sphere of human actions. 11 As a proof of this 
he alleges that ' good fortune is held to be the same or nearly 
so with happiness;' now happiness is a kind of action, i.e. 
' doing well.' Where there is no action, there is no chance. 
Hence no inanimate object, nor beast, nor child, does any- 
thing by chance, because it has no choice, nor have these 
either good or bad fortune, except metaphorically, in the 
same sense that Protarchus said ' the stones of the altar were 
fortunate, because they were honoured.' The fortuitous and 
chance both are merely accidental, and not essential principles 
of causation ; they therefore presuppose the essential, since the 
accidental is posterior to and dependent on the essential. 
Therefore 12 of whatever things chance may be the cause, it 



of Kal Tovpavov rovSe Kal rtav KOfffjiiKui/ 
iraVT<av alniavrai rb avrSfMTOv. 

9 Nat. Amc. n. iv. 8. EM 8e rives 
ols SoKft elvai alrla /xev y Ti>xr), &Srj\os 
Sf av6p<i>irivri Siavo'ia ws 6fi6v ri oliaa. 
Kal Saifj.oi>iiorfpov. 

10 Nat. Ausc. n. iv. 6. Tbv ovpavbv 
Kal TO OfiArara riav fyavtpiav. 

11 Nat. Aiisc. it. vi. I. A& Kal 



ek Trpa/cra elvai T^J/ TV-^V 
eToi/ 5' STJ 5o/ct? tfroi ravrbv flvai TTJ 
tvrvxla t) tyyiis, rj 5* 
fvSaif.wvia Trpais TIS finrpa^la ydp. 
This passage was probably written 
previously to the Ethical researches 
of Aristotle. 

12 Nat. Ausc. n. vi. 8. "fffrtpov 
&pa rb avr6p.arov Kal r) rv^ri Kal vov 



ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 223 

necessarily follows that nature and reason, which are essential 
causes, should be presupposed, that they should be in short 
the causes of the universe. 

Has necessity, then, a conditional 13 or an absolute sway in 
relation to nature ? To say that it had an absolute sway, 
would be equivalent to assigning as the cause of the existence 
of a wall that the heavy stones must be put at the bottom, 
and the light stones and earth a-top. In reality, however, this 
necessity in regard to the wall is only a necessary 14 condition, 
not a cause, of the making of the wall. Given a certain end, 
and certain means to this are necessary ; thus far and no 
farther has necessity a sway in regard to nature. But the 
end is the real cause, the necessary means are a mere subor- 
dinate condition. 

Lastly, What is the position of design or intelligence in 
relation to nature ? Some reduce all nature to a mechanical 
principle ; if they recognize any other principle at all (as 
Empedocles spoke of ' love and hatred,' and Anaxagoras of 
' reason'), they just touch it and let it drop. 15 They say it 
rains, not that the corn may grow, but from a mechanical 
necessity, because the vapours are cooled as they are drawn 
up, and being cooled are compelled to fall again, and by 
coincidence this gives growth to the corn. 16 Why should it 
not also be by accident and coincidence, they ask, that in the 
teeth of animals, for instance, the front teeth grow sharp 



fpepeffOat ra 8e Kov<pa eirnroATjs. 

14 Nat. Ausc. H. ix. z. OVK avev 
fj.ev TWV avajKaiav tyjlivTwv r^v tyvatv, 
ov fjiivroi ye Sia ravra aAA' 3) &s 



icol <pv<Tas- 50V el ori [u 
ovpavov afriov rb avr6fj.arov, avdyKrj 
Trp6repov vow Kal <pvffiv alriav elvat Kal 
&\\cav iro\\(ev /col rovSe tavros. 

13 Nat. Ausc. n. ix. i. Tb 8' e'| 
avdyKys ir&repov e| inroOeffeus virdpxei ls Nat. Ausc. n. viii. I. Kal yap 

/} Kal orrAaJS ; NG^ /J.ev yap otovrai rb e| eav &\\r)v alriav etiruaiv, offov ai| 
avdyKr)s elvai ev rrj yeveaei, Sxnrep ttv juot xaipeiv f<riv, & fiev r^v <f>i\iav /col 
ttns rbv rol-^ov e| avdyKrjs ytyevrjffBai i rb ve^Kos, o 8 rbv vovv. 
vofjii^oi, on ra ju,ej/ /3ope'a /COTO> ir</)u/c6 j 16 ^iai. Ausc. n. viii. z. 



224 ESSAY V. 

and suitable for cutting, while the hind teeth grow broad and 
suitable for grinding ? ' Hence their theory is, that whenever 
blind necessity did not hit by coincidence on results as perfect 
as if they had been designed, its products perished, while the 
lucky hits were preserved ; and thus Empedocles says that 

i whole races of monsters perished 17 before a perfect man was 

1 attained. 

Aristotle says, ' It is impossible that this theory can be 
true; 18 our whole idea of chance and coincidence is some- 
thing irregular, out of the course of nature, while nature is 
the regular and the universal. If, then, the products of 
nature are either according to coincidence or design, it 
follows that they must be according to design. We see how 
a house is built ; if that house were made by nature, it would 
be made in exactly the same way, i.e. with design, and accord- 
ing to a regular plan. The same adaptation of means to 
ends we see in the procedure of the animals, which makes 
some men doubt whether the spider, for instance, and the 
ant, do not work by the light of reason or an analogous 
faculty. In plants, moreover, manifest traces of a fit and 
wisely planned organization appear. The swallow makes its 
nest and the spider its web by nature, and yet with a design 
and end ; and the roots of the plant grow downwards and not 
upwards, for the sake of providing it nourishment in the 
best way. It is plain, then, that end and design is a cause 
of natural things. And if nature be figured both as matter 
and as end, we may surely regard the matter as a mere 
means to an end, and the end itself as really and essentially 
the cause. The failures of nature, the abortions and monsters 
which Empedocles spoke of as if they were the normal 



17 Nat. Ausc. n. viii. 4. "O<ra 5 fify OVTUS, airca\ero Kal air6\\vrai, na6dirtp 
/u7T5o(c\^s \tyti rck ftovyftrfi at>$p6irp<i>pa. IS Nat. Ausc. u. viii. 5-10. 



AKISTOTLE'S CONCEPTION OP NATURE. 225 

products of nature, are in reality its mere exceptions. They 
are mistakes and errors, exactly analogous to the failures in 
art. It is absurd to doubt the existence of design because we 
cannot see deliberation actually taking place. Art does not 
deliberate. If the art of ship-bitilding were inherent in the 
wood, ship-building would be a work of nature. Perhaps 
the best conception we can have of nature is, if we think of 
a person acting as his own doctor and curing himself.' 19 

On these views of Aristotle's several observations at once 
suggest themselves. They contain a recognition quite as 
strong as that in Paley's Natural Theology of the marks of 
design in creation. But we see that it is possible to recognize 
these marks of design, and to be led by them to a different 
view from that of Paley ; that Aristotle does not discover in 
them, as it were, the works of a watch, and proceed imme- 
diately to infer the existence of a watchmaker ; but rather 
that the products of nature appear to him according to the 
analogy of a watch that makes itself. If we ask, how it is 
that the watch makes itself? Aristotle would reply, that all 
things strive after the good ; that on the idea of the good, as 
seen and desired, the whole heavens and all nature depend. 
Aristotle views the world with a kind of natural optimism. 
He says (Eth. i. ix. 5), 'All things in nature are constituted 
in the best possible way.' If we ask, what is it that perceives 
the good what gives to nature this eye of reason to perceive 
an idea and to strive after it? on this head Aristotle is 
not explicit. He says there is something divine in nature. 
' Even 20 in the lower creatures there is a natural good above 
their own level, which strives after the good proper for them.' 



19 Nat. Ausc. n. viii. 1 5. MdXiffTO. 
Se 8ri\ov '6rav TLS larpevri avrbs eavr6v 
rovrcf y&p fotKfv f] (pvffis. 

20 Eth. x. ii. 4. "Iffws tie Kal 2v Tols 



<f>aii\ois <rri ri (pvaruibv ayaffbv KptirTOV 
f) KaO' avrd, & ^<pierai. TOV olicfiov dya- 
6ov. A similar doctrine is given in 
the Eudemian Book, vn. xiii. 6. 



226 



ESSAY V. 



We see the indistinctness of this phrase. He speaks of * the 
natural good ' striving after ' their proper good.' If it be said 
that Aristotle's theory is Pantheism, this would not be exactly 
true, for Aristotle does not identify God with nature, nor 
deprive Him of personality. But what the relation is of 
'the divine' in nature to God, it must be confessed that 
Aristotle does not make clear. We only see that Aristotle, 
while tracing design, beauty, and harmony in the world, is 
not led to figure to himself God as the artist or architect of 
this fair order, but as standing in a different relation to it. 
If we ask, how can the beginning be accounted for, how did 
the watch begin to make itself? Aristotle would say, in 
looking back we do not find in the past merely the elements 
(Svva/j,is} of a watch, we find of necessity the idea and the 
actuality (svepysta) of the watch itself (see above, p. 189). 
A perfect watch must always precede the imperfect one. It 
is impossible to think of nature as having had a beginning. 
* The universe is eternal ' (Eth. in. iii. 3). ' The parts 21 may 
be regarded as changeable, but the whole cannot change, it 
is increate and indestructible ' (De Coelo, I. x. i o). 

One of the most interesting points to notice in this part of 
the subject is the way in which Aristotle regards man in re- 
lation to nature as a whole. His view appears to be twofold ; 
on the one hand he regards man as a part of nature. He 
says, 22 ' You may call a man the product of a man, or of the 
sun.' He looks at the principle of human life as belonging 
to the whole chain of organized existence. Man has much 
in common with the animals and the plants. On the other 
hand, he looks at the human reason and will as a principle of 
causation, which is not part of Mature, but distinct. * Man,' 



21 "CLffr' ft rb S\ov 
dre /xc OVTUS 6re 8' ^Kelvus StarlBfTat 
Kal 5XKe/c<5o>o)Tai, TJ tie rov '6\ov ffv- 
(rraffis fffri n&ff^os Kal ovpav6s, OVK tu> 



6 Kofffjios ylyvoiro Kal <p6fipoiro, d\\' al 
SiaBecrttf avrov. 

22 Nat. Ausc. n. ii. n. 
yap avOpwirov ytvva Kal T^\IO 



ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OF NATUEE. 227 

he says, * is the cause of his own actions.' Thus he classifies 
causation into ' nature, necessity, chance, and again reason 
and all that comes from man ' (Eth. m. iii. 7), ' In art 23 
and in action the efficient cause rests with the maker or doer, 
and not as in nature with the thing done.' Aristotle's Ethical 
theory depends on this principle, that the moral qualities are 
not by nature, i.e. self-caused, but produced in us in accord- 
ance with the law of our nature, by the exercise of will, by 
care, cultivation, and in short the use of the proper means. 
We have already observed (see above, p. 108) that one of the 
first steps of Grecian Ethics, as exhibited in the philosophy 
of Archelaus and Democritus, consisted in severing man and 
human society from the general framework of nature. This 
Aristotle follows out in his Ethics, and he seems so easily to 
content himself with the practical assumption of freedom for 
man, as to give a narrow and unphilosophical appearance 
to part of his writing. 

While, however, assuming freedom for human actions, 
Aristotle seems to do so, not so much from a sense of the 
deep importance of morality, but rather from an idea of the 
slightness of man and of his actions in comparison with nature, 
and what he would call the * diviner parts' of the universe. 
There is a strange passage in his Metaphysics (xi. x. 2-3), 
which is obscure indeed, but it seems to bear on the question. 
He says, 24 * All things are in some sort ordered and har- 
monized together, fishes of the sea, birds of the air, and plants 
that grow, though not in ail equal degree. It is not true to 



23 JSA. VL iv. 4. 

84 TidvTa 8e crvi'TeTot/cTCit TTCOS, ctAA 
o^x &Hoi(as, Kal irAwra al Trrrjva /cal 

(/)UT^- <A\' OUX OVTCllS %l &(TTe jU^/ 

elvat 0aT(p<f wpbs OaTepov /LtrjOeV, aAA* 
^OTt Tt. Ilpbj ju.ec 7ap ev aTravra <rvv- 
TTa/cTOt, aAA.' c6<nrep ^v ot/ci^ TO?S 

Q2 



e\fv6epois ^KiffTO. ee(TTjj/ 8 TI eTV%e 
troLfiv, dAAa irdvTa if) TO. TrAeurTa Te'ra- 
KTai, TOIS 8e dvSpaTr6Sots Kal Tots Orjpiots 
/ui/cpbj' rb 6is rb Koit>6v, rb S iroAfr 3 
TJ eru^ev TOIOUTTJ ^ap (KaffTOv 



228 ESSAY Y. 

say that there is no relation between one thing and another ; 
there is such a relation. All things are indeed arranged 
together towards one common centre ; but as in a household 
the masters are by no means at liberty to do what they please, 
but most things, if not all, are appointed for them, while the 
slaves and the dogs and cats do but little towards the common 
weal, and mostly follow their own fancies. For so the nature 
of each of the different classes prompts them to act.' This 
curious metaphor seems to represent the universe as a house- 
hold. The sun and stars and all the heaven are the gentle- 
men and ladies, whose higher aims and more important 
positions in life prevent any time being left to a merely 
arbitrary disposal ; all is filled up with a round of the noblest 
duties and occupations. Other parts of the universe are like 
the inferior members of the family, the slaves and domestic 
animals, who for most part of the day can sleep in the sun, 
and pursue their own devices. Under this last category it 
seems almost as if man would be here ranked. Aristotle does 
not regard the unchanging and perpetual motion of the 
heavenly bodies as a bondage, but rather as a harmonized and 
blessed life. All that is arbitrary (oirws STV^S) in the human 
will, Aristotle does not consider a privilege. And man (espe- 
cially in regard of his actions, the object of tf>p6vr)<ri,s and 
TroXiTiKij} he does not think the highest part of the universe ; 
he thinks the sun and stars 25 ' far more divine.' This opinion 
is no doubt connected with a philosophical feeling of the 
inferiority of the sphere of the contingent, in which action 
consists, and with which chance intermixes, to the sphere of 
the absolute and the eternal. In this feeling Plato shared, 
but in Plato's mind there was set against it, what Aristotle 
seems deficient in, a deep sense of the even eternal import 

M Eth. yi. vii. 4. 



ARISTOTLE'S THEOLOGY. 229 

of morality. To the heavenly bodies both Plato and Aristotle 
appear to have attributed consciousness, which explains in 
some degree the sayings of Aristotle. We see, however, that 
there was necessarily something peculiar, contrasted with our 
views, in the way Aristotle approached Ethics. This no doubt 
his actual researches in Ethics led him to modify. But he 
never would have accepted the saying, ' In the world there 
is nothing great but man ; in man there is nothing great 
but mind ' and as we may surely go on to add, * in mind 
there is nothing great but what is moral.' 

We can never, perhaps, adequately comprehend Aristotle's 
philosophical conception of the Deity. The expression of his 
views that has come down to us seems so incomplete, and 
contains so much that is apparently contradictory, that we are 
in great danger of doing Aristotle injustice. Even had we a 
fuller and clearer expression, there might be yet something 
behind this remaining unexpressed, as an intuition in the 
mind of the philosopher. The first thing we may notice is 
Aristotle's idea of * Theology' as a science. In classifying the 
speculative sciences, he says (Metaphys. x. vii. 7), * Physics 
are concerned with things that have a principle of motion 
in themselves ; mathematics speculate on permanent, but not 
transcendental and self-existent things ; and there is another 
science separate from these two, which treats of that which is 
immutable and transcendental, if indeed there exists such a 
substance, as we shall endeavour to show that there does. 
This transcendental and permanent substance, if it exists at 
all, must surely be the sphere of the divine it must be the 
first and highest principle. Hence it follows that there are 
three kinds of speculative science physics, mathematics, and 
theology.' In the same strain he speaks in the succeeding 
book (Metapkys. xi. viii. 19), as if the popular polytheism of 
Greece were a mere perverted fragment of this deeper and 



230 



ESSAY V. 



truer ' Theology,' which he conceives to have been, in all 
probability, perfected often before in the infinite lapse of 
time, and then again lost. He says, 26 * The tradition has 
come down from very ancient times, being left in a mythical 
garb to succeeding generations, that these (the heavens) are 
gods, and that the divine embraces the whole of nature. And 
round this idea other mythical statements have been agglo- 
merated with a view to influencing the vulgar, and for 
political and moral expediency ; as, for instance, they feign 
that these gods have human shape and are like certain of the 
animals ; and other stories of the kind are added on. Now, 
if any one will separate from all this the first point alone 
namely, that they thought the first and deepest grounds of 
existence to be gods he may consider it a divine utterance. 
In all probability, every art and science and philosophy has 
been over and over again discovered to the farthest extent 
possible, and then again lost, and one may conceive these 
opinions to have been preserved to us as a sort of fragment 
of those lost philosophies. We see then to some extent the 
relation of the popular belief to those ancient opinions.' 
Aristotle having thus penetrated to a conception, which he 
imagined to lie behind the external and unessential forms of 
the Grecian religion, that is, the conception of a deep and 



26 TlapaSfSorai Sf irapa rS>v 
Kal irafj.ira\aia>v 4v pvOou ff-^yMri Kara- 
\f\ftfjifj.fva rots vffrfpov '6ri Oeoi re 
eltriv ovroi KOI weptfxfi rb dfiov rty 
8A7JV tpvffit>. To 8e \oiirfa (ivBiKcas ijSrj 
irpoffffKrat irpbs T^V iretOoj nSv Tro\\<!>f 
Kal -Kpbs riji/ els rovs v6fj.ovs Kal rb 
avutyipov xpriffiv avOptirjrofiSfis Tf yap 
rovrovs Kal T<V &\\cai/ <f<av &fj.otovs 
Tiffl \fyov<n,Kal Tobrois erf pa Mt6\ovda 
Kal trapaTr^ffia -rots elpriufvois. "Hi/ 
f? Tts x w f > ' <ray OUTO \d/3oi fi6i>ov -rb 
r< 0fovs tfomo ras Ttpwras 



ovtrias flvai, Qf'uas ta> ftpr/adai vopifffifv, 
Kal Kara rb tiKbs iro\\aKis fvpT]p.fvi)s 
fls rb Swarbv tKaffrys Kal rf\tn]S Kal 
<pi\offo<pias Kal ira\iv <p6fipofj.fv(i>v Kal 
ravras ras 56as iKtivuv olov \ttyava 
irtpiffeffiaffOat fitxpi rov vvv. 'H fiv 
oZv irdrptos 5d|o /col TJ wapa r<av irp<a- 
riav lirl roffovrov f;/Atv tpavfpa fj.6vov. 
Of. Pol. a. viii. 21, and Plato, Politicus, 
270, Laws, 677 A : TJ> iro\\as a.v6pwir<av 
(pdopas yeyovevat KaraK\vfffj.ois rf Kal 
v6ffois Kal &\\ots iro\\ots, iv ofs 
n rwv avOptoTruv \tlvfffOai yevos. 



ARISTOTLE S THEOLOGY. 



231 



divine ground for all existence, proceeds now to develop it 
for himself, and in doing so, he lays down the following posi- 
tions (Metaphys. xi. vi.-x.). 

1 i ) It is necessary to conceive an eternal immutable exist- 
ence, an actuality prior to all potentiality. According to this 
view, all notions of the world having sprung out of chaos 
must be abandoned. Gfod is here represented as the eternal, 
unchangeable form of the whole, immaterial (avsv SiW/i<uy), 
and free from all relation to time. 

(2) With this idea it is necessary to couple that of the 
source of motion, else we shall have merely a principle of im- 
mobility. We must therefore conceive of a ceaseless motion ; 
this motion must be circular, no mere figure of philosophy, 27 
but actually taking place. Thus the highest heaven with its 
revolutions must be looked on as eternal. In this we make 
a transition to the world of time and space. The succession 
of seasons and years flows everlastingly from the motion of 
the circumference of the heavens. It would seem as if we 
were thus attributing local and material conditions to the 
Deity himself, if we say that Grod moves the world by moving 
the circumference of the heaven. But here, again, Aristotle 
is saved from this conclusion by merging physical ideas into 
metaphysical. He says, 'The mover 28 of all things moves 
them without being moved, being an eternal substance and 
actuality, and he moves all things in the following way : 
the object of reason and of desire, though unmoved, is the 
cause of motion.' 

(3) God has been thus represented as the cause of all 
things by being the object of contemplation and desire to 
nature and the world. In this doctrine, as before mentioned, 



27 Kal tern rt aet Kivovfuevov K.ivt\aw 
&iravffTov, auTTj S' i] KVK\(? Kal rovro 



ov \6yif fj.&vov aAA' epytf ST/AGP. xi.vii. I. 
28 See afcove, p. 171, note. 



232 



ESSAY V. 



there is" something unexplained ; for to attribute thought and 
rational desire, as well as the power of motion, to nature, 
seems really to place the Deity in nature as a thinking 
subject, as well as outside nature in the form of the object of 
thought and wish. Aristotle, however, does not explicitly do 
so ; in relation to nature he seems to represent God only as 
an object, and he now passes on to depict God in relation to 
Himself as a subject, as a personal being, possessfcg in Him- 
self conscious 29 happiness of the most exalted Mnd, such as 
we can frame but an indistinct notion of, by the analogy of 
our own highest and most blessed moods. This happiness is 
everlasting, and God ' has or rather is' continuous and eternal 
life and duration. 30 

(4) Aristotle next reverts to the impersonal view of God, 
and asks whether these principles are one or manifold ? 
Whether there be one highest heaven or more than one ? 
He concludes that there can be one only, for multeity implies 
matter, and the highest idea or form of the world must be 
absolutely immaterial. 31 

(5) But again, figuring to ourselves God as thought ; on 
what does that thought think? Thought thinking upon 
nothing is a contradiction in terms ; thought with an external 
object is determined by that object. But God as the 
supremest and best cannot be altered or determined by an 
external object. With God, object and subject are one ; the 
thought of God is the thinking upon thought. 32 

(6) Lastly, how is the supreme good of the world to be 



29 See above, p. 194, note. 

80 Metaphys. xi. vii. 9. Kal fay tie 
ye inrdpxfi ' 1} 7f> vov tvepytia. w^j, 
lutivos Sf r] tvtpyfia Ivtpyna. Se i] naff 
ain))v ^Kflvov fafy aplffrrj KOI atSios- 
<pa.fj.fv Se r}>v 6edv flvcu <aov itSiov 



&t$tos inrdpxfi rf Off. TOVTO y&p 6 0e6s. 

81 Metaphys. xi. viii. 18. T(J 8i rl 
?iv elvai OVK lx S\i}v rb irpurov We- 
\%fia ydp. 

82 Metaphys. xi. ix. 4. A(n6v &pa 
votl, ffafp I<TT\ r& Kpdriff-rov al Ztrnv 



ARISTOTLE S THEOLOGY. 233 

represented whether as existing apart from the world, like 
the general of an army, or as inherent in the world, like 
the discipline of an army ? 33 In other words, are we to hold 
that the Deity is immanent or transcendent ? Aristotle gives 
no direct answer to this question ; but seems to say that (rod 
must be conceived of both ways, just as the army implies 
both discipline and general, and the discipline is for the sake 
of the general. In these speculations we see an attempt 
made by .Aristotle to approach from various sides the 
metaphysical aspect of the existence of the Deity. All meta- 
physical views of God are entirely foreign to most minds. 
The profound difficulty of them may be appreciated, if we 
set before ourselves this question, for instance, If the Deity 
be immaterial, how can He act upon a material universe ? 
Aristotle does not appear to make any endeavour to obtain a 
complete view, or to reconcile the contradictions between his 
different statements, between the impersonal view of God 
as the chief good and object of desire to the world, and the 
personal view of Him as a thinking subject. He acknowledges 
these two sides to the conception, ' the discipline in the army' 
and ' the general ruling the army,' but does not attempt to 
bring them together. 

In the Ethics there are several popular and exoteric allu- 
sions to ' the gods,' as, for instance, that * It would be absurd 
to praise the gods ' (i. xii. 3) ; * The gods and one's parents 
one cannot fully requite, one must honour them as much as 
possible' (ix. ii. 8), &c. There are also some traces of Aristo- 
tle's thoughts as a metaphysician ; for instance, he speaks 
of ' the good under the category substance' being ' God and 



33 Metaphys. xi. x. I . 'EiriffKeirrfov i rtu/ta. Kal -yap &> TT> T(i|e< rb eS ol & 
5e /cal irorepcas x ( ^ T0 '' ^Xou <pvffis \ ffrparrjy6s, Kal fj.a\\ov ovros ov yap 
TO ayaOov Kal TO &OKTTOV, v6repov oSroy 5jd rl)c TOIV, oX\' 
Ke^o>pifffjiei'ov TI Kal avro KO0' airrS, 
$1 TTT}V Tdw, ^ afj.(poTfpcas Sifftrep ffTpd- 



234 



ESSAY V. 



reason' (i. vi. 3). And he gives an elaborate argument (x. 
viii. 7) to demonstrate that speculative thought and the 
exercise of the philosophic consciousness is the only human 
quality that can be attributed to the Deity. In this argument 
it is observable that he first begins by speaking of ' the gods,' 
saying, ' We conceive of the gods as especially blessed and 
happy. What actions can we attribute to them ? whether 
those of justice ? but it would be absurd to think of their 
buying and selling,' &c. He then argues that * If life be 
assigned to them, and all action, and still more, all production, 
be taken away, what remains but speculation ? ' And he con- 
cludes, ' The life of God then, far exceeding in blessedness, 
can be nothing else than a life of contemplation.' Thus he 
reverts to a monotheistic form of speaking, though he says 
again afterwards, ' The gods have all their life happy, man's 
life is so, in as far as it has some resemblance to the divine 
consciousness of thought.' This passage then contains a sort 
of transition from exoteric to philosophical views. Aristotle 
attributes to * the gods ' that same mode of existence, which 
in his own metaphysical system he attributed to God, accord- 
ing to the deepest conception that he had formed of Him. 34 
It is true, however, that in assigning speculative thought to- 
the Deity, there is no mention made of the distinction which 
exists between the thought of the philosopher where object is 
distinct from subject, and the thought of God in which subject 
and object are one. 

The passage to which we are referring in the Ethics con- 
tains not only a positive assertion with regard to the nature 
of God, but also a negative one. It asserts that all moral 
virtue is unworthy of being attributed to God. This, as we 



84 The same point of view is main- 
tained in theEudemian Book, vn. xiv. 
8. ' Hence God enjoys ever one and 



the same pleasure ; that is, the deep 
consciousness of immutability.' 



ARISTOTLE S THEOLOGY. 235 

have before noticed (see above, p. 164), was a total departure 
from the view of Plato. Still more opposed is this view of 
Aristotle's to modern ideas. We feel that however great may 
be the metaphysical problems about the nature of God, the 
deepest conception of Him that we can attain to is a moral 
one. In this respect there is not only a great weakness in 
Aristotle's ' Theology,' that it is so exclusively metaphysical, 
but also his ethical system suffers from this depression of 
all that we should call morality below philosophical specula- 
tion. This is one of the points which will most strikingly 
remind us that we are reading a Greek treatise of the 4th 
century B. C. It appears to be connected with the tendency 
in Aristotle before mentioned, to consider human actions as 
slight and insignificant. By his doctrine of the moral reXoy, 
this tendency was in some degree counteracted ; but it still 
remained, and it breaks out prominently in the passage just 
quoted. 

There are yet two other passages in the Ethics where 
theological considerations are entertained. These are both 
connected with the question of a divine providence for and 
care of men. The first is where it is asked (Eth. I. ix. i) 
whether happiness comes by divine allotment (/card rtva 6dav 
fjboipav) or by human means. The second is where the philo- 
sopher is spoken of (x. viii. 13) as being most under the 
favour of God (0o^>i\sararos). With regard to Aristotle's 
general views of the question of providence, it is often argued 
that he must have denied its existence, inasmuch as he 
attributes no objective thought to God. But Aristotle does 
not himself argue this way ; when the question comes before 
him, he does not appeal to his own a priori principle, and 
pronounce contrary to the general belief rather he declines 
to pronounce at all. In the former of the two passages men- 
tioned, he says, l One would suppose that if anything were 



236 ESSAY V. 

the gift of God to men, happiness would be so, as it is the 
best of human things. But the question belongs to another 
science. Happiness, if not sent by God, but acquired by 
human means, seems at all events something divine and 
blessed.' The latter part of this argument partly seems to 
be a setting-aside of the question, partly to be a sort of 
reconciliation of the existence of a providence (6slov ri) with 
the law of cause and effect. In the second passage Aristotle 
repeats from Plato the assertion that the philosopher is under 
the favour of heaven (0so(f>L\<7raroi). He says, ' If there is 
any care of human things by the gods, as there is thought 
to be (&(nrep 8o/eet), we may conclude that they take pleasure 
in the highest and best thing, reason, which is most akin to 
themselves, and do good to those who cherish and honour it.' 
In these words there may possibly be an esoteric sense, 
meaning that the philosopher in the exercise of his thought 
realizes something divine. Aristotle may imply that the 
popular doctrine of providence admits a deeper explanation, 
but he by no means here or elsewhere denies it. Nor can 
we presume to tell what Aristotle would include in his con- 
ception of the subject-object thought of God. As we saw 
before, he is not explicit as to the relation of God to nature, 
neither is he as to the relation of God to man. 

If we ask now, What were Aristotle's opinions as to the 
nature of the human soul, as far as they influenced his 
Ethics ? we are met at once by a difficulty. For the Aristo- 
telian word T/rux7 does not exactly correspond with our word 
soul. It implies both more and less. More, as having on 
one side, at all events, a directly physical connexion ; less, as 
not in itself implying any religious associations. 

We cannot translate tyvxij ' vital principle,' because though 
it is this, it is also a great deal beside ; nor ' mind,' because 
this would leave out as much at the one end as the former 



ARISTOTLE'S THEOLOGY. 



237 



translation did at the other. In short, we cannot translate 
"ty~ v Xn a ^ a ^> we can on ly see what Aristotle meant by it. He 
meant (advancing, as he shows us, upon the more or less 
indistinct views of his predecessors) he meant in the first 
place to conceive of the ^v^ij as a vital principle manifesting 
itself 35 in an ascending scale through vegetable, animal, and 
human life. To this scale of life Aristotle appeals in the 
Ethics (i. vii. 10-12). He there argues that man must have 
some proper function. * This cannot be mere life in its lowest 
form, i. e. vegetable ; nor again merely sensational, i.e. animal, 
life; there remains therefore the moral and rational life.' 
From this point of view man is regarded as part of the chain 
of nature. Aristotle doubts, but on the whole concludes, that 
the ^rvxn i 8 t ne proper subject of physical science. 36 This he 
justifies by the fact 37 that the psychical phenomena, anger, 
desire, and the like, are inseparable from the body, and from 
material conditions. Keason itself, if dependent on concep- 
tions derived from the sense (fj,rj avsv <f>avra<rlas\ will fall 
under the same head. Following out this direction of 
thought, Aristotle defines the ^rv^n to be 'The 38 simplest 
actuality of a physical body, which potentially possesses life, 
that is, of an organic body.' Of the meaning of the word 
svT\ex.ia, used here, we have spoken above (see p. 184); 
the whole of this definition we see accords with Aristotle's 
physical philosophy in general, which conceived great and 
beautiful results coming out of physical conditions, not by any 
mechanical system of causation, rather that these ends neces- 
sitated the means ; the whole was prior to and necessitated 



3i De Animd, n. iv. z. 

36 De Animd, i. i. 18. 

87 De Animd, i. i. u. *aiverot 
5e T&V ir\(lffriav ovQtv &vev ffcanaros 
ira.a"x.fiv ouSe iroteiv, olov opylfff8ai, 
'6Xus 



Cf. I. i. 15. rel vd6i) \6yot iw\ol flaiv. 

S8 De Animd, n. i. 6. Aj<i </>ux^ 

IffTiv ivre\e^eia 7] irpwrri crcfyiaTOS 

QvffiKov StWuei fafy exovros. Toiovro 

5f, & &y ;; opya.vi.K6v. 



238 



ESSAY V. 



the parts. The ^rv^ij, says Aristotle, is to the body as form 
to matter, 39 as the impression to the wax, as sight to the eye. 
It is the essential idea of the body (TO TI rjv elvai rat rotwSt 
a-wfjMTi). It is as the master 40 to the slave, as the artist to 
the instrument. It is the efficient, the final, and the formal 
cause of the body. It is impossible to treat of the ^u%v 
without taking account of the body ; * as to the Pythagorean 
doctrine of the transmigration of souls, they might as well 
speak of the carpenter's art clothing itself in flutes. For a 
soul 41 can no more clothe itself in a foreign body, than an art 
can employ the instruments of some foreign art.' While 
maintaining this close connexion between the ^v^r) and the 
body, as between end and means, Aristotle was kept aloof 
by the whole tenour of his philosophy from anything like 
materialism. He sums up this part of his reasonings in the 
following words * That the ^rv^, therefore, is inseparable 
from the body is clear, or at all events some of its parts, if it 
be divisible. Nothing, 4 * however, hinders that some of its 
parts may be separable from the body, as not being actualities 
of the body at all. Moreover, it is not certain whether the 
tyvxr) be not the actuality of the body in the same way that 
the sailor is of the boat.' 

Here then is the point at which the interest in Aristotle's 
conception of the -ty-vyr) begins for us. As long as the soul is 
described as bearing the relation to the body of sight to the 
eye, of a flower to the seed, of the impression to the wax, we 
may be content to consider this a piece of ancient physical 
philosophy. Our interest is different when the soul is said to 



89 De Animd, n. i. 7. 

40 Eth. vin. xi. 6. 

41 De Animd, i. iii. 16. 

aiov 8e Xt-yovffiv laffirtp ft ris (pair) T^V 
reKToviK^v fls av\ovs IvSveffQcu' 8r 
yap T^V fjitv Tf-)(yTiv xpyffQcu TOIS opyd- 



VOtS, Trll> Sf tJ'fxV T(f fftafJMTl. 

42 De Animd, n. i. 12. Ou 
?vt( -ye ovOtv K<a\vei, $10. rb priOevhs 
fivcu ffdi/MTOs 4vTt\fxfia.s. "En 5e 
el OVTWS ^vrt\e^i 

ir\olov. 



ARISTOTLE'S CONCEPTION OF 



239 



be related to the body, ' as a sailor to his boat.' But here is 
the point also where Aristotle becomes less explicit. Having 
once mooted this comparison, he does not follow it up. The 
only further intimations of his opinion that he affords us are 
to be found in the places where he speaks of ' those parts of 
the ^v^ij which are not actualities of the body at all.' A 
striking notice on this subject is to be found in his treatise 
De Generatione Animalium 43 (n. iii. 10), where he argues 
that ' The reason alone enters in from without, and is alone 
divine ; for the realization of the bodily conditions contributes 
nothing to the realization of its existence.' We have had 
before a contradictory point of view to this, in the saying 
that ' Eeason may be looked on as dependent on conceptions, 
derived from the senses,' which is also elsewhere repeated. 
But this contradiction is reconciled in Aristotle's account of 
the two modes of reason, the receptive or passive (vovs Tratir)- 
UKOS), and the creative or active (vovs TTOI^TIKOS}. * These 
two modes, he says, it is necessary should be opposed to each 
other, as matter is opposed everywhere to form, and to all 
that gives the form. The receptive reason, 44 which is as 
matter, becomes all things by receiving their forms. The 
creative reason gives existence to all things, as light calls 
colour into being. The creative reason transcends the body, 
being capable of separation from it, and from all things ; it 
is an everlasting existence, incapable of being mingled with 



43 Aenreroj 8e rbv vovv p.6vov 6vpa9tv 

ai Kal Oetov elvai fj.6vov ovBtv 
yap avrov TTJ tvfpyfta Koivtavfl ffufunuc^ 
ft>fpyia. 

44 De An. in. v. 2. Kal funv 6 fj.tv 
roLovros vovs rtf irdvra ylvr6ai, 6 5e 
T< Ttdvra iroie'iv, ons |ts rts, olov rb 
tpHos' -rp&irov yap TWO, Kal r6 ^)is irate? 
ra Svi/dfj.tL ovra xP^M aTa tvfpyfia 
Xpwfj.a.Ta. Kal OVTOS 6 vovs x w P ltr ' ros 



Kal cHraflJjs Kal a/jLiy^s TTJ ovala Siv 
evfpye'ia. 'H Kara Svvajjiiv (e'TrwrHj/iTj) 
Xp6v(p vpoTfpa tv ry evi, %\<as 8 ov 
Xp6v<p a\A' ov% 6rf fj.fv votl ore S' oo 
vofl. Xuptffdels 5' fffrl ft.6vov rovO' 2irep 
etrrt, Kal rovro fj.6vov aQavarov Kal 
atSiov ov p.mifj.ovfvopet' 8e, ori rovro 
Hev diraOes, 6 8e iraOitrtKOS vovs <f>6apr6s, 
Kal avfv rovrov ovdfv voei. 



240 ESSAY V. 

matter, or affected by it ; prior and subsequent to the indi- 
vidual mind. The receptive reason is necessary to individual 
thought, but it is perishable, and by its decay all memory, 
and therefore individuality, is lost to the higher and immortal 
reason.' 

In the Ethics this distinction between the creative and the 
receptive reason (which, were this the place for it, might be 
made the subject of much discussion) is not kept up. The 
reason is there spoken of in its entirety, as containing in 
itself the synthesis of the two opposite modes. It is spoken 
of as constituting in the deepest sense the personality of the 
individual. 45 On the other hand, it is spoken of as something 
divine, and akin to the nature of God. 46 The evocation of 
this into consciousness constitutes what Aristotle calls ' the 
divine' in happiness; it gives us, according to him, a mo- 
mentary glimpse of the ever-blessed life of God. 

If we were to follow out logically the consequences of the 
above-mentioned doctrine of the two modes of the reason, we 
should come to the conclusion that, while Aristotle held the 
eternity of the universal reason, it would be impossible for 
him to hold what is really meant by the immortality of the 
soul. For the only immortal part in us is one which is im- 
personal, bearing the same relation to individuality as light to 
colours, being incapable of even receiving any impressions. 
But we do not find in Aristotle anything like such a logical 
application of the doctrine. Aristotle still leaves on record 
the saying, * It is hard to pronounce whether the soul be not 
related to the body as a sailor is to his boat.' While he thus 
avoids dogmatism, he seems to decline entering on the ques- 
tion. Though the treatise De Anima is incomplete, yet we 
may well be surprised that it neither touches, nor shows any 



44 Eth. ix. iv. 4, x. vii. 9. * Eth. x. Tiii. 13. 



ARISTOTLE S CONCEPTION OP YXH'. '241 

indication of an intention to touch, upon Plato's doctrine of 
the immortality of the soul. With Plato the grounds of this 
doctrine were in the last resort moral ; they amounted to a 
kind of faith. With this sort of grounds Aristotle does not 
seem to consider it his province to deal. In the Ethics, while 
there is no direct contradiction of the doctrine, yet the whole 
system of morals is one that is irrespective of the doctrine, 
and uninfluenced by it. Aristotle's discussion of the gnome 
of Solon (Eth. i. x.) exhibits some remarkable peculiarities. 
He first asks, ' Can Solon have meant by this that " a man is 
happy when he has died ? " ' and replies, ' This would be 
utterly absurd, especially since we consider happiness to be 
an actuality.' The assertion here is merely summary and 
dogmatic, where there might have been an elaborate argu- 
ment. For does it follow that the svspysia which constitutes 
happiness is so entirely dependent on the body as not possibly 
to exist without it ? How, if the sailor at death were to step 
out of his boat ? Again, according to Aristotle's own view, 
the higher reason is an immortal eitspysia, What is the re- 
lation of this to personality and happiness ? Aristotle further 
on is led to revert again to the state after death, and to ask 
is one safe after death from the influence of the vicissitudes 
of fortune. Allowing, as a concession to popular feeling, 
that the dead may be affected by the fortunes of the living, 
he argues that the effect on them must be at any rate so small 
as not really to influence their happiness or unhappiness, and 
he reminds us, in conclusion, 47 of the extreme doubtfulness as 
to whether the dead do share at all in the interests of this 
world. Aristotle, while conceding for a moment the popular 
point of view, pictures the dead as shadowy existences, just as 
if in some Homeric Hades. There is evidently no philosophic 



47 Eth. i. xi. 4; see notes on this passage. 
B 



242 ESSAY V. 

earnestness about his mention of the subject, though he avoids 
all dogmatism and all ungracious expression of opinions. 
Other notices in the Ethics, such as that ' Death seems 
the boundary of all things, with no good or evil beyond 
it ' (Eth. in. vi. 6), are too slight and unscientific to 
bear upon the question. Nothing that Aristotle says of 
man's moral nature seems to have any connexion with 
the idea of a future life. His doctrine of the End-in-itself 
seems indeed rather to supersede such an idea ; it does not 
contradict it, but rather absorbs all thought of time and space, 
of present and future in itself, as being the absolute. 

Thus in his interesting picture of the death of the brave 
man (Eth. in. ix. 4), Aristotle represents him as consciously 
quitting a happy life he does not represent him as buoyed 
up by the hope of future fame, or a reward in heaven, but 
as attaining there and then to an End-in-itself. This ideal 
doctrine, which sets the mind above all circumstances, and 
even above death, constitutes a merit and a defect in the 
system of Aristotle. Its merit is the discernment of the 
absolute ideas of the inner consciousness. Its defect is, as 
we have before observed (see p. 165), that it is tinctured with 
philosophic pride ; that it is a doctrine for the few and not 
for the many. Closely connected with his apparent limitation 
of morality to the present life is his opinion that 'Moral 
virtue is unworthy of being attributed to Grod.' This view 
gives to the moral system of Aristotle a restricted and even 
shallow appearance, as compared with Plato and with modern 
times. 



ESSAY VI. 



The Ancient Stoics. 

to the time of Aristotle, Greek philosophy may be 
said to have lived apart. It contained within itself a 
gradual progress and culmination of thought, but the great 
philosophers who were the authors of this progress moved on 
a level far above the ordinary modes of comprehension. After 
the death of Aristotle, a new spectacle is presented, philo- 
sophy no longer an exclusive and esoteric property of the 
schools, but spreading its results over the world. Speculation 
has really now ceased ; the desire of knowledge purely for its 
own sake is gone. In the place of this we find other human 
needs pressing forward their claims. Perhaps we may best 
and most shortly express the change that at this period took 
place in the thought of mankind, by saying that the soul now, 
instead of the mind, sought for itself an explanation of the 
world. This change, of unspeakable importance, might be 
called the transition to modernism. Taking the Stoical doc- 
trine as the most striking, the most earnest, and the most 
widely -spread exposition of the results of Grecian philosophy, 
we shall, if we study it attentively, find reason to assert that 
its authors, the early Stoics, were in some sense the beginners 
of the modern point of view. Fully to set this forth is not 
the work of a few sentences, but can only be accomplished by 
an examination of the law or idea of Stoicism, and by tracing 
this in its various phases throughout its history in the Greek 
and Eoman world. Perhaps, as the conclusion of such a 

B 2 



244 ESSAY VI. 

review, we may be enabled to explain to ourselves why it is 
that in any modern book of morals, or even in any practical 
sermon, we are sure to come upon much that has a close 
affinity with the modes of thinking of the ancient Stoics, 
while with the modes of thinking of Plato and Aristotle we 
shall find no real affinity at all. 

Stoicism took its rise after the loss of Grecian freedom, and 
yet not in times that were by any means dangerous or op- 
pressive. It sprang up in the gardens and the porch of 
genial Athens, where Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus lived, 
as Plutarch l says, ' as though they had eaten of the lotus, 
spell-bound on a foreign soil, enamoured of leisure, spending 
their long lives in books, and walks, and discourses.' It was, 
then, no external pressure, but the internal impulse of the 
human spirit, that gave birth to this new principle. Down 
to the death of Aristotle we see philosophers carried out of 
themselves in dealing with great ideas. The subjective con- 
sciousness was lost and overpowered in physical or dialectical 
conceptions. The saying, * There are many things diviner 
than man,' 2 might be taken as a symbol of the views of the 
age. Even ethics were so mixed up and involved in politics 
the individual was so much absorbed into the State that 
the will and inner consciousness of man received as yet no 
adequate attention. But now we enter upon a new era. A 
new question gradually wins its way to the light, namely, 
What is the position of the individual in the world ? What 
is the nature and destiny of man as a moral being ? And 
the true essence of Stoicism is, that it is an answer to this 
question. It may seem a paradox to assert that the problem 
of man's moral nature came forward at so late a period of 
history as the end and aftermath of Greek philosophy. The 



De Repugnantiis Stoicis, c. ii. | * Aristotle, Eth. Nic. vi. vii. 4. 



STOICISM A NEW ERA. 245 

highest degree of moral consciousness seems to us moderns 
so natural a state, the ideas of duty and responsibility are so 
engrained . into our minds,- the notion that the individual 
stands independent and related to God alone is so habitual, 
that the really late introduction of this condition of thought 
appears strange. But, in order to explain the fact, we must 
remember the child-like and unconscious spirit which cha- 
racterised the Grecian mind, and its tendency to objective 
thought and the enjoyment of nature, rather than to self- 
reflection and subjective analysis. We must remember that 
the Greeks had no moral religion, and that their philosophy 
began with the universe as a whole, and only slowly worked 
its way back to the human mind. In short, if we wish to see 
thought, in which the moral consciousness of the individual, 
the moral ego, is, as it were, the centre and starting-point (as 
is the case, for instance, in the Psalms of David), we must 
look, not to the conversations of Socrates, nor to the dialogues 
of Plato, nor even to the ethics of Aristotle, but to the post- 
Aristotelian schools. 

It was no sudden revolution in Greece that gave to the 
moral problem a paramount importance. Its entrance had 
been prepared, first, by the gradual progress of speculation, 
for it was on the basis of the results of physical, ethical, and 
psychological enquiries that Stoicism took its start ; secondly, 
by the very decline of thought, which, as it fell away on the 
speculative side, left the moral side prominent. The new era, 
of which Stoicism is the beginning and the representative, 
was unheralded and unrecognized. Indeed, so little marked 
was its entry that Cicero 3 wonders why Zeno should have 
founded a new school, since he was an innovator in words 
only, while essentially he agreed with the Peripatetics. 



1 De Fin. IT. ii. 3 ; iv. xxvi. 



246 



ESSAY VI. 



Again, the new attitude of thought does not seem to owe its 
origin to any remarkable force of genius. Rather we might 
say that Stoicism throughout its history, from Zeno to 
Marcus Aurelius, reckons no really great man, certainly no 
great genius, among its ranks, though it exhibits to us a 
series of more or less interesting personages, all of whom are 
characterized by a certain peculiar element. This peculiar 
element may be briefly expressed as intensity a quality by 
which the early Stoics, as well as their successors, were 
strongly marked. Perhaps it may be not wholly fanciful to 
conceive that this quality, and the kind of thought that 
accompanied it, may have been in some degree attributable 
to the influence of race. At all events, if we cast our eyes 
on a list of the early Stoics and their native places, we 
cannot avoid noticing how many of this school appear to 
have come of an Eastern, and often of a Semitic stock. 
Zeno, their founder, was from Citium, in Cyprus, by all 
accounts of a Phoenician family. Of his disciples, Persseus 
came also from Citium ; Herillus was from Carthage ; Athe- 
nodorus 4 from Tarsus; Cleanthes from Assos, in the Troad. 
The chief disciples of Cleanthes were Sphaerus of the Bos- 
porus; and Chrysippus, from Soli, in Cilicia. Chrysippus 
was succeeded by Zeno of Sidon, and Diogenes of Babylon ; 
the latter taught Antipater of Tarsus, who taught Panretius 
of Rhodes, who taught Posidonius of Apamea, in Syria. 
There was another Athenodorus, from Cana, in Cilicia ; and 
the early Stoic Archedemus is mentioned by Cicero as be- 
longing to Tarsus. When we notice the frequent connexion 
of Cilicia with this list of names, we may well be reminded 
of one who was born at Tarsus, in Cilicia, a citizen of no 



4 Placed here by Lipsius in his 
Manuductio ad Stoicam Phttosophiam 
(Antwerp, 1604), I. x. But if this be 



the same as Athenodorus Cordylion, 
he must have lived much later. 



STOICISM CONTRASTED WITH EPICURISM. 247 

mean city ; and we may be led to ask, is there not something 
in the mental characteristics of the early Stoics analogous 
to his ? 

The true character of Stoicism appears most prominently 
when it is placed in contrast with Epicurism, that rival 
system with which it stands in perpetual antithesis. If we 
ask on what does this antithesis rest ? we shall find that it 
rests on the twofold essence of man, as a thinking and as a 
feeling subject ; as consisting, on the one hand, of spirit, or 
free and self-determined thought ; and, on the other hand, 
of nature, or an existence determined by physical laws ex- 
pressing themselves in the sensuous feelings and desires. 
These two sides of man's being may often stand in opposition 
to each other ; or again, they may be harmonized so as to 
give either the one side or the other the precedence and 
authority. Either we may say * a thing is good because it 
is pleasant,' and thus refer the decision to the natural 
feelings ; or we may say f it is pleasant because it is good,' 
and thus refer the decision to the inner spirit or reason. 
How far these two sentences actually express the leading 
principles of the Stoic and the Epicurean schools, we may 
best see by considering the ideal of man which they each 
proposed to themselves. The Epicurean ideal was a being 
moving harmoniously according to natural impulses ; one, in 
short, in whom the spirit and thought should rather form a 
part of the natural life than prominently control it. The 
Stoic ideal, on the contrary, was a being in whom the natural 
impulses and desires should be absolutely subjected to the 
laws of abstract thought. Epicurism is essentially Greek 
and essentially Pagan ; the beautiful and genial Greek 
mythology is but a deification of the natural powers and 
impulses. Stoicism is a reaction against this : it consists 
in an inner life, in a drawing away from the body, and in 



248 



ESSAY VI. 



disregarding as worthless and of no moment the 'law in 
the members.' Epicurism and Stoicism both received as 
an inheritance the results of Grecian speculation, Epicurus 
reproducing the Physics of Democritus, as Zeno did those of 
Heraclitus. In both, the moral attitude was what was essen- 
tial. Of both it has been truly said that they were less and 
more than philosophy. Less, because they were thoroughly 
unspeculative in their character, and indeed consisted in the 
popularising of speculation ; more, because they were not 
mere systems of knowledge, but a principle for the whole of 
life. They soon lost their local and restricted character as 
schools ; they assimilated to themselves more and more 
broadly human thought, and thus became 'the two great 
confessions of faith of the historical world.' 5 Thus were 
these two ideas set against each other. Regarding, however, 
Stoicism, with its weakness and its strength, as far the more 
interesting and important, as it is, of course, also far the 
higher tendency of the two, we shall henceforth, in tracing 
its history, only incidentally allude to the fortunes of its rival. 
In the history of Stoicism, the following parts of the 
subject seem naturally to stand apart from each other, and 
to demand in some sort a separate treatment : First, the 
period of the formation of the Stoical dogma, from Zeno 
to Chrysippus ; second, the period of the promulgation of 
Stoicism and its introduction to the knowledge of the 
Komans ; third, Stoicism in the Roman world, its different 
phases, and its influence on individual thought and on public 
manners and institutions. I. The first period of Stoicism 
takes us down to the year 207 B.C., which was the date of 
the death of Chrysippus. The chronology of the commence- 



5 Dr. Braniss, Uebersicht des Ent- 
widdungsganges der Philosophic (Bres- 



lau, 1842), p. 218, whence several 
points of this comparison are taken. 



ZENO. 249 

ment of this period is difficult to fix. Zeno probably lived 
till after the year 260 B.C., and he may have been born rather 
before 340 B.C. It is uncertain whether he came to Athens 
in his twenty-second or his thirtieth year. On the whole, 
we may assume that he did not arrive there till after the 
death of Aristotle, which took place in the year 322 B.C. 
Chrysippus may possibly in early youth have heard some of 
the discourses of Zeno ; but Cleanthes, who succeeded Zeno as 
leader of the Porch, was the true link between them. By 
these three the Stoical doctrine, properly so called, received 
its completion. Nothing was afterwards added to it, except 
the eclectic amalgamation of other doctrines. These three 
personages come before us with great distinctness. The 
anecdotes that have been handed down about them, though 
perhaps in some cases mythical, are at all events highly 
symbolical, and give us a very definite conception of their 
separate characteristics. Zeno is described 6 as a slight, 
withered little fellow, of a swarthy complexion, and with his 
neck on one side. The story goes, that in trading to Athens 
he was shipwrecked at the Piraeus, and was thus ' cast on to 
the shores of philosophy.' Groing up to the city, he sat down 
at the stall of a bookseller, where he read the second book of 
the Memorabilia of Xenophon, and asked with enthusiasm 
'where such men lived?' Crates, the Cynic, happened to 
be passing at the moment, and the bookseller cried ' Follow 
him.' Zeno then studied under Crates, but held himself 
aloof from the extravagant unseemliness of Cynicism. He is 
also said to have studied under the Megarians, Stilpo, Cronus, 
and Philo, and under the Academicians, Xenocrates and 
Polemo. After twenty years, he opened his school in the Stoa 
Pcecile, the porch adorned with the frescoes of Polygnotus. 

Diog. Laert. vn. i. i. 



250 ESSAY VI. 

Zeno appears to have impressed the Athenians with the 
highest admiration for his character. Their treatment of 
him was a contrast to their treatment of Socrates. It is 
perhaps an apocryphal tradition which relates that they 
deposited the keys of their citadel with him, as being the most 
trustworthy person ; but it may be true that they decreed to 
him a golden crown, a brazen statue, and a public entomb- 
ment. In extreme old age he committed suicide. Cleanthes, 
the disciple of Zeno, was perhaps the most zealous disciple 
that a philosopher ever had. He is said to have been ori- 
ginally a boxer, and to have come to Athens with four 
drachmas in his possession. By his strength, his endurance, 
and his laborious life, he acquired the name of ' the New 
Hercules.' 'Falling in with Zeno,' 7 it is said, 'he took 
to philosophy most bravely.' He wrote notes of his master's 
lectures on potsherds and the bladebones of oxen, not being 
able to afford to purchase paper. He was summoned before 
the Areopagus to give an account of his way of living, since 
his whole days were passed in philosophy, and he had no 
ostensible calling nor means of support. He proved to his 
judges that he drew water by night for a gardener, and 
ground the corn for a flour-dealer, and thus earned a main- 
tenance. The story goes on that his judges, on hearing this 
account, voted him ten minse, which the rigid Zeno forbade 
him to accept. There is something quaint about the whole 
personality of Cleanthes. He was nicknamed ' the Ass,' for 
his stubborn patience. He seems to have left the impression 
that it was this indomitable perseverance, rather than the 
superiority of his genius, that gave him precedence over 
other noteworthy disciples of Zeno. * High thinking,' how- 
ever, appears to have accompanied the 'plain living' of 



' Diogenes Laertius, vu. v. i. 



CLEANTHES AND CHRYSIPPUS. 251 

Cleanthes. His reflections on Destiny, and his Hymn to 
Jupiter, will best be treated of hereafter. When asked, 8 
* What is the best way to be rich ? ' he answered, ' To be poor 
in desires.' No reproaches or ridicule ever ruffled the sweet- 
ness and dignity of his presence. His calm bearing, when 
satirized on the stage by the comic poet Sositheus, caused the 
spectators to applaud him and to hiss off Sositheus. The 
idea of death seems to have been long present to his mind. 
Being taunted with his old age, he said, ' Yes, I am willing 
to be gone, but when I see myself sound in every part, 
writing and reading, I am again tempted to linger.' The 
story of his death is characteristic. Having suffered from an 
ulcer on the tongue, he was advised by his physician to 
abstain from eating for a while in order to facilitate the 
cure. Having fasted for two days he was completely cured, 



and his physician bade him return to his usual course of life, 
but he said that ' Since he had got so far on the road, 
it would be a pity not to finish the journey ;' so continuing 
his abstinence, he died. 

Hardly any personal details of the life of Chrysippus have 
come to us. On the other hand, we have more fragments of 
his actual writings than of those of all the early Stoics put 
together. In Chrysippus the man seems swallowed up in 
the writer and disputer. He is said 9 to have been slight in 
person, so that his statue in the Cerameicus was totally 
eclipsed by a neighbouring equestrian figure, and from this 
circumstance Carneades nicknamed him Oypsippus. His 
literary activity was almost unrivalled : he wrote above seven 
hundred and five works on different subjects. Epicurus 
alone, of the ancient philosophers, outstripped him in volu- 
minousness of writing. He is said to have been keen and 



Stobseus, Floriley.JLC.iv. 31. j B Diogenes Laertius, vn. vii. 4. 



252 ESSAY VI. 

able on every sort of subject. He told Cleanthes that he 
* only wanted the doctrines and he would soon find out the 
proofs.' This boast appears to betray a want of earnestness 
as to the truth, and somewhat too much of the spirit of a 
dialectician. In this respect Chrysippus must have differed 
widely from his two distinguished predecessors, with whom 
Stoicism was above all things a reality and a mode of life. 
However, there is no doubt that Chrysippus did great service 
to the Stoic school by embodying their doctrines and stating 
them in manifold different ways. Hence the saying, l But 
for Chrysippus, the Porch would never have been.' He 
developed Stoicism on its negative and antagonistic side by 
arguing with trenchant dialectic against Epicurus and the 
Academy. We shall see that he really mooted and boldly 
strove to reconcile some of the deepest and most difficult 
contradictions of human thought difficulties which are ever 
present in modern metaphysics, but which had never truly 
occupied the ancients before the death of Aristotle. We know 
most about Chrysippus from Plutarch's book On the Incon- 
sistencies of the Stoics. It consists really of the inconsis- 
tencies of Chrysippus, extracted from various parts of his 
voluminous writings. This interesting book gives the im- 
pression that Plutarch is unphilosophical, though we are not 
able to exonerate Chrysippus from inconsistency. Such rapid 
and extensive writing, such a warm spirit of advocacy, such 
an attempt to round off and complete a doctrine in spite 
of all difficulties, such a various controversialism, such an 
elevated theory, paradoxical even in the grandeur of its aims, 
combined, on the other hand, with an extremely practical 
point of view, could not fail to give rise to manifold incon- 
sistencies. Chrysippus was inconsistent, just as Seneca after- 
wards was inconsistent, because it suited the genius of 
Stoicism to abandon the stern simplicity and unity of a 



KELATION OF STOICISM TO EARLIER PHILOSOPHY. 253 



scientific principle. Stoicism became learned, complex, and 
eclectic; embracing in its grasp a far greater variety of 
problems than the philosophy of Plato or Aristotle had done, 
it treated these more loosely, and often oscillated between 
mere empiricism and an ideal point of view. 

Taking now the Stoical doctrine as it gradually formed 
itself during the entire course of the third century B.C., we 
may proceed to trace its essential features, though in the 
lack of direct writings 10 of the successive masters of the 
school we must give up attempting to fix their several con- 
tributions, and their differences from each other. Early 
Stoicism consisted of two elements the one might be called 
dynamical : it was the peculiar spirit, tendency, and mental 
attitude assumed ; the other element was material, being 
an adaptation of the results of existing philosophy. The 
material side of Stoicism was comparatively unimportant. 
This it was, however, which caused Cicero to make the mis- 
taken observation that Zeno was no real innovator, but only 
a reproducer of the Peripatetic doctrines. And indeed it is 
sufficiently striking at first sight of the Stoical compendia, 
that their ethic seems a patchwork of Peripatetic and Pla- 
tonic formulae; their logic, a development of the doctrine 
of the syllogism ; and their physic, a blending of Heraclitus 
with Aristotle. Yet, in spite of all this, Zeno was no mere 
eclectic ; all that was Peripatetic in his system was the 
outward, and not the inner and essential part. And in 
short, the vestiges of previous Greek philosophy existing in 



10 No fragment even, of any length, 
belonging to the early Stoics, has come 
down to us, except the hymn of Cle- 
anthes. Our main sources of informa- 
tion -with regard to them are Cicero, 
Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus, Diogenes 
Laertius, and Stobseus. We have the 



reflection of their doctrine in the 
writings of the Roman Stoics, Seneca, 
Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius; and 
numberless scattered allusions to them 
in the later literature of antiquity may 
be easily combined into a complete 
and tolerably certain view. 



254 



ESSAY VI. 



Stoical books may be said, mutatis mutandis, to bear the 
same relation to Stoicism as the vestiges of Jewish and 
of Alexandrian ideas existing in the New Testament bear 
to Christianity. What we have called the dynamical ele- 
ment of Stoicism constitutes its real essence. This it de- 
rived partly from the idiosyncrasy and perhaps the national 
characteristics of its founder, partly from the peculiarities of 
the Cynical school in which it was nurtured. 

Zeno agreed with Crates, and Stoicism coincides with the 
Cynic view thus far, that it makes the starting-point of all 
thought to be the conception of a life. The setting of this 
moral and practical conception above all speculative phi- 
losophy separates Zeno from the previous schools of Greece. 
We have now to ask, What is it that distinguishes him from 
Crates ? what is the essential difference between the Stoic 
and the Cynic creeds ? This is generally stated as if the 
former were merely a softened edition of the latter. The 
Cynic said, * There is nothing good but virtue ; all else is 
absolutely indifferent.' The Stoic said, 'Yes, but among 
indifferent things some are preferable 11 to others: health, 
though not an absolute good, is, on the whole, preferable to 
sickness ; and this, though not an evil, is, on the whole, to 
be avoided.' Again, it is said that Cynicism is unseemly and 
brutal, and tramples upon society ; Stoicism is more gentle, 
and outwardly conforms with the world. But this com- 
parison does not go sufficiently deep, and does not explain 
the facts of the case, for the Stoics were often as paradoxical 
as the Cynics in denying that anything was a good besides 
virtue ; and if they were outwardly less ferocious, we want to 



11 This was the famous Stoical dis- 
tinction between things trpo^y^iva, and 
diroirpo7j7/xeVa ; see Diog. Laert. vn. i. 
6 1. It was a compromise between the 



paradox that ' nothing is good but 
virtue,' and the practical facts of life. 
Stoicism is forced to be full of such 
compromises. 



STOICISM AND CYNICISM. 255 

know what was the inward law of their doctrine that made 
them so. Perhaps we nearest touch the spring of difference, 
by observing that Cynicism is essentially mere negation, 
mere protest against the external world ; while Stoicism is 
essentially positive, essentially constructive, and tends in 
many ways to leaven the external world. Cynicism despised 
the sciences, disdained politics, exploded the social institu- 
tions, and ridiculed patriotism or the distinctions of country. 
Zeno, on the contrary, re-arranged the sciences according to 
his views: he enjoined the wise to mix in affairs; and he 
conceived not a mere negation of patriotic prejudices, but 
the positive idea of cosmopolitanism. Cynicism, therefore, 
is a withdrawal from the world into blank isolation, while 
Stoicism is the withdrawal into an inner life, which forms 
to its votaries an object of the highest enthusiasm. Hence 
the elation, often hyperbolical, which tinges the Stoical 
austerity ; hence the attractiveness of the doctrine and its 
spread over the world. And connected, too, with the positive 
and constructive impulse of Stoicism, we may reckon its 
plastic character, its external eclecticism, and its tendency 
to be influenced and modified by the course of surrounding 
civilization. 

Lists have been preserved 12 for us by the ancients of the 
different formulae in which the Stoical masters expressed the 
leading principle of life. They are all modifications of the 
same idea, that 'the end for man is to live according to 
nature.' Nature here means that which is universal- the 
entire course of the world, as opposed to individual and 
special ideas and impulses. Until we remember this inter- 
pretation, the Stoical formula appears surprising; for how 



12 Stobseus, Eel. ii. 134; Clemens Alexandrians, Strom, ii. ; Diog. Laert. 
vii. i. 53. 



256 ESSAY VI. 

could they enjoin life according to nature, whose whole 
endeavour was to be superior to nature to overcome and 
subdue desire, sorrow, pain, the fear of death, and all that 
in another sense we are accustomed to call the natural 
instincts ? If ' nature ' were taken to mean the involuntary 
and immediate impulses, then the phrase * follow nature ' 
would express not the Stoical, but the Epicurean, principle. 
The Stoical * nature ' was the conception of an abstract and 
universal order, and was to be apprehended by the discursive 
Reason. This clear-sightedness and authority of the Reason 
is, of course, only slowly arrived at, and the Stoics explained 
their theory by saying that * all our duties come from nature, 
and wisdom among the number. But as when a man is 
introduced to anyone, he often thinks more of the person to 
whom he is introduced than of him who gave the introduc- 
tion, so we need not wonder that, while it was the in- 
stinctive impulses of nature that led us to wisdom, we hold 
wisdom more dear than those impulses by which we arrived 
at her.' 13 In order to avoid seeming to approximate to 
the Epicureans, they denied that pleasure and pain are 
among the principles of nature. In short, starting from 
nature, the Stoics came round utterly to supplant nature (in 
the usual sense), and to substitute in her room pure thought 
and abstract ideas. 

The phrase ' follow nature,' to express the highest kind of 
life, has never yet established itself in language. ' One touch 
of nature makes the whole world kin ' that is, any perfectly 
simple and instinctive feeling, the very opposite of anything 
abstract or cultivated. Again, the * natural man,' as opposed 
to the ' spiritual man,' denotes something utterly different 
from the Stoical idea of perfection. Thus, common parlance 



18 Cicero, De Fin. in. vii. 23. 



BUTLER COMPARED WITH THE STOICS. 257 

retains its own associations connected with the term nature, 
and rejects those of the Stoics. But it is interesting to 
observe that Bishop Butler has espoused their formula, and 
has argued that ' nature ' does not mean single impulses or 
desires, but the idea of the constitution of the whole, reason 
and conscience as regulative principles being taken into con- 
sideration. Butler's object in maintaining this position was 
obviously one relative to his own times. As in appealing to 
a selfish age he thought it necessary to assert that virtue was 
not inconsistent with the truest self-love, so also he argued 
that virtue was not against nature, but in reality man's 
natural state. He here takes up, just like the Stoics, an 
abstract ideal of nature ; for he makes the basis of his rea- 
soning a proviso that the moral rules of conscience not only 
exist, but that they have authority that is, that they con- 
trol, as they ought to do, the rest of the human principles. 
Into the difficulties of the question Butler has not entered. 
For instance, while he is perfectly successful in establishing 
against the Hobbists the reality of the moral elements in 
man's nature, he does not tell us whether or not he would 
agree with the Stoics in ultimately giving the entire supre- 
macy to man's reason and conscience, so as to supplant the 
other instincts, or at what point he would stop. Again, we 
would ask him to define more accurately his idea of ' life 
according to nature.' Is the life of the saints and martyrs 
to be called a life according to nature ? If not, is it better 
or worse ? and if better, is not man to aim at the better ? 
The whole question is not one of mere words, but implying 
the discussion of a very important subject namely, the way 
in which life is to be conceived. There is one mode of repre- 
sentation which describes life as a progress, a conflict, a good 
fight ; another which makes it the following of nature. On 
the one hand, there is the spirit of aspiration and effort, the 

s 



258 ESSAY VI. 

tendency to asceticism, the victory of the will ; on the other 
hand, there are the genial, kindly, human feelings, there is 
the ' wise passivity ' of mind, and there is the breadth of 
sympathy which counterbalances an over-concentrated in- 
tensity of aim. To make the formula 'life according to 
nature ' of any value, we require to have these contradictory 
tendencies harmonized with each other. We should then see 
whether the term ' nature ' is at all capable of expressing the 
highest kind of life, or whether we must continue to think 
that this is something rather above f nature ' (as it exists in 
man) than a following of nature. We should see how far it 
is really possible to conceive a harmony, without the suppres- 
sion of either, not only between the * law of the members ' 
and the ' law of the spirit,' but also between the inner life 
and the interests and enjoyments of the external world. 

The commonest ideal of virtue according to nature is the 
picture of mankind in a state of innocence, whether the scene 
be laid in some far-off island, or remote in point of time, in 
the golden age of the world. To imagine a primitive and 
pastoral existence, in which every impulse is virtuous and 
every impulse is to be obeyed, this is an easy reaction from 
a vitiated and over-refined civilization. Some have supposed 
that the Stoics made this ideal of uncorrupted nature part of 
their views ; but in reality it would not suit the genius of 
Stoicism to do so. Though they railed at the actual state of 
the world, their remedy was placed rather in the power of 
the will, in the effort to progress, than in dreams of a bygone 
state of innocence. The only allusion which we can trace in 
their fragments to this conception is a saying of the later 
Stoic, Posidonius, that *in the golden age the government 
was in the hands of the philosophers.' 14 The context, how- 

14 Seneca, Ep. xc. 



THE IDEAL WISE MAN. 259 

ever, of this remark, makes it appear rather as a rhetorical 
praise of philosophy than as a serious piece of doctrine. 
Seneca, in one of whose epistles it is quoted, comments upon 
it in an interesting manner. After echoing for a while the 
strain of Virgil, and praising those times of innocence ' before 
the reign of Jupiter,' when men slept free and undisturbed 
under the canopy of heaven, he returns to the true Stoical 
point of view, and asserts that in those primitive times there 
was, in fact, no wisdom. If men did wise things, they did 
them unconsciously. They had not even virtue ; neither 
justice, nor prudence, nor temperance, nor fortitude. It is 
a profound truth that Seneca perceives namely, that the 
mind and the will evoked into consciousness and perfected 
even by suffering, are greater possessions than the blessings, 
if they were attainable, of a so-called golden age and state of 
nature. 

The Stoical principle of ' life according to nature' would 
have been, like Bishop Butler's, a blank formula, were it not 
for the further exposition of their doctrine which they have 
left us in their ideal of the Wise Man. This ideal exhibits 
not the pursuit of wisdom for its own sake not the excel- 
lence of philosophy in and for itself, as Plato and Aristotle 
used to conceive it, but rather the results of wisdom in the 
will and character, results which Zeno summed up in the 
terms an * even flow of life.' 15 The notion that equanimity 
is the most essential characteristic of a philosopher is perhaps 
traceable to this conception of the Stoics ; according to whom 
the Wise Man is infallible, impassive, and invulnerable. 16 
And while possessing this external immunity from harm, he 
is in himself full of divine inspirations he is alone free, 
alone king and priest, alone capable of friendship or affection. 



15 Efyota TOV plov. Stob. Eel. ii. 138. ' Diog. Laert vn. i. 64. 

s 2 



260 ESSAY VI. 

These and other splendid and exclusive attributes did the 
Stoics attach to their imaginary sage, till Chrysippus, be- 
coming conscious in one place 17 of the paradoxical character 
of the picture, allows that he * may seem, through the pre- 
eminent greatness and beauty of his descriptions, to be 
giving utterance to mere fictions, things transcending man 
and human nature.' At the Stoical paradox Horace laughed. 
Plutarch wrote a book (now lost, but of which the outlines 
remain) to prove that it surpassed the wildest imaginations 
of the poets. But in truth ' the curtain was the picture ; ' 
the paradox was an essential part of the doctrine. For of 
necessity these pictures of the inner life are paradoxical. 
They speak of a boundless freedom and elevation, with which 
the narrow limits of external reality come into harsh con- 
trast. And in the vaunts of the Stoics we only see what is 
analogous to one side of Lord Bacon's famous ' character of 
a believing Christian, drawn out in paradoxes and seeming 
contradictions.' ' He is rich in poverty, and poor in the 
midst of riches ; he believes himself to be a king, how mean 
soever he be ; and how great soever he be, yet he thinks 
himself not too good to be servant to the poorest saint.' 

Some of the qualities of the Stoic ideal seem inferior to the 
conception of goodness afterwards developed by the school. 
The Wise Man of Zeno was represented as stern and pitiless, 
and as never conceding pardon to any one. This forms 
a great contrast with the gentle and forgiving spirit of 
Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. Doubtless such harsher 
traits of the picture belonged to Cynicism, and were after- 
wards discarded during subsequent transmutations of the 
Stoical principle. More inward meaning is there in the 
saying, paradoxical as it might appear, that nothing the Wise 



17 Pluturch, De Repug. Stoic, c. xv. 



THE IDEAS OF PERFECTION AND ADVANCE. 261 

Man can do would be a crime. Cannibalism, and incest, and 
the most shocking things, are said to be indifferent to the 
sage. This, however, though stated so repulsively, can only 
have meant something resembling the principle that ' what- 
ever is of faith is no sin.' The chief interest of the Stoical 
ideal consists in the parallel it affords at many points to 
different phases of religious feeling. One of these points is 
the tendency, more or less vaguely connecting itself with the 
Stoic doctrine, to divide all the world into the good and the 
bad, or, as they expressed it, into the wise and the fools an 
idea evidently belonging to the inner life, and hard to bring 
into conformity with external facts. Entirely in the same 
direction, the Stoics said that short of virtue in other words, 
short of the standard of perfection all faults and vices were 
equal. Chrysippus, indeed, tried to soften down this asser- 
tion ; but in its extreme form it only reminds us of certain 
sayings which have been heard in modern times, about the 
* worthlessness of morality.' In the presence of a dazzling 
ideal of spiritual perfection, the minor distinctions of right 
and wrong seem to lose their meaning. 

The Stoics, after portraying their Wise Man, were free to 
confess that such a character did not exist, and indeed never 
had existed. With small logical consistency, but with much 
human truth, while they allowed their assertions about the 
worthlessness of all except absolute wisdom to remain, and 
always held up this unattained and unattainable ideal, they 
admitted another conception to stand, though unacknow- 
ledged, beside it namely, the conception of * advance.' 18 
Zeno and the rest, though they did not claim to be wise, yet 
claimed to be * advancing.' This notion of conscious moral 
progress and self-discipline is too familiar now for us easily 

18 wpoKoirf), vpoKo-irreii' (Diog. Laert. vn. i. 54). In Latin, profectus, prqficcre 
(Seneca, Ep. 71). 



26-2 



ESSAY VI. 



to believe that it was first introduced into Greece in the 
third century B.C. It may be said, indeed, to be contained 
implicitly in Aristotle's theory of ' habits ; ' but it is in reality 
the expression of a new and totally different spirit. By this 
spirit we shall find the later Stoics deeply penetrated. It 
constituted perhaps the most purely ' moral ' notion of 
antiquity, as implying the deepest associations which are 
attached to the word ' moral.' 

Another great idea, of which the introduction is generally 
attributed to the Stoics, is the idea of 'duty;' but on con- 
sideration we shall perceive that this, entirely conformable as 
it was with their point of view, was not all at once enunciated 
by them, but was only gradually developed in or by means 
of their philosophy. There were two correlative terms intro- 
duced by the early Stoics, signifying the ' suitable ' 19 and the 
* right.' The * right ' could only be said of actions having 
perfect moral worth. The * suitable ' included all that fitted 
in harmoniously with the course of life everything that 
could on good grounds be recommended or defended. This 
term, the ' suitable,' seems to fall short of the moral sig- 
nificance of what we mean by duty ; and yet it is remarkable 
that this term became translated into Latin as officium, and 
thus really stands to our word ' duty ' in the position of lineal 
antecedent. So much casuistical discussion took place upon 
what was, or was not, ' suitable,' that a train of associations 
became attached to the word, associations which were in- 
herited by the Eomans. Thus the idea of duty grew up, 
more belonging, perhaps, to the Roman than to the Grreek 



19 KaOriKov and Kar6p6(afia, Stob. Eel. 
ii. 158. Cicero's De Officiis is taken, 
with but little alteration and addition, 
from the work of Pansetius, irtpl ruv 
i>i'. Cicero complains that 



Panaetius gave no definition of his 
subject (De Off. i. ii. 7). Thus we see 
that the Greek Stoics had really no 
formula to express what we mean by 
duty. 



THE STOIC COSMOPOLITANISM. 



263 



elements in the Stoical spirit, fostered by a national sternness 
and a love of law, and ultimately borrowing its modes of 
expression from the formulae of Eoman jurisprudence. 20 

The most prominent conception in the Stoical system being 
the effort to attain a perfect life in conformity with universal 
laws, we may now ask what forms the background to this 
picture ? Aristotle and Plato would certainly have conceived 
to themselves a limited state, essentially Greek in character, 
the institutions of which should furnish sufficiently favourable 
conditions for the life of the Wise Man. But in the third 
century B.C. these restricted notions had become exploded. 
Zeno now imagined, what surpassed the Republic of Plato,, a 
universal state, with one government and manner of life for 
all mankind. This admired polity, 21 which Plutarch calls * a 
dream of philosophic statesmanship,' and which, he rheto- 
rically says, was realized by Alexander the Great, owed, no 
doubt, its origin to the influence upon men's minds produced 
by the conquests of Alexander. This influence, partly de- 
pressing, in so far as it diminished the sense of freedom, 
and robbed men of their healthy, keen, and personal interest 
in politics, was also partly stimulating, since it unfolded a 
wider horizon, and the possibility of conceiving a universal 
state. Thus were the national and exclusive ideas of Greece, 
as afterwards of Eome, changed into cosmopolitanism. The 
first lesson of cosmopolitanism, that said, * there is no differ- 
ence between Greeks and barbarians the world is our city,' 
must have seemed a mighty revelation. To say this was quite 
natural to Stoicism, which, drawing the mind away from 



20 For instance, the word 'obligation' 
is a Latin law term. The word ' law' 
itself is employed with a moral mean- 
ing, and on consideration it will be 
found that our notions of duty (' what 



is owing') are intertwined inextricably 
with legal associations. 

21 Plutarch, De ALexandri Magni 
fortuna aut virtute, c. vi. 



264 



ESSAY VI. 



surrounding objects, bids it soar into the abstract and the 
universal. By denying the reality and the interest of na- 
tional politics, the moral importance of the individual was 
immensely enhanced. Ethics were freed from all connexion 
with external institutions, and were joined in a new and close 
alliance to physics and theology. 

The cosmopolitanism of the Stoics was a cosmopolitanism 
in the widest etymological sense, for they regarded not the 
inhabited earth alone, but the whole universe, as man's city. 
Undistracted by political ideas, they placed the individual in 
direct relation to the laws of the Cosmos. Hence Chrysippus 
said, 22 that * no ethical subject could be rightly approached 
except from the preconsideration of entire nature and the 
ordering of the whole.' Hence his regular preamble to every 
discussion of good, evil, ends, justice, marriage, education, 
and the like, was some exordium about Fate or Providence. 
So close and absolute a dependence of the individual upon 
the Divine First Cause was asserted by the Stoics, that their 
theological system reminds us, to some extent, of modern 
Calvinism, or of the doctrines of Spinoza. Body, they said, 
is the only substance. Nothing incorporeal could act upon 
what is corporeal, or vice versa. The First Cause 23 of all is 
God, or Zeus the universal reason, the world-spirit, which 
may also be represented as the primeval fire, just as the soul 
of man, which is an emanation from it, consists of a warm 
ether. God, by transformation of his own essence, makes 
the world. All things come forth from the bosom of God, 
and into it all things will again return, when by universal 
conflagration the world sinks into the divine fire, and God is 



2 - Ap. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoicis, 
c. ix. 

28 For the particulars of their phy- 
sical and theological system, and the 
authorities which establish the various 



parts of the doctrine, see Dr. Zeller's 
Philosophic der Griechcn, vol. iii. This 
book contains the most complete and 
accurate account of the Stoics which 
has yet been written. 



THE THEOLOGY OF THE STOICS. 265 

again left alone. The universe is a living and rational whole ; 
for how else could the human soul, which is but a part of that 
whole, be rational and conscious ? If the Cosmos be com- 
pared to an individual man, then Providence is like the spirit 
of a man. Thus all things are very good, being ordered and 
preordained by the divine reason. This reason is also des- 
tiny, which is denned to be 24 ' the law according to which 
what has been, has been ; what is, is ; and what shall be, 
shall be.' The round world hangs balanced in an infinite 
vacuum. It is made up of four elements fire and air, which 
are active powers ; water and earth, which are passive mate- 
rials. Within it are four classes of natural objects inorganic 
substances, plants, animals, and rational beings. First and 
highest among rational beings are the sun and the stars and 
all the heavenly bodies, which, as Plato and Aristotle used 
to say, are conscious, reasonable, and blessed existences. 
These, indeed, are created gods, divine but not eternal. 
They will at last, like all things else, return into the unity 
of the primeval fire. Other gods, or rather other manifesta- 
tions of the one divine principle, exist in the elements and 
the powers of nature, which, accordingly, are rightly wor- 
shipped by the people, and have received names expressive 
of their different attributes. Heroes, also, with divine 
qualities, are justly deified ; and the Wise Man is divine, 
since he bears a god within himself. In this city of Zeus, 
where all is holy, and earth and sky are full of gods, the 
individual man is but a part of the whole only one expres- 
sion of the universal law. 

Abstractedly, the theology of the Stoics appears as a mate- 
rialistic pantheism ; God is represented as a fire, and the 
world as a mode of God. But, practically, this aspect of the 

21 Plutarch, DC Placitis Philosophorum, i. 28. 



266 



ESSAY VI. 



creed is softened by two feelings by their strong sense, first, 
of the personality of God ; and secondly, of the individuality 
of man. These feelings express themselves in the hymn of 
Cleanthes, the most devotional fragment 25 of Grecian an- 
tiquity. In this hymn, Zeus is addressed as highest of the 
gods, having many names, always omnipotent, leader of 
nature, and governing all things by law. 

' Thee,' continues the poet, * it is lawful for all mortals to 
address. For 26 we are thy offspring, and alone of living 
creatures possess a voice which is the image of reason. 
Therefore, I will for ever sing thee and celebrate thy power. 
All this universe rolling round the earth obeys thee, and 
follows willingly at thy command. Such a minister hast thou 
in thy invincible hands, the two-edged, flaming, vivid thun- 
derbolt. King, most high, nothing is done without thee 



25 Preserved by Stobaeus, Eel. Phys. 
i. 30. 

26 'Ex ffov yap ytvos eer/xeV, ITJS /j.ifj.rip.a 
\a\6vTfs Movvoi. It is difficult to be- 
lieve that the first part of this line, and 
the hymn of Cleanthes in general, is 
not alluded to by St. Paul in his speech 
at Athens. It was after encountering 
certain philosophers of the Epicureans 
and of the Stoics that he ' stood up in 
the midst of Mars' Hill' and addressed 
the multitude. While speaking to the 
mass of the Athenians, and making 
the popular superstition his starting- 
point, St. Paul appears also to appeal 
to the philosophic part of his audience, 
weaving in their ideas into his speech, 
and referring to their literature. Thus 
the cosmopolitan theory of the Stoics 
seems to be distinctly assumed, and 
both Aratus and Cleanthes may be 
comprehended under the terms 'cer- 
tain of your own poets.' It is in- 
teresting, after reading the Stoical 
verses, to turn to the exact words of 



St. Paul : ' God, that made the world 
and all things therein, seeing that he 
is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth 
not in temples made with hands ; 
neither is worshipped with men's 
hands as though he needed anything, 
seeing he giveth to all life and breath 
and all things, and hath made of one 
blood all nations of men, for to dwell 
on all the face of the earth, and hath 
determined the times before appointed 
and the bounds of their habitation ; 
that they should seek after the Lord, 
if haply they might feel after him and 
find him, though .he be not far from 
every one of us. For in him we live 
and move and have our being, as cer- 
tain also of your own poets have said, 
For we are also his offspring.' The 
saying that ' God dwelleth not in tem- 
ples made with hands' agrees re- 
markably with the expressions of 
Zeno, ap. Plutarch, De Eepug. Stoic. 



THE HYMN OF CLEAXTHES. 267 

neither in heaven or on earth, nor in the sea, except what the 
wicked do in their foolishness. Thou makest order out of 
disorder, and what is worthless becomes precious in thy 
sight; for thou hast fitted together good and evil into one, 
and hast established one law that exists for ever. But the 
wicked fly from thy law, unhappy ones, and though they 
desire to possess what is good, yet they see not, neither do 
they hear, the universal law of (rod. If they would follow it 
with understanding, they might have a good life. But they 
go astray, each after his own devices some vainly striving 
after reputation, others turning aside after gain excessively, 
others after riotous living and wantonness. Nay, but, 
Zeus, giver of all things, who dwellest in dark clouds, and 
rulest over the thunder, deliver men from their foolishness. 
Scatter it from their souls, and grant them to obtain wisdom, 
for by wisdom thou dost rightly govern all things ; that being 
honoured we may repay thee with honour, singing thy works 
without ceasing, as is right for us to do. For there is no 
greater thing than this, either for mortal men or for the gods, 
to sing rightly the universal law.' 

In this interesting fragment we see, above all, a belief in 
the unity of God. This, Plato and Aristotle had most cer- 
tainly arrived at. Even in the popular ideas it probably lay 
behind all polytheistic forms, as being a truth necessary to 
the mind. But Monotheism here, as in the early Hebrew 
Scriptures, is co-existent with a mention of other gods besides 
the one highest God. These are represented as inferior to 
Zeus, and singing his praises. The human soul is here de- 
picted as deriving all happiness from wisdom and a know- 
ledge of God. The knowledge of God and a devotional 
regard to Him are mentioned as needs of the human soul, 
though the knowledge spoken of appears partly under the 
aspect of an intuition into the universal and impersonal law. 



268 



ESSAY VI. 



When Cleanthes speaks of * repaying God with honour,' 
we see a strong assertion of the worth of the individual. 
Heraclitus had said of old that 'Zeus looks on the wisest 
man as we look on an ape.' But now the feeling about 
these things was changed, and Chrysippus 27 even went so far 
as to say, that ' the sage is not less useful to Zeus than Zeus 
is to the sage,' a saying which is rendered less offensive by 
taking it partly in a metaphysical sense, to mean that the 
individual is as necessary to the universal law as vice versa. 

As strong an assertion as this would seem almost required 
to counterbalance the absorbing necessarian element in early 
Stoicism. At first it excites surprise that a system putting 
so great store on the moral will should on the other hand 
appear to annihilate it. If all proceeds by destiny, what 
scope is left for individual action, for self-discipline and 
moral advance ? But we must leave this contradiction un- 
resolved. Other systems with a profoundly moral bearing 
have also maintained the doctrine of necessity. And it was 
plainly the intention of the Stoics that the Wise Man, by 
raising himself to the consciousness of universal necessity, 
should become free, while all those who had not attained to 
this consciousness remained in bondage. 'Lead me, Zeus, 
and thou Destiny,' 28 says Cleanthes, in another fragment, 
' whithersoever I am by you appointed. I will follow not 
reluctant ; but even though I am unwilling through badness, 
I shall follow none the less.' Yet still with the Stoics the 
individual element remained equally valid ; the individual 
consciousness was the starting-point of their thought ; and 



27 Plutarch, Adversus Stoicos, 33. 
2 " &yov 8 ( & Ztv, Kal <ri> y' ij Tlf- 



iroff vfuv el 



us e\j/o/j.ai y' &OKVOS t\v 5 n^ Be\u 
KU/COS ytvAfjifvos, ovStv iirrov ftyofitu. 
These verses are translated by Seneca. 



THE STOIC NECESSARIAMSM. 



269 



hence the difficulty arose, as in modern times, how to recon- 
cile the opposite ideas of individual freedom, and of a world 
absolutely predetermined by divine reason. To the task of 
this reconciliation Chrysippus devoted himself, and Cicero 
describes him as ' labouring painfully to explain how all 
things happen by Fate, and yet that there is something in 
ourselves.' 29 To effect this, he drew a distinction between 

* predisposing' and ' determinant' causes, and said that only 
the 'predisposing' causes rested with Fate, 30 while the ' de- 
terminant' cause was always in the human will. This dis- 
tinction will hardly bear much scrutiny. When Chrysippus 
was confronted with what philosophers called the ' lazy . 
argument' 31 namely, the very simple question, Why should 
I do anything, if all is fated? Why, for instance, should I 
send for the doctor, since, whether I do so or not, the ques- 
tion of my recovery is already fixed by fate ? to this he 
replied, It is perhaps as much fated that you should send for 
the doctor, as that you should get well ; these things are 

* confatal.' In other words, the fate of the Stoics was, of 
course, a rational fate, acting, not supernaturally, but by the 
whole chain of cause and effect. The reasonings of Chry- 
sippus are interesting historically, as being the first attempt 
to meet some of the difficulties of the doctrine of human 
freedom ; and much that he urges has been repeated in after- 
times. We have already seen the optimism of Cleanthes 
expressed in his hymn. He says on the one hand, that 
nothing is evil in the hands of God ; (rod fits good and evil 
together into one frame. On the other hand, he says that 
4 God does all that is done in the world, except the wicked- 



29 Fragment of Cicero, De Fato, ap. 
Aul. Gell. vn. ii. 15. 

30 Plut. De Sepuff. Stoic, xlvii. : ofoe 

ai>TOTe\ri rovrtav alriaf, a\\a. irpo/ca- 



fiivov &icoi<i-ro T 
31 apyfo \6yos (Cicero, De Fato, 
xii. xiii.). 



270 



ESSAY VI. 



ness.' Chrysippus, touching on the existence of evil and the 
afflictions which happen to good men, says that the existence 
of evil is necessary, as being the contrary to good ; 32 without 
it, good could not exist. Again, that as in a large family a 
little waste must occur, so in the world there must be parts 
overlooked and neglected. Again, that the good are afflicted, 
not as a punishment, but * according to another dispensation.' 
Again, that evil demons may preside over some parts of the 
world. These inconsistent arguments show a great advance 
in theology. The first is, perhaps, the most philosophical. 
It is taken from Heraclitus, according to whom all things 
exist by the unity of contradiction. Plutarch objects to this 
argument, that if good can only exist by implying evil, what 
will become of the good after the conflagration of the world, 
when Zeus is all in all ? If evil is destroyed, then good will 
be destroyed also ; an objection hard to answer from the 
point of view of Chrysippus. 

The Stoics generally professed themselves on the side of the 
* common notions.' They accepted the popular theology, in 
an allegorizing spirit, as being a slightly perverted expression 
of the truth. Though denying the marvellous and the 
supernatural, and being quite unable to attribute to God a 
meddling in the minutice of human affairs, they yet declared 33 
for the reality of omens, oracles, and portents. They explained 
their belief by saying that there was no special revelation, 
but that certain signs were universally preordained to accom- 
pany certain events. The portent and the thing to be sig- 
nified were ' confatal.' Thus the world was full of divine 
coincidences, if men could but discern them. We can well 
fancy that this theme would suit the subtle intellect of Chry- 



32 Plutarch, De Bepug. Stoic, xxxv.- 
xxxyii. 



83 Cicero, De Divinatione, i. iii., &c. 
Seneca, Qucest. Nat. ii. 52. 



THE STOIC THEOLOGY. 



271 



sippus, who appears to have written two books on Divination, 
one on Oracles, and one on Dreams. But a difference on the 
subject afterwards arose in the school, and Pansetius expressed 
his doubts as to the reality of divination. With regard to the 
doctrine of future rewards and punishments, the Stoics were 
opposed to the general belief. Chrysippus finds fault with 
Plato for having, in the person of Cephalus, adopted such a 
vulgar bugbear. 34 But they asserted the moral government 
of the world, saying that the good alone are happy, and that 
misfortunes happen to the wicked by Divine Providence. The 
Stoics would seem excluded by their theological system from 
holding the immortality of the soul. If all the world by con- . 
flagration sinks into the essence of Grod, how can the indi- 
vidual soul continue to exist ? But, on the other hand, if there 
be any principle in the human mind, short of revelation, which 
would lead men to trust and believe in their own immortality, 
it must assuredly be that principle which so largely animates 
Stoicism the principle of aspiration, of moral energy, of a 
life above all ordinary pleasures and interests. ' Let us eat 
and drink, for to-morrow we die,' is the maxim of extreme 
Epicurism ; and though the Stoic might say, through the force 
of his will, 'I die to-morrow, yet I will do the right' this 
preference of the right above all things will be found in the 
long run to have more affinity for the * immortal longings,' 
than for any mere system of materialism. As a matter of 
fact, we find that the Koman Stoics came gradually to blend 
the thoughts of another life with the practice of their stern 
virtue. Cleanthes and Chrysippus had spoken only of a possible 
continuance of the souls of the wise until the next conflagra- 
tion ; but Cato fortified his last hours with ideas not drawn 



34 TOV TTfpl T(UV VTTO TOV OfOU 

\6yov, uis ovdev Sia<pepovra TTJS 'AJCKOUS 
Kal TTJS 'AA.<f>iTouj, 81 Siv TO, ira.i5a.pia. rov 



<*i yvvcuices avfipyovai. 
Plut. De Bepug. Stoic, c. xii. 



272 



ESSAY VI. 



from these authorities, but from the Phcedo of Plato. It may 
be questioned whether a frequent dwelling on the thought of 
suicide, as allowable and even praiseworthy, is most often 
accompanied, or not, by the belief in a future life. The first 
Stoics, by their precept and example, recommended the wise, 
on occasion, to ' usher themselves out ' 35 of life. If suicide, 
thus dignified by a name, were an escape from mere pain or 
annoyance, it would be an Epicurean act ; but as a flight from 
what is degrading as a great piece of renunciation, it assumes 
a Stoical appearance. The passion for suicide reached its 
height in the writings of Seneca, under the wretched circum- 
stances of the Roman despotism ; but, on the whole, it be- 
longs to immature Stoicism Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius 
dissuaded from it. In saying this, we cannot for a moment 
pretend that the Stoical principle ever entirely purified itself 
from alloy; it was too wanting in objective elements it had 
too little to draw men out of themselves ever to satisfy the 
human spirit, ever to be otherwise than very imperfect. Stoical 
pride will always be a just subject of reproach ; for the de- 
velopment of the subjective element of morality necessary to 
the deepening of the thoughts of the world was overdone by 
the Stoics, and they supplied nothing in counterbalance. It 
is not as a complete system, or with any inherent capacity for 
completeness, certainly not as a rival to Christianity, that 
we regard the Stoical Idea ; but rather as the manifestation 
amongst the Greeks and Romans of a peculiar kind of human 
tendency, one which exists within Christianity also which 
constantly appears in history, and which meets us in daily 
life. 36 



35 fydyftv kavrovs, f^ayaty^ is the 
regular word with the Stoics for sui- 
cide. Diog. Laert. vn. i. 66. 

38 This Essay, which cannot in the 
least aim at being exhaustive, has 



hitherto omitted all mention of the 
non-ethical doctrines of the Stoics, 
their threefold division of philosophy, 
and their achievements in the province 
of logic. Suffice it to say, that these 



STOICISM BROUGHT TO ROME. 



273 



II. Let us turn now to watch the promulgation of that 
doctrine, the leading traits of which we have endeavoured to 
describe, and which was destined not to remain the property 
of a mere school in Athens, but rather to become an active 
influence among the Roman spirits, and to some extent a 
regenerating element in the last days of Pagan civilization. 
There was a direct succession, as we have seen above (p. 246), 
in the lists of the Stoic doctors from Chrysippus to Posidonius, 
and Posidonius was master to Cicero. During the interval 
spanned by these successive teachers (from 200 B.C. to 50 B.C.), 
many circumstances turned the tide of philosophy towards 
Rome, and commenced the intellectual subjugation of the 
victors in the domain of thought as well as of imaginative 
literature. The first awakenings of the national curiosity are 
somewhat obscured. Aulus Gellius records a decree of the 
Senate, of the date B.C. 161, for banishing from Rome philo- 
sophers and rhetoricians, at the instance of M. Pomponius, 
the praetor. This fact appears to stand in isolation. Six years 
later (B.C. 155), we hear of the famous embassy of the philo- 



were the least essential parts of 
Stoicism. Still they exhibit a charac- 
teristic approach to modern views. 
The division of science into logic, 
physic, and ethic, arose naturally out 
of the position which philosophy had 
assumed under Aristotle. But to give 
ethic and logic such an independent 
footing was original and modern. Small 
thanks are due to the Stoics for ele- 
vating logic, so-called, into a separate 
science. By so doing they have caused 
a. great waste of human thought. 
With them, as ever since, logic was a 
vague name, including grammar, rhe- 
toric, and metaphysics. They adopted 
and carried out the principles of the 
syllogism. One of their first ques- 
tions was, as to the ' Criterium,' What 



is the test of truth in our ideas? 
They seem to have professed, on this 
head, a sort of ' natural realism,' and 
a theory of knowledge similar to that 
of Locke. This was a descent from 
the old philosophic height ; it was in 
opposition to the scepticism of the 
New Academy, and was connected 
with their practical point of view. 
Chrysippus, however, as a dialectical 
tour deforce, wrote six books ' against 
custom,' in which he collected all that 
could be said against common ideas 
arising from association. Plutarch 
says that his arguments on his own 
side were not of equal force. How- 
ever, the Stoics remain true to their 
own theory as ' common-sense philo- 
sophers.' 



274 ESSAY VI. 

sophers sent from Athens to Rome to obtain the remission 
of a fine. Doubt 37 has been thrown on the reality of this 
event. But independent of the constant oral tradition from 
Scipio and Lselius down to Cicero, the historical certainty of 
the embassy is established by a reference which Cicero makes 38 
to the writings of Clitomachus, a Carthaginian philosopher 
who settled at Athens, and was disciple to Carneades imme- 
diately after the date assigned to the embassy, and who there- 
fore is an undoubted authority for the facts. However, we 
may easily believe that the story has been decked out and 
improved. In some accounts, Carneades the Academic, and 
Diogenes the Stoic, are mentioned as the envoys ; but other 
accounts, probably for completeness' sake, add Critolaus the 
Peripatetic. And hence it came to be said 39 that these three 
represented the three styles of oratory the florid, the severe, 
and the moderate. Cicero 40 tells us of a philosophic party at 
Eome, in compliment to whom these particular ambassadors 
were sent ; while, on the other hand, Cato the Censor viewed 
with impatience their favourable reception, and urged upon 
the Senate their speedy dismissal. The most interesting 
anecdote connected with this embassy is that quoted from the 
works of Clitomachus, that A. Albinus, the prastor, said to 
Carneades in the Capitol, before the Senate, ' Is it true, Car- 
neades, that you think I am no prator because I am not a 
wise man, and that this is no city, and that there is no true 
state in it?' To which Carneades replied, 'I don't think so, 
but this Stoic does.' This story amusingly represents the 
confusion in the mind of the Roman praBtor, who did not dis- 
tinguish between the philosophical schools, but was struck by 
the great paradox he had heard, and was not able to compre- 



37 Mr. Merivale's History of the 
Romans under the Empire, ii. p. 511, 

note. 



* 8 Academics, ii. xrv. 

w Aulus Gellius, vii. xiv. 3. 

40 De Oratore, ii. xxxvn. 



PANSETIUS. 275 

hend that inner point of view from which it was said that 
mighty Rome was no city, and the august praetor had no real 
office or authority at all. 

The anti-philosophical party seem to have continued their 
exertions at Rome, and under the date 93 B.C. we read 41 of 
a decree of the censors Domitius ^Enobarbus and Licinius 
Crassus against the schools in which a new sort of learning 
was taught by those who called themselves Latin rhetoricians, 
and where youths wasted their whole days in sloth. This 
decree is in fine grand Roman style ; it says, e these things 
do not please us.' But it was in vain to attempt resisting the 
influx of Greek philosophy, when the leading and most able 
men warmly welcomed it. Africanus, C. Lselius, and L. 
Furius were extremely pleased at the embassy, and always 
had learned Greeks in their company. A little later than 
150 B.C., no one was more instrumental in recommending 
Stoicism to the Romans than Pansetius of Rhodes, whose in- 
structions in Athens were attended by Laelius and his son- 
in-law, C. Fanucius, and also by the conqueror of Carthage. 
Pansetius accompanied the latter on his famous mission to 
the courts in Asia Minor and Egypt. He is always spoken 
of as the friend and companion of Scipio and Lselius. He is 
recorded to have sent a letter to Q. Tubero, on the endurance 
of pain. Not only by personal intercourse did Pansetius 
influence the cultivated Romans, but also still more by his 
books. These seem to have been of a character eminently 
fitted for the comprehension of the Romans, being extremely 
practical, avoiding the harshness and severity of the early 
Stoics, and being free from ' the thorns of dialectic.' 42 One 
peculiarity above all, while it made Pansetius a worse Stoic, 
made him at the same time a more attractive expositor of 



41 Aulus Gellius, xv. jri. | 42 Cicero, De Fin. iv. xxvni. 79. 

T 2 



276 ESSAY VI. 

philosophy, and was only a fulfilment, after all, of the destiny 
of Stoicism namely, his tendency to eclecticism. He con- 
stantly had Plato, Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, Dicse- 
archus, in his mouth ; he was always speaking 43 of Plato as 
divine, most wise, most holy, and the Homer of philosophers. 
We can form a very good conception of his writings from 
Cicero's work On Offices, which is taken almost exactly from 
Panffitius' On Things Suitable. An extract verbatim, 
from the latter, is preserved by Aulus Grellius. It recom- 
mends those who are mixed up in affairs to be on their 
guard, like pugilists, against every sort of attack. It is in 
rhetorical style, and full of a sensible worldly prudence. Such 
prudence is no more alien from a particular phase of Stoicism, 
than it is from a particular phase of religion. 

Posidonius (B.C. 135-50) maintained the same intercourse 
with the Komans, and the same eclectic tendencies as his 
master. After the death of Pansetius (B.C. 112), he made 
some extensive travels for the sake of physical inquiry. At 
Cadiz he spent some time in observations on the sunset ; he 
visited Sicily, Dalmatia, and other countries, and finally 
settled in Rhodes. Strabo, with a sympathy for his geo- 
graphical knowledge, called him ' the most learned philoso- 
pher of the day.' In the year 86 B.C. he was sent as 
ambassador to Rome, and became acquainted with Marius. 
Pompey visited Posidonius twice in Rhodes (67 and 62 B.C.); 
and the story goes that on one of these occasions Posidonius, 
having a bad fit of the gout, discoursed from his bed to 
Pompey on the topic ' that virtue is the only good, and that 
pain is no evil.' Cicero also studied under him in Rhodes ; 
and finally, coming to Rome in his old age (B.C. 5 1 ), he died 
there a short time afterwards, having had as his hearers 



48 Cicero, Tusculan. Disputat. i. xxxn. 79. 



PHILOSOPHERS IN THE HOUSEHOLD OF GREAT MEN. 277 

C. Velleius, C. Gotta, Q. Lucilius Balbus, and probably Brutus. 
Posidonius wrote a commentary on the Timceus of Plato, 
apparently to reconcile it with the Stoical physics. He 
approximated in some things to Aristotle, and even, it is said, 
to Pythagoras. On divination, however, he reverted to the 
old Stoical view, abandoning the scepticism of Pansetius. 
The ancients make mention of the elegance of his style ; and 
Cicero, while dissenting from his opinions on fate and other 
subjects, speaks of him at the same time with the greatest 
respect. 

Beside those Stoics who were of eminence and originality 
enough to advance, though only by amalgamation, the tra- 
ditionary doctrine, there were by this time many others who 
received it merely and adopted it as an article of faith, 
without thinking of addition or change. Such was probably 
Antipater of Tyre, who became the friend and instructor of 
Cato the younger. And now we find, in the last half-century 
before Christ, frequent instances of a new fashion in Kome 
namely, for a great man to maintain a philosopher in his 
house, as in modern days a private confessor. Of this 
custom Cato 44 of Utica was himself an instance, for he is 
reported to have made a journey to Pergamus with the 
express object of inducing the famous Stoic Athenodorus, 
surnamed Cordylion, to accompany him to Eome, in which 
mission he succeeded, and brought back the sage in triumph, 
who ended his days in the house of Cato. After this, at 
Utica, Cato appears to have had among the members of his 
family Demetrius a Peripatetic, and Apollonides a Stoic. 
On the night before Gate's suicide, they disputed with each 
other on the paradox that the Wise Man only is free, Cato 



44 Plutarch, Cato Minor, c. x. 



278 ESSAY VI. 

warmly supporting the Stoical side. Another 45 Athenodorus, 
of the same sect, but surnarned Cananites, was highly 
honoured by the great Augustus. Attracting the notice of 
the Emperor at Apollonia, where he held a school, he was 
invited to Rome, and had the young Claudius placed under 
his instruction. In his old age returning to Tarsus, he seems 
to have procured some advantages for his country through 
his influence with Augustus. Among the few works attri- 
buted to him there is one with an eminently Stoical title, 
On Earnestness and Education. 

Arguing by analogy from these external indications, we 
may imagine the Roman nation at this period imbibing 
Greek philosophy, or so-called philosophy, at every pore. 
The Romans, indeed, had not the slightest stomach for meta- 
physics, and in no one of their writers do we find any trace 
of a real acquaintance with the systems of Plato or Aristotle. 
But we can find abundant traces of an acquaintance with 
Epicurus and Chrysippus, and Panaetius and Posidonius. 
The inducement of the Romans in taking up with this kind 
of literature was twofold : first, a natural affinity for practical 
moralizing and maxims of life; second, a rhetorical necessity 
the desire to turn sentences, to be terse, apposite, and 
weighty. The constant practice of declamation gave an im- 
mense stimulus to the sermonizing tendency of the day, and 
as the despotism of the Empire shut up other subjects, 
declamation became more and more exclusively moral. In- 
struction under some Greek rhetorician became part of the 
education of a Roman youth, and in Athens, Rhodes, Mar- 
seilles, and Alexandria, everywhere throughout the great 
Roman world, Sophists and declaimers might be heard 
setting forth the theses of the different schools, among which 



45 Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography, sub voce. 



PHILOSOPHY AMOXG THE ROMANS. 



279 



the florid paradoxes of the Stoics were no doubt most 
striking and attractive. 

The Komans who took any side in philosophy invariably 
became either Epicureans, Stoics, or Academics, or else, as 
was not unfrequent, they combined 46 the Academical opinions 
on knowledge with the Stoical morals and some admixture 
of the Stoical physics. This was the case with L. Lucullus, 
with M. Brutus, and Terentius Yarro. Cicero's creed we 
know to have been a learned and sensible eclecticism, a 
qualified Stoicism with a use of the Academic arguments, 
and an approach in some things to the Peripatetic views. 
Such a compound was suitable to a statesman and a man of. 
letters ; it exhibits acuteness, refinement, breadth of view, 
and an affinity to what is elevated in the different systems : 
but at the same time it avoids all extremes, and shuns that 
unity of principle on which philosophy, properly so called, 
depends. When such a balance as this was wanting, the 
Romans joined the opposite ranks of the Stoics or the 
Epicureans. To either side they had certain elements that 
inclined them. Their capacity for the physical enjoy- 
ment of life, their taste for rural ease and the delights of 
their beautiful villas, and that healthy realism which we 
find expressed by Lucretius, all tended to recommend the 
Epicurean doctrine to the Romans. And added to these 
predisposing causes was the fact that the first book of 
philosophy written in the Latin language was the work of 
one Amafinius, 47 setting forth Epicurism. This treatise, 
though of no merit according to Cicero, had immense in- 
fluence, and brought over the multitude to adopt its views. 
4 Other works of a similar character followed, and through 



48 Bitter's History of Ancient Phi- 
losophy (translated by Mr. Morrison), 
vol. iv. pp. 78, 79- 



47 Cicero, Tusc. Disp. iv. in. ; Acad. 
Post. n. 



280 



ESSAY VI. 



their popular style took possession of the whole of Italy.' 
Of this phase of feeling hardly any trace remains to us, if we 
except the splendid poem of Lucretius, and the record of one 
or two great names among the Roman Epicureans, such as 
Atticus, the friend of Cicero, Cassius, the murderer of Caesar, 
L. Torquatus, and C. Velleius. Perhaps its most lasting 
result was the spread of ' a wisdom,' as Livy calls it, 
' which had learned to despise the gods.' Epicurism was 
transient in Eome, like Sentimentalism in England, because 
alien to the national characteristics; for on the whole the 
Romans were far more disposed to energy and sublime 
virtue, and the conquest of external circumstances, than to 
easy and harmonious enjoyment. Without a great intel- 
lectual capacity for the apprehension of the universal, there 
was yet something abstract about their turn of mind ; this is 
shown in their love of law, and in the sternness of the high 
Roman mood. It has been often said that the old Roman 
worthies were unconscious Stoics. And now, from Cato to 
M. Aurelius, we find through the Roman empire an im- 
mense diffusion of Stoical principles and of the professors 
of Stoicism. 48 

III. These professors assumed, it appears, not only dis- 
tinctive principles, but also certain external marks and 



48 Among the most celebrated of 
these is to be named Q. Sextius, con- 
temporary with Julius Caesar, who 
founded a school. This school, Seneca 
tells us (Quasi. Nat. vii. xxxii.), began 
with great eclat, but soon became ex- 
tinct. He says of Sextius that he was 
' a great man and a Stoic, although he 
himself denied this.' Sextius appears 
to have followed Pythagoras in some 
points, and to have enjoined absti- 
nence from animal food. Sotion, the 
disciple of Sextius, was Seneca's mas- 



ter, and induced him to practise this 
kind of asceticism at one time ; but 
after a year's trial of it, he was per- 
suaded by his father, who ' hated phi- 
losophy,' and who dreaded the impu- 
tation of certain foreign superstitions, 
to return to the common mode of diet. 
(Ep. cviii.) What is most remarkable 
about Sextius is his daily habit, ac- 
cording to Seneca (Dc Ira, m. xxxvi.), 
of self-examination. This shows the 
spirit of the times. 



CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ROMAN STOICS. 



281 



badges of their sect. We read in Juvenal 49 of the * long 
robe ' as synonymous with Stoicism ; in Persius we read of 
their close-cropped hair, 50 and their look of having sat up 
all night ; in Tacitus, 51 of their set countenances and gait 
expressive of virtue. Like their Jewish counterpart, the 
Pharisees, they were formal, austere, pretentious, and not 
unfrequently hypocritical. Under the mask of asceticism, 
they appear sometimes to have concealed gross licentious- 
ness, 52 and under their sanctimonious face the blackest 
heart. With bitter indignation does Tacitus 53 record the 
perfidy of Publius Egnatius Celer, the Stoic philosopher, the 
client, the instructor, and the false friend of Barea Soranus, 
whom, with his daughter, he betrayed to Nero, by giving the 
lying evidence which procured their deaths. Such cases as 
this, however, are to be regarded like stories of the corrup- 
tion of priests and monks, and to be judged apart, as giving 
no sufficient clue to the working of the system. Partly they 
illustrate the maxim that t that corruption is worst which is 
the corruption of the best ;' partly they show that an elevated 
and spiritual creed is apt, by the very nobleness of its 
appearance, to attract unworthy followers. We may also 
add that, beside the antinomian tendencies which might 
logically be connected with this creed, 54 there was a narrow- 
ness in the intensity of Stoicism, and an abstract unreality 
about its ideas, not favourable to the development of the 
more human virtues. Acknowledging these things, we may 
turn away from this ungracious side of the system, and leave 



' <9 ' Facinus majoris abollse.' Sat. 
iii. 115. 

50 'Insomnis . . . et detonsa juventus.' 
Sat. iii. 54. 

51 ' P. Egnatius . . . auctoritatem Sto- 
icse sectse praeferebat, habitu et ore ad 
exprimendam imaginem honesti exer- 



citus.' Annal. xvi. 32. 

S2 'Frontis nulla fides, quis enim 

non vicus abundat 
Tristibus obscoenis ? ' 

Juv. Sat. ii. 8. 
5S Ann. xvi. 32, 33. 
54 See above, p. 261. 



282 



ESSAY VI. 



it to the tender mercies of the satirists. For even externally, 
Stoicism, on the whole, presented a better aspect and won a 
better opinion than this from intelligent observers during the 
early Roman empire. Nothing can be more significant than 
the accusation brought against C. Rubellius Plautus 55 by 
Tigellinus. This Plautus was son of Julia, and great-grand- 
son of Tiberius. Becoming an object of suspicion to Nero, 
he retired not from the Roman world, for that was impos- 
sible, but from the Court to Asia, where he lived in the 
pursuit of the Stoic philosophy. Tigellinus, to stir up Nero's 
hatred against him, declared, * That man, though of immense 
wealth, does not even pretend a wish for enjoyment, but is 
always bringing forward the examples of the ancient Romans. 
And he has now joined to these ideas the arrogance of the 
Stoics a philosophy which makes men turbulent and rest- 
less.' It is easy to see that this accusation was a panegyric. 
It was followed up by an order sent from Nero that Plautus 
should be put to death. His friends counselled resistance, 
but CaBranus and Musonius Rufus, two philosophers who 
were with him, preached the doctrine of resignation and 
fortitude; and armed with their suggestions, he met his 
death unmoved. This manner of death and life was not 
confined to Plautus : the reigns of Claudius and Nero ex- 
hibit a constellation of noble characters, formed on the 
model of the younger Cato, and showing the same repub- 
lican front and the same practical conception of Stoicism as 
he did. Such were Csecina Psetus and his heroic wife Arria, 
who died at the command of Claudius. Such was Soranus 
Barea, already mentioned, and such Thrasea, and his son-in- 
law Helvidius. Seneca, too, in his death, at all events, must 



is Tacitus, Annal. xiv. 57. Cf. 
Plutarch, Vit. Cleom. *Ex it & 
Sroii'/cij \6yos irpbs ray t*.fyd\as KO! 



Kal 



fid\iffTa f Is rb olnfiov aya6i>v 



LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SENECA. 283 

be added to the list a list of martyrs at a time when all 
good eminence was sure to attract the stroke. There is 
something perhaps theatrical and affected about the record 
of these death-scenes. When we think of Cato arguing on 
the freedom of the wise man, and then reading the Phcedo 
through the night, before he stabs himself; when we think 
of Thrasea pouring out a libation of his own blood to Jupiter 
the Liberator, and discoursing in his last moments with the 
Cynic Demetrius on immortality it seems as if these men 
had played somewhat studied parts. Such scenes appeal to 
the rhetorical faculty, rather than to the imagination and 
the heart. But it is the privilege of certain unhappy periods 
to be rhetorical. It is the privilege of patriots in miserable 
days to be excited, strained, unnatural. And hence we can 
understand how it was that from the Girondists in France 
the Koman Stoics obtained such sympathy and admiration. 

And now let us take some notice of the character and 
the thought of Seneca, a man who has been most differently 
estimated, according to the temperament of his judges, and 
according as he has been taken at his best or his worst. 
Probably we may admit almost all the accusations against 
him, and yet end without judging him too hardly. When 
just rising into success, Seneca was banished by Claudius, on 
an obscure charge preferred by Messalina. From Corsica, 
his place of banishment, he addressed what was called a 
' Consolation' to Polybius, the freedman of the Emperor, on 
the death of his brother. Seneca's object in this ' Consolation' 
was to effect his own recal, and the means he used were the 
most fulsome and cringing terms of flattery towards Claudius. 
His mean adulation quite failed in obtaining his pardon ; 
and he was only recalled after eight years' exile, through the 
influence of Agrippina, who made him tutor to her son 
Domitius, the future emperor Nero. In the museum at 



284 ESSAY VI. 

Naples one sees frescoes brought from Pompeii, which repre- 
sent a butterfly acting as charioteer to a dragon. These 
designs were meant to caricature the relationship of Seueca 
to his pupil Nero. No doubt he was drawn violently and 
without the power of resistance through much that was 
unseemly by his impetuous charge. No doubt he tried, with 
the help of Burrus, to keep the reins straight. But he was 
obliged to connive and even assist at things which made 
people say, with natural surprise, ' This is a strange part for 
a Stoic to play.' The poor painted butterfly behind the dragon 
could not choose what part he should play. Other things 
that have been complained of in Seneca are his violent re- 
action of spite against Claudius, shown in the satire which he 
wrote upon his death ; his reputed avarice, and the enormous 
fortune which in a short time he actually amassed under 
Nero ; certain scandalous intrigues, with regard to which 
there really is not evidence enough to enable us to say 
whether Seneca was guilty of them or not; and lastly, his 
possible complicity in the murder of Agrippina. Seneca was 
no Roman, but a Spaniard, and we can fancy how the milk 
of his flattery towards Claudius turned sour during his eight 
years' exile, and how deep resentment settled in his heart. 
With regard to his accumulating wealth when it was in his 
power to do so, we may perhaps explain it to ourselves, by 
remembering that many ecclesiastics professing a still more 
unworldly creed than Stoicism have done the same. With 
regard to his privity to the death of Agrippina, all that can 
be said is that Seneca was, towards the end of his career, so 
thoroughly scared by Nero, that all power of independent 
action was taken from him. Physically timid and gentle by 
nature, Seneca was not born to play a consistent and unyield- 
ing part. Considering his hideous position, we may well con- 
done his offences. If we study his writings, and especially 



THE WORKS OF SENECA. 285 

bis letters, we shall see that he possessed one essentially 
Stoical characteristic, namely, the intense desire for advance 
and improvement. The picture of the inner life of Seneca, 
his efforts after self-discipline, his untiring asceticism, his 
enthusiasm for all that he esteems holy and of good report 
this picture, marred as it is by pedantry, and rhetoric, and 
vain self-conceit, yet stands out in noble contrast to the 
swinishness of the Campanian villas, and is in its complex 
entirety very sad and affecting. 

The works of Seneca are over-harshly judged by those who 
have no taste except for metaphysical philosophy, or who, 
expecting to find such in Seneca, have been disappointed. 
But if we approach these writings from a different side, and 
look at them historically and psychologically, as the picture 
of the times and the man, we find them full of interest. If 
we can endure being a little cloyed with excess of richness in 
the style, if we can pardon occasional falsity and frequent 
exaggeration, we shall discover in them a most fertile genius, 
and a vein of French wit, so to speak, which is always neat 
and clever, and often surprising on the tritest moral subjects. 
Of all sets of letters that have ever been preserved, there is 
none that exhibits better and more vividly the different phases 
of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of a mind under the dominion 
of a peculiar kind of thought than the Epistles of Seneca. 
Let us take a glance at the more striking features of their 
contents, and see what sort of a working in the heart was 
produced by Stoicism under the circumstances of the case. 
The Epistles of Seneca consist of one hundred and twenty- 
four letters, written almost continuously in the old age of 
their author, and all addressed to a person of the name of 
Lucilius. The first point to be noticed about them is their 
entire abstraction from all public events of the day, an 
abstraction very Stoical in itself, and very significant also of 



286 ESSAY VI. 

the ungenial atmosphere of the political world. Only one 
allusion is there to Nero, where Seneca takes occasion (Ep. 
73) to find fault with the opinion that philosophers are 
necessarily turbulent and refractory, and despisers of the 
ruling power. * On the contrary,' he says, * none are more 
grateful to him who affords them security and tranquillity of 
life. They must regard the author of these blessings in the 
light of a parent.' * Like Tityrus, they must say that a god 
has provided them tranquillity, and left their cattle to roam 
and themselves to play the pipe.' ' The leisure thus granted 
them is indeed godlike, and raises them to the level of the 
gods.' In such terms does Seneca appreciate the hours of 
gilded oppression and treacherous reprieve which were con- 
ceded him. Most naturally the topics of his correspondence 
were not political. His letters were uniformly didactic and 
moral. In them we see developed the passion for self- 
improvement and for the cultivation of others. Both by 
nature and from the influences of Stoicism, Seneca was 
essentially a schoolmaster ; it was evidently the foible of his 
life to be bringing some one on ; he was a pedagogue to him- 
self, and he wanted somebody else whom he might lecture. Of 
this tendency Lucilius was made the victim. On one occasion 
he seems to have remonstrated, and to have reminded Seneca 
that he was forty years of age, and rather old for schooling 
(Ep. 25). But Seneca will not be deterred. He says it shall 
not be his fault if his friend does not improve, even though 
the success be not very brilliant. In every shape and from 
every side he urges upon him cultivation, and once fairly 
tells him he cannot remain on the footing of friend unless 
he cultivates himself and improves (Ep. 35). He hails his 
good deeds with triumph ; rejoices to hear that Lucilius lives 
on terms of familiarity with his slaves (Ep. 47) 'are they 
not,' he asks, men like ourselves, breathing the same air, 



THE WORKS OF SENECA. 287 

living and dying like ourselves?' praises a book he has 
written, lectures him on the economy of time (Ep. i); tells 
him to be select in his reading (Ep. 2); bids him examine 
himself to see whether he is progressing in philosophy or in 
life, since only the latter is valuable (Ep. 16); above all, 
exhorts him without ceasing to get rid of the fear of death, 
'that chain which binds us all' (Ep. 26), though he is half 
afraid, as in one place he naively confesses (Ep. 30), that 
Lucilius may come to dread his long-winded letters more 
even than death itself. However, as a compensation, he pro- 
mises his friend that these epistles shall ensure him a literary 
immortality, just as the letters of Cicero had made the name 
of Atticus immortal (Ep. 21). 

Such is a specimen of the didactic element in the letters 
of Seneca; the indications of his own self-discipline and 
conscious self-culture are equally pregnant and still more 
characteristic. One sentence of his might be taken as the 
summary and expression of his entire spirit. In speaking of 
the state of the * advancing man' as distinguished in Stoical 
parlance from the * wise man,' he says (Ep. 71), 'It is a great 
part of advance to will to be advancing. Of this I am con- 
scious to myself; I will to advance, nay, I will it with my 
whole heart*' In the will thus fixed and bent there is often 
a sort of unreal triumph, independent of actual success or 
failure. Seneca does not conceal from us his failures in 
realizing his conception of philosophic behaviour. But while 
he confesses, he is never humbled. Rather he seems proud 
of detecting his own falling off. On one occasion (Ep. 87) 
he relates an excursion which he made into the country with 
a friend, and in which he says they spent ' two delightful 
days.' They took very few slaves, and one rustic vehicle. 
On meeting with persons riding in grander equipages, he tells 
us, he could not refrain from blushing, and secretly wished 



288 ESSAY VI. 

that they should not think that this sordid conveyance be- 
longed to him. ' I have made but little progress as yet,' he 
sighs, * I dare not yet openly assume frugality. I mind the 
opinions of passers-by.' Whereupon he proceeds to lecture 
down this weakness in the grandest terms, and occupies many 
pages of a letter in proving that riches are not a good. On 
another occasion he recounts a voyage which he had under- 
taken from Naples to Puteoli (Ep. 53). In these few miles 
the sea became rough, and the philosopher grew sick, and, 
unable to endure the horrible sufferings of his position, he 
commanded the pilot to set him ashore. ' As soon as I had 
recovered my stomach,' he says, ' I began to reflect what a 
forgetfulness of our defects follows us about.' Pursuing 
this train of reasoning, he enters upon the praises of philo- 
sophy, and soaring far above sea-sickness, he exclaims, 
' Philosophy sets one above all men, and not far behind the 
gods. Indeed, in one point the wise man might be said even 
to surpass the Deity ; for the Deity is fearless by the gift of 
nature, but the wise man by his own merits.' This last 
saying, which is often quoted against Seneca, is perhaps the 
most foolish thing he ever said, and must not be taken as an 
average specimen of his thoughts. One failure which he 
ascribes to himself may be justly reckoned as a merit ; for 
while dissuading Lucilius (Ep. 63) from overmuch grieving 
at the loss of a friend, he says, ' I myself so immoderately 
wept for Annseus Serenus, that I must rank among the bad 
examples of those who have been overcome by grief.' And 
he reflects that the reason of this weakness must have been 
that he had not sufficiently considered the possibility of his 
friend dying first. We may also attribute it to the existence 
in Seneca of an affectionate heart, which had not been entirely 
supplanted by the abstractions of Stoicism, nor entirely 
* sicklied o'er by the pale cast of thought.' After alluding 



THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 289 

to cases where Seneca confessed to have fallen from the 
philosophic height, it is surely fair not to leave unrecorded 
an occasion where he effected an important triumph of the 
will. The kind of self-discipline chosen was somewhat 
surprising; it is related in the Fifty-sixth Epistle, where 
Seneca tells his friend that he had taken lodgings * over a 
bath.' He details with minuteness the various mixed and 
deafening sounds by which his ears were perpetually assailed. 
He could hear distinctly the strong fellows taking their exer- 
cise throwing out their hands loaded with the dumb-bells 
straining and groaning hissing and wheezing -breathing in 
every kind of unnatural way at another moment some one 
having his shoulders slapped by the shampooer a hue and 
cry after a thief a man practising his voice in the bath 
people leaping and splashing down into the water the various 
cries of the piemen and sellers of baked meats, as they vended 
their wares and several other sounds, to all of which Seneca 
compelled his mind to be inattentive, being concentrated on 
itself. The power of abstraction gained by such a discipline 
he seems to have thought very valuable. At the end of his 

\ 

letter, he declares that as the experiment is quite successful, 
and as the sounds are really abominable, he has now deter- 
mined to change his quarters. 

About such moral peddling as this, there is of course 
nothing great. But the spirit which actuates it is in its 
origin deep and good, and is only not admirable when it 
becomes perverted. The conscious desire for moral progress 
becomes unfortunately very easily perverted ; it degenerates 
too often into small self-analysis, and that weak trifling which 
is most utterly opposed to real progression. We find Seneca 
remaining in his moral nature a strange mixture of the 
pedant and the schoolboy ; on the one hand always teaching 
himself, and on the other hand with everything to learn ; and 

u 



290 ESSAY VI. 

yet still, with all its imperfections, we may question whether 
this attitude is not more human and better than anything 
like an Epicurean acquiescence and content in one's nature 
as it is. That self-reflection, that communing of man with 
his own heart, which the tendencies of Stoicism and the 
course of the world's history had now made common, pro- 
duced in Seneca occasionally intuitions into the state of the 
human race, which he expresses in language curious to meet 
with in the writings of a Pagan. He says (De dementia, 
i. vi.): 

* Conceive in this vast city, where without cease a crowd 
pours through the broadest streets, and like a river dashes 
against anything that impedes its rapid course this city, 
that consumes the grain of all lands what a solitude and 
desolation there would be if nothing were left save what a 
severe judge could absolve of fault ! We have all sinned 
(peccavimus omnes), some more gravely, others more lightly ; 
some from purpose, others by chance impulse, or else carried 
away by wickedness external to them ; others of us have 
wanted fortitude to stand by our resolutions, and have lost 
our innocence unwillingly and not without a struggle. Not 
only we have erred, but to the end of time we shall continue 
to err. Even if anyone has already so well purified his 
mind that nothing can shake or decoy him any more, it is 
through sinning that he has arrived at this state of innocence.' 

Those who have been anxious to obtain the authority of 
Aristotle for the doctrine of ' human corruption ' will find on 
consideration that this idea, which was historically impossible 
for a Greek of the fourth century B.C., came with sufficient 
vividness into the consciousness of persons in the position of 
Seneca, but not till much later than Aristotle, probably not 
before the beginning of our era. On the other hand, we are 
not to fancy that the thoughts of Seneca received any in- 



THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 291 

fluence from Christianity. The stories of his intercourse 
with St. Paul are merely mythical. We learn from passages 
like that above quoted, not that Seneca had any acquaintance 
with Christian doctrines, but that some of the thoughts and 
feelings which St. Paul had about the world were held also 
by Pagans contemporaneous with him. 

There is one more characteristic of the letters of Seneca 
which ought not to be left unmentioned, and that is, the way 
in which they are perpetually overshadowed by the thought 
of death. The form assumed by this meditatio 'mortis is a 
constant urging of arguments against fearing to die. These 
arguments are, as might be expected, infinitely varied and 
ingenious. ' Death,' he says, ' lurks under the name of life. 
It begins with our infancy.' ' It is a great mistake to look 
forward to death, since a great part of it is already over. "We 
die daily' (Ep. i). 'Death is no punishment, but the law 
of nature.' * Children and idiots do not fear death, why can- 
not reason attain to that security which folly has achieved ? ' 
(Ep. 36). 'Death is the one port in a stormy sea it is 
either end or transition (aut finis est aut transitus) it brings 
us back to where we were before birth it must be a gain or 
nothing.' ' The apparatus of death is all a cheat ; if we tear 
off the mask, there is nothing fearful.' 'Behind fire and 
steel and the ferocious crowd of executioners there is death 
hiding merely death, which my slave or my waiting-maid 
has just despised' (Ep. 24). Not content with bringing 
forward these considerations dissuasive of terror, Seneca in 
other places does all he can to familiarize the mind with the 
idea of suicide. He says, ' There is nothing more contempti- 
ble than to wish for death. Why wish for that which is in 
your power ? die at once, if you wish to do so' (Ep. 117). 
He relates with approbation the suicide of his friend Marcel- 
linus, who being oppressed with a long and troublesome 

u 2 



292 ESSAY VI. 

invalidism, was recommended by a Stoic to give up the trivial 
round of life ; whereupon, having distributed his goods among 
his weeping slaves, he effected death by a three-da^s' abs- 
tinence from food, betaking himself to a hot bath when his 
body was exhausted, wherein he fainted and died (Ep- 77). 
Other instances of self-destruction are scattered through the 
letters of Seneca, some of which give a sad illustration to 
the unhappiness of the times. It seems to have been not 
uncommon for the wretched captives who were doomed to 
the conflicts of the arena to steal themselves away, some- 
times by the most revolting modes of death. And it is surely 
a miserable sign when cultivated men of the day look on such 
deeds with pleasure and admiration. So great was the ten- 
dency to suicide under Claudius and Nero, that even Seneca 
on one occasion acknowledges that it is excessive. He says, 
' We ought not to hate life any more than death, we ought 
not to sink into that mere life- weariness to which many are 
prone who see nothing before them but an unvarying routine 
of waking and sleeping, hungering and eating.' But the 
majority of Seneca's arguments are in the other direction. 
They are the results of a deep sense of unhappiness and 
insecurity, which existed side by side with his philosophic 
self-complacency. They were connected, on the one hand, 
with a timidity of nature and a real love of life ; on the other 
hand, with a presentiment of evil and a sense of the necessity 
of preparing for the worst. When death suddenly and actually 
came upon Seneca, like Cicero, he met it with fortitude, in 
spite of his timidity, and probably not on account of his 
previous reasonings, but from an innate elevation of mind 
called out on emergency. We have observed that Seneca 
spoke of death as ' either end or transition ;' this sums up his 
views of the future under an alternative. But his real ten- 
dency was to Platonic visions of the soul freed from the 



EPICTETUS. 



293 



trammels of the body and restored to freedom. He is un- 
willing that Lucilius should arouse him from the * pleasant 
dream' of immortality. He likes to expatiate on the tran- 
quillity of mind and absolute liberty which await us ' when 
we shall have got away from these dregs of existence into 
the sublime condition on high.' 56 

It is a great contrast if we turn from Seneca to Epictetus. 
It is going from the florid to the severe, from varied feeling 
to the impersonal simplicity of the teacher, often from idle 
rhetoric to devout earnestness. No writings of Epictetus 
remain, but only (what is perhaps equally interesting for us) 
records of his didactic conversations, preserved as near as pos- 
sible in his own words by Arrian, the historian, who studied 
under him at Nicopolis. Epictetus was a lame slave, the pro- 
perty of Epaphroditus, who was himself the freedman and the 
favourite of Nero. While yet a slave, Epictetus was won over 
to the Stoic doctrine by Musonius Kufus. 57 Obtaining his 



* We have not entered upon the 
analysis of Seneca's philosophical 
works, because, in short, they are not 
speculative and philosophical, but of 
the same moralizing stamp as his 
letters. It is, however, just to pay a 
tribute to the force of imagination 
shown by him in preconceiving the 
physical discoveries of future ages (see 
his Naturales Qiuestiones, vn. xxxi.). 
' Quam multa animalia hoc primum 
cognovimus saeculo ! quam multa neg- 
otia ne hoc quidem ! Multa venientis 
aevi populus ignota nobis sciet. Multa 
saeculis tune futuris, cum memoria nos- 
tri exoleverit, reservantur.' Through 
his vividness of mind, this Spaniard of 
the first century has got the credit of 
predicting elsewhere, in terms re- 
markably coincident, the discovery of 
America. 



" Musonius Rufus, whom we have 
noticed before as the companion of 
Rubellius Plautus in Asia, ' returned 
from exile on the accession of Galba; 
and when Antonius Primus, the gene- 
ral of Vespasian, was marching upon 
Rome, he joined the ambassadors that 
were sent by Vitellius to the victorious 
general, and going among the soldiers 
of the latter, descanted upon the bless- 
ings of peace and the dangers of war, 
but was soon compelled to put an 
end to his unseasonable eloquence.' 
(Smith's Diet, of Greek and Roman 
Biog.) He afterwards obtained the 
condemnation of Publius Celer, the 
traducer of Barea, (Tac. Hist. in. 81 ; 
iv. 10, 40.) Fragments of his philo- 
sophy are preserved by Stobsus. 



294 ESSAY VI. 

freedom, he taught in Rome, and afterwards, when the philo- 
sophers were banished from the city by Domitian, in Nicopolis 
of Epirus. What is most striking about his discourses is their 
extremely religious spirit, and the gentle purity of the doc- 
trines they advocate. In them Stoicism reached its culmina- 
tion, and attained an almost entirely un-pagan character ; its 
harsher traits were abandoned, and while Epictetus draws the 
picture of the wise man under the name of Cynic, there is 
hardly a trace of anything cynical in the life which he recom- 
mends. To mention the subjects of some of his discourses may 
serve to give an idea of their nature. The following headings 
strike the eye : ' On things in our power and not in our 
power.' * How to preserve one's own character in everything.' 
' How to follow out the conception that God is Father of 
mankind.' * On moral advance.' ' On Providence.' * On 
equanimity.' ' How to do all things pleasing to the Gods.' 
* What part of a sin is one's own.' * On moral training.' As 
might be conjectured, there is nothing speculative in these 
discourses. Epictetus both received and imparted philosophy 
as a fulfilling of the needs of the soul, not as a mere develop- 
ment of the intellect. His words on this and other subjects 
present very often a strange coincidence with the language 
of the Gospel. He says (Dissert, n. xi. i), 'The beginning 
of philosophy is the consciousness of one's own weakness and 
inability with regard to what is needful.' * The school of the 
philosopher is a physician's house ; you should not go out 
from it pleased, but in pain. For you come not whole, but 
sick one diseased in his shoulder and another in his head ' 
(Dissert, in. xxiii. 30). 'Young man, having once heard 
these words, go away, and say to yourself, ' Epictetus has not 
spoken them to me (from whence came they to him?), but 
some kind god by his means. It would not have come into 
the mind of Epictetus to say these things, since he is not 



EPICTETUS. 295 

accustomed to reason with anyone. Come, then, let us obey 
(rod, lest we should move God to anger." 38 * The true Cynic 
should recollect that he is sent as a messenger from Zeus to 
men, to declare to them concerning things good and evil, and 
to show them that they seek good where it is not to be found, 
and where it is to be found they do not desire it' (Dissert. 
III. xxii. 23). 

With regard to the manifestations of Providence, Epictetus 
says (Dissert, i. 16, 19) : ' What, then; since ye are all blind, 
is there not need of one who should fill up this place, and sing 
in behalf of you all the hymn to God ? Of what else am I 
capable, who am a lame old man, except to sing the praises 
of God ? Were I a nightingale, I would do as the nightin- 
gale ; were I a swan, I would do as the swan. But now, since 
I have reason, I must sing of God. This is my office, and I 
perform it, nor will I leave my post, as far as in me lies, and 
I exhort you to join in the same song.' * If anyone will 
properly feel this truth, that we are all especially born of 
God, and that God is the father of men and gods, I think 
that such an one will henceforth allow no mean or unworthy 
thoughts about himself. If Caesar were to adopt you, would 
not your pride be unbearable ; and now that you are the son 
of Zeus, will you not be elated ? ' (Dissert, i. 3, i). 

Such sayings as these are a specimen of the vein of piety 
which runs through the teachings of Epictetus. In moral 
life, he exhorts to purity, equanimity, and forgiveness of in- 
juries. He draws a broad line of distinction between things 
in our power and things out of our power. Within our power 
are the will and our opinion of things ; beyond our power, the 
body, possessions, authority, and fame. The will itself no- 
thing can touch ; bonds, imprisonment, and death itself, do 



58 'tva. fj.rj 0ee>x<5A.wTot S>fj.tv (Dissert, in- i. 36). 



296 ESSAY VI. 

not impair the internal freedom of the will. Lameness im- 
pedes the leg, but not the will. True wisdom and happiness 
consist in placing all one's thoughts and hopes on things 
within our power, that is to say, on the will itself and the 
internal consciousness. This attitude will render happiness 
impregnable, for the wise man will enter no contest save where 
he is sure of the victory. 

In an exaltation of. the will, and in thus withdrawing into 
its precincts, the Stoicism of Epictetus declares itself. To 
some extent he provided an objective side for his thought, by 
the pious and theological reflections which he introduced into 
his philosophy. But these were not sufficiently made to per- 
vade his whole system, and with regard to the question of 
immortality he contented himself, as far as we know, with 
certain brief remarks, implying the utter resolution of per- 
sonality after death. ' Come,' he says, ' but whither ? to 
nothing dreadful, but only to what is near and dear to thee, to 
the elements whence thou hast sprung ' (Diss. in. xiii. 14). 
' This is death, a mighty change, not into the non-existent, 
but into what is now non-existent. ' Shall / then not exist?' 
No, thou wilt not exist, but something else of which the 
universe has need ' (Diss. in. xxiv. 94). While placing the 
will in our own power, Epictetus at the same time adopted 
an entirely necessarian scheme. He followed Plato in making 
vice the result of ignorance, and he considered that men dif- 
fered from brutes, not in freedom, but only in consciousness 
(Diss. ii. viii. 4). 

The same spirit as that of Epictetus the slave expresses 
itself in Marcus Aurelius the emperor, whose thoughts have 
come down to us in the shape of a monologue in twelve books. 
These two last great Stoical writers appear both to have been 
influenced by Neo-Platonic views> for which Stoicism, on its 
spiritual side, had -a considerable affinity. The weakness of 
humanity is a leading idea with M. Aurelius. 



MARCUS AURELIUS. 



297 



' Of human life,' he says (ii. 17), ' the duration is a point ; 
the substance is fleeting ; the perception is dim ; the fabric 
of the body is corruptible, the soul is an idle whirling ; for- 
tune is inscrutable, and fame beyond our judgment. In short, 
all that there is of the body is a stream, and all that there is 
of the soul is a dream and a smoke. Life is a war, and a 
lodging in a strange country ; the name that we leave behind 
us is forgetfulness. What is there, then, that can conduct 
us ? Philosophy alone. ... Oh, my soul ! wilt thou ever be 
good, and simple, and one, and naked, and more transparent 
than the body which clothes thee ? Wilt thou ever be full 
and without a want, desiring nothing, hankering after no- 
thing, whether animate or inanimate, for the enjoyment of 
pleasure, but content with thy present condition?' (x. I.) 

Such are the mystical ecstasies into which Antoninus rises 
in communing with himself. With these, honest self-examina- 
tions and humility of feeling are often combined, and the 
whole is tempered by a cold spirit of Stoical resignation. Of 
the philosophy of the Emperor we need not add anything 
further beyond one slight point, namely, that we find in 
him 59 the same psychological division of man into body, soul, 
and spirit, as was employed by St. Paul. The mode of ex- 
pression, however, is slightly different, showing that there 
was no direct borrowing, but only a general community of 
view. We may take our leave of the monologue of Antoninus 
by quoting from it his feeling about the Christian martyrs. 
' The soul,' he says, ' wtien it must depart from the body, 
should be ready to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or to 



b ' J "O T( iroTf Tov-r6 fl/j.1 
Kal irviVfjuLrLov KO.ITO Tjyefj.ovtK6i' (ii. 2). 
Cf. iii. 1 6. 2i/ua, ij<t>x^> v v s x ii- 
3. Tpio iff-rlv ^| aij/ ovv4ffTj]Ka.s, 
ff(afj.d,Tiov, Trvfvfj.a.riov, vovs. Cf. St. 



Paul, Thcssal. I. v. 23. To irvfufna 

Kal y tyvx^l Kal TO ffS>/jM. The irvev/Ma. 

of St. Paul answers to the vovs or 
T/'ye/u.oj't/cdV of Antoninus. 



298 ESSAY VI. 

subsist a while longer with the body. But this readiness must 
proceed from its own judgment, and not from mere obstinacy, 
as with the Christians ; it must be arrived at with reflection 
and dignity, so that you could even convince another without 
declamation ' (xi. 3). 

In Marcus Aurelius we appear at first sight to have the 
desire of Plato fulfilled. We see a philosopher on the throne. 
But even absolute power does not give influence or sway. 
Plato wished the whole State to bend and turn under the con- 
trol of omnipotent wisdom, as the limbs of a man would 
follow the impulses of his mind. But very far was Marcus 
Aurelius from being gifted with that sort of electric force 
which could put itself out and transform the world, even if the 
Eoman empire were not too huge and too corrupt for such a 
process. Philosophy in general must be considered as some- 
thing incapable of coming immediately into contact with 
politics and practical life, and the philosophy of Antoninus 
consisted peculiarly in a withdrawal from the world, in self- 
examination, moral progress, and thoughts about Grod. While 
the Emperor was thus busied more with his own soul than 
with penetrating State reforms, the world enjoyed a halcyon 
time. The ruler was mild, just, and forgiving ; he had only 
one deficiency, but that the greatest which could possibly 
attach to him, namely, an utter want of insight into charac- 
ter. The sole exception to his clemency was that excited 
probably by the narrow malignance of his fellow Stoics he 
condescended to persecute the Christians. The adoration of 
the people showed how much the gentleness of Marcus 
Aurelius was appreciated, but it is not the mild monarchs 
who leave permanent blessings to their country. Among his 
most public tastes seems to have been a fondness for juris- 
prudence; he produced several volumes of Constitutions. 
This province of industry was the one most attractive of the 



STOICISM AKD ROMAN LAW. 299 

day. In the absence of literature, Koman jurisprudence is 
the one great and lasting product of the age of the Antonines. 
And now a word must be said upon an often mooted and 
never thoroughly discussed subject the influence of the 
Stoic philosophy upon Koman law. Acquaintance with 
Grecian philosophy in general began at Rome contempo- 
raneously with a change in the laws. The first epoch of 
Roman law was an epoch of rigid forms, and a narrow but 
coherent system, exclusively adapted to Roman citizens. Com- 
merce and conquest made it necessary that law should widen 
so as to embrace the inhabitants of the Italian States. Hence 
the growth of the praetor's adjudicating power. By degrees 
the decisions of the prastors in regard to the hitherto over- 
exclusive laws of property, and the rights of persons born out 
of the Roman city, grew up into a body of equity by the side 
of the civil law. This body of equity, which was framed on 
the principles of natural reason, of course reflected the highest 
general enlightenment and the most cultivated ideas of the 
jurisconsults of the day. We have already seen that during 
the first and second centuries B.C. the most eminent Romans 
attached themselves to the direct study of Greek philosophy. 
To the list of the disciples of the Stoics we may add some 
names more immediately connected with jurisprudence. Q. 
Mutius ScaBvola (as well as Q. ^Elius Tubero) appears to have 
been among the hearers of Pana3tius. C. Aquilius Grallus and 
Lucilius Balbus, distinguished jurisconsults of the time of 
Cicero, studied again under Scasvola; and Balbus, who in 
Cicero's De Naturd Deorum is made the expositor of the 
Stoical view, was teacher of Servius Sulpicius. Equity at- 
tained in the eyes of such persons an immense preference 
over the civil law. To this tendency of opinions Cicero gave 
a great stimulus, maintaining, as he did always, that justice 
must be based on humanity and reason, and ' that the source 



300 ESSAY VI. 

and rule of right were not to be sought in the laws of the 
Twelve Tables, but in the depths of the human 60 intelligence.' 
Now, if we wish to form an idea to ourselves of the sort of 
way in which philosophy at Rome influenced jurisprudence, 
we may think of the philosophy of Cicero, that is, a philo- 
sophy not exclusively Stoical, but eclectic, practical, and 
human. Even the philosophers of the Stoic school them- 
selves were by this time, as we have seen, all eclectic. Much 
more, then, would the lawyers avoid any rigid adherence to 
one set of formulae ; they would be sure to accept a certain 
mixture and modification of views. A number of humane 
and enlightened principles were now diffused, and it is per- 
haps true that the most noble of these ideas were due to 
Stoicism as, for instance, the cosmopolitan thought, that 
the world is our State, and that mankind are of one race, 
being all the children of God. But it is true also that the 
general course of history had tended to foster and develope 
this and other ideas which Stoicism forcibly enunciated. 

In the growth, then, of the Roman ' Jus Grentium,' and in 
the amelioration and softening of many austere legal usages 
(as, for instance, the absolute authority of fathers over their 
children), we see not simply and solely the influence of 
Stoicism, but of a generally enlightened practical philo- 
sophy, in which Stoicism was not more than an important 
element. But besides the material alterations which oc- 
curred in the spirit of the Roman laws, besides the era 
of the Jus Prsetorium, we must look in another direction 
to the era of * codification,' if we wish to trace philosophical 
influences. An eminent authority maintains that ' the Stoical 
philosophy was to Roman jurisprudence what Benthamism 
has been to English law' namely, a directing influence 



60 Mr. Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire, vol. ii. p. 528. 



STOICISM AND ROMAN LAW. 301 

that came into play in the absence of any absolutely deter- 
mining causes. These two principles of action might be said 
to be diametrically opposite to each other ; for Benthamism, 
which looks to utility, commences with the concrete ; while 
it is the essence of Stoicism to take an abstract point of 
view. The political writings of Zeno and Chrysippus are 
lost, and we know not the details of the ' universal state ' as 
conceived by the former, but we may be sure that if Stoicism 
had had the framing of the laws for the Eoman empire 
entrusted to its hands, there would have been a logical 
deduction from the principle of the natural freedom and 
equality of the whole human race. But what do we find ? 
That slavery, even under Justinian, was mitigated, and not 
abolished ; that men of different ranks were not equal in the 
sight of the law ; that the civil incapacity of women (which 
Zeno had denied) still remained ; that the application of 
cruel punishments, and even of torture, were treated by the 
new codes in a way which showed more a respect for existing 
usage and for the old statutes than a disposition to legislate 
synthetically from philosophical principles. * Grams, Ulpian, 
Papinian, and Paul us, appear very timid by the side of 
Seneca and Epictetus.' 61 Perhaps this belongs of necessity 
to the progress of jurisprudence, that it must not break too 
hastily with the past ; but we are obliged, if this view be 
correct, to confine the influence of Stoicism on Koman law 
to the introduction of an idea of form, to the endeavour to 
bring the actual under tha scope of certain abstract formula. 
We must not expect to find the logical and systematic 
development of these formulae, but rather we must recognise 
a frequent antithesis between abstract principles and the 



61 M. Denis, Histoire des Theories et des Idees Morales dans VAntiquiti, 
vol. ii. p. 115. Paris, 1856. 



302 ESSAY VI. 

details where one might have expected them to be applied. 
And yet again it appears, if we look a little further, that 
the philosophical ideas to which the Jurists appealed, though 
not immediately triumphant over all other considerations in 
the Roman Code, did yet in some cases come into direct 
application ; and what is of far more importance, that these 
principles, being enunciated with reverence, were held up for 
the admiration of posterity, and so came to exert an in- 
fluence on the whole bearing of subsequent jurisprudence. 
When we read in the Digest the stately preamble concerning 
the Jus Naturale which nature has taught all animals, and 
which is prior even to the Jus Gentium prevailing among 
the human race we are apt to be most struck with the 
abstract and, we might almost say, futile appearance of such 
a principle, followed out afterwards with so little consistency. 
But the idea of the * Law of Nature,' enunciated here and 
elsewhere in the Roman Code, being taken up by Grrotius 
and the Continental Jurists, became a leading idea of juris- 
prudence, the characteristic principle of a particular school, 
and the antithesis of Benthamism. What is the meaning of 
this conception, the 'Law of Nature,' and whether it has 
any reality or value as separate from, or opposed to, utility 
and experience, is a matter of keen debate amongst philoso- 
phical Jurists. It is not the province of the present Essay 
to enter upon this question. That which is our concern we 
may dismiss with only two remarks of recapitulation : First, 
the idea of the Law of Nature, as introduced into the Roman 
law, was not by any means purely Stoical, but was the result 
of the general growth of ideas in the first century B.C., and 
was vividly apprehended by the eclectic and practical Cicero ; 
second, this idea, though subsequently so influential, was not 
by any means uniformly applied in the details of the Corpus 
Juris. 



DEBT OF MODEKX TIMES TO THE STOICS. 303 

Whatever fragments of Stoicism were preserved in the 
Koman law descended, no doubt, as a contribution not only 
to modern law, but also to modern morals. In other channels 
the direct connexion of our own thoughts with the ancient 
Stoics is hard to trace, because, long before modern thought 
began a separate existence, Stoicism had sunk into the world, 
and had influenced the ideas of men far beyond its own im- 
mediate school. But in acknowledging the influence of 
ancient civilization at all, in acknowledging the impress of 
Cicero and Tacitus, and even of the Fathers of the Church, 
we acknowledge to an appreciable extent a debt to Stoicism. 
This, while arising in a form of a Greek philosophy, was at 
the same time a reaction against the Grecian and the philo- 
sophical spirit. Hence its affinity to modern feelings. We 
have seen how it held up the delights of an inner life as 
preferable to all tangible and palpable enjoyments, however 
innocent they might be ; we have seen how it drew the mind 
away from external realities into an abstract ideal ; how 
it delighted in the conception of moral progress and the 
triumph of the will ; how it developed the thought of duty 
and the responsibility of the individual ; how, deserting the 
restrictions of national politics, it raised itself to conceive of 
all mankind as one brotherhood, each member standing in 
direct relation to God ; finally, we have seen how, following 
its natural tendencies, Stoicism became more and more 
exclusively theological in its views. To some extent, then, 
this doctrine supplied the needs of the human soul and 
the want of a spiritual religion. Eunning parallel with 
Christianity, and quite uninfluenced by it, it yet exhibited 
the development of pure, gentle, and unworldly thoughts in 
the mind. It showed us how high it was possible for the 
Pagans to reach. At the same time it bore upon its face its 
own imperfection, its onesidedness, and its unnatural and 
paradoxical character. 



304 ESSAY VI. 

While Stoicism passed away, the Stoical spirit has con- 
tinued, and still continues to reproduce itself in the world. 
This spirit, in its extremest form, animates the various 
religious ascetics Fakirs, Trappists, and the like. The 
Society of Jesus, like the school of the Stoics, was founded 
by men the intensity of whose moral will was more pro- 
minent than the fineness of their intellect. The parallel 
presented by Calvinism in its external gloom and its high 
necessarianism to the Stoical system has been already hinted 
at, and might be followed out at length. The Puritans stood 
to the Cavaliers much as the Stoics to the Epicureans. We 
might say that, changing sides, the same spirit manifested 
itself in the recurring austerities of the High-Church party, 
only here the attention to ceremonial showed a susceptibility 
to what is external alien from the Stoical tendency. Stoicism 
is essentially abstract ; hence it is ungenial to the imagina- 
tion and unfavourable to poetry. While the Epicurean school 
could boast of Lucretius as their poet, the ancient Stoics had 
only the crabbed satires of Persius and the rhetorical verses 
of Lucan to set against him. In modern times two great 
works of the imagination have been claimed for the Stoical 
side, that is, for the Puritans ; namely, Bunyan's Pilgrim's 
Progress, and Milton's Paradise Lost. These works coming 
from such a source must be said to be exceptional ; though 
in the last resort no form of our religion is to be treated 
as if absolutely like Stoicism, or absolutely wanting in the 
objective element. However, in each of the works in ques- 
tion, traces of the spirit to which we refer can be readily 
traced : in Bunyan the basis of the whole conception is 
abstract, it is a detailed picture or history of an inner life ; 
in Milton, also, the imaginativeness is sublime, but cold 
and unearthly, and the inspiration is drawn rather from 
a rich learning than from vivid impressions of external 



MERITS AJfD DEFECTS OF STOICISM. 305 

life. Stoicism, while deficient in that sensuous impressive- 
ness which is necessary for poetry, is, on the other hand, 
extremely suitable for rhetoric, for splendid didactic preach- 
ing, for patriotic invocations, for historical tableaux. To 
this cause we may attribute the partiality manifested by the 
French, that nation with such perfect rhetoric and so little 
poetry, for the ancient Stoics and all belonging to them. In 
fact, the works of Seneca read like a fine French sermon, and 
Cato and Thrasea were a model to the Girondists. On quite 
other grounds we may say that there is a Stoical tinge also 
in the English character. It might be enough to allege 
that Puritanism is English ; but independently of religious 
feeling, the tendency 'to shun delights and live laborious 
days,' to sacrifice life to an idea of success, this is Stoical 
because it is abstract. Of the spirit of Stoicism we may now 
take our leave, having seen in its various manifestations 
what it is. Existing by itself it is narrow and harsh, it has 
too great an affinity to pride and egotism, it is too repressive 
of the spontaneous feelings, of art, and poetry, and geniality 
of life. On the other hand, it is the stimulus to live above 
the world. Hence while the bare Stoical spirit, in whatever 
form, produces only an imperfect and repulsive character, a 
certain leaven of it, to say the least, is necessary ; else would, 
a man be wanting in all effort and aspiration of mind. 



ESSAY VII. 



On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern 
Systems. 

trace fully the historical relations of Aristotle's Ethics 
forwards as well as backwards would imply first an exami- 
nation of the Stoical system to see how in it the Ethical idea 
was developed. Then we should require to consider broadly 
the action of Christianity upon the philosophic thought of the 
world ; to trace in the Alexandrian schools the mingling of 
various elements, and to ask what in the thought of these 
schools was lasting and germinant, and what was only tem- 
porary and isolated. We should have to observe the condition 
of philosophy within the pale of the Church itself, to notice 
the awakening of the question of free-will in connection with 
the heresy of Pelagius ; to see how Aristotle, at first excom- 
municated and kept aloof by the Church, was afterwards re- 
ceived for the sake of his method, and then almost incor- 
porated with Christianity ; to see how, when he was now 
taken up, his point of view had been lost, and how, accord- 
ingly, Aristotle's words were used to set forth the point of 
view of the schoolmen ; how his logical, metaphysical, and 
ethical formulae became stamped upon the language of the 
world ; how at the revival of learning there was a reaction 
against the garbled Aristotelian philosophy of the schoolmen, 
which indiscriminately fell upon Aristotle himself; how in 
Bacon and Descartes modern philosophy took a fresh start 
with two divergent but highly fruitful and important ten- 
dencies ; how Ethics also began anew quite independently of 



MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 307 

ancient philosophy, with a fresh problem and a deeper eye. 
We should find Ethics now predominated over by two per- 
vading and all-important conceptions, the product of ten 
centuries of theology, namely, the will of God, and the 
will of man. We should see how the first speculative Ethics 
of modern times, in the persons of Spinoza and Leibnitz, 
essayed to fix the relation to each other of these two con- 
ceptions by the attainment of some higher conception in 
which they might both be solved ; how the freedom of the 
will was pertinaciously, but less philosophically, re-asserted 
by Cudworth; how in the eighteenth century a smaller 
question was mooted, one, however, that was quite distinct 
from the ancient Ethical point of view, namely, the ground 
of action, whether selfishness or utility, or an internal so- 
called authoritative principle conscience or the moral sense; 
how this was variously argued, not on a metaphysical but 
a psychological basis, by Hobbes, Cudworth, Shaftesbury, 
Hutcheson, Butler, Mandeville, Adam Smith, Hume, and 
Paley; how Kant taking up the question endeavoured to 
throw aside, as unworthy, all external motives and induce- 
ments to right action, and to reduce all to the idea of duty, 
existing as an a priori law of the will. 

It is obvious that to fill up the outline which we have here 
merely indicated would require, not an Essay, but a Volume. 
At the same time it would be writing the history, not of 
Aristotle's Ethics, but of modern moral philosophy. All we 
need at present is to make, it felt, that between the point from 
which Aristotle started in writing his Ethics, and that from 
which any thinker of the present day or of the last two cen- 
turies would commence, a great interval is set, an interval, 
too, full of powerful influences, during which the whole spirit 
of the world has been changed. The influence of Aristotle 
himself is no doubt one of those that has worked upon the 

x 2 



308 ESSAY VII. 

history of our thought, but only as one influence among many. 
It would then be an utter ignoring of facts and of the growth 
of the human mind if we were to try to read Aristotle's book 
merely as if it were a modern treatise, or to set him side by 
side with some modern writer and to ask, Does Aristotle 
agree with Bishop Butler (for instance) on this or that 
question, without having first recognized the essential differ- 
ence in their points of view. 

Perhaps the simplest way to set this difference in its 
strongest light will be to take some modern system, and place 
an outline of its contents in comparison and in contrast with 
Aristotle. Let us take, for instance, Dugald Stewart's Philo- 
sophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man, as being not 
deeply speculative and original, but at the same time able, 
clear, and learned, and therefore representing fairly the 
general run of modern Ethical science. Dugald Stewart, at 
the commencement of this work, proposes to begin with an 
analysis of the f active propensities ' of men, ' on account of 
the intimate relation which this analysis bears to the theory 
of morals, and its practical connection with our opinions on 
the duties and the happiness of human life. Indeed,' says 
Dugald Stewart, 'it is in this way alone that the light of 
nature enables us to form any reasonable conclusions con- 
cerning the ends and destination of our being, and the pur- 
poses for which we were sent into the world : Quid sumus et 
quidnam victuri gigni/mur. It forms, therefore, a necessary 
introduction to the science of Ethics, or rather is the founda- 
tion on which that science rests.' 

This passage set forth its writer's view of the method of 
Ethics, also of their matter or contents. The method, then, 
of Ethics, according to Dugald Stewart, is entirely psycho- 
logical ; our only source of knowledge consists in an analysis 
of ' the active propensities ' of the human mind. This is 



MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 309 

very different from the procedure of Aristotle, who establishes 
his leading principle for Ethics, his conception of the prac- 
tical chief good, long before he commences any psychological 
divisions. It is true, indeed, that Aristotle gave the first im- 
pulse to psychology, but it was all wavering and tentative 
with him, and never harmonized into a completed system. In 
one place you have the division of the -ty-vyr] into rational, 
irrational, and semi-rational (J^&TS^OV \6jov) ; at another 
place a division into Svvapis, Trddos, egis ; then a psychology 
of the will with the distinctions of j3ov\ij<ns, f3ov\svo-is, and 
Trpoai'psa-is ; then a psychology of the intellect, and the 
divisions of art, science, wisdom, reason, and philosophy. 
These different analyses of the mind stand apart from one 
another. It would be, then, totally at variance with Ari- 
stotle's point of view to found Ethics upon a classification of 
the 'propensities' in the mind of an individual. He does 
not take this subjective view; he rather says 'the end for the 
state and the individual are the same.' ; * 

The object of this psychological analysis is, according to 
Dugald Stewart, that we may ' form reasonable conclusions 
concerning the ends and destination of our being, and the 
purposes for which we were sent into the world.' In speaking 
of the ' ends of our being,' it is observable that he makes use 
of an Aristotelian formula, and we might accordingly suppose 
that the problem of Ethics was the same with him as with 
Aristotle, namely, What is the final cause of action ? But by 
the addition he makes of 'the purposes for which we were sent 
into the world,' he shows what a different thing with him 
' the ends and destination of our being' is from the rs\os of 
Aristotle. It is obvious that in Dugald Stewart the concep- 
tion is a religious, rather than a philosophical one. He means 
that psychology should point out to us the designs of Grod, in 
order that when we know them we may be able to fulfil them, 



310 ESSAY VII. 

The end, according to him, is something existing rather for 
the mind of God than for the mind of man. It conveys here 
no sense of the absolute, of that which is in and for itself 
desirable, of the chief good, of the sum of all means. What- 
ever the conception has gained in earnestness owing to its re- 
ligious application, it has lost in philosophic depth. From the 
addition also of the word ' destination,' it would almost seem 
as if Dugald Stewart went off altogether from the Aristotelian 
sense of the term 'end' into another association that of 
ultimate issue or termination. This view would place the 
Ethical 'end' entirely outside of the present life, and it would 
make the problem for Ethics to consist in asking what is to 
be our lot in the life to come. It is not to be asserted that 
Dugald Stewart would clearly and definitely have thus iden- 
tified Ethics with religion. What is to be remarked rather is 
the indefiniteness of his view, and the way in which uncon- 
sciously he suffers it to be mixed up with theology. 

In following out the method he has proposed himself, 
Dugald Stewart classifies the ' Active Principles' of man as 
follows: i. Appetites; 2. Desires; 3. Affections; 4. Self- 
love ; 5. The Moral Faculty. The three first he calls * In- 
stinctive or Implanted Propensities;' the two last ' Rational 
and Governing Principles of Action.' After enumerating 
the appetites, he proceeds to classify the desires, and it may 
surprise us to find that he gives the following list of original 
and elementary desires. The desire of knowledge of society 
of esteem of power of superiority. He subdivides the 
affections into love of kindred friendship patriotism pity 
to the distressed, and resentment, ' with various other angry 
affections grafted upon it.' In these lists it is easy to see 
that no very profound point of view is taken. The writer 
seems to content himself with an empirical and superficial 
arrangement. It could scarcely be shown that there is an 



MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 311 

absolute and primary distinction between the desire of 
society on the one hand, and love of kindred, friendship, 
and patriotism on the other. The account, then, of these 
different propensities is not to be looked at as in the least 
philosophical, it is only as a sort of psychological diver- 
sion. The real point of importance in the whole discussion 
is not the nature or number of these subordinate, or, as 
Dugald Stewart calls them, ' instinctive,' propensities, but to 
show that how many and whatsoever they be, they are under 
the control of * the two rational and governing principles,' 
self-love and the moral faculty. The writer shows that self- 
love, or a prudential regard to our own happiness, is not 
inconsistent with virtue. He establishes more by quotation 
than argument the existence of a supreme moral faculty, and 
bases moral obligation to do right upon the authority of this 
faculty. 

We have taken this outline of moral science from Dugald 
Stewart, because it is by him stated dogmatically, and with 
the utmost clearness, as far as clearness is possible in a 
theory where the conceptions are arbitrarily, rather than, 
naturally, distinguished from each other. But every one will 
recognize in it a reproduction of Bishop Butler's system. 
Only certain details are more worked out ; there is a more 
broad, though an arbitrary, separation between self-love and 
the moral faculty than Bishop Butler had made ; and instead 
of the laborious course of a close argument we have a fore- 
gone conclusion. Butler, indeed, may be regarded as the 
parent of a certain family of modern moral systems. Let us 
briefly advert to some points which suggest themselves, on a 
comparison of the bearing of these systems with the Ethics of 
Aristotle. 

We have already pointed out the psychological method of 
modern Ethics, as constituting a difference from the procedure 



312 ESSAY VII. 

of Aristotle. The causes of this difference lie very deep. If 
the thought of Plato and Aristotle was * conscious,' as com- 
pared with that of the Seven Sages, the thought of modern 
times might be called 'self-conscious,' as compared with 
theirs. In morals, we find Aristotle dealing profoundly with 
those conceptions that form the object of moral action, the 
good or happiness, and the beautiful or virtue. But with 
regard to the subjective side of these conceptions the moral 
subject the relation of the ' me,' of the will and conscious- 
ness of the individual, to the good in life and action, his 
theory seems not equally complete. Now, it is this subjective 
side of morals which, in modern times, has assumed a para- 
mount importance. Duty, right, moral obligation all these 
conceptions imply bringing home an act to the innermost 
consciousness. They are all dependent on the relation of the 
moral subject to the outer world. In modern systems, man 
is no longer depicted as capable of realizing the absolute, the 
supreme End-in-itself, by means of noble actions and moments 
of philosophic thought. The spirit of the world seems deeper 
and sadder, and the good and the joy of life are no longer its 
predominant conceptions. Individual will, and therefore 
individual responsibility, are now the first thoughts of Ethics. 
It is no more a question of happiness, or, as with Aristotle, 
what is the chief good? but, rather, what constitutes duty? 
why is anything right, and why are we obliged to do the 
right? 

It is true that we find scattered through the Ethics of 
Aristotle applications of the formula TO Mov, o>s Bei, &c. 
Perhaps the most striking use of this term occurs Eth. in. 
i. 24, where it is argued that all desires cannot be involuntary, 
because there are some things one ought to desire (aroirov 8e 
l'a-o)s TO aKov<TLa <f>dvai &v Set optyscrffai}. This implies the 
connection between duty or responsibility and the freedom of 



MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 313 

the will. But the conception contained in this argument is 
not developed by Aristotle, as it might have been, systemati- 
cally. It is a human instinct to say, ' We ought (Ssl) to do 
some things;' but all that is contained in this word, 'ought,' 
had not been made explicit in the time of Aristotle, and 
certainly it was as yet by no means a leading conception. 
The foundation of the Ethical notion of duty is partly owing 
to the Stoics; but, undoubtedly, the whole idea of moral 
obligation and individual responsibility, which goes to make 
up its full significance, has taken hold of the thought of man- 
kind through, and by reason of, the long influence of religion 
and theology. This deep conception is now an heir-loom of 
moral philosophers, they cannot get rid of it, any more than 
a man can return to the unconsciousness of a child. The 
inheritance, then, of this conception forms the first great 
difference between modern Ethical philosophers and Aristotle. 
However comparatively feeble may be the individual thought 
of any modern thinker, there is yet a sort of background to 
his system provided by the spirit of the age ; a conception 
which he cannot help availing himself of, which, through no 
merit of his own, is on the whole deeper than anything which 
Aristotle had attained to. In modern times the system, or 
parts of the system, are often far greater than the individual 
thinker. 

The question of Ethics which has most exercised and 
divided the moderns is one that in Aristotle's day bad never 
been mooted, namely, Why are we obliged to do any particular 
right action instead of its contrary ? The answers to this 
question are virtually only two. The assignable reasons 
reduce themselves, in short, to (i) utility, (2) duty. Against 
those who assigned utility as the ground of moral obligation, 
it was urged, that the idea of utility could never give rise to 
the idea of obligation. To this Paley replied that you must 



314 ESSAY VII. 

take into your calculation of utility some account of the 
consequences in another world, that is to say, of the rewards 
and punishments appointed by God. This fuller notion of 
utility, he argued, would completely explain all that was 
meant by obligation. In Bishop Butler's sermons a wavering 
account seems to be given. The inducements to right action 
are partly eudaBmonistic it being urged that virtue is for our 
interest even in this life, and how much more for our interest 
in case there be rewards and punishments hereafter partly 
they appeal to the authority of conscience. Only, what is the 
exact nature of conscience ; how it pronounces ; whether it 
be infallible ; what is its relation to the will and the reason ; 
and many other difficulties that might be started, Bishop 
Butler leaves unexplained. 

In these specimens of eighteenth-century Ethics we may 
see how little a philosophical point of view was maintained or 
even aimed at. Why should not Paley have taken his stand 
on the inherent desire for the good, inalienable from every 
creature, and which obliges it to pursue the course most con- 
ducive to the good? Why should not Butler, if he per- 
ceived so strongly the existence in us of this authoritative 
principle taking cognizance of the right, have been content 
to develope its nature, and to base all inducement to action 
upon obedience to its mandates ? Even though Aristotle 
himself was occasionally prone to empiricism, and to falling 
away from the highest point of view, yet we feel that in his 
principle of the chief good and of the end there is something 
philosophical which we utterly miss in the views above 
mentioned. If Aristotle could possibly ever have had the 
question of moral obligation put before him, we can fancy 
how much more great and penetrating would have been the 
answer given. Turning from these English divines, who 
were most excellent writers but not profound philosophers, 



HANTS ETHICS. 315 

to the German thinker, Kant, we find in him no lack of 
endeavour to maintain a philosophical point of view. He at 
once discards all external inducements to action, reduces 
virtue to a state of the will, and the law of action to an 
a priori mandate of the will itself. It is true, that in carry- 
ing out this system, Kant is led into certain inconsistencies. 
He is unable to give his a priori law of duty any content, 
without going to experience, and asking what will be the 
effect if such and such a course of action were to become 
universal ? He seems also to think that the idea of a future 
life is necessary to supplement the morality of this present 
world, a view which is a little inconsistent with his former 
discarding of all notions of happiness, or of external reward 
for virtue. In spite of its defects and irregularities, Kant's 
Metaphysics of Ethics is a fine book, in which a noble and 
stern conception of duty is upheld, and in which there is an 
attempt at least to obtain a central point of view, and to give 
expression to some one deep principle of man's moral nature. 
As compared with Aristotle, Kant's characteristics are 
prominent. They consist in an intensifying to the utmost of 
the great modern ethical conception, the individual will. 
Kant says, ' The only good thing in the world is a good will.' 
We saw before (pp. 174 and 208) that he found fault with 
Aristotle for basing Ethics on eudsemonism, and for assigning 
a merely quantitative difference between virtue and vice. 
But we also saw there was a certain degree of misunder- 
standing in these criticisms upon Aristotle. When we look 
narrowly into it, we find that Aristotle asserts the only good 
to be 'an act of the consciousness duly harmonized ; ' and 
that if ideally he requires this to be prolonged through a 
life, and assisted by external good fortune, he practically 
speaks (Efh. I. x. 12; in. ix. 4) of the triumph of the internal 
consciousness over adverse external circumstances. Kant, 



316 ESSAY VII. 

then, hardly does justice to the depth of Aristotle's moral 
conception. But it remains true, that the starting-point of 
the two philosophers was broadly different that Aristotle 
started with the question of his day, What is the practical 
chief good or, as it is popularly called, Happiness? and 
only gradually, by thought and the progress of his own 
analysis, came to assign a definition which is really above the 
vulgar conception of happiness. Kant, on the contrary, 
commencing with the stern and sublime idea of Duty due to 
the deeper thought of modern time, and wishing to free this 
from all considerations of external reward and happiness, 
comes round in the end to take in some account of con- 
sequences, and to supplement his view with the hopes of a 
future life thus testifying, perhaps, that the good and the 
right are ultimately inseparable conceptions for Ethics. We 
have seen above that Aristotle's principle of * the mean,' 
objected to by Kant, is a sufficient expression of the objective 
law of virtue, but only insufficient to express the subjective 
side of right action the feeling of duty, the attitude assumed 
by the will and consciousness in relation to a moral act. 
Kant commences burthened with the notion of obligation ; 
this he proceeds to analyse. Aristotle, writing as it were in 
the childhood of the world, commences with an idea of the 
beautiful and the good in human life and action, and of the 
inner joy of the human mind. 

Another question of modern Ethics, also mooted by the 
Stoics, but developed in its full proportions since, is the 
question of the freedom of the will. This may have two 
bearings either theological, in relation to the will of (rod ; 
or metaphysical, in relation to the law of cause and effect in 
the order of nature. How is the freedom of the will com- 
patible with the omnipotence of God? How is it recon- 
cileable with the unalterable sequence of cause and effect in 



NARROWNESS OF ARISTOTLE'S SYSTEM. 317 

nature ? Is the will a cause only, or is it also an effect ? 
The various answers to these questions, in modern times, it 
would be out of place to discuss. The only thing to be 
observed here is, that the questions themselves are virtually 
excluded from consideration in the Ethics of Aristotle. That 
all theological or metaphysical considerations with regard to 
the freedom of the will should be set aside by Aristotle, and 
that he should have restricted himself to a mere e Political ' 
discussion (cf. Eth. in. i. i), is quite in keeping with the 
general tenour of his treatise ; but it must be called a weak- 
ness. It proceeds from an uncertainty of view about the 
nature of Ethics from the confusion (so often alluded to) 
between Ethics and Politics. We might almost say, that 
could Aristotle have thought and written for ten years more, 
this narrowness of view would have been abandoned. The 
question of free-will had been touched upon by Democritus, 
who said that ' in the whirl of necessity man was only half a 
slave.' Also, in the conclusion of Plato's Republic, we find 
man's responsibility asserted even in spite of the transmi- 
gration of souls. From all this aspect of the question 
Aristotle shuts himself out. He restricts himself to a 
polemic against a smaller proposition, belonging probably 
to the early, or Socratic Platonism namely,, that as virtue 
is knowledge, vice is ignorance, and therefore involuntary. 
Aristotle answers to this, that we act in society as if vice 
were free ; that vice must, after all, stand on the same level 
as its .contrary virtue ; that, assuming virtue to be free, vice 
must be free also ; that if it be said our ideas of the end 
(or the good) be beyond our control, that this will make 
virtue involuntary ; and, again, it will ignore two considera- 
tions first, that we probably contribute at all events some- 
thing to our ideas of the end ; second, that we are at all 
events free to choose our means to the end. Obviously all 



318 ESSAY VII. 

these different arguments might be shown to be insufficient. 
It might be answered, that our acting as if free in society 
proves nothing that the puppet-show moves as if it were 
free, unless we look at the strings that legislator, judge, 
and criminal may all be equally under the bands of necessity 
that each individual step by which ' we form our own 
character' may be determined for us, so our 'contribution' 
to our own ideas comes to nothing that there is no proof 
given of the choice of the means being free in fact, that the 
idea of the end necessarily determines the means. We see, 
then, the insufficiency of all such merely practical arguments 
to solve a question of this magnitude and difficulty. Cer- 
tainly we may live and act without solving the question of 
free-will ; but if we ever attempt to solve it, we must do so 
in a philosophical spirit. Aristotle's method of dealing with 
the subject constitutes a difference between him and modern 
thinkers. No so great philosopher as himself could, in 
modern times, have virtually discarded, as not necessary for 
Ethics, the difficulties regarding the freedom of the will. 
Had Aristotle's starting-point been an idea of individual 
responsibility, he would, in all probability, have written 
otherwise. 

Having once known and acknowledged the deep-lying 
variations which exist in point of view and in spirit between 
any modern moral system and the early half-immature 
system of Aristotle, we are the better able to deal with 
the traces of his influence which still remain. There is 
indeed so great a field of derived terms and conceptions that 
the sense of similarity has often overpowered the sense of 
difference, and people have been led still further to seek for 
likeness between their own views and Aristotle's, where there 
was only dissimilarity really existing. All systems of morals 
present, on their surface, terms that seem perfectly Ari- 



NEW MEANINGS OF ARISTOTELIAN TERMS. 319 

stotelian ; the ' law of habits,' the opposition of ' the passions' 
and ' the reason,' ' motives,' ' principles,' * energy,' the doc- 
trine that * extremes meet,' the contrast of ' moral ' and 
' intellectual,' the ' end of man,' and perhaps others such like 
are instances of words and phrases which, when we first meet 
them in a Greek form in Aristotle, seem to us quite familiar, 
so that we are apt to substitute their modern context for 
their original and genuine philosophic import. An ex- 
amination, however, of these terms, will show that almost all 
of them are at all events slightly altered, and that we cannot 
understand Aristotle without restoring to them a lost asso- 
ciation. ' Habits ' is no doubt only the Latinized form of 
sgsis, but the meaning which attached to el; is does not remain 
pure in ' habit' as it is generally used. Bather it implies 
sdos, i.e. that process by which a efys is formed. The 
' passions' with us, though a translation of TrdBrj, do not quite 
correspond with them, they more nearly answer to the 
eTTidv/jiiat, of Aristotle. 'Motive' is properly the * efficient 
cause' (odev f] Kivrjais), but applying it to action we use it 
invariably for the ' final cause' (ov SVSKO] which was Ari- 
stotle's term for the motive of an action. * Principle,' as 
above mentioned (p. 219), corresponds with the apxn f the 
practical syllogism, but according to the Peripatetic system 
this major premiss contained an idea of the good, while our 
* principle' is meant to imply an idea of the right. * Energy,' 
though identical in form with svepysia, has quite lost all 
notion of a contrast and .correlation with Swapis or poten- 
tiality, and implies merely the exercise of physical or moral 
force. In saying * extremes meet,' we forget the philoso- 
phical antithesis between the extremes and the mean, and all 
which that * mean ' originally implied. In translating Ari- 
stotle's yOucr) dpsrrj by the terms i moral virtue ' we omit to 
how much all these associations connected with the 



320 ESSAY VII. 

individual will, which go to make up our conception of 
' moral,' were wanting in Aristotle's r)0itcr) apsrij, while this, 
strictly speaking, might perhaps be better represented by the 
words ' excellence of the character,' and, as has been already 
made apparent, in speaking of ' the end of man,' we sub- 
stitute a religious for a philosophical association. 

The above-mentioned terms, however, have all a direct 
affinity to, and a lineal descent from, the system of Aristotle. 
They have only suffered that degree of change to which all 
language is liable, and which so many ancient words have 
undergone in their transition to modern use. Modern terms 
of this derivative character present, for the most part, two 
characteristics, as contrasted with their antique originals. In 
the first place, they are more definite. In the second place, 
they are less philosophic. The philosophy, however, that 
once surrounded them and formed their proper context, in 
ebbing away from them has really sunk into the general 
thought of the world and become absorbed in it. If ' energy' 
no longer represents evspysia, ' actuality ' and many other 
forms of thought contain and reproduce all that was philoso- 
phical in the original word. If ' habit' is not exactly efts-, 
the 'law of habits' is a received doctrine in all practical 
Ethics. And so in a variety of ways Aristotle has influenced 
our views, while our particular terms do not exactly square 
with his. Our words, we have said, are more definite than 
his. This with regard to psychological words is particularly 
the case. M^u^, as we have seen, is very inadequately repre- 
sented by * soul,' which, on the one hand, expresses too little, 
on the other hand, too much. We cannot properly translate 
<f>povr)ffis by * prudence,' still less by ' conscience.' HO\ITIKIJ 
means something different from our ' politics.' 'Aperij conveys 
a somewhat false impression when translated 'virtue.' It 
would be an anachronism to make 'duty' stand for TO Seov. 



THE ETHICS REMOTE FROM MODERN SPIRIT. 321 

And the most flagrant instance of all of an attempt to find 
modern notions among the ancients, and Christian notions 
among the Greeks, is where persons have thought that they 
have discovered in one or two places of Aristotle's Ethics the 
doctrine of ' human corruption.' 

It is only by an effort of mind, and not immediately, or at 
first sight, that we can understand Aristotle's Ethics, as they 
really are. It is a difficult task to throw aside our associa- 
tions and views, which all belong to what Bacon calls the 
* old age of the world,' and to go back to the era of 
Alexander, and put ourselves into the position of this early 
but deeply-penetrating thinker. We have seen that much 
of his thought has been amalgamated with our own. There, 
is much else in the profounder parts of his Ethical system, 
which is, when properly discerned and felt, a real revelation 
with regard to human life. Taken as a whole, however, when 
we consider this noble treatise in relation to modern thought, 
we feel there is something about it that stands apart from 
ourselves ; that its main interest is historical ; that we look 
back on it as on an ancient building shining in the fresh 
light of an Athenian morning. 



APPENDIX A. 



On the Ethical Method of Aristotle. 

Ct OME notice of Aristotle's Ethical method seems necessary 
* for completeness ; it is a subject too long for a note and 
too short for an Essay, and may be briefly dispatched here. 
Incidentally we have already alluded to several characteristics 
of his point of view. And in the last resort a philosopher's 
method, whatever be the subject or science, depends on the 
whole bearing of his mind and thought. With regard to 
Ethics, we may first observe, that while Aristotle seems to 
occupy himself much with the logic of the science, and the 
question, What is its appropriate method ? he is quite tenta- 
tive and uncertain, and to some extent confused, in all he 
directly answers to this question. In the second place, we 
may notice that his method unconsciously declares itself, not 
in the abstract but in the concrete, throughout the pages of 
his treatise. 

At the very outset of his work, in the first seven chapters, 
he has no less than three digressions on the logic of Ethics. 
In the first (Eth. I. iii. i 4), he cautions his readers against 
expecting too much a/cptfieia in the present science. This 
term aKptfieia (see the notes on Eth. I. vii. 18) seems to 
imply both mathematical exactness and also metaphysical 
subtlety. The Ethical treatise of Spinoza might be said to 
exhibit aKpifieia in both senses of the word, on account of 
its demonstrative statement, combined with its metaphysical 



ARISTOTLE S ETHICAL METHOD. 323 

character of thought. Kant's system, without aiming at a 
mathematical method, might be called afcpi/3^s, on account of 
its speculative depth of view. The question then is, of how 
much arcpiftsia is this e branch of Politics ' (VoXm/e?/ rts) 
capable? Aristotle tells us, that 'the matters of which it 
treats virtue and justice have so much about them that is 
fluctuating and uncertain, as even to have given rise to the 
opinion that they are only conventional distinctions. Hence, 
with such conceptions on which to reason, we cannot expect 
demonstrative and exact conclusions, we must be content 
with rough and general theories.' It is to be observed here, 
that Aristotle departs from the point of view with which he 
had started. He started with an a priori conception of the 
End-in-itself, which * must be identical with the chief good 
for man.' Here he goes off into another point of view 
that which looks at action from the outside, recognizes the 
variations in the details of action, and allows the empirical 
casuistry of the Sophists to have an influence in determining 
the character of his science. 

In his second digression upon this topic (Etli. I. iv. 5) he 
shows even more plainly a tentative and uncertain attitude. 
He says, ' We must not forget the distinction drawn by Plato 
between the two methods of science the method which pro- 
ceeds from, principles, and that which proceeds to principles. 
The question is, Which must we adopt at present ? We must 
begin, at all events, with things known. But again, things 
are known in two ways, absolutely and relatively. Perhaps 
we may be content to begin with what we know (i.e., relative 
and not absolute truths). Hence the necessity of a good 
moral training previous to the study of this science. For 
one who has been so trained is in possession of facts which 
either already do, or soon can, stand in the light of principles.' 
In this passage there appears to be more than one play upon 

T 2 



324 APPENDIX A. 

words : (i) In saying, 'we must begin with what we know,' 
there is a sort of bantering implication that the method of 
Ethics must be inductive, starting from relative and individual 
facts. But there is a fallacy in such an insinuation, because, 
though the individual must begin with what ' he knows,' 
there is nothing to prevent an absolute truth (TO cbrXw? 
ryvfoptfiov) forming part of the intuitions and experience of 
the individual. (2} There appears to be a play on the word 
apxtf ' f r while Aristotle implies that the procedure must be 
to principles, and not starting from them, he says, on the 
other hand, that ' the fact is a principle.' Now, this may 
mean two things. It may mean that *a moral fact or 
perception really amounts to a law.' But, in this case, the 
science of Ethics, beginning with moral facts, really begins air 1 
ap%tt)v. Or it may mean that ' the fact is a beginning or start- 
ing-point for discussion.' In this latter case the word dp^tj 
should not have been used, as it introduces confusion into 
the present passage the upshot of which, on the whole, 
seems to be, to assert in a very wavering way that Ethics must 
be inductive rather than deductive, and must commence with 
experience of particulars rather than with intuitions of the 
universal. 

The third digression on the same subject occurs Eih. i. vii. 
17 21, where Aristotle points out his definition of the chief 
good as * a sketch to be filled up ; ' and also, it would appear, 
as an ap^rj or leading principle, which in importance amounts 
to 'more than half the whole' science. In filling up the 
sketch, he again cautions us that too much dfcpifteut, is not to 
be expected. But it is plain that he has deserted his former 
view of the science as inductive ; he now makes it depend on 
a general conception of the chief good, which is to be applied 
and developed. 

Elsewhere in the Ethics Aristotle appears puzzled how to 



AEISTOTLE'S ETHICAL METHOD. 325 

deal with the casuistry of his subject. He says (Eth. n. ii. 
3 4) that 'the actions and the interests of men exhibit no 
fixed rule, any more than the conditions of health do ; and if 
this is the case with the universal theory, still more is the 
theory of particular acts incapable of being exactly fixed, for 
it falls under the domain of no art or regimen, but the actors 
themselves must always watch what suits the occasion, as is 
the way with the physician's and the pilot's art. And yet, 
though the theory is of such a kind, we must do what we can 
to help it out.' He reverts to the same point of view, Eth. 
ix. ii. 6, mentioning some casuistical difficulties, and saying 
it is impossible to give a fixed rule on such points. 

Much as Aristotle speaks of the logic of science, we find, 
when we come to examine his real procedure, how little he is 
influenced by his own abstract rules of method. It has been 
sometimes said that his Ethics exhibits a perfect specimen of 
the analytic method. But this is not really true. The dis- 
cussions are very frequently of an analytic character, different 
parts and elements of human life are treated separately, and 
indeed are not sufficiently considered in their mutual relation- 
ship. But the leading principles of the science are not 
obtained by this sort of analysis, there is not by any means 
a procedure JTT' ap%ds. Aristotle's bias of mind was only on 
one side analytical, he was on the other side deeply specula- 
tive and synthetical, and viewed all the world as reduced to 
unity under certain forms of thought, and, as we have said 
before, every philosopher's modes and forms of thought, his 
genius, his breadth of view, and his power of penetration, will 
constitute in reality his logic of science and his method of 
discovery. 

Aristotle's Ethical system, as we saw more in detail in 
Essay IV., depends on certain profound a priori conceptions, 
end, form, and actuality. We are enabled to some extent to 



326 APPENDIX A. 

trace how these conceptions grew up out of Platonism, but 
in their ultimate depth and force they must be regarded as 
lightning-flashes from the genius of Aristotle. These great 
ideas, by which human life is explained, are no mere results 
of an induction, no last development of experience, rather 
they come in from above, and for the first time give some 
meaning to experience. Aristotle shows how his definition 
of the chief good includes all the previous notices of the 
requisitions for happiness. But his definition is not derived 
from combining these, nor yet from any analysis of happiness 
in the concrete, but from an inner intuition of a law of good 
as manifested in life. The same procedure manifests itself 
throughout. Whatever use Aristotle may make of his cmopiai, 
of appeals to language and experience, of the authority of 
the many and the few, these are only means of testing, 
correcting, illustrating, and amplifying his conceptions, and 
not the source from whence they spring. However, it is just 
the maintenance of this constant reconciliation with experi- 
ence and with popular points of view that is the characteristic 
of Aristotle's method, as distinguished from Plato's. That it 
gives rise at times to an empirical and unphilosophical mode 
of writing, we have had more than once an opportunity of 
observing. But it is Aristotle's strength as well as his weak- 
ness. His width of mind, which is as distinguished as its 
profundity, enabled him to sum up all the knowledge of 
ancient times, as well as all its philosophy. Bacon accuses 
him of being * a dogmatic,' and of resembling the Ottoman 
princes who killed all their brethren before they could reign 
themselves. This accusation is an invidious and utterly un- 
fair way of stating the real case. Aristotle is * a dogmatic,' 
inasmuch as his philosophy is yixapia-TiKr) ov Trsipcumtcrj., con- 
clusive, and not merely starting the questions. Also he shows 
the relationship of all previous philosophies and contem- 



AEISTOTLE S ETHICAL METHOD. 327 

porary opinions to his own system, by which he does not so 
much ' kill his brethren ' as demonstrate that they are evi- 
dently 'younger brethren,' leaving his own right to the 
throne indefeasible. If in the term 'dogmatist' arrogance 
or assumption is implied, this would not be true either of 
his style of writing, or tone of thought. And he is by no 
means dogmatic on all points ; on some, as we have already 
seen (in Essay V.), he declines to decide. 



APPENDIX B. 



On the 'EHHTEPIKOl AOrOI. 

is a question of minor importance which has still 
been thought worthy of a good deal of discussion, namely, 
what is meant by the egwrspiicoi \6yot, which Aristotle occa- 
sionally mentions ? We are told by Aulus Gellius (xx. 4) 
that Aristotle, the master of Alexander of Macedon, had two 
sorts of teaching, and that his writings admit of a twofold 
division. That in the morning he used to give to intimate 
disciples instructions, which were called Acroatic, in the deeper 
parts of philosophy ; that in the afternoon he gave discourses, 
which were called exoteric, to the public in general. That 
Alexander, hearing that the Acroatic discourses had been 
published, wrote from the East to complain of what had been 
done, since he 'should now have no superiority over the 
vulgar' ; and that Aristotle replied that * the treatises, though 
published, were not published, since nobody would understand 
them.' 

When we look this story in the face, and ask what is its 
historical foundation, how much of it can be relied on ? one 
fact alone seems to remain with any stability, and that is, that 
the words e^wrspiKol \6yoi are occasionally used in the 
writings of Aristotle. All the rest is a mere fabrication put 
together to adorn the rhetorical topic of the relationship of 
Aristotle to Alexander. When we consider that Alexander 
was a mere boy when Aristotle was his tutor that he 
probably learnt from him Homer and mathematics that 



'ESGTEPIK01 AOrOI. 329 

Aristotle himself speaks of the impossibility of a boy being a 
proficient in ethics, physics, or philosophy that even these 
early years of instruction were broken by domestic troubles 
and the premature cares of state that Aristotle was working 
out for himself, up to the time of his death, the deeper parts 
of his philosophy, and could not have had it ready, like a 
sort of mystery, to reveal to his pupil when we consider all 
this, we may well come to the conclusion that Alexander 
knew no more of the Metaphysics of Aristotle than any 
soldier in his army ; and that as the latter part of the story 
is a fabrication, so the former is not worthy of the very least 
reliance. In short, we have not any sufficient ground for 
believing in the above-mentioned division of the teaching of 
Aristotle, and we still have to ask afresh for ourselves, what 
does he mean by the sgoiTspi/col \6yoi ? 

We have already (p. 5) accepted the tradition of Cicero, 
that Aristotle wrote certain exoteric, that is, popular, dis- 
courses. We saw that their first characteristic, as compared 
with the philosophical works, was that they were finished in 
point of style. Cicero was probably acquainted with these 
better than with the more difficult remains of Aristotle. He 
mentions other characteristics of them, namely, that they had 
proems to them ; he says, in writing to Atticus, * Quoniam in 
singulis libris utor prooamiis, ut Aristoteles in iis quos egwrspi- 
KOVS vocat.' Now we can trust Cicero about the proems ; but 
about the more subtle point of interest, that Aristotle called 
some of his own works- exoteric, he is not a sufficiently dis- 
criminating authority to be relied on. In another of his 
letters (Ep. ad Fa/mil, i. 9, 23), he speaks of his three books 
De Oratore, as '& dialogue in the style of Aristotle.' And again 
(Ep. ad Atticum, xui. 19) he says that he has copied Aristotle, 
' who in his dialogues always assigns to himself the leading 
part in the conversation.' We have now gained some idea of 



330 APPENDIX B. 

the appearance of Aristotle's popular works, as they were 
read by Cicero. The names probably of some of them, as, 
for instance, the ( GryllusJ &c., are preserved in the list of 
Diogenes Laertius, but the works themselves are all lost. 
The question then is, does Aristotle refer to this class of his 
writings under the name of ol e^wTSpiicoi \6<yoi ? 

The great a priori improbability of such a thing is almost 
a sufficient answer to the question. For though it is con- 
ceivable that a philosopher should in certain higher and more 
rhetorical dialogues (which might be analogous to a novel 
written in moments of relaxation by a philosopher of modern 
times) quote and appeal to his own scientific treatises, it is 
quite inconceivable that he should in those scientific treatises 
appeal for the support of any doctrines to his ' exoteric works.' 
And when we look to particular passages where the references 
to the e<0TSpiKol \6yoi, occur, it becomes still more manifest, 
from several little indications, that Aristotle cannot be quot- 
ing his own dialogues. 

In Eth. i. xiii. 9, in speaking of the ^v^n, be says, Asjsrai 
Bs Trepl avrrjs KOI ev Tols s^oorspiKols \6yois apKOVvrois svia 
Kal %pr)<rreov avrois' olov TO psv a\.oyov avrrjs elvat, TO Ss 
\6yov sx ov - I n this n0 ^ on ty * s tnere the a priori impro- 
bability of Aristotle's referring, for a psychological division 
on which so much of his Ethics is based, to a merely popular 
set of dialogues written by himself; but also we see at once 
the unlikelihood of his having summed up his own popular 
works under one head, and spoken of them as * the exoteric 
treatises,' this would imply a sort of completeness about the 
' Works of Aristotle' suitable to times like those of Cicero, 
when editions of these works had been before the world for 
two hundred years, and when a recent recension had been 
made by Andronicus, but utterly unsuitable to Aristotle's own 
lifetime, and his own feeling about his multifarious, but un- 



'ESQTEPIKOl AOFOI. 331 

completed labours. Again, the word \sjsrai is in the manner 
of a general reference and not a special quotation. Again, 
the word /cat prefixed to sv TOLS e|. \6y., as it invariably is by 
Aristotle, implies a sort of disparagement, not natural in a 
writer appealing for arguments to others of his own writings. 
It short, it is obvious that here Aristotle says that * even in 
popular accounts there is a sufficiently accurate division of 
the ^f%?,' which he will ' make use of for his present 
purposes. This same interpretation of 01 efarspiKol \6yoi to 
mean f unscientific talk,' theories and opinions belonging to 
the outer world, outside the schools of philosophy will be 
found to hold good in the other four places where the terms 
are used by Aristotle. We will subjoin them without 
comment. 

(1) Metaphys. xii. i. 4. ^KSTTTSOV irpwTov /JLSV irspl TWV 
fjiadrj/jiariK&v, fWtja USTCL ravra 'X.wpls irspl rwv ISswv avrwv 
a7r\G)s Kai oa-ov VO/J.QV xdpw T0pvX\,t]rai <yap ra TroXXa KOI 

V7TO TWV S%Q)TplKWV \6yO)V. 

(2) Nat. Ausc. IV. x. I. 'E^o//,ei'oz> &s TWV slprj^vcov sari 
STTs\6slv irspl xpovov "jrpwTov be Kd\S>s s%st SiaTTopfjcrai Trspl 
avrov teal Sta TMV egcorspiicow \6ryow (even from the popular 
point of view) irorspov rwv ovrwv sailv f) T&V p,r) OVTWV, 
slra rls rj <pucris avrov. 

(3) Politics, in. vi. 5. 'AX,Xa ^v KOI rfjs ap^s TOVS 
XsyofAsvovs TpoTrovs pa&iov SicXsif KOL >yap sv rots s^wrspiKois 
\6jois Stopi^o/jbsda Trspl avrdiv 7roXXa*ty. . 

(4) Politics, VII. i. 2. ~Ato Ssi TTpoorov oftoXoysio-dai, rls 6 
Tracriv u>s slirstv alpsratTaros ficos' //.era 8s TOVTO, Trorspov Koivy 
ical %wpls o avros rj sTspos. No/iiVa^ras ovv licavws TroXXa 
\sje(T0ai teal rcov sv rols s^wrspiKols \6<yots 'jrspl rrjs apicrTrjs 
fofjs Kal vvv xprjcnsov avrois. The last passage does not 
contain, as some think, a reference to the Ethics, but rather 
an exact parallel to the way of speaking quoted above, Eth. i. 



332 APPENDIX B. 

xiii. 9. Aristotle proceeds, not to give any doctrine established 
in the Ethics, but to collect certain popular and universally 
received conceptions of happiness. In addition to these 
places of Aristotle, we may mention three passages in which 
Eudemus uses the terms eg. \6j. One of these occurs Eth. 
End. ii. i. i, where the writer speaks of the threefold division 
of goods, as a popular division (icaOaTrsp Siaipovfisda KOL ev 
rols egforspiKols \6jots}. In another (Eth. Eud. i. viii. 4) he 
says that the doctrine of Ideas has been variously discussed, 
both philosophically and from a popular point of view (/cat 
ev rols egwrspiKols Xoyots KOI ev rots Kara $i\ocro$>lav\ In 
the Eudemian book (Eth. vi. i v. i ) it is said that the popular 
distinction between * action' and 'production' is quite suffi- 
cient (srspov 8' ecrrl Trolrja-ts KOI rrpafys. Hiarevofiev 8s irepl 
avT<av Kal TOLS egcoTSpiKois \6yois}. 

Another term used by Aristotle in exactly the same sense 
as egwrspiKoi \6yot, is eyttv/cXioi, Xtyyot, for an explanation of 
which see the note on Eth. i. v. 6. 



APPENDIX C. 



On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. 

TT may seem a strange omission that, while we have so 
J- often alluded to Aristotle's identification or confusion of 
Ethics with Politics, we have never specified any very im- 
portant consequences of this view ; except, indeed, that we 
have noticed sometimes a restricted mode of dealing with 
certain questions, more appropriate to Politics than to philo- 
sophy. It remains then to ask, were there any such conse- 
quences ? Does Aristotle write on Ethics differently because 
he considered that his science was a kind of Politics ? Is the 
individual in his eyes always regarded as a citizen ? Do his 
views of law, the state, and different questions of the consti- 
tution influence his views upon moral action? Every one 
will be ready to answer that such effects are hardly traceable. 
We read the Ethics as containing discussions on happiness, 
virtue, friendship, pleasure, and philosophy ; we find it 
replete with anthropology, dealing with the heights and the 
depths of the human consciousness, and quite away from any 
consideration of the welfare of masses of mankind. Hap- 
piness, as here described, does not depend on any parti- 
cular constitution or form of government. Aristotle, indeed, 
specifies the various forms of government, and declares which 
is the best among them (Eth. vni. x.), but this is only for 
the purpose of illustration, for the sake of comparing the 
different degrees of equality in various kinds of friendship 
with the different degrees of liberty in various forms of the 



334 APPENDIX C. 

constitution. Aristotle's entering into detail here with regard 
to the governments is not so much a mark of consistency in 
preserving a political point of view, but rather it is a want of 
art and an entrenchment upon the subject of Politics proper. 
It would be called too long a digression, supposing there 
were a settled coordination of subject between the different 
parts of Aristotle's system. A still greater entrenchment on 
the province of Politics occurs in the theory of justice given 
in Book V. It is remarkable that this book, in all pro- 
bability by Eudemus, sets forth a closer dependence of moral 
on political principles that any other book in the Ethics. 
Eudemus, as we saw before (p. 18), does not, at the outset, 
like Aristotle, commence under the name of Politics. But 
in Book V. he probably merely reproduced, in perhaps a 
somewhat garbled form, the theory of Aristotle. Justice is 
here defined according to principles of Jurisprudence and 
Political Economy. To make these a part of morals would 
be a confusion we should never now fall into ; though we 
might confess that it would be hard to give the ethical 
idea of justice its full content without appealing to these 
extraneous sciences. 

Other allusions to Politics occur, (Eth. I. xiii. 2) where he 
says that ' the true politician must study the nature of vir- 
tue;' (in. i. i) where he says that *a theory of the volun- 
tary and involuntary will be useful to legislators;' (vn. xi. 
i) where it is said that 'it belongs to the political philoso- 
pher to consider pleasure, since he is the architect of the 
End-in-itself ;' (vm. i. 4) ' friendship holds states together ; 
legislators seem more anxious for this than for justice.' 
Lastly, we have the most remarkable place of all, when, at 
the conclusion of his ethical treatise (x. ix. 8), he makes the 
transition to Politics proper, by saying that ' for virtue, not 
only nature, but habits and teaching are requisite, and these 



KELATIOX OF ETHICS TO POLITICS. 335 

last must be provided by the state. Hence,' he says, 'the 
nurture and the discipline should be fixed by law, and use 
will make them easy. Not only, perhaps, ought men while 
youths to receive good discipline, but also we want laws 
about their conduct when they are grown up ; and, in short, 
about the whole of life. For the many will rather obey 
necessity than reason, punishment than the inducements of 
the beautiful.' 

"With these evidences before us, let us now sum up the 
bearing of Aristotle's political thought upon what we now 
call his Ethics. There seems to be an analogy between 
Aristotle's views of man in relation to the state, and his 
views of man in relation to nature. We have seen before 
(Essay V.) that in his Physics he considers man as part 
of nature, and, because he is a part, inferior to and less 
divine than the heaven and the universe; so, too, in his 
political system, he considers the state prior to and greater 
than the individual (Politics, i. ii. 13), just as the whole 
is prior to and greater than the part. The individual 
without the state has no meaning; the state must be pre- 
supposed ; man is not a whole in himself (avT<ipKr)s\ he is 
born to live in relationship to others (TTO\I,TIKOS}, if he lived 
alone he must be either more or less than man (tj Oyptov 
rj Osos). Just as Aristotle said 'the universe is diviner than 
man,' so he says ( the End for the state is diviner than that 
for the individual.' Politics, then, is the greatest science, 
the legislator is an dp^irsKTcov, a master builder laying the 
plan of that greatest practical thing, a fitly framed human 
society. This idea, if it were carried out, would tend to 
overwhelm all individuality. It actually does so in Plato's 
Republic, and the last-quoted passage (Eth. x. ix. 8) is a 
reproduction of the same feeling as Plato's. The laws are to 
regulate the whole of life, and to force a good discipline on 



336 APPENDIX G. 

those who would not choose virtue for its own sake. This 
idea then forms one side of Aristotle's view, it is a sort of 
background to his ethical system. The End for the state, 
as he depicts it (see above, p. 178), is something almost 
mystical, it is like the identification of state and church. 
But the other side of his view is that which seems forced on 
him by the truth, as soon as he commences a course of 
ethical inquiries. It consists in an acknowledgment, to the 
full, of the absolute worth of the individual consciousness. 
Not only is a reaction thus made against the system of Plato, 
but also, by the whole treatment which Aristotle gives his 
subject, Ethics is virtually and for ever separated from 
Politics. 



THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS, 



BOOKS I. II. 



PLAN OF BOOK I. 



Book may be roughly divided into the following four 
J- parts : 

(1.) The statement of the leading question of political science; 
namely, What is the Practical Chief Good ? Ch. L VI. 

(2.) The answer to this question as given by Aristotle himself. 
Ch. VII. 

(3.) A comparison of Aristotle's definition of the Chief Good with 
existing opinions on the subject. Ch. VIII. XII. 

(4.) A commencement of the analysis of the different elements 
which constitute his definition. Ch. XIII. 

With respect to these divisions, we may remark that they are not 
with entire precision separated from one another. For the first part 
professes to examine the most important opinions on the subject of 
Happiness or the Chief Good (Ch. IV. 4), and accordingly reviews 
men's conceptions of it as exhibited in their lives (Ch. V.), and 
refutes Plato's theory that the Chief Good is a transcendental Idea, 
on the ground of its being both metaphysically untenable and 
practically inapplicable. 

After developing his own conception, Aristotle returns (in Ch. VIIL, 
sqq.) to compare it with TO. Xeyo/^ei a ' that goods of the mind are 
highest ; ' ' that happiness consists in virtue,' &c. Now we may ask, 
why did not a statement of these theories open the Book ? Both in 
Part 1st and Part 3rd we have to do with the existing opinions. Had 
Aristotle pursued his usual method, he would have preluded his Ethics 
with a brief critical history of the previous progress of the science, in 
which the leading systems would have been refuted or shown to be 
inadequate. But it seems as if he did not set out with so clear a 
conception of ethics as he does of physics and metaphysics. Before 

z 2 



340 PLAN OF BOOK I. 

Aristotle, Ethics cannot be said to have existed as a separate science. 
Even in the present work there is no name for it as yet. Though 
I'ldtKot Xoyot and ra i/fJikVi are spoken of in the Politics (III. xii. 1, 
VII. xiii. 5), and in the Metaphysics (I. i. 17), yet the word fjdiKij 
does not occur. The science is still TTO\ITIKI'I rte (Eth. I. ii. 9) ; and 
even in the Rhetoric, which contains the results of the present 
enquiries, we find it specified as // -rrepl ra fjdr) Tr/my/^artm i/>' SIKCIIOV 
tort Trpoaayoptvttv TTO\ITIKI]V (I. ii. 7). 

Hence we may recognise something tentative and uncertain in 
Aristotle's treatment of the subject. He seems not clear as to how 
far he is entering on a merely practical and political science, and 
how far on something speculative. He professes to lay the founda- 
tions for his science inductively (Ch. IV. 5-7) in experience, 
but really obtains his own theory from a priori grounds, arguing 
what the Chief Good must be. That Aristotle's principle, thus 
obtained, is truly profound, we need not fail to acknowledge. Only, 
with regard to the science as a whole, we see that he was feeling his 
way ; and we must not expect to find, even in the First Book of his 
Ethics, a finished work of art. 

With this proviso, we may rapidly trace the sequence of ideas 
contained by the Book, as follows. The distinction between means 
and ends characterizes every part of life and action. Given the 
subordination of means to ends, there must be some end which is 
never a means. This End-in-itself of all action is obviously iden- 
tical with the Practical Chief Good (2/j\ov oc TOVT civ tiri rayaQov KOI 
TO apiarov). What, then, is this Chief Good which must be the 
determinator of life and which is the object of Politics, the supreme 
practical science ? 

To this question no answer is to be obtained from the common 
opinions of men ; nor from their lives, for the most part ; nor from 
the metaphysical system of Plato. 

The Good and the End are always identical ; hence, as already 
said, the Chief Good is identical with the End-in-itself. In this con- 
ception the idea of absoluteness and all-sufficiency would seem to be 
implied (TO yap rtXtcoy ayaQav ai/rape tlvai ovf). It must be 
realised in the proper sphere of man, which a consideration of the 
scale of life leads us to see must be a rational and moral existence. 
To give meaning to the conception of this existence, we must assume 



PLAN OF BOOK I. 341 

that it falls under the category of the actual ; in other words, that it 
is ' conscious life ; ' and this must be in accordance with its own 
proper law of excellence, and not frustrated by external adversity or 
shortness of duration. Hence we get a definition of the Chief Good 
for man that it consists in 'a rightly harmonized consciousness in 
adequate external conditions.' 

Comparing this fundamental principle (npx'V) with the opinions 
and theories of others, we find that it includes or supersedes them. 
From it we get an answer to the common question, ' Is happiness to 
be acquired by human efforts ?' and by means of it we are able to see 
the shallowness of Solon's view implied in the saying that ' No man 
can be called happy while he lives.' It at once renders nugatory the 
question, Is happiness praiseworthy or above praise ? 

Assuming, then, the definition as above, let us examine its com- 
ponent parts. And, first, what is that law of excellence (peculiar to 
man) which is to regulate his mind ? A popular psychology serves 
as a basis for discussing this. Man is a compound of a rational and 
an irrational nature. Part of his irrational nature (the passions) rise 
into communion with reason. This part, then, and the reason itself, 
are two elements in which human excellence may be exhibited. 
According to this division, we distinguish, on the one hand, intel- 
lectual excellence ; on the other hand, moral excellence or virtue : 
and these two may henceforth be separately discussed. 



HGIKiiN NIKOMAXEI12N I 



n 



.<ra 



xa. Trctra 



8s 



TS 



xai _ 7r^Qa/p5<r<g 1 ayaSou T<VO ec 



SoxsT' 



I. The opening of Aristotle's Ethics 
might be paralleled with that of his 
Metaphysics Trafres &v6piinroi rov el- 
Sevai opeyomat <f>vffei. As there it is 
first said that ' all by a natural instinct 
desire knowledge,' and then Aristotle 
proceeds to distinguish among the 
various kinds of knowledge a supreme 
kind, which is Philosophy or Meta- 
physics ; so here he says that every 
human impulse is prompted by the 
desire of some good, or is, in other 
words, a means to some end, and 
among ends there is one supreme end, 
which is never a means, the object of 
politics the chief good, or human 
happiness. The beginning of the 
Politics is also very similar. All 
actions are done for the sake of what 
is thought to be good. Therefore all 
societies aim at some good, and that 
society which includes all others aims 
at the highest good. See p. 16. " 

i Travel rtx^ So/ce?) ' Every art 
and every science, and so, too, every 
act and purpose, seems to aim at some 
good,' i. e. ' every exercise of the 
human powers.' The enumeration 
here given answers to the division of 
the mind (Eth. vi. ii) into specuktive, 
productive, and practical. Me'0o5os is 
literally ' way ' or ' road ' to know- 



ledge, i.e. a research or inquiry. The 
metaphor still appears in such places 
as Plato's Republic, vn. p. 533 c, '/ 
OtoAKTt7) fifOodos fj.6vri ravrr) iropfve- 
TCU. Phadrus 269 D, ovx JV Ttfffay 
iropevfTcu Soicfi fj.oi (paivto'dai rj /j.fdo- 
Sos. It is farther used in the sense 
of a regular or scientific method, and 
it stands here, as elsewhere (Eth. I. 
ii. 9, Poet. xix. 2, Phys. i. i. i), for 
science itself. The word is well de- 
fined by Simplicius (in Arist. Phys. 
fol. 4), i] ;uera <55oD ni/bs (vrdtcrov irp6o- 
5os eVj rb yvcatrrof. Hpats and Ttpoal- 
ptcris, action and purpose, go to make 
up one conception, that of ' moral ac- 
tion.' They are related as language to 
thought, the outer to the inner. Ao/ce? 
does not imply any doubt in the asser- 
tion. Sometimes it denotes the opi- 
nion of others, not of Aristotle him- 
self (Eth. i. iii. z, x. viii. 13, where see 
note), but sometimes it is a part of 
style, to avoid the appearance of dog- 
matism. With this use of 8o/te? may 
be compared that of similar words, 
such as foots, ' no doubt,' (iv. viii. 9) 
fSfi 8" 1(T(as Kal o-Kcoirreji/ (KC\vfiv) ; 
axttiA", ' nearly,' ' something like,' (i. 
viii. 4) (TXfSbf yap eii^iatoTij ftprjrai Kal 
fvirpatfa ; fj.d\tara, ' upon the whole,' 
(i. V. 2) rpeTs ydp eiffi fudXma. ol 



344 



IieiKiiN NIKOMAXEmN I. 



[CHAP. 



8s rig QciivsTai TCOV rsXcov. TCC jtxsv yap iuriv j/epye<a<, 
TO, 8s Trap* aira sp^a rva. aiv 8' e<r TS?VT] -nva ?rapa 
Trpa^sic, sv TOUTO< j3sXT/a> Tretyvxs ratv evspyeiSiv 
spya. TroAXtov 8s Trpa^sajv ovcr&v XOLI TS%vibv xai 
^tov TroAXa yivsTou xai ra TS'AVJ larpixris jusv yap 
6y/s/a, vauTnjyixSjs 8s TrXoTov, (rrpaT7jyix% 8s v/xij, olxovo- 
7 8s 7T^ouTO. o<ra< 8' 



(/3(oi). Such phrases arise 
partly from Attic usage, partly from 
the genius of Aristotle's philosophy. 
A similar hesitation or moderation of 
statement is observable in his use of 
interrogations ; e. g. (i. vi. 1 2) A\' 
Spc 7 rip a<t>' ej/bs eli/cu ; In such ques- 
tions w6rfpov is very frequent, (i. vii. 
n) Tlfcfpov olv rturovos /uii/ tal 
ffKirrtus lai\v fpya rivd. Kal vpdfis ; 
and tf, which generally introduces the 
opinion to be preferred, 1. 1. ^ KaBdirtp 
o<p6a,\iiov o0TW Kol avOpdnrov irapct 
Trai/ra TOUTO fl/jj TIS &i/ If^or T ; Also 
1) frequently stands by itself, (i. vii. 
I ) ri o$v tKticTTrjs TwyaQAv ; t) ov x^P 1 " 
TO. \onra irpdrrfrai ; 

Sib KoAws itpirrat] ' Hence people 
have well defined the good to be, that 
at which all things aim.' This same 
definition is mentioned in the Rhetoric, 
i. vi. ^, J. vii. 3. It is of uncertain 
authorship. At first sight its intro- 
duction here appears parenthetical ; 
but rather it constitutes a sententious 
way of opening the subject. ' All we 
do aims at good, the very idea of 
good is that which is aimed at. But 
among ends (or aims) there is a subor- 
dination of one to the other.' 

z Tek ft.lv yap Ipya riv] 'For 
sometimes the end consists in the 
exercise of a faculty for its own sake, at 
other times in certain external results 
beyond this.' Strictly, according to 
the Aristotelian system, to speak of 



an 'Evepyeia not containing its end in 
itself is a contradiction in terms-. 
But in a subordinate and relative 
sense, just as some re'Arj are also 
means to ulterior ends, so some func- 
tions may be called tvfpytiai, which 
are also mere yevfotu of external re- 
sults; cf. Metaphysics, x. ix. n, and 
see Essay IV. p. 186. 

4 '6aai 5' ticrl SiuKtrai] ' Now all 
such operations as fall under some one 
faculty, as under riding, bridle-making, 
and all other manufactures of the in- 
struments of riding ; while this again, 
and every warlike operation, falls 
under strategy ; and so (5^) in the 
same way, other operations under 
some different faculty in all, I say 
(8), the ends of the master faculties 
are more excellent than all those that 
are subordinate, for, for the sake of the 
former, the latter are sought after.' 
This sentence exhibits many of the 
peculiarities of Aristotle ( i ) the in- 
definiteness of 8<rcu. Cf. a similar in- 
definiteness as to the substantive re- 
ferred to in np! auTTjj (Eth. i. \iii i). 
It would be most natural to supply to 
the first 8<reu the word trpd^tts, to the 
second the word T'XM. But rf'x*''? 
and irpa{u are not here sharply distin- 
guished, as appears by the words iro\f- 
HIK^I irpo|is. (2) AiW/xis is here used 
in a sense from which the modern 
application of the word 'faculty' to 
law and medicine, &c., has been de- 



L-IL] 



II91KHN NIKOMAXEION I. 

A / r \ \ 

T7]V 



345 



gi<ri 



xai 

s xai 7ra<ra 
TOV atJrov ST 



rav ITTTT/XCOV 
pa< biro TTJV 

cj- 1 ' srspa^. sv a7ra<raj s TCC Ttoi/ 
xrov/xaiv rsX>3 Travrajv 5<7Tiv alpsTwrspa. TWV 'JTT' aura.' 
TOVTCOV yap %dpw xaxsiva Suoxsrai. %ia<$spei S' oiosv 
evspysiag auras stvai ra reXvj rcov Trpa^siov rj Trapa 
a?v/vo T/, xaQctTrsp STT) rtov 

El 3^ Tl TgXo^ SCTTt T&V TTpCtXTMW *' WTO fiovXopt.sQa, 2 

a Ss 8ta rouro, xa} JU.TJ Travra Si' srspov aipovfj.sQa 



rived, through the termfacultas, which 
was used by the Schoolmen. This 
belongs to the associations connected 
with SiWjtis in Aristotle's metaphysi- 
cal system. The use of this word 
for ' an art ' appears, though less dis- 
tinctly, in Plato. Aristotle, opposing 
Swafjiis to ei/p7io, treats the arts as 
a class of Swd/uis, i. e. certain capa- 
bilities of action ; though they dif- 
fered from other SiWjueu in being them- 
selves not only developed into eVe'p- 
jf iai, but also formed out of them : cf. 
Eth. n. i. 4, Metaph. vm. v. i, and 
see Essay iv. p. 190. (3) 8^ in Iv 
airda-ais Si is used to mark the 
apodosis. This is common in Ari- 
stotle, cf. Eth. vn. iv. 5, x. ix. n. 
Looking to the protasis fiercu, we must 
also say that the sentence is an ana- 
coluthon. The whole style might be 
called a o'xw ' ""pb* T ^ ff-nfj.aiv6fji.fvoi'. 
(4) The adjective apx< TKTOl '"k> a s 
applied to the ' hierarchy ' of the 
sciences, is not found in writers before 
Aristotle. The metaphor implied by 
it may have been suggested by Plato ; 
cf. Politicus, p. 259 E: Kal yap opx' T - 
KTUV 76 was OVK avrbs epyariKos, a\\a 
epyarStv apxoiv- The architect con- 
ceives the design, the labourers carry 
out the details : the former is con- 
cerned with the end, the latter with the 
means. In like manner the higher 



arts and sciences subject to themselves 
the lower ; cf. Eth. i. ii. 7, n. viii. 2. 

5 StaQfpfi. 5" lirKTTTjjuwi'] 'But it 
makes no difference (to our argument) 
whether the development of faculties- 
be in itself the end of the different 
actions, or something beyond this 
again, as in the case of the arts above 
mentioned,' i.e. the principle of sub- 
ordination in the scale of means and 
ends will not be affected by the fact 
that tvepytiai are ends as well as epya. 
In taking a walk, the end is walking 
for its own sake, i.e., an fvepyfia. In 
house-building, the end is the house, 
an external result, or %pyov. But 
walking may again be viewed as sub- 
ordinate to some other end, e.g. health 
or life, just as the house is. 

^n-jffTTjiudw] When speaking strictly 
(Eth. in. iii. 9), and in his later ter- 
minology, as represented by Eudemus 
(Eth. vi. iii. i), Aristotle distinguishes 
between iiriffTfjuii and TS'XVTJ. But 
he frequently uses the former indis- 
criminately with the latter (cf. Eth. i. 
vi. 15), as also Plato had done, cf. 
Philebus, p. 57 E, and as ' science ' is 
now in common language often used 
for ' art.' 

II. i Et 8^ - &PKTTOV] ' If then 
there is some end of action which we 
wish for its own sake, while we wish 



346 



IIOIKftN NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



IT pot iff I yap ourm y s$ a-rrsipov, 
[j,a.TOt.!av rr^v ops^iv], SrjXoi/ &$ TOUT' av eng 



etou xsvr^v xcti 



xau TO 



ap' 



oSv xai 7rpo$ 
oTrryV, xa/ xafy 
av Tuy%dvoi[J.ev TOU ^sovrog ; s 



TOV /3/ov 73 
sp ro^orai 
^sovro s OUTCO, 



all other things only as a means to 
this and if we do not choose all 
things merely as means to something 
beyond (since in that case it will go 
on to infinity, so that our desire will 
be empty and useless), it is plain that 
this end of action must be the chief 
good and the best.' This sentence 
contains the ' punctum saliens ' of the 
whole argument on which the Ethics 
are based. But from the undogmatic 
way in which it is expressed it is ren- 
dered at first sight obscure. It might 
be put thus : We have desires, these 
cannot be in rain ; hence we cannot 
always be desiring means. There 
must be some end which is never a 
means, and which constitutes the 
true object of desire. 

rd\os TWV ir pater >v~\ This is em- 
phatic. Aristotle is not enquiring 
after a transcendental good, like the 
Platonic Idea, but after a good at- 
tainable in action. Ta vpcutrd im- 
plies the whole class and sphere of 
means and ends which fall under the 
control of human will. A sort of 
scholium upon this word is to be 
found in the Eudemian Ethics, i. 
vii. 4. 

jrp6ei(Ti yap ovrca *y' e ' 5 Siretpov] 
The opposite and correlative terms 
i'eVai els &ireipov and t<naff8cu are 
iised with various nominatives in 
Aristotle, and sometimes, as here, 
impersonally. Cf. Eth. i. vii. 7, y 
tirfipov irp6enTiv. VI. viii. 9, ffT-i]ffcrai 
yap Ka.Kti. 

SHTT' tlvai tttviiv. K.T.A.] Aristotle 
applies here to the human mind and 



to the human desires his principle of 
universal import, ouSt? dreAis Troie? i] 
Qvffis. As everything in nature has 
its proper end, so too has human de- 
sire. There must therefore be some 
absolute good, desirable for its own 
sake, towards which our life ought to 
be directed. 

2 3p" olv WOJ/TOS] ' Must it not be, 
then, that for the conduct of life the 
knowledge of the good is of weighty 
influence, and that, like archers who 
have a mark to aim at, we shall be 
more likely to attain the requisite ? ' 
Cf. Rhet. i. v. i : ^(Sbv 5e KO! i'8/f 
eKdffTfp nal Koivf) Train ffKoir6s ris tff-nv, 
ov (TT(>xa6nfvoi Kol olpovvrai KO! tfifv- 



/taAXop] i.e. 'more than if we lived 
at haphazard without knowledge of 
the true end to be aimed at.' The 
metaphor of the archers comes from 
Plato ; cf. liepnb. p. 519 B : avdyKTi 
/UTJre roJis airaiSfVTOVs iKavws 6.v vore 
ir&\iv e'iriTpoirevffcu, /iTJTe TOUT iv 
iraiSei'a iuflivovt Siarpi/Seij' 5a reAow, 
TOt/y ntv Srt ffKOirbv 4v ry flicp oiiK 
exovffiv fva, ov (TTO^afo^eVous Se? 
OTrafTa irpaTTftv a hi> irpdr-ruffiv i'Si'a 
re Ko.1 8i7juo<ria, TOVS Se, K.T.A. 

ToG Seojroj] not ' our duty ' in the 
modern sense, this conception not 
having been as yet developed, but 
more generally ' what we ought to do ' 
from any motive. The word Seov was 
a received term with reference to 
moral subjects. Cf. Plato's Bcpub. p. 
336 D, where Thrasymachus, calling 
upon Socrates to define justice, says, 
' Mind you don't tell me that it is the 



II.] 



NIKOMAXEION I. 



TUTTU) yg 



auro ri TTOT ecrri xai TIVO$ rc'ov 



o 



ap%iTexTovi>tT()$' 



8' 73 TTOTUTJXTJ 4 5aj ' I/STa '' 5 



Stof, or the u(pt\inov, or the AucriTe- 
AOUJ/, or the KepSoAeW, or the ^vfj.(pepov. J 
Cf. also Charmides, p. 164 B. Xen. 
Memorab. i. ii. 22. But the exact 
import of the term was not fixed. 
Aristotle in the Topics, n. iii. 4, men- 
tions among the iroAAxs Mydpet'o., 
Olov ( TO 8eov ecTTi TO crv^.(ppoi' fj TO 
a\oV. 

3 el 8' OUTO> 8wcijuea/] ' But if 
this be the case, we must endea- 
vour to comprehend, in outline at all 
events, what it is, and which of the 
sciences or faculties it belongs to.' 
Aristotle, proceeding tentatively to 
work, does not ask, 'What science 
treats of the supreme end ? ' but ' To 
what science or art does its production 
belong ? ' He seems at first encum- 
bered with Platonic associations that 
virtue is a science that there is an 
art of life, &c. Just as in a Platonic 
dialogue, we might have found this 
train of questions ' What is the sci- 
ence of healing called ? ' Medicine. 
'What is the science of counting 
called ? ' Arithmetic. ' What then 
is the science of the welfare of states 
and indiA-iduals called ? ' Politics. 
So here Aristotle says, ' Every art has 
an end. There is some supreme end : 
of what art then is it the end ? ' Ac- 
cordingly he starts with the impres- 
sion that the present treatise ts an 
art rather than a science (cf. Eth. i. 
iii. 6, n. ii. i ). He speaks of his 
present method aiming at the chief 
good. (i. iii. i) 'H fj.fv oZv /ue'0o5os TOV- 
vtav e<pltTO,i TroAtrmiij TIS oSo-a. Cf. 
I. iv. T, ri effTiv ov \fyopftf r^v iro\i- 
TiV t<pifff8cu. Afterwards (Eth. x. 
ix. i) he makes an imperfect separa- 
tion between the scientific theory of 



virtue and the practical attainment 
of it. 

4 8<j|eje 8' Uv apxiTeKToviKrjs] 
' Now it would seem to be the end of 
that which is the most absolute, and 
most of a master science.' The word 
Kvpioirdrr]S seems used somewhat in- 
definitely. Two trains of association 
are mixed up in it. tcvptos means (i) 
what is authoritative, what has con- 
trol ; cf. Eth. I. x. 9, Kvpicu fvSaifiovias. 
(a) What has validity, especially the 
validity of custom, what is established. 
Cf. Poet. xxi. 5, 6, and Rhetor. m 
ii. 2, where nvpiov avo^a. stands for ' a 
word in its proper sense,' opposed to 
all uncommon turns and applications. 
In Eth. vi. xiii. i, tcvpia. dpfT-fi is 
' virtue in the full sense of the term,' 
opposed to <pvffiK)i aptrfi, ' a virtu- 
ous disposition.' Eth. vii. iii. 14, 

T7JJ KVpiuiS lUffTr]IJ.T)S flvCU SoKOUCTTJS, 

' that which might properly be called 
science.' Hence rb Kvpiov comes to 
mean that which is striking, charac- 
teristic, and essential in a conception. 
Cf. Eth. I. vii. 1 3, Kvpitarepov y&p 
avrri SoKfi \tyeff6ai. IX. ix. 7, rb Se 
Kvpwv tt> TJ) evepyela. In the passage 
above, Kvpicardrris seems partly to 
mean ' most authoritative ' or ' abso- 
lute,' partly ' that which is most 
absolutely a science.' 

5 TOtauTTj 8' i) iro\iTiK7] <pa(vera.i] 
Plato generally represents virtue as a 
science, and politics as inseparable 
from dialectic or metaphysics. In 
the Euthydennis, however, (p. 291 B) 
he describes politics as the supreme 
art, in terms from which the present 
passage is obviously borrowed. See 
Essay III, p. 140. Aristotle says that 
all the other arts and faculties, how- 



II6IKON NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



[CHAP. 



6 Tiva$ yap svai %pzwv rtv 
Troiag exd(TTOv$ {Ji.avtya.vsiv xdi 
bpu>[j.V <5s xa\ rag s 

7 ouo~a, olov <TT 

OS TaUT7] T0t<g 7lQ<7TTg 



ev ralg 7ro/\,<r/, xa\ 



TCOV 



TtUV 



STi 



TO 



T/ 8s7 Trpdrreiv xdi rivmv 
Trspis^Qi dv roc. T<OJ/ aXXtov 

8 sr>3 TavQpa)7rivov dyaQov. el yap xdl ravrov ecrTiv evi xai 
Tro'Xs/, jasT^o'v -ys xai TsXsaJTS^oi/ TO T^J TTO'^SCOJ Qaivsrai 
xa\ XajSsTv xai arw^siv dya^Tov p.lv ydp xdl svi [J.QVCO, 

9 xa?vX/ov Se xa< Qstorepov 'eQvsi xdi Trohsviv. ij jotsv ouv 

TOUTOJV s'4>/sra/, TroAmxrj T/ 



ever dignified, are subordinate to this 
(uirb Totrrrji') and are its instruments 
(XP ta t J -* vr l s rauTTjs TO?S Aoiiro). Their 
very existence depends on the/atf of 
politics (/(pas tTyat xp*">v Siardfffftt). 
Hence, as all others are means to it, 
the end of politics must embrace the 
ends of all the other arts. Politics 
will be the art whose end is the chief 
human good. 

8 t yelp al Tavrbv ir6\tffiv\ ' For 
even supposing the chief good to be 
identical for an individual and a state, 
that of the state appears at all events 
something greater and more absolute 
(rf\eunfpov) both to attain and to 
preserve. Even for an individual by 
himself it is indeed something one 
might well embrace with gladness, 
but for a nation and for states it is 
something more noble and divine.' 
The identity of the end for states and 
individuals is a principle on which 
would depend the relation of Morals 
to Politics, and to some extent that of 
Church to State. See Essays, Appen- 
dix C. In Aristotle's Politics (vn. iii. 
8) the chief good, or end-in-itself, for 
a state is portrayed as consisting in 
the development and play of specu- 



lative thought, all fit conditions and 
means thereto being implied and pre- 
supposed. To this high, but inde- 
finite, ideal, the term Otiov would be 
naturally applied. Like the word 
' divine ' with us, 0(1 os is used by 
Aristotle to express the highest kind 
of admiration, tinctured with a feeling 
of enthusiastic joy, but also with some 
degree of vagueness. It is especially 
applied to the inner consciousness of 
the reason ; cf. Eth. x. vii. i, (vovs 
tori) TU>V iv rjfuv rb QtiA-raTov : also 
to happiness (Eth. i. ix. 3), which, if 
not Oe6irf(j.irrov, is at all events tiav 
6fi<yrdr<av : also to the constituent 
parts of the Cosmos (Eth. vi. vii. 4), 
which are said to be dinner than 
man. 

9 iroAjTiK^ Ttj o5<ra] Aristotle has 
not yet arrived at the conception of 
Ethics as a separate science. He 
still, following Plato, identifies it with 
politics, or makes it ' a kind of poli- 
tics.' By his treatment however of 
the questions of Ethics he prepared 
the way for its separation from poli- 
tics, which indeed was partly made 
by Endemus, and afterwards entirely 
by the Stoics. 



II. III.] H9IKUN NIKOMAXEmN I. 

Asyoiro 8' av fxai/toc, si Kara Tr t v v 
) TO yap a 



349 



uTogv 



rot s 



xai ra 3/xa/a, Trspi oil/ rj TroAmxyj (rxoTrsmu, roaraJrrjv 



xa 



III. In connexion with every 
science, Aristotle never fails to pay 
attention to the logic of science, to 
ask what the proper method of the 
science ought to be. In Ethics, where 
he is entirely feeling his way, without 
predecessors to guide him, it was 
especially natural that he should make 
a pause to enquire what is the pro- 
per form and logical character of 
the science on which he is entering. 
Accordingly we find three digressions 
relative to the logic of Ethics in this 
first book. ( i ) In the present chapter 
he decides that it cannot be an exact 
science, (2) Chapter 4th, 57, he 
declares, though not dogmatically, that 
it must be rather inductive, than based 
on a priori principles. (3) In chap- 
ter yth, 17 21, not quite consist- 
ently with the last assertion, he dwells 
upon the importance, for the future 
development of the science, of the 
principle (dpx^) which he has evolved 
in his definition of the chief good ; 
which principle is henceforth to be 
applied to the elucidation of all diffi- 
culties in detail. See Essays, Appen- 
dix A. 

I \eyono 5' k.v iKavias Srjfjaoupyov- 
/*e/ojy] ' Now we must be satisfied 
with the statement of our science, if 
its distinctness be in proportion to the 
nature of the subject matter. For 
exactness is not to be expected equally 
in all reasonings, any more than in the 
productions of art.' Matter as op- 
posed to form was called by Aristotle 
I/A.TJ, or TO viroKflnevov, that which 
underlies the form. Cf. Pol. i. viii. 2 : 



heyw 8e v\T]V rb inroKeifJ-fVOV e{ ov TI 
a3roTA.?Tat epyov, diov v<f>dvTT) /uej/ 
%pia, avSpiavroiroiif 5e -)(aXK6v. The 
matter of a science, i. e. the facts or 
conceptions with which it deals, must 
determine its method or form, accord- 
ing as they admit of being stated with 
more or less aicpt'/Seia. It is one of 
the first questions about a science, 
how much atcpifieia. it admits : cf. De 
Anima. i. i. i ; Metaphys. a' \arrov, 
iii. 2, &c. On the different shades 
of meaning implied in the word 
aKpifaia, see below, i. vii. 18, note. 
It combines the notions of mathe- 
matical exactness, metaphysical sub- 
tlety, minuteness of detail, and 
definiteness of assertion. Also as 
applied to the arts (tv TOIS Syfjiiovp- 
yovfj.fvoi.s) it denotes finish or delicacy. 
2 ra. 8e KoXo fvfi'] 'But things 
beautiful and just, about which the 
political science treats, exhibit so 
great a diversity and uncertainty that 
they are thought to exist by convention 
only, and not by nature.' Nothing can 
be more characteristic of Greek mo- 
rality than these words, 'the beautiful' 
and ' the just,' applied to sum up all 
that we should call ' the right.' The 
former is the more enthusiastic term, 
and is connected with all the artistic 
feelings of the Greeks. In the present 
passage we may notice two indications 
of the immaturity of Aristotle's ethical 
system, (i) He speaks of Politics as 
the science treating of right action. 
(2) He seems to accept for the mo- 
ment, as at all events worth consi- 
dering, the scepticism of the Sophists. 



350 

\\ 
3 OS p 



1I6IKS1N NIKOMAXEIftN I. 



[CHAP. 



6s nva 7r/\.a'i/r ; v s%st xai Tayctfjot. &a TO 



.TT atvrV 

4 cbraJAovTO 8<a TTAOUTOI/, srspot Ss Si' avQpsiav. 
TOLOVTWV xou ex ToiouTwv hs"yovTa$ Tr 
Xvj#s g'l/Ss/xyuirSa/, xai Trep) rtov a* eV) TO 
xa< sx TOJOUTOJV "hsyovrcts TOIO.VTO. xa) <7U|U.7Tpa/ve<r$a/. 
' 8s TpoVov xat aTroSs'^/ga'Qat ^psaiv exaarTov Ttov 

<TTIV ETT) TotrouTov 



rtvsg 



xai 



TOV 



7rs7ra<8=uj-vou 



and to start accordingly with an em- 
pirical point of view about moral dis- 
tinctions, which in reality his subse- 
quent procedure entirely sets aside. 
v&nq fj.6vov flvai, <j)va>et 8e /u^j. On the 
position of this opinion in the history 
of philosophy, see Essay II. 

3 roiavTi}v 8 nva if\A.vi\v ex fl Ka ^ 
Ta.ya.0a] 'And things good also ex- 
hibit a similar sort of uncertainty.' 
The two leading questions of morals 
may be said to be, what is right ? and 
what is good? The ancient Ethics 
rather tend to absorb the former into 
the latter, the modern systems vice 
versd. Aristotle here, from his present 
empirical ground, says there is an 
equal uncertainty about things good, 
as about things right. Cf. Eth. v. i. 9 ; 
Xen. Mem. iv. ii. 34. 

4> 5 ctyairrrrbj' ovv ireiratSeujieVos] 
' We must be content then, while 
speaking on such subjects, and with 
such premises, that the truth should 
be set forth roughly and in outline, 
and, as we are reasoning about and 
from things which only amount to 
generalities, that our conclusions 
should be of the same kind also. In 
the same way must each particular 
statement be received. The man of 
cultivation will in each kind of subject 
demand exactness so far as the nature 
of the thing permits : for it appears 
equally absurd to accept probable rea- 
soning from a mathematician and to 



demand demonstration from an orator. 
Every one judges well of things which 
he knows, and of these he is a good 
critic. In particular subjects then the 
man of particular cultivation will 
judge, and in general the man of ge- 
neral cultivation.' 

vfpl roiovr. ol IK Toiour.] A com- 
mon formula in Aristotle. Cf. Rhetor. 
ii. i. i. 

7^j/os] is with Aristotle the object 
of a single science ; jua firjar^ij i<rr\v 
r) evbs yfvovs (Anal. Post. I. xxviii). 
Cf. the whole of Mtt. n. iii. 

ireiraiSst^teVou] Iii his preliminary 
inquiries as to the right method of 
different sciences, Aristotle generally 
adds that it will be the office of vaiSda, 
or the irtiraiSevjueVos, to arbitrate on 
the question. Tla&fla has of course 
in these places a restricted sense. It 
does not imply the cultivation of the 
whole man, but a certain special cul- 
tivation in relation to science, in short 
much the same state of acquirement 
as in modern times is expressed by the 
name connoisseur. The chief passage 
on this subject occurs De Partibus 
Animal, i. i. i : irtpl Trcurav Qeuipiav 
Tf Kal fjitOoSov, 6/j.otcas T 'on -tivoTfpa.v re 
Kal Tifiiorrepav, Svo <f>aivoi>7Oi Tp6iroi 
TT)S e'ffws dvai, S>v T^C futv fTnerT^jjUTjv 
TOV irpdynaros Ka\us e^et irpoaayo- 
pevtiv, Ti)v y olov -xaiStiav Tiid. Then 
follow the characteristics of the ire- 
, which are said to be Kptvai 



III.] 



IIGIKliN NIKOMAXEION I. 



351 



yap Qaivsr 

xov TS TnQgyoXo'youvTQg a.7rotis%=crQai xoti pyTopixw OLTTO^SI- / 
: ig otTraiTz'iv. sxa(TTO$ Ss xpivsi xaAto a yij/aWxs/, *a) 5 
TOUTCUV IITT/V aa4o xtTy$. xa6' sxacrrov aa Q 



?)svij.svog, aTrAcof o' o Trspi Trav 7TS7raiasij[j.svog. Qio rr\g TTO- 
yx snrTiv olxs7o axpoaT7j o vso. afrsioos yap 
Jfa.ro. rov 3 i/ov TTpa^rov, ot Xoyo< 3' sx rour^ov xa) TTSC) 
STJ 5s TO?^ 7ra^s<rv axo'hovQr l Tixos wv 



ev<TTo^cos TI KaAcDs r) ^.r/ wa 
<5 \eytav. Thus the chief function of 
this 'cultivation' is acute criticism. 
It is critical as opposed to science, 
which is productive. It will have cer- 
tain standards (Spovs) by reference to 
which it will form a judgment on the 
shape and manner of the propositions 
presented, quite independently of their 
truth and falsehood (cbroSe'leTcu -rbi> 



s, ttre OUTCOS efre &\\ois). 
This, which was a current popular 
conception of iraiSeta, Aristotle not 
only accepts as related to all matters 
of science (T&J/ 8\cas irfiratSfv^ifvov 
irepl TrdvTuiv ws elire'ti' KpiTiltAv Tiva. 
rqttfyur) but also he adds a refine- 
ment on his own part by constituting 
a special irouSefa in relation to each 
separate science (irfp nvos tyvffeois 
a^upiff/J.fi'Tjs ' enj "ycfcp &v TIS erepcs irepl 
tv fj.6piov~). The idea of the irfiraiSe'j- 
fji.evos as a judge of method is to be 
found in Plato. Cf. Timaus, p. 53 c : 
ctAAo yap eirtl jtUTf'xere TOW KO.T& TTOI- 
Sfvffif 65>v, Si' wi> i-8fLKvvff6cu ri 
\fy6fj.fva accry/CTj, |u^ei|/(r0e. In the 
Erastce, p. 135, a popular description 
of the philosopher is given, exactly 
answering to Aristotle's TreTraiSev/xeVos. 
Among the qualifications is mentioned 
ws fwbs &v$pa e\fvOep6v re Kal Treircu- 
fievfjLevoi', 7ra/coAou0ri(rat re rots At7o- 
juei/ots virb rov Sr)[j.wvpyov oi6v re elrai 



Sia<l>tp6v7u>s rlav irap6vrfav. Socrates 
on this remarks, that it makes the 
philosopher like a Pentathlos, Sira- 
Kp6s ris, or second-best in all special- 
ities. We see in the present passage 
Aristotle's distinction of irepl irav 
ireiraiS. from KaQ' fKacrrov irtircuS. The 
latter term shows that not only is a 
general knowledge of logic (oi-aAtm/c^) 
requisite to constitute vaiStla (cf. Me- 
taph. i. min. iii. r, HI. iii. 5, m. iv. 2) ; 
but also that some acquaintance with 
the special subject is requisite for the 
connoisseur of that subject. Cf. Pol. m. 
xi. ii : 'larpbs 8" S re Srifiiovpybs Kal 
6 apxirfKrovuths Kal rpiros 6 irfirai- 
Sfv/j.evos irtpl r))v rxtf)y ' flffl ydp rives 
roiovroi Kal irfpl Trdffas ois elireiv riy 
rexvas, airo?>{$o/j.ev 5e rb Kftivtiv ovtiev 
ffrrois rotsireirai5evv.evois t) rots elS6ffiv. 
Cf. Eth. End. i. vi. 6. 

/AadTitiaTiKov, K. T. A.] Taken from 
Plato, cf. Thecetetus, p. 162 E: el ^6e\oi 
e65iapos i) &\\os TIS TWJ/ yfta^erpdv 
(rf eiKdrt) -^pu^evos yeca/jLerptiv, &ios 
oiiS' evbs /j.6i>ov &v f1r\. ffKowi'ire oHv av 
re Ka\ 06(55wpos el airo?iee<rde iriQavo- 
\oyla re Kal eiKOffi irepl rovruv \eyo- 
(j.evovs \6yovs. 

5 Sib rvjs TroAiTt/crjs, /c.r.A.] From 
a want of sufficient knowledge of the 
special subjects to be treated, the youth 
is not fit to be a hearer, i.e. (i) critic, 
(2) student of political science. 

6 IT i Se 7rpa|is] ' Nay, more- 



352 IIOIKftN NIKOMAXElftN I. 

dx<tu<rsrai xal aj/a><eA<'o, ETTS^TJ TO TSAOJ eerTJV ou 



[CHAP. 



TO 



vsapog* ou -yap irapa TOV %povov TJ fAXctttt 
TO xara TrdQog ?ji/ xa< 8ja>xsiv exao~Ta. ToTj yap 
vovrjTOS 73 yvuxrig yivzrai, xaQdrrsp roi$ dxpa- 
Tscriv' TOI$ g xara Ao'yov rag ops^sig 7roiov[JiVOi$ xai 

8 TTpaTTOUO"/ 7ToAua)4>SX^ (XV S/TJ TO TTSp) TOUTCOV sJ^SVCCJ. Xa< 

Trepi jtxsv ax^oaTou, xa< TTCO^ ctTroSsxTeov, xa< T/ Trportbs- 



xa 



7Tpootips(rt$ ayaftw rivo$ opsysrai, rt e&nv ou 

TTJV ToX<T<x^/ <$>Is(rQa.i xa} ri TO TTCCVTCOV axporarov 



2 ru>v 



over, as he is given to follow his pas- 
sions, he will hear uselessly and with- 
out profit, since the end (of our 
science) is not knowledge but action.' 
Aristotle goes off into a digression 
here, and adds that the youth will 
not only be an incompetent, but also 
an unprofitable, student, on account 
of a moral disqualification in the 
weakness of his will. This addition, 
however, throws light on Aristotle's 
conception of his science. In saying 
that ' its end is action,' we must not 
suppose that Aristotle meant to imply 
that it was ' practical ' in the modern 
sense, i. e. hortatory, as opposed to 
philosophical. As before, he is view- 
ing Politics as a sort of supreme art. 
Cf. Eth. H. ii. i. 

/xaratws aKovcrerat] Shakespeare had 
seen the present passage quoted some- 
where, and by a remarkable anachron- 
ism he puts it into the mouth of Hector. 
Cf. Troilus and Cressida, act 11. sc. 2. 
'Paris and Troilus, you have both 

said well : 
And on the cause and question now 

in hand 
Haive glozed but superficially; not 

much 



Unlike young men, whom Aristotle 

thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy.' 

7 ou 7ap irapa rbv \p&vov T\ KAAetiJ'is] 
' For the deficiency is not caused by 
time.' Cf. Thucyd. L 141, ov yap irapa, 
T^]V favrov ap.e\eiav ottrai /3Ao^J'. 
Arnold compares irapd in this sense 
with the English vulgarism, 'all along 
of.' Cf. Eth. m. V. 19, TI KO.\ irap' 
avr6f. 

IV. J Keturning from a parenthe- 
tical discussion of method, Aristotle 
takes up (\ty<t>f*fv 8' dva\a/3<Wes) the 
original question, 'What is it that 
politics aims at, what is the highest 
practical good ? ' The original four 
terms TS^CJJ, ^tefloSos, irpuis, irpoat- 
pfffis, are here reduced to two, yvaxris 
and irpoalpfcris. In the latter irpa^is 
is implied. And Ttxrn is omitted as 
falling under the practical powers in 
man (cf. Eth. vi. ii. 5). Thus human 
nature, which was before classified as 
productive, scientific, and moral, is here 
summed up as moral and intellectual. 

2 There is a verbal agreement, but 
under this an essential difference, be- 
tween men as to their opinion of the 



III. IV.] 



II9IKON NIKOMAXEmN I. 



353 



xa o 
iv TOLVTOV 



ol TT 



TTJV yap st>3ai^.ovjav xau ol 
coufff, TO 8* e5 vjv xa< TO su 
votKri TO> suoa/jaov=Tv. Trspi 

TT sua/ju.ova, T S(TTIV, a|U,<r$r; TOUCH xo oup 6j,o<- 
ol TroXXo) TO? a'oQo'ts a7ro3<3o'ao-v. ol plv yap TCOV 3 

\. ~ r <> \ * ,. ~ A r 

n xai (pavsptov, oiov T^OJ/TJV V) TTAOOTOV 17 T/ja^v, 
3' aXAo, 7roAAax 3s xa) o auTO erspov ' vo<rr r 
fj.lv yap vyisia.v, Trsvopsvos 3s TT^OUTOV 
ayvojav TOU^ jasya T< xa< w^sp ctuTovg 

sviot 3' COOVTO Trapa Ta TroXX 
T/ xa6' awTo eTva/, o xa< To7o~3s 7rao~iv a'/Tio'v 0~T< 



chief good. All use the same word, 
' happiness.' They go a step beyond 
this together, and say it consists in 
'living-well and doing-well.' Any 
further attempt at definition shows 
the discrepancy of their notions. On 
theories of the chief good, see Essay 
II. p. 66. 

of iro\A.ol Kol of x a p' lfvrfs ] 'The 
many and the refined.' This clas- 
sifies the whole body of thinkers. 
The many are opposed to the philo- 
sophers (ol <ro<poi) and to the educated, 
the refined, the few. This opposition 
has always existed. It appears most 
strongly in the philosophic isolation of 
Heraclitus the ox^oXa'Sopos. It is a 
natural distinction, since philosophical 
views are not inborn, but acquired, 
and imply education, leisure, deve- 
lopment. That both classes, however, 
are in a different way possessed of 
the truth (wholly orpartially), Aristotle 
would always acknowledge. Cf, -Eth. 
i. viii. 7. 

c 5 irpdrreiv is an ambiguous phrase. 
In its usual acceptation it would rather 
mean ' faring-well ' than ' acting-well.' 
It occurs in the Gorgias of Plato, p. 
507 c, in a way which seems to contain 
the transition between these two ideas 
iro\\)j avdyicn, & 
ffti>(t>pot>a. } &ffirtp 



Koi avSpetov Ka\ Sffiov ayaObv &vSpa 
flvcu TeAews, rbv Se ayaBbv eS re KO! 
Ka\cas irpd.TT(iv & kv irpdrrri, r~bv 8* e5 
-rpdrrovra fj.aKapiov re Kal evSaifiova. 
flvcu, -rbv 5e xovj\pbv KCU Kcuccas irpaTTOira 
&0\tov. Aristotle was at no pains to 
solve the ambiguity. Cf. Eth. vi. ii. 5. 

3 01 fjitv yap etyo&i] 'For the one 
class (i.e. the many) specify something 
palpable and tangible, as, for instance, 
pleasure, or wealth, or honour; in 
short, different of them give different 
accounts, and often the same individual 
gives an answer at variance with 
himself, for when he has fallen sick 
he calls it health, but being poor 
wealth ; and when people are con- 
scious of ignorance they look up with 
admiration to those who say some- 
thing fine and beyond their own 
powers. On the other hand certain 
(philosophers) have thought that be- 
yond all these manifold goods there 
is some one absolute good, which is 
the cause to these of their being good.' 
"f.vioi Se corresponds to ol (ify ydp. 
' Palpable and tangible ' are analogous 
though not identical metaphors with 
evapyav n KCU (pavepwv. 

ffwfio6rts, K. T. A.] Consciousness 
of ignorance makes people fancy wis- 
dom to be the chief good. So the 
Paraphrast explains the passage. 



A A 



354 



HGIKiiN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



[CHAP. 



d. a7rd(rag ^BV ouv e^srd^siv rag So'^aj 
?(ra)$ e<TTiv, ixavov 3= rag u.ahurr a. eTnTroAa- 



or< oja4>fOuo~H' of aTro TCOV ao^wv Xo-yoi xa/ of ITT* 
ret dp%d$' su yap xa/ ElXaTajv ijVopsj TOUTO xa) 
tTro Ttov dp%S>v % STT/ ra a.p%d$ eernv 
sv ra> (TTOtbU CXTTO raiv afiXoQsraJv 7ri TO 



apxreov [J.v ovv DITTO TV yva)pi[j.a)v t raura 



aAAo TI naff avrb tlvai\ This of 
course relates to Plato's theory of the 
Idea. 

4 Ixavkv 8e A^yoj'] 'But it is 
sufficient to examine the opinions most 
in vogue, or that seem to have some 
reason in them.' A similar canon of 
authority is given, Eth. i. viii. 7. 

4irnro\aov<ras] ' Lying on the top,' 
' obvious.' The original sense is found 
in Hist. Anim. vra. ii. 17: Tlovovffi 
5e Kal air6\\vvrai iroAAaicts (at xeAai- 



inrb rov ri\tov KaratpepfffOcu yap ird\iv 
ov Svvavrcu paSicas. Hence tirnro\d(a 
and twnr6\cuos come to mean ' what is 
current,' ' easily to be found.' Eth. 
rv. viii. 4, liriito\6.onos TOV yf\oiov, 
1 meeting one at every turn : ' and in 
the Axiochus which bears Plato's name, 
p. 369 D, IK TTJJ irnro\aovffj)s ret vvv 
Ae<rx')'fi'as. Bhet. in. x. 4, ^iri 
yap \4yopfv ret irain-J STjAa Kal a 
8r fijT^<rcu. Eth. Eud. in. ii. 4, tffri 
S' oil ireij'u yvwptfiov TO iraflos ou5' ^JT- 
r^Aoioi'. From this meaning to that 
of ' superficial ' is but a slight transi- 
tion. I. v. 4, Qaivtrcu S' iirriro\ai6Tep(n> 
elvai rov i)Tovfdvov. 

5 From hence to the end of the 
chapter follows the second digression 
on the method of ethics. The question 
now is, whether the Science is to be 
inductive or deductive, whether the 
reasoning is to be ' to principles,' or 
' from principles.' Aristotle gives a 



qualified decision in favour of the 
former of these alternatives. 

eS yap afl-Acos] ' For Plato rightly 
used to doubt and question whether 
the way was from principles or to 
principles, as, in the stadium, whether 
from the judges to thegoal, or reversely. 
We must begin, at all events, with 
things known, and these are of two 
kinds ; for some things are known to 
us, and some absolutely.' There is no 
particular passage in the extant works 
of Plato, which we can say is here 
referred to. That at the end of Book 
VL of the Republic has a widely dif- 
ferent scope. It does not compare 
the Inductive with the Deductive Me- 
thod, but describes dialectic as a pro- 
gress up the ladder of hypotheses to 
the idea of good, and a descent again 
without any help from the senses, by 
successive steps, which are ideas, and 
are connected with the idea of good. 
The use of the word n\druv here 
without the article shows that a per- 
sonal reference to the philosopher is 
intended (see note on Eth. vi. xiii. 3). 
The use of the imperfect ifir6pfi shows 
that the reference is general; when 
Aristotle quotes from a particular pas- 
sage in the Laws of Plato (Eth. n. iii. 
a), he says &>s & Tlkdrow <^t\a(v. 

ravra Se SJTTWI ra fj.fv rifi.it>, ra 8e 
oirAws] This is Aristotle's favourite 
division of knowledge, into things 
' relatively ' and things ' absolutely ' 



IV.] 



NIKOMAXEmN I. 



ra [JLSV yap r'ja?v TO. d' d 



ouv 



355 

'56 



dpxrzov ctTTo rtov r 



.V6v xavajg. pyri yap TO QTV xai e rouro <>a- 7 
VO/TO dpxovvTwg, O'jtilv 7rpoa-$sr}(ri roD 8m. o 8s TOJOV- 
ro ^ e'p/5/ 7] Xa$oi av dp^ag pa/ticcg. a> 

ra>v 



ovrog fj.f.v TrayapiarroQ OQ avroQ iravTO. 
<T0/\oc 2' au KactTj'oc oc w ttTrovn iri 



known. The former implies the know- 
ledge of experience, as far as it de- 
pends on the individual perception ; 
it is therefore concrete (eyyvrepov 
TTJS ouffd-rjcreus, Post. Analyt. i. ii. 5) 
while the latter is abstract (TO. iroppcti- 
Tfpoi/), but being independent of in- 
dividual experience, it is absolute (rcV 
ffa&tffTfpa, TT; <pvffL Kal ^vupifitarepa, 
Phys. Au-sc. i. i. i ). We must observe 
that the distinction is not between 
things relatively and absolutely 'know- 
able,' but 'known.' The highest 
truths are actually in themselves better 
known than the phenomena of the 
senses. This is said independently of 
individual minds, and implies a refer- 
ence to the impersonal and absolute 
reason ; when Aristotle speaks of the 
universal being in itself more known 
than the particular, this is as much 
as to say it has a more real existence, 
just as Plato said that the Ideas were 
most true, while phenomena only par- 
take of truth (/xer^xet TTJS d\T)0eiaj). 

6 t<f<as oSf yv<apijj.a>v\ ' Perhaps 
then we at all events must commence 
with what we know.' In a sort of 
bantering way, which is not unusual 
with him (cf. Eth. i. ix. 3, vm. vi. 4), 
Aristotle seems to announce the prin- 
ciple that personal experience must 
be made the basis for a scientific 
knowledge of morals. See Essays, 
Appendix A. 

6 7 Sib Sti paSiias} ' Therefore 
he should have been well trained in 

A A 



his habits who is to study aright things 
beautiful and just, and in short the 
whole class of political subjects. For 
the fact is a principle, and if the fact 
be sufficiently apparent we need not 
ask the reason. Now he who has 
been well trained either has principles 
already, or can easily obtain them.'" 
He returns to the qualifications of the 
aKpoariis. But here previous know- 
ledge seems required in a different 
way from that mentioned above (i. iv. 
5). The object is here not itpivfiv rat 
\ey6fitva, but tiriffrcurBcu. 

apx*> jap ri Sr] The same is re- 
peated below (i. vii. zo). The term 
a.pxh appears to be used here am- 
biguously. It may either mean a 
starting-point, or a universal principle. 
It seems to hover between those 
meanings, and to express that a moral 
fact has something at all events po- 
tentially of the nature of a universal. 
'Apxds (in 7) is used definitely for 
universal principles. 

6 5e Towt/ros] i.e., 6 KO\US fyyufiros. 
Such a one is in possession of moral 
facts, which either stand already in 
the light of principles, or can be at 
once recognised as such on the sug- 
gestion of the philosopher. In the 
former case he will resemble Hesiod's 
iravdpiffros, in the second case the 
i<rd\bs bs tv tiir6vri TriOrrrat. If he 
can neither discover nor recognise 
principles, he is axpTfios aviip. 

ovros fiff, K. T. A.] Hesiod, Works 



356 



HOIKilN NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



5 



c ^ KE fJiriT avrog jWjj ^j/r' ctXXou aKovutv 
if dvptjj /3aX\Jjro, o 2' a5r' a-^rjtOQ ayrjp. 

Tj 8s Aeytojusv o$sv Trapf^s'Byjjaev, TO yap 
xai TJV ejjSaj^ov/av oux aAoya> soixa.<rtv ex 



UTTO- 



/* 01 jCtst/ TroXXo* xa< QofTixwrctroi TTJV rj 
xa) rov j3/ov dya7rto<ri 'TOV a7roAaoo"T/xoV Tps yap 
|U.aX<o~ra of 7rpoupovT, o re vuv elpvjjasvo^ xai o 



291 295. After 
the editions of Hesiod, in some MSS. 
of the Ethics, and in the Paraphrase, 
conies this verse, <ppaffffd/j.tvos rd K' 
firftTO. Kal fs re\os ijffiv ap.eivu. The 
whole passage succeeds one quoted by 
Plato, Repub. n. 364 c ; Legg. i\. 718 
E ; and by Xenophon, Memorab. n. i. 
20, on the difficulty of virtue. The 
sentiment is borrowed by Livy, xxn. 
xxix. Cf. Cicero^ro Cluentio, c. xxxi. ; 
Soph. Antig. 720 ; Herod, vn. xvi. 

V. i 'HjueTs 5e uiruAajujScif tc] ' But 
to return from our digression, since 
people seem with reas.cn to form their 
conceptions of the chief good and of 
happiness from men's lives,' (sc. 'let 
us examine these ' ). The ydp shows 
that the above clause explains the 
object of this chapter, which is, to 
examine men's opinions of the chief 
good, in the concrete, by a criticism 
of their lives. Men's lives exhibit prac- 
tically their ideas of what is desirable. 

IK r<av )8iW] jSfos is the external 
form, opposed to adj, the internal 
principle of life. Thus &tos is ' line of 
life,' ' profession,' ' career.' Cf. Eth. ix. 
ix. 9, x. vi. 8 ; Plato, Repub. x. 61 8, A 
TCI -riav &'uav irapaSfiy/Mara. 

2 of fiev 6ftaprfriK6s~\ 'Now the 
many and the vulgar (conceive) plea- 
sure (the chief good), whence also 
they follow the life of sensuality. For 
the most prominent lives are on the 
whole (judAiffra) three in number, that 
just mentioned, and the political life, 



and thirdly the life of contemplation.' 
With TV ^5ovV, vTToXaiJL&a.vovau -raya- 
06v must be supplied, though it was 
used in a different way in the sentence 
before. The punctuation of Zell has 
been adopted. Bekker places no stop 
after vno\an$a.vtiv, but ends the sen- 
tence after ijSovfiv. 

a.Tro\avffnit6t'] a word not occurring 
in Plato, nor perhaps in any writer 
before Aristotle. 

Tptts yap, K. T. A.] In the celebrated 
metaphor attributed to Pythagoras 
(cf. Cicero, Tusc. Disp. v. 3), the world 
is compared to an Olympic festival, 
in which some are come to contend, 
for honour; others to buy and sell, 
for profit ; the best of all, as spectators, 
for contemplation. In Plato a similar 
division occurs, Repub. ix. 581 c: 
Aia roura ST) Kal avOpuiircav Ae-yeoyuej/ ra 
trptara rpirra y4m\ flvai, tyiXAaofyav, 
<pi\6vfiKa>, <pi\oKtp$ts ; KOfj.tSrj yt. This 
passage appears to be alluded to in 
the words at the opening of the 
chapter, OVK a\Ayws ioiitaffiv IK rwv 
iW vTrakan&avflv. The Paraphrast 
explains Aristotle's omission of the 
life of gain by saying that 'the seekers 
both of pleasure and honour are wont 
to amass money also.' Plato, on the 
contrary, says that pleasure and gain 
are merely two forms of concupiscence. 
The life of pleasure then was included 
under Plato's y4vos <f>i\OK(p$ts. Ari- 
stotle's classification, which separates 
these, is much more true to nature. 
But the reason given by the Paraphrast 



H0IKS1N NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



oiv 



7ravTsA(m,'3 



TO 



rou 



yap 



o s %apisvTss xa. Trpaxri-4- 
t) |3/bw <rpeSov rouro 
eTvai TOU jTOUjU,i/oi> 
yap sv roig r^a)(ri jouxAAov eTvat ^ ev TUJ Tifta)jtxeva), raya- 
6ov 8s otxeTov TI xat 8u<ra<$>a<psrov sTva/ jtxavreuo/xsOa. sr/ 5 



is untenable. Aristotle omitted the 
/3i'os xP'?M aT ' (r ' 7 "*J s > as ne tells us pre- 
sently, because, as not being purely 
Tohmtary (fiiai6s TIS), it does not exhi- 
bit a conception of happiness. Though 
it may have many adherents, these 
do not seek it spontaneously, as con- 
taining happiness in itself. 

3 ot /jiff ovf 2ap8aca7ra\<j>] The 
life of sensuality is that which the 
vulgar propose to themselves as their 
ideal of happiness. This they would 
pursue if they could obtain the ring of 
Gyges (Plato, Bepub. n. p. 359, c). 
And though Aristotle repudiates it 
immediately as vile and abject, yet he 
places it on the scale {rvyx"- vovfft *>&- 
you) because great potentates (iroAAous 
-r!av *v rats eJoiKTicus) show themselves 
of the same mind as Sardanapalus, 
thinking nought but sensuality ' worth 
a fillip,' while they have everything at 
their disposal, and are of all men most 
free to choose. 

rvyxdvovfft \6yov~\ ' They obtain 
consideration,' i. e. both in the eyes of 
men in general, and also in the present 
treatise. Cf. Eth. x. vi. 3. 

2ap8cwairaA.(p] Cicero, in Tusc. Disp. 
\. xxxv. (cf. De Finibus, n. xin.), 
mentions the epitaph of Sardanapalus 
as quoted by Aristotle. ' Ex quo Sar- 
danapali, opulentissimi Syrise regis, 
error agnoscitur, qui incidi jussit in 
busto : 

Hcec habeo, qua edi, qiueque exsatu- 
rata libido 



Hausit ; at ilia jacent multa et pra- 

clara relicta. 

Quid aliud, ait Aristoteles, in bovis, 
non in regis sepulcro inscriberes ? ' 
No such passage is to be found in 
any of the extant works of Aristotle. 
4 of 8e x a P^ fvrS TeXor] 'But the 
refined and active conceive honour to' 
be the chief good ; for this may be 
said to be (<rx8(Jj') the end of the 
political life.' ol 5e answers to ot piv 
tro\Ko\ Kal QopTiKUTaTot. The desire 
for honour is of course a higher instinct 
than the desire for pleasure. It is 
'the last infirmity of noble minds.' 
Honour is the price paid for political 
service, the garland of the magistrate 
and the statesman. Cf. Eth. v. vi. 7: 
TOVTO 8e Tifi.^ 



Kal ytpas. 

Qalverai 8' fjMtnfv6fi.(Oa\ 'But it 
appears too superficial for that which 
we are in search of, for it seems to 
rest more with the honourer than the 
honoured; whereas we have a pre- 
sentiment that the chief good must be 
one's own, and not in the power of 
others to take away.' Honour is evi- 
dently a precarious advantage de- 
pending on others. No labours or 
merits could prevent its being with- 
held by an ungrateful or unappreciat- 
ing age. 

fj.avrfv6fj.e6a] A phrase worthy of 
attention. It occurs again, vi. xiii. 4 : 
eoinaffi 87; fj.avrcvtff6ai TTUIS oireures 
SVt fj roiavri] ?is dper^ earns, 7] Kara 



358 



NIKOMAXEIflN I. 



[CHAP. 



6' soixatri T>JV Tipyv 8<o)x=jv, ?va TrurrevaMriv lauTov aya- 
6ou eJvai ' r)Tou<rj youv UTTO rcuv (ppov/^atov -njaaVSa/, xai 
Trap' 01$ yiyv(i)<7XovTai, xai ITT' apsryj* SrjAov o3v or* xara 



= TOUTOU ij apsTT) xpsirwv. 

TOU TTOAlTJXOU |3/O 

a xai aur^ SoxsT yap 
TTJV a'psr^v, ^ aVpaxTeVi/ 
xaxo7ra$sn/ xa; aru^sTv ra p.syio"Ta' 
ouOs)^ av euSaiU.ov/<re<v ei 



0= 



= xa 



av 



sp^strQa/ xai xa$s 
/3/ou, xai ?rpo 
TOV o' oSrco 




T^V <{>p6in)ffiv. Cf. also .ffA. i. adii. 2 : 
tern 70^ ti jUGWTeuojra/ Tt irti^res <f>v<rei 
Koivof OLKamv Kal &5iKov. It is pro- 
bably suggested by Plato, in whom 
both /j.am(ve<T6ai and a.troii.a.vrevtffSa.1 
frequently occur ; e. y. Cra#. 41 1 B : 
So/cw yt fioi ov KO.KWS /j.avTvta6a.t o Ka.1 
, Sri, K. T. A. 



5 6 Moreorer, honour is not only 
an insecure possession, but it seems 
not even desired for its own sake. It 
is desired by men aa an evidence of 
their merits. Cf. Eth. \m. viii. 2, 
where he says more at length that 
most men appear to seek honour KOTO 
<Tvii.Stt]K6s ; the many seek it at the 
hands of those in power, as an earnest 
of future advantage ; the good seek it 
from the excellent and from com- 
petent judges, as a confirmation of 
their own opinion about themselves. 
Thus the consciousness of virtue is 
the end, to which honour is the means. 
If virtue then be regarded as the end 
of the political life, will this answer 
to the chief good ? No, it falls short 
of being a supreme end (&Tt\fffTtpa 
Kal OUTTJ). For it might subsist in a 
life of absolute inaction, or of the 
heaviest misfortunes. And to call 
this happiness would be paradoxical. 

t\oi>ra. TTJC aptr-fiv] It is the { 
TTJS aperris, virtue regarded as a mere 
quality, which Aristotle repudiates. 



Past merits, or the passive possession 
of qualities, whose existence depends 
on the attestation of fame, cannot be 
thought to constitute the chief good. 
Very different from this is tvtpytta 
/COT' ape-rffv, the consciousness of a 
virtuous life. 

tl fi^i Qeaiv 8o4>uA(TTa>j'] ' Unless 
defending a paradox.' e'treis in de- 
monstration are those unproved prin- 
ciples necessary to the existence of 
each separate science, just as d|t&j/uaTa 
are to the existence of reasoning in 
general (Post. Analytics, i. ii. 7), but 
6f<r(is in dialectic (the kind here 
meant) are paradoxical positions rest- 
ing on the authority of some great 
name ; Topics, i. xi. 4 : 0'<m 8e tanv 
inr6\rifyis irapcSo|o? rS>v yvupt/juav -rtvbs 
Kara <pt\o<ro(ptav, dtov, ZTI OVK (ffriv 



K. T. A. The above paradox (8n av- 
reipKTjs ij operrj irpbs TT)V (vSai/jLovlav) 
was one the Stoics afterwards ventured 
to maintain. Cicero (Paradoxa u.) 
defends it with rhetorical arguments 
arguing the greatness of Eogulus in 
his misfortunes, as though that were 
identical with his happiness. 

Kal ittpl fifv aura-i/] ' But enough 
on this subject, for it has been suffi- 
ciently discussed even in popular 
philosophies.' Cf. De Casio, i. ix, 1 6 : 
KO.} y&p KoBdirep iv rois (ynvK\lois <pi\o- 



HOIKilN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



359 



Trsp WJTV ' rptrog vriv o ceo 
//v sv 



<TO<PTI/JUUTI irepl ra OfTa wo\A.a/cis irpo- 
(paiverai raiis \6yots Sri rb Qtiov 
d//To/8\7jTov avceyncuov flvai tray rb 
fpSnov Kal aKp6rarov t on which Sim- 
plicius notes with regard to tyicvK\l- 
ois anva Kal f^tcrfpiKa KO\fiv ft<aOe. 
We may translate the passage, ' As 
in the_popular philosophical doctrines 
about things divine, it is often set 
forth in argument that the divine 
must necessarily be unchangeable, 
being the First and the Highest.' 
(There seems to be something wrong 
in the Greek text. Perhaps we should 
read ov for irac.) This evidently 
refers to no work of Aristotle's, but 
to the common unscientific discourses 
of men upon scientific subjects. So 
above, it is intimated that the insuffi- 
ciency of virtue for happiness had 
been the subject of commonplace dis- 
cussion. 'EyKVK\ios is used three 
times in the Politics of Aristotle to 
express 'that which belongs to the 
daily round of life.' Pol. i. vii. , 
TO fjKVK\ia SiaKorfifjiara, ' daily duties 
of servants ; ' cf. n. v. 4, T&J Sioucovias 
Ttty tyKVK\iovs : n. ix. 9,' xpWM u 8* 
ovffijs TTJS Opaffvrifros irpbs ovSev rwv 
<7/cvKAiW, ' Boldness is of no use for 
every-day life.' Hence the word comes 
to mean 'commonplace,' 'popular,' 
' unscientific.' Two other explanations 
need only be mentioned to be rejected : 
(i) Eustratius thinks that a poem of 
Aristotle's is meant, ending with the 
game line with which it began hence 
called Encyclic; (2) Julius Scaliger 
refers us to two books, 'EyKVK\iuv, a, 
ff, mentioned in the list of Diogenes 
Laertius, v. z6. 

7 rpiror 5" irotTjcrJ/xeOa] ' Third 
is the life of contemplation, about 



which our investigation shall be made 
hereafter.' This promise is fulfilled 
in Book x. We have here undoubted 
proof of an idea of method, of a con- 
structive whole; see Essay I. 

8 6 Se xp'7/ taT ' <r rtJ s xdpiv] ' But 
the life of gain is in a way compulsory, 
and it is plain that wealth is not that 
good we are in search of, for it is an 
instrument and means to something 
else.' With xpj/wmor^s understand 
jSfos. Lambinus finds in two MSS. 
XpwtTi<rr^s /Slos i.Sids ris fan. This 
is evidently a gloss. /Stcuos is to be. 
explained by comparing the parallel 
passage in Eth. Eudem. i. iv. ^ : 
i> 8e ruv /3iW, Kal roiv fi^v 



rrfs roiavrrjs 

etTj/uepi'os. oAA* us riay wa.yKa.iaiv 
ffirovdao/j.fy<av, olov ruv irepl ras re' 
reis (popriKas Kal r>v irepl 
Kal ras fiavavirovs rtev Se fls 
fvSaifj.ovtKTiv rarrofJifyaiv rpiwv ovrwv. 
' Now the lives of men being divided, 
and the one class laying no claim at 
all to this kind of good fortune, but 
being devoted to the obtaining the 
necessaries of life, as for instance those 
engaged with mean arts and lucre and 
sordid crafts ; while the others, which 
are ranked severally as in the enjoy- 
ment of Happiness, are three in 
number.' Here ovf is restored by 
the absolutely certain conjecture of 
Bonitz. /3icu($5 TU exactly corresponds 
with ofS" afupiffprrrovvruv trirov$ao- 
ntvuv, and so it is understood by the 
Paraphrast : Kal m /3/aioj. OCre 70? 
rb ayadbv SiuKft, ot/rf favv Soxei 
otci-Kfif. "OBevov KO\\OIS 4<rrli> tya- 
ffr6s ' o\iyoi yap t1\ovro irdtnjs rfjs fv 
fiicp <rirow5^s re\os ra xpfi/juxra tx*"'- 
It is to be taken in a passive, not an 



3GO 



NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



TO 



ra Trporspov 
yap a-yaTraraj. 

' V \ 

oyo* ?rpo aura 
Taura 



ya.p xa 
T?aj TI$ av u 
8' ouo' sxslVa* 



xaroi 



TO 



active sense. It is the opposite of 
(Kovffiof, meaning ' forced,' as in EfcA. 
in. i. 3. It implies that no one 
would devote himself, at the outset, 
to money-making, except of necessity, 
' parce qu'il faut vivre.' It assigns 
the reason for not discussing the life 
of gain. An additional and final 
reason is subjoined that wealth is a 
mere means. Other and mistaken ex- 
planations of this place are ( i ) that of 
Eustratius. 'The usurer is violent,' 
8n /Slav tvSf'iKvvrai irpbs rb KTij<ra<r0aj. 
The same has been adopted in the 
Latin translations, where ' violentus ' 
is used. In Dante's Inferno, Canto 
XI., is a complete commentary on 
this. Dante, who only knew Aristotle 
in the Latin, but studied him much, 
places usurers among ' the violent ' in 
hell, and gives learned reasons for 
this classification. (2) That of Gipha- 
tiius, who, rightly taking $ios to be 
the omitted word, interprets 'vita 
naturae contraria.' It is true that in 
several places /Stcuos is opposed to 
KOTO tpvcriv, and in such contexts 
means ' unnatural ; ' Phys. Ausc. nr. 
viii. 4, v. vi. 6 ; Politics, i. iii. 4. But 
without such a context, it cannot 
simply stand for irapa fyvaiv. Besides 
it is not easy to see why the life of 
gain, more than the life of ambition, 
should be called ' unnatural.' 

KO.I-T 01 faTae/3ATj'Tcu] The general 
meaning is : ' Although much has 
been said to show that each of these 
is the chief good, it has been unavail- 
ing.' But a doubt remains as to the 
precise force of KaTaf3tp\rjvTcu. Does 
it mean, ' have been wasted ? ' or 



simply ' have been laid down, pro- 
mulgated? ' This latter rendering is 
confirmed by DC Mundo, vi. 3 : Sib ical 
TU>V ita.Ka.ilav elirtiv nvts Trpo4\-)(6iiffa.v J 
&TI irdvra ravra. ecrrt OfS>i> TrAea .... 
TTJ iMfv 6eia Swdij.fi irpfirovra Kara- 
jSaAAdjuci/Oi \6yov, oil /uV rj7 -ye ova'ia. 
By a slight extension of meaning we 
have in the Politics, Kar 
(vm. ii. 6), Kor 

(via. iii. 1 1 ), ' ordinary, 
usual, branches of learning.' 

VI. Aristotle now proceeds to 
examine, or rather to attack, Plato's 
doctrine of the Idea of Good. To 
test the worth of this criticism be- 
longs to a consideration of the entire 
relation of Aristotle to the views of 
his master. See Essay III. The ar- 
guments used are as follows : ( i ) the 
Platonists allow that where there is 
an essential succession between two 
conceptions, these cannot be brought 
under a common idea but there is 
such between different manifestations 
of good, e. g., the useful is an essen- 
tially later conception. (2) If all 
good be one, it ought to fall under 
only one category, whereas it can be 
predicated under all. (3) If it were 
one, it would be treated of by only 
one science. (4) The Idea is, after 
all, only a repetition of the phenomena, 
for with these it is really identical. 
(5) Even the most essential and abso- 
lute goods seem incapable of being 
reduced to one idea. (6) It is more 
natural to consider good an analogous 
word, and to assign to it a nomina- 
listic, rather than a realistic, unity. 



V. VI.] 



H9IKON NIKOMAXEION I. 



361 



xa 



roug 



ra sjory. Oo 
pia. ys TTJ 



=i= 0* at/ i'ovo^ 



yap 



o 



(7) But however this may be, it is 
plain that the Idea can hare no rela- 
tion to practical life, and therefore it 
does not belong to ethics. 

I TO 5e /cafloAou aA.rjfleiaj'] ' But 
perhaps it were better to consider the 
Universal, and to ask what it means, 
although the inquiry is made disagree- 
able owing to the authors of the doc- 
trine of ideas being our friends. Still 
it is better and even incumbent on us, 
where the safety of truth is concerned, 
to sacrifice that which is nearest to 
us, especially as we are philosophers. 
For where both are dear, friends and 
the truth, it is our duty to prefer the 
truth.' Tb Ka&6\ov' the universal ' 
is, of course, Plato's idea of good. 
The Idea was the universal element 
in existence and in knowledge ; with- 
out it, according to Plato, the parti- 
cular could neither be, nor be known. 
Still the use of the word Ka.Q6\ov here 
is remarkable, for it does not at all 
distinctively belong to Plato's system. 
Aristotle also held the necessary ex- 
istence of universals, only more as a 
nominalist, saying that they were 
Kara. iroAA.cJi' (predicable of particu- 
lars), not Ttapa ra ToAAe (existing 
independent of particulars). Cf. Post. 
Anal. i. xi. i : Eftij nev ofiv etvai fj / 
Ti Trapa TO iroXAtt OVK avdjicr) e ax6- 
Si|(S effrai, elvat fjLtv rot ev Kara iroA- 
\<av a\T)6es tlirf'tv avayKT) ' ov yap tarai 
rb Ka06\ov kv /j.rj rovro rj. 

Kaiirtp irpo<raj"rous] The personal 
feeling expressed by Aristotle towards 
Plato, here as elsewhere, is in the 



highest degree cordial. But in the 
arguments used there is something 
captious. 

Kal ra ot/c?a avatptiv] Cf. Thuc. I. 
41 : eirel Kal ra oifceta xejpoc riQtinai 
q>i\ovtiKias evKO. rqs avr'iKa. 

Sffiov irporifj.av rrjv a^deiav] This 
is Plato's own sentiment about Ho- 
mer; Bepub. x. p. 595 c, oAA' ov po 
ye rys a\i)0fias ri/^ifreos avJip. He al- 
so applies the word Strtoi/ in a si- 
milar context, Sepub. n. p. 368 B: 
SeSoiKa yap fjc^i ovS" oaiav p Kapaye- 

v6fifVOV SlKOlOffVVTI KaKTiyOpOVfJ.fyT) O.W- 

ayopfveiv, K.T.\. 

z. ol Se K0p.iffa.vrts KaTevicevaov] 
' Now they who introduced this 
opinion used not to make ideas of 
things of which they predicated 
priority and posteriority, and hence 
they constructed no idea of numbers.' 

KoniffavTts] Cf. Top. vm. v. 6, KO/U'- 
ovTfs oAAoTpta? Sdfas. The words 
56av ravrrji' and 4foiovf ISear seem 
used, as if purposely, to express an 
arbitrary and fictitious system. With 
the above cf. Metaph. n. iii. 10: en 
tv aits TO Tcpfatpov KO\ 5trrep6v tffnv, 
ov% ol6v re rb eTrl rovrtav elvai ri irapa. 
ravra ' olov el irpcarrj rS>v apidfj.wt> TJ 
Svds, OVK effn ns apidpbs irapa ra elSi) 
r<av aoiQfuav. Eth. Eudtm. i. viii. 8 : 
en ev Zaois inrdpxet rb irporepov Kal 
vffrepov, OVK eon KOLVOV n irapa ravra 
Kal rovro \oipiffr 6v ' eirj yap av n rov 
irpiarov irporeoov. flporepov yap rb 
KOIVOV Kal xfapurrbv Sid rb ocatpoi/jucVou 
rov KOIVOV dvaipeiffdat rb rpiarov. Ofov 
el rb Siir\dfftov irp^rov riav iroAAoirAa- 



362 



NIKOMAXEK1N I. 



[CHAP. 



oux 



TO u(rrspov 



TO 



v ot$ TO Trporspov xa 
owds Ttov apiQ/xtov JSsav xctT- 
xai sv TiS ri eo~T* xa< ev 



TO> TTO/O> xa< V TO> 



TTpOTSpOV TY 



T/ TO 



xa 



oucrio. 



TOU 



T/ * 



OiX xcu <ruja/3j3>3xo / T< TOU ot/TOf, OJQ-T' oux av ng xoivvj 



rio 



ffiwv, OVK evSe^erai rb iroA.AoirAeia'toj' 
rJ) KOJJ^ Karrijopoiifjievov flvcuxvpurTdf 
t-ffrai "yap TOV 5iir\affiov irp6Tepov, ft 
<rvfj.l3a.ivfi rb KOivbv elvai rV IS tea/. 
Aristotle often remarks about Plato, 
that he distinguished with regard to 
number, making two species of it, 
mathematical number, and transcen- 
dental or ideal number. We may ask 
of which kind of number it is here 
asserted, that it contains priority and 
posteriority, and therefore admits of 
being brought under no one idea? 
The answer is to be found, Arist. 
Metaph. xn. vi. 7 : Ot M" o$v d/j.<t>ore- 
pous tyaalv elvai TOI/S dpiBpoiis, rbj/ fj.kv 
t\oina rb irpArepot/ Kal vwrepov Tots 
ISeas-, rbv Se /ioOvj^oTticbv TrapA ras 
ISe'aj. It is the ideal numbers of 
which Aristotle says that they stand 
in essential and immutable succession 
to and dependence on each other, and 
therefore can be brought under no 
common idea. Hence the mention of 
the 5ws and the 8rX<rioi' in the 
above-quoted passages, which refer to 
the Platonic doctrine of the 5u&j 
d6pt<TTOs, which by union with the one 
becomes TJ irptin-i) 5tas, the first actual 
number. This 8uas is itself the first 
idea of all number, there can be no 
idea of it. (Cf. Met. xn. vii. 18 
sqq.) In some cases the ideas are 
identical with the manifestations of 
those ideas. Cf. Metaph. vi. xi. 6: 
teal ruv rets iSe'as \ry6rruv ol tt% 
avToypa.nH.fyi/ ffy 8i/a5a, of 8e rb eTSos 



TO tTSoj Kal o5 TO fTSoy, dtov 8ua8o Kal 
TO eTSos SvdSos. 

vapacpvdSi 6Vros] ' For this may be 
compared to an offshoot and accident 
of substance.' Cf. Ehet. i. ii. 7, <TV(JL- 
fialvfi TTji/ pr)ropiK.r]v olov irapa(pves ri 
rrjs 5ia\e/cTi/c^s elvat. Aristotle argues 
that the relatively good (iv r$ irp6* 
TI) must be a sort of deduction from 
the substantively good (ev T< ri eff-ri), 
therefore posterior to it in thought, 
and therefore incapable of being 
brought under a common idea. 

3 ?TJ 4-irel Taya6bt> r<? &VTI Srj\ov 
n&vri] 'Again, since the good is 
predicated in just as many ways as 
existence is, it plainly cannot be a 
common universal, or a unity, else 
it would not have been predicated in 
all the categories, but in one alone.' 
Good cannot be one, because it is 
predicated in all the categories. This 
is a logical, not a metaphysical test of 
Plato's doctrine. That Aristotle made 
ten categories that these were me- 
physical summa genera, or an ulti- 
mate classification of all existence, is 
rather a deduction from his philoso- 
phy than what he had actually ar- 
rived at. The Categories with Ari- 
stotle were a classification of the 
modes of predication, and the number 
ten seems by no means fixed. The 
so-called book of the ' Categories ' is 
in all probability not from the 
hand of Aristotle himself, but it 
shows a tendency in the Peripatetic 
school to merge the logical into 



VI.] 



H01K&N NIKOMAXEmN I. 



363 



ovn (xa} yap sv TCO TI Xsy=Ta/, oloj/ o 5soj xa} o vou, xa} 
V TCO TTOJCO a< ap=ra<, xat It/ TO) 7roo~a> TO jasTpiov, xa} ev 
Tai Trpo'^ T< TO ^p>2<rijaov, xa} Iv p^po'va) xaipo'^, xa} sv TO'TT<O 
oioura xa} eVspa To<auTa), S^Xov >V oux av s'/?j xoivo'v T/ 
xaQo'Xou xa< sv * ou yap av eXeysT' sv Trcx-fraig raig xaTrjyo- 
pioug, aXX' ev j,/a jao'v^. Tt 8' ITTS} Ttoi/ xaTa 
xai 7r/o~TV5jar], xai TCOV aya^tov aTravTcoi/ ^v av 



' vvv 
oov xa<pou 
xa< ToO 



so~< 



xai Ttov 7TO 



ev Tpo 
is 8' av 



p.v aTpixy sv 
/^ TI TTOTS xa} jSouAot/- 5 



Tat 



u el$ xa< 6 auTO Xo'yo^ s 



aAXa 



awTOxao~Tov, ei'/rsp ev TS auTooivQpfOTrco xat av- 

6 TOU ai/SpcoTrou. y 
' ' TJ aya- 

so-Ta/,.6 
. TT<- 7 



s 



evai 



TO 
S' so/xao~iv oi 



TOU 
Aeyeiv Trgp 



a metaphysical classification. Cf. 
Topics, i. iv. J2. 

4 There are many sciences of the 
good, therefore it cannot be reduced 
to unity. This argument is certainly 
unsatisfactory if applied to Plato's 
point of view. Plato would say dia- 
lectic is the science of the Idea of 
good, and in this all other sciences 
find their meeting-point. Even of the 
irpaKr'bv aya96i> it might be said that 
according to Aristotle's own account 
it falls (in all its manifestations, whe- 
ther as means or ends) under the one 
supreme science Politics. 

5 6 airopfiiTeie 8' &v TJS i^(ni- 
pov] ' Now one might be puzzled to 
say what they mean by an "absolute" 
thing if for instance in man and 
absolute-man there is one and the 
same conception of man. For qua 
man they will not differ. If so, the 
same will apply to good. Nor is it 
any use to say that the absolute good 
will be more good by being eternal, 



since what is ever so old is not whiter 
than that which lasts but a day.' 
Aristotle brings against the idea an 
accusation which he has also used in 
the Metaphysics (i. ix._i ), that it only 
multiplies phenomena, as it exhibits 
the same law or conception as they. 
He adds to it a captious objection, 
that it is no use to say the absolute 
differs from the conditional, in being 
eternal, since length of duration does 
not constitute a distinction between 
identical qualities ; as if length of 
duration were the same as eternity. 
Cf. Eth. vi. iii. 2 ; and see Essay III. 
p. 1 60. 

7 iridavtaTepov 5' Soffet] ' But the 
Pythagoreans seem to give a more 
probable account of it, placing unity 
in the row of goods ; whom Speusip- 
pus too, it must be observed (8^7), 
appears to follow.' We have to deal 
here with the subtle differences be- 
tween the Greek schools of metaphy- 
sical philosophy. There came in 



364 



H9IKHN NIKOMAXEK1N I. 



[CHAP. 



Ti6svrss ev TYJ Tibv ayoiQwv 

e7raxoAou5Sj<ra< Soxs?. 



TO ev' 



aXAa 



oT<; STJ xa) 



TOUTUIV 



succession, first, theEleatic principle, 
that ' the One ' is the only really 
existent. Second, the Megarian de- 
velopment of this, ' the One is iden- 
tical with the good.' Third, Plato's 
adoption of this with modifications, 
the One is the idea, opposed to plu- 
rality, or phenomena ; the highest idea, 
and most essential, is that of the 
Good ; this is transcendental, self- 
existent, the cause of existence to 
phenomena, and also of our knowing 
them ; phenomena, however, have still 
a conditional existence, dependent on 
the idea (/itrex 61 T *)s ovfftas). Fourth, 
opposed to Plato, and here contrasted 
with him, we find the Pythagorean 
doctrine which places ' the One ' 
among the various exhibitions of 
good, whether as causes of good, or 
manifestations of it. The Pytha- 
gorean system was said to be devoid 
of dialectic (5aAeKTiio}s oil /tTe?xoi', 
AT. Metaph. i. vi. 7.) We do not find 
in them anything like ' critical ' phi- 
losophy, nor any rationale of cogni- 
tion. They seem content to have 
seized on a few principles, the con- 
ception of harmony, order, and pro- 
portion in the world, &c. Their sys- 
tem, however, had a definite bearing, 
and part of this seems to have been 
the ignoring any transcendental prin- 
ciple, any principle otherwise than as 
exhibited in phenomena. In Metaph. 
xi. vii. 10, we find Aristotle repudi- 
ating a doctrine which Speusippus 
shared with the Pythagoreans, namely, 
that good is rather a result of things 
than their cause. Speusippus, nephew 
of Plato and successor to him as head 
of the Academy, seems, after the 
death of his master, to have mani- 
fested in several points a Pythagorean 
leaning (see Essay III. p. 168). It is 



mentioned, Metaph. xm. iv. 10, that 
of those who held the doctrine of 
ideas, some considered ' the One ' as 
identical with ' the good,' others not 
as identical, but as an essential ele- 
ment. If the one be identified with 
the good, it follows that multeity, or, 
in other words, matter, will be the 
principle of evil. To avoid making 
' the many ' identical with evil, some 
Platonists denied the identity of the 
one with the good. Of this section 
Speusippus was leader. He accord- 
ingly adopted a Pythagorean formula, 
saying that ' the one ' must be ranked 
among things good. In the present 
place Aristotle must be regarded as 
not really entering on the question. 
His own metaphysical system stood 
quite beside all these mentioned. But 
he does not enter here upon a metaphy- 
sical consideration of the good, as not 
belonging to ethics. He merely states 
objections to Plato's doctrine, and in 
a cursory way alleges a primd facie 
preference (iriBavtarfpov lolna-Giv \t- 
yftv) for the Pythagorean theory, ac- 
cording to which the good was not 
transcendental, or separate from phe- 
nomena. 

8 CtAAO Iff pi /xec TOVTWV &\\OS fffTQ) 

\6yos] ' But let us put off to another 
occasion the discussion of these ques- 
tions,' i.e. the whole subject of the 
good and its relation to unity to 
existence to the world. This is, in 
short, the scope of Aristotle's entire 
Metaphysics. We need not confine 
the reference of irtpl rovrtav to the 
Pythagoreans and Speusippus, or 
refer it, with some commentators, to 
the books mentioned in the list of 
Diogenes (v. 25), irtpl ruv 
a', irtpl TTJJ 2irfvffiirirov Kal 
TOVS, a'. 



VI.] 



HOIKON N1KOMAXEIQN I. 



365 



sVro) Xo'yo, rmg 8s 



aya'J 



rig 



ou 



TO j 
os xa sv stoo ra xa aura /roxojasva 



xai 



, ra os 7rotvjr/xa rourcov ^ <uAaxr<xa 
raw SVOLVTIWV xaiAur/xa o*a^jraSra Xsys(r5a< xai TOOTTOV 

ouv or* 8/rra> Asyoir' av raya$a, xa/ ra 9 
xa5' ayra, Qarepa 6s S<a raura. p^a>pVavTs^ ouv a^-o 
<o=?u'ju,tt>v ra xa^' aura <rxs\}/a)jU,Qa si Xsysra* xara 
Josav. xa6' aura Ss 7ro?a 6snj ri av 5 ^ o<ra xa) 10 

6/coxsra/, olov ro <$>povs7v xa) opav xa) vJ 
xaj rift-ai ; raura ^ap sJ xa; 0*' aTiAo ri 
r>t/ xa#' aura aya^aJv Qsnj T/f ctv. ^ ou8' 
ouOsv 7rXji/ r^j J2s'a^; cocrrs jtxara/ov s<rra< ro s?3o. si Ss 
xai raur' so~ri ra;v xa^' aura, rov rayaSou Xo'yov sv aVa- 
<r/v avToi$ TOV aurov e(j,$>aivs(rQai 8si50"s/, xaSai 
xa< \f/*j.jau6/to rov rrjj; Xsuxo'r->jro^. Tigris Ss xa* 
xa) ij'8oj/7J srspoi xat %ux.$>epovTS$ ol hoyoi raurr^ TTJ a 



TS Se Aex^^o'"' SAXof] ' But 
against my arguments an objection 
suggests itself, namely, that the 
Platonic theory was not meant to 
apply to every good (5io rb /tr) ircpl 
jrav-rbs ayaBnv rovs \6yovs tlpj\aQai), 
but that under one head are classified 
those goods that are sought and loved 
in and for themselves (icaff aura), 
while things productive of these, or in 
any way preservative of them, or pre- 
ventive of their opposites, are spoken 
of as " secondary goods " (5a TaOro), 
and in another fashion.' It seems 
best to refer roi/s \6yovs to the Pla- 
tonic theory. The words naff- ev 
eTSos are used not in the peculiarly 
Platonic sense, ' under one idea,' but 
in the more common and also Aristo- 
telian sense, ' under one species.' 

10 ff ou5' &\\o eI5os] 'Or is 
none of these, nor anything except 
the idea, to be called an absolute 
good? in which case the class good 
will be devoid of content and indivi- 



duals.' The Platonic idea was meant 
to be not only an iSea, or absolute 
existence, transcending the world of 
space and time, but also an elSos, or 
universal nature, manifesting itself in 
different individuals. This latter 
property, Aristotle argues, will be 
lost if we keep denying of different 
attainable goods, even those that 
seem most plainly so, that they are 
goods in themselves. 

1 1 (t>povfiffeus'] ' Thought.' The 
word is used in a general sense as the 
substantive of Qpovfiv (cf. Eth. vn. 
xii. 5), and not in its technical sense 
as restricted to ' practical wisdom.' 

TJ/XTJJ Se ayaOa] ' Now honour, 
thought, pleasure, exhibit distinct and 
differing laws when viewed as goods.' 
The same instances are given below, 
i. vii. 5, of goods sought for their own 
sake. Obviously here Aristotle is not 
doing full justice by the question he 
has started what the 'different 
laws ' of good in these objects call for, 



3G6 



NIKOMAXEIilN I. 



[CHAP. 



aoux scrriv apa TO ayaSov xoivw n xara/x/av iSsav. aX?\.a 
7rw$ 8rj XsygTa< ; ou yap soixs roTj 75 aVo rvffl 
MOI$. a'XX' apa ye rut a<>' si/o sli/a/, vj ?rpo si/ 
|(rt)i/TXsiV, ^ jU.a7v.Xoj/ xaT 5 a'vaXoy/av ; a) yap ev (ra')ju.ar< 
xa< aXXo 8?) g'v aXXco. aXX* 
TO i/ut/* e^axp<|3ouv ya^ 6;rp 
av enj C^iXoo-o^/a^ oJxsioVspov. 6j.o/co^ 8s xa< 

ei yap xa< eernv sv T; TO xoivy xaT^yopoujas 
rj ^copJo~To'v TJ auTo xa#' aoTo', 8>]Xov o>^ oux av 
g XTT;TOV av3pa)7ra>' i/5v 8s TO/OUTO'V T< 



rara 



14 Ta/ 



TO. 



8s TO> So^siev av fi&nov slvai yvwpt^siv 

xal TrpaxTa Ttov ayaStov* olov yap Trapa- 
8s/yjU.a TOUT' IVOVTSJ jU.aX.Xov eJo~o'jU,s6a xa< Ta >] e ]U.7v aya^cx, 
xav sl8<ojU.ev, eTriTsu^o'jU-sSa avTwv. TriQavoTrjTa fjt.lv oSv 
sp^e/ Tiva o Xo'yo^, so/xs 8s TaTf S7ri(rrrjfjioc.is 
7rao~a< yap ayaQou T/VOJ e<<eju,gvai xa) TO ev8ss 



a subtle inyestigation ; whereas there 
is here a summary assertion. We 
might urge, on the other hand, that 
honour is not an instance of an abso- 
lute good (cf. i. T. 5), that pleasure 
and thought really exhibit the same 
law of good as being both ivtpyfiai. 
But Aristotle here partly trifles, and 
partly dogmatizes. He would, of 
course, refer us to metaphysics for the 
question in point. 

II iz OVK Zffriv avahoylav] 
' Good, therefore, is not something 
generic under one idea. But how 
then is the term used? For it does 
not resemble accidental" coincidences 
of name. Shall we say then that it 
is so used because all goods spring 
from one source, or because they all 
teud to one end, or rather that it is on 
account of an analogy between them ? ' 
'Ofuavvna, answers to ' equivocal' words 
in logic. The so-called ' Categories ' 
of Aristotle begin 'Ofj,<ai>vpa \tyfrai 
>v ovo^-a fj.6vov KOIV&V. A nominalistic 



explanation of the general conception 
of good is here substituted provi- 
sionally for the realism of Plato. 

13 &A.A'Ja-<BS friTeiTai] 'But perhaps 
we should dismiss these questions for 
the present, for to refine about them 
belongs more properly to another kind 
of philosophy. So too about the idea. 
Even if there is any one good uni- 
versal and generic, or transcendental 
(\tnpiffr6v} and absolute, it obviously 
can neither be realised nor possessed 
by man, whereas something of this 
latter kind is what we are inquiring 
after.' Cf. Eth. x. ii. 4. The whole 
force of the present chapter is con- 
tained in this sentence. The Idea is 
not irpMtr6v rt, and therefore does not 
belong to ethics. The concluding 
paragraphs of the chapter are occupied 
with proving that the Idea is not 
available even as a model (irapaStiyjjia) 
for practical life. 

1 5 &/5's] Cf. Pol. vii. xvii. 1 5 : 
iraffa yap T'XT? Kol waiSefa rb irpuff- 



VI. VII. ] H61KHN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



367 



<rai 



yvuxrw ayroO. xairoi 
rovg Ts%vira$ ayvoiiv xai 



TH 73- ;^ fc, 

^ ' V_ V <N\ \ / > i . /\ ' C / 

T=IS/ o-jx suXoyov. aTropov 0= xai Ti a>9 ^ r /5 r ," sra ' u^a"- l6 ' 
Tsxra>v Trpog 

}(X.TplXWTsprj$ 



TTyV 



yap o*j3s 



TTJV TGU<) * xa.y "sxaa-Tov yap larpsvet. xai 

jUV TO'JTOIV 7T/ TOCToOYoV J$7^r5a). 

IIa?uv 8' 7ravX5a>|,v eVi TO ^VJTOUJU,VOV ayaSov, T/y 
TTOT' av snj. QOLIVSTOLI |U,v yap aXXo v aAXr, Trpa^si xai 



XeTirov /3ow\eTcu TTJS Qvtrews ovoirAij- 
po/'. 

1 5 1 6 Kdlroi refleajteVos] ' And 
yet it is not likely that all artists 
should be ignorant of, and never so 
much as inquire after, so great an aid, 
if really existing. But it is hard to 
see in what a weaver or carpenter 
will be benefited with regard to their 
respective arts by knowing the abso- 
lute good ; or how one is to become a 
better doctor or general by having 
contemplated the absolute Idea.' It 
has been objected that Aristotle fixes 
on too mean specimens of the arts, 
that he might have spoken differently 
if he had adduced the fine arts. But 
the question is, whether for practical 
life the Idea, that is, a knowledge of 
the absolute, could be made available ? 
This forms a great point of divergence 
between Plato and Aristotle. The 
latter seems to regard the Idea as, an 
object of the speculative reason alone, 
something metaphysical and standing 
apart; and between the speculative 
and practical powers of man he sets a 
gulf. Plato, on the other hand, speak- 
ing without this analytical clearness, 
seems to think of the idea as an object 
for the imagination, as well as the 
reason, as being an ideal as well as an 



idea. In this its many-sided character 
he would make it affect life, as well as A*-* 1 
knowledge ; for by contemplation of it 
the mind would become conformed to 
it. Cf. Eepub. TO., and see Essay 

in. p. i 53 . 

VII. I ird^iv 5' 4iravf\0<a/4fv &r{\ 
' But let us return to the good we are 
in search of, and ask what is its 
nature.' rb fyrrovntvov is emphatic; 
it distinguishes the irpaicTbv aya66t> of 
ethics, here ' sought for,' from the 
transcendental supreme good of meta- 
physics. Failing to obtain a satisfac- 
tory answer to his question, either 
from the common opinions of men, or 
from the philosophers, Aristotle starts 
anew, by asserting that though the 
conception of good may vary ' in each 
art and action,' yet it has this unvary- 
ing characteristic, that it is the ' end.' 
From this starting-point the argument 
easily comes round to the position 
already anticipated (/irra/3aiVwj> MI 6 
\6yos es ravrbv cuplicrcu), that the 
trpaicrbv aya06v is identical with the 
r^Aos T Aetov, or end-in-itself of action, 
and with this basis, by a series of 
a priori principles, some already 
enunciated by Plato and others pecu- 
liar to his own system, Aristotle de- 



368 



IieiKilN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 



[CHAP. 



Y] ' aAXo yap sv larpixj) xat (rTpotrrffixy xoci TOLI$ Xo<- 
,' Ojao/a>. T/ ouv excarTTJs Taya$o'v ; ^ oS pp<v ra AO/TTO. 

u ; TOUTO 3' ev larpixy fj.lv uylsia, ev 
8e V/XTJ, ev olxo8o|iuxT] 8* oix/a, ev aATuo 8' ctXXo, ev a 
8e TTpa^si xoii 7rpoaip<rsi TO reXog' TOUTOU yap evexa ra 
AoiTTa TrpoiTTOuori TravTSg. w<rr ei TI rtbv TrpaxTtov ctTrav- 
rtov lor* Te>N.O, TOUT' av ei'rj TO TrpaxTov ayaQo'v, e< 6s 
TauTa. jasTa^a/vaiv 8^ o^.o'yoj eig 
TOUTO 8' 



3 XTO.I. TOUTO T< jaaov ao~a7]o-aj Trstparsov. STTS 
8s TrXeift* QaivsTOii TO. TeXvj, TOUTCOV 8' aipoufAeQa. TIVOC. 8<' 
gYepa, olov TT^OUTOV ayXou^ xa< oXa> Ta opyava, 8^Xov a>j 
owx SO~T< TravTa TeXsia' TO 8' oipurTov Te'Xe/o'v T< tyotlvs- 
TCU. WO~T' eJ /xev eo~Tiv ev TI jao'vov TS'X/OV, TOUT' av ei'rj 
TO VToujttevov, e 8e 7T/\e/a>, TO TeXe<oVaTov TOUTOIV. TeXe;- 
orspQV 8e "hsyo[j,sv TO xa0' awTO 8<a>xTov TOU 8/ srspov xal 
TO jOtTjSeTTOTe 81' aXXo aipsTov TCOV xai xafi' auTa xa 8ia 
Tou6' alpsrcbv, xai aTrXtoj 8^ TeXeiov TO xaS' awTo otlpsrov 
ae< xai iuSsVoTe 81' aXXo. TO<OUTOV 8' 



4 , 



velopes his conception of happiness or 
the chief good, (i) It is T'\eioi>; (2) 
Also, it must be atfrop/cw; (3) It 
must be found in the "Ep^oi' of man. 
(4) This^Ep-yoi' is a rational and moral 
life ; (5) We must conceive of it 'in 
actuality,' in other words, as 'conscious 
life ; ' ^ We must add the condition 
of conformity to its own proper law ; 
(7) And also the external condition of 
sufficient duration and prosperity. 

3 oliw irA.oOTOi' ouA.oi/s Kal S\o>s TCI 
opycu>a] ' As for instance, wealth, 
flutes, and instruments in general.' 
Wealth is a mere means (cf. i. v. 8). 
AuXoi seems a stock example with 
Aristotle of the instruments to an 
art. Cf. De Animd, i. iii. z6, where 
he argues against the doctrine of the 
migration of souls, saying, you might 
as well speak of the carpenter's art 
migrating into flutes : irapa.Tr\-<]tnov 



ycty) T^IV fiev rf^vrjv \pri<rQa.i TOIS opyd- 

vois, T^JC 5e \f>v\^iv rip ffcaf^art. Cf. 

Xenophon, (Econ. i. 10, where Socrates 

says : Scnrep -ye av\ol rf fjLtv ^iritrra- 

fitvcp djiois \6yov av\tiv 

r<f 8e /j.)) ^iriffraf^fvcf ov 

&Xp'to"roi \lOoi, (I (i.$i airo55o?Td yt 



4 Kal airXws iAAo] ' And therefore 
we call that absolutely of the nature 
of an end which is desirable in and for 
itself always, and never in order to 
anything else.' The conception of 
ends was not fully developed in Plato ; 
at the beginning of the second book 
of the Bepublic, those are said to be 
the highest goods which are desired 
both for themselves and for their re- 
sults (cf. Eth. i. vi. 10). Aristotle's 
conception of the practical chief good 
is that while it is solely an end, it yet 
sums up the results of all means. 
Hence he adds that it is not only 
-rf\(iov, but ai/rap/ces. These two 



VII.] 



H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



369 



vovrog 



zlvai 8oxsr TauTr ; v yap alpoupsQa ae\ 8<' a'jrr^v xai 
81' aXAo, npyv 8s xa\ r]oovr|V xa] voov xa) TraVat/ 
alpovpsQa [j.lv xa} Oi' aura. (pTrjQsvos yap aTrojSai- 
/jasS' av sxao-Tov aurtov), a/pouja=5a 8s xai 
ja rourrov 



81' aXXo. 



s alpiirai rourcov p^apjv, 
8s xat sx r% aurapxs/a^ TO 6 



oux auTO) jaova> TJ 

-/ xa) TSXVOIS xot.} yuvat.ixi . 



8ox=7. TO 8' aurapjfsg 

$/ov /AovtoT^v, aXXa xai 

xoii oT^cog roig Qfaoig xcti 7roX/Ta<f, ITTSIO^ 4^o-" sf TTO^JT/- 

XO^ a.vQp(O7TO$. TOUTOiV 8! XTJTTTSOg' OpO^ Ti^ * STTSXTSiVOVTi 7 

yap ETT) TOU^ yovstg xai rov$ aTroyovouc xai TOJV (J>/Acov 
TOU^ Qfaous slg aTrs/pov TTposierw. aXXa TOUTO /xev slerau- 

5i 7r/0-X7TTOV, TO 8' a6VapX^ TlQsfMV [J.OVOl>[J.VOV OLlpS- 

TOV TTOiii TOV Qiov xou fj,rfisvo$ Iv8sa' TOIOUTOV 8s T^V su8af- 
jttoyi'av olofjLsQa. sivon. eri 8s TrdvTtov alpsTwrdryv 

j.r)<j[j,vr)v, <ruvapiQ[j,ov[j,ivriv 8s 85j 
a TOU eAa^/o~Toy TOJV aya^cov uTrspop^ yap ct 

yWSTQLl TO 7TpOO~Ti5j,=VOV, a-yaScoV OS TO fJiSl^f)V 

pov as/. TAs<ov 875 TI tyaweTati xai aurapxss 13 su 



qiialities are attributed to the chief 
good in the Philcbus of Plato, p. 20 c : 
rV Ta700oO fj.olpav irdrepov avdyicr] 
re\eov 17 ft); TeAeov eivat ; irayTcoz' 8^ 
wou TeAecoTaTOf, 5 ScoKpares. Ti 8e; 
iKavbv ra.ya.d6v; Trias yap ov ; K.T.\. 

6 rb 8" aSrapKes Sj'flpwjros] 'We 
do not mean " all-sufficiency " to apply 
to the individual alone leading a soli- 
tary life, but to one living in the 
midst of parents and children and in 
general friends and fellow-citizens, 
since man is by nature social.' The 
Greek oy/< avry fj.6voi aAAct wal 
Yoi/euo-j is defective in the grammar ; 
the meaning apparently is, that avrdp- 
Keta does not imply isolation. 

7 ruin-lav 8e tvurKerrioy] ' But of 
these we must take some limit ; for if 



one extends the circle to parents and 
descendants and the friends of a man's 
friends, it will go on to infinity. But 
this point we must consider hereafter." 
Man, as a social being, having been 
represented as the centre of a circle, 
Aristotle adds we must fix some 
limit to this circle within which his 
avrdpKfta. is to radiate. He promises 

- to return to the question. But the 
promise is unfulfilled; see Essay I. 
p. 30. Among the definitions of 
happiness given in the Rhetoric, I. v. 3, 
is AvrdpKfia O>TJS. 

8 ert 5e irdvrwv def] ' Moreover 
we think it (ol6fj.e6a) the most desir- 
able of all goods, provided it be not 
(juij) reckoned as one \ among them ; 
but if it were so reckoned, it is 

B 



370 



IIOIKON NIKOMAXEIflN I. 



[CHAP. 



9 TOJV TTpaxrtov ouo~a 
[JLOVIOLV TO apKTTOV AeyeiV 6jU.oXoyoujU.svov TI (a/vsTa/, 
8' svapyeVrep ov TI SO~TIV STI Xsp^Qvjva/. ra^a 
' av TOUT', si Xijc^Qsivj TO spyov TOU av5pa>- 
TTOU. coo~7rsp yap auAvjT'JJ xai ayaXju/xTOTrofa) xai TravTi 
re^vfrji, xai oXa> cov SO"TIV spyov TI xai TrpS.%-ig t Iv 
TO) spya) Soxs? TayaSov sTvai xai TO su, OUTCO 



plain that it would become more de- 
sirable with the addition of the slight- 
est good, for the addition constitutes 
a preponderance of goods, and the 
greater good is always the more de- 
sirable.' This remark points out the 
difference between the Te\eiov Kal 
atjrapKfs aya66v and any other thing 
to which the word ' best ' can ever be 
applied. The all-comprehensive and 
supreme good, happiness, is indeed 
the best, but not as being really 
placed on a level with other goods, 
or ranked among them ; not as 
being 'best of the lot," but as in- 
cluding all the lot in itself, so that 
beside it there is no good left that 
could possibly be added to it. The 
Paraphrast gives exactly this meaning 
to the passage, rendering the word 
ffvvapi6fj.ovfj.tvriv by ffvarotxov rots 
a\\ots ayaBois. Kal el ffvffTOixpv avT^v 
TOIS &\\ois iroiT]<rofjifv ayaOots, $ave- 
pbv STI, 6i irpoffB'fiffo/j.ei' TI TWV &\- 
\cav avrrj, atpeTwrepav iroffiffoii.fi>, Kal 

OVTUIS OVK tlV eftj aVT^I Tb &KpOV TWV 

alpfT&v. And that the above was the 
meaning of Aristotle is shown by the 
author of the Magna Moralia (i. ii. 7), 
who starts the question : IIws Tb 



KO! avTov ffwa.pi6fjiovij.tvov ; to which 
he answers : 'AXA* &TOTTOV. rb yap &pt- 
ffrov tiffiS-fi IffTi Ti\os T^Kftov, Tb 5e 
Ti\fiov T^Xos us air\ws tlirt'iv ovGtv &/ 
&\\i> o~6titv tlvai fj (vSaiuofia, tav 8r) 
tb /3e\TtffTOv ffKOircav Kal avTb ffvia- 
pi6fj.ys, aurb avrov <tffrcu f$4\Tiov avTb 
yap /SeATicrroy &TTCU. In other words, 



the end is the sum of the means, and 
therefore cannot be compared with the 
means, for that would only be com- 
paring it with itself. The whole con- 
sists of parts, and cannot be called 
the best of the parts. Nor can it be 
made better by the addition of one of 
the parts, than it was in itself. The 
present passage is quoted by Alex- 
ander Aphrodis. ad Ar. Topica, m. 
2, (Brandis's Scholia, 27 qb, 1. 17) to 
illustrate the point that knowledge 
plus the process of learning cannot be 
called better than knowledge by it- 
self, 8n Tb fnavOdveiv Sia T^V &ncrr^- 
/j.r)v alpovfifda. 'AAA.' oiiSe evoai/j.ov'ia 
JU.ETO TWV apfTwv alpeTWTepa TTJS fvSai- 
fjLoviaS p.6vifs, tirtl tv TTJ eiiSai/xoi'ia 
Kal al aptTal ov yap ffwa- 
TO?S irepit^ovffl Tiva TO. irepie- 
\6fjifva far' avriuv, as tv Tip irpwru TWV 
'HOiKwv typ-fiOy. The word ffvvapiO- 
fi.f?ff0at in the sense of ' to be reckoned 
as one of a class,' ' to be placed in the 
same scale," occurs Bhet. L vii. 3 : 
avdyKri Td Tf n\flu, TOV tvbs Kal TWV 
f l \aTT6vwv, ffvvapi6fj.ovfi.4vov TOV tvbs rj 
TWV t\aTT6vwv, /J.f"tov ayaBbv elvai. 
' The more numerous must be a 
greater good than the fewer, if they 
be placed in the same scale of com- 
parison with it.' Eustratius takes the 
passage to mean that 'happiness 
would be the most desirable of all 
things, even if not joined with other 
goods, though with any addition it 
would be a for tiori better.' This con- 
tradicts the very principle that Ari- 
stotle wished to establish, that ' best ' 



VII. ] 



IIGIKftN NIKOMAXEI&N I. 



371 



OiV 



spyov aurov. TTOTS- 1 1 
sa-riv spy a riva xa\ 



' apyov TTS^UXSV ; 
KOI 



SlTTSp (7Tl Tl 
&OV OVV TSXTOVOC fJ.Iv Xa} (TXUTSOJl 

* I . 

avQpwTrov 8' ou8sv IO-TJJ/, 
o^^aX^tou xa} %ipog xa) 

fj.opi(uv Qai'vzTai n 'spyov, OUTCO xa} dvQpcaTrou Trapa 
Travra ravra S=nj T/ av spyov n ri ouv 8rj TOUT' av snj 

^ ^ ^ ^** N S* A / \ *s 

TO fj.sv yap (jyv xoivov sivai Qalvsrai xai Toig <>u- 
riirai bs TO 'itiiov. dopi 

.j, ._ ~ i " * 

xai a'j^Tixr^v (^COYJV. sTro^vt] 8s alo~Qir)Tixri Tig av s/Vj, 

S; VVr ' > \ & \ n 4. v 

T^siTTSTai 8>j vrpaxTixr) Tig TOV Xo'yov SVOVTOJ. / TOIJTOU 8s 
TO ULSV CDQ s7rnrsiB\c Xovm. TO 8' we lyov xa; 



TTOTS 



and ' most desirable ' are to be applied 
to the supreme good ; not meaning 
that which merely as a fact is better 
than other things, but, ideally, that 
than which nothing can be better. 
Aristotle accepts from the Platohists 
the doctrine, that the chief good is in- 
capable of addition. Cf. Eth. x. ii. 3. 
II trArepov ovv TSKTOVOS /c.T.A.] 
This argument by which, from the 
analogy of the different trades, of the 
different animals, and of the separate 
parts of the body, the existence of a 
proper function for man is proved 
comes almost verbatim from Plato's 
Republic, i. 352-3. The epyov of 
anything Plato there defines as that 
which can alone or best be accom- 
plished by the thing in question. 
7 Apa ovv TOVTO Zip OE/TJS Kal tirtrov 
Kal a\\ov OTOVOW epyov o av 1? Liovti) 
eKeiv(f> iroiij ns $ apivra Of course 
fpyov in this sense is to be distin- 
guished from such uses as in Eth. i. i. 
2, where it means an ' external re- 
sult ; ' iv. ii. 10, ' a work of art ; ' n. ix. 
2, ' a labour,' or ' achievement.' 

1 2 TO juec "yap ffv exovros] ' Now 
mere life is shared even by the plants, 
whereas we are seeking something 
peculiar. We may set aside therefore 
the life of nutrition and growth. 

B B 



Succeeding this will be a principle of 
life that may be called the percep- 
tive ; but this too appears shared by 
horse and ox and every animal. 
There remains then what may be 
called a moral life of the rational 
part.' The argument here as to the 
proper function of man, and the divi- 
sion on which it is based, belongs 
entirely to the physiological and psy- 
chological system of Aristotle. See 
Essay V. p. 237. The meanings of the 
word irpairriK&s are (i) with a genitive 
' able to do,' or ' disposed to do,' as 
iv. iii. 27, oXiycav irpaKTtK6v, i. ix. 8, 
irpaKTiKovs rSiv Ka\iav. (2) ' Active,' 
'practical,' opposed to quiescent or 
speculative, i. v. 4. Oj Se xap<'T* 
Kal irpaKTiKoi rifn-fiv. VI. viii. 2. (3) 
'Moral,' as here, opposed to the 
life of animal instinct. Cf. \i. ii. a, 

8e fj.^t Koiva>ve7v. Or, as vr. iv. 2, vi. 
xii. 10, opposed to the artistic and tho 
scientific. 

13 TOUTOU Se 8iavoov/j.fvov] With 
regard to the present passage, Bekker 
exhibits no variation in the MSS., and 
the Paraphrast evidently had it in his 
text. All that can be said, therefore, 
is that the present sentence inter- 
rupts the sense and grammar of the 
2 



372 



IIGIKON NIKOMAXEIftN I. 



[CllAl'. 



TO 



$ 8e xai TauVij Xsyojas'vrjs rr\v xar svspysiav 
*4xvpt(t)Tspov yap aurri 8oxsT Xs'-yso^af. < o' eo"T<v epyov 

*. 4 */ % W 4 ..-- 

avoctoTToy yuvvj^ svspysia xara "hoyov 
1 8' auTo' a[j.V 'epyw slvat TO> ysvei TOUO= xai TouSs 

w(nrep xiftapurTov xai <T7rou8a/ou xiBapKrrw^ xai 
TOUT' 7ri TravTajv, 7r^oo"Ti^5^xvr^ TVJ^ xar' dps- 
Trjv uirspoyris Trpog TO s^^oi^' xi5apJo~TOt5 jasv yap TO 

S-' j.vvs'. ><>></ >' ^^ 

/, (TTTOUdaiOU 6S TO SU * t d OlTO>, aVypCUTTOV 6S 

spyov a)riv riva, radrr\v 6s \J/uyvi? Ivspysiav xai 



pyov 



Xoyou, o~7rou8a/ou 



su 



xa 



context, and that it is conspicuously 
awkward in a book which for the most 
part reads smoothly. 

SITTWJ Se A.76<rea] ' But further, 
since this life may be spoken of in two 
ways ' (either as an existing state or 
developed into actuality), 'we must 
assume it to be in actuality ; for this 
seems -the more distinctive form of the 
conception.' naff Qiv is the opposition 
to KO.T tvepyfiav. Cf. I. viii. 9. 

14 "We have here a fourfold pro- 
tasis : tl 5* fOT\v ep^ov T$> 8' auTO 
(pafjifv epyov avOptairov 5e TiBffjiev 
tKOffTov 8' e?. The apodosis to all of 
these is et 8' OVTW, rb avdpumvov 
aya66v, where ylverai is used as de- 
noting a deduction from premises, 
just as the future tense is often em- 
ployed. Similar long-drawn argu- 
ments occur it. vi. 9, m. v. 1 7, &c. 

tl 8' tffrlv \6yov] ' Now if the 
function of man be conscious life ac- 
cording to a law, or implying a law.' 
i^ux^> substituted for the previous 
term C4 denotes the entire principle 
of life, thought, and action, in man. 
The additional term KOTO &6yov gives 
an equivalent to irpoKriicfj, since the 
reason necessarily introduces a moral 
point of view into every part of life 
(cf. J)e Animd, n. x. 7). It is difficult 
to translate KOTO \6yov, because the 
word \6yos is ambiguous. Partly it 



means reason, partly a law or standard 
(cf. Eth. ii. ii. 2). As compared with n$i 
&vev \6yov, KOTO \6yov would express 
a marked, direct, and prominent con- 
trol. In the eixpirfi? and the artaQpivv, 
where the desires flow naturally to 
what is good, reason would seem 
rather to be presupposed (o5 OVK &vfv) 
than directly to assert itself. The 
more significant expression, however, 
is that which follows, irpd^eis ^lero 
\6yov. A machine might be said to 
move Kara \6yov, ' in accordance with 
a law,' but not /xeri *6yov, ' with a 
consciousness of a law.' It is this 
consciousness of the law, which, ac- 
cording to Hegel, distinguishes mora- 
lity (Moralitat) from mere propriety 
(Sittlichkeit). On the transition of 
meaning from /car' frtpyfta.i> to frfpyeia 
tyvxys, and on the translation of these 
terms, see Essay IV. p. 187, 193. 

rb 8* oiirb ct0apt<rToD] ' And we 
say that the function is generically the 
same of such a one, and such a one 
good of his kind, as, for instance, of a 
harper, and of a good harper.' <pa/j.fv 
is an appeal to language and general 
consent. rovSf is used indefinitely as 
above, i. vi. 16, rfy rovSf, 'the health 
of such and such an individual ; ' n. 
xi. 6, ?i$e i) i) \IKIO, &c. The present 
passage vindicates the introduction of 
KUT' apfT-fiv into the definition by 



VII.] 



IIGIIU1N NIKOMAXEmN I. 



373 



exacrTOj/ eo x.a.ra. rr^v oxsiav 
ra.r el 8' ourco, TO ai/Qpu)7Tivov a 



yvsrai XT 
xai 

eap 
v xai 



s 



ei 



a apsra, xara 
ev /a> TsA=m>. ^a/a -yap 16 



out/ ra.ya.yhv radry. 8s? yap i 



1; 



av iravrog slvai Trpoayaysiv xcu oapQpa><rai ra 
=vovTa Ty Trsoiypa^f^ xcu o %pavog Ttov roiovrcov 
TJ (TWipyog ayaftog elvai. oQsv xa) TWV T%va>v yeyovacriv 
al 7rioo(rsig' Travrog yap Trpovftifvai TO I) 

showing there is nothing illogical in 

doing so, that by taking a genus in 

its best form we do not go off into 

another genus. 

1 5 fKaffTov 5' <5 onrore \eirat] ' And 
j everything is well completed in accor- 
' dance with its own proper excellence.' 

Cf. Eih. n. vi. 2. This principle of 

the connexion between the proper 

function of a thing and the peculiar 

law of excellence of that thing is 

taken from Plato; cf. Repub. i. p. 353. 

It is introduced here to justify the 

term nar' aptri\v in the definition of 

happiness. This term is not at once 

to be interpreted ' according to virtue,' 

which would destroy the logical se- 
quence of the argument. It comes in 

at first in a general sense, ' according 

to the proper law of excellence in man,' 

whatever that may be. 

el 8" OUTW TeAewTctTTji/] ' If SO, I 

say, it results that the good for- man 

is conscious life according to the law 

of excellence ; and if the excellences 

be more than one, according to that 

which is best and most absolutely in 

itself desirable.' Whatever awkward- 
ness and strangeness there may appear 

in this attempt to render the definition 

of Aristotle, it will be found on con- 
sideration to approach, at all events, 



nearer to his meaning than the usual 
rendering : ' an energy of the soul, 
according to virtue,' &c. 

1 6 en 8' eV &icp 'Xf6vos] ' But wo 
must add also ' in a complete period 
and sphere of circumstances.' For 
one swallow does not make a summer, 
nor does one day ; and so neither one 
day nor a brief time constitutes a 
man blest and happy.' flios, the ex- 
ternal form and condition of life, im- 
plies both fortunes and duration. By 
adding this last consideration, Ari- 
stotle gives a practical aspect to his 
definition. Ideally, a moment of con- 
sciousness might be called the highest 
good, independent of space and time. 
r^\eios, as we have seen above ( 4), 
means ' that which is of the nature of 
an end,' 'that which is desirable for 
its own sake.' But no doubt the popu- 
lar sense of the word comes in to 
some degree in the present passage ; 
partly Aristotle had before his mind 
the conception of a ' complete ' or 
' perfect ' duration of life, partly of an 
external history and career that could 
be designated as ' desirable for its own 
sake.' 

17 irepiyfypdrpdai eAAeiirw] 'Thus^ 
far, then, for a sketch of the chief! 
good ; for we ought surely to draw the 1 



374 



IIGIKQN NIKOMAXEIftN I. 



[CHAP. 



<r5a< 



xai TWV Tr 

sv OLTTOLGIV 



xa rr t v axpeiav JU,T) 
, aXX* sv sxa(TTo/ Kara 



xa< STT TOCTOUTOV 
i9/xe0o'5u>. xa) yap TSXTCOV xa) yswfj.s 
< T>jv opftrjV. o [Ji.lv yap ' 
o 

TOV auTov 

20 ra trdpspya ra>v epywv TT^SKO 
8' ou^e rrjv alriav sv aTranv O^XOKO^ 
olov xa< Trsi 



oov oxsov 



STTI- 
g TO 



TpoTrov xai ev TO/ 



TTOI^TSOV, 
oux 
ixavov ev TKT/ TO 



aj 



TO 



outline first, and afterwards to fill it 
up. And it would seem that any one 
could bring forward and complete 
what fits in with the sketch, and that 
time is a good discoverer of such 
things, or at least a good cooperator. 
Hence it is, too, that the development 
of the arts has taken place, for every 
man can supply that which is defec- 
tive.' From this point to the end of 
the chapter, Aristotle dwells on the 
importance of a principle (like his de- 
finition of the chief good) as an outline 
or comprehensive idea, afterwards to 
be developed and filled up. (Cf. a simi- 
lar phrase in De Gen. Anim. n. vi. 29 : 
Koi ykp ypcuptis vTroypa.fya.VTfs rcus 
ypa.fj.fMus OUTUS tva.\tl<f>ovffirdis xP^M cur ' 
r'b Gfov, et prsced.') He adds, how- 
ever, the caution that mathematical 
exactness must not be required in 
filling up the sketch. He seems here 
to dwell with some pride on the foun- 
dation he has laid for ethics ; a similar 
feeling betrays itself with regard to 
his logical discoveries, Sophist. Elench. 
xxxiii. 13, where is a parallel passage 
to the present on the importance of 
opx a - T & 8e f inrapxys evpt<rit6/jifva 
fj.iKpai' rb irptoTav lirlBoffiv Aau/3ai/eu> 
ffaOe, xpijcnjtttfrepoj' ^uira iro\\<p rrjs 
varepav fie TOUTUV av^ffttas. (ityurrav 
yap fous o.p\rj iiamAs, &ffirtp \tytTai. 
1 8 TJIV aKpifieiav 4-ni^TfTftv] Cf. I. 
iii. I. The word 'Axp/^eia, with its 



cognate acp/3^s, has different shades 
of meaning which may be here speci- 
fied, (i) 'Minuteness of details.' 
Cf. Plato, Tiep-uh. in. 414 A, <as Iv rvirtf, 
H^l Si aKptpeias. Eth. IL vii. 5. (z) 
' Mathematical exactness,' which im- 
plies every link of argument being 
stated, and the whole resting on de- 
monstrative grounds. Cf. Me/apk. 
of Z\a,TTov, iii. 2. Eth. vn. iii. 3. (3) 
' Definiteness,' or 'fixedness.' Cf. 
vni. vii. 5, 'A/cpi/3??s OVK f<rriv &pifffji6s. 
n. ii. 4, C O \6yos OVK e^ti To/cpi/Sts, 
answering to effrrjK6s, rx. ii. 2, m. 
iii. 8. (4) Applied to the arts it de- 
notes 'finish.' Cf. I. iii. i, ii. vi. 9, 
vi. vii. i. (5) By a slight transition 
from the last, when applied to sciences, 
it means also ' metaphysical subtlety.' 
This transition is made TX. vii. a : cf. 
x. iv. 3 ; De Anim a, I. i. i. In the 
passage before us axpipeia seems to 
combine several of the above-men- 
tioned meanings. It seems to say 
that mathematical exactness is not 
suited to ethics that too much sub- 
tlety is not to be expected (icol yap 
TtKTiav Kal yewfifTpijs, K. T. A.) that 
too much detail is to be avoided (faces 
/XT) ra, irdpfpya, K. r. A.). 

20 OVK dpx^i] ' Nor must we de- 
mand the cause in all things equally, 
in some things it is sufficient that 
the fact be well established, as is the 
case with first principles. Now the 



VII.] 



HOIKftN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



375 



app/tov 8' al 



^ $so>- 21 

, al 8' a!<r6r/rs/, aJ o' s5io"/xaj TJV/, xai a?\Aa/ 3* 

xai \ 



ra 



=i' yap 



73 



TCOV 



fact constitutes a first point and prin- 
ciple.' The bearing of this somewhat 
obscure sentence seems to be to repeat 
the remark made, i. iv. 6-7, that in 
morals a fact appealing to the indivi- 
dual consciousness has a paramount 
validity. Just as in the other sciences 
we do not ask the why and wherefore 
of the axioms, so in morals we accept 
the facts because we feel them without 
their being demonstrated. Cf. Eth. 
vi. viii. 9. 

21 Tav dpx&v 5* fir6fj.evd\ 'But 
of principles some are apprehended by 
induction, others by intuition, others 
by a sort of habituation of the mind, 
and, in short, different principles in 
different ways. But. we must endeavour 
to attain each in the natural way, and 
we must take all pains to have them 
rightly defined, for they are of great 
importance for the consequences drawn 
from them.' This digression seems 
partly suggested by the immediately 
preceding paragraph on the relation of 
facts in morals to principles of science, 
partly it belongs in general to this 
part of the subject. Aristotle, having 
laid down his ground-principle of 
ethics, makes a pause, in which some 
remarks are introduced on principles, 
their importance, and the method of 
attaining them. The words ieal &\\ai 
5' &\\cas show that the list of methods 
is not meant to be exhaustive. The 
commentators, misunderstanding the 
Greek, have inquired by what ' other 
methods other principles' could be 



sought? But, of course, these words 
only generalize the whole proposition 
(cf. Eth. i. iv. 3, fiAAot 8' &AAo). 

eewpotWai] ' are perceived ; ' cf. vi. 
iii. 2, vn. iii. 5. Answering to jt- 
Tievcu we have the term Orjpfvftv apx<is, 
Prior Analytics, i. xxx. 2. "With 
TrtfyvKOffi we must understand a passive 
infinitive, ' in the way in which they 
are meant by nature to be reached.' 
As to the method of obtaining prin- 
ciples, cf. Prior Analytics, i. xxx. i, 
where the study of nature and of facts 
is pointed out as the only source of 
dpx a * or universal premises. ' H /lev 
ovv 65bs Kara irdrrtav fj OUT}) ical irepl 
<pi\otro(piat> Kat irepl T^-)(in\v bitomvovv 
*cal /j.dOrifjia' Se? y&p TO. inrdpxotna /cal 
ols virdpxfi ifpl fKcurrov adpfif. Aii 
ras /Jiff apxaj Tas irepl eiccuTTOV ifi.- 
itffjias tffrl KopdSovfcu. Connecting 
then the recognition of opx "' with the 
knowledge of facts, we see that (i) 
tirtryGryf) is the evolution of a general 
law out of particular facts, (2) df<T07j(m 
is the recognition of the law in the 
fact. Ai0-0ij<m is not to be restricted 
to the perception of the senses, or 
confined (as the Paraphrast would 
have it) to the physical sciences. 
Bather it is opposed to eTrayorffi, as 
intuition to inference. Cf. Eth. vi. 
xi. 5, Tovrutv o\>v fx etv ^" aX<r&ri<uv, 
OUTTJ 5* tffrl vovs. (3) 40t<r(i6s is a 
sort of unconscious induction, a pro- 
cess by which general truths may be 
said to grow up in the mind. Nor is 
this process peculiar to moral truths 



376 



HOIKilN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



[CHAP. 



SXSTTTEOV STJ Trspi aur% ou jtxo'j/ov sx roD 
O xai e^ a>v o ^o /j yo, aXXa xai ex TCOV 
ir% * no [JLSV -yap aAr y S=r TTOLVTOL a-vvctosi ret uTra 



ra 



alone : it is a question whether even 
the truths of number do not derive 
part of their validity as necessary 
axioms from their frequent repetition. 
See Mill's Logic, book n. ch. v. 

VIII. We now enter upon a fresh 
division of the Book. From hence to 
the end of Chapter lath Aristotle 
tests his great ethical principle, his 
definition of the chief good, by com- 
paring it with various popular or 
philosophic opinions, and by applying 
to it certain commonly mooted ques- 
tions and distinctions of the day. 

i (TKemtov Si] Ta\7j0j] ' We 
must consider it (i.e. the first prin- 
ciple) therefore not only from the 
point of view of our own conclusion 
and premises, but also from that of 
sayings on the subject. For with 
what is true all experience coincides, 
with what is false the truth quickly 
shows a discrepancy.' 

irtpl OUTTJS] especially with 8^, can 
only be referred to TI fyx'k ^ n the pre- 
ceding line. This is a general doc- 
trine of science, though Aristotle im- 
mediately exemplifies it with regard 
to his definition of happiness. 

i S>v~\ is compressed for ^{ ixelvuv 
^| S>v. The clause rf ^v roATjCes 
contains an indistinctness and a diffi- 
culty overlooked by the commenta- 
tors. For they content themselves 
with explaining that ' truth in the 
thought is identical with existence in 



6 \6yos 



the thing.' *O yap eV rf \6yip 
a\ij6e's, roOro 7) virapis iv Ttp 
Zrav ovv TO virdpxoma. Ttf 
awa,$ei rolj irtpl O.VTOV 
f>ri\ov Ztv e?rj, 2rt d\7j0 
(Eustratius). The difficulty is, that 
Aristotle is not talking of comparing 
theory with facts, but his own theory 
with the theories of others. To inrdp- 
XOJTO, however, cannot exactly mean 
' opinions ' or ' theories.' It is plain 
that there is some confusion in the 
expressions used, which is increased 
by the word ToAijOe'f in the second 
part of the sentence answering to TO 
inrdpxovra in the first. There is here 
a mixing up of the objective and the 
subjective sides of knowledge. Our 
word ' experience ' may perhaps serve 
to represent TO inrdpxovra, meaning 
neither ' facts' nor ' opinions,' but facts 
as represented in opinions. In the 
same way ia\ri6fs is not simply the 
true fact, nor the true theory, but 
' the truth,' that is, fact embodied in 
theory. TO inrapxcvra, would usually 
mean the natural attributes of a thing, 
the facts of its nature. Cf. Prior Anal. 
I. xxx. i (quoted above). Eth. i. x. 7. 
7. yevefiitfifviav ayaOd] ' To apply 
our principle (5^), goods have been di- 
vided into three kinds, the one kind 
being called external goods, and the 
others goods of the mind and body ; 
and we call those that have to do with 
the mind most distinctively and most 
especially goods.' This classification 



VIII.] 



HOIKiiN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



377 



rr t v oa 
VTTO rtbv <*Xoo-oouvTO)t/. 
T^sovrai xai evssiou TO 



ov 
xca 

ol xat or/ 
* oora> 



TO) 



xa 



/, xa 

xa) TO s' Trprrsiv TOV 



yap sj 



s}'pr t rai xai sitTTpa^ia. $a.ivzTa.i Ss 5 



ctsv yap apsTT), roig 3= $>povr}(ri$, aX-6 



is attributed by Sextus Empiricus, 
a?y. Ethicos xi. 51, to the Platonists 
and Peripatetics ; but in the Eudemian 
Ethics ii. i. i, it is spoken of as a 
popular division, Ka.Ga.Trtp 5ia.ipoviJ.f6a. 
ei/Tois QtoTfpiKois \6-yois. Accordingly 
here Aristotle calls it ' an ancient di- 
vision that is admitted by the philo- 
sophers.' It is only as in contrast to 
ffSifta. that we can venture to call i^f x^ 
'mind.' Our psychological words 
are so much more definite and re- 
stricted than those of Aristotle, that 
we cannot hope to give a uniform ren- 
dering of terms which he employs 
in varying senses. We must follow 
his context, and try to catch the 
association which is for the time most 
prominent. 

3 opSws Se ^KTrfs] 'And our 
definition is right in that certain 
actions and modes of consciousness 
are specified as the End. For thus 
it comes to be one of the goods of 
the mind, and not one of those that 
are external.' Ttpdeis stand for the 
development of the moral nature 
of man, eVe'p'yeiot more generally for 
the development of any part of his 
nature into consciousness. In either 
case the man departs not out of 
himself ; the good is one existing in 
and for his mind. 

4 <Twa8et evirpaia\ ' And with 
our definition the saying ' (cf. Eth. i. 
iv. 2) ' agrees that " the happy man 
lives well and does welL" For we have 



C 



described happiness pretty much as a 
kind of well-living and well-doing.' 

5 (paivercu. 5e \ej(0vri\ ' More- 
over the various theories of what is 
requisite with regard to happiness 
seem all included in the definition.' 
There is a sort of mixed construction 
here, firi^Tovfifva being used in a 
doubtful sense. The meanings of the 
word eiriirrtiv are: (i) to 'require' 
or ' demand,' vm. xiv. 3, rb Svvarbv 
r> <f>i\ia eiri(ijTt: (z) to ' search after,' 
I . vL 1 5, ayvoe'iv Kal fiifS' eiri^rfTtif : 

(3) to 'examine' or investigate,' r. 
vii. 19, eJTj^roOffi T^IV op&i\v. Ann. i. 6 : 

(4) to ' question,' like airopeiv, ix. vii. 
i. In the passage before us, TO, evifa- 
Tovneva. partly means ' the things de- 
manded, or thought requisite ; ' partly, 
as going with irepl T^V evSoufiovtav, 
' the discussions or investigations on 
the subject of happiness.' The words 
Se Kai mark a transition from con- 
sidering the merely popular opinions, 
to the more philosophic 'investiga- 
tions ' of the subject. 

6 rots fifv yap o~vfiirapa\a[ilBd- 
vowfa>\ As we learn from the next 
section, Aristotle is rather running 
over the chief heads of opinion than 
giving any accurate classification of 
the different schools of philosophy. 
The opinion that identified happiness 
with virtue may perhaps be attributed 
to the Cynics ; with practical wisdom 
(<pp6m}tns) to Socrates ; with philoso- 
phy (tr<xpla) to Anaxagoras (c Eth. x. 

C 



NIKOMAXEK2N I. 



[CHAP. 



8s 



rig elvai SoxsT, TO? 8s raura t\ Tourwv 



avsu 



ers 



poi 



su- 



xa) TraAaJo/ 

rspout; 8s 

ye TJ ^ xa* TO. 



s xa 

= ra 
, ra 8s oX/yo* xal si/8ooj av8p=* ou8s- 



rourtov 



8ia ( aapravsiv TO 

xaropQouv. 



TO* [Jt.v ouv 



viii. 1 1 ), Heraclitus, Democritus, &c. 
' That it consisted in these things or 
one of these, with pleasure added or 
implied,' is the doctrine asserted by 
Plato in the Philtbus, That 'fa- 
vourable external conditions ' must be 
included, seems to have been the 
opinion of Xenocrates, who attributed 
to such external things a S&vafus 
inrriptTiicfi. See Essay III. p. 169. 

7 fointav 8e /caropfloOi'] One MS. 
omits T) KO.I, leaving the sentence 
ovSerepovs 5e TUVTUV efaoyov 5ia.fj.ap- 

TO.Vf.IV TOtS 8\OIS, OAA.' fV yf Tl TO, 

ir\tiara Karop6ow t for which Dr. 
Cardwell suggests the emendation 
KOTopdovvras. ' It is not likely that 
either class should be altogether at 
fault, but only in some particular 
point, their general conclusions being 
correct.' This is confirmed by the 
interpretation of the Paraphrast: wv 
ouSfTtpovs fti\oyov TJJS a\T]6etasfv iraai 
$la.^lap^a.v(lv a\\a. Kaff ev TI /J.6vov 
iffus, ev ruts ir\tlffTois Se a\T)Otv(iv. 
But the text, as it stands above, gives 
a sense most in accordance with what 
Aristotle would be likely to say. 
' Now some of these are opinions held 
by many, and from ancient times ; 
others by a few illustrious men ; but 
it is not probable that either class 
should be utterly wrong, rather that, 
in some point at least, if not in most 
of their conclusions, that they should 
be right.' 

8 sqq. Aristotle now proceeds to 
show his own coincidence with these 
pre-existent theories. It is to be ob- 



served that he says nothing here in 
reference to those who made happi- 
ness to consist in ' wisdom,' or ' a 
sort of philosophy.' This is one of 
the marks of systematic method in the 
Ethics. He will not anticipate the 
relation of <f>p6vr)ffis and <r<xpia to 
fvSatfjLoi>ia. The rest of the argument 
is very simple, (i) The definition of 
happiness, ' conscious life under tin- 
law of virtue,' agrees with, includes, 
and improves upon the definition that 
says ' virtue is happiness.' For it 
substitutes the evocation, employment, 
and conscious development of virtue, 
for the same as a mere possession or 
latent quality, (z) Such a life im- 
plies pleasure necessarily and essen- 
tially (icaff aintiv rjdvs) ; for pleasure, 
being part of our consciousness (ri 
juei* yap ?iSfff6a,i T<av \f/ux.tKtav, cf. Kth. 
x. iii. 6), necessarily attaches to all 
that we are fond of, or devoted to, or 
that we follow as a pursuit (tKdarcf S" 
tarlv ijfiii irpos 5 Afyercu <>jAoTOoDros, 
cf. Eth. H. iii. i 3), and thus will 
arise out of a life of virtue to him that 
pursues such a life. He will experi- 
ence a harmony of pleasures unknown 
to Others (TOW <f>i\oKu\ois effrlv i]5fa, 
TO. itivffei 7J56i). Hence we may super- 
sede the addition proposed by some 
philosophers of fitff ^So^i/v to the con- 
ception of happiness. Our conception, 
says Aristotle, needs no such adjunct 
'to be tied on like an amulet.' (3) 
He accepts the requirements of 
Xenocrates. External prosperity is 
a condition without which happiness 



VIII.] 



NIKOMAXEmN I. 



379 



ou9 
xct sv 



ap=T7jv rj dpsTTjV Tiva o~uvto8o^ e(TTiv 6 

TTIV TJ xaT* auTrjf svspyeia. biafyepsi 8s 
g|/ XTrj<r* iif %pri<rsi TO dpuTTov 
T] Ivcpye/a. T^V j,=v yap e^JV ev 

VTrap^ouirav, olov TOO xa3eu8ovT/ ^ xai 
TTO)^ l^pyrjxoVi, Trjv 3' evepysiav ov% olo'v re* 
yap s- avayxvjf, xa} su Trpa^s*. d>o-7rep 

>e/_ \i / 

dycovi%o[j.voi (TOUTCUV yap Tivsg vixa)(riv\ ov 
TO) |Sj<o xaAiov xayaOaiv oi TrpaTTOVTsg opStoc 
yiyvovrai. SO"TJ Ss xa) 6 /3/o avTaw xa( awTov 
yap yjso~Qaj Ttov \J/yyixaiv, sxao~T<o 3' 

TOO cp/Xo^saJpcp TOV auTov TpoVov xa/ Ta 2/xaia TO> 
xa) oXttJg Ta xaT* apsTvjv TO> 
Ta vi^ea u.d'/STai bid TO 

I f\- 9 

eivai, TOIS 8e <>iXoxaAoj SO-T/V ^'Sea Ta 4)uo~< rjSsa. TOI- 



o 



TO 10 
o 



cannot practically exist, though it is 
not to be confounded with happiness. 

TTJC ap(rr)v ^ dper^v rtva] ' Virtue 
or excellence of some sort.' The am- 
biguity of the word aper^ renders it 
impossible to be translated uniformly. 
It comes into the Ethics with the 
general meaning of excellence, but 
constantly tends to restrict itself to 
human virtue, and indeed to moral 
virtue, as distinguished from other 
human excellence. 

9 r<f KoJ&fvSovri )) &\\<as irus t^np- 
77jK(fo-t] ' To one asleep, or otherwise 
totally inactive.' Cf. i. v. 6. 

7rpaei yap e| avdyKt^s KO! e3 irpa'ei] 
Both the terms ' action ' and ' well ' are 
implied in eWpyeta KOT' aperfif- ES 
irpaffi, however, goes off into a diffe- 
rent train of associations. 

OUTCO ytyvovrai] ' In the same 
way it is they who act rightly that 
attain to the noble and excellent 
things in life.' tTHjoA.os repeats the 
metaphor of the archer, Eth. i. ii. 2 ; 



cf. ^Esch. Prom. 444, Eth. i. x. 14. 
The expressions here used show 
Aristotle's bright and enthusiastic 
feelings about the good attainable in 
life. 

1 1 rots fnev oSc ^Sea] ' Now to 
most men there is a sense of discord 
in their pleasures, because they are not 
naturally pleasant ; but to the lovers 
of what is beautiful those things are 
pleasant which are naturally pleasant.' 
Tols 7ro\\o7j is a sort of dativus corn- 
modi. The word <f>i\6i<a\os occurs in 
the Phcedrus of Plato, where it is said 
that the soul which in its antenatal 
state saw most clearly the Ideas, in 
life enters ets yovriv avSpbs yevijffoiaevov 

QlXoffotyOV T) <j>l\OK<i\OV -fj IJ.OVfflKOV 

rtcos Kal epuriKov. Plato uses it, in 
accordance with his context, to denote 
one with a poetic feeling and love for 
the beautiful, like the verb <t>i\oKa.\fiv 
in Thucydides, n. c. 40. In Aristotle 
the meaning is more restricted to a 
love of the noble in action. Eth. iv. 



380 



IIGIKiiN NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



aura o' ai xar' apsryjv 



xa< 



vap>v 

TOV 



OMTTS xai TOUTO< ea-/v 



av 



a.s<rtv ' ours yap 
TO> 8ixa07rpays7v, OUT* shevQepjov 

TOV j-^ ^aipnvra TOU$ sAsu^spio*^ 7rpd^<riv vfMUOf fts xaj 
1 3 ETT) TCOV aXXrov. ei S' oura>, xa$' auraj av sT=v ai xar' 
apsTr^v Trpd^sig TjOeTa/. aXXa jutrjv xai aya^a/ -y= xa/ xa- 
/, xa< jaaXio"Ta rouraiv exatrrov, siVep xotJKuig xpivsi 
avTwv o (nro^oiiog ' xpivei 8' a> eiVojasv. oipKrrov 
apa xa.} xaXXTTOV xal ^8TTO* 73 su^aju.ov/a, xai 
pi<rTa.i raura xara TO A^X/axoj/ sTr/ypajajaa* 

KfiX\t<rro' ro ^tK'atoraroi', XWOTOV S' vyta/ 



yap U7rp%ei raura rog ap<TTa.ig svspysaif;' 



iv. 4, it means one with a noble spirit : 
fbv <pi\6np.oi> ^iroivoujuej' o>s a^SficoST; 
Kai (f>i\6Ka\uf. (frvfffi 7]5ea denotes 
partly things that are, ought to be, 
and must be pleasures, according to 
the eternal fitness of things, in accor- 
dance with the whole frame of the 
world ; cf. <J>u<ret ftov\i)r6v, Eth. m. 
iv. 3 ; partly, pleasures which are in 
accordance with the nature of the 
individual, his natural state his 
highest condition ; cf. \ii. xiv. 7, 
tyvffti ri$ta & Trojer irpati' TTJS roiaaSe 
(pva-eias, 'Things are naturally pleasant 
which produce an operation of any 
given nature' (viewed as a whole): 
vir. xi. 4, ffvtffis fls tyvffiv ai<T6rjr-fi, 
' a perceptible transition into one's 
natural state." On the various mean- 
ings of <f>u<ru, see below, Eth. u. i. 3, 
not P. 

12 Sxrirep irtpidirrov Tivds] 'Like 
an amulet to be tied on.' Cf. Plutarch, 
Vit. Pericl. 38: 6 0e<5<f>pa<rros eV rails 



i]6iKois Stairop-ficras el vfibs ras r^yay 
rpftrfTCii ritfjOr], lff"r6priKfv, 3r voffcav 6 
riepi/c\f}s tiriffKOirovfj.evy rivl riav q>i\<av 
8eifi TcepiaitTOv inrb r<av ywaiKwv T(p 
rpa-)(i\\<f rrepirjpniufvov. Cf. also Plato, 
Repub. rv. 4z6 B, odo" o5 eVwSol oii5e 
itfpiairra, K.T.\, 

ovV fffrlv dyaBbs 6 /u,$j x eu '/" 1 "'] This 
anticipates Eth. n. iii. i, where it is 
said that pleasure is the test of a ?is 
being formed. 

14 KOTO rb A7)Aia/aV 4wiypafA/j.a\ 
The Eudemian Ethics commences by 
quoting this inscription, rather more 
circumlocution being used than here. 
'O fjif v Iv ATJA&> irapa, Ty 0$ r^)v avrov 
yvu>fJLf)v diro<f>r)i>dfi.(.i>os awfypaif/ev M 
rb irpoirv\aiov TOV ATJT^JOI;, K.T.\. The 
last line, as there given, stands TTOJ/TCOJ/ 
5' rj$i(TTOt>, ov ns ipa rb rvx^v. The 
verses also occur among the remains 
of Theognis, and the same sentiment 
in iambics is found in a fragment of 
the Creusa of Sophocles, Stobaeus Scrm. 



VIII. IX.] H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



381 



sxrog ayaa>v 7rpotr*~ 15 
OjUs'vrj, xa^aTTsp siVojasi/ * a^ui/arov yap 73 ot> pcfiiov TO. 
xa?\.a TTparTc/v a^opTjyrjTOz/ oi/ra. 7roX?va ^xsv yap TrpaTrs- 
rai, xa^aTTsp 6i' opyavtov, 8*a fyfawv xai TrXouroy xai 

o<jvdtj.(o$ ' t//)v o= rr l ru)jj.svot pv7raivov<ri TO 16 
olov suyzv*ia$ s'jrsxj/j'ac? xa?v.Aou ou Travi* yap 

o TTJV J^sav 7rava/o-p^r^ TJ 81/0-7= v^ 
xa* ctTsxi/o, er< o' i'o'cof ^rrov, =)f rto Trayxaxot 
7] C^tAo/, ^ aya^oi ovrsg rsQvd(nv. xaQonrsp ouv ei 
eoix 7rpo(rt)iia{lai xai TTJ^ TOJaurr^ sur^spiag' oQsv slg 

TOLVTO TGLTTO'JG'IV SVIQI TYjV eVTVYlCLV T^ S^Oa^aOJ/ia, STSpOl 

8= rrjv apsTTyV. 

"O5sv xai a7rop??ra< TroVspov soTi jtMcflyrov rj SrTov 
r) xara Tiva 6=/av ]oto7pav r) xai 
si j.lv ovv xai a?\.Xo TI eari 



cm. 15. This classification of goods 
that 'justice is most beautiful, health 
best, and success sweetest,' belongs to 
the era of proverbial philosophy in 
Greece ; see Essay II. 

1 5 ayop^iYTOv OVTO] We should 
say, by analogous metaphors, ' Unless 
sufficiently furnished ' or ' equipped.' 
Cf. rv. ii. zo. 

iroAAa fifv yap redvaffiv] Cf. 
Rhetoric, I. v. 4, el 5<j fff-rtv i) euSoi- 
fj.ovia TOWVTOV, dvdyKri oirrfjs elvat n-fpr] 



irKovrov, fvTfKviai/, iroXvrfKviav, fvyq- 
piav, eri rets TOV (TU/J.O.TOS aperaj, olov 
vyltiav oAAos laj(yv peyedos 8wafj.iv 

0.y<i!U.<ITlKT}V, 56at>, Tl/J/flV, tVTVXiaV, 

dpfrrtv ovrta yap ay avrapKfffraTos ffy, 
tl inrdpxot avry TO T' ei/ avry teal TO 
tKrbs dyadd- ov ydp fcrriv oAAo irapd 
ToOra. The expression in the Rhetoric 
'parts of happiness,' is equiva- 
lent to ' instruments ' of happiness, 
the more accurate designation in the 
present passage. 

1 7 Koflajrep o\>v dperVji'] ' As we 
have said then, it seems to require the 



addition of such external prosperity. 
Hence some identify good fortune with 
happiness, as another class of philo- 
sophers do virtue.' The Cyrenaics 
and Cynics appear to be alluded to 
here. Aristotle's doctrine contains 
and gives a deeper expression to all 
that is true in both of the two views. 

IX. i $6tv Kapa,yiverai\ ' Whence 
also the question is raised whether 
it (happiness) is to be attained by 
teaching, or habit, or any other kind 
of practice ; or whether it comes by 
some divine providence, or lastly by 
chance.' The word SOev expresses the 
thread of connexion, by which this 
new subject of discussion is intro- 
duced. Since happiness seems to be 
a balance of two principles, an internal 
one, virtue, and an external one, cir- 
cumstances, the question arises whether 
it is attainable by the individual 
through any prescribed means, or 
whether it is beyond his control. It 
seems chiefly, however, to be upon 
the word dper-riv that Aristotle goes 



. 

r 
? ^' < ^ r ' r - 







382 



I19IKON NIKOMAXEKIN I. 

"-. 



[CHAP. 



eva/, xa; jW,a?u<rTa rtoi/ 
3 aAXa rouro jtxsv JVaj aAA7j av ei'yj 
0a/VfTOi 8g xav si 
xa/ T/1/a 
TO 



oa> 



oxsioepov, 



aurrov svai 



4 <$>aiv.Ta.i xai Qsiov TI xai paxapiov. ify 8' av xat TroX'j- 
8/a TWO$ {j.a.$ri<rswg xa/ STr/jaeXs/a^. e/ o' 



off. The question of the day, wdrepoj' 

, ,- u.o.Qtrr'bv ri dper-fi, comes before him on 
UK* t*-PciA*e<,Mtf 

u,. A , mentioning that some identify happi- 

/<; ness with virtue. Thus he says, not 
""Y '^quite distinctly, 'It is questioned 

<(*.< n-<rU)Vvj , , , , , , 

whether happiness can be learnt. 
The question forms an important point 
/ viffT^ ' at issue in the ethical systems of 

Aristotle and of Plato. The con- 
clusion of Aristotle is directly opposed 
to that which is somewhat tentatively 
stated at the end of the Meno (99 E) : 
dper)] &v tit] oijre tyvafi oi/re i5t5a/CT<$i/, 
dAAa Qflcf, /uoipcc vapayiyvofjifi>i} &vfv vov, 
olV &> irapaytyvijTai. 

z 3 i yuec ovv flvai] ' Now it 
must be confessed that if anything 
else at all is a gift of gods to men, it 
seems reasonable that happiness too 
should be the gift of God, especially 
as it is the best of human things. 
But this exact point perhaps would 
more properly belong to another 
enquiry ; at all events, if happiness 
is not sent by God, but comes by 
means of virtue, through some sort of 
learning or practice, it appears to be 
one of the divinest things.' We have 
here a characteristic exhibition of 
Aristotle's way of dealing with ques- 
tions of the kind. We may observe : 
(i) His acknowledgment and admis- 
sion of the religious point of view, and 
the primd facie ground for the inter- 



ference of Providence in this case if in 
any others. (2) His strict mainte- 
nance of the separate spheres of the 
sciences. A theological question cannot 
belong to ethics. (3) His manner of 
dismissing the subject. 'Happiness, 
if not given by God, is at all events 
divine ' (cf. Eth. x. viii. 1 3) by which 
expression he alters the view, giving it 
a Pantheistic instead of a Theistic 
tendency; see Essay V. (4) His 
immediate return to the natural and 
practical mode of thought. 

4 fir] V &v iro\vKoivov iri/xcA.c/os] 
This is an addition to the preceding 
epithets of happiness. Not only is it 
'something divine and blessed,' as 
being ' the crown and end of virtue,' 
but also ' it must be widely common 
property, for it may be possessed 
through a certain course of learning 
and care by all who are not incapa- 
citated for excellence.' As it stands, 
this last clause is a petitio principii. 
Afterwards, however, the assumption 
is justified by arguments in its support 
both from reason and experience. 
Aristotle insisted much less than 
Plato on the innate difference between 
man and man, and approaches much 
more nearly to the mechanical and 
sophistical view, livOpuiros avOpuirov civ 
iro 



5 6 ft 5' eVrtf ttv fit)] The argu- 



IX.] 



NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



383 



xa Troav 



, eiTrep ra Kara <>uo~iv, wg olov rs 
ooroi 7rec>uxi>. Ipouog 8s xa< ret xara 
air/av, xa jU,aXi(rra Kara TTJV apiVrr]v. TO 
xai xctAX/o-Tov sTTiTpe-^ai TU^TTJ Tuav 7r?oj^.e?; ai> etVj. 
o-t>jU,4>av 8' eo-T* xa) Ix TOW Ao'yoo TO ^TOUJU-SVOV * e/pv]- 
TJ yap 4f% evspysia xar apsTXjV Troia Ti. TCOI/ Os 
ayaflcov TCC jasv u7rap%siv avayxaTov, TO. 8s <rvvspy<i 



ment, which is stated in rather a com- 
plex way, seems as follows : ' If it 
were better that happiness should be 
attainable by certain definite means, 
we may conclude that it is so (be- 
cause in nature, art, and every kind 
of causation, especially in what is 
higher, things are regulated in the 
best possible way). But it is bet- 
ter, because the contrary supposition 
(namely, that the chief good should 
depend on chance) is simply absurd 
and inconceivable.' It is an a priori 
argument, based on a sort of natural 
optimism, on a belief in the fitness of 
things. We find a similar classifica- 
tion of causes into nature, chance, and 
human skill, Eth. in. iii. 7, where 
however necessity is added. Cf. vi. 
iv. 4. The apiffrtj atria here meant 
seems to be virtue. Cf. Eth. n. vi. 9, 
and De Juv. et Sen. iv. i : Kara Se T&J/ 
\6yov, tin T^JV fyvaiv 6pufj.fi> eV ituffiv n 
T&V SwaTWf irotovcrav "rb icd\\i(noi>. 

7 ii The succeeding arguments 
may be briefly summed up. (2) He 
appeals to his definition of the chief 
good, that it is a certain 'development 
and awaking of the consciousness 
under the law of virtue, and with 
certain necessary or favourable ex- 
ternal conditions.' This definition 
obviously implies the contradictory of 
any theory making happiness merely 
and entirely a contingency or chance. 
(3) Since the chief good is the end of 
politics, whose main business it is to 
educate and improve the citizens 



this shows that education is the re- 
cognised means of happiness. (4) 
Animals are not called happy, because 
they are incapable of the above-men- 
tioned awaking of the moral consci- 
ousness. (5) The same applies to 
boys, whose age renders them inca- 
pable of that which has real moral 
worth. At this point Aristotle adds 
that happiness requires absolute virtue, 
and a completed round of life (cpfTrjs 
re\elas Kal jSi'ou TeA.eoi>), and ho goes 
off into a new train of thoughts on 
the uncertainty of human affairs, by 
which he is brought into contact with 
the paradox of Solon. 

7 T&V Se \oLiruv ayaOeav bp'yaviKcas] 
The Paraphrast explains ra \oura 
ayaOd here to mean ra ffu^ariKd, 
which he divides into ra avrov rov 
(rd>fj.aros, such as health, which are 
necessary to the existence of happi- 
ness (fnrdpxfiv dvajKOLiov), and ra irepl 
rb (Tcoyua, as wealth, friends, &c., 
which are helps and instruments to 
happiness. Aristotle probably had 
not this exact division before his 
mind. He places happiness essen- 
tially in the consciousness ; and then 
speaks of other and secondary condi- 
tions, partly necessary and partly 
favourable. He in fact hovers between 
the ideal and the practical. Sometimes 
he speaks of happiness as that chief 
good which includes everything (Eth. 
I. vii. 8); at other times he analyses 
its more essential and less essential 
parts, and leaves in it a ground opeu 



384 






IIGIKflN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 

opyai/jxd>. 



[CHAP. 
TOUT" 



7TOISITO.I TOU 
* 

xai 



xovg rwv xaAofy. elxoVwf oSv ou're /3o5v OUTS ITTTTOV our= 

TOJIV fypaov oJSsv su6a*juov Xsyo^sj/ * otJSsv yap ctv 
TS xo<va)v^(raj 



Os 



eerriv OUTTO) yap Trpaxrixoy TUJV 



TOIOVTCOV 



xa 



i 3/ow reXs/ou. TroXXai yap jtxeTa3o?>.a< y/vovraj xal 
TravroTai Tu^a/ xara rov 3/ov, xai sv^ep^sra* rov p.Oi 



ev ro^ ypa)i'xot$ Trsp 



f usra* ' TOV = 



xa 



IO Ilorspov out/ ouS' "aXXov ouSsva avQpwTrwv 



to chance and circumstances, which 
admits of being improved or impaired. 



agreement with what we said at start- 
ing.' Cf. x. vii. z : ' Ono\oyovfifvov 
8e TOUT' &i> 5<J|6t6>/ eTi^oi tal TO?S irp(J- 



10 8ia TOUTJJJ' /ucucapf^brraj] In 
Politics, i. chap, xiii., it is discussed, 
from a more external point of view, 
whether boys are capable of the same 
virtue in a household as men. To 
which the conclusion is 'ETrei 5" 6 
ira?s dTfA?';s, STJAOJ/ $T TOVTOV fj.fi> Kal r) 
aprr)] OVK avrov irpbs ai>r6v tffriv, aAAa 
irpbs T^J* T'AJOI/ icol rbf Tfyovfuevov 
( 1 1 ). The boy's good qualities have 
not an independent existence ; they 
only give the promise of such. The 
sentiment 8ja rfyv ^AiriSa /Ltajcapi'^binrat 
is neatly expressed by Cicero ?e ^?ep. 
(quoted by Servius on Mn. \i. 877) : 
' Fanni, difficilis causa laudare 
puerum: non enim res laudanda, sed 
spes est.' 



II tMhivovvra] aliter fixrdtvovvra. 
Cf. Rhet. I. v. 3, fvdyvta Kr^fidruv 
al ffu(j,d.Tut>, where also there is the 
variation eucrfleVeia. 

& ToTs TJpwi'/corj] aliter TptaiKois. 
Dr. Card well quotes Bentley, who, upon 
Callimachus Fragm. 208, pronounces 
that -/Jpwes is a false reading for Tpwes. 
Td ijpwiKd means ' the heroic legends.' 

X. The mention of /Bios TeAsios 
and of the Hputfiucal TUX brings 
Aristotle now to consider the famous 
paradox of Solon, that ' no one can 
be called happy as long as he lives.' 
The discussion of this question is 
valuable not only for its own sake as 
a criticism upon the old saying, but 
as introducing a practical considera- 
tion of happiness, and tending to settle 
the relation to it of outward circum- 
stances. Other points of interest are 
mooted rather than set at rest. 

I Ttfofpov oiiv aTroOdi'ij] ' Must we 

extend this farther, and call no man 






IX. X.] 



HGIKilN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 



385 



vicrr&ov a)$ av y, xara oAcova 8s %psco 
si 8s 8?j xa} flsrsoi/ ot>ra), apa ys xa} sVnv su8a/|uuui/ a 
TOTS S7Tj8av a7ro9ai/>] ; 73 TOUTO ys 7ravT=A<o aVoTrov, 
TS xa} TO? Asyouo-/v r}|ajV si/spys/av rivet rv\v su8a<- 
si 8s jU,7J Asyojasv TOI> TsOvs&Ta eu8aj|,oya, jU-v^s 3 
TOOTO /SouXsTa*, aXX' OTI Trjv/xauTa av TJ a<naX& 

' xaxaiv ovTa xai 



TO>J/ 

Ooxs? yap swx/ T/ TOJ TS^VSCOT; xai xaxov xai ayaQo'v, 

xa} TU> a>i/Ti /x^ alo~6avojasvai 8s, oloi/ rifj.au xa} 

xa} rexvcov xa} oAajc a7ro-yo'va)v suTTpafctoii TS xal 8uo~Tuv/a*. 

> / ^ ^ - ' ~ ^ ' ftft 

iav 6s xa/ TauTa Traps^sr TO> yap jw,axap<j psp/a>- 

[J-s%pi yypfog xa} TsXsuTryravT< xaTa Xo'yov sv^sp^sTai 
crvpfiotivziv Trsp} rovg sxyo'vou^, xa} 



whatever happy as long as he lives, 
but, according to Solon's saying, look 
to the end? And, if we must allow 
this opinion, can we say that a man is 
happy after he is dead ? ' TA.OS is 
here used, not in the technical Ari- 
stotelian sense, but after the common 
usage, as in the Solonian proverb it- 
self. There were two ways in which 
this proverb might be understood. It 
might express : ( i ) That a man is posi- 
tively happy after death. (2) That 
negatively he now attains happiness, 
that is, safety from change ; and thus 
may be retrospectively congratulated. 

t) Tovr6 yt evScu(j.oi>ia.v] ' Nay, 
surely this (the first position) is alto- 
gether absurd, especially to us who 
call happiness a vivid state of con- 
sciousness.' 

3 ex p-fv nva] ' Still even this 
(second way of putting it) is open 
to some difficulty.' It seems not so 
sure that the dead is safe and clear 
from the changes and chances of the 
world, for may he not be affected by 
the fortunes of his posterity ? 

5oKt7 yap elval TI T$ TfOffoan Kal 
KOLKOV Kal dyad6i>, eftrep KCU T< UVTI 



I) 



fj.^1 ai<r9avop.ti>i(i Se] This is the read- 
ing of all Bekker's MSS. ; but the 
rendering of the Paraphrast is at va- 
riance with it, and seems to imply a 
reading of fcai instead of /i^. His 
words are : ird\tv Se OVK apKovffa TI 
\vffts SoKfi. 'Airopio yap tffTiv en, el 
\fyofj.ev ilval ri ry TfOveuri Kal Kan6v 
n KO\ dya96v, Kal aiffQavofifvcp 8e, Sxrirep 
Kal -rip favri. ' For it is thought that 
the dead has, ay and feels too, both 
good and evil, just as much as the 
living.' If the common reading be 
retained, we must suppose Aristotle 
first to have steted in the mildest form 
the popular belief that the happiness 
of the dead is connected with the 
fortunes of his family, and afterwards 
(aroirov 8e Kal rb /tijSeV) to have ex- 
pressed this more strongly. In that 
case, he here seems to say that ordinary 
opinion ascribes happiness and misery 
to the dead in a figure, that is, with 
reference to our idea of their happi- 
ness and misery ; just as good and evil 
may be ascribed to the living, who are 
unconscious of them. 

4 rip yap KaTei \6yov] ' For to 
him who has lived in felicity till old 
D 



"**~ 



38G 



H0IKON NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



xct 



rou xar 



5 arorrov 



evavriag. 



av 



xcu 



OTS 






TO 
6 vcov 






a rei/sais xa 

ev$ai[Ji.(ov Trahiv 8' a$/N.<o. aroTTOV & xa) 
/xvjS' 7T/ T/va %povov (TvvixveiorQai TO. T&V sxyo- 
yovsv(riv. aXX* STravirsov STT} TO TTfOTepov oiTrp- 
rd%a 'yap av QecupriQsfy xai TO vuv 7r/^>jToujU,evov e 
exs/vou. el 8^ TO TeXoj opav 8s7 xai TO'TS paxapl^eiv 
?xao~TOv oup^ aJ^ oWa ]U.axapiov aXX' OTI irporspov yv, Triog 
oux aVoTTov, el oV so~Tiv euSa/aeov, jtx^ aXTjOs'JO-sTaj XT' 
TO ]a>) )3ou?y.go~3a< TOI>^ %a)VTa$ su8a<- 
Tat; jttSTajSoXa^, xai 8ia TO jtxo'vijoto'v 



TO 



TTJV 



and died accordingly,' 
', ' in the same ratio ; ' cf. below, 



' And it is plain 
that by gradual steps of removal (TOW 
dTrocrT^^atrt) the descendants may 
stand in an infinite variety of rela- 
tionships to their ancestors.' fKyovoi 
apparently answer to the 3Aws dv6- 
yovoi in the preceding section. The 
Paraphrast omits the sentence. The 
Scholiast gives trpits TOVS yovtis TWI> 
air<ry6v<i>v dir&ffra.ffiv TroAueiSrj flvat /col 
iroiKi\t]v dvaryKcuAi' IffTiv. 

5 &Toirof 8^J yovfvffiv] 'It would 
be absurd, therefore, if the dead should 
change in sympathy with them, and 
become at one time happy, and then 
again wretched. But it would be 
absurd also that the fortunes of the 
descendants should affect the ancestors 
in nothing, and not for some time at 
least,' i. e. after death. The second 
part of this sentence, pronounced so 
strongly as it is, seems to contradict 
what one would have supposed to be 
Aristotle's philosophical creed. But 
he is here speaking from the popular 
point of view, and states strongly the 
two sides of the difficulty that presents 



itself. The question as to the dead 
being influenced by this world is not 
one that belongs properly to ethics. 
Aristotle seems inclined to accept the 
common belief on the subject (cf. I. xi. 
i, i. xi. 6), but to modify it so as to 
leave it unimportant. 

6 ' But let us return to the former 
difficulty, for perhaps the clue to our 
present question also may be dis- 
covered from it.' ri> itp6rfpov dirop7]6(v 
is not a very accurate expression. 
Aristotle, when he stated the question 
now reverted to, el Set rb re\os 6pdv, 
gave it two meanings, and showed the 
impossibility of holding the first, and 
the difficulty that attached even to the 
second. He now says ' let us go back 
to the former difficulty.' What he 
means, however, is clear enough. He 
means to say, ' may we not after all 
set aside the caution of Solon in what- 
ever way it is stated ? May we not 
predicate happiness in the present as 
well as retrospectively? By settling 
the question as far as the present life 
goes, we may perhaps get some light 
as to the security or insecurity of the 
dead.' 

7 rets Se rvxas ToAAcfois O.VO.KV- 



X.] 



II6IKQN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



387 



7roAAax< avaxrjxXsicra/ Trsp rovg avrovg ; 
yap tog si o~uvaxoXou9onjjaV roCig Tvctig, rov aurov 



Tva TOV eJ8a/ju.ova aTroQaivovrsg xai craQpalg ItipvfjLzvov. r] 9 
TO juiv Ta? r()^aig s7raxoAou6s7v ou8ajato opSo'v; ou -yap 
ev ravTOiig TO s5 73 xaxa>, aXAa 7rpoo~8sTTa< TOUTWV 6 av- 
Qp(t)7rwog /3/o, xa$ct7rsp ejTrajasv, xvpiai 8' slcnv al XOIT' 
ap=Trjv svspysiai Trig swOa/ftov/a^, ai 8' evavrtai TOU Ivav- 

T/OU. [AOLpTVpSl 8s TO) Xo'^OJ Xi TO VUV ^lOLTTOSV. TTS 
i^ \ rf t f ^5/1 ' 

oudsv yap ourcog i7rap%ei ra>v avQpioTrivc 

ro^ 7Tsp< Ta^ evspysiag rag xar apsTyv pov INCUTS pa. i 

v~> ~r^~ v /<>>~ 

xai TCOV sTTKTTrjfjiwv aural 6oxou(TJV s*va/. Tora)v 6 atmoi/ ' 

' ' ">>\ 

on TiJuwTaTau AoviioTaTai 6ia TO 



sv 




paxapiovg ' TOUTO yap 






Kh.f'tffOa.i trepl roiis airrovs] ' And be- 
cause fortune makes many revolutions 
around the same individuals.' Various 
expressions of this sentiment are 
quoted from the Classics. The most 
beautiful is that which occurs in Soph. 
Trachinits, 127, d\\' eirl irrj/j.0. Kal x a P& 

Tlaffl KUK\OV(nv t OlOV &pKTOU (TTpO<f>d8fS 

K\ev0oi. 

8 ^a.^.a.i\iovTa. xal ffaQpias ISpv- 
(j.4vov~\ It has been remarked that 
these words form an iambic line, pro- 
bably quoted from some play. 

9 if) rb fj.ev ewjrtou] ' Rather, 
to follow chances is altogether a mis- 
take, for good or evil resides not in 
these, but human life, as we have said, 
requires them as an external con- 
dition ; while what determines happi- 
ness is the rightly regulated mental 
consciousness, and vice versd.' 

10 fiaprvpei 5e r<p \6ytf Kol rb vvv 
SiairopriO V] 'And even the present 
difficulty witnesses to our theory,' i.e. 
the difficulty felt in predicating happi- 
ness, except retrospectively, betrays a 
latent sense that happiness must be 
regarded as something more stable 
than the fluctuations of fortune. Ari- 



stotle finds out that this more stable 
essence is to be found in his own con- 
ception of happiness, since he has 
placed it in the individual conscious- 
ness, in that which is the life and soul 
of the man himself. 

Trfpl ovSev 7<ip A.^0Tjj/] ' For about 
nothing human is there so much stabi- 
lity, as about the most excellent moods 
of the consciousness, for these are 
thought to be more abiding even than 
the sciences. And the highest among 
them are most abiding of all, because 
the happy dwell in them most entirely 
and continuously, which appears to 
give the reason for their never being 
forgotten.' It is one of the deepest 
and most admirable parts of Aristotle's 
system, that he insists upon the sta- 
bility and permanence of mental states. 
Cf. Eth. vni. iii. 6, 7) 5' aperr; fi.6vift.ov. 
Cf. also in. \. 22, where he says that 
'we are masters of our actions, but 
our habits are masters of us.' v. ix. 
14, ' the just man cannot be unjust at 
will,' &c. To speak indeed of human 
evtpyfiai as fj.6vifj.ot or arvve x^s is a sort 
of contradiction of Aristotle's own 
philosophy, cf. Eth. x. iv. 9 ; Metaph. 
D 2 



388 



H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I. 



[CHAP. 



TUUV 



II 8 /' dis oATj&Ds ayaObs ical TfTpa- 
ycavos &vfv ty6yov\ ' He that is truly 
good, and foursquare without a flaw.' 
These terms are borrowed from Simo- 
nides. They are quoted also, and dis- 
cussed, in the Protagoras of Plato, p. 
339 : &v$p' ayaObv ptv a\a6(tns TfveaOat 
\epffi re /cal iroffl Kal v6tp 



alruo ToO jarj yiyvs(rQai Trepi aora 
OTJ TO V]ToujU,5vov TO) suoa/jtxovj, xai so~rai 8/a j3bu ro/ou- 
rog* a< yap 15 jU.aXi(TTa Travrwv Trpa^si xa} &scapr l (rsi TO, 
xar' apsTTgv, xai rag rup^ag GiVei xaAArra xai Travrr/ Trav- 
ra>g gffixsXajg o y' co'g a?u)6aj>g ayafiog xa)jrgrpaya>VQg aj/eu 

roXXaJv 8e ytvoplvcov xara ruyv^v xa) 

e< xai jU,<xporr]T/, Ta 

xa/ TO>V civTix.si { 

, ra Oe p-syaXa xal TroXXa ytyvo'^aeva JOLSV e3 ]U,axa- 
piwrspov TOV fiiov 7roir)(Ti (xai yap aura o"uv7r<xo(TjU,sTv 

/*. \C^* 5^w \\ ^// \ 

ava/raAtv 8s <ru[Jt.@Kx.ivovTa Qhi&ei xa< Au//,a/vera< ro 

vin. viii. 18. The more accurate 
expression of his principle would be 
to say that while the 'Ep^yeia is per- 
petually blooming out, and then dis- 
appearing, the "Efts abides, and is 
ever tending to reproduce the tvepyeia. 
Life then may be regarded as a series 
of vivid moments, with slight intervals 
or depressions between, or again, 
ideally, as a vivid moment of conscious- 
ness, the intervals being left out of 
sight. Cf. Essay IV. The Mpytta 
then is our life and being, and it would 
be absurd to speak of forgetting this. 
It is ' more abiding than the sciences,' 
i. e. than the separate parts of know- 
ledge, which do not constitute the 
mind itself. The opposition here is 
not between the moral and intellectual 
fvepyeicu, as we may see from u, 
where it is said that 'the required 
stability will belong to the happy 
man, for always, or mostly, he will act 
and contemplate in accordance with 
the law of his being.' 2o<f>m, viewed 
as a mood of the mind, is as abiding 
as the moral qualities, and indeed 
admits of more continuous exercise. 
Cf. Eth. x. vii. 2. 

irfpl avrd] (sc. frtpyttas). Cf. 
Eth. in. xii. 2, Pol. vii. xiii. 3, where 
there occur similar transitions to a 
neuter pronoun. 



Cf. Rhetoric, m. xi. 2 : TUV dyadbv 
&vSpa (pai'ai flvai rerpdytovov, fj.troupopd. 
&H<pw 7&p T^Aeta. Hor. Serm. u. vii. 
86 : in seipso totus, teres atque ro- 
tundus. 

12 Srj\ov us iroffiffei, K. r.A..] The 
distinction between 0^ and ftios is 
hardly preserved. ' Good fortunes, if 
small, obviously do not alter the 
balance of the life and feelings, but if 
considerable, and coming in numbers, 
they will make one's condition more 
blessed.' Cf. Eth. ix. ix. 9. 

KO,} yap avra, ffwciftKOff^Jitiv ir^>wce] 
' For they naturally add a lustre.' This 
is said from the practical point of view, 
which analyses happiness into the in- 
ternal mood, and the external circum- 
stances. From the ideal point of view, 
which takes happiness as a whole 
(Eth. i. vii. 8), nothing can be added to 
it, or make it better. 

a.va.ira\iv 5i fafya\6\^vxos] 'While 
contrary circumstances mar and deface 



X.] 

piov huTrag rs yap 



H9IKON NIKOMAXEmN I. 
xai p.7ro^i^si 



389 



= xa sv 



\ s 



TO 



STTSI- 



xa 
aSv xa 



s 



aVa?iy7j<r/av, a'AXa ysv 
sl<rit/ al svspysiai xuptai 

av ysvoiro TWV [j-axapicuv a$?uo* O^STTOTS -yap Trpd^ei ra 
xai 4 :ia ^^ a ' T"* 7^P "> ah^aig dyaQov xoti 
Travag olo^asSa raj ru^ag BiKr^r^QVcog Qepsiv xoii 
ex rwv tt7rap%ovT(t)v dsi ra xaXX/o-ra TrpdrTsiv, 
XOL} errparrjyov aya^ov rc5 Trapwri (rrparoTrsSaj 

xai (rxurorojaov sx TCOV SoQsvrcov <rxurolv 
TTQIZIV ' TOV atJrov 8s rpOTrov xai TOU^ 
oLTravrag. si 8' ourco^, a5?uo jotsv ou5s- 14 
TTOTS ysvofT' av o su8a/'jU,a)v, ou |U,r)V paxapiog -ys, av IIp*- 
afj.ixa'ig Tvvaig Ttpiirtvj), ows 3^ 7roix/Ao -ys xai 

ours yap ex r% tv^aiftwfety xivTjQrj/rsrai pa 
UTTO TCOV TuvoWaw aTyyv)jaar)V aXX' UTTO 

sx rs TOJV TOIQUTWV ovx av yevoiro ?raXiv 
sv 



xai 



felicity, by introducing pains, and often 
hindering the play of the mind. But 
nevertheless, even in these, what is 
beautiful shines out, when one bears 
easily many and great misfortunes, 
not from insensibility, but from being 
of a noble and magnanimous nature.' 
In this place, and in jE^. in. ix. 4 
(where he describes the brave man 
voluntarily consenting to death), Ari- 
stotle exhibits a high moral tone, quite 
on a level with the Stoics, and which 
places him above the accusation of 
being a mere Eudaemonist. 

13 ft 8' eJrlv 4>auAa] 'Now if 
life is determined by its moments of 
consciousness, as we have said, no one 
of the blessed will ever become mise- 
rable, for he will never do what is 
hateful and mean.' /*aoptoy, which 
is used repeatedly here and elsewhere, 
is a more enthusiastic term than 



fvSctlfnav. Though it is applied to 
/Si'os in the previous section, it would 
seem generally more applicable to the 
internal feelings. By a false ety- 
mology, Eth. vn. xi. 2, it is connected 
with x<dp eiv - I Q the next section it 
is predicated negatively of the tuSaifnuv. 
' The happy man can never become 
miserable not, however, that he will 
retain his joyful state, if he falls into 
the lot of Priam.' But no very marked 
distinction is kept up between evSai- 
fjuav and fia.K<ipios. 

14 <cK T T(iiV TOIOVTUV 67T7Jj8oAos] 

' And after such he cannot again be- 
come happy in a short time, but if at 
all, in a long and complete period, 
having attained great and noble things 
in it.' This shows that happiness, 
being deep-seated, and depending on 
the entire state of the mind ({is), is 
neither lost nor won easily. 



390 



IlGIKilN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 



[CHAP. 



xa/ 



JV xoti xaAeov ev aurto ysvopsvog e7rrj|3oXo. ri ouv 
Asysiv euSa/jtxova rov xar' apsTjv reXe/av evepyoSvra 
Ixavws xe%opriyr)[Ji.voy, ^ TOV TU- 
a TeXs/ov $/ov ; ij Trpoo-^srsov xai $/o- 
ourto xai TsXsuTrjVovra xara Xoyov ; ETreiS^ TO 
a<ave Tjjan/, Trjv su&a/jaov/av 8s TAo xai 
1 6 Ti5ejU,V Travrry Trdvraag. si 8' O'JTCO, ]txaxap/ouj epovpsv 
xai V7rd{*ei ra 



Ka) 



TOUTO)V STTi TOfTOUTOV 



Troyovwv Tv^ag xa ' ^ Xcov airavTcov TO 

o"Lja3aXX0~5a< X/av ac^/Xov tyalvsrai xai ralg 
svavrlov ' 7roXXa>v Se xai 7ra.vToia,$ S 



1 5 rf oSr Treirrws] ' What hinders 
then to call him happy, who is in the 
fruition of absolute harmony of mind 
and is furnished sufficiently with ex- 
ternal goods not for a casual period, 
but an absolute lifetime ? or must one 
add " and who shall live on so and 
die accordingly " since the future is 
uncertain to us, and we assume hap- 
piness to be an, End-in-itself and some- 
thing absolute in every possible way ? ' 
rt\fios, as before said, has two asso- 
ciations ; one popular, with the com- 
mon sense of reAor, and thus means 
' complete,' or ' perfect ; ' the other, 
philosophic, with the End-in-itself, 
and thus means that which is in and 
for itself desirable, that in which the 
mind finds satisfaction, the absolute. 
The word here seems to hover between 
its two meanings. Aristotle probably 
was not conscious of the collision 
between the frequent use of reAetov 
here and the question to which this 
chapter is an answer d xp^l T ^> TAOJ 
&pa.v. 

1 6 ft 5' oSru ovflpwjrous] 'If so, 
we shall call those happy during their 
lifetime, who have and shall have the 
qualities mentioned, but still happy as 



men only.' Solon's view, which had 
rested on a too great regard to external 
fortune, is accordingly superseded. 
Happiness viewed from the inside 
from its most essential part may be 
predicated of the living, though still 
with a reserve, since they are still 
subject to the conditions of humanity. 

XI. i He returns to the question 
before incidentally mooted (i. x. 4), 
whether the happiness of the dead 
can be affected by the vicissitudes of 
the world they have left He will 
not altogether deny that some con- 
sciousness of events may reach the 
dead, but without determining this he 
argues that in any case the impres- 
sion produced by them must be too 
slight and unimportant to affect our 
notion of the dead. 

roTs 5<jas Ivavrlov] In the so-called 
Menexenus of Plato (p. 148 B) we 
find this opinion stated in a wavering 
form. (The dead are supposed to ad- 
dress their surviving parents) Sf6fj.eBa 
S^i na\ irartpuiv KO.} fj.iyrtp<av Trj avrfj 
TO.VTT) Siavo'itf xpuifufvovs r'bv tiri\ouroi' 
/3lov Stdytiv, KO.I tio 



XL] 



HOIKftN NIKOMAXEmN I. 



391 



TO)V 



TOV 



xa 



tf 



s 



rpoig eoixsv, 



TCOV ]U,V jU,aXXoV (TltVlXVO>JfJ.SVa)V TWV 

sxa&Tov jaev fiiaipsiv paxpov xa} aTrspav- 
QoAou 8e Xsp^Qsv xa) TOTTO! TOV' dv IxaviJog 
Qa.7rsp xai TWV Trspl aurov aTu%y[j.dTfov rd 3 
xai pOTTTjV Trpog Tov fitov TO. 

ra Tree) rou (biXdtf$ bu.o((t)g 

\y~ * 

rsp/ (,a)VTotg -ir\ 
ra 



s rtov 



ITTSOV 



IV SV 

xou 

ai Trepi 



TTJV 



TO 5 

si Tivog dyaQov xoivcu- ^ 
vovcriv i] TWV dvTixei[j.eva)v' soixs yap sx TQVTCOV el xdi 



TQV$ 



d\\' elf rts IOTI rols rere- 



3 4 el Srj Sta^opov] There is a 
complex protasis, (i) ' S^, (z) Sta^e'pet 
8e. The apodosis to both is <rv\\o- 
-yiffTtov 5^. The argument is, that we 
must bear in mind the difference : (i) 
between misfortunes in themselves, 
light and heavy ; (2) between those, 
of whatever kind, happening in our 
lifetime and after our death. ' If, then, 
it is the same case with regard to the 
misfortunes attaching to the circle of 
one's friends as it is with those attach- 
ing to oneself, namely, that some have 
a certain weight and influence upon 
life, while others seem lighter ; and if, 
again, there is a difference between 
the impression made by events on the 
living and on the dead far greater 
than that between crimes and horrors 
enacted upon the stage or only alluded 
to in tragedies ; we must, I say, take 
account of this difference.' 

irpovirapxew ^ irpdrrfffdai] The 
contrast is that between the actual re- 
presentation of horrors, or the mention 
of them, as 'presupposed,' and done 
off the stage. It is merely the prin- 
ciple of Horace. A. P. 181. 

eW This cannot mean 



'"We must conclude;' else the same 
proposition would form both the pre- 
mises and the conclusion; but 'w.e 
must take account of,' i.e. we must 
make ' this difference ' part of the 
premises we have to go upon in all 
reasonings about the dead. The word j 
is used, not in its technical Aristo- 
telian, but rather in its earlier and 
natural sense, according to which it 
meant ' to put together the grounds of 
an argument. 1 Cf. Plato, Charmides, 
p. 1 60, D : Trdvra ravra ffv\\oyiffd/j.evos 
etire e5 KO! dvSpetcos. The Paraphrast 
here writes aKtwriov oi\>v vepl TTJS 8ta- 
<J>opas. 

5 /j.a\\ov 8' fffcas dvTiKfifj.fffay] ' Or 
rather, perhaps ' (we must, take into 
account, (rv\Ao7J<rTeo'understood), 'the 
fact that a question is raised about the 
dead, as to whether they share at all in 
good or evil.' A difficulty has been made 
about T& 5tairo/>e?(r#ai. ' Lambinus ex 
Vet. Int. et Argyrop. emendat rJSe 
5e, eamque lectionem Zwinger in tex- 
tum recepit, quse hactenus commenda- 
tur, quia sequenti Sid absorbed facile 
poterat 8^ et 8e7.' Zell. The conjec- 
ture is supported by the rendering of 
the Paraphrast, who separates this 
clause from the preceding one. aict- 
TTTeoi' o%v irepl rfjy Statpopas. ftf\rwi> 



392 



II6IKQN NIKOMAXEIilN I. 



[CHAP. 



irpog avTovg OTJOUI/, sir dyaftov sirs TOvvavTiov, 
"<} dtyavpov TI xoti [j,ixpov rj g^rXoig r) sxsivoic eJvai, e} 8s JU.TJ, 
ys xot.} Toiourov w(rrs JU.T) TTQISIV euSa/]U,ova^ rou^ 
ra^ d<botipEta~Qoii TO p,<x.xapiov. 

[Jilv OUV T< $a.ivOVTCLl TOig XSX^XO(TIV al SW 

Ttov <J>t'Xa)V, oAto/to^ 8s xai al 8ua~7rpa<-[/aj, 
Lr)Ts rou^ euSa/jaova^ JU.TJ 

TCOV TOiOUTfOV 



f ^ * t -fj.ovia$ TroTspa TWV eTraivsrtov 
^"^ ^^^5) 



etrrv 



TOW rifj.ai 



or/ 



t tt- 



K.T.\. 

But against it these appear to be con- 
reasons: (r) The authority of 
( 2 ) We should expect Siairopeij', 
a * ^ e sentence should stand 
8' Jferws r<J5e 5eT StairopE?!/. 
(3) The alteration would really alter 
and spoil the context. Aristotle does 
not say ' Perhaps after all we had 
better start the question anew, whe- 
ther the dead are conscious of events.' 
This would contradict \ 6. He only 
says, ' While granting the hypothesis 
that they do feel, we must take into 
account the element of doubt which 
still continues to attach to the subject.' 
6 This section was pronounced sus- 
pect by Victorius on account of its 
being a mere repetition and summing 
up of former conclusions. He says 
it is wanting in some MSS., and that 
it may be a scholium, though a very 
old one. In favour of its genuineness 
we may urge that it is quite in Ari- 
stotle's manner. Cf. Eth. m. v. zz. 
It is found in all Bekker's MSS., with 
the exception of the words TWV <pl\uv, 
6fiol<es 8e Kal at Sva-irpa^iai ; which are 
omitted in two, the omission being 
obviously due to the similarity of 
iiirpa|i'cu and 8v<rirpai(u. It is also 
recognised by the Paraphrast and 
Eustratius. 



ffv/j.pd\\f<rdai rt] 'to contribute,' 
or 'communicate something." Cf. Eth. 
m. i. 12: /uf/Sfi/ ffv(j.l3a.\\ofj.tvov TOV 
fiiaaBfinos. x. x. 19. 

XII. The question which occupies 
this chapter, namely, in which class 
of goods happiness is to be placed, 
the admirable or the praiseworthy ? is 
one that appears of little ethical in- 
terest, to have no important scientific 
bearing, in short, to degenerate into a 
sort of trifling. Aristotle, however, 
who aims at verbal precision and dis- 
tinctness, and again, who wishes to 
reconcile his theory with all questions, 
doctrines, and forms of language of 
the day, appears to have thought it- 
worth a passing consideration. We 
may regard the present question as 
the last of that series of collateral 
questions growing out of his defi- 
nition of happiness. It is answered 
by being stated ; for the Chief Good 
and the Absolute must necessarily 
be above praise, which is only given 
to the relatively, not to the absolutely 
good. 

I $TJ\OV yap Sri ruv ye $vvd/j.fwv OVK 
tV-riv] ' For it is plain that it is not a 
merely potential good.' This implies 
a classification of goods into ( i ) poten- 
tial, (2) actual, which latter are sub- 



XI. XII.] 



NIKOMAXEIftN I. 



393 



?rav ro 



r 



ro> TTOJO'V ri slvai xa) 

rov yap 8/xa<ov xa) rov av8ps7ov xa} o/\.wg 
TOV dyafyov xa} rrji/ dpsrr t v sVa/vofyxsv 8/a rag Trpd^sig xa} 
roi spya, xa) TQV ITJ/VZOV xa} rov 8p0|0uxov xa) rdav aAAa>v 
xao~rov rto TTOIQV TWO. TTsQuxsvai xa) svs/v 7ra> 7rpo aya- 
#o'v r* xa) (nrwba'iov. SrjXov Ss rouro xai sx rcov Trsp; 3 
rou^ Qsoug sTra'tvcav ysXoioi yap Qaivwrai irpog yfuig 
ava&;potj,evQi, rouro 8s (rvpfiaivei 8/a TO yivecrQoti rovg 

wcnrsp s'/7ra ( av. si o' scrrlv o 4- 

or< raiv apKTTaiv oi/x so~riv 

, aAAa ^sov TI xa< 3sXr/oi/, xaQaTrsp xai Qaivsrai ' 
rods rs yap Qsovg paxapi^opev xai euSa^ov/^Ojasv xa/ riv 
avftptbv Tovg QsioraTovg [j.axapio[Jt,sv. otxo/a) 8s xal rcov 
aya^oiv ' ooSeij yap rrjv su8a/^xov/av 
8/xa/ov, aXX' a>? Qziorzpov ri xai 
8s xa) Eu'So^o^ xaAco^ (TuvTjyop^o-ai 
r]8ov^' TO yap jU,^ s7raivsi(rQai ribv ayaQibv oixrav 
tt>=ro or* xpsTrrov EO~TJ rAv sTraivsrtov, roioDrov 
TOV $soi/ xa) rayaQov trpog raura -yap xa) raAXa ova- 
<lpso~$a. 6 ju,sv yap STraivog Trig apsr%' Trpaxrfxo) 6 



xaQaTrsp TO 
]aaxap/^si. SoxeT 5 
rtov apurTeicuv TJ\ 



divided into praiseworthy and admi- 
rable. There is a complete commen- 
tary on the present passage to be 
found in the Magna Moralia, i. ii. r : 
Eirl 8' v?rep TOVTIUV Sicapiffrat, ireipct- 
Owfj.fi' Xtfeiv, To.ya.ffbv irocra^ws \eyerai. 
"'Etrrt 7p TCCI/ ayaffcov ra fM|i rt^ia, TO 
8' eVaipera, TO Se Surdueis. rb 8^ rifj.iov 
Aeyco rb rotoD-roc, rb Qiiov, rb ^eAnoc, 
cloy if'i'X^. wOs, rb a.p-)(a.i&rfpov^ i) a.px"fl, 
TO. TOiavra .... ra 8^ e-Traivero oloj/ 
aperai . . . . ra 8^ Swauets, oloy apx^J 
(rule), irAoCros, lrrx^ s i xd\\os ' rovruis 
yap Kai & ffirovocuos e5 &c SufrjTai XP^I~ 
ffaffBcu Kal 6 <f>avAos KaxoSs, Sib 5vvd/j.ei 
rA TOiaCra Ka\owrtu ayafld .... 
AoiTrbv 8^ Kal T^raprov TUV ayadwv rb 
trcooTi/cbj/ Kal TroirjTiKbc d^afloP, oToi/ 



3 7eAo7oi 



sc. ol Qeoi, 



Eth. x. riii. 7. Hence, in the ' Te 
Deum laudamtis,' laudarc is used in a 
different sense from ^iran/eli'. 

8ta Tb ylvfffQcu rovs trratvovs Si' 
avcupopas] ' Because praise is made by 
a reference to some higher standard." 

5 SoKf't 8e' a.voupfpfada.i\ ' Now 
Eudoxus also seems to have well 
pleaded the claims of pleasure to the 
first prize, for he argued that its not 
being praised, although it is a good, 
shows that it is above the class of 
things praiseworthy, as God and the 
chief good are, to whom all other 
things are referred.' On Eudoxus see 
Eth. x. ii. i 2, Essay III. p. 169. 
The metaphor of the Aristeia here 
seems borrowed from the Phikbus of 
Plato, p. 22 E : "AAA& yuV> <> ^Kparcs, 
epotyt So/cet vvv fj.ev rfiovi] croi ireirrw- 



E E 



394 



H9IKflN NIKOMAXEION I. 



[CHAP. 



yap TWV xa"Xwv a?ro raur^^* ra S' syx<u[j.ia TWV spywv 
7 ofj-Qicog xa} rtov (ru)p.aTixtbv xa\ TWV \J/up*x<oi/. aXAa raura 

IM.V '/<70J olxSlOTSpOV S^aXplfiouV TOlg TTSpl TO. SyXtOfJUO. 

^ yfjJiiv Ss 3?jAov ex TCOV elpv)f*.sva)v on I<TT\V y 
ripicov xa} rtXs/a>v. eoixs <$' OUTO> ep="> 
xa< /a TO sva< apffl ' TavT7\g yap pap'" T AOJTTC 
TTOLVTSS 7rpa.TTOfj.eVy TVJV ap^v Os xai TO a'lTiov TWV 

TtfJUOV Tl XOl 6ilOV TlQsfJLSV. 

13 'ETTS} 8' <TT)J/ rj ev?*ai[j,ovia \}/y^% Ivspysia Tig 



el irA7) < ye?(To ujrb rcSj' vw 
tSi/ 70^ viKfj-rfiploat' irepi 
rai. K.T.\. 

6 Praise is of qualities : ' encomia 
are for achievements, whether bodily 
or mental.' Cf. Rhetoric, i. ix. 33, 
where the same distinction is given : 
<m 8' eiraivos \6yos f/j.<j>cu>i(at> /ueyeOos 
apfrrjs . . . rb S' l-fK&iJiiov ruv epywv 
ivrlv . . . Sib KO.I fyKca/j.id^ofjLv irpd^av- 
ras. ra Se tpya (rri/j.t'ia. rfjs ee(as Iffnv, 
tirfl ^iraivotfufv Uv /col ft.)) irtTrpa-y^TO el 

TTlffT(UOlfJ.fV flvai TOIOVTOV. Cf. Etk. 

Eud. n. i. fb nfv yap fyic<afj.tov h6yos 
TOV naff tKcurrov $pyov ... 6 5 s cvSai- 
fioviff/jibs re'Aottt. 

7 aAXo ireiroKTj^ej'ojs] 'But per- 
haps to go into the details of the 
subject belongs more properly to the 
writers on encomia.' weTronj^eVots, a 
deponent form, as in Eth. i. xiii. 2. 
Encomia, in the hands of the Sophists, 
seem to have become a complete 
branch of literature, so as to have 
been treated as a separate art with its 
own proper rules. 

8 &>j/ce S' rlOfUfu] 'And this 
seems also the case from its being a 
principle ; for we all do all things else 
for the sake of this. Now the prin- 
ciple and the cause of goods we assume 
to be something admirable and divine.' 
The two senses of a.pxh opx^ ovarias 
and apx^ yvdffws (cf. Metaph. rv. xvii. 
2), the origin of being and the origin of 



knowing the cause and the reason 
seem here to flow together. Happi- 
ness, or the practical chief good, is 
the a.px'il of life, as being the final 
cause or rtAos. In this sense apxt and 
reAos, the first and the last, become 
identical. But the idea of happiness 
when apprehended becomes an apx'h 
in another way, namely, a major pre- 
mise or principle for action (Cf. Eth. 
vi. xii. 10). When Aristotle speaks 
of 'something admirable and divine, 
the principle and the cause of all 
goods,' he uses terms that approach 
those of Plato with regard to the Idea 
of Good, though his point of view is 
different. Cf. Essay III. 

XIII. "With this chapter commences 
a new division of the treatise. Ari- 
stotle now opens the analysis of the 
terms of his definition. If happiness 
be ' conscious life in conformity with 
the law of absolute excellence,' the 
question arises, what this law of ex- 
cellence is? a question essentially 
belonging to Politics. The answer to 
this Aristotle gives by the aid of a 
popular and empirical Psychology. 
Without attempting to sound the 
depths of the subject, he assumes, as 
sufficient for his present purpose, a 
threefold development of the internal 
principle (^"X^) into (') the purely 
physical or vegetative, (2) the semi- 



XII. XIII.] HGIKflN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



395 



rsXs/av, Trspi apsrris eV/o-xsTrrsov * Ta%a yap 
ay /3s'?\.riov xai TTS 



o XCCT 



xa) rtov vopcov UTTTJXOOU^. 7rapd!)iy[j.a 8s TOUTCOV s^Ojasv 3 
U Kpjruiv xou Aaxs8a</Jt,ov/>i/ voj 

el 8s T? 



aurij, S>]Xov on yevoir av v] ^Trjo"/^ xara rr ; v s^ 



7Tpoap(rw. Trsp apsrr^s s 7r/<rx=7rTov avpcoTr- 5 

or;, xai yap raya^ov avQp(07Tivov %r l rov l u.V 
xai r^v subaifJLOviav avQpwTTivyv. apsrrjv Ss Xsyo/xsv av^pto- 6 
oi rrjv TOU (ra)[j.aTo$ aAXa r^v r^j \|/y 4 xa) 

. si 



rational or appetitive, (3) the purely 
rational. The first being excluded 
from all share in virtue, or human 
excellence properly so called ; the 
second is considered the sphere of 
moral, and the third that of intellec- 
tual virtue. This division regulates 
the methodical arrangement of the 
Ethics. Also it may be said to have 
regulated almost all subsequent human 
thought on moral subjects. On Ari- 
stotle's general philosophy of the tyvxh 
see Essay V. 

i So/ceT 5e \mt\K.(>ov3\ ' This, too, 
seems to have been the main concern 
of the true politician, for he wishes to 
make the citizens good and obedient 
to the laws.' As we find in Plato 
oAT)0eta is the quality most character- 
istic of the Ideas, so /far' a\rideiav 
here implies a thing being absolutely, 
deeply, essentially what it is to the ex- 
clusion of all mere seeming. The con- 
trast here would be to those irpaim/col 
iroAm/cot mentioned Eth. \i. viii. 2. 
Also to those historical and eminent 
statesmen whom Plato attacks in the 
Gorgias, p. 5150 sq., as having been 
entirely devoid of this object making 
the citizens better. 



3 irapdSeijfj.a tie yeyevTjvrcu'] 'As 
an instance of this we have the law- 
givers of the Cretans and Lacedaemo- 
nians, and if there have been any 
others such like.' Aristotle seems to 
have inherited the preference felt by 
Plato and by Socrates for the Spartan 
constitution ; not so much as a his- 
torical fact, but rather as a philoso- 
phical idea. It presented the scheme 
of an entire education for the citizens, 
though Aristotle confesses that this 
became degraded into a school for 
gymnastic. 

5 trepl aperTJs 5e tiriffK^irrtov avOpta- 
irivris SfjAov Sri] ' Now it is obviously 
about human excellence that we have 
to enquire.' This passage would prove, 
if it were necessary, the indeterminate 
sense with which the term aperij is in- 
troduced into Aristotle's Ethics. At 
first it appears merely as the law of 
excellence, quite in a general signifi- 
cation. Afterwards this is gradually 
restricted to human excellence, and 
then physical or bodily excellence is 
finally excluded. 

7 et 51 ravff larpiKris] 'But if 
this be so, it is plain that the politician 
must know in a way the nature of the 
2 



H6IKI1N NIROMAXElilN I. 



[CHAP. 



xa 



or* Os7 TOV TTO^ITIXOV slosvai 7ra> ra Trspi 
xai TOV <>4>6aAjaou 5spa7rsoo-ovTa xa) Trat/ 
xa jaaA?\.ov oVa) T<//.ta>Ts'pa xai j3sAT/)v 73 
TCOV 3' iaTptov ol 

8 rsuovrai Trsp rr t v TOU crw^,arog yvaxriv. 

TtO 7TO/v,mXtt> TTSpJ ^pr), QsOJpVJTs'oV OS TOUTOJV papJV, X/ 

e<>' ocrov ixavtoi, 1 ^' Trpo^ Ta ^jroujasva' TO yap ITT/ 
TrAsTov z^oixptfinvv epyfoSeVrspov iVa>^ sort rtov 

9 ?y.7sra< 8s 7rsp< aur5)^ xa * sv TO 

sv/a, xa) ^pr^frrsov aurofg. o/ov ro /xsv 
sTva*, TO Ss Xoyov sp^ov. TauTa ^s TroVspov 
a^aTrep Ta TOU <ra)jaaTO juo^ia xai ?rav TO jU,s 
T(O Xo'yto Suo sVTiv a^a>p<o"Ta ^s^yxoVa xaSaTrsp sv T-TJ 
sp4)2p/a TO xupTov xai TO xoTXov, oiSsv 8<a(J^s'psi Trpot; 



internal principle, just as he who is to 
cure the eyes must know also the whole 
body. And this holds good the more 
in proportion as Politics is higher and 
better than medicine.' A different 
interpretation is given by -some com- 
mentators ; thus Argyropulus, follow- 
ing the scholium of Eustratius, trans- 
lates: ' Quemadmodum et eum, qui 
curaturus est oculos totumque corpus, 
de ipsis scire oportet ; ' as if the ana- 
logy between the Iarp6s and the iro- 
\iTtn6s were this, that they both are 
concerned to know the nature of that 
which they propose to benefit The 
Paraphrast, however, takes it as above, 
referring Kal irav ausfia not to 6fpa- 
irtvffovra but to 5T et'Seveu. That this 
is the true interpretation is rendered 
almost certain by a passage in Plato 
(Charmides, p. 156 B), from which the 
present comparison was in all proba- 
bility taken : &\\' Siffirtp tacas <j8rj KCC 
fit ttKTJKoas TOU/ ayaOwis iaTpwv, lirtiSd 

TiS aOToIs 7TpO(TA0J) TOUS 6<j)6a\fWVS 

aA-y^j/, Keyovffi irou, STI ov% ol6v Tf 
avrovs (j.6vovs eirixfip*iv -rovs 6<pda\(JLOvs 
laoOai, a\\' avayKaiuv fit) S/ua /col rV 
Ofpairfveiv, el /ue'AAoi KCU TO 



v ol a5 
irore Cep 

avrrjv f<p' 4aurf;s Svei) oAou roD a 
TroAA V oi/ojav eT^ot. The general sense 
here evidently is that as the oculist 
must know to a certain extent the rest 
of the body, so the politician, who has 
not by any means to deal with the 
whole of the tyvxh, must yet, in some 
measure, know tts entire nature. This 
knowledge, however, is to be limited 
( 8) by a practical scope. With 
XapltvTfs cf. DC Sensu, i. 4 : /col TUV 
uf ol 



9 A7eTOj exov] 'Now even in 
popular accounts certain points are 
sufficiently stated with regard to the 
internal principle, and we will avail 
ourselves of them ; as, for instance, 
that part of it is irrational and part 
rational.' For an account of the 
QwrtpiKol \6yoi, and for arguments 
showing that they do not designate a 
separate class of Aristotle's own works, 
see Appendix B to Essays. 

10 TOUTO 5 TropfSv] ' But whether 
these are divided like the limbs ofthe 
body, and all other divisible matter, 



XIII.] 



NIKOMAXEK1N I. 



397 



TO Trapov. TOO aXoyou tis TO [ASV ojxs XQLV<D xa Qvrixa), n 
8s TO aiTiov TOU rpsfye&Qai xcti av^sa-Qai ' TTJV To;au- 



rig av xa sv rug 



urrv Se 



, rr t v aurr^v e raitrrjV xa. sv 
* evhoywrspov yap ) aAXTjv TJva. TauTrjj 



yap ev TOI 



T7) tea. oux vpcuTrivr) tyaiverar oxsi 
svspyeiv jtxaX<o"Ta TO popiov TOUTO x< vi 
aya^oj xai xaxo ^xio~Ta S/aOvjXo* xa^' 
UTTVOV, o'$sv c^ao~iv ouSsv ftiaQspeiv TO v^aja-u TOU 3/ou TOU^ 
suSa/jtxoi/ag TCOV a^X/aiv. <rttp.fia.wst 0= TOUTO SIXO'TO/^' dp- 13 
yia yap S&TIV b uirvag TT\$ \j/y^% ^ hsysrai o-?rouSa/a xai 
<J)auX7j, TT?W^V el' 7T7) xaTa [j.txpov Onxi/ouvTa/ TIVS^ Ttov x/vr^- 
crecvv, xaj TauTv] /3eXT/a> yivsrai ra 4>avTao~jaaTa Ttov STTISI- 



or whether they are only distinguish- 
able in conception, while in nature 
they are inseparable, like the concave 
and convex in the circumference of 
a circle, makes no difference for our 
present purpose.' The above-men- 
tioned division of the xf/i'X''), which is 
attributed to Plato, Magna Moralia, 
i. i. 7, is attacked by Aristotle, De 
Animd, i. \. 26, and again, more de- 
finitely, De Animd, in. ix. 3. He here 
avails himself of it as popularly true, 
though he indicates also that from a 
higher point of view it will not hold 
good that at all events it is a dis- 
tinction and not a division. See 
Essay V. 

1 1 TOU oAtfyov TJPC] ' Now of the 
irrational division part appears common 
and vegetative, I mean that which is 
the cause of nourishment and growth ; 
for this sort of power of the internal 
principle one must assume as existing 
in all things that are nourished, and 
even in embryos, and this same also 
in full-grown creatures, for it is more 
reasonable to suppose this than any 
other to be the cause of nutriment and 
growth.' To xb jiisj/ eonce Koiv<p corres- 
pond the words ( i5),"Eo<Ke56 Kal&\\rj 



TIS <J>v(m, K.r.\. Aristotle first makes 
the irrational side double. Afterwards 
( 19), he says that, viewing it diffe- 
rently, you may call the rational two- 
fold. Koivif, i. e., ' not distinctive of 
man.' T? Aeiois is used in the non-phi- 
losophical sense. Aristotle's psy- 
chology is of course constructed upon 
a physical basis. The principle of life 
developes itself into perception and 
reason, but the lower modes of it are 
necessary conditions to the higher, 
and exist in them. So Dryden says 
(Palamon and Arcite, in. sub Jin.) 
that man is 
' First vegetive, then feels, and reasons 

last; 
Kich of three souls, and lives all three 

to waste.' 

11 13 'Now excellence in this 
respect seems common, and not pe- 
culiarly human ; for this part or 
faculty seems to operate especially in 
sleep, and the good and the bad are 
least distinguishable in sleep. Hence 
they say that for the half of life the 
happy are no better off than the 
wretched. Now this result is as might 
have been expected, for sleep is an in- 
action of the internal principle, viewed 



398 



IieiKiiN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



[CHAP. 






TTSpl fJ.lv TOVTIOV CtA/, XOLl TO 

T>J dv^fxcnrix^ apsTTJf apoipov 



14 XliV y TWV TV%OVT(t)V. 

QpsTTTtxov eareov, 
\eoixs 8 

[J.SVTOI Try Aoyou. TOL> yap s 

xa< dxpaTovg TOV Xoyov xa/ T% 4/w^% TO Xoyov 
Va<vot>jaei/* opQwg yap xai STT) TO. j3sAri(rra TrapaxaAs?' 
ca/vsra 8' ev auroT^ xai aX?^o TJ Trapoi TOV Xoyov TTS^W- 
xo'^, o jaap^era/ rs xai dvTiTstvei Tip Xoya). ars^vto^ yap 
ra TrapaXeXujtxsva TOU (ra>jaaro^ jtxopia sl^ ra 8s<a 
\<ra.i TOVVO.VTIOV e}$ ra ap<o"Tpa Trapa- 
/, xa) STT} r% \}/u^5]^ ourw^* e;r} Tavavr/a -yap at 
rcov axparcov. aXX* ev TO?^ (TW^JLCKTI fj.lv bpu>[j.V TO 



as something morally good or bad, 
except so far as certain impulses may 
to a trifling extent reach it, and in this 
way the visions of the good will be 
better than those of the common sort' 
The physical principles here enun- 
ciated are stated at length in the 
interesting treatises .Z>e Somno et 
Vigilia, De Insomniis, et De Divina- 
tione per Somnum, which occur among 
Aristotle's Parva Naturalia. It may 
be sufficient now to allude to his de- 
finition of sleep and its cause (De 
Somno iii. 30) that it is a sort of ca- 
talepsy of the consciousness, caused 
by the rising of the vital warmth so as 
to clog the perceptive organ, and re- 
sulting necessarily from the functions 
of animal life, which its object is to 
preserve, by providing a rest for them. 
He speaks also (De Somno i. 15) of 
the nutritive particle performing its 
office more during sleep than wak- 
ing, ' since creatures grow most dur- 
ing sleep.' In his discussions about 
dreams we find a frequent recurrence 
of the words here used, Kt^<ry 5<- 
iKvovvrai </>acrci0>iaTa. He defines 
a dream to be ' that image resulting 
from the impulsion of the sensations 
which arises in sleep, and is dependent 
on the peculiar conditions of sleep.' 



(De Insom. iii. 19) rb <f>di>raffMa rb 
curb rrjs Ku>T]fff(as TUV alaOriiJidT&v ftrav 
tv T$ KaOtvSeiv $, y KadtvSei, TOUT* 
Iffrlv tvvnviov. In his excellently 
wise treatise on prophetic dreams he 
seems especially to dwell upon the 
fact that in dreaming the moral dis- 
tinctions between men are lost, hence 
dreams cannot be sent by God. (i. 3) 
T(J TS yap 6ebv flvai rbv irefjarovra., irpbs 
rrj &\\y oAoyfa, /col -rb /*}) TOIS Pe\ri- 
OTOIS KO.\ (ppovi/juiirdrois a\\k TOIS TV- 
Xovfft vefjmeiv UTOVOV. (This is well 
illustrated by Plato, Republic tx. p. 
571 c sqq.) In another place, how- 
ever, he connects the illusions of 
dreaming with the personal character, 
just as the coward, he says, and the 
lover would form different mistakes 
about a distant object. (De Insam. 
ii. 15). This last coincides with what 
is said above about the tpavrdfffjiara 
T<av ttrieiK&v. Cf. on dreams gene- 
rally Aristotle's Problemata, xxx. 
xiv. 

15 1 6 lowce Se avripcuvov] 'But 
there seems also to be another 
nature in the internal principle which 
is irrational, and yet in a way partakes 
of reason. For in the continent and 
the incontinent man we praise the 
reason, and that within them which 



XIIL] 



H9IKQN NIKOMAXEIiiN I. 



399 



xou ev TYJ ^'Jyf) (fcjDinrT*M eTva/ ri Tr 
, svot.vTiovfJt.svov TOOTCO xai avT<3a7vov. 7ra> 8 s 
8= xou TOUTO >a/Wra 



TOV 
, 17 



fTI 



wfr7rsp SITTO^SV 7r;ioip%i youv Tco Xoya> TO ro syxpa- 

' U^XOOJTepo'l/ eO~TJ TO TOU 0~0)<$>pOVO X* 

yap bu.o($>(ovsi T7 ?\.o'y<o. <$>aiVTou 87518 
xa* TO aXoyov SJTTO'V. TO jtxsv yap (f>uTixov 



possesses reason, for this exhorts them 
rightly, and to what is best; but 
there appears also to be something 
else in them besides the reason, which 
fights and strives against the reason. 
For just as paralysed limbs of the 
body, when we mean to move them 
to the right, go in the opposite direc- 
tion to the left, so it is with the mind. 
For the tendencies of the incontinent 
are in the opposite direction to reason. 
In the body we see the false movement, 
but with regard to the mind we do not 
see it. But perhaps not the less ought 
we to believe that there is in the mind 
something besides the reason which is 
opposed to it, and goes against it.' 
Zell mentions a conjecture, TOV yap 
iyKparovs /ecu evKparovs. But a slight 
consideration of the context shows 
that no change is required. It has 
been said that this passage exhibits 
the doctrine of 'human corruption.' 
To say this introduces a set of asso- 
ciations foreign to Aristotle. Ari- 
stotle's remark (i) does not go so deep 
as to the contrast between sin and 
holiness, purity and corruption : (2) 
it does not point out a radical and 
incurable defect in the whole race of 
man ; on the contrary, he says pre- 
sently that in the ffw<j>pcav ' all things 
are in harmony with reason.' How- 
ever, we may well esteem the present 
observation, especially when first made, 
as one of the most penetrating pieces 



of moral psychology. Aristotle's 
purpose is to establish the existence 
of a principle, perex " hfyov, which 
is to be the sphere of the practical 
virtues. This he exhibits in the case 
of the continent and incontinent (. e. 
man in a state of moral conflict) as 
opposing and fighting against the 
reason. This is given as a fact of 
nature. This same fact viewed from 
the side of personal repentance might 
be well expressed in the language of 
St. Paul. Before attributing any- 
thing like the above-mentioned doc- 
trine to Aristotle, we should require 
to examine the whole bearing of his 
moral theories, instead of deciding 
from an isolated passage. 

17 TrcDs 8' trepov, ovdev Sjo^epej] 
This shows that Aristotle does not 
propose here to seek deeply for the 
rationale of these phenomena in our 
moral nature. 

rt 8' iffws \6ytf\ 'And perhaps 
it is still more obedient in the tempe- 
rate and the brave. For in them all 
things are in harmony with reason.' 
In Book vn. the e7/fpaTT)s, who main- 
tains virtue by a conflict, is opposed 
to the ffdxppoov, in whom there is an 
absolute harmony between the passions 
and the reason. Here the ovSpeTos 
is added, as being one whose instincts 
coincide with his reason. This place, 
Book in. vi.-xii., and Book vn., exhibit 
different points of view. 



400 



HGIKQN NIKOMAXEIflN I. 



[CHAP. 



xo/vo)i/s? Ao'you, TO 8' STT.iQv[ji.r i Tixov xa) oXro opsxrixov 
Y) xaTrjxoov O~TIV ayToO xa) Trsi^ap^/xov. 



xai oup coo~7rep TCOV ]txaO>jjaaTixa>v. OT/ 8s Trs/^sTai' 
WTTO Xo'you TO aAoyov, jU,r y vus xa) ij vo^zrr^mg xou 

19 STTlTlfJ-fjO-ls T XOU 7T(X.pO(.X\TfjtJ'ig. \ 6S ^CV) Xa/ TOUTO 

Xoyov sp^sjv, 8/TTOV 0-rou xai TO Ao'yov s^ov, TO |U.V * 

20 xai s'v auTco, TO 8' wo~7rsp TOU TraTpog axovo-Ttxov TI. 8<o- 
pi^sTai 8e xa; ij apsTr; xaTa TTJV $ia$opav 

Ta$ 8s i 

* ' 5^ 

6s 



xa <rvvs<riv xa 



yap 



TOU 



ou 



1 8 ri 8" ^iri6vfjL7)riKbv faadrifj.a- 
TiKtav] ' But the appetitive part, and 
generally speaking that which desires, 
in a way partakes of reason, inas- 
much as it is subject and obedient to 
it. In like manner we speak of " pay- 
ing attention to " one's father or one's 
friends, not in the same sense as we 
speak of " paying attention to" mathe- 
matics.' *'EX / \6yov or pertxeiv 
\6yov must be said of the passions in 
a different way from that in which it 
is said of the rational part of our 
nature. Aristotle illustrates this by 
adducing the use of ?x e " / Actyoj' with 
a genitive, which exhibits also a shade 
of variety in the meaning. With 
(X fiv ^6yv TO:Tp6s, cf. Eurip. Alces- 
tis, 51, X W ^6yov 8^ Kal vpo6vp.ia.v 
fffdev. 

ruv fj.a6rifj.ariKuv] here apparently 
means, not ' the mathematicians,' as 
Eth. i. iii. 4, but 'mathematics,' as vi. 
viii. 9. So it is taken by the Para- 
Atr-raSy 8e \4yercu rl> \6yov 

v KaOdntp Kal rb \6yov <tx eiv - 
y&p TOU irorpbs KO! raiv <f>l\uv 

X etl/ T ^ t'"''O'Tpt<pf<r8ai irpls aii- 

al oTs Kt\fvovffiv QuKO\ovf)eiv. 
5( xal TUV /j.a6i)fj.artKuv \tyov 

O flStvai avrb K(d yvwalv Ttva 



phrast : 
fjifT^xfi 
htyonf 
\6yov 
TOVS, K 



Ka TTtcrTrifjirjv avruv x flv - 
there is a play on the words \6yov 
%X 6lv , which it is impossible to trans- 
late ; and partly there is an analogy 
between the obedience of the passion? 
to the reason and the submission on* 
pays to the advice of others ; and, on 
the other hand, between the purely 
intellectual process of mathematical 
study and the independent action of 
the reason itself. It must not be for- 
gotten, that the passage before us is 
part of one of the earliest attempts at 
a moral psychology. 

20 Siopi^ercu A.^yo/xei'] ' Accord- 
ing to this division also is human 
excellence divided. For we speak of 
intellectual excellences, and moral 
excellences; philosophy, intelligence, 
and wisdom being intellectual, libe- 
rality and temperance moral. For 
when speaking of the moral character 
we do not say that a man is philosophic 
or intelligent, but that he is gentle or 
temperate ; yet we praise the philoso- 
phic man also, with regard to his 
state of mind, and praiseworthy states 
of mind we call excellences.' The old 
difficulty of translating less definite 
ancient words into more definite 
modern ones occurs here. Aristotle 



XIII.] 



H9IKQN NIKOMAXEKIN I. 



401 



QTl 



OTl 



3s xou rov <ro<pov XO.TOL rr t v eiv rtbv s^scov 



ziraLivzTag 






is founding the distinction between the 
Intellectual and the Moral which has 
lasted ever since. But he uses the 
word ipfT-n as applicable to both 
spheres, whereas the instinct of men, 
whether rightly or wrongly, inclines 
to confine the name of virtue and the 
award of praise to the moral side, 
to acts or states in which the will is 
prominently exerted. On this point 
we can trace a progress even in the 
Peripatetic school, for while the sen- 



tence fircui>ov[A.fv 8e nal -rbv ffo$6t> is 
repeated in the Eudemian Ethics (n. i. 
18), it is corrected in the Magna 
Moralia (i. v. 3), /caret y&p ravras 
firaivtrol \fy6/j.e9a, Kara 8e ras TOO 
rbv \6yov fx ovros ouSels firaivf'tTai- 
oi/re yap 8rt ffo<(>6s, ovStls eiraivfiTat, 
oijTf STI typ6vinos, ovS' 8\cas Kara, rt -rHiiv 
roiovrcav ovQ4v. The last line in the 
first Book contains an anticipation of 
much that is demonstrated in Books 
II. and III. 



F F 



PLAN OF BOOK II. 



THE Second Book of the Ethics goes far to determine the 
course of the entire succeeding work, by laying down a 
programme of the separate moral virtues, which is afterwards 
followed in Books III. and IV. ; and by suggesting for future 
consideration the conceptions of 'OpQog Adyoc and of Upoalpefftc. 
But it cannot be said that this book itself exhibits traces of pre- 
conceived arrangement or artistic design. On the contrary, it 
bears the same tentative character as Book I. Its parts are at 
first confused with each other, and design seems only to grow up 
as the book proceeds. Its contents may be arranged under the 
following heads : 

(1.) A preliminary discussion on the formation of moral states. 
Ch. I. IV. 

(2.) The formal definition of virtue according to its genus and 
differentia. Ch. V. VI. 

(3.) The exhibition of this theory in a list of the separate 
virtues. Ch. VII. 

(4.) The relation of extremes, or vices, to each other, and to 
the mean or virtue. Ch. VIII. 

(5.) Rules for action, with a view to attaining the mean. 
Ch. IX. 

Of these heads the first can with difficulty be divided from 
the second. The first four chapters implicitly contain the whole 
of the definition of virtue which is afterwards formally drawn out 
in Chapters V. and VI. And though the reservation of 'OpQog 
Aoyos (II. ii. 2) for future analysis really afterwards gives rise to 
Book. VI., and the account of intellectual aper?; ; yet here 'OpBoe 
Aoyos is by no means identified with intellectual aper//, and the 
whole conception of Book VI. seems to belong to a later develop- 



PLAN OF BOOK II. 403 

merit of the Psychology of Aristotle, whether due to himself or to 
his school. Other marks of crudeness in detail will be adverted to 
in the notes. At the same time it would be unjust not to recognise 
the deep moral penetration exhibited by Aristotle in the different 
parts of his theory of Virtue. The merit of this theory can only 
be appreciated by a comparison with the results which had been 
previously arrived at, as they exhibit themselves in Plato. 



rr 2 



HOIKilN NIKOMAXEIilN II. 



A 



^V " 

be T 



tkftt 



r 



TO 



xa 
xa; 



ex 

fiioire 



or/ 



yej>(7/i> xa TTJV a 

13 8' TJ&XTJ e sSouj TrepiyivsToii, oQev xa) 
/xpov 7rapsxxX?i/ov CCTTO rou eQovg. e& o5 
rwv ij5<x(ov dpertbv <$>v(rst >jjU,Tv eyy/- 
rtov ^^s/ ovrcuv a/\.Aa) sfi/gra/ olov o 



I. i. The discussion is taken up 
from the point last arrived at in the 
analysis of happiness, namely, the dis- 
tinction of intellectual from moral 
bpi-rfi. We are not immediately told 
that the consideration of the former is 
to be deferred. That indeed only 
comes out incidentally, when (11. ii. z) 
the discussion of bpQbs \6yos is de- 
ferred, which opflby \6yos is afterwards 
(vi. xiiL 3) identified with <pp6vi)<rts, 
the perfection of the practical reason. 
Here the mention made of the two 
forms of apf-ri] only goes to imply 
that neither of them is innate that 
they are both acquired. After this 
first paragraph, the book confines 
itself to moral virtue, discussing how 
it is acquired and what is its nature. 

T) ft.fV SjOrOTfTt/dj JftflUl] ' NOW 

intellectual excellence, for the most 
part, takes both its origin and its 
growth from teaching, and therefore 
it requires experience and time, but 
moral virtue results from habit ; 



whence also it has, with a slight de- 
flection, derived its name ' (tyi^ 
from 0os) ; a derivation which is 
doubtless suggested by Plato, Laws, 
vii. p. 79Z E : KvpicirraTov y&p aiiiv /i- 
<f>utrai traffi r6rf (soil, in youth) irciv 
tyos 5j& fGos. A mechanical theory 
is here given both of the intellect and 
the moral character, as if the one 
could be acquired by teaching, the 
other by a course of habits. That 
Aristotle inclined to this mechanical 
view has been already noticed (Eth. 
I. ix. 4). It is qualified, however, by 
admissions with regard to fixpvia, 
tpvffiK^j iper^, &c. (Cf. ni. v. 17.) 

2 ^ ov lyylvrrcu] ' Whence also 
it is plain that none of the moral 
virtues arises in us by nature.' 
Additional proofs of this position are 
subjoined, (i) The laws of nature 
are unalterable, and independent of 
habit. (2) According to the doctrine 
of Swdfjifts and tvtpyttcu (see Essay 
IV.), moral faculties are distinguished 



H9IK&N NIKOMAXEKIN II. 



405 



TO 
av 



ai dpsraly 



<$>v<ri xarco t^spofjisvog oux av e'Q/o'fisoj avco 
ovf? av fj.vpiaxi$ aurov e^/^V] n$ avco piincov, 
xaraj, otW aXAo oiSsv T<OV aAAeo TrsQvxorwv a 

our' a^a (>Jo-/ ours Trapoi <>u<r/v syyivovrai 31 



from physical faculties in that the 
former are developed out of acts, and 
do not merely find a development in 
acts. (3) The whole idea of legis- 
lation is based on the supposition 
that virtue may be cultivated. (4) 
The analogy of the arts shows that 
out of practice grows perfection. 
We need only compare the theory 
of virtue in this book with the dis- 
cussions in the Mcno of Plato, to see 
how immensely moral philosophy had 
gained in definiteness in the mean- 
time. While becoming definite and 
systematic, however, it had also to 
some extent become scholastic and 
mechanical. 

3 otfr' Spa tQovs\ ' Therefore the 
virtues arise in us neither by nature, 
nor against nature, but on the one 
hand we have a natural capacity of 
receiving them, and on the other hand 
we are only made perfect by habit.' 
(Cf. Eth. vi. xiii. i-a, on the relation 
of (pvffiKJi aperri to Kvpla aper^.) It 
may be well, for the sake of clearness, 
to collect here some of the chief ap- 
plications of the word Averts to moral 
subjects in Aristotle, without going 
into the deeper philosophy of his con- 
ception of Qvffts in relation to God, 
&c. tpiiffis is defined (Metaph. iv. iv. 
8) as T] ovala. TI T&V e\&VTiav apxfyv 
Kiv^uftas ff avrois 77 avrd. ' The essence 
of things having their efficient cause 
in themselves, by reason of what they 
are.' Here, then, we have two notions 
blended together, (i) the essence of 
things, their matter and form ; (2) 
the productive principle of that essence, 



which is nothing external, but in the 
things themselves. From this general 
conception, we see the term applied in 
various ways. 

I. ${>ffis denotes the self-produced, 
or self-producing, principle, opposed 
especially to that which is produced 
by the intelligence or will of man : 
thus to art (Eth. vi. iv. 4) or to the 
moral will, care, or cultivation (x. ix. 
6). It is that for which we are irre- 
sponsible (ibid.), rb fj.ev oHv TTJS <pvaa>s 
STJAOV ois OVK f<j>' riiiiiv inrdpxfi. That 
which comes of itself (vi. xi. 6), ^5e 
, is TTJS 



Qvfffus oiTios O&TTJS. That which is 
innate, and out of the sphere of the 
will, (vi. xiii. I ), ira<n yap So/ce? tKaffra 
rtav i]6ui> inrdpxeiv <pva*i ira-y. (ni. v. 
1 8), fb reAoj <pvafi t) ftitces S^Trore 
tpaivcrcu. It is opposed to habit, as 
the original tendency to that which is 
superinduced, (vn. x. 4) pyov eOos 
/jLfraKiisTJcrcu <ptiff(i)s. Also, to the re- 
sult of circumstances, (m. v. 15) rv<p\f 
(pvfffi % K v6<rov rj e'lc ir\riyrjs. 

II. From the idea of the self-caused 
(icaff airr6), it comes to mean that 
which is under a fixed law opposed to 
the variable, (v. vii. 2) TO /** <bvaei 
aKivifrov. Or, to the arbitrary and 
conventional, (i. iii. 2) v6(up /j.6vov, 
tyvffti 8e nrf. The absolute opposed 
to the relative, (m. iv. 3) T& ipvffti 



III. It means not only a law, but 
also a tendency, as v. vii. 4, <p6<ret TJ 



IV. The character and attributes 
of a thing, whether good or bad, 



406 



NIKOMAXEIilN II. 



[CHAP. 



8s 



8s 8ia Tot) s9ou. ert oo~a 
, rct 8ovajaei TOUTWV TrpoYepov x 

spysiag a7ro8/8oju,s:/. OTrsp sVi Ttov 
yap sx TOU 



Trapa- 



ou 



rdg 8' dpsrdg 

TrpoVspov, coo"7rsp xa< STT< TO>V 
a yap 8s7 p.a$ovTag TTOISIV, TauTa 7ro/oOvT 
olov oJxo8ojw,ouj/TS olxo8o'j,oj yivovrai xa) x<0ap/ovTS x/- 
0ap/o~Ta. OUTO> 8s xai TO. jaev 8/xaia Trpdrrovrsg 8xajoi 
yivo'jasOa, Ta 8s vwfypova (rwtypovsg, rd 8' ai/8ps7a dv8ps7o. 
5 juapTups7 8s xai TO yvo'jusvov ev TaT^ 7roXso~/v 01 yap 
TOL> TToX/Ta^ sQi^ovreg TToiovo'iv aya3ou, xa) TO 



UAXjU\ 

the powers possessed by a thing, (i. 
iii. 4) ^ TOU irpdy/jimos <j>v<rts. (ill. 
i. 7) & T^P avOpuirlvriv fytiaiv inrfp- 

V. The whole constitution of a 
thing, viewed as realising its proper 
re'Aos, or the idea of good in itself, 
the perfect or normal state of any- 
thing, (vn. xi. 4) yfvtffis fls <t>v<ru> 
aiffdirr-fi. (in. xii. 2) ^ i&v \i'irr) 
eiffTT)ffi Kal tt>9fipet rr]V TOV %x ov ~ 
TOS <t>6<riv. Cf. Politics, i. ii. 8 : olov 
yap eKOffT6f lati Tr/s ytveffews T\- 
(rBdffijs, Tavrrjv <pa/j.ev T^V tytffiv 
eTj/ot eicdffTOV, &<rirep ai>6pd>irov, limov, 
olalas. 

VI. The word is sometimes almost 
periphrastic ; Topics, i. i. 3, rj TOV 
\l/ev$ovs <]>vffis. Similar to this is the 
usage in Eth. Nic. i. xiii. 1 5 : &AAtj ns 
<t>vffis Trjs tyvxi)s &\oyos. 

4 tTi offa. avtipflot] 'Again, in the 
case of every faculty that comes to us 
by nature, we first of all possess the 
capacity, and only afterwards exhibit 
it in actual operation. This is clear 
with regard to the senses, for we did 
not get our senses by hearing often or 
seeing often, but on the contrary we 
used them because we had them, and 



did not have them because -we used 
them. But the virtues we acquire 
only after having first acted, which is 
also the case with the arts : for these 
things which we must learn before we 
can do, we learn by doing ; as for ex- 
ample, men become builders by build- 
ing, and harpers by playing on the 
harp. In the same manner we become 
just by doing just actions, temperate 
by doing temperate actions, and brave 
by doing brave actions.' On the 
philosophy of this doctrine, see AT. 
Metaph. mi. viii. and Essay IV. 
above, from which it will be seen that 
' acts ' or ' operations ' is an inadequate 
translation for ^vtpytiai. On Ari- 
stotle's position with regard to the 
question whether sight is an inherent 
or an acquired faculty, see below, VL 
viii. 9, note. 

T&V &\\av rex^wv] 'The arts be- 
side,' not as if virtue were reckoned 
among the arts. On the idiom, cf. 
Plato, Gorgias, p. 473 c: uSaijtoi'i$- 
/j.evos virb rwv iro\iT<av Kal Ttav &\\<av 
%fvuv. ol &\\ot seems to imply a 
separate class in juxtaposition, as in 
the French idiom, ' vous autres.' Gt 
Eth. II. ii. 8 : 4irl TUV H\\IDV TV 



I.] 



H9IKHN NIKOMAXEH1N II. 



407 



asv 



s 



7rai/TO V0|,o$sroo TOUT' sV-riv, o<ro< 8s 
, xai 8jac>eps< TOUTO> 
STJ sx rcov auruiv xai 8ia Tcoi/6 



xai yivsrai Tracra apery xai QVsipsTai, o^oicog 6s 

xai rsyvri" ex yap TOV xiQapiteiv xai ol dyaQo} xai ol 

I*/ T / > \ *v v ' ^' 

xaxoi yivovroii xivapKrrai. avahoyov 6s xai 01 oixo(tofj.Qi 

xoii ol XoiTro} TTOLvrss ' ex p.lv yap TOU sS olxo^o[j.siv dya- 

A \ 7> / >' >5,\~ ~ / \ \ 

(Joi oixoOojow* <rovra/, ex 6s rou xaxwg xaxoi. ei yap [*.T] 

? ^.v ,\ v> ~ 5. <\ f v -.V / * 

si%sv, ouQsv av edsi rou 6iOaovroj, a^Xa wavrsg av 
ayaQo} ^ xaxoi. ovrco STJ xai STTI TCOV apsrtbv 
%si ' TrpaTTovTsg yap ra sv To7$ <ruva7^Kay^a(ri TOI$ 
Trpog TOV$ avQpcoTTOvs yivopsQa ol jotsi/ otxaioi ol 8s atiixoi, 
Trparrovrsg 8s ra sv ro^ Ssivo?^ xa) eQi^o^svoi $>ofisii<rQai 
75 Qappiiv ol jasi/ avftpsioi ol 8s Ss/^ot. bfjioitog 8s xa< ra 
Trsf / ra^ 7riQvfj.ia(; s%si xai ra ?rspi ra^ opyot^ of jasv 
yap <r(jat$>pov=$ xai Trpaoi yivovTai, ol 8' axoAaoro* xai 
opy/Xoi, 01 j,sv sx TOU oircocri sv aitrofg ava<rTps($><rQaij ol 
8s ex TOU owraxr/. xai s'vi 8^ Xo-yw ex TCOV o]ao/>v svsp- 
ysifbv al e^sig ytvwrai. 8<o 8sT ra^ svepyeias Troiat; OLTTO- g 



Eth. n. iv. 3 : ras ^\Ao s 



6 TI e/c Ki0ap<rTot] ' Again, every 
virtue, as well as every art, is pro- 
duced out of and by the same things 
that destroy it ; for it is by playing on 
the harp that both good and bad 
players are formed.' 

e/c TWV aiiTtS*'] i. e., the circum- 
stances and acts are generically the 
same, only differing as to well and ill 
The doctrine here stated is no doubt 
true, with an addition. For it must 
not be supposed that all men start 
equal, either as artists or in morals. 
What is it that determines the well or 
ill of the first essays in art or in 
action? In the one case we say 
genius, talent, aptitudj| or the re- 
verse ; in the other cfte, evtyvia or 
the natural bent of the character as 
modified by circumstances. Such a 



difference between man and man is 
quite admitted in the New Test., see 
Matth. xxv. 14-30. 

7 Kal fvl S^j ylvovrai] ' And, in 
one word, states of mind are formed 
out of corresponding acts.' This is 
Aristotle's famous doctrine of habits, 
to appreciate the importance of which, 
we must think of it not as a philo- 
sophic or even as a practical doctrine 
for modern times, but rather as a new 
discovery and in contrast with the 
state of moral science in Aristotle's 
own time. We can see that it arose 
in his mind from a combination of 
his penetrating observation and expe- 
rience of life with the peculiar forms 
of his philosophy. By means of 
5iW|ius and frepyeia, he finds it 
possible to explain the formation of 
virtue, just as he does the existence 
of the world. In each act and mo- 



408 



HGIKflN NIKOMAXEIflN II. 



[CHAP. 



XO.TO, yap ra$ rovrcov 



vewv e5/s<r0a<, aXXa 



TO 
, /x.aAAov s TO 



oSv 



a 
ex 



ei/sxa e<rnv 



7rapoo~a TT pay [tarsa o 

al aXXa< (ou -yap V e!&oj.sv T/ loTiv 73 apsrri 
.' TV' ayaQoi -ysv)/x,e$a, eVsi ouSsv ay ^v 
avayxaTov SOT/ (rxexj/air^ai ra Trsp} rag 
7rpasi$, TT&S irpaxreov auras' aurai "yap elo"i xdpiai xai 
2 TOU iroiag ysve<rQai ra$ esi$, xaQanrsp slprjxafjisv. TO ftsv 
ouv xara rov opftov Xo-yov Trpdrreiv xowov xa\ v 



ment at the outset of life, something 
which was potential in us and quite 
indeterminate for good or evil (Siivo/xw) 
is brought into actuality (tvfpyfia), 
and now is determinately either good 
or bad. This determination, by the 
law of habits, reproduces itself, and 
thus there is no longer left an am- 
biguous Svvajus, but a 2s, or de- 
finite tendency for good or evil, is 
superinduced (see Essay IV.). It will 
be observed that why an act tends to 
reproduce itself Aristotle does not 
inquire. He contents himself with 
stating the fact as a uaiversal law, 
and expressing it in his own for- 
mula ; (rb 5' 8rt irpu-rov fcol 
vii. 20.) 



II. i. 'Eirel o3i/ tlpi]Ka.^ev\ ' Since 
then this present science does not 
aim at speculation, like the others 
(for we do not inquire in order to 
know what virtue is, but in order 
that we may become virtuous, else 
there would be no profit in the in- 
quiry), it is necessary to consider with 
regard to actions, how they should be 
done ; for these are what determine 
the quality of the states of mind 
which are produced in us, as before 
stated.' vpayfjMTfia is used by Ari- 
stotle and his commentators to denote 
the whole body of a separate science, 



a, i ITO\ITIKI irpay- 

/j.a,Tfla, &c. In Plato the word only 
occurs in a general sense, denoting 
' business,' ' undertaking,' ' employ- 
ment,' &c. faffirep a.1 &\\at. Accord- 
ing to this classification, sciences will 
be divided into speculative and prac- 
tical ; elsewhere a third class is added, 
the productive. On Aristotle's con- 
ception of the nature of Politics, see 
above i. ii, 8, 9, notes. 

awTTjs] Sc. TTJS (T/ce'i^ews or TTJJ trpay- 
uaTfias. 

avrat ydp] i. e. al irpfyeis, which 
are thus identified with the frtpytiai 
of the last chapter. 

2 r^fjifvodv &pT(s] 'That we must 
act according to the right law this 
indeed is a general principle, and may 
be assumed as a basis of our concep- 
tion but we shall discuss hereafter, 
both what the right law is, and how 
it is related to the other virtues.' 
The meaning of KOIV&V is made plainer 
by vi. i. 2 infra, fan 6e rit ^i> tiirtw 
(soil, (caret ri>i> opdbv \6yov) dAij9 
fj.fv, ovStv 5i cra<pfs. The Paraphrast 
has in the present passage, iAj0Js /uec, 
OVK fffn 5e luavbv ras irp<|6is erq/iapai. 
Cf. Eth. i. vii. 9. 

vTroKtlffQta] The MSS. are at issue 
upon this word, a number of them 
giving vTTfpKflffBeo, which reading is fol- 
lowed by the Paraphrast. i 



I. II.] H9IKON NIKOMAXEK1N II. 409 

pyQrjtrsrat 8' v(rrspov Trspl auroS, xai ri strriv o opftog Xo- 
yog, xa) Trcog's^si Trpog rag aXhag apsrag. sxsTvo 8e Trpo- 3 
S/o^oXoystV5a>, on ?ra^ o Trspi Ttov TTpaxrcov Xoyo^ TOTTCO 
xa) QUX axp//3ct>f oC^s/A=< ?\.eys<r$a<, wo-Trsp xat xar' ap%ag 
on xara rr\v uXv]V 01 Xo'yoj aTraiTTjTsor ra 3' sv 

/i \\ ./ >c\\e \v <y 

xrso"* xa* ra 



would mean, ' must stand over,' and it 
would be taken in close connection 
with |$7j(^<r6Tai S 3 vcrrepov. But the 
authority of Bekker, and the usage of 
Aristotle, seem sufficient to establish 
viroKfiffQu. Cf. Eth. n. iii. 6, v. i. 3, 
Bhet. I. xi. I : inroKeiffdta 5' ^u/ elVaj 
T^C rjSov^v K.(vt\o'iv fiva. TJJS t^u^^s. 
Pol. vii. i. 13 : vDf 5^ inroKfiffOoi 
TOffoZrov, /c.r.A. 

/cara rov opBbv Xoyov] We find the 
phrase opBbs \6yos occasionally occur- 
ring in Plato, thus Phado, p. 73 A, it 
is coupled with eirurrfiW et> f*h tr9f- 
Xavfv avrois ewiffTi]fj.r] 4vovffa Kal 
op&bs \6yos, where it means ' a sound 
understanding.' In the same dialogue, 
p. 94 A, it occurs with the signification 
' sound reasoning.' Kara -rov opQbv 
\6yov KdKi'as ovSefula tyvxb p.e0fet, 
flirtp apuovia foflv. Elsewhere \6yos 
is found joined with <t>p6i>i]cris. Cf. 
B(pub. IX., p. 5821 A, ^uireipi'ij /cat 
<ppoidiffei Kal \6yip. It is easy to see 
that opOos \6yos was in Plato a floating 
idea; in Aristotle it is passing into a 
fixed idea, as is the case with many 
other terms of psychology and morals. 
But even in Aristotle something in- 
definite must still attach to a word 
used in such a variety of kindred 
senses as A.rf>os is. It means 'argument' 
(Eth. x. ii. i, eiriffrevovro 5' ol \6yoi, 
i. v. 8, iroAAol \6yoi). ' inference,' op- 
posed to intuition (vi. viii. 9, wv OVK 
tffTi \6yvs), ' ratio ' (v. iv. 2, Kara ritv 
\6yov rdv avrtv), ' reckoning ' (v. iii. 
1 5, fi/ ayadov Atfyqp), ' conception ' (i. 
vi. 5, 6 OVTOS \6yos 6 rov wOpiairov), 
' definition ' or ' formula ' (n. iii. 5, 



into rov \6yov 5iopiercu. n. vi. 7, rbv 
\6yov rov ri ?iv elyou \eyovra), &C. In 
Eth. i. xiii. 9, rb tie \6yov exof, it 
means ' reason,' but still in the present 
passage it seems best to avoid trans- 
lating Kara, rbv opdbv \6yov, ' accord- 
ing to right reason,' as is usually 
done, ( i ) because of the article, which 
seems to show that \6yos is used in a 
general sense here, and not to denote 
a particular faculty of the mind ; (2) be- 
cause, by the use of a word so definite 
as ' reason,' we exclude the train of as- 
sociations which must have been in 
Aristotle's mind, of 'standard,' 'pro- 
portion,' 'law,' &c. (see Essay IV.), 
and thus to some extent lose his point 
of view. 

3 4 ra 8* Iv rats irpd^fffi KV- 
fifpvririKris\ ' Now the actions and 
the interests of men exhibit no fixed 
rule, any more than the conditions of 
health do. And if this is the case 
with the universal theory, still more 
is the theory of particular acts incapa- 
ble of being exactly fixed, for it falls 
under the domain of no art or regimen, 
but the actors themselves must always 
watch what suits the occasion, as is 
the case with the physician's and the 
pilot's art.' ra 5' 4v rats irpde<n Kal 
ra ffv/jupepoma refers to the two classes 
specified, Eth. i. iii. 2, 3, ra Se Ka\a 
Kal ra fiiaaia roiavryv Se riva n\avi]t> 
<=x* Kal rayaBd K.r.\. But we may 
add that rb <rvu.<pfpov is used as a very 
comprehensive word to express 1 all 
that is ' good ' in morals, cf. Eth. m. 
i. 15, note. 

ra vyietvd] Aristotle is fond of the 



G G 



410 



IIGIKilN NIKOMAXEIflN II. 



[CHAP. 



TTpaTTOVTOig TO. 



TOV 



ra vyietv. TOIOUTOU OVTO$ TOU 
sr< jaaXXov o TTspi Ttov xa$' exacrra Ao'yoj oix s^=i raxpj- 
$=V O'^TS -yap UTTO T%vyv outf urro 

TT/TTTSI, 8sT 8' aUTOU Cti 

xa/pov <rxo7reTv, w(nrsp xa< 

5 xu/Bfpi/vjTixSj^. aXXa xaiTrsp ovrog TOIOUTOU TOU 7rapoi/ro 

6 Xoyou Trs/parsov |3o'>jQsn'. Trptorov oSv TOUTO Os 
OT< ra rojaDra TTS^JUXSV OPTTO ev8s/a xai 
pr(r5a<, (Set" yap UTrsp rtov a^avAv TO? 

xa< T>] try it lag o 



Trovra 



ra re yap UTrspjSaAAovra yujotvacria xai ra 

8s xa) ra TTOTO. xa< ra 



analogy between health and morals. 
He speaks of health as a relative, not 
an absolute, balance of the bodily 
constitution, cf. EtfA. x. iii. 3. 

Totovrov 8' OPTOS roD Koc0o'Ayu A^you] 
It seems an over-statement of the un- 
certainty and relative character of 
morals, to say that ' the universal 
theory' is devoid of all fixedness. 
Rather it seems true to say (i) That 
in some things there is an absolute, 
immutable law of right and wrong. 
This Aristotle would himself acknow- 
ledge. (Cf. EM. n. vl 19, zo.) (2) 
That in a large class of cases there is 
a law universal for the conduct of all 
men, but admitting also of modifica- 
tion in relation to the individual. (3) 
That there is a sphere of actions yet 
remaining, indeterminate beforehand, 
entirely depending on relative and 
temporary circumstances for their de- 
termination. Aristotle however may 
say with truth that, on the one hand, 
the theory of action cannot be reduced 
to universal axioms, like those of 
mathematics ; on the other hand, that 
it is impossible to do what the casuists 
would attempt, namely, to settle 
scientifically the minutm of particular 
actions. 

5 irfipa-rfov #o7j06i'] This is said 



in the spirit of the Platonic Socrates, 
only the uncertainty which Aristotle 
attributes to morals, he, from a diffe- 
rent point of view, attributed to all 
knowledge. 

6 5r yap xf^ <r ^ at ] ' F r i n illus- 
tration of immaterial things we must 
use material analogies.' This sen- 
tence is repeated in the Magna Moralia 
(i. v. 4) with a context that seems at 
first sight startling, STJ S< rj IcSeia teal 
rj inrfpfto\^i <p6fipei, roDr' ISiiv ta-nv tic 
Ttav fiduciaif. AeT 8" virep TUI> a.fyavwt> 
rois <f>avpois paprvplois xp^f^at. One 
might almost fancy that the writer 
was quoting the Ethics of Aristotle. 
Spengel, however (Transactions of 
Philos.-Philol. Class of Bavarian Aca- 
demy, in. 513), remarks that the true 
reading must be not tit TWV T)OiK<av, 
but fK r<av alffB-fifftuv, confirming this 
conjecture by the words of Stobaeus, 
who with regard to the Peripatetic 
ethics says, irpbs 8 r^v <=v8fiiv TOVTOV 
TO?S eK Ttav alaOfiffftav /j.aprvpiots xpaivTcu. 
The writer therefore is only borrowing, 
not quoting, from Aristotle. 

Sxjirff iirl rf}s iffxyos iVx^] Taken 
perhaps from Plato, cf. Erastee, p. 1 34, 
where, to prove that philosophy is not 
woAivto0/a, Socrates argues that <f>tAo- 
yvnvcurrla is not iro\viiovla., but exercise 



II.J 



NIKOMAXEIQN II. 



411 



sx rcov 



mria /rXso) xa. eAarra> yivopsva fysipsi rjv uysiav, TO, 
8s (ru/XjU-srpa xa) TrotsTxaf au^s/ xai (rco^ei, ovrcug wv xai 7 
sVi (rwQpoG-vvys xai 
o r= yap Travra c 

vcov 8s<Aof yivsrai, o re jOiTjSsv oAa> 4>o/3oujasi/0 aXXa Trpot; 
Travra /Sa^/^icoy Qpa.(7v$. opoicog Ss xai o jtxsv 7rao"7jj 
ta^ aTrsp^o/xsvo^ axoAafrro^, o 8= 
ot aypoTxo/, ava/o'^To^ T/^ tyb 
yap r] (nuQpocrvvri xai 75 avdps/a WTTO r5)^ wTrepjSoXvj^ xai 

{/aJ^, U7TO T^J jU,0-OTr y TO (T 

ai ysv(Ti$ xa) ai au^r t (rsig xat ai 

Ttov xa) 6:ro TCOV aurtoj/ -y/vovra;, aXXa xai at evspysiai sv 
TOI$ oLVToi$ etrovToti ' xat yap STT< rtov aAXtov rcov fyavspco- 
repajj/ ourj ' e '^ e; j ' ov STTi T% !<rpuo yivsrai yap ex 
rou TroXX^v Tpotyyv T^a^avsiv xai TroAXoy^ TTOVOVS UTTQ[J.S.- 
vstv, xat jaaTuora tiitvctrai raura TTOISIV 6 !<rp'jpo. OOTOJ 9 
8* ep^e; xa; STTI TCOV apercov ' sx rs yap TOU ot.7re%<rQa.i 
r^oovtov ytvo'jasSa <ra>4>povs^, xa* ysvo[j.voi 
a7rs^50"5ai aircov. bpoicog 8s xai STT/ 
Qi%o[j.svoi yap xaratypovsiv TCOV 4>o 
aura yjvo' ( as$a av8ps7o<, xa} yevopevoi 
a vwopiveiv ra fyofiepd. 



av- 

xa) 



in moderation. To which his opponent 
agrees (c), 'AAA' 6fj.o\oy(a JUT; TO TroAAd 
d\Aa TO fjLfTpia yu/u.i/cwno T^C U6|iov 
t/jLTTottiv TO?S avOpwirots. Ti 5e TO (TT(a ; 

^ TO TTOXAtt ; K.T.A.. There 



are three points which this chapter 
and the next contribute tentatively to 
the theory of virtuous actions; (i) 
From the analogy of life, health, and 
strength, they must exhibit the law of 
the balance between extremes ; (2) 
Virtue reproduces the actions out of 
which it was formed ; (3) It is essen- 
tially concerned with pleasure, and is 
indeed entirely based on a regulation 
of pleasures and pains. 

8 oAA.' ou i^ovov lerfoj ' But 



not only do the formation, the in- 
crease, the destruction of these quali- 
ties arise out of the same given cir- 
cumstances, and by the same means, 
the exercise also of the qualities, when 
formed, will be in the same sphere. 
We see this to be the case with things 
more palpable, as for instance, strength. 
For it arises out of taking much food 
and enduring much toil, and these 
things the strong man is especially 
able to do.' Virtue is developed out 
of, and finds its development in, the 
same class of fvepytiai. But only 
those which succeed the formation of 
virtue are to be called virtuous, see 
below, Chapter IV. 
2 



412 



H6IKS1N NIKOMAXEIflN II. 



[CHAP- 



r$ spyoig' o p.ev yap a7rs%op.svo$ rtoi/ 
ijOovuiv xou aurio rourco %oupa)V crwfypwv, o 3' 
^O|U,svo axo7\.a<rro, xa) 6 ^asi/ wTTOjasvajv ra 3e<t/a xai 
a.ipa)V >j |avj Xu7roujU,=i/o ye avpsio, o 8= XOTTOU/XSJ/O^ 
=pi rjoovat,* -yap xa* Xuzraj eo"Tv 73 >]Qixr) apsrvj" o/a 



III. i S^/ueToj/ 8e 5et\ds] ' Now 
we must consider the test of a formed 
state of mind to be the pleasure or 
pain that results on doing the par- 
ticular acts. For he who abstains 
from bodily indulgence, and feels 
pleasure in doing so, is temperate, 
but he who does it reluctantly is in- 
temperate ; and he who endures danger 
gladly, or at all events without pain, 
is brave, while he that does it with 
pain is a coward.' The doctrine ex- 
pressed here has been already antici- 
pated, Eth. i. viii. iz. It is an ideal 
perfection of virtue, in which all 
struggle has ceased, and nothing but 
pleasure is felt in the virtuous acts. 
Temperance and courage are pictured 
in this ideal way, Eth. i. xiii. 1 7. The 
terms o.K.6\a<rros and Sei\6s above 
seem used merely as the contradictories 
of ff(b<t>pcov and oj/Spewj, so that ait6- 
\ourros has not the more technical 
sense which it receives farther on in 
the treatise. According to Aristotle's 
expanded doctrine, to abstain with 
difficulty, or to meet danger with re- 
luctance, shows not intemperance or 
cowardice, but only imperfect self- 
control. 

Trfpl riSoi/as yelp KO.\ \inras fffrlv i} 
TjBtK^i kpfr{\\ 'For moral virtue has 
to do with pleasures and pains.' On 
this sentence the chapter goes off, 
giving proofs of what is here affirmed. 
These proofs, to some extent, run into 
each other, and the whole chapter 
may be accused of want of method, 
both in itself and in relation to the 



entire Ethics. But we must remember 
that there is still something tentative 
about Aristotle's theory of virtue ; 
that psychology was still in its in- 
fancy ; that Aristotle was only gradu- 
ally winning his way to establish 
moral virtue as a state of the will in 
contradistinction to former systems, 
which had confounded it with a state 
of the intellect. From this point of 
view we may see the importance of 
urging the close connexion of morality 
with the feelings, instincts, desires, in 
short with pleasures and pains. The 
arguments are ( i ) Pleasures and pains 
induce and deter ; whence Plato said 
that true education consists in learning 
to like and dislike the right things. 
(2) Virtue is an affair of actions and 
feelings, hence of pleasure and pain, 
which are inseparable from these. (3) 
Punishment consists in pain, and 
therefore vice, which it corrects, must 
consist in pleasure. (4) So much 
have pleasures and pains to do with 
the corrupting of the mind, that some 
have defined virtue to consist in insen- 
sibility to these. (5) There are three 
principles which form the motives for 
action : the good, the profitable, the 
pleasant. Of these the last is in itself 
the most widely extended, and it 
enters into both the others. (6) Plea- 
sure is a natural instinct from infancy 
upwards, which it is impossible to get 
rid of. (7) We all, in a greater or 
less degree, adopt pleasure and pain 
as the measure of actions. (8) The 
very difficulty of contending with 



III.] II6IIO1N NIKOMAXEIQN II. 

\ \ f^ \ N JL. ~- f 5* \ 

yotp TTiV >]Oov?)V Ta cpauAa 7rpaTTo^u,sv, 6/a 

T<OV xa/aov aTrsvoai^a. o<o 6st Tjp^Saj ?r)^ 

a;^ 6 IlXaTajv (^rjO"/v, UXTTS %aipsiv rs xai 

3s?' ^ yap op5rj 7ra/3s/a auVr^ e<rriv. sri 3' si ap-rai 3 



rovr 



, 1 xa 
roura>v ' 



7ra<rr, 
< 6/a TOUT' av snj rj aprT?j 



s xa a< xoXa<rs/^ y/vo- 4 
yap ri!/s sJo-iv, ai 3s l 



xot 



these motives proves their claim to be 
the matter of virtue, and the objects 
of the highest science, namely, Politics. 
A glance at these arguments is suffi- 
cient to show that they might have 
been more scientifically stated. It is 
obvious that they are written pre- 
viously to Aristotle's analysis of plea- 
sure, as it appears in Book X. The 
deeper method would have been to 
state the connexion of pleasure with 
fvepyia, and of tvepyeta, with moral 
virtue on the one hand, and happiness 
on the other. 

7. d)j 6 FIAaTcuj/ (pyffiv] The refer- 
ence is to Plato, de Legibus, n. p. 653 
A: A7<o Toivvv TOW irat'Scov irotSi/c^ elva.. 
irpsaTT\v a3.<jQt\<j\.v ^Soi/V Kal KVTTT)V, Kal 
tv ofs aperr/ fax? KCI ^ KaK ' la iropa'y'- 
yi/erai irpGnov, rat/r' elvai TroiSeiai/ Si; 
\eyca r^v vapa.yiyvop.fvr]v irpiaTOV na.ifflv 
ape-TV, ydov}] 8e /cai (/>i\ta Kal \viri] 



rat /i^Trco 8ut>a/j.eviav 
\a&6irrcai> Sf rbv \6yov ffv^faffjffuffi 
rif k.6ycp, opOws flOitrBai intb T&V irpo- 
ffl\K&v^t>)v fdtaV avrris ff fi ufj.<p<i>i>ia, 
Jufiirao-a fj.fi> aper-fj, rb 8e irfpl ray 
rjSov&s Kal AI/JTOS redpafj-fifvov airrrjs 



fvQvs e'J dpx^s MXP' TfAouy, ffrtpyeiv 
5e a XP^) <rTp76ic, TOUT' o6rb aTrore^iv 
Ty \(5'y<p /cal TraiSeiav wpoffayopfvow 
icard ye T V e/xV 6p0ws ac vpoffayopevots. 
4 at 8e iarpclat Sia TOW ^vavriuv 
irt<t>vKa<Ti yiveffOcu] ' But it is the 



nature of remedies to be the contrary 
of that which they cure.' This prin- 
ciple is stated by Hippocrates, Aphor- 
ism, -KS.U. 2, and repeated Eth. x. 
ix. 10. 

5 T, us Kal irp&repov irpoff- 
ri era*] ' Again, as we have 
already said, every mental state 
is essentially related to, and concerned 
with, those things by which it is na- 
turally made worse or better ; now 
our mental states are corrupted by 
pleasures and pains, from pursuing 
and avoiding them, either those which 
one ought not, or at the wrong time, 
or in the wrong manner, or what- 
ever other points of the kind are 
specified in the definition. Hence it 
is that people define the virtues to be 
certain apathies and quietudes, not 
rightly, however, because they state 
this absolutely without adding, " as is 
right," and " as is wrong," and " at the 
proper time," and all the other quali- 
fications.' 

us Hal irpoVepov] The Laurentian 
MS. (K b ) reads us Kal vpui\v, which 
is adopted by Dr. Cardwell. But 
there does not seem to be any instance 
of a similar usage in Aristotle, by 
which irptariv might be justified. The 
reference is to the preceding chapter, 
8, 9, where it is stated that 
virtue finds its development in those 
same acts and feelings out of which 
it sprung. 



414 



H0IKS1N NIKOMAXEIQN II. 



[CHAP. 



s7 13 



xa 



xai $sXT/o;j/, Trpo Tavra xai Trspi TavTct ryv tyvcriv svsi 
8/' rfiovag 8s xai XuVa^ <>aDAai y/i/ovra/, T 
xai C^suys/v, TJ a j.rj 8s7 ^ ors ou Ssi" ^ a>V oo 
6:ro TOU Xoyou 8iOp/sTa< ra Toiau 

rag apsrag aTraQsictg Tivag xou yps[j.ict$' oux eu 
8s, OTI a.Tr'hSig As'youo'Ji', aXX' oyp^ co tisi xai o>^ ou <5s7, 

6 xa< ore, xa) ocra aAAa 7rpo<TT$eTa.i. UTTOXEITOLI apa rj 
ap=Tvj eTva* 73' roiauTTj ?rep} Tj'Sovaj xa) XuVa^ rtov 0ffXr&TM 

7 TrpaxTixrj, 73 8s xax/a Touvavr/ov. ysvoiro 8' av >}/xTv xai 
s'x TOWTCOV 4>avspov IT/ Trspi rtov auraiv. rpitbv yap OVTWV 
rcov sl^ ra^ alpstreig xai rpiu>v rcov s\g rag Q>vya.$, xaXou 

xai rpiatv TCOV svavT/tov, alcr^pou /3Xa- 
Trspi Travra jasv raDra o aya^o^ xarop^aj- 
O strriV o 8e xaxog ajU,apT7jTfxo', jtxaXKrra 8s Trspi 
TS yap atlrT) TO? ^io<^, xai 7ra<r< roTj 
^v aips<riv TrapaxoXoyQsr* xai yap TO xaXov xai TO 



fey juij 8e? ^ 8re ou 5e?] The ou must 
be taken immediately with 8, so as 
to form a positive conception, ' when 
it is wrong ; ' else of course ^ would 
be required. 

uirb roS Xrf-you] Not 'by reason,' 
but 'by the formula of definition.' 
Cf. Physics, n. ix. 5 : Kal rb rtAos T& 



Kal rov \6yov. The notion of a regu- 
lar formula for defining virtue occurs 
Eth. vi. xiii. 4: ~S,i]^fiov 8- Kal yap 
vvv vdmfs, 8rav bpifavrai rV apfr^v, 
irpoffriBeaffi T^V f^tv, fiirSvTfs Kal irpbs 
a fffn, T^I/ Kara rbj/ opdbv \6yov. 

Atb Kal 6piovrai\ Especially the 
Cynics, but other philosophers also, 
as for instance Democritus, who 
seems to have placed the highest 
good in arapa^ia. Cf. Stobaeus, Eel. 
n. 76 : rfyv 8" fvOv/j.iav Kal evtffr&j Kal 
apftoviav ffujUjUerpiW re Kal arapa^iav 
KaAe?. Aristotle appeals to this defi- 
nition, as being an evidence, though 
an over-statement, of the truth that 



virtue consists in a balance of the 
feelings. He appeals to a similar 
over-statement of the truth that pro- 
sperity is necessary for happiness, 
Eth. i. viii. 17. 

OVK eS 8, 8r* arr\eos] Amongst 
other oppositions, aw\s is frequently 
opposed to /caret irp6ff6tffiv, or irpoff- 
6-f)Ki]v, ' absolutely ' opposed to ' with 
a qualification.' Cf. Eth. \n. iv. 3 : 
ov Kara irp6a6tffiv . . . oAA.' oirXwr 
fjiovov. This shows the force of irpoff- 
rlOerat above. 

6 vir6Kfirai rovvavriov] 'We may 
begin by assuming then, as a ground 
for future inquiries, that this kind of 
excellence (i.e. moral) is concerned 
with pleasures and pains, and tends 
with regard to them to the perform- 
ance of what is best, while vice is 
the opposite.' The chapter might 
have ended here, but Aristotle re- 
opens the discussion with fresh argu- 
ments, and again sums it up in 




III. IV.] 



H61KHN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 



415 



6 sx 



a7TOTp/\f/ao-$a/ 



o [j.sv 



TO> 
ol 



7ra<riv 
TOUTO 
xa/ 



TO 



TOUT 9 



TJTTOV, TOOVYJ xa 

ouv avayxaiov sva< Trspi TauTa TTJV TraVav ir pay pars lav 
oy yap jouxpov tig rag &past$ eii TI xaxutg %aip*iv xa\ Xw- 
STI 8 



xa< 



spi Os TO 
xa; yap TO s 



xat 

TOUTIO. a>o~TS xat 8<a TOUTO Trspi ijoot/aj xai Xu?ra^ 
TJ 7rpayjaaT=/a xai T^ apsrji xai TJ TTOXJT/XY)' o ja=v yap 
su TOUTO< ypa],svo^ aya^of eo~Ta/, o Ss xaxto^ xaxog. 
oSv SO"T)V >] dpsTr) Trspi rfiovag xai Xurra^, xa< OT/ 
TOU, UTTO TO'jTtov xai au^srai xa} QQsipsrai 

xa) OT< g^ av sysvsTO, Trsp} TauTa xai svspys?, 



ori 
aiv 



8 T( 8" e'/c vifiriov Xuirp] ' Again, 
it has grown up along with us all 
from our infancy, and this makes it 
hard to rub off a feeling that is in- 
grained into our life. And all of us, 
in a greater or less degree, make 
pleasure and pain our standard of 
actions,' 



ff/j.fvov] The metaphor, though not 
its precise application, seems taken 
from Plato, Repub. rr. p. 429 D, 
where the effects of right education 
are compared to a dye, with which 
the mind is to be imbued, so as to 
resist the detersive effects of pleasure 
and pain. 

10 ?TJ 8 'Hp</cXeiTOj] 'Again, 
it is harder to contend with pleasure 
than with anger, which, as Heraclitus 
says, is a hard antagonist.' The 
saying of Heraclitus is given in full, 
I Politics, \. xi. 31: cupfiSus y&p 
eavruv exovirw ol Sia Ov/xbc eirt^e*- 
povirres, Kaddirep ical 'HpctaAetTos elirf, 



elvai 6vn<p fjidx e(T ^ ai ' 
ai (i.e. that men are 
ready to gratify their anger at the 
cost of their life). It is repeated 
also Eth. Eudem. n. vii. 9. We see; 
that Heraclitus only spoke of anger ; 
the comparison of anger with plea- 
sure is not due to him. 

IV. i 'AiropVeie 8' &v TW] The 
theory thus far given of the ytvfffis of 
virtue is now supplemented by the 
starting and answering of a difficulty. 
The theory, as stated, is a paradox. 
How can it be said that we become 
just by doing just things ? If we do 
just things we must be just already, 
as he that performs music is already a 
musician. The answer to this diffi- 
culty is (i) in the arts, to whose 
analogy appeal is made, mere perfor- 
mance is no proof of art. The first 
essays of the learner may by chance, 
or by the guidance of his master 
(dirb Tux'js KCU &\\ov viroQfft.ivou), at- 



416 



IieiKiiN NIKOMAXEIiiN II. 



[CHAP. 



o~aj xa/ aTro rup7j xa) aXAou u 

, sav xa} ypaju,juar/xov r/ 



(tixalovg ylvscrftai, ra 8s <ra><f ova (ra)$pova$ ' 
si yap TTpaTTOvcri TO. 8/xa/a xa} TO. <rw($>pova, 15813 eleri 
8/xa/oj xa< trd>$pwt$ t a>o~7rsp si ra ypaja/xar/xa xa/ ra 
a, -ypa/x/xarixo* xai jaou<r/xo/. ^ ou8' ITT} riov 

r Tro/Sj- 
TOTS ouv sVra/ 
xa} ypap- 
' rouro 8' sVr/ TO xara rvjv ev oi'jTcoypoifj.fj,oiTix^v. 

OU' OfAOtOV (TTIV 7r} TCOV T%VCOV XOU TO)V O.pSTU)V ' TO. 

yap UTTO TIOV TS%VU>V yiv6[J.sva TO sv %%i ev aurot, 
apxsl ovv TOWTa Trwg e%ovTa ysvearQai ' TO. 8s xara 

oux sav aura 7ra> ^73, Sixa/a)^ TJ ( 
aXXa xa) sav 6 TrpaTTtov Trcag sp^tov 7rparr>], 
jasv lav slSto^, STTS/T' sav Trpoaipoupsvos, xal 
7rpoaipov[j.svo$ 8<* aura, ro 8s TpiTov xa} sav /3s/3a/a> xa< 



tain a sort of success and an artistic 
appearance, but the learner is no 
artist as yet. (a) A fortiori, if mere 
performance is no proof of art, much 
less is it any proof of morals. For 
the outward result in art is some- 
thing sufficient in itself. But the 
outward act in morals is not enough. 
Hence those 'just acts ' by which we 
acquire justice, are, on nearer in- 
spection, not really just ; they want 
the moral qualification of that settled 
internal character in the heart and 
mind of the agent, without which no 
external act is virtuous in the highest 
sense of the term. (3) As Aristotle 
rarely meets a difficulty arising out of 
his theories, without adding something 
in depth or completeness to those 
theories, so here, he deepens the con- 
ception of virtue previously given, by 
urging that knowledge is the least im- 
portant element in it ; and that philo- 
sophy without action is impotent to 
attain it. 

3 Knowledge ; purpose ; purity 
of purpose (irpocupou/uewj 8' otrrf), 
formed and settled stability of cha- 



racter, are the internal requisites for 
constituting a good act. Knowledge 
is necessary to, and presupposed in, 
purpose. We are told presently that 
knowledge is of slight or no avail for 
virtue, while the other elements are 
all in all (irpbs 5e rb TOS operas -rb fj.fv 
ei'SeVai (j.iKpbv % ovStv l<rx<Jft, T& 8' 
&\\a oil filKpbv a\\a rb irav SiWrai). 
This is a reaction against the Socratico- 
Platonic doctrine that virtue consists 
in knowledge ; but Aristotle does not 
mean more than this that know- 
ledge, if taken by itself, if separate 
from the will, if merely existing in 
the intellect, is of no avail. He 
afterwards states very strongly the 
opposite view, that he who has <pp6- 
rriffis has all the virtues. Eth. \i. 
xiii. 6, vn. ii. 5. 

irpoaipovfj.fi/os 84' avrt] Here would 
have been the place for introducing 
an allusion to the doctrine of moral 
obligation, had such formed part of 
Aristotle's system. But he says not 
that ' good acts must be done with a 
feeling of duty/ but that 'they must 
be chosen for their own sake.' A 



IV. V.] 



IieifttiN NIKOMAXEmN II. 

* / ~ 5-\ 

TauTa 6s TT 



417 



TO rag 

oit (rvvapiQ[j.siTai, TrXrjV auTo TO sJ8svaj* 
8s TO rag apsras TO jU.sv el8svai jouxpov 15 ou8sv Jo~p^us<, 
TO. 8' aAAa ot> pixpov aXAa TO ?rav 8uvaTa/, aVsp sx TOU 
7roAAax/ Trpdrrsiv rot, 8/xa/a xa) (ru)Q>pova Trspiyivtrcti. 
TO. fj.lv ouv Trpayp-aTct 8/xata xai o-a>(>pova AsysTa/, oVav4 
^| To/auTa ola av 6 8/xaio 75 o <ra>$pov &pasuv' 8/xaio^ 
8s xa< <r(ia<$>p(ov SO"TIV oup^ 6 TauTa TrpaTTwv, aXXa xai 6 
OUTO> Trparrcov (o$ ol S/xatoi xa) oi (rw^povsg 7rpaTTOu(riv. 
s5 ouv XsysTai OT< sx TOL> 8/xa<a Trpdrrsiv o 8jxao^ yivsrai 5 
X.OLI s'x TOU Ta o-)vpova o (rwQpcov ' ex 8s TOU JU.TJ TTpaT- 



oi 



i TauTa ju,sv ou 7rpaTToyo~/v, STTI 8s TOV 6 



xai 



; so~s- 



TI 



arpaiv axououo~< 
TaTTOjU,eva)v. 



ovv ou8' sxsTvoi su 



8' ou$sv Ttov ?rpoo~- 
TO o"ct>jU,a 



Msra 8s TauTa TI SO~T/V >j a 
sv T^ ^up^y y/vo'ftsva Tp/a 



O~XS^TOV. 



001/ 



a^ij Swaps i$ 



good act must be chosen, loved, and 
done because it is beautiful (2rt 
KoArfv). Aristotle does not analyse 
further than this. 

a/x6Toic^jTeoj] No point is more 
insisted on in these Ethics than the 
stability of the moral '|ets, when once 
formed. Of. i. x. 10, i. x. 14, v. ix. 
14. 

6 oAA' of TroAAol (JuAoiro^oDvTes] 
' But most people, instead of doing 
these things, take refuge in tallc about 
them, and flatter themselves that they 
are studying philosophy, and are in a 
fair way to become good men ; which 
conduct may be likened to that of 
those sick people who listen atten- 
tively to what their physician says, 
but do not follow a tittle of his pre- 
scriptions. Such a regimen will never 
give health of body, nor such a philo- 



sophy health of mind.' We often 
hear of 'the modernisms in Plato.' 
The above passage might be called a 
modernism in Aristotle. 

V. With this chapter commences 
a new division of the Book, in which a 
formal definition of virtue according to 
substance or genus, and quality or 
differentia, is given. We find the 
conception of this kind of definition 
already existing in Plato. Cf. Meno, 
p. 71 B : ^uaurbj/ KaTa/j.f/J.(pofJ.at us OVK 
eiS&s irepi apery* rb irapdirav 4 Se /xf; 
ol5o ri <TTI, ircSj &v 6iroi6i'yf TI ti8ttr)V ; 
Like other parts of logic it was elabo- 
rated and made systematic by Ari- 
stotle. See Essay III. In the pre- 
sent chapter the ri Icrnv ; of virtue is 
established, that it is a e'fjy, or formed 
state of mind. This is arrived at 



H H 



418 



HeiKilN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 



[CHAP. 



2 TOVTCOV oiv TI en 1 ) r] apsTrj. "heyio 3s TraSvj ju,s/ 67n 
4>'$ov Qpda-og fyQovov p^apav $1X109 jouo-o 
sXsov, oXa> o/ STTSTOH rfiov-i) ^ xJrrTj, 8uva/As/ 8s 
rot/ran/ XsoasQa olov xa$' a Suvaroi 



\ /A v ^ * *. V \\ 

ra Traorj e%ofj.sv su 19 xaxa>, o<ov Trpoj TO o 

si 8 



si 



s5. 



by assuming that every mode of the 
mind must be one of three things, 
either a feeling, a faculty, or a state, 
and by proving that virtue is neither 
a feeling, nor a faculty; whence by 
the exhaustive process it remains that 
it must be a state of mind. The form 
of the argument here is the same as 
that of Eth. i. viL 9-14, where it is 
demonstrated what is the proper func- 
tion of man, and that of the argument 
in Republic iv. p. 428-433, where the 
nature and province of justice are 
determined. Aristotle does not here 
explain why he assumes that the 
modes of mind are only three; but 
the assumption no doubt rests upon 
his doctrine of Quality. Virtue is a 
quality (i. vi. 3 : icol iv rtf irottf at 
aperof), and the category of Quality is 
subdivided into four divisions (Cat. 
viii.), ( i ) |js and SiAOfffis. (2) 8<ra Kara 
Svvaniv (pvffiK^v I) aSwajui'ai/ \tyerat. 
( 3) 7ra07)Ti/ccu troi6rrirts. (4) (Tx^M a K( d 
/j.op<f>-fi. Of these the last is in the 
present case excluded by its own 
nature, and it is only necessary to 
eliminate two of the remaining three. 
Apart from the subdivision of the 
category, the threefold partition of the 
mind might be defended upon its own 
merits ; for irdQos may be in a sense 
identified with ivtpytiat, and tis is a 
sort of determinate BiWjuis, a 5vva/xis, 
so to speak, on the other side of &ep- 
ytiai. Granting to the human mind 
the power of development, and of self- 
determination by the law of habits, it 



follows that every mode in which such 
a mind exists, must either be its innate, 
undeveloped, and potential faculties, 
its moments of consciousness, or its 
acquired and formed tendencies and 
states. 

The arguments to prove that virtue 
is not a vddos, are (i) an appeal to 
language. We are called ' good ' or 
' bad ' on account of virtue or vice ; 
not on account of isolated feelings. 
(2) A passion is by its nature involun- 
tary ; but virtue implies deliberate 
choice (vpoalpetris). (3) An appeal 
to language ; " we speak of being 
' moved ' in regard to the feelings ; of 
being ' disposed ' in regard to virtue or 
vice. Again, for the same reason, 
virtue is not a Svvafus. ( i ) Because 
we are not ' called good ' for our facul- 
ties. (2) Because a faculty is some- 
thing natural and innate (Swarol /xV 
4ffftv Qvffti), and virtue is not. 

2 \ey( 8e eiJ ' I mean by emo- 
tions, desire, anger, fear, boldness, 
envy, joy, friendship, hatred, longing, 
emulation, pity ; in short, everything 
that is accompanied by pain or plea- 
sure. I call those faculties, by reason 
of which we are said to be capable of 
feeling emotions, as, for instance, 
capable of being angry, of suffering 
pain, of feeling pity ; and I call those 
states by which we stand in a certain 
relation, good or bad, to the emotions ; 
as, for instance, with regard to anger, 
we are in a bad condition if our 
anger is too violent or too slack, in a 



V. VI.] 



NIKOMAXEK1N II. 



419 



OUTS 



6/xo/ooj os xoii TTpoj raAAa. 7ra5?j [j.sv ouv oux sl<r\v ou'5' 3 
a.1 apsra/ ou$' al xaxiou, on ou Asyo'iu,s3a xara ra TraSvj 
i] <auAo, xara 8e raj apsraj $ raj xax/aj 
xai on xara |W.sv ra 7ra$>j OUT' S7rajvou'ju,s5a 
$a (ou yap sVa/i/s?ra/ o <>o/3ou/xsvo ou8s o 
ou8s \f/sysra/ o cbrAtoj opy/o'|asvo aXA' o 
xara 8s ra^ apsra^ xa) ra xaxiag eTraivoujOtsQa -^ 
sdot. STI opy/^OjasSa ^asv xa) <^o/3oujw,s5a a7rpoajpe-4 
ai 8' apsra* 7rpoa<pe(rei T<VS^ ^ v oux aveu Trp 
8e To(tToi$ xara jaev ra TraSij xivs7<rQoti 
xara Ss raj apsraj xa; raj xax/aj ou xivsi(rQai aXAa &a- 
ai TTWS. 8;a raura 8s oySs 8uvajU./j S*(TJV * ours yap 5 
i Xsyo/xsQa r<w 8uva<r5a< TTOLQ-^SIV a^Acoj ours xaxo/, 
our' sVajj/ou/x,s5a ours vj/syo'jas^a. xai sri Suvaroi jasv 
aya$o) 8s ^ xaxol ou yivopeQa. $>uo~st * siVo- 
8s Trspi rourou Trpo'rspov. si ouv ^TS ircthf\ sio~}v a"! 6 
apsra) ]U,^rs Suvajas/j, Xs/Trsra* ss< auraj sTt/a<. 

"O r/ jotsv ouv so~r/ ra> ysvs* >] apsr^, sjpyjra/ * 8s7 8s 6 



good one, if we hit the happy medium.' 
Aristotle contents himself with indi- 
cating what he means by these diffe- 
rent terms, instead of giving anything 
like a scientific definition of them. 
Thus he gives specimens of the feelings 
in which there is no attempt at classi- 
fication, 'desire' being a wider term 
than most of the others mentioned, 
' envy ' and ' emulation ' being perhaps 
different modes of the same feeling, 
&c. The words used are throughout 
informal, TO Iv rfj tyvxfj ytt>6/j.eva oTs 
eirerot ^SocTj naff &s Svvarol Kaff &s 
naOijTiKoi. It is easy to see that a 
deeper psychology might have stated 
all that is here said in a different and 
better way. In his account of e|jy 
there is a play on words which it is 
impossible to render, '{s Kaff fty 
exo/J-ev. Cf. the use of TTCOS 
3 of the preceding chapter, 



Rt 8" aperal irpoaipfffets 



This is an extreme statement, in op- 
position to the Socratic doctrine that 
virtues were </>pon^(Tjs, cf. Eth. \i. 
xiii. 3. Aristotle immediately qualifies 
it. There has been no proof of this 
position as yet. 

SiaKeierflai ireos] This word is very 
common in Plato (as in other Greek). 
Cf. Repub. iv. 431 B : a.K6\affTov rbv 
ovrta SiaKfi^fvoi', &c. In the treatise 
on the Categories, which bears Aris- 
totle's name, it is made to imply a 
tiiaOtffis in contradistinction to tx 6 "*. 
which implies a t'lis, Cat. viii. 5, ol 
fj.ei> yap eeis fyovTes Kal SiaKfiv-rai ye 
TTOJS fear' airrds, ol 8e SiaKtlfnevoi ov 



VI. Having stated the generic 
conception of virtue (ri fari) that it 
is a developed state of mind, Aristotle 
now proceeds to determine it more 
exactly (iroia TIS). He lays the ground 



HH 2 



H0imN NIKOMAXEIiiN II. 



[CHAP. 



[*.}) [Jiovov ovTcog slrrsTv, on s^i$, aXXot xa) Troj'a T<. 
o3v OTI Tracra apsTi], o3 av YJ apeTT?, auro re e 

xa< TO spyo 

asTr TOV re 



olov 



-yap TOU 



ofj.oa)$ 
ayaQov 

3 7roXsja/ou 



xa 



Xjaou ap=TY s 
TS <T7rou8atov 
xai 



T rou 
xa) TO 
co^isv. 
xa) 
TOV$ 



s 



TOOT TT TTCCVTCOV ovrcus 

E'/TJ av e^<^ a^)' 



av$pa>7ro 



for this more accurate determination, 
by giving a summary (borrowed from 
Plato) of the characteristics of "Aper^. 
Every excellence is the perfection of 
an object, and of the functions of that 
object. Thus human excellence (or 
virtue) will be the perfection of man, 
and of the functions of man. This 
leads us to inquire more narrowly 
what are the characteristics of a perfect 
fpyov (the word is ambiguous, de- 
noting ' work of art,' or ' product of 
nature,' as well as 'function' or 
' province'). From the conception of 
quantity, whether continuous (<rwex e ' s ) 
or discrete (Siaiper6t>~), we get the 
conception of more, less, and equal, or 
excess, defect, and the mean, which 
in the case of human action must not 
be arithmetical but proportional ( 
4-7). Now a glance at the arts 
shows us that the skill of an artist 
and the perfection of a work consist 
in the attainment and exhibition of 
the relative mean, so that nothing 
can be added or taken away without 
spoiling the effect ( 8-9). Accord- 
ing to this analogy, virtue, which, like 
nature, is finer than the finest art, 
aims at the mean, avoiding excess and 
deficiency in feeling and action 
( 10-13). To this account of the 
essence of virtue witness is borne by 
the Pythagorean doctrine, that right 
is one, and wrong manifold ( 14). 
We need only qualify our theory and 



our definition of virtue, by adding 
that it is from an abstract point of 
view alone we can call virtue ' a mean 
state." From a moral point of view 
it is an extreme that is utterly re- 
moved from its opposite, vice ( 15- 
1 7), and we must not apply the notion 
of the mean and the extremes to 
every act. Some acts are in them- 
selves extremes, as, for instance, acts 
of crime, and it will be impossible to 
find a mean in such as these ( 18- 
ao). 

2 frtireov ovv woAe/xfovs] 'We 
must commence then by asserting 
that every excellence both exhibits 
that thing of which it is an excellence 
in a good state, and also causes the 
perfect performance of that thing's 
proper function, as, for instance, the 
excellence of an eye makes the eye 
good, and also the performance of 
its function, for we see well from 
the excellence of the eye. So, too, 
the excellence of a horse makes him 
both a good horse, and good in his 
paces, in bearing his rider, and in 
standing a charge." This is taken 
almost verbatim from Plato, Bep'ub. 
I. p. 353B: T Ap' &v iroTf OjUyUora -rb 
avrGtv Zpyov KO.\WS airepyiiffaivro fi^ 
lyovra. rV curruv oiKeiav liptr^y, K.T.\. 
An illustration had been drawn from 
the horse and its excellence before in 
the same book, p. 335 B. 

3 et Srj ToDr' ^*i irdinuv ol'nvs X / > 



VI.] 



IieiKilN NIKOMAXEIilN II. 



421 



rat xoii a<> 
TOUT' so~Ta, 
pov, lav 5s<o 
7rai/Ti 8r) 



s5 TO sauTOt) spyoi/ a7ro8a>o-i. 7ra>$ 8s 4 



xa< a>' 



Troa T 
xat 8ia/psTt 



sv 



TO 



sXaTTOV TO 



Aa/3sTv TO 
xa} TauTa XO.T auTo TO 



' '/o~ov, 
TO 8' 

8s TOV jaev 7rpa-yp.aTog pscrov TO iVov 5 
OCTTSVOV a<p' sxotTepoy TCOV axprov, oVsp SO~T)V sv xa; 
7rao-<v, Trpog >]/xa^ 8s o 

TOUTO 8' OU^ 5V, Ou8s TOtUTOV 7TaO-<V, oToV Si TOt 8sX TTOAXa 6 

Ta 8s 8uo oX/ya, Ta 1^ fulcra ha[j.fiat.vov(r t xotTa TO 7rpoiyfjt.a.' 
yap U7rspe%ei TS xa) u?rsps^sTa<, TOUTO 8s p.s(rov SCTT] 7 
apiQ[j,rjTix7]V avaAoyj'av. TO 8s Trpoj ^']U,a^ ow^ 
'/ TO> 8sxa ^voci <$>a.ysiv TroXu 860 
7rpoo~Ta^s<* SO~TI yap 



8s o 



ou yap s 



< 



ol ^ TOU avOpuiirov aper)) K.T.X.] Ari- 
stotle treats of human virtue as part 
of a general law by which all natural 
objects fulfil their several functions, 
and each in accordance with its own 
proper excellence. He next passes to 
the analogy of the arts, though he 
regards virtue as higher than them, 
and more akin to nature, (r) 8' dper^ 



(ffriv, Siffirep Kal i) tyvffis). In the 
present passage we have again to do 
with the conception of the spyov of 
man ; see above Eth. i. vii. 14. 

4 irws 5e TOUT' effTai, fjSri /J.ev 
fipriKa.fifi'] If any special passage is 
referred to, it must be n. iv. 3. 

iv iravrl S^ ffwex*t Kal StaipeTcp] 
' Now in all quantity both continuous 
and discrete.' The terms here are not 
meant to go together, as if it were, 
' In all that is continuous, and at the 
same time capable of division ; ' but 
the two forms of quantity are referred 
to, about which we read Categories vi. 
I : ToG 5e Trdffou rb /j.iv effn SuopitTfj.f- 
vov, rb Se ffwe^es. "Eari Se Siupiff- 
fj.(vov (J.fv olov apiB/.As Kal \6jos (a 



word), ffwfx.es Se oTov ypa/j./j.'fi, ftri<pd- 
veia, cru/jLa, en Se trapa TOMTO. -%p6vos 
Kal r6iros. Cf. Politics i. \. 3 : 8tr 
yap ^K irKeiovwv avvfcnriKf, efre ^/c 
avvex&v fir'' e'/c Styprifj.evui'. J)e C&lo, I. 
i. 2. 



eAA.etirei] 'By an objective mean, I 
understand that which is equidistant 
from the two given extremes, and 
which is one and the same to all, and 
by a mean relatively to the person 
(irpbs fi/ias), I understand that which 
is neither too much nor too little.' 
In this, as in many other places of 
Aristotle, we desiderate a formula 
expressive of the opposition between 
the objective and subjective. Not 
that there is a want of clearness here, 
but if he had possessed the formula, 
he would have applied it here, and 
would by it have solved many an am- 
biguity elsewhere existing. 

7 Kara T^V dpifl/urjTiK^i' avaXoyiav} 
i.e. 'Arithmetical progression,' opposed 
to ' geometrical proportion,' which 
consists of four terms, cf. Eth. \. 
iv. 3. 



422 



H6IKON NIKOMAXEmN II. 



[CHAP. 



xai TOUTO TroXu TO> X>j\J/oju,Vco 73 oX/yov ' M/Xaw /xsv 
oX/yov, rto 8s appOjU,i/a> rutv yu^vairioiv ?roXu. 

8 sTri 8po'ju.ou xai TraXrjf. OUTOJ 8rj 7ra 7no~Tvj|a<ov TTJV uTrsp- 
3oXvji> jtxsv xai TTJV sXXs/\l//j> <>uys/, TO 8s jUsVov V]Ts7 xai 
TOU$' ajpsira/, j,sVov 8s ou TO TOU 7rpay/xaTO aXXa TO 

9 :rpo rjjaa. el 8r) TraVa 7no~T?3jU,yy ouVa) TO spyov su eTTi- 

TO jU.eo"ov 3X7rouo-a xai sJj TOUTO ayouo-a T 
(o^sv ela>5ao-jv sTriXsye/v TO?^ eS e%ou<riv ep-yoig ort 
e<rriv OUTS 7Tpo<rQ*ivai, < 
/\J/sa>f 4)de/pou<ri3^ TO s5, 
, oi 8' aya^oi Te%viTa.t, 10$ 



Tr 



poj 



TOUTO 



xai 



xa< 



TOU 
auT>j 



>j xa 
xai TO 



xa 



v 8s 
olov xa) 
xa* 



av 

so"Ti 

xa< 



xai 



vai xa uTrrjvjvai go"T< xa jaaXXov xa TTOV, xa 
Tspa oux su ' TO 8' OTS 8sT xai <$>' ol^ xai Trpoj ou^ xai 
ou svsxa xai a>^ 8sT, ju.<rov TS xai ap/o~Tov, oTrsp I 
8s xai ?rspi Ta Trdsi S<TT}V 



o\/7o*<] This illus- 
tration may remind us of the humour- 
ous turn in Plato's Republic, p. 338 c, 
where, on Thrasymachus defining jus- 
tice to be T} roS Kpflrrovos 
Socrates answers, S> 
7TOT6 X76js ; ou y&p irov r6 ye roiJj/Se 
tpfjs' (I Hov\v8a.[*.as rm&v Kpfirrtav 6 



/3(kia /cpt'a irpbs T^ trai/ia, TOVTO -rb 
ffiriov fivai Kai ijfuv TO?S TJTTOO'II' ^Ktlvov 
f,vfi.<pfpov a^a ical S^aiov. Cf. Erastte, 
p. 1 34, quoted above on n. ii. 6. 

9 i 8^ py] ' If, then, every art 
thus completes its work, namely, by 
looking to the mean and conducting 
its results to this.' With the theory 
of art here stated cf. Politics, m. xiii. 
21, ArjAov 8f ToCro leal M TWI/ &\\uv 
J.S}v, oirre yap ypcuptvs 



ffv/j.fj.Tp(as %x (lv T ^ v w > "& *' Stcupepot 
rb K<i\\os. And on the general doc- 
trine of n(ff6ri\s, its history, and its 
applications, see Essay IV. 

10 \eyta 5^ rV l)0jd?'] The intel- 
lectual aptrat are not nfff6rirrfs, for 
this simple reason that they are 
\6yoi ; the ' laws ' or ' standards ' of 
the balance which is to be introduced 
into the passions. 

11 -r5 8* 8re 8*1 operas] ' But to 
have these feelings at the right time, 
and on occasion of the right things, 
and towards the right persons, and 
with the right object, and in the right 
manner, this is the golden mean and 
the highest excellence, names which 
are proper to virtue.' From the men- 
tion of all these qualifications it is 



VI.] 



II9IKON NIKOMAXEKiN II. 



423 



xai sAA<\}// xa.} TO 



TJ 8' apery Trsp] 7ra$rj xa) 
V ol^ ) jtxsv UTrspjSoAT) dfj.aprdvsrai xa} r\ 
\|/sysTa<, TO 8= jtxeVov 7rait/s7Tou xai xaTo 
ap.$(o rr\$ apT?jf. J&WOTljj; TJ apa 
oipsrr], <rro%fx.G-rixrj ye oixra TOU ju,sVou. ITI TO ju,ev ajaap- 14 
ravsiv 7ToXXapto eo~Tiv (TO yap xaxov TOU aTm'pou, cog 1 01 
e'/xa^ov, TO o' ayaQov TOU 7rff7repao~javou), TO 
j.ovapto S<o xai TO jasv patiiov TO 8s 

JU.SV TO aTTOTU^sTv TOU 0~X07TOU, 

' ouv 



s TO 



xa 

<70\ot 

"E(TTiv oipot 
o5o~a ' 



T 8s 



yap aTrXaif, Tra^rooaTrtDf 2e KUKOI. 



xa 



ev 
av o 



8s 



xax/a>v 



xa* ei TO> 



TOU Qsovros sv TS 



xa. sv 



i, TTJV 8' apsryv TO jal^rov xa) supiVxs/v xai alpei- 
810 xaTa ju,sv T^V awriew xal TOV Xo'yov TOV T/ ^1/ 
SO~T}V TJ ap=TV5, xaTa 8s TO ap/o~Tov 



account of irpoofpecm, and its relation 
to action, in the next book. The other 
terms of the definition have been 
sufficiently established in the progress 
of this book. The reference to the 
q>p6vifj.os as an impersonation of the 
'law' or 'standard' of reason is a 
necessary modification of what would 
else be an entirely relative, individual, 
and arbitrary, theory of virtue. If the 
\6yos of the individual is to be a 
valid judge of all action, this will be 
returning to the sophistic principle 
irdi/Twv fjLfrpof &vQp<tnros. The ' wise 
man ' stands as the representative of 
the absolute reason of man manifested 
in the individual consciousness. This 
ideal was prominent in the Cynic and 
Cyrenaic systems, as afterwards with 
the Stoics. 
1 7 Aib /Corel fji(t> rV ovoia 



easy to see that Aristotle means by 
his /xeVoy to establish something more 
than a merely quantitative difference 
between vice and virtue. 

14 en T /usy afJMprdvfiv ^ovax'Ss] 
'Again it is possible to err in many 
ways (for evil belongs to the infinite, 
as the Pythagoreans figured, and good 
to the finite), but to do right is possible 
only in one way.' See Essays II. and 
IV. The authorship of the verse 
^<r0\ol /uej/ 7(p K.T.A. is unknown. . 

1 5 Zffnv &pa dp'ureitv] ' Virtue, 
therefore, is a developed state of the 
moral purpose in relative balance, 
determined by a standard, according 
as the wise man would determine.' 
In two places already, Eth. u. iv. 3, 
and n. \. 4, we have met with the 
tacit assumption that virtue implies 

. This is justified by the 



424 



IieiKilN N1KOMAXE1QN II. 



[CHAP. 



18 xa] TO s axpoTrj$. ov 7ra<ra 



svia. 



' Virtue, therefore, if viewed in the 
light of its essence and its constitutive 
conception, is a mean state, but with 
respect to supreme excellence, and 
Tightness, it is an extreme.' This 
passage implies that the term Mf<r6rr]s 
is an abstract and metaphysical ex- 
pression for the law of virtue, esti- 
mated by the understanding (though 
doubtless the deepest view attainable) ; 
but that viewed in relation to the 
good, or (as we should say) from a 
moral point of view, virtue is no 
mean state lying between vices (as if 
virtue were a little less vice, and vice 
. a little more virtue), but an extreme, 
that is, utterly removed from, and 
opposed to, vice. It is a profound 
remark, showing the balance in Ari- 
stotle between an abstract and a 
concrete view of morals. With regard 
to the terminology here employed, 
the word ova-la is, as Aristotle himself 
tells us, to a certain extent ambiguous 
(cf. Metaphys. vi. iii. i : A^yercu 5' rj 
oixria, fi jtt)j v\fovaxS>s, a\A' fv rerrapffi 
ye fj.d\iffra' Kal yap rb rl ?iv flvai Kid 
rb Ka66\ov Kal rb yfvos ovffia SOKC? 
flvai ttcairrov Kal rtraprov roiirwv rb 
vTtoKfifj.fvov'). It is made definite 
however in the present place by the 
addition of the phrase Kal rbv \6yov 
rbv ri 3v flvai \eyovra, which may be 
regarded here as an explanation of 
ovaia. On \6yov \ryojra, cf. De 
Motu Aniinalium x. i : Kara fiey oZv 
rbv \6yov rbv \fyovra rfyv atriac TTJS 
Kiirf)fff<as. The formula ri %v elvat, 
like other leading parts of Aristotle's 
philosophy, appears in his works as 
already established. Though no trace 
of it is to be found in Plato, familia- 
rity with its use is presupposed by 
Aristotle, and no account of its genesis 
is given. Its metaphysical import is 



discussed in Metaphys. vi. iv-xi, from 
which we gather ( i ) that ri fa eli/cu 
implies the essential nature of a thing 
((Kaffrov t> \eyerai naff avr6) to the 
exclusion of all that is accidental ; 
(2) that it is the definition of a thing, 
but not of all things, for it excludes 
all material associations, hence that 
to a conception like <ri/u<Jrijs you 
cannot assign a ri ?iv tivai; (3) that 
it is no mere abstraction, but closely 
connected with individual existence, 
and implying what the Germans call 
Daseyn ; hence it is separable from 
the ica06\ov or universal element in a 
thing, it implies this, but also some- 
thing more. From the concreteness 
of its nature, it also differs from the 
Platonic idea, with which it has much 
in common, being the immaterial, 
primal, and archetypal law of the 
being of things ; (4) ' The knowledge 
of a thing/ says Aristotle, 'consists 
in knowing its rt %v flvai ' (Metaphys. 
vi. vi. 6). With this important con- 
ception in his theory of knowledge 
and of existence we may compare to 
some extent the 'Forms' of Bacon, 
which were no doubt borrowed from 
it. But fully to comprehend the ri 
fa flvai implies mastering the meta- 
physical system of Aristotle. With 
regard to the grammar of the formula 
we are left to conjecture, and accord- 
ingly at least two erroneous explana- 
tions have been given, (i) That of 
Alexander Aphrod. ad Top. i. (Brandis, 
Scholia, p. 256 a 43), that fa is simply 
used for itrri, whereas we find a fre- 
quent contrast between the formula 
ri %v and ri fori. (2) The whole 
phrase has been translated 'substantia 
quae est, etsi prseterita,' as though ri fy 
could be used for Sntp fy. Ti ^v is 
of course a question, and has been 



VI. VII.] 



H9IKQN NIKOMAXEIflN II. 



425 



oov 



xa STT ra>v 

avopofyovia. ' TTOLVTOI yap raura xa; ra roiaura if/syera; 
rait auTa <auAa sii/at, a?*.A' oup at WTrsp/SoAai O.UT&V ou3' 

a! sAA=nJ//. OUX IVTiV OUV OUOS7TOTS TTSp* aUTO, 

Qovv, aAA* as; ap.a,pTa.vsiv' ou^' eVri TO so ^ ^T) s3 
ra TO<aOra sv TOJ ^v Ss? xai ore xai to^ jCftOiytutiy, 
TO TToisTj/ OTIOUJ/ roura>v oipa.pTot.vsiv e<rriv. 



xa< 



TO 



xa s 



xot 



svai 



xou 



ya.p 



xa 



w&Trsp 8s 20 



xou 



ovx (TTIV 



xcti 



TO TO 



cvai 



axpov, ovrayg ou6s sxsvcov /x,so~o- 
I^ ay 



yap 



[j.=(TOTri$ 



OUTS 



As? Ss TOUTO ft?) [J.OVQV 



^ xai f 
Xsyso"5a/, aXAa xa/ 



represented by the term Quidditas in 
the Scholastic Latin. The preterite 
ijV appears used to express the prior, 
i.e. the deeper and more essential 
nature of a thing. 'What was the 
essence of the thing?' (z'.e. before its 
present individual manifestation). Cf. 
Metaphys. vi. vii. 6 : "fto-re avuPaivei 
rpdiruv TWO. e| uyietas rrjj' u^-ietaf 7/f e- 
(T0at /ecu T^I/ oiKiav e| ojKias, T?)S Sveu 
0A.T7S TTJI' exovffav v\tjv. A^yeo 5e ovalav 
&vev uArjs rb TI ^c eivai. It is difficult 
to say what was the original phrase of 
which the three words are a disjointed 
remnant. Probably it may have been 
as follows, ri fy av6p<Snt(? eivai avdputrf?. 
' What was that property in man 
which constitutes the conception of 
his being a man ? ' Eivai is used in 
Aristotle especially to denote the con- 
ception or inner essence of a thing, 
cf. Eth. v. i. 20. We may observe 
that elvat is never affixed to the ques- 



tion rl effrt, which implies a more 
superficial and accidental account. 

VII. Aristotle now passes on to 
the exemplification of his general law 
of virtue in the various separate 
virtues. He gives accordingly a list 
of virtues, and shows that they are 
severally mean states between various 
extremes. This list forms a table of 
contents for Books III. and IV., 
which treat of the virtues here men- 
tioned, and in the order here given. 
The question arises upon what prin- 
ciple is this list formed ? We find 
at once that Aristotle has resorted to 
experience. He has not contented 
himself with applying his law to the 
previously recognised divisions of 
virtue. He has abandoned the old 
enumeration of four cardinal virtues, 
given in Plato's Republic, p. 428 (and 
on which most of the reasoning in 



I I 



426 IIGIKflN NIKOMAXEIftN II. 

"G x(*y exaora 



[CHAP. 



' v yap TOI$ Trsp rag 
oi 8' 7ri 



that book depends), namely, courage, 
temperance, justice, wisdom ; but 
these all reappear in his list, only not 
on the same level with each other. 
Wisdom is divided into <pp6injffis and 
<ro<f>ia, of which the first is made the 
standard of moral virtue, and the 
other stands apart as a perfection of 
the pure intellect. Justice is separated 
from other practical virtues, as being 
something externally determined (cf. 
Eth. v. v. 17). Plato gives, in the 
Protagoras, p. 349 B, another list of 
five virtues, holiness (6<ri($Tijs) being 
added to the other four ; this answers 
to eiWjSeia. which is frequently men- 
tioned as a virtue by the Socrates of 
Xenophon. Aristotle omits it alto- 
gether, probably on account of the 
separation he made between ethics 
and religion. With this exception, 
Aristotle's list of virtues implies the 
same view of life as Plato's, only it 
goes more into detail and aims at 
more completeness. In the present 
chapter ten virtues are enumerated, 
to which are added modesty and in- 
dignation, two mean states in the 
feelings ; and justice is mentioned as 
something to be treated of separately. 
In departing from the unity of a law 
to enumerate its exemplifications, 
there must always be something arbi- 
trary. Why so many and no more ? 
It would seem as if Aristotle applied 
his principle to the virtues ready at 
hand, and then afterwards believed in 
his own list as complete. (Cf. Eth. 
n. vii. 9, vvv &% wepl T>V \oiiruv. n. 
vii. n, farfov ovv K.T.A. ; ni. v. 2.3, 
a,ua 5' fffrai S^Aov Kal ir6aai flaiv.) 
In the Rhetoric i. ix. 5 13, we find a 
list of virtues (or, as they are called, 
Ms'pij operas) given, which is identical 
with the present (omitting, how- 



ever, <pi\orifj.ia, tvrpaire\'ia, a\r)0tia, 
<f>i\la\ ptpr) 8e aptrrjs SiKaioffvvri, 
avSpla, ffufypoavvi], 



<pp6viiffis, <ro<t>ia. Of those omitted it 
is probable that the first was included 
in /jLtyaXotyvxta, while the other three 
were excluded as possessing a less 
degree of moral importance. Even 
here Aristotle seems to set them on a 
somewhat lower footing than the rest. 
I f nev<aTfpoi\ The MSS. vary here 
between Kfvarrfpoi and Kotv6r(poi. A 
similar variation is found Eth. in. viii. 
6, where the readings are iroAAa Kfvd 
and iroAAa Katvd. Bekker has decided 
against the majority of MSS. in favour 
of Kfvdrrepot. The Paraphrast how- 
ever supports the other reading. He 
renders the passage, TWV yap iripl ras 
irpdeis \Aytav oi juev Kado\iKol KoivA- 
repot Kal irMtoffiv e(paptJ.6ova'tv oi Se 
p.epiKol a\rj6ivi&Tepoi. Dr. Cardwrll 
accordingly reads Kowortpot, which 
seems most natural, and is supported 
by the best MSS, K b and L b of Bekkor. 
Whichever reading we take, the general 
meaning is not affected. Ktviarepoi, 
which would be a term of disparage- 
ment, is well illustrated by Eth. Eud. 
I. vi. 4 : iro\\d.Kis \avBdvovai. \tyovres 
a\\orplovs \6yovs rrjs irpayfjiare'ias Kal 
Kevovs. Kotv6repoi means 'more gene- 
ral,' ' of wider application.' Cf. Eth. ir. 
ii. 2 : T& juep ovv /caret rov opObv \6yov 
irp&Trfiv Koiv'bv Kal viroKftffOa. Ac- 
cordingly with this reading we may 
translate the passage At? Se oiaypatyris 
as follows : ' This principle however 
must not only be stated universally, 
but also we must apply it to particular 
cases ; for in theories about moral 
actions universal statements are it is 
true of wider application, but parti- 
cular ones are more real. For actions 



VII.] 
(j.spov$ d 



II9IM1N NIKOMAXEItiN II. 



427 



' Trsp -yap rot. xoi sxaa-ra al 

ft 7T TOVTCOV (TU[J.<$U)Vs'lV. ^TTTSOV OUV 

sx T% 8/ayp a<}%. Trsp} fj.lv ouv <o/3ou xai Gappy dv^psia ^ 
T&V ft UTrsp/SaAXovro)!/ 6 fj.lv ry a<o$/a avaivu- 
a ft e<rr}v dv(avv[j,a^ o ft sv TU> Qoippiiv UTTSO- 
Qpa.(rus> o ^s T> /xsi/ ^o/Ssio-Qa/ uTrepfia.X'Xajv TCO 8= 
otppstv sXAe/TTtoi/ Ss/XoV. Trsp rj<Wa 8s xai Xu^a^, 003 

fj.lv <rw$po. 



^ oi Travu 7/vovrar 
01 TOiouro/, 

xai 
s xai sXXsi\/<j atrcora xa 



uo ovo/xaro^ TSTUVTJ- 
8s dvala-QrjToi. Trep] 82 



SVXVTICOC 



sv 



7Tos<rsi 



si sv 



are concerned with particulars, and it 
is necessary that our theories should 
be borne out when applied to these. 
Let us take our instances then from 
the table of the virtues.' 

a.\r)6iv<aTpoi~\ ' more real,' as being 
more concrete and more definite. 
Plato would have said the universal 
is more real ; here, and in Categories 
v. 8, it is said that the particular is 
more real than the universal. In the 
Politics i. xiii. 10, ftorgias is praised 
for enumerating the separate virtues, 
while others contented themselves with 
general definitions. Ka66\ov y&p of 
Ae'yovres Qairariaffiv eauroi/s, 8rt rb 
eu ex flt> T ^ )/ ty v xh v &P f ' r 'h> ^ T ^ opQo- 
irpa.'yeiv, f| rt T<av rotovrwf TTO\V yap 
&fjLeivov \eyovfftv ot Qapi0/j.ovi>Te$ reks 
aperds, &<rirep Topylas, ruv oSrus 
6pio(j.tv(av. This is directed against 
the Meno of Plato, where Socrates 
urges that it is absolutely necessary 
to know the law of virtue as a unity, 
instead of regarding it in its multi- 
farious exhibitions. Aristotle, wishing 
to establish a practical theory of vir- 
tue, returns to the concrete. 

ii 



fK rrjs SiaypoupTJs] 'firoypcupys is the 
word in the corresponding passage of 
the Eudemian Ethics, n. iii., where a 
formal table is given, containing four- 
teen virtues with their respective pairs 
of extremes. In this place either some 
already existing ' table ' or ' scheme ' 
of the virtues is referred to; or the 
expression may be intended to be 
merely fanciful, 'the complete table 
of the virtues ' being something ideal. 
It is difficult not to think that the 
present list is tentative, and that the 
one above quoted in the Rhetoric con- 
tains a summary of its results. 

2 6 /AW T?7 atpopiq K.T.A.] It is a 
sign that Aristotle is here only work- 
ing his way to his theory of the mean, 
that he at first speaks as if there 
were excess and defect of both the 
two opposite principles, by the balance 
of which virtue is constituted. This 
would make four vices round each 
virtue. But it is obviously more 
simple to speak of each virtue as a 
balance of a positive and a negative 
tendency : which view he afterwards 
adopts, though he retains the present 



428 

8' o 



HGIKilN NIKOMAXEIQN II. 



[CHAP. 



po ev [JLSV To^f/si 67rep3aXAsi Iv 8s TTpostrsi 

VUV fJ.SV OUV TU7TW XOl sVi XS<>aAa/O> XeyOjOtEV, 

auT> TOUTO>* uo~Tspov 8s axpijSso-Tspov Trspi 
6 aurwv 8;opjo-$^o-STaj. Trsp} fie ra ^p^jOtara xaj aXXai 8*a- 
5sVs/ slo~/, JW.SO-O'TTJ JOLSV jasyaAoTrpsTrsia (6 yap |,syaXo- 
s7T7J 8<a<>sp/ sXsuSspjoy* 6 JMSV yap Trsp} jasyaAa, o 
Trep) jaixpa), wTrep^oXvj ^s a7re<poxaX/a xai /3ai/au<r/a, 
8s jaixpoTTpSTTS/a' $ia$epou(ri 8' aura* rcov Trspi 
XsuQsJoYTjTa, 7r4J 8s 
8s 



xa 



fj.sv 



s 
8' e 



8s 



jasyaXoTrpsVs/av 



Trsp /xixpa /a>spou(raj/, ourcog %si TI$ xou 
7rpo$ ri}V jasyaXoxJ/t^/av, Trspi TI^V oixrav jasyaX^jv, aur^ 
Trspi [juxpdv outra g(rr< yap a>^ 8s? ops'ysordai T<JU,% xai 
^ 8sT xa) ^rrov, Xs'ysrai 8' 6 jtxsv 67repj3aAXcov 

^' iXXfiiraw a^jAo'rijao^, o 8s 
8s xai ai 8/aSs<rs<^, TrXrjv ij TOO 
. o0sv S7r<8<xa^ot/Tai ol axpo* 
xai IJ/AS?^ 8s eori jtxsi/ OTS TOV jtxsVow 



sVrt 8' OTS 

9 VOV[AV TOV <>JAOT/JU,01/ 

T/va 8' atT/av TOUTO 

8s Trsp} TCOV XOITTCOV 

J O SO~T< 8s xa; Trspi opy^v 



xal SO~T/V OTS jasv ea/- 

8' OTS TOV CL<$)l?*.OTl[J.OV. fild 

, sv ToT? s% i^Tjo-sTaj * vuv 
poTrov. 



xaTa TOV 
xai 



refinement with regard to courage in 
the fuller account of this virtue in 
Book III. 

5 u<TT6pov 8t &KpipfffTfpov] All de- 
tails with regard to the several virtues 
may be accordingly reserved for con- 
sideration under Books III. and IV. 

6 &AAai StafoVeis] ' other disposi- 
tions.' The word is used here as a 
synonym for ?{y, though in CVzte- 
gorics viii. i . ?{ts is distinguished from 
SidOetm. "Ev jU^c oSp T5os iroi6rifros 
4'is (cat Siciflecris XpyetrfloKraj' Siatpipet 
Se e|i$ SiaOfffeus Ttf iro\i j(povi<S3Ttpov 
eivat Kal (Lovi/jwarepov. In the same 



xa 



way Sia/ccTa-flai is there opposed to 
exew, whereas, SA. n. v. 4, it is used 
as equivalent to it. 

9 /caret rby iKpriytiufvov rp6irov\ ' Ac- 
cording to the method which has 
hitherto guided us,' rwnp K.T.X. (cf. 
5). The same phrase occurs Politics 
I. i. 3 : ATJAOP 5* JFOTCCJ ri A.-y<Jjuei'o' 



8ov. The word frequently occurs in 
Plato. Cf. Protagoras, p. %z6 D : /caret 
r^v vtyfiyijffiv TWV ypa/j.fj.wv. Repub. m. 
p. 403 E : el Zarov TOVS TVTCOVS vfyiYYtfvo-i- 
fj.fOa. Phcedo, p. 8z D: p <t>i\offo<t>ia 



VII.] 



H9IK11N NIKOMAXEIQN II. 



429 



3s 



ovrcov atmov TOV 



ov Trpaov 
TO>V ft oixpujv o 
[j.sv u7Tp|3aAXa>y opy/Xo sora), TJ 0= xax/a opyjAoVv^, 6 8' 
eXXs/Trrov dopyrjTos Tig, 73 8' lAXs<\|/;^ aopy^o-j' 
xai aAAa* Tp=J JUSO-O'TTJTS^, e%ou<rai (JLSV TWO. oj 

8' aAATjAajv* TraVai /xsv -yap 



xa 



xo/va)j/av 



s or/ 



73 jasv e(rr< Trsp 

TOUTOO 8s TO U, 



s^ TO ev auro?^, at 8s Trspi TO 7]8u' 

a TO 8' V TTCtO"/ T0i 



TOI/ 



ouv xa* 



x TOOTCOV, va |U.aXXov xaTa>jasi/ 

OT* ev 7rao~iv 73 JU,SO-O'TTJ sTratvsTo'v, Ta 8' axpa OUT' op$a 
* XAa \J/XTa. O~TI ja=v ouv xai TOUTOJV TCC 

, Trsipareov 8', wcnrsp xoii ITT) Taiv 
QvoparoTTOis'iv (rac^rjVsiois svsxsv xa} ToO 
TTsp} jasv ouv TO aXTj^s^ 6 jasv [j.s<ros 

xai 73 jU,s<ro'T7jf aXrj^sja XsyfiVSco, T) 8s 7rpoo-7ro/7jo~J^ 75 ju,=v 

xa) o s'p^cov auT7^v aXa^aiv, 73 8' ITT) 
slpcovsia xai iipcov. Trspl 8s TO 7381* TO jU,V Iv 13 
b [j.lv [j.s<ro$ sitrpaTrs^os 
T] 8' 6?rp^oX^ /3a>jW,oXop/a xai 6 
8' XX/7ra)v aypoixog rig xai T] 

\> ~/2' v 

TO V TO) P<O> jU,V O 

o 8' u 
8' 



TT TO fj.si%w 
TO 



i 8= TO 



aypo/xia* 7Tpi 

5.\ *A'-V ^' 

Tjdut,' O)V (>iAO Xa< 7) 

svsxa, ap- 
xai 



6 8' l 



1 1 fareov o5i/ einrapaKoXoufl^Tou] 
' These also must accordingly be dis- 
cussed, in order to show still more 
clearly that in everything the mean is 
praiseworthy, while the extremes are 
neither right nor praiseworthy, but 
blameable. Now most of these qua- 
lities are without names ; but we 
must endeavour, as in other cases, 
to make names ourselves for the sake 
of clearness and of being easily fol- 
lowed.' After discussing oX^Qtia, 
the author of the Magna Moralia says 
Ei fjiev o$v elfflv aurat aptral fj p.}) 
aperat, &AAoy &v efoj \6yos~ '6n Se 
fiat rwv etp-ij/^eVa. 1 ^, S^Aov, of 



(i. 



yap KO.T' auras wtTes ^iraivo 
xxxiii. 2). 

-ireiparfov K.T.X.] Aristotle's method 
consists partly in accepting experience 
as shown in common language, &c., 
partly in rectifying it, or re-stating it 
from his own point of view ; partly 
in finding new expressions for it, so 
as to discover men's thought to them- 
selves. He usually rather fixes the 
meaning of words, than creates new 
ones. For instance, he here assigns 
a peculiar and limited meaning to 
oA^fleta and <pi\la. His influence 
upon the forms of language of civi- 
lised Europe can hardly be overrated. 



430 



II6IM1N NIKOMAXEIiiN II. 



[CHAP. 



14 ev Troiffiv arj8r) ^{ttrspig rt$ xau 8u(rxoXo. sltr} Ss xal Iv 
T(tig 7rdQs<ri xoii sv roig irep} rot. TrdQr) jU,c(roVr]T' rj yap 
alt)to$ apsTTj pJsv oux SOTT/V, sTTaivs'iTai 8e XOLI b 
xa} yap sv rouroig b fjCsv hsysrai jw,eVo, o 8' u 
> o xaraTrXrj^, o Travra al8oujU,si/o * o 8' Ix^siirmv 7] 6 

b Se 



xat rjSot/r^y T STTI TO?^ (TUjU.Ba/'vouo'i TO?^ TreXa^ yivo[j.eva.$' 
b fjisv yap vsfJLS<rir)Tixo$ XuTrsTrai STT< ro7^ ava^iwg sS 
TOiKriv, b 8e <$>Qovspo$ vTrepfid'h'hwv rourov STT 
ra*, o 8' e7ri%aipsxa.XQS TO&OVTOV sXAs/Trs* TOU 



It is far greater than has ever been 
exercised by any one man beside. 

14 1 5 Aristotle winds up his list by 
adding Ai5<as and Ne/teerts, which he 
does not consider virtues, because 
they are not developed states of mind, 
but he mentions them, because he 
discovers the law of the balance 
(fMfff6ri]s), existing even in these 
natural instincts. There is something 
peculiarly Greek in the conjunction of 
these two names. In Greek mythology 
they are personified and seem to re- 
present the natural and almost in- 
destructible ideas of justice in the 
human mind. Hesiod speaks of these 
two goddesses as being the last to 
clothe themselves in white raiment 
and to leave the earth. ( Works and 
Days, 198.) In the fable which Plato 
puts into the mouth of Protagoras 
these qualities are said to have been 
sent down to man as an amelioration of 
his previously wretched condition, 
without society or the political art 
(Plato, Protagoras, p. 322 c, where, 
however, the names are aiticbs and St'/crj.) 
They seem related to one another as 
the instinct of honour to the instinct 
of right i. e. to be two slightly differ- 
ing phases of the same principle, the 
first being rather a sensitiveness about 
right in oneself, the second about right 
external to oneself. A*5c6y is further 



discussed in Book IV., but Ne/xeo-is is 
not again alluded to. This is probably 
owing to the unfinished condition of 
the Ethics, which indeed first begins 
to show itself at the close of Book IV. 
See Essay I. 

1 5 vep.e<ris Se x a ^P 6 "'] ' But in- 
dignation is a balance between envy 
and malice. Now these are concerned 
with pain and pleasure resulting on 
what happens to others. For the 
indignant man is pained at those who 
prosper unworthily, but the envious 
man, exceeding him, is pained at all 
(who prosper), while the malicious 
man is so far defective in feeling pain 
as even to rejoice.' This paragraph 
is a striking instance of crudeness, 
whioh the least after-reflection would 
have remedied. It is obvious that 
q>66vos (envy), and tinxatpfKaicla. (ma- 
lice), are only different forms of the 
same state of mind. Hence they can- 
not be opposed as two extremes. 
Again, the brixaipfKaitos cannot be 
said TOffovrov 4\\ftireitf Siirrf K.T.\., 
for he does not rejoice at the success 
of the good which the envious man 
grieves at He rejoices at the mis- 
fortunes of the good. This mistake 
is set right by Eudemus (n. iii. 4), 
who, in his list, writes <f>66vos, hv&w- 
fwv, vtntais. Of course the opposite 
to <f>66vos must be avaiffdijaia -m. 



VII. VIII.] H0IKQN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 



431 



xa* 

scrra/' Trsp] Os 3ixa<o<ruvr^, ITT;} ou^ a7r7uo Xs'ys- 
raura 8/sXo]asvo< Trsp} lxaTpa epoupev 7r<o 
SJQ-JV ' ^o[jLota)s 8s xa) Trep} TCOV Xoyjxtov apsTtov. 
Tpicav 8s SiaQsa-saJV ou<rcov, Oyo jasv xaxiiov, T% jtxsv 
xar' 



O.VTIXSIVTO.I 



*sv -yap 



xa aXAAa/ vavrai scrv, 13 
oixpais ' (Joa-trsp yap TO iVov Trpo^ j,ev TO 



Aristotle, by the time he wrote his 
Rhetoric, was clear on the point, cf. 
7?Ac. ii. ix. 5 : 'O 7&p avrrfj eVric 
firixa.ipfKa.Kos Kal <(>0ovep6s. Socrates 
in Xen. Memor. m. ix. 8 defines 
QBSvos as it is here defined. Mwovs 
H<t>r] <f>Qovety TOVS firl rats . r!av fyi\iav 
fvirpa^iats avicii/Aft'ovs. Plato does not 
separate envy and mah'ce, cf. Philebus, 
p. 48 B : 'O tpOovcav ye M KO.KOIS rots 
TUV ire'Aas riSopfVos ava<j>ain}<rerat. 



Socrates is there arguing that 
being granted to be a painful feeling, 
it yet constitutes the chief element in 
comedy, so that in comedy there is a 
mixture of pain with pleasure. 

1 6 a\\a irepl fj.lv rovrcav e<ni/] 
'But about these points in the first 
place we shall have another opportu- 
nity of speaking ; in the second place 
about justice, since the term is used 
in more senses than one, we will 
separately (fteri ravra) define it and 
show how the two species of it are 
severally mean states.' This passage 
gives accurately enough beforehand 
the order of subjects for Books III. 
and IV. ; the word AAo0t seems to 
show that he has in view the inter- 
ruption of the argument by the dis- 
cussion upon will, at the beginning of 
the Third Book. The separate treat- 
ment of justice is also announced. 
But it can hardly be said that the 
promise irtpl fxarepas epovfj.fv 



is exactly fulfilled in Book V. On 
the order in which the several virtues 
are treated, see the note to Eth. in. 
x. i. 

f 6fioi(as 8e Kal irfpl TU>V \oyiKwv 
dperoji'] This passage is obelized, 
because of the term \oytKai, which- 
never occurs elsewhere in Aristotle or 
Eudemus, as applied to the Sia- 
voi)TiKal aperat secondly, because of 
the sense, since Aristotle could not 
possibly say that he meant to show 
how the intellectual excellences were 
fifff6Ti)Tfs thirdly, because of the 
extreme likelihood of an interpolation 
here ; see Essay I. 

VIII. A new conception is now 
developed of the relation between a 
virtue and the extremes lying on each 
side of it, and that is, the conception 
of ' contrariety,' of mutual repulsion 
and exclusiveness between the several 
terms. The extremes are opposed each 
to the other, and both to the mean. 
This addition tends yet further to 
raise the moral distinctions from 
being mere distinctions of quantity, 
into being distinctions of kind. With 
logical inconsistency, though with 
thorough truth, Aristotle proceeds 
to point out that one extreme is 
generally ' more contrary ' to the 
mean than the other, either because 
of a greater dissimilarity to virtue in 



432 



IieiKliN NIKOMAXEION II. 



[CHAP. 



v Trpog 8s TO ju.s?bv sXarrov, ovTtog al psorai 'e 
fj,ev rag sAX=nI/s/ u7rsp$aAAouo-j, Trpog 8s rag 

7rouo-<v sv TS rdig 7rdQs(ri xa* ra?y 7rpa.^s(rtv. o 
yap av8ps?0 7rpo ^otsv TOV 8=<Aov Qpaarvg tyaivsTcii, irpog 8s 
TOV Qpa<rvv 8siAoV ofjiotcog 8e xa< 6 <ra)$p(uv Trpog fj,&v TOV 
avaurQrjTov axo'Aa<rTO, Trpof 8s TOV axo'Aao~Tov avaia-QyTog, 

8* sAsu3sp/o Trpog fjisv TOV vsXsu5spov ao"a)TO^, Trpo^ 8s 

3 TOV aVtoTov avsXeuQs^oj. 8<o xat a:ra)SoDvTa< TOV ]tx,s<rov 

01 axpoi sjcarspog Trpog sxaTspov, xai xaXo5<r< TOV av8ps?ov 
o jtxsv SsiXo^ Opa<ruv 6 8s Qpa<rvs 8s/Xo'v, xai STT) Ttov aXXa>v 

4 avaAoyov. OUTO> 8' avT/xsj/xs'vcov aXXv^Xo/f TOUTOJV, TrXs/fov 

' S<TT) TO?^ axpoig Trpog aXXijXa ^ Trpoj TO jtxsVov 
yap TOUTO. a<^s(TTr]xsv aXX^Xeov 75 TOU jasVou, 
u)(T7rep TO jasya TOU jOi<x^oD xai TO ja/x^ov TOU jU.=yaXou f) 

5 oifj.(^>a) TOU /iroo. STI Trpo^ jtxsv TO ]U,s<rov s'v/o/j axpoif SJULOJ- 



TT ao~a>T/a ?rpo^ TTJV sXsuQspioTrjTO. ' rots 8s axpoig 



evavra 



s TO ]U,so~ov avTxsiTa/ 



a;v j,sv >] 



>.r?.>'' 

j^ scp cov 6s 73 U 



?' 
o/ov avbpsia 



the tendency itself, or from our fol- 
lowing a natural bent and pushing 
cut the tendency to extravagance. 

a i 70^ dpSpelbs 8eiA.<Js] ' For the 
brave man appears rash in comparison 
with the coward, but a coward in 
comparison with the rash man.' Of 
course oppositions of this kind are 
relative and depend upon the point 
of view. If the cowards had to settle 
the question, all bravery would be 
deemed rashness. Hence we see that 
Aristotle's system depends on faith in 
a certain standard inherent in the 
general reason of mankind. The 
/ucr(5T7)s is u>piff/j.fvr) \6yif. And this 
law or standard of the absolute reason 
finds its exponent in the wise man, 
us tm & <t>p6vi(j.os 6pifffiet>. 

5 CTJ ?rpb /MI/ oire'xoi'Ta] 'Again, 



while some extremes appear to have 
a sort of similarity to the mean, as, 
for instance, rashness to bravery, and 
prodigality to liberality ; the ex- 
tremes have the greatest dissimilarity 
to each other. But things most re- 
moved from each other people define 
to be ' contraries,' therefore things 
more removed are more contrary to 
each other.' In the present passage 
it is easy to see a logical inconsistency. 
If contraries be T& irtelarov airexovra, 
how can we speak of them as w Ae7oi> 
oTre'xo^To ? Aristotle commences with 
an idea of absolute contrariety, and 
afterwards takes up one of relative 
contrariety, admitting of degrees. 
But repugnance admits of degrees, 
if contrariety does not, so the inac- 
curacy is merely verbal 



VIIL] 



H6IKQN NIKOMAXEK1N II. 



433 



7] 



oucra 



o(ra. < 

TOUTO <rufj.fia.ivst, ]U,/av [jtsv TTJV e^f aurou TOU Trpayjaaro^ * 
T) yap eyyurspov slvai KOU ojaoioYspov TO erspoi/ axpov 
TO) jtx.sV>, ov TOUTO aXXa TOUVOLVTIOV avririQefJ-sv 
oiov STTS} o^to/orspov sivaj Soxsi" TYJ avops/a 75 
lyyurspov, dvo/Jtoiorepov 8' 7] 8e<X/a, Taurrjv jaaXAov dvnri- 
6s[Jt.sv' ra yap aTrs^ovra ^XsTov rou jasc ' 

a/. ja/a jasj/ ouv air/a aSxT], s^ aurou rou 
grepa 8s s Tj^atov aurcov* Trpo^ a yap aurot 
vxctfJidv 7rro, raura jaaXXov svavr/a TO) 
vsrat. oTov auro< /xaXXov 7r<$vxa,[j.V 7rpo 

axoXaer/av 73 ?rpo 
svavria xlyojUtev, ;r 
xou 8<a TOUTO 73 axo?iao-/a v 



suxaracjiopoi e 
TTjra. raur' o5v 



73 



7 810 8uo 8' am'as /iSXAop] ' Now 
this takes place from two causes, one 
(external to us) depending on the 
nature of the thing itself; for that 
extreme which is nearer to and 
more like the mean, we do not oppose 
so much to the mean, as its contrary.' 
The first thing, says Aristotle, which 
makes one extreme more repugnant 
to the mean than the other extreme, 
is a difference of kind. Some faults 
are errors ' on virtue's side,' and 
while rashness, for instance, is the 
same tendency as courage, only car- 
ried too far, cowardice differs from it in 
kind. This difference then is one with 
which the agent has nothing to do. 

8 ere'pa 5e (rax^poo-tfj/rj] ' A second 
cause depends on ourselves ; for those 
things to which we are in a way 
more disposed by nature appear more 
repugnant to the mean. As, for in- 
stance, we are in ourselves more dis- 
posed towards pleasures, hence we are 
more carried away in the direction of 

VOL. I. K 



intemperance, than in that of (exces- 
sive) orderliness. Therefore we call 
those things more contrary to the 
mean in which we run to greater 
lengths ; and thus intemperance, which 
is the excess, seems more contrary to 
temperance (than the other extreme).' 
Passing over the false explanation of 
this passage which pretends to find 
in it the doctrine of human corruption 
as if Aristotle said that we are by 
nature prone to what is worst, whereas 
he says that ' what we are most 
prone to appears to be the worst,' 
there are two modes of explanation 
left ; one is that of the Paraphrast, 
who renders it, &rel yap 6 ir6\eij.os 
T(f ffTTovSaicp irpbs TO, &Kpa yivtra.i, r)\v 
/j.e<r6rriTa, ^Tj-rowrt, wpby & ruv Hicpuv 
fififav T] nd-xt)) tKftvo tvavTHiiTfpov Tip 



/j-effcf Soiffi K.T.A., namely, that there 
is the greatest struggle in avoiding 
that extreme to which we are prone, 
and therefore it appears most opposed 
to the mean. This interpretation is 



K 



434 



NIKOMAXEIilN II. 



[CHAP. 



"On 



oov o-rv 



13 vj$/x>) 



xa TTCO, 



xaxuov 



xai on 



TO 



TOU 



7raaso-i xa< 

2 xav)$ syrai, 10 xa epyov ecrr} (nrou^aiov svar ev 
lxao~T<o yap TO jW,e<rov Xa/SsTf epyov, olov xoxXou TO p,s<rov 
ou ^-avTO^ aXXa TOU gJSo'TO^. OUTO) os xa< TO jasv opyi- 
TTOLVTOS xa) paS/ov, xai TO Souvaj apyupiov xai 



810 



TO 8' to xa oov xa OTS xa o svsxa xa co^ , 
auxin TTOLVTOS ouSs paftiov* SioVsp TO eu xai (TTTOLVIGV xai 



slightly favoured by 4 of the next 
chapter, aKovetv 8e 5e7 K.T.X. ; but on 
the other hand, not a word is here 
said of avoiding either extreme; the 
question is rather of following one's 
bent. (2) The other explanation is 
that which the author of the Magna 
Moralia espouses, Mag. Mor. i. ix. 5 : 
rj ovv fTriSoffis ylverai ^a\\ov irpbs & 
xetyvicafj.fi' irpbs & Se ^.a\\ov ^irt88o- 
H*v, ravra /col /xaXXov fvavrla. iiri- 
8/So/xec 8e irpbs OKoAacrioi/ (na\\ov rj 
Trphs Koffnifcrrra. This is surely what 
Aristotle means, and his general 
sense may be given as follows : ' One 
difference is in the act itself, a differ- 
ence of kind ; the other difference 
proceeds from ourselves, a difference 
of degree, for wherever we have an 
inclination towards one side, we run 
into extravagance on that side, and 
so aggravate that form of error, and 
make it seem worse than its opposite.' 
In order to make the words suit a 
preconceived meaning, people have 
translated tnlSoffH ' inclination,' 
whereas it can only mean ' advance,' 
' progression,' ' development,' &c. As 
the Magna Moralia give it, vpbs & 
iretyvKapev is the ' inclination,' and 
e7r(5o(7ij is the result of this. The 
addition of ylvfrai might have been 
sufficient to prevent the above misin- 
terpretation. It is observable that 



) is here first contrasted 
with Koff/j,i67i)s, as if that meant 
' asceticism,' and afterwards the corre- 
sponding term is omitted. Aristotle 
seems unwilling to employ the term 
avaiffOriffia, being too strong a word, 
cf. Eth.u. ii. 7: 6 8e woo-as 
o.valffQrrT6s ris. II. vii. 3 : lA 
Se Trepl TOW TjSov&s ov -raw 



ol TOIOVTOI, fffTWffav Se o 



IX. The book is concluded with 
certain practical rules for attaining 
the mean, (i) Avoid the worst ex- 
treme ; (a) Find out your bent and go 
even farther than is necessary in the 
direction opposite to it; (3) Beware 
of the delusions of pleasure; (4) 
After all, the appeal must be in the 
last resort to the intuitive judgment. 

2 8*b fi$6ros] ' On this account 
it is a hard task to be good : for it is 
always hard to ascertain the mean ; 
as, for instance, not every man, but 
only the mathematician, can find the 
centre of a circle.' The words of 
Simonides (quoted by Plato, Protag. 
p. 339, and referred to above, Eth. 
I. X. Il), &vSp' aya6bi> /xev oXadews 
ytvfff8ai ^oAeirrfj/ K.r.A., may have 
been in the mind of Aristotle, who 
here gives a rationale of 'them, and 
indeed shows that it is hard not only 



IX.] 



HGIKON NIKOMAXEIQN II. 



435 



7ra/VTov xa 



8/0 



TQV 



rou 



xaj 73 KaXin|/a) Trapaivsi 



KOI KVpUTOQ SKTOC 



yap axpeov TO ]U,V <TTiv aj 



TO 



xara TO 



po'v <a<n TrXouv ra Xap//(7ra X^TTTEOV TCOV xaxcbv' TOUTO 



crra< 



TOUTOV TOV 



o a xai auroi 



ov 



<rxo- 



yap Trpo^ aXXa 7T^yxa]U,V. TOUTO 8' IVrai yvtopipov ex 
T% r]3ov5j^ xa) T$J XUTT^J T% yivo^sv^s Trsp} 
Tovvavriov 3' eavrovs a.Ql'hxsiv $ei' TroXu yap 

T TOD afJ.apTO.VS IV slg TO fJ.<rOV ^^OjW-V, 07T O* TOt 

a TCOV ^wXeov op$ovvT$ 7ro<ou<r/v. e 
Cp>uXaxTOV TO ^'8y xa) T^V TjSovv^V oi yap 



to become, but to 6e, good, <r7rot>5a7oj> 
elrat, not only yevfffOat. Cf. the dis- 
cussion in the Protagoras. 

3 KoBa-trep Kal i) Ka\wfol) irapoii/e?] 
There is a mistake here in which 
Aristotle is followed by the Para- 
phrast. It was Circe (not Calypso) 
who advised Ulysses (Od. xn. 108 
109), when sailing between Scylla and 
Charybdis, to keep nearest to the 
former, as being less dangerous. Two 
of the MSS., with a view of setting 
Aristotle right, substitute Kfp/nj for 
the authentic reading. The verse 
here given Homer puts not into the 
mouth of Circe, but of Ulysses ordering 
his pilot, according to the directions 
he had received (Od. xn. 219, zzo.) 

4 KOTO rbv SfVTtp6v <j>afft TrAow] 
A common Greek proverb, which is 
variously explained. It is sometimes 
said to mean ' on the voyage home, if 
not on the voyage out ' ; but it seems 
very much better to take the words 
as meaning ' with oars, if not with 
sails,' an explanation which is twice 
given by Eustathius; p. 661, 6 TWV 



8s 5 



K<aTn)Xa.Tovtna>v irXovs Sfiirfpos \fyerai 
irXoCs, as trpcaTOv OITOS rov ir\ffiv vpbs 
Hvefiov. Also in p. 1453. Other in- 
stances of the proverb are Politics, 
m. xiii. 23 ; Plato, Philelws, p. 190; 
Pfuedo, 99 D. 

5 Is rovvavrlov iroiovffiv} ' But 
we must drag ourselves away in the 
opposite direction ; for by bending 
ourselves a long way back from the 
erroneous extreme, like those who 
straighten crooked pieces of timber, 
we shall at length arrive at the mean.' 
The metaphor is borrowed from Plato 
Prolog, p. 3250, where it is applied to 
education, not, however, in precisely 
the same sense as here. Kal &v fnw 

fK&V WtUhfTM' (I 8 /Jl^l, SxTTffp v\OV 

SiaffTpftj>6i^.evov Kal Ka/J-TcrSfievov tv6v- 
vovffiv cwreiAews teal ir\T)ytus. 

6 tv iravrl 8e a^tapTijo'djUeOa] ' But 
in everything we must especially be 
on our guard against the pleasant and 
pleasure. For we are not uncorrupted 
judges in her cause. Therefore, just 
as the old counsellors felt towards 
Helen, so ought we to feel towards 



43G 



H6IKQN NIKOMAXEIflN II. 



XaO~TOl XplVOpeV aitTYjV. OTTSp OUV ol 8l}jU,OylpOVT5 

TTJV 'EXsvrjv, TOUTO $si TraSsTv xa) ^'p*? 7rpo$ 

xa* ev TraV/ TTJV exstvcav eTTiheyetv ^cavr^V ourai 
7 yap auTTjv a7ro7rsjM,7ro'jw,svo< TJTTOV a/xapTTjo-o'jw.sSa. Tat>T* 
o5v 



TOU jasVou Tuypavs/v. p^aXsTroi/ 8* iVan; rouro, xa) 
sv TOI$ xatf SXOKTTOV ou -yap paSioi/ 8<op/(ra< Trtoj xa; 
xai eVi irohig xai TroVov %povov opyKrreov xai yap 
ore jotsv TOU^ eXTvs/Trovraj e7ra.ivovfj.ev xa.} 7rpa.w$ 



8 aXX* 6 jasv pixpov TOU g3 Trapexfialvcov ou \|/eyeTa<, OUT' 
ITT) TO jU-aXXov OUT' STT) TO ^TTOV, o 8s TrXeov* OUTOJ yap 
ou XavQavs/. 6 8s j,s^pi T/VO^ xa) sV) TroVov \{/SXTO^ oy 
pa8ov TO) Xoya) a<^>op/o"ai ouSs yap aXXo ouSsv TCOJ/ 
alo~Q73Tc6v* TOC 8s roiattra ev T<ti$ xa$' sxao~Ta, xa) s'v TYJ 

9 alo~$>jo-fii >] xpl(rt$. TO [j.ev apa TOO~OUTO 8^Aov OTI >] jaso~>] 
s^/f ev 7rao-iv sVaivsTij, otTroxX/vsiv 8s 8sT oVs jasv eV; T^V 
uTrep^oX^v OTS 8' STT} T^V iXXffi\[/iv' OUTO) yap pao~Ta 
TOU j,so-oy xa) TOU s5 re 



pleasure, and in everything apply 
their saying ; for by sending her out 
of our sight -we shall err the less.' 
The reference is to Homer, TZz'oc? HI. 
156 160 : 

Oy vffUfffis Tpuas Kal 



Alt/us aOavdTTiai Offjs els Snra. 

ISOtKfV. 

a.\\a Ka.1 6s rofrj irep ^oDff' 4i> VT\wrl 

vet odea 
^Tj8' ^/u.Ti' TfK^fffffl r* oirlffffu vrjfjM 

\iiroiTO, 



' Unbribed,' ' uncorrupt- 
ed.' Sfxdfa, the origin of which is 
obscure, finds a parallel in the Latin 
' decuriare,' which meant to bribe the 



tribes at elections. See Cicero, pro 
Plancio, c. xviii. 45. 

8^8^ fJifXPt fivos Kal rrt ir6ffw 
^/KT<5sj a condensed phrase meaning 
'to what point and how far a man 
(may go before he) is blameable.' 

4v ry alffB'fjffei f] Kpiffis] ' The de- 
cision of them is a matter of feeling.' 
Aristotle means that general rules are 
often inapplicable to particular cases, 
which must then be decided by a kind 
of 'intuition' or 'tact,' not derived 
from philosophy, but natural. Compare 
in. iii. 13 : fafl 5' f] rf\evraia irp6ra.ffi3 
5do T6 eu.ffQr\Tov Kal Kvpla TUV 7rpoeW. 
8ta rJ> pi] Ka66\ov /u?j8' itrtff-rijuovtKbv 
dfwiws flvai SoKtw T<p KO06\ov rbu 
fffxaTov tipov. 



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