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A PAs or
LONDON : PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
THE
ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE
ILLUSTRATED WITH
ESSAYS AND NOTHS.
BY
SIR ALEXANDER GRANT,. BART.
LL.D. (EDINBURGH, GLASGOW, CAMBRIDGE), D.C.L. (OXFORD),
PRIXCIPAL AND VICE-CHANCELLOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH ; HON. MEMBER OF
THE UNIVERSITIES OF ST. PETERSBURG AND MOSCOW, AND OF THE FRANKLIN
INSTITUTE OF PENNSYLVANIA; FORMERLY FELLOW AND NOW
HON. FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.
FOURTH EDITION, REVISED.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON :
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1885.
All rights reserved,
PA
2643
Ε5
ies"
v |
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO THE
REV. BENJAMIN JOWETT, D.D., LLD.,
REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK, MASTER OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, AND
VICE-CHANCELLOR IN THE UNIVERSIFY OF OXFORD ;
THE SOCRATES OF MY YOUTH;
MY UNFAILING FRIEND DURING NEARLY FORTY YEARS;
THE WISEST AND BEST MAN THAT I HAVE EVER KNOWN.
5
=‘,
PREFACE
TO
THE FOURTH EDITION.
Nes call for a new edition of a book on Aristotle’s
E
thics, after an interval of ten years, gives an
opportunity for second thoughts, which indeed are
necessitated by the valuable work, in connection
not only with this treatise, but with the Aristotelian
writings in general, which has been done by scholars
in the meantime.
Accordingly, after reading Zeller’s! learned de-
monstration that all the great works of Aristotle
were known to the world during the last 250 years
before the Christian era, I have modified the view,
too hastily adopted in former editions, of ‘the fate
of Aristotle’s writings’ (see Essay I’ p. 10).
A good deal of scrutiny lias of late been directed
1 In the third edition of his Philosophie der Griechen (Leipsic, 1879),
PP. 147-152.
vill PREFACE TO THE
upon the text of Books V., VI., and VII. of the
Nicomachean Ethics, which has given rise to various
opinions being expressed by scholars as to the
authorship of these Books. The question has cer-
tainly entered a new phase since I first ventured to
write on the subject, some twenty-seven years ago.
At that time almost everyone in Oxford accepted
the three Books, without suspicion, as an integral
part of the Nicomachean treatise. Spengel, however,
had proved to the satisfaction of the Germans that
the Ludemian Ethics were not by Aristotle, but were
a modified copy of Aristotle’s treatise, written by
his disciple Eudemus; and he had also pronounced
Book VII. of the Nicomachean Ethics to belong to the
EHudemians, while he maintained that Books V. and
VI. were Nicomachean Books. Fischer and Fritzsche
had gone further, and had given up Book VI. also
as Ludemian, while they held to Book V. (with the
exception of the last chapter) as belonging to the
original work of Aristotle.
It seemed to me then, and it does so now, that
an onus probandi rests on those who would separate
Book V. from Books VI. and VIL. and say that it
stands on quite a different footing from them. The
three Books together form part of the Hudemian
treatise, with which they agree very well, and this by
FOURTH EDITION. 1X
itself would seem a primd facie ground for supposing
that whatever theory you adopt about one or two
of them must hold good of them all.
But one common characteristic of these Books,
tending to separate them from the other Books of
the Nicomachean Ethics, has lately been brought into
prominence—namely, the peculiar condition of their
text. Hildenbrand,? who only considers Book V.,
says that in this Book ‘a number of passages, partly
by their construction, partly by their position, excite
suspicion, and that ‘corruption of the text by
external circumstances must have contributed to
this, though the Nicomachean Ethics are, on the
whole, among the best preserved of the Aristotelian
writings.’ Rassow® says: ‘It is incredible that the
three Books, in the form in which they come before
us, can have been published by Aristotle himself.
The faults in these Books are such that they cannot
be ascribed to the carelessness of copyists, nor can
-
But after all they are conjectures,
however happy. Therefore, except
2 Geschichte und System der Rechts-
und Staatsphilosophie (Leipsic, 1860),
vol, i. p. 324.
3. Forschungen iiber die Nikomakische
Ethik des Aristoteles (Weimar, 1874).
This interesting little work, full of
acumen, consists chiefly of sugges-
tions for the amendment of the text.
Doubtless if all Rassow’s emenda-
tions were adopted, the Ethics of
Aristotle would read more smoothly.
in a few cases, where it was a question
of changing a letter or two, I have
thought it best to adhere to the text
of Bekker, in which the difficulties,
if sometimes caused by the errors of
editors or copyists, are certainly also
sometimes due to the carelessness of
the original writer.
Χ PREFACE TO THE
they be the result of any confusion that took place
in the leaves of the original MS.’ (pp. 49-50). ‘The
theory of a Double Recension, of which traces are
undoubtedly to be found in these, and also to some
extent in the other books of the Nicomachean Ethics,
is not sufficient to account for the striking pecu-
liarities of these Books. Undeniably they contain
portions which are not of Aristotelian origin ’
(p. 50). ‘The copyists, I think, must be left out
of the question, for it would be too remarkable if
in Books V., VI., and VII. they had committed more
faults than in all the rest of the Books put together.
A displacement of the leaves of the original MS.
will not do, for no rearrangement succeeds in putting
the disjecta membra into their proper place’ (p. 39).
Ramsauer* says: ‘ Books V., VI., and VII. have
this in common—that there is more corruption and
confusion in them than in the seven remaining Books ’
(p. 641). He also says that ‘Book V. is far the
most corrupted of all the Books’ (¢b.).
Mr. Cook Wilson ® says: ‘The Seventh Book of
the Ethics is not the only one which seems to be a
compilation ; most of the Books show more or less
traces of something of the kind: after the Seventh
: Aristotelis Ethica Nicomachea 5 Aristotelian Studies (Oxford,
edidit et Commentario Continuo in- 1879). Part I.
struxit G. Ramsauer (Leipsic, 1878).
FOURTH EDITION. ΧΙ
Book the most remarkable is perhaps the Fifth.
The resolution is more obvious in the Seventh, the
evidence of divers authorship stronger in the Fifth
and Sixth’ (p. 4).
Rassow having strongly stated, as we have seen,
the corrupt condition of the three Books, adds
(Ρ. 50): ‘ No criticisms, however, touch the peculiar
kernel of these Books, which wears so much the
garb of genuineness that the attempt of Fischer,
Fritzsche, and Grant to claim these Books wholly or
in part for the Hudemian Ethics must be considered
a failure. Nothing remains but to suppose that the
genuine Books were worked over by some strange
hand. This, I believe, is the safe result, to which all
inquiry, up to the present time, leads; every step
further conducts us into a dark, perhaps never to be
enlightened, field, which I decline to tread’ (p. 50).
‘Besides a double recension, we must suppose
numerous interpolations. Allowing that it has been
made probable that the suspected portions were
taken out of the Zudemian Ethics, the question is,
whether all the difficulties may not have arisen from
the same source—namely, that the genuine Books of
Aristotle having perhaps become mutilated, were
afterwards completed out of the Hudemian Ethics’
(p. 51).
ΧΙ ΄ ΡΒΕΒΆΘΕ ΤῸ THE
Ramsauer gives, only more indefinitely, the same
or a similar view. He says (page 641): ‘ There
is only one Aristotelian treatise on the matter con-
tained in the three Disputed Books. Is it not likely
that the loss of the one treatise was connected with
the corruption of the text of the other? The: con-
fusions arose at that time when the one treatise, we
know not how, went to ruin (pessum iret), and its
contents somehow were badly transferred to the
other. This you may fancy to have been done by
those who thought in this way to preserve what was
already mutilated and confused.’
Rassow’s theory, it must be observed, gives no
explanation of the manner in which the treatise on
Pleasure _in Book VI. came to be introduced into
the Nicomachean Ethics. He very distinctly pro-
nounces against its having been written by Aristotle,
saying (p. 48): ‘If one does not wish to attribute
to Aristotle that which in other writers one would
consider absolutely monstrous, one must agree with
those who reject the treatise on Pleasure in Book
VII. Look at the state of matters. In two Books
are found two lengthy treatises on Pleasure, whereof
neither makes the slightest reference to the other.
The second, incomparably the richer, treatise makes
it clear by its opening words that Pleasure has never
FOURTH EDITION. ΧΙ
been previously treated of. The two treatises differ Δ᾽ ῴει 61:
in the most essential points. In Book X. Pleasure is μένεις».
separated from ἐνέργεια, so as to be made to appear /
a mere quality of the latter; in Book VIL. it is
defined as ἐνέργεια ἀνεμπόδιστος. The treatise in
Book X. opposes the view that Pleasure is the chief
good ; that in Book VII., as might be expected from~*
its whole way of looking at things, endeavours to
make it probable that at least one kind of Pleasure
is the ἄριστον. This attempt by itself suffices to
mark the treatise in Book VII. as ungenuine, since it
would impress on the Aristotelian Ethics a hedonistic
character, which is inconsistent with their other
views.’
Rassow agrees with Spengel that the treatise on
Pleasure in Book VII. is later than that in Book X.,
and that the author of the former probably had the
latter before him. But he declines to accept the
inference of Spengel, that if the treatise on Pleasure
in Book VII. be pronounced un-Aristotelian, the
whole Book must lie under the same verdict. Ras-
sow says that this does not follow, because the
treatise on Pleasure has no necessary connection
with the first half of the Book—it is a mere append-
age. This may be so; but Rassow doés not explain
how it comes to pass that the unknown editor, who,
XIV PREFACE TO THE
according to his theory, wrote over Book VIL. of
the Nicomachean Ethics, introducing into it passages
out of the Hudemians, came also to append to it
a spurious and unnecessary treatise on Pleasure.
Surely it is far more natural to suppose that the
whole Book was written originally for the Hudemian
Ethics, and having been transferred to the Nicoma-
cheans, brought with it this superfluity.
Rassow’s sweeping and somewhat dogmatic asser-
tion, that ‘ the essential kernel of the three Disputed
Books bears the mark of ¢ f genuineness, seems based
on what has been called Aristotelisches Geftihl, and
which disdains to explain itself. Everyone would
admit that the matter of these Books, even if they
were not written by Aristotle, was all derived from
Aristotle poe copied or eee from three
such ee were never written, ne made up. ay of
unfinished writings of Aristotle himself, or notes
from his oral lectures, or out of conclusions arrived
at in his other works,—in short, from the répertoire
of the Peripatetic School, with so much of origin-
ality in the way of developing or modifying particu-
lar doctrines as Eudemus showed in his Hthics. If
the ‘ kernel’ of the Books, then, means their matter,
this may be at once conceded to be on the whole
FOURTH EDITION. XV
Aristotelian, and yet nothing will have been proved
as to the authorship of the Books.
It is a question of form. We require an investi-
gation of the subject in detail, and a theory as to
what was the skeleton of each of these supposed
Nicomachean Books, and where the Hudemian inter-
polations were brought in.
Rassow, without being explicit on this point,
gives up the latter half of Book V. as a patchwork
by an unskilful hand, containing, however, an ex-
cellent chapter on Equity, the work of Aristotle
himself.6 He also gives up the latter part of Book
VL, as evidently written, not by Aristotle, but by one
of his school. He holds apparently to the genuine-
ness of the first half of Book VIL., though he would
say that it had been worked over and interpolated.
But, finally, supposing Rassow’s theory to be
accepted, it would give rise to the following
difficulty: If Books V., VI, and VII. of the
Nicomachean Ethics were mutilated, and then made
up out of corresponding Books in the Hudemian
Ethics, how came it to pass that those corresponding
— «--.-
Eudemian Books went out of existence, and the
6 Against this something might be | that in Rhetoric, τ. xiii., which had
said. The account of Equity in th. | been written by Aristotle before he
vy. x. is very jejune compared with | wrote his Ethics,
Xvi PREFACE TO THE
patched up Nicomachean Books were put into their
place? Also we may add: How did it happen that
the patched up Nicomachean Books fitted so remark-
ably well into the Hudemian treatise and corre-
sponded by divers references with the remaining
Books of the same ?
Ramsauer’s theory is, as we have seen, vaguely
stated—namely, that ‘when the one treatise, we
know not how, went to ruin, its contents somehow
were badly transferred to the other.’ This must
mean one of two things: either that three Books
of the Eudemian Ethics having become mutilated,
the remaining fragments of them were, with a view
to their preservation, ingrafted upon the three
corresponding Nicomachean Books; or, three Nico-
machean Books having been nearly destroyed, the
fragments which remained were ingrafted upon the
Eudemian Books. But the former hypothesis seems
absurd. What inducement would there be to spoil
three finished Books of Aristotle’s by interpolating
them with fragments of his disciple’s far inferior
writing? The second hypothesis would imply that
these three Books were originally written for the
Eudemian treatises, but afterwards interlarded with
fragments of lost Nzeomachean Books ; which theory
I could quite accept, but it would be inconsistent
FOURTH EDITION. Xvil
with Ramsauer’s other views, for he distinctly
pronounces the three Books to be Nicomachean.
Ramsauer’s theory seems to differ from Rassow’s
in this: that he considers the fragments of mutilated
Books to have been ingrafted upon the text of entire
ἡ Books. Whereas Rassow thought that lacune in
mutilated Books were made up out cf the text of
entire Books.
Ramsauer appears to me to be one of those
Aristotelian scholars who are as reluctant to admit
that the three Disputed Books may have been com-
posed by some hand other than that of Aristotle
himself, as some Theologians are to allow that
Deuteronomy may be a work of later date than some
other parts of the Pentateuch. He argues, ὡς θέσιν
διαφυλάττων, to save the credit of each of the three
Books. About Book V., having admitted that it is
the most corrupted of all the Books, he proceeds
(p. 641): ‘Book VI., which seems to decline from
the Nicomachean fulness to the meagreness of
Eudemus, is much less so. And no wonder. People
will less meddle with a book whose parts can be
counted on the fingers, than with one in which a
difficult matter had to be copiously, and as far as
possible artistically, set forth.’ But just the opposite
might have been argued: it might have been said
VOL. I. a
XVill PREFACE TO THE
that the psychology of the Moral Faculties is a more
‘difficult’ subject than Justice, and that people
would be more likely to try to improve a meagre
treatise than one which was copious and artistic.
We have seen that Ramsauer_ attributes a Hude-
mian character to Book VI. He admits that in this
Book Νοῦς and the other Intellectual Excellencie
are tr eated 1 in a manner similar to that in which we
find subjects treated in the Fudenian Ethics—nan nely,
they are taken up and curtly | defined and then
suddenly dropt.’ And yet, in spite of this, Ramsauer
says (p. 368): ‘Those who attribute Book VI. to
Eudemus should reflect whether the Eudemianisms in
the Book, which have led to ascribing it to Kudemus,
may not conversely have been borrowed by the
disciple fr om this v very | Book (the v we ork | of his s master)
and made use of elsewhere.’ On which we may
remark, that while it is easy to believe that Kudemus
might have borrowed particular formule (like ὅρος,
see below, page 61) from this Book, if he had it
before him, it is difficult to suppose that he can have
moulded his whole style on the worst written Book
of an Aristotelian treatise.
“1ST
7 This same characteristic, it must | are all dropt in the same abrupt
be noticed, appears in Book V. Cor- | manner, without their respective
rective Justice (6. iv.), the theory of | bearing on the main question of the
Exchange (6. v.), and Equity (6. x.) | Book being sufficiently worked out.
FOURTH EDITION. ΧΙΧ
Ramsauer wavers as to the authorship of Book
VI. He says (p. 369): ‘It seems to me that the
forces (copias) by which this Book is to be won for
Aristotle or for Kudemus are about equal—neither
of them sufficient to carry the day.’ But he himself
always treats the Book as if it had been won for
Aristotle.
With regard to Book VII. he remarks (p. 425),
that in no part of the Magna Moralia has the
author of that compilation so fully reproduced the
matter of either the Nicomachean or the Hudemian
Ethics as in his account of ἐγκράτεια (cf. Mag. Mor.
II. iv.—vi. with “th. Nic. VIL. i.—xi.). And he infers
from this that at the time when the Magna Moralia
was written there was only one Aristotelian treatise
on that subject in existence.
Of course this may only mean that the compo-
sition of the Magna Moralia was posterior to that
literary convulsion in which, according to the theory
of Ramsauer, three Books of either the Nicomachean
or the Ludemian treatise were mutilated, and their
fragments interpolated into the corresponding Books
of the other treatise. But it is at least an equally
probable hypothesis that there never was more than
one treatise, in literary form, on the | subject of
ἐγκράτεια, and that this (as the treatise on Pleasure,
a 2
ΧΧ PREFACE ΤῸ THE
appended to it, would suggest) was written or made
up for the Hudemian Ethics,—Aristotle never having
completed this part of his Ethical system.
In order to explain the presence of a double
treatise on Pleasure in the MNicomachean Ethics,
Ramsauer (pp. 643-4) resorts to an hypothesis of
desperate ingenuity. He supposes that Aristotle,
intending to give a literary unity to his Hthies, wrote
his theory of the Chief Good and of Virtue, Books
I.-VL, X. vi.ix., thus completing the treatise all but
an intermediate space; and that he afterwards filled
up this space (1) by composing a treatise on Con-
tinence and one on Pleasure, which together formed
Book VII. ; (2) by composing a treatise on Friendship,
which was suffered to run out to disproportionate
length (Books VIII. and IX.), and in the course of
which Aristotle arrived at conclusions (IX. ix. 9)
distinguishing the consciousness of an ἐνέργεια from
the ἐνέργεια itself, which conclusions were inconsistent
with his already written treatise on Pleasure, and
necessitated its being rewritten. This Aristotle
accordingly did (Lth. Nic. X. i.-v.), without, how-
ever, cancelling the former treatise on the same
__ subject.
Unfortunately for this hypothesis, it does not seem
to be supported by internal evidence. I agree with
FOURTH EDITION. ΧΗ
Ramsauer in believing that Aristotle wrote the first
part and the concluding part of his Hthics, thus
giving the complete literary f is system
and leaving an intermediate space to be filled in. But
it is clear that the concluding part cannot have com-
menced with the sixth chapter of Book X., Εἰρημένων
δὲ τῶν περὶ τὰς ἀρετάς τε καὶ φιλίας καὶ ἡδονάς,
because these words imply that Books VIII. and IX.
and Book X. i.-v. had been written previously.
Therefore I consider that the space left to be filled
up corresponded with what is now occupied by
Books V., VI., ΝΗ. and that, as Spengel supposed,
the treatise on Pleasure in Book VII. was written .
later than that in Book X., and was indeed part of
the Hudemian paraphrase.
Again, if the treatise on Pleasure in Book X. had
been written expressly to bring out the distinction
panies, this point would surely have been made
more prominent than it is, and not dismissed, as it is,
in a parenthetical and half-disdainful way,® quite at
the end of the treatise.
8 See Hth. x. v. 6-7, where the | it; and Aristotle adds, ‘ Nay, the con-
main proposition is that the Pleasure | nection of Pleasure with ἐνέργεια is
resulting from an ἐνέργεια is more | so close as to have given rise to a
closely connected with that évépye | doubt whether they are not identical.
than the Desire which has preceded |. But surely Pleasure is not identical
7 Ee 2
XXil PREFACE TO THE
Having pointed out the difficulties which seem to
me to beset the theories of recent German critics
as to the authorship of the three Disputed Books, I
now turn to the scholarlike monograph of Mr. Cook
Wilson, On the Structure of the Seventh Book of the
Nicomachean Ethics, chapters 1.x. Mr. Wilson,
following up Torstrik’s suggestion that the present
order of the context in De Anima, Book III., had
come from some sort of combination of two parallel
versions, minutely examines Book VII. of the Lthzes,
and finds in it traces of not only two, but sometimes
three, parallel versions. Some of the pieces of this
mosaic, Mr. Wilson thinks, may be attributed to
Aristotle ; others bear traces of Eudemianism ; while
others seem to belong to a post-Eudemian writer,
possibly a disciple of KEudemus. Mr. Wilson, without
expressly saying so, seems to point to the conclusion
that the earlier chapters of Book VII. were certainly
not written in their present form by Aristotle for the
Nicomachean Ethics, nor were they written by Eu-
demus for his paraphrase ; but that they were put
together out of divers versions by some Peripatetic
later than EKudemus.?
with Reasoning, nor with Perception; | cording to Ramsauer, the whole
it would be absurd to say so, But | treatise was written for the sake of
from their being inseparate some bringing in this sentence.
think that they are identical.’ Ac- ® In one argument Mr, Wilson is
FOURTH EDITION. XXiil
The question as to the composite character of
various parts of the ‘ Works of Aristotle’ has yet to
be further worked out, and more light may be elicited
in the process. In the meanwhile, taking into con-
sideration all the peculiarities of these three Disputed
Books, I am still inclined to figure to myself that
Eudemus, having paraphrased the seven completed
Books of Aristotle’s Ethics, found that he had a
middle space to fill up, and no longer ἃ finished
treatise of Aristotle’s to copy.
Instead of this, his materials would now consist
of posthumous fragments, and the notes of the Peri-
patetic School. The repetitions in the text which he
produced may have partly been caused by careless-
ness, partly by a reverential wish not to lose any of
the ipsissima verba magistri, whenever they had been
recorded. We see the same kind of literary irregu-
larity in the Metaphysics of Aristotle, which, as tra-
dition says, were posthumously edited by Eudemus.
In writing the three Disputed Books, I should imagine
that Eudemus was partly editing and preserving
inconsistent with this view. For he
suggests (p. 38, note) that Eth. Eud.
11. xi. was intended for a reconstruc-
tion of and improvement upon E¢h.
Nie. νι. xii. 7-10, which would prove
that Eth. Nic. v1. could not be attri-
buted to Eudemus, But at the same
time it would prove that Books VI.
and VII. (for they must surely go
together) were composed earlier than
the Eudemian Ethics, . But I confess
that, on comparing the two passages,
I do not derive from them the same
impression as Mr, Wilson has done.
-«
- fe Mon oa ee μὰ τ Tas Tae Ka +.
.
a
XX1V PREFACE TO THE
Aristotle’s doctrine on Justice," the Moral Standard,
and perhaps Incontinence, partly completing _his
own treatise, as the close connection of these Books
with it seems to show.
Nothing in the recent discussions seems to me
to shake the hypothesis that the Three Books, what-
ever may otherwise have been their literary history,
originally belonged in their present form to the
Hudemian, and not the Nicomachean treatise. There-
fore 1 have not thought it necessary to alter what I
formerly wrote on this subject. I would only beg
that when I speak of ‘ Eudemus’ with reference to
these Books, I may be understood to mean ‘ Eude-
mus, whether in his own language paraphrasing or
improving upon the ideas of Aristotle, or (as may
frequently have been the case) availing himself of
the exact words of his Master, from whatever source
derived.’
© Book V., which has hitherto been
unanimously pronounced to be Nico-
machean, 1.6. written by Aristotle,
seems to me to owe this character
partly to its representing Aristotle's
theory of Justice, as fur as he had
gone im the subject, partly to its
containing several fragments of Ari-
stotle’s writing. For instance, the
opening of the Book down toe. i. ἃ 14
appears to me to be essentially Ku-
demian, whereas from § 15 to the end
of the chapter comes in a piece
written in the best manner of Ari-
stotle. A good deal of chapters iv.
and vy. probably consists of Aristotle's
exact words, whether written by
from his
himself or taken down
lectures. I do not go further into
the question, but I consider the setting
of the whole Book to be Eudemian,
whatever nuggets of Aristotle it may
contain,
Out of all the discussions one conclusion seems
5 to emerge—namely, that, to use the words of Ram-—
ΒΆΛΟΙ about the Disputed Books, ‘In hae Ethices
Aristotelice parte pro duplici disputatione ne unam
quidem habemus satis sanam atque integram. And this eek
is what I have always ventured to maintain—that — ;
we could not be certain that we possessed in its
entirety Aristotle’s theory of Justice or of the Moral
Standard. .
EpinpureH: October, 1884.
CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS.
ESSAY I.
On the Nicomachean Ethics, in relation to the other Ethical
Writings included among the Works of Aristotle.
- Results of Modern Criticism on the ‘ Works of Aristotle’
Chronology of the Life of Aristotle
Incompleteness of his Writings 5 ;
Strabo’s Story of the Fate of his Writings ς git x
Examination of this Story . , ; : ‘ τιν
Cicero’s silence with regard to it ; ‘
The great works of Aristotle were never lost ὃ ; ὃ
The Peripatetic School after the Death of Aristotle .
The Catalogue of Diogenes Laertius
Aristotle’s lighter Works lost . ors
Principles on which the Edition of Aedvehicoate was uae
The Four Ethical Treatises among the ‘ Works of Aristotle’
The Theory of Spengel as to their respective Authorship
The Nicomachean Ethicsa Genuine Work . . :
Characteristics of the Ludemian Ethics.
Ancient Authorities as to their Authorship
Characteristics of the Great Ethics
The Tract On Virtwes and Vices
Origin of the Names 1 ΝΑ ΞΘ and Great
Ethics. “tose
Traces of an Editorial Hand i in . the a a Work
This Work not a Congeries of Smaller Treatises
Mode of its Composition .
XXVIII CONTENTS OF
PAGE
Authorship of Books V. VI. VII. . : 758
Supposed References to them in other Works of Per τὰς ey
Their Correspondence with the Eudemian Ethics. st a ΚΓ
Casaubon’s Theory of Book VII. . : : : : +05
Fritzsche’s Theory of Book V. : : . 66
The Eudemian Ethics not a Parallel to the aoe of Plato ΕΟ
The Vicomachean Ethics an Unfinished, or Mutilated, Treatise
supplemented by the Peripatetic School : : ΠΥ
Order of Aristotle’s Writings . : : : : eh
ESSAY IT.
On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece previous
to Aristotle.
Aristotle himself gives no History of Moral Philosophy | 3
Sketch given in the Great Ethics. ἢ : oe Δ:
Three Eras of Morality ; ἐ , : ὃ Σ - 96
The First or Unconscious Era . P : 5 Ca te
General Characteristics of the Hellenic ΤΕΎΥΕΙ : το |
Elements of the Popular Moral Teaching in Greece . me OR
The Morality of Homer : : ; : : ‘ Ἐν δ
The Morality of Hesiod . : : ‘ ; : se, ae 8D
The Seven Wise Men . ; : : ; : : . 89
The Morality of Solon. ξ Ξ : ἥ Ξ τ ae GO
General Character of the ‘Gnomes’. : ; : : “QF
Theognis of Megara ξ 3 : : : : Age Oe
Simonides of Ceos : : : : : : ᾿ ὍΝ
The Morality of Pindar . ς : : : ἐν Κορ
The Morality of the Attic eee ‘ ‘ : : - 99
Influence of the Mysteries ‘ ; : : : oe ΠΟ
General Conceptions of the Good . ς : : *. 102
Moral Opinions of the Pythagoreans, Heraclitus, and Dene
critus . , : ‘ : . . 103
Second Era of } Morality, ie πο : : Ξ st ἼΟΗ
Grote’s Defence of the Sophists . ; : : ; 105
History of the word ‘Sophist’ : : : τ» ΤΟΌ
‘THE ESSAYS. XX1X
General Opinions entertained of the Sophists in the 4th Cen-
tury B.C. .
The Sophists as Teachers
Their Teaching for Money
The Sophists as Authors of Rhetoric
The Schools of Rhetoric among the Sophists
The ‘Greek’ School of Rhetoric —Protagoras, Prodicus, ‘a
Hippias
The ‘Sicilian’ slat? Got pias Polus, ἀνά ὙΠΕΡ
The Place of Rhetoric historically .
Internal Character of Rhetoric .
The Fallacies of the Sophists . ; : :
Change in Plato’s Mode of representing the Sophists
The Earlier Sophists Rhetorical, the Later Ones Eristical
The Eristic of the Sophists . :
The Philosophy of certain TENSES Sey:
The Philosophy of Gorgias .
The Sophists in relation to Ethics
Their Teaching Virtue
The Fable of Prodicus
The Moral Teaching of the Sophists either Rhetor ical or
Sceptical . :
Casuistry of the Sophists Ξ
Their Opposition of ‘ Nature’ and ‘ Convention’
History of this Doctrine
Application by the Sophists of this ‘ha ἌΣ Pr iietplen :
Aristotle’s View of the Sophists .~
Summary with regard to the Sophists
Third or Conscious Era of Morality § .
Uncertainty about the Doctrine of Socrates
Personal Traits of Socrates .
His ‘Supernatural’ Element .
The ‘Irony’ of Socrates ς οἱ τῆς
The Statements of Aristotle regarding him
Aristotle’s Account of his Method
Was Socrates the ‘ First Moral Philosopher ’? .
Did he divide Science into Ethics, Physics, and Logie ἵ
Did he believe in the Immortality of the Soul ἵ
PAGE
bab
. 118
. 119
2 Eas
123
ΧΧΧ CONTENTS OF
Socrates as a Teacher of Youth
His Doctrine that Virtue is a Science
His Want of Psychology
His Moral Paradoxes
His Dialectic contrasted with that of ΓΕ Sophists
The Socratic Schools ς ;
Relation of the Cynics and Cyrenaics to ἜΣ ates .
Spirit and Doctrines of the Early Cynics
The Cyrenaic System of Ethics
The Cyrenaic Doctrine of Pleasure .
Relation of the Doctrine to Plato and renee
Influence of the Cyrenaic School
ESSAY III.
On the Relation of Aristotle’s Ethics to Plato
and the Plutonists.
Importance of Plato in the History of Philosophy
Sharacteristics of the Dialogues of Plato
Aristotle as the Successor to Plato .
- The Ethics of Plato ‘
His Contribution to Psychology
His Doctrine of the Unity of the Cardinal eee
His Identification of Vice with Ignorance
His Eschatology .
General Advance upon his Doctrines made by Aristotle .
Doctrines in the #thies of Aristotle that are borrowed from
Plato :
~ (1) On the Nature of Politics .--*%.*
(2) Of the Chief Good
(3) Of the Proper Function of ene
(4) Of the Divisions of the Mind
(5) Of ‘the Mean’
(6) Of ‘ Thought’ in Serene to the Moral N ature
(7) Of Pleasure
(8) Of Friendship ‘
(9) Of the Relation of Tenemales to Vice
(10) Of the Excellence of Philosophy
Tees eee 8. ae ba See ee Τρ ee
THE ESSAYS. XXX1_
᾿ PAGE
Metaphors and Illustrations borrowed from Plato 199
Aristotle’s Dissent from the System of Plato 199
Plato’s System of ‘ Ideas,’ its Origin and Import . 200
Plato’s Doctrine of the Idea of Good ‘ 3 204
Aristotle’s Rejection of this as a Principle for Ethics 5 205
His Arguments against it as a Metaphysical Principle 208
Unfairness of these Arguments 209
Aristotle’s Early Polemic against Plato 213
His Analytic Tendencies 214
‘His Separation of Ethics from Theology 215
His Tone and Style of Writing . 216
Characteristics of the Platonists—Speusippus, Eudoxus, sel
Xenocrates
ESSAY IV.
On the Philosophical Formule in the Ethics of Aristotle.
Introduction by Aristotle of Scientific Phraseology .
. 220
Importance, in his System, of Scientific Forms « 221
(1) Τέλος, its Meaning and Application . 221
General Doctrine of the Four Causes . 221
‘Application of the Final Cause to Ethics. . 222
Ethical Ends different from Physical ag
The End-in-itself of Moral Action . . 224
(Phe End- in-itself of Thought . 228
Ritljculties r regarding t the gene -in-itself in relation to 6 Casale
ὉΠ Seti ©
. 22
General Aspect of the tsar. . oe
(2) Ἐνέργεια, its Meaning and Application . 231
Philosophical Doctrine of ’Evépyeta . et
Tts Origin ‘ .. 233
Its Universal Application . 234
How it comes into Ethics ih « 237
How it is applied to express the Moral Natisre of Man . 238
Its New Inport in relation to the Mind » 243
Its Use in the Definition of Pleasure . 247
ΧΧΧῚΙ CONTENTS OF
Its Use in the Definition of Happiness
(3) Μεσότης, its Meaning and Application
History of the Doctrine traced from the Pythagoreans .
Its Development by Plato
Its Adoption by Aristotle
Relation of μεσότης to λόγος
Criticism of the Formula as a Principle of Ethics
(4) The Syllogism as applied to express Will and Action .
PAGE
. 250
Σ 252
, 264
- 254
255
. 257
3 260
"207
Statement of the Practical Syllogism in the treatise On the
- 262
Soul
Exposition of the peel in ne Pedocnet treatise On the
Motion of Animals
Its Application in Lth. VI. and VIL.
Criticism of its Value
ESSAY V.
On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the
Ethics of Aristotle.
Necessity of seeking Aristotle’s Opinions on Questions which
he excluded from his Ethical Treatise
Considerations deduced from the Order and Mode of Composi-
tion of his Writings. : :
Aristotle’s Metaphysical System never ἀρ φὴς
Aristotle as a Physicist
His Conception of Nature . ; . : ἢ :
Its Relation to Chance and Necessity. . ἢ
Intelligence and Design in Nature
Relation of Man to Nature as a Whole
Aristotle’s Conception of Theology as a Science
His Reasonings upon the Nature of God.
Expressions relative to God in the Hthies
Aristotle’s Account of the Human Soul
Its Relation to the Body .
Its partial Independence of the Body
Doctrine of the Active and Passive Reason .
. 264
- 267
. 268
THE ESSAYS. XXX1il
PAGE
Deduction from this made by Averroes . ; ; . | 35209
And by Grote. : : ; : mor » 299
Indeterminateness of Aristotle’ sown Expressions on the Sub-
ject of the Immortality of the Soul. ; : . 300
His lost Dialogue Zudemus . ' . + gon
The Zthics uninfluenced by any regard to a ΚΕΝ Life . 302
ESSAY VI.
The Ancient Stoics.
Characteristics of the Post-Aristotelian Philosophy . i195 404
Predominance now given to Ethics. ς ‘ : » 305
Causes of this . : 5? ae
Chief Cause of the Peculiarities of the Stoical School to be
sought in the Race of its Founders . . ᾿ 2s ey
The Early Stoics almost all of Semitic Race. ; . 308
The Semitic Spirit . : ; ; : : τὰν δῶ
Contrast between Stoicism acl Epicurism . : ὃ . 310
Three Periods of Stoicism ‘ : ‘ . sega:
(1) Formation . ‘ . ; j : ‘ ete
Zeno. : : 3 Σ : : 25 3: aus
Cleanthes . ; : ἢ , ‘ ; ; ξ ἄχ
Chrysippus_. : > ; . 29 9KS
Relation of Stoicism to Earlier Philosphy : : . 316
Stoicism and Cynicism . : ere ἘΠ
The Stoical Formula of ‘ Life ἘΞΌΜΕΣ to N: ature! : . 319
Adoption of this Formula by Bishop Butler .. é th 420
Stoical Ideal not of the Past ἥ : , Σ - ΣΕ ΦΔῈ
The Ideal Wise Man : : : : ; 2 448
The Idea of ‘ Advance’ : : ἘΝ : . 324
‘Duty’ . Ὰ ς ‘ : ὲ 8.
The Stoical RA ae ΤῈ: ; ; ὃ . 326
The Theology of the Stoics . ‘ : : . > gay
The Hymn of Cleanthes ; . 4 ‘ ‘ . 328
The Stoical Necessarianism . . : ; : 5 + 3° 980
The Stoics and Popular Religion : , : é . 332
VOL. 1: b
XXXIV CONTENTS OF
PAGE
Their Platonising Visions of a Future Life. : oh 7135
Their Exaltation of Suicide . : : : : : . 514
(2) Promulgation. Stoicism reacting on the East . Ἐπ 5325
Its Influence among the Jews. : ; ; : - 336
Traces of Stoicism in Leclesiastes 6. : : : ey
Its Influence on St. Paul. : . : : ; Mes. Τὴ
Stoicism brought to Rome ὃ : : : : ie 5320
Panetius . ‘ : ‘ : : τ ἢ - 222
Posidonius. : ; : : : inane
Household theres é : : : : : . 344
Philosophy among the Romans ‘ : : : Spe eas
Transient Influence of Epicurism on the Romans . 217
(3) Stoicism in the Roman World . : eeu
Characteristics of Roman Stoics . : : : : . 348
Seneca . : : ; : : : Σ : ον 350
- His Didactic Turn. : ὃ : ‘ : : 5.383
His Moralising and Self-discipline . : ᾿ ξ ἐς ἘΣ 354
His Utterances on Sin and Human Corruption . : ἜΝ
His Views of Death and Suicide. : ; : ioe BS
Epictetus. : : : : : : : . 360
Marcus Aurelius. : : : : : ow 302
Stoicism and Roman Law . : : ; : : . 366
Debt of Modern Times to Stoicism . s : ‘ MA 2
Merits and Defects of Stoicism . . ; : : ΣΙ
ESSAY VIL.
On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern Systems.
Aristotle’s Ethics soon superseded in the Ancient World. . 372
Aristotle in the Middle Ages : i ᾿ 374
Fresh Start of Ethical Philosophy after the ἘΔ άπ ey
Modern Ethical Questions. Free-will and Necessity . ep
The Ground of Action . : : ee f°:
Modern Ethical Systems full of Berchelogys ‘ : = 379
The Casuistry of Modern Times. 6 380
Recent Discussions on the Origin of the Moral Pavaleies . 381
THE ESSAYS. XXXV
PAGE
The Theory of ‘Evolution’ . : τ Ὁ 5282
Contrast between Aristotle and the Materialists of the Pre-
sent Day . : : : : i= 6 3Bg
The Comtist ‘ Religion of Humanitie é x ; . 384
This contrasted with the Views of Aristotle ‘ : . 386
Fundamental Differences between Aristotle and Modes
Systems of Ethics . 5 . 387
Survival of Aristotle’s Réeisinalyy 3 in Waa Lctbulige . 388
Why the Ethics of Aristotle are still worth studying . . 389
APPENDIX A.
On the Ethical Method of Aristotle.
His own Discussions on the Logic of Ethics . ; Rhee
His Actual Procedure . F : : ς ; - 308
Was he ἃ ‘ Dogmatic’? . : : : : : =e 364
APPENDIX B.
On the ἘΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟῚ AOTOI.
Modern Controversy on the ‘ Exoteric Discourses’ . 5.5: 398
Theory of Bernays . 5 ‘ : . 401
Examination of the Passages in which ‘ Bxoteric Disooursaa?
are mentioned . : . 402
Politics VII. i. contains a Fragment of one of Aristotle’ 5
Dialogues. : 3 : : . 406
General Conclusions with saga to ἔμ δον Question . . 407
APPENDIX Ὁ.
On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle.
Slight Influence of Political Views on Aristotle’s Moral
System . ᾿ . 410
His Conception of the State ὃ Ἡρρλιμδοννν to his Ethics 4 his
His virtual Separation of Ethics from Politics . : aie τ.
HSSAY Tf.
----.ιος----.
Ὁ, the Nicomachean Ethics, in relation to the other
Ethical Writings included among the Works of
Aristotle.
HE question of the genuineness and of the literary cha-
racter of each of the several works which have come
down to us under the name of Aristotle, has been mooted
and discussed with increasing earnestness during the last
half-century. By the diligence of modern critics, for the
τ most part Germans, the whole field of Classical, Patristic,
Alexandrian, Byzantine, Arabian, Jewish, and Scholastic
literature has been searched, and every fragment, reference,
allusion, or mention, however incidental, everything in short
bearing even remotely on the question, has been carefully
_collected and brought to light. Of all this labour we may
say, in brief, that the general outcome and result has been to δὲ... ας eite.
show: first, that external authorities are seldom in them-\ Tht ξε
selves decisive, but require to be checked in comparison with Λ
each other, and to be weighed against internal evidence ;/
secondly, that many of the problems which have been started\,
about Aristotle and the Aristotelian writings cannot be re- ! 4
solved with certainty, and must be left in the region of the /
indeterminate ; thirdly, that these problems are for the most
part comparatively unimportant, as for instance those relating | 3.
to the character of the ‘ lost writings’ of Aristotle, or to the
VOL, I. B
q
2 ESSAY I.
‘/genuineness of some of the smaller treatises or of particular
‘portions of works otherwise acknowledged to be genuine ;
‘fourthly, that a general consensus ratifies, and nothing
seriously impugns, the belief, that in the leading portions of
the great treatises which make up ‘our edition’ of Aristotle
we possess the thought of the philosopher pretty nearly in
‘the form under which it came from his own mind and was
\given originally either to his own disciples or to the world.
The several ethical treatises which we find included
among ‘ the works of Aristotle’ exemplify in a remarkable
way the above-stated conclusions, and an examination of
them, with the assistance of all available clues whether
internal or external, serves to throw an interesting light
upon the philosophical history of the Peripatetic School.
But, in order to the due conducting of such an examination,
it will be necessary beforehand to briefly sum up and set
forth the results of such parts of the controversy upon the
writings of Aristotle in general as bear upon the special
questions, with reference to the ethical treatises, which we
shall find before us.
With regard to the personal life of Aristotle, ‘ is enough
certainty two points,—namely, that Aristotle died Ol. 114, 3
(B.C. 322), being about 63 years” old, and that for 13 years
previous to that ‘date he had held a ‘school i in the Lyceum at
Athens.’ Holding to these points, we may for the present
leave in abeyance the various questions which have been
1 See an extract from the Chrono-
logy (Χρονικὰ) of Apollodorus, given
by Diogenes Laertius (v. i. 9). This
Apollodorus has been generally con-
sidered a trustworthy authority, but
of late doubt has been thrown upon
his statements regarding Aristotle by
Valentine Rose, who treats all the
dates given by him, except those
above mentioned, as the mythical
filling in of what was really blank
(V. Rose de Aristotelis librorum ordine
et auctoritate. Berlin, 1854.)
ere. “
THE WORKS OF ARISTOTLE. 3
mooted about other parts of the life of Aristotle, as for
instance whether he passed an irregular or a steady youth;
whether he began the study of philosophy early or late ;
whether he was really a disciple in the school of Plato for
twenty years, or for a shorter period, or was only a reader
and critic of Plato’s writings, and an occasional hearer and
personal friend of Plato himself; whether he ‘tried his *pren-
tice hand’ in philosophy by writing dialogues? in somewhat
weak imitation of Plato's manner of writing, and whether
the dialogues of this kind which Cicero read and admired
were really written by Aristotle, or were all forgeries. These
and other questions of the kind might all be answered
either one way or the other without affecting our judgment
on the ethical treatises which have borne the name of
Aristotle.
With regard to the literary career of Aristotle, we may
admit that we have no certain information. But the general
opinion has been that those of his works which have been
preserved were all composed during the last thirteen years of j
his life, when he was holding his philosophical school in the é
Lyceum. And, with regard to the great majority of the
extant writings of Aristotle, internal evidence is not opposed
to this view. For these books may be stated broadly to be*,
quite homogeneous. They belong to one period of the ὦ
philosopher’s mind. ‘Though most of them have all the
freshness of original speculations and inquiries, still they
are expressed in a settled and peculiar terminology, which
must have been beforehand gradually formed and adopted by
their author during a long life of thought. It is only in
expression can_be traced by comparing different parts of
these works with each other. And another argument for the
~ 3 On this point a word or two will be said in Appendix B.
B2
4 ESSAY I.
ushed charac er of
so much that bears the name of Aristotle.
x If we could fancy that Thucydides, instead of writing the
history of the Peloponnesian War alone, had undertaken to
narrate a dozen different periods in a dozen totally separate
works, and had left these at his death almost all unpublished
and in different stages of completion, but all indicating by
their several openings the grasp which their writer had at-
tained over each of the periods to be treated, we should
conceive of such a result in history as would have been
analogous to the actual result in philosophy exhibited by the
works of Aristotle. We see here vastness of conception,
organic distribution of human knowledge into its various
departments, the ground plan laid for the complete exposi-
tion of each of these several departments, and then the
indications of premature arrest stamped upon many of these
great designs. But in one point our imagined parallel would
fail. For Aristotle must not be represented as a man of
letters, composing books within his own study; rather we
must picture him as ἃ teacher, all whose multifarious
activity, all whose inquiries and conclusions, original and
tentative as they often were, all whose summings up of the
results of knowledge and thought, were in relation with the
daily life of a school engaged in prosecuting under their
master’s guidance the same lines of philosophical speculation.
To remember that Aristotle, during his great period of pro-
ductiveness, was not only writing but teaching, and that his
school was probably meant to be associated, and actually to
some extent took part, in the composition of his works, will
be an important element towards estimating the character
of his remains. We shall return to this consideration, but
data of 8 ternal evidence have to be
examined.
THE STORY OF STRABO. 5
The first of these is the celebrated story of the fate of the
and MSS. of Aristotle came, at his death, into the possession
of Theophrastus (who continued for 35 years chief of the
Peripatetic School at Athens), and when Theophrastus died,
the whole joint collection containing the original works of
both philosophers, and all the books of others they had
respectively bought, went by bequest to Neleus, a philosophical
friend and pupil of Theophrastus, and were by him carried off
to his own home at Scepsis in the Troad. A generation
after this occurrence, the kings of Pergamus began collecting
books for their royal library, and the heirs of Neleus, in
order to save the precious collection which was in their pos-
session, but of which they themselves could make no use,
from being seized and carried off to Pergamus, concealed it
in a cellar, where it remained, a prey to worms and damp,
for nearly 150 years. At the end of that time, the Attalid
dynasty at Pergamus was at an end (the last of these kings,
Attalus, having died in 133 B.C., bequeathing his kingdom
to the Romans). The then possessors of the Aristotelian
and Theophrastean libraries, having no longer anything to
fear from royal requisitions, brought out the MSS. from
their hiding place, and sold them for a large sum to Apel-
licon of Teos, a wealthy man, resident at Athens, and at-
tached to the Peripatetic sect. The precious rolls were now
transferred, about the year 100 B.C., to Athens, after having
been lost to the world for 187 years. ‘They were found to
be in very bad condition, and Apellicon caused copies of
them to be taken, himself filling up on conjecture the gaps
which now existed in the worm-eaten text. His conjectures,
® Strabo, xu. i. 418. 4 Platarch, Vit. Suile, ο. 26.
6 ESSAY I.
however, were infelicitous, as he was more of a bibliophilist
than a philosopher. Soon after his death, Athens was taken
by Sylla (86 B.c.), and the library of Apellicon was seized
by him and brought to Rome. It was there preserved under
the custody of a librarian, and various literary Greeks
resident at Rome gained access to it. Tyrannion, the learned
friend of Cicero, got permission to arrange the MSS.; and
Andronicus of Rhodes, applying himself with earnestness to
the task of obtaining a correct text and furnishing a com-
plete edition of the philosophical works of Aristotle, arranged
the different treatises and scattered fragments under their
proper heads, and getting numerous transcripts made, gave
publicity to a generally received text of Aristotle.
- The above story comes mainly from Strabo, who gives it
in his geographical book as a local fact in connection with
the town of Scepsis; he however mentions only Tyrannion
as having taken the MSS. in hand. Plutarch repeats the
tale in his life of Sylla, and adds the important fact of the
recension made by Andronicus. Porphyry, in his hfe of
Plotinus, carries this information still further by stating
‘that Andronicus had ‘divided*® the works of Aristotle and
: Theophrastus into systems (πραγματεία5), bringing together
‘under common heads the speculations that properly belonged
‘to the respective subjects.’
These various statements seem in their origin to start
from the very fountain head of contemporary authority. For
Strabo was a pupil of the learned Tyrannion, in Rome, about
the year 70 B.C., or a little later. There must then, beyond
5 ‘O δὲ τὰ ᾿Αριστοτέλους καὶ Θεο- | of Plotinus, and that he thus with
φράστου εἰς πραγματείας διεῖλε Tas | regard to them substituted a logical
οἰκείας ὑποθέσεις εἰς ταὐτὸν συναγαγών. | for a chronological arrangement of
Porphyry says that he himself copied | the writings.
this procedure, in editing the works
THE STORY OF 5ΤΈΛΒΟ. 7
| all doubt, be an element of historical truth in the account
which he gives of the library of Apellicon, and which he
must originally have got from Tyrannion himself. But still*.
the exact accuracy of all which Strabo says on this subject!
cannot be depended on. In the first place, even Tyrannion’
only knew the relations of Apellicon to the MSS. which he ἡ
had bought in Scepsis, or the amount of alteration intro-
duced by Apellicon into them, by a hearsay tradition going
back for a period of nearly twenty years. Secondly, Strabo 2
probably wrote his account of all these matters many years
later, without any notes of what he had heard in his youth,
and his memory may in some points have played him false.
Thirdly, it seems a striking instance either of this kind of 5.
forgetfulness, or else of a want of thorough knowledge as to
what had been done for the Aristotelian text, that Strabo
should have omitted all mention of the recension of Andro-
nicus, of which such striking affirmation was afterwards
made.
Tyrannion was the friend of Cicero, and it is remarkable
that Cicero should never in his works have referred to 50 ;
curious a literary anecdote as that of the finding of the ᾿
Aristotelian MSS., and their ultimately being brought to’
He had in the library of his Tusculan Villa® some of the
works of Aristotle_as we at present possess them, possibly
copies of the recension of Andronicus, but he had not really
studied them. When his friend Trebatius asks him what
the Topics of Aristotle were about, Cicero advises him ‘ for his
own interest’ to study the book for himself, or else consult
a certain learned rhetorician. Trebatius, however, is re-
pelled by the obscurity of the writing, and the rhetorician,
® Cicero, Topica τ. i. De Finibus, vy.’ v. (written 45 and 44 8.0.)
8 ESSAY I.
when consulted, confesses his total ignorance of Aristotle.
Cicero thinks this no wonder, since even the philosophers
know hardly anything about him, though they ‘ ought to have
been attracted by the incredible flow and sweetness of the
diction.’ He then proceeds to give Trebatius a summary of
a few pages of the Topics of Aristotle, which he had appa-
rently read up for the occasion. Cicero’s remark about the
‘sweetness’ of Aristotle’s diction entirely refers to the rhe-
torical Dialogues which existed in considerable numbers
under the name of Aristotle, and which Cicero often quotes.
Whether all or any of these were genuine, may be a question ;
but at all events they bore only a slight relation to the real
philosophy of Aristotle. Cicero referred to by name, and
probably possessed, the Nicomachean Ethics ;—he doubted
whether they were by the father or the son; but he mis-
quotes them, and has only superficially studied them, for he
praises them as making happiness independent of good for-
tune. But if Cicero was only superficially acquainted with
Aristotle’s greater works, he at all events possessed copies of
some of them; and if these had been works which, after
being lost by a strange destiny for nearly 200 years, had
been recently brought to light and for the first time pub-
lished, Cicero could hardly have failed to make mention of so
striking a circumstance.
The reason why Cicero did not tell the tale of the fate of
the writings of Aristotle, was, that there was no tale to tell.
‘It is a point of very minor interest that the library of Ari-
‘stotle, containing, it may be, the original autographs of his
‘works, was bequeathed by Theophrastus to Neleus— (that this
_ was the fact is corroborated by Diogenes Laertius (v. 52),
who has preserved the Will of Theophrastus)—and that this
. collection went to Asia Minor, and was stowed away in a
\cellar, and was ultimately brought back by Apellicon, and so
ον THE STORY OF STRABO. 9
gradually got to Rome. All this there is no reason to doubt, but
it is of interest for bibliophilists rather than for philosophers.
Very different in importance is the assertion that all the
great works of Aristotle were, thirty-five years after ‘his death, ὶ
entirely suppressed and put out of sight, and that the Peri- :
patetic School, and ὦ fortiori the rest of the philosophic world,
lost all knowledge of them, and that it was by the merest :
chance that the Aristotelian system of philosophy, by which ;
the history of the Middle Ages and the forms of modern :
thought have been so profoundly influenced, were ultimately /
rescued and brought to light.
made ; for he added to his story of Aristotle’s library in the
cellar of Neleus an account of the consequences which ensued
to the Peripatetic School; saying that ‘the result was that
the earlier Peripatetics, immediately after Theophrastus, being V
entirely deprived of the works of Aristotle, except a few of
the more popular treatises, were debarred from systematic
philosophy and were reduced to rhetorical essay-making ;
while the later members of the school, after these books had
been brought to light, though they knew Aristotle better
than their predecessors had done, were still obliged to resort
to conjecture as to most points of his system, owing to the
multitude of errors which had now crept into the MSS.’7
of Aristotle, reproduces also this corollary to it in an empha-
sised form, saying expressly that it was from no want of
personal zeal or ability, but from the-want of the text of
7 Strabo, Le. συνέβη δὲ τοῖς ἐκ ᾿ τοῖς δ᾽ ὕστερον, ἀφ᾽ οὗ τὰ βιβλία ταῦτα
τῶν περιπάτων, τοῖς μὲν πάλαι τοῖς προῆλθεν, ἄμεινον μὲν ἐκείνων φιλοσο-
μετὰ Θεόφραστον οὐκ ἔχουσιν ὅλως τὰ φεῖν καὶ ἀριστοτελίζειν, ἀναγκάζεσθαι
βιβλία πλὴν ὀλίγων καὶ μάλιστα τῶν μέντοι τὰ πολλὰ εἰκότα λέγειν διὰ τὸ
ἐξωτερικῶν, μηδὲν ἔχειν φιλοσοφεῖν πλῆθος τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν.
πραγματικῶς ἀλλὰ θέσεις ληκυθίζειν Σ΄
10 ESSAY I.
Aristotle’s writings, that the Peripatetic School had previously
declined.
Now, if this statement be literally accepted, the conclusion
drawn from it must be that the philosophy of Aristotle under-
went extreme risk of total deletion and annihilation. If it be
true, as Strabo and Plutarch would imply, that the library
purchased by Apellicon contained unique copies of all the
works of Aristotle except his Dialogues and popular treatises
(which had been previously published), it is clear that the
merest chapter of accidents led to the resuscitation, arrange-
ment, and editing of all that we now know as ‘the Works of
Aristotle.’ According to this hypothesis, a few years more of
the cellar of Neleus and the work of obliteration would have
been completed: Aristotle’s philosophy would have been lost,
and his Dialogues (genuine or spurious) alone preserved. And
thus would have been brought to pass the saying of Lord
Bacon: that ‘'Time like a river, bringing down to us things
which are lighter and more inflated, lets what is more weighty
and solid sink.’ The story of the fate of the writings of Ari-
‘ stotle would thus be a strange eventful tale, full of romantic
ἱ interest in the history of human thought. In ἃ former edition
‘of the present work the story, viewed under this light, was
\too hastily accepted and set forth. But the publication by
Zeller of the third edition of his Philosophie der Griechen
(1879) and his exhaustive review of all attainable facts
relating to Aristotelian literature during the last two
centuries and a half before our era, show that such a fancy
jis untenable, and that the philosophy of Aristotle was exposed
to no such peril as we have supposed ; for while the original
‘MSS. of his great works were mouldering at Scepsis, copies
. of them all were being used, if not by the Peripatetic School,
\ by philosophers of other sects.
In proof of this point, after citing Chrysippus, Critolaus,
7 :
THE PERIPATETIC SCHOOL. 1
Herillus, Panzetius, Antiochus, Posidonius, Stilpo, and Her-*,
marchus, as philosophers who showed an intimate acquaint-
ance with Aristotle, Zeller (11. p. 147-8) goes through the
list of Aristotle’s works, as we possess them, and finds traces |
of each in catalogues or references previous to the date of a
Andronicus. And he winds up by saying, ‘ Altogether out of
the genuine works in our edition of Aristotle there are only ‘
those on the Parts, the Generation, and the Gait, of Animals,
and the minor Anthropological treatises, of which there are not
distinct evidences or highly probable indications that they were |
still used after the removal from Athens of the library of Theo-: f
phrastus. And even with regard to the works mentioned, there’
is no reason to doubt that they also were used, only we cannot;
proveit ; and this is not at all surprising when we consider our
imperfect information as to the post-Aristotelian literature.’
Neither Diogenes Laertius nor any of the Greek Com-’
mentators on Aristotle makes any allusion to the supposed |
temporary loss of his writings. Only Boéthius, who was’
born as late as 470 A.D., speaks of Andronicus as ‘ exactum
diligentemque Aristotelis librorum et judicem et repertorem,
but this phrase may very possibly have been based upon the
statements of Plutarch. Strabo and Plutarch, then, stand
alone in their account of what happened, and we can now see’
that while the first part of their story, as to Neleus taking '
away the library, was probably correct enough; the second
part, as to the consequences of this to the Peripatetic School,
was a mere deduction grounded not on fact, but on fancy.
We know that after the death of Aristotle, his scholars, Theo-
phrastus, Eudemus, Strato, Phanias, and others, were busily
engaged in editing his works or writing works of their
own on the same lines. And it is in the highest degree’
improbable that in the thirty-five years, during which Theo- '
phrastus presided over the Peripatetics, they should have had’
12 ESSAY I.
‘no copies made of the more important treatises ; or that Theo-
: phrastus himself, who in his Will (see Diogenes Laertius, v. 52)
showed great solicitude for the School, bequeathing money for
‘their gardens, their houses, and their museum, should have
‘ alienated (as Zeller says) their most indispensable treasure,
‘the writings of their master, unless they had been well pro-
vided with copies of those writings. That there was a rapid
decline, almost a sudden collapse, of the Peripatetic philosophy
soon after the death of Theophrastus, is true enough, but it
was a fanciful deduction on the part of Strabo to say that this
was a paralysis of the school caused by the loss of the works
of Aristotle.
One point to be remarked is that the Academic School,
‘who certainly had not lost the works of Plato, exhibited
‘an equal deterioration. And with regard to the_ Peri-
‘to abandon what was deepest, most systematic, and most
‘philosophical in the thought of Aristotle, and to go off
in various directions of more popular and easy modes of
‘thinking. Thus they followed out Aristotle’s inductive
impulse into many fields of inquiry, without much reference
‘to a central philosophical point of view. They collected
‘problems’ with their answers, such as could be given; and
-- EN
they contributed monographs on special questions. ‘The
5a δὲ ae ee ee
(Some of the School were content with producing compendia
of Aristotle’s treatises. Others resorted to the rhetorical
ὃ sermonizing attributed generally to the sect by Cicero and by
‘Strabo. There seems every reason to believe that after the
death of Theophrastus the Peripatetic School had compara-
tively poor and unworthy adherents, while in the meantime
all the philosophic ability round the Aigean Sea was throw-
THE PERIPATETIC SCHOOL. 18
ing itself into following the fresh impulse of either the’
Stoic or the Epicurean tenets. The later Peripatetics can-’
not be justified by the theory of Strabo any more than the
stotle, as we know them, do not exhibit any decided traces of
those lacune caused by worms and damp which Strabo
attributed to the MSS. rescued by Apellicon. In the second 2.
place, if the Peripatetics at Athens were unable to restore, or
properly understand, the text when brought to light, how’
was it that Andronicus some fifty years later was able to ᾿
΄
have had other copies οὗ the Aristotelian writings at his
command (which the Peripatetic School might equally have
obtained) to collate with the MSS. of Apellicon ; or else, he
was an able man competent to edit a system of philosophy,
the other professed adherents of which had lost all hold of it
and all power of understanding it.
Andronicus of Rhodes was the tenth Scholarch of the.
Peripatetics, in succession to Aristotle. Of his life very little Ί
is known, so we cannot tell whether he resided and taught at
Rome, because that was now the metropolis of the world and
offered better chances of employment, even to philosophers,
than the Provinces, or whether he followed thither the
library of Apellicon, in order to use it for the purposes of his
projected edition of Aristotle. At all events there is no
doubt that Andronicus, about 50 years B.C., produced at’
Rome the first collective edition of the works of Aristotle. {
And there seems equally no doubt that the epoch-making*,
recension of Andronicus is identical with ‘our Aristotle’ as |
Grote called 10,5 in contrast to ‘ the Aristotle of the Catalogue 2
—namely, the catalogue of the Aristotelian writings given by
«0 #& Ὡς (ae es A ae oe eS AS ae Me le
5. Aristotle, by George Grote, &c., 1872, vol. i. p. 45.
14 ESSAY 1.
and may have been considerably later. But internal exami-
nation of his work shows him to have been a mere thoughtless
compiler from the works of others, without criticism_or. ‘suf-
ficient knowledge for his task. His ‘Life of Aristotle’
consists of a farrago of gossiping statements; of some
dates from the Chronology of Apollodorus (which are really
valuable); of fragments of verse attributed to Aristotle; of a
chapter of Aristoteliana or pithy sayings of the philosopher,
which have nothing Aristotelian about them ; of the celebrated
Catalogue; and of an attempt at a sketch of the philosophy
of Aristotle—full of the most ludicrous misrepresentations.
number of books, the titles of which he has determined to
transcribe, on account of their author’s excellence in every
subject. He then gives his Catalogue, enumerating 146
sections. The ‘ Aristotle’ with which we are acquainted
consists of about forty works, and these are not only fewer in
number than, but also apparently different in kind from, the
works specified in the Catalo oue. ἴ We ‘only know Aristotle
as the author of systematic treatises (πραγματειῶν) on the
great branches of philosophy—logic, physics, metaphysics,
politics, ethics, natural history, ἄς. These are massed
together in continuous systems, just as we are told by
Porphyry they came forth from the editorial hand of Andro-
nicus. But the ‘ Aristotle of the Catalogue’ appears as the
author of a great number of smaller works discussing special
questions, rather than as the composer of great philosophical
systems. Again, a large number of the works in the Cata-
which we are accustomed to attribute to Aristotle. For
THE CATALOGUE OF DIOGENES. 15
instance, such names as ‘ Nerinthus;’ ‘Gryllus, or on
Rhetoric ;’ ‘Sophist;’ ‘ Menexenus ;’ ‘Symposium ;’ ‘The
Lover ;’ ‘ Alexander, or on Colonies,’ &c., remind us at once
of the Dialogues of Plato, and we see that here are
enumerated some of those half-rhetorical writings, which—
whether they were forgeries, or were really the crude philo-
sophic essays of Aristotle written in popular and dialogic
form—were certainly read and admired under the name of
Aristotle by some not very discriminating generations of
antiquity.
When we ask, what is the origin and authority of the
Catalogue of Diogenes? it seems not unwarrantable to
believe, with Grote, that this catalogue contains the titles of»
the books existing under the name of Aristotle in the Alex-
andrian Library during the third century B.c.; that it was
originally made by Callimachus, the chief librarian at Alexan-
dria, or by his pupil Hermippus, between the years 240-210
B.C.; that it found its way into some biography of Aristotle,
and was thence mechanically copied by Diogenes, in ignorance
or disregard of the edition of Andronicus. We need not go
so far as to say, with Valentine Rose, that all the works
enumerated in this Catalogue and all the so-called ‘lost works’
of Aristotle were forgeries. Many of them were probably
monographs executed during his lifetime by his disciples ;
others may even have been earlier and more popular philo-
sophical essays by himself; still more probable is it that a
large proportion were small works, either epitomizing separate
parts of his system, or stating separate ideas belonging to his
system in rhetorical and sometimes in dialogic form, which
were composed after his death, and which. in good faith,
or at all events in unconsciousness of fraud, were inscribed
with the name of Aristotle by his well-meaning followers. It
seems to be indicated by the Catalogue that such as these were
16 ESSAY I.
the kind of writings which the Peripatetic School, before
Aristotle had been dead for forty years, had come almost
exclusively to care for. Thus copies of them were multiplied
and became available for the Alexandrian Library; and as
‘they were a class of literature comparatively easy of imitation,
‘a considerable crop of pure forgeries may very likely have
ι grown up and have gone to swell their number. Hence
Aristotle’s reputation with the ancients as a most voluminous
writer,—the author of 400 books !
While there is a great, almost total, discrepancy between
the Catalogue of Diogenes and ‘our Aristotle,’ it would be a
mistake to suppose that the Catalogue leaves the impression
that none of the Aristotelian philosophy, properly so called,
had reached the Library of Alexandria. On the contrary,
‘almost all the existing treatises of Aristotle seem to be there,
\only with a difference as to form or number of books. For
instance, we find mention of nine books of Prior Analytics
and two of Posterior Analytics. Of Ethics, five books are
i ‘mentioned, and these may possibly correspond with what
: Aristotle first accomplished on the subject, namely, Books I.,
IL., 1Π., ΤΥ... and X. of the Nicomachean Ethics, the treatise
; on Friendship (Books VIII. and IX.) having been written
‘later, and Books V., VI., and VII. having been left unfinished,
\even at his death. In ‘Rhetoric two books’ we perhaps
have the first part of Aristotle’s existing Rhetoric, of which
the third_book was probably written after_an interval. We
find two books on Politics and_nine books of a Political
Discourse, which may or may not answer to ‘ our’ Politics.
‘There is a book on Various Meanings of Words (περὶ τῶν
mocayes λεγομένων) answering to Metaphysics Book IV.
‘There are several books on Syllogisms, Definitions, Common-
places (τόποι), and other logical matters ; books on Pleasure,
ithe Voluntary, Friendship, Justice, the Art of Poetry, ἕο. On
ARISTOTLE’S LIGHTER WORKS LOST. 17
Animals nine books. And Aristotle’s now lost Τεχνῶν
συναγωγή, or Collection of Systems of Rhetoric, and The
Constitutions of 158 States, perhaps referred to Hth. X. ix. 23.
Not a single one of the dialogues and exoteric_ works
mentioned in the Catalogue, and often quoted by the ancients,
now remains. The specimens of these writings which exist
in quotation seem to show that in losing them we have lost
what was of comparatively little worth. One question of
interest is, what were the causes that produced their com-
probable conjecture to attribute that result in the first place
to the entire exclusion of the whole class of exoteric writings
by Andronicus from his edition of the works of Aristotle.
If our edition of Aristotle corresponds with that made by
Andronicus, it is clear that these writings were excluded,
and it is a remarkable fact that this should have been
the case. Plenty of the so-called ‘ Dialogues of Aristotle’
existed in the time of Andronicus and long after him.
ye i .«ὦ....«ὕ»».. .ὦ΄. ὦ. «ὦ. «- «ἡ -- -
-.-.- «-. ὯΝ:
Cicero, the friend of Tyrannion, speaks of them with en-
thusiasm and quotes them. And yet Andronicus, when
endeavouring to form a complete edition of the works of
Aristotle, appears sternly to have excluded them all. If it
was the fact that he did so, his motive for doing so must
Ὡς a ae a i PEG, ge
σὸν dome those writings) as fengerion,(on elgew hid
ductions, even if by. Aristotle himself, as unsuitable to form
part of an edition which _was_to comprise only systematic
treatises. However this may have been, it seems credible
that the edition of Andronicus had a great deal to do with
the preservation of all the works that were included in it, and
with the loss of all those that were not so included. Perhaps
copies of the entire recension of Andronicus, stamped with
VOL. I. Cc
18 ESSAY I.
his authority, were placed not only in the libraries of the
Peripatetic schools, but also in great public libraries and in
the private collections of rich men. A cohesive permanence
would thus be given to this edition as a whole, it would
come to be identified with Aristotle, while the outlying and
scattered copies of the dialogues and other smaller works
inscribed with his name, would be left exposed to diverse and
uncertain fate, without sufficient prestige and guarantee to
keep them in existence.
Even if the hypothesis be admitted as probable that
copies of the great treatises of Aristotle, found in the library
of Apellicon, formed the basis of the edition of Andronicus,
still it does not follow that Andronicus was confined to the
use of the MSS. which had belonged to Theophrastus and
which had been for so long shut up at Scepsis. To admit
this might lead to the inference that nothing appears in
‘our edition’ of Aristotle, which was not written within
thirty-five years at most after the date of Aristotle’s death.
Internal considerations are, however, too much opposed to
such a view. And it must be remembered that among the
{contents of the library of Apellicon the ‘ book-collector ’ there
‘were not only the Theophrastean MSS., but also, doubtless,
amass of other Peripatetic and miscellaneous writings, got
‘together from various sources. Such of these as were rhe-
torical, or not in strictly expository form, Andronicus seems
to have rejected. But there is reason to believe that he
‘admitted and incorporated with the genuine works others
‘which, though composed long after the death of Aristotle,
‘were yet written in close approximation to his philosophical
\style and manner. We have, of course, no means of knowing
‘whether Andronicus, by including in his edition such works
᾿ as that On the Universe and the Great Hthics, meant to stamp
them, under the guarantee of his own critical authority, as
THE EDITION OF ANDRONICUS. 19
genuine writings of Aristotle,—or whether he admitted these \
and many other books and portions of books merely as con-
taining Aristotelian thought and as suitable complements
of a system which in its exposition had been left incomplete. /
If we take up the former supposition, we have then to make
allowance for a considerable element of conjectural criticism
in the procedure of Andronicus, and we must admit that his
authority on such questions is not decisive. But the latter
seems the most_credible of the two alternatives. We know
from. Porphyry that Andronicus dealt somewhat freely with
the Aristotelian writings, rearranging them and bringing
together under their proper heads discussions which before
existed separately. In several of the important treatises
probably no such treatment as this was required. But still
we must be prepared to find traces of the editorial hand
almost everywhere. For instance, it is a question how far
the references from one part of the works to another which
appear ever and anon, are to be attributed to the editorship of
Andronicus, and to his desire to give solidarity to the system
as a whole. — at = rear. such ae as the Problems
editorially out of partly Aeiaiotelinn and Santi ated siete
telian materials. In short, it appears most probable that‘
Andronicus in his edition aimed at giving the system of
Aristotle set forth in a clear recension of the genuine syste-
matic writings of Aristotle himself, slightly rearranged and
perhaps interpolated with references, but also complemented
with some of the more valuable remains of the earlier Peri- ,’
patetice School.
From these more general considerations we now turn to
the ethical treatises which are found placed among the
‘Works of Aristotle.’ These are four in number: the Nico-*.
machean Ethics, the Ewdemian Ethics, the Great Ethics, and.’
c 2
|
/
eee νὰν
20 ESSAY I,
the treatise On Virtues and Vices. It may perhaps be
most convenient to state at once the literary conclusions
which have been arrived at with regard to these several
works, and afterwards to show the grounds for them. The
conclusions then are, first, that the Nicomachean_Hthics are,
(as a whole, the genuine and original work of Aristotle him-
\ self, though some special parts of them are open to doubt.
(Second, that the Hudemian Ethics are the work of Eudemus,
| the pupil of Aristotle, written either during his master’s
‘ lifetime or shortly after his death; that they are based
| entirely on the Nicomachean Ethics, being a re-writing of
the system contained in the former treatise with some modi-
\fications and additions. Third, that the Great Ethics are
‘ the compilation of some considerably later Peripatetic, who
‘had before him the Ethics both of Aristotle and of Kudemus,
and who gives a sort of abstract of the results of both, but
\on the whole follows Eudemus more closely than Aristotle.
( Fourth, that the little tract On Virtues and Vices is a speci-
men of those lighter Peripatetic productions, which probably
‘ went to make up the bulk of that collection which went under
' the name of the ‘ Writings of Aristotle’ in the Alexandrian
\ Library.
The first point to be established is one on which general
eS mee Fad nen
‘above the Eudemian, as well as above that called the Great
‘Ethics. Neither by the Greek scholiasts, nor by Thomas
Aquinas, nor by any of the succeeding host of Latin com-
mentators has either of the two latter treatises been deemed
worthy of illustration, while the Nicomachean Ethics have
been incessantly commented on. This tacit distinction
between the three works was the only one drawn till the
days of Schleiermacher, who mooted the question of their
THE ETHICAL WORKS ASCRIBED TO ARISTOTLE. 21
relation to each other. He at once pronounced that they
could not all belong to Aristotle, but by the irregularities
vests were plain enough in the pines εἰν and Disa:
to have been the “original w work and the source of the other
two. This conclusion, however, was set aside by the deeper
criticism of Spengel,? who, by arguments drawn from in-
ternal comparison of the three treatises, vindicated for the
Nicomachean Ethics the place of honour, as having been
the direct production of Aristotle, while the other two works_
he showed to be respectively a copy, and a copy of a copy, of §
‘
‘
the Ethics of Aristotle. The question is not one of a mere
difference of style; indeed, the Peripatetic School had been
* so thoroughly imbued with the peculiar mannerisms of their
master that it would be hazardous to pronounce upon
grounds of style alone whether any particular paragraph or‘,
section of all that appears in our edition of Aristotle came !
from his pen or not. But in comparing the three Ethical
᾿ treatises with each other, we consider the organic structure
of each work as a whole; we see the radical difference
between them in structure and aims, and then there comes
to light a number of minor characteristics attaching to each,
and reasonably to be connected with what we are led to con-
ceive must have been the original character of each, of the
three works in question.
The Nicomachean Ethics naturally take their place
beside the great philosophical treatises of Aristotle. This
work at its outset shows = true_ Ricks gS note in be
-- -ὄἔ > -» ὦ «.. ας.
a ὦ os "ay
their aaa: or their compilations front ‘Aristotle with
® Ueber die unter dem Namen des | Klasse der K. Bay. Akad. 1841).
Aristoteles erhaltenen ethischen Schrif- | Spengel’s theory is now universally
ten (in den Abhandl. der philos. philol. | accepted in Germany.
22 _ ESSAY I.
a foregone conclusion, ὌΠ to plunge at once i
medias res, without preface, and without any general state-
ment of what it was which they were about to discuss, and
without any gradual leading up to their subject. But with
Aristotle it was different ; we see in him a tendency, more
or less carried out in all his undoubted writings, to com-
mence each exposition of a fresh branch of philosophy with
the announcement of some pregnant universal principle,
appropriate to the speculations which are to follow, and con-
taining the germ of many of them within itself. See, for
instance, the first sentence of the Metaphysics, ‘ All men in-
2
stinctively desire knowledge ;’ or of the Later Analytics,
‘ All teaching and learning by way of inference proceed from
pre-existent knowledge.’ The same manner appears in the
pregnant opening of the Nicomachean Ethics: ‘ Every art
and science, each action and purpose, seems to have some
good as its object.’ This universal proposition is the first
step in an elaborate argument which resolves everything
practical into means or ends and identifies the Chief Good,
or Happiness, with the end, or final cause, of life. This all-
important conception of the final cause of life is then pro-
posed for consideration, and the question arises—What
science is to treat of it? The answer is given tentatively
that it must be treated of by ‘a sort of Politics’ since the
end for the individual and for the State are identical. This
answer belongs to the Platonic point of view, and shows that
ethics had as yet not acquired an independent position as
separate from politics. The qualification, however, here
introduced by the words ‘a sort of politics,’ shows Aristotle
in the act of working his way towards the conception of a
separate science of ethics. Having posited his main ques-
tion and the science which is to treat of it, he now proceeds
to discuss to some extent the method to be employed, the
βι νον Mai ~~
a Mia ae
> ΟΣ ta
, re > 3
THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. 28
᾿
amount of exactness to be expected, the kind of evidence
to be adduced—in short, the logic of quasi-political, or
ethical, science. And in so doing he follows the course else-
where practised by him, in commencing his treatises by
remarks on the logic of the different sciences ; as, for instance,
see especially the introduction to his work On the Parts of
Animals. Allthen in the commencement of the Nicomachean
character. By regular and methodical development the’;
ground plan of the whole of the rest of the treatise is pre- !
pared in Book I. How that plan was actually filled up we.
shall come back to consider more particularly hereafter. In
the meantime we turn from the great Aristotelian prelude of
the Nicomachean Ethics to examine in comparison with it the
characteristics of the other two Peripatetic systems of ethical
philosophy.
The Eudemian Ethics commence, without any scientific
preface, but rather in the form of a literary essay, with the /
sentence: ‘In the temple of the God of Delos, some one,
to show his own opinion respecting the good, the beautiful,
and the sweet,—that these are not predicates of the same
subject,—has inscribed the following verses on the vestibule
of the shrine of Latona :
“ Beautiful ’tis to be just ; and dest of all things to be healthy ;
‘ Yes, but the sweetest for man is to obtain his desires.
‘ But we cannot agree with this person ; for Happiness is not
only the most beautiful and the best, but also the sweetest of
all things.’ The Eudemian writer then goes on to say,
‘Some questions are practical, others are merely speculative,
The latter must be reserved for their own proper occasion.
This is the essential principle of our method. The great
question for us at present is, In what Good Living consists,
94 ESSAY I.
and how it is to be obtained, whether by nature, learning,
‘or chance?’ Very evidently in this exordium there is the
beginning, not of any original philosophical investigation,
‘ but of the exposition of foregone conclusions derived from
\the Ethics of Aristotle. The idea of Happiness, as the chief
good for man, and as the leading topic for ethical inquiry,
its identification with Good Living, and the predicates to be
attached to it,—are here simply taken over, as established
results, from Aristotle who had worked them all out sepa-
rately by argument. We recognise the quotation which is
here put so pompously in the forefront, as having occurred
in Eth. Nic. I. viii. 14. There, however, ‘the Delian inscrip-
tion’ is only mentioned in passing as one of the common say-
ings with which Aristotle compares his definition of the chief
good. But here the writer, using the couplet with more
circumstance, seems pleased to be able to add particulars
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.!° What
was of little moment to Aristotle, carelessly introducing a
quotation to illustrate some argument, became of importance
to a writer who was reproducing in slightly altered arrange-
ment the contents of an Aristotelian treatise.
For this is in effect the nature of the Kudemian Ethics ;
they are essentially a re-writing of the Micomachean work, so
that —
% On Anaxagoras cf. Eth. Nic. x. | Eth. Nic. 1. viii. 6 with Eth. Eud.
ix. 12 with Eth. κω. 1. iv. 4. On | m1. i. 13; and see notes on Eth. Nic.
Heraclitus cf. Eth. Nic. τὰ. iii. 10 with | Zl.ce. infra.
Eth, Eud. τι. vii. 9. On Socrates ef.
THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS. 25
Books I. and II. correspond with Hih. Nic. I.—III.v. ἃ
Book III. corresponds with Eth. Nic. 111. vi—IV. |
Books IV. V. VI. are word for word identical with Eth.
Nic. V. VI. VII. (a circumstance to be considered hereafter).
Book VII. contains in a compressed form Hth. Nic. VILL. )
and IX. ᾿
Book VIII. is a mere fragment, of which both the be- ;
ginning and the end are apparently lost. It contains entirely ἡ
new matter, namely some difficult questions (ἀπορίαι) on the
possibility of misusing virtue, and as to the nature of good
fortune ; and a discussion upon the highest state of human
internal and external well-being.
Books I.-VII. of the Hudemian treatise generally co-
inciding with Books I.-[X. of the Nicomachean (or as we may
say, the Aristotelian) treatise, and only the last fragmentary
Ludemian book showing a decided divergence from its proto-
type,—it remains to be seen (leaving aside for the moment the
three books common to both) what internal variations and
differences between the two treatises can be pointed out. In
the first place, then, the point of view is different ; the Eude-
mian writer is not so much an investigator and discoverer},
proceeding analytically, as an expositor, synthetically stating/
conclusions previously arrived at. His subject is Happiness,
and he discusses this by means of materials collected from
Aristotle’s Hthics, but in so doing he deserts the Aristotelian,
or scientific point of view; he does not regard ‘ Happiness ’\
as a mere word to be explained by arriving at a conception of
the τελειότατον τέλος or ultimate final cause of human life,—
_ by which alone life can be explained, just as every other
existence must be explained by its final cause. Nor does he\,
remain true to the Aristotelian conception of ἐνέργεια, by
which Happiness or the chief good is to bé explained as the/
26 ESSAY I.
(development into actuality of what is potential in man. He
indeed uses these formule (Hth. Bud. 1. viii. 17-19, um. i.
2-9), borrowing them from Aristotle, but the conceptions do
not influence his work _ throughout, as they do that of Ari-
z stotle. "Hence he is not led, like Aristotle, to identify theo-
‘.retic thought with the highest good for man.
In the second place, the Eudemian writer having separated
4. this subject from the metaphysical and logical grounds on
ih it had been based by Aristotle, separates it also from
that wider view under which it had been placed, as belonging
to politics, or the science which treats of man not as isolated,
but as by nature the member of a community. Thus, in
borrowing from Aristotle the saying that the chief good ‘ falls
under politics’ he modifies this (Hth. Hud. 1. viil. 17) by
adding ‘ and economics and practical thought,’ calling these
‘states of mind, and thus showing that he had a quite
different conception from that entertained by Aristotle—of
politics as the master-science for things practical. In fact,
‘with this writer πολυτικὴ appears rather as the art of govern-
‘ment, than as a science in the proper sense of the term.
With all the borrowed plumes of philosophy which he so
often displays, this writer evidently treats of Happiness,
‘not in a strictly philosophical or scientific, but in an em-
\pirical, spirit. He ἀρ ce in fact we a ~SteP. οἵ a
mately, as paren say s, to mere moral essay-making devoid of
all philosophy. This writer has indeed taken merely the first
step, he is himself far from being devoid of philosophy, only
he is not able to keep up to the level of Aristotle. He is a
very keen and | penetrating man, and the ‘author, as we shall
see, of many curious investigations, so that he carries many
matters in ethical inquiry farther than they had been carried
by Aristotle; yet still he represents the commencement of
THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS. 27
decline. The next thing to be remarked about him, which
is all in accordance with the preceding, is, that while less
philosophical, he is more moral and more religious in tone\
than Aristotle. An instance of the manifestation of that‘
tone may be found Hth. Hud. τ. v. 10, where in discussing
(after Aristotle) the different lives that men lead, he says
‘the political man, truly so called, aims at noble actions
for their own sake.’ This. moral connotation given to the
term πολιτικὸς does not seem to be based on anything Ari-
stotelian. But the most striking feature of the Hudemian\
system occurs*in Hth. Hud. τι. v. I as compared with the !
conclusion of the fragmentary Book VIII. The writer appears)
dissatisfied with the vagueness of Aristotle’s formula for the}
mean ‘according to the right law and as the thoughtful)
man would define.’ He says, ‘this is not explicit enough,’
7
And he announces this in the last sentences which have been’
‘we require something definitory (ὅρον) to which to look.
preserved of his work, ‘Whatever choice and possession of |
the natural goods, whether bodily goods, or riches, or friends, '
or whatever else, best promotes the contemplation of God, '
this is best; and by no nobler standard can goods be judged. :
But if any choice or possession, either through deficiency or:
excess, hinders us from serving and contemplating God, it 15.
bad. The same rule holds for the soul, and this is the best!
standard for the soul, that she should as little as possible be!
cognisant of her animal half, in its animality. So far then\
for the standard of perfection, and the object of this world’s }
goods.’ This elevated passage, which brings religion into con-
tact with human life, and identifies it with morality, enters
upon a subject not discussed by Aristotle.
The words ‘serving God’ (θεραπεύειν τὸν θεὸν) imply ay
different conception of the Deity from what we are accus- }
tomed to find in Aristotle, and the connection here made.
28 : ESSAY 1.
‘between moral virtue and theological contemplation is op-
' posed to the broad distinction set up by Aristotle between
\ speculation and practical life, and is more like Platonism.
'The writer elsewhere entertains the conception of the per-
ΓΞ of God more unreservedly than Aristotle. See Hth.
Eud. vu. x. 23, where it is said that ‘God is content if he
receives sacrifices according to our means.’
It may have been one object in re-writing the Ethics of
' Aristotle—to bring them rather more into harmony with
‘popular religious views; but another object certainly was
ἱ that the writer might graft on to them additions and im-
ee of his own. In aver points these additions
theory of Aristotle. The most: conspicuous inseried of this
kind is to be found in all that relates to the moral will,
which is evidently a favourite subject with the Budemian
writer, and the questions relating to which he had worked
out further than the point arrived at in at all events the
earlier books of the Nicomachean Ethics. 'This writer's forte
is psychological observation, which is quite in accordance
pends ὡς ee
\with the known tendencies of the Peripatetic School. The
‘study of the phenomena of incontinence, or the wavering of
‘the will, has great attractions for him. Even leaving in
abeyance the question of the authorship of what stands as
ith. Nic. Book VII., we find the subject of incontinence
constantly brought in throughout the Hudemian Ethics in
connection with other matters, from which it is kept separate
by Aristotle. In Lth. Hud. τι. xi. 1-6 we find characteristic
remarks on the distinction to be made between virtue and
continence, and, on the province of the former to give or
preserve a conception of the end to be aimed at in action, of
the latter, to give or preserve a conception of the means
towards that end. In III. i. there is an excellent re-
-σσ ζεε <> es eee. πὰ * —- ~~. Se “ae
err | Saka a το τ Rae ee wie, te ee
2 : Ἶ
THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS. 29
statement of the doctrine of Courage, with some interesting
after thoughts, e.g. ‘If the brave man does not feel the dan-}
ger there is nothing very grand in his enduring it.’ m1. ii!
improves the discussion on Temperance (1) by indicating |
two separate meanings of the word ἀκόλαστος,“ uncorrected ’ |
and ‘incorrigible ;’ (2) by connecting the subject with the/
discussion which appears in Eth. Nic. vm., and thus not'
leaving the ἀκόλαστος of the table of the virtues quite cut |
off from the ἀκόλαστος of the moral will ; (3) by the remark’
that among the pleasures not leading to intemperance may j
be reckoned Platonic love (τὴν διὰ τῆς ὄψεως ἡδονὴν τῶν
καλῶν ἄνευ ἐπιθυμίας ἀφροδισίων). 1. ν. describes Great-,
souledness (μεγαλοψυχία) as a correct judgment about the
great and small in all matters, whether of danger, or expense,
or what not, so that it implies all the virtues. This is to the
effect that independence of character includes all kinds of
goodness—a view similar to that contained in Emerson’ 5)
essay on Self-reliance. Besides Great-souledness and its twos
extremes a fourth character is here added,—that of the plain !
man, who, not having much merit, neither underrates nor
overrates the merit which he has. vil. v. 5 introduces a re-)
finement on Aristotle's doctrine of Friendship. Here it is
said that in friendship the opposite qualities to one’s own are
sometimes loved for the sake of the mean. In which case/
men love the opposite per accidens, the mean essentially/
Book VIII. gives some interesting remarks on Good-luck},
which it divides into two kinds: In the one case the man is |
unconsciously inspired by God, and thus acts on a right in- |
tuition; in the other case he blunders into success and suc- :
ceeds against reason. Finally, however, chance is eliminated, |
and all choice of the right in us is attributed to God. How;,
it is asked, can we begin to think or resolve? thought or
‘
{
resolution cannot furnish the beginning to. itself,—this must,’
80. ESSAY I.
{ come from God. The whole of ue last poek is vey dee ihe
quality of καλοκἀγαθία, or human eee one as the sum of
‘internal and external well-being, all tending to the service
\and contemplation of God.
These are some specimens of the sort of variations from
and additions to the Hthics of Aristotle, which were intro-
duced by the Hudemian writer. With regard to his style and
; manner, we notice in the first place a very close approxima-
\tion to the writing of Aristotle. And this is easily explain-
able ; a strongly mannered_style like that οἵ Aristotle, in
which there was no attempt at elegance of form, and which
was full of his own peculiar terminology, was certain to take
hold of the minds of his school, and was much more likely to
be exactly ‘reproduced by them than a style of lucid beauty,
like that of Plato, would have been. For the sake of illus-
tration, if we imagine a set of thinkers and writers to have
been trained to think and express themselves after the man-
ner of Mr. Carlyle, it is very easy to believe that the writings
of such a school would only have been distinguishable from
those of their master by a difference in the intrinsic force and
value of the thoughts expressed by them. And so it was
with the Peripatetic School. The Hudemian writer is more
distinguishable from Aristotle by the contents and character
of his thoughts, than by his mode of expressing them. He
_ shows indeed a proclivity to indulge in abundance of literary
quotations, and he quotes more fully and explicitly than
: Aristotle ; and he is remarkable, throughout his work, for the
\constant introduction of logical formule. The term ὅρος to
denote definition, differentia, or standard of reference is a
peculiar favourite with him. The terms δῆλον διὰ τῆς
ἐπαγωγῆς to denote an appeal to observation, ‘and the | phrase
ἀληθὲς μὲν οὐθὲν δὲ σαφὲς (‘this may be true, but it is not
ἐξ. οὐ
THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS. 31
explicit’) are of frequent recurrence. But these are small
marks. The writing is certainly less clear than that of‘
Aristotle; in many places the compression is excessive and }
goes beyond the compression of Aristotle. And looking at
each book, or section of the subject, as a whole, we miss any-
thing like clear plan and lucid arrangement. Aristotle was
remarkable for the separate treatment he gave to each parti-
cular_topic, working out each head, such as Virtue, the
Voluntary, Friendship, Pleasure, and Happiness, by itself,
almost without reference to the rest. But his follower’
very naturally brings together results that Aristotle had /
left separate. This would have been a considerable merit
had the writer possessed the power of creating a clear im-
pression. But this he had not, and therefore we cannot
wonder that this second-hand and touched-up system of
Aristotelian ethics should never have shown any tendency to
supersede the original work.
We have hitherto seen the sort of grounds which there are
for believing that the Hudemian Ethics were at all events
not written by Aristotle himself, who, indeed, with all that
he had upon his hands, was very unlikely to have rewritten
his own treatise in this way. We shall now see that there is
a certain amount of external authority, as well as of general
probability, in favour of the hypothesis that this work was,
as its name would imply, actually written by Eudemus of
Rhodes, the chief disciple of Aristotle after Theophrastus.
Of the particulars of the life of Eudemus little is known, but
Simplicius" has preserved an important notice of him in the
shape of a passage from the work of Andronicus Rhodius
(the great editor) on Aristotle and his writings, which con-
tains a fragment of a letter from Theophrastus to Eudemus,
- see ...-
" Brandis, Scholiain Aristot., p. 404, Ὁ. 9.
ἐ-
92 ESSAY I.
‘in answer to a request for an accurate copy of a MS. of the
. 5th Book of Aristotle’s Physics. This MS. was probably re-
;quired by Eudemus in course of writing his own book on the
‘same subject. Asclepius’ records that Aristotle himself
had committed his Metaphysics in an incomplete state to
Eudemus, who was dissatisfied with the form of the work, by
which its publication was delayed, and it was ultimately
completed out of the other works of Aristotle by his sur-
vivors. Ammonius’® says that ‘the disciples of Aristotle,
Eudemus and Phanias and Theophrastus, in rivalry with
their master, wrote Categories, and On Interpretation, and
Analytics. Simplicius on the Physics says that ‘Hudemus,
almost paraphrasing the words of Aristotle, lays it down, &c.’
Of the writings of Hudemus the following are mentioned by
ancient Greek authorities: On the Angle, A History of
Geometry, A History of Arithmetic, A History of Astrology,
Analytics, On Diction, On Physics, and perhaps a work On
‘Natural History.’ We have abundant traces, then, of
‘Eudemus working both as an editor of Aristotle and as a
quasi-original author, partly paraphrasing Aristotle, and
\partly writing in contravention of Aristotle’s views. As to
‘the authorship of the Hudemian Hthics the testimony of the
‘ancients is divided. Some authorities, perhaps misled by
this work having been placed by Andronicus in his edition
of Aristotle, speak of it simply as ‘ Aristotle’s.’ Thus Atticus
Platonicus '° (who lived in the 2nd century), adversus Aristot.
12 Brandis, Scholia in Aristot., p. | are given by Fritsche in his edition
519, b. 39. | of Eth. Eud. (Ratisbon, 1851), Prol.
13 Tb. p. 28, note. p. Xv.
“Tb, p. 431, a On the other "ὅδ Simplicius (on the Categories,
hand, Simplicius, on the Postericr fol. 43, b.) in just the same way
Analytics, often quotes Eudemus as _ refers to what ‘ Aristotle says in the
differing from Aristotle. Eudemian Ethics,’
1° The authorities for these works
EUDEMUS OF RHODES. 88
apud Eusebium Prepar. Evang. xv. 4, says, ‘The treatises
of Aristotle on these subjects—the EFudemians and Nicoma-~
cheans, and those entitled the Great Ethics—all contain a
petty, a see, and a vulgar conception of. ener ἶ eo
of Asi as ‘those addressed to Eudemus his disciple, those
addressed to Nicomachus his father (the Great Nicoma-
cheans), and those addressed to Nicomachus his son (the
Tittle Nicomacheans). This view, that ᾿Ηθικὰ Εὐδήμεια
(or Εὐδήμια) meant ethics addressed. to Eudemus, has been’
sometimes followed in later times; thus Casirius, in his’
Bibliotheca Arab. Hist. τ. p. 306, mentions ‘ ethicorum
quzestiones minores Eudemo inscripte;’ and Samuel Petit
thought that this Eudemus was probably not the disciple
of Aristotle, but one of the Archons of Athens. Porphyry’s
explanation of the name ‘Great Ethics’ as ‘the Ethics
addressed to Nicomachus the greater,’ that is, to the father
of Aristotle, as opposed to the ethics inscribed to Nicoma-
chus the son, was probably a mere conjecture, based on the
assumption that ‘ Hudemian’ and ‘ Nicomachean’ meant ‘ to
Eudemus’ and ‘to Nicomachus.’ There is, however, no good
instance to justify this interpretation of such adjectives.
‘
M
}
/
And it need hardly be said that there is nothing in the books‘
themselves which at all bears out the idea of their having’
been so addressed or inscribed. Such dedication was alien
from the mode of writing which we find in Aristotle. And
he would hardly have inscribed to his son a book upon a
subject of which he says (Hth. Nic. 1. iii. 5) that a young man
is not a fit student.
On the other hand, Aspasius (On Eth. Nic. fol. 141, a.)
speaks of Eudemus ; as an original writer on ethics. He says,
‘ Both “Eudemus and Theophrastus tell us that unequal, as
well as equal, friendships are contracted for the sake of
VOL. I. D
34 ESSAY I.
either pleasure, utility, or virtue.’ The reference, so far as
Eudemus is concerned, is, to Hth. Hud. vu. x. 9. And a
/notable Scholium discovered by Brandis in the Vatican (see
infra, note on Hth. vu. 111. 2) conjecturally attributes the
‘discussion on Pleasure which follows that on Incontinence to
\Eudemus, as differing essentially from the doctrine of Ari-
stotle. These are, it must be confessed, meagre testimonies
in favour of assigning to Kudemus the Hthics which bear his
‘name. But, after all, there is no one else to whom they
can with any probability be assigned. 'To have any external
authority whatever in favour of an hypothesis so strongly
supported, as this is, by internal evidence, is a great matter,
since it is clear that the world in general, during the first
centuries of our era, accepted whatever they found in the
edition of Andronicus as being the work of Aristotle.
We will now glance at the treatise entitled ᾿Ηθικὰ
/Méyarta—Magna Moralia, or Great Ethics. The exordium
of this work does not give a high expectation of what is to
\follow ; the writer says: ‘Since we purpose to speak on
ethics (ὑπὲρ ἠθικῶν), we must first consider of what the
moral character (70s) is a part. In a word, then, it seems
to be a part of naught else but politics. For it is not pos-
sible to act in political matters without exhibiting some
‘moral quality, as, for instance, goodness. Now goodness
consists in possessing the different virtues. And one ought,
if one is to act in political matters, to be good in character.
Therefore the scientific consideration of human character (ἡ
περὶ τὰ ἤθη πραγματεία) would seem to be a part, and in
fact the beginning, of politics.’ This passage exhibits what
may be called the etymological fallacy, for the writer, taking
up the sang a of the word ἠθικά, goes on to ee it,
‘ the scientific consideration of. character, were ea ἜΡΟΝ
ethics.'?_ Passing this over, we see that the intention is,
though feebly executed, to reproduce the Aristotelian. ‘idea
of the hierarchy of the practical sciences, which Hudemus\
had endeavoured to modify by giving to ethics a more inde-}
pendent position. But the statement here is both aliatlone
and confused ; no real reason is adduced to prove that ethics
is a subordinate branch of politics; and we do not find any
further carrying out of this idea in subsequent parts of the
work.
This writer frequently employs formule which would
imply a claim to independence of thinking, such as δοκεῖ δέ
μοι, &c. At other times he speaks as if representing the
Peripatetic School, as, for instance, I. xxxv. 26, ἀλλὰ βέλτιον
ὡς ἡμεῖς ἀφορίζομεν. But on examination his work presents
uniformly the appearance of a résumé of foregone conclu-\,
sions drawn from both the Nicomachean and the Hudemian /
Ethics. The writer, however, appears to have had not only
these two treatises before him, but also some | of the ethical
writings of Theophrastus.'* At least it seems reasonable to’
suppose that there was some such source for the not unfre-
quent novelties which occur ever and anon throughout the ;
work, and which we shall now specify, together with a fon
other points which strike one as characteristic in reading
through the Great Ethics. In 1. i. 4-11 we find a jejune\
ὦ : ᾽ ἂν ἢ
summary of the previous history of moral science; in*
ι
‘
᾿
ι
ΐ
!
4
‘
I. i. 10, ii. 7-11, an expanded statement of the import of |
the word τἀγαθόν, which in its arid logical clearness forms a |
1” His argument seems also to con- | if, as seems probable, they survived
found political matters (τὰ πολιτικά) | to the time of Andronicus, were not
with the science of politics (πολιτική). | included by him in his edition of the
185 Referred to by Aspasius, see | Aristotelian works, we have no means
above p. 32, and also by Cicero, De | of knowing.
Finibus, v. 5. Why these writings,
=
86 ESSAY I.
(sort of scholium upon Aristotle. In 1. iv. 9-11 a restricted
ΐ moral meaning is put upon the term ἐνέργεια, as if implying
\ self-determination and will (ὁρμή). It is said, that a fire
will burn if supplied with fuel, but has no power of taking
fuel for itself; therefore it has no ἐνέργεια, and the same is
the case with the nutritive part of the soul. From the
τ same restrictive point of view it is said, I. v. 3, that no one
is praised for being wise or philosophic, in short, that the
\intellectual qualities are not virtues (which is in direct
‘opposition to Hth. Nie. 1. xili. 20). I. ix. 8—xi. 5 asserts
‘free will against the doctrine of Socrates, and argues that
: though you cannot will to be best, you can always will to be
better than you otherwise would have been. I. xxi. 12,
following Eudemus, lays it down that a man is not cou-
\rageous unless he fears while enduring. I. xxxv. 26 gives a
formula slightly different from that found in the two former
(treatises, ἀλλὰ βέλτιον ws ἡμεῖς ἀφορίζομεν, TO μετὰ λόγου
I εἶναι τὴν ὁρμὴν πρὸς TO καλόν. This shows that the Peri-
| patetic School had by this time adopted the word ὁρμὴ
\ denoting ‘impulse,’ ‘inclination,’ ‘act of the will,’ and we
find this word in constant and characteristic use throughout
the Great Ethics. τὰ. 111. 3-20 moots some new difficulties
\(amropiac) on the nature of Justice and Virtue, namely: Does
[ the just man award his due to every one in society (τῇ
‘évrev€er) ? This is rather the part of the flatterer. If the
‘unjust man injures others knowingly, he must know the
ι good, and therefore must be thoughtful (φρόνιμος), which he
15 not. Can we be unjust towards a bad man, in depriving
“him of rule and authority, since he is not fit to possess
\ them ? If we cannot be just and brave at the same time,
| which should we select? Answer, φρόνησις will tell you,
, arbitrating between the φυσικαὶ ὁρμαί. Can we have too
\ much virtue? Answer, virtue is μεσότης, we cannot have
THE ‘GREAT ETHICS.’ 87
too much moderation. The account of pleasure in 1. vii.)
is taken from the treatise in Book VII. of Eth. Nic. but |
improved from the treatise in Book X. Some of the argu-\
ments on pleasure are verbal, e.g. worms and beetles are,’
φαῦλα (lower creatures); pleasure is a return to one’s
nature ; therefore their pleasure must be a return to φαύλη
φύσις and therefore bad. The argument here turns on the
word φαῦλος, used equivocally. To say.that pleasure is a
return or restoration (κατάστασις) was Aristotle’s earlier and
less scientific view. I. vil. 21 contains a novel illustration :\
Those who do not know nectar think wine the sweetest of !
all things; so also those who have only known sensual plea-/
sure. Il. vii. 23 says that it is jealousy to wish to keep a\
thing all to oneself, therefore we must not argue against!
pleasure on account of its being shared by all. The account
of good-luck in π΄ viii. is taken from Endemus, but is less’
theological than his view. The author here distinguishes
objective from subjective good-luck; making the first an
unexpected turn in external things, the latter a blind ὁρμὴ
within the soul to take the course which will turn out best.
Arguing against what Eudemus had said, he excludes the
idea of Providential interference from good-luck as being
beneath the notice of the Deity. In m. ix. he borrows thes
summing up of the virtues in καλοκἀγαθία from Eudemus,
adding the definition that the καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς is he to,
whom the goods of the world (τὰ ἁπλῶς ἀγαθά) are really’
-- .-
goods and whom they do not corrupt. In Π. xv. 3-5 he\
takes (against Eudemus) a positive view of theology, dis-
missing as beyond solution the question whether God con-/’
templates Himself.
In all this and in the Great Ethics generally we see,
with some exceptions, a nearer affinity to the point of view of
y
88 ESSAY I.
‘in the order and manner of treating the different subjects,
' the writer follows the lead of Eudemus, from whom he draws
"most of his conclusions, appearing to use Aristotle rather
as an authority of appeal and a source from which to correct
Eudemus. At the beginning of Book I. indeed he seems
about to follow Aristotle, but afterwards he changes and
adheres closely to Eudemus. He certainly exercises his own
judgment throughout in selecting between these two, and also
in drawing from that other third source which it appears
probable that he had before him. He is, as we have seen,
‘less religious than Eudemus, but, like Eudemus, he is more
\ practically moral and less philosophical than Aristotle. A
striking instance of this is in I. 1. 4-8, where he wishes to
confine the term ἐνέργεια to functions implying moral con-
‘sciousness and an act of the will. He uses new psychological
‘terms to express the phenomena of volition, and asserts free
will more dogmatically than Eudemus had done. These
characteristics reflect the position of the Peripatetic School
at the time when the work was written. The evidences of
decline in philosophy are manifold, but in this respect it must
be remembered that the Peripatetic School of this period
shared in a general change which was passing over the mind
‘of Greece (see infra, Essay VL). The transition to the
! modern point of view, in which the moral ego was to be
\made the central consideration, was now taking place. Zeno
arrived at Athens not long after the death of Aristotle, and it
is not impossible that by the time when the Great Ethics were
written, even the Peripatetics had to some extent felt the
influence of his spirit. In fact, Spengel points out that in
| the Great Ethics, 0. xi. 7, we find a distinction which was
unknown to Aristotle and first introduced by the Stoics,
\ namely, that between φιλητὸν and φιλητέον, βουλητὸν and
ἡ δ᾽ ee νον κε χὰ ΑἸ ΝΥ λυ νὰ ὩΜ .
. Ἢ ἧς eee P
; THE ‘ GREAT ETHICS.’ 39
βουλητέον, &c." This leads to the consideration of the time’,
when the work was written, but for even an “approximate |
answer to this question there are no data. ‘The general
structure and manner of the whole shows that the work is a
compendium later than the time of _Aristotle, to which small
points of usage, such as ὑπὲρ ἠθικῶν instead of περὶ ἠθικά,
and manner as the treatise On the Universe, which was
probably a comparatively late composition. One final remark
were written more than thirty-five years after the death of |
Aristotle, that is, after the carrying off of the library of Theo-
phrastus to Asia Minor, copies both of the Nicomachean and ‘
the Hudemian treatise must have been still available to the /
Peripatetics, else this dry compilation, based on the two,
could never have been written.”
Besides the three treatises on Ethics, we find also among
the ‘ Works of Aristotle’ a little tract On Virtues and Vices.
Whether this was included by Andronicus in his edition, and
-- “- .. Oe ee »- --’-..--.-..ἰ.. Ὡ Ψ-ςο ee se τ ὡς ee
19 Cf, Stobeeus, Eclog. Eth. τι. 7, 20 It used to be fancied that in one
Ῥ. 140. διαφέρειν δὲ λέγουσι (i.e. the | place (1. v. 4) the Great Ethics quoted
Stoics) τὸ αἱρετὸν καὶ τὸ aiperéov— | the Nicomacheans. Ὅτι δὲ ἡ ἔνδεια
αἱρετὸν μὲν γὰρ εἶναι ἀγαθὸν τὸ πᾶν, | Kat ἣ ὑπερβολὴ φθείρει, τοῦτ᾽ ἰδεῖν
αἱρετέον δὲ ὠφέλιμον wav—édpolws δὲ ἐστιν ἐκ τῶν ἠθικῶν. Spengel, how-
καὶ τὰ μὲν ἀγαθὰ πάντα ἐστὶν ὑπομενετὰ | ever, acutely conjectures that the true
καὶ ἐμμενετὰ--τὰ δὲ ὠφέλιμα πάντα | reading must be ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων,
ὑπομενετέα καὶ ἐμμενετέα. The above | which is confirmed by Stobeus, who
is given on the authority of Spengel, | says, with regard to the Peripatetic
but it_does not seem certain that | ethics, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἔνδειξιν τούτων τοῖς
‘Aristotle may not have been aware of | ek τῶν αἰσθήσεων μαρτυρίοις χρῶνται.
\this unimportant distinction. See | This writer then in the above passage
Eth. ut. i. 10. viv δὲ καὶ ἀντὶ τῶνδε | isonly paraphrasing, not quoting, Eth,
aiperd,... ποῖα δ᾽ ἀντὶ ποίων αἱρετέον, | Nic. τι. ii. 6.
οὐ ῥάδιον ἀποδοῦναι.
40 ESSAY I.
‘if so, why ? we cannot tell. It is a pleasing but decidedly
\un-Aristotelian production. In it the names of the chief
‘virtues and vices are borrowed from Aristotle’s list (Eth. Nic.
‘
‘11. vii.), but they are not explained as mean states and
excesses ; there is nothing said about their formation; they
‘ are regarded externally, and their chief marks are noted in
: an inductive or observant spirit. The whole tract is in its
aims and manner a good deal similar to the Characters of
Theophrastus, and shows the same tendency of the Peripatetic
School to desert philosophy for physiognomical observation.
« Plato’s division of the soul into reason, spirit, and desire
being accepted, it is here said that Thought (φρόνησι5) is the
| virtue of the first; Mildness and Courage of the second ;
‘Temperance and Continence of the third. Other virtues are
‘then enumerated without reference to this classification. It
jis said that of various kinds of Justice the first is towards
| the gods, the next towards demons, the next towards father-
\land and parents, the next towards the dead. The Liberal
' man is described as clean in his garments and his house,
. given to collect curiosities and to keep animals which have
5 something peculiar or remarkable about them. Small-souled-
| ness (μικροψυχία) is well characterised as easily elated,
ι as well as easily depressed; as petty, complaining, despon-
dent, and abject. Virtue in general is said to create a good
! disposition of the soul, which feels quiet and orderly emotions,
_ is in harmony with itself, and is the type of a well-ordered
\State. Such are the most noticeable features of this little
essay, which gives a specimen of the aftermath of Aristotelian
ethics, not necessarily later than the time of Theophrastus.
From these inferior Peripatetic works we may now turn
back to examine the structure of that great treatise, which
is our immediate concern, and which comes to us entitled
Nicomachean Ethics, or Ethics of Nicomachus. ΟΥ̓ Nicomachus
NICOMACHUS. 41
xv. 2) quotes the following notice from Aristocles*' the
Peripatetic: ‘After the death of Pythias, the daughter of
Hermeias, Aristotle married Herpyllis of Stageira, by whom
This son is said, when
left an orphan, to have been brought up by Theophrastus, and
while still a youth to have died in war.’ The tradition, how-
ever, of the early death of Nicomachus, ‘in war,’ is not
was born to him a son—Nicomachus.
consistent with the notice of him by Suidas (sub voce),
which speaks of him as a philosopher, the scholar of Theo-
phrastus, and the author of six books of Ethics, and of
a commentary on his father’s physical philosophy. These
‘six books of Ethics’ may in all probability be a confused
reference to our Nicomachean treatise. In Diogenes Laertius
also the title of this work seems to have caused a confusion
with regard to the authorship. See Diog. Laert. vm. viii. 2.
‘Nicomachus, the son of Aristotle, says that he (Eudoxus)
considered Pleasure to be the chief good,’ where the reference
Cicero (De
Finibus, v. 5) says, ‘ Let us hold fast to Aristotle and his son
Nicomachus, whose scientific treatise on morals is said indeed
to have been the work of Aristotle, but I do not see why the
son should not have been a match for the father.?? This
passage is very valuable, not for the opinion of Cicero, which
is to the mention of Eudoxus, Hth. Nic. x. ii. 1.
1 This Aristocles is reputed to
have been the teacher of Alexander
Aphrodisias, in which case he lived
at the beginning of the third cen-
tury a.p. Among other works he
appears to have written a History of
curate scripti de moribus libri dicuntur
illi quidem esse Aristotelis; sed non
video cur non potuerit patri similis
esse filius.’ This judgment of Cicero’s
is not based on critical examination,
for he here is referring to the Nico-
Philosophy. But his authority for
facts about Aristotle and his son must
be considered very slight.
# «Quare teneamus Aristotelem et
ejus fillum Nicomachum; cujus ac-
machean Ethics for a doctrine not to
be found in them, so that it is pro-
bable he only knew the character of
the work by hearsay.
ἜΝ, hh ae ee a es
42 ESSAY I.
is worthless, but for the evidence which it affords that during
or just after the process of recension by Andronicus, Cicero
had heard the Ethics ‘ of Nicomachus’ talked of by name, and
also attributed to Aristotle. This one fact seems sufficient to
dispel the notion which was apparently started at a far later
and less well-informed period (see above, page 33) that the
Nicomachean Ethics were ‘ addressed to Nicomachus.’ In this
‘matter we may safely go back to the belief entertained in the
ι age, and we may even say in the circle, of Tyrannion and
, Andronicus, that the title of the work indicated that it was
‘written by Nicomachus, but that it was really by Aristotle.
We may safely adopt this belief of a particular period of
antiquity, because it is so thoroughly borne out by internal
-evidence. None among all the works of Aristotle is more
‘ definitely marked with all the signs of genuineness than the
\greater part of this treatise. We have here all the qualities
{ of an original work, the merits and faults of a fresh inquiry ;
| Style, manner, the philosophy, the relation to Plato, all
‘ bespeak for this book the actual composition of Aristotle
\ himself, except in certain disputed portions. The question
then arises, why it was entitled Hthics of Nicomachus, to
-which only a conjectural answer can be offered. The simplest |
‘ explanation is that this was originally a mere name of contra-
\ distinction. The Ethics of Hudemus were probably so called
because they were actually written by Eudemus, either during
the lifetime of Aristotle, or soon after his death. The Great
Ethics may have been so entitled from the vanity of their
author,* who fancied that he had achieved a combination
which united all the merits of the other two treatises. The
genuine work of Aristotle may have been placed by Theo-
age Po See Oe CER a ae
* In the list of Diogenes we find | tics’ (ἀναλυτικῶν ὑστέρων μεγάλων
enumerated ‘Great Posterior Analy- | a’, β΄...
THE NAME ‘ NICOMACHEAN.’ 43
phrastus in the hands of Nicomachus for such amount of,
editing and arrangement as may have been required for ;
a probably not altogether finished and complete treatise ; /
and then to distinguish it from the Hudemian Ethics, perhaps \
by this time already written, the name of the son who edited '
the book may have been used to designate it, while the name
of the father, who had written it, was superseded. In short,
it may not improbably have been the exigencies of the Peri-
patetic school-library, and the necessity of distinguishing by
some external mark first two and afterwards three rolls on
the same subject, and not much differing in size, that led to
the particular naming of the three treatises. This, how-
ever, is mere conjecture. We shall now endeavour to see
what traces of an editorial hand the Nicomachean treatise.
exhibits.
Reading straight on with this object in view, we arrive
at the end of Book IV. without having our suspicions aroused
or our attention arrested by any breaks in the composition.
All might, speaking generally, be considered to have been
written consecutively by the same hand. But in the last
a, ὙΔ a ee πρὸ es -ΦΨ == = «ὦ. «ὧς. eS ee SS
and Indignation. But the latter of these is left out, and the :
discussion on the former is unfinished. What is apparently \
an ingenious editorial interpolation of two lines and a half
serves here to wind up Book IV. and to connect it with ἢ
Books V. and VII. After the statement that Modesty can/
not be considered, strictly speaking, a virtue, it is here added :
‘Neither is Continence a virtue, but a sort of mixed quality.
We shall treat of it subsequently ; at present let us speak
of Justice. And then Book V: opens with the sentence :
‘But about Justice and Injustice we must consider with
what sort of actions they are concerned, and what sort of a
44
ESSAY I.
mean state is Justice, and between what extremes the Just
is a mean,’
The three books, V., VI., VII., which follow are common
to both the Nicomachean and the Hudemian treatise, and
their authorship is a question to be discussed presently ; but
looking at the composition of the three books externally
‘there is nothing primd facie to prevent us believing that
they were written consecutively, though it is true that a piece
‘either of mal-arrangement or of unskilful editorship shows
{
‘itself in the last chapter οἵ" Book V., which appears to be
‘superfluous.
Book VII. ends with a piece of editorial joining: ‘We
have treated of Continence and Incontinence, Pleasure and
Pain ; it remains for us to speak of Friendship.’
Book VIII.
begins: ‘Next in order after the foregoing would come the
(investigation of Friendship.’ And then Books VIII. and IX.
‘are consecutively written down to the last line of the latter
ὶ book, which looks as if it had been interpolated by the
‘editor: ‘On Friendship, then, we have said our say; the
,next point to discuss will be Pleasure.’
For Book X., which
/ is consecutive and complete in itself, ignores the previous
(
\ending and commences with the words: ‘ Perhaps it follows
next to treat of Pleasure.’
Ul
‘ These collisions, or repetitions, where the last sentence
' of one book is ignored or repeated by the first sentence of
‘the succeeding book, are not only in themselves highly in-
\artistic, but they are not in the manner of Aristotle.24 In
24 No instance of this sort of thing
occurs all through the Organon, the
Physics, the treatise On the Heavens,
that On the Soul, that On the Genera-
tion of Animals, or the History of
Animals,—that is to say, all through
the more finished of Aristotle’s com-
ἱ
positions. Inthe Metaphysics, which
are known to have been left incom-
plete, there is a repetition in the be-
ginning of Book VI. of the words at
the end of Book V. In the Politics
(also unfinished) the beginning of
Book II. repeats to some extent the
TRACES OF AN EDITORIAL HAND. 45
the Hudemian Ethics the same sort of collision occurs be-\
tween Books I. and II., Books III. and IV., and Books VI. |
and VII. But in none of these cases is the awkwardness
quite so glaring as in the transition between Books VII.-
VIII., IX.—X. of the Nicomacheans. It seems, however,
allowable to conjecture that Eudemus first set the example :
of this mode of writing, according to which each book or |
section of a treatise takes, as it were, a fresh start, and
recapitulates in its opening sentence the point in the dis-!
cussion which had been arrived at. This looks very like al
reminiscence of oral lectures. Supposing a book to coincidé
in matter and in length with an oral lecture on the same
subject, it is easy to suppose the lecturer concluding his
address for the day by saying: ‘I have now given you my
views on Friendship, the next subject in our course will be
Pleasure ;’ and then the following day he would quite
naturally open his lecture with the words, ‘ The next subject
in our course is Pleasure.’ And it is comprehensible that
the disciples of Aristotle, accustomed to oral endings and
beginnings of this kind, should have inappropriately applied
them to the divisions of literary composition. Eudemus
having exhibited this practice, Nicomachus (or the unknown
editor, whoever he was) appears to have adopted it with the’,
view of giving unity to the different parts of the treatise put !
together by him, or arranged, or revised.
If these joinings at the ends respectively of Book IV.,\
Book VII., and Book IX. be considered to be editorial inter- ἢ
polations, they would appear to indicate that the Nicoma- !
end of Book I. And inthe Rhetoric, | received the last hand of Aristotle.
the third book of which seems incom- | He probably, in each case, began the
plete, the opening of that third book | latter book in forgetfulness of the end
repeats a long sentence from the end | of the former one, and never revised
of Book II. We cannot say that in | the writing as a whole.
either of these cases the writing had
40 ESSAY I.
‘chean Ethics are made up of four separate portions, written
αὖ different times from each other, and yet having all a
/ common scope and a reference to a common ground plan
previously sketched out for a system of morals in which each
‘ portion was (more or less roughly) adapted to find its place.
‘now abandoned—that the work was resolvable into small
: isolated tracts, whose names appear in the Catalogue οὗ
\Diogenes, and which had been amalgamated by an editor
into the treatise as we now possess it. Such names as the
following suggested this hypothesis: Περὶ δικαιοσύνης δ΄.
περὶ ἡδονῆς a. περὶ τἀγαθοῦ γ΄. περὶ φιλίας α΄. ἠθικῶν ε΄.
περὶ ἡδονῆς a’ (repeated). περὶ ἑκουσίου α΄. θέσεις φιλικαὶ
β΄. περὶ δικαίων β΄. Some colour was given to the notion
that these separate works, or opuscula, were the materials
out of which the Nicomachean Ethics were afterwards put
together, by the peculiar separate treatment _which Aristotle
‘gave to the Voluntary, Friendship, and Pleasure, when
dealing with these subjects in the course of his system. But
‘the impression of organic unity which the work leaves upon
the mind, dispels the idea that the parts can have been, in
\the way suggested, prior to the whole. We see that the
plan of the whole was present to the author’s mind at
starting, and was carried out to the end, and that all the
parts were worked out in subordination to this general plan.
Of the works mentioned in the Catalogue we know nothing
certain, but we have endeavoured (above, page 15) to form a
probable conception of their nature. And it seems, on the
whole, doubtful whether any of them exactly correspond with
any part of the writings which have come down to us under
the name of Aristotle.
We give up, then, the attempt to resolve the Nicomachean
Ethics into a congeries of minor works. But, at the same
δον ὅς, «ὦ .-ς ὡς Ἔ “ὦ ἃς «ὦ νὰ ee ὦ ὧς “αἰ Ὡς
lieving that the work, though conceived as a whole, was not
executed all together at one time. We have already seen /
traces of an editor putting together four separate portions: _ i
let us now examine these. The first portion (Books I-IV.) fier (ote
starts the question, What is the End-in-itself or Practical | (Cs
chief good ? gets an answer involving the term Virtue; then
——~
by the analytical process is led on to a theory of the function
and nature of Virtue; then, as its definition brings in a term
indicating deliberate action of the Will, this is analytically
followed up, and a little treatise on the Voluntary in its
various forms (probably written for the place which it
occupies) is introduced, and then the law of Virtue, as a
state of balance, is exemplified in application to all the
~
ll
separate virtues, recognised as such by the Greeks. Thus’
far we see Aristotle to have written; if he wrote further, his‘
MS. at this point was mutilated, and something was lost. /
Or, he may, from some cause, have put aside his writing at*
this point, while, in the meantime, he took up the working
out of his ethical system from another starting place. This¢
first portion (Books I-IV.) remained, at all events, analy- }
tically consecutive, and almost complete in itself—with the \
exception that in four places it postponed certain matters for / hicetlees prt
future inquiry; namely, I. v..7 defers the consideration of
the philosophic life in respect of its capacity for producing ἡ Ἷ
happiness; I. vii. 7 promises a renewed discussion on the \
question within what limits a man’s independent happiness τὰ
is affected by social relationships ; I. vil. 16 indicates that a,
separate disquisition is to be expected on Justice, divided / μ
into two species; I. ii. 2 promises an- account of the Right
Law as given by the Intellect (ὀρθὸς λόγος) and its πεψος. :
to the different virtues. é
The unfinished last few lines of Book IV. are eked out by’
48 ESSAY 1.
Indent ,an editorial allusion, and then follow Books V., VI., and
᾿ | VIL., of which we may say at once that they were either
' written at a later period, and in a different vein, by Aristotle ;
‘or else they were the work of Eudemus, in whose Ethics,
‘ verbatim, they reappear.
Leaving this question, for the moment, in abeyance, we
a τ to the as ponuicn a the τ δ το ee
-.- « —- Ye oe "ταν
aie cia as is to say, that “Book X., commencing
with the treatise on ΠΕ θπητος was not a consecutive Pee of
‘finishes Book IX., and which makes the eae of Book
LX. read so voce (see above, p. 44). But this by itself
would not be sufficient to establish such an hypothesis, for
the editor might have introduced this, out of mere false taste,
into a perfectly consecutive writing of Aristotle’s, through
unwillingness to see a Book concluded 35 with a fragment of
poetical quotation, thus: ‘ Whence the saying,
“Good you will learn from the good.” ’
‘And it seems not unlikely that the same editor introduced
a similarly unnecessary tag to wind up Book VIII. (see
/vul. xiv. 4 and note). There is, however, an appearance of
; separateness about the treatise on Friendship, for in three
; places (VII. ix. I, VIII. xill. I, IX. iii. I) it uses the phrase
"ἐν ἀρχῆς ‘at the outset,’ in reference to the earlier chapters
of Book VIII., which shows that Aristotle in these passages
; only carried back his mind to the beginning of the present
Ι
piece of writing. Again, when he commences by describing
25 That Aristotle was not averse to { τὰ δὲ ὄντα οὐ βούλεται πολιτεύεσθαι
such endings we see from the con- | κακῶς.
clusion of Book XI. of the Meta- | οὐκ ἀγαθὸν πολυκοιρανίη᾽ εἷς κοίρανος
physics, ἔστω.
THE COMPOSITION OF THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. 49
Friendship as ‘a sort of virtue, or implying virtue,’ he’,
ignores altogether that more superficial quality which he
had mentioned in his list of the virtues (Eth. Nic. τι. vii. 13) ;
under the name—Friendship. This would suggest that Ari-S
stotle had taken up the present subject at some little interval j
after writing his first ethical book, and indeed, while writings
these pages, seems to have had his mind very much concen- |
trated upon an effort to solve the problems which occur in)
the Lysis of Plato, and to the solutions of which he brought
his own analytic method and philosophical forms. At the
same time, while hates: this ies to some extent in a
οὐδενὶ The very first words of Book vit. show this, for
he says, ‘ After this, it would follow to treat of Friendship,
for it is a sort of virtue, or implies virtue.’ And besides
general expressions of the author’s purpose to confine himself
to an ethical point of view (see VII. i. 7, IX. ii. 2), we find
two direct references to the earlier books of the Hthics (com-
pare Ix. ix. § with Hth. Nic. 1. viii. 13, and Ix. iv. 2 with m.
iv. 5).
A reference forward to Book X., which occurs in Ix. ix. 85. :
cannot be with absolute certainty pronounced to be an inter- |
polation. And there is a reference back from x. ix. I to j
these books. Book IX. is written in Aristotle’s best manner‘
and in the same tone as Book X. So, on the whole, it seems)
likely that the awkward joining between Books IX. and x)
does not indicate a break in the MS., but is merely the
_ result of editorial officiousness in dealing with a continuous/
_ piece.
If so, the Nicomachean Ethics are resolved not_into four,
but into | three ‘portions— namely,’ the earlier books, the dis-
puted middle books, and the three concluding books taken as
a whole. Book X. rounds off the treatise ; it answers in the
VOL. 1. E
ai baa en
(x)
ee
I,
re
Ce,
h.
50 _ ESSAY I.
sufficiently treated in outline of Happiness, the Virtues,
Friendship, and Pleasure, his design might be considered
to have been completed,’ but that for the realisation of all
which he has indicated social institutions, both private and
public, will be required; and he thus ends his Hthics with a
transition to the Politics.
That Aristotle, in summing up what he thought might
be considered a complete ethical system, should have specified
the leading topics of Books I.-IV. and VIII.—X. of his
treatise, and should have omitted any mention of the subjects
dealt with in Books V.-VII., seems a strong argument to
prove that, at all events when he was writing Book X., he
had not written the disputed middle books. Another argu-
ment in the same direction is, that while the three concluding
books of the Ethics refer abundantly to Books I.-IV., they
never make a single reference to Books V.—VII., though
there was much opportunity for their doing so. For in-
stance, it seems peculiar that in all which is said about
Justice in Book VIII., there should be no allusion to the
discussions of Book V., and that contemplation (θεωρία)
should be treated of in Book X., without any recapitulation
of what was said of the nature of Philosophic Wisdom
, (σοφία) in Book VI. That the treatise on Pleasure could
have been written as it stands at the beginning of Book X.,
if Aristotle had previously written that other treatise on the
same subject for what was to form Book VII. of the same
work, is utterly impossible.
These observations are the first which strike us with
aan Ce
-- ROB FR RR Re =
~ ~ - ~ -
va
ἜΣ ES on ee -
ἦν ani ον Ἄγε τι οὐλν, δ.
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 51
the concluding paragraphs of his treatise. Yet while he\
wrote these, he cannot have considered his work, from a
literary point of view, to have been finished. For he had
given promises in the earlier part of it, which were as yet/
unfulfilled. We have seen how (th. τι. vii. 16) he had)
promised a separate discussion ‘on the two kinds of Justice, i
and in what sense each of these might be considered to be /
a mean state. Now we might conjecture what actually
occurred to have been this: Aristotle went on writing about’,
the different virtues until he came to the place where it |
would have been natural to fulfil his promise and discuss the
nature of Justice. But here the thought entered his mind
to what an extent Justice was externally determined, that is
to say, was dependent on social and political conceptions.
He perhaps felt, like Plato, that to treat of Justice was to,
treat of Society. At all events, it is easy to understand that,
he resolved to defer the special consideration of Justice, till )
he could give his mind to it in connection with the more /
purely political part of the investigations before him. For’
he does not separate ethics from politics, but calls ethics
from the outset ‘a sort of politics.’ Laying aside, then, his
discussion of the Virtues before he had completed it by a
discussion on Justice, he went on with his ethical system at
a point where he could see his way beforehand, and proceeded
to analyse Friendship, and afterwards Pleasure, and the Su-
preme Good, as identified with Contemplation. When these,
matters were worked out, he probably still deferred the
ethical investigation of Justice, and went on, after an in-
terval, to the composition of his Politics. In the meantime)
he had thrown out, in Book VIII., many thoughts and sug- |
gestions on Justice and Political Constitutions, which were /
afterwards matured in the Politics.
The Politics of Aristotle have come down tg us as quite
u2
52 ESSAY I.
(an unfinished work, and the question then arises, Did he ever
\ go back to finish his Hthics by supplying the middle part ἢ
‘We may fairly conjecture that he had not only settled in his
: own mind pretty much what this middle part should consist
of, but had also orally imparted this to his school, to whom
‘ he may even have entrusted to some extent the working out
a of his views. But the question is, Did Aristotle himself ever
fill up by his own writing the lacuna which he had left in
\his Lthics ? Some think that this point is settled at once by
(apparent references to δίῃ. Nic. v. vi. vu. to be found in
‘the Politics and Metaphysics of Aristotle. The passages
are:
(1) Pol. 1. ii. 4. Διόπερ τὸ ἴσον τὸ ἀντιπεπονθὸς cote
τὰς πόλεις, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ἠθικοῖς εἴρηται πρότερον.
(2) Pol. τιτ. ἴχ. 3. ὥστ᾽ ἐπεὶ τὸ δίκαιον τίσιν, καὶ διήρηται
τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπί τε τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ οἷς, καθάπερ
εἴρηται πρότερον ἐν τοῖς ἠθικοῖς.
(3) Pol. τι. ΧΙ]. 1. δοκεῖ δὲ πᾶσιν ἴσον τι τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι
καὶ μέχρι γέ τινος ὁμολογοῦσι τοῖς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν λόγοις,
ἐν οἷς διώρισται περὶ τῶν ἠθικῶν " τὶ γὰρ καὶ τισὶ τὸ δίκαιον
καὶ δεῖν τοῖς ἴσοις ἴσον εἶναί φασιν.
(4) Metaphys. 1.1.17. Eipnras μὲν οὖν ἐν τοῖς ἠθικοῖς τίς
διαφορὰ τέχνης καὶ ἐπιστήμης καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ὁμογενῶν"
οὗ δ᾽ ἕνεκα νῦν ποιούμεθα τὸν λόγον, τοῦτ᾽ ἐστίν. κ.τ.Δ.
At first sight these four passages might seem to furnish
powerful evidence in favour of the disputed books having
been written by Aristotle himself, but a closer examination
of them greatly diminishes the force of their testimony.
iNo. (1) is supposed to refer to Eth. Nic. v. v. 6, but it does
\not even agree with it. For while Pol. wm. ii. 4 says that
‘equal retaliation preserves the State, Mth. Nic. v. v. 6 says
that ‘ Retaliation is a bond of union provided that it be on
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 53
principles not of equality, but of proportion.’ In fact the’,
remarks on Retaliation in the Ethics have all the appearance
of being a development and improvement of those in the/
Politics. And the same impression is produced by com-\
paring No. (2) with Eth. Nic. v.iii. 4, which it is supposed to’
quote. The latter passage discusses the law of Distribution\
in States (though a purely political question) with additional ᾿
refinements beyond what we find in the Politics. But if in-
ternal evidence of this kind leads us to think that Book V.
(as it stands) of the Hthics was written later than the Politics
and was partly based on them, what becomes of these sup-
posed references in the Politics to that Book? In a question
of the kind, internal evidence resting on the character of the
thought in one treatise as compared with that in another
treatise must always prevail over evidence consisting in a few
isolated words, which might most naturally have been inter- H
polated. And against this as a canon of Aristotelian criticism
_it is of no use to point to a consensus of MSS. For it must
be remembered that the works of Aristotle not only shared
with other ancient writings all the risks of corruption from
the vagaries of successive copyists, from the Christian era till
the invention of printing,—but also had in many cases pre-
viously gone through two distinct processes of editing, first
by the disciples of Aristotle, soon after his death, and secondly
by Andronicus of Rhodes about 50 B.c. Appeal_to_ MSS.
therefore, unless we could get MSS. of the fourth century
B.C., can never, in such a question, be final. Applying these
pronounce a belief that the words ‘as has before been said in \
the Ethics’ in Nos. (1) and (2) are, in each case, the inter- j
polated addition of either an editor or a copyist. Lookings
to passage No. (3) we find that it contains no reference to any '
δ4 ESSAY I.
‘particular part of the Ethics, but only an assertion that, with
' regard to justice, peoplein general *° agree to a certain extent
: with those theories which have been formed by philosophers
\upon ethical subjects.
Passage No. (4) undoubtedly refers either to Hth. Nic.
' Book VI., or else—supposing that book to have been written
‘ by Eudemus—to some lost. book which bore the same rela-
‘tion to that book which the Nicomachean Ethics generally
\bear to the Eudemian. The passage refers to a comparison
between Wisdom, Art, and Science, as having been made ‘ in
the Ethics, but this does not necessarily identify Book VI.
as we now have it. The words might equally well apply to
‘the original section of the Ethics, now lost, of which Book
VI. was a sort of paraphrase. We are left to internal evi-
dence in deciding which of the two cases seems the more
probable. The passage itself even if written by Aristotle
would only prove that something answering to Book VI. had
been composed by him for his Hthics. But there is another
cannot forbear suggesting, even though we should be charged
with temerity for so doing. It is this: We have seen above
‘effect that Hudemus had the MS. of the Metaphysics en-
‘trusted to him, and that he was dissatisfied with the form of
‘the work, and kept it back, and finally edited it, after the
| death of Aristotle, completing parts of it by introducing
\extracts from other of Aristotle’s writings. This tradition
suggests the idea of considerable liberty of editorship ; and
ene τς, τ ie τρζαν -
if this was the case, it seems not impossible that Hudemus
76 This passage might be compared | tical goods.’ ᾿Ονόματι μὲν οὖν σχέδον
with Eth. Nic, τ. iv.2, where it is said | ὑπὸ τῶν πλείστων ὁμολογεῖται" Thy yap
that ‘refined thinkers and the many εὐδαιμονίαν καὶ of πολλοὶ καὶ of χαρίεντες
are both agreed in giving the name | λέγουσιν.
of Happiness to the highest of prac-
a=
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. ὅδ᾽
may haveintroduced the whole of this passage from Eipnrac\
μὲν οὖν down to ποιητικῶν μᾶλλον, in express reference to his :
own account of σοφία (written originally for his own Ethics, /
but afterwards incorporated also with the Ethics of Aristotle),
and with the object of reconciling the differences between‘,
that account and the description of σοφία to be given in the}
Metaphysics, and of indicating that the point of view in
=n es
the two accounts was different, since in the Metaphysics the /
term σοφία was to be taken in a restricted sense, merely as
the science of causes.” The passage contains the words,
‘the reason for our at present treating of the subject is, &c.,’
and these are naturally thought to be the words of Aristotle,
speaking in his own person. But they may, quite possibly,
have been the words of Eudemus, speaking in the person of
the Peripatetic School. The work of that school seems to
have been a good deal co-operative, and the results of it to
have been treated as common property.
(5) There is yet another passage in the Politics a xi. 3)\
which is thought by some to guarantee the Aristotelian ge-
nuineness of the most disputed part inthe Disputed Books,—
the treatise on Pleasure at the end of Hth. Nic. Book VII. Tt’
runs thus: Ei γὰρ καλῶς ἐν τοῖς ἠθικοῖς εἴρηται τὸ τὸν \
εὐδαίμονα βίον εἶναι τὸν κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν ἀνεμπόδιστον, μεσότητα !
δὲ τὴν ἀρετήν, τὸν μέσον ἀναγκαῖον βίον εἶναι βέλτιστον,
This place is triumphantly claimed as referring to Eth. Nie\
Vil. xii. 3, and VII. xiii. 2, since in no other part of the Nico-|
machean Ethics does the word ἀνεμπόδιστος occur. The
word itself indeed does not occur—yet still a further examina-
tion of the passage above quoted will show that it does not
necessarily refer to Eth. Nic. Book VII. and does not relieve \
us from the task of trying the whole case by internal evi-/
2 See note on Eth, vi. vii. 3.
56 ESSAY I.
dence. The premiss of the argument in the Politics consists
in a summary of conclusions drawn from Books I., II., and X.
,of Eth. Nic. By a comparison of the way in which Aristotle
elsewhere in the Politics uses the results arrived at in his
Ethics, we learn with what a free hand, and in what a large
manner he deals with them, often summing up in a word or
\ two, and stating in a better way, conclusions which he had
‘before laboriously attained. The same has been done here,
‘and by the word ἀνεμπόδιστος he sums up all that he had
said about Happiness being τέλειος, and all the subsidiary
| discussions about the Bios τέλειος, and the necessity for
‘favourable circumstances, because the want of these (Hth. Nic.
I. xX. 12) ἐμποδίζει πολλαῖς ἐνεργείαις. (See also Eth. Nic.
I. viii. 15.) In one word he here expresses all this, and says
that ‘the Happy Life is an unimpeded life in accordance with
‘virtue.’ He is not referring at all to Book VII., but is stating
‘with a new formula the conclusions of Book I. On the other
“hand, the writer of the Disputed Books, who is throughout
‘much influenced by the Politics of Aristotle, seizes on this
\new word, ἀνεμπόδιστος, and uses it in the places mentioned,
giving ἐνέργεια ἀνεμπόδιστος as his definition of Pleasure.
‘This seems a far more probable account of the relation
between Pol. Iv. xi. 3 and Hth. Nic. vu. xii. 3, xiti. 2 than it
would be to suppose that the former passage was written in
reference to the latter ones, which were only concerned with
Pleasure, and not with ‘the Happy Life’ at all.
It appears, then, so far as we have seen, that there is not
sufficient external evidence in the shape of undoubted refe-
rences to Books V., VL, VII. of Eth. Nic. made by Aristotle
himself in other parts of his writings, to establish their
‘genuineness. Let us endeavour to see what can be gathered
. as to this point from an examination of the books themselves.
« . re .
(They are found in both the Nicomachean and the Budemian
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS Υ. VI. VIL 57
treatise. The question is, to which treatise they originally
belonged. And the first thing that strikes us is, that if these
Disputed Books be read as Iv., v., VI. of the Hudemian Ethics,\
there is nothing in them which interferes with the continuity}
of that work; the books appear as if in their natural place,
On the other hand, if read as v., vi., vit. of the Nicomachean\
Lithies, that treatise is at once marred by many irregularities 2!
jist, by the appearance of two separate discussions on Plea-\ Ἃ
sure, quite irrespective of each other ; secondly, by a system’
of forced joinings of which the result is, that Aristotle a
made to say (vu. xiv. 9), ‘Having treated of Pleasure, we:
Ἱ
‘
‘
‘
may now treat of Friendship ;’ and a few pages later (Ix. xil.
4), ‘ Having treated of Friendship, it follows for us to treat of
Pleasure ;’ thirdly, by a strange ignoring in Books VIII.—X.\
of matters discussed in Books V. and VI., to which it would}
have seemed natural to refer.
We next proceed to note the references backwards made’,
in these three books, and an examination of these shows that
they correspond more closely with places in the earlier books
‘
!
of the Hudemian Ethics, than to similar places in the earlier,
books of the Nicomachean treatise (compare Hth. Nic. v. i. 2)
with Hth. Hud. m. v. 1-3; Hth. Nie. v. viii. 3 with Eth.
Hud, τι. viii. 10, and π. ix. 1; Hth. Nic. vi. i. 1 with Hth. Αι
Hud. τι. v. 1; Hth. Nic. vi. 1. 4 with Hth. Eud. τι. iv. 1;
Eth. Nic. vi. viii. 1 with Eth. Hud. τ. viii. 18; Eth. Nic. vt.
xii. 10 with Hth. Hud. τι. xi. 4; Eth. Nic. vit. iv. 2 and vu.
vii. 1 with Hth. Hud. m. uu. 6; Hth. Nic. vu. xi. 1 with Eth.
Eud. τ. v. 11; Eth. Nic. vu. xi. 2 with Eth. Hud. τι. iv. 2-4;
Eth. Nic. vu. xiv. 1 with Eth. Eud. τ. v. 11).
2 The words Eth. Nic. are used,
here and subsequently, merely for the
sake of convenience, to indicate those
books which now stand as v., VI., γὙ11.,
in the Nicomachean treatise, not as
giving an opinion that they originally
so stood ; for, of course, the contrary
conclusion is being pointed at,
δ8 ESSAY I.
We have seen above (page 47) that Aristotle promised
(Lith. Nic. τὰ. vii. 16) to treat ‘of the two kinds of Justice,
and in what sense each of these is a mean state,’ and (11. 11. 2)
to treat ‘of the Right Law, and its relation to the different
virtues.’ These, however, are general promises, and are only
‘to a certain extent fulfilled in Books V. and VI. Much more
‘particular promises are to be found in the Hudemian Ethics.
See Π. x. 19, where after speaking of the legal distinction
between voluntary and deliberate acts, the writer says, ἀλλὰ
περὶ μὲν τούτων ἐροῦμεν ἐν TH περὶ τῶν δικαίων ἐπισκέψει,
and this promise is exactly carried out in Hth. Nic. ν. viii. 6--
12. Again, in Hth. Hud. τι. v. 8 it is said, tis δ᾽ ὁ ὀρθὸς
λόγος. Kal πρὸς τίνα δεῖ ὅρον ἀποβλέποντας λέγειν TO
μέσον, ὕστερον ἐπισκεπτέον, Which minutely and verbally
. corresponds with Eth. Nic. vi. i. 1-3. Again, Hth. Hud. 1.
“\viii. 17, 18 gives a very precise anticipation of Hth. Nic. νι.
ill. 1-4; the words are,“ Qote τοῦτ᾽ ἂν ein αὐτὸ τὸ ἀγαθὸν
τὸ τέλος τῶν ἀνθρώπῳ πρακτῶν. Τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ ὑπὸ τὴν
Ὁ Av δ᾽ > \ iv ᾿ > x \
κυρίαν πασῶν. Αὕτη δ᾽ ἐστὶ πολιτικὴ Kal οἰκονομικὴ καὶ
φρόνησις. Διαφέρουσι γὰρ αὗται αἱ ἕξεις πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας
τῷ τοιαῦται εἶναι" πρὸς δ᾽ ἀλλήλας εἴ τι διαφέρουσιν,
ὕστερον λεκτέον. Hth. Hud. τπι. vii. 10, by the words ἐστι
yap, ὥσπερ λεχθήσεται ὕστερον, ἑκάστη πως ἀρετὴ Kal
‘about the raw material of virtue being completed by con-
junction with Thought, which is given in Hth. Nic. νι. xiii.,
ι but of which no trace appears in the earlier Nicomachean
‘books. In u. xi. 1 the Eudemian writer after starting the
question whether it is the province of Virtue to keep the
| Will straight, or the Reason straight, says that the latter
\is the province of Continence. "Eats δ᾽ ἀρετὴ καὶ ἐγκράτεια
ἕτερον. Λεκτέον δ᾽ ὕστερον περὶ αὐτῶν, ἐπεὶ ὅσοις γε
rn \ / ? \ / ς > ΄ ἴω »
δοκεῖ τὸν λόγον ὀρθὸν παρέχειν ἢ ἀρετὴ, τοῦτο αἴτιον.
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 59
He says that people confound Continence with Virtue,
and that he must show the distinction between them. The
discussion is taken up again in Eth. Nic. vu. i. 4. That*
Virtue keeps straight the Will and the conception of the End ;
to be aimed at, is a characteristic Hudemian doctrine, which |
reappears in Eth. Nic. vi. xii. 8, but this is a refinement iné
psychology not to be met with in Aristotle’s undoubted !
ethical books. There is no promise of a discussion upon \
Continence or Incontinence in Eth. Nic. 1. iv. The inter’
polated words (Iv. ix. 8) Οὐκ ἔστι δ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἡ ἐγκράτεια ἀρετή,
ἀλλά τις μικτή" δειχθήσεται δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς ἐν τοῖς ὕστερον
are apparently an editorial attempt to weld together <Ari-
stotle’s original conclusions with subsequent Peripatetic de-
velopments. On the other hand, Hth. Hud. m1. ii. 3 gives’
valuable indication of the ambiguity of the term ἀκολασία !
t
!
(which has a different meaning in the table of the Virtues ἡ
and in Eth. Nic. vu.), and then M1. ii. 15 promises a more
exact discussion on the class of pleasures with which Intem-'
perance is concerned: ᾿Ακριβέστερον δὲ περὶ τοῦ γένους TOV
ἡδονῶν ἔσται διαιρετέον ἐν τοῖς λεγομένοις ὕστερον περὶ ἐγ-
κρατείας καὶ ἀκρασίας. This is fulfilled in Eth. Nic. ντι. iv. }
Finally, there is in Eth. Hud.1. v. 11 a passage which refers us ar
forward to the treatise on Pleasure at the end of Eth. Nic. '
ὙΠ... and at the same time sketches out the intermediate
subjects to be treated of. After discussing the Three Lives
(political, philosophical, and voluptuary), the writer says,
Τούτων δ᾽ ἡ μὲν περὶ τὰ σώματα Kal τὰς ἀπολαύσεις ἡδονή,
καὶ τίς καὶ ποία Tis γίνεται καὶ διὰ τίνων, οὐκ ἄδηλον, ὥστ᾽
οὐ τίνες εἰσὶ δεῖ ζητεῖν αὐτὰς (i.e. bodily pleasures) ἀλλ᾽ εἰ
συντείνουσί τι πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν ἢ μή, καὶ πῶς συντείνουσι,
καὶ πότερον, εἰ δεῖ προσάπτειν τῷ ζῆν καλὰς ἡδονάς twas,
ταύτας δεῖ προσάπτειν, ἢ τούτων μὲν ἄλλον τινὰ τρόπον
a ae
ἀνάγκη κοινωνεῖν, ἕτεραι δ᾽ εἰσὶν ἡδοναὶ bv ἃς εὐλόγως οἴονται
60 ESSAY I.
τὸν εὐδαίμονα ζῆν ἡδέως καὶ μὴ μόνον ἀλύπως. ᾿Αλλὰ
περὶ μὲν τούτων ὕστερον ἐπισκεπτέον, περὶ δ᾽ ἀρετῆς καὶ
“φρονήσεως πρῶτον θεωρήσωμεν. The question here started
‘is one not touched upon in the undoubted Aristotelian books,
‘namely: Assuming that there are higher pleasures, and that
: pleasure of the highest kind is identical with Happiness and
‘the chief good, is there no place left in a moral system for
_ the lower, or bodily, pleasures,—are not these to be admitted
as contributories to Happiness, or are they to be stigmatised
\ as absolutely evil? This question is taken up, and to some
‘extent answered, in Hth. Nic. vit. xiv.
The Disputed Books are not afterwards alluded to in the
Nicomachean Ethics, but their contents are not without
‘recognition in subsequent books of the Hudemian treatise.
For instance, see Hth. Hud. vu. x. 10, where proportion in
Friendship is illustrated by the joining of the diagonal of a
square. ‘This illustration was worked out with some detail in
Lith. Nic. v. v. 8; it is here cursorily mentioned, the under-
standing of what is meant being assumed : “O δὲ ὑπερεχόμενος
τοὐναντίον στρέφει TO ἀνάλογον, Kal κατὰ διάμετρον συζεύγνυ-
ow. And the same chapter, § 26, asks, Πῶς γὰρ κοινωνήσει
γεωργῷ σκυτοτόμος, εἰ μὴ TO ἀνάλογον ἰσασθήσεται τὰ ἔργα;
which takes us back to the discussions on value and price in
Eth. Nic. v. ν. Eth, Hud. vu. iii. 1 says, Καὶ περὶ ἡδονῆς
δ᾽ εἴρηται ποῖόν τι καὶ πῶς ἀγαθόν, καὶ ὅτι τά τε ἁπλῶς ἡδέα
καὶ καλά, καὶ τά τε ἁπλῶς ἀγαθὰ ἡδέα. This is a reference
to Hth. Nic. vu. xii., θθρτπηϊηρ Ὅτι δ᾽ οὐ συμβαίνει διὰ ταῦτα
μὴ εἶναι ἀγαθὸν μηδὲ τὸ ἄριστον, ἐκ τῶνδε δῆλον.
The system of references backward and forward, above
quoted, seems to show a very close connection between the
Disputed Books and the other books of the Hudemian Ethics.
But, beside this, there is also a_remarkable coincidence
between the style and manner of these Books, and that which
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS Υ. VI. VII. ἘΠ ΕΝ
we find consistently employed by the Hudemian writer.
We have already (above, page 24) remarked on his peculiarly
explicit mode of introducing literary quotations, and this
peculiarity is found in the Disputed Books. (See Hth. Nic.
v. ix. 1, ‘As Euripides strangely wrote;’ v. ix. 7, ‘As
Homer says that Glaucus gave to Diomede ;’ vi. ii. 6, ‘ Where-
᾽
fore rightly Agathon ;’ vi. iv. 5, ‘As also Agathon says;’
VI. vii. 2, ‘As Homer says in the Margites;’ vi. ix. 1,
?
‘Wherefore Euripides ;’ vu. i. 1, ‘As Homer has described
ϑ
Priam saying of Hector;’ vu. vi. 3, ‘As Homer says of
Aphrodite ;’ vil. x. 3, ‘As Anaxandrides jested ;’ vil. x. 4,
‘ As Evenus also says.’ Throughout these Books there are®
only three verses given without their author’s name; one is H
mentioned as ‘a proverb,’ Vv. 1. 15; one is called ‘the prin-
ciple of Rhadamanthus,’ v. v. I ; one alone is given without
name or note, VII. xiii. 5. Even where there is no quotation)
this literary explicitness sometimes exhibits itself, as in :
vul. ii. 7, ‘Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles ;’
and vil. vil. 6, ‘The Philoctetes of Theodectes when bitten by
the snake, or Cercyon in the Alope of Carcinus.’ On the
other hand, in the seven undoubted ethical books of Aristotle’
there are altogether sixteen places where verses are quoted, ;
of these twelve are without any indication of authorship or |
source ; in two places the name of Homer is mentioned ; in !}
. . a !
one the name of Hesiod, and one couplet is given as ‘the /
Delian inscription.’) Taken by itself this would be not
worth mentioning, but when taken with a number of other
things which all testify in the same direction, it may be
allowed consideration among the mass of cumulative evidence.
But far more important than this is the agreement of
“-.«-«. «. ----.-. —
philosophical phraseology between the Disputed Books and
ee
the Eudemian Ethics, of which a striking instance is to be
found in the use of the word dpos, to_express a ‘ standard,
62 ESSAY I.
‘apparently some time after he had written these he began
‘ to write his Politics, and in the meantime he had found out
\Gts convenience for the discussions which he had in hand ;
so, accordingly, in the Politics ὅρος, in this logical sense,
very frequently occurs.”®
The Hudemian Hthics were clearly written subsequently
to the Politics of Aristotle, and the writer of them takes up
the formula as being by this time in vogue in the Peripatetic
School. We have seen how in Hth. Hud. τι. v. 8 he starts
the question πρὸς τίνα δεῖ ὅρον ἀποβλέποντας λέγειν τὸ μέσον,
‘to what ultimate standard we ought to look in fixing the
mean. And we have seen, too, how in the last remaining
paragraph of the work (Hth. Hud. vm. xii.) the phrase occurs :
καὶ οὗτος ὁ ὅρος κάλλιστος... Tis μὲν οὖν ὅρος καλοκἀγαθίας,
καὶ τίς ὁ σκοπὸς τῶν ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν, ἔστω εἰρημένον. The
word ὅρος, then, in the sense of ‘ ultimate standard ’ had taken
an important place in the Hudemian philosophy. But in the
Disputed Books it is also noticeable. (See vi. i. 1, τίς ἐστὶν
ὅρος TOV μεσοτήτων. VI. i. 3, Tis τ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος Kal
τούτου τίς ὅρος. VII. Xiil. 4, πρὸς γὰρ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ὁ ὅρος
αὐτῆς.)
; The doctrine of the Practical Syllogism (see Essay IV.)
‘does not appear in Hth. Nic. 1.-Iv., vu.—x., but in Aristotle’s
treatise On the Soul, written probably later, the syllogistic
form is used to express the process gone through by the
‘mind in forming a practical resolution (see De An. ΠΙ. xi. 4).
(This application of the syllogism was worked out a good
2 See Pol. τι. vi. 9: ᾿Αλλὰ βελτίων | ἀριστοκρατίας μὲν yap ὅρος ἀρετή,
ὅρος τὸ σωφρόνως καὶ ἐλευθέρως. τι. ν]]. ὀλιγαρχίας δὲ πλοῦτος, δήμου δ᾽ ἐλευ-
16: ἴσως οὖν ἄριστος bpos τὸ μὴ | θερία. And so on in about sixteen
λυσιτελεῖν τοῖς κρείττοσι. IV. Vill. 7: | similar places,
_ meer “ς΄ = πὩὦὦ".... ὕ. “-
-. —— «.--
treatise On the Motion of Animals, placed among Aristotle’s
works, but probably not genuine. The Hudemian writer
had evidently become familiarised with the application of
the syllogism to the theory of moral action, and had perhaps
himself helped to develop the doctrine. At all events, he
makes considerable use of it. See Hth. Hud. τι. xi. 4:
ὥσπερ yap ταῖς θεωρητικαῖς ai ὑποθέσεις ἀρχαί, οὕτω Kal ταῖς
ποιητικαῖς τὸ τέλος ἀρχὴ καὶ ὑπόθεσις. ᾿Ἐπειδὴ δεῖ τόδε
ὑγιαίνειν, ἀνάγκη τοδὶ ὑπάρξαι, εἰ ἔσται ἐκεῖνο, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ, εἰ
ἔστι τὸ τρίγωνον δύο ὀρθαί, ἀνάγκη τοδὶ εἶναι. The Practical
used as the great analytical instrument for resolving the
phenomena of Incontinence in Book VII. But it is worthy
these Books are to the passage above quoted from the Hu-
demian Ethics. See Eth. Nic. vil. iii. 9: ἀνάγκη τὸ συμπεραν-
θὲν ἔνθα μὲν φάναι τὴν ψυχήν, ἐν δὲ ταῖς ποιητικαῖς πράττειν
εὐθύς (where ποιητικαῖς is used in the same peculiar way as
above) ; VII. vili. 4: ἡ yap ἀρετὴ Kal ἡ μοχθηρία τὴν ἀρχὴν ἡ
μὲν φθείρει, ἡ δὲ σώζει, ἐν δὲ ταῖς πράξεσι τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα ἀρχή,
ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς μαθηματικοῖς αἱ ὑποθέσεις.
There is another minor formula in the use of which the
Disputed Books show an agreement with the Hudemian
Ethics, but not with the Nicomachean Ethics, in which it does
not appear; namely, the formula τὰ ἁπλῶς ἀγαθά. This
occurs, as before quoted, in the winding up of the last
remaining part of the Hudemian work, tis ὁ σκοπὸς τῶν
ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν, ἔστω εἰρημένον. It is introduced in Lth.
Nic. ν. 1. 9, where the ‘ goods of fortune’ are specified, ‘ which
are always good absolutely, but not always so* to the indi-
30 It is added that ‘men pray for | should not ; they should pray that the
these and seek after them, but they | absolute goods may be goods to them
64 ESSAY I.
vidual.’ In v.v. 18 τὸ ἁπλῶς ὠφέλιμον is mentioned. In
v. vi. 6 the just ruler, ob νέμει πλέον τοῦ ἁπλῶς ἀγαθοῦ
αὑτῷ. In ν. ix. 17 Justice is said to exist among those
ols μέτεστι τῶν ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν. In VIL. vi. 1, τὰ ἁπλῶς ἡδέα
are mentioned (cf. Hth. Hud. vii. i. 1, above quoted), and in
ν. i. 10, VII. xiii. 1, we find a mention of τὰ ἁπλῶς κακά. It
is observable that even in the Politics of Aristotle this formula
does not appear to exist.
That the Disputed Books contain a later development of
several points in ethical and psychological | philosophy than
can be found in other parts of the Nicomachean Ethics, and
that in this respect they perfectly agree with the Hudemian
Ethics will be shown in detail in the notes to the Books
themselves. And it will be shown also that they exhibit in
common with the latter a certain indistinctness of exposition
and certain departures from the Aristotelian point of view.
Perhaps enough has been said for the present to justify the
conclusion to which we come that Books V., VI., VII. of the
Nicomachean Ethics were written by the author of the Eude-
mian treatise as an integral part of that work, from which
‘they were taken and transferred verbatim into the Ethics of
Aristotle,®! either to fill up a gap caused by the loss of corre-
‘sponding Aristotelian books, or else to supplement or com-
‘plete a work which Aristotle himself had never finished.
‘Which of the two alternatives is more credible, there are
‘hardly grounds sufficient to enable us to pronounce. In
either case we must assume that Aristotle had, in his oral
teaching, led the way to almost all the conclusions contained
individually, and that they should | after the manner of Aristotle.
choose what is good for themselves.’ 3! We do not undertake to say\
This is in the same style with Eth. | whether this transference was made ἢ
Ἐπά, vir. xii. 17: τὸ ζητεὶν καὶ εὔ- | by Nicomachus, or some other early |
χεσθαι πολλοὺς φίλους. But to say | editor, or long afterwards by An-!
what men ‘ ought to pray for’ is not | dronicus.
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 65
in the books in question. The appearance which we find in‘,
Books V. and VI. of direct borrowing from other works of '
Aristotle’s, such as the Politics and the Organon, would rather
favour the supposition that the compiler of these books had
not before him any written exposition of this part of Ari-
stotle’s ethical system.
With regard to previous opinions upon the subject of the
Disputed Books, it may be mentioned that Casaubon threw
out the suggestion that the treatise on Pleasure in Book VIL.!
was written by EKudemus. This suggestion means that all
the rest of the Nicomachean Ethics is by Aristotle, but that
this treatise on Pleasure has been imported into its present
place. ‘This is, in short, an attempt to save the credit of the
Nicomachean work by removing from it an obvious excrescence.
But the hypothesis is untenable, for though we can under-
stand Book VII. as a whole being for some reason or other
imported from the Hudemian Ethics, and bringing with it a
superfluous disquisition,® it is impossible to believe that any
of Aristotle’s editors would have brought into his ethical ἢ
work this superfluous disquisition out.of the writings of a!
disciple—by itself, to confuse and spoil the rest. ᾿
Some have entertained the view that this treatise on,
Pleasure may have been an earlier essay by Aristotle himself, ;
found among his MSS., and introduced, in order to preserve’
it, into its present place. But close examination of the
treatise shows that it is not earlier, but later, than the treatise
on the same subject in “Book. X., on which it is based
in the same way as other parts of the Hudemian Ethics are
% ΤΊ is, however, surprising that | the Book bodily, he marred the sym-
the editor, whoever he was, in trans- | metry of the Nicomachean work, but
ferring Book VII. should not have | at the same time furnished an im-
stopped short at the end of the dis- | portant piece of evidence towards
cussion on Incontinence. By going | deciding the authorship of the Dis-
mechanically to work and transferring | puted Books,
VOL. I. F
66 ESSAY I.
based on Aristotle’s writing. It chiefly follows Book X., but
also to some slight extent it tries to improve upon the
conclusions of Aristotle.
‘ Fritzsche, the learned editor of the Hudemian Ethics, while
conceding that VI. and VII. of the Disputed Books were the
‘work of Eudemus, maintains that Book V. is the writing
‘of Aristotle, with the exception of the last chapter, which
,he considers to be a fragment from a corresponding book
95 Justice by Eudemus, now eee ae theory Moule
‘that the Eudemian Ethics had lost a bose on Justice, which
‘was supplied out of the Nicomacheans, and that the latter
treatise had lost, or wanted, a book on the Intellect in rela-
_tion to morals, and a book on Continence and Incontinence,
‘both which books were supplied out of the Hudemians.
This seems a rather too elaborate ἜΠΟΣ ἐδ μι but we cannot
a πῶς ete aS, NES ae at oat Cees
of ih. Nie. v. must be Pa ae on the reasons which can
be urged either for or against it. Fritzsche’s arguments are
-a little far-fetched. In the first place he goes to the Great
Ethics, which are allowed to follow the Hudemian treatise
_very closely, and looking at the string of difficult questions
on Justice (Mag. Mor. τι. ili. 3-30) which we have already
mentioned (page 36), he asks—Whence can these difficulties
have been derived ?—and concludes that they must have
originally been started in the Hudemian Book on Justice,
now lost. This reasoning, however, seems very unsatisfactory ;
for the difficulties referred to are not exclusively connected
with Justice, some of them are general questions of casuistry :
again, the writer of the Great Hthics does not introduce them
while discussing the subject of Justice, but after his dis-
cussion upon the Intellectual Virtues; and furthermore we
have above seen reason to believe that this writer had a
ot a ey ee. Cen ᾿ς ἂς A ψὰ,, eR RR KR a
oo PA ~~ eR ee
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS VY. VI. VII. 67
third source besides the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics
from which he drew his matter (see page 35), and from
which he may, very likely, have drawn the special matter in
question. This first argument then may surely be discarded.
Fritzsche in the second place points to the last existing +
chapter of Hth. Hud. (vi. iii. 1), where mention is made of
‘that culmination of the Virtues’ ἣν ἐκαλοῦμεν ἤδη καλο-
Aware es
καγαθίαν. No prior place in the Hudemian treatise answers to |
this, and so he at once concludes that the passage referred to |
must have existed in the (supposed) lost book on Justice. "Ἢ
But there is no obvious connection between καλοκαγαθία and)
Justice ; on the other hand there are doubtless several lacunce }
in the Eudemian Ethics,3 even the beginning of Book VIII!
is wanting, and the passage referred to may very well have
existed there. If Book VIII. was originally of the same’
length as the other EHudemian books, a considerable number |
of chapters at its commencement must have dropped out, and/
it seems extremely probable that some of these were devoted
to the consideration of a Virtue which was the result of all
the other Virtues, and which the writer called καλοκαγαθία.
Fritzsche’s third argument is derived from Book V. itself\
(ii. 11) where there occurs a promise of a subsequent discus- |
sion on the question whether the moral education of the.
individual belongs to Politics or not (περὶ δὲ τῆς καθ᾽ ἕκαστον,
παιδείας, καθ᾽ ἣν ἁπλῶς ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός ἐστι, πότερον τῆς πολι-
τικῆς ἐστὶν ἢ ἑτέρας, ὕστερον διοριστέον: οὐ γὰρ ἴσως ταὐτὸν
ἀνδρί τ᾽ ἀγαθῷ εἶναι καὶ πολίτῃ, παντί). This, says Fritzsche, \
is fulfilled in Bth. Nic. x. ix. 9 sqq. and Pol. πι. iv. and un.
xviii., which proves that the above passage was written by |
Aristotle and not by Eudemus. ‘When, however, we examine
83 As, for instance, Eth, Lud. ut. 3 | διεγράψαμεν δὲ πρότερον πῶς τὴν
refers back to something lost from the ἀκολασίαν ὀνομάζοντες μεταφέρομεν.
preliminary catalogue of the Virtues :
F2
MK
68 ESSAY I.
the places referred to we do not find that they answer to the
/promise given, and so far from establishing that the passage
in question was written by Aristotle, they induce a contrary
»conclusion. In Eth. Nic. x. ix. 9 sqq. Aristotle lays it
‘down as strongly as possible that all education must be dic-
‘tated by the State; he admits that there must be a special
treatment of individuals, in education as in medicine, but in
each case he considers that the special treatment is only the
skilful application of general laws belonging to the general
science, whether of Medicine or of Politics. There is not a
‘word about the moral education of the individual standing
: apart from Politics and belonging to some separate science.
. This in fact was the Hudemian view, which, as we have seen
᾿ (page 26), tried to separate Ethics from the more general
ascience of Politics. Aristotle afterwards, Pol. vit. i. 3, de-
' cisively pronounces that education should all be public, under
- State control, and reduced to one standard. In the passages
of the Politics to which Fritzsche refers us we find—not
a fulfilment of the above promise, but rather the source
‘which suggested to the Hudemian writer to attempt a refine-
sment upon Aristotle. In Pol. ul. iv., U1. xviii. the question
is started whether the virtue of the Man and of the Citizen
is identical. It is answered that States vary, but in the
Best City the same education and habits produce the good
man and the citizen with constitutional qualities. The writer
of Eth. Nic. Book V. gets a suggestion from this discussion
and promises to investigate, as a part of his ethical treatise,
whether the moral education of the individual does not belong
to a sphere separate from Politics. The Eudemian Ethics
were mutilated or unfinished; the part answering to the
latter half of Hth. Nic. x. is lost, or was never written; so
‘we cannot tell whether this promise was ever fulfilled in the
\Ludemian treatise,—it certainly never was in the Nico-
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 69
machean. Fritzsche is doubtless right in saying that the»,
last chapter in Book V. is out of its proper place, but there
is nothing to show that it is written by a different hand from |
the rest of the book. Nor have we thus far seen anything’
to invalidate the opinion that the three Disputed Books must
go together and that they originally formed part of the
Eudemian Ethics.
Those, therefore, who hold that these books were written’,
by Aristotle, must be prepared also to maintain that Aristotle |
wrote the whole of the Hudemian treatise: that is to say;
that at a time when he had several great works, unfinished,
on his hands, such as certainly the Politics, the Meta-
physics, and the Poetic; and was engaged in carrying
on the most multifarivuus researches in natural history and
other sciences of observation ; and had promised works*t On
the Physiology of Plants, and On Disease and Health so
far as belongs to Physical Philosophy, which had never
been executed, he set himself to re-write his own work
on Morals, serving up his old materials again in a sort
of paraphrase. One peculiarity of this would be that
Aristotle, if he did this thing, made the statement of his
ethical system so much worse, instead of better, than it!
was originally. In the Politics he frequently re-states con~,
clusions arrived at in the Nicomachean Ethics; whenever
he does so we are struck by the breadth, the freedom, and/
the firmness of his handling. But in the Hudemian treatise )
the opposite qualities are discernible; the writer of this
treatise, even when stating Aristotle’s conclusions without
variation, seems to cloud them over, so that we require to
go back to Aristotle to get a clear impression, And when
% See De Sensu, iv. 14. De Gen. | τῇ θεωρίᾳ τῇ περὶ τῶν φυτῶν, is pro-
An. 1. ii. 1. De Long. Vit. i. 4, vi. 8. | bably a mis-reading for εἰρήσεται,
In Hist. An. v. i, 4, ὥσπερ εἴρηται ἐν
70 ESSAY I.
‘he treats, as in the Disputed Books, of subjects otherwise
, unexpounded, we do not feel that we know exactly what the
“views of Aristotle on these subjects really were. This argu-
ment against the Hudemian Ethics having been written by
Aristotle, based on their obvious inferiority in point of
execution, is not answered, as some appear to think, by point-
ing tothe Laws of Plato, which are now accepted as a genuine
re-writing of the Republic, though far inferior to that work in
dramatic force, and in philosophic power. ‘The cases are not
parallel ; for the Laws are considered to have been a senile
production, written when Plato was between eighty and ninety
years of age, whereas Aristotle did not live to be more than
sixty-three years old, and the works on which he was
apparently engaged at the very end of his life are in his most
vigorous and best manner. The Hudemian Ethics are un-
equal to these later writings in power and clearness, and they
are unlike them not only in style, but also in matter, for the
theology of the Hudemian Ethics is clearly different from
that of Metaphysics, Book XI. But there is not only ground
for believing that Aristotle did not write the Hudemian
Ethics, but also much reason to believe that Eudemus did.
iWe have positive testimony (above, page 32) that Endemus
jwrote paraphrases of the works of Aristotle ; we see that it
‘was the custom of the Peripatet _ School to do this, and that
“a second paraphrase called the Ureat Ethics was constructed
: on the top of the Hudemians ; even those who defend the
genuineness of the Disputed Books will hardly go the length
of saying that this third treatise was also written by Aristotle.
;And furthermore, all the variations and divergences from
Aristotle’s views as before expressed by him, which occur in
ithe Eudemian Ethics, in theology, in psychology, in a ten-
dency to physical explanations of moral phenomena, and at
the same time in a tendency towards a peculiarly practical
ΟΝ
AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS Y. VI. VII. 71
SS ey > ap oe
known to have been followed ἢ by 1 ‘the Peripatetic. School, and
therefore would have been natural for Eudemus to exhibit.
These are the considerations which have to be met by those
who still think that Books V., VI., and VII. of the Nicoma-
chean Ethics are the genuine work of Aristotle.
It would be tedious to sum up or repeat the conclusions
arrived at in the foregoing pages. As we said at first, many _
questions must be left undeterminate or with a merely con-
We have before us in Eth. Nic. I.-IV., |
VIIL.-X., an unfinished, or mutilated, treatise, which so far
as we possess it came straight from the hand of Aristotle.
What is wanting in this treatise is supplied from other works
on the same subject written by members of the Peripatetic
School. These works claim, with slight variations, to express
the ideas of Aristotle himself, and for this reason probably
With-
out considering these works to be entitled, on the ground of
genuineness, to the position which they thus hold, we may be
glad that they have been preserved. On the one hand they
furnish a general conception of Aristotle’s views on several
on the other hand they testify to a
system of co-operation among the Peripatetic scholars, which
Aristotle probably encouraged during his lifetime, and which
jectural answer.
they were included among the writings of Aristotle.
particular points ;
the school continued to practise after his death.*
% In justification of some of the | liable—in some cases they are almost
opinions and conjectures put forward
in the foregoing Essay, we will subjoin
here a few particulars as to the order
and sequence _ of some of Aristotle’ ’s
extant writings, 8 80 far a as can be. deter-
mined from internal evidence. This
internal evidence does not consist
merely in references from one book to
another (for these are not always re-
certainly interpolated), but still more
in comparison of the thought in dif-
ferent books and the various degrees
of maturity exhibited by the same con-
. ception occurring in different books.
For instance, in the first chapter of
the Prior Analytics, the Topics are
referred to; therefore, either the 70-
pics were written first, or else this
(e*
ἀ χείει
-------.-
4,
72
reference is spurious, But—the doc-
trine of the syllogism is worked out
with far more precision in the Analy-
tics than in the Topics, therefore the
former hypothesis must be accepted.
A similar combination of verbal and
real internal evidence is used by Mr.
Poste (in Aristotle on Fallacies, or the
Sophistici Elenchi, with a Translation
and Notes, London, 1866, p. 204 sq.)
to show that the Topics, with the ex-
“and ΤΣ ΕΙΣ: next τ eighth book of
4, the Topies; next the Rhetoric, Books
re ἢ and II.; and then the Sophistical
5. - Refutations, —After this Aristotle ap-
pears to have gone on to write his
{(. Ethics (which later obtained the name
4 / of ‘Nicomachean) ; and then the Poli-
2, , ties ; and next the treatise On Poetry ;
from which he went back to add on
the third book to his Rhetoric. Now,
via την if it be accepted, great-
ly strengthens the hypothesis which
was submitted above (p. 51), that
Aristotle when he came in the course
of his Zthics to the consideration of
Justice, deferred this till a more con-
venient season, We can now see how
he did what was similar on other
occasions ;—how, for some reason or
other, he left the eighth book of the
ESSAY I.
Topics unwritten till he had finished
the Analytics; how he went on to
compose his Rhetoric before writing
the Sophistical Refutations, which
properly belong to the Topics ; how
he deferred writing the third book of
his Rhetoric (on Style), and went on
to his Ethics; how from the Ethics
he proceeded to the Politics, but broke
off writing them in the middle of his
treatise on Education, in order to
write a treatise on Poetry, which was
a cognate subject; how the treatise
on Poetry was left a mere fragment,
while Aristotle went back to write his
book on Style for the completion of
his Rhetoric. All this showsa certain
mode of procedure in writing. There
is no reason to believe that the Poli-
tics or the Art of Poetry was ever
completed. In the meantime Ari-
stotle went on to the series of his
Physical works, two of which (On the
Physiology of Plants and On Disease
and Health so far as belongs to Phy-
sical Philosophy) were promised by
him, but, so far as we know, never
executed. Other works, such as the
Meteorologics, do not appear to have
received the last hand. And to the
list of Aristotle’s unfinished produc-
tions we are inclined to add the
Nicomachean Ethics.
ae
mo SAY, OF.
—— te
On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece
previous to Aristotle.
a
N 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 (1. vi.) ;
Socrates’ definition of Courage (11. viil. 6) ; Eudoxus’ theory
of Pleasure (x. ii. 1); and Solon’s paradox (1. x.), are perhaps
the only ones which are by name commented on.' There are
constant impersonal allusions to various opinions (the λεγό-
peva 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.
The reason for this is partly to be found in the fact that
habit (if so we may call it) of prefacing each science or
branch of philosophy with a history of what had been
accomplished previously towards the solution of its pro-
blems. Thus in the Organon there is no history of previous
logic, only a brief remark in conclusion that nothing had
1 In the Hudemian books we find his opinion on Incontinence; and
references (vi. xiii. 3) to Socrates’ | (v.v. 1) to the Pythagorean definition
definition of Virtue; (vm. ii. 1) to | of Justice.
h
yi
4.
Ζ΄
2,
74 ESSAY II.
been done before Aristotle to explain the syllogistic pro-
cess. In the Rhetoric, it is merely said generally that
previous writers had too exclusively devoted themselves to
treating of appeals to the passions. After these works the
Ethics were probably written. Then came the Politics,
which contain an important review of some previous leading
systems of political philosophy, but not exactly a history of
these. The Physical Discourse and treatise On the Soul
each commence with a collective statement of the opinions
of previous philosophers; and Book I. of the Metaphysics
(probably Aristotle’s latest work) consists of a history of
metaphysical philosophy from Thales to Plato, in which it is
endeavoured to be shown how each system was occasioned by
its predecessor.
; When Aristotle commenced his Hthics he had apparently
' not accustomed himself to taking that sweeping historical
‘point of view, which more and more became characteristic
ἰοῦ him. Else a sketch of the development of moral ideas
in Greece, analogous to his sketch of the development of
metaphysics, might have been essayed by him, and would
have been of the highest interest. But there was another
cause to prevent this, namely, the fact that morals had never
yet been clearly separated from politics. Aristotle himself
calls his ethical system ‘a sort of politics,’ and it was only
by writing his own Ithics that he, tentatively and yet
surely, established the limits separating the one science from
the other. With this tentative attitude, he was not likely
to attempt following out the thread of previous moral theory,
as separate from the concrete of politics, duty to the State,
and the like. And, at all events, he did not do so.
But the Peripatetic School gradually laid hold of the
distinct nature of ethics, and the author of the Great
Ethics prefixes to his book the following brief outline of the
δ) ἐν ΑΙ
THE HISTORY OF ETHICS. 75
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 suc-
ceeded Socrates, who effected a great advance, but who
erred in calling virtue a science, and in thus ignoring the
distinction between the moral nature (πάθος καὶ 700s) and
the intellect. Afterwards came Plato, who made the right
psychological distinctions, but who mixed up and confused
\
\
ethical discussions with ontological inquiries as to the nature .
of the chief good.’ In a shadowy way this passage repre- }
sents 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 ethical systems 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. And even
were the account more accurate, every one will acknowledge
that it is too barren to be in itself very useful.
In the following pages, then, we shall endeavour to carry
considerations of this kind a little further, and to indicate,
to some extent, the steps by which pre-Aristotelian moral
theory developed itself in Greece. To do this is indeed
necessary, since the views of Aristotle himself, as of any
other philosopher, can only be rightly understood in relation
to their antecedents.
Moral philosophy is a comparatively late product of
national life. It presupposes the long, gradual, silent forma-
tion of Morals, which are the concrete of the nation’s prac-
tical habits and ideas of life. Morals, like language, are
anonymous in their origin (οὐδεὶς οἶδεν ἐξ ὅτου ᾽φάνη) ;
:
76 ESSAY II.
except in the case of one or two legislators, who by their
laws may to some extent have moulded the life of the
nation, or in the case of the founders of religions, who
by the force of their intuitions may have expounded some
new and organising principles of action,—no individual
names are connected with the building-up of morality.
Moral philosophy does not create; it only explains, and
-perhaps criticises, moral ideas. Moral philosophy itself
dawns gradually into existence out of reflection upon the
generally accepted morality. In its first form it is the
‘ordinary morality codified and formulated. Afterwards, it
becomes more critical, and finally it may react upon and
change morality itself.
Renouncing any attempt to trace a succession of systems
of moral philosophy (which indeed did not exist), until we
come to the limited period of development between Socrates
divide morality into three eras; first, the era of popular_or
unconscious morals; second, the transitional, sceptical, or ν᾿
sophistic era; third, the conscious or philosophic era. These
different stages appear to succeed each other in the national
and equally in the individual mind. The simplicity and
trust of childhood is succeeded by the unsettled and undi-
rected 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 but in a somewhat dif-
ferent way from what we did at the outset. On these three
distinct periods or aspects of thought about moral subjects,
much 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 suc-
a. i a oe
THREE ERAS OF MORALITY. 77
juxtaposition 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 morality,
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 overthrown, partly by an able sophistical
skirmish, partly by the assertion of a deeper moral convic-
tion,—the field is left open for a philosophical answer
to the question. And this accordingly occupies the re-
mainder of Plato’s Republic, the different sides of the
answer being represented by different personages ; Glaucon
and Adeimantus personifying the practical understanding
which is only gradually brought. into harmony with philo-
sophy, 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-mentioned different periods
or points of view, though none so fully as the Republic.
Some dialogues, which are merely tentative, as the Huthy- ,
phro, Lysis, Charmides, Laches, &c., content themselves
with showing the unsatisfactoriness of the popular concep-
tions; 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,
78 ESSAY II.
as in the Hippias Major, Protagoras, Gorgias, and Huthy-
demus, various aspects of the sophistical point of view are
exposed (on which we shall find much material for discus-
sion 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 constructive
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
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 among these we must not
reckon 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.’? This
* Hegel, Geschichte der Philosophie, | waren sittliche, nicht moralische Men-
ii. 43: ‘Die Athener vor Socrates | schen.’
΄
“γῇ
THE FIRST ERA OF MORALITY. 79
τ ΟΝ Βα conveys ὑπ. same aga as_ tie _argument | in
no. ‘morality, for the popular ‘courage is ΡΩΝ οἵ μας; wad
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, “1 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
isin 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-
terise 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. ΤῸ 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 realised 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, κατὰ λόγον ; the
other is moved μετὰ λόγου, has the law both in and for
himself.
80 ESSAY If.
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, organisation,
‘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 generalisations about life,
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
fand proverbs cease to satisfy the minds of thinkers ᾿ the
( thoroughly awakened intellect now calls in question the οἷα
«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.
Z To give an adequate account of morality in Greece,
| before the birth of moral philosophy, would be nothing less
\than giving as far as possible an entire picture of Hellenic
ig soe at aide ae
ὴ
-,
ἢ THE FIRST ΑΒΕ, OF MORALITY. 81
~~ life. Customs, institutions, and laws, whether local or uni-
versal ; recorded actions of States or individuals; remains of
song or oratory; sentiments of writers; and the works of
art,—would all have to be put in evidence. One would have,
in short, to do for the Grecian States from the beginning
of history what Mr. Lecky* has done for the Roman Em-
pire. But to do this is not necessary for a comprehension
of Aristotle, and it is not our present purpose,—which is
only to show how moral philosophy in Greece took its rise
that Aristotle takes for_ granted the general_ Hellenic |
morality, and that this is always in the background of all
that he says. We have therefore to take account of it, and
if possible do it justice. ; .
It has been well said* that ‘to suppose that the Greeks
were not a highly moralised race is perhaps the strangest |
misconception to which religious prejudice has ever given |
was none the less on that account humane and real.’ ‘As a
necessary condition of artistic freedom, the soul of man in
Greece was implicit with God or nature in what may be
called an animal unity. Mankind, as sinless and simple as
any other race that lives and dies upon the globe, formed a
part of the natural order of the world. The sensual impulses,
like the intellectual and moral, were then held void of crime
and harmless. Health and good taste controlled the phy-
sical appetites of man, just as the appetites of animals are
regulated by an unerring instinct. In the same way a
standard of moderation determined moral virtue and intel-
lectual excellence. But beyond this merely protective check
8 History of European Morals from 4. Studies of the Greek Poets, by
Augustus to Charlemagne, by W.E. | John Addington Symonds (London,
H. Lecky. (London, 1868.) 1873), pp. 417-419.
VOL. I. G
8 ESSAY II.
upon the passions, a noble sense of the beautiful, as that
which is balanced and restrained within limits, prevented
the Greeks of the best period from diverging into Asiatic
extravagance of pleasure. Licence was reckoned barbarous,
and the barbarians were slaves by nature, φύσει δοῦλοι:
Hellenes, born to be free men, took pride in temperance.
Their σωφροσύνη, co-extensive as a protective virtue with the
whole of their τὸ καλόν, was essentially Greek—the quality
beloved by Phoebus, in whom was no dark place or any flaw.’
To these remarks we may add that the Greeks did not leave
Temperance to stand alone as the guide of life, but to Tem-
perance they added Courage, and to Courage Justice, and
to Justice Wisdom. Under Courage was summed up much
of what we call ‘ duty,’ i.e. duty to the State, a feeling which
pervaded Hellenic life. The death of the heroes of Ther-
mopyle was a typical instance of duty under the name of
Courage. Justice again was the Greek summary of ‘duty
to one’s neighbour,’ afterwards supplemented by the concep-
tion of Equity, in which a fine and tender charity was in-
herent (see note on Eth. v. x. 1). And Wisdom, even accord-
ing to popular notions, implied calmness and elevation of
soul (see Hth. 1. iv. 3). It is obvious that such a code as
this could only arise among an essentially moral and noble
people.
“But ἃ popular morality arising out of noble instincts,
: whatever be its substantial merits, must still have the defect
\that it can give no account of itself, and that, if asked for
such an account, it tends to base itself on inadequate
ygrounds, This displeases the philosophers, and hence in the
ἡ dialogues of Plato we find a disparaging picture of the
‘popular morality of Greece. The following are the chief
characteristics attributed to it: (1) It_is shown to be based
upon the authority of texts and maxims, and these maxims
πο 4 νό μιν ἘΠ ΤΠ ΜΝ ΨΥ ἣν σα
ἊΣ ὁ ἥν Ἂν = nes
ἊΝ > 4
Υ “-
γ
THE FIRST ERA OF MORALITY. 83
appear to be merely prudential. (2) It is shown to be apt
to connect i itself with a superstitious ὃ 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 sprang up in the sixth century,
and we have before us one of the main sources of Greek
views of life. It was perhaps in the age of the Pisistratidze
that the formation and promulgation of this system of texts
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)
recounting a fact, if not literally, at all events symbolically
true. It relates that Hipparchus, the wisest of the sons of
Pisistratus, wishing to educate the citizens, introduced the
poems of Homer, and made Rhapsodes recite them at the
Panathenza. 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
G2
84 ESSAY II.
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 philo-
sophical theory. It is mixed up with a religion which really
consists in a celebration 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 preferable to disgrace. The distinction
between a noble and an ignoble nature is strongly marked in
Homer, and yet the 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 con-
ceptions. Life and mind, breath and soul, thought and sen-
sation, seem blended or confused together. Plato’s opinion
of Homer was a reaction 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
[ “ees or? ἃ ἀμ, eo ee ee ie ee oe ee « 4
᾿ 5 νυ >
.
THE MORALITY OF HOMER. 85
of human nature he is worthy to be taken up and learnt
by heart ; that in short one should frame one’s whole life
according to this poet. To these gentlemen,’ continues
Socrates, ‘you should pay all respect, and concede to them
that Homer was a great poet and first of the tragic writers
(ποιητικώτατον εἶναι Kal πρῶτον τῶν τραγῳδοποιῶν) ; but
you should hold to the conviction that poetry is only to be
admitted 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 f
by the inducements of temporal rewards (Repub. pp. 363 A,
612 B), thus turning morality into prudence; that he makes
God the source of evil as well as of good (Repub. p. 379 C);
that he makes God changeable (p. 381 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 (Eth. II. ix. 3); the dangerous
charms of Helen (11. ix. 6); and the procedure of the Homeric
Kings (I. ili. 18); are used as figures to illustrate moral
or psychological truths. Again, instances of any particular
80 ESSAY II.
phenomenon are hence cited; as for example, Diomede® and
Hector are cited as an instance of political courage (III.
viii. 2). In other places Aristotle appeals to the words of
Homer, in the same way that he does to the popular lan-
guage, namely, as containing a latent philosophy in itself,
and as bearing witness to the conclusions of philosophy.
Thus Homer’s calling Agamemnon ‘shepherd of the people’
(vi. xi. 1), and his physical descriptions of courage (II.
viii. 10), are appealed to as containing, or testifying to,
philosophical truths.
Turning from Homer to Hesiod, we discover at once at
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.’ 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 characterises 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.’ He finds ‘all things full of
5 Sointhe Hudemian book (v. ix. 7) 7 Mure’s Literature of Greece, Vol.
Glaucus and Diomede are referred | II. p. 402.
to. ON 72 sags
° Cf. also the Eudemian books, μηκέτ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ὥφειλον ἐγὼ πέμπτοισι
vi. vii. 2, vil. i. 1, and vil, vi. 3. μετεῖναι
THE MORALITY OF HESIOD. 87
labour.’
|this by two inconsistent episodes, the one 3 representing man-
kind, through the fatal gift of Pandora, blighted at the very
outset ; the other'® describing a gradual decadence from the
Once the gods dwelt upon earth, but
He is conscious of a Fall of Man, and accounts for
primeval Golden Age.
now even Honour that does no wrong, and Retribution that
suffers no wrong (Αἰδῶς καὶ Νέμεσις). the last of the Im-
mortals, have gone and left us.'' Mixed up with this sad
and gloomy view of the state of the world, we find indi-
cations of a religious belief which is in some respects more
elevated than the theology of Homer.
the messengers of Zeus, thirty thousand_demons, as always
pervading the earth, and watching on deeds of justice and
Hesiod represents
injustice.” 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 injustice; 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 Beeotian than belonging to any one
ἀνδράσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ πρόσθε θανεῖν, ἢ
ἔπειτα γενέσθαι
νῦν γὰρ δὴ γένος ἐστὶ σιδήρεον" οὐδέ
ποτ᾽ jap
παύσονται καμάτου καὶ ὀϊζύος, οὐδέ τι
νύκτωρ.
φθειρόμενοι" χαλεπὰς δὲ θεοὶ δώσουσι
μερίμνας.
9 Vy. 48-105.
10 Vy. 108-171.
1 Vy. 195-199.
12 V. 250 sq.
τρὶς yap μύριοι εἰσὶν ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυ-
βοτείρῃ
ἀθάνατοι Ζηνὸς, φύλακες θνητῶν ἀἄνθρώ-
"wy
of ῥα φυλάσσουσίν re δίκας καὶ σχέτλια
ἔργα
ἠέρα ἑσσάμενοι, πάντη φοιτῶντες ἐπ᾽
αἷαν.
88 ESSAY II.
particular author. The morality of Hesiod, whatever its
origin, contains a fine practical view of life. It enjoins
justice, energy, and, above all, temperance and simplicity
of living. Nothing can be finer than the saying "ἢ quoted
by Plato (cf. Repub. p. 466 C; Laws, p. 690 E), ‘How
much is the half greater than the whole! how great a
blessing is there in mallows and asphodelus!’ Plato finds
fault with Hesiod that his is a merely prudential Ethics, or
eudemonism, that he recommends justice by the promise
of temporal advantage (Repub. p. 363 A). Many of his
maxims are indeed not above the level of a yeoman’s
morality, consisting in advice about the treatment of
neighbours, servants, &c. One of these Aristotle alludes
to (Hth. 1x. 1. 6). It is the recommendation that, even
between friends, wages should be stipulated and the bar-
gain kept. Of a different stamp, however, is that passage
of Hesiod, which has been so repeatedly quoted.'4 It con-
tains the same figure to represent virtue and vice, which
was afterwards consecrated iu 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
ee acts on his own convictions, while he is second-best
| who acts in obedience to the counsel of others.’ Aristotle
cites this latter saying (Hth. 1. iv. 7), which contains more
than, in all probability, its author was conscious of. He
ἘΝ 0 Sq: ™ Xen. Memorab. τι. i. 20. Plato,
νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅπῳ πλέον ἥμισυ | Repub. p. 364 C. Laws, p. 718 E, Pro-
παντός, tagoras, p. 340 D, &e.
οὐδ᾽ ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε Kal ἀσφοδέλῳ
ΜμεΎ ὄνειαρ.
i.e
THE SEVEN WISE MEN. 89
also quotes from Hesiod another most acute remark,!®
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’ (Hth. vm. i. 6), produces all
-honourable enterprises. It may truly be said that if
Hesiod was no moral philosopher, he was a very great
‘amoralist.
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 any great advance made beyond him in their moral
point of view, but rather a following out of the same direc-
tion. We find still a prudential Ethics dealing in a dis-
jointed, but often a forcible and pregnant manner, with
the various parts of life. Of the ‘Seven,’ it was well said
by Diczearchus (ap. Diog. Laert. I. 40) that ‘they were
neither speculators nor philosophers (οὔτε σοφοὺς οὔτε φιλο-
σόφους, N.B. σοφοὺς is here used in a restricted and Ari-
stotelian sense), but men of insight, with a turn for
legislation (συνετοὺς δέ τινας καὶ νομοθετικούς). They
belonged to an era of political change, which was calcu-
lated 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 completeness. There
is no agreement as to the list, but the names most gene-
—— ϑΘῦΡξ0ςἢ οὖ: ΄΄΄΄.»΄ ats
15 Ὑ, 11 8qq. ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιμωμητή, κιτ.λ.
οὐκ ἄρα μοῦνον ἔην ἐρίδων γένος, ἀλλ᾽ .. . « ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ ἔρις ἥδε βρο-
ἐπὶ γαῖαν τοῖσι
εἰσὶ δύω. τὴν μέν κεν ἐπαινήσειε voh- καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει, καὶ τέκτονι
σας, τέκτων.
90 ESSAY II.
Chilon, Bias, Pittacus. Of these Thales ought to be ex-
empted from the criticism of Dicearchus, for though many
adages are attributed to him, he was no mere politician,
but a deep thinker, and the first speculative philosopher of
Greece. What was most distinctive in Thales does not
belong to the level of thought which we are now con-
sidering. Of the rest of the Sages it was said by Anaxi-
menes (ap. Diog. Laert. l.c.), that they ‘all tried their
hand at poetry.’ This is characteristic of a period ante-
cedent to the formation of anything like a prose style. Of
the poems of Solon, considerable passages are preserved to
us; they consist of elegies, in which the political circum-
stances of Solon’s lifetime are recorded, and into which
sufficient general reflections on human nature are inter-
woven to entitle him to be called a Gnomic poet. Solon’s
views of life, as far as they appear in his poetry, are cha-
racterised by a manliness which contrasts them with the
soft Lydian effeminacy of Mimnermus, to one of whose
sentiments Solon made answer. Mimnermus having ex-
pressed 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.”’
wo
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 (Mrag. 14); in
another the multifarious pursuits of men are described,
and their inability to command 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 sentiments with that saying
which is always connected with the name of Solon, and
which was thought worthy of a careful examination by
THE SEVEN WISE MEN. 91
Aristotle (th. τ. x. xi.), the saying, that ‘One must look
to the end, or that ‘No one can he called happy while he
lives.’ The story of Solon’s conversation with Croesus, as
given by Herodotus, is in all probability totally without
historical foundation.
ἐπίδειξις dressed up by some Sophist to illustrate the gnome
It has the aspect of a rhetorical
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 happi-
But its
fault is, as Aristotle points out, that it makes happiness
ness to the pleasure or prosperity of a moment.
purely to consist in external fortune, it implies too little
faith in, and too little regard for, the internal conscious-
ness, which after all is far the most essential element of
happiness. Moreover, there is a sort of superstition mani-
fested in this view, and in the above-quoted verses of Solon.
It represents the Deity as ‘envious’ of human happiness.
This view is elsewhere reprobated by Aristotle (Metaphys.
I. li. 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 per-
manent behind the changeable.'®
The remainder of the ‘Seven’ hardly need a mention in
detail.
nected to merit a criticism from a scientific point of view.
The sayings attributed to them are too little con-
‘The uncertainty of human things, the brevity of life, the
belief in a jealous God, and the doc-
trine of hereditary guilt in Theognis,
16 Mr Symonds attributes an un-
Greek origin to this and other ideas.
He says (Studies of the Greek Poets,
Ρ. 417): ‘The blood-justice of the
Eumenides, the asceticism of Pytha-
goras, the purificatory rites of Empe-
docles and Epimenides, the fetichistic
Herodotus, and Solon, are fragments
of primitive or-Asiatic superstition
unharmonised with the serene element
of the Hellenic spirit.’.
92 ᾿ ESSAY II.
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.’ !7 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 developed by later philosophers. The Μηδὲν ἄγαν
of Solon and the Μέτρον ἄριστον of Cleobulus passed almost
into something new in the μετριότης of Plato ; and the [var
σεαυτὸν (of uncertain authorship), which was inscribed on
the front of the temple at Delphi, became in the hands of
Socrates the foundation of philosophy. In the Ethics of
Aristotle, proverbs of this epoch, as, for instance, πολλὰς
δὴ φιλίας ἀπροσηγορία διέλυσεν (VIII. ν. 1), ἐσθλοὶ μὲν yap
ἁπλῶς, κιτ.λ. (II. VI. 14), κάλλιστον τὸ δικαιότατον, κ.τ.λ.
(I. vill. 14), are occasionally quoted, without any author’s
name.'® ᾿
Two more poets may be mentioned who will serve to
complete 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 frequently cited in the writings of the ancients. They
both have this in common that their verse betrays a constant
reflectiveness 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. Simon-
ides, who lived through the Persian wars, writes in a more
17 Renouvier, Manuel de Phil. Ane. 18 Eudemus (vy. i. 16) attributes the
1 Ῥ. 127. ᾿ς saying, ‘ Office shows the man,’ to Bias.
THEOGNIS OF MEGARA. 93
manly strain, as if inspired by the times and the glorious
deeds of his countrymen, 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 ἀγαθοί and ἐσθλοί are used to designate
his own party, the nobles, while the commons are called
κακοί and δειλοί. 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 ἐσθλός and κακός 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
partisanship 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 find in his writings a strange intermix-
ture and confusion of political and ethical thoughts. In
the celebrated passage which dwells on the influence of as-
sociates, 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 indeed impairs its force. ᾿ Plato, in the Meno,'® quotes
19 Οἶσθα δὲ ὅτι οὐ μόνον σοί τε Kal | ἀλλὰ Kal Θέογνιν τὸν ποιητὴν οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι
τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς πολιτικοῖς τοῦτο δοκεῖ | ταὐτὸ ταῦτα λέγει; Μ. Ἐν ποίοις ἔπε-
τοτὲ μὲν εἶναι διδακτόν, τοτὲ δ᾽ οὔ, | σιν; Σ. Ev τοῖς ἐλεγείοις, οὗ λέγει
94 é ESSAY II.
this passage and shows that it is contradicted by another
passage of Theognis, which declares education to be of no
effect.
with equal force the two points of view about education.
Theognis appears to have felt at different times
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 characterised 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
individual according as he feels joy or sorrow. They ex-
hibit no striving to be above circumstances,—rather the
full, unrestrained wail of one who bitterly feels the might
They do not seek to be logical; on the
contrary, they are full of inconsistencies.
of circumstances.
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 super-
stitious feeling of the resistless power, and at the same time
καὶ παρὰ τοῖσιν πῖνε καὶ ἔσθιε Kal μετὰ
τοῖσιν
ἵζε καὶ ἅνδανε τοῖς ὧν μεγάλη δύνα-
pus.
ἐσθλῶν μὲν γὰρ um ἐσθλὰ διδάξεαι, ἣν
δὲ κακοῖσιν
συμμίσγῃς, ἀπολεῖς καὶ τὸν ἐόντα
ν΄ον.
οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι ἐν τούτοις μὲν ὧς διδακτοῦ
οὔσης τῆς ἀρετῆς λέγει; Μ. Φαίνεταί
γε. Σ. Ἐν ἄλλοις δέ γε ὀλίγον μετα-
βάς, εἰ δ᾽ ἦν ποιητόν, φησί, καὶ ἔνθετον
ἀνδρὶ νόημα λέγει πως ὅτι
πολλοὺς ἂν μισθοὺς καὶ μεγάλους
ἔφερον
οἱ δυνάμενοι τοῦτο ποιεῖν καὶ
οὔ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἐξ ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς ἔγεντο
κακός,
πειθόμενος μύθοισι σαύφροσιν, ἀλλὰ δι-
δάσκων
οὔ ποτε ποιήσεις τὸν κακὸν ἄνδρ᾽
ἀγαθόν.
ἐννοεῖς ὅτι αὐτὸς αὑτῷ πάλιν περὶ τῶν
αὐτῶν τἀναντία λέγει; O5 C sqq.
Both of these passages of Theognis
are alluded to by Aristotle in the
Ethics (1x. ix. 7, x. ix. 3).
~
SIMONIDES OF CEOS. 95
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 vengeance, 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 in different courts, especially
those of Hipparchus at Athens, of the Aleuads and Scopads
in Thessaly, of Hiero at Syracuse. If Theognis be com-
pared 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 incidents of the war. But the courtly
demeanour of Simonides, to which he seems to have some-
what sacrificed his independence, his worldly wisdom, his
moderation of views, his 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 inte-
resting discussion in the Protagoras of Plato (pp. 339-346),
on the meaning of some strophes in one of the Epinician
.-
96 ESSAY II.
odes of Simonides. This discussion has the effect of ex-
hibiting the critical ability of Socrates as superior to that
of Protagoras. The import of the passage criticised appears
to be, that, ‘while absolute perfection (τετράγωνον ἄνευ
ψόγου γενέσθαι) 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 (1) 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 this is given in
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
MORALITY OF PINDAR. 97
away, and by force of questioning, obtain a more scientific
view. We might say of the aphoristic morality of the poets
and sages of the sixth century B.c. what Aristotle says of
the early philosophers, namely, that ‘without being skilled
boxers, they sometimes give a good blow’ (Metaphysics,
I. iv. 4).
During the fifth century B.c. poetry in Greece continued
to represent, or contribute to, the popular beliefs in morals,
while as yet moral philosophy was not. The great poetical
figures of this time were of course Pindar (522-443 B.C.),
and the Attic Tragedians, who succeeded each other at brief
intervals, since Aischylus gained his first prize in 484 B.c.,
Sophocles his first in 468 B.c., Euripides his first in 441 8.6.
Of Pindar, Mr. Symonds well says: ‘The whole of his poetry
is impregnated with a lively sense of the divine in the world.
Accepting the religious traditions of his ancestors with
simple faith, he adds more of spiritual severity and of
mystical morality than we find in Homer. Yet he is not
superstitious or credulous. He can afford to criticise the
myths like Xenophanes and Plato, refusing to believe that a
blessed god could be a glutton.” In Pindar indeed we see |
the fine flower of Hellenic religion, free from subservience
to creeds and ceremonies, capable of extracting sublime
morality from mythical legends, and adding to the old
joyousness of the Homeric faith a deeper and more awful
perception of superhuman mysteries. The philosophical
scepticism which in Greece, after the age of Pericles, cor-
roded both the fabric of mythology and the indistinct doc-
trines of theological monotheism, had not yet begun to act.’
Pindar held indeed to the Hellenic religion, but he vivified
and elevated it by the introduction of an element drawn
2 The reference here is to Olymp. τ.
VOL. I. H
98 ESSAY II.
from Orphic or Pythagorean sources. His pictures of the
rewards and punishments beyond the grave form a great
advance upon the creed of both Homer and Hesiod. The
Hades of Homer was a gloomy negation, and the ‘happy
isles’ of Hesiod were peopled by the heroes of Troy. But
Pindar connects the torments or blessings of the soul in a
future state with its moral actions upon earth ; and (intro-
ducing the Oriental conception of Metempsychosis) he opens
Paradise to those souls which during three successive lives
It can hardly be
doubted that the lyric strains of Pindar, embodying this
have kept themselves pure from crime.
doctrine, did much to influence the thought of Plato and to
produce his sublime conceptions (set forth in Phaedo, Gorgias,
and Lepublic) of a future life of the soul dependent on the
moral purity and the philosophic wisdom attained by it in
this world. And if so, Pindar has played an important part
in the history of Eschatology *! in Europe. His views of
the present life are distinguished by a certain God-fearing
sobriety. While celebrating the wealth, the strenuous effort,
and the good fortune (ὄλβος, ἀρετή, εὐτυχία) of the Victors
of the games, he does not fail to admonish them of the
21 The following is Mr. Symonds’
prose translation of Pindar Olymp. ii. :
‘Among the dead, sinful souls at
once pay penalty, and the crimes done
in this realm of Zeus are judged
beneath the earth by one who gives
sentence under dire necessity. But
the good, enjoying perpetual sunlight
equally by night and day, receive a
life more free from woe than this of
ours; they trouble not the earth with
strength of hand, nor the water of the
sea for scanty sustenance; but, with
the honoured of the gods, all they who
delighted in the keeping of their oath
pass a tearless age ; the others suffer
woe on which no eye can bear to
look. Those who have thrice endured
on either side the grave to keep their
spirits wholly free from crime journey
on the road of Zeus to the tower of
Cronos: where round the islands
blow breezes ocean-borne; and flowers
of gold burn—some on the land from
radiant trees, and others the wave
feeds ; with necklaces whereof they
twine their heads and brows, in the
just decrees of Rhadamanthus, whose
father Cronos has for a perpetual
colleague, he who is spouse of Rhea
throned above all gods.’
MORALITY OF THE DRAMATISTS. 99
fleeting character of life and prosperity, and to preach
moderation and continence (εὐκοσμία, σωφροσύνη, μηδὲν
ἄγαν). He chooses for himself a middle status in society
and deprecates the lot of kings (Pyth. xi. 50). The follow-
ing is his conception of a summum bonum upon earth
(Pyth. x. 22): ‘That man is happy and song-worthy by the
skilled, who, victorious by might of hand or vigour of foot,
achieves the greatest prizes with daring and with strength ;
and who in lifetime sees his son, while yet a boy, crowned
happily with Pythian wreaths. The brazen heaven, it is
true, is inaccessible to him ; but whatsoever joys we race of
mortals touch, he reaches to the farthest voyage.’
The Attic Dramatists are the exponents of the spirit of
the Athenian people quickened by the sense of their trium-
phant delivery from the great national peril of the Persian
invasions. They represent successively the rapidly succeed-
ing phases of the Athenian mind. Their great theme, the
fundamental idea of their tragedies, as indeed of the Greek
legends on which they were based, was Nemesis—Retribution
either for crime committed, or for insolent prosperity and
pride of life.
Mr. Symonds (Studies of the Greek Poets, pp. 190-205)
has well analysed the different forms of this idea as it
appears in Aischylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. In Aischylus
Retribution (δράσαντι παθεῖν tpvyépwv μῦθος) isthe revelation
of an offended Deity ; in Sophocles it is rather the exhibition
of a moral law: our attention is drawn to the human cha-
racter of the guilty man, and we see how he brings terrible
consequences on himself. ‘ In Euripides it degenerates into
something more akin to a sense of vicissitudes; it becomes
more sentimental—less a religious or moral principle than a
phenomenon inspiring fear and pity.’ A similar progress
with regard to all moral questions may be traced in the
H 2
ΤΌΟ ESSAY II.
dramatists: in Adschylus morality is identified with reli-
gion ; in Sophocles it is a noble intuitive sense of right and |
wrong; in Huripides it is a casuistical and sophisticated
reasoning upon all moral questions. Euripides does not
belong to the unconscious period of morals; the influence of
law-courts, rhetoricians, and sophists upon the Athenian
mind has been too rapidly disintegrating to admit of this.
Even in Sophocles we see the beginnings of casuistry in the
collision brought out in the Antigone between a decree of
the State and the eternal sense of right and wrong (οὐ γάρ τι
νῦν τε κἀχθὲς ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ πότε ζῆ ταῦτα) in the human mind.
But this collision is not worked out by Sophocles, as it
would have been by Euripides, in a sophistical spirit, so as
to produce scepticism in the validity of both the conflicting
authorities. The impression which is left is rather that that
most tragical position of all has been produced, where both
parties are justifiable and are in the right. But, doubtless,
the Antigone of Sophocles was partly a result of, and partly
a contribution to, these discussions of the opposition between
Law and Nature which played so conspicuous a part in the
sophistical period of Hellenic thought.
Besides adherence to proverbs and saws from the poets,
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 ‘
THE ORPHIC MYSTERIES. 101
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,
respecting 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
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 Museeus 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
102 ESSAY II.
purpose to say much. They appear to have originally pos-
sessed 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 assertion 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 pruden-
tial morality that was rife in Greece—produced a state of
feeling that made Plato say in the person of Adeimantus—
‘The only hope is, either if a person have a sort. of inspira-
tion of natural goodness, or obtain a scientific apprehension
of the absolute difference between right and wrong.’ (πλὴν εἴ
tis θείᾳ φύσει δυσχεραίνων τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἢ ἐπιστήμην λαβὼν
ἀπέχεται αὐτοῦ. Trepub. p. 366 C.)
The relation of the Hthics 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 (Hth. 1. viii. 2)
again, the division into the admirable (τίμια) and the praise- |
worthy (#th. τ. xii. 1). One list of goods, not mentioned by
Ῥ Η
MORALITY OF THE EARLY PHILOSOPHERS. 103
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
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;
Ethies, τ. iv. 2).
Before taking leave of this period of unphilosophic morals,
The author
of the Magna Moralia, as we have seen, attributed to
we must ask—How fared the philosophers in it ?
Pythagoras certain mathematical formule for expressing
That the Pythagoreans adopted these
we know from other sources, but at how late a date it seems
difficult to say,”—-perhaps not before the time of Philolaus.
Of the other philosophers it may be said generally that ethical
ethical conceptions.
subjects did not form part of their philosophy, they made no
attempt to systematise the phenomena of human society and
And yet they had deep thoughts on life and
This standing apart was indeed
human action.
stood apart from other men.
their characteristic attitude. Philosophic isolation was the
22 A quantity of spurious Pythago-
rean fragments have come down to us.
Patricius, in his Discussiones Peri-
patetice (Vol. II. Book VII.), quotes
these to prove that Aristotle plagia-
rised from the Pythagoreans. If the
fragments were genuine, they would
indeed prove wholesale plagiarism.
But they are plainly mere translations
of Aristotle into Dorie Greek. The
following is attributed to Archytas.
οὐδὲν ἕτερόν ἐστιν εὐδαιμονία ἀλλ᾽ ἢ
χρᾶσις ἀρετᾶς ἐν εὐτυχίᾳ. Able as the
work of Patricius is, it labours under
the disadvantages of his era, criticism
having as yet hardly an existence.
As a specimen of his judgment—he
calls it ‘a lie’ onthe 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 Jamblichus, Psel-
lus, &e.
104 ESSAY II.
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 οὗ
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 ὀχλολοίδορος, from his philo-
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 ᾿Αταραξία 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. Hth. X. vill. 11), 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
᾿ς of their systems.
II. The unconscious period of morality in Greece was
succeeded by an interval of sceptical thought upon moral
subjects. This was the era (commencing about 450 B.C.) in
connection with which the word ‘ sophistical’ was first used ;
it was, in short, the era of the famous ‘ Sophists’ of the fifth
and fourth centuries. Who and what were these ‘ Sophists’
(whose name became a byword, and was converted into an
GROTE’S DEFENCE OF THE SOPHISTS. - 105
adjective with so invidious a connotation) is a question of
much interest in itself; and the interest has been increased
since Grote, thirty-four years ago, in the 67th chapter of his
History of Greece, undertook to vindicate the Sophists from
the aspersions which had up to that date rested upon them,
and to show that the word ‘sophistical’ in its modern sense
is a fossilised injustice, being merely the expression of Plato’s ἡ
prejudice against a respectable set of men. Grote’s bold
paradox naturally: excited opposition in various quarters, and
the first edition of the present Essay (1857) contained a sort
of protest against it. Time and reflection and the remarks
of various scholars who have taken part in the controversy,
would seem to necessitate the modification of that protest,—
not to the extent of acknowledging that ‘ the main substance
of Grote’s conclusions’ is ‘ as clear and certain * as anything
of the kind can possibly be,—but to the extent of acknow-
ledging that Grote has done valuable service in mooting his
views, supported as they are by his usual rich learning and
his strong manly sense. The ‘ main substance of Grote’s con-
clusions’ would surely be this: that Plato was unjust in
attributing ‘ sophistry’ to the Greek Sophists. This plea, as
urged in favour of the Sophists and against Plato, we are still
unable to accept. Grote’s other and, as we should call them,
secondary conclusions, e.g. that the Sophists were not a sect
but a profession; that among their ranks honourable men
were included ; that, as the educators of youth, they did much
to promote the civilisation of Greece and the development
of certain arts and sciences; and that many of the German
commentators and historians of philosophy have been too
hasty and sweeping in their condemnation of them,—we
willingly accept as capable of absolute demonstration. But
33 This is the opinion of Mr. H. Sidgwick, expressed in the Journal of
Philology, vol. iv. p. 288.
106 ESSAY II.
the question is whether Grote, after justly exposing and
refuting certain ill-considered statements of modern writers,
has not gone too far, in his zeal of advocacy, in attempt-
ing to completely turn the tables on some of the greatest of
the ancients. If there was no sophistry (in the now accepted
sense of the word) properly chargeable on the Sophists, then
one of the chief lessons which Plato thought that he had to
teach the world—a lesson which, if it be a true one, is appli-
cable not only to the popular teachers of the fifth century in
Greece, but also to the analogous teachers of all ages—would
fall to the ground as unmeaning. What we have to do is to
see what Plato and Aristotle and others of the ancients really
said, and to endeavour to interpret and criticise their sayings
rightly.
The question begins with the history of a word. At first
the word σοφιστὴς was used in an intermediate sense to
denote any one ‘who by profession practised or exhibited |
some kind of wisdom or cleverness ;’ thus it was applicable to |
philosopher, artist, musician, and even poet.%* Aischylus
makes Hermes apply the term with sarcasm to Prometheus
(P.V. 944), but the sneer consists in addressing Prometheus
as σὲ τὸν σοφιστὴν---“ you the craftsman’—when in so
helpless a situation. In the same play, v. 62, it occurs with-
out any such irony : ,
ἵνα
μάθῃ σοφιστὴς ὧν Διὸς νωθέστερος.
—‘ duller in his art than Zeus.’ In one of the fragments of
Aischylus σοφιστὴς is applied to Orpheus, denoting ‘ musi-
cian,’ or ‘ master.’
Herodotus (1. 29) mentions that Solon ἄλλοι τε of πάντες
* Cf. Diogenes Laertius, 1.12: Of | Καθὰ καὶ Κρατῖνος ἐν ᾿Αρχιλόγῳ τοὺς
δὲ σοφοὶ καὶ σοφισταὶ ἐκαλοῦντο. Kal | περὶ Ὅμηρον καὶ Ἡσίοδον ἐπαινῶν οὕτως
οὐ μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ σοφισταί. | καλεῖ,
: HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘ SOPHIST.’ 107
ἐκ τῆς “Ελλάδος σοφισταί, of τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον ἐτύγχανον
ἐόντες, visited Sardis when at the zenith of its prosperity.
This probably means ‘all others who at that time in Greece
were noted: for or professed any kind of intellectual ability,’
—‘all the wits of Greece.’ Philosophers, artists, poets, and
statesmen, might equally be included. In Π. 49, he speaks
of of ἐπυγενόμενοι τούτῳ (Melampus) σοφισταί, and in IV. 95,
he calls Pythagoras “Ελλήνων οὐ τῷ ἀσθενεστάτῳ σοφιστῇ,
—in both passages the term merely means ‘ philosopher.’
In the Clouds of Aristophanes (acted 423 B.c.), the word
σοφιστὴς appears for the first time in an invidious sense,
and the invidiousness consists in an association attached to it
partly of over-subtle, vapourish, speculation, partly of charla--
tanry. Thus (Vv. 331) the clouds are said tobe ‘the main-
tainers of many such professors *—soothsayers from Thurium,
quacksalvers, idle fellows with long hair and rings to their
finger-tips, —where it is clear that the term ‘ Sophist,’ though
now bearing a shade of contempt, has not yet reached the)
limited Platonic sense of ‘ paid instructor in rhetoric and
philosophy.’ In v. 361, Socrates and Prodicus are spoken of
as the chief amongst the crew of ‘transcendental Sophists
(τῶν viv μετεωροσοφιστῶν). Inv. 1111 sq. we see expressed
a popular opinion of the Sophist, as a pale and attenuated stu-
dent (σοφιστὴν---ὠχρὸν---καὶ κακοδαίμονα). And inv. 1306
sq. the term is applied to Strepsiades, in the sense of ‘ trickster,’
in allusion to his cheating of his creditors. In Aristophanes,
then, the word ‘Sophist’ is still indeterminate ; it has become
uncomplimentary, but only as conveying the popular feeling
about the profession of out-of-the-way accomplishments, just
25 οὐ γὰρ μὰ Δί᾽ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτιὴ πλείστους | These splendid .impostors must haye
αὗται βόσκουσι σοφιστάς, been the Cagliostros of Greece.
θουριομάντεις, iarporéxvas, oppa-
γιδονυχαργοκομήτας.
108 ; ESSAY II.
as the term ‘professor’ is sometimes used in a slightly
sneering way in modern times. Aristophanes has evidently
no consciousness of any particular class of Sophists who
were the philosophical antagonists of Socrates. He couples
Socrates and Prodicus together as among the most ‘ specula-
tive sophists’ of the day. He speaks quite ab ewtra, knowing
nothing of the interior of philosophical circles, and only
represents a general popular suspicion of all philosophers or
‘professors,’ not troubling himself to make distinctions be-
tween them.
Thucydides writing at the end of the fifth century B.c. uses
the word σοφισταὶ in a sense nearer to that of Plato than
Aristophanes had done, to denote those professional orators'
who made displays of rhetoric (ἐπιδείξει) before a set
audience.”
By Xenophon (born about 431 B.C.) the word is used both
in its indeterminate and in its limited sense. In Memora-
bilia, IV. 11. 1, he speaks of γράμματα πολλὰ ποιητῶν τε καὶ
σοφιστῶν τῶν εὐδοκιμωτάτων (‘the most famous sages’), in
the same sense in which (Lb. 1. vi. 14) he speaks of τοὺς
θησαύρους τῶν πάλαι σοφῶν ἀνδρῶν, ods ἐκεῖνοι κατέλιπον ἐν
βιβλίοις γράψαντες. In Cyropadia he speaks of a ‘ sophist’
to whom he attributes the most elevated and noble cha-
racter. Cyrus is represented in the fiction as asking Tigranes,
son of the chief of Armenia, what had become of ‘the
sophist,’ with whom on former occasions he had seen him
associating ? ‘He is no more,’ said Tigranes, ‘ for my father
here put him todeath.’ ‘ What crime,’ asked Cyrus, ‘did he
find him committing?’ ‘He said that he corrupted me,’
answered Tigranes ; ‘and yet, Cyrus, so noble and excellent
a man was he, that when he was going to die, he sent for me
%* Bell. Pelop. 11, 38: ἁπλῶς te | θεαταῖς ἐοικότες καθημένοις μᾶλλον ἢ
ἀκοῆς ἡδονῇ ἡσσώμενοι καὶ σοφιστῶν περὶ πόλεως βουλευομένοις.
HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘SOPHIST.’ 109
and told me not to bear my father the least ill-will for put-
ting him to death, because he was not doing it out of malice,
but out of ignorance, and whatever faults men commit |
through ignorance ought to be considered involuntary.’
Whether ‘ sophist’ here is to be taken in the limited sense
of paid instructor, or merely in the more general sense of
‘philosopher,’ this remarkable passage shows that at the
time when Xenophon wrote his Cyropedia, he knew nothing
of an absolute antagonism and contrast between Socrates and
‘the Sophists, else he would not have drawn a picture of
‘a sophist’ suffering the same fate as Socrates, martyr of the
same ignorant prejudice, and expressing sentiments worthy
of the most noble mood of Socrates. In Mem. I. vi. 1,
Xenophon speaks of ᾿Αντιφῶντα τὸν σοφιστήν. It is uncer-
tain whether Antiphon of Rhamnus, the master of Thucy-
dides, is here meant. Whoever is the person alluded to,
he is described as taunting Socrates on his bare feet and
scant clothing—the same in winter as in summer—on his
spare diet and on the general wretchedness of his mode of
life. ‘If Philosophy,’ he proceeded, ‘be your mistress, you
get from Her a worse maintenance than any slave would put
up with from his master. It is all because you will not take
money—money that cheers the recipient, and enables him to
live in a more pleasant and gentlemanlike way. You act as
if your instructions had no value, else why should you give
them for nothing?’ Socrates replies that there are two things,
which to sell is prostitution—namely, personal beauty and
wisdom. ‘Those who sell their wisdom for money to any
that will buy, men call “ Sophists,” or, as it were, a sort of
male demi-monde ;% whereas whoso, by imparting knowledge |
to another whom he sees well qualified to learn, binds that
27 Thy σοφίαν ὡσαύτως τοὺς μὲν | σοφιστὰς ὥσπερ πόρνους ἀποκαλοῦ-
ἀργυρίου τῷ βουλομένῳ πωλοῦντας, | σιν, K.T.A., § 13.
~
T10 . ESSAY II.
other to himself as a friend, does what is befitting to a good
citizen and a gentleman.’ Here the name ‘sophist’ is used
in its distinctly limited sense to denote a teacher who takes
pay, and it is also implied that, on this very account, the
name is considered to convey a certain amount of reproach
with it.
At the end of Xenophon’s treatise on Hunting (Cynegeticus,
c. xill.), there appears a moral peroration, in which the writer
preaches a sermon on the excellence of the practice of hunting
as preparing a man to serve his country. Then he goes on
to the worth of toilsome pursuits in general, and though Vir-
tue is toilsome, says that mankind would not shun the pur-
suit of Her if they could only see in bodily form how beautiful
She is.
Sophists’ of his time.
This train of thought reminds him of ‘ the so-called
He says, ‘They pretend to teach
He has
never seen any one made a good man by the teaching of
virtue, but their teaching is a mere pretence.’ 38
a Sophist. He says, ‘Many beside me find fault with -
the Sophists, and not with the philosophers, because the
‘They
seek only reputation and gain, and do not, like the philo-
former are subtle in words and not in thoughts.’ *
sophers, teach with a disinterested spirit.’ %°
This passage, if it could be accepted as independent
28 Θαυμάζω δὲ τῶν σοφιστῶν Kadov-
μένων ὅτι φασὶ μὲν ἐπ᾽ ἀρετὴν ἄγειν of
πολλοὶ τοὺς νέους, ἄγουσι δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούὐναν-
4 v \ v r ,
thoy: οὔτε γὰρ ἄνδρα που ἑωράκαμεν
ὅντιν᾽ οἱ νῦν σοφισταὶ ἀγαθὴν ἐποίησαν,
οὔτε γράμματα παρέχονται ἐξ ὧν χρὴ
ἀγαθοὺς γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τῶν
\ * ΄“ / 2. 9
ματαίων πολλὰ αὐτοῖς γέγραπται ἀφ
,» ”~ ΄, ε A c >
ὧν τοῖς νέοις αἱ μὲν ἡδοναὶ Keval, ἀρετὴ
δ᾽ οὐκ ἔνι.
39 Ψέγουσι δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ τοὺς
νῦν σοφιστὰς καὶ οὐ τοὺς φιλοσόφους,
ὅτι ἐν τοῖς ὀνόμασι σοφίζονται καὶ οὐκ
ἐν τοῖς νοήμασιν.
% Οἱ σοφισταὶ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τῷ ἐξαπατᾷν
λέγουσι καὶ γράφουσιν ἐπὶ τῷ ἑαυτῶν
κέρδει καὶ οὐδένα οὐδὲν ὠφελοῦσιν " οὐδὲ
γὰρ σοφὸς αὐτῶν ἐγένετο οὐδεὶς οὐδ᾽
ἔστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀρκεῖ ἑκάστῳ σοφιστὴν
κληθῆναι, ὅ ἐστιν ὄνειδος παρά γε τοῖς
εὖ φρονοῦσι. τὰ μὲν οὖν τῶν σοφιστῶν
παραγγέλματα παραινῶ φυλάττεσθαι,
τὰ δὲ τῶν φιλοσόφων ἐνθυμήματα μὴ
ἀτιμάζειν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ σοφισταὶ πλου-
σίους καὶ νέους θηρῶνται, οἱ δὲ φιλό-
σοφοι πᾶσι κοινοὶ καὶ φίλοι.
HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘ SOPHIST.’ 111
testimony, would go far to prove that the strongest terms
of censure ever used by either Plato or Aristotle, were
only a reflection of the general opinion of enlightened men
in Greece, when contrasting ‘Sophists’ with ‘ philosophers.’
But the passage is out of harmony with that quoted above
from the Cyropedia; and again it is like an afterthought
unnecessarily appended to the treatise On Hunting. We
know that Xenophon, who was not born much before Plato,
lived to a great age; and it seems reasonable to conjecture
that, at some time or other—after reading Plato’s Sophistes,
in which the sophist is defined as one who hunts after rich
young. men—he added on this frigid peroration to his lively
and technical discourse on hunting. If so, it is merely a
coarse echo of Plato, just as the Symposium of Xenophon
looks like a poor copy of Plato’s Symposium. All that can
be said, in that:case, is that Xenophon, who is not in the least
a discriminating or trustworthy authority on philosophical
matters, endorses the charge, by whomsoever made, against
the Sophists (as a recognised class of teachers)—that their
ethical teaching was hollow and rhetorical, and their whole
spirit mercenary and self-seeking. And he appears also
to indicate that enlightened public opinion was in the same
direction.
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
112 ESSAY II.
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 view, which regarded practical success as alone worth
having, he ignored altogether any distinction between the
philosopher and the Sophist. His aversion to speculation
vents itself in a confused and indiscriminate carping at the
literary profession and the philosophers. His oration κατὰ
τῶν Σοφιστῶν, 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 those inestimable
advantages, the paltry sum of three or four mine. This
class of teachers he calls the disputants (οἱ περὶ τὰς ἔριδας
διατρίβοντες) ; 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 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. Ταῦτα δὲ πολλῆς
ἐπιμελείας δεῖσθαι καὶ ψυχῆς ἀνδρικῆς, καὶ δοξαστικῆς, ἔργον
εἶναι. In another passage (Philippus, § 12), Isocrates uses
HISTORY OF fHE WORD ‘ SOPHIST.’ 118
the term Sophist with what seems to be an undeniable
allusion to Plato’s Republic and Laws. Speaking of the
futility of abstract political speculations, he says, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίως
οἱ τοιοῦτοι τῶν λόγων ἄκυροι τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες τοῖς νόμοις
καὶ ταῖς πολιτείαις ταῖς ὑπὸ τῶν σοφιστῶν γεγραμμέναι.
In his oration, De Permutatione (§ 235), he says that Solon,
through his attention to rhetoric, ‘came to be called one
of the Seven ‘Sophists, and took the appellation now dis-
honoured and censured by you,’ and in § 313, he affirms that
Solon was the first of the Athenians to be called a Sophist.*!
This last statement is at variance with that of Plato, who
makes Protagoras to have been the first who accepted the
appellation ‘ Sophist.’. The discrepancy depends on the am-
biguity 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.
We see, then, that the word ‘ Sophist,’ having first had
a merely general signification, denoting ‘ philosopher,’ ‘man
of letters,’ ‘ artist,’ &c., acquired a special meaning after the
middle of the. fifth century, as the designation of a par-
ticular class of teachers. And then men began to talk of
‘ the Sophists, —referring to this class. But the word retained
both its significations, even in the pages of the same author.
The word in its earlier sense might be applied in a neutral;
or in a sneering, way. ‘Thus Xenophon describes ‘a Sophist,’
who was a most exalted character; and on the other hand,
31 Οὔκουν ἐπί ye τῶν προγόνων οὕτως | εἶναι.
εἶχεν, ἀλλὰ τοὺς καλουμένους Zopictds | * Theallusion here may be merely
ἐθαύμαζον καὶ τοὺς συνόντας αὐτοῖς | to that passage of Herodotus (1. 29)
ἐζήλουν. Σόλωνα μὲν yap, τὸν πρῶτον | quoted above, where it was said that
τῶν πολιτῶν λαβόντα τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν | ‘Solon and all the other sophists of
ταύτην προστάτην ἠξίωσαν τῆς πόλεως | the day’ came to Sardis.
VOL. I. I
114 ESSAY II.
Isocrates sneers at ‘the Republics and Laws composed by
Sophists,’ thus applying the name in a general but uncom-"
plimentary sense to Plato himself. But it may safely be
said that for 150 years after 450 B.c. it is rare to find the
word ‘ Sophist’ used without some shade of disparagement.
Aristophanes satirises philosophers generally under this
name; Thucydides opposes Sophists, as deliverers of rhetori-
cal discourses, to statesmen in earnest about some question ;
Xenophon perhaps copies Plato, but also as a soldier and a
gentleman he expresses his contempt for a class of paid
teachers, who had nothing but verbiage to impart ; Isocrates
speaks of the class with the bitterness of a rival teacher.
If the ‘ Sophists’ of the fifth century made money out of their
contemporaries, they seem, on the other hand, to have been
hardly used by them (whether deservedly or not) in respect
of reputation. We have hitherto looked at ‘the Sophists ’
from their external side, as they appeared to contemporary
writers. Passing on now to Plato, we shall first be able to
gain much additional information 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 ἡ σοφιστική, 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 Sophists,’ 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
HISTORY OF THE WORD “ SOPHIST.’ 115
what was indeed a very wide-spread profession. In the Meno,
p- 91 Εἰ, Socrates is made to speak as if Protagoras was not
by any means even the first of the Sophists, καὶ od μόνον
Πρωταγόρας, ἀλλὰ Kal ἄλλοι πάμπολλοι, οἱ μὲν πρότερον
γεγονότες ἐκείνου, οἱ δὲ καὶ νῦν ἔτι ὄντε. And by astill more
remarkable mode of speaking, in the Lthics of Aristotle
IX. 1. 5-7, Protagoras appears to be in a sort of way con-
trasted with the Sophists.**
Protagoras to 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 flocking to the house of Callias, so that the porter,
mistaking Socrates and Hippocrates for members of the pro-
It is true that Plato represents
fession, would scarcely open the door to them.** Within
the house they find a conclave of persons, ‘most of them
foreigners whom Protagoras, like another Orpheus, had drawn
after him from their own cities’ —amopgst others, ‘ Anti-
moerus the Mendzan, the most famous of the pupils of Pro-
tagoras, who was learning with professional objects, meaning
to be a Sophist’ (ἐπὶ τέχνῃ μανθάνει, ὡς σοφιστὴς ἐσόμενοΞ).
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 connections 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
33 Ὃ γὰρ προϊέμενος ἔοικ᾽ ἐπιτρέπειν
Ὅπερ φασὶ καὶ Πρωταγόραν
ποιεῖν" ὅτε γὰρ διδάξειεν ἁδήποτε, τι-
ujou τὸν μαθόντα ἐκέλευεν ὅσου δοκεῖ
ἄξια ἐπίστασθαι, καὶ ἐλάμβανε τοσοῦ-
τον.---Οἱ δὲ προλαβόντες τὸ ἀργύριον,
εἶτα μηθὲν ποιοῦντες ὧν ἔφασαν, διὰ τὰς
ὑπερβολὰς τῶν ἐπαγγελιῶν, εἰκότως
ἐκείνῳ.
,λοῦσιν ἃ ὡμολόγησαν.
ἐν ἐγκλήμασι γίνονται" οὐ γὰρ ἐπιτε-
Τοῦτο δ᾽ ἴσως
ποιεῖν of σοφισταὶ ἀναγκάζονται διὰ τὸ
μηθέναδν δοῦναι ἀργύριον ὧν ἐπίστανται.
34 “Ea, ἔφη, σοφισταί τινες" οὐ σχο-
Ah αὐτῷ.---᾿Αλλ᾽ ὦ yal, ἔφην, οὔτε
παρὰ Καλλίαν ἥκομεν οὔτε σοφισταί
ἐσμεν, ἀλλὰ θάῤῥει.
12
116 ESSAY II.
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
Sis δ }
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 con-
sider this a great disgrace.* By Callicles, in the Gorgias
(p. 519 EF), a sweeping contempt is 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 Rhetorician
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
Whether to the
Anytus repudiates the idea, since ‘these corrupt
shall we send Meno to learn virtue from ?
Sophists ?’
all who come near them.’** Socrates, in reply to this,
85 Σὺ δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς θεῶν, οὐκ
75; ΟΥ
πέμποντες αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς πέμποιμεν. ἢ
σκόπει παρὰ τίνας ἂν
ἂν αἰσχύναιο εἰς τοὺς Ἕλληνας αὑτὸν
σοφιστὴν παρέχων; Νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ
Σώκρατες, εἴπερ γε ἃ διανοοῦμαι χρὴ
λέγειν. This expression is too strong
to be explained away, as Grote pro-
poses, by saying that it is only
analogous to an English boy’s being
unwilling to have it thought that,
when grown up, he was going to be a
schoolmaster,
δῆλον δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἄρτι λόγον, ὅτι παρὰ
τούτους τοὺς ὑπισχνουμένους ἀρετῆς
διδασκάλους εἶναι καὶ ἀποφήναντας αὗ-
τοὺς κοινοὺς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τῷ βουλο-
μένῳ μανθάνειν, μισθὸν τούτου ταξαμέ-
vous τε καὶ πραττομένου: ; ΑΝ. Καὶ
τίνας λέγεις τούτους, ὦ Σώκρατες; ΣΩ.
Οἶσθα δήπου καὶ σὺ ὅτι οὗτοί εἰσιν
οἵους οἱ ἄνθρωποι καλοῦσι σοφιστάς.
“dl “τ᾿ “ἘΦ
ἠ «-
PLATOS VIEWS OF THE SOPHISTS. 117.
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 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’ (καὶ ἴσως τι λέγεις, 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-
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, drama-
tically, 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
AN. Ἡράκλεις, εὐφήμει, ὦ Σώκρατες. | τοὺς ἐλθόντα λωβηθῆναι, ἐπεὶ οὗτοί γε
μηδένα τῶν συγγενῶν, μήτε οἰκείων | φανερά ἐστι λώβη τε καὶ διαφθορὰ τῶν
μήτε φίλων, μήτε ἀστῶν μήτε ξένων, | συγγινομένων.
τοιαύτη μανία λάβοι, ὥστε παρὰ τού-
118 ESSAY II.
rivals of Socrates. Rather 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 philosopher must consider their claims, their ten-
dencies, and the phenomena of their success from a deeper
point of view.
To a similar purport Socrates is made to speak in the
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 great-
est 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 the
keepers of a wild beast, who, when they have studied his
moods and learned to understand his noises, call this a sys-
tem and a philosophy.’ The common accusation had been
that the Sophists unsettled young men’s opinions, and turned
them away from the established beliefs. Socrates implies,
‘T am willing to exonerate them from this. Rather 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 personne Vesprit que tout le
397, 3
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 (ἐπιδείξεις), and then .
invite the youths of their audience to come and _ receive
THE GAINS OF THE SOPHISTS. 119
instruction with a view to becoming able men in the State
(δεινοί, 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 Gorgias, confined themselves to rhe-
toric. Their profits no doubt varied with their success ;
some must have been ill-paid and wretched, as is represented
by Aristophanes and Isocrates. The leading members of the
profession 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. 91 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 (pp. 282, 283) Prodicus is said to have made immense
sums ; "1 Hippias is made to boast that ‘when quite a young
man he made in Sicily, in a short space of time, more than
150 minz (600l.), and that in one little village, Inycus, he
made more than 20 minz’ (8ol.). 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 Permutatione, 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. Gorgias 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 con-
tribution ; had no wife nor children, and so was free from
this the most continual tax of all—and with these advan-
tages beyond others for acquiring a fortune, he only left
37 Τοῖς νέοις συνὼν χρήματα ἔλαβε θαυμαστὰ boa. Cf. Xen. Symp.t. 5, tv. 62.
120 ESSAY II.
behind him at the last 1,000 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 sur-
prise 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 re-
proach, as the practice of so many respectable men among
the moderns may serve to testify. But we shou!d endeavour
to put ourselves into the position of the ancients, and the
following considerations may help us to do so. (1) The
practice of the Sophists was an innovation, and jarred on
men’s 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 philosopher 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 ἃ poor Sophist was he (οὕτως αὐτὸν ἀνόητα σοφί-
THE GAINS OF THE SOPHISTS. 121
ζεσθαι), 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 adminis-
tration 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 exclusively in reference to the standard of the’
fine and the noble (καλόν). (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,** 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 the conduct of life. To make a market of
the highest subjects 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 complain-
38 Cf, Demosthenes de Corond, p. | him into a sort of revolt against
313. Socrates, his master, taught as a
% The severity of this principle | Sophist (Diog. Laert. ii. 62), and ap-
appears not to have been long main- | pears to have lived upon his gains.
tained in the post-Socratic, or at all Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus,
events the post-Aristotelian schools, | according to Quintilian, mercedes
Aristippus, whose worldly spirit puts | acceptaverunt.
122 ESSAY II.
ing 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.‘
The most characteristic and prominent creation of the
early Sophistic era was, in one word, rhetoric. But as rhe-
toricians, the Sophists were themselves the creatures of their
times. Circumstances were ripe in the Greek States for the
development of this new direction of the human mind, and
it came. Cicero (Brutus, ὁ. 12) quoting from Aristotle’s
lost work, the Συναγωγὴ τεχνῶν, tells us that Rhetoric 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 in-
cessant 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 commonplaces of oratory and
Gorgias his encomia.’ Everywhere 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.
© Kal ὁ σοφιστὴς χρηματιστὴς amd φαινομένης σοφίας, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ οὔσης. Aristotle,
Soph. Elench. ii. 6.
THE RHETORIC OF THE SOPHISTS. 128
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 Elea, in Asia Minor, aimed at
εὐέπεια, ‘fine speaking.’ On the other hand, the Greek
school, led by Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias, devoted
themselves more especially to ὀρθοέπεια, ‘ 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-
riclans 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 thinking upon words which was one manifestation of
the subjective tendencies of the day. His work, entitled
᾿Ορθοέπεια (which is mentioned by Plato, Phedrus, p. 267 ΟἿ),
most probably contained a variety of speculations, as well
philological as grammatical. And even his ᾿Αλήθεια appears
from Plato’s Cratylus (p. 391 C) to have touched upon
etymological questions. From Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Mm. v.,
we learn that Protagoras was the first to classify the genders
of nouns, calling them dppeva, θήλεα, and σκεύη. From
Soph. Elench. xiv. § 1, we learn that he considered the ter-
minations -vs and -n£ ought to be appropriated to the mas-
culine gender, so that to say μῆνιν οὐλομένην would be a
solecism. In the Clouds of Aristophanes (v. 668-692);
Pe ee ene ae eee A ee ae ee ee a ee aie 7... τ We SS ee gs" 8
9 rp SR Tt eg _ at Soa, ae τ νι ne ὑόν οἰ σὰ αὐ γερὰ, ἀν. ,
; ae : : γῆν ; ΓΕ ΤΙ
194 ESSAY II.
Socrates is Indicrously introduced as following out these
ideas, and wishing to alter the termination of κώρδοπος and
ἀλεκτρυών to suit the feminine gender. Another of the
grammatical performances of Protagoras was the classifica-
tion of the λόγος or ‘form of speech,’ into question, answer,
command, and prayer (Diogenes 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 prac-
tice of similar studies in the school of Protagoras. Lastly,
his speculations in etymology and language seem to have
been made in support of his philosophical doctrine of ‘ know-
ing and being, —7dvrav μέτρον ἄνθρωπος (cf. Plato’s Craty-
lus, l.c.).
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 signifi-
cation and apparently synonymous. He is reported to have
said ‘ that a right use of words is the beginning of knowledge’
(πρῶτον yap, ds φησι ἸΠρόδικος, περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος
μαθεῖν δεῖ, Huthydem. p. 277 FE). In Plato’s Protagoras,
Ῥ. 337, ἃ speech is put into his mouth, which exhibits an
amusing caricature of his style. Every sentence contains a
verbal refinement, and is thrown back on itself, in order to
furnish out some antithetical distinction in language. ‘We
must be impartial, but not indifferent listeners (κοινοὺς μὲν
εἶναι, ἴσους δὲ μή). The speakers should dispute, not
wrangle (ἀμφισβητεῖν μὲν, ἐρίζειν δὲ μή). So they will gain
our esteem, rather than our applause (εὐδοκιμοῖτε καὶ οὐκ
ἐπαινοῖσθε), and we shall feel rather joy than pleasure (εὐ-
φραινοίμεθα, οὐχ ἡδοίμεθαλ).᾽
In themselves, many of the distinctions drawn by Pro-
dicus were probably of little value—many were overstrained,
ε με ΡΥ. TORS ΒΒ ΘΝ ee ee ΡΥ ΤΣ
ἡ
THE RHETORIC OF THE SOPHISTS. 125
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 ποίησις and mpafis—mpaéis is defined to be
ποίησις τῶν ἀγαθῶν. 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 Sici-
lian 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 Thu-
cydides, as, for instance, the following: ἡμᾶς οὖν αἰσχρὸν
τὴν μὲν φύσιν TOV πραγμάτων εἰδέναι, σοφωτάτους δὲ ὄντας
τῶν “Ελλήνων καὶ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο νῦν συνεληλυθότας τῆς τε
“Ἑλλάδος εἰς αὐτὸ τὸ πρυτανεῖον τῆς σοφίας καὶ αὐτῆς τῆς
πόλεως“ εἰς τὸν μέγιστον καὶ ὀλβιώτατον οἶκον τόνδε, μηδὲν
τούτου τοῦ ἀξιώματος ἄξιον ἀποφήνασθαι (Protag. 337 Ὁ).
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 influence of Gorgias upon the writers of Greece
probably exceeded that of any other Sophist. After his
first essays in speculation, he appears to have renounced
philosophy, and to have proclaimed himself a teacher ot
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 (11. 86), with his usual
reserve on all matters the least extraneous, makes no men-
126 ESSAY Π.
tion 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 (ὄντας εὐφυεῖς
καὶ diroroyous), by the strangeness (τῷ ἕενίζοντι) of his
language, by his extraordinary ἀντίθετα, and ἰσόκωλα, and
πάρισα, and ὁμοιοτέλευτα, 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 super-
abundance.’ The speeches of Gorgias were thus most ela-
borately constructed, and, in addition to their almost metrical
character, bordered upon poetry also in their use of meta-
phors and of compound words. Aristotle comments 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.‘
Aristotle in another place quotes from Gorgias and from
Alcidamas, his follower, several instances of what he calls
‘frigidity’ (ψυχρότης, Rhet. m1. iii. 1), produced by pom-
pous or poetical words and compounds. He also mentions
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. .
I. xvi. 2). The other device was one full of shrewdness:
he said, ‘ You should silence your adversary’s earnestness
4“ Phet, wt. i. 9. Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ of ποιηταὶ | ποιητικὴ πρώτη ἐγένετο λέξις, οἷον 7
λέγοντες εὐήθη διὰ τὴν λέξιν ἐδόκουν | Γοργίου.
πορίσασθαι τήνδε τὴν δόξαν, διὰ τοῦτο
_*
THE RHETORIC OF THE SOPHISTS. , 127
with jest, and his jest with earnest.’‘? Among the imitators
of Gorgias 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 con-
clusion, 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 Thucy-
dides.
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
civilisation. 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.
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
4. PRhet. m1. xviii. 7. Kal δεῖν ἔφη | τῶν ἐναντίων γέλωτι, τὸν δὲ γέλωτα
Γοργίας τὴν ὡὲν σπουδὴν “διαφθείρειν | σπουδῇ.
le
-
128 ESSAY II.
having tested the premisses. 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
nattire ; 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 con-
sists in some slight exaggeration 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 realising them), but
absolutely disbelieved. As men are not fiends, this is ex-
tremely rare. Rhetoric usually juggles the mind of the
speaker as well as of his audience. It takes off the atten-
tion of both from examining 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. Inthe practice of the Sophists, Plato saw Rhe-
ΩΝ
- < >
THE RHETORIC OF THE SOPHISTS. 129
toric and Sophistry** identical. Sophistry consisted in sub-
stituting rhetoric for philosophy, words for thoughts (ἐν τοῖς
ὀνόμασι σοφιζονται καὶ οὐκ ἐν τοῖς νοήμασι, Xen. Cyneget. l.c.).
With Plato, philosophy was a higher kind of poetry, in
which reason and imagination both found their scope. With
the Sophists, it was an harangue (ἐπέδειξι5) upon any given
subject, with figures and periods to catch applause. Ari-
stotle, indeed, was enabled afterwards to look at rhetoric in
a mere abstract way, as the art of composition, 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 overgrowing them,
—this the experience of all ages and of every thinking man
can testify.
But hollow rhetoric is not the only feature of Sophistry,
either according to modern acceptation, or in the pictures
drawn by Plato. An even more prominent association con-
nected with it is—fallacious reasoning. From the original
meaning of the word σοφέζεσθαι, ‘to devise cleverly, —
‘ sophism ’ naturally stands for a trick in language or thought,
and Sophistry becomes identical with paralogism used for a
dishonest purpose. But this is not merely an association
derived from etymology. Plato and Aristotle both directly
accuse the Greek ‘ Sophists,’ or professional teachers, of the
practice of consciously using fallacious arguments to suit!
their own purposes. It has of late been ingeniously dis-
4. Cf. Gorgias, p. 520 A. ταὐτόν, ὦ μακάρι, ἐστὶ σοφιστὴς καὶ ῥήτωρ.
VOL. I, K
150 ESSAY II.
covered and pointed out‘! that at a particular point a
change comes over the spirit of Plato’s treatment of Sophists, —
that the dialogues in which the Sophists are mentioned
fall into two groups, ‘and that in each of these the being
called Sophist exhibits a strongly marked character, so dif-
ferent from that of his homonym in the other group, that if
they had not been called by the same name, no reader would
have dreamt of identifying them.
The earlier group of dialogues consists of Protagoras,
Gorgias, and Republic, in which the great characteristics
attributed to the leading Sophists, who are introduced
as dramatis persone (Protagoras, Polus, Hippias, Gorgias,
Thrasymachus), are—their wordiness, their habit of declaim-
ing and making long speeches, their ignorance of the art of
argumentation, their inability to discuss a subject by means
of short questions and answers. These personages, widely
differing in many important points, both of doctrine and
attitude, are represented as having one thing in common,
which may be represented positively as a rhetorical and
declamatory tendency, and negatively as an incapacity for
close reasoning. In Meno, in which the Sophists are men-
tioned and half-defended against Anytus, Socrates alludes to
the Hristics (p. 75 D) as if a distinct class from the Sophists
and by no means identical with them. But when we come
to the second group of dialogues, consisting of Euthydemus,
Sophistes, and Theetetus, a great change is observable, for
the Sophists are now represented as the practitioners of
perverse dialectic, as putting captious questions to people
and inveigling them into contradictions by means of verbal
quibbles, as professors of the art of ἐριστική. In Euthydemus
two Sophists are represented as practising this art on an
** By Mr. H. Sidgwick in the Journal of Philology, vol. iv. p. 294 sqq.
CHANGE IN PLATO'S TREATMENT OF SOPHISTS. 131
ingenuous youth, who is rescued from their clutches by
‘Socrates. In Sophistes the Sophist, with his short questions
and answers, is expressly contrasted with both the statesman
and the Rhetorician. In Thecetetus (p. 154 E) the adverb
σοφιστικῶς “5 is used summarily to designate the method of
captious Hristic, which has no regard to truth, but only to
victory, as opposed to honest Dialectic, whose object is the
discovery of truth.
There appears, then, to have been a strongly marked
change of front in Plato’s attack on the Sophists. The
only difficulty in explaining this arises from the doubt
whether Huthydemus was not one of the earlier dialogues
of Plato (as indeed it is generally supposed to have been).
Mr. Sidgwick, however, thinks that from the nature of its
contents it may be placed in chronological juxtaposition
with Sophistes.
However this may be, the difference in view between
Protagoras, Gorgias, and Republic, on the one hand, and
Euthydemus and Sophistes, on the other hand, seems to
point to an historical change that occurred in the character-
istics of the Greek Sophists. While the early and greater
Sophists were mainly rhetoricians and declaimers, the later
Sophists, those of the fourth century B.c., were mainly eristics,
or perverse dialecticians. Mr. Sidgwick is of opinion that
this arose from the example of the Socratic mode of dis-
putation—that Socrates, by showing his triumphant elenchus,
or refutation of opinions and conclusions which he consi-
dered unsound, is responsible for the sophistici elenchi, or
fallacies, those unfair arguments which Aristotle tells us
were used with the view of astounding the listener, in order
that out of this triumph reputation, and out of reputation
45 ξυνελθόντες σοφιστικῶς εἰς μάχην τοιαύτην, ἀλλήλων τοὺς λόγους τοῖς
λόγοις ἐκρούομεν.
kK 2
133 ESSAY II.
gain, might accrue; κ᾽ in short, that Socrates was the father
of Eristic in all its forms. This is an interesting suggestion,
and a certain amount of acceptance must be accorded to it.
Doubtless in the half-century which succeeded the death of
Socrates a very great impulse was given in Athens to the
practice of Dialectic, and thence of Eristic. This appears
in the post-Socratic philosophical schools; in the captious
arguments invented by the Megarians; in the Platonic
Dialogues themselves, which are composed throughout on
a dialectical, often on an eristical, basis. But still more
this tendency must have manifested itself in Athenian
society, as we learn from the Topics of Aristotle, which
work was written in order to give rules for the intellectual
game of Dialectic, as practised at Athens.‘7 Socrates may
have given the start to this sort of thing; but it just suited
the lively and intellectual Athenians, and we may conceive
of them at this period as a society possessed by an insatiate
appetite for discussion and controversy, whether with a view
to truth or to mere victory over an opponent. The Sophists
were always rather the creatures than the creators of their
age; and as in the fifth century they followed the impulse of
the times, and became rhetoricians, and in some cases made
contributions to Rhetoric and its subsidiary arts, so in the
fourth century they appear merrily swimming with the tide
of Dialectic, and drawing profit to themselves out of it,—
working out the possibilities of Eristic, and inventing their
own fallacious refutations to match the elenchus of Socrates.
Their procedure was caricatured by Plato in the Luthy-
demus, but Aristotle gravely assures us as a matter of fact
46. Soph. El. xi. 5. Οἱ μὲν οὖν τῆς | σοφιστικοί.
νίκης αὐτῆς χάριν τοιοῦτοι ἐριστικοὶ 47 See Grote’s Aristotle, vol. i. p.
ἄνθρωποι καὶ φιλέριδες δοκοῦσιν εἶναι, | 386.
οἱ δὲ δόξης χάριν τῆς εἰς χρηματισμὸν
‘4
ERISTIC OF THE SOPHISTS. 155
that the kind of fallacies therein represented were habitually
employed by the Sophists.‘* As collected and analysed
by Aristotle, these Sophistical Refutations may claim the
honour of having well-nigh exhausted the possibilities of
error in human reasoning. Modern logicians have hardly
been able to add any new fallacies to the list.
Aristotle says that °Plato gave no bad definition of
Sophistry in making it to be concerned with the non-exist-
ent. For the arguments of almost all the Sophists may be
said to be concerned with the accidental (1.6. that which
has no absolute existence); as, for instance, their question
whether Coriscus, the musician, is the same as plain Coris-
cus ; whether, by becoming musical, one absolutely comes
into being,’ &c. (Metaphys. v. ii. 4). Plato had said (So-
phist, p. 254 A), that ‘while the philosopher is ever de-
voted to the idea of the absolutely existent, and thus lives
in a 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 ex-
plained 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 (Huthydem.
pp. 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
48 Soph. Elench. i. 8. Ὅτι μὲν οὖν | τοιαύτης ἐφίενται δυνάμεως obs καλοῦ-
ἔστι τι τοιοῦτον λόγων γένος, kal ὅτι | μεν σοφιστάς, δῆλον,
194 ESSAY II.
relative meaning of a word against its absolute significa-
tion, to play off the accidental against the essential, formed
a main part of the ‘ Eristic’ art.
The view here taken, then, is that while it is true that
Eristic was only fully developed by the post-Socratic Sophists,
it was not derived by them at first hand from Socrates him-
self, but came to them through the active dialectic tenden-
cies now spread throughout society, which tendencies they,
as professors of the art of disputation, restless in intellect
and without earnestness about consequences, appear certainly
to have perverted. The birth and prevalence of fancy no
doubt gave birth to a sounder logic, which was necessary as
a counteraction to the Sophists, and which their clever ma-
nipulation of language suggested. Thus, historically, their
vicious practice was advantageous, though this can hardly be
reckoned to them as a merit. Independently of the valuable
distinction drawn by Mr. Sidgwick between the character-
istics of the first and second generation of Sophists, we may
still ask whether a certain bias towards fallacy did not ex-
hibit itself even in the first and most eminent members of
this profession. Mr. Sidgwick argues justly that Protagoras
can hardly have been, as Diogenes Laertius suggests, the
inventor of Eristic, else Plato would never have represented
him as a perfect child in anything like close dialectic argu-
ment. But on the other hand, when we read of the boast of
Protagoras (τὸ Πρωταγόρου ἐπάγγελμα) that ‘he could make
the worse cause the better,’ which Aristotle says that men
were indignant at, and when we read of the devices of
Gorgias (mentioned above, p. 126), we can hardly exonerate
the rhetoric even of these worthies from being too facile in
the direction of not unconscious fallacy.
Grote repeatedly, and rightly, argues that the Sophists
were not a philosophical sect, and had no common philo-
THE PHILOSOPHY OF PROTAGORAS. 135
sophical doctrines. Yet the two most eminent among those
who first consented to espouse the profession and to accept the
name of Sophists, had been beforehand not inconsiderable
philosophers, and as such had each their respective connec-
tion with previous schools of philosophy. Thus Sophistry
may be said to have had a philosophical pedigree of its own.
As represented in the persons of the two most eminent
Sophists, it. sprang almost simultaneously from the north and
the south. Also it may be said to have derived its origin more
or less immediately 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 Gorgias may be considered to have held
their character as philosophers in some measure distinct
from their professional character as rhetoricians and teachers,
and yet the results of their philosophising 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 Thectetus 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,—Pro-
tagoras 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 perci-
pient ; and therefore ‘man is the measure of all things, of the
existent that they exist, and of things non-existent that they
136 ESSAY II.
do not exist.’ This proposition on the one hand contains
the germ of all philosophy, on the other hand it renders philo- ’
sophy impossible by reducing all knowledge and existence Ὁ
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 misconcep-
tion and too great limiting of the subjective side of exist-
ence. Objects exist only in relation to a subject, but not
necessarily in relation to individual perceptions. If indivi-
dual perception is the measure of all things, the same object
will be capable of contradictory 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 dis-
tinction between true and false will be done away; even
denial (ἀντιλέγειν) 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, 1.6. such as are
more expedient for him to entertain.’
Man is indeed the measure of all things, not the in-
dividual 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 subjec-
tive side of knowledge, led the way to what has been called |
‘ critical’ philosophy, to a critic of cognition itself; and this
THE PHILOSOPHY OF PROTAGORAS. 137
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 becom-
ing from his own system sceptical about truth altogether, he
seems to have returned (as above mentioned) to mere prin-
ciples of expediency. His sensational theory and his scep-
ticism 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 active intel-
lect combined with a certain trifling and unreality upon the
gravest subjects—in the well-known sentence of Protagoras
on the gods: ‘ Respecting 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.’ 4° 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 Gorgias, which formed the sub-
4. Diog. Laert. ix. 51, Sext. Emp. adv. Math. rx. 56.
138 ESSAY II.
ject of his book ‘On Nature, or the Non-existent,’ and of
which a sketch is preserved in the Peripatetic treatise, called
Aristotle’s, De Xenophane, Zenone, et Gorgid, and also in
Sextus Empiricus (ad Math. vi. 65), is one of the most
startling utterances of antiquity. It consists of three pro-
positions. (1) Nothing exists. (2) If it does exist, it cannot
be known. (3) If it can be known, it cannot be communi-—
cated.*° The extravagant character of this position was de-
nounced 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 behind-
hand (ὀψιμαθής) 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 anyone
surpass the audacity of Gorgias, who dared to say that
nothing of existing things exists?’ Isocrates adds to the
name of Gorgias, those of Zeno and Melissus; he had before
specified as ridiculous paradoxes the theses that ‘it is im-
possible 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 Alemzon, two; according to Parmenides and Melissus,
one; according to Gorgias, 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 Gorgias as belonging to the same sphere
of thought, only a more flagrant development of it, as the
doctrine, ‘all virtue is a science.’ It is always easy to set
Μ»
5° Οὐκ εἶναί φησιν οὐδέν᾽ εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν, | στόν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δηλωτὸν ἄλλοις. Arist,
ἄγνωστον εἶναι" εἰ δὲ καὶ ἔστι καὶ γνω- | De Xenophane, ὅζο. ¢. v.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 139
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 Gorgias 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
_ Eleatic arguments against the Ionic hypothesis, and Ionic
arguments against the Eleatic hypothesis.' ‘If there is
existence (εἰ δ᾽ ἔστι), it must be either Not-being or Being.
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 uncreated. It cannot be One,
for One implies divisibility, 1.6. 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
5) Kal ὅτι μὲν οὐκ ἔστι, συνθεὶς τὰ | πολλὰ" οἱ δὲ ad, ὅτι πολλὰ καὶ οὐχ ἕν᾽
ἑτέροις εἰρημένα, ὅσοι περὶ τῶν ὄντων | καὶ of μὲν ὅτι ἀγένητα οἱ δὲ ὡς γενό-
λέγοντες, τἀναντία, ὡς δοκοῦσιν, ἀπο- | μενα ἐπιδεικνύντες, ταῦτα συλλογίζεται
φαίνονται αὑτοῖς " οἱ μὲν, ὅτι ἕν καὶ οὐ | κατ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων. Arist. De Xen. ὅχο. lc.
140 ESSAY II.
nothing can come from the non-existent. Nor can it be
Uncreate, for that implies its being Infinite, and the Infinite
can 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 difficulties which beset the most abstract view of exist-
ence. The same difficulties have been felt by other philo-
sophers ; 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 Gorgias for these speculations,
nor for the conclusions to which they 16. Plato himself, in
the Parmenides (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 that which the world calls waste of time (τῆς
δοκούσης ἀχρήστου εἶναι Kal καλουμένης ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν
ἀδολεσχίας), else truth will escape you.’ What, then, is this
method? It consists in the following out of contrary hypo-
theses, 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 Gorgias, from Plato’s point of view, for his strin-
gent dialectic. ΤῸ the popular mind, such reasonings appear
absurd or repugnant. But the philosopher is only stimu-
lated 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 Gorgias, in order to know more accurately
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. ΕμΙ
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 Gorgias,
while they are of force against previous philosophy, 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 Gorgias—that being if exist-
ent could not be known, and if known could not be com-
municated—contain the strongest form of that subjective
idealism afterwards repeated by Kant. They place an im-
passable 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 communicate them to others, for by what.
organs could we communicate things in themselves? How
by speech could we convey even the visible? In this part of
_ the dialectic of 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, how-
ever, does not constitute 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. m1. ὁ. iv.-v.).
After arguing against the saying of Protagoras, he mentions
that Democritus said ‘there is no truth, or it is beyond our
finding’ (Δημόκριτός γέ φησιν ἤτοι οὐθὲν εἶναι ἀληθὲς ἢ ἡμῖν
γ᾽ ἄδηλον) ; that Empedocles said ‘ thought changes accord-
ing as men change ;’ that Parmenides said in the same way,
‘thought depends on our physical state ;’ that Anaxagoras |
said ‘things are according as men conceive them.’ Aristotle
ens”
142 ESSAY II.
remarks, ‘Tt 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. 1. 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 philosophy differs from both the
others; from the one in the manner of its procedure, the
other in the purpose which guides its life. Dialectic is ten-
tative about those subjects on which philosophy is conclusive,
and Sophistry is a pretence, and not a reality.’
No other members of the Sophistic profession, so far as
we know, dealt with metaphysical questions. They were
rhetoricians, grammarians, teachers of mathematics and of
what was then known of physical science, teachers of music,
teachers of virtue and of politics, and of the art of success in
citizen-life, dialecticians, disputants, and experimenters in
logic. But it was one of Plato’s chief grounds of complaint
against them that, while they were by their professional
procedure brought into contact with so many of the higher
subjects,—they were not philosophers.
We now come to that which is, for our present purpose,
52 Περὶ μὲν yap τὸ αὐτὸ γένος στρέ- [ προαιρέσει. Ἔστι δὲ ἡ διαλεκτικὴ πει-
φεται ἣ σοφιστικὴ καὶ ἣ διαλεκτικὴ TH ραστικὴ περὶ ὧν ἣ φιλοσοφία γνωρι-
φιλοσοφίᾳ, ἀλλὰ διαφέρει τῆς μὲν TE | στική, ἣ δὲ σοφιστικὴ φαινομένη, οὖσα
τρόπῳ τῆ" δυνάμεως, τῆς δὲ τοῦ βίουτῇ | 8 ov. Metaphys. m1. ii. 20.
ἢ ΩΣ ΣΑΣ):
aes ΣῊΝ ἐς
SOPHISTRY CONTRASTED WITH PHILOSOPHY. 148
the most important question with regard to the Sophists,—
What was their influence upon ethical thought ? In the
first place, then, they obviously must have affected moral ,
ideas in Greece simply by talking very much about them.
Socrates is commonly spoken of as the first moral philosopher,
and in the pages of Xenophon we find him constantly dis-
coursing on moral topics. But as in nature, so in the pro-
gress of the human mind, nothing is done per saltum ; that
which is great and conspicuous in any line is often called
‘the first,’ while its precursors are left out of sight, but with-
out those precursors it would not have come into existence.
This was in all probability the case with regard to the
ethical philosophy of Socrates ; it was suggested by, and to
some extent may be considered to have arisen out of, the
manifold lecturings and disputations of the Sophists. We
do not gather from Xenophon that there was any marked
antagonism or polemic between the real Socrates and the
whole profession of the Sophists of his day. It is only the
dramatic Socrates of Plato’s fancy that is used as the vehicle
of Plato’s own disapprobation of certain tendencies which he
considered to have been manifested by the profession. But
the historicai Socrates is represented by Xenophon as adopting
and using a discourse of Prodicus ; and great as may be the
differences which to the philosophic eye reveal themselves
between the essential spirit of Socrates and that of the
Sophists, to the uncritical eyes of most of his contemporaries
Socrates doubtless appeared undistinguishable from the other
professional talkers on virtue, except by the one circumstance
that he did not accept fees. ‘Thus it was only natural that
Aristophanes should, uncritically, include Socrates in what
was with him a very wide class of persons, and should couple
Socrates and Prodicus together as chief ‘in wisdom and
gnomic thought, of the transcendental Sophists of the day.’
144 ESSAY II.
The historical Socrates had really much in common with the
Sophists; he is the leading figure in a new era of conscious
morality which they had gradually 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,
‘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
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THE MORALITY OF THE SOPHISTS. 145
grounds of cautious morality he declines to admit that the ,
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
(Σύγγραμμα) of Prodicus, commonly called ‘The Choice of
Hercules.’ It is preserved for us by Xenophon (Memorab.
Il. 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 (ὅπερ δὴ καὶ πλείστοις ἐπιδείκνυται), 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 (ἐπεὶ ἐκ παίδων eis ἥβην ὡρμῶτο), one might
go forth to a place of retirement (ἐξελθόντα eis ἡσυχίαν καθῆ-
σθαι), 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
alluring offers, Virtue immediately exposed their hollowness,
substituting 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.
VOL. I. Ι,
146᾽ ESSAY II.
Again, parables of this kind never adequately represent,
in all its complexity, the moral truth which they are in-
tended to convey. The ‘Choice of Hercules’ would make it
appear as if the allurements of vice were exterior to us, as if
‘Hercules’ had merely to select, to the best of his judg-
ment, between two external objects offered to him. But this
leaves out of consideration the enemy within the camp, the
εὐθήρατον αὑτὸν mentioned by Aristotle (Hth. m1. i. 11), the
fact that temptation is in ourselves, and consists in our own
nature, which does not leave us free to make cool judgments
and to act upon them. All such psychological refinements
had, however to be developed later.
Several parts of the exhortation which Prodicus puts into
the mouth of Virtue are full of merit ; a noble perseverance
and manliness of character are inculcated; and in the de-
nunciation 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 some-
thing rather rhetorical in the complexion of this discourse,
even as it is given by the Socrates of Xenophon, and he con-
cludes it by saying, ‘ Prodicus dressed up his thoughts in far
more splendid language 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 ἢ
eee YS ee
Ἵ "7
fii MORALITY OF THE SOPHISTs. 147
the moral convictions 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, ac-
complished, 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 proce-
dure of the Sophists was twofold, either it was rhetorical
or dialectical. They either (1) tricked out the praises of
justice and virtue with citations from the old poets, with
ornaments of language, and with allegories and personifica-
tions. Of this latter kind of discourse we have a specimen
in the ‘ Choice of Hercules,’ and again 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.
Nestor replies by suggesting many noble maxims. ‘’Tis a
fine piece,’ says Hippias complacently, ‘ well arranged, espe-
cially in the matter of the language.’ Such like composi-
tions of the Sophists form a sort of parallel to the popular
preaching of the present day. Or else (2) they gave an
idea of their own power and subtlety, by skirmishes of lan-
guage, by opening up new points of view with regard to
common every-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 conserva-
tive 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
1, 2
148 ESSAY II.
sort of casuistry must have been fostered throughout Greece
by various concurrent causes; by the drama, which repre-
sented, as for instance in the Antigone, a conflict of opposing
duties ; by the law courts, in which it was constantly endea-
voured 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
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
Sophists and that of Socrates coincide. But the Sophists went
no further than these first steps; the positive side of their
teaching consisted in returning to the common views for
the sake of expediency. That there is danger incurred by
the dialectical 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
deferred 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 it is 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 licence
we resist, out of respect for the old hereditary maxims. Well,
ee tt. -νὸ ee ae
j - τ ἢ
Ν
THE MORALITY OF THE SOPHISTS. 149
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.
ῬΡ. 537, 538). It is obvious that the process of dialectic here
described consists in nothing more than starting the diffi-
τ 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 dialogues 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
Gorgias, 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 itis 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
160 ESSAY II.
definite opinion about morals. He says (Sophist. Elench.
ΧΙ]. 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.
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. u. 16), ‘That the just and the base
exist not by nature, but by convention.’ ** 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 philosophised 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.’** He also said, that the perceptions of
sweet and bitter, warm and cold, were νόμῳ, that is, what we
53 Καὶ τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι καὶ τὸ αἰσχρὸν 54 Προιητὰ δὲ νόμιμα εἶναι. Φύσει δὲ
οὐ φύσει, ἀλλὰ νόμῳ. ἄτομα καὶ κενόν. Diog. Laert. 1x. 45.
THE OPPOSITION OF ‘ LAW’ AND “ NATURE.’ 151
should call ‘ subjective.’ These reflections indicate the first
dawn of Ethics. They show that philosophy has now come
to recognise 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-
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
intellect. :
Looking at the Sophists rather as the promulgators than
as the inventors of this opposition between φύσις and νόμος,
we see it applied in the person of Callicles, their sup-
posed pupil (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
152 ESSAY II.
partly captious and sophistical. These applications of the
principle are of course dramatic and imaginary in Plato’s ©
pages, but we may fairly conceive them analogous to what
was occasionally heard uttered in Athenian society. 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 inseparable from virtue; at other times a rash
and unscrupulous Sophist, like Polus in the Gorgias of Plato
(p. 471), would 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
maintained by the Sophists, was yet one of the characteristics
of their era.
We have already incidentally referred to several of
Aristotle's views of the Sophists and Sophistry. He does
not, 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.
He speaks repeatedly of their practice, of their method, of
certain tricks in argument commonly used by them; he
says (th. x. ix. 20) that in their teaching they put Rhetoric
on a level with Politics; (Ahet. 1. i. 14) that the Sophist
differs from the Rhetorician in the purpose or aim (τῇ
προαιρέσει) with which he uses the artifices of Rhetoric ;
(Soph. ΚΙ. xxxiii. 11) that Sophistry is the near neighbour of
Dialectic; (ib. xi. 5) that it differs from Eristic pure and
simple in employing fallacy for the purposes of gain.
These utterances, which in different forms are often repeated,
᾿ΑΒΙΒΤΟΤΙΙΕΞ VIEW OF THE SOPHISTS. 158
have all the air of being based on or confirmed by inde-
pendent observation. 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 Dia-
logues. But it would be against historical evidence to
consider Aristotle’s statements on this subject to have been
a mere blind repetition of certain calumnies or hostile cari-
catures.
On the whole, then, we must conclude that Grote’s defence
of the Sophists is good against the too sweeping denuncia-
tions of them which have often been expressed in modern
times, and which exaggerate and misrepresent-the subtle and
discriminating pictures drawn by Plato,—but is not good
against Plato himself, when we read his words aright. Grote
has made too much of the fact that the word ‘ Sophist’ had
a twofold meaning, and that in its more general and indeter-
minate sense it was often applied by the ancients, with a
shade of sneering, to those who were philosophers and not
‘ sophists’ in the limited sense of being professional teachers ;
and that it was so applied even to Socrates, Plato, and Ari-
stotle themselves. From this it does not follow that there
was no distinct class of men who were ‘sophists’ in the
limited sense, or that this class did not exhibit certain
common characteristics and a certain common spirit. Again,
because several of the profession were respectable and even
dignified men, and more like popular preachers than teachers
of antinomianism, it does not follow that they did not sin
against philosophy, or that they were worthy of the same
respect as the philosophers, or that there was nothing in the
tendencies of their thought against which Plato was right to
warn his countrymen. The spirit which Plato was the first
to detect in the professional teachers of Greece, reappears
under changed conditions in every cultivated age; it re-
154 ESSAY II.
appears in literature and in the pulpit. Wherever men set
themselves up as teachers of the highest subjects, and in lieu
of being devoted to truth for its own sake exhibit a tinge of
worldly self-interest, there is a reappearance of the ‘ Sophistic’
spirit.
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
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. Men had passed from an unconscious into a
conscious era. All that double-sidedness with regard to
questions, which is found throughout the pages of Thucydides,
and which could not possibly have been written a hundred
years before, isa 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 civilisation. 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 a while, under the scepticism of Protagoras
and Gorgias, but only to find a new method in Socrates and
Plato. Ethics had never yet existed as a science. Popular
moralising 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
THE PERSONALITY OF SOCRATES. 155
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 dia-
lectical 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
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 philosophical treatises gave rise to a twofold set of
results. (1) On the one hand, his philosophy, being in the
form of conversations 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 concep-
tion 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 conver-
sations 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 discrepancy 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.
156 ESSAY II.
However, by a cautious and inductive mode of examina-
tion 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
receiving 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
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 Potideea, 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
returned 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
himself, that which he called τὸ δαιμόνιον, “ the supernatural,’
an instinctive power of presentiment which warned and
deterred him from certain actions, apparently both by con-
siderations of personal well-being, and the probable issue of
things, and also by moral intuitions as to right and wrong.
THE PERSONALITY OF SOCRATES. 157
This ‘supernatural’ 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 physical 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 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 imagina-
tive creation, but rather a marvellous 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’ (Hth. 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 (1) a relative significance, 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 atti-
tude as being suitable to philosophy, 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
158 ESSAY II.
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 bearing 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 atrustworthy guide. The sublime
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 Socratic 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 (11. vi. 6), where, having criticised. the Republic
of Plato, he proceeds to criticise 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.’® ‘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
5° Τὸ μὲν οὖν περιττὸν ἔχουσι πάντες | καὶ τὸ καινοτόμον καὶ τὸ (ητητικόν,
οἱ τοῦ Σωκράτους λόγοι καὶ τὸ κομψὸν | καλῶς δὲ πάντα ἴσως χαλεπόν.
ARISTOTLE’S ACCOUNT OF SOCRATES. 159
from Aristotle’s manner of speaking that he refers to the
real Socrates (see note on Eth. vi. xiii. 5), and not 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 relation to each other; cf. Metaphys.
I. vi. 2, XII. iv. 3-5. The second of these passages contains
a repetition and an expansion of the former; it may, there-
fore, be quoted alone. Aristotle is relating the history of the
doctrine of Ideas. He tells us how it sprang from a belief in
the Heraclitean principle of the flux of sensible things, and
the necessity of some 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 defi-
nition of them—definition, except in the immature essays of
Democritus and the Pythagoreans, having had no existence
_ previously. ‘ Socrates was quite right in seeking a definite,
determinate conception of these virtues (εὐλόγως ἐζήτει τὸ τί
ἐστι), for his object was to obtain a demonstrative reasoning
(συλλογίζεσθαι). 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 concep-
tion (χωρὶς τοῦ τί ἐστι), it is possible to consider contraries,
and to inquire 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
(τούς τ᾽ ἐπακτικοὺς λόγους) and his universal definitions.
These universals, however, Socrates did not make transcen-
. dental and self-existent (χωριστά), no more did he his defini-
tions. But the Platonists made them transcendental, and
then called such existences Ideas.’
This interesting passage .assigns to Socrates, first, his
subjects of inquiry, namely, the ethical virtues; second, his
160 ESSAY Il.
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 syllo-
gistic, and therefore one-sided. His conceptions were defi-
nitely 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 contrary 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 inquiring spirit, in
his effort to connect a variety of phenomena with some gene-
ral law, in his habit of testing this law by appeals to fresh
experience and phenomena,—hints and indications of a philo-
sophy which could rise above mere empirical generalisations.
The method was not so much to be changed as carried further,
it need only pass on in the same direction out of subordinate
into higher genera.
THE METHOD OF SOCRATES. 161
Aristotle always says about Socrates that he confined him-
self to ethical inquiries.°® 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?
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,
pp. 143 and 150) 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 pro-
bably 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
56 Περὶ μὲν τὰ ἠθικὰ πραγματευομένου, περὶ δὲ τῆς ὅλης φύσεως οὐδέν. Met,
ἢ, Νά. 2.
VOL, I: M
162 ESSAY II.
existence as a branch of philosophy. The above-mentioned
division 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
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®’ Socrates is asked whether he
has prepared his defence. He answers that ‘ His whole life
has been a preparation, for he has never acted unjustly.’ It
is possible that this answer might have had a double mean-
ing: on the one hand a literal meaning—that his conduct
was the best answer to his accusers; on the other hand a reli-
gious meaning—that his life had been a preparatio mortis ;
but Xenophon, or his imitator, appears only to have under-
stood 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
ὁ The genuineness of this work | But it was at all-events some ancient
has been doubted, and Zeller pro- | writer’s view of Socrates. Valeat
nounces it to be certainly spurious. | quantum.
ΩΝ SA ey ee Ὑ alia
DID SOCRATES BELIEVE IN A FUTURE LIFE? 163
he knows good men and bad are differently estimated by pos-
terity 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 not to
know that whichever of us has done best and most profitably
In this
saying, Plato might have discovered a reference to immor-
for all time (sis τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον), he is the winner.’
tality,°® 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
The Phedo
of Plato has elevated this feeling into something holy ; it
of gain against loss in submitting to die.
puts out of sight those parts 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
58 Zeller points out that even in the
Apology of Plato (which is probably
the most historical of all Plato’s
delineations of Socrates), Socrates
expresses himself with doubt and
caution on the subject of the immor-
tality of the soul (p. 40 C). At the
same time Zeller calls attention to
the discourse on immortality put into
the mouth of the dying Cyrus in the
Cyropedia of Xenophon, as probably
representing the mind of Socrates,
‘so that we are fain to suppose that
he considered the existence of the
soul after death to be probable, al-
though he did not pretend to any
certain knowledge on the point.’ (See
Socrates and the Socratic Schools,
translated from the German of Dr. E.
Zeller by O. J. Reichel, ὥς. London,
1868.) Zeller's account of Socrates
is admirable and exhaustive. The
above pages, written many years ago,
only aim at giving a suggestive outline.
μ 2
104 ESSAY II.
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
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 Xenophontean
Apology of Socrates. It is the way he answers the charge of
corrupting youth. Having protested against the notion of
his teaching vice to any, when Melétus 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; 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 othér 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 persuading 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
SOCRATES AS A TEACHER. 165
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. 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 (Schwiirmerei, as the Germans
would call it), his obedience to some mysterious and ir-
resistible 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 ‘children against the fathers;’ and the higher
morality which he expounds, being freer and more indepen-
dent of positive laws; being more based on what is right in
itself, and on the individual consciousness and apprehen-
sion of that right—tends also in weaker natures to assume
the form of licence. 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
mentioned in its most general form, Hth. vi. xiii. 3. Its
100 ESSAY II.
application to courage is mentioned, th. m1. vili. 6—that ,
Socrates said courage was a science. And the corollary of
the doctrine, that incontinence is impossible, for it is im-~
possible to know what is best and not do it—is stated by the
author of Eth. vit. ii. 1. These allusions agree equally with
the representations of Plato and of Xenophon, we may there-
fore 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 con-
nected 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. (1) 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 question began now to
be mooted, whether virtue—e.g. courage, could be taught ?
(cf. Xen. Memor. 11. ix.1.) 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 consider to be a later development
of thought, subsequent even in the mind of Plato to Protagoras,
aches, ὅς. We may specify three different stages of opinion
as to the question, Can virtue be taught ? The Sophists said,
‘Yes,’ from an over-confidence of pretensions, and from not
realising 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 ,
‘ VIRTUE IS A SCIENCE.’ 167
from heaven sent to those who are destined to receive it.’ 89
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 generalising
spirit of Socrates, it was an attempt to bring the various
virtues, which Gorgias used to enumerate separately (ef.
Plato, Meno, p. 71, Aristot. Politics, 1. 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 con-
tained 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. I. ix. 2, and Aristot. Hth. m.
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
aches, where courage is shown to consist in the knowledge
of good and evil; and in the Republic 10 15 described as that
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
5° Θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγιγνομένη ἄνευ vod, | ‘All the cardinal virtues can be 86-
οἷς ἂν παραγίγνηται. Meno, p. 99 E. | quired, except Wisdom (φρόνησι5),
Afterwards (Repub. 518. E) he said | which is innate.’
108 ESSAY II.
have its own proper function (ἔργον, 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 Goethe, 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’ (νόμῳ), 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. The Peripatetics improved upon this—
pointing out that Socrates, instead of identifying virtue
with the rational consciousness, should have said it must
coincide with the rational consciousness; in other words,
that his formula ignored all distinction 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-
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
‘VIRTUE IS A SCIENCE.’ 169
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 his
answer to this question; that no man could help doing what
he 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 auniversal. 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, Hth. 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
intellectual conviction of the goodness of the end, and οἵ.
the necessity of the means, is present to a man, he cannot
act otherwise than rightly.
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.
Memorab. tv. ii. 20), and it is again maintained dialectically,
though confessed to be a paradox, in Plato’s dialogue called
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
170 ESSAY II.
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, I neither know it, nor
wish to know it’ (Xen. Memorab. m1. 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
against the absolute import of ‘good.’ Other subtleties
Socrates is mentioned to have urged himself, as for instance
in the conversation with Kuthydemus (Memorab. tv. 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.
Tn fact, the unsatisfactoriness of the common conceptions of
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 171
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
conclusion of the first book of 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 (1) 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
master’s thought. Plato is so near to Aristotle, and is such a
world in himself, that we may well leaye 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.
172 ESSAY II.
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 recognise 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. (1) They
started from a common principle, namely, the assertion of the
individual consciousness and will, as being above all outward
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 seemed both to have upheld the ideal of a
wise man, as being the exponent of universal reason, and the
only standard of right and wrong. ‘This ideal was no doubt
THE CYNICS. 173
a shadow of the personality of Socrates. We find a sort of
adaptation of it by Aristotle in his Hthies (1. vi. 15), where ἡ
he makes the φρόνιμος to be the criterion of all virtue. The
same conception was afterwards taken up and carried out to
exaggeration by the Roman Stoics.
Cynicism implies sneering and snarling at the ways and
institutions of society ; it implies discerning the unreality of
thé 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. Renouvier, ‘ from all the bonds
of ancient society, isolated, and masters of .themselves, they
lived immovable, and almost divinised 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
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
-
174 ESSAY II.
itself, they thought themselves superior; over-doing 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 disap-
pointed spirits. In the Cynical philosophy there was little
that was positive, there was hardly any contribution to
Ethical science. But the whole Cynical tone which pro-
claimed 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.
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-
΄ ἊΝ
THE. CYRENAICS. 175
ness of mixing in the politics of his native city Cyrene. 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, saying (Mth. 1. viii. 6), ‘Some
think happiness to consist in pleasure.’ But it has been
observed that he chooses not Aristippus, but Hudoxus, as
the representative of the doctrine formally announced, that
‘pleasure is the Chief Good’ (Hth. 1. xii. 5, X. ii. 1). This
points to the fact that Aristippus did not himself entirely
systematise his thoughts. He imparted them to his daughter
Arete, by whom they were handed down to her son, the
younger Aristippus (hence called pntpodiéaxtos), and in
his hands the doctrines appear first to have been reduced
“to scientific form. If then we briefly specify the leading
characteristics 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 cannot tell to what perfection Aristippus
himself had brought his doctrines, there are many traces
of their influence in the Fthics 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-
cessive moment to our entire life?’ The Cyrenaics answered
decisively, ‘We have only to do with the present. Pleasure
is povoypovos,” μερική, an isolated moment, of this alone we
* Here we trace something similar | complete in itself, perfect without ᾿
to the doctrine of Aristotle, that | relation to time’ (Zh. x. iv. 4).
‘ Pleasure is like a monad, or a point,
176 ESSAY II.
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 τέλος ; and some
have thought that Aristotle alludes to Aristippus (Hth. x. vi.
3-8), where he argues that amusement cannot be considered
a τέλος (cf. Politics, vin. v. 13). In short, the τέλος of
Aristotle is only distinguished from the povdypovos ἡδονὴ of
Aristippus by the moral earnestness which characterises 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 Philebus of Plato (p. 53 C),°! 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 (οὐσία), but
a state of progress (yéveous). It is generally thought that
the Cyrenaic school are here meant. In the Hudemian book
(Eth. vit. xii. 3), there appears to be another allusion to this
same definition, in a way which, without some explanation,
it is excessively hard to understand. Eudemus in discuss-
ing pleasure, says, ‘Some argue that pleasure cannot be a
good, because it is a state of becoming’ (yéveors). He after-
wards denies that pleasure is a γένεσις, except in certain
61 "Apa περὶ ἡδονῆς οὐκ ἀκηκόαμεν | τινες αὖ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἐπιχειροῦσι
ὡς ἀεὶ γένεσίς ἐστιν, οὐσία δὲ οὐκ ἔστι | μηνύειν ἡμῖν, οἷς δεῖ χάριν ἔχειν.
τὸ παράπαν ἡδονῆς; κομψοὶ γὰρ δή
si
Le mid
THE CYRENAICS. 177
cases. And then he proceeds to explain how it was that
pleasure came to be called a γένεσις. He says ® ‘it was from
a confusion between the terms γένεσις and évépyeva—it was
thought to be a yéveous, because essentially a good, to express
which the term ἐνέργεια 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 γένεσις; it is
thought to be a γένεσις, because it is good. The explana-
tion 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 yéveous. 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 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
62 Eth, vit. xii. 3. Δοκεῖ δὲ γένεσίς ἐνέργειαν γένεσιν οἴονται εἶναι, ἔστι δ᾽
τις εἶναι, ὅτι κυρίως ἀγαθόν" τὴν γὰρ ἕτερον.
VOL. I. N
178 ESSAY II.
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 pos-
sible 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.
meal Y “TPE
(ae ee
On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Plato
and the Platonists.
E 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
the greatest importance. ΤῸ 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.’
These Dialogues represent the successive phases, during
a long life, of a mind pre-eminently above all others rich
in philosophic thought and suggestion. Τὴ many respects
they are totally unlike the works of Aristotle. For, instead
of being written all together as the mature result of inquiries
long previously made and of conclusions gradually obtained
and stored up, they were thrown out from time to time,
w 2
180 ESSAY III.
beginning with Plato’s early youth, just as poems are thrown
out to relieve the mind of the poet. And in another respect
also they were like poems, for in them form was always con-
sidered of coequal importance with matter; not only in style
were they consummate masterpieces of writing, but also
they had this note of poetry—that each part of them was
treated as an end in itself and yet was duly subordinated to
the whole, and they were thus perfect works of art. Being
written from time to time they reflected the gradual growth
and alteration of Plato’s own mind, as well as the different
influences of philosophy to which he was successively sub-
jected. The earlier dialogues, such as Charmides, Laches,
Lysis, &c., exhibit a simple Socratic dialectic, by which the °
ordinary views of moral subjects are shown to be insufficient,
and more adequate definitions are sought for, but not enun-
ciated. Afterwards, as in Pheedrus and Republic, a Pytha-
gorean influence manifests itself; a delight in the symbolism
of numbers appears, and the doctrine of the transmigration
of souls plays an important part. Then again, as in Par-
menides, Thecetetus, and Sophistes, a Megarian or Eleatic
influence is perceptible, and the most abstract conceptions of
Being are discussed. Thus the dialogues contain many
varieties of the point of view, and even many inconsistencies.
These incongruities, however, such as they were, were veiled
and mitigated, first by the dramatic form into which every-
thing was thrown, and by which only the views of the
speakers for the time being seemed to be guaranteed, and
secondly by the graceful absence of dogmatism in the Platonic
Socrates, the chief personage in most of the dialogues. A
common spirit, however, is plainly discernible through the
whole ; and, for the rest, the Dialogues of Plato show us the
progress of a philosophic mind, of an inquiring spirit, of ‘a
great original genius struggling with unequal conditions of
THE DIALOGUES OF PLATO. 181
knowledge.’! If we ask, At what point of his fifty years
of authorship was Plato most himself? In which of the
dialogues can we put our finger on the most essential features
of his philosophy ?—the answer must be, Nowhere and every-
where. Plato is to be regarded as a dynamical force, rather
than as the setter forth of a system; and in modern times
we may feel that to imbibe, if possible, his spirit, is of more
value than to garner.his conclusions. But the reason why
we can now afford to be comparatively indifferent to the
conclusions of Plato upon particular points,—is, that these
conclusions have become incorporated, so far as they were
valid, in the thought of Europe. And they became so
incorporated through having been gathered up and stated
afresh by Aristotle, who was Plato’s lineal successor in the
history of Philosophy, though not so in the leadership of the
Academic School.?
Plato’s rich and manifold contributions
Δ The Dialogues of Plato translated
into English, with Analyses and In-
troductions, by B. Jowett, M.A.,
Master of Balliol College, ἄς. (Ox-
ford, 1871), Preface, p. ix. Prof.
Jowett says of Plato (ib.) ‘We are not
concerned to determine what is the
residuum of truth which remains for
ourselves. His truth may not be our
truth, and nevertheless may have an
extraordinary valueand interest for us.’
2 Valentine Rose, De Aristotelis
Librorum Ordine et Auctoritate (Ber-
lin, 1854), p. 112, impugns as a fiction
the statement of Apollodorus (apud
Diog. Lert. see above, page 2) that
Aristotle was the pupil of Plato for
twenty years. The grounds of this
scepticism are (1) that Aristotle
would have been more thoroughly
Platonised had the statement been
true; (2) that the roundness of the
number has a suspicious appearance.
Such reasons are quite insufficient.
It is consistent with all known facts
to believe that Aristotle was Plato’s
pupil, but that he gradually asserted
the independence of his own mind,
and declared a dissent from and a
polemic against some of the meta-
physical views entertained by Plato’s
school, and thus was passed over in
the election of a Scholarch for the
Academy, on Plato’s death. This led
to Aristotle’s leaving Athens for a
time, and afterwards setting up in the
περίπατοι, or covered walks, of the
Lyceum his ownseparate school, which
hence got the name of Peripatetic.
These details perhaps cannot be
proved; but we know one thing for
certain,—that almost every page of
Aristotle’s Logical, Rhetorical, Ethical,
Political, and Metaphysical writings
bears traces of a relation to some part
or other of Plato’s Dialogues,
182 ESSAY III.
to logic, psychology, metaphysics, ethics, politics, and natural
religion (so many of which have become part of the furniture
of our every-day thoughts), were too much scattered up and
down in his works, too much overlaid by conversational
prolixity, too much coloured by poetry or wit, sometimes too
subtlely or slightly indicated, to be readily available for the
world in general, and they thus required a process of codifi-
cation. Aristotle, with the greatest gifts for the analytic
systematising of philosophy that have ever been seen, uncon-
sciously applied himself to the required task. He treated
the Platonic Dialogues as quarries out of which he got the
materials wherewith to build up in consolidated form all the
departments of thought and science so far as they could be
conceived by an ancient Greek. He thus codified Plato, and
translated him into the prose of dogmatic theory, at the same
time that he carried further and completed many of his
results and suggestions. It must be confessed that he did
all this somewhat ungraciously, seeming to dwell by prefer-
ence on the differences of view between Plato and himself;
and he did it, as we have said, unconsciously— apparently
not perceiving how much the substance of his own thought,
in all his non-physical inquiries, was derived from Plato and
only re-stated and carried out by himself. Aristotle, however,
was the natural complement of Plato, as Plato was the com-
plement of Socrates; and it is to a considerable extent
through Aristotle that ‘the residuum of truth’ in Plato has
already become part of the thought of the world. The attitude
and aims of the two writers were, of course, different, for,
while Plato was a Dialectician and a Poet, Aristotle aimed
especially at being a man of Science,—at collecting all that
~ could be known on each subject, and stating it in the most
precise terminology. Each of the two had his own peculiar
earnestness: Plato’s was a moral earnestness, he seems never ἢ
ARISTOTLE AS THE SUCCESSOR TO PLATO. 183
to have left out of sight the overwhelming importance of
everything by which the human soul might be improved or
deteriorated ; Aristotle’s was a scientific earnestness, showing :
itself in a desire to sift and examine everything and to state
the naked truth, as it appeared to him, regardless of con-
sequences.*
Plato as the successor of Socrates appears to have carried
forward all the many-sided tendencies of his master. By
imagining Socrates still on earth, and in perpetual conversa-
tion on the highest subjects, Plato developed the different
phases of his own idealistic philosophy. But at present we are
only concerned with the ethical portion of this; the question
is, What contribution did Plato make to the growth of moral
theory in Greece? We must conceive him starting with the
results at which Socrates had arrived: namely, that in the
affairs of human life it is absolutely necessary to obtain uni-
versal conceptions ; that, to arrive at these a suitable dialectic,
and the refutation of inadequate notions, are requisite; and
that it is the general outcome of all such inquiries to show
that ‘Virtue is a science.’ Now, the course which Plato seems
to have followed was, to take up these principles and see how
they were to be reconciled with the current ideas of Greek
morality. If, there be four cardinal virtues, Wisdom, Tem-
perance, Courage, and Justice, how do these stand related to
the doctrine that ‘ Virtue is a science’? Is each of them a
science, and how? Or, if virtue is one, how are these sepa-
3. Plato’s deep feeling of the im-
portance of morality cannot be pro-
perly indicated by a few references,
but see Prof. Jowett’s Introductions
to his Translations of the Dialogues,
passim. Aristotle’s keenness for the
hard and precise truth may be illus-
trated by Eth. 1. vi. 1, δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν ἴσως |
βέλτιον εἶναι καὶ δεῖν ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ ye Tis |
ἀληθείας καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἀναιρεῖν. Eth. x.
i. 3, where he blames those who from
moral good intentions have pronounced ἃ
Pleasure to beevil. Politics, τι. viii. I,
where he says of a particular question
-- ἔχειτινὰς ἀπορίας, τῷ δὲ περὶ ἑκάστην
μέθοδον φιλοσοφοῦντι καὶ μὴ μόνον ἄπο-
βλέποντι πρὸς τὸ πράττειν οἰκεῖόν ἐστι
τὺ μὴ παρορᾶν μηδέ τι καταλείπειν.
184 ESSAY III.
rate names to be accounted for? Again, if Virtue is a
science, can it be taught? Furthermore, if Virtue is a
science, then does it not follow that Vice is ignorance ? From
which, as no one can be blamed for errors committed in igno-
rance, it would result that no man is willingly bad. These
are the problems which, arising out of the Socratic principles,
Plato had to encounter, and he discusses them directly in Pro-
tagoras, Gorgias, Meno, and Republic ; less directly and inci-
dentally they are touched upon in many of the other dialogues.
In order to find an answer to them Plato called in the aid of
Psychology, and he was thus the first to propose for ethics a psy-
chological foundation. In Republic, in answer to the question,
‘What is Justice ?’ he sets himself to construct an elaborate
system of individual ethics, by means of an analogy drawn
between the human soul and an ideal city. And the founda-
tion of this analogy is made to consist in a division of the
soul into Reason, Anger (θυμός), and Desire, answering to
the three ranks of the rulers, the soldiers, and the working
classes. This psychological division, rudimentary as it may
now appear, was an important contribution towards the scien-
tific theory of morals. One immediate result of the division
was to lead Plato to distinguish Wisdom from the other
cardinal virtues, and to put it into a class by itself. Wisdom,
or Thought on moral subjects (φρόνησις) evidently enters as
a guiding principle into all the other virtues ; none of them
can exist without it. And, on the other hand, this quality,
when looked at more closely, is found to be identical with
one of the tripartite divisions of the soul ; it is Reason itself,
an intuitive faculty, not admitting of degrees, possessed by
all men, but yet capable of misdirection, obscuration, and
* See Essays on the Platonic Ethics, | in these Essays has well discussed the
by Thomas Maguire, LL.D., &c.
subject of the present pages.
(Dublin, 1870), p. 36. Dr. Maguire
THE ETHICS OF PLATO. 185
eclipse. Hence comes one answer to the question, Is Virtue
teachable? The Virtue of Wisdom, or Thought, is not ;
the other Virtues are.’ This conclusion is stated in Republic
vil. p. 518 C—E, where φρόνησις is called ‘the eye of the
soul,’ which only requires to be directed aright. ‘And hence,’
it is said,® ‘while the other qualities (i.e. Courage, Tem-
perance, and Justice) seem to be akin to the body, being
infused by habit and exercise-and not originally innate, the
virtue of wisdom is part of a divine essence, and has a power
which is everlasting, and by this conversion is rendered
useful and profitable, and is also capable of becoming hurtful
and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence
flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue—how eager he
is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is
the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is taken into the
_ service of evil, and he is dangerous in proportion to his intel -
ligence ?—Very true he said.—But what if there had been
a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth ;
and they had been severed from the leaden weights, as I may
call them, with which they are born into the world, which
hang on to sensual pleasures, such as those of eating and
drinking, and drag them down and turn the vision of their
souls about the things that are below—if, I say, they had
_ been released from them and turned round to the truth, the
very same faculty in these very same persons would have seen
the other as keenly as they now see that on which their eye
is fixed” In this passage is also indicated the relation of at
least one other of the cardinal virtues, namely Temperance, .
to the virtue of Wisdom or Thought. ‘ Had sensual indul-
gence,’ says Plato, ‘been checked in many a man when he
δ See Dr. Maguire's Essays, p. 14.
5 Prof. Jowett’s Translation, vol. ii. p. 352.
180 ESSAY III.
was young, his innate divine power of thought would have
turned round to the idea of the Good, instead of fastening |
itself upon evil.’ Thus Temperance conserves Wisdom, and
is a necessary condition to it. But Courage, according to
Plato, is steadiness not only in the face of danger, but also in
the face of pleasure and temptation (Laws, Ὁ. 633, Ὁ, E),
therefore this quality also must play a similar part with
Temperance in preventing the disturbance and misdirection
of Thought. But these qualities, however, while they are
means and conditions to the proper functions of Thought,
derive all their ethical value from Thought itself, and without
it would be mere blind instincts towards the good, or would
be the result of worldly and non-moral motives (Pheedo,
p. 68, d). Thus the three cardinal virtues, Wisdom, Temper-
ance, and Courage, instead of standing apart, as in the
popular Greek notion of morality, are found mutuaily to
imply one another, and to grow together into one whole.
And this whole may be called Virtue, or, to use the language
of Plato's Republic, it may be figured as Justice—that
- quality which in the individual soul is analogous to a per-
fectly wise ‘division of labour’ in a State—in other words
supreme regularity, good order, and sanity, reigning over all
the functions of the individual soul. Such, in the barest
outline, was Plato’s moral scheme, but, even as thus stated,
we can see how much deeper it was than anything which had
preceded it in Greece; how, following the Socratic direction,
it discarded as inadequate such definitions of Justice as
‘ giving all men their due,’ or of Courage as ‘ willingness to
go forward in battle ;’ how it looked alone to the internal
motive of each quality, and in so doing discovered its neces-
sary relation to all the various parts of the soul, and thus
expanded the conception of Virtue as a science into that of |
Virtue as a harmony of the appetitive and emotional im-
THE ETHICS OF PLATO. 187
pulses under the direction of Reason or Thought, which they
at once obeyed and supported.
But yet, according to Plato, Virtue is always coincident
with Knowledge ; it implies the choice of the higher plea-
sures and of that course to which the balance of advantages
inclines. To act otherwise than in accordance with the
balance of advantages, is to act as Ignorance would prompt.
And no one, except in error and through Ignorance, chooses
evil in place of good. ‘Ignorance,’ however, does not mean
the mere negative absence of knowledge; it means, as
explained by Plato in this context, rather something positive
—‘the influence of any opinion or impression which is at
variance with the ultimate reality ’“—any disturbing influence
which may tend to weaken the force of ulterior interests—
‘all sentiments, passions, and emotions which lead us to put
out of sight the consideration of our permanent interest.’
With this proviso it is maintained that no wrong action is
done except through Ignorance; and, as it is emphatically
stated in Laws, Ὁ. 860 C, “ All bad men are always involun-
tarily bad.’ But this is no fatalistic view of life. Unjust
men would not have been unjust, as we have already seen,
if early good habits had given its proper scope to the innate
vision of their souls. And in succeeding pages of Laws
it is shown that Legal Punishments must take their course
with such men, as a reformatory and curative process for !
themselves, and as a vindication of those whom they have
injured. Plato’s theory of Punishment is essentially they
corrective theory—that punishment is for the good of the
person punished. But in his pictures ὃ of the future life,
drawn under Pythagorean influences and no doubt partly
7 See Dr. Maguire's Essays, p. 31, 8 See Phedo, pp. 113, 114, Gorgias
and Protagoras, p. 358 sq. 523-525, and Republic, 614-620.
188 ESSAY III.
derived from Pindar (see above, page 98), Plato indicates
three possibilities for the individual soul—either eternal
blessedness for those who have been purified by virtue and
philosophy; or, a state of purgatory, to be followed by
metempsychosis and a fresh probation on earth; or, for
some, final condemnation without further hope of redemption.
He conceives that the senfence of eternal punishment would
be the fate of those great malefactors of mankind, such as
the worst tyrants and other utterly lawless spirits, who should
have rendered themselves incurable and incapable of improve-
This belief adds force to the consideration of the
great importance of habits in the soul, for it supposes that
ment.
the immortal soul by evil habits can become degraded past
It is then figured that
eternal retributive punishment, as a warning to others, would
Though Plato does not make the details ὃ of
his Eschatology necessary matters of faith, and by no means
the possibility of improvement.
become its lot.
wishes (like a modern divine) to order the whole of life in
reference to them, yet still the belief in the immortality of
the soul was deeply rooted in his mind, and was variously
expressed in different parts of his writings. He connected
it with the metaphysical priority of Reason to Matter, and
also with the grave importance of Morals. He pictured the
whole of life as an education, and sometimes spoke of educa-
tion as a process only begun in this life and to be carried on
in a subsequent state of existence (see Republic, p. 498 D, E).
All this gave greatness and depth, and a human interest valid
for all times, to the ethical scheme of Plato.
® See Phedo (p. 114 E). ‘Ido not | soul is shown to be immortal, he may
mean to affirm that the description
which I have given of the soul and
her mansions is exactly true; a man
of sense hardly ought to say that.
But I do say that, inasmuch as the
venture to think, not improperly or
unworthily, that something of the
kind is true.’ Prof. Jowett’s Trans-
lation, vol. i. p. 465.
ΠΣ το ΟΣ ΘΕ ΠΛ ee ey Tee ΟΥἉ ΤΑ eee
, Ἢ mnie Se 7 - bi Fe . - fa an 4 by
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THE ETHICS OF PLATO. 189
The works of Aristotle, that is to say those that we possess,
were probably all composed between fourteen and twenty-seven
years after the death of Plato. If Plato could have come to
life again and seen these works, he would have found philo-
sophy all mapped out and divided into separate branches, and
great analytic clearness thus imparted to the whole ; he would
have found a settled philosophical terminology employed
throughout—in many cases words that he had himself been
in the habit of using in an ordinary way, now restricted and
limited in their connotation and made technical terms of
logic or metaphysics '\—in other cases new and somewhat
uncouth terms that had been introduced by Aristotle ‘ for the
sake of precision ;’'' and he would have found manifold sug-
gestions of his own on all the different subjects of philosophy
taken up and in many cases made more definite and carried
out, so that a concentrated essence of many of his own
thoughts, stated in widely different form from his own, would
have been presented to his view. If we might go on indulg-
ing this fancy, it would be not unnatural to conceive that
Plato, with his great candour and breadth of mind, would
have acknowledged with admiration the additions to know-
ledge and thought which in many respects had been made by
Aristotle, but that he also would have felt (even setting aside
the somewhat captious antagonism to himself which occa-
sionally appeared) that something had been lost, as well as
gained, to Philosophy by the rigidly analytic method of his
successor.
Taking now the unfinished (or mutilated) Ethics of Ari-
stotle, with their Peripatetic complement,:Books V., VI., and
10 As for instance, συλλογισμός, " Cf. Eth. τι. vii. 11, πειρατέον
which merely meant ‘computation’ | ὀνοματοποιεῖν σαφηνείας ἕνεκεν. The
with Plato; mpoalpeois=a ‘prefer- | result was—terms like ἐντελέχεια, or
ence ;’ δύναμις =‘ power,’ &e. forms like τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι.
190 ESSAY III.
VII., we shall find that they abundantly illustrate the con-
ception just given of the relation of Aristotle’s works in
general to Plato. In order to see at a glance how much of
the substance of this treatise is taken from, or suggested by,
the Platonic Dialogues, let us synoptically enumerate, and
then add a few remarks upon, the following heads: (1) The
conception of moral science as a whole—that it is a sort of
Politics which is the science of human happiness. (2) The
conception of the practical Chief Good—that it is τέλειον
and αὔταρκες and incapable of improvement or addition. (3)
The conception that man has an ἔργον or proper function,
that man’s ἀρετὴ perfects this, and that his well-being is
inseparable from it. (4) The conception of Psychology as a
basis for Morals. (5) The doctrine of Μεσότης, which is
only a modification of the Μετριότης of Plato. (6) The
doctrine of Φρόνησις, which is an adaptation, with alterations,
of the Socratico-Platonic view. (7) The theory of Pleasure,
its various kinds, and the transcendency of mental pleasures.
(8) The theory of Friendship, which is suggested by questions
started, but not answered, in the Lysis of Plato. (9) The
Agnoiology, or theory of Ignorance, in Book VII.—to ex-
plain how men can act against what they know to be best—
which appears to have been considerably suggested by Platonic
discussions. (10) 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. On
these separate heads we may remark : .
(1) 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 Huthydemus. It is interesting to compare the
conception of Politics, and its relation to the sciences, which
-ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 191
is expressed in Hth.1. ii. 5 6, with the following description
(Euthydem. p. 291 B): ἐπὶ δὲ δὴ τὴν βασιλικὴν ἐλθόντες
τέχνην καὶ διασκοπούμενοι αὐτήν, εἰ αὕτη εἴη ἡ τὴν εὐδαι-
μονίαν ἀπεργαζομένη---ἔδοξε γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν ἡ πολιτικὴ καὶ ἡ
βασιλικὴ τέχνη ἡ αὐτὴ εἷἶναι---ταύτῃ τῇ τέχνῃ ἥ τε στρα-
τηγικὴ καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι παραδιδόναι ἄρχειν τῶν ἔργων, ὧν αὐταὶ
δημιουργοί εἰσιν, ὧς μόνῃ ἐπισταμένῃ χρῆσθαι. σαφῶς οὖν
ἐδόκει ἡμῖν αὕτη εἶναι, ἣν ἐζητοῦμεν, καὶ ἡ αἰτία τοῦ ὀρθῶς
πράττειν ἐν τῇ πόλει, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς κατὰ τὸ Αἰσχύλου
ἰαμβεῖον μόνη ἐν τῇ πρύμνῃ καθῆσθαι τῆς πόλεως, πάντα
κυβερνῶσα καὶ πάντων ἄρχουσα πάντα χρήσιμα ποιεῖν.
While, however, accepting this conception of Politics, Ari-
stotle does so in a wavering way—he says that his science will
be ‘a sort of Politics’ {πολιτική τις, Hth. 1. 11. 9); as else-
where he had spoken as if it were rather a stretch to call the
science of moral subjects Politics.'2 He treats Ethics in
such a way as virtually to separate them from Politics, a
separation which was completed by the Peripatetic School and
by the Stoics.
(2) In £th. τ. vii. 3-6, Aristotle, in laying down his own
conception of the chief good, which is to be the ἀρχὴ for
Ethics, says that it must be τέλειον and αὔταρκες. 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: τὴν τἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν πότερον ἀνάγκη
τέλεον ἢ μὴ τέλεον εἶναι; Πάντων δή που τελεώτατον, ὦ
Σώκρατες. Τί δέ ; ἱκανὸν τἀγαθόν ; Πῶς γὰρ ov ; κιτιλ. It
is to be observed, however, that Aristotle analyses the term
τέλειον, and gives it a more philosophical import than Plato
had done. Plato probably meant nothing more than ‘the
2 Rhet. 1. ii. 7. Τῆς wept τὰ ἤθη πραγματείας ἥν δίκαιόν ἐστι προσαγορεύειν
πολιτικήν.
192 ESSAY III.
perfect.’ Aristotle analyses this into ‘that which was 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 addition. He directly refers to the Philebus,
Eth. X. 11. 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 compound of the two is better,
pleasure cannot be the chief good ; for that which is the abso-
lute 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. 1. 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’ (μὴ συναριθμουμένην, 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 sepa-
rate parts of the body, the existence of an ἔργον or proper
function for man is proved (Hth. I. vil. 11) comes almost
verbatim from the Republic (p. 352-3); as also does the
account of the connection between the ἀρετή of anything
with its proper function, which is given Hth. τι. vi. 2. The
object selected as an illustration is in each case the same—
namely, the eye.'*
8 Cf. Repub. p. 353 B. "Ap ἄν ποτε | σαιντο μὴ ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν
ὄμματα τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς ἀπεργά- | ἀρετήν; κ.τ.λ.
ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 193
(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, it is true, is virtual rather than
expressed, but it lies at the root of the separation of ‘ prac-
tical virtues’ from philosophy, and from ‘ excellences of the
reason.’ Plato divides the mind into the following elements :
TO λογιστικόν, TO ἐπιθυμητικόν, TO θυμοειδές (Repub. p. 440).
Aristotle gives a more physical account of the internal
principle (see below, Essay V.), and divides the mind into
that which possesses reason and that which partakes of reason."
This answers at first sight to the division of Plato, since the
λόγου μετέχον includes both θυμὸς and ἐπιθυμία. 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 separate and important
character to θυμὸς 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 βούλησις, βούλευσις, &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 principle of Μεσότης, so prominent in Aristotle’ 5
theory of moral virtue, is a modification of Plato’s principle ἡ
of Μετριότης or Suppetpia. As, however, the history of the
doctrine of Μεσότης will form part of the subject of the
following essay, no more need at present be said upon it.
(6) Aristotle’s doctrine of φρόνησις, as far as we can under-
stand it in the Eudemian exposition, which alone remains to
MM Λόγον ἔχον and λόγου μετέχον. Eth. τ. xiii.
VOL. I. ο
194 ESSAY III.
us, 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 ‘Virtue is Know-
ledge (ἐπιστήμη), or Thought (φρόνησις). and being after-
wards 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 Moral
Wisdom (φρόνησι5) from Philosophy (σοφία). The former
of these corrections was directed more against Socrates than
against Plato; the latter, we shall see, is an important cor-
rection 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 φρόνησις to make moral
action of any worth. In a celebrated passage of Thectetus
(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 becom-
ing just and holy with thought accompanying’ (ὁμοίωσις δὲ
In Pheedo
(p. 69 B), he descants upon the worthlessness of moral acts if
δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ φρονήσεως γενέσθαι).
performed without φρόνησιϑ: he says, ‘ Such virtue is a mere
shadow and in reality a slavish quality, with nothing sound or
But a little further on (p. 79 D) he defines
φρόνησις to be the contemplation of the absolute.'6 We see
true about it.’ 1ὅ
then that Plato requires that every act should be accompanied
15. Χωριζόμενα δὲ
ἀλλαττόμενα ἀντὶ ἀλλήλων, μὴ σκια-
, \
φρονήσεως καὶ | καθαρόν τε καὶ ἀεὶ ὃν καὶ ἀθάνατον καὶ
; .
ὡσαύτως ἔχον, kal ὡς συγγενὴς οὖσα
γραφία τις ἦ ἣ τοιαύτη ἀρετὴ καὶ τῷ | αὐτοῦ ἀεὶ mer’ ἐκείνου τε γίγνεται,
ὄντι ἀνδραποδώδης τε καὶ οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς
οὐδ᾽ ἀληθὲς ἔχουσα.
16 "Oray δέ γε αὐτὴ (ἡ ψυχὴ) καθ᾽
αὑτὴν σκοπῇ, ἐκεῖσε οἴχεται εἰς τὸ
ὅτανπερ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν γένηται καὶ
ἐξῇ αὐτῇ--- καὶ τοῦτο αὐτῆς τὸ πάθημα
φρόνησις κέκληται.
ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 185
by an absolute consciousness—and this absolute consciousness .
he does not separate from that which takes place in speculation
and philosophy. ‘The Peripatetic account is that a moral con-
sciousness must accompany every act, a sort of wisdom which
is the centre to all the moral virtwés (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.
The doctrine that Temperance preserves Thought (σώζει τὴν
φρόνησιν, Eth. vi. v. 5) and that Thought without Virtuous
habits: may degenerate into cunning, is taken from Republic,
p. 518 D, E (quoted above, p. 185).
| (7) Of the two treatises on Pleasure contained in the
Ethics of Aristotle, we may assume (see above, p. 65), 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 ‘some ’ who argued that no pleasure could be a good,
because it is a state of becoming (yéveous). This argument
is refuted by Aristotle himself in Book X. Eudemus
criticises and overthrows other arguments for the same
position, not mentioned in Book X. None of these, how-
ever, are to be found in Philebus, or in any dialogue οἵ Plato.
They are, in all probability, to be attributed to the Platonic
school. ‘There is a direct mention, in connection with one of
the arguments, of the name of Speusippus (Hth. vil. xiii. 1).
Turning now to Book X., we find the question as to the
nature of pleasure opened by the statement of two extreme
views on the subject ; one, that of the Cynics—that pleasure |
ο 2
190 ESSAY III.
was ‘entirely evil’ (κομιδῇ gdaddrAov)—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. (b) It is con-
trary to pain. (6) It is sought for its ownsake. (ἃ) Added
to any good, it makes that good better. He then mentions
the objections (ἐνστάσει5) 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. 192), 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
(ἀόριστον) ; that it is a motion, a becoming, or a replenish-
ment (κίνησις, yéveots, ἀναπλήρωσι5) ; 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 analysing its character more accurately
than had hitherto been done. Im all this we cannot trace
anything like a direct antagonism to the Philebus 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,
ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 197
the whole theory in its moral and practical bearing, refines
and improves upon it as a speculative question, substituting
a more accurate and appropriate definition of pleasure than
is to be found in Plato.
(8) We cannot doubt that Aristotle’s attention was
turned to the consideration of the subject of friendship by
the importance that Plato attributed to it, and the inte-
resting part which he makes it play in his system. Both
Injsis and Phedrus are devoted to the discussion of friend-
ship. 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 (Hth. vim. 1. 6) ;
‘Whether does friendship arise from similarity, or from dis-
similarity ? Does it consist in sympathy, or in the harmony
of opposites?’ In Phedrus a passionate and enthusiastic
picture of friendship is given, which renders it not distin-
guishable from love ; its connection with the highest kind of
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 point
of the question the analysis has been pushed farther than
Plato carried it.
(9) The position that ‘ Virtue is a science’ and that it is
only through ignorance that a man could choose other than
the Good, naturally gave importance to the question as to the
nature of Ignorance itself, and the problem, How does it
happen that knowledge of the Good is sometimes in abey-
198 ESSAY III.
ance? These questions which were suggested in Protagoras
(pp. 358 sqq.) appear to have been worked at in the
Peripatetic school, and, with the help of the Practical
Syllogism (see Essay IV.), an answer was given to them in
the Eudemian Book VII. A cognate discussion, far less
mature in character, on the voluntariness or involuntariness
of Vice, entirely suggested by Plato, appears in Book III. of
Aristotle’s Ethics.
(10) 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 (ith. 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’ (Hth. 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’ (Hth. x. vii. 8). We are reminded generally of the
enthusiastic descriptions of philosophy in the Republic, the
Pheedo, and the Symposium of Plato. One particular passage
of the last-named dialogue seems probably to have sug-
gested to Aristotle the saying (Hth. x. viii. 13), that ‘The
philosopher will surely be most under the protection of
heaven (θεοφιλέστατος), because honouring and cherishing
that which is highest and most akin to God—namely, the
reason.’
Such are the leading ethical conceptions and topics for
which Aristotle’s treatise is manifestly indebted to the Dia-
logues of Plato, and they go far towards furnishing its entire
skeleton. But besides these there was many a minor sugges-
tion of Plato’s, which has been taken up into this work, as
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 199
the notes in subsequent pages will testify. The very meta-
phors used by Aristotle seem often to have been inherited.
That of the ‘bowmen’ (Hth. 1. ii. 2) occurs in Republic,
p- 519 C. That of the ‘ Aristeia for pleasure’ (Eth. τ. xii. 5)
comes from Philebus, p. 22 E. The analogy between the
political philosopher and an oculist (Hth. 1. xiii. 7) is from
Charmides, p. 155 B. The comparison of mental extremes
to excesses in gymnastic training (Hth. τι. ii. 6) occurs in
Eraste, p. 134. The metaphor of ‘ straightening bent wood’
(Eth. 11. ix. 5) is from Protagoras, p. 325 ἢ. The com-
parison of those who have made their own fortune to poets
and mothers, who love their offspring (Hth. Iv. i. 20, Ix.
vii. 7), is from Republic, p. 330 C. This list of examples
might doubtless be increased.
We have now seen the close connection of succession, in-
heritance, and development between the Ethics of Aristotle
and the writings of Plato. It remains to point out the
diversities of doctrine, as well as of tone and manner, which
are also manifest between the moral systems of the two
philosophers. At the very outset of his treatise, having started
the question, What is the Good for man? Aristotle stops
himself with the logical consideration that it will be neces-
sary to inquire first the nature of this universal term—Good |
—and to state in what sense it is predicated, and what is its
relation to the particulars which fall under it,'’ ‘ although,’
as he adds, ‘an inquiry of this kind is rendered disagreeable
owing to those who are our friends having introduced their
doctrine of Ideas.’ Adopting, however, a saying which Plato
-had himself employed in reference to judging of Homer,'* he
7 Eth. τ. yi. 1. Ταῦτα μὲν οὖν | ζητήσεως γινομένης διὰ τὸ φίλους ἄν-
ἀφείσθω" τὸ δὲ καθόλου βέλτιον ἴσως | Spas εἰσαγαγεῖν τὰ εἴδη.
ἐπισκέψασθαι καὶ διαπορῆσαι πῶς λέγε- 18 Repub. X. Ῥ. 595 C. ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρό
ται, καίπερ προσᾶντους τῆς τοιαύτης | γε τῆς ἀληθείας τιμητέος ἀνήρ.
200 ESSAY ΠῚ.
decides that ‘personal considerations must be sacrificed to
the interests of truth ;’ and accordingly he proceeds to detail
a set of arguments against the logical or metaphysical validity
of the Platonic ‘Idea of Good.’ We may admit the general
necessity for the logic of ethics of this discussion as to the
realistic or nominalistic import to be attributed to the term
—Good, and we may admit also the courteous terms in which
it is introduced. But yet we shall find something unsatis-
factory, and requiring explanation, in the arguments them-
selves which Aristotle proceeds to adduce. In form the con-
troversy appears rather to be with the Platonists, with the
rival school in the Academia, than with Plato himself; but
yet so much prominence is given to the ‘ Idea of Good’ in
Plato’s Republic, a work which was, beyond doubt, constantly
present to the mind of Aristotle when he was writing his
Ethics, that we cannot but think that the present passage has
reference not only to the logic of the Academy generally, but
also to the ethical applications of the ‘Idea of Good’ made
by Plato himself.
The doctrine of ‘Ideas’ is much less settled and constant
in Plato’s writings than may be ordinarily supposed. In
regard to this, as to many other questions, Plato may be said
to have had no system, but to have been constantly inquiring.
We find that the transcendental existence of the ‘ Ideas,’ that~
is, their existence apart from the human mind, is only
asserted, together with the doctrine of our ‘recollecting’
them (ἀνάμνησις), in mythical and imaginative passages of
Meno, Phedrus, and Phedo; that in later dialogues, as
Republic, and Philebus, they are treated in a more sober
spirit; that in Theatetus, Sophist, Politicus, and Daws, the
‘Tdeas’ are mentioned much as Universals would be spoken
of in modern books; lastly, what is most remarkable of all,
we find in Parmenides a criticism on the doctrine of Ideas,
=e
ARISTOTLE’'S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 201
in which the weak points of the doctrine and the difficulties
attendant on it are pointed out. Socrates, who is represented
in the dialogue as a promising young man, defends the sup-
posed orthodox view of the Ideas, but he is refuted by the
venerable Parmenides, who lectures him on his want of prac-
tice in dialectic. And it is a curious fact that the argu-
ments here put by Plato into the mouth of Parmenides are |
‘nearly if not quite’!® those used by Aristotle in attacking
Plato, or at all events that which he enunciates as the Pla-
tonic system. It appears then that Plato, at one period of
his life, when deeply plunged in the study of Eleatic philo-
sophy, saw that his own doctrine of Ideas required revision,
and in the dialogue of Parmenides he at once put out what
he had arrived at. These considerations open to us a dif-
ferent view of Plato’s relation to the doctrine of Ideas from
what we should have gathered from Aristotle in the not un- —
frequent places” in which he criticises this doctrine. Yet,
since Plato did at all events sometimes put forward the doc-
trine in strong and enthusiastic terms, it may be as well to
endeavour to trace its general meaning, even if in so doing
we incur the same charge that Aristotle has. incurred—of
turning poetry into prose and making dogmatic that which
was never meant to be such.
Aristotle tells us*! that Plato’s doctrine of Ideas rose from
a union between the universal definitions of Socrates and the
Heraclitean 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.’
19. See Prof. Jowett’s Introduction | iv.—v. Post Analyt. τ. xi. &e.
to Parmenides (vol, iii. pp. 227 sqq.), 21 Metaphys. τ. vi. 2, X11. iv. 2, 3,
where the arguments are analysed. and see above, page 159.
0 Metaphys. τ. vi., νι. xiii., xi.
202 ESSAY III.
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.
It is purely relative, entirely changeable. It baffles all
attempts at knowledge. The more we analyse ‘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, ὅθ. 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, οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιστήμη τῶν αἰσθητῶν. 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 (εἶδος, ἰδέα), 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
PLATO’S DOCTRINE OF IDEAS. 203
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’ (ἀλήθεια), which
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 particu-
lars, which, as we saw before, are (in so far as they are par-
ticulars) unknowable, but the universal, the idea. The
universal element, or idea, may hence be said to be the only
real existence, while the particulars have only a sort of illu-
sory, or mock existence ; when we look closely into them we
find they are mere shadows of reality. Hence Plato, follow-
ing 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 (Meta-
phys. τ. ix. 12), Plato called the Ideas archetypes (παραδείγ-
pata) of sensible things. In this metaphor several points
are expressed. (1) That knowledge is rather prior to expe-
rience than derived from it. Experience is the occasion,
and not the cause of knowledge. This Plato expressed by
saying that all our knowledge 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 world is fleeting. The mind
is always prior to, and greater than, the ‘world. ‘This
points, as Plato argued in Phedo, 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
204 ESSAY III.
than the Ideas, he allows that the external world 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
moyable—there is law, unity, form, order, symmetry, 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 (Re-
pub. p. 509 B), that ‘ As the sun affords to all visible objects
not only the power of being seen, but also growth, increase,
and nourishment; so is there afforded to all objects of know-
ledge 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 (ἔτι ἐπ ἔκεινα τῆς ovclas) in
dignity and power.’ In 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 (τὰ γινωσκόμενα), 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 form-’
less, 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
PLATO’S DOCTRINE OF IDEAS. 205
shadows which are the mere negation of light, and yet they
are necessary 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 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 expe-
rience, 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 empiricism 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 in-
fluencing 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 (Hth. 1. 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 criticise 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
(χωριστόν) and absolute, it obviously can neither be realised
nor possessed by man, whereas something of this latter kind
206 ESSAY III.
is what we are inquiring after’ (Hth. 1. 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
(παράδειγμα) by which to judge of relative good.’ Against
this he argues that ‘There is no trace of the arts making any
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 acknow-
ledges, 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 indispens-
able to morality, but also that the mind, by contemplating
the Idea of good, would be 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 πρακτέν), 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 (ἀρχή)
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 207
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
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
‘They went to him expecting to hear about the chief gocd
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 ‘a philosopher
for philosophers,’ there seems to be something not quite ex-
plained 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 concep-
tions. 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 knowledge and all existence, which is far above the ordi-
nary ken, and which can hardly be viewed otherwise than by
occasional glimpses—but rather an effort after clearness and
completeness, 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. Rapid
indeed and wonderful 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.
Had Aristotle in the present case contented himself with
‘denying the appropriateness of the ‘Idea of Good,’ or, in
other words, of the νοητὸν ἀγαθόν, as an ἀρχὴ for moral
208 ESSAY III.
and Political science, the reasonableness of such a view must
have been admitted. But he goes farther, and undertakes to
disprove offhand the tenability, even as part of a metaphy-
sical system, of the ‘ Idea of Good,’ in the sense in which it
was held by Plato or by the Platonists. And for this pur-
pose he states his arguments, which are briefly as follows:
(1) The Platonists themselves allow that where there is an
essential succession (τὸ πρότερον καὶ τὸ ὕστερον) between any
two conceptions, these could not be brought under a common
Idea. But this succession occurs in different kinds of good.
Good 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 undoubted goods seem incapable of being
reduced to one Idea.—Everyone has felt the unsatisfactori-
ness of these arguments; they seem ecaptious, verbal, unreal,
and not to touch the point at issue. Let us examine them
separately. Argument (1) seems to beg the question. It
refers to the Platonic doctrine of the ideal numbers (referred
to Metaphys. ΧΙ. 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 succes-
sion 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
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 209
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 philosophical 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, rela-
tion, time and place, &c. (καὶ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα), 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, oppor-
tunity, 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.
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.
The fourth argument, which appears also in the Par-
menides of Plato, is one of which Aristotle seems fond—
that the Idea (αὐτοέκαστον) is a mere repetition of pheno-,
mena, exhibiting the same law as the particulars, indis-
tinguishable from them, and therefore perfectly useless. This
objection is expressed in the Metaphysics (1. ix. 1) by saying
that ‘The Ideas are as if one was unable to count δ᾽
few things, and thought it would be easier to count them
VOL. I. P
210 ESSAY III.
when they were more.’ It would seem, however, to be a
misstatement of Plato’s view, for it assumes the reality, the
‘substantive and absolute existence of the particulars, and
then speaks of the Idea or the Universal being appended ἰὸς
the end of the row, in order to explain them. Whereas
Plato might surely 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 ‘multiplying
phenomena,’ Plato might say, ‘The Idea reduces phenomena
to unity.’ Aristotle’s account represents the universal or
absolute existence as if it was gained inductively from ἃ set
of particulars, and added to the end of them; whereas Plato's
point of view rather is that the Idea is prior to all the par-
ticulars; we do not obtain it inductively, we are reminded of
it, but we saw it before we were born, or, in other words, it
is innate in the soul and only evoked by experience. Another
most captious objection, almost unworthy of the gravity of a
philosopher, Aristotle here adds: it is that ‘ Perhaps the Idea
of Good may be said to be distinguished from the number of
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
(πολυχρόνιον) and eternity (ἀΐδιον). It is true that in
popular thinking we picture to ourselves the eternal under
the form of duration of time, but the philosophical concep-
tion of the eternal is the necessary (causa sui), the absolute, ,
the unconditional, the uncreate and indestructible (Hth. τη.
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 211
iii. 3, 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
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 (th. 1. 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 ‘If these be not esteemed good 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.’?? The question then
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 dif-
ferent from one another.’ This appears to be mere dogma~
tism and a trifling with the question. For we might urge
that honour is not properly speaking a good sought for its
3. *Hovd’ ἄλλο οὐδὲν πλὴν τῆς ἰδέας ; ὥστε μάταιον orci τὸ εἶδος.
5..."
212 ESSAY III.
own sake (cf. Hth. 1. v. 5), and that thought, sight, and
pleasure, are all of them ἐνέργειαι 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.?* He asks, ‘ What
is the account then of this one word good? It cannot surely
have risen 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 * by reason of a sameness
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.
There is a tradition of the ancients that Aristotle, as a
young man, while his vehicle for philosophising was still the
dialogue, commenced a pertinacious attack on the doctrine of
8 Οὐκ ἔστιν ἄρα τὸ ἀγαθὸν κοινόν τι | συνωνύμων τοῖς elBecw.—Ar. Meta-
κατὰ μίαν ἰδέαν. phys. 1. vi. 3.
4 Κατὰ μέθεξιν εἶναι τὰ πολλὰ τῶν
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 213
Ideas. Proclus, quoted by Philoponus (ii. 2) speaks of him ”
as ‘ proclaiming loudly in his dialogues that he was unable to
sympathise with this doctrine, even though his opposition to
it should be attributed to a factious spirit.’ It is thought by
some that the various places of his extant and maturer works
which attack the Platonists on this subject, contain rather a
résumé of arguments which had been before stated by Ari-
stotle in his early writings, than the results of fresh logical or
metaphysical thought. This theory, if accepted, would ex-
plain to some extent the very crude and apparently superficial
character of the arguments themselves. That such a pro-
cedure should have been adopted in a work like the Ethics
seems not unlikely, when we consider the way which this
work was, apparently, written. It was part of a great task
which Aristotle had assigned himself—no less than that of
constructing afresh the whole of philosophy (with physical
science to follow). Setting himself to this task, Aristotle
constructed his Organon, and then went on in rapid succes-
sion to grapple with Rhetoric, Ethics, Politics, the Art of
Poetry, and Metaphysics. All his works on these subjects
were more or less incomplete, and all must have been com-
posed under a certain pressure. In these circumstances it is
easy to fancy their author repeating his earlier arguments on
a particular question, in lieu of excogitating the matter
anew. But it must be observed that one of the arguments
here used is expressed in Aristotle’s maturer terminology, for |:
it appeals to the ‘ categories,’ or heads of predication. Any-
how, we cannot escape the conclusion that these arguments
misrepresent the Platonic doctrine of Ideas, so far as we know
it, and do not contain really valid grounds for its rejection.
35. Kal ἐν τοῖς διαλόγοις σαφέστατα | τῳ συμπαθεῖν, κἄν τις αὐτὸν οἴηται διὰ
κεκραγὼς μὴ δύνασθαι τῷ δόγματι τού- | φιλονεικίαν ἀντιλέγειν.
214 ESSAY III.
When we compare the moral system of Aristotle in its
general scope with that of Plato, we are at once struck by a
remarkable difference. Plato’s was a unifying system; he
took the four cardinal virtues of Greece and reduced them to
one quality under different aspects—to the complete regu-
larity and harmony of all the faculties and impulses of the
individual soul, under the guidance of wise and philosophic
thought. ‘Justice’ with him was another word for this har-
mony ; ‘ Temperance’ was the subservience of the passions to
the reason. ‘Courage’ was remembering the general prin-
ciples of the reason in the hour of danger or temptation. The
Reason or thought which was to permeate the mora] nature
was also, with Plato, the contemplation of the absolute. The
tendency of Aristotle is in the opposite direction, that of
analytical division and separation. Philosophy and its organ,
the scientific reason, he put quite apart from morals. Justice,
so far as we can learn from the Hudemian book on the sub-
ject, he treated, not in a general sense as co-extensive with
Virtue, but as a special quality tending to the fulfilment of
legal obligations in respect of property. Instead of unifying
the virtues he rather multiplied them. In his Politics
(I. x11. 10) he approves of the method of Gorgias, in enume-
rating the virtues in detail, saying that ‘ People deceive them-
selves by general definitions, as that virtue consists in a good
condition of the soul, or again in uprightness of action (ὀρθο-
πραγεῖν), or some such thing.’ And in the same spirit he says
(ΕἼ. τι. vii. 1) that ‘While general theories are of wider appli
cation’ (κοινότεροι, see infra, the note on this passage), ‘ those
that go into detail have more reality, since action consists in de-
tail,’ &c. Accordingly he proceeds to give a list of virtues which
contain an exemplification of his principle of Μεσότης. This
2° The allusion is to the Meno of Plato, p. 71.
ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 215
list does not appear to have been formed on any scientific
basis, it does not 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 em-
pirical. Aristotle has two sides, the one speculative and pro-
foundly 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. He had beforehand given the
same in- his Rhetoric (1. ix. 5) with the omission of three of
the virtues here mentioned.
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 make like to God, through becoming
just and holy, with thought and consciousness of the same’
(loc. cit., see above, p. 194), Aristotle, on the contrary, speaks
of moral virtue as being impossible of attribution to the
gods (Hth. x. viii. 7). With regard to Aristotle’s opinion on
the question of a future life we shall speak in Essay V., but
at present we may safely say that Aristotle’s ethical system
differs from that of Plato in being conceived totally without
reference to any such consideration. If we compare the
tone in which the two philosophers write, it will appear that
216 ESSAY III.
while Aristotle is far more scientific, he is on the other hand
wanting in the moral earnestness, the tenderness, and the
enthusiasm of Plato. Such ideas as that ‘the whole of
life is an education’ are not present with him. But again,
he is more safe than Plato; he is quite opposed to any-
thing unnatural (such as communism, for instance) in life
or institutions. He recognises admiringly the worth and
beauty of moral virtue, without the incessant demand which
Plato made, that this should be accompanied by philosophy.
And on all questions he endeavours to put himself into har-
mony with the opinions of the multitude, to which he thinks
that a certain validity must be ascribed. 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
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
his philosophy on earth is but ‘knowing in part.’ Ari-
stotle, on the contrary, rather over-represents the strength
of philosophy. And in his picture of the happiness of
the philosopher 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 Hthics which might cause a smile,
but they are apparently given unconsciously, in illustration
of the point in question. In Eth. x. ν. 8, to show that the
ARISTOTLE’S TONE COMPARED WITH THAT OF PLATO. 217
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 (vu. 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 Hthics. It might be doubted whether
Plato would have written the masterly analytical 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 ἃ wonderful catalogue and analysis of very subtle charac-
teristics.
‘The chief of the school of Plato was Speusippus, nephew
to Plato himself, and successor to him in the leadership of
the Academy. One of the Pythagoreising opinions of Speu-
sippus is alluded to by Aristotle, Hth. 1. vi. 7. ‘The Pytha-
gorean 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.
XIII. iv. 8), 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.
But see notes on Eth, 1. iv. 6, vii. vi. 4.
218 ESSAY III.
They saw that if ‘the One’ be identical 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. x1. 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 38 the
following are mentioned—vrepi ἡδονῆς α΄. ᾿Αρίστιππος a’. 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, Hth. x. ii. 5, and expressly men-
tioned with his name by Eudemus, vil. xiii. 1. 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, Hth. xX. ii. 1.
Out of the school of Plato, Aristotle appears to have had
a close personal friend, namely, Xenocrates, who accompanied
* Also he seems to have written on Justice, The Citizen, Legislation, and
Philosophy.
THE PLATONISTS. 219
him to Atarneus, on the death of Plato. He was a volumi-
nous 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 δύναμις ὑπηρετική in external fortune, which is,
perhaps, alluded to by Aristotle.” His disciples, Polemo and
Crantor, 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.
And yet, so far as we can tell, none of the Platonists appears
individually to have been of sufficient importance to have
greatly influenced Aristotle either in the way of communi-
cation or of antagonism.
39. Ἕτεροι δὲ καὶ τὴν ἐκτὸς εὐετηρίαν cunmapadrdauBdvovow,—Eth. τ. viii. 6.
ES Sie Ci
- ιο----΄-
On the Philosophical Formule in the Ethics of
Aristotle.
ΠΗ advance which Philosophy made under the hands of
Aristotle, consisted in its becoming scientific. That is
to say, it was divided into separate branches, or departments
(πραγματεία5), and each of these was a μέθοδος, or orderly
setting forth of appropriate principles and the deductions to
be made from them; and the instrument for this exposition
was a precise terminology. The Dialogues of Plato almost
invariably exhibited philosophy in the process of being worked
out in conjunction with unphilosophical personages, so the
point of departure in them is the ordinary thought of refined
and cultivated, but not scholastic, circles, and the language
is as much as possible that of the purest literary Greek. Yet
even Plato, owing to the nature cf his subjects, could not
keep clear of abstract, highly philosophical, and technical
terms. In fact he was always tending to create such; the
‘Ideas,’ ‘ Dialectic,’ ‘Thought’ (ppornors), the ‘ Reason’ and
the ‘ Understanding ’ (διάνοια), ‘ Being’ and ‘ Not being,’ the
‘One’ and the ‘ Many,’ ‘ Division,’ and other names for logical
processes, the names for the constituent parts of the soul, &c.,
are instances of the kind. But Plato dealt freely with
language, as he did with thought, and never bound himself
by fixed terms any more than by a fixed system. With
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 221
Aristotle the case was different ; his object was to be, as far
as possible, exhaustive and final on all the great questions of
philosophy, and to express his results in precise and perma-
nent phraseology. Thus, the more general forms of thought
which he gradually worked out for himself became with him
a language which was never laid aside, and which was applied
to all subjects. In comparing any Aristotelian treatise with
the works of Plato, one sees in it the accumulation of experi-
ence and the carrying out of analysis, but still more, one sees
the constant recurrence of these forms of thought, which seem
brought in to explain everything. The forms indeed fre-
quently become modified through their application to special
branches of inquiry; they no longer remain mere logical or
metaphysical abstractions, but become concrete ideas. We
shall find this abundantly exemplified in the Hthics; and it
is the object of the present Essay to isolate and examine the
formal element of the Aristotelian moral system—to trace the
origin and full philosophical meaning of some of the leading
terms used, and to follow them out into their ethical appli-
cation. The formule to be discussed are: (1) Τέλος, or the
End-in-itself, as connected with Aristotle’s doctrine of the
four causes ; (2) ’Evépyeva, or the Actual, which Aristotle so
constantly contrasted with the Potential ; (3) Μεσότης, or the
Law of Quantity, a term with wide philosophical associations ;
(4) the Practical Syllogism, a form borrowed from the Ari-
stotelian Logic, and applied by Aristotle himself, and still
farther by the Peripatetic school; to explain the phenomena
of the human will. ;
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
222 ESSAY IV.
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 realises, 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 merge
the other two causes into itself. The end of anything, that
for the 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 (ὁρίζεται γὰρ ἕκαστον τῷ τέλει, Eth. Ul. 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
synonymous terms. And this is not only the case with re-
gard to individual 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 contempla-
tion and desire, though itself immovable, moves all things.!
And so the world is rendered finite, for all nature desiring the
Good and tending towards an end is harmonised 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 his 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-
1 Κινεῖ δὲ ὧδε" τὸ ὀρεκτὸν καὶ τὸ | αὐτης dpa ἀρχῆς ἤρτηται ὁ οὐρανὺς καὶ
νοητὸν κινεῖ οὐ κινούμενα.---Ἐκ τοι- | ἡ pbois.—Metaph, x1. vii. 2-6.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. | 298
tion of the Ethics is, Ti ἐστι τὸ τῶν πρακτῶν τέλος; 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 recognises (Nat. Ause. τι. vili.).
When 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 intelligence? 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 re-
lation of God to the design exhibited in creation. And so,
too, he is not explicit, in the Hthics, as to God’s moral govern-
ment of the world. On the whole, we may say at present that
‘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 τέλος
τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, but τῶν πρακτῶν τέλος (I. vii. 8), τῶν avOpw-
πίνων τέλος (Χ. Vi. 1), τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθόν (I. xiii. 5). Itis
best, therefore, to exclude religious associations (as being un-
Aristotelian) from our conception of the ethical τέλος, 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 τέλος (Eth. I.
ii. 1). And he asserts that man can only realise it in the ᾿
sphere of his own proper functions (ἐν τῷ ἔργῳ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου,
224 ESSAY IV.
I. vil. 10), and in accordance with the law of his proper
nature and its harmonious development (κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν
ἀρετήν, 1. 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 organisation 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,
while each part of the creation realises 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 τέλος not only exists
im man, but also for man; not only is the good realised in
him, but it is recognised 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-
solutely sufficient, that in which he can rest, that which is
in and for itself desirable (ἁπλῶς δὴ τέλειον TO. καθ᾽ αὑτὸ
αἱρετὸν ἀεί, τ. vil. 4). The ends of physical things are for
other minds to contemplate, they are ends objectively. But
ends of moral beings are ends subjectively, realised by and
contemplated by those moral beings themselves. The final
cause, then, in Hthics, 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 τέλος τῶν πρακτῶν,
or absolute end of action, has two forms, which are not clearly
separated ; in the first place it is represented subjectively as
happiness, and in the second place objectively as the morally
beautiful.
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 system
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 225
is one of mere eudemonism. We shall have an opportu-
nity 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-
τ teristics of Aristotle’s Ethical doctrine. It is unfair to charge
Aristotle with mere ‘eudzmonism’ simply on account of his
making a definition of ‘ happiness’ the leading principle of
his Ethics. The word ‘happiness’ is only a popular way of
statement ; Aristotle tells us that it is the popular word for
the chief good (Eth. 1. iv. 2). Again, during his whole
discussion on the virtues, and on moral actions, there is no
mention 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.’?
Elsewhere he speaks of ‘the beautiful’ as being the end of
virtue. 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 conception. Happiness with Aristotle is something
different from what we mean by it ; so from this point of view,
above all, the charge of eudemonism 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 τέλειον
τέλος ἢ 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
2 Td τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄθλον καὶ réA0s.— 8 Τοῦ καλοῦ ἕνεκα, τοῦτο γὰρ τέλος
Eth. 1. ix. 3. Tis aperis.— Eth, ut. vii. 2.
VOL. I. Q
226 ESSAY IV.
like mere pleastire 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 τέλος 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
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.» And he acknowledges that in many cases this
may be the only pleasure attending upon virtuous actions.®
We see in these passages how the objective and subjective
The end and the
In the pleasure
import of the τέλος are blended together.
consciousness of the end are not separated.
which Aristotle speaks of as attaching to the moral τέλος
we see something that answers to what we should call ‘the
approval of conscience.’ Only to say that Aristotle meant
It is
better to keep before us as clearly as possible his point of
this, would be to mix up things modern and ancient.
view, which is, that a good action is an End-in-itself, as being
4 Politics, vit. v. 12, Ἔν μὲν τῷ Cf, Eth. x.
πράξεων ἔχειν ὁμοιωμά τι.
τέλει συμβαίνει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ὀλιγάκις
γίγνεσθαι... . Συμβέβηκε δὲ ποιεῖσθαι
τὰς παιδιὰς TEAOS* ἔχει γὰρ ἴσως ἡδονήν
τινα καὶ τὸ τέλος, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὴν τυχοῦσαν"
ζητοῦντες δὲ ταύτην, λαμβάνουσιν ὡς
ταύτην ἐκείνην, διὰ τὸ τῷ τέλει τῶν
vi. 3.
5 Eth. ται. ix. 2. Οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ δόξειεν
ἂν εἶναι τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν τέλος ἡδύ.
® Eth, παι. ix. 5. Οὐ δὴ ἐν ἁπάσαις
ταῖς ἀρεταῖς τὸ ἡδέως ἐνεργεῖν ὑπάρχει,
πλὴν ἐφ᾽ ὅσον τοῦ τέλους ἐφάπτεται.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 227
the perfection 7 of our nature, and that for the sake of which
(οὗ ἕνεκα) 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
which possesses the qualities of being καλόν, ὡρισμένον, and
ἐνέργεια τελεία.
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 idealises the importance of the passing
moment; how 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 τέλος, both as perfection and
as happiness, Aristotle seems to have placed virtue below
philosophy. 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
7 In another passage (Eth. m1. vii.
6), Aristotle seems to use the term
τέλος in a more purely objective sense
to denote perfection. He says, ‘The
τέλος of every individual moral act
is the same with that of the formed
moral character’ (τέλος δὲ πάσης ἐνερ-
γείας ἐστὶ τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἕξιν). 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 beautiful
(καλοῦ ἕνεκα), &e.
8. Eth. x. vii. 1. Εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ εὐδαι-
μονία κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν ἐνέργεια, εὔλογον
κατὰ τὴν κρατίστην " αὕτη δ᾽ ἂν εἴη τοῦ
ἀρίστου, κιτ.λ.
ῳ 2
228 ESSAY ΤΥ.
ποῦ as a means to anything else.? 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 Thought (φρόνησι5), this may
be regarded after all as subordinate and instrumental to
Philosophy (σοφία), the perfection of the speculative side.!°
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 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 satis-
faction in themselves. Philosophy, therefore, and specula-
tion are, according to Aristotle, the end not only of the
individual, but also of the State." ‘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.
as some do, suppose that a life of action implies relation to
But we need not,
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 (θεωρητικὴ ἐνέργεια)
is most perfectly and absolutely an end.
result but for itself.
It is sought for no
It is a state of peace, which is the
9 Eth, x, vii. 5. Δόξαι τ᾽ ἂν αὐτὴ
μόνη δι’ αὑτὴν ἀγαπᾶσθαι.
10 Eth, vi. xili, 8. Ἐκείνης οὖν ἕνεκα
ἐπιτάττει, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκείνῃ.
1 Pol. vir. iii. 7. ᾿Αλλ’ εἰ ταῦτα
λέγεται καλῶς καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν
εὐπραγίαν θετέον, καὶ κοινῇ πάσης
πόλεως ἂν εἴη καὶ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἄριστος
βίος 6 πρακτικός. ᾿Αλλὰ τὸν πρακτικὸν
οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πρὸς ἑτέρους, καθά-
περ οἴονταί τινες, οὐδὲ τὰς διανοίας εἶναι
μόνας ταύτας πρακτικὰς τὰς τῶν ἀπο-
βαινόντων χάριν γιγνομένας ἐκ τοῦ
πράττειν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον τὰς αὐτο-
τέλεις καὶ τὰς αὑτῶν ἕνεκεν θεωρίας
καὶ διανοήσεις.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 229
crown of all exertion (ἀσχολούμεθα ἵνα σχολάξωμεν). It is
the realisation of the divine in man, and constitutes the most
absolute and all-sufficient happiness,'? being, as far as pos-
sible in human things, independent of external circum-
stances.'*
This, then, constitutes the most adequate answer to the
great question of Ethics, What is the Chief Good? or Τί ἐστι
τὸ τῶν πρακτῶν τέλος ; as far as a separate and individual
‘moment of life is concerned. But a difficulty suggests itself
with regard to life viewed as a whole. ‘ Philosophic thought,’
says Aristotle, ‘ will be absolutely perfect happiness if ex-
tended over a whole life. For in happiness there must
be no shortcoming.’'* But, as we shall see more clearly
with regard to ἐνέργεια, 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 μονόχρονος ἡδονή of the
Cyrenaics (see above, p. 175). If, again, he requires an
absolute τέλος 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 acknowledging (Hth. τ. vii. 16), that ‘ A single swallow
will not make a summer ;’ on the other hand urging ob-
jections against the saying of Solon (Hth. τ. x.), that ‘No man
can be called happy as long as he lives.’ He says the chief
good must be ἐν βίῳ τελείῳ, not a perfect life, but in a
perfect life—indicating by this expression that the absolute
good, as it exists in and for the consciousness, is independent
12 Kth. x. viii. 7. “H τελεία εὐδαι- 4 Ἡ τελεία δὴ εὐδαιμονία αὕτη ἂν
μονία θεωρητική τίς ἐστιν ἐνέργεια. εἴη ἀνθρώπου, λαβοῦσα μῆκος βίου τέ-
13 Hth. x. vii. 4. Ἥ τε λεγομένη | λεῖον" οὐδὲν γὰρ ἀτελές ἐστι τῶν τῆς
αὐτάρκεια περὶ τὴν θεωρητικὴν μάλιστ᾽ | εὐδαιμονίας. Eth. x. vii. 7.
ἂν εἴη.
230 ᾿ ESSAY IV.
of time and duration; 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 circum-
stances. About this word τελείῳ there is an ambiguity of
which probably Aristotle, himself, was half conscious ; its
associations of meaning are twofold, the one popular, convey-
ing the notion of the ‘complete,’ 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 must be attained in a
sphere of outward circumstances themselves partaking of
the nature of absolute perfection. Aristotle’s conception,
then, of the chief good has two sides, the one internal, ideal,
out of all relation to time, which speaks of happiness as the
absolute good, as that end which is the sum of all means, as
that which could not possibly be improved by any addition
(Hth. 1. 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
(Hth. 1. 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 (τὰ κύρια τῆς εὐδαι-
poovias) 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
definiteness to the aims, ‘So that we shall be now like archers
knowing what to shoot at’ (Hth. τ. ii. 2). In the realisation
THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 291
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 (Hth. τ. 11. 1). 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’ (Hth. 1x. 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, Vig
is itself the absolutely sufficient—that, above and beyond ‘
the outside of which the mind can conceive nothing. And
this absolute end is yet further represented as the deepest
moments either of the moral consciousness, or of that philo-
sophic reason which is an approach to the nature of the divine
being. It must be remembered also that ‘the finite’ (τὸ
ὡρισμένον) 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 conceived 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 definite-
ness and form in contradistinction to the chaotic. Truly we
cannot in our conceptions pass out of the human mind; that
which is absolute and an end for the mind cannot be a mere
limited and restricted conception ; but rather nothing can be
conceived beyond it. Something might be said on the rela-
tion of the Ethical τέλος to the idea of a future life, but this
can be better said hereafter. πᾶν“ -
II. ‘ Actuality’ is perhaps the nearest philosophical re- ,
presentative of the ἐνέργεια of Aristotle. It is derived from it
through the Latin of the Schoolmen, ‘actus’ being their trans-
lation of ἐνέργεια, out of which the longer and more abstract
232 ESSAY IV.
form has grown. The word ‘energy,’ which comes more
directly from ἐνέργεια, 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 ἐνέργεια, 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. ΤῸ substitute ‘actuality’ 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 ἐνέργεια. But ‘actuality’ is a word
with far too little flexibility to be adapted for expressing all
these various applications. No conception equally plastic
with ἐνέργεια, 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-
deavour to understand its philosophical meaning as part of
Aristotle’s system, and secondly to notice its special applica-
tions in a book like the Hthics.
in the various places where it occurs must be rather of the
Any rendering of its import
nature of paraphrase than of translation.
4 ’Evépyeva is not more accurately defined by Aristotle, than
as the correlative and opposite of δύναμις. 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.'° ‘Now ἐνέργεια 15 the existence of a
18 Metaphys. vit. vi. 2. Ἔστι δ᾽ ἡ
ἐνέργεια τὸ ὑπάρχειν τὸ πρᾶγμα, μὴ οὕ-
τως ὥσπερ λέγομεν δυνάμει. Λέγομεν
δὲ δυνάμει, οἷον, ἐν τῷ ξύλῳ Ἑρμῆν καὶ
ἐν τῇ ὅλῃ τὴν ἡμίσειαν, ὅτι ἀφαιρεθείη
dy, καὶ ἐπιστήμονα καὶ τὸν μὴ θεωροῦντα,
ἐὰν δυνατὸς ἢ θεωρῆσαι" τὸ δὲ ἐνεργείᾳ "
δῆλον δ᾽ ἐπὶ τῶν καθ' ἕκαστα τῇ ἐπαγωγῇ,
ὃ βουλόμεθα λέγειν, καὶ οὐ δεῖ παντὸς
ὅρον ζητεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἀνάλογον
συνορᾷν--ὅτι ὡς τὸ οἰκοδομοῦν πρὸς
τὸ οἰκοδομικόν, καὶ τὸ ἐγρηγορὸς πρὸς
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ. 233
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), ἡ
and of a person knowing a thing, even when he is not think-
ing of it, but might do so; whereas ἐνέργεια 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
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 ἐνέργεια be set off
as forming the one side, and on the other let the potential
stand. Things are said to be ἐνεργείᾳ 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 re-
lated to that), for sometimes it implies motion as opposed to
the capacity for motion, and sometimes complete existence
opposed to undeveloped matter.’
The word ἐνέργεια does not occur in Plato, though the
opposition of the ‘virtual’ and the ‘actual’ may. be found
implicitly contained in 16 some parts of his writings. Perhaps
there is no genuine passage '7 now extant of any writer pre-
τὸ καθεῦδον, καὶ τὸ ὁρῶν πρὸς τὸ μύον 6 Cf. Theetetus, Ὁ». 157 A. Οὔτε γὰρ
μὲν, ὄψιν δὲ ἔχον, καὶ τὸ ἀποκεκριμένον
ἐκ τῆς ὕλης πρὸς τὴν ὕλην, καὶ τὸ
ἀπειργασμένον πρὸς τὸ ἀνέργαστον.
Ταύτης δὲ τῆς διαφορᾶς θάτερον μόριον
ἔστω ἡ ἐνέργεια ἀφωρισμένη, θατέρῳ
δὲ τὸ δυνατόν. Λέγεται δὲ ἐνεργείᾳ οὐ
πάντα ὁμοίως, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὸ ἀνάλογον, ὡς
τοῦτο ἐν τούτῳ ἢ πρὸς τοῦτο, Td δ᾽ ἐν
τῷδε } πρὸς τόδε" τὰ μὲν γὰρ ὡς κίνησις
πρὸς δύναμιν, τὰ δ᾽ ὡς οὐσία πρός τινα
ὕλην.
ποιοῦν ἐστί τι, πρὶν ἂν τῷ πάσχοντι
ξυνέλθῃ, οὔτε πάσχον, πρὶν ἂν τῷ ποι-
οὔντι, κιτ.λ.
17 For the fragment of Philolaus,
apud Stob. Hel, Phys. 1. xx. 2, is very
suspicious. It is as follows: Διὸ
καὶ καλῶς ἔχει λέγειν κόσμον ἦμεν
ἐνέργειαν ἀΐδιον θεῶ τε καὶ γενέσιος
κατὰ συνακολουθίαν Tas μεταβλατικᾶς
φύσιος.
234 ESSAY IV.
vious to Aristotle in which it occurs. It is the substantive
form of the adjective évepyns which isto be found in Aristotle’s
Topics, 1. xii. 1. But Aristotle, by a false etymology, seems
To all
appearance the idea of its opposition to δύναμις was first sug-
to connect it immediately with the words 15 ἐν ἔργῳ.
gested 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.’ 15
part of the dialectic of the Megarians, by which they endea-
This assertion itself was
voured to establish the EHleatic 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
We
cannot be sure whether the Megarians said precisely ὅταν
in which he gives the 39 opinions of earlier philosophers.
évepyn μόνον δύνασθαι. But at all events they said some-
thing equivalent, and Aristotle taking the suggestion worked
out the whole theory of the contrast between δύναμις and
ἐνέργεια, in its almost universal applicability.
At first these terms were connected, apparently, with the
idea of?! motion. But since δύναμις has the double meaning
of ‘possibility of existence’ as well as ‘ capacity of action,’
18 Cf. Metaphys. vit. viii. 11. Awd | ἐνεργείᾳ δ᾽ οὔ. χι. vi. 7. Διὸ ἔνιοι
καὶ τοὔνομα ἐνέργεια λέγεται κατὰ τὸ
ἔργον καὶ συντείνει πρὸς τὴν ἐντελέ-
χειαν.
19 Met, vim. iii. 1.
φασιν, οἷον of Meyapixol, ὅταν ἐνεργῇ
Εἰσὶ δέ τινες οἵ
μόνον δύνασθαι, ὅταν δὲ μὴ ἐνεργῇ οὐ
δύνασθαι, οἷον τὸν μὴ οἰκοδομοῦντα οὐ
δύνασθαι οἰκοδομεῖν.
Cf. Metaph. x1. ii. 3. Καὶ ὡς Δη-
μόκριτός φησιν, ἦν ὁμοῦ πάντα δυνάμει,
ποιοῦσιν ἀεὶ ἐνέργειαν, οἷον Λεύκιππος
In these passages Ari-
stotle expresses the ideas of his pre-
decessors in his own formule.
21 Metaph. vit. iii.9. Ἐλήλυθε δ᾽
n ἐνέργεια τοὔνομα, ἣ πρὸς ἐντελέχειαν
καὶ Πλάτων.
συντιθεμένη καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ ἄλλα, ἐκ τῶν
κινήσεων μάλιστα, δοκεῖ γὰρ ἣ ἐνέργεια
μάλιστα ἡἣ κίνησις εἶναι.
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ, 235
there arose the double contrast of action opposed to the
capacity for action; actual existence opposed to possible
existence or potentiality. ΤῸ express accurately this latter
opposition Aristotle seems to have introduced the term
ἐντελέχεια, of which the most natural account is, that it is
a compound of ἐν τέλει ἔχειν, ‘ being in the state of perfec-
tion,’ an adjective ἐντελεχής being constructed on the
analogy of vovveyyjs. But in fact this distinction between
ἐντελέχεια and ἐνέργεια 1535 not maintained. The former
word is of comparatively rare occurrence, while we find
everywhere throughout Aristotle ἐνέργεια, as he says, πρὸς
ἐντελεχείαν συντιθεμένη ‘mixed up with the idea of com-
plete existence. As we saw above, it is contrasted with
δύναμις, sometimes as implying motion, sometimes as ‘ form
opposed to matter.’
In Physics δύναμις answers to the necessary conditions
for the existence of anything before that thing exists. It
thus corresponds to ὕλη, both to the πρώτη ὕλη, or matter
absolutely devoid of all qualities, which is capable of be-
coming any definite substance, as, for instance, marble; and
also to the ἐσχάτη ὕλη, or matter capable of receiving form,
as marble the form of the statue. Marble then exists δυνάμει
in the simple elements before it is marble. The statue exists
δυνάμει in the marble before it is carved out. All objects
of thought exist either purely δυνάμει, or purely ἐνεργείᾳ, or
both δυνάμει and ἐνεργείᾳ. This division makes an entire
chain of all the world. At the one end is matter, the πρώτη
ὕλη, Which has a merely potential existence, which is neces-
sary as a condition, but which, having no form and no quali-
22 De Gen. et Corr, τι. x, 11, Buve- [γάρ ἐστιν ἣ δύναμις καὶ ἡ ἐνέργεια τῶν
πλήρωσε τὸ ὅλον ὃ θεὺς ἐντελεχῇ ποιή- | μόνον λεγομένων κατὰ κίνησιν. Eth,
ous τὴν γένεσιν. vir. xiv. 8. Οὐ γὰρ μόνον κινήσεώς
33. Cf. Metaph. vu. i. 2. Ἐπὶ πλέον | ἐστιν ἐνέργεια ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀκινησίας,
236 ESSAY IV.
ties, is totally incapable of being realised 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
God, οὐσία ἀΐδιος καὶ ἐνέργεια ἄνευ δυνάμεως, who cannot be
thought of as non-existing, as otherwise than actual, who
is the absolute, and the unconditioned. Between these two
extremes is the whole row of creatures, which out of poten-
tiality spring into actual being. In this theory we see the
affinity between δύναμις and matter, ἐνέργεια and form. Thus
Aristotle’s conceptions are made to run into one another.
Another affinity readily suggests itself, and that is between
ἐνέργεια and τέλος. The progress from δύναμις to ἐνέργεια is
motion or production (κίνησις or yéveots). But this motion or
production, aiming at or tending to an end, is in itself imper-
fect (ἀτελής), it is a mere process not in itself and for its own
sake desirable. And thus arises a contrast between κίνησις
and ἐνέργεια, for the latter, if it implies motion, is a motion
desirable for its own sake, having its end in itself. Viewed
relatively, however, κίνησις may sometimes be called ἐνέργεια.
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 ἐνέργεια of what was before the δύναμες
οἰκοδομική. Viewed, however, in reference to the house
itself, this is a mere process to the end aimed at, a γένεσις,
or if it be called ἐνέργεια, it must strictly speaking be
qualified as ἐνέργειά tus ἀτελής. In short, just as the term
τέλος is relatively applied to very subordinate ends, so too
24 It might be said that the being of | existence of God is an ἐνέργεια for
God cannot be fully grasped or realised | His own mind. He is above all, the
by our minds; but, according to the | in and for Himself existing.
views of Aristotle, the everlasting 25 Metaph. x. ix. τὶ:
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΈΡΓΕΙΑ, 237
ἐνέργεια is relatively applied to what is from another point of
view a mere yéveows or κίνησις. This we find in Eth. τ. i. 2,
διαφορὰ δέ tis φαίνεται TOV τελῶν TA μὲν γάρ εἰσιν ἐνέργειαι,
τὰ δὲ παρ᾽ αὐτὰς ἔργα τινά.
’ Having traced some of the leading features of this dis-.
tinction between δύναμις and ἐνέργεια, 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,
and that this proper work is a peculiar kind of life, πρακτική
tis (ζωὴ) τοῦ λόγον ἔχοντος, Aristotle proceeds to assume
(θετέον) that this life must be no mere possession (καθ᾽ ἕξιν)
of certain powers and latent tendencies, but ‘in actuality, for
this is the distinctive form of the conception.’*® He then
transforms the qualifying term κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν into a substan-
tive idea, and makes it the chief part of his definition of the
supreme good.” Thus the metaphysical category of ἐνέργεια,
which comes first into Ethics merely as a form of thought;
becomes henceforth material. It is identified with happi-
ness." In short, it becomes an ethical idea.
In this connection (like its cognate réXo:) ἐνέργεια 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 τέλος, 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
26 Διττῶς δὲ καὶ ταύτης λεγομένης | τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθὺν ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια
τὴν κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν θετέον" κυριώτερον | γίνεται κατ᾽ ἀρετήν. Il. 14, 15.
γὰρ αὕτη δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. Eth, τ. vii. 13. 38. Eth. τ. xiii. 1. Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ
27 Εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔργον ἀνθρώπου ψυχῆς | εὐδαιμονία ψυχῆς ἐνέργειά τις κατ᾽ dpe -
ἐνέργεια κατὰ λόγον, κιτ.λ.---εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω | τήν. Cf. 1. x. 2, ΙΧ, ix. 5, x. vi, 2. ᾿
238 ESSAY IV.
hand to happiness and the fruition of life. It is in its latter
meaning that ἐνέργεια 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 δυνάμεις into physical and mental.” Of
these mental δυνάμεις it is characteristic that they are equally
capacities of producing contraries, while the physical are
restricted to one side of two contraries. The capacity of heat,
for instance, is capable of producing heat alone ; whereas the
δύναμις ἰατρική, 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 δύναμις to act or suffer in a particular way ;
but since the mental δύναμις 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 δύναμις, and determines into which
side of the two contraries it shall be developed, and this is
either desire or reasonable purpose.*° Connected with this
point is another of still greater importance for the ethical
theory. Not only in the use and exercise of a moral δύναμις
29 Metaph, vu. ii. 1. Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ai μὲν μὲν ἔσονται ἄλογοι, af δὲ μετὰ λόγου.
ἐν τοῖς ἀψύχοις ἐνυπάρχουσιν ἀρχαὶ 80 ᾿Ανάγκη ἄρα ἕτερόν τι εἶναι τὸ
τοιαῦται, αἱ δ᾽ ἐν τοῖς ἐμψύχοις καὶ ἐν͵ κύριον. Λέγω δὲ τοῦτο ὄρεξιν ἣ προαί-
ψυχῇ, καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν τῷ λόγον ρεσιν. Metaphys. yu. v. 3.
ἔχοντι, δῆλον ὅτι καὶ τῶν δυνάμεων αἱ
τ
es
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΕΡΓΈΙΑ. 239
is the individual above the control of mere external or physical
circumstances, but also the very acquirement of these δύναμεις
depends on the individual. For the moral 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 δύναμις or the ἐνέργεια ? The answer is, that
as a conception, in point of thought (λόγῳ), the ἐνέργεια must
necessarily be prior ; in short, we know nothing of the δύναμις,
except from our knowledge of the ἐνέργεια. In point of time
(χρόνῳ) the case is different ; each individual creature exists
first δυνάμει, afterwards évépyeva. This assertion, however,
must be confined to each individual; for, as a necessity of
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 ἐνέργεια must be supposed as everlastingly
pre-existing. But even in the individual there are some
things in which the ἐνέργεια seems prior to the δύναμις ; 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.*! This phenomenon gives rise to a classification
of δυνάμεις into the physical, the passive, and the inherent on
the one hand, and the mental or acquired on the other.*?
The merely physical capacities of our nature exist indepen-
31. Metaphys, vin. viii. 6. Διὸ καὶ
δοκεῖ ἀδύνατον εἶναι οἰκοδόμον εἶναι μὴ
οἰκοδομήσαντα μηθέν, ἢ κιθαριστὴν μη-
θὲν κιθαρίσαντα " ὃ γὰρ μανθάνων κιθα-
τῶν δυνάμεων οὐσῶν τῶν μὲν συγγε-
νῶν, οἷον τῶν αἰσθήσεων " τῶν δὲ ἔθει,
οἷον τῆς τοῦ αὐλεῖν " τῶν δὲ μαθήσει,
οἷον τὴς τῶν τεχνῶν, τὰς μὲν ἀνάγκη
ρίζειν κιθαρίζων μανθάνει κιθαρίζειν, προενεργήσαντας ἔχειν ὅσαι ἔθει καὶ
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι. λόγῳ᾽ τὰς δὲ μὴ τοιαύτας καὶ τὰς ἐπὶ
32. Metaphys. vu. v. 1. ᾿Απασῶν δὲ τοῦ πάσχειν οὐκ ἀνάγκη.
240 ESSAY IV.
dent of any act or effort on the part of the individual. And
so, also, is it with the senses.*4 But the contrary is the case
with regard to moral virtue, which does not exist in us as a
capacity (Svvapts) ; in other words, not as a gift of nature
(φύσει), previous to moral action.* 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, 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 (ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένου), 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 quali-
fication 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 tendencies
towards the acquirement of this character, as the first essays
But
they are not to be confounded with those moral acts which
of the artist are towards the acquirement of an art.
flow from the character when developed and fixed.
3. The whole question depends on Aristotle’s theory of the
33 th. τ. xiii. 11. Τὴν τοιαύτην yap
δύναμιν τῆς ψυχῆς (τοῦ τρέφεσθαι καὶ
αὔξεσθαι) ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς τρεφομένοις
θείη τις ἂν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐμβρύοι-ς-- δοκεῖ
ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις ἐνεργεῖν μάλιστα τὸ
μόριον τοῦτο Kal ἣ δύναμις αὕτη.
34 Eth. 11. i. 4. Τὰς δυνάμεις τούτων
πρότερον κομιζόμεθα, ὕστερον δὲ τὰς
ἐνεργείας ἀποδίδομεν. This doctrine is
opposed to some of the modern dis-
coveries of psychology, as, for in-
stance, Berkeley’s ‘ Theory of Vision.’
It is corrected, however, in some
degree by Aristotle’s doctrine of κοινὴ
αἴσθησις.
85 Ibid, Τὰς δ᾽ ἀρετὰς λαμβάνομεν
ἐνερήσαντες πρότερον, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐπὶ
τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν,
(
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΗ͂ΡΓΕΙΑ. 241
ἕξις, as related to δύναμις and ἐνέργεια. There can be no
such thing, properly speaking, as a δύναμις τῆς ἀρετῆς. As
we have before seen, a δύναμις, 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 in this way or that, either well or ill, which is therefore
equally a δύναμις of virtue and of vice. The ἐνέργεια in this
case is determined by no intrinsic law of the δύναμι----
(ἀνάγκη ἕτερόν τι εἶναι τὸ κύριον, Met. vill. v. 3), but by the
desire or the reason of the agent. The ἐνέργεια, however, is
no longer indefinite; it has, at all events, some sort of
definiteness for good or bad. And by the principle of habit
(200s), which Aristotle seems to assume as an acknowledged
law of human nature, the ἐνέργεια reacts upon the δύναμις,
reproducing itself. Thus the δύναμις loses its indefiniteness,
and passes into a definite tendency ; it ceases to be a mere '
δύναμις, and becomes a ἕξι5, that is to say, a formed and
fixed character, capable only of producing a certain class of
ἐνέργειαι. Briefly then, by the help of a few metaphysical
terms, does Aristotle sum up his theory of the moral
character. Καὶ ἑνὶ δὴ λόγῳ ἐκ τῶν ὁμοίων ἐνεργειῶν ai ἕξεις
γίνονται. 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 δύναμις, else it would be merely
physical, nor on the other hand a πάθος (which is here
equivalent to ἐνέργεια), else it would be an isolated emotion
—but a sort of ἕξις. The ἕξις, or moral state, is on the
farther side, so to speak, of the ἐνέργειαι. It is the sum
and result of them. If ἕξις be regarded as a sort of deve-
loped dvvayis, as a capacity acquired indeed and definite,
but still only a capacity, it may naturally be contrasted
with ἐνέργεια. Thus in the above-quoted passage, ΖΝ. 1.
vii. 13, διττῶς ταύτης λεγομένης means καθ᾽ ἕξιν and κατ᾽
VOL, I. R
242 ESSAY IV.
ἐνέργειαν, as We may see by comparing VII. ΧΙ]. 2, VIII. v. I.
From this point of view Aristotle says, that ‘it is possible
for a ἕξις to exist, without producing any good. But with
regard to an ἐνέργεια this is not possible.’ (I. viii. 9.) On the
other hand, however, the ἕξις is a fixed tendency to a certain
class of actions, and, if external circumstances do not forbid,
will certainly produce these. The ἐνέργεια not only results
in a ἕξις, but also follows from it, and the test of the forma-
tion of a ἕξις is pleasure felt in acts resulting from it.
(it. i. 1.) When Aristotle says, that there is nothing human
so abiding as the ἐνέργειαι κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν---διὰ τὸ μάλιστα καὶ
συνεχέστατα καταζῆν ἐν αὐταῖς τοὺς μακαρίους, he implies,
of course, that these ἐνέργειαν are bound together by the
chain of a ἕξις, of which in his own phraseology they are the
efficient, the formal, and the final cause. It is observable,
that the phrase ἐνέργειαι τῆς ἀρετῆς occurs only twice in the
ethical treatise. (Il. v. I, X. ill. 1.) This is in accordance
with the principle that virtue cannot be regarded as a
δύναμις. 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 (ἐνέργειαι κατ᾽ ἀρετήν). 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
translate them, most probably, into our own formule, into
words belonging to our own moral and psychological systems.
We speak of ‘moral acts,’ or ‘virtuous activities,’ or
‘moral energies.” Thus we conceive of Aristotle’s doctrine
as amounting to this, that ‘good acts produce good habits.’
Practically, no doubt, his theory does come to this; and
if our object in studying his theory be od γνῶσις ἀλλὰ
πρᾶξις, no better or more useful principle could be deduced
THE DOCTRINE OF ἜΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ. 243
from it. But in so interpreting him, we really strip
Aristotle of all his philosophy. When he spoke of ἐνέργεια
κατ᾽ ἀρετήν, a wide range of metaphysical associations ac-
companied 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 God. He
had in his thoughts, that a moral ἐνέργεια was to the unde-
veloped capacities as a flower to the seed, as a statue to the
block, as the waking to the sleeping, as the finite to the un-
defined. And he yet farther implied that this ἐνέργεια was
no mere process or transition to something else, but con-
tained its end in itself, and was desirable for its own sake.
The distinctness of modern language, and the separation
between the various spheres of modern thought, prevent
us from reproducing in any one term all the various asso-
ciations that attach to this formula of ancient philosophy.
As said before, we must rather feel, than endeavour to
express them.
Hitherto we have only alluded to those conceptions which
ἐνέργεια, 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 ἐνέργεια must be different from the same cate-
gory exhibited in any external object. Life, the mind, the
moral faculties, must have their ‘existence in actuality’
distinguished from their mere ‘ potentiality’ by some special
difference, 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 uneyoked moral capacities? In all these
contrasts there is no conception that approaches nearer
towards summing up the distinction than that of ‘ conscious-
ness.’
R2
244 ESSAY IV.
Viewed from without, or objectively, ἐνέργεια must mean
an existence fully developed in itself, or an activity desirable
for its own sake, so that the mind could contemplate it with-
out seeing in it a means or a condition to anything beyond.
But when taken subjectively, as being an ἐνέργεια of the
mind itself, as existing not only for the mind but also in
the mind, it acquires a new aspect and character. Hence-
forth it is not only the rounded whole, the self-ending
activity, the blooming of something perfect, in the contem-
plation 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.3> Oftenest it is like a thrill of joy, a momentary intui-
tion. Were it abiding, if our mind were capable of a
perpetual ἐνέργεια, we should be as God, who is ἐνέργεια ἄνευ
δυνάμεως. But that which we attain to for a brief period
gives us a glimpse of the divine, and of the life of God.”
‘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 per-
manent, since His ever-present consciousness is pleasure
itself. And it is because they are vivid states of con-
sciousness that waking and perception and thought are the
36 Hth, 1x. ix. 5. γίνεται καὶ οὐχ | ἀδύνατον) ἐπεὶ καὶ ἡδονὴ ἡ ἐνέργεια
ὑπάρχει ὥσπερ κτῆμά τι. τούτου" καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἐγρήγορσις αἴ-
87 Metaph. χι. vil. 6. Διαγωγὴ δ᾽ | σθησις νόησις ἥδιστον, ἐλπίδες δὲ καὶ
ἐστὶν οἵα ἀρίστη μικρὸν χρόνον ἡμῖν" μνῆμαι διὰ ταῦτα.
οὕτω γὰρ ἀεὶ ἐκεῖνό ἐστιν (ἡμῖν μὲν γὰρ
THE DOCTRINE OF ἜΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ. 245
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 ἐνέργεια uyxijs, 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 ἐνέργεια, 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
representing them in their purest form. Aristotle never says
‘consciousness,’ though we see he meant it. But one of the
peculiarities of his philosophy was the want of subjective
formule, and a tendency to confuse the subjective and the
objective together. About ἐνέργεια itself Aristotle is not con-
sistent ; sometimes he treats it purely as objective, separating
the consciousness from it; as, for instance, Hth. 1x. ix. 9,
ἔστι τι τὸ αἰσθανόμενον ὅτι ἐνεργοῦμεν. ‘There is somewhat
in us that takes cognisance of the exercise of our powers.’
Again x. iv. 8, τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν ἡ ἡδονὴ ὡς ἐπυγινόμενόν
tt τέλος. ‘Pleasure is a sort of superadded perfection,
making perfect the exercise of our powers.’ But this is
at variance with his usual custom; for Happiness is uni-
versally defined by him as ἐνέργεια, and Eudemus, following
940 ESSAY IV.
this out, defined Pleasure as ἐνέργεια ἀνεμπόδιστος. And
if we wish to see the term applied in an undeniably subjective
way, we may look to Hth. 1x. vii. 6. ᾿Ηδεῖα δ᾽ ἐστὶ τοῦ μὲν
παρόντος ἡ ἐνέργεια, τοῦ δὲ μέλλοντος ἡ ἐλπίς, TOD δὲ γεγενη-
μένου ἡ μνήμη, Where we can hardly help translating, ‘ the
actual consciousness of the present,’ as contrasted with ‘the
hope of the future,’ and ‘the memory of the past.’ In a
similar context, De Memorid, i. 4, we find Tod μὲν παρόντος
αἴσθησις, K.T.r.
In saying that the idea of ‘consciousness’ is implied in,
and might almost always be taken to represent, Aristotle’s
Ethical application of ἐνέργεια, 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 ἐνέργεια. Aristotle’s theory rather comes to this,
that the chief good for man is to be found in life itself. Life,
according to his philosophy, is no means to anything ulterior ;
in the words of Goethe, ‘ Life itself is the end of life.’ The
very use of the term ἐνέργεια, 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.** 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 ἐνέργεια occurs. th. 1. x. 2.
"Apa γε καὶ ἔστιν εὐδαίμων τότε ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνῃ ;"H τοῦτό γε
88. Eth. 1. viii. 3. ᾿Ορθῶς δὲ καὶ ὅτι | τέλος, οὕτως γὰρ τῶν περὶ ψυχὴν ἀγαθῶν
πράξεις τινὲς λέγονται καὶ ἐνέργειαι τὸ | γίνεται καὶ οὐ τῶν ἐκτός. ͵
»
fs
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ. 947
παντελῶς ἄτοπον, ἄλλως τε καὶ τοῖς λέγουσιν ἡμῖν ἐνέργειάν
τίνα τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ; ‘Is aman then happy, after he is dead ?
Or is not this altogether absurd, especially for us who call
happiness a conscious state?’ 1. x. 9. Κύριαι δ᾽ εἰσὶν ai κατ᾽
ἀρετὴν ἐνέργειαι τῆς εὐδαιμονίας. ‘ Happiness depends (not on
fortune, but) on harmonious moods of mind.’ 1. x. 15. Τί οὖν
κωλύει λέγειν εὐδαίμονα τὸν κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν τελείαν ἐνεργοῦντα,
k.t.% ‘What hinders us calling him happy whose mind is
moving in perfect harmony?’ vu. xiv. 8. Διὸ ὁ Θεὸς ἀεὶ
μίαν καὶ ἁπλῆν χαίρει ἡδονήν" ov yap μόνον κινήσεώς ἐστιν
ἐνέργεια, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀκινησίας. ‘God is in the fruition of
one pure pleasure everlastingly. For deep consciousness
is possible, not only of motion, but also of repose.’ Ix. ix. 5.
Μονώτῃ μὲν οὖν χαλεπὸς ὁ βίος " οὐ yap ῥάδιον καθ᾽ αὑτὸν
ἐνεργεῖν συνεχῶς, μεθ᾽ ἑτέρων δὲ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλους ῥᾷον. ‘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
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 ἐνέργεια itself, but also we shall be in a better position
for seeing what were Aristotle’s real views about Happiness.
1. The great point that Aristotle insists upon with regard to
Pleasure is, that it is not κίνησις or γένεσις, but ἐνέργεια
(Eth. X. ili. 4, 5, X. iv. 2). .What is the meaning of the
distinction? In Aristotle’s Rhetoric,®® which contains his
earlier and less scientific view, we find Pleasure defined in
exactly the terms here repudiated, namely, as ‘a certain
39. Rhet.1, xi. 1. Ὑποκείσθω δ᾽ ἡμῖν | cis τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν φύσιν, λύπην δὲ
εἶναι τὴν ἡδονὴν κίνησίν τινα τῆς ψυχῆς τοὐναντίον.
καὶ κατάστασιν ἁθρόαν καὶ αἰσθητὴν
948 ESSAY IV.
motion of the vital powers, and a settling down perceptibly
and suddenly into one’s proper nature, while Pain is the con-
trary.’ This definition corresponds with that given in Plato’s
Timeus.*© It seems to have been originally due to the
Cyrenaics; for these are said to be referred to by Socrates in
the Philebus of Plato (p. 53 C) under the name of ‘a refined
set of men (κομψοί twes), who maintain that pleasure is
always a state of becoming (γένεσι), and never a state of
being (οὐσία) (see above, p. 176). Now in all essential
parts of their views on pleasure Aristotle and Plato were quite
agreed. Both would have said,*! 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
resolves itself into one of formule. 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
ἐνέργεια, and says, pleasure is not a transition, but a fruition.
It is not imperfect, but an End-in-itself. It does not arise
from our coming to our natural state, but from our employ-
ing it.’ #
40 Cf, Plato, Timeus, p.64 D. Td | x. iii. 13.
μὲν παρὰ φύσιν καὶ βίαιον γιγνόμενον 42 So Eudemus, F¢h, vu. xii. 3.
ἁθρόον παρ᾽ ἡμῖν πάθος ἀλγεινόν, τὸ δ᾽ | Οὐ γινομένων συμβαίνουσιν, ἀλλὰ χρω-
εἰς φύσιν ἀπιὸν πάλιν ἁθρόον ἡδύ. μένων.
‘1 Cf. Plato, Philebus, p. 22 E, Eth.
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ, 249
Kant * defines pleasure to be ‘the sense of that which
promotes 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 ἀναπλήρωσις, and Plato appears to have
held, with Kant, the reciprocal action of pleasure and pain
(cf. Phedo, p. 60). Kant’s formule, like Plato’s, are only
applicable to the bodily sensations, and do not express
pleasures of the mind.
Aristotle in defining Pleasure as ὃ τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν,
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 supplying
of a want, the Aristotelian “* doctrine with regard to that
413 Kant’s Anthropology, p. 169. | edition of Plato’s Philebus. London,
The above translation is given by | 1855.
Dr. Badham in an Appendix to his “ Cf. Eth. x. iii, 6, Οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ἄρα
250 ESSAY IV.
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. ΤῸ 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.”
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.*®
2. If Happiness be defined as ἐνέργεια ψυχῆς, and Pleasure
as ὃ τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν, What is the relation between them ?
Perhaps it is unfair to Aristotle to bring the different parts
of his (probably unfinished) 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
It is
only in Book VII. (v1. 2)—which we have seen reason to
himself of the formulee which seemed most applicable.
consider a later work, and the compilation of HEudemus—that
Pleasure and Happiness are brought together on the grounds
that they both consist in ‘the free play of conscious life’
(ἐνέργεια ἀνεμπόδιστος). 'Thisis a carrying out of Aristotle’s
doctrine beyond what we find in Books I. and X. Aristotle
€. .€
ἀναπλήρωσις ἣ ἡδονή, ἀλλὰ γινομένης | recruited.
μὲν ἀναπληρώσεως ἥδοιτ᾽ ἄν τις. VI.
xiv. 7. Λέγω δὲ κατὰ συμβεβηκὸς ἡδέα
τὰ ἰατρεύοντα" ὅτι γὰρ συμβαίνει ἰα-
τρεύεσθαι τοῦ ὑπομένοντος ὑγιοῦς πράτ-
τοντός τι, διὰ τοῦτο ἡδὺ δοκεῖ εἶναι, 1.6.
that it is the play, in some sort, of
the undepressed vital functions, while
those that were depressed are being
% Eth. x.iv.9. Πάντα γὰρ τὰ ἀν-
θρώπεια ἀδυνατεῖ συνεχῶς ἐνεργεῖν.
© Eth. x. iv. 11. Συνεζεῦχθαι μὲν
γὰρ ταῦτα φαίνεται καὶ χωρισμὸν οὐ
δέχεσθαι: ἄνευ τε γὰρ ἐνεργείας οὐ
γίνεται ἡδονή, πᾶσάν τε ἐνέργειαν τε-
λειοῖ ἡ ἡδονή.
΄
THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΗ͂ΡΓΕΙΑ. 251
had prepared the way in these for the identification of Happi-
ness 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 (τέλος καὶ
τέλειον πάντῃ πάντως), and extended over an entire life
(λαβοῦσα μῆκος βίου τελείου), and implying the highest
human excellence, the exercise of the highest faculties (ψυχῆς
ἐνέργεια κατὰ τὴν κρατίστην ἀρετήν). 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 (ἐνέργεια Wuyijs) must occupy a whole
life, on the other hand he speaks of brevity of duration as
necessarily attaching to every human ἐνέργεια. A δύναμις,
he argues, is not only a δύναμις of being, but also a δύναμις
of not-being. This contradiction always infects our ἐνέργειαι,
and, like a law of gravitation, this negative side is always
tending to bring them to a stop. The heavenly bodies, being
divine and eternal, move perpetually and unweariedly,*’ for
in them this law of contradiction does not exist. But to
mortal creatures it is impossible to long maintain an ἐνέργεια
—that vividness of the faculties, on which joy and pleasure
depend. Happiness then, as a permanent condition, is some-
thing ideal; Aristotle figures it as the whole of life summed '
up into a vivid moment of consciousness; or again, as the
aggregate of such moments with the intervals omitted ; or
again, that these moments are its essential part (τὸ κύριον
μέρος THs evdayovias), constituting the most blessed state
of the internal life (ζωὴ μακαριωτάτη), while the framework
“1 Metaph. vin. viii, 18. Διὸ ἀεὶ | uve: τοῦτο δρῶντα" οὐ γὰρ περὶ τὴν
ἐνεργεῖ ἥλιος καὶ ἄστρα καὶ ὅλος 6 δύναμιν τῆς ἀντιφάσεως αὐτοῖς, οἷον
οὐρανός, καὶ οὐ φοβερὸν μή ποτε στῇ, ὃ τοῖς φθαρτοῖς, ἡ κίνησις.
φοβοῦνται οἱ περὶ φύσεως. Οὐδὲ κά-
252 ESSAY IV.
for these will be the Bios aiperwtatos, or most favourable
external career (Ith. Ix. ix. 9). In what then do these
moments consist ? Chiefly in the sense of life and person-
ality ; 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 consciousness of good
deeds done (Hth. 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, 1x. 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 (Hth. Ix. iv. 4, X. vil. 9), as forming the deepest
eround of his consciousness, but is also something divine, and
more than mortal in us.‘%
III. Turning now to the consideration of Μεσότης, 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
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 μέτρια ἔργα. The era of the Seven Sages
produced the gnome, afterwards inscribed on the temple of
Delphi, Μηδὲν ἄγαν. And one of the few sayings of Pho-
cylides which remain is Πολλὰ μέσοισιν ἄριστα, μέσος θέλω
ἐν πόλει εἶναι. Now all that is contained in these popular
and prudential sayings is of course also contained in the
principle of Μεσότης, which is so conspicuous in the Ethics
of Aristotle. But Aristotle’s principle contains something
48 The Peripateties seem to have | stricted ethical sense as implying
refined upon Aristotle’s use of ἐνέργεια, | self-determination and will. See
and to have tried to give it a re- | above, p. 36.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 263
more—it is not a mere application of the doctrine of mode-
ration 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 ἐσθλοὶ μὲν yap ἁπλῶς, παντοδαπῶς δὲ
κακοί. 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.”
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 God,’ 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 limi-
tation does not exist. But the Pythagoreans were not deal-
ing with this train of thought, when they said ‘ the finite is
good.’ They were expressing what was in the first place a
truth of 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 °°
which the mind can grasp and handle ; the ‘infinite’ is the:
incalculable, 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 théir 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
Eth. τι. vi. 14. Td γὰρ κακὸν ) γιγνωσκόμενα ἀριθμὸν ἔχοντι, ob γὰρ
τοῦ ἀπείρου, ὡς οἱ Τιυαγόρειοι εἴκαζον, | οἷόν τε οὐδὲν οὔτε νοηθῆμεν οὔτε γνω-
τὸ δ᾽ ἀγαθὸν τοῦ πεπερασμένου. σθῆμεν ἄνευ τούτω. Whether this
50. Cf. Philolaus, apud Stob, Eel. | fragment be genuine or not, it ex-
Phys. τ. xxi. 7. Καὶ πάντα γα μὰν τὰ | presses the doctrine.
254 ESSAY IV.
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 produce 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 symbolised matter under the term τὸ
ἄπειρον, and Plato®! 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 and the in-
finitely great.
Assuming, therefore, that the principle of the finite, or the
limit (πεπερασμένον or πέρα), may be considered as identical
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 (εἶδος), to that of proportion or the mean (pecdrns),
that is, to law or form become relative. It is to be found in
the Philebus of Plato, pp. 23—27. Socrates there divides all
existence into four classes: first, the infinite (ἄπειρον) ;
second, the limit (aépas); third, things created and com-
pounded out of the mixture of these two (ἐκ. τούτων μικτὴν
καὶ γεγενημένην οὐσίαν) ; 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 quan-
51 Cf. Ar. Metaphys. 1. vi. 6.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 255 ©
tity, as, for instance, the equal or the double. The third or
mixed class exhibits the law of the πέρας introduced into
Of this Socrates adduces beautiful manifesta-
Thus in the human body the infinite is the tendency
to extremes, to disorder, to disease, but the introduction of
the ἄπειρον.
tions.
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 modula-
tion, and harmony, and all that is delightful in music. In
climate and temperature, where the limit has been intro-
duced, 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 seems to
spring up, symmetry, proportion, balance, harmony, modera-
tion, and the like. And this train of associations seems to
Tt suited
the essentially Greek 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 ;
have been constantly present to the mind of Plato.
so that words like μετριότης and συμμετρία become naturally
appropriated to express excellence in life and action.*?
This Platonic principle, then, Aristotle seems to have
taken up and adopted, slightly changing the formula, however,
52 Cf, Republic, p. 400 E, Ἔστι δέ γέ
που πλήρης μὲν γραφικὴ αὐτῶν καὶ πᾶσα
φυτῶν" ἐν πᾶσι γὰρ τούτοις ἔνεστιν
εὐσχημοσύνη ἣ ἀσχημοσύνη. καὶ ἡ μὲν
h τοιαύτη δημιουργία, πλήρης δὲ ὕφαν-
τικὴ καὶ ποικιλία καὶ οἰκοδομία καὶ πᾶσα
αὖ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων σκευῶν ἐργασία, ἔτι δὲ
ἡ τῶν σωμάτων φύσις καὶ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων
ἀσχημοσύνη καὶ ἀῤῥυθμία καὶ ἀναρμοστία
κακολογίας καὶ κακοηθείας ἀδελφά, τὰ δ᾽
ἐναντία τοῦ ἐναντίου, σώφρονός τε καὶ
ἀγαθοῦ ἤθους, ἀδελφά τε καὶ μιμήματα.
256 ESSAY IV.
and speaking of μεσότης instead of μετριότης. 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 μεσότης 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 πέρας exhi-
bited in the ἄπειρον. 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 de-
stroy the health and strength, while what is proportionate
(τὰ σύμμετρα) preserves and augments them’ (th. τι. 11. 6).
Again, he points out that all art aims at the mean, and the
finest works of art are those which seem to have realised a
subtle grace which the least addition to any part or diminu-
tion from it would overset (Hth. τι. 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 conception, that Aristotle’s use of
Meoorns is chiefly distinguished. He says, that all quantity,
whether space or number (ἐν παντὶ δὴ συνεχεῖ καὶ διαιρετῷ),
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 arithme-
tically is that which is equidistant from the terms on each
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 257
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 circumstances (Hth. τι. 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 realisation of a law.
When Aristotle says that the μεσότης must be ὡρισμένη
λόγῳ, he means that our action must correspond to the
standard which exists in the rightly ordered mind. What
is subjectively the λόγος, law or standard, that is objectively
the μεσότης or balance. ‘ Hach of our senses,’ says Aristotle,
‘is a sort of balance (μεσότης) between extremes in the
objects of sensation, and this it is which gives us the power of
judging.’ δ᾽
Thus again he says of plants, that they have no _per-
ceptions, ‘because they have no standard’ (8a τὸ μὴ ἔχειν
μεσότητα, De An. τι. xii. 4). Again, he defines pleasure and
pain to consist in ‘the consciousness, by means of the dis-
criminating faculty (τῇ αἰσθητικῇ μεσότητι) of the senses, of
coming in contact with good or evil.’** 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.’ He seems to have
regarded this ‘moral sense’ as analogous to the musical ear,
58 De Anima, τι, xi. 17. ‘Qs τῆς | τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἣ κακὸν, ἣ τοιαῦτα.---1)6 An.
αἰσθήσεως οἷον μεσότητός τινος οὔσης τι. Vii. 2.
Tis ἐν τοῖς αἰσθητοῖς ἐναντιώσεως. Καὶ 55 Pol. 1. ii. 12. Τοῦτο γὰρ πρὸς
διὰ τοῦτο κρίνει τὰ αἰσθητά, Td yap | TaAAa (Ga τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἴδιον, τὸ
μέσον κριτικόν. μόνον ἀγαθοῦ καὶ κακοῦ καὶ δικαίου καὶ
54 Καὶ ἔστι τὸ ἥδεσθαι καὶ λυπεῖσθαι ἀδίκου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἴσθησιν ἔχειν,
τὸ ἐνεργεῖν τῇ αἰσθητικῇ μεσότητι πρὺς |
VOL, I.
πρ
258 ESSAY IV.
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 (Hth. 1x. ix. 6) he speaks of
the good man being ‘ pleased at good actions, as the musical
.man is at beautiful tunes.” And in Hth. x. ili. 10 he says
that ‘ 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 Μεσότης, which accordingly means a
‘balance,’ and not the ‘standard’ for determining that balance,
which is expressed by the term λόγος. A moment’s con-
sideration of this point will give an answer to the somewhat
superficial question, Why does not Aristotle make the intel-
lectual virtues mean states? In the original form of the
principle of Μεσότης we have seen that it consisted in the
introduction of the law of the πέρας into the ἄπειρον. The
passions and desires are the infinite; moral virtue consists in
introducing limit (wépas) into them—in bringing them under
law (λόγῳ opifew)—in making them exhibit balance, pro-
portion, harmony (μεσότητα), which is the realisation of the
law. On the other hand, reason is ‘right law’ (ὀρθὸς
λόγος), 1.0. is another name for the law itself. It is the
standard, and therefore does not require to be regulated by
the standard. The intellectual virtues are not μεσότητες,
because they are λόγοι.
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 quan-
titative 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
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 259
absolute and awful difference between right and wrong.
Aristotle himself seems to have anticipated this last objection,
by remarking * 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 think-
ing 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 Μεσότης really conveys.
Kant for ‘the mean’ substitutes ‘law.’ But we have already
traced the identity or correlation of Λόγος and Mecorns, and
we have seen that Μεσότης really implies and expresses
exactly what is meant by ‘law’—properly so called. The
only advantage which.the term ‘law’ can have over Μεσότης,
as an ethical principle, comes to it unfairly. For there is a
sort of ambiguity 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 authori-
tative 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 some-
thing harmonious, the attainment of an idea in action, but
5° Eth. τι, vi. 17. Κατὰ μὲν thy | λέγοντα μεσότης ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετή, κατὰ
οὐσίαν καὶ τὸν λόγον τὸν τί ἦν εἶναι δὲ τὸ ἄριστον καὶ τὸ εὖ ἀκρότης.
5 2
260 ESSAY IV.
also there is a sort of association of authority conveyed, of
the ‘ must,’ of something binding on the will.
Supposing, then, we take the word ‘law’ or ‘idea’ as
being the real representative of Μεσότης, it may still be
asked whether a quantitative term be a fit and worthy
expression for so deep a moral conception. The Pytha-
goreans would not have understood this objection. They
thought numbers the most sublime and the only true expres-
sion 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 repelling the more and
the less, than as being caused by them. The capacity for
more and less is matter, the ἄπειρον, the ἀόριστος δυάς of
Plato. The idea coming in stamps itself 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 it is 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
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. | 261
inferior to what it seems as a whole. Resolve 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 ex-
ponent, 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, ex-
hibits the law of life, ‘ multeity in unity ;’ or, in other words,
the law of beauty. This is, then, what the term Μεσότης
is capable of expressing; it is the law of beauty. If virtue
is harmony, grace, and beauty in action, Μεσότης 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 Μεσότης, as
exhibited in bravery, temperance, liberality, and magnanimity,
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 Meodrns
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
262 ESSAY IV.
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 the Peripatetic theory
of justice—taking this as an individual virtue—we find it
imperfectly developed. Now, truth itself seems expréssible
under the law of the Μεσότης ; 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
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. Μεσότης
expresses the objective law of beauiy 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 τέλος, which raises a
THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 263
beautiful action into something absolutely desirable, 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. Μεσότης, we have seen, expresses the
beauty of good acts, but leaves something in the goodness of
them unexpressed. In conclusion, we must remember that
᾿Αρετὴ 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 ’Apet? of a horse. .It is no
wonder then that with his Greek views he resolved this into
a sort of moral beauty.
IV. Aristotle prided himself,” not unnaturally, on having
been the first to work out the laws of the Syllogism ; later
on in his literary career he appears to have seen that the
syllogistic formula might be useful for expressing other
psychological phenomena, besides those involved in arriving
at a deductive conclusion. Accordingly in his treatise On the
Soul (1. xi.) he applies it to explain the process of arriving
at a resolution or determination to act. He says that this
process is only possible in the animals which possess the
power of calculation (ἐν τοῖς λογιστικοῖθ) ; that it implies a
power of combining two or more impressions into one (δύναται
ἐν ἐκ πλειόνων φαντασμάτων ποιεῖν) ; that this syllogistic
conviction (τὴν ἐκ συλλογισμοῦ δόξαν) contains on the one
hand perception and it may be desire, and on the other hand
a univeral element—wish for the generally good (βούλησις,
see note on Hth. m1. iv. 1), or a general intellectual conception
of the reason (ἡ καθόλου ὑπόληψις καὶ Aoyos); that some-
times the wish for the generally good conquers the particular
δ Cf. Sophist, Elench. xxxiii, 18. | τοῦ συλλογίζεσθαι παντελῶς οὐδὲν
Kal περὶ μὲν τῶν ῥητορικῶν ὑπῆρχε εἴχομεν ἄλλο λέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τριβῇ
πολλὰ καὶ παλαιὰ τὰ λεγόμενα, περὶ δὲ (ζητοῦντες πολὺν χρόνον ἐπονοῦμεν.
204 ESSAY IV.
desire of the moment, and sometimes the contrary takes
place (νικᾷ δ᾽ ἐνίοτε [ἡ dpekts| καὶ κινεῖ τὴν βούλησιν " ὅτε δ᾽
ἐκείνη ταύτην) ; and that, though the general proposition, or
major premiss, asserts that ‘such or such a person ought to
do such or such an act ’—it is the minor premiss ‘I am such
or such a person and this in the present moment is such or
such an act’ which sets the faculties in motion (ἤδη αὕτη
κινεῖ ἡ δόξα, οὐχ ἡ καθόλου). This passage, which was
probably written long after the discussions on Wish and
Deliberation in the third book of the Ethics, comes in, as it
were incidentally, in treating of the ascending series of souls
throughout nature. The suggestion which it contains of ex-
plaining the psychology of the human will by means of the
formula of the syllogism does not appear to have been
pursued further by Aristotle in his extant writings, but it
was evidently taken up by the Peripatetic school, and we
find it made much use of (1) in the Hudemian Ethics, and
(2) in the treatise On the Motion of Animals, which is
placed among the works of Aristotle, but is now generally
attributed to a later follower of his school.*® For a clear ex-
position of the doctrine of the Practical Syllogism, as held
by the Peripatetics, let us refer at once to the summary
account of it which is given in the last-mentioned treatise.
The Practical Syllogism depends on this principle, that
‘ No creature moves or acts, except with a view to some end.’ ®
What therefore the law of the so-called ‘ sufficient reason’ is
58 See note on Hth. vi. xii. 10, | Aristotle; and it has all the marks
where the latter part of the above
passage is quoted.
59 See Valentine Rose, De Arist.
1). Ord. et Auct. pp. 162-174.
Rose shows that this little treatise
contains medical doctrines belonging
to a school of medicine later than
of being an able cento and compen-
dium of various parts of Aristotle’s
physical and physiological works.
69 Πάντα τὰ (Ga καὶ κινεῖ Kal κινεῖται
ἕνεκά τινος, ὥστε τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν αὐτοῖς
πάσης τῆς κινήσεως πέρας, τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα.
—De Mot, An. vi. 2.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 265
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, 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
But here the
conclusion that arises from the two premisses is the action ; as,
two premisses, one perceives the conclusion.
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. ® This then may
shortly be said to be the form of the practical syllogism :
either (1) 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.
% De Mot. An. vii. 1. Πῶς δὲ νοῶν ἀνθρώπῳ, αὐτὸς δ᾽ ἄνθρωπος, βαδίζει
ὅτὲ μὲν πράττει ὃτὲ δ᾽ οὐ πράττει, καὶ
κινεῖται, ὅτὲ δ᾽ οὐ κινεῖται ; Ἔοικε
παραπλησίως συμβαίνειν καὶ περὶ τῶν
ἀκινήτων διανοουμένοις καὶ συλλογιζο-
μένοις. ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἐκεῖ μὲν θεώρημα τὸ
τέλος (ὅταν γὰρ τὰς δύο προτάσεις
νοήσῃ, τὸ συμπέρασμα ἐνόησε καὶ συνέ-
θηκεν), ἐνταῦθα δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν δύο προτά-
σεων τὸ συμπέρασμα γίγνεται ἣ πρᾶξις,
οἷον ὅταν νοήσῃ ὅτι παντὶ βαδιστέον
εὐθέως, ἂν δ᾽ ὅτι οὐδενὶ βαδιστέον νῦν
ἀνθρώπῳ, αὐτὸς δ᾽ ἄνθρωπος, εὐθὺς
ἠρεμεῖ " καὶ ταῦτᾳ ἄμφω πράττει, ἂν μή
τι κωλύῃ ἢ ἀναγκάζῃ.
523. De Mot. An. vii. 4. Ὅτι μὲν οὖν
ἡ πρᾶξις τὸ συμπέρασμα, φανερόν " ai
δὲ προτάσεις αἱ ποιητικαὶ διὰ δύο εἰδῶν
γίνονται, διά τε τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ διὰ τοῦ
δυνατοῦ.
266 ESSAY IV.
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.® And again, any particular act,
which is the application of a moral principle, may be said to
be the means necessary to the realisation of the principle.
‘Temperance is good,’ may be called either a general prin-
ciple, or an expression of a desire for the habit of temper-
ance. “ΤῸ abstain now will be temperate,’ is an application
of the principle, or again, it is the absolutely necessary
means towards 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.’ δ’
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
8 Hth. vi. xii. το. Οἱ γὰρ συλλο- οι. Ath. wt. v.13. Ἔτι δ᾽ ἄλογον τὸν
γισμοὶ τῶν πρακτῶν ἀρχὴν ἔχοντές ἀδικοῦντα μὴ βούλεσθαι ἄδικον εἶναι ἢ
εἰσιν, ἐπειδὴ τοιόνδε τὸ τέλος καὶ τὸ τὸν ἀκολασταίνοντα ἀκόλαστον.
ἄριστον.
΄
THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 207
in Book VI.; for in the former, the process of deliberation is
compared to the analysis of a diagram (Hth. 1. 111. M); 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.”
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 Thought (φρόνησις), which
is shown to contain a universal and a particular element.
2. To show the intuitive character of moral judgments and
knowledge. 3. To prove the necessary and inseparable
connection of wisdom and virtue.®* 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.® Incontinence therefore
implies knowing the good, and at the same time not know-
ing it. It would be impossible to act contrary to a com-
plete syllogism which applied the knowledge of the good to a
case in point; for the necessary conclusion to such a syllo-
8 Eth. vt. ix. 5. ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἔστι καὶ
τούτου ψευδεῖ συλλογισμῷ τυχεῖν, καὶ ὃ
μὲν δεῖ ποιῆσαι τυχεῖν, δι᾽ οὗ δ᾽ οὔ,
ἀλλὰ ψευδῆ τὸν μέσον ὅρον εἶναι.
46 Eth. vi. vii. 7. Οὐδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ
φρόνησις τῶν καθόλου μόνον, ἀλλὰ δεῖ
καὶ τὰ καθ᾽ ἕκαστα γνωρίζειν, κιτ.λ.
vi. viii. 7. Ἔτι ἡ ἁμαρτία ἢ περὶ τὸ
καθόλου ἐν τῷ βουλεύσασθαι ἣ περὶ τὸ
καθ᾽ ἕκαστον " ἢ γὰρ ὅτι πάντα τὰ βα-
ρύσταθμα ὕδατα φαῦλα, ἢ ὅτι τοδὶ
βαρύσταθμον.
8 Hth. vt. xi. 4. Καὶ ὃ νοῦς τῶν
ἐσχάτων ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα, κιτιλ.
49 Eth, vi. xii. το. Ἔστι δ᾽ ἡ φρό-
νησις. .. ἀρχάς.
“9. Eth. vu. iii.6. Ἔτι ἐπεὶ... οὐκ
ἐνεργεῖ. vit. iii. 9, 10, Ἔτι καὶ ὧδε...
κατὰ συμβεβηκός.
208 ESSAY IV.
gism would be good action. But there is broken knowledge
and temporary moral obliviousness in the mind of the incon-’
tinent man, and the practical syllogism gives a formula for ex-
pressing 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,
might be said to lie behind this instinct. ‘This theory
acknowledges” 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
Thus it is
merely a way of putting it, to say that we act by a syllo-
because we see an object of desire before us.
gism. 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 important
results would be involved. For now that action has been as
it were caught, put to death, and dissected, and so reduced to
τὸ De Mot. An. vii. 4,5. Ὥσπερ | σθήσει πρὸς τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα ἢ TH φαντασίᾳ
δὲ τῶν ἐρωτώντων ἔνιοι, οὕτω τὴν
ἑτέραν πρότασιν τὴν δήλην οὐδ᾽ ἡ διά-
νοια ἐφιστᾶσα σκοπεῖ οὐδέν " οἷον εἰ τὸ
βαδίζειν ἀγαθὸν ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅτι αὐτὸς
ἄνθρωπος, οὐκ ἐνδιατρίβει. Διὸ καὶ ὅσα
μὴ λογισάμενοι πράττομεν, ταχὺ πράτ-
τομεν. Ὅταν γὰρ ἐνεργήσῃ ἢ τῇ αἰ-
ἢ τῷ νῷ, οὗ ὀρέγεται, εὐθὺς ποιεῖ " ἀντ’
ἐρωτήσεως γὰρ ἢ νοήσεως 7 τῆς ὀρέξεως
γίνεται ἐνέργεια. Ποτέον μοι, 7 ἐπι-
θυμία λέγει " τοδὶ δὲ ποτόν, ἣ αἴσθησις
εἶπεν ἢ ἣ φαντασία ἣ ὃ νοῦς" εὐθὺς
πίνει.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 269
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 Hthics 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. x1. 4, VII. vi. 6, 7).
(2) They are evolved from experience of particulars
(VI. viii. 6).
᾿ς (3) They depend on the moral character (VI. xii. 10,
VII. viii. 4).
These three accounts are not, however, incompatible with
one another. For as in explaining the origin of speculative
principles (Post. An. τι. 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 (VI. 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 ‘thoughtful’ man.’ But it is unnecessary to
τ Πρακτικός γε 6 φρόνιμος " τῶν yap ἐσχάτων tis, Eth, vit. ii. 5.
270 ESSAY IV.
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 these applications of the Practical Syllogism
by the Peripatetics 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 formule,
rather than an appeal to life and consciousness—shows some-
thing of the scholastic spirit. ΤῸ reduce action to a syllo-
gism 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 remains most completely
stamped upon the language of mankind. When we talk of
‘acting on principle, or speak of a man’s ‘ principles,’ perhaps
we do not reflect that this expression is a remnant of the
Practical Syllogism of the Peripatetics. ‘Principle’ is no
other than the Latinised form (principium) of ἀρχὴ, or the
major premiss of a practical syllogism. And this, as we saw
above, is in Aristotle’s language ‘a universal conception
affirming that one ought to do (or not to do) some kind of
thing.’ 7?
7 De An. lic. ἡ μὲν καθόλος ὑπόληψις καὶ λόγος... λέγει ὅτι δεῖ τὸν
τοιοῦτον τὸ τοιόνδε πράττειν.
pays b
ESSAY V.
——2#0——
On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics
of Aristotle.
LTHOUGH Aristotle endeavoured completely to separate
Practical from Theoretic philosophy; and though in
the present treatise he professed to adhere exclusively to an
ethical (or, as he called it, a political) point of view; and
though on this account he postponed, as belonging to another
branch of philosophy, the consideration of several important
questions '—yet still it was perhaps impossible for a system
of morals to be composed bearing no trace of the writer’s
general views of the Universe, the Deity, and the Human
- Soul. And accordingly, we find more than one passage of
the Nicomachean Ethics influenced by and indicating such
general views. ΤῸ understand these, and to obtain possession
of that which in the mind of Aristotle must have been the
setting of the entire piece, we have to follow him to some
extent beyond the limits of his Practical writings. To
collect a few of Aristotle’s more salient dicta on Nature, God,
and the Soul, will be an interesting task, but we must not be
' As, for instance, the metaphysical | Soul is divisible into parts, 1. xiii,
question concerning the good, as a | 8-10, The question whether in nature,
universal, th, 1. vi. 13. The question | as a general principle, the like seeks
of Divine Providence in relation to | the like, or each thing seeks its oppo-
happiness, 1. ix. 13. The question | site, vim. i. 7, &c.
whether, scientifically speaking, the
272 : ESSAY V.
expected to set forth a complete and definite system on these
subjects, for in regard to them Aristotle’s extant writings are
far from containing entirely definite results, and it may even
be doubted, whether in his own mind he ever succeeded in
arriving at such.
In deducing Aristotle’s opinions on any question from his
extant works, we must not leave out of consideration the
probable order and mode of composition of these works, as
indicated by internal evidence (see above, p. 71, note). It
seems highly probable that Aristotle—having during the
previous course of his life thought out the divisions of
philosophy, the leading ideas of each department, and the
phraseology in which everything was to be expressed, and
having also collected great stores of materials on all the
subjects which his predecessors had treated of—set to work,
when about fifty years old, to make his exposition of the
whole, as a settlement of questions and a κτῆμα εἰς ἀεὶ for
the world. He appears-to have commenced with that which
was not part of Philosophy, but was a necessary prelude to
Philosophy, namely, the discussion of Method under the two
forms of Dialectic, or the Logic of Probability, and Analytic,
or the Logic of Science. His treatises on these subjects were
collectively entitled by his editors? Organon, or the In-
strument of Philosophy. Collaterally, and almost simul-
taneously with these, he appears to have composed his
Rhetoric, as treating of a subject closely allied to Dialectic.
And an easy transition led him on to deal next with the
remaining branches of Practical and Productive philosophy
in his Ethics, Politics, and Art of Poetry (see p. 71, note).
Leaving all these more or less unfinished, he seems to have
2 See Grote’s Aristotle, yol. i. Ὁ. 78, and Brandis’ Schol. ad Arist. p. 259
a. 48, &e. ᾿
THE ORDER OF ARISTOTLE’S WRITINGS. 273
gone on to the composition of his great series of Physical
Of these probably the first to be written was the
Physical Discourse,’ which contained, as Hegel said, ‘the
Metaphysic of Physics,’ being an account of what Aristotle
conceived under the terms ‘Nature,’ ‘ Motion, ‘Time,’
‘Space,’ ‘Causation’ (or the Four Causes), and the like.
After these prolegomena to Physics, he proceeded to treat of
the Universe* in orderly sequence, beginning with the
treatises.
divinest part, the periphery of the whole, or outer Heaven,
which, according to his views, bounded the world, being com-
posed of ether,’ a substance distinct from that of the four
elements and identical with that which constitutes the vital
This
region was the sphere of the Stars; and below it, in the
principle and reason in the creatures of the earth.
Aristotelian system, was the planetary sphere, with the seven
Planets (the sun and moon being reckoned among the
Both Stars and Planets he seems to
have regarded as conscious, happy beings, moving in fixed
number) moving in it.
orbits, and inhabiting regions free from all change and
chance ; and these regions formed the subject of his treatise
On the Heavens. Next to this he is thought® to have
composed his treatise On Generation and Corruption, in
order to expound those principles of physical change
(dependent on the hot, the cold, the wet, and the dry)
which in the higher parts of the Universe had no existence.
This work formed the transition to the sublunary sphere,
8 Φυσικῆς ᾿Ακροάσεως A, B, k.7.d.
Axpéacis means a scientific, as op-
posed to a popular, discourse or
lecture. Σ
4 The treatise On the Universe
(Περὶ Κόσμου) which appears among
the works of Aristotle, is spurious,
being the compilation of some Jater
VOL. I.
Peripatetic.
5 De Celo, τ. iii. 13, &e.
5. See Spengel, Ueber die Reihenfolge
der naturwissenschaftlichen Schriften
des Aristoteles, in the Transactions
of the Royal Academy of Bavaria,
1848. ὁ
274 ESSAY V.
immediately round the Earth, in which the meteors and
comets moved, which was characterised by incessant change
and by the passing of things into and out of existence,
and which formed the subject of his Meteorologics. The last
book of this treatise brings us down to the Earth itself, and
indeed beneath its surface, for it discusses, in a curious
theory, the formation of rocks and metals. From this point
Aristotle would seem to have started afresh with his array of
physiological treatises, the first written of which may very
likely have been that On the Parts of Animals, as containing
general principles of Anatomy and Physiology. Next it
seems probable that the work On the Soul was produced.
This, as Spengel points out, was not intended in the first
instance to be a treatise on Psychology, but a physiological
account of the vital principle as manifested in plants,
animals, and men. A set of ‘appendices,’ as we should now
call them, on various functions connected with life in general,
such as Sensation, Memory, Sleep, Dreaming, Longevity,
Death, &c., were added by Aristotle to his work On the Soul.
Afterwards the ten books of Researches on Animals,’ and the
five books On the Generation of Animals—together with the
minor treatise On the Progression of Animals, and with a
collection of Problems,$ which Aristotle probably kept by
him, and added to from time to time—made up the series
of Aristotle’s Physiological and Physical writings, so far as
he lived to complete them. ‘Treatises On the Physiology of
7 Περὶ τὰ Ζῷα Ἱστοριῶν A, B, κιτ.λ.
The work is always referred to under
this title by Aristotle. The Latin
name Historia Animalium is there-
fore a mistranslation. Out of this
mistranslation, however, the term
‘Natural History,’ to denote a par-
ticular department of science, seems
to have risen.
8 Prantl, in the Transactions of
the Royal Academy of Munich, 1852,
shows that while there is probably
an Aristotelian nucleus to the collec-
tion of Problems which have come
down to us under the name of Ari-
stotle, the great bulk of the collection
is by a variety of Peripatetic hands,
and is full of inconsistencies.
THE ORDER OF ARISTOTLE’S WRITINGS. 275
Plants and On Health and Disease had been promised by
him, but were never achieved (see above, p. 69). Simul-
taneously with some of the works now mentioned, but in idea
last of all his writings, the Metaphysics were probably in
_ progress of composition when the death of Aristotle occurred.
It seems strange that Valentine Rose should strenuously have
argued? in favour of the hypothesis that the Metaphysics
were composed before the Physical writings of Aristotle.
For, against this we may say that in four places of the
Physical Writings '° questions are reserved to be discussed in
the Metaphysics; that in twelve places of the Metaphysics 1
the Physical writings are referred to; that in no work of
Aristotle’s are the Metaphysics quoted; that the very name
Ta μετὰ τὰ Φυσικὰ embodies a strong tradition of antiquity,
that Aristotle’s Prima Philosophia, or Theology, followed his
Physics both in idea and in order of composition; and
finally, that there was another tradition of the ancients (see
above, p. 32) to the effect that the Metaphysics were edited
by Eudemus after the death of Aristotle, and indeed
patched together by him, parts having been lost, or, as we
might with probability conjecture, never having been com-
pleted. Such, or some such, having been the order in which
the works of Aristotle were composed, we may observe,
by comparing the probably subsequent with the probably
prior writings, the following peculiarities: (1) All the
more general forms of the philosophy, such as the four
causes, the opposition of the potential and the actual, the
laws of the syllogism, the conception of the method of state-
ment, &c., were pretty well cut and dried before the writing
of any of the extant books commenced. (2) Even a consider-
® De Ar. Lib, Ord. et Auct. pp. ” Quoted by Bonitz, Ar. Metaphys.
135-232. vol. ii. p. 4. a DG
T 2
276 ESSAY V.
able portion of the special matter of the special treatises
was stored up ready beforehand. Thus there is a rich
instalment of ethical matter in the Rhetoric, of political
matter in the Ethics, of metaphysical matter in the Physical
Discourse, &c.; (3) But when Aristotle came to concentrate
his mind on a particular subject he invariably made a great
advance in the conception of it: thus the analysis of ethical
phenomena in the Hthics goes far beyond that arrived at in
the Rhetoric ;'? (4) Out of an ostensible regard for strict
orderly arrangement and the due apportionment of subject-
matter to the separate sciences, Aristotle constantly put oft
the solution of particular questions for ‘another ’ or ‘a later’
inquiry. We say ostensible, because in some cases it looks
as if the excuse were a convenient one for postponing
questions to which he was not prepared with an answer.
On the other hand, either from neglecting his own rules of
method, or from not having as yet seen the limits of a
particular science, and from having to write tumultuously
and under pressure—he sometimes launches out into not
Thus in the Art of Poetry.
he goes on into questions of Style, which belonged properly
strictly appropriate discussions.
to the Ihetoric, and even into elementary questions of
Grammar, which rather should have had a treatise to them-
selves. And in the work On the Soul, which is professedly a
physiological 15. treatise, he transcends the limits of Physio-
logy or Physics, and introduces discussions on the theory of.
Knowledge, on the relation of Subject to Object, on the
12 As, for instance, in the theory | terial conditions. It is elsewhere
of the nature of Pleasure. See above,
p. 246.
13 De An. τ. 1.15. Καὶ διὰ τοῦτο
ἤδη φυσικοῦ τὸ θεωρῆσαι περὶ ψυχῆς, ἢ
πάσης, ἢ τῆς τοιαύτης, 1.6. in so far as
its functions are dependent on ma-
implied that some functions of the
soul may be not so dependent, and that
these will be treated of by metaphy-
sics (10. § 19), 4 δὲ κεχωρισμένα 6
πρῶτος φιλόσοφος.
THE ORDER OF ARISTOTLE’S WRITINGS. Qfar
Active and Eternal Reason, &c., which, so far as they go,
are anticipations of his Prima Philosophia, or metaphysics.
But these last-mentioned discussions are only partly anticipa-
tions, they are not complete or satisfactory in themselves,
they are only fragmentary indications, and they stand to the
entire metaphysical system which was afterwards to be
expounded, as the forestalments of ethical doctrine in the
Rhetoric stand to the completion of that doctrine in the -
Ethics themselves. But the difference is, that the meta-
physical system of Aristotle was, so far as we know, never
completed. And thus the result of an examination of the
works of Aristotle as a whole, seems to be, that while he was
engaged in finishing off, according to his views, the ex-
position of each separate science, he was constantly deferring
the greatest and deepest questions of all for final exposition
in a system of Metaphysics, which was to form the key-stone ᾿
of the entire arch. But of this final exposition only a
fragment has reached us; probably no more than this
fragment was ever composed, and the appearance it presents
is such as to suggest the belief that Aristotle while composing
it, at the end of his life, was still only feeling his way to a
theory of the relation borne by God to Nature, the Universe,
and the Human Soul.
With Aristotle’s faults or merits as a Physicist we are
not, for the present purpose, much concerned, for they do not
affect his ethical system either one way or the other. But
it may be mentioned here, in passing, that Aristotle’s
Physical Philosophy has been made the subject both of the
most extravagant eulogy, and also of extreme disparagement."
* See Aristotle: a Chapter from | an example of the opposite extreme,
the History of Science, by G. H. | making the case against Aristotle's
Lewes (London, 1854), pp. 154, 155, | failures in physical science far worse
where a specimen of these eulogies is | than needs be.
given. Mr. Lewes himself furnishes
278 ESSAY V.
On the one ‘hand he has been spoken of as if he had antici-
pated many of the discoveries of modern times ; on the other
hand he has apparently been blamed for not having done so.
But it should surely have been remembered that ‘Truth is
the daughter of Time, and that this is especially the case
with regard to the Sciences of Observation, which creep on
from one vantage point to another. Aristotle, then, ought
not personally to be blamed for the erroneous views of Astro-
nomy, or even of Physiology, which he puts forth. In these
he only represents a particular point in the general history of
Science, arrived at more than 2,000 years ago. He doubtless
added considerably, by his industry in collecting and storing
up facts, to the knowledge of Natural History and Physiology
previously existing, and by his masterly mapping out of the
whole field of science he opened the way to a distinct and
lucid inquiry into all parts of nature. It was only owing to
political causes—to the influence of the Stoical and Epicu-
rean schools taking men’s minds in a different direction, to
the decline of the Greek nation, and to the inferiority of
the Roman intellect—that his example was not more fruit-
fully followed. Aristotle has been accused of ‘ explaining
Nature by means of the syllogism:’! but no one could have
made this accusation who had ever read his works. He has
also been accused of ‘ preaching Induction, while neglecting
to practise it;’'® but this is far more undoubtedly true of
Lord Bacon himself, who, however, gets boundless glory for
what he preached, and no blame for his mistakes and failures
in such small scientific inquiries as he essayed to make.
Another fallacy of this kind consists in supposing that the
early philosophies of Greece '’ were superior as explanations
15 Bacon, Novwm Organum. the British Association at Belfast,
16 By Professor Tyndall, in his | August 1874. .
Opening Address to the Meeting of 17 Bacon, Nov, Org.
ARISTOTLE AS A PHYSICIST. 279
of Nature to the philosophy of Aristotle.
were mere guesses based on some slight analogy of super-
The early systems
ficial facts. Thus, though they curiously anticipated by their
conjectures some of the modern theories, yet they had no
solidity or power of self-demonstration. They were a kind
of ‘false dawn’ which appeared and faded away again. Thus
the anticipation of the Nebular Theory by Anaximander, that
of the Solar System by the Pythagoreans, that of the Atomic
Theory by Democritus, and something like that of the theory
of Natural Selection by Empedocles—were rejected by the
Aristotle’s theo-
ries of an eternal universe, with the earth as its centre,
general voice of Greece and by Aristotle.
and closed in by the periphery of the Heavens, were neither
All Cosmologies in the fourth
Aristotle
longed for Science, and strove after it; but the conditions of
worse, nor better, than these.
century B.C. were equally incapable of verification.
Science, as yet, did not exist. And yet, there are certain
ultimate questions about the Universe in regard to which
the thoughts of Aristotle have a value, even at the present
day.
The most interesting notices of Aristotle’s general views
of Nature may be gathered from the second book of his Phy
sical Discourse. He speaks of ‘nature’'® 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 15 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”? may be said
18 Nat. Ause. τι. i. 2. ‘Os οὔσης τῆς
φύσεως ἀρχῆς τινὸς καὶ αἰτίας τοῦ κι-
οὐ δυναμένου κρίνειν ἐστὶ τὸ δι᾽ αὑτὸ
καὶ μὴ δ αὑτὸ γνώριμον.
νεῖσθαι καὶ ἠρεμεῖν ἐν ῳ ὑπάρχει πρώτως
καθ᾽ αὑτὸ καὶ μὴ κατὰ συμβεβηκός.
19 Nat. Ause. τι. i. 4. ‘Os δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ
φύσις πειρᾶσθαι δεικνύναι, γελοῖον"...
30 Nat. Ausec. τι. i. 8. Ἕνα μὲν οὖν
τρόπον οὕτως ἡ φύσις λέγεται, ἣ πρώτη
ἑκάστῳ ὑποκειμένη ὕλη τῶν ἐχόντων ἐν
αὑτοῖς ἀρχὴν κινήσεως καὶ μεταβολῆς,
280 ESSAY V.
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
Jaw 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,’?! says Aristotle, ‘spoken of as
creation is the path to nature.’ Again, ‘ Nature” 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
‘Some 33 deny the
existence of chance altogether, saying that there is a definite
fortuitous, to necessity and to reason ?
cause for all things.’ ‘Others,% again, have gone so far as
to assign the fortuitous as the cause of the existence of the
‘Others 35. believe in the
existence of chance, but say that it is something mysterious
heaven and the whole universe.’
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 35 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’
sidering
from ‘ chance,’ con-
‘chance’ (or ‘luck’) to be only a species of the
ἄλλον δὲ τρόπον 7 μορφὴ καὶ τὸ εἶδος
τὸ κατὰ τὸν λόγον.
21 Nat. Ause. τι. i. 11. Ἔτι δ᾽ ἡ
φύσις ἣ λεγομένη ὡς γένεσις ὁδός ἐστιν
εἰς φύσιν.
22 Nat, Ause τι. ii. 8.
τέλος καὶ οὗ ἕνεκα.
28 Nat. Ausec. τι. iv. 2. Ἔνιοι γὰρ
καὶ εἰ ἔστιν ἢ μὴ ἀποροῦσιν" οὐδὲν γὰρ
γίνεσθαι ἀπὸ τύχης φασίν, ἀλλὰ πάντων
‘H δὲ φύσις
εἶναί τι αἴτιον ὡρισμένον.
34 Ναί. Ause.t1, iv. 5. Εἰσὶ δέτινες
οἵ καὶ τοὐρανοῦ τοῦδε καὶ τῶν κοσμικῶν
πάντων αἰτιῶνται τὸ αὐτόματον.
35. Nat. Ατπο. τι. ἵν. 8. Εἰσὶ δέ τινες
οἷς δοκεῖ εἶναι αἰτία μὲν ἣ τύχη, ἄδηλος
δὲ ἀνθρωπίνῃ διανοίᾳ ὡς θεῖόν τι οὖσα
καὶ δαιμονιώτερον.
36 Nat. Ause, 11. iv. 6. Τὸν οὐδὲν
καὶ τὰ θειότατα τῶν φανερῶν.
ARISTOTLE’S VIEWS OF NATURE. 981
‘former, and restricted to the sphere of human actions.” 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 anything 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
The fortuitous and
chance both are merely accidental, and not essential principles
fortunate, because they were honoured.’
of causation; they therefore presuppose the essential, since
the accidental is posterior to and dependent on the essential.
Therefore * of whatever things chance may be the cause, it
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 35. or an absolute sway
in relation to nature? ΤῸ 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 *° 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
2 Nat. Ausc. τι. vi. 1. Διὸ καὶ
ἀνάγκη περὶ τὰ πρακτὰ εἶναι τὴν τύχην"
% Nat. Ausc. 1m. ix. 1. Td 8 é&
ἀνάγκης πότερον ἐξ ὑποθέσεως ὑπάρχει
σημεῖον δ᾽ ὅτι δοκεῖ ἤτοι ταὐτὸν εἶναι τῇ
εὐδαιμονίᾳ ἣ εὐτυχία ἢ ἐγγύς, ἡ δ᾽
εὐδαιμονία πρᾶξίς τις " εὐπραξία γάρ.
38. Nat. Ause. τι. vi. 8. Ὕστερον
ἄρα τὸ αὐτόματον καὶ ἣ τύχη καὶ νοῦ
καὶ φύσεως " ὥστ᾽ εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα τοῦ
οὐρανοῦ αἴτιον τὸ αὐτόματον, ἀνάγκη
πρότερον νοῦν καὶ φύσιν αἰτίαν εἶναι καὶ
ἄλλων πολλῶν καὶ τοῦδε παντός,
ἢ καὶ ἁπλῶς ; Νῦν μὲν γὰρ οἴονται τὸ ἐξ
ἀνάγκης εἶναι ἐν τῇ γενέσει, ὥσπερ ἂν
εἴτις τὸν τοῖχον ἐξ ἀνάγκης γεγενῆσθαι
νομίζοι, ὅτι τὰ μὲν βαρέα κάτω πέφυκε
φέρεσθαι τὰ δὲ κοῦφα ἐπιπολῆς.
30 Nat. Ausc. τι. ix. 2. Οὐκ ἄνευ
μὲν τῶν ἀναγκαίαν ἐχόντων Thy φύσιν,
οὐ μέντοι γε διὰ ταῦτα ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὡς ὕλην,
ἀλλ᾽ ἕνεκά του.
282 ESSAY V.
farther has necessity a sway in regard to nature. But the
end is the real cause, the necessary means are a mere sub-—
ordinate condition.
Lastly, What is the position of design or intelligence in
relation to nature? Some reduce all nature to a mechanical
principle ; if they recognise any other principle at all (as
Empedocles spoke of ‘love and hatred,’ and Anaxagoras of
‘reason ἢ), they just touch it and let it drop.*! 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. ‘ 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
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
whole races of monsters perished * before a perfect man was
attained.
Aristotle says, ‘It is impossible that this theory can be
true ;*4 our whole idea of chance and coincidence is some-
thing irregular, out of 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, 1.6. with design, and according
\
31 Nat, Ause. τι. viii. 1. Kal γὰρ 38 Nat, Ausc. τι. Vili. 4. Ὅσα δέ
ἐὰν ἄλλην αἰτίαν εἴπωσιν, ὅσον ἁψάμε- | μὴ οὕτως, ἀπώλετο καὶ ἀπόλλυται, κα-
μοι χαίρειν ἐῶσιν, ὃ μὲν τὴν φιλίαν kal θάπερ Ἐμπεδοκλῆς λέγει τὰ βουγενῆ
τὸ νεῖκος, 6 δὲ τὸν νοῦν. ἀνδρόπρωρα.
8: Nat, Ause. 11. viii. 2. 34 Nat, Ausc. τι. Viil. 5-10.
THE POSITION OF MAN IN THE UNIVERSE. 283
toa 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 organisation 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
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-building 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.
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 re-
cognise 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 pro-
ceed immediately to infer the existence of a watchmaker ;
% Nat. Ause, τι. viii. 15. Μάλιστα δὲ δῆλον ὅταν τις ἰατρεύῃ αὐτὸς ἑαυτόν"
τούτῳ γὰρ ἔοικεν ἡ φύσις.
284 ESSAY Υ.
but rather that the products of nature appear to him accord-
ing to the analogy of a watch that makes itself. If we ask,
how is it 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 (Hth. 1. 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 in the lower creatures there is a
natural good above their own level, which strives after the
good proper for them.’ 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 per-
sonality. 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 (δύναμι5) of a watch,
we find of necessity the idea and the actuality (ἐνέργεια) of
the watch itself (see above, p. 239). A perfect watch must
always precede the imperfect one. It is impossible to think
86 Hth. x. ii. 4. Ἴσως δὲ καὶ ἐν rots | θοῦ. A similar doctrine is given in
φαύλοις ἐστί τι φυσικὸν ἀγαθὸν κρεῖττον | the Eudemian Book, vu. xiii. 6.
ἢ καθ᾽ αὑτά, ὃ ἐφίεται τοῦ οἰκείου aya-
THE POSITION OF MAN IN THE UNIVERSE. — 285
_ of nature as having had a beginning. ‘The universe is
eternal’ (Hth. ui. iii. 3). ‘The parts *” may be regarded as
changeable, but the whole cannot change, it is increate and
indestructible ’ (De Cvelo, τ. x. 10).
One of the most interesting points to notice in this part
of the subject is the way in which Aristotle regards man in
relation to nature as a whole. His view appears to be two-
fold; on the one hand he’ regards man as a part of nature.
He says,** ‘ You may call a man the product of a man, or of
the sun.’ He looks at the principle of human life as belong-
ing to the whole chain of organised 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 nature, but dis-
tinct. ‘Man,’ 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. 1. iii. 7).
‘In art *® 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 pro-
duced in us in accordance 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- 151) that one of the first steps of Grecian Ethics, as ex-
hibited in the philosophy of Archelaus and Democritus, con-
sisted 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
37 “Ὥστ᾽ εἰ τὸ ὅλον σῶμα συνεχὲς ὃν | διαθέσεις αὐτοῦ.
ὁτὲ μὲν οὕτως ὁτὲ δ᾽ ἐκείνως διατίθεται 88 Nat. Απι86. τι. ii. 11. "Ανθρωπος
καὶ διακεκόσμηται, ἣ δὲ τοῦ ὅλου σύ- γὰρ ἄνθρωπον γεννᾷ καὶ ἥλιος.
στασίς ἐστι κόσμος καὶ οὐρανός, οὐκ ἂν 89 So Eudemus, Eth, vi. iv. 4.
ὁ κόσμος γίγνοιτο καὶ φθείροιτο, ἀλλ᾽ αἱ
286 ESSAY V.
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,*° ‘ All things are in some sort
ordered and harmonised together, fishes of the sea, birds of
the air, and plants that grow, though not in an equal degree.
It is not true to 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 ap-
pointed for them, while the slaves and the animals 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 re-
present the universe as a household. The sun and stars and
all the heaven are the gentlemen 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 tlie
49 Πάντα δὲ συντέτακταί πως, GAN’ | ἐλευθέροις ἥκιστα ἔξεστιν ὅ τι ἔτυχε
οὐχ ὁμοίως, καὶ πλωτὰ καὶ πτηνὰ καὶ ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ πάντα ἢ τὰ πλεῖστα τέτα-
φυτά: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει ὥστε μὴ | Kat, τοῖς δὲ ἀνδραπόδοις καὶ τοῖς θηρίοις
εἶναι θατέρῳ πρὸς θάτερον μηθέν, ἀλλ᾽ μικρὸν τὸ εἰς τὸ κοινόν, τὸ δὲ πολὺ ὅ
ἐστί τι. Πρὸς μὲν γὰρ ἕν ἅπαντα συν- τι ἔτυχεν " τοιαύτη γὰρ ἑκάστου ἀρχὴ
πέτακται, GAA’ ὥσπερ ἐν οἰκίᾳ τοῖς αὐτῶν ἡ φύσις ἐστίν.
THE POSITION OF MAN IN THE UNIVERSE. 287
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 harmonised and blessed life. All that is
arbitrary (ὅπως ἔτυχε) in the human will, Aristotle does not
consider a privilege. And man (especially in regard of his
actions, the object of φρόνησις and πολιτική) he does not
think the highest part of the universe ; he thinks the sun and
stars 4! ‘far more divine. This opinion is no doubt con-
nected 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 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. He might, indeed,
seem to coincide with the utterance of the Psalmist, ‘ What
is man in comparison with the Heavens?’ But with him
the Heavens were not a mere physical creation; rather the
eternal sphere of Reason, the abode of pure Intelligences, the
source of all emanations of Reason and Intelligence through-
out the world. Compared with this higher sphere individual
man, with his practical and moral life, appeared insignificant ;
and yet the End-in-itself, even for the individual, Aristotle
acknowledged to be worth an effort, while man in organised
societies, in the city or the nation, he recognised as affording
scope for the realisation of something more noble and divine
So Eudemus, Hh. vi. vii. 4.
288 ESSAY V.
(Eth. 1. ii. 8, ἀγαπητὸν μὲν yap Kat ἑνὶ μόνῳ [1.6. TO τέλος],
κάλλιον δὲ καὶ θειότερον ἔθνει καὶ πόλεσιν). But again,
the individual man, according to Aristotle, shared in that
Reason which is the divinest part of the Universe, and by
development of this into philosophy he could become like to
God (see Hth. x. vii. 8). Thus there were two human things
about which Aristotle could be enthusiastic—the life of an
ideally well-ordered State, and the moments of philosophical
consciousness in the mind of an individual thinker.
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 some-
thing 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 classify-
ing 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 per-
manent, 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 perma-
nent 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 (Metaphys. XI. vill. |
19), as if the popular polytheism of Greece were a mere per-
verted fragment of this deeper and truer ‘ Theology,’ which
ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF GOD. 289
he conceives to have been, in all probability, perfected often
before in the infinite lapse of time, and then again lost.
He says,* ‘ The tradition has come down from very ancient
times, being left in a mythical garb to succeeding genera-
tions, that these (the heavens) are gods, and that the divine
embraces the whole of nature. And round this idea other
mythical statements have been agglomerated with a view
to influencing the vulgar, and for political and moral ex-
pediency ; 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.
separate from all this the first point alone—namely, that
they thought the first and deepest grounds of existence to be
In all proba-
Now, if anyone will
gods—he may consider it a divine utterance.
bility, 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. Wer 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
divine ground for all existence, proceeds now to develop it
42 Παραδέδοται δὲ παρὰ τῶν ἀρχαίων
καὶ παμπαλαίων ἐν μύθου σχήματι κατα-
λελειμμένα τοῖς ὕστερον ὅτι θεοί τέ
εἰσιν οὗτοι καὶ περιέχει τὸ θεῖον τὴν
ὅλην φύσιν. Τὰ δὲ λοιπὰ μυθικῶς ἤδη
προσῆκται πρὸς τὴν πειθὼ τῶν πολλῶν
καὶ πρὸς τὴν εἰς τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὸ
συμφέρον χρῆσιν " ἀνθρωποειδεῖς τε γὰρ
τούτους καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῷων ὁμοίους
τισὶ λέγουσι, καὶ τούτοις ἕτερα ἀκόλουθα
καὶ παραπλήσια τοῖς εἰρημένοις. Ὧν
εἴ τις χωρίσας. αὐτὸ λάβοι μόνον τὸ
πρῶτον, ὅτι θεοὺς ᾧοντο τὰς πρώτας
VOL. I,
οὐσίας εἶναι, θείως ἂν εἰρῆσθαι νομίσειεν,
καὶ κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς πολλάκις εὑρημένης
εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἑκάστης καὶ τέχνης καὶ
φιλοσοφίας καὶ πάλιν φθειρομένων καὶ
ταύτας τὰς δόξας ἐκείνων οἷον λείψανα
περισεσῶσθαι μέχρι τοῦ νῦν. Ἣ μὲν
οὖν πάτριος δόξα καὶ ἡ παρὰ τῶν πρώ-
τῶν ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἡμῖν φανερὰ μόνον.
Cf. Pol, 11. viii. 21, and Plato, Politicus,
270, Laws,677 A: Td πολλὰς ἀνθρώπων
φθορὰς γεγονέναι κατακλυσμοῖς τε Kal
νόσοις καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, ἐν οἷς βραχύ
τι τῶν ἀνθρώπων λείπεσθαι γένο“.
U
290 ESSAY VY.
for himself, and in doing so, he lays down the following posi-
tions (Metaphys. ΧΙ. vi.—x.).
(1) It is necessary to conceive an eternal immutable
existence, an actuality prior to all potentiality. According to
this view, all notions of the world having sprung out of chaos
must be abandoned. God is here represented as the eternal,
unchangeable form of the whole, immaterial (ἄνευ δυνάμεως),
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,‘
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 God 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‘ 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,
there is something unexplained ; for to attribute thought and
rational desire, as well as the power of motion, to nature,
43. Kal ἔστι τι ἀεὶ κινούμενον κίνησιν | οὐ λόγῳ μόνον ἀλλ᾽ ἔργῳ δῆλον. XI. Vii. 1.
ἄπαυστον, αὕτη δ᾽ ἡ κύκλῳ᾽ καὶ τοῦτο ‘1 See above, p. 222, note.
ARISTOTLE’'S THEOLOGY. 291
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, possessing in Him-
self conscious ‘> happiness of the most exalted kind, 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.‘®
(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.”
(5) But again, figuring to ourselves God as thought ; on
what does that thought think ?
nothing is a contradiction in terms; thought with an ex-
But God as the
supreme and best cannot be altered or determined by an
With God, object and subject are one; the
thought of God is the thinking upon thought.**
(6) Lastly, how is the supreme good of the world to be
represented—whether as existing apart from the world, like
the general of an army, or as inherent in the world, like the
Thought thinking upon
ternal object is determined by that object.
external object.
45 See above, p. 244, note.
4“. Metaphys. x1. vii. 9. Καὶ (wh δέ
γε ὑπάρχει" ἣ yap νοῦ ἐνέργεια ζωή,
ἐκεῖνος δὲ ἡ ἐνέργεια " ἐνέργεια δὲ ἡ καθ᾽
αὑτὴν ἐκείνου ζωὴ ἀρίστη καὶ ἀΐδιος "
φαμὲν δὲ τὸν θεὸν εἶναι ζῶον ἀΐδιον
ἄριστον, ὥστε ζωὴ καὶ αἰὼν συνεχὴς καὶ
ἀΐδιος ὑπάρχει τῷ θεῷ. τοῦτο γὰρ ὃ θεός.
“1 Metaphys. x1. viii. 18. Τὸ δὲ τέ
ἦν εἶναι οὐκ ἔχει ὕλην τὸ πρῶτον ἐντε-
λέχεια γάρ.
48 Metaphys. xt. ix. 4. Αὑτὸν ἄρα
νοεῖ εἴπερ ἐστὶ τὸ κράτιστον " καὶ ἔστιν
| ἣ νόησις νοήσεως νόησις.
u2
299 ESSAY V.
discipline of an army?‘® 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 God
must be conceived of both ways, just as the army implies
both discipline and general, but it is the general who pro-
duces the discipline. 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 acknow-
ledges 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’ (1x. ii. 8), &c. There are also some traces of Aristo-
tle’s thoughts as a metaphysician ; for instance, he speaks
of ‘the gool under the category substance’ being ‘ God and
reason’ (I. vi. 3). And he gives an elaborate argument
(x. vill. 7) to demonstrate that speculative thought and the
% Metaphys. 1. Χ. 1. Ἐπισκεπτέον τευμα. Kal yap ἐν τῇ τάξει τὸ εὖ καὶ ὃ
δὲ καὶ ποτέρως ἔχει ἡ τοῦ ὅλου φύσις στρατηγός, καὶ μᾶλλον οὗτος " οὐ γὰρ
τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ ἄριστον, πότερον οὗτος διὰ τὴν τάξιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνη διὰ
κεχωρισμένον τι καὶ αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτό, τοῦτόν ἐστιν.
]
|
ἢ τὴν τάξιν, ἢ ἀμφοτέρως ὥσπερ στρά- |
ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 293
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
concludes, ‘ 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.*°
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 Hthics 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
have before noticed (see above, p. 215), was-a total departure
% The same point of view is main- | consciousness of immutability” In
tained in the Eudemian Book, viu.xiv. | the Magna Moralia, τι. xv. 3-5, there
~
8. ‘ Hence God enjoys ever one and | isa reaction against these speculations, —
the same pleasure ; that is, the deep | See above, p. 37.
294 ESSAY V.
from the view of Plato. Still more opposed is this view of
Aristotle to modern ideas. We are accustomed to 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.
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 (Hth. I. ix. 1)
whether happiness comes by divine allotment (κατά τινα θείαν
μοῖραν) or by human means. The second is where the philo-
sopher is spoken of (xX. vill. 13) as being most under the
favour of God (θεοφιλέστατος). 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 @ priori principle, and
pronounce contrary to the general belief—rather he declines
to pronounce at all. In the former of the two passages
mentioned, he says, ‘One would suppose that if anything
were 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 (θεῖόν Tt) 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 (@zogiAgotatos). He says, ‘If there is
any care of human things by the gods, as there is thought to
be (ὥσπερ δοκεῖ), we may conclude that they take pleasure
ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 295
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
realises something divine. Aristotle may imply that tne
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, so far as we can gather them ? we
find that (advancing, as he shows us, upon the more or less
indistinct views of his predecessors) he conceives of the ψυχή
_ as a vital principle manifesting itself*! in an ascending scale
through vegetable, animal, and human life. To this scale of
life Aristotle appeals in the Hthies (1. 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, 1.6. 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. Ari-
stotle doubts, but on the whole concludes, that the ψυχή is
the proper subject of physical science.*? This he justifies by \
the fact * that the psychical phenomena, anger, desire, and
the like, are inseparable from the body, and from material
conditions. Reason itself, if dependent on conceptions
derived from the sense (μὴ ἄνευ φαντασίας), will fall under
5} De Anima τι. iv. 2. πάσχειν οὐδὲ ποιεῖν, οἷον ὀργίζεσθαι,
52 De Animé, t. i. 18. θαῤῥεῖν, ἐπιθυμεῖν, ὅλως αἰσθάνεσθαι,
53 De Anima, τ. i. 11. Φαίνεται | Cf. 1.1. 15. τὰ πάθη λόγοι ἔνυλοί εἰσιν
δὲ τῶν πλείστων οὐθὲν ἄνευ σώματος
296 ESSAY V.
the same head. Following out this direction of thought,
Aristotle defines the ψυχή to be ‘The* simplest actuality
of a physical body, which potentially possesses life, that is,
of an organic body.’ Of the meaning of the word ἐντελέχεια,
used here, we have spoken above (see p. 235); the whole of
this definition we see accords with Aristotle’s physical philo-
sophy in general, which conceived great and beautiful results
coming out of physical conditions, not by any mechanical
system of causation, rather that these ends necessitated the
means; the whole was prior to and necessitated the parts.
The ψυχή, says Aristotle, is to the body as form to matter,”
as the impression to the wax, as sight to the eye. It
is the essential idea of the body (τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι τῷ τοιῳδὶ
σώματι). It is as the master ὅδ. 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 ψυχή
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 7 can no more clothe itself in a foreign body, than an
art can employ the instruments of some foreign art.’ While
maintaining this close connection between the ψυχή and the
body, as between end and means, Aristotle was kept aloof
by the whole tenor of his philosophy from anything like
materialism, He sums up this part of his reasonings in the
following words: ‘That the ψυχή, therefore, is inseparable
from the body is clear, or at all events some of its parts, if it
be divisible. Nothing,®* however, hinders that some of its
54 De Animd, τι. i. 6. Διὸ ψυχή 57 De Anima, τ. iii. 26. Παραπλή-
ἐστιν ἐντελέχεια ἣ πρώτη σώματος | ciov δὲ λέγουσιν ὥσπερ εἴ τις φαίη τὴν
φυσικοῦ δυνάμει ζωὴν ἔχοντος. Τοιοῦτο τεκτονικὴν εἰς αὐλοὺς ἐνδύεσθαι" δεῖ
δέ, ὃ ἂν ἢ ὀργανικόν. γὰρ τὴν μὲν τέχνην χρῆσθαι τοῖς ὀργά-
55 De Anima, τι. i. 7. vols, Thy δὲ ψυχὴν τῷ σώματι...
86 Ath, γα]. xi. 6. : 58 De Anima, τι. i. 12. Οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽
ARISTOTLE’'S CONCEPTION OF ΨΥΧΗ͂Ι, 297
parts may be separable from the body, as not being actualities
of the body at all. Moreover, it is not certain whether the
ψυχή 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 ψυχή 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
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 ψυχή 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® (τι. iii. 10), where he argues
that ‘The reason alone enters in from without, and is alone
divine; for the realisation of the bodily conditions contri-
butes nothing to the realisation of its existence.’ We have
had before a contradictory point of view to this, in the saying
that ‘Reason 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 (νοῦς παθη-
τικό9), and the creative or active (νοῦς wountixds). ‘These
two modes,’ he says, ‘ it is necessary should be opposed to each
other, as matter is opposed everywhere to form, and to all
ἔνιά γε οὐθὲν κωλύει, διὰ τὸ μηθενὸς 59. Λείπεται δὲ τὸν νοῦν μόνον θύραθεν
εἶναι σώματος ἐντελεχείας. Ἔτι δὲ ἐπεισιέναι καὶ θεῖον εἶναι μόνον " οὐθὲν
ἄδηλον εἰ οὕτως ἐντελέχεια τοῦ σώματος | γὰρ αὐτοῦ τῇ ἐνεργείᾳ κοινωνεῖ σωματικὴ
ἡ ψυχὴ ὥσπερ πλωτὴρ πλοίου. ἐνέργεια.
298 ESSAY V.
that gives the form. The receptive reason, which is as
The
creative reason gives existence to all things, as light calls
matter, becomes all things by receiving their forms.
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
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 on the other hand the higher
and immortal reason carries no memory with it, because it
is unimpressible (οὐ μνημονεύομεν δέ, ὅτι τοῦτο μὲν ἀπαθές).
In the Héthics this distinction between the Active and the
Passive Reason is not entertained. The reason is there
spoken of in its entirety, as containing in itself the synthesis
It is spoken of as constituting
On
the other hand, it is spoken of as something divine, and akin
to the nature of God.
ness constitutes what Aristotle calls ‘the divine’ in happi-
of the two opposite modes.
in the deepest sense the personality of the individual.®!
The evocation of this into conscious-
ness ; it gives us, according to him, a momentary glimpse of
the ever-blessed life of God.
But the above-quoted passage from the third book of the
Treatise On the Soul has made more sensation in the world
than all the rest of the writings of Aristotle put together.
After slumbering quietly, as much as if buried in the
cellar at Scepsis, this sentence was brought out into
6 De An. πι. ν. 2. Καὶ ἔστιν ὃ μὲν
τοιοῦτος νοῦς τῷ πάντα γίνεσθαι, ὃ δὲ
τῷ πάντα ποιεῖν, ὡς ἕξις τις, οἷον τὸ
φῶς" τρόπον γάρ τινα καὶ τὸ φῶς ποιεῖ
τὰ δυνάμει ὄντα χρώματα ἐνεργείᾳ
χρώματα.
καὶ ἀπαθὴς καὶ ἀμιγὴς τῇ οὐσίᾳ ὧν
ἐνεργείᾳ.--- κατὰ δύναμιν (ἐπιστήμη)
χρόνῳ προτέρα ἐν τῷ ἑνί, ὅλως δὲ οὐ
Καὶ οὗτος 5 νοῦς χωριστὸς
χρόνῳ" ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὁτὲ μὲν νοεῖ ὁτὲ δ᾽ οὐ
νοεῖ. Χωρισθεὶς δ᾽ ἐστὶ μόνον τοῦθ᾽ ὅπερ
ἐστί, καὶ τοῦτο μόνον ἀθάνατον καὶ
ἀΐδιον " οὐ μνημονεύομεν δέ, ὅτι τοῦτο
μὲν ἀπαθές, ὁ δὲ παθητικὸς νοῦς φθαρτός,
καὶ ἄνευ τούτου οὐθὲν νοεῖ.
δ Bth IK. IVA, X. σι: οὶ
8 Kth, x, viii. 13.
ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF ΨΥΧΗ͂Ι. 299
prominence by Alexander of Aphrodisias, at the end of the
second century A.D., and gave rise to innumerable controversies,
which lasted not only during the final centuries of Greek
philosophy, but also all through the Middle Ages. Averroes
and his followers in the Arabian school made it the basis of
a doctrine of Monopsychism, to the effect that the Active
Reason is one, undivided, substance : that it is one and the
2 same in Socrates, Plato, and all other individuals ; whence
it follows that individuality consists only in bodily sensa-
tions, which are perishable, so that nothing which is individual
can be immortal, and nothing which is immortal can be
individual. These doctrines spread from the Arabs to the
Jews of Spain, and from them to the Christian schools, and
Averroism became a leaven in the Scholastic philosophies,
causing, as might be expected, the most virulent strife
between the opponents and supporters of the theory of
Monopsychism.® This all arose from a pushing out an ,
isolated sentence of Aristotle’s to its extreme logical con-
sequences,
The same text has of late again been made to fur-
nish hard and dogmatic conclusions, coinciding almost
verbally with those of Averroes. Grote, in his Aristotle
(vol. li. p. 233), says, ‘The theorising Νοῖϊβ, as it exists
in Socrates, Plato, Demokrites, Anaxagoras, Empedokles,
Xenokrates, &c., is individualised in each, and individualised
differently in each. It represents the result of the Intellectus
Agens or Formal Noi, universal and permanent, upon the 3
Intellectus Patiens or noétic receptivity peculiar to each
‘individual; the co-operation of the two is indispensable to
sustain the theorising intellect of any individual man. But
* See M. Renan’s Averroes et | logical philosophy is most interest-
VAverroisme (Paris, 1852), in which | ingly traced.
the history of this episode in theo- |
800 ESSAY Y.
the Intellectus Patiens, or Receptivus, perishes along with |
the individual. Accordingly the intellectual life of Socrates
cannot be continued farther. It cannot be prolonged after
his sensitive and nutritive life has ceased; the noétic func-
tion, as it exists in him, is subject to the same limits of
duration as the other functions of the soul. The intellectual
man is no more immortal than the sensient man,’ &c.
These conclusions, however, have been drawn for Ari-
stotle and never by him. In the passage now referred to,
the words οὐ μνημονεύομεν δέ, ὅτι τοῦτο μὲν ἀπαθές Were pro-
bably only meant as an argument, in passing, against Plato’s
doctrine of ἀνάμνησις. This doctrine, says Aristotle, cannot
be true, because the Active Reason which existed elsewhere
before our birth, receives no impressions, therefore we cannot
be said to recollect things seen by the Reason in its ante-
natal state. Logically, of course, this argument may be
carried farther, and it may be said that, according to Ari-
stotle, the Reason in surviving death will carry no recollec-
tions, i.e. no individuality with it.
Only Aristotle himself does not say so. When at the
beginning of the treatise On the Soul he says ‘ All Nature
yearns after immortality, but, being unable to attain this in
the individual, she attains it in the species’® he is writing,
as a physiologist, of the whole animated kingdom of nature.
The question of what we mean by the immortality of the
soul, was one for metaphysics, or as he called it ‘ theology.’
And such questions he was always putting off. Therefore
we are left in doubt as to his views, or as to whether he had
decided views. And people are accordingly at liberty to
& De An. u. iv. Ἐπεὶ οὖν κοινωνεῖν | ἧ δύναται μετέχειν ἕκαστον κοινωνεῖ,
ἀδυνατεῖ τοῦ ἀεὶ καὶ τοῦ θείου τῇ | ταύτῃ -- καὶ διαμένει οὐκ αὐτὸ ἀλλ᾽ οἷον
συνεχείᾳ, διὰ τὸ μηδὲν ἐνδέχεσθαι τῶν αὐτό, ἀριθμᾷ μὲν οὐχ ἕν, εἴδει δ᾽ ἕν.
φθαρτῶν ταὐτὸ καὶ ἕν ἀριθμῳ διαμένειν,
DID ARISTOTLE DENY A FUTURE LIFE? 301
believe a good deal as they may wish on the subject.
Spengel thinks that too much stress should not be laid on
the ‘ brief and obscure’ intimations regarding the διανοητικὴ
ψυχὴ which occur in a treatise on ἡ ψυχὴ ἡ τῶν ζῴων
and he approves of the saying of an unknown ancient
(Anonym. de vitéd Pythag. p. 112), ‘Plato and Aristotle
equally declare the soul to be immortal, however much some,
who do not fathom-the mind of Aristotle, think that he pro-
nounces it to be mortal.’® This, however, is going farther than
any data warrant us in following. Torstrik, in his critical
edition of the De Animd,® thinks that he discerns a Plato-
nising spirit in the editors or copyists of the treatise, and
that this has caused the introduction of a spurious negative
in the passage above quoted (see page 298, note), ἀλλ᾽ tovy
ὅτε μὲν νοεῖ, ὅτε δ᾽ οὐ νοεῖ. Such a spirit seems to show itself
in the dictum cited by Spengel. Taking Aristotle as we find
him, he ‘ pronounces’ nothing as to the immortality of the
soul. In his lost dialogue entitled Hudemus, said to have
been written when he was about 30 years of age, he appears to
have discoursed on the subject.£7 Eudemus of Cyprus, an
early friend of Aristotle (and not to be confounded with his
scholar and posthumous editor, Eudemus of Rhodes), being
sick at Phere, received in a vision three prophecies, (1) that
he should recover, (2) that Alexander the tyrant: of Phere
would shortly die, (3) that in five years he would be restored
to his home. The first two prophecies having been at once
fulfilled, Eudemus and his friends looked out for some chance
which should restore him to Cyprus, whence he had been
exiled ; but at the end of the appointed five years he fell in
55. Ὅτι Πλάτων, φησί, καὶ ᾿Αριστο- δ Ar. De An. recensuit A. Torstrik
TéAns ἀθάνατον ὁμοίως λέγουσι τὴν (Berlin, 1862), p. 185.
ψυχήν, κἄν τινες εἰς τὸν ᾿Αριστοτέλους * See Bernays, Die Dialoge des
νοῦν οὐκ ἐμβαθύνοντες θνητὴν νομίζουσιν |. Aristoteles (Berlin, 1863), pp. 21, 143.
αὐτὸν λέγειν. |
802 ESSAY V.
battle, and thus in another sense was ‘ restored to his home.’
This story was made the subject of the dialogue in question,
of which the fragments seem to show that it argued the inde-
pendence of the doctrine of immortality from Plato’s theory
of Ideas. Frem so early a production, if indeed we could be
certain of its genuineness, we can conclude nothing, except
that when it was written Aristotle could not have ‘ pronounced
the soul to be mortal.’ When we turn to the Ethics we find
him unwilling (1. xi. 1) even to affirm that the dead cannot |
be affected and made more or less happy by the fortunes. of
their descendants and friends upon earth, because ‘ this would
seem a heartless doctrine and opposed to general belief’ (λίαν
ἄφιλον φαίνεται καὶ ταῖς δόξαις ἐναντίον). Aristotle thus
shows great tenderness in dealing, or affecting to deal, with
an important question. But in the end, having allowed, as
a concession to popular feeling, that the dead may be affected
by the fortunes of the living, he argues that this effect on
them must be almost unappreciable, and he reminds us, in-
conclusion, of the extreme doubtfulness ® as to whether the
dead do share at all in the interests of the world. In this
discussion one phrase occurs in which the real feeling of
Aristotle, for the moment at least, seems to be let out. He
asks (Hth. 1. x. 2), ‘Can Solon have meant that a man is
happy when he has died ?’ and replies, ‘This would be an
absurdity, especially since we consider happiness to be an
ἐνέργεια. However we translate ἐνέργεια, whether as the
exercise of the powers, the consciousness of life, or however
else (see Essay IV.), it is clear that we have here a brief
indication that death destroys those potentialities that result
in happiness. It would seem then that the only immortality
which is left possible by this belief is a Buddhist nirvana.
88 Eth. 1. xi. 4. See notes on this passage.
DID ARISTOTLE DENY A FUTURE LIFE? 303
Aristotle, however, in his Ethics was not entering on such
a question. It may be that, like many other men who have
lived and died, he did not see his way to a clear opinion on
the subject. He did not, like Plato, base a belief upon
grounds of faith. Nothing that he says about man’s moral
nature seems to have any connection 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 consideration of time and space, of
present and future, in itself, as being the absolutely sufficient
for men’s thoughts.
ESSAY VI.
The Ancient Stoics.
OWN 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—
philosophy no longer an exclusive and esoteric property of
the schools, but spreading its results over the world. _
The immediate cause which brought about this change—
which turned philosophy into a universal leaven, leavening,
under one form or another, the thoughts of all cultivated
men—must be sought for in the changed position of Ethics
in relation to the other parts of philosophy. In spite of the
exclusive attention of Socrates to ethical investigations, in
spite of the exclusive effort of the Cynics and Cyrenaics to
promulgate respectively a conception of practical life for the
individual, in spite of the moral earnestness of Plato and
the brilliant contributions to anthropology, in the way of
accumulation, analysis, and classification of data, made by
Aristotle—Ethics had hitherto continued to occupy a really
subordinate position in the mind of Greece. With Socrates
the paramount interest had been the attainment of universal
CAUSES OF THE DECLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 505
conceptions; with him Ethics were rather the field for
scientific experiments in method, than an ultimate end to
which all else was to be subordinated. The one-sided So-
craticists’ had been regarded as merely exceptional and
paradoxical non-conformists to the ordinary mode of life.
In the mind of Plato Ethics blended themselves with
aspirations after a perfectly ordered State, and to him ‘ the
contemplation of all time and all existence’ under the light
of idealism was as dear as was the education of the individual
soul. Aristotle, in the process of reconstructing all the
departments of thought and knowledge, took Ethics, so to
speak, in his stride. He allotted to man, as a practical
being, an important position in the scale of the universe, but
still he said that the good attainable in a life of moral
virtue was ‘secondary’ to that attainable in a life of
philosophy (Hth. x. viii. 1); that ‘the end-in-itself’ for a
State was more beautiful and divine than that for an
individual (1. ii. 8); and (as Eudemus expressed it, Mth. vi.
vii. 4), that ‘there are in the universe many things diviner
than man.’ Such sayings imply that Ethics are inferior in
practical interest to Politics, and in intellectual interest to
the speculative branches of philosophy. But after Aristotle,
the order which he had given to the hierarchy of the sciences
became subverted. All considerations of the State now
dropped out of sight, as of a subject no longer capable of |
being entertained; Ethics came to the fore-front, as if the
practical interests of the individual were of paramount and
absorbing importance ; and all other departments of inquiry,
whether logical, metaphysical, or physical, were cultivated
only as subsidiary to the one great object of obtaining a
theory for the regulation of individual life.
These features were equally characteristic of the two
great post-Aristotelian schools, the Stoic and the Epicurean.
VOL, I. x
900 ESSAY VI.
To account for them it does not seem quite sufficient to refer,
with Zeller,! to the political condition of Greece. The loss
of independence in the Greek States might reasonably account
for the abandonment of Politics as a science; but the times
do not seem to have been dangerous and oppressive, such as
would force the mind by fears and interruptions away
from philosophical inquiry. Political freedom does ποῦ
appear to be an absolute necessity for freedom of specula-
tion, for in Germany the greatest achievements in philosophy
were made at a time when the liberties of the people
were most scanty. And in Athens during the third century
B.C., there was a vast amount of active philosophising on
almost all the great subjects, though these now received a
peculiar turn in their mode of treatment. And Plutarch?
speaks of the early Stoics, Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus,
as living at Athens ‘as though they had eaten of the lotus,
spell-bound on a foreign soil, enamoured of leisure, and
spending their long lives in books, and walks, and discourses.’
Athens was still a genial home for philosophy ‘ native To
famous wits, or hospitable, in her sweet recess. And other
causes, besides political circumstances, must be sought for
the peculiar character of the philosophical schools that now
arose within her walls. That they exhibited a decline in force
of thought, is indubitable: but in this world it appears as if
a succession of great geniuses can never be long maintained.
In Germany the great idealistic systems of philosophy were
succeeded by a strong reaction in the direction of materialism.
And in Greece the same phenomenon presented itself after
the death of Aristotle. Zeno and Epicurus displayed an
equal aversion to that idealism which characterises the
a («αὐτο ς΄ τος
TS
1 The Stoics, Epicureans,and Scep- | (London, 1870), p. 16 sq.
tics, translated from the German of 2 De Repugnantiis Stoicis, c, 2.
Dr. E. Zeller, by O. J. Reichel, &c.
CAUSES OF THE DECLINE OF PHILOSOPHY. 307
thought of Aristotle no less than Plato; each denied the
existence of anything immaterial ; and each reverted to the
physical system of a pre-Socratic philosopher as a more
reasonable explanation of the world than that which Plato
or Aristotle had given. Zeno thus espoused the physics of
Heraclitus, and Epicurus those of Democritus. Besides this
reaction towards pre-Socratic materialism, there was another
reaction in which both these philosophers shared, namely,
towards the pre-Aristotelian individualism of the Cynics and
Cyrenaics. The character of the times certainly favoured
the rehabilitation and development of this principle; the
scope for public life and action was gone, and thus indi-
viduality supplanted the idea of citizenship. To find out
the way of happiness for the individual soul, became now,
not one problem among many, but the one great problem
for philosophy, to which all others were to be secondary and
subordinate. Thus a new era of thought commenced with
Zeno and Epicurus, in which Ethics was elevated to the
first place and became the architectonic science. And the
causes for this, so far as we have reviewed them, were
common to both Zeno and Epicurus, consisting in a decline
of personal ability and philosophic power, in an inability to
keep up to the level of the speculative and idealistic systems,
and also in the circumstances of the times, which encouraged
a monkish exclusiveness of attention to the subjective and
practical well-being of the individual soul.
But there was another special cause which contributed
greatly to give its peculiar character to the Stoical school,
and which is the source of much of the interest that attaches
to the history of that school. In a former edition of this
Essay it was suggested that the striking features and
attitude exhibited by the Stoical doctrine were attributable
to the Race from which its founders sprang. This idea has
x 2
908 ESSAY VI.
subsequently been accepted and worked out,* and may be
now considered to have been established. If we cast our
eyes on a list of the early Stoics and their native places, we
cannot avoid noticing how universally the leaders of this
school came from the East to Athens, how many of them
came from Semitic towns or colonies. Zeno was from
Citium, a Phoenician colony in Cyprus, and himself belonged
to the Semitic race, as is testified by the sobriquet of ‘the
Pheenician’* commonly applied to him. Of his disciples,
Perszeus came also from. Citium; Herillus was from Car-
thage; Athenodorus from Tarsus; Cleanthes from Assus in
the Troad. The chief disciples of Cleanthes were Spherus of
Chry-
sippus was succeeded by Zeno of Sidon, and Diogenes of
the Bosporus, and Chrysippus from Soli in Cilicia.
Babylon ; the latter taught Antipater of Tarsus, who taught
Panetius 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
belonging to Tarsus. The names of Nestor, Athenodorus,
Cordylion, and Heraclides, may be added to the list of Stoical
Seleucia sent forth Diogenes ;
Epiphania Euphrates ; Basilides ;
Antibius ; Tyre Antipater ; Sidon Boéthus ; Ptolemais Dio-
teachers furnished by Tarsus.
Scythopolis Ascalon
genes. We see then what an Oriental aspect this catalogue
presents. Not a single Stoic of note was a native of Greece
proper. From Tyre and Sidon, and Ptolemais and Ascalon
and Apamea, from Babylon and Carthage, the future ‘ doctors
4 Cf. Diog. Laert. τι. 114, Ζήνωνα
τὸν Φοίνικα, vii. 3, where Crates
3 See especially the interesting
‘Dissertation’ on ‘St. Paul and
Seneca’ given by the Rev. Canon
Lightfoot, D.D., &e., now Lord Bishop
of Durham, in his edition of the
Epistle to the Philippians (1st ed.
London, 1868), pp. 268-326.
says to him, τί φεύγεις, ὦ Φοινικίδιον ;
§ 25. Φοινικικῶς, § 30. εἰ δὲ πάτρα
Φοίνισσα τίς 6 φθόνος ; ὃ 7. ἀντεποι-
οὔντο δ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ οἱ ἐν Σιδῶνι Κιττιεῖς,
ΤΟΥ
SEMITIC ORIGIN OF THE STOICS. 309
of the Stoic fur’ come flocking to Athens (‘in Ilissum de-
fluxit Orontes’). No country more Greek than Rhodes or
Phrygia, is the home of any. On the whole, Cilicia and the
Semitic colony in Cyprus are the chief head-quarters whence
the leaders of this sect were derived.
These facts give us an insight into the fundamental and
essential character of Stoicism. Its essence consists in the
introduction of the Semitic temperament and a Semitic
spirit into Greek philosophy.
The meeting of Eastern and Western ideas had been pre-
pared by the conquests of Alexander, and the production of
Stoicism was one of its first fruits. We moderns have all
been imbued with the Semitic spirit in its highest manifes-
tations by the pages of Holy Writ. Other manifestations of
that spirit, as for instance the Mahomedan religion, exhibit
it as an intense, but narrow, earnestness, averse on the
whole to science and art, but tending to enthusiasm and
even fanaticism for abstract ideas of religion or morality.
The Semitic spirit found a new and favourable field for its
development in Athens at the close of the fourth century
B.c. If philosophy in general was then tending from other
causes to the exaltation of Ethics over Metaphysics, this |
tendency just suited the Semitic moral earnestness. Ethics
were taken up by the Phoenician Zeno, and came out from
his hands with a new aspect. A phase of thought now
appears for the first time on Hellenic soil,-in which the moral
consciousness of the individual—the moral ego—is made
the centre and starting-point. Such a point of view, with
various concomitant ideas, such as duty and responsibility,
and self-examination, and the sense of shortcoming, and
moral self-cultivation, is familiar to us in the Psalms of
David and afterwards in the writings of St. Paul, but it was
not to be found in the conversations of Socrates, nor in the
910 ESSAY VI.
dialogues of Plato, nor in the Hthics of Aristotle. It was
alien indeed from the childlike and unconscious spirit of the |
Hellenic mind,. with its tendency to objective thought and
the enjoyment of nature. Our own views in modern times
have been so much tinged with Hebraism, that the highest
degree of moral consciousness seems only natural to us, and
thus Stoicism, which introduced this state of feeling to the
ancient Hellenic world, may be said to have formed a
transition step between Greek philosophy and the modern
ethical point of view. So it is that in many modern
books of morals, and even in many practical sermons, we
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 such productions have
rarely any affinity at all. And this is the secret of the
interest that Stoicism has for modern times.
Epicurus, the son of Athenian parents, handled the pro-
blem of his epoch—that of the well-being of the individual
soul—in a sense widely different from that of Zeno. Much
as the two schools, Stoicism and Epicurism, had originally
in common, they each followed out their fundamental ten-
dencies so as to diverge ultimately into the strongest con-
trast and to stand in the sharpest antithesis to each other. 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 harmonised so as to
give either the one side or the other the precedence and
authority. Hither we may say ‘a thing is good because it
CONTRAST OF STOICISM AND EPICURISM. 511
is pleasant,’ and thus refer the decision to the natural
-feelings; or we may say ‘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
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, but in both,
the moral attitude was what was essential. 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 specu-
lation ; more, because they were not mere systems of know-
ledge, but a principle for the whole of life. They soon lost
their local and restricted character as schools; they assi-
milated to themselves more and more broadly human
thought, and became ‘the two great confessions of faith of
the historical world.’® Thus were these two ideas set against
each other. Regarding, however, Stoicism, with its weak-
5 Braniss, Uebersicht des Entwick- | 1842), p, 218, whence several points
lungsganges der Philosophie (Breslau, | of this comparison are taken.
912 ESSAY VI.
ness and its strength, as far the more interesting and im-
portant, 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 in Athens, from
Zeno to Chrysippus; second, the period of the promulgation
of Stoicism and its introduction to the knowledge of other
civilised nations; third, Stoicism in the Roman world, its
different phases, and its influence on individual thought and
I. The first period of
Stoicism takes us down to the year 207 B.c., which was the
date of the death of Chrysippus.
commencement of this period is difficult to fix. Zeno probably
on public manners and institutions.
The chronology of the
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
ὁ. Among the posthumous papers
published in the Appendix to Grote’s
Aristotle, we find (pp. 434-443) a
short and lucid account of ‘ Epiku-
rus.’ Grote’s editors tell us that he
aimed ‘at setting in its true light a
much-maligned system of thought.’
The same generous spirit which made
him the apologist of the Sophists in-
duced him to become the vindicator
of Epicurus. But he does not exactly
tell us whether he considers the sys-
tem of Epicurus to be one that it
would be desirable for the majority of
men to follow. This paper and Grote’s
fragment on the Stoics are worth
consulting ; but all detail of accurate
information in these schools must be
sought in Zeller’s account of them,
referred to in note I.
ZENO. 313
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 sym-
bolical, and give us a very definite conception of their sepa-
rate characteristics. Zeno is described? 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 Pirzeus, and was thus ‘cast on to the
shores of philosophy.’ Going 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 Povcile, the
porch adorned with the frescoes of Polygnotus. 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 entombment. 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 originally a boxer, and
to have come to Athens with four drachmas in his possession,
7 Diog. Laert, vit. i. 1.
914 ESSAY VI.
By his strength, his endurance, and his laborious life, he’
acquired the name of ‘the New Hercules.’ ‘ Falling in with
Zeno,’ ® it is said, ‘he took the 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
tablets. 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 maintenance. The story goes on that his
judges, on hearing this account, voted him ten mine, 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 per-
severance, rather than the superiority of his genius, that gave
him precedence over other noteworthy disciples of Zeno.
‘ High thinking,’ however, appears to have accompanied the
‘ plain living’ of Cleanthes. His reflections on Destiny, and
his Hymn to Jupiter, will best be treated of hereafter. When
asked,® ‘ What is the best way to be rich?’ he answered, “ΤῸ
be poor in desires.’ No reproaches or ridicule ever ruffled
the sweetness 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
8. Diog. Laert. vi. v. I. ® Stobeeus, Florileg. xciv. 31.
CHRYSIPPUS. 315
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 frag-
ments 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'® 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 Crypsippus. His
literary activity was most unrivalled: he wrote above seven
hundred and five works on different subjects. Hpicurus alone,
of the ancient philosophers, outstripped him in voluminous-
ness of writing. He is said to have been keen and 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, ‘ But for
Chrysippus, the Porch would never have been.’ He de-
veloped Stoicism on its negative and antagonistic side by
Diog. Laert. vu. vii. 4.
316 ESSAY VI.
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. his 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 Stoi-
cism to abandon the stern simplicity and unity of a 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 empiri-
cism and a more philosophical 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'! of the successive masters of the
"No fragment even, of any length, | Cleanthes. Our main sources of in-
belonging to the early Stoics, has | formation with regard to them are
come down to us, except the hymn of Cicero, Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus,
Ὁ
STOICISM AND CYNICISM. 317
_ 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 13 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 formule; 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 out-
ward, and not the inner and essential part. And in short,
the vestiges of previous Greek philosophy existing in 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 element
of Stoicism constitutes its real essence. This it derived
partly from the idiosyncrasy and perhaps the national cha- ,
racteristics 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
Diogenes Laertius, and Stobeus. We | sions to them in the later literature
have the reflection of their doctrine | of antiquity may be easily combined
in the writings of the Roman Stoics, | into a complete and tolerably certain
Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aure- | view.
lius; and numberless scattered allu- 2 De Fin, rv. ii. 3, 1V. xxvi. 72.
318 ESSAY VI.
moral and practical conception above all speculative philo-
sophy 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!’ 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
know what was the inward law of their doctrine that made
them so. Perhaps we nearest touch the spring of indifference,
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, rearranged 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
13 This was the famous Stoical dis- | between the paradox that ‘nothing is
tinction between things προηγμένα | good but virtue,’ and the practical
and ἀποπροηγμένα; see Diog. Laert. | facts of life. Stoicism is forced tu be
vil. i. 61, It was a compromise | full of such compromises.
ae,
STOICISM AND CYNICISM. 319
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
civilisation.
Lists have been preserved '* for us by the ancients of the
different formule 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
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,
Stobeeus, Eel. ii. 134; Clemens Alexandrinus, Strom. ii.; Diog. Laert.
vii i. 53.
320 ESSAY VI.
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.’'® 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
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
18 Cicero, De Fin. 111. vii. 23.
LIFE ACCORDING TO NATURE. 521
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.
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 civilisation. 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.’'® The context, how-
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
6 Seneca, Ep. xc.
VOL. I. εὐ
322 ESSAY VI.
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 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 excellence 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. 17 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.’* And while pos-
sessing this external immunity from harm, he is in him-
self full of divine inspirations—he is alone free, alone king
and priest, alone capable of friendship or affection. These
and other splendid and exclusive attributes did the Stoics
attach to their imaginary sage, till Chrysippus, becoming
conscious in one place 15 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
1 Βὔρυια τοῦ βίον. Stob. Eel. 11. 138. 18 Diog. Laert. vu. i. 64.
19. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoic. ο. xv. i?
THE IDEAL WISE MAN, 323
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. Such harsher traits of the
picture are Semitic in tone; they were afterwards discarded
during subsequent transmutations of the Stoical principle.
More inward meaning is there in the saying, para-
doxical as it might appear, that nothing the Wise 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.’ One of the interests of the Stoical
ideal consists in the parallel it affords at many points to
different phases of religious feeling.. Such for instance 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,
2
824 ESSAY VI.
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
idea 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.’ 39
Zeno and the rest, though they do 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
to believe that it was first introduced into Greece in the third
century B.c. It may be said, indeed, to be contained im-
plicitly 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 enun-
ciated by them, but was only gradually developed in or by
20 προκοπή, προκόπτειν (Diog. Laert. vit. i. 54). In Latin, profectus, pro-
ficere (Seneca, Ep. 71).
THE IDEAS OF PERFECTION AND ADVANCE. 825
means of their philosophy. There were two correlative terms
introduced by the early Stoics, signifying the ‘suitable’!
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 officiwm, 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 Romans. Thus the idea of duty grew up,
more belonging, perhaps, to the Roman than to the Greek
elements in the Stoical spirit, fostered by a national sternness
and a love of law, and ultimately borrowing its modes of ex-
pression from the formule of Roman jurisprudence.”
‘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
Aristotle and Plato would certainly have
conceived to themselves a limited state, essentially Greek in
to this picture.
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
21 καθῆκον and κατόρθωμα, Stob. Eel,
ii. 158. Cicero’s De Offciis is taken,
with but little alteration and addition,
from the work of Panztius, περὶ τῶν
καθηκόντων. Cicero complains that
Panetius gave no definition of his
subject (De Off. τ. ii. 7). Thus we see
that the Greek Stoics had really no
formula to express what we mean by
duty.
# For instance, the word ‘ obliga-
tion’ isa Latin law term. The word
‘law’ itself is employed with a moral
meaning, and on consideration it will
be found that our notions of duty
(‘ what is owing ’) are intertwined in-
extricably with legal associations,
326 ESSAY VI.
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,” which Plutarch
calls ‘a dream of philosophic statesmanship,’ and which, he
rhetorically says, was realised by Alexander the Great, owed,
no doubt, its origin to the influence upon men’s minds pro-
duced by the conquests of Alexander. This influence, partly
depressing—in so far as it diminished the sense of freedom,
and robbed men of their healthy, keen, and personal interest
o, since it unfolded a
in politics—was also partly stimulating,
wider horizon, and the possibility of conceiving a universal
state. Thus were the national and exclusive ideas of Greece,
as afterwards of Rome, changed into cosmopolitanism. The
first lesson of cosmopolitanism, that said, ‘there is no differ-
ence between Greece 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
surrounding objects, bids it soar into the abstract and the
universal. By denying the reality and the interest of πᾶ-
tional politics, the moral importance of the individual was
immensely enhanced. Ethics were freed from all connection
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,™ 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
33 Plutarch, De Alexandri Magni ** Ap. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoicis,
Jortund aut virtute, ¢. vi. Ch1X
THE STOIC COSMOPOLITANISM. 327
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 versd. The First Cause ® 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
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 aman. ‘Thus all things are very good, being ordered and
preordained by the divine reason. This reason is also des-
tiny, which is defined to be * ‘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
* For the particulars of their phy- { account.
sical and theological system, and the % Plutarch, De Placitis Philosopho~
authorities which establish the various | rum, i. 28.
parts of the doctrine, see Zeller’s
328 ESSAY VI.
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 manifestations
of the one divine principle, exist in the elements and the
powers of nature, which, accordingly, are rightly worshipped
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 expression of the uni-
versal 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
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” of Grecian an-
tiquity. In this hymn, Zeus is addressed as highest of the
gods, having many names, always omnipotent, leader of nature,
aud governing all things by law.
‘Thee,’ continues the poet, ‘it is lawful for all mortals
to address. For 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-
* Preserved by Stobieus, Ecl, Phys. i. 30.
THE THEOLOGY OF THE STOICS. 329
derbolt. O King, most high, nothing is done without thee
either in heaven or on earth, or 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 God. 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, O 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
todo. For there is no greater thing than this, either for
mortal men or for the gods, to sing rightly the universal 3
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 be-
sides the one highest God. These are representéd as inferior
to Zeus, and singing his praises. The human soul is here
depicted 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,
530 ESSAY VI.
though the knowledge spoken of appears partly under the
aspect of an intuition into the universal and impersonal law.
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 35 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 versd. |
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,’?® 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
28 Plutarch, Adversus Stoicos, 33. ὡς ἕψομαί γ᾽ ἄοκνος Av δὲ μὴ θέλω
29 ἄγου δέ μ᾽ ὦ Ζεῦ, καὶ σύ γ᾽ ἡ Πε- κακὸς γενόμενος, οὐδὲν ἧττον ἕψομαι.
πρωμένη, These verses are translated by Seneca.
ὕποι ποθ᾽ ὑμῖν εἰμὶ διατεταγμένος,
THE STOIC NECESSARIANISM. 331
consciousness was the starting-point of their thought; and
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,’ *° To effect this, he drew a distinction between
‘ predisposing’ and ‘ determinant’ causes, and said that only
the ‘ predisposing’ causes rested with Fate,*! 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 argu-
ment ’**—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; God fits good and evil
together into one frame. On the other hand, he says that
30 Fragment of Cicero, De Fato,ap. | tapruchy μόνον ἐποιεῖτο τὴν Εἱμαρμένην.
Aul. Gell. vu. ii. 15. % ἀργὸς λόγος (Cicero, Ve Fato,
™ Plut. De Repug. Stoic. xlvii,: οὐκ | xii, xiii.)
ὑποτελῇ τούτων αἰτίαν, ἀλλὰ προκα-
332 ESSAY VI.
©God does all that is done in the world, except the wicked-
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 ; ** 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. Of these inconsistent arguments the first is, perhaps,
the most philosophical. It is taken from Heraclitus, accord-
ing 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 ob-
jection 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 allegorising 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 minutiew of human affairs, they yet declared *
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-
33 Plutarch, De Repug. Stoic. xxxv.— 34 Cicero, De Divinatione, τ. iii. &e.
XXxvVii. Seneca, Quest. Nat. ii. 52.
-
te ees
THE STOIC DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE LIFE. 533
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 haying, in the person of Cephalus, adopted such a
vulgar bugbear?* 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 God, how can the indi-
vidual soul continue to exist? But Cleanthes and Chry-
sippus spoke of the continuance of the souls of the wise,
and the possible continuance of all souls, until the next con-
flagration. And, as Zeller® says, ‘since the Stoics thus
admitted a future existence of limited, but yet indefinite,
length—the same practical results followed from their belief
as from the current belief in immortality. The statements of
Seneca that this life is a prelude to a better; that the body
is a lodging-house, from which the soul will return to its
own home ; his joy in looking forward to the day which will
rend the bonds of the body asunder, which he, in common
with the early Christians, calls the birthday of eternal life ; *7
his description of the peace of the eternity there awaiting us,
of the freedom and bliss of the heavenly life, of the light of
knowledge which will there be shed on all the secrets of
nature ;** his language on the future recognition and happy
35 τὸν περὶ τῶν ὑπὺ τοῦ θεοῦ κολάσεων 386. Zeller’s ϑιοῖοβ and Epicureans,
λόγον, ὡς οὐδὲν διαφέροντα τῆς ᾿Ακκοῦς | English translation, pp. 207-209.
καὶ τῆς Αλφιτοῦς, δι᾽ ὧν τὰ παιδάρια τοῦ 87 Seneca, Hp. 102, 22.
κακοσχολεῖν αἱ γυναῖκες ἀνείργουσι..-- 88 Consol. ad Mare. 24, 3.
Plut. De Repug. Stoic. ¢, xii.
334 ESSAY VI.
society of souls made perfect ;** his seeing in death a great
day of judgment, when sentence will be pronounced on
everyone ; “Ὁ his making the thought of a future life the
great stimulus to moral conduct here; ‘*! even the way in
which he consoles himself for the destruction of his soul by
the thought that it will live again in another form hereafter *?
—all contain nothing at variance with the Stoic teaching,
however near they may approach to Platonic or even
Christian modes of thought. Seneca merely expanded the
teaching of his school in one particular direction, in which
it harmonises most closely with Platonism.’
In like manner we see the Roman Cato fortifying his
last hours with arguments and ideas drawn not from the
orthodox authorities of Stoicism, but from the Phaedo of
Plato. It was but natural that in the history of Stoicism
a tendency should be evinced to sympathise with Plato in
exalting the idea of a future life. If there be any principle
in the human mind, short of revelation, which could lead
men to trust and believe in their own immortality, it must
assuredly be that principle which so largely animated the
Stoics, the principle of aspiration, of moral energy, of a life |
above all ordinary pleasures and interests. And the working
of this principle belied and neutralised the logical conclusions
of a pantheistic materialism.
The culminating act of self-abnegation with the Stoics
was suicide. The first leaders of the school, by their
precept and example, recommended the wise, on occasion, to
‘usher themselves out’ * of life. Τῇ suicide, thus dignified .
by a name, were an escape from mere pain or annoyance, it
89 Consol. ad Marc. 25, 1. | 43 ἐξάγειν ἑαυτού---- ἐξαγωγή is the
Ὁ Ep. 26, 4. | regular word with the Stoies for sui-
" Ep, 102, 29. cide.— Diog. Laert. vi. 1. €6.
2
Saad Hy Ee en (op
THE STOIC SUICIDES. 335
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
circumstances of the Roman despotism; but, on the whole,
it belongs 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
became clear of 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 development 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
only as a strange and interesting doctrine which has played
an important part in the history of the world.
II. The Stoical doctrine was not destined to remain the
property of a mere school in Athens; owing to the active
intercommunion of nations round the shores of the Mediter-
ranean which took place after the conquests of Alexander,
this influence, as well as others, rapidly spread. We have
seen how Stoicism owed its origin to the East, and upon the
East it apparently reacted at a very early period. This is
especially exemplified in the history of the Jews. There
seems little doubt that during the third century B.c. many
of the Jews became indoctrinated with the teaching of one
or other of the two great Greek schools, the Stoic and the
Epicurean. The original founder of the sect of the Sadducees
was Antigonus of Socho (the master of Zadok), who taught
336 ESSAY VI.
that men should not serve God like hirelings, for a reward.
This Antigonus appears to have lived during the former half
of the third century, and he is the first Jew who is recorded ἢ
to have borne a Greek name. It is conjectured * that he
had travelled in Greek cities, and through admiration for
Greek philosophy and culture, adopted a Greek name, and
that he had heard Epicurus, or one of his followers, at Athens,
and that his subsequent theological teaching became modified
by the Epicurean repudiation of future rewards and punish-
ments. However this may be, it is, to say the least, remark-
able that the sect of the Pharisees should have arisen about
this time, bearing a relation to that of the Sadducees so
much analogous to the relation of the Stoics to the Epicu-
reans. Josephus (Antiq. XVII. i. 2) says that the Jews had
had for a long time three kinds of philosophy, and (Vita, 2)
that the sect of the Pharisees came very near that of the
Stoics (ἢ παραπλήσιός ἐστι TH παρ᾽ “Ἕλλησι Στωικῇ λεγο-
᾿ μένῃ). And in describing the Pharisaic doctrines he uses
terms that seem borrowed from Stoicism ; he says (Bell. Jud.
II. vili. 14) that ‘the Pharisees ascribe all things to Fate and
God’ (εἱμαρμένῃ te καὶ θεῷ προσάπτουσι πάντα); that
(1b.) according to them ‘to act what is right or the contrary
lies principally in the power of men, although Fate does co-
operate in every action;’‘® that (/b.) they teach that ‘the
souls of good men only are removed into other bodies ;’ and
that (Antig. xvutI. i. 3) those who have lived virtuously will
44 See Ecclesiastes; a Contribution | names of adoption, out of compliment
to its Interpretation, by ThomasTyler, | to Athens, in lieu of Semitic, or ‘ bar-
M.A. &c. (London, 1874). The | barous,’ appellations. This fact may
Greek name of the Jew Antigonus | account for the repetitions of the
may remind us of the Greek names | same name which occur, e.g. Zeno,
borne by the Phenician, Babylonian, | Diogenes, Antipater, Athenodorus, &c.,
Syrian, and Carthaginian founders 45. Compare the saying of Cleanthes,
of the Stoic school (see above, page | quvted above, page 330.
308). These must all have been τ ‘4 See above, page 331.
INFLUENCE OF STOICISM UPON THE JEWS. ὀ 337
have liberty to live again (ῥαστώνην τοῦ ἀναβιοῦν), which
seems to be a modification of the Stoical eschatology. It is
said by the author lately referred to ‘7 that the Chasidim, or
Assideans of Maccabean times, invested their conservative
Judaism ‘to some extent with a Stoic garb,’ and that the
Fourth Book of Maccabees ‘ exhibits to us Stoicism associated
and interwoven with Judaic legalism.’ It is the object of the
same writer to prove that the Book of Ecclesiastes, to which
he assigns a date about 200 B.C., contains references to both
Stoical and Epicurean tenets, and was written with the
object of dissuading from the study of both these philosophies,
- which at the time ‘were exerting among the theocratic people
The
relation of Stoicism to the Talmud is a question which, if
an influence adverse to the ancient faith of Judaism.’
worked out, might probably furnish some interesting results.
And of the influence produced by the Stoical modes of
thought and phraseology “ upon the mind of St. Paul, his
epistles furnish ample evidence.
St. Paul was born at Tarsus, a meeting point between
the East and the West, the congenial soil and chief father-
land of Stoicism. Six of the eminent Stoic teachers had
their home there, Chrysippus and Aratus belonged to the
neighhouring Soli, and three other leaders of the sect to
47 Mr. Tyler's Ecclesiastes, page 45.
#8 Mr. Tyler finds the Stoical doc-
trine of ‘following Nature’ in the
passage on ‘ Times and Seasons,’ Eecl.
iii. 1-8; the Stoical doctrine of Fate
in ‘Time and Chance happen unto
all,’ Eccl. ix. 11, 12; the Stoical doc-
trine of Cycles in ‘ whatever hath
been, it hud been long before, Eccl.
iii. 15; the Stoical identification of
Folly with Madness, in the frequent
conjunctions of these terms ‘ madness
and folly,’ Evel. i. 17, ii. 12, vii. 25,
ix. 3, x. 13; the Epicurean doctrine
VOL. I.
that men are but as beasts in Evel.
iii. 18-20; and the Epicurean con-
ception of Pleasure as the chief good
in Eecl. vy. 18-20. M. Renan, how-
ever, in his monograph on Ecclesiastes,
takes a different view, and refuses to
find in that book any reference to
Greek ideas. ;
® This point has been most ably
investigated by Bishop Lightfoot, in
his Dissertation on ‘St. Paul and
Seneca,’ and of his conclusions we
ayuil ourselves.
3338 ESSAY VI.
Mallos, which was also a Cilician town. St. Paul was
brought up as a Pharisee, in a sect which had a natural, and
probably an historical, affinity with the Stoical doctrines.
His master was Gamaliel, ‘the most liberal teacher of the
day, who had no dread of Greek learning.’ St. Paul’s
writings show him to have imbibed the current Greek
cultivation. When he came to Athens, after encountering
certain philosophers of the Epicureans and of the Stoics, he
‘stood up in the midst of Mars’ Hill’ and addressed the
multitude. While speaking to the mass of the Athenians,
and making its popular superstition his starting-point, St.
Paul appears to appeal to the philosophic part of his
audience, weaving in their ideas into his speech, referring to
their literature, and producing ‘a studied coincidence with
their modes of expression.” Thus the cosmopolitan theory
of the Stoics seems distinctly assumed,” and both Aratus
and Cleanthes may be comprehended under the terms ‘cer-
tain of your own-poets have said;’*! and in the saying that
‘God dwelleth not in temples made with hands’ St. Paul
agrees remarkably with the expressions of Zeno (ap. Plutarch
De Repug. Stoic. c. 2). But it was not merely when he was
addressing an Athenian audience that St. Paul made use
of Stoical forms of expression. ‘As the speculations of
Alexandrian Judaism had elaborated a new and important
theological vocabulary, so also to the language of Stoicism,
which itself likewise had sprung from the union of the
religious sentiment of the East with the philosophical
thought of the West, was due an equally remarkable deve-
lopment of moral terms and images. To the Gospel, both
the one and the other paid their tribute. As St. John (nor
St. John alone) adopted the terms of Alexandrian theosophy.
5° «God hath made of one blood all | yap καὶ γένος ἐσμέν, in the hymn of
nations of men,’ &c., Acts xvii. 26. Cleanthes (see above, page ΤῊΣ Ἐκ
51 In Aratus the words are Τοῦ | σοῦ γὰρ γένος ἐσμέν.
ST. PAUL AND STOICISM. 339
as the least inadequate to express the highest doctrines of
Christianity, so St. Paul (nor St. Paul alone) found in the
ethical language of the Stoics expressions more fit than he
could find elsewhere to describe in certain aspects the duties
and privileges, the struggles and triumphs, of the Christian
life.’ >? Instances of ‘the characteristic commonplaces of
Stoic morality’ emerging in the writings of St. Paul are
as follows: (1.) The Stoical ideal of the wise man (so full of *
paradox, see above, page 322), with his perfect self-suffi-
ciency—who alone is free, alone is happy, alone is rich, alone
is king and priest—was a topic that furnished to St. Paul
many a passage both of irony and earnestness. ‘Even now
are ye full,’ he says to the Corinthians,** ‘even now are ye
rich, even now are ye made kings without us;’ ‘we are
fools for Christ, but ye are wise in Christ: we are weak, but |
ye are strong: ye are glorious, but we are dishonoured.’ δ᾽
‘All things are yours. And of himself he speaks ‘as
being grieved, yet always rejoicing; as beggars, yet making
many rich ; as having nothing and yet possessing all things.’ ©
‘In everything at every time having every self-sufficiency
(αὐτάρκειαν), in everything being enriched.’*” ‘TI have
learnt, in whatsoever circumstances I am, to be self-sufficing.
I have all strength in him that giveth me power. I have all
things to the full and to overflowing.’ ** (2.) The Stoical
cosmopolitanism, the idea of a city coextensive with the
universe (see above, page 326), furnished another set of
images to St. Paul. ‘Our citizenship is in heaven.’
‘Therefore ye are no more strangers and sojourners, but
fellow-citizens with the saints and members of God’s house-
8? Bishop Lightfoot’s Philippians 56 2 Cor. vi. το.
(1st ed.), page 302. 57 2 Cor, ix. 8, II.
53 1 Cor, iv. 8. |) 8 Phil. iv. 11, 13, 18.
54 Ib. iv. 10. | 9 Phil. iii, 20.
S Jb. iii. 22,
Z2
340 ESSAY VI.
hold. © ‘Fulfil your duties as citizens worthily of the
gospel of Christ.’®! ‘We being many are one body in
Christ, and members one of another.’ ® ‘There is neither
Jew nor Greek; there is neither bond nor free ; there is no
male or female ; for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’ ‘ Not
Greek and Jew, circumcision and uncircumcision, barbarian,
Scythian, bond, free: but Christ is all things and in all.’ 5
Such was the noble use that St. Paul made of Stoical ideas
and forms of thought; with him the spirit of Christianity
purifies these ideas from their alloy and turns them into
pure gold. But it cannot be doubted that Stoicism, by the
early and not uncongenial influence which it had produced
upon the mind of St. Paul, contributed something to the
form under which Christian doctrine was set forth by its
greatest expositor. On the other hand there are no good
grounds for believing that Stoicism ever received any in-
fluence from Christianity. The hypothesis of an intercourse
between St. Paul and Seneca has no historical foundation.
And internal evidence forbids our supposing that either
Seneca, or any other Stoical writer, borrowed from, or was
acquainted with, the Christian doctrines.
Having now traced some indications of the effect pro-
duced by Stoicism on the eastern shores of the Mediter-
ranean, let us turn to watch its promulgation in the West
and throughout the Roman world in general, where it was
destined to play the part of, to some extent, a regenerating
element in the last days of Pagan civilisation. There was a
direct succession, as we have seen above (p. 308), in the lists
of the Stoic doctors from Chrysippus to Posidonius, and
Posidonius was master to Cicero. During the interval
60 Ephes, ii. 19. 8 Gal, iii. 28.
Phil. 1. 27. 5. Col, ii, II.
6? Rom. xii. 5.
INTRODUCTION OF PHILOSOPHY INTO ROME. 341
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 imagi-
native 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 philosophers and rhetoricians, at the instance of M.
Pomponius, the pretor. This fact appears to stand in
isolation. Six years later (B.c. 155), we hear of the famous
embassy of the philosophers sent from Athens to Rome to
obtain the remission of a fine. Doubt®™has been thrown on
the reality of this event. But independently of the constant
oral tradition from Scipio and Lelius down to Cicero,
the historical certainty of the embassy is established by a
reference which Cicero makes to the writings of Clito-
machus, a Carthaginian philosopher who settled at Athens,
and was disciple to Carneades immediately after the date
assigned to the embassy, and who therefore 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 * that these three represented the
three styles of oratory—the florid, the severe, and the
moderate. Cicero ® tells us of a philosophic party at Rome,
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
® Mr. Merivale’s History of the 6 Academics, ii. χων.
Romans under the Empire, ii. p. 511, 87 Aulus Gellius, vii. xiv. 3.
note. * De Oratore, ii, XXXVI.
949 ESSAY VI.
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 pretor,
said to Carneades in the Capitol, before the Senate, ‘Is it
true, Carneades, that you think I am no praetor because
IT am not a wise man, and that this is no city, and that
there is no true state init?’ ΤῸ which Carneades replied,
‘I don’t think so, but this Stoic does.’ This story amusingly
represents the confusion in the mind of the Roman preetor,
who did not distinguish between the philosophical schools,
but was struck by the great paradox he had heard, and was
not able to comprehend that inner point of view from which
it was said that mighty Rome was no city, and the august
preetor 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 ® of
a decree of the censors Domitius A‘nobarbus 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, ‘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. Leelius, 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 Panztius of Rhodes, whose in-
structions in Athens were attended by Leelius and his son-
in-law, C. Fanucius, and also by the conqueror of Carthage.
Panetius accompanied the latter on his famous mission to
69 Aulus Gellius, xv. xi.
INTRODUCTION OF PHILOSOPHY INTO ROME. 948
the courts in Asia Minor and Egypt. He is always spoken
of as the friend and companion of Scipio and Lelius. He is
recorded to have sent a letter to Q. Tubero, on the endurance
of pain. Not only by personal intercourse did Paneetius
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 forms of dialectic.’7° One
peculiarity above all, while it made Panzetius a worse Stoic,
made him at the same time a more attractive expositor of
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, Dicee-
archus, in his mouth; he was always speaking” 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
Panetius’ On Things Suitable. An extract verbatim, from
the latter, is preserved by Aulus Gellius. It recommends
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 Romans, and the same eclectic tendencies as his
master. After the death of Panztius (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
*” Cicero, De Fin. iv. xxvut. 79.
τι Cicero, Tusculan. Disputat. i, Xxxtt. 79.
941 ' ESSAY VI.
settled in Rhodes. Strabo, with a sympathy for his geo-
graphical knowledge, called him ‘the most learned philo-
sopher of the day.’ In the year 86 B.c. he was sent as am-
bassador 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 Pom-
pey 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. 51), he died
there a short time afterwards, having had as his hearers
C. Velleius, C. Cotta, Q. Lucilius Balbus, and probably Brutus.
Posidonius wrote a commentary on the Timcus of Plato,
apparently to reconcile it with the Stoical physics. He ap-
proximated 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 Panetius.
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.
Besides 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, with-
out 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 Rome—
namely, for a great man to maintain a philosopher in his
house, as in modern days a private confessor. Of this custom
Cato” of Utica was himself an instance, for he is reported
7 Plutarch, Cato Minor, c. x.
STOICAL TEACHERS IN ROME. 345
to have made a journey to Pergamus with the express ob-
ject of inducing the famous Stoic Athenodorus, surnamed
Cordylion, to accompany him to Rome, 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 Cato’s suicide, they disputed with each other
on the paradox that the Wise Man only is free, Cato warmly
supporting the Stoical side. Another’* Athenodorus, of
the same sect, but surnamed 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 in-
struction. 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 attributed
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 Panztius and Posidonius.
The inducement of the Romans in taking up with this kind
of literature was twofold : first, a natural affinity for practical
moralising and maxims of life; second, a rhetorical necessity
—the desire to turn sentences, to be terse, apposite, and
*8 Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography, sub voce.
940 ESSAY VI.
weighty. The constant practice of declamation gave an
immense stimulus to the sermonising 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 the
florid paradoxes of the Stoics were no doubt most striking
and attractive.
The Romans who took any side in philosophy invariably
became either Epicureans, Stoics, or Academics, or else, as was
not unfrequent, they combined the Academical opinions on
knowledge with the Stoical morals or some admixture of the
Stoical physics. This was the case with L. Lucullus, with
M. Brutus, and Terentius Varro. 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 enjoyment 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
EPICURISM AMONG THE ROMANS. 347
was the fact that the first book of philosophy written in
the Latin language was the work of one Amafinius,™ set-
ting forth Epicurism. This treatise, though of no merit
according to Cicero, had immense influence, and brought
over the multitude to adopt its views. ‘Other works of a
similar character followed, and through 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 Cesar, L. Tor-
quatus, 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
Rome, 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 intellectual capa-
city 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. Au-
relius, we find through the Roman empire an immense
diffusion of Stoical principles and of the professors of Stoi-
cism.”°
74 Cicero, Tuse. Disp. iv, 11.; Acad. | became extinct. He says of Sextius
Post. τι.
τὸ Among the most celebrated of
these is to be named Q. Sextius, con-
temporary with Julius Cesar, who
founded a school. This school, Seneca
tells us (Quest. Nat. vit. xxxii.),
began with great éclat, but soon
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 abstinence from animal
food. Sotion, the disciple of Sextius,
was Seneca’s master, and induced him
948 ESSAY VI.
III. These professors assumed, it appears, not only dis-
tinctive principles, but also certain external marks and
badges of their sect. We read in Juvenal’® of the ‘long
robe’ as synonymous with Stoicism; in Persius we read of
their close-cropped hair,’ and their look of having sat up
all night; in Tacitus,’* 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, and under their sanctimonious face the blackest
heart. With bitter indignation does Tacitus 89. 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 ‘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
to practise this kind of asceticism at
one time ; but after a year’s trial of it,
he was persuaded by his father, who
‘hated philosophy,’ and who dreaded
the imputation of certain foreign
superstitions, to return to the common
mode of diet (Ep. eviii.), What is
most remarkable about Sextius is his
daily habit, according to Seneca (De
Ira, 11. xxxvi.), of self-examination.
This shows the spirit of the times.
76 *Facinus majoris abolle.’—Sar,
ili, 115.
7 <Insomnis ... et detonsa juven-
tus.’— Sat. ili. 54. :
178. «Ῥ Egnatius . .. auctoritatem
Stoicee secte preferebat, habitu et
ore ad exprimendam imaginem
honesti exercitus.’—Annal, xvi. 32.
7 «Frontis nulla fides, quis enim
non vicus abundat
Tristibus obsccenis ?’
Juv. Sat. ii. 8.
80 Ann. xvi. 32, 33.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ROMAN STOICS. 8:19
add that, beside the antinomian tendencies which might
logically be connected with this creed,*' 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
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* 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 Ceeranus 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
*! See above, p. 323. ὀξείας φύσεις ἐπισφαλὲς καὶ παράβολον -
"5 Tacitus, Annal. xiv. 57. Cf. | βαθεῖ δὲ καὶ πράῳ κεραννύμενος ἤθει
Plutarch, Vit. Cleom.—"Exe tt 6 | μάλιστα εἰς τὸ οἰκεῖον ἀγαθὸν ἐπιδίδωσι,
Στωϊκὺς λόγος πρὸς τὰς μεγάλας. καὶ
350 ESSAY VI.
model of the younger Cato, and showing the same repub-
lican front and the same practical conception of Stoicism as
he did. Such were Cecina Petus 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
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 Phedo
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 itis 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 Roman 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’
SENECA. 3651
was to effect his own recall, 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
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 Seneca
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
53. Bishop Lightfoot thinks that | with Pheenician settlers, and the
Seneca may have had Semitic blood | name Xevexas appears in a list of
in his veins, as his native province, | Jewish names. This, however, is
Beetica, had been thickly populated | mere conjecture.
802 ESSAY VI.
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
his 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 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
ἔν
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THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 353
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
the ungenial atmosphere of the political world. Only one
allusion is there to Nero, where Seneca takes occasion (Hp.
73) to find fault with the opinion that philosophers aro
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 topies 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
VOL. I. } AA
554 ESSAY VI.
that he was forty years of age, and rather vld 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 (Hp. 47)—‘ are they _
not,’ he asks, ‘men like ourselves, breathing the same air,
living and dying like ourselves ?’—praises a book he has
written, lectures him on the economy of time (Hp. 1); tells
him to be select in his reading (Hp. 2); bids him examine
himself to see whether he is progressing in philosophy or in
life, since only the latter is valuable (Hp. 16); above all,
exhorts him without ceasing to get rid of the fear of death,
‘that chain which binds us all’ (Hp. 26), though he is half
afraid, as in one place he naively confesses (Hp. 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 insure 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 (Hp. 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
THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 355
a sort of unreal triumph, independent of actual success or
failure. Seneca does not conceal from us his failures in
realising 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 (Hp. 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
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 (Hp. 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
AA2
356 ESSAY VI.
-
while dissuading Lucilius (Hp. 63) from overmuch grieving
at the loss of a friend, he says, ‘I myself so immoderately
wept for Annzus 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, not
entirely ‘sicklied o’er by the pale cast of thought.’ After
alluding 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 determined to change his quarters.
ee ey re
THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 357
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 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,
produced 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 Cle-
mentia, 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
358 ESSAY VI.
mind that nothing can shake or decoy him any more, it 18
through sinning that he has arrived at this state of
innocence.’
Those who have been anxious to obtain the authority ot
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-
fluence from Christianity. 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’ (Hp. 1). Death is no punishment, but the
law of nature.’ ‘Children and idiots do not fear death, why
cannot reason attain to that security which folly has
achieved ?’ (Hp. 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.’
THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 359
‘ 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’ (Hp. 24). Not content
with bringing forward these considerations dissuasive of
terror, Seneca in other places does all he can to familiarise
the mind with the idea of suicide. He says, ‘There is
nothing more contemptible than to wish for death. Why
wish for that which is in your power ?—die at once, if you
wish to do so’ (Hp. 117). He relates with approbation the
suicide of his friend Marcellinus, who, being oppressed with
a long and troublesome 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-days’ abstinence from food, betaking him-
self to a hot bath when his body was exhausted, wherein he
fainted and died (Hp. 77). Other instances of self-destruc-
tion are scattered through the letters of Seneca, some of
which give a sad illustration of the unhappiness of the times.
It seems to haye been not uncommon for the wretched
captives who were doomed to the conflicts of the arena to
steal themselves away, sometimes 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 tendency 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 sleep-
ing, 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
300 ESSAY VI.
were connected, on the one hand, with a timidity of nature
and a real love of life; on the other hand, with a presenti-
ment 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 tendency
was to Platonic * visions of the soul freed from the trammels
of the body and restored to freedom. He is unwilling that
Lucilius should arouse him from the ‘pleasant dream’ of
immortality. He likes to expatiate on the tranquillity 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,’ 85
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
84 See above, page 334, where in an
extract from Zeller we have antici-
pated the mention of Seneca’s fond-
ness for dwelling on the imagination
of a future state.
85 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 moralising 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 Questiones, vil. XXXi.).
‘Quam multa animalia hoe primum
cognovimus seculo! quam multa ne-
gotia ne hoequidem! Multa venientis
zevi populus ignota nobis sciet. Multa
seeculistune 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,
ΝΠ τ τ τὸ τὺ πε og eR
EPICTETUS. 361
possible in his own words by Arrian, the historian, who
studied under him at Nicopolis. Epictetus was a lame
slave, the property of Epaphroditus, who was himself the
freedman and the favourite of Nero.
Epictetus was won over to the Stoic doctrine by Musonius
While yet a slave,
Rufus. Obtaining his freedom, he taught in Rome, and
afterwards, when the philosophers were banished from the
What is most
striking about his discourses is their extremely religious
city by Domitian, in Nicopolis of Epirus.
spirit, and the gentle purity of the doctrines they advocate.
In them Stoicism reached its culmination, 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 recommends. 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.’
“ον to preserve one’s own character in everything.’ ‘ How
to follow out the conception that God is Father of mankind.’
‘On moral advance.’ ‘On equanimity.’
‘ How to do all things pleasing to the gods.’ ‘ What part of
a sin is one’s own.’
‘On Providence.’
‘On moral training. As might be
conjectured, there is nothing speculative in these discourses,
Epictetus both received and imparted philosophy as a fulfill-
86 Musonius Rufus, whom we have
noticed before as the companion of
Rubellius Piautus 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 Dict. of Greek and Roman
Biog.) He afterwards obtained the
condemnation of Publius Celer, the
traducer of Barea. (Tac. Hist. iii. 81;
iv. 10, 40.) Fragments of his philo-
sophy are preserved by Stobeus.
862 ESSAY VI.
ing of the needs of the soul, not as a mere development 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. τι. xi. 1), ‘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. τι. 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
accustomed to reason with anyone. Come, then, let us obey
God, lest we should move God to anger.”’*®’ ‘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. 11. xxil. 23).
With regard to the manifestations of Providence,
Epictetus says (Dissert. 1. 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 nightingale; 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.’
87 iva μὴ θεοχόλωτοι ὦμεν (Dissert, 111, i. 36).
νῶν δώ,
EPICTETUS. 909
‘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 a one will henceforth allow no
mean or unworthy thoughts about himself. Τῇ Ceesar 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, 1). [
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
injuries. 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 nothing can touch; bonds, imprisonment, and death
itself, do not impair the internal freedom of the will. Lame-
ness impedes 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 con-
test 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 they were. not sufficiently made to
pervade 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. m1. xiii,
904 ESSAY VI.
14). ‘This is death, a mighty change, not into the non-
existent, but into what is now non-existent. ‘Shall Z then
not exist?” No, thou wilt not exist, but something else of
which the universe has need’ (Diss. m1. 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 con-
sidered that men differed from brutes, not in freedom, but
only in consciousness (Diss. I. vill. 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 last two 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.
‘ 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. 1.)
Such are the mystical ecstasies into which Antoninus
rises in communing with himself. With these, honest self-
examinations and humility of feeling are often combined, and
Cant tk es ees ee a ey ee ae ee ay 2 “ν. Ap Series Wee oe 7 fo
ρου wee ει ον ΤΑΣ Bo a ea a οἰ.
κ΄. ΥΥΕΡῚ ς ie pte ; TY? ; Δ tas
ye hs
MARCUS AURELIUS. 865
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 *
the same psychological division of man into body, soul, and
spirit, as had also been employed by St. Paul. We may take
our leave of the monologue of Antoninus by quoting from it
his feeling about the Christian martyrs. ‘The soul,’ he says,
‘when it must depart from the body, should be ready to be
extinguished, to be dispersed, or to subsist a while longer
with the body. But this readiness must proceed from its own
judgment, and not from mere obstinacy, as with the Chris-
tians ; it must be arrived at with reflection and dignity, so
that you could even convince another without declama-
tion’ (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
control 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 Roman 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 God. While
$8 Ὅ τί ποτε τοῦτό εἰμι σαρκία ἐστὶ | Paul, Thessal. τ. v. 23. Td πνεῦμα
καὶ πνευμάτιον καὶ τὸ ἡγεμονικόν (ii. 2). | καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ τὸ σῶμα. The πνεῦμα
Cf. iii. 16. Σῶμα, ψυχή, νοῦς xii. | of St. Paul answers to the νοῦς or
3. Τρία ἐστὶν ἐξ ὧν συνέστηκας, ἡγεμονικόν of Antoninus,
σωμάτιον, πνευμάτιον, νοῦς, Cf, St.
366 ESSAY VI.
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
day. In the absence of literature, Roman 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 Roman 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 preetor’s adjudicating power. By degrees
the decisions of the pretors in regard to the hitherto over-
exclusive Jaws 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
ta 7
STOICISM AND ROMAN LAW. 507
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. Ὁ.
Mutius Sczevola (as well as Ὁ. Atlius Tubero) appears to have
been among the hearers of Panztius. C. Aquilius Gallus
and Lucilius Balbus, distinguished jurisconsults of the time
of Cicero, studied again under Sceevola; and Balbus, who in
Cicero’s De Naturé Deorum is made the expositor of the
Stoical view, was teacher of Servius Sulpicius. Equity
attained 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
and rule of right were not to be sought in the laws of the
Twelve Tables, but in the depths of the human ® 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 formula; 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 primarily
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 develop
this and other ideas which Stoicism forcibly enunciated.
* Mr. Merivale’s His‘ory of the Romans under the Empire, vol. ii. p. 528,
908 ESSAY VI.
In the growth, then, of the Roman ‘ Jus Gentium,’ 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 Stoi-
cism, but of a generally enlightened practical philosophy,
in which Stoicism was not more than an important element.
But besides the material alterations which occurred in the
spirit of the Roman laws, besides the era of the Jus Pre-
torium, 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 that came
into play in the absence of any absolutely determining causes.
These two principles of action might be said to be diametri-
cally 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 writings
of Zeno and Chrysippus on the ‘ universal state’ are lost, so
we know not its details as conceived by them, but we may be
sure that if Stoicism had had the framing of the laws for the
Roman 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, was 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. ‘Gaius, Ulpian,
Papinian, and Paulus, appear very timid by the side of
STOICISM AND ROMAN LAw. 809
Seneca and Epictetus.% 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 Roman law
to the introduction of an idea of form, to the endeavour to
bring the actual under the scope of certain abstract formule.
We must not expect to find the logical and systematic
development of these formulz, but rather we must recognise
a frequent antithesis between abstract principles and the
details to which 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 Grotius
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
% M. Denis, Histoire des Théories et des Idées Morales dans l Antiquité,
vol. ii. p. 215. Paris, 1856.
VOL. I. BB
370 ESSAY VI.
any reality or value as separate from, or opposed to, utility
and experience, is a matter of keen debate amongst philo-
sophical 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.
Whatever fragments of Stoicism were preserved in the
Roman law descended, no doubt, as a contribution not only
to modern law, but also to modern morals. In other channels
the direct connection 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
immediate school. But in acknowledging the influence of
ancient civilisation 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, from a Semitic point of view, against
the Grecian and the philosophical 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 will; how it developed the —
thought of duty and the responsibility of the individual;
᾿ ilew, deserting τς restrictions of national atic, 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 wants of a spiritual religion. Running
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.
BB2
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ESSAY VII.
On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern
Systems.
T was not by means of his Ethical Treatise that Aristotle
obtained his great and lasting influence over the mind of
Europe. We have seen how, almost immediately after the
death of Aristotle, Ethics in Greece were constructed afresh—
from a Greek point of view by Epicurus, and in a Semitic
spirit by Zeno and the Stoics. Henceforth the Platonico-
Aristotelian moral system may be said to have been super-
seded. Systems less philosophical and artistic, but which
responded more directly to the wants of the individual soul,
now occupied the attention of antiquity. When we come to
Cicero, who may be regarded as a fair representation of the
philosophical culture of the first century B.Cc., we find that he
knows nothing about Aristotle's Hthics, while he is deeply
imbued by many of the Stoical writings. Afterwards the
tribe of professional Sophists increased and multiplied, so
that Lucian said that ‘it would be easier to fall into a ship
without touching timber, than to go into any town without
encountering a Sophist.’ ‘These persons—who were different
in many ways from their predecessors of the fifth century B.c.,
and of whom Dion Chrysostomus was one of the highest
specimens—were like modern popular preachers, and’ often
THE STUDY OF ARISTOTLE IN THE MIDDLE AGES. 373
itinerant, like the mendicant orders of friars. They mixed
up the sometimes incompatible theories of Plato, Aristotle,
Zeno, and Epicurus, and compounded out of them a moral
doctrine for the people. In the meanwhile philosophy
proper (as it then existed), under the forms of Stoicism or
Neo-Platonism, was always becoming more and more theolo-
gical; and ascientific, but limited, system of ethics, like that
of Aristotle, which treated Man as the happy citizen of a
Greek republic, and which excluded all metaphysical and
theological considerations, can have had no attractions for
even thoughtful minds under the Roman Empire. ‘Then
came the inundation of Barbarians, with whose uncultivated _
and instinctive natures a wise and refined philosophy had
nothing in common. The tale of Christianity appealed to
their child-like imaginations, and its simple morals to their
unsophisticated hearts, and throughout the Middle Ages a
religion inspired with a divine spirit, but whose outward
materials consisted of a mixture of Jewish with Greco-Latin
traditions, reigned supreme over men’s minds. Happiness,
which the philosophers had sought to find in this world in
the practice of virtue, was postponed to a life to come, and
Pain became the ideal of man upon earth. But as this ideal
was insufficient for the conduct of society, primitive Christi-
anity appropriated to itself the fragments of ancient wisdom
which had survived the shipwreck, and the teaching of the
Gospel spread them abroad.’' Thus Aristotle, too, was
saved from oblivion. Owing, probably, to the labours of
Andronicus, his works as a collective whole were still in exist-
ence. At first excommunicated as ‘atheistical’ and kept
aloof by the Church, he was afterwards received and adopted
for the sake of his method, and then almost incorporated with
' L’Année Philosophique ; études | générales, par M. Ἐν, Pillon (Paris,
critiques sur le mouvement des idées 1868), p. 145.
ΤῸΝ ἣν τ a > en
τον Η
374 ESSAY VII.
Christianity. His Greek and philosophical point of view was
utterly ignored, but his words were used to set forth the
ideas of ecclesiastics and schoolmen, and his peculiar for-
mulz—logical, metaphysical, and ethical—became stamped
to a remarkable extent upon the language of the world. But
it must not be supposed that Aristotle, even in any sense,
was read and known throughout the Middle Ages. For some
centuries it appears that only the Categories and the treatise
On Interpretation (neither of them, probably, a genuine work
of Aristotle) were studied by the schoolmen, and these only
in the Latin translations of Boéthius; and yet these two
treatises were the sole armoury from which the Nominalists
had to fight the Realists.
(1120-1198 A.D.) introduced a richer knowledge of Aristotle,
Afterwards the Arabian Averroes
through Spain, into Europe; and then, after the Crusades
(1270), western Christendom obtained translations of all
the works of Aristotle,? partly from Arabian copies in
Spain, partly from Greek originals which the Crusaders
brought with them from Constantinople, or other Greek
The first of the works translated at this time into
Latin by a western writer seems to have been the Hthics—
cities.
translated by Hermannus Alemannus at Toledo, in Spain.
Afterwards the Ethics were commented on by St. Thomas
Aquinas, and with this commentary Dante appears to have
* In the years 1260-70, Thomas
Aquinas prepared, through the instru-
mentality of the monk Wilhelm of
Moerbecke, his new Latin translation
of the works of Aristotle after Greek
originals. This goes by the name of
the Vetus Trans/latio, and its verbal
aceuracy is considered to place it on
a level with the best MSS. (Stahr, in
Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman
Biog.). The Vetus Translatio is full |
of a strange Latinity, which arises
out of a transliteration, often incor-
rectly made, of Greek words into the
Roman character. Thus we find
‘chaymus’ as the translation of
χαῦνος, ‘epyichia’ of ἐπιείκεια, “ mi-
chrochindinus’ of μικροκίνδυνος, &e.
And medizvalisms occur occasionally,
such as the word ‘costa’ fora side,
instead of ‘latus.’
ποτ τος ἀκ ταν ΘΟ eS aes irvine é Ω eh le cai Po ql pol ns es
von ν᾽ un » 1 υ Γ 4 Us μά ae ect? ar
: iiss 3 - ὦ pe hans
THE STUDY OF ARISTOTLE IN THE MIDDLE AGES. 375
been acquainted. If one turns it over, one is struck by the
straightforward manner in which it is composed ; its only
object seems to be to convey exactly what Aristotle said,
especially by the enucleation of his arguments. Occasionally,
however, it introduces a word or two for the sake of recon-
ciling Aristotle with the doctrine of the Church. For
instance, when Aristotle says (Hth. 1. x. 2) that ‘it is absurd
to speak of a man being happy after he is dead,’ Aquinas
observes, ‘ Est notandum, quod Philosophus non loquitur hic
de felicitate futurze vite, sed de felicitate prasentis vite,
utrum attribui possit homini dum vivit vel solum in morte.’
And when Aristotle denies (Hth. x. viii. 7) that moral virtue
can be attributed to the gods, Aquinas explains ‘ Diis, id
est substantiis separatis—substantiis superioribus,’ thus soft-
ening Greek polytheism into the doctrine of Angels. But
there can be no doubt that to some extent Aristotle exercised
a secularising and pagan influence upon the churchmen who
studied him so laboriously. He was now recognised as the
great Encyclopzedist, as the ‘ Master of those that know,’ as
the strongest of the ancients, to whom Socrates and Plato
and the rest must look up. For such a position Aristotle had
unconsciously laid himself out by setting himself ‘ to philoso-
phise upon every department of knowledge, and not to regard
mere practical utility, but as far as possible to leave nothing
unexplored.’ And yet ‘could he have reappeared among
later generations, he would have been the first to repudiate
the servility of his followers, the first to point out the
inanity of Scholasticism.’® He would have justly complained
3 Dante, Inferno, Canto iv, 131. Quivi vid’ io e Socrate e Platone,
Che innanzi agli altri pit presso gli
‘ Vidi il Maestro di color che sanno, stanno.’
Seder tra filosofica famiglia. 4 See above, page 183, note.
Tutti lo miran, tutti onor gli fanno; Ὁ Lewes, Aris/otle, p. 382.
376 ESSAY VII.
of the prolonged monopoly of study and the undue predomi-
nance given to his Logical treatises, which he had intended
to be mere prolegomena to the great body of knowledge. He
would have complained that so much which he had left un-
finished and arrested by his death, should be regarded as
complete and final, to the repression of all further inquiry.
When the revival of learning came, he ‘ would have been the
first to welcome and extend the new discoveries, and to have
sided with Galileo and Bacon against the Aristotelians.’ ὃ
The thics of Aristotle do not appear at any period of
the Middle Ages to have held a foremost place in the con-
sideration of men; with this treatise Aristotle was not pri-
marily identified, either for praise or blame. And thus the
reaction made by Ramus and others against the garbled
philosophy of the Aristotelians was an attack against their
method in physics, and not against their ethical doctrines.
Patricius, writing in 1580 A.D., gives a list of the works of
Aristotle lectured on in the Italian schools.’ In this list
neither the Hthics nor Politics are included. The works
enumerated as constituting a four years’ curriculum of
study are the Predicables (by Porphyry), the Categories, On
Interpretation, a few chapters of the Prior and Posterior
Analytics, 4 books of the Physical Discourse, 2 books of
the treatise On the Heaven, 2 of that On Generation and
Corruption, the whole of the work On the Soul, and the 4
most important books of Metaphysics. Patricius speaks of
this as if it had been a curriculum intended for medical
students, to qualify them for their profession as soon as
possible. If so, it is curious that the treatise On the Parts
of Animals and that On the Generation of Animals should
6 Lewes, Aristotle, p. 382.
7 Discussiones Peripatetice, Tom, 1. lib. xiii. p. 173.
AFTER THE REFORMATION. 377
not have been studied. Rather, this looks like a scheme
for general liberal education, and what we have to
notice is, that the Ethics should not have been admitted
into it.
The Renaissance and the Reformation gave rise to a
fresh start in philosophy, which commenced anew in Des-
cartes and Bacon, with two divergent but highly fruitful and
important tendencies. Ethics also were opened afresh, quite
independently of ancient systems, but still bearing traces
of the ten centuries of Theology which had brooded over
Europe. Two great conceptions, both of them Semitic in
character, Theology had bequeathed to Ethics—the con-
ceptions, namely, of the will of God and of the will of Man.
And the first speculative ethical systems of modern times, as
conceived by Spinoza and Leibnitz, essayed to fix the rela-
tion to each other of these two conceptions by the attain-
ment of a higher point of view from which they might be
reconciled. The question of Free-will and Necessity was now
the natural ἀρχή for Ethical science. And this consideration
alone would be enough to show how much Aristotle’s system
had been left behind, how little it would suffice to meet the
exigencies of modern thought. Neither to the Theological
question, How is the freedom of the will compatible with
the omnipotence of God ? nor to the Metaphysical question,
How is the independence of the will reconcilable with the
unalterable sequence of cause and effect in nature? do
Aristotle’s Ethics attempt any answer. It is not merely that
the treatise takes a ‘ political’ point of view, and defers all
metaphysical and theological questions. Aristotle argues
against the Platonic view that vice, being ignorance, is in-
voluntary. But he does so (Hth. m1. v. 22-6) on the assump-
tion that virtue is voluntary, and with the practical postulate
that man is the originator of his own actions. ‘The real
378 ESSAY VII.
thing is, that the question of Free-will and Necessity, as
it came up in modern times, had not forced itself upon
Aristotle.
A second question, which differentiates modern systems
from the Lthics of Aristotle, is the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries’ question of the ground of action, Why
am I obliged to do this rather than that? To which in
England there came various answers from Hobbes, Cudworth,
Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Butler, Mandeville, Adam Smith,
Hume, and Paley ; some of whom placed the ground of action
in enlightened selfishness, or utility, with or without religious
sanctions added, and others in an authoritative internal prin-
ciple, the dictates of conscience, or an intuitive moral sense ;
while Kant, afterwards taking up the question, rejected, as
unworthy, all external motives and inducements to right
action, and endeavoured to reduce all to the idea of duty, as
an ὦ priort law of the will. On this point the utterances
of Aristotle were simpler than those of the modern writers
above mentioned. He took a broad view of man, as a
creature in the Universe, and asked what is the chief good
for man, and how is it attainable? And he answered that the
chief good consists in the sense of vital action in accordance
with the law of man’s being (ἐνέργεια ψυχῆς κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν
ἀρετήν) ; that this is only permanently attainable by the for-
mation of habits; and that habits, or formed states, arise out
of acts. On the inducements to particular acts he speaks
only incidentally. He says (Mth. m1. 1. 11) that the beauty
of an act may put us under a sort of compulsion to do it;
that we have an intuitive sense of moral beauty (αἰσθητικὴ
μεσότης, see above, Ῥ. 257); that we have a general wish for
the good (Eth. m1. iv. 4) which furnishes the idea of the end
to be aimed at in action, and that it is only a very foolish
person (κομιδῇ ἀναισθήτου, Eth. 11. v.12) who does not take
=
ts
ΝΠ ΣΎ ne ier ee i. eX, ener
ΔΎ . -ς = ἝΞ arate -- oo i ist’:
> - » ᾿ ΝΜ
THE ETHICS OF MODERN EUROPE. 379
the right means to this, or who forgets that a single bad act
tends to the formation of a bad habit. All this absorbs the
Right in the Beautiful and the Good, and refers everything
in life to the law of man’s being; it is a great and simple
theory. Yet still the conception of the Right is deeper than
that of the Beautiful and the Good. It springs perhaps
from a Semitic source, and with its cognate conceptions of
Duty and Obligation, it predominates over the ethical systems
of modern times, which are thus strongly distinguished in
character from a Greek system of the fourth century B.c.
The Ethics of modern Europe are far more psychological
than those of Aristotle. They start with the possession of a
mass of long-inherited distinctions, the foundations of some of
which had been laid by Aristotle. He it was who, following
out the suggestions of Plato, gave the first impulse to
psychology by his division of the soul into rational, ir-
rational, or semi-rational (μετέχον λόγου) elements; by an-
other division of mental phenomena into δυνάμεις, πάθη, and
ἕξεις ; by the distinction of different forms of the voluntary
into βούλησις, βούλευσις, and προαίρεσις ; and by separating
the two spheres of the practical and the speculative reason.
But these various analyses of the mind were thrown out in a
somewhat cursory manner; they were not laid down as the
basis of ethical science, whereas a modern writer, like
Dugald Stewart—whose Philosophy of the Active and Moral
Powers of Man might be taken as the representative of a
large class of modern systems—considers the analysis of the
‘active propensities’ in men to be the ‘only way in which
the light of nature enables us to form any reasonable con-
clusions concerning the ends and destination of our being,
and the purposes for which we were sent into the world’
Dugald Stewart thus makes it the object of ethics to learn
the designs of God in placing man in the world—which is
389 ESSAY VII.
considerably different from Aristotle’s inquiry into the τέλος
for man (see above, page 223)—and he makes the means to
this to consist in a psychological classification of man’s
powers and propensities. Aristotle only goes so far in the same
direction as to say that the chief good for man must be found
in the employment of that faculty which is highest in man,
but it is hardly by psychology that he arrives at the conclu-
sion that Reason is the highest faculty in us. This is rather
a metaphysical datwnm—Reason being, according to Ari-
stotle’s general philosophy, ‘the only divine thing in the
world.’ For the rest, Aristotle does not obtain his lists of
the Virtues from a classification of man’s ‘appetites,’
‘desires,’ ‘ affections, and the like; he accepts ready-made
the cardinal and subordinate virtues recognised by Greek
society. And in the same way he accepts the idea of Friend-
ship, as current in his times, without basing it on any special
need or tendency to be found by a partition of the mind.
The most striking ethical term of modern days is the
term ‘Conscience.’ This term, which owed its first origin and
currency to the thoughts and expressions of the Stoics and
St. Paul, naturally assumed a great prominence and import-
ance in the history of the Church, especially owing to the
practice of the Confessional. Then arose the conflict of
different obligations with regard to the same act, and hence
‘cases of Conscience,’ and ‘ Casuistry,’ the science of dealing
with such cases. The Jesuits especially applied themselves
to this science; they compiled great systems of Casuistry
to meet every conceivable question as to moral, or rather
religious, obligation, and these systems for the time being
usurped the place of ethical science. Aristotle had no one
word to express what we mean by ‘Conscience ;’ his moral }
psychology had not advanced so far as this; the idea of the
‘relief of conscience’ by confession, or otherwise, being un-
THE MODERN IDEA OF “ CONSCIENCE.’ 381
Greek, would have been alien from his modes of thought. He
describes, indeed, in graphic terms the self-reproach and un-
happiness of a man who has yielded to temptation, and who
‘could have wished that those pleasures had not happened to
him’ (Hth. 1x. iv. 10), but this description is given in simple
and concrete form, and Aristotle does not make an abstraction
of the Conscience. His ἀπορίαν or difficult questions on
different points of morals have sometimes the appearance
of questions in Casuistry (cf. Eth. 1x. i.-iii.), but in
reality they stand on the same footing with ἀπορίαι in all
other sciences ; they are a mode of testing some general defi-
nition by bringing forward apparent exceptions to it; they
are merely an intellectual instrument for obtaining clearness
of conception.
Ethics in the modern world have tended, ever and anon,
more and more to free themselves from Theology. Of late,
not content with the analysis of man’s nature as it is, they
have entered upon the speculative question, How has man’s
moral nature come to be what it is? This is the inquiry of
certain Schools which commence by denying the reality of
any @ priori ideas in Morals or in any other subject. This
being assumed, a genesis for each moral idea must be sought
in experience ; it must be shown how mankind out of mere
animal instincts of self-preservation and desire for pleasure
slowly built up the ideas of Justice, Purity, Truth, Bene-
volence, Modesty, the Right, and all kindred notions. Many
of these ideas are, it is true, as old as the history of mankind,
and some philosophers go so far as to assert generally that
moral ideas admit of no advance. The late Mr. Buckle, who
took this view, gladly quotes* Sir James Mackintosh as
saying ‘ Morality admits of no discoveries. . . . More than
5. History of Civilisation in England, νοὶ. i, 180, note (ed. of 1868).
382 . ESSAY VII.
three thousand years have elapsed since the composition of
the Pentateuch ; and let any man, if he is able, tell me in
what important respect the rule of life has varied since that
distant period. Let the Institutes of Menu be explored with
the same view; we shall arrive at the same conclusion. The
fact is evident that no improvements have been made in
practical morality. The facts which lead to the formation of
moral rules are as accessible, and must be as obvious, to the
simplest barbarian as to the most enlightened philosopher.’
But these remarks involve a great exaggeration; instead of
its being true that ‘no improvements have been made in
practical morality,’ it is far rather ‘evident’ that morality
improves and must improve with the growth of knowledge
and other civilisation. To trace, as far as possible, the for-
mation and growth of moral ideas, is a most legitimate
inquiry. And contemporary writers, with the view of
throwing light on this subject, have brought together many
curious facts from the traditions of early society and from
the customs observed to exist among savage peoples who are
still in an infantile condition. Such investigations are an
endeavour to account for the actual ‘content’ of man’s moral
nature, to explain how the otherwise blank formule of morality
have come to be filled up in a particular way. It is another,
and still more speculative, endeavour to go on and ask, Whati
is the genesis of the moral faculties themselves? In answer
to this we have the famous ‘ Evolution theory’ of the present
day, which points to hereditary habits and tendencies in the
nervous and cerebral organisations of animals, and argues
that the moral nature of modern civilised man is but the
complex result of a long series of these hereditary transmis-
sions—the habit or tendency, so transmitted, having been in
each case the result of some experience of life. And thus, by
going back from the complex present to the simple past, we
THE ‘ EVOLUTION THEORY’ OF THE MORAL FACULTIES. 3883
arrive at the early ancestry of man’s moral nature in the
‘ Ascidians’ of Mr. Darwin, or in some portion of matter
possessing the power of contractility. In this speculation ce
west que le premier pas qui cotite. Man’s moral nature has
its basis in Reason, and if it can be conceived that Reason
has grown out of Matter, without having originally existed
in Matter or in relation to Matter, then Mr. Darwin’s theory
of the genesis of man’s moral nature may be received ;—
it is, in fact, nearly identical with that of Democritus,
Epicurus, and Lucretius in old times, though, up to a certain
point, better supported than theirs by observations and
analogies.
Aristotle’s Ethics, and indeed his philosophy in general,
are left far in the background by these recent systems. In
comparison with all modern scientific accounts of the deve-
lopment of this Earth and of Man, Aristotle’s views are of no
value. He repudiated the theory of Democritus, and believed
in the eternity of the world, the same as a whole, and pretty
much the same in its parts, during an infinite past. He
admitted a certain progress and development in human
societies, and even accepted a strange theory thrown out by
Plato (Laws, 677 A.) that the human race had periodically
been destroyed by floods, all but a few individuals, who had
in each case the task of beginning civilisation anew (see
above, page 289). But he considered that the possession of
Reason by the individuals who were left, would always insure
the fresh perfecting of art and science, for in Reason every-
thing is included. ΤῸ say that Reason could be developed
out of Matter, would have seemed to Aristotle a contradiction
in terms. Reason was with him the absolute antithesis to
Matter. He thought that in man the Reason was in no way
connected with his physical organisation—that it was ‘ some-
thing of the nature of God, which came into him from
384 ESSAY VII.
without.’ While admitting that Reason in the individual
is of the nature of a potentiality ever and anon evoked into
actuality, and then again subsiding (see above, page 251),
Reason in the Universe was figured by him as ἐνέργεια ἄνευ
δυνάμεως, as that which never is, nor ever could have been,
in abeyance. When all has been said and done by the great
physical investigators of the present day, they will still have
to settle with Aristotle this metaphysical question: Can
Reason be conceived as a mere result growing out of the
blind and accidental changes of Matter, or must Reason be
regarded as a pre-existing and absolutely necessary condition
to the historical development of the material and intellectual
world ?
There is one other phase of Modern Ethics which may be
mentioned in comparison, or rather contrast, with the system
of Aristotle—namely, the modes of thinking, now pretty
widely spread, which have arisen out of, or have an affinity
to, Comte’s Religion of Humanity. These modes of thought
have a negative side, being founded on atheism, and they
have also a constructive side, in so far as they endeavour to
supply other considerations which may fill up the vacuum
caused by the negation of God and of a future life. The
following sentences may serve to give a specimen of the
results arrived at: ‘ All moral action arises from the indi-
vidual’s acting in consonance with the idea of his kind. To
realise this, in the first place, and to bring himself as an
individual, into abiding concord with the idea and destiny of
mankind, is the essence of the duties which man owes to
himself. But in the second place, to practically recognise and
promote in all other individuals also this permanently en-
during kind, is the essence of our duties to others.’ “Obliga-
” De Gen, An. 11. 111. 10, quoted above, p. 297, note.
THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 385
tions of gratitude are specified to the Family, and then to the
State: ‘From the nation we have received our language and
the entire culture connected with language and literature ;
national habits are also the basis of family life; to the nation
we must be ready to consecrate our best energies—if need be,
our lives. But we must recognise our own nation to be but
one member of the body of humanity, of which we must not
wish any other member, any other nation, to be mutilated, or
stunted; as Humanity can only flourish as a whole in the
harmonious development of all her members; as again, her
stamp is to be recognised and respected in every single indi-
vidual, to whatever nation he may belong.’ ‘ Ever remember
that thou art human, not merely a natural production; ever
remember that all others are human also, and, with all indi-
vidual differences, the same as thou, having the same needs
and claims as thyself: this is the sum and substance of
morality.’ Then follow duties of man to Nature: ‘ Man is
labouring in his own special vocation, if not one of Nature’s
creatures appears to him too insignificant for the investiga-
tion of its structure and habits, but neither any star too
remote to be drawn within the sphere of his observation for
the calculation of its motions and its course.’ Finally man’s
duties to the brute creation are indicated. ‘He knows that .
the animal is as much a sentient being as himself.’ He will
spare the sufferings of animals, in their necessary deaths, as
much as possible and render their service as tolerable as
possible. ‘The manner in which a nation in the aggregate
treats animals is one chief measure of its real civilisation.’ 10
All this, and much more of the same kind, if we can forget
its negative and atheistical origin, and treat it merely
as a system of Ethics entirely divorced from Theology,
© Strauss. The Old Faith and the New (English translation, London, 1873),
Pp. 274 sqq-
VOL. I. CC
ee aa. ὖ
ea. Tae
986 ESSAY VII.
is in itself sufficiently noble. It inculcates the principles of
self-sacrifice, love of one’s neighbour, persistent effort for the
good of society, striving after knowledge of all kinds, ten-
derness to all, even to the dumb animals. The Comtist
morality, to a somewhat striking extent, resembles Budd-
hism, which also seems to have consisted in the union of
positivist views regarding God, with a tender sympathy for
mankind and the animals. But the resemblance is ac-
cidental, as there is no trace of Comte having copied the
doctrines of Buddha. On the other hand, the best features of
the Comtist morality cannot claim to be original. What is
there in the doctrine of our duties to ‘humanity,’ which can-
not be found first in Stoicism, and afterwards, in a simpler
and sweeter form, in Christianity itself? Aristotle's Ethics
therefore exhibit the same contrast to the morality of Comte
as they do to that of Stoicism or of the Gospel. First, in
the Grecian narrowness of their view, since the idea of
the brotherhood of mankind had not dawned on Aristotle ;
to him Greek and Barbarian, Bond and Free, were in perpe-
tual antithesis. Secondly, in their upholding the institution
of Slavery as a matter of theory. Practically, indeed,
Stoicism only served to mitigate, without abolishing, Slavery.
And Christianity had existed for more than eighteen cen-
turies in the world before any serious effort was made to
abolish the Slavery of inferior races. But this was ouly
a failure of carrying out the spirit and principles of
Stoicism and Christianity. On the other hand, Aristotle
supported the institution of Slavery in deliberate theory.
Some thinkers of his age had considered slavery to be a mere
institution of custom (νόμῳ), and unjust and unnatural,
because based on no difference of nature between the master
and the slave.!! But Aristotle maintained on the contrary
N Politics, 1. iii. 4.
THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 387
that part of mankind are by nature slaves, being only fitted
to be under control, not having a law of reason (λόγον) in
themselves, and only sharing in it, so far as to be able to
understand it when enunciated.'? And hence he deduced the
detestable doctrine that it is justifiable to make war for the
purpose of reducing to slavery those who, having been
by nature intended to be subject, refuse to be so.’ Domestic
slavery in Athens was probably mild, and the lot of an
Athenian slave may have been far better than that of many
a free labourer in modern times, But the question is one of
theory: Aristotle plainly denied the rights of humanity to
a slave. He said, ‘you cannot conceive a slave sharing in
Happiness, any more than in a career in the State’ (Eth. x.
vi. 8).
Perhaps enough has been said to indicate the differ-
ences of -point of view, which separate Aristotle from all
modern systems. One difference is that between the Hel-
lenic and the Semitic spirit; between a simple, joyous,
and artistic theory of life, which points out how the Beau-
tiful is attainable in action, and a Happiness ‘more than
mortal’ in philosophic contemplation—and a mode of
thought which removes Happiness to a region beyond the
grave, makes this life a mere means to the attainment of a
better life hereafter, and, so far as this world goes, raises
Self-abnegation and Pain into objects to be chosen for their
own sakes. Again, all the differences have to be taken into
account which divide a system only contemplating a small
Greek republic, and reflecting many of its peculiarities, from
the wider views and changed circumstances of the modern
world. The progress of Psychology and its abstractions,
deepened by religion and religious morality, is another
12 Pol. τ. ν. 9. ? 13 Pol. 1, viii, 12.
cc2
988 ESSAY VII.
matter in which Aristotle is left behind. The conception of
the development of the Earth and of Man to which Paleou-
tology and other sciences have given rise, is of purely modern
origin, and influences to some extent even the theory of
‘Morals. Lastly, the bold materialism of the last few years
offers conclusions utterly irreconcilable with the philosophy
of Aristotle.
Many of Aristotle’s peculiar terms and phrases still live
in ethical phraseology, having been perpetuated in modern
language by the schoolmen. But they have for the most
part lost their original philosophic import, and are used to
express ideas quite out of the Aristotelian context. ‘ Habits’
is no doubt only the Latinised form of ἕξεις, but the meaning
which attached to ἕξες does not remain pure in ‘ habit,’ which,
as it is generally used, rather implies ἔθος, i.e. that process
by which a ἕξις is formed. The ‘ passions’ with us, though
a translation of πάθη, do not quite correspond with them,
they more nearly answer to the ἐπιθυμίαι of Aristotle.
‘Motive’ is properly the ‘eflicient cause’ (ὅθεν ἡ κίνησι5),
but applying it to action we use it invariably for the ‘final
cause’ ( οὗ ἕνεκα) which was Aristotle’s term for the motive
of an action. ‘ Principle,’ as above mentioned (page 270),
corresponds with the ἀρχή of the practical syllogism, but
according to the Peripatetic system this major premiss con-
tained an idea of the good, while our ‘ principle’ is meant to
imply an idea of the right. ‘Energy,’ though identical in
form with ἐνέργεια, has quite lost all notion of a contrast
and correlation with δύναμις or potentiality, and implies
merely the existence of physical or moral force. In saying
‘extremes meet,’ we forget the philosophical antithesis
between the extremes and the mean, and all which that
‘ynean’ originally implied. In translating Aristotle’s ἠθικὴ
ἀρετή by the terms ‘ moral virtue’ we omit to notice how
ον
2
‘ ~*~
~ ey <
SURVIVAL OF ARISTOTELIAN TERMS. 889
much all these associations connected with the individual
will, which go to make up our conception of ‘moral,’ were
wanting in Aristotle’s ἠθικὴ ἀρετή, 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 substitute a
religious for a philosophical association. The above-men-
tioned 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 deri-
vative character present, for the most part, two character-
istics, 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 sur-
rounded 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 ἐνέργεια; ‘actuality’ and many other forms of
thought contain and reproduce all that was philosophical in
the original word. If ‘ habit’ is not exactly ἕξις, the ‘law of
habits’ is a received doctrine in all practical Ethics. And so
in a variety of ways Aristotle has influenced modern forms of
expression.
But in the matter of morals the world has clearly out-
grown the Pthics of Aristotle. And so, in a utilitarian age,
the question may be raised, Why, then, should this treatise
be any longer studied? To this, perhaps, dozens of answers
might be offered, but we may content ourselves with a few.
It might suffice to say in the words of a recent writer,
‘nothing which has ever interested living men and women
can wholly lose its vitality—no language they have spoken,
390 ESSAY VII.
no oracle by which they have hushed their voices, no dream
which has once been entertained by actual human minds,
nothing about which they have ever been passionate, or ex-
pended time and zeal.’'4 But if this answer be deemed
inadequate by the utilitarian, then let him believe that the
study of Aristotle is an essential part of high cultivation.
If cultivation consists primarily in an acquaintance with the
thoughts and words of the greatest writers of the world,
Aristotle undoubtedly is one of those greatest writers. Again,
cultivation consists in a knowledge of the past, for without
this knowledge we cannot understand the present. And in
tracing the progress of the thought of Europe a knowledge
of Aristotle is an essential ingredient. As a training for
youthful minds the LHthics, Politics, Rhetoric, and Art of
Poetry of Aristotle are found by experience to have a peculiar
value. The rich knowledge of life and human nature (the
same in all ages) which they contain, their method of ex-
haustive classification, and their manly handling of all
questions which arise, render these works a suitable prope-
deutic for many careers in life. And the late Dr. Arnold of
Rugby 15 used to set especial store on these studies as a main
part of the curriculum of the University of Oxford. But
again, if, apart from general education, a man would wish to
form himself to be a philosopher, he can hardly dispense with
a knowledge of the ancient systems, of which Aristotle is the
culmination—the want of this knowledge is a deficiency and
the source of a certain weakness in some of the most eminent
English philosophers of the present day. Finally, it may cer-
tainly be good for us all, as a supplement to, and sometimes
as a corrective of, our ordinary modes of thought, to imbibe a
‘" Studies in the History of the 15. The Life and Correspondence of
Renaissance, by W. H. Pater, &c. Thomas Arnold, D.D., by Dean Stan-
(London, 1873), p. 38. ley, vol. ii. letter 274.
WHY SHOULD THE ‘ ETHICS’ BE STUDIED ? 891
portion of the Hellenic spirit and to endeavour to infuse it
into our daily life. And there are three great ideas, all too
much neglected by the modern world, which we may learn
from the Hthics of Aristotle to restore to their proper im-
portance ; and these are—the Beauty attainable in action,
the high pleasure attainable in Philosophy, and the value
and grandeur of a noble Friendship.
APPENDIX A.
-----οεο-.--.--
On the Ethical Method of Aristotle.
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 despatched 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 beaiing 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 sentence, 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 this 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 (Hth. I. iii. 1-4), he cautions his readers against
expecting too much ἀκρίβεια in the present science. This
term ἀκρίβεια (see the notes on Hth. 1. vii. 18) seems to
imply both mathematical exactness, and also metaphysical
subtlety. The Ethical treatise of Spinoza might be said to
ON THE ETHICAL METHOD OF ARISTOTLE. 393
exhibit ἀκρίβεια in both senses of the word, on account of
its demonstrative statement, combined with its metaphysical
character of thought. Kant’s system, without aiming at a
mathematical method, might be called ἀκριβής, on account of
its speculative depth of view. The question then is, of how
much ἀκρίβεια is this ‘branch of Politics’ (πολιτική Tes)
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 ἃ 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, recognises 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 topie (Hth. 1. 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 relativély. Perhaps
we—i.e. as ethical philosophers—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
994 “APPENDIX A.
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 words: (1) In
saying, ‘perhaps then we must begin with what we know,’
there is a sort of 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 (τὸ ἁπλῶς
γνώριμον) forming part of the intuitions and experience of
the individual. (2) There appears to be a play on the word
ἀρχή ; for 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
ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῶν. Or it may mean that ‘the fact is a beginning or
starting-point for discussion.’ In this latter case the word
ἀρχή 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 EKthics
must be inductive rather than deductive, and must commence
with experience of particulars rather than with the intuitions
of the universal.
The third digression on the same subject occurs Hth. 1. 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 ἀρχή 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 ἀκρίβεια 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
Re
ON THE ETHICAL METHOD OF ARISTOTLE. 895
a general conception of the chief good, which is to be
applied and developed. —
Elsewhere in the Ethics Aristotle appears puzzled how to
deal with the casuistry of his subject. He says (th. τι. 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. 11. 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 Vthics exhibit a perfect specimen of
the analytic method. But this is not the entire case. The
discussions are very frequently of an analytic character,
different parts and elements of human life are treated sepa-
rately, and indeed are not sufficiently considered in their
mutual relationship. And in subordinate questions the
strength of his analytic investigation is manifest. Take, for
instance, his treatment of Friendship—by analysing τὸ
φιλητὸν into the good, the pleasant, and the useful, he at
once obtains an insight into the whole subject. But the
leading principles of his ethical science are ποῦ obtained by
this sort of analysis, there is not by any means a procedure ἐπ᾽
ἀρχάς. Aristotle’s bias of mind was only on one side analy-
tical, he was on the other side speculative and synthetical,
and viewed all the world as reduced to unity under certain
396 APPENDIX A.
forms of thought, and, as we have said before, every philo-
sopher’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 ὦ priori conceptions, End,
Form, and Actuality. We are enabled to some extent to
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 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 ἀπορίαι,
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, the
maintenance of this constant reconciliation with experience
and with popular points of view is characteristic of Aristotle’s
method. 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 weakness. 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 philo-
sophy. Bacon accuses him of being ‘a dogmatic,’ and of
ON THE ETHICAL METHOD OF ARISTOTLE. 397
resembling the Ottoman princes who killed all their brethren
before they could reign themselves. This accusation is an
exaggerated and somewhat invidious way of stating the real
case. Aristotle is ‘a dogmatic,’ inasmuch as his philosophy is
γνωριστικὴ οὐ πειραστική, conclusive, and not merely starting
the questions; and in the same sense almost every philo-
sopher, who writes, is ‘dogmatic,’ for he would not write at all
unless he thought that he had got a better system than any
before him. Aristotle shows the relationship of all previous
philosophies and contemporary opinions to his own system,
by which he does not so much ‘ kill his brethren ’ as demon-
strate that they are evidently ‘ younger brethren,’ leaving his
own right to the throne indefeasible. His relations, indeed,
to Plato, in this respect are not entirely satisfactory; he
never seems conscious of the enormity of his debt to Plato,
and how much all the matter of his philosophy, as distin-
guished from a more precise and scientific-mode of statement,
had been suggested to him by the works of Plato. But if
in the term ‘ dogmatist ’ arrogance or assumption is implied,
this would not be true either of Aristotle’s 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 3S.
On the “EZ QTEPIKOIL AOFOT.
N six places of the undoubted writings of Aristotle, and in
three passages of the Hthics of Hudemus, reference is
made to ‘ Exoteric discourses, or ‘arguments’ (ἐξωτερικοὶ
λόγοι). Ever since the revival of letters this phrase has at-
tracted a wonderful amount of notice, and a whole literature
of works has been composed in support of the different
meanings which have been attributed to it. This literature
begins perhaps with Octavianus Ferrarius (1575),! and, after
receiving contributions from all the great modern authorities
on Greek philosophy, it ends with the names of Bernays,?
Spengel,? and Grote.‘ We must endeavour now to give
some results of this controversy, in which, however, no
important question has ever been involved; except so far
as everything connected with Aristotle, and his mode of
writing, is interesting and important.
Before the period when the Aristotelian MSS. were
brought to Rome and edited by Andronicus, we know that
1 Octaviani Ferrarii Hieronymi F. | threm Verhiiltniss zu seinen iibrigen
Mediolanensis De Sermonibus Exote- | Werken (Berlin, 1863).
ricis Liber,ad Bartho'emeum Capram 3 Aristolelische Studien, 1. p. 13
Joannis F. Jurisconsultum. Venetiis | (Munich, 1864).
MDLXXxv. apud Aldum. 4. Aristotle, vol. i. pp. 63 sqq. (Lon-
2 Die Dialoge des Aristoteles in | don, 1872).
ON THE ἘΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟΙ ΛΌΓΟ. 399
many Dialogues, ascribed to Aristotle as their author, had
been spread over the world and much read and admired, even
to the exclusion *® sometimes of any knowledge of the more
important treatises which we look upon as the works of
Aristotle. When these latter works had been collectively
edited, they were contrasted by the ancients with the lighter
works in dialogic form which had before been known. And
thus Cicero tells us, probably on information received by
him from the learned Tyrannion (De Finibus, v. 5, 12), that
‘On the summum bonim (Aristotle and Theophrastus) had
two classes of books, one in popular style, which they
called “exoteric,” the other written in a more exact manner,
which they left behind in their commentaries (or note-
books),’ and that this difference in the style of treatment gave
rise to an appearance of inconsistency of view, which, how-
ever, was not real. This, then, was the state of things in
the time of Cicero—that the Dialogues attributed to Ari-
stotle were considered genuine, and spoken of as ‘ exoteric’
writings. The Greek Commentators treated them in the
same way, but there is no evidence that these dialogues were
identified by the ancients with those particular references, in
which Aristotle appeals to the ‘ exoteric discourses.’
The writers of the later empire, who were accustomed to
the idea of mystical and hierophantic teachings, as professed
by the neo-Platonic and neo-Pythagorean sects, got hold of
this word ‘exoteric, and out of it created the fable that
Aristotle had a double doctrine, the one form of it ‘ esoteric,’
secret, and confined to an intimate circle of initiated scholars,
5 See above, page 8. commentariis reliquerunt, non semper
8. «De summo autem bono quia duo | idem dicere videntur, nec in summa
genera librorum sunt, unum popula- | tamen ips4 aut varietas est ulla apud
riter scriptum, quod ἐξωτερικόν ap- | hos quidem, quos nominavi, aut inter
pellabant, alterum limatius, quod in | ipsos dissensio,’
400 APPENDIX Β.
the other ‘ exoteric,’ containing only superficial truth with
which the profane vulgar might be put off and satisfied. In
accordance with this notion, Aulus Gellius (xx. 4) gives the
apocryphal story that Alexander the Great, having heard that
the Acroatic (i.e. abstruse and intimate) discourses had been
published, wrote from the East to complain of what had been
done, ‘since he should now have no superiority over the
common herd,’ and that Aristotle replied that ‘ the treatises,
though published, were not published, for nobody would
understand them.’ Such a statement does not require refu-
tation. After the Renaissance, when the works of Aristotle
in their original form were widely studied, all the nonsense
about his double doctrine was at once dissipated; and the
simple, plain-sailing character of his philosophy was admitted
on all hands. The only question then which remained was,
whether on the few occasions when Aristotle mentions
‘exoteric discourses, he means to refer to his own more
popular writings, or to something else. About the meaning
of the term ‘exoteric’ itself, as used by Aristotle, there is
no divergence of opinion. ‘ Exoteric’ is not to be taken
as opposed to ‘esoteric’ or secret, but the ἐξωτερικὸς
λόγος is the external, non-philosophical, non-scientific treat-
ment of a subject, opposed to the οἰκεῖος Adyos, or internal,
appropriate, and scientific treatment of it. Such being the
case, whenever Aristotle says, ‘Enough is said on such or
such a point, even in the exoteric discourses,’ the only doubt
is whether he means to refer to those works of his own in
which he had treated of philosophical questions after a not
strictly scientific method, or to the ordinary debates and dis-
cussions on such subjects, rife enough in Athenian society,
but of course unscientifically conducted. The latter is the
view of Madvig, Zeller, and Spengel, and Grote’s opinion
ON THE ἘΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟῚ ΛΌΓΟΙ.
401
would seem to be in the same direction.’ Bernays, on the
other hand, argues that the points which Aristotle refers to
as having been debated and settled in exoteric discourses
were too abstruse and subtle to have been handled ‘in the
salons and coffee-houses (or what corresponded thereto) of
Athens.’
whenever Aristotle mentions ‘the exoteric discourses’ he is
In an elaborate monograph he essays to prove that
alluding to some passage in his own, now lost, Dialogues,
The attempt, however, is infelicitous, and the result un-
convincing. Three passages in which the ἐξωτερικοὶ
λόγοι are mentioned, but which make against Bernays,
he ignores, or but slightly mentions.
The first of these
occurs in the Physical Discowrse, Iv. x.1; the other two
in the Eudemian Ethics.
Spengel very properly observes
that any discussion on the nature of the ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι
should start from an examination of the passage in the
τ Grote identifies ‘ exoteric’ with the
‘ dialectical’ treatment of a subject,
and says: ‘Properly speaking, the
“ exoteric” does not designate, or
even imply, any positive doctrine at
all. It denotes a many-sided contro-
versial debate, in which numerous
points are canvassed and few settled ;
the express purpose being to bring
into full daylight the perplexing as-
pects of each. There are a few ex-
ceptional eases in which “ exoteric
discourse ” will of itself have thrown
up a tolerably trustworthy result ,
these few Aristotle occasionally singles
out and appeals to.’ This judgment,
however, is unsatisfactory, and does
not settle the question, ‘ Exoteric
discourses’ were doubtless ‘ dialec-
tical’ and not demonstrative, but this
might apply equally to Aristotle's
VOL. I.
Dialogues, or to the discussions of
cultivated cireles,
5. Bernays shakes the confidence
one might otherwise feel in him as a
scholar, by an unfortunate slip in
page 135 of his work, h ere he says,
‘Nach Diogenes Laertius 5, 19, soll
Aristoteles an Platon einen “ Vor-
sprung des Naturells (προτέρημα
φύσεω5) ” anerkannt haben.’ Whereas
what Laertius really said was, that
‘ Plato defined Beauty as “a natural
superiority.” The sentence occurs
in a list of Aristoteliana: Τὸ κάλλος
παντὸς ἔλεγεν ἐπιστολίου συστατι-
κώτερον. Οἱ δὲ τοῦτο μὲν Διογένη
φασὶν ὁρίσασθαι" αὐτὸν δέ, δῶρον εἰπεῖν
εὐμορφίας " Σωκράτη δέ, ὀλιγοχρόνιον
τυραννίδα" Πλάτωνα, προτέρημα
φύσεως' κιτ.λ,
DD
402 APPENDIX B.
Physical Discourse of Aristotle, which actually gives speci-
mens of them. The question is as to the nature of Time, on
which Aristotle says καλῶς ἔχει διαπορῆσαι περὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ διὰ
τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν λόγων πότερον τῶν ὄντων ἐστὶν ἢ τῶν μὴ
ὄντων, εἶτα τίς ἡ φύσις αὐτοῦ, and then follows a string of
these ‘exoteric arguments,’ which are dialectical reasons for
doubting whether Time can be said to exist, and dialectical
difficulties as to its attributes. There seems no reason for
holding, with Bernays, that such arguments were too abstruse
for discussion in educated society, outside the philosophic
The whole of the Yopics of Aristotle,
not to mention the Dialogues of Plato (which are obviously
schools, in Athens.
meant to have a dramatic truth), are against Bernays upon
this point. And, at all events, it is impossible that Aristotle
by the term ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι, in the passage now quoted,
can have been referring to his own Dialogues.
Again, in the Hthics of Hudemus (1. viii. 4) we find it
said of Plato’s doctrine of Ideas, that the subject belongs to
another department, and is too subtle for discussion in an
ethical treatise; that the writer (if he must briefly indicate
his opinion) considers the Ideas to be vain abstractions ;
and that ‘the question has already received manifold consi-
deration both in exoteric and in philosophical discussions.’ 9
Here there is evidently no reference to the Dialogues of Ari-
stotle.
did,!° two classes of opinions and arguments on any subject—
Eudemus is only mentioning, as Aristotle so often
9 Εἰ δὲ δεῖ συντόμως εἰπεῖν περὶ
αὐτῶν, λέγομεν ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν τὸ εἶναι
ἰδέαν μὴ μόνον ἀγαθοῦ ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλου
ὁτουοῦν λέγεται λογικῶς καὶ κενῶς"
ἐπέσκεπται δὲ πολλοῖς περὶ αὐτοῦ
τρόποις καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις
καὶ ἐν τοῖς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν.
10 Cf, Pol, 11. xii. 1. δοκεῖ δὲ πᾶσιν
ἴσον τι τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι καὶ μέχρι γέ
τινος ὁμολογοῦσι τοῖς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν
λόγοις, ἐν οἷς διώρισται περὶ τῶν ἠθικῶν,
‘people in general (=of ἐξωτ. Ady.)
agree with the philosophical theories
of ethics.’ Eth, τ. viii. 1.
δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς οὐ μόνον ἐκ τοῦ συμπερά-
Σκεπτέον
σματος καὶ ἐξ ὧν ὁ λόγος (--ἐκ τῶν.
κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν) ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκ τῶν
λεγομένων περὶ αὐτῆς, &e.
= oe
᾿ἘΕΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟῚ ΛΟΓΟΙ. 403
the popular and the philosophical. A few pages later in the
same work (Eth. Hud. τι. i. 1), we find the old and common
division of goods, into ‘ external goods and goods in a soul,’
mentioned in the following terms, Πάντα δὴ τἀγαθὰ ἢ ἐκτὸς
ἢ ἐν ψυχῇ, καὶ τούτων αἱρετώτερα τὰ ἐν TH ψυχῇ, καθάπερ
διαιρούμεθα καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις" φρόνησις γὰρ καὶ
ἀρετὴ καὶ ἡδονὴ ἐν ψυχῇ, ὧν ἔνια ἢ πάντα τέλος εἶναι δοκεῖ
πᾶσιν. Eudemus says that we make this distinction ‘even
when speaking popularly,’ ‘for all men consider either
Thus
the opinions '' of ‘all men’ are identified with the ἐξωτερικοὶ
thought, virtue, or pleasure, to be an end-in-itself.’
λόγοι.
In the fifth book of his treatise (Hth. Nic. νι. iv. 2)
Eudemus makes a similar appeal to the distinctions esta-
blished, apart from philosophy, in popular opinion and
language, ἕτερον δ᾽ ἐστι ποίησις καὶ πρᾶξις" πιστεύομεν δὲ
καὶ τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις. Bernays, however, considers
that the distinction of ποίησις from πρᾶξις was too funda-
mental a doctrine in the Aristotelian system to be merely
taken for granted, or accepted as having been established
by the discussions of cultivated society. He therefore con-
jecturally infers that Aristotle must here be citing the
conclusions arrived at in his own dialogue Περὶ Ποιητῶν,
though none of the fragments of that dialogue, now existing,
in the least bear out this supposition. On the other hand,
it must be remembered (1) that in all probability Eudemus,
and not Aristotle, wrote this passage, (2) that Plato (in
Charmides, p. 163) describes an ‘ exoteric argument’ between
" Aristotle himself (Zt, 1. viii. 2)
mentions the distinction here referred
to, as one of the λεγόμενα on the
subject of Happiness. He says that
it is an old opinion, which has re-
ceived the approval of philosophers
(κατά ye ταύτην thy δόξαν παλαιὰν
οὖσαν καὶ ὁμολογουμένην ὑπὸ τῶν
φιλοσοφούντων). It is therefore out
of the question to suppose that
Eudemus should seek to derive it
from the Dialogues of Aristotle.
5} 2
404 APPENDIX B.
Critias and Socrates on the difference between ποίησις and
πρᾶξις. The distinction there given is imperfect, and is
meant as a caricature of the manner of Prodicus (see above,
p- 125), but still it shows that the question itself had been
mooted at a comparatively early period in Athenian talk.
And there is no reason for doubting that in the century (or
thereabouts) which intervened between Prodicus and Eu-
demus, the cleverness of the Sophists, and of the society in
which they moved, should have sufficed to settle so simple a
matter as the difference between ‘ making’ and ‘ acting.’
Returning now to the undoubted works of Aristotle, we
find in Metaphys. x11. i. 4, the sentence σκεπτέον πρῶτον μὲν
περὶ TOV μαθηματικῶν --ἔπειτα μετὰ ταῦτα χωρὶς περὶ TOV
ἰδεῶν ἁπλῶς καὶ ὅσον νόμου χάριν " τεθρύλληται γὰρ τὰ πολλὰ
καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν λόγων---᾿ We have first to consider
mathematical substances (their nature, &c.), and afterwards
we must enter into a separate consideration of the Ideas,
looking at them by themselves, and only so far as courtesy
demands (ὅσον νόμου χάριν), for most points regarding them
have been made common property even by the exoteric dis-
cussions upon them.’ The first thing that strikes us in this
passage is the parallel which it presents to the Hudemian
saying (Hth. Hud. 1. viii. 4), that ‘the doctrine of Ideas had
already received manifold consideration both in popular
and in philosophical reasonings.’ It is possible, indeed, that
Aristotle may in this place of the Metaphysics be referring to
those dialogues of his own in which, according to ancient
authority (see above, page 213, note), he was ‘always
declaring his inability to sympathise with the doctrine of
Ideas.’ But if he does so, he does it by implication, not
mentioning his own dialogues, but merely referring to the
general class of ‘exoteric discussions, in which his own
dialogues would be included. On the other hand, itis easy
ἘΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟΙ ΛΌΓΟΙ. 405
to believe that Aristotle’s early dissent from Plato’s doctrine
of Ideas gave rise to much talk in the intellectual circles of
Athens, and it is more consonant with the expressions used
that Aristotle is merely alluding to the results of that talk.
The next passage to be examined is Politics, mm. vi. 5,
᾿Αλλὰ μὴν Kal τῆς ἀρχῆς τοὺς λεγομένους τρόπους ῥάδιον
διελεῖν" καὶ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις διοριζόμεθα περὶ
αὐτῶν πολλάκις---- It is easy to classify the so-called forms
of government, for even in unscientific discussion we often
draw distinctions about them.’ Here we have the same
formula as in the Hudemian remark about the common divi-
sion of goods (καθάπερ διαιρούμεθα καὶ ἐν "τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς
λόγοις). The very term λεγομένους points to matter of
widely spread, ordinary, cognisance. Bernays, however,
rejecting this simple explanation, conjectures a reference to
the four dialogues, mentioned in the catalogue of Aristotle’s
writings, Πολιετικός, Περὶ Βασιλείας, epi ᾿Αποικιῶν, epi
Δικαιοσύνης, which all may have discoursed on the forms of
government. And this, he says, would justify the adverb
πολλάκις. It would not, however, justify the present tense
διοριζόμεθα, which, if taken as Bernays suggests, would imply
that Aristotle, when he wrote his Politics, was still going on
with dialogues and exoteric discourses. And this it is im-
possible to believe. If Aristotle ever wrote dialogues, he
wrote them in his youth, and had left them far behind him,
both in thought and manner, when he came to compose his
systematic philosophy. .
In Politics, vir. i. 2, it is said, Διὸ δεῖ πρῶτον ὁμολογεῖσθαι
tis ὁ πᾶσιν ὡς εἰπεῖν αἱρετώτατος- βίος " μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο, πότερον
-“ e aA
κοινῇ καὶ χωρὶς ὁ αὐτὸς ἢ ἕτερος. Νομισάντας οὖν ἰκανῶς πολλὰ
λέγεσθαι καὶ τῶν ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις περὶ τῆς ἀρίστης
ζωῆς καὶ νῦν χρηστέον αὐτοι----" Considering, then, that many
of the statements made on the subject of the Best Life even
400 APPENDIX B.
in not strictly philosophical discourses are adequate, we must
even now make use of them.’ ‘he expressions used in this
passage are different from those in any of the passages pre-
viously reviewed. The phrase, ‘we must even now make use
of them,’ is very striking. It looks as if Aristotle, for once
in a way, was condescending to avail himself of a portion of
one of his earlier writings. And this supposition is borne out
by the strange appearance of what follows. Bernays is quite
right in remarking that ‘one who has been long accustomed
to the severe atmosphere of Aristotle’s ordinary style, finds
himself greeted by a breath of unwonted mildness’ in the
paragraphs which immediately succeed that now quoted.!? A
fulness and even redundancy of expression, very unlike the
usual crabbed brevity of Aristotle, now shows itself. The
sentences are harmoniously rounded. <A hortatory and some-
what fervent tone is observable. The whole passage, down
to the end of the chapter, looks like the peroration of a dia-
logue, on a level—say with the Menexenus. The concluding
words, which would have been suitable to such a peroration,
look out of place in their present position in the Politics.
We are willing, then, to concede to Bernays, that in the first
chapter of the seventh book of the Politics we have not
only a reference to, but an actual excerpt from, one of the
2 The following quotations may
illustrate the style of this passage :—
Οὐδεὶς yap ἂν φαίη μακάριον τὸν μηθὲν
μόριον ἔχοντα ἀνδρίας μηδὲ σωφροσύνης
μηδὲ δικαιοσύνης μηδὲ φρονήσεως, ἀλλὰ
δεδιότα μὲν τὰς παραπετομένας μυίας,
ἀπεχόμενον δὲ μηθενός, ἂν ἐπιθυμήσῃ
τοῦ φαγεῖν ἢ πιεῖν, τῶν ἐσχάτων,
ἕνεκα δὲ τεταρτημορίου διαφθάροντα
τοὺς φιλτάτους φίλους, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ
τὰ περὶ τὴν διάνοιαν οὕτως ἄφρονα καὶ
διεψευσμένον ὥσπερ τι παιδίον ἢ μαινό-
μενον.---Ὅτι μὲν οὖν ἑκάστῳ τῆς εὐδαι-
μονίας ἐπιβάλλει τοσοῦτον ὕσον περ
ἀρετῆς καὶ φρονήσεως καὶ τοῦ πράττειν
κατὰ ταύτας, ἔστω συνωμολογημένον
ἡμῖν, μάρτυρι τῷ θεῷ χρωμένοις, ὃς
εὐδαίμων μέν ἐστι καὶ μακάριος, δὲ οὐθὲν
δὲ τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν ἀγαθῶν, ἀλλὰ δι᾽
αὑτὸν αὐτὺς καὶ τῷ ποιός τις εἶναι τὴν
φύσιν.-- Πρὸς δὲ τοὺς ἀμφισβητοῦντας
ἐάσαντας ἐπὶ τῆς νῦν μεθόδου, διασκεπ-
_téov ὕστερον, εἴ τις τοῖς εἰρημένοις
τυγχάνει μὴ πειθόμενος.
ἜΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟΙ ΛΌΓΟΙ. 407
‘exoteric discourses’ of Aristotle. Bernays does ποῦ pro-
nounce with certainty to which of the dialogues this passage
originally belonged ; he thinks it may have come either from
a moral dialogue, called in the catalogue Νήρινθος, but
which may perhaps be identified with that mentioned
elsewhere '® under the name Κορίνθιος ---ΟΥ from the
Προτρεπτικός, or ‘ Exhortation to Philosophy.’
The last passage to be noticed is th. 1. xiii. 9, where, in
speaking of the soul, Aristotle says, Λέγεται δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς
καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις ἀρκούντως ἔνια καὶ χρηστέον
αὐτοῖς " οἷον τὸ μὲν ἄλογον αὐτῆς εἶναι, τὸ δὲ λόγον ἔχον --
‘But some points about the soul seem to be sufficiently stated
even in the unscientific discussions of the subject, and we
must avail ourselves of them ;—as, for instance, that part of
it is irrational and part rational.’ The terms used here are
nearly the same as those in the last-quoted passage, only
with the important omission of καὶ νῦν before χρηστέον.
Bernays finds here a reference to the dialogue of Aristotle
called Hudemus (on which see above, page 301). But there
is no appearance of any writing here likely to have come from
such a work. And after the publication of Plato’s Republic,
there seems no reason to think it impossible that a society
which gave rise to the Topics of Aristotle (see above,
page 132), should have arrived at the dichotomy of the
soul into rational and irrational, as one of the results of its
discussions. And of this rough basis of psychology Aristotle
here seems to avail himself.
The conclusions, then, to which we venture to come with
regard to the ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι, are as follows :.
(1.) That Aristotle always uses the phrase generically,
in a sense capable of including both his own not strictly
15. Themistius, Or. xxiii. p. 356.
408 APPENDIX B.
_ scientific writings, and also the informal and dialectical
discussions of other men.
(2.) That in different places he makes a different specific
application of this generic term.
(3.) That in Phys. Iv. x. 1, he uses it in reference to
dialectical difficulties and questions, as to the nature of time,
in vogue.at Athens.
(4.) That in Metaphys. xu. i. 4; Pol. m1. vi. 5; and
Eth. τ. xiii. 9, he indicates by it the results arrived at by the
extra-scholastic discussions and theories of the day.
(5.) That in Pol. vit. i. 2, he uses it in especial reference
to one of his own earlier works, and actually proceeds to
incorporate an extract from that work with his Political
treatise.
(6.) That Eudemus, in the three places where he employs
the phrase, means by it ‘ popular,’ as opposed to ‘ philosophical ’
discussion.
The available fragments of the lost Dialogues of Aristotle
have been collected by Valentine Rose, and are now prefixed
to the splendid Index to Aristotle which forms the conclusion
to the great Berlin Edition. The question of the genuineness
of these fragments cannot here be thoroughly attempted. We
cannot go with Valentine Rose the entire length of believing
that Aristotle never wrote anything of the kind. Indeed,
the passage in Pol. vil. i. 2 would be sufficient to prevent our
holding such an opinion. There often occur fanciful and
ornamental phrases in the works of Aristotle, which he may
have ‘availed himself of’ from his earlier writings. Such,
for instance, are: μία yap χελιδὼν ἔαρ ov ποιεῖ (Lith. τ.
vii. 16), dua TO πολλοὺς τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἐξουσίαις ὁμοιοπαθεῖν
Σαρδαναπάλῳ (Ib. τ. ν. 3), and οὔθ᾽ ἕσπερος οὔθ᾽ ἑῷος οὕτω
θαυμαστός (adopted by Eudemus, Hth. ν. 1. 15). These and
412 APPENDIX C.
by the State. Hence,’ he says, ‘the nurture and the disci- |
pline 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 the Hthics. 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 Ὁ
than the individual (Politics, 1. 11. 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 (attdpxns), he is
born to live in relationship to others (πολιτικό5), if he lived
alone he must be either more or less than man (ἢ θηρίον
ἢ θεός). 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, are the greatest science,
the legislator is an ἀρχιτέκτων, 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 (th. 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
those who would not choose virtue for its own sake.» This
m a,
ἴδω, then, forms one side of Aristotle’s view, it is a sort hee
background to his ethical system. The End for the State,
as he depicts it (see above, p. 228), is something almost
mystical, it is like the identification of State and Church.
But the other side of his view is that which seemed 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 are virtually and for ever separated from
Politics.
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PLAN OF BOOK I.
HIS Book may be roughly divided into the following four
parts :-—
(1.) The statement of the leading question of political science ;
namely, What is the Practical 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 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 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 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. VIII. sgq.) to compare it with ra Atyéueva— that goods of the
mind are highest ;’ ‘that happiness consists in virtue,’ &e. Now
we may ask, Why did not a statement of these theories open the
Book? Both in Part lst 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
VOL. 1. ’ EE
Oca ae
ate
aN,
418 PLAN OF BOOK I.
as he does of physics and metaphysics. Before 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 ἠθικοὶ
λόγοι and τὰ ἠθικὰ are spoken of in the Politics (III. xii. 1, VII.
xlil. 5), and in the Metaphysics (I. i. 17), yet the word ἠθική does
not occur. The science is still πολιτική τις (Eth. I. 11. 9); as in
the Rhetoric it had been specified as ἡ περὶ τὰ ἤθη πεαγματεία ἣν
δίκαιόν ἐστι προσαγορεύειν πολιτικήν (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
foundations for his science inductively (Ch. IV. §§ 5-7) in expe-
rience, but really obtains his own theory from ἃ priort grounds,
arguing what the 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 characterises 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 identical with the Practical Chief Good (δῆλον ὡς τοῦτ᾽
ἂν εἴη τἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ ἄριστον. 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 com-
mon 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
conception the idea of absoluteness and all-sufficiency would seem
to be implied (τό yao τέλειον ἀγαθὸν αὔταρκες εἶναι δοκεῖ). 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
PLAN OF BOOK I. 419
we must assume that it falls under the category of the actual; in
other words, that it is ‘vital action’ or ‘the realisation of man’s
nature ;’ 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 harmonised consciousness in
adequate external conditions.’
Comparing this fundamental principle (ἀρχή) 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
component 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 com-
pound of a rational and an irrational nature. Part of his irra-
tional nature (the passions) rises 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, intellectual excellence ; on the
other hand, moral excellence or virtue: and these two may hence-
forth be separately discussed,
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1.
ΑΣΑ τέχνη καὶ πᾶσα μέθοδος, ὁμοίως δὲ πρᾶξίς τε
x 2 ρ
καὶ προαίρεσις, ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ἐφίεσθαι δοκεῖ" διὸ
I. The opening of Aristotle’s Ethics |
might be e paralleled with that of his
Metaphysics—mdvres ἄνθρωποι τοῦ el-
δέναι ὀρέγονται dice. ΑΒ 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 ac-
tions 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. ap tegaee es p. 22.
I πᾶσα τέχνη---δοκεῖ] ‘ Every art
and every science, and so, too, each
act and purpose, seems to aim at some
good,’ ie “ overy exercise of the
,human powers.’ The enumeration
‘ here given answers to the division of
‘ the mind (Eth. v1. ii.) into speculative,
: ‘productive, and practical. M¢@odos
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, vil. p. 533 ©, ἡ
διαλεκτικὴ μέθοδος μόνη ταύτῃ mopeve-
ται. Phedrus, 269 dD, οὐχ 7 Tiolas—
πορεύεται δοκεῖ μοι φαίνεσθαι ἡ μέθο-
δος. It is farther used in the sense
of a regular or scientific method, and
it stands here, as elsewhere (th. 1.
ii. 9, Poet. xrx. 2, Phys. 1. i. 1), for
science itself. The word is well de-
fined by Simplicius (in Arist. Phys.
fol. 4), ἡ μετὰ ὁδοῦ ἰόντος ἢ εὐτάκτου πρό-
up ‘one conception, that of ‘moral ac-
tion,’ ve are related as language to
tion. Sometimes it cube the opin-
ion of f others, not of Aristotle himself
(Eth. I. iii, 2, Χ, viii. 13, where see
note), but sometimes it is a part of
matism, With this-use of δοκεῖ may
be compared that of similar words,
such as lows, ‘no doubt,’ (Iv. viii. 9)
ἔδει δ᾽ ἴσως καὶ σκώπτειν (κωλύεων) ;
σχεδόν, ‘ nearly,’ ‘something like,’ (1.
viii. 4) σχεδὸν γὰρ εὐζωΐα τις εἴρηται καὶ
εὐπραξία ; μάλιστα, ‘upon the whole,’
(1. v. 2) τρεῖς γὰρ εἰσι μάλιστα οἱ
oe
422.
2 καλῶς ἀπεφήναντο τἀγαθόν, οὗ πάντ᾽ ἐφίεται.
δέ τις φαίνεται τῶν τελῶν.
\ δὲ Ὁ ΤᾺΝ " ,
τα € Tap auTag epya τινα.
ΗΘΙΚΩ͂Ν NIKOMAXEION I.
[CHap.
διαφορὰ
τὰ μὲν γάρ εἰσιν ἐνέργειαι,
9
ὧν δ᾽ εἰσὶ τέλη τινὰ παρὰ
δ U > , , , A ’ A
TUS πράξεις, εν TOUTOLY βελτίω πέφυκε τῶν ενεργείων
3 τὰ ἔργα.
’ A ᾿ , ‘ Fay
ἐπιστημῶν πολλὰ γίνεται καὶ Τὰ
πολλῶν δὲ πράξεων
2 4 “A ον
ουσῶν και τέχνων και
τέλη" ἰατρικῆς μὲν γὰρ
12 lal 4 rn “κ᾿
ὑγίεια, ναυπηγικῆς δὲ πλοῖον, στρατηγικῆς δὲ νίκη, οἰκονο-
4 μικῆς δὲ πλοῦτος. ὅσαι δ᾽
34
εἰσι
A , ς \ ,
τῶν TOLOUTWY UTO μιὰν
προὔχοντες (βίοι).
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; eg. (1. vi. 12 ἀλλ’
dpa γε τῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς εἶναι. In such 1 ques-
tions πότερον is very frequent, (I. Vii.
11) Ilérepov KTOVOS.
σκυτέως ἐστὶν ἔργα τινὰ καὶ πράξεις ;
and ἤ, which generally introduces the
opinion to be preferred, l.c. ἤ καθάπερ
ὀφθαλμοῦ--- οὕτω καὶ ἀνθρώπου παρὰ
πάντα ταῦτα θείη τις ἂν ἔργον τι ; also
ἤ frequently stands by itself, (1. vii.
οὖν τέκτονος μὲν καὶ
1) τί οὖν ἑκάστης τἀγαθόν ; ἢ οὗ χάριν
τὰ λοιπὰ πράττεται ;
διὸ καλῶς--- ἐφίεται] ‘ 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. 2, I. vii. 3. It is of uncertain
authorship. At first sight its intro-
duction here appears parenthetical ;
but rather it constitutes a sententious |
‘Allwe |
do aims at good, the very idea of |
But: ;
way of opening the subject.
good is that which is aimed at.
among ends (or aims) there is a sub-
ordination of one to the other.’
2 τὰ μὲν γὰρ---ἔργα τινά] ‘For
sometimes the end consists in the |
| μικὴ πρᾶξις.
exercise of a faculty for its own sake, at
other times in certain external results
s beyond this.’ Strictly, according to
“the Aristotelian system, to speak of
Such phrases arise —
second the word τέχναι.
an ᾿Ενέργεια not containing its end’
in itself is a contradiction in terms./
But in a subordinate and relativey
sense, just as some τέλη are also}
means to ulterior ends, so some func- }
tions may be called ἐνέργειαι, which!
are also mere γενέσεις of external re-/
sults: οὗ, Metaphysics, x. ix. 11, and
see Essay IV. p. 236.
4 ὅσαι δ᾽ εἰσὶ---διώκεται] ‘ Now all
such operations as fall under some one
faculty, asunder 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 (δή) in the
same way, other operations under
some different faculty—in all, I say
(δέ), 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—(1) the in-
definiteness of ὅσαι. Cf. a similar in-
definiteness as to the substantive re-
ferred to in περὶ αὐτῆς (Lth, I. viii. 1).
It would be most natural to supply to
the first ὅσαι the word πράξεις, to the
But τέχνη
and πρᾶξις are not here sharply distin-
guished, as appears by the words πολε-
(2) Δύναμις is here used
in a sense from which the modern
application of the word ‘ faculty’ to
law and medicine, &c., has been de-
ἘΞ]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
423
‘ , , e ‘ A ε A e 4 Ά
τινα δύναμιν, καθάπερ ὑπὸ τὴν ἵππικὴν ἢ χαλινοποιικὴ Kal
Ὁ“ A ε “A 4 , eS ὁ ” ‘ ‘ laa
ὅσαι ἄλλαι τῶν ἱππικῶν ὀργάνων εἰσίν" αὕτη δὲ καὶ πᾶσα
πολεμικὴ πρᾶξις ὑπὸ τὴν στρατηγικήν: τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ
, e ᾽ 9 9 e , A ‘ ~ 9
τρόπον ἄλλαι ὑφ᾽ ἐτέρας. ἐν ἁπάσαις δὲ τὰ τῶν ἀρχιτε-
~ , 4 ~ " ΄
κτονικῶν τέλη πάντων ἐστὶν αἱρετώτερα τῶν ὑπ᾽ αὐτὰ"
τούτων γὰρ χάριν κἀκεῖνα διώκεται.
διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐδὲν 5
‘ ᾽ , ἁε > ‘ , A , a ‘
Tas ενεργειας αὐτὰς εἰναὶ Ta τέλη τῶν πράξεων 7) Tapa
, »ῬᾺ U Ἦν τ ~ ~ ᾽ ~
ταύτας ἄλλο τι, καθάπερ ἐπὶ τῶν λεχθεισῶν ἐπιστημῶν.
Εἰ δή τι τέλος ἐστὶ τῶν πρακτῶν ὃ δ αὑτὸ βουλόμεθα,
τἄλλα δὲ διὰ τοῦτο, καὶ μὴ πάντα δὲ ἕτερον αἱρούμεθα
rived, throughtheterm facultas, which |
was used by the Schoolmen. This
belongs to the associations connected
5108] system, The use of this word
| for ‘an art’ appears, though less dis-
\tinetly, in Plato, Aristotle, opposing
{δύναμις to ἐνέργεια, treats the arts asa
class of δυνάμεις, i.e, certain capabili-
ὁ ties of action ; though they differed
i from other δυνάμεις in being them-
, selves not only developed into évép-
\vyecat, but also formed out of them ; ef.
Eth. τι. i. 4, Metaph. vit. v. 1, and
see Essay Iv. p. 239. (3) δέ in ἐν
ἀπάσαις δέ is used to mark the
‘apodosis, This is common in the
Effiics, cf. Eth. vit. iv. 5, X. ix. 11.
Looking to the protasis ὅσαι, we must
also say that the sentence is an ana-
coluthon. The whole style might be
called a σχῆμα πρὸς τὸ σημαινόμενον.
(4) The adjective ἀρχιτεκτονικός, as
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 ;
οἵ, Politicus, p. 259 E: καὶ γὰρ ἀρχιτέκ-
τῶν ye πᾶς οὐκ αὐτὸς ἐργατικός, ἀλλὰ
ἐργατῶν ἄρχων. 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. 1. ii. 7, vt. viii. 2.
5 δισφέρει δ᾽---ἐπιστημῶν] ‘ 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 ἐνέργειαι are ends as well as ἔργα
In taking a walk, the end is walkin
for its own sake, i.e. an ἐνέργεια. I
house-building, the end is the house,
an external result, or ἔργον. Bu
walking may again be viewed as sub-)
ordinate to some other end, e.g. health
or life, just as the house is.
ἐπιστημῶν} When speaking strictly
(Eth. 111. iii, 9), and in his later ter-
minology, as represented by Eudemus
(Zth. v1. iii, 1), Aristotle distinguishes
he frequently uses the former indis- '
criminately with the latter (cf. Eth.‘
I, vi. 15), as also Plato has done, ef.
Philebus, p. 57 Ἐ, and as ‘science’ is
now in common language often used
for ‘art.’
Il. 1 Ei δὴ---ἄριστον] ‘If then
there is some end in the sphere of ac-
tion which we wish for its own sake,
ἢ
veh 3
424
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION TI.
[Cuap.
, ‘ ” > 9 », “ > κω 4 ‘
t t
σπροεισι γα OUT® εἰς ATELNOY, WOT ELVAaL κενὴν κα
ματαίαν τὴν ὄρεξιν). δῆλον ὡς τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη τἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ
”
αρίστον.
a a5 > ‘ \ ‘ , ε a Pe
ap. ovv Kat προς τὸν βίον ῆ γνῶσις αὐτου
, x ε , \ θά , \ »
2 μεγάλην έχει POT’, Kal κα απέερ τοΐξόται OKOTOYV EXOVTESS
3 μᾶλλον ἂν τυγχάνοιμεν TOU δέοντος : εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, πειρατέον
while we wish all other things for the
sake of this—and if we do not choose
all things merely as means to some-
thing beyond (since in that case the
process will be infinite, so that our
desire will be empty and useless), it is
plain that this end in the sphere of |
action must be the chief good and |
/the best.’ This is the argument upon
‘ which the whole system of the Ethies
<is based. But from the undogmatic
way in which it is expressed it is ren-
dered at first sight obscure. It might
“06 put thus: We have desires, these
‘cannot be in vain: 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.
τέλος τῶν πρακτῶν] Aristotle is not
inquiring after a metaphysical and
transcendental good, like the Platonic
Idea, but after a good attainable in
action. τὰ mpaxrd implies the whole
class and sphere of means and ends
which fall under the control of human
will, A sort of scholium upon this
term is to be found in the Zudemian
Ethics, τ. vii. 4.
πρόεισι yap οὕτω γ᾽ els ἄπειρον)
The opposite and correlative terms
ἰέναι els ἄπειρον and ἵστασθαι are
used with various nominatives in
Aristotle, and sometimes, as here,
impersonally. Cf. Eth. 1. vii. 7, εἰς
ἄπειρον πρόεισιν. VI, Vili. 9, στήσεται
γὰρ κἀκεῖ.
,, @or εἶναι κενήν κιτ.λ.} Aristotle
/ applies here to the human mind and
to the human desires his principle of
φύσις. As everything in nature has
its proper end, so too has human
desire. There must therefore be
some absolute good, desirable for its
own sake, towards which our life
ought to be directed.
2 Gp’ οὖν---δέοντος] “ 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. πλεῖ. τ. v. 1: Σχεδὸν δὲ καὶ ἰδίᾳ
ἑκάστῳ καὶ κοινῇ πᾶσι σκοπός τίς ἐστιν,
οὗ στοχαζόμενοι καὶ αἱροῦνται καὶ φεύ-
γουσιν.
μὰλλον] 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. Repub. p. 519 B; ἀνάγκη
μήτε τοὺς ἀπαιδεύτους ἱκανῶς ἄν ποτε
πόλιν ἐπιτροπεῦσαι, μήτε τοὺς ἐν
παιδείᾳ ἑωμένους διατρίβειν διὰ τέλους,
τοὺς μὲν ὅτι σκοπὸν ἐν τῷ βίῳ οὐκ
ἔχουσιν ἕνα, οὗ στοχαζομένους δεῖ
ἅπαντα πράττειν ἃ ἂν πράττωσιν ἰδίᾳ
τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ, τοὺς δὲ, κιτ.λ,
modern ‘sense, this conception not!
having been as yet developed, but:
. more generally ‘what we ought to do ;
from any motive. The word δέον w
a received term with reference to;
moral subjects. Cf. Plato’s Repub. p.
336 D, where Thrasymachus, calling
upon Socrates to define justice, says,
‘Mind you don’t tell me that it is the
δέον, or the ὠφέλιμον, or the λυσιτε-
ody, or the κερδαλέον, or the ξυμφέρον."
Cf. also Charmides, p. 164 Β, Xen.
ID]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
U : “- $."% , ’ 9 4 ‘ , A
τυπῷ γε περιλαβεῖν αὐτὸ Tl TOT ECTL Καὶ τινος τῶν
9 - “᾿ ,
ἐπιστημῶν ἢ δυνάμεων.
, ᾿ a“ , δ ε r ‘ ,
μάλιστα ἀρχιτεκτονικὴς" τοιαύτη ἢ πολιτικὴ φαίνεται.
δόξειε δ' ἂν τῆς κυριωτάτης καὶ
ρ
“w
Memorabd. 1, ii. 22. But the exac
import of the term was “not fixed,
Aristotle in the Topics, 1 II. iii. 4, men-
tions among the πολλαχῶς λεγόμενα,
{Olov ef τὸ δέον ἐστὶ τὸ συμφέρον ἢ τὸ
\ καλόν.
3 εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω---δυνάμεων] ‘But if
this be the case, we must endeavour
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
i treats of the supreme end ?’—but ‘To
« What science or art does its production
\belong?’ He seems at first encum-
‘ bered with Platonicassociations—that
‘virtue is a science—that there is an
\art of life, Χο. Just as in a Platonic
dialogue we might have found this
train of questions—‘ What is the
science of healing called ?’—Medicine.
‘What is the science of counting
called ?’—Arithmetic. ‘ What then is
the science of the welfare of states
and individuals called ?’—Politics,
So here Aristotle says, ‘Every art
has anend. There is some supreme
end; of what art then is it the end?’
‘Accordingly he starts with the im-
‘pression that the present treatise is
‘an art rather than a science (cf. Eth.
1, iii. 6, 11. ii, 1), He speaks of his
present method aiming at the chief
good. (1. iii. 1) Ἢ μὲν οὖν μέθοδος τού-
των ἐφίεται, πολιτική τις οὖσα. Cf,
1. iv. 1, τί ἐστιν οὗ λέγομεν τὴν πολι-
ετικὴν ἐφιέσθαι. Afterwards (Eth. x.
‘ix. 1) he makes an imperfect separa-
{ tion between the scientific theory of
virtue and the practical attainment
\ of it.
4 δόξειε δ᾽ av — ἀρχιτεκτονικῇς]
* Now it would seem to be the end of
VOL, 1.
that which is the most absolute, and
most of a master science.’ The word
κυριωτάτης seems used somewhat in-
definitely. Two trains of association
are mixed up i in. it. κύριος Means
αν» “what i Β. authoritative, — what
determines ; ; cf. Bh. τὶ x. 9; κύριαι
εὐδαιμονίας.
what is established. Cf Poet, xxi.
5, 6, and Rhetor. 11. ii, 2, where
κύριον ὄνομα stands for ‘a word in
its proper sense,’ opposed to all
uncommon turns and applications.
In £th. vi. xiii. 1, κυρία ἀρετή is
‘virtue in the full sense of the
term,’ opposed to φυσικὴ ἀρετή, “ἃ
virtuous disposition.’ Zth, vu. iii. 14,
τῆς κυρίως ἐπιστήμης εἶναι δοκούσης,
‘that whieh might properly be called
science.’ Hence, τὸ Κύριον comes to’,
mean that which is striking, charac-
teristic, and essential in a conception. ’
Cf. Eth, τ. vii. 13, κυριώτερον γὰρ
αὕτη δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. IX. ix. 7, τὸ δὲ
κύριον ἐν τῇ ἐνεργείᾳ. In the passage,
above, κυριωτάτης seems partly to }
mean ‘most authoritative’ or ‘ab- |
solute,’ partly thes which is most / |
absolutely a science.’
5 τοιαύτη δ᾽ ἡ πολιτικὴ φαίνεται
Plato generally represents virtue as‘
a science, and politics as inseparable :
from dialectic or metaphysics. In/
the Euthydemus, | however (p. 291 B),
art, in terms from whith the - present
passage is obviously borrowed. See
Essay III. p. 191. Aristotle says that
all the other arts and faculties, how-
ever dignified, are subordinate to this
(ὑπὸ ταύτην) and are its instruments
(χρωμένης ταύτης ταῖς λοιπαῖς), Their
very existence depends on the fiat of
FF
426
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
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i 3
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δὲ ταυτῆς Tale λοιπαῖς σπρακτίικαις τῶν ἐπιστήμων, ETL δὲ
, , - , Q ’ 5 , A
νομοθετούσης TL δεῖ πράττειν καὶ τινῶν ἀπέχεσθαι, TO
td , , ΠῚ Ν oN nn . “Ά, n
ταύτης τέλος περιέχοι ἂν Ta τῶν ἄλλων, ὥστε τοῦτ᾽ ἂν
ὃ εἴη τἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθόν.
" ‘ x 7 ἢ ’ φᾷ ‘
él γὰρ καὶ ταυτον εστιν EVi Καί
, a ’ A ’ A “ , ,
πόλει, μεῖζόν γε καὶ τελεώτερον τὸ τῆς πόλεως φαίνεται
δ κ ‘ , 3 ᾿ ‘ x Ne γε ἃ ,
και λαβεῖν και σάζειν" αγάπητον μεν γάρ καὶ ενὲ μόνῳ,
ο κάλλιον δὲ καὶ θειότερον ἔθνει καὶ πόλεσιν.
A ἰοὺ
ἡ μὲν οὗν
, , 3 , , iO
μέθοδος τούτων ἐφίεται, πολιτική τις οὔσα. .-
politics (τίνας εἶναι χρεὼν διατάσσει). |
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 εἰ yap καὶ ταὐτὸν---πόλεσιν) ‘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
(τελεώτερον) 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 beautiful and divine.’
‘In Aristotle’s Politics (γι. 111, 8)
‘the chief good, or end-in-itself, for
1a state is portrayed as consisting in
j the development and play of specu-
‘lative thought, all fit conditions and
‘means thereto being implied and pre-
‘supposed. To this high, but in-
definite, ideal, the term θεῖον would
be naturally applied. Like the word
‘divine’ with us, θεῖος 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 specially
appropriated by him to the various
manifestations of Reason (νοῦς) in the
universe: thus (1) to the substance
of the Heavens, De Calo, τ. ii. 9,
οὐσία σώματος θειοτέρα καὶ προτέρα
τούτων ἁπάντων (see Essay V. p. 273),
(2) to the Heavenly Bodies, 70. τι. xii.
13, τῶν σωμάτων τῶν θείων, (3) to the
intellect of man, De Part. An. 1v. x. 8,
διὰ τὸ τὴν φύσιν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν
εἶναι θείαν " ἔργον δὲ τοῦ θειοτάτου τὸ
νοεῖν καὶ φρονεῖν, (4) to the life of
contemplation, Fth. x. vii. 8, οὐ yap 7
ἄνθρωπός ἔστιν οὕτω βιώσεται, ἀλλ᾽ 7
θεῖόν τι ἐν airy ὑπάρχει, (5) to happi-
ness in general, th. 1. ix. 3, φαίνεται
. τῶν θειοτάτων εἶναι, (6) to superhuman
virtue, consisting in unalloyed reason.
Eth. Vi i. 1, ἡρωϊκήν twa (ἀρετὴν)
καὶ θείαν, (7) to the instinct of bees,
De Gen. An. 111. X. 27, θεῖόν τι (ἔχει)
τὸ γένος τὸ τῶν μελιττῶν.
9 πολιτική τις οὖσα) Aristotle has
not yet arrived at the conception of |
Ethics as a separate science. He+4
still, following Plato, identifies it |
with politics, or makes it ‘a kind of!
politics.” By his treatment, how-\
ever, of the questions of Ethics he \
prepared the way for its separation 1"
from politics, which indeed was !
partly made by Eudemus, and after-\’
wards entirely by the Stoics.
Il.—IL.]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 427
Aéyorro δ᾽ ἂν ἱκανῶς, εἰ κατὰ τὴν ὑποκειμένην ὕλην δια- 3
, " 9 A A
σαφηθείη: τὸ yap ἀκριβὲς οὐχ ὁμοίως ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς λόγοις
ἐπιζητέον ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ ἐν τοῖς δημιουργουμένοις" τὰ δὲ καλὰ
[Ὁ]
{Se La ‘ a
καὶ τὰ δίκαια, περὶ ὧν ἡ πολιτικὴ σκοπεῖται, τοσαύτην ἔχει
ὃ ‘ 4 r , oe ὃ a , , > ,
ἰαφορὰν καὶ πλάνην ὥστε δοκεῖν νόμῳ μόνον εἶναι, φύσει
III. In connection 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 inquire what is the
proper 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, (1) In the present chapter
he decides that it cannot be an exact
science, (2) Chapter 4th, §§ 5-7, he
declares, though not dogmatically,
that it must be rather inductive than
based on ἃ priori principles. (3) In
chapter 7th, $$ 17-21, not quite con-
sistently with the last assertion, he
dwells upon the importance, for the
future development of the science, of
the principle (ἀρχή) which he has
evolved in his definition of the chief
good; which principle is henceforth
to be applied to the elucidation of all
difficulties in detail.
1 λέγοιτο δ᾽ ἃν ἱκανῶς---δημιουργου-
μένοι] ‘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 all
the productions of art.’ Matter as op-
posed to form was called by Aristotle
ὕλῃ, or τὸ ὑποκείμενον, that which
underlies the form. Cf, Pol. 1. viii. 2:
“λέγω δὲ ὕλην τὸ ὑποκείμενον ἐξ οὗ τι
ἀποτελεῖται ἔργον, οἷον ὑφάντῃ μὲν
ἔρια, ἀνδριαντοποιῷ δὲ χαλκόν. The
matter of a science, z.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 ἀκρίβεια, It is one
of the first questions about a science,
how much ἀκρίβεια it admits: cf. De
Anima, τ. i. 1; Metaphys. & ἔλαττον,
iii. 2, &c. On the different shades
of meaning implied in the word
It combines the notions of mathema-\
tical exactness, metaphysical subtlety, ἃ
minuteness of detail, and definiteness |
of assertion. Also as applied to the<
arts (ἐν τοῖς δημιουργουμένοις) it de-;
notes finish or delicacy,
27a δὲ καλὰ---μή] ‘But things
beautiful and just, about which the
political science treats, exhibit so
great a diversity and fluctuation that
they arethought toexist by convention
only, and not by nature.’ Nothing can,
be more characteristic of Greek moral- '
ity than these words, sim pal
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. (1) He speaks of Politics as\\
the science treating of right action. /
(2) He seems to accept for the moment, '
as at all events worth considering,
‘the scepticism of the Sophists, and |
to start accordingly with an empirical /
428
δὲ μή.
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Cuap.
, , , x A 5 τ 4 4
TOLAUTHV δέ τινα πλανὴν ἔχει καὶ τἀγαθὰ διὰ τὸ
πολλοῖς συμβαίνειν βλάβας ἀπ’ αὐτῶν: ἤδη γάρ τινες
ἀπώλοντο διὰ πλοῦτον, ἕτεροι δὲ δ ἀνδρείαν. ἀγαπητὸν
4 Ρ P deg
οὖν περὶ τοιούτων καὶ ἐκ τοιούτων λέγοντας ταχύλον καὶ
τύπῳ τἀληθὲς ἐνδείκνυσθαι, καὶ περὶ τῶν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ
καὶ ἐκ τοιούτων λέγοντας τοιαῦτα καὶ συμπεραίνεσθαι.
A
TOV
"ει \ , <5 , \ 4 a
auTOV δὲ τρόπον Kal ἀποδέχεσθαι χβέων εκάαστον τῶν λε-
γομένων" πεπαιδευμένου γάρ ἐστιν ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον τἀκριβὲς
/point of view about moral distinc- | to demand demonstration from an
‘tions, which in reality his subsequent | orator,
‘procedure entirely sets aside.—voyy
μόνον εἶναι, φύσει δὲ μή. On the
position of this opinion in the history
of philosophy, see Essay II. pp.
150-151.
2 τοιαύτην δέ τινα πλάνην ἔχει καὶ
τἀγαθά] ‘And things good also ex-
hibit a similar sort of fluctuation.’
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
\wersd, Aristotle here, from his present
empirical ground, says there is an
equal uncertainty about things good
as about things right. Cf. Eth. v. 1.
9; Xen. Mem. ΤΥ. ii. 33.
4, 5 ἀγαπητὸν οὖν---πεπαιδευμένος]
‘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
reasoning from a mathematician and
_hame connoisseur.
Every one judges well of
things which he knows, and of these
he is a good critic. In particular sub-
jects then the man of particular cul-
tivation will judge, and in general
the man of general cultivation.’
περὶ τοιούτ. καὶ ἐκ τοιούτ. A com-
mon formula in Aristotle. Cf. Rhetor.
ΤΠ ae
γένος is with eee a abject
ἡ τῆς τ εις Chea. Post, 1. XxXviii.)
Cf. the whole of Met. τι. iii.
πεπαιδευμένου] In his preliminary
inquiries as to the right method of
different sciences, Aristotle elsewhere
adds that it will be the office of παιδεία,
or the πεπαιδευμένος, to arbitrate on
the question. Παιδεία 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; ;
The chief passage
on this subject occurs De Partibus
Animal. 1. i. 1: περὶ πᾶσαν θεωρίαν
τε καὶ μέθοδον, ὁμοίως ταπεινοτέραν τε
καὶ τιμιωτέραν, δύο φαίνονται τρόποι
τῆς ἕξεως εἶναι, ὧν τὴν μὲν ἐπιστήμην
τοῦ πράγματος καλῶς ἔχει προσαγο-
ρεύειν, τὴν δ᾽ οἷον παιδείαν τινά. Then
follow the characteristics of the πε-
παιδευμένος, which are said to be. κρῖναι
1Π.]} HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 429
3 .- “ , * 4) “ ε ~ 7
ἐπιζητεῖν καθ᾽ ἕκαστον γένος, ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἡ τοῦ πράγματος
φύσις ἐπιδέχεται" παραπλήσιον γὰρ φαίνεται μαθηματι-
κοῦ τε πιθανολογοῦντος ἀποδέχεσθαι καὶ ῥητορικὸν ἀποδεί-
ἕεις ἀπαιτεῖν. ἕκαστος δὲ κρίνει καλῶς ἃ γινώσκει, καὶ
τούτων ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς κριτής. καθ᾽ ἕκαστον dpa ὁ πεπαι-
δευμένος, ἀπλῶς δ᾽ ὁ περὶ πᾶν πεπαιδευμένος. διὸ τῆς πο-
λιτικῆς οὐκ ἔστιν οἰκεῖος ἀκροατὴς ὁ νέος. ἄπειρος γὰρ
A x 4 , U ε , » oak. , ‘ ‘
τῶν κατὰ τὸν βίον πράξεων, of λόγοι δ᾽ ἐκ τούτων καὶ περὶ
, »᾽ A a U 3 4 bal ’
τούτων. ἔτι δὲ τοῖς πάθεσιν ἀκολουθητικὸς ὧν ματαίως 6
‘ow ὁ λέγων. Thus the chief function philosopher like a Pentathlos,—#a-
lof this ‘cultivation’ is acute criticism. κρός τις, or second-best in all speciali-
‘It is critical as opposed to science, | ties.—We see in the present passage
‘which is constructive. It will have | Aristotle’s distinction of περὶ πᾶν
certain standards (ὅρους) by reference | πεπαιδ. from καθ᾽ ἕκαστον πεπαιδ, The
to which it will form a judgment on | latter term shows that not only is a
the shape and manner of the proposi- | general knowledge of logic (ἀναλυτικῆ"
tions presented, quite independently | requisite to constitute παιδεία (cf. Me-;
of their truthand falsehood (ἀποδέξεται | taph. 1. min. iii. 1, 111. iii. 5, 111. iv. 2);
τὸν τρόπον τῶν δεικνυμένων χωρὶς tod | but also that some acquaintance with\
πῶς ἔχει τἀληθές, εἴτε οὕτως εἴτε ἄλλως). | the special subject is requisite for the;
This, which was a current popular | connoisseur of that subject. Cf. Pol.
conception of παιδεία, Aristotle not | II. xi. 11: Ἰατρὸς δ᾽ ὅ τε δημιουργὸς
only accepts as related to all matters | καὶ ὁ ἀρχιτεκτονικὸς καὶ τρίτος ὁ πεπαι-
of science (τὸν ὅλως πεπαιδευμένον---- | Sevpévos περὶ τὴν τέχνην" εἰσὶ γάρ
περὶ πάντων ὡς εἰπεῖν κριτικόν τινα τινες τοιοῦτοι καὶ περὶ πάσας ὡς εἰπεῖν
νομίζομεν), but also he adds ἃ refine- | τὰς τέχνας, ἀποδίδομεν δὲ τὸ κρίνειν
ment on his own part by constituting οὐδὲν ἧττον τοῖς πεπαιδευμένοις ἣ τοῖς
a special παιδεία in relation to each εἰδόσιν. Cf. Eth. Fud. 1. vi. 6.
separate science (περί twos φύσεως μαθηματικοῦ, x.7.d.] Taken from
ἀφωρισμένης" εἴη yap ἄν τις ἕτερος περὶ Plato, cf. Theetetus, p. 162 E: εἰ ἐθέλοι
«ἕν μόριον. The idea of the πεπαιδευ- | Θεόδωρος ἢ ἄλλος τις τῶν γεωμετρῶν
Ἱ μένος as a judge of method is to be (τῷ εἰκότι) χρώμενος γεῶμετρεῖν, ἄξιος
\found in Plato. Cf. Timeus, p. 536: οὐδ᾽ ἑνὸς μόνου ἂν εἴη. σκοπεῖτε οὖν σύ
ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπεὶ μετέχετε τῶν κατὰ παί- | τε καὶ Θεόδωρος εἰ ἀποδέξεσθε πιθανο-
δευσιν ὁδῶν, δ ὧν ἐνδείκνυσθαι τὰ | λογίᾳ τε καὶ εἰκόσι περὶ τούτων λεγο-
λεγόμενα ἀνάγκη, ξυνέψεσθε. In the μένους λόγους.
Eraste, p. 135, ἃ popular description 5 διὸ τῆς πολιτικῆς, κιτ.λ.}] From
of the philosopher is given, exactly | a want of sufficient knowledge of the
answering to Aristotle’s πεπαιδευμένος. | special subjects to be treated, the
Among the qualificationsis mentioned | youth is not fit to be a hearer, ic. (1)
ὡς εἰκὸς ἄνδρα ἐλεύθερόν τε καὶ πεπαι- | critic, (2) student of political science.
δευμένον, ἐπακολουθῆσαί τε τοῖς λεγο- 6 ἔτι δὲ---πρᾶξι5] “ΝΑΥ͂, moreover,
μένοις ὑπὸ τοῦ δημιουργοῦ οἷον τε εἶναι 88 he is given to follow his passions,
διαφερόντως τῶν παρύντων. Socrates he will hear uselessly and without
ἑεὐστόχως τί καλῶς ἣ μὴ καλῶς ἀποδίδω- | on this remarks, that it makes the
|
wt
480 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. [Crap.
ἀκούσεται καὶ Sepa, yan TO τέλος ἐστὶν οὐ γνῶσις
7 ἀλλὰ πράξις.
ἦθος νεαρός" οὐ γὰρ παρὰ τὸν χρόνον ἡ ἔλλειψις, ἀλλὰ
τοῖς γὰρ
τοιούτοις ἀνόνητος ἡ γνῶσις γίνεται, καθάπερ τοῖς ἀκρα-
διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐθὲν νέος τὴν ἡλικίαν ἢ τὸ
x A ‘ , ~ ‘ , oe
διὰ τὸ κατὰ πάθος ζῆν καὶ διώκειν ἕκαστα.
, LA \ ‘ id ‘ 9 , , 4
τέσιν: Tois δὲ κατὰ λόγον Tas ὀρέξεις ποιουμένοις καὶ
ὃ πράττουσι πολυωφελὲς ἂν εἴη τὸ περὶ τούτων εἰδέναι. καὶ
περὶ μὲν ἀκροατοῦ, καὶ πῶς ἀποδεκτέον, καὶ τί προτιθέ-
μεθα, πεφροιμιάσθω τοσαῦτα.
4 Λέγωμεν δ
προαίρεσις ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ὀρέγεται, τί ἐστιν οὗ λέγομεν
5 , 3 Α Can A 4
ἀναλαβόντες, ἐπειδὴ TACK γνῶσις και
‘ \ rier, Ξ Ν , ἢ , 3 ,
THV πολιτικὴν ἐφίεσθαι καὶ Tt TO TAVTWY aK POTATOV
LA \ iO ay e Α A
ονοματι μεν ουν σχεδὸν UTO τῶν
Δα pretend
2 τῶν πρακτῶν ἀγαθῶν.
profit, since the end (of our science) is | Have glozed—but superficially; not
not knowledge but action.’ Aristotle | much
goes off into a digression here, and | Unlike young men, whom Aristotle
adds that the youth will not only be thought
an incompetent, but also an unprofit- | Unfit to hear moral philosophy.’
able student, on account of a moral
disqualification in the weakness of his
will, In saying of Politics 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 philo-
«sophical. As before, he is viewing
\ Politics as a sort of supreme art. Cf.
Eth. τι. ii. 1. Afterwards, Pol. 111.
viii. 1, he takes quite a different atti-
tude; he excuses himself for prolixity
by saying τῷ δὲ περὶ ἑκάστην μέθοδον
φιλοσοφοῦντι καὶ μὴ μόνον ἀποβλέποντι
7 οὐ γὰρ παρὰ τὸν χρόνον ἡ ἔλλειψις]
‘For the deficiency is not caused by
time.’ Cf. Thucyd. 1. 141, οὐ yap
παρὰ τὴν ἐαυτοῦ ἀμέλειαν οἴεται βλά-
yew. Arnold compares παρὰ in this
sense with the English vulgarism
‘all along of.’ Cf. Eth. 111. v. 19,
τι καὶ παρ᾽ αὐτόν.
IV. 1 Returning from a parenthe-
tical discussion of method, Aristotle
takes up (λέγωμεν δ᾽ ἀναλαβόντες) the
original question, ‘What is it that
πρὸς τὸ πράττειν οἰκεῖόν ἐστι τὸ μὴ
παρορᾷν μηδέ τι καταλείπειν.
ματαίως ἀκούσεται] Shakespeare had
seen the present passage quoted some-
where, and by a remarkable anachron-
ism he putsitintothe 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
|
|
|
Ι
|
|
|
politics aim at, what is the highest
practical good?’ The original four
terms τέχνη, μέθοδος, πρᾶξις, προαί-".
ρεσις, are here reduced to two, γνῶσις }
and προαίρεσις. In the latter πρᾶξις"
is implied. And τέχνη is omitted as
falling under the practical powers in
man (cf. δ δ. vi. ii. 5). Thus human
nature, which was before classified as*
productive, scientific, and moral, is |
here summed up as moral and in- /
tellectual. t
ak
Π|.---ΤΥ.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 431
, e - 4 ‘ Ι] ’ 4 e
πλείστων ὁμολογεῖτα. τὴν yap εὐδαιμονίαν καὶ οἱ
A ‘ ε , , 4 ’ = ~ | ‘ @
πολλοὶ καὶ οἱ χαρίεντες λέγουσιν, TO δ᾽ εὖ Cav καὶ TO εὑ
πράττειν ταὐτὸν ὑπολαμβάνουσι τῷ εὐδαιμονεῖν. περὶ
δὲ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας, τί ἐστιν, ἀμφισβητοῦσι καὶ οὐχ ὁμοί-
ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ τοῖς σοφοῖς ἀποδιδόασιν.
J - Α a Φ 0. A aA r “ “ ,
ἐναργῶν τι καὶ φανερῶν, οἷον ἡδονὴν ἢ πλοῦτον ἢ τιμήν,
ἄλλοι δ' ἄλλο, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς ἕτερον" νοσή-
σας μὲν γὰρ ὑγίειαν, πενόμενος δὲ πλοῦτον: συνειδότες
ie -~ *# ‘ , C3. ’ A ,
ὃ εαὔυτοις αγνοιᾶν τοὺυς Mbeya Ti και ὑπερ auTous λέγοντας
οἱ μὲν γὰρ τῶν 3
2 There is a verbal agreement, but
under this an essential difference, be-
tween men as to their opinion of the
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. pp. 102-103.
ol πολλοὶ καὶ οἱ xapievres] ‘The
many and the refined.’ ‘This clas-
sifies the whole body of thinkers.
The many are opposed to the philo-
sophers (οἱ σοφοί) and to the educated,
the refined, the few. This opposition
has always existed. It appears most
strongly in the philosophic isolation of
Heraclitus the ὀχλολοίδορος. It isa
natural distinction, since philosophical
views are not inborn, but acquired,
and imply education, leisure, develop-
ment. That _both classes, however,
fare in a different way possessed of
‘the truth (wholly or partially), Aris-
‘totle would always acknowledge. Cf.
‘Eth, τ. viii. 7.
‘In its usual acceptation it would rather
‘mean ‘ faring-well’ than ‘acting-well.’
It oceurs in the Gorgias of Plato, p.
507 0, ina way which seems to contain
the transition between these two ideas
-- πολλὴ, ἀνάγκη, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τὸν
σώφρονα, ὥσπερ διήλθομεν, δίκαιον ὄντα
καὶ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ ὅσιον ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα
εἶναι τελέως, τὸν δὲ ἀγαθὸν εὖ τε καὶ
καλῶς πράττειν ἃ ay πράττῃ, τὸν δ᾽ εὖ
πράττοντα μακάριόν τε καὶ εὐδαίμονα
εἶνα, τὸν δὲ πονηρὸν καὶ κακῶς πράτ-
τοντα ἄθλιον. Aristotle was at no
pains to solve the ambiguity. Cf.
Eth. νι. ii. 5.
3 οἱ μὲν γὰρ--- ἀγαθά] ‘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 indi-
vidual 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.’
"Evo. δέ corresponds: to οἱ μὲν γάρ.
‘Palpable and tangible’ are analogous
though not identical metaphors with
| ἐναργῶν τι καὶ φανερῶν.
συνειδότες, κιτ.λ.} Consciousness of
ignorance makes people fancy wisdom
to be the chief good.—So the Para-
phrast explains the passage.
>
wt
432
mC
θαυμάζουσιν.
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[CHar.
ἔνιοι δ᾽ Sovto Tapa Ta πολλὰ ταῦτα ἀγαθὰ
” ᾽ ΕΞ ΑΙ > εἴ ‘ A r συ τ >
ἄλλο τι καθ᾽ αὑτὸ εἶναι, ὃ Kat τοῖσδε πᾶσιν αἴτιόν ἐστι
A > ’ , ε ’ A ~ 9 , x ,
TOU ειναΐί ἀγαθα. απασὰας μὲν ουν ἐξετάζειν τας δόξας
, ΝΜ 9 , ε A A ‘ ¥: Ε]
ματαιότερον ἴσως ἐστίν, ἱκανὸν δὲ τὰς μάλιστα ἐπιπολα-
, a ὃ , »» x ,
ζούσας ἢ ὁοκούσας ἔχειν τινὰ λόγον.
μὴ λανθανέτω δ᾽
ε ΄ “ ὃ , e 3 4 ~ ς ~ , A ε 4
μας οτΤτι ιαφέρουσιν οι απὸ Τῶν apxXov λόγοι και Ol ετι
‘ ° ’ a x τ , he! A og]
TUS apxas* εν γάρ Kal Πλάτων 7/770 Pel TOUTO Και ἐζήτει,
, . 4 A ΠῚ A Ae ees Ν - , Ω ε ear
TOTEPOV απὸ τῶν apX@v Wy CTC Τὰς apxas εστιν ἢ ὁδός,
“ Ω ΄΄ On 2 A A ιν a 927.8 4 ’ a
ὥσπερ ἐν TH TTAdIM ἀπὸ τῶν ἀθλοθετῶν ἐπὶ τὸ πέρας ἢ
ΠΡ
ἀναπαλιν.
ς a \ iO 5 A A , - A
ἀρκτέον μὲν οὖν ATO τῶν γνωρίμων, ταῦτα δὲ
ἄλλο τι καθ᾽ αὑτὸ εἷναι] This of course
relates to Plato’s theory of the Idea.
4 ἱκανὸν δὲ---λόγον͵] ‘But it is
sufficient to examine the opinions most
widely spread, or that seem to have
some reason in them.’ A similar canon
of authority is given, Zth. 1. viii. 7.
ἐπιπολαζούσας] ‘ Lying on the top,’
‘obvious.’ The original sense is found
in Hist. Anim. VIII. ii. 17: Πονοῦσι
δὲ καὶ ἀπόλλυνται πολλάκις (αἱ χελῶ-
vat), ὅταν ἐπιπολάζουσαι ξηρανθῶσιν
ὑπὸ τοῦ ἡλίου" καταφέρεσθαι γὰρ πάλιν
οὐ δύνανται ῥᾳδίως. Hence ἐπιπολάζω
and ἐπιπόλαιος come to mean ‘what
lies on the surface,’ ‘is easily to be
found.’ th. Iv. viii. 4, ἐπιπολάζον-
Tos τοῦ γελοίου, ‘constantly turning
up:’ and in the Asgiochus which
bears Plato’s name, p. 369 D, ἐκ
τῆς ἐπιπολαζούσης τὰ νῦν λεσχηνείας.
Rhet. 111. X. 4, ἐπιπόλαια γὰρ λέγομεν
τὰ παντὶ δῆλα καὶ ἃ μηδὲν δεῖ ζητῆσαι.
Eth. Eud, ττι. ii. 4, ἔστι δ᾽ οὐ πάνυ
γνώριμον τὸ πάθος οὐδ᾽ ἐπιπόλαιον.
From this meaning to that of ‘super-
ficial’ is but a slight transition. 1. v.
4, φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐπιπολαιότερον εἶναι τοῦ
ζητουμένου.
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
ἡ reasoning is to be ‘to principles,’ or
‘from principles.’ Aristotle gives αἱ
qualified decision in favour of the ; }
former of these alternatives.
εὖ γὰρ---ἁπλῶς] ‘ 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 the goal, or reverse-
ly. We must begin, at all events, with
things known, and these are of two
kinds ; for some things are known re-
ἸΔΙΑΎΘΕΥν and some things absolutely. ν
works | of. Plato which we can “say is is
here referred to, That at the end of
Book v1. of the Republic has a widely
different scope. It does not compare
the Inductive with the Deductive
Method, but describes dialectic as a
progress 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 Πλάτων here |
without fhe article shows that a per-*
sonal reference to the philosopher is}
eee y (see note on ag VI, xiii. 3)./
ane reference is general ; ‘when
Aristotle quotes from a particular pas- /
sage in the Laws of Plato (£th. τι. iii.)
2), he says ὡς ὁ Πλάτων φησίν.
ταῦτα δὲ διττῶς" τὰ μὲν ἡμῖν, τὰ δὲ
ἁπλῶς] This is Aristotle’s favourite
{> ῳᾧ κἄν »"
᾿ς ἡ ea HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 433
—< διττῶς: τὰ μὲν yap ἡμῖν τὰ δ᾽ ἀπλῶς.
᾿᾽ , - ΄-
ἀρκτέον ἀπὸ τῶν ἡμῖν γνωρίμων.
διὸ δεῖ τοῖς ἔθεσιν ἦχθαι
καλῶς τὸν περὶ καλῶν καὶ δικαίων καὶ ὅλως τῶν πολιτικῶν
° , ~
ἀκουσόμενον ἱκανῶς.
9 ‘ ‘ 4 “ Α 9 -" ,
ἀρχὴ γὰρ TO ὅτι" καὶ εἰ τοῦτο φαί- 7
vorro ἀρκούντως, οὐδὲν προσδεήσει τοῦ διότι.
ε ‘ A
ο δὲ τοιου-
τος ἢ ἔχει ἢ λάβοι ἂν ἀρχὰς ῥᾳδίως. ᾧ δὲ μηδέτερον
ὑπάρχει τούτων, ἀκουσάτω τῶν ᾿Ησιόδου"
οὗτος μὲν φανάριστος os αὐτὸς πάντα νοήσῃ,
ἐσθλὸς δ᾽ αὖ κάκενος ὃ: εὖ εἰπόντι σἰνητάι,
division of nian: into things
‘relatively’ and things ‘absolutely’
‘known, The former implies the
‘knowledge of experience, so far as it
‘ depends on the individual perception ;
£
'
{
ι
᾿
{
it is therefore concrete (ἐγγύτερον
τῆς αἰσθήσεως, Post, Analyt, 1. ii. 5),
while the latter is abstract (τὰ πορρώ-
| Tepov), but being independent of in-
' dividual experience, it is absolute (τὰ
‘ «σαφέστερα τῇ φύσει καὶ γνωριμώτερα,
Phys. Ause, I. i. 1). We must observe
that the distinction is not between
' things relatively and _ absolutely
‘knowable,’ but ‘known.’ The highest
/ truthsare actually in themselves better
| known than the phenomena of the
}senses, This is said independently of
ἡ individual minds, and implies ἃ refer-
‘jence to the impersonal and absolute
Ὁ 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 ¢rue, while phenomena only par-
‘take of truth (μετέχει τῆς ἀληθείας).
6 ἴσως οὖν --- γνωρίμων} ‘Perhaps
then we at all events must commence
with what we know.’ Aristotle was
probably unconscious of the sort of
pun in this sentence, He merely
asserts that we (i.c.) ethical philo-
sophers must start froma basis of
personal experience.
6-7 διὸ δεῖ--- ῥᾳδίως] “Therefore he
should have been well trained in his
VOL, I,
habits who is to ity 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
ἀκροατής. But here previous know-
ledge seems required in a different
way from that mentioned above (1. iv.
5). The object is here not κρίνειν τὰ
λεγόμενα, but ἐπίστασθαι.
ἀρχὴ γὰρ τὸ ὅτι) The same is re-
peated below (I. vii. 10). The term
ἀρχή 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.
᾿Αρχάς (in ὃ 7) is used definitely for
universal principles.
ὁ δὲ τοιοῦτος] ἴ.6, ὁ καλῶς ἠγμένος,
Such a one is in possession ¢ of moral
facts, which either stand already in’,
the light of principles or can be at ὶ
once recognised as such on the sug- !
gestion of the philosopher. In the ’
former case he will resemble Hesiod’s
mavdpioros, in the second case the
ἐσθλὸς ὃς εὖ εἰπόντι wlOnrar. If he
can neither discover nor recognise
principles he is ἀρχήϊος ἀνήρ.
οὗτος μὲν, κιτ.λ.}] Hesiod, Works
σα
», Φ toa 6
ἴσως οὖν ἡμῖν γε
434
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[ Crap.
ὃς δέ χε μὴτ᾽ αὐτὸς νοέῃ μήτ᾽ ἄλλου ἀκούων
ἐν θυμῷ βάλληται, ὁ δ᾽ adr’ ἀρχήϊος ἀνήρ. UrLing
5 Ἡμεῖς δὲ λέγωμεν ὅθεν παρεξέβημεν, τὸ γὰρ ἀγαθὸν
A aS ἮΝ , ’ ὁ τ eel ᾽ A , ε
καὶ τὴν εὐθαιμονίὰν OUK ἀλόγως εοικάασιν EK τῶν βίων υπο-
2 λαμβάνειν: οἱ μέν πολλοὶ καὶ φορτικώτατοι τὴν ἡδονήν, διὸ
‘ 4 ’ 2 A 4 Ἧι ,
καὶ TOV Biov ayaT wot TOV ἀπολαυστικοὸν.
τρεῖς γά ρ εἰσι
, e + (4 A 2 4 A e A
μάλιστα οἱ προὔχοντες, ὃ TE νῦν εἰρημένος καὶ ὁ πολιτικὸς
and Days, 291-295. After νοήσῃ in
the editions of Hesiod, in some MSS,
of the Ethics, and in the Paraphrase,
comes this verse, ¢pacodmevos τά κ᾽
ἔπειτα Kal és τέλος How ἀμείνω. The
whole passage succeeds one quoted by
Plato, Repub. 11. 364 0; Legg. iv. 718
E; and by Xenophon, Memorab. 11. i.
20, on the difficulty of virtue. The
sentiment is borrowed by Livy, ΧΧΤΙ,
xxix. Cf, Cicero pro Cluentio, ¢. XXXI. ;
Soph. Antig. 720; Herod. vit. xvi.
V. 1 Ἡμεῖς δὲ---ὑπολαμβάνειν]) ‘ But
to return from our digression, —since
people seem with reason to form their
conceptions of the chief good and of
happiness from men’s lives’ (se. ‘let
us examine these’). The yap 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.
ἐκ τῶν βίων] βίος is the external
‘form, opposed to ἕωή, the internal
, principle of life. Thus βίος is ‘line of
life,’ ‘profession,’ ‘career,’ Cf. Eth.
Ix. ix. 9, x. vi. 8; Plato, Repub, x.
618 A, τὰ τῶν βίων παραδείγματα.
2 οἱ μὲν--- θεωρητικό9] ‘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 (μάλιστα) three in number, that
just mentioned, and the political life,
and thirdly the life of contemplation.’
With τὴν ἡδονὴν, ὑπολαμβάνουσι Taya- “
θόν 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 ὑπολαμβάνειν, but ends the sen-
tence after ἡδονήν.
ἀπολαυστικόν] a word not occurring
τρεῖς yap, k.T.A.] In the celebrated:
metaphor attributed to Pythagoras i
(cf. Cicero, Tusc. Disp. v. 3), the world;
is compared to an Olympic festival, |
in which some are come to contend; i
for honour ; others to buy and sell,'
for profit ; the best of all, as spectators, |
for contemplation, In Plato a similar }
division occurs, Repub. 1x, 581 Cc:
Διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ ἀνθρῶπων λέγωμεν τὰ
πρῶτα τριττὰ γένη εἶναι, φιλόσοφον,
φιλόνεικον, φιλοκερδές ; κομιδῇ γε.
This passage appears to be alluded
to in the words at the opening of the
chapter, οὐκ ἀλόγως ἐοίκασιν ἐκ τῶν
βίων ὑπολαμβάνειν. 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, ἡ
The life of pleasure then was included }
under Plato’s γένος φιλοκερδέςς. Aris-‘
totle’s classification, which separates |
these, is much more true to nature. {
But thereason given by the Paraphrast |
¥.) HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 435
4 , ε , =~ @ 4 - 2 4 -
καὶ τρίτος ὁ θεωρητικός. οἱ μὲν οὖν πολλοὶ παντελῶς 3
ἀνδραποδώδεις φαίνονται βοσκημάτων βίον προαιρούμενοι,
, A , ‘4 ‘4 4 ~ 9 ΄- ἣν ld
τυγχάνουσι δὲ λόγου διὰ τὸ πολλοὺς τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἐξουσίαις
ὁμοιοπαθεῖν Σαρδαναπάλῳ. οἱ δὲ χαρίεντες καὶ πρακτι- 4
κοὶ τιμήν" τοῦ γὰρ πολιτικοῦ βίου σχεδὸν τοῦτο τέλος.
φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐπιπολαιότερον εἶναι τοῦ ζητουμένου" δοκεῖ
γὰρ ἐν τοῖς τιμῶσι μᾶλλον εἶναι ἡ ἐν τῷ τιμωμένῳ, τἀάγα-
θὸν δὲ οἰκεῖόν τι καὶ δυσαφαίρετον εἶναι μαντευόμεθα. ἔτι 5
.fis untenable. Aristotle omitted the Hausit ; at illa jacent multa ct pre-\
βίος χρηματιστής, as he tells us pre- clara relicta, Ἶ
‘sently, because, as not being purely
, Y | Quid aliud, ait Aristoteles, in bovis, ἃ
‘ voluntary (βίαιός τις), it does not exhi- | non in regis sepulchro inscriberes?? !
« bita conception of happiness. Though | No such passage is to be found in\
_it may have many adherents, these | any of the extant works of Aristotle. ;
‘do not seek it spontaneously, as con- | 4 of δὲ xaplevres—rédos] ‘But the
taining happiness in itself, | refined and active conceive honour to
3 οἱ μὲν οὖν---Σαρδαναπάλῳ] The | be the chief good ; for this may_be
life of sensuality is that which the | said to be (σχεδόν) the end of the
vulgar propose to themselves as their | political life.’ οἱ δὲ answers to ol μὲν
ideal of happiness. This they would | πολλοὶ καὶ φορτικώτατοι. The desire
pursue if they could obtain the ring of | for honour is of course a higherinstinct
Gyges (Plato, Repub. 11. p. 359 ©). | than the desire for pleasure. It is
And though Aristotle repudiates it | ‘the last infirmity of noble minds.’
immediately as vile and abject, yet he | Honour is the price paid for political
places it on the scale (τυγχάνουσι X6- | service, the garland of the magistrate
you) because great potentates (πολλοὺς | and the statesman. Cf. Eth. v. vi. 2s
τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἐξουσίαι5) show themselves | μισθὸς ἄρα τις δοτέος, τοῦτο δὲ τιμὴ
of the same mind as Sardanapalus, | xq) γέρας.
thinking nought but sensuality ‘worth φαίνεται δ᾽ ---μαντευόμεθα] * But it
a fillip,’ while they have everything at | appears too superficial for that which
their disposal, and are of all men most | we are in search of, for it seems to
free to choose, . rest more with the honourer than the
τυγχάνουσι λόγου] ‘They obtain honoured; whereas we have a pre-
Ὶ consideration,’ i.e. both in the eyes of sentiment that the chief good must be
men in general, and also in the pre- | one’s own, and not in the power of
sent treatise. Cf. Eth. x, vi. 3. others to take away.’ Honour is evi-
Σαρδαναπάλῳ] Cicero, in Tuse. Disp. | dently a precarious advantage de-
v. xxxv. (ef. De Finibus, τι. xiii.), | pending on others. No labours or
mentions the epitaph of Sardanapalus | merits could prevent its being with-
as quoted by Aristotle, ‘ Ex quo Sar- | held by an ungrateful or unappreciat-
‘danapali, opulentissimi Syrie regis, ing age.
| error agnoscitur, qui incidi jussit in | μαγτευόμεθα] A phrase worthy of
busto : attention, It occurs Eth, γι. xiii. 4:
\ Hee habeo, que edi, queque exsatu- ἐοίκασι δὴ μαντεύεσθαί πως ἅπαντες
νος γαία libido ᾿ ὅτι ἡ τοιαύτη ἕξις ἀρετή ἐστιν, ἡ κατὰ
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1,
436 [Cuar-
> 8 A A , (4 , e A e
δ᾽ ἐοίκασι τὴν τιμὴν διώκειν, Wa πιστεύωσιν ἑαυτοὺς wWya-
lol lal “ , lal 4
θοὺς εἶναι" ζητοῦσι γοῦν ὑπὸ τῶν φρονίμων τιμᾶσθαι, καὶ
ΓῚ lal ~ i 2 ’
παρ᾽ οἷς γιγνώσκονται, καὶ ἐπ’ ἀρετῇ" δῆλον οὖν ὅτι κατά
, ‘ ~ Ν
6 YE τούτους ἡ ἀρετὴ κρείττων. τάχα δε καὶ μᾶλλον ἄν τις
΄ lol , , A
τέλος τοῦ πολιτικοῦ βίου ταύτην ὑπολάβοι" φαίνεται δὲ
᾿] / A ” a ‘ 9 le A "ὃ
ἀτελεστέρα καὶ αὕτη" δοκεῖ γὰρ ἐνδέχεσθαι καὶ καθεύδειν
A ,
ἔχοντα τὴν ἀρετήν, ἢ ἀπρακτεῖν διὰ βίου, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις
κακοπαθεῖν καὶ ἀτυχεῖν τὰ μέγιστα" τὸν δ᾽ οὕτω ζῶντα
οὐδεὶς ἂν εὐδαιμονίσειεν, εἰ μὴ θέσιν διαφυλάττων.
\ A , Wd
περὶ μὲν τούτων ἅλις"
buf Licis
4
Kal
e ~ ‘ 4A 3 “ ’ U
(KAVWS γὰρ καὶ €V Τοῖς ἐγκυκλίοις
A
τὴν φρόνησιν. Cf. also Fhet. τ. xiii. 2:
ἔστι yap ὃ μαντεύονταί τι πάντες φύσει
κοινὸν δίκαιον καὶ ἄδικον. It is pro-
bably suggested by Plato, in whom
both μαντεύεσθαι and ἀπομαντεύεσθαι
frequently occur; 6... Crat. 411 B:
δοκῶ γέ μοι οὐ κακῶς μαντεύεσθαι ὃ Kal
νῦν δὴ ἐνενόησα, K.T.r.
5-6 Moreover, honour is not only
an insecure possession, but it seems
not even desired for its own sake. It
is desired by men as an evidence of
their merits. Cf. ἰδ. virr. viii. 2,
where he says more at length that
most men appear to seek honour κατὰ
συμβεβηκός ; the many seek it at the
hands of those in power, as an earnest
of future advantage ; thg 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 (dredeorépa
καὶ αὕτη). For it might subsist in a
life of absolute inaction, or of the
heaviest misfortunes. And to call
this happiness would be paradoxical.
ἔχιστα. τὴν ἀρετήν} It is the ἕξις
“τῆς ἀρετῆς, virtue regarded ὃ as a mere
Past merits, or the passive possessions,
of qualities whose existence depends \
on the attestation of fame, cannot be
thought to constitute the chief good.
Very different from this is ἐνέργεια |
kar’ ἀρετήν, an actual life of virtue in j
the present.
el μὴ θέσιν διαφυλάττων] ‘Unless
defending a paradox.’ Θέσεις in de-
monstration are those unproved prin- ἢ
ciples necessary to the existence of '
each separate science, just as ἀξιώματα |
are to the existence of reasoning in /
general (Post. Analytics, τ, ii. 7), but*
θέσεις in dialectic (the kind here’
meant) are paradoxical positions rest- '
ing on the authority of some great:
name; Topics, 1. xi. 4: θέσις δέ ἐστιν
ὑπόληψις παράδοξος τῶν γνωρίμων τινὸς
κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν, οἷον, ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν
ἀντιλέγειν, καθάπερ ἔφη ᾿Αντισθένης,
κατὰ, The above paradox (ὅτι αὐτ-",
dpkns ἡ ἀρετὴ πρὸς τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν) was ἡ
one the Stoiecs afterwards ventured }
to maintain. Cicero (Paradoxa, 11.)?
defends it with rhetorical arguments '
—arguing the greatness of Regulus in 1
his misfortunes, as though that were /
identical with his happiness.’ i
καὶ περὶ μὲν---αὐτῶν] ‘But enough
on this subject, for it has been suffi-
ciently discussed even in popular
philosophies.’ Cf. De Οαῖο, 1,.ix. 16 ;
'
!
͵
‘ quality, which Aristotle repudiates. καὶ γὰρ καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐγκυκλίοις
Υ]
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION I.
437
Μ 4 a , δ᾽ 9 Α e , ‘4
εἰρηται περὶ αὐτῶν" τρίτος ἐστιν ὁ θεωρητικός, περι 7
“- Α > 6 ᾿ a ¢ , ,
ou τὴν ἐπίσκεψιν ἐν τοῖς ἑπομένοις ποιησόμεθα.
χρηματιστὴς βίαιός τίς ἐστιν,
ὁ δὲ 8
καὶ ὁ πλοῦτος δῆλον ὅτι οὐ
φιλοσοφήμασι περὶ τὰ θεῖα πολλάκις |
προφαίνεται τοῖς λόγοις ὅτι τὸ θεῖον
ἀμετάβλητον ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πᾶν τὸ |
πρῶτον καὶ ἀκρότατον, on which Sim-
{ plicius notes with regard to ἐγκυκλί-..
τ οις---ἅτινα καὶ ἐξωτερικὰ καλεῖν εἴωθε.
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 dv for wav.) 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 insuf- |
ficiency of virtue for happiness had
been the subject of commonplace
discussion. ᾿Εγκύκλιος is used three
(times in the Politics of Aristotle to
‘ express ‘that which belongs to the |
‘daily round of life.’ Pol. τ, vii. 2,
τὰ ἐγκύκλια διακονήματα, ‘ daily duties
of servants;’ ef. 11. v. 4, τὰς διακονίας |
τὰς ἐγκυκλίους : 11. ix. 9, χρησίμου δ᾽
οὔσης τῆς θρασύτητος πρὸς οὐδὲν τῶν |
ἐγκυκλίων, ‘ Boldness is of no use for
every-day life.’ Hence the word
{comes to mean ‘commonplace,’ ‘ popu-
‘ vlar, , ‘unscientific.’ Two other ex-
-.- -......--.-
‘be rejected : (1) Eustratius thinks that
- a poem of Aristotle’s is meant, ending
with the same line with which it
\ edits Rela ealled Encyclic; (2)
! Julius Scaliger refers us to two books,
. ᾿Εγκυκλίων, a’, β', mentioned in the
‘list of Diogenes Laertius, v. 26.
7 τρίτος ὃ᾽----ποιησόμεθα] ‘ 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. p. 46.
8 ὁ δὲ χρηματιστής---χάρι»] “ 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 χρηματιστής understand
βίος. “Lambinus finds in two MSS.
χρηματιστὴς βίος ἄβιός τίς ἐστι. This
is evidently a gloss. βίαιος is to be
explained by comparing the parallel
passage in Eth, Eudem. 1. ix. 2:
Διηρημένων δὲ τῶν βίων, καὶ τῶν μὲν
[οὐδ ἀμφισβητούντων τῆς τοιαύτης
εὐημερίας, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τῶν ἀναγκαίων χάριν
σπουδαζομένων, οἷον τῶν περὶ τὰς τέχνας
τὰς φορτικὰς καὶ τῶν περὶ χρηματισμὸν
καὶ τὰς βαναύσου-ς---τῶν δὲ εἰς ἀγωγὴν
εὐδαιμονικὴν ταττομένων τριῶν ὄντων.
‘ 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 οὐδ᾽ is restored by
the absolutely certain conjecture of
Bonitz. βίαιός τις exactly corresponds
with οὐδ᾽ ἀμφισβητούντων---σπουδαζο-
μένων, and so it is understood by the
Paraphrast: καὶ ἔστι βίαιος, Οὔτε γὰρ
τὸ "ἀγαθὸν διώκει, οὔτε πάνυ δοκεῖ"
διώκει. Ὅθεν οὐ πολλοῖς ἐστὶν ἐρῶ" Ὁ
στός" ὀλίγοι γὰρ εἵλοντο πάσης τῆς ἐν
βίῳ σπουδῆς τέλος τὰ χρήματα ἔχειν. -
It is to be taken in a passive, not an ;
nea ὦ
488 HOIKQN
\ Sur 2: ,
TO ζητούμενον ἀγαθόν"
διὸ μάλλον τὰ πρότερον
δι
es ‘ " ΄
αυτα yep αγάπαται.
NIKOMAXEION 1.
χρήσιμον γὰρ καὶ
λεχθέντα τέλη τις
᾿ ᾽ Ὁ.
φαίνεται δ᾽ οὐδ
[Cuap.
ἄλλου χάριν.
ἂν ὑπολάβοι:
5: τα ’
CKELVA* KAtTOL
πολλοὶ λόγοι πρὸς αὐτὰ καταβέβληνται.
6
Ἐξ wn Ὁ
/active sense, It is the opposite of
' ἑκούσιος, meaning ‘forced,’ as in Zth,
‘aI. i. 3- It implies that no one
‘ would devote himself, at the outset,
\ to money- -making, except of necessity,
“fparce 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 (1) that ‘of
\Eustratius. ‘The usurer is violent,’
ὅτι βίαν ἐνδείκνυται πρὸς τὸ κτήσασθαι.
The same has been adopted in the
Latin translations, where ‘ violentus’
isused. In Dante’s /nferno, Canto XI,
there is a Gi ig commontar, y on
this. Dante, who only kn
in the Latin, but studied him much,
Ὁ places usurers among ‘the violent’ in
' hell, and gives learned reasons for
‘this classification. (2) That of Gipha-
(nius, who, rightly ‘taking Blos to be
' the omitted word, interprets ‘vita
‘nature contraria.’ It is true that in
several places βίαιος is opposed to
κατὰ φύσιν, and in such contexts
means ‘unnatural’; Phys. Ausc, Iv.
viii. 4, v. vi. 6; Politics, 1.iii. 4. But
eas ον - τεῦ τό τῶν ἐν ταν
. tially later conception.
| good be one, it ought to fall under} _
without such a context, it cannot |
simply stand for rapa φύσιν. The life
of gain is truly not a life which one |
would naturally choose, but this does
not amount to its being ‘unnatural.’
καίτοι---καταβέβληνται] The general
meaning is: ‘Although much has
been said to show that each of these
is = chief good, it has been unavail-
ing.’
‘ ‘precise force of “καταβέβληνται. Does
‘it mean, ‘have been wasted’ ἢ
_ reduced to one idea.
But a doubt remains as to_the |
or |
Taira μὲν οὖν ἀφείσθω: τὸ δὲ καθόλου βέλτιον ἴσως
simply, ‘have been laid down, pro-\
mulgated’ ?
τῶν παλαιῶν εἰπεῖν τινὲς προήχθησαν,
ὅτι πάντα ταῦτά ἐστι θεῶν Tea... .
τῇ μὲν θείᾳ δυμάμει πρέποντα κατα-
βαλλόμενοι λόγον, οὐ μὴν τῇ γε οὐσιᾳ.
By ἃ slight extension of meaning we
have in the Politics, καταβεβλημέναι
μαθήσεις (VIII, 11. 6), καταβεβλημένα
παιδεύματα (VIII. iii, 11), ‘ordinary,
usual branches of learning.’
VI. Aristotle now proceeds to exa-
mine, or rather to attack, the Platonic
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
Plato. See Essay III. The argu-,
ments used are as follows: (1) The}
Platonists allow that where there is '
an essential succession between two
conceptions, these cannot be brought.
under a common idea—but there is ἢ
such between different manifestations '
of good, eg. the useful is an essen-!
(2) If all
only one category, whereas it can be;
predicated under all. (3) If it weres
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 scem incapable of being }
(6) It is moreé
natural to consider good an analogous '
word, and to assign to it a nomina- )
listic, rather than a realistic, unity. /
This latter rendering i ee ᾿
confirmed by De Mundo, vi. 3: διὸ καὶ }
γ.--ν 1}
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 439
» ’ ‘4 ~ “~ a , ,
ἐπισκέψασθαι καὶ διαπορῆσαι πῶς λέγεται, καίπερ προσάν-
τοὺς τῆς τοιαύτης ζητήσεως γινομένης διὰ τὸ φί λους ἄνδρας
. a ‘ ὃ
εἰσαγαγειν Ta εἰθῆ.
δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν ἴσως βέλτιον εἶναι καὶ
- ee! , ~ 9 , 4 ‘ 9 - ο -
δεῖν ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ γε τῆς ἀληθείας καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἀναιρεῖν,
Ψ ΝΜ ᾽ a ‘
ἄλλως τε καὶ φιλοσόφους ὄντας" ἀμφοῖν yap ὄντοιν
΄΄ κ °
pirow ὅσιον προτιμᾶν τὴν ἀλήθειαν.
>> φρεύηδεχα a >
(7) But however this may be, it is
‘ plain that the idea can have no rela-.
‘ tion to practical life, and therefore it
does not belong to ethics,
I τὸ δὲ καθόλου---ἀλήθειαν) * But |
perhaps it were as well to consider |
the nature of the universal term
(good) and to discuss in what sense it
is predicated, although an inquiry of
this kind is rendered disagreeable
owing to those who are our friends
having introduced their doctrine of
Ideas. Still it is the best course, and
even incumbent on us, where the
safety of truth is concerned, to sacri-
fice even what is nearest to us, espe-
cially as we are philosophers, For
where both are dear, friends and the
truth, it is our duty to preferthe truth.’
_ τὸ καθόλου] As part of the logic
of Ethics, Aristotle is proceeding to
inquire into the nature of the uni-
versal term—Good—when he is
stopped by the necessity of consider-
ing Plato’s doctrine of the Idea of
Good. His answer to the question is
given in 88 11-12. Aristotle Also
*held the necessary existence of uni-
‘ versals, only more as a conceptualist,
| saying that they were κατὰ πολλῶν
\(predicable of particulars), not παρὰ
γγὰ πολλά (existing independent of
rticulars), Cf. Post. Anal. τ. xi. 1:
(Elin μὲν οὖν εἶναι ἣ ἕν τι παρὰ τὰ
: πολλὰ οὐκ ἀνάγκη εἰ ἀπόδειξις ἔσται,
ἱ εἶναι μέντοι ὃν κατὰ πολλῶν ἀληθὲς
\ εἰπεῖν ἀνάγκη" οὐ γὰρ ἔσται τὸ καθόλου
\av μὴ τοῦτο ῇ. s
ite
‘feeling expressed by Aristotle towards
es
_ highest degree cordial.
Plato, here as elsewhere, is in the
But in the \
argument used there is πε ηρρόνα, ἢ
eaptious.
καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἀναιρεῖν] Cf. Thue. 1.
41: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα χεῖρον τίθενται
φιλονεικίας ἕνεκα τῆς αὐτίκα.
ὅσιον προτιμᾶν τὴν ἀλήθειαν] This
is Plato’s own sentiment about Ho-
mer; Repub. X, p. 595 ©, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρό
γε τῆς ἀληθείας τιμητέος ἀνήρ. He
also applies the word ὅσιον in a
similar context, Repub. 11. p. 368 B:
δέδοικα yap μὴ todd ὅσιον 7 παραγε-
νόμενον δικαιοσύνῃ enneryropounery ἀπ-
αγορεύειν, κ-τ.Ὰ,
2 οἱ δὲ TE τρὴ
‘Nowthey whointroduced thisopinion
used not to make ideas of things of
which they predicated priority and
posteriority, and hence they con-
structed no idea of numbers.’
κομίσαντες] Cf. Top. vit. v. 6, κομί-
fovres ἀλλοτρίας δόξας. The wo 8.
‘ ,
δὲ κομίσαντες 2
δόξαν ταύτην and ἐποίουν ἰδέας seem ‘
used, as if purposely, to express an
arbitrary and fictitious system. With /
the above ef. Metaph, τι. iii. 10: ἔτι
ἐν ols τὸ πρότερον καὶ ὕστερόν ἐστιν
οὐκ οἷόν τε τὸ ἐπὶ τούτων εἶναί τι παρὰ
Tatra’ οἷον εἰ πρώτη τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἡ
δυάς, οὐκ ἔστι τις ἀριθμὸς παρὰ τὰ εἴδη
τῶν ἀριθμῶν. Eth, Eudem, t. viii. 8:
ἔτι ἐν ὅσοις ὑπάρχει τὸ πρότερον καὶ
ὕστερον, οὐκ ἔστι κοινόν τι παρὰ ταῦτα
καὶ τοῦτο χωριστόν" εἴη γὰρ ἄν τι τοῦ
|. πρώτου πρότερον. ἹΠρότερον γὰρ τὸ
κοινὸν καὶ χωριστὸν διὰ τὸ ἀναιρουμένου
τοῦ κοινοῦ ἀναιρεῖσθαι τὸ πρῶτον. Οἷον
εἰ τὸ διπλάσιον πρῶτον τῶν πολλαπλα-
ἌΝ , “Δ,
3 ἐπὶ τούτων ἰδέα.
x
440
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.
[Crap.
‘ δὴ , S759 , ἴδ ᾽ Ω κ᾿ , κ᾿
ay THY ὄξαν ταύυτηὴν οὐκ ἐποιοὺν ιθξὰς EV OLS TO πρότερον Kal
TO ὕστερον ἔλεγον, διόπερ οὐδὲ τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἰδέαν κατε-
, A Cie ταὶ A 4 \ 9 Coe ae \ ἃ
σκεύαζον" τ ὃ ἀγαθὸν λέγεται καὶ ἐν TW Τί εστι Και εν
a a V9 a , 4 δὲ θ᾽ Casa ΠΕΡ . or
TW TOW Καί EV τῷ T Pos ike tO ε Καὶ . GUTO Και ἢ οὐυσια
, a , A , ἊΝ ἢ ἘΠ
πρότερον τῇ φύσει τοῦ πρὸς τι’ Tapacuadt yap τοῦτ
a A , ~ + Ὁ ? 3 " ay ,
E€OLKE Και συμβεβηκότι TOU OVTOS, WITT Οὐκ AV Ely Κοινὴ τις
aS ὦ ‘ ° A ς “ , ou
ἔτι ἐπεὶ τἀγαθὸν ἰσαχῶς λέγεται τῷ
σίων, οὐκ ἐνδέχεται τὸ πολλαπλάσιον
τὸ κοινῇ κατηγορούμενον εἶναι χωρισ-
τόν " ἔσται γὰρ τοῦ διπλασίου πρότερον,
εἰ συμβαίνει τὸ κοινὸν εἶναι τὴν ἰδέαν.
‘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
ἢ 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.
‘SMetaph. τι. vi. 7: Οἱ μὲν οὖν ἀμφοτέ-
"'pous φασὶν εἶναι τοὺς ἀριθμοὺς, τὸν μὲν
«ἔχοντα τὸ πρότερον καὶ ὕστερον τάς
ι ἰδέας, τὸν δὲ μαθηματικὸν παρὰ τὰς
"ἰδέας. 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 δυάς and the διπλάσιον in the
above-quoted passages, which refer to
the Platonic doctrine of the δυὰς
ἀόριστος, Which by union with the one
becomes ἡ πρώτη δυάς, the first actual
number, This δυὰς is itself the first
idea of all number, there can be no
idea of it. (Cf. Met. x1. vii. 18 sqq.)
‘In some cases the ideas are identical
\ with the manifestations of those
\ideas, Cf, Metaph. vi. xi. 6: καὶ τῶν
τὰς ἰδέας λεγόντων of μὲν αὐτογραμμὴν
τὴν δυάδα, οἱ δὲ τὸ εἶδος τῆς γρὰμμῆς "
ἔνια μὲν γὰρ εἶναι ταὐτὰ τὸ εἶδος καὶ
οὗ τὸ εἶδος, οἷον δυάδα καὶ τὸ εἶδος
δυάδος.
παραφυάδι---ὄντος] ‘ For this may be
compared to an offshoot and accident
of substance.’ Cf. Rhet. τ. 11. 7, συμ-
βαίνει τὴν ῥητορικὴν οἷον παραφυές τι
τῆς διαλεκτικῆς εἶναι. Aristotle argues
that the relative good (ἐν τῷ πρός
τι) must be a sort of deduction from
the substantively good (ἐν τῷ τί ἐστι),
therefore posterior to it in thought,
and therefore incapable of being
brought under a common idea,
3 ἔτι ἐπεὶ τἀγαθὸν---τῷ ὄντι---δῆλον
—wdvy] ‘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 meta-\
physical summa genera, or an ulti-!
mate classification of all existence, is\
rather a deduction from his philo-\
sophy than what he had actually}
arrived at. The Categories with(
Aristotle 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 ἱ
in all probability not from the hand ;
of Aristotle himself, but it shows a :
tendency in the Peripatetic school to }
merge the logical into a metaphy-
Vide Cl— Sub Kar ryyocex,
VI.} HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 44]
»” 4 ‘ > “ , , e ε a a" ¢ - 4
ὄντι (καὶ yap ἐν τῷ Ti λέγεται, οἷον ὁ θεὸς καὶ ὁ νοῦς, καὶ
3 “ -“ 4 ’ ἥν 9 “ nw
ἐν τῷ ποιῷ ai ἀρεταί, καὶ ἐν τῷ ποσῷ TO μέτριον, καὶ ἐν
Lal , 4 4 9 , , 4
τῷ πρός τι TO χρήσιμον, καὶ ἐν χρόνῳ καιρός, Kal ἐν τόπῳ
, Foe a ~ kd
δίαιτα καὶ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα), δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἂν εἴη κοινόν τι
ν᾿" Ψ 9 .. ” / + , -
καθόλου καὶ ἕν" οὐ γὰρ ἂν Sana al ἐν πάσαις ταῖς κατηγο-
’ 9 > ? ~ ,
prats, ἀλλ᾽ ev μιᾳ μάν, ἔτι δ᾽ ἐπεὶ τῶν κατὰ μίαν ἰδέαν 4 o
μία Kal ἐπιστήμη, Kal τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἁπάντων ἣν ἂν μία τις
ἐπιστήμη" νῦν δ᾽ εἰσι πολλαὶ καὶ τῶν ὑπὸ μίαν κατηγο-
, fal 9 , A 4
ρίαν, οἷον καιροῦ ἐν πολέμῳ μὲν στρατηγικὴ ἐν νόσῳ δ᾽
9 4A “ ’ ᾽ A ‘ 4
ἰατρική, Kat τοῦ μετρίου ἐν τροφῇ μὲν ἰατρικὴ ἐν πόνοις
A Ε] * ’ 4
δὲ γυμναστική. ἀπορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν τις τί ποτε καὶ βούλον- 5 Ὁ
, . , ΝΜ »ἭἬ 93 ’ 4 ?
ται λέγειν αὐτοέκαστον, εἴπερ ἔν τε αὐτοανθρώπῳ καὶ ἀν-
aS
0 , : ete ἄντ τ ας , ψι ἢ ε ~ 3? , »
βωπῷ εἰς Καὶ O αὐτὸς λόγος εστιν O TOU ἀνθρώπου. ”
yap ἄνθρωπος, οὐδὲν διοίσουσιν"
4 ? “ 9 @
εἰ ὃ OUTWS, οὐδ᾽ 1: αγα-
θόν. ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ τῷ ἀίδιον εἶναι μᾶλλον ἀγαθὸν ἔσται, 6
εἴπερ μηδὲ λευκότερον τὸ πολυχρόνιον τοῦ ἐφημέρου. πι- 7
θανώτερον δ᾽ ἐοίκασιν οἱ [Πυθαγόρειοι λέγειν περὶ αὐτοῦ,
sical classification. Cf. Topics 1. iv.
ἘΣ ἢ
4 There are many sciences of the
Igood, therefore it cannot be reduced
Sto 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 πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν it might be said
‘that according to Aristotle’s own ac-
‘count it falls (in all its manifestations,
‘whether as means or ends) under the
one supreme science—Politics.
5-6 ἀπορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν rus—épnuepov]
‘ 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,
VOL. I.
ν κ
since what is ever so old is not whiter
than that which lasts but a day.’
Aristotle brings against the idea ans
accusation which he has also used in ,
the Metaphysics (1. ix. 1), 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. #th. vi. iii. 2; and see Essay III,
Ρ. 210;
7 πιθανώτερον δ᾽ ---δοκεῖ] ‘ 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 (δή),
appears to follow.’ We have to deal
here with the subtle differences be-\
tween the Greek schools of metaphy- ,
sical philosophy. There came in’
HH
442
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Crap.
, . ~ A . A , . Ψ @ δὲ κ
τιθέντες ἐν τῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν συστοιχίᾳ τὸ ἕν: οἷς δὴ καὶ
8 Σ), πεύσιππος ἐπακολουθῆσαι δοκεῖ.
ς ᾿ A A ,
ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων
is τὸ succession, —first, the Eleatic princi-
ΠΡ], 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 (μετέχει THs οὐσίας). 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 (διαλεκτικῆς οὐ μετεῖχον,
Ar. 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, &. 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. vil. 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. 217). It is
mentioned, Mctaph. x11l. iv. 10, that τος
ἂν
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
metaphysical consideration of the
Good, as not belonging to ethics.
He merely states objections to Plato’s
doctrine, and in a cursory way alleges .
a prima facie preference (πιθανώτερον
ἐοίκασιν λέγειν) for the Pythagorean
theory, according to which the good
was not transcendental, or separate
from phenomena. το
8 ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων ἄλλος ἔστω
λόγος] ‘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 περὶ τούτων to the
Pythagoreans and Speusippus, or
refer it, with some commentators, to
the books mentioned in the list of
Diogenes (vy. 25), περὶ τῶν Πυθαγο-
ρείων, d. περὶ Σπευσίππου καὶ Ἐίενοκ-
ράτους, ά.
ἘΠῚ HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 443
ἄλλος ἔστω λόγος, τοῖς δὲ λεχθεῖσιν ἀμφισβήτησίς τις
ὑποφαίνεται διὰ τὸ μὴ περὶ παντὸς ἀγαθοῦ τοὺς λόγους
εἰρῆσθαι, λέγεσθαι δὲ καθ᾽ ἕν εἶδος τὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ διωκόμενα
καὶ ἀγαπώμενα, τὰ δὲ ποιητικὰ τούτων ἣ φυλακτικά πως
ἢ τῶν ἐναντίων κωλυτικὰ διὰ ταῦτα λέγεσθαι καὶ τρόπον
ἄλλον.
μὲν καθ᾽ αὑτά, θάτερα δὲ διὰ ταῦτα.
δῆλον οὖν ὅτι διττῶς λέγοιτ᾽ ἂν τἀγαθά, καὶ τὰ 9
χωρίσαντες οὖν ἀπὸ
τῶν ὠφελίμων τὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ σκεψώμεθα εἰ λέγεται κατὰ
ἢ 207 ἀξ -ς ‘ en ’ 3) ae ‘
μίαν ἰδέαν. καθ᾽ αὑτὰ δὲ πόϊα θείη τις ἄν; ἢ ὅσα καὶ το
, , e 4 - 4 e ΄“΄ A € ,
μονούμενα διώκεται, οἷον τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἡδοναί
4 , Cal Ἁ 9. 4 9 ,
τίνες καὶ τιμαί; ταῦτα yap εἰ καὶ δ ἄλλο τι διώκομεν,
ἄλλο
εἰ δὲ τι
‘ A τ. ὦ κ᾿ a ᾽ an Κ᾿ A ° a Levy “
καὶ TQUT εστι τῶν καθ αὐτὰ, TOV τἀγαθοῦ : oy Vv εν aTa-
ὅμως τῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὰ ἀγαθῶν θείη τις ἄν. ἢ οὐδ᾽
ἀπ ‘ ~ 397 “ , 4 \ 7δ
OUVOEV πλὴν τῆς ἰδέας ; @WOTE ματαίον εσται TO ELOOS.
9 - 4 9 4 9 ’ , e ] ,
σιν αὐτοῖς τὸν αὐτὸν ἐμφαίνεσθαι δεήσει, καθάπερ ἐν χιόνι ord
τιμῆς δὲ καὶ φρονήσεως
wi ae ‘ , e , , ee 5 ,
καὶ ἡδονῆς ἕτεροι καὶ διαφέροντες of λόγοι ταύτη ἣ ἀγαθα.
καὶ Ψιμμυθίῳ τὸν τῆς λευκότητος.
τοῖς δὲ λεχθεῖσιν ἄλλον)] ‘But 1 duals.’ The Platonic idea was meant
against my arguments an objection
suggests fitself, namely, that the
Platonic theory was not meant to
apply to every good (διὰ τὸ μὴ περὶ
παντὸς ἀγαθοῦ rods λόγους εἰρῆσθαι),
but that under one head are classified
those goods that are sought and loved
in and for themselves (καθ᾽ αὑτά),
while things productive of these, or in
any way preservative of them, or pre-
ventive of their opposites, are spoken
of as’ ‘‘ secondary goods” (διὰ ταῦτα),
and in another fashion.’ It seems
ibest to refer τοὺς λόγους to the Pla-
Stonic theory. The words καθ᾽ ἕν
εἶδος are used, not in the peculiarly
i Platonic sense, ‘under one idea,’ but
‘in the more common and also Aristo-
\telian sense, ‘ under one species.’
10 ἢ οὐδ᾽ &do—eldos] ‘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-
to be not only an ida, or absolute
existence, transcending the world of
space and time, but also an εἶδος, 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.
11 gpovicews] ‘Thought.’ The
word is used in a general sense as the
substantive of φρονεῖν (cf. Eth. vu.
xii. 5), and not in its technical sense
as defined in (the Eudemian) Book vt.
τιμῆς δὲ--- ἀγαθά] ‘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 ὶ
doing full justice by the question he }
has started. What are the ‘ different }
laws’ of good in these objects, calls for /
ἘΠῚ ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION I. [CHap.
ἀλλὰ
“ A ld 9 ‘ 4 a ς᾽ Α ’ « [4
πῶς δὴ λέγεται ; οὐ γὰρ ἔοικε τοῖς γε ἀπὸ τύχης ὁμωνύ-
ΟΝ » 1.2 \ , . ἢ 207
12 οὐκ €OTLY apa το ἀγαθὸν κοινον τι KATA μιὰν ἰδέαν.
“ ἠδ τᾶς Ψ “ ς $7 COLON > a A «Ν᾿ “
mow. ἀλλ᾽ dpa γε τῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς εἶναι, ἢ πρὸς ἕν ἅπαντα
“ a ge ᾽ ° , ε \ 3 ,
συντελεῖν, ἢ μάλλον κατ᾽ ἀναλογίαν ; ws yap ἐν σώματι
13 ὄψις, ἐν ψυχῇ νοῦς, καὶ ἄλλο δὴ ἐν ἄλλῳ. ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως
΄ 4 Ψ , 4 Laan 9 “ Χ e ‘ Ε] ~
ταῦτα μὲν ἀφετέον τὸ viv" ἐξακριβοῦν yap ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν
ἄλλης ἂν εἴη φιλοσοφίας οἰκειότερον. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ
τῆς ἰδέας" εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἔστιν ἕν τι τὸ κοινῇ κατηγορούμενον
2 A a , + ee | > e , ~ ε ΣῚ ΕῚ »
ἀγαθὸν ἢ χωριστόν τι αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό, δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἂν εἴη
πρακτὸν οὐδὲ κτητὸν ἀνθρώπῳ: νῦν δὲ τοιοῦτόν τι ζητεῖ-
, δξ ὃ , ΠῚ , > : U δ, ον
Ι4 ται. τάχα δέ τῳ δόξειεν ἂν βέλτιον εἶναι γυωρίζειν αὐτὸ
» ~ A @ [2
πρὸς τὰ κτητὰ καὶ πρακτὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν: οἷον γὰρ παρά-
Coat I, ὧν ϑ΄ 2 ᾿ x δος ς ’
δειγμα τοῦτ᾽ ἔχοντες μᾶλλον εἰσόμεθα καὶ τὰ ἡμῖν ἀγαθά,
15 κἂν εἰδῶμεν, ἐπιτευξόμεθα αὐτῶν. πιθανότητα μὲν οὖν
“᾿ Ἀ e ’; aS δὲ cod 3 rg ὃ -
ἔχει τινὰ ὁ λόγος, ἔοικε δὲ ταῖς ἐπιστήμαις διαφωνεῖν".
r X ς A \ 9 , ‘ ἢ 9 \ ’ a
TAGAL γὰρ ἀγαθοῦ τινος ἐφιέμεναι καὶ TO ἐνδεὲς ἐπιζητοῦ-
(8 subtle investigation ; 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. 1. v. 5), that pleasure
‘and thought really exhibit the same
‘law of good—as being both ἐνέργειαι.
*But Aristotle here partly trifles and
{partly dogmatises. He would, of
‘course, refer us to metaphysics for
\the question in point.
11-12 οὐκ ἔστιν--- ἀναλογίαν] * Good,
therefore, is not something generic
under one idea. But how then is
the term used? For it does not seem
like an accidental coincidence of
name, Shall we say then that it is
so used because all goods spring from
. one source, or because they all tend
~ to one end, or rather that it is on |
account of an analogy between them ?’
Ὁμώνυμα answers to ‘equivocal’ words
in logic. The so-called ‘ Categories’
of Aristotle begin ᾿ομώνυμα λέγεται
ὧν ὄνομα μόνον κοινόν. A nominalistic
explanation of the general conception ἃ
of good is here substituted provi- ;
sionally for the realism of Plato. }
13 ἀλλ᾽ ἔσως--- ζἡτεῖται] ‘Butperhaps
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
(χωριστόν) 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- ἃ
tained in this sentence. The Idea is !
not πρακτόν τι, and therefore does not :
belong to ethics. The concluding‘
paragraphs of the chapter are occupied ᾿
with proving that the Idea is ποῦ:
_ available even as a model (παράδειγμα);
for practical life.
15 ἐνδεές]. Οἵ, Pol. vit. xvii. 15:
πᾶσα yap τέχνη καὶ παιδεία τὸ προσ-
_ i
VI.J HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 445
cat παραλείπουσι τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτοῦ. καίτοι βοήθημα
τηλικοῦτον ἅπαντας τοὺς τεχνίτας ἀγνοεῖν καὶ μηδ᾽ ἐπιζη-
τεῖν οὐκ εὔλογον. ἄπορον δὲ καὶ τί ὠφεληθήσεται ὑφάν-
τῆς ἢ τέκτων πρὸς τὴν αὑτοῦ τέχνην εἰδῶς αὐτὸ τἀγαθόν, ἢ
πῶς ἰατρικώτερος ἢ στρατηγικώτερος ἔσται ὁ τὴν ἰδέαν
6
--
Βὰ Ἢ ’
αὐτὴν τεθεαμένος.
, ‘ iy “8. ‘ ἊΣ
φαίνεται μεν γὰρ οὐδὲ την υγίειαν
- ‘ ΄σ ᾽
οὕτως ἐπισκοπεῖν ὁ ἰατρός, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀνθρώπου, μᾶλλον ὃ
ἴσως τὴν τοῦδε: καθ᾽
ἕκαστον γὰρ ἰατρεύει.
‘ ‘
και περι
‘ , Φ' ἐδ “ 9
μεν τούτων ETL τοσουτον εἰρήσθω.
Πάλιν δ᾽ ἐπανέλθωμεν ἐπὶ τὸ ζητούμενον ἀγαθόν, τί 7
ΕΝ. δὰ ”
TOT ἂν ey.
φαίνεται μὲν yap ἄλλο ἐν ἄλλῃ πράξει Kat
λεῖπον βούλεται τῆς φύσεως ἀναπλη-
ροῦν.
15-16 καίτοι --- τεθεαμένο:] ‘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
ἐ 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 5 and between the speculative
‘and practical powers of man he sets a
ἐ 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!
knowledge ; for by contemplation of it | '
the mind would become conformed to '
it. Cf. Repub. vu, and see Essay ι
ΠῚ. p, 205.
VII. 1 πάλιν δ᾽ ἐπανέλθωμεν---εἴη]
‘ But let us return to the good we are
in search of, and ask what is its
nature.’ τὸ ᾿ξητούμενον. is emphatic ; ;
it distinguishes the πρακτὸν ἀγαϑὸνν
of ethics, here ‘sought for,’ from the |
transcendental supreme good of meta- :
physics. Failing to obtain a satis-,
factory answer to his question, either ‘
from the common opinions of men, or ἡ
from the philosophers, Aristotle starts ‘
anew, by asserting that though the |
conception of good may vary ‘ in each ἃ ὶ
art and action,’ yet it has this unvary- |
ing characteristic, that it is the ‘end.’ ὰ
From this starting-point the argument α ι
easily comes round to the position |
already anticipated (μεταβαίνων δὴ 6\
λόγος els ταὐτὸν ἀφῖκται), that the ἢ
πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν is identical with the ἃ
τέλος τέλειον, or end-in-itself of ac- |
tion, 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-/
” Ste? See
᾽ ΟΝ Maree o7
440 ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION 1. [Crapr.
, "“ Ε] ς “ A “ » a
τεχνη" ἄλλο yap εν ἰατρικῇ καὶ στρατηγιίκῃ καὶ ταῖς λοι-
μι > , - ,
παῖς ὁμοίως. τί οὖν ἑκάστης τἀγαθόν ; ἢ οὗ χάριν τὰ λοιπὰ
lal a Ὁ “
πράττεται; τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐν ἰατρικῇ μὲν ὑγίεια, ἐν στρατηγικῇ
a ». ’
δὲ νίκη, ἐν οἰκοδομικῃ δ᾽ οἰκία, ἐν ἄλλῳ δ᾽ ἄλλο, ἐν ἁπάση
δὲ πράξει καὶ προαιρέσει τὸ τέλος" τούτου γὰρ ἕνεκα τὰ
, , - ~ ΤΥ ,
λοιπὰ πράττουσι πάντες. ὥστ᾽ εἴ τι τῶν πρακτῶν ἁπαν-
9 x , δῆς, "1 ” + A A 9 ’, 9 \
των ἐστὶ τέλος, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη TO πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν, εἰ δὲ
A / r
πλείω, ταῦτα. μεταβαίνων δὴ ὁ λόγος εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀφῖ-
2
΄ ~ ΄ 4A
3κται. τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον διασαφῆσαι πειρατέον. ἐπεὶ
A , , ‘ t , ᾽ ’ὔ ’ Ψ
δὲ πλείω φαίνεται τὰ τέλη, τούτων ὃ αἱρούμεθα τινα δὶ
“ @ A Cee ve Sipe a ε
ἕτερα, οἷον πλοῦτον αὐλοὺς καὶ ὅλως τὰ ὄργανα; δῆλον ὡς
9 5», , , A 3 Ψ , £ ,
οὐκ ἔστι πάντα τέλεια: τὸ ὃ ἄριστον τέλειόν τι φαίνε-
o Ε] e , 9 Ψ " , m3 nn 4
ται. ὥστ᾽ El Mev ἐστιν ἐν TL μόνον τέλειον, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν EH
4 , ° \ , al , , .
4 τὸ ζητούμενον, εἰ δὲ πλείω, τὸ τελειότατον τούτων. τελει-
, ‘ , A ’ δι τς A A ὦ ᾿
οτέρον δὲ λέγομεν Τὸ καθ αυτόο διωκτὸν του δι ETEPOV Kal
7 ΄“ 4
TO μηδέποτε Ot ἄλλο αἱρετὸν τῶν καὶ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ καὶ διὰ
00” e A ἐν. XD On aN Α θ᾽ ξ ‘ ε ‘
τοῦθ᾽ αἱρετῶν, καὶ ἁπλῶς δὴ τέλειον τὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ αἱρετὸν
+ a UA
ἀεὶ καὶ μηδέποτε OL ἄλλο. τοιοῦτον δ᾽ ἡ εὐδαιμονία μά-
(velops his conception of happiness or
‘the chief good. (1) It is τέλειον ; (2)
i Also, it must be αὔταρκες ; ( 4 It
;must be found in the [Ἔργον of man.
(4) This Ἔργον is a rational and moral
‘life ; ; (5) We must conceive of it ‘
' actuality,’ in other words, as ‘conscious |
\ life ;’ (6) We must add the condition
‘of conformity to its own proper law ;
| (7) And also the external condition of |
\sufficient duration and prosperity.
3 οἷον πλοῦτον αὐλοὺς καὶ ὅλως τὰ
ὄργανα] ‘As, for instance, wealth,
flutes, and instruments in general.’
Wealth is a mere means (cf. I. v. 8).
Αὐλοί seems a stock example with
Aristotle of the instruments to an
art. Cf. De Animd, τ. iii. 26, 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: παραπλήσιον
δὲ λέγουσιν ὥσπερ εἴ tis φαίη τὴν
τεκτονικὴν εἰς αὐλοὺς ἐνδύεσθαι ---- δεῖ
γὰρ τὴν μὲν τέχνην χρῆσθαι τοῖς ὀργά-
νοις, τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν τῷ σώματι. ΟΥ̓,
Xenophon, @con. I. 10, where Socrates
says: ὥσπερ ye αὐλοὶ τῷ μὲν ἐπιστα-
μένῳ ἀξίως λόγου αὐλεῖν χρήματά εἰσι,
τῷ δὲ μὴ ἐπισταμένῳ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἢ
ἄχρηστοι λίθοι, εἰ μὴ ἀποδιδοῖτό γε
αὐτούς.
4 καὶ ἀπλῶς---ἄλλο] “ And therefore
we call that absolutely of the nature_
of an end which is desirable i in and tors 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 Republic, those are said to be !
the highest goods which are desired '
both for themselves and for their re-/
sults (cf. Eth. τ. vi. 10). Aristotle’s\
conception of the practical chief good ἃ
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:
τέλειον, but αὔταρκες. These two;
VIL] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 447
Nor’ εἶναι δοκεῖ: ταύτην yap αἱρούμεθα ἀεὶ dt αὑτὴν καὶ 5
3707 ° 4 4 A 4 ε κ 4 - 4A lod
οὐδέποτε Ot ἄλλο, τιμὴν δὲ καὶ ἡδονὴν Kal νοῦν καὶ πᾶσαν
LJ 4 e , ‘ A ᾽ ᾽ , 4 x " ,
ἀρετὴν αἱρούμεθα μὲν καὶ dv αὐτά (μηθενὸς yap ἀποβαίν-
’ > ΠῚ A 7 A ε , θ δὲ ͵ ‘ ΄
οντος ἑλοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν), αἱρούμεθα δὲ καὶ τῆς
9 , ; ‘ , e , 9 ,
εὐδαιμονίας χάριν, διὰ τούτων ὑπολαμβάνοντες εὐδαιμονή-
σειν. τὴν δ' εὐδαϊμονίαν οὐδεὶς αἱρεῖται τούτων χάριν,
οὐδ᾽ ὅλως de ἄλλο.
=> , fe ἢ 5 ΄ ᾽ ι ” >
αὐτὸ συμβαίνειν. TO yap τέλειον ἀγαθὸν αὔταρκες εἶναι.
, ‘ ae a ᾽ , ‘
φαίνεται. δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῆς αὐταρκείας τὸ 6
mn” 4 2 w+ , ᾽ 9 -“ ’ὔ ~ “"
doce. τὸ δ᾽ αὔταρκες λέγομεν οὐκ αὐτῷ μόνῳ τῷ ζῶντι
βίον μονώτην, ἀλλὰ καὶ γονεῦσι καὶ τέκνοις καὶ γυναικὶ
καὶ ὅλως τοῖς φίλοις καὶ πολίταις, ἐπειδὴ φύσει πολιτι-
4 ” , A , “ 9 ,
κὸς ἄνθρωπος. τούτων δὲ ληπτέος ὅρος τις" ἐπεκτείνοντι 7
γὰρ ἐπὶ τοὺς γονεῖς καὶ τοὺς ἀπογόνους καὶ τῶν φίλων
8 , 43 ΝΜ , ᾿] s ~ 4 ΕἸ ΄-
τοὺς φίλους εἰς ἄπειρον πρόεισιν. ἀλλα τοῦτο μεν εἰσαῦ-
θις ἐπισκεπτέον, τὸ δ᾽ αὔταρκες τίθεμεν ὃ μονούμενον aipe-
\ .“ 4 , ‘ 4 ᾽ “ “- A ‘ ΕῚ
τὸν ποιεῖ τὸν βίον καὶ μηδενὸς ἐνδεᾶ: τοιοῦτον δὲ τὴν εὐδαι-
,
μονίαν οἰόμεθα εἶναι. ἔτι δὲ πάντων αἱρετωτάτην μὴ συν- 8
A ~
αριθμουμένην, συναριθμουμένην δὲ δῆλον ὡς αἱρετωτέραν
μετὰ τοῦ ἐλαχίστου τῶν ἀγαθῶν: ὑπεροχὴ γὰρ ἀγαθῶν
γίνεται τὸ προστιθέμενον, ἀγαθῶν δὲ τὸ μεῖζον αἱρετώτε-
φὰς aX δή , ‘ 4 ε δ ,
pov aeét, TEAELOV OF) TL φαίνεται και auTapKes ῃ E€VOALMLOVIG,
and descendants and the friends of a
man’s friends, it will go on to infinity.
(qualities are attributed to the chief
« good in the Philebus of Plato, p. 20¢:
τὴν τἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν πότερον ἀνάγκη
τέλεον ἢ μὴ τέλεον εἶναι ; πάντων δή
που τελεώτατον, ὦ Σώκρατες. τί dé;
ἱκανὸν τάγαθόν; πῶς γὰρ οὔ ; K.T.r.
6 τὸ δ᾽ αὕταρκεε--- ἄνθρωπος] ‘ We do
not apply the term “self-sufficiency”
only to the individual who leads a
solitary life, but in reference to parents
and children, and wife, and in general
friends and fellow-citizens, since man
is by nature social.’ The Greek οὐκ
αὐτῷ μόνῳ--ἀλλὰ καὶ γονεῦσι is de-
fective in the grammar ; the meaning
apparently is, that αὐτάρκεια does not
imply isolation.
7 τούτων δὲ---ἐπισκεπτέον) ‘But of
these we must take some limit; for if
one extends the circle to ancestors
But this point we must consider here-
after.’ γονεῖς seems to be used in a
different sense in ὃ 7 from γονεῦσι in
86. Aristotle promises here to return
to the question how far a man’s αὖ-
τάρκεια is liable to be affected by his
relationship to others. To some ex-
tent this is done in chapter xi. of this
book, which discusses τὰς τῶν ἀπο-
γόνων τύχας kal τῶν φίλων ἅπαντων as
to their influence upon a‘man’s happi-
ness, whether he be alive or dead.
8 ἔτι δὲ πάντων---ἀδεῖ ‘ Moreover
we think it (οἰόμεθα) the most desir-
able of all goods, provided it be not
(μή) reckoned as one among them;
but if it were so reckoned, it is plain
| that it would become more desirable
448
~ A 9 /
QTY πρακτῶν οὖσα τέλος.
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION I.
: ν᾿ q
a
[ Crap.
3 ΕΣ A A
GAN ἴσως τὴν μὲν εὐδαι-
, A x ’ 4 ἢ ig ,
Moviay TO ἄριστον λέγειν ὁμολογούμενον Fl φαίνεται,
10 ποθεῖται δ᾽ ἐναργέστερον Ti ἐστιν ἔτι λεχθῆναι.
| en Sd Xx
τάχα
δὴ γένοιτ᾽ ἂν τοῦτ᾽, εἰ ληφθείη τὸ ἔργον τοῦ ἀνθρώ-
σπου.
τεχνίτη, καὶ ὅλως ὧν ἐστὶν ἔργον τι καὶ πράξις,
o Ἂν 9 “ A 9 a A 4
WOE TOTOW Kal TayTi
p γὰρ αὐλητῇ Kal ἀγαλματοποιῷ Ka αντ᾽
2
εν
“ιν κ ? ᾿ - ‘ A a “ ,
Tw εργῷ δοκεῖ τἀγαθὸν εινᾶαὰὶὰ Καὶ TO €U, OVUTW δόξειεν
with the addition of the slightest
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 τέλειον καὶ
αὔταρκες ἀγαθόν 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 Jot in itself, so that
}beside it there is no good left that
\gould possibly be added to it. The
Paraphrast gives exactly this meaning
to the passage, rendering the word
συναριθμουμένην by σύστοιχον τοῖς
ἄλλοις ἀγαθοῖς. καὶ εἰ σύστοιχον αὐτὴν
τοῖς ἄλλοις ποιήσομεν ἀγαθοῖς, φανε-
ρὸν ὅτι, εἰ προσθήσομέν τι τῶν ἄλ-
λων αὐτῇ, αἱρετωτέραν ποιήσομεν, καὶ
οὕτως οὐκ ἂν εἴη αὐτὴ τὸ ἄκρον τῶν
αἱρετῶν. And that the above was the
meaning of Aristotle is shown by the [
author of the Magna Moralia (1. ii. 7),
who starts the question: Πῶς τὸ
ἄριστον δεῖ σκοπεῖν ; πότερον οὕτως ws
καὶ αὐτοῦ συναριθμουμένου ; to which
he answers: ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἄτοπον. τὸ γὰρ ἄρι-
στον ἐπειδή ἐστι τέλος τέλειον, τὸ δὲ
τέλειον τέλος ὡς ἁπλῶς εἰπεῖν οὐθὲν ἂν
ἄλλο δόξειεν εἶναι ἢ εὐδαιμονία, ----ἐὰν δὴ
τὸ βέλτιστον σκοπῶν καὶ αὐτὸ συνα-
ριθμῇς, αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἔσται βέλτιον " αὐτὸ
γὰρ βέλτιστον ἔσται. 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, III. }
2 (Brandis’s Scholia, 274b, 1. 17), to:
illustrate the point that knowledge’
plus the process of learning cannot be \
called better than knowledge by it-/
self, ὅτι τὸ μανθάνειν διὰ τὴν ἐπιστή-
μὴν αἱρούμεθα. ᾿Αλλ᾽ οὐδὲ εὐδαιμονία
μετὰ τῶν ἀρετῶν αἱρετωτέρα τῇς εὐδαι-
μονίας μόνης, ἐπεὶ ἐν τῇ εὐδαιμονίᾳ
περιέχονται καὶ αἱ dperal—ov γὰρ συνα-
ριθμεῖται τοῖς περιέχουσί τινα τὰ περιε-
χόμενα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ὡς ἐν τῷ πρώτῳ τῶν
᾿Ηθικῶν ἐῤῥήθη. The word συναριθ-
μεῖσθαι in the sense of ‘ to be reckoned
as one of a class, “to be placed in the
same scale,’ occurs Rhet. I. Vii. 3:
ἀνάγκη τά TE πλείω, τοῦ ἑνὸς Kai τῶν
ἐλαττόνων, συναριθμουμένου τοῦ ἑνὸς ἢ
τῶν ἐλαττόνων, μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι.
‘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
good, though with any addition it
would be a fortiori better.’ This con-
tradicts the very principle that Aris-
totle wished to establish, that ‘ best’
and ‘most desirable’ are to be applied
*
VIL]
ἂν καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, εἴπερ ἔστι τι ἔργον αὐτοῦ.
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
449
TOTE- I!
= , 4 4 , A A
pov οὖν τέκτονος μὲν Kal σκυτέως ἐστὶν ἔργα τινὰ Kal
πράξεις, ἀνθρώπου δ᾽ οὐδέν ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀργὸν πέφυκεν 5 ἢ
καθάπερ ὀφθαλμοῦ καὶ χειρὸς καὶ ποδὸς καὶ ὅλως ἐκάστου
a , , , ” “ πὰ. 5 , ‘
των μοριων φαίνεταί τι εβγον. οὐΤὼ και ἀνθρώπου Tapa
, ce) , ΕΣ 7 , Q Rice A_3 »
σαντα TAVTa θείη τις ἂν epyov Tl, τι OvV δὴ TOUT ἂν εἰ
De ᾿ ‘ . κι ‘ > , ‘ a
TOTES TO μὲν yap ζῆν κοινὸν εἶναι φαίνεται καὶ τοῖς φυ- 12
“- - ‘ 4 ΕΣ 9 ’ », A A
τοῖς, ζητεῖται δὲ τὸ ἴδιον. ἀφοριστέον ἄρα τὴν θρεπτικὴν
καὶ αὐξητικὴν ζωήν. ἑπομένη δὲ αἰσθητική τις ἂν εἴη, φαί-
δὲ Sow ‘ , o¢ 4 » ‘ ‘ s
νεται O€ και GUTH Κοινὴ καὶ ππῷ Και βοὶ Kat “πᾶντι ζώῳ.
, A , A , A
λείπεται δὴ πρακτική τις τοῦ λόγον ἔχοντος.
, ‘
τούτου δὲ 13
‘ 4 ε ‘ , ‘ bo & ΕΣ κ ὃ ,
τὸ μὲν ὡς ἑἐπιπειθὲς λόγῳ, τὸ δ᾽ ὡς ἔχον καὶ διανοούμενον.
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 Platonists
ithe doctrine that the chief good
is incapable of addition. Cf. Zth.
Χ. 11, 3.
It πότερον οὖν τέκτονος κιτ.λ.
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—
“ἀπ α α΄ eee ee te
~=——=—s+
‘which can alone or best be accom-
\plished by the thing in question.
Apa οὖν τοῦτο ἂν θείης καὶ ἵππου
καὶ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν ἔργον ὃ ἂν ἢ μόνῳ
ἐκείνῳ ποιῇ τις ἣ ἄριστα ; ΟΥ̓ course
{ἔργον in this sense is to be distin-
| guished from such uses as in Fth, 1. i.
2, where it means an ‘external re-
sult’; 1v. ii, 10, ‘a work of art’; 11.
\ix. 2, ‘a labour’ or ‘achievement.’
12 τὸ μὲν γὰρ ζῆν--- ἔχοντος] ‘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.
VOL. I.
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. 295. The meanings of the
word πρακτικός are (1) with a genitive !
fable to do,’ or ‘disposed to do,’ as |
IV. iii. 27, ὀλίγων πρακτικόν, 1. ix. 8,
πρακτικοὺς τῶν καλῶν. (2) ‘ Active,”
‘practical,’ opposed to quiescent or \
speculative, 1. v. 4. Οἱ δὲ χαρίεντες }
καὶ πρακτικοὶ τιμήν. VI. Vill, 2. (3)
‘Moral,’ as here, opposed to the |
life of animal instinct. Cf. vr. ii. 2,.’
τῷ τὰ θηρία αἴσθησιν μὲν ἔχειν, πράξεως
δὲ μὴ κοινωνεῖν. Or, as VI. iv. 2, vi. \
xii: 10, opposed to the artistic and :
the scientific. , ὦ
13 τούτου δὲ---διανοούμενον) 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 _
II
450
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I
[Ὁπαρ.
ὃ A ἦν \ , , ‘ Ce We ,
(TTWS ὁε καὶ ταύτης λεγομένης THY κατ΄ ενεργειαν θετέον"
+ κυριωτερον γὰρ αὕτη δοκεῖ a
εἰ δ᾽
᾽ Ν ”
EO TLV ee
ἀνθρώπου Voxiis ¢ ἐνέργεια κατὰ λύγον ἢ μὴ ἄνευ λόγου, τὸ
δ᾽ αὐτό τος εργον εἶναι τῷ γένει τοῦδε καὶ τοῦδε σπου-
δαίου, ὥσπερ κιθαριστοῦ καὶ σπουδαίου κιθαριστοῦ, καὶ
e λῶ On a 3 9 A , , “ ; 2.
ATAWS O84 TOUT ETL TAVTWY, προστιθεμένης τῆς KAT αρε-
τὴν ὑπεροχῆς πρὸς τὸ ἔργον" κιθαριστοῦ μὲν γὰρ τὸ
κιθαρίζειν, σπουδαίου δὲ TO εὖ" εἰ δ᾽ οὕτως, ἀνθρώπου δὲ
Hi!) » Ν , , \ A a! \
TLUELLEV epyov ζωήν TIA, Ταυτὴν δὲ ψυχῆς evepyelay Kal
πράξεις μετὰ λόγου. σπουδαίου δ᾽ ἀνδρὸς εὖ ταῦτα καὶ
‘context, and that it is conspicuously |
‘awkward in a book which for the
most part reads smoothly.
διττῶς δὲ---λέγεσθαι] ‘ 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
~~2 ~~ τς πος ἀν᾽ ὅν “Ὁ
Cf. τ: viii. 9.
: a We have gee a fourfold pro-
tasis: εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔργον---τὸ δ᾽ αὐτό
φαμεν ἔργον---ἀνθρώπου δὲ τίθεμεν---
ἕκαστον δ᾽ εὖ. The apodosis to all of
these is ef δ᾽ οὕτω, τὸ ἀνθρώπινον
ἀγαθόν, where γίνεται is used as de-
noting a deduction from premises,
just as the future tense is often em-
ployed. Similar long-drawn argu-
ments occur II. vi. 9, 111. vy. 17, ὅσ.
εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν -- Λόγου] ‘Now if the
proper function of man be vital action
according to a law, or implying a law.’
“ψυχή, substituted for the previous
ἢ , term ζωή, denotes the entire principle
‘of life, thought, and action, in man.
The additional term κατὰ λόγον gives
an equivalent to πρακτική, since the
reason necessarily introduces a moral
point of view into every part of life
(cf. De Anima, 1.x. 7). Itis difficult
‘to translate κατὰ λόγον, because the
«word λόγος is ambiguous. Partly it
means reason, partly a law or standard Ἂ
(ef. Eth. τι. ii. 2). As compared with μὴ 7
ἄνευ λόγου, κατὰ λόγον would express
a marked, direct, and prominent con-
trol. In the εὐφυής and the σώφρων,
where the desires flow naturally to’,
what is good, reason would seem
rather to be presupposed (οὗ οὐκ ἄνευ) ;
than directly to assert itself. The
more significant expression, however,
is that which follows, πράξεις μετὰ
λόγου. A machine might be said to
πο π ai tel esl pees, [im BMT KS
a law,’ but not μετὰ λόγου, ‘ with a
consciousness of a law.’ It is this¢
consciousness of the law which, ac- |
cording to Hegel, distinguishes mora- |
lity (Moralitit) from mere propriety |
(Sittlichkeit), On the transition οἵ"
meaning from κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν to ἐνέργεια
ψυχῆς, and on the translation of these
terms, see Essay IV. pp. 237, 247.
τὸ δ᾽ αὐτὸ---κιθαριστοῦ)] ‘And we
say that the function is generically
the same of sucha one, and such a one
good of his kind, as, for instance, of a
harper, and of a good harper.’ φαμέν
is an ‘appeal to language and general
consent. τοῦδε is used indefinitely as
above, I. xi. 19, τὴν τοῦδε, ‘the health
of such and such an individual’; v1.
xi, 6, ἥδε ἡ ἡλικία, Ke, The present
‘ passage vindicates the introduction of }
κατ᾽ ἀρετήν into the definition by;
"ΠΥ ee γὦ
VIL]
A “ > ‘ ‘ 9.4 ἢ ? ‘ 5) -
καλῶς, ἕκαστον δ᾽ εὖ κατὰ THY οἰκείαν ἀρετὴν ἀποτελεῖ- 15
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.
451
" ee A ° , " ‘ ΄ > Ff
ται εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, TO ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθὸν ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια
, ᾽ . , . δὲ , ε 3 ὰ Ν ‘
γίνεται ΚΑΤ ἀρετὴν, εἰ ε πλείους at apeTal, κατα τὴν
4 , A ,
ἀρίστην καὶ τελειοτατην.
4" Ν 3 -
χελιδὼν ἔαρ οὐ ποιεῖ,
dl
μακάριον καὶ εὐδαίμονα
περιγεγράφθω μὲν οὗν
ἔτι δ᾽ ἐν βίῳ τελείῳ.
ε A ca 32: “ 3 ,
UTOTUT WC AL T PWTOV, εἶθ ὕστερον ἀναγράψαι.
γὰρ
δόξειε δ᾽
ΠῚ ‘ > ΄ ‘ - x a
ἂν παντὸς εἶναι προαγαγεῖν καὶ διαρθρῶσαι τὰ καλῶς
ἔχοντα τῇ περιγραφῇ. καὶ ὁ χρόνος τῶν τοιούτων εὑρετὴς
4 4 > κ᾿ >
ἢ συνεργὸς ἀγαθὸς εἶναι.
.? , ‘ ‘ a ‘ a
at ἐπιδόσεις * TAaAVTOS yp προσθεῖναι TO ἐλλεῖπον.
‘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.
15 ἕκαστον δ᾽ εὖ -- ἀποτελεῖται] ‘And
everything is well completed in accor-
dance with its own proper excellence.’
Cf. Eth. τι. vi. 2.
‘function of a thing and the peculiar
1 law of excellence of that thing is
‘ \ taken from Plato ; cf. Repub. τ. p. 353-
It is introduced here to justify the
; term κατ᾽ ἀρετήν 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 οὕτω---τελειοτάτην] ‘If so, I
say, it results that the good for man
is vital action 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 consideration to approach, at all
his principle of |
‘the connection between the proper |
ὅθεν καὶ τῶν τεχνῶν γεγόνασιν
μεμνῆ- 18
| events, nearer to his meaning than
| the usual rendering: ‘an energy of
| the soul, according to virtue,’ &c.
16 ἔτι δ᾽ ἐν Bly—xpévos] ‘ But we
| 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.’ βίος the ex-
ternal form and condition of life,
implies both fortunes and duration.
By adding this last consideration,
Aristotle gives a practical aspect to
his definition. Ideally, a moment of
consciousness might be called the
highest good, independent of space
and time. τέλειος, as we have seen
above (8 4), means ‘ that which is of
the nature of an end,’ ‘that which is
desirable for its own sake.’ But no}
doubt the popular sense of the word
comes in to some degree in the pre-|
sent 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 |
‘desirable for its own sake.’
17 repvyeypdpOw—édXetrov] ‘Thus
far, then, for a sketch of the chief
_ good ; for we ought surely to draw the
μία γὰρ 16
οὐδὲ μία ἡμέρα: οὕτω δὲ οὐδὲ
μία ἡμέρα οὐδ' ὀλίγος χρόνος.
τἀγαθὸν ταύτη. δεῖ ἴσως 17
452 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.
[Cuap.
A 4 ~ , , ‘ A 5 , ‘
σθαι δὲ καὶ τῶν προειρημένων χρὴ; καὶ τῆν ἀκρίβειαν μη
e , Ω Ψ ? a 5 ; 3 Ἔα Ss Α
ομοίως εν ἅπασιν ἐπιζητεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ εν εκαστοις κατὰ τὴν
e , r ἅπτου τ oN A 4,5 δ. νυ κὸν ativan a
ὑποκειμένην ὕλην Kal ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἐφ᾽ ὅσον οἰκεῖον τῇ
19 μεθόδῳ.
ζητοῦσι τὴν ὀρθήν.
st τ , 4 , , 9
καὶ γὰρ τέκτων καὶ γεωμέτρης διαφερόντως ἐπι-
ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἐφ᾽ ὅσον χρησίμη πρὸς τὸ
a = x ἣν ΄“
ἔργον, ὁ δὲ τί ἐστιν ἢ ποῖόν τι; θεατὴς yap τἀληθοῦς.
si rd εἶ A , x 9 “ + ’ v4 A
TOV QAUTOV δὴ τρόπον καὶ εν Τοις ἄλλοις ποιήτεον. OTTWS MY
XN , . ~ + , ,
20 Ta Tapepya τῶν Epyov πλείω γίγνηται.
3 i) ,
OUK ATALTHTEOV
2 Δ Χ A 4.» 3 7 e , 3 ον. \ cy x
δ᾽ οὐδὲ THY αἰτίαν ἐν ἅπασιν ὁμοίως, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανὸν ἔν τισι TO
> ὅτι δειχθῆναι καλῶς, οἷον καὶ περὶ τὰς ἀρχάς" τὸ δ᾽ ὅτι
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 co-operator,
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. 11. Vi. 29:
καὶ yap οἱ γραφεῖς ὑπογράψαντες ταῖς
γραμμαῖς οὕτως ἐναλείφουσι τοῖς χρώ-
μασι τὸ ζῷον. He adds, however,
the caution that mathematical exact-
ness must not be required in filling up
the sketch. He seems here to dwell
jwith some pride on the foundation he
\has laid for ethics: a similar feeling
betrays itself with regard to his logi-
cal discoveries, Sophist. Elench. xxxiii.
13, where is a parallel passage to the
present on the importance of ἀρχαί:
τὰ δὲ ἐξ ὑπαρχῆς εὑρισκόμενα μικρὰν
τὸ πρῶτον ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν εἴωθε,
χρησιμώτερον μέντοι πολλῷ τῆς ὕστερον
ἐκ τούτων αὐξήσεως. μέγιστον γὰρ ἴσως
ἀρχὴ παντός, ὥσπερ λέγεται,
18 τὴν ἀκρίβειαν---ἐπιζητεῖν] Cf. 1.
iii, 1.
The περ “AselBen, with, ite
cognate ἀκριβής, has different shades
‘
of meaning which may be here speci-
fied. (1) ‘Minuteness of details.’ Cf.”
Plato, Repub. 111. 414 A, ws ἐν τύπῳ,
μὴ SC ἀκριβείας. Eth. τι. vii. 5. (2)
‘Mathematical exactness,’ which im- ἢ
plies every link of argument being '
stated, and the whole resting on de- /
monstrative grounds. Cf. Metaph.
ά ἔλαττον, iii, 2. Eth, VII. iii. 3.
(3) ‘ Definiteness,’ or ‘fixedness.’ ΟἿ
VIII. Vii. 5, ἀκριβὴς οὐκ ἔστιν dpiopds.”
11. ii. 4, ὁ λόγος οὐκ ἔχει τἀκριβές,
answering to ἑστηκός, IX. ii. 2, 1Π.
iii. 8, (4) Applied to the arts it de-
notes ‘finish.’ Cf, τ. iii. 1, τι. vi. 9,’
VI. vii. 1. (5) By a slight transition.
from the last, when applied to \
sciences, it means also ‘metaphysical :
subtlety.’ This transition is made
vi. vii. 2; cf. x. iv. 3; De Anima, 1,
i. 1. In the passage before us ἀκρί",
Bera seems to combine several of the:
above-mentioned meanings. It seems!
to say that mathematical exactness 18.
not suited to ethics—that too much |
subtlety is not to be expected (kat γὰρ
τέκτων Kal γεωμέτρης K.T.A.)—that too |
much detail is to be avoided (ὅπως μὴ
τὰ πάρεργα, κ.τ.λ.)
20 οὐκ--- ἀρχή] ‘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 ~
1
¥
’
VIL} HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1. 453
πρῶτον Kat ἀρχή: τῶν ἀρχῶν δ᾽ αἱ μὲν ἐπαγωγῇ θεω- 21
ροῦνται, αἱ δ᾽ αἰσθήσει, αἱ δ᾽ ἐθισμῷ τινί, καὶ ἄλλαι δ᾽
΄ 4 , e ’ ol , A
ἄλλως. μετιέναι δὲ πειρατέον ἑκάστας ἢ πεφύκασιν, καὶ
’ “ e ~ ~ Us ‘ "“,
σπουδαστέον ὅπως ὁρισθῶσι καλῶς" μεγάλην γὰρ ἔχουσι
ῥοπὴν πρὸς τὰ ἑπόμενα. δοκεῖ γὰρ πλεῖον ἣ ἥμισυ παντὸς
εἶναι ἡ ἀρχή, καὶ πολλὰ συμφανῆ γίνεσθαι δ αὐτῆς τῶν
ζητουμένων.
fact constitutes a first point and prin-
ciple.” The bearing of this somewhat
febscure sentence seems to be to repeat
‘the remark made, 1. iv. 6-7, that in
; morals a fact appealing to the indivi-
‘dual consciousness has a paramount
ivalidity. 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 τῶν ἀρχῶν δ᾽---πόμενα] ‘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 mustendeavour
to attain each in the natural way, and
we must take all pains te have them
rightly defined, for they are of great
importance forthe consequencesdrawn
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 im general to this
part of the subject. Aristotle, having
slaid down his ground principle of
: ethics, makes a pause, in which some
! remarks are introduced on principles,
ὁ their importance, and the method of
‘attaining them. The words καὶ ἄλλας
δ᾽ ἄλλως 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 generalise the whole proposition
(cf. Eth. τ. iv. 3, ἄλλοι δ᾽ ἄλλο).
θεωροῦνται] ‘are perceived’ ; cf. v1.
iii. 2, vit. iii. 5 Answering to μετ-
ἰέναι we have the term θηρεύειν ἀρχάς,
Prior Analytics, τ. xxx. 2. With 7
πεφύκασι we must understanda 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, τ. xxx. 1,!
where the study of nature and of facts:
is pointed out as the only source of ;
ἀρχαί or universal premises. Ἢ μὲν ἃ
οὖν ὁδὸς κατὰ πάντων ἡ αὐτὴ καὶ περὶ
φιλοσοφίαν καὶ περὶ τέχνην ὁποιανοῦν
καὶ μάθημα" δεῖ γὰρ τὰ ὑπάρχοντα καὶ
οἷς ὑπάρχει περι ἕκαστον ἀθρεῖν. --- Διὸ
τὰς μὲν ἀρχὰς τὰς περὶ ἕκαστον éu-
πειρίας ἐστὲ παραδοῦναι. Connecting.
then the recognition of ἀρχαί with the‘
knowledge of facts, we see that (1) !
ἐπαγωγή is the evolution of a general |
law out of particular facts, (2) alo@yois ‘
is the recognition of the law in the |
fact. Αἴσθησις is not to be restricted '
to the perception of the senses, or |
confined (as the Paraphrast would .
have it) to the physical sciences. '
Rather it is opposed to ἐπαγωγή, as |
intuition to inference. Cf Eth. vi.”
xi. 5, τούτων οὖν ἔχειν δεῖ αἴσθησιν,
αὕτη δ' ἐστὶ νοῦς. (3) ἐθισμός is a
sort of unconscious induction, a pro- |
cess by which general truths may be :
᾿ said to grow up in the mind. Noris !
this process peculiar to moral truths |
OS
454
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Cuar.
> , ‘ ‘ 2. δ ’ , > A ,
Σκεπτέον δὴ πέρι αὐτῆς οὐ μονοὸν EK TOU συμπερασμα-
τος καὶ ἐξ ὧν ὁ λόγος, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκ τῶν λεγομένων περὶ
κ a A a +} a ’ y Ni c Us
αὐτῆς τῷ μὲν γὰρ ἀληθεῖ πάντα συνάδει τὰ ὑπάρχοντα,
2 τῷ δὲ ψευδεῖ ταχὺ διαφωνεῖ τἀληθές:
νενεμημένων δὴ τῶν
τς “ la ‘ a A 9 Ν , “ \ ‘
ἀγαθῶν τριχῇ: καὶ τῶν μὲν ἐκτὸς λεγομένων τῶν δὲ περὶ
ψυχὴν καὶ σῶμα, τὰ περὶ ψυχὴν κυριώτατα λέγομεν καὶ
Ui ‘ A
μάλιστα ἀγαθά. τὰς δὲ πράξεις καὶ τὰς ἐνεργείας τὰς
talone :
‘the truths of number do not derive
‘part of their validity as necessary
. axioms from their frequent repetition.
See Mill’s Logic, book 11. ch. v.
VIII. We now enter upon a fresh
division of the Book. From hence
to the end of Chapter, 12th Aristotle
tests ts_his | great ethical principle, 1 his
paring it with various ‘copntet or
‘philosophic opinions, and by applying
‘to it certain commonly mooted ques-
ttions and distinctions of the day.
I σκεπτέον δὴ---τἀληθές] ‘We must
consider it (¢.e. the first principle)
therefore not only from the point
of view of our own conclusion and
premises, but also from that of say-
ings on the subject.
is true all experience coincides, with
what is false the truth quickly shows
a discrepancy.’
περὶ αὐτῆς} especially with δή, can
only be referred to 4 ἀρχὴ in the
preceding line. This is a general
doctrine of science, though Aristotle
immediately exemplifies it with re-
gard to his definition of happiness.
ἐξ ὧν] is compressed for εξ ἐκείνων
ἐξ ὧν. The clause τῷ μὲν-- τἀληθές
{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
it is a question whether even |
For with what |
the thing.’ Ὅ γὰρ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ τὸ
ἀληθές, τοῦτο ἡ ὕπαρξις ἐν τῷ πράγματι.
ὅταν οὖν τὰ ὑπάρχοντα τῴ πράγματι
συνάδει τοῖς περὶ αὐτου λεγομένοις,
δῆλον ἃν εἴη, bre ἀληθὴς ὁ λόγος
(Eustratius). The difficulty is, that
Aristotle is not talking of comparing
theory with facts, but his own theory
with the theory of others. Ta ὑπάρ-
xovra, 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 τἀληθές in the second
part of the sentence answering to τὰ
ὑπάρχοντα 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 τὰ ὑπάρχοντα, meaning
neither ‘facts’ nor ‘ opinions,’ but facts ;
as represented in opinions. In thes
same way τἀληθές is not simply the}
true fact, nor the true theory, but #
‘the truth ’—that is, fact embodied in
theory. τὰ ὑπάρχοντα would usually ;
mean the natural attributes of a thing, |’
the facts of its nature. Cf. Prior. Anal.
I. Xxx. I (quoted above). Sth. I. x. 7.
2 νενεμημένων--- ἀγαθά] ‘To apply
our principle (67), goods have been di-
vided into three kinds, the one kind
being called external goods, and the
others goods of the soul and goods of
the body ; and we call those that have —
to do with the'soul most distinctively
and most especially goods.’ This
Set come eter =
VIII] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. | 455
ψυχικὰς περὶ γυχὴν τίθεμεν. ὥστε καλῶς ἂν λέγοιτο
κατά γε ταύτην τὴν δόξαν παλαιὰν οὖσαν καὶ sepohoyors
μένην ὑπὸ τῶν φιλοσοφούντων. ὀρθῶς δὲ καὶ ὅτι πράξεις 5
τινὲς λέγονται καὶ ἐνέργειαι τὸ τέλος" οὕτω γὰρ τῶν
4 A J A , ‘ 3 “ 3 , , δὲ
περὶ ψυχὴν ἀγαθῶν γίνεται, καὶ οὐ τῶν ἐκτός. συνάδει δὲ 4
τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τὸ εὖ ζῆν καὶ τὸ εὖ πράττειν τὸν εὐδαίμονα"
A ‘ ? , ΝΜ Α ? ld , A
σχεδὸν γὰρ εὐζωία τις εἴρηται καὶ εὐπραξία. φαίνεται δὲ
καὶ τὰ ἐπιζητούμενα περὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἅπανθ᾽ ὑπάρχειν
ur
τῷ λεχθέντι. τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἀρετή, τοῖς δὲ φρόνησις, ἄλ-
classification is attributed by Sextus
Empiricus, adv. Ethicos x1. 51, to the
Platonists and Peripatetics; but in
the Eudemian Ethics τι. i. 1, it is
spoken of asa popular division, καθά-
περ διαιρούμεθα Kal ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς
λόγοις. Accordingly here Aristotle
calls it ‘an ancient division that is
admitted by the philosophers.’
τὰς δὲ πράξεις---τίθεμεν] ‘ But vital
actions and realisations have of course
to do with the soul.’ By these words
Aristotle claims that his definition
of the chief good for man {ψυχῆς
ἐνέργεια, κ.τ.λ.} is in accordance with
the received idea that ‘goods of
the soul’ are the highest class of
goods,
3 ὀρθῶς Sé—éxrés] ‘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 soul, and not one of those that
are external,’ πράξεις stand for the
‘development of the: moral nature
ἰοῦ man, ἐνέργειαι more generally for
ata into consciousness. In either
{ease the man departs not out of him-
‘ self ; the good is one existing in and
‘for his mind,
4 curdde.— εὐπραξία] ‘And with our
definition the saying’ (cf. Eth. 1. iv.
2) ‘agrees that ‘‘the happy man
lives well and does well,” For we
have described happiness pretty much
pretcal Uw,
as a kind of well-living and well-
doing.’
δ φαίνεται δὲ---λεχθέντι)] ‘ 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, ἐπιζητούμενα being used in a
doubtful sense, The meanings of the
word ἐπιζητεῖν are: (1) to ‘require’|
or ‘demand,’ vitl. xiv. 3, τὸ δυνατὸν"
ἡ φιλία ἐπιζητεῖ : (2) to ‘ search after,’ | ἢ
I. vi, 15, ἀγνοεῖν καὶ μηδ᾽ ἐπιζητεῖν :'
(3) to ‘examine’ or ‘ investigate,’ I :
vii. 19, ἐπιζητοῦσι τὴν ὀρθήν, VIII. i. 6: +
(4) to ‘ question,’ like ἀπορεῖν, 1x. vii./
1. Inthe passage before us, ra ἐπιζη:
τούμενα partly means ‘the things de- ἃ
manded, or thought requisite’ ; partly,
as going with περὶ τὴν eddamoviay, .
‘the discussions or investigations on ;
the subject of happiness.’ The words
δὲ καί mark a transition from con-
sidering the merely popular opinions,
to the more philosophic ‘ investiga-
tions’ of the subject,
6 τοῖς μὲν yap — συμπαραλαμβά-
vovow] As we learn from the next
section, Aristotle is rather Junning
over the chief heads of o opinion than:
giving any accurate classification of | ὶ
the different schools of philosophy. j
The opinion that identified happiness’,
with virtue may perhaps be attributed |
to the Cynics; with practical thought ἃ
(φρόνησι5) to Socrates; with philo- ;
sophy (σοφία) to Anaxagoras (cf. Eth. / -
456
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Cuapr.
\ , > a a ‘ A a
λοις δὲ σοφία τις εἶναι δοκεῖ, τοῖς δὲ ταῦτα ἢ τούτων τι
θ᾽ τὸ ~ a 9 x ὃ pris (4 δὲ A 4 Ἢ ‘ "
με ηθονῆς ἢ οὐκ ἀνεὺ HOOVNS ETEPOL € Καὶ THV EKTOS €EU=-
7 ετηρίαν συμπαραλαμβάνουσιν.
ΓΑ
τούτων δὲ τὰ μὲν πολλοὶ
καὶ παλαιοὶ λέγουσιν, τὰ δὲ ὀλίγοι καὶ ἔνδοξοι ἄνδρες" οὐδε-
ἢ x , rc
TEpous δὲ τούτων εὔλογον διαμαρτάνειν τοῖς ὅλοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἕν
a a A
ὃ γέ τι ἢ Kal Ta πλεῖστα κατορθοῦν.
a 4 2
τοῖς μὲν οὖν λέγουσι
¢X, viii. 11), Heraclitus, Democritus,
(&e. ‘That it consisted in these things
‘or one of these, with pleasure added
‘or implied,’ is the doctrine asserted by
\Plato in the Philebus. That ‘favour-
‘able external conditions’ must be in-
‘cluded, seems to have been the
‘ opinion of Xenocrates, who attributed
.to such external things a δύναμις
ὑπηρετική. See Essay III. p. 219.
7 τούτων δὲ---κατορθοῦν»)] One MS.
omits ἢ καί, leaving the sentence
οὐδετέρους “δὲ τούτων εὔλογον διαμαρ-
τάνειν τοῖς ὅλοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἕν γέ τι τὰ
πλεῖστα aie for which Dr.
aaa. ‘Tt 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: ὧν
οὐδετέρους εὔλογον τῆς ἀληθείας ἐν πᾶσι
διαμαρτάνειν" ἀλλὰ καθ᾽ ἕν τι μόνον
ἴσως, ἐν τοῖς πλείστοις δὲ ἀληθεύειν.
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, 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 ‘thought,’ or ‘a}
sort of philosophy.’ This is one οἵ -
the marks of systematic method in }
the Ethics. He will not anticipate’
the relation of φρόνησις and σοφία to
The rest of the argument»,
is very simple. (1) The definition of
‘happiness,’ ‘vital action under the }
law of virtue,’ agrees with, includes, ;
and improves upon the definition that :
says ‘ virtue is happiness.’ For it sub- ὦ
stitutes the evocation, employment, ‘
and conscious development of virtue, ;
for the same as a mere possession or /
latent quality. (2) Such a life im-:
plies pleasure necessarily and essen- |
tially (καθ᾽ αὑτὸν ἡδύς) ; for pleasure, |
being part of our consciousness (791
μὲν γὰρ ἥδεσθαι τῶν ψυχικῶν, cf. Eth. \
x. iii. 6), necessarily attaches to 8}}}
that we are fond of, or devoted to, or :
that we follow as a pursuit (ἑκάστῳ δ᾽ :
ἐστὶν ἡδὺ πρὸς ὃ λέγεται φιλοτοιοῦτος, }
ef, Eth, 11. iti, 1-3, 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 (τοῖς φιλοκάλοις ἐστὶν ἡδέα τὰ i
φύσει ἡδέα). Hence we may super- ;
sede the addition proposed by some
philosophers of μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς to the con-
ception of happiness. Our concep-;
tion, 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 ,
εὐδαιμονία.
a en
VIIT.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION TI. 457
4 . 4 I Ξ , , , « ’ ’
τὴν ἀρετὴν ἢ ἀρετήν τινα συνῳδός ἐστιν ὁ λόγος" ταύτης
γάρ ἐστιν ἡ κατ᾽’ αὐτὴν ἐνέργεια.
μικρὸν ἐν κτήσει 7 χρήσει τὸ ἄριστον ὑπολαμβάνειν, καὶ ἐν
ἕξει ἣ ἐνεργείᾳ. τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἕξιν ἐνδέχεται μηδὲν ἀγαθὸν
ἀποτελεῖν ὑπάρχουσαν, οἷον τῷ καθεύδοντι ἢ καὶ ἄλλως
’ , 4 2. 0 ? eT ,
πως ἐξηργηκότι, τὴν δ᾽ ἐνέργειαν οὐχ οἷόν τε' πράξει
γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης, καὶ εὖ πράξει.
> « , e's , ~ . ’ ε
οὐχ οἱ καλλιστοι καὶ ἰσχυρότατοι στεφανοῦνται ἀλλ᾽ οἱ
ἀγωνιζόμενοι (τούτων γάρ τινες νικῶσιν), οὕτω καὶ τῶν ἐν
τῷ βίῳ καλῶν κἀγαθῶν οἱ πράττοντες ὀρθῶς ἐπήβολοι
γίγνονται.
δ᾽ a
μὲν γὰρ ἥδεσθαι τῶν ψυχρῶν, ἑκάστῳ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡδὺ πρὸς ὃ
λέγεται φιλοτοιοῦτος, οἷον ἵππος μὲν τῷ φιλίππῳ, θέαμα
δὲ τῷ φιλοθεώρῳ᾽ τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ τὰ δίκαια τῷ
φιλσδικαίῳ καὶ ὅλως τὰ κατ’ ἀρετὴν τῷ φιλαρέτῳ.
A = - “εν U 5) ‘ ‘ , ~ 3
μὲν οὖν πολλοῖς τὰ ἡδέα μάχεται διὰ τὸ μὴ φύσει τοιαῦτ
ὥσπερ δ᾽ ᾿Ολυμπίασιν
ἔστι δὲ καὶ ὁ βίος αὐτῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὸν ἡδύς͵
τοῖς
τὸ
διαφέρει δὲ ἴσως ov9
εἶναι, τοῖς δὲ φιλοκάλοις ἐστὶν ἡδέα τὰ φύσει ἡδέα,
τοι-
{cannot practically exist, though it is |
\not to be confounded with happiness.
τὴν ἀρετὴν } ἀρετήν τινα] ‘Virtue |
or excellence of some sort.’ The ame.
, biguity of the word ἀρετή renders it
inipossible to be translated uniformly.
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 τῷ καθεύδοντι ἢ ἄλλως πως ἐξηρ-
“ηκότι] ‘To one asleep, or otherwise
totally irfactive.’ Cf. 1. v. 6.
πράξει γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης καὶ εὖ πράξει]
Both the terms ‘action’ and ‘well’ are
implied in ἐνέργεια κατ᾽ ἀρετήν. Ed
πράξει, however, goes off into a diffe-
rent train of associations.
οὕτω --- γίγνονται) ‘In the same
way it is they who act rightly that
attain to the beautiful and good
things in life.’ ἐπήβολος repeats the
metaphor of the archer, Eth. 1. ii. 2; ef.
VoL. 1.
|
isch. Prom. 444, Eth.1.x.14. With
καλῶν κἀγαθῶν (applied to things) ef.
Plato, Apol, 21 D, οὐδὲν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν
εἰδέναι, and below § 13.
11 τοῖς μὲν οὖν --- ἡδέα] ‘Now to
| most men there is a sense of discord
It comes into the Lthics with the |
in their pleasures, because they are not
naturally pleasant ; but the lovers of
what is beautiful find pleasure in
those things which are naturally
pleasant.’ With μάχεται may be
compared the ‘Surgit amari aliquid’
of Lucretius. Φιλόκαλος occurs in
the Phadrus of Plato, where it is said
that the soul which in its antenatal
state saw most clearly the Ideas, in
life enters els γονὴν ἀνδρὸς γενησομένου
φιλοσόφου ἢ φιλοκάλου" ἢ μουσικοῦ
τινος καὶ ἐρωτικοῦ. Plato uses it, in
accordance with his context, to denote:
one with a poetic feeling and love for }
the beautiful, like the verb φιλοκαλεῖν ἢ i
in Thucydides, 11. 6. 40. In Aristotle ἃ ‘
the meaning is more restricted to a
_ love of the noble in action. th, iv.’
KK
12
4δ8
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Ὁ ΒΔ».
΄σ , ε ᾽ 2 ‘ U oe 3 , 5 Ἃ
avTa ὃ αἱ ΚΑΤ αρετηὴν πράξεις, WOTE Καὶ TOVTOIG Elaoly
ἡδεῖαι καὶ καθ᾽ αὑτάς. - οὐδὲν δὴ προσδεῖται τῆς ἡδονῆς ὁ
t 9s AN [2 , , DO” », A 0. A )
βίος αὐτῶν ὠσπέρ TEPLAT TOU τινος, A exel τὴν NHOOVHV εν
ε a \ A Ω , Ss ἮΝ Ω cy 9 θὸ ε A
ἑαυτῷ. πρὸς τοῖς εἰρημένοις γὰρ οὐὸ ἐστιν ἀγαῦος ὁ μῆ
m= A ‘ A
χαίρων ταῖς καλαῖς πράξεσιν" οὔτε yap δίκαιον οὐδεὶς ἂν
” \ A , a a VPAS aS: ,
εἰποὶ TOV fH Xa povTa τῷ δικαιοπραγεῖν, OUT ἐλευθέριον
᾿ ‘ ’ ~ 9? , ’ e ’ \ \
TOV BY χαιροντα ταις ἐλευθερίοις πράξεσιν" ομοιως δὲ και
~ lA
ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων.
ἀρετὴν πράξεις ἡδεῖαι,
φ ¢ « x Σ Ν᾿ ε
εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, καθ᾽’ αὑτὰς ἂν εἶεν αἱ κατ᾽
A
ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ἀγαθαί ye καὶ
, A , , (4 » “A ,
καλαί, Kal μάλιστα τούτων ἕκαστον, εἴπερ καλῶς κρίνει
᾿ Sia ε ἣ AR ον eget δ ε ”
πέρι αὐτῶν O σπουόοθαιος κρίνει WS εἰπομεν.
ἄριστον
» Α , A "δ e 50. , A μ᾿ ὃ iz.
apa καὶ καλλιστον καὶ ἥῤδιστον ἡ εὐδαιμονία, καὶ οὐ OLwW-
an ‘ ‘ ,
ρισται ταῦτα κατὰ τὸ Δηλιακὸν ἐπίγραμμα"
κάλλιστον τὸ δικαιότατον, λῴστον δ᾽ ὑγιαίνειν "
“ \ , ᾿Ὶ ἐφ φρο ~
ἥδιστον δὲ πέφυχ᾽ οὗ τις ἐρᾷ τὸ τυχεῦ.
“ ΄“ A ,
ἅπαντα γὰρ ὑπάρχει ταῦτα ταῖς ἀρίσταις ἐνεργείαις" Tau-
’ « , if A 9 ye \ > A ὃ
τας δέ, ἢ μίαν τούτων τὴν ἀριστὴν, φαμεν εἶναι τὴν εὐδαι-
iv. 4, it means one with a noble spirit :
τὸν φιλότιμον ἐπαινοῦμεν ws ἀνδρώδη
καὶ φιλόκαλον. φύσει ἡδέα denotes
‘partly things that are, ought to be,
‘and must be pleasures, according to
‘the eternal fitness of things, in
‘accordance with the whole frame of
the world; ef. φύσει βουλητόν, Eth.
‘1m. iv. 3; partly, pleasures which are
( in accordance with the nature of
‘the individual—his natural state—
‘his highest condition ; cf. γα]. xiv. 7,
(φύσει ἡδέα ἃ ποιεῖ πρᾶξιν τῆς τοιᾶσδε
( .
( φύσεως, ‘Things are naturally pleasant
‘ which produce an operation of any
\ given nature’ (viewed as a whole):
(VI. xi, 4, γένεσις els φύσιν αἰσθητή,
{fa perceptible transition into one’s
‘natural state.’ On the various mean-
ings of φύσις, see below, Eth. 11. i. 3,
note.
12 ὥσπερ περιάπτου rivds] ‘ Like
an amulet to be tied on.’ Cf. Plutarch,
Vit. Pericl. § 38: ὁ Θεόφραστος ἐν
' a « a“ , 4 ‘
| τοῖς ἡθικοῖς διαπορήσας ef πρὸς Tas
τύχας τρέπεται τὰ ἤθη, ---ἰστόρηκεν, ὅτι
νοσῶν ὁ Περικλῆς ἐπισκοπουμένῳ τινὶ
τῶν φίλων δείξειε περίαπτον ὑπὸ τῶν
γυναικῶν τῷ τραχήλῳ περιηρτημένον.
Cf. also Plato, Repub. Iv. 426 B, οὐδ᾽
αὖ ἐπωδαὶ οὐδὲ περίαπτα, κ.τ.λ.
οὐδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς ὁ μὴ χαίρων] This
anticipates Hth. 11. iii. 1, where it is
said that pleasure is the test of a ἕξις
being formed,
14 κατὰ τὸ Δηλιακὸον ἐπίγραμμα]
The Ludemian Ethics commences by
quoting this inscription, rather more
circumlocution being used than here.
ὋὉ μὲν ἐν Δήλῳ παρὰ τῷ θεῷ τὴν αὑτοῦ
γνώμην ἀποφηνάμενος συνέγραψεν ἐπί
τὸ προπύλαιον τοῦ Λητῴου, κιτιλ. The
last line, as there given, stands πάντων
δ᾽ ἥδιστον, οὗ τις ἐρᾷ τὸ τυχεῖν. 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, Stobzeus Serm.
9.
VIII.—IX.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I 459
’ ᾽ Ed 4 ~ 9 A . ~
φαίνεται δ᾽ ὅμως καὶ τῶν ἐκτὸς ἀγαθῶν προσδε-
ἀδύνατον γὰρ 4 οὐ ῥάδιον τὰ
πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ πράττε-
μονίαν.
, ΄ »
ομένη, καθάπερ εἴπομεν"
‘ ’ ° , »Ἄ
καλὰ πράττει. ἀχορήγητον ὄντα,
ται, καθάπερ dv ὀργάνων, διὰ φίλων καὶ πλούτου καὶ
ἐνίων δὲ τητώμενοι ῥυπαίνουσι τὸ
οὐ πάνυ γὰρ
΄- ,
πολιτικῆς δυνάμεως"
, ® Ε , , rode U ὰ
μακάριον, οἷον εὐγενείας, εὐτεκνίας, καλλοὺς
δ ‘4 e ‘ ioe , a ὃ Α “Δ ,
εὐδαιμονικὸς ὁ τὴν ἰδέαν παναίσχης ἣ δυσγενὴς ἢ μονώτης
δ ὯΝ Ν io} ” , - >
Kat ἄτεκνος, ἔτι δ᾽ ἴσως ἧττον, εἴ TY πάγκακοι παῖδες εἶεν
a ’ a 9 4A » “ , OW 4
ἢ φίλοι, ἡ ἀγαθοὶ ὄντες τεθνᾶσιν. καθάπερ οὖν εἴπομεν,
» - ‘4 a ,
ἔοικε προσδεῖσθαι καὶ τῆς τοιαύτης εὐμερίας"
J ‘ ’ w+ ‘ ’ ’ ~ ’ “΄
ταὐτὸ τάττουσιν ἔνιοι τὴν εὐτυχίαν τῇ εὐδαιμονίᾳ, ἕτεροι
A ‘ J
δὲ τὴν ἀρετήν.
“ ‘ Ε] - , , , ‘ “ , ‘
O6ev Kat AT OpeLT at TOTEPOV εστι μαθητὸν 4] ἐθιστὸν
ὅθεν εἰς
a » ἂ , “ U , a a) ‘
ἢ ἄλλως πῶς ἀσκητόν, ἢ κατὰ Twa θείαν μοῖραν ἢ καὶ
ὃ ‘ , , 9 ‘ Or 4 »”- ᾽ 4
la τύχην παραγίνεται. εἰ μὲν οὖν Kat ἄλλο TL εστιί
c11.1 5. This classification οἵ goods— | addition of such external prosperity.
that ‘justice is most beautiful, health | Hencesome identify good fortune with
15
17
9
2
best, and success sweetest,’ belongs t to |
the era of " proyerbial philosophy in
Greece ; see Essay II. p. 102.
15 ἀχορήγητον ὄντα] We should
say, by analogous metaphors, ‘ Unless
sufficiently furnished’ or ‘ equipped.’
Cf. τν. ii. 20,
πολλὰ μὲν yap—reOvaow] ΟἿ,
Rhetoric, 1. v. 4, εἰ δή ἐστιν ἡ εὐδαι-
μονία τοιοῦτον, ἀνάγκη αὐτῆς εἶναι μέρη
εὐγένειαν, πολυφιλίαν, χρηστοφιλίαν,
πλοῦτον, εὐτεκνίαν, πολυτεκνίαν, εὐγη-
ρίαν, ἔτι τὰς τοῦ σώματος ἀρετάς, οἷον
ὑγίειαν κάλλος ἰσχὺν μέγεθος δύναμιν
ἀγωνιστικήν, δόξαν, τιμήν, εὐτυχίαν,
ἀρετήν" οὕτω γὰρ ἂν αὐταρκέστατος
εἴη, εἰ ὑπάρχοι αὐτῷ τά 7’ ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ
τὰ ἐκτὸς ἀγαθά" οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἄλλα
παρὰ ταῦτα. The expression in the
Rhetoric — ‘parts of happiness,’ is
equivalent to ‘ instruments of happi-
ness,’ the more accurate designation
in the present passage.
17 καθάπερ otv—dperqv] ‘As we
have said then, it seems to require the
|
happiness, as another class of philo-\
sophers do virtue.’ The Cyrenaiecs }
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. ,
MP esecee
IX. 1 ὅθεν---παραγίνεται] ‘ Whence
also the question is raised whether
it (happiness) is to be attained by
teaching, or habit, or any other kind
of training ; or whether it comes by
some divine dispensation, or lastly by
chance.’ The word ὅθεν expresses the
thread of connection, by which this
new subject of discussion is intro-
duced. Since happiness seems to be
a balance of two principles, an internal j
one, virtue, and an external one,
circumstances, the question arises
rwhether it is attainable by the indivi-
dual through any prescribed means,
or whether it is beyond his control.
It seems chiefly, however, to be upon
the word dperi that Aristotle goes
Ya)
460
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[Cuap.
θεῶν δώρημα ἀνθρώποις, εὔλογον καὶ THY εὐδαιμονίαν θεόσ-
ἣ 3 κι , A ’ , “ ,
OTOV εἶναι, καὶ μάλιστα τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων ὅσῳ βέλτιστον.
3 Ν ΄ ,
3 ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν ἴσως ἄλλης ἂν εἴη σκέψεως οἰκειότερον;
4 , ‘ a? ‘ ’
φαίνεται καὶ θεῖόν τι καὶ μακάριον.
Ὁ
A a 9 ‘
φαίνεται δὲ κἂν εἰ μὴ θεόπεμπτός ἐστιν ἀλλὰ OU ἀρετὴν
A ’ “ἃ , ΄“ ’
καί τινα μάθησιν ἢ ἄσκησιν παραγίνεται, τῶν θειοτάτων
> μ᾿ x A ° - σε 9 A , ” >
εἶναι" TO γάρ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄθλον καὶ τέλος ἄριστον εἶναι
’
εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ πολύ-
κοινον᾽ δυνατὸν γὰρ ὑπάρξαι πᾶσι τοῖς μὴ πεπηρωμένοις
\ ς A £ , A 9 4
πρὸς ἀρετὴν διά τινος μαθήσεως καὶ ἐπιμελείας.
ere
ἐστὶν οὕτω βέλτιον ἢ διὰ τύχην εὐδαιμονεῖν, εὔλογον ἔχειν
off. The question of the day, πότερον
μαθητόν ἡ ἀρετή, comes before him on
| in any others.
mentioning that some identify happi- |
ness with virtue. Thus he says, not
quite distinctly, ‘It is questioned
whether happiness can be learnt.’
' The question formsan important point
at issue in the ethical systems of
Aristotle and of Plato. The conclu-
sion of Aristotle is directly opposed
to that which is somewhat tentatively
stated at the end of the Meno (99 E):
ἀρετὴ ἂν εἴη οὔτε φύσει οὔτε διδακτόν,
ἀλλὰ θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγιγνομένη ἄνευ
_ vob, οἷς ἂν παραγίγνηται.
2-3 ‘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
inquiry ; at all events, if happiness
is not sent by God, but comes by
means of virtue, through some sort of
learning or training, 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:
(1) His acknowledgment and admis-
sion of the religious point of view, and
the primd facie ground for the inter-
εἰ μὲν otv—elvac]
ference of Providence in this case if
(2) His strict main-
tenance of the separate spheres of the
sciences. A theological question can-
not belong to ethics. (3) His manner
of dismissing the subject. ‘Happiness,
if not given by God, is at all events
divine’ (cf. £th. x. viii. 13)—by which
expression he alters the view, giving
it a pantheistic instead of a theistic
tendency. (4) His immediate return
to the natural aud practical mode of
thought.
4 εἴη δ᾽ ἂν xal—émrimedelas] This
is an addition to the preceding epi-
thets 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.’
this last clause is a petitio principit.
Afterwards, however, the assumption
is justified by arguments in its sup-
port 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, ἄνθρωπος ἀνθρώπου
οὐ πολὺ διαφέρει.
5-6 ei δ᾽ ἐστὶν--- ἂν εἴη} The argu-
As it stands, —
IX]
HOIKOQN NIKOMAXEION I. 461
“ ” κ᾿ ᾿ ‘ , e er , ”
οὕτως, εἴπερ TA κατὰ φύσιν, ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστα ἔχειν,
Ga ,
οὕτω πέφυκεν.
See & μ᾿ ’ ‘ A 3 Ul
αἰτίαν, καὶ madioTa κατὰ THY ἀρίστην.
« , A 4 ‘ ‘ , 4 “
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τὰ κατὰ. τέχνην καὶ πᾶσαν 6
Ἁ A ,
τὸ δὲ μέγιστον
καὶ κάλλιστον ἐπιτρέψαι τύχῃ λίαν πλημμελὲς ἂν εἴη.
\ Raa ae a is a , \ , ae
συμφανὲς δ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ἐκ TOU λόγου TO ζητούμενον εἴρη- 7
ται γὰρ ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν ποιά τις.
λοιπῶν ἀγαθῶν τὰ μὲν ὑπάρχειν ἀναγκαῖον, τὰ δὲ συνεργὰ
ment, which is stated in rather a
complex way, seems as follows :—‘ If
it were better that happiness should
be attainable by certain definite
means, we may conclude that it is so
(because 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 @ 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, Zth. m1. iii. 7, where
however necessity is added. Cf. v1.
iv. 4. The ἀρίστη αἰτία here meant
seems to be virtue. Cf. Zth. 11. vi. 9,
and De Juv. et Sen. iv. 1: κατὰ δὲ τὸν
λόγον, ὅτι τὴν φύσιν ὁρῶμεν ἐν πᾶσιν ἐκ
τῶν δυνατῶν ποιοῦσαν τὸ κάλλιστον.
7-11 The succeeding arguments
may be briefly summed up. (2) He
appeals to his definition of the chief
good, that it isa 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 action of the moral conscious-
ness. (5) The same applies to boys,
whose age renders them incapable
of that which has real moral worth.
At this point Aristotle adds that
happiness requires absolute virtue,
and a completed round of life (ἀρετῆς
τελείας καὶ βίου τελείου), and he 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 τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν ἀγαθῶν---ὁργανικῶς]
-The Paraphrast explains τὰ λοιπὰ
ἀγαθά here to mean τὰ σωματικά,
which he divides into τὰ αὐτοῦ τοῦ
σώματος, such as health, which are
necessary to the existence of happi-
ness (ὑπάρχειν ἀναγκαῖον), and τὰ περὲ
τὸ σῶμα, 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 Jpartly
favourable. He in fact hovers between
theidealand the practical. Sometimes
he speaks of happiness as that chief
good which includes everything (th,
1. vii. 8) ; at other times hefanalyses
its more essential and less essential
parts, and leaves in it a ground open
τῶν δὲ
τ}
4
oie
it~ -
ὃ
10
TI
IO
462 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [CHap.
‘ , , 2 A e , ‘ ay
καὶ χρήσιμα πέφυκεν οργάνικως, ὁμολογούμενα δὲ ταῦτ
” ” 4 a ’ . A κ ‘ A ,
ἂν εἴη καὶ τοῖς ἐν ἀρχῇ" τὸ γὰρ τῆς πολιτικῆς τέλος.
9᾽ heel / “ A , Ἂς ’ a a
ἄριστον ἐτίθεμεν, αὕτη δὲ πλείστην ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖται τοῦ
, 8. \ A ~
ποιούς τινας καὶ ἀγαθοὺς τοὺς πολίτας ποιῆσαι καὶ πρακτι-
\ A A δ τῷ > yx “ ax ef x
κοὺς τῶν καλῶν. εἰκότως οὖν οὔτε βοῦν οὔτε ἵππον οὔτε
+ A Le oN + , “Δι ‘ τ “A
ἄλλο τῶν ζῴων οὐδὲν εὔδαιμον λέγομεν᾽ οὐδὲν γὰρ αὐτῶν
ar ~ A A
οἷόν τε κοινωνῆσαι τοιαύτης ἐνεργείας. διὰ ταύτην δὲ THY
\ a x x “
αἰτίαν οὐδὲ παῖς εὐδαίμων ἐστίν: οὔπω γὰρ πρακτικὸς τῶν
, ‘ A G , ε \ , χ ‘ > oN
τοιούτων διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν" οἱ δὲ λεγόμενοι διὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα
a , / \ ~ ,
μακαρίζονται. δεῖ yap, ὥσπερ εἴπομεν, καὶ ἀρετῆς τελείας
A in A 4
καὶ βίου τελείου. πολλαὶ yap μεταβολαὶ γίνονται Kat
a , ‘ \ , \ > , \ τ >
παντοῖαι τύχαι κατὰ τὸν βίον, καὶ ἐνδέχεται τὸν μᾶλιστ
A , a ν a ΟΝ
εὐθηνοῦντα μεγάλαις συμφοραῖς περιπεσεῖν ἐπὶ γήρως;
a ee a Ἁ Is x A 4
καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἡρωϊκοῖς περὶ Πριάμου μυθεύεται" τὸν δὲ
, AY bs) ,
τοιαύταις χρησάμενον τύχαις καὶ τελευτήσαντα ἀθλίως
'
oN A [ ,
οὐδεὶς εὐδαιμονίζει. Ξ
a= ou 9 », "5 ’ ° ’ 3,
Πότερον οὖν οὐδ ἄλλον οὐδένα ἀνθρώπων εὐδαιμο-
to®chance and circumstances, which 11 εὐθηνοῦντα] aliter εὐσθενοῦντα.
admits of being improved or impaired. | Cf. Rhet. τ. ν. 3, εὐθηνία κτημάτων
8 ὁμολογούμενα---τοῖς ἐν ἀρχῇ] ‘In | καὶ σωμάτων, where also there is the
agreement with what we said at start- | variation εὐσθένεια.
ing.” Cf. x. vii. 2: ‘Opodoyovmevor ἐν τοῖς jpotkots] aliter Tpwikots. Dr.
δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν δόξειεν εἶναι καὶ τοῖς πρό- | Cardwell quotes Bentley, who, upon
τερον καὶ τῷ ἀληθεῖ, Callimachus, Fragm. 208, pronounces
10 διὰ ταύτην---μακαρίζονται)] In | that ἥρωες 15 ἃ false reading for Τρῶες.
Politics, τ. chap. xiii., it is discussed, | Ta jpwikd means ‘the heroic legends,’
from a more external point of view,
whether boys are capable of the same X. The mention of βίος τέλειος
virtue in a household as men, To | and of the Πριαμικαὶ τύχαι brings
which the conclusion is’Eze? δ᾽ ὁ rats | Aristotle now to consider the famous
ἀτελής, δῆλον ὅτι τούτου μὲν καὶ ἡ paradox of Solon, that ‘no one can
ἀρετὴ οὐκ αὐτοῦ πρὸς αὐτόν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ | be called happy as long as he lives.’
πρὸς τὸν τέλειον καὶ τὸν ἡγούμενον | The discussion of this question is
(§ 11). The boy’s good qualities have | valuable not only for its own sake as
not an independent existence; they | a criticism upon the old saying, but
only give the promise of such. The | as introducing a practical considera-
sentiment διὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα μακαριζονται tion of happiness, and tending tosettle
is neatly expressed by Cicero De Rep. | the relation to it of outward circum-
(quoted by Servius on dn. vi. 877): | stances. Other points of interest are
“Ὁ Fanni, difficilis causa lJaudare | mooted rather than set at rest.
puerum : non enim res laudanda, sed I πότερον οὖν---ἀποθάνῃ]) ‘Must we
extend this farther, and call no man
spes est.’
mx]
νιστέον ἕως ἂν ζῇ, κατὰ Σόλωνα δὲ χρεὼν τέλος Spay 5.
εἰ δὲ δὴ καὶ θετέον οὕτως, dpa ye καὶ ἔστιν εὐδαίμων 2
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1. 463
, e st ΄“΄ ’ ~ ΕΙΣ
τότε ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνη; ἣ τοῦτό γε παντελῶς ἄτοπον,
- - t ae , 4 9
ἄλλως τε καὶ τοῖς λέγουσιν ἡμῖν ἐνέργειαν τινὰ THY εὐδαι-
μονίαν ; εἰ δὲ μὴ λέγομεν τὸν τεθνεῶτα εὐδαίμονα, μηδὲ 5
Σόλων τοῦτο βούλεται, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τηνικαῦτα ἄν τις ἀσφαλῶς
μακαρίσειεν ἄνθρωπον ὡς ἐκτὸς ἤδη τῶν κακῶν ὄντα καὶ
a ’ ” \ ᾿ a 9 3 , ’ a
τῶν δυστυχημάτων, ἔχει μὲν καὶ TOUT ἀμφισβήτησίν τινα
- 4 > , »“ θ A 4 4 4 9 θό ΝΜ
δοκεῖ γάρ elLVal τι τῷ TE VEWTL καὶ KAKOV και aya OV, εἴπερ
‘ a A ‘ 9 θ , δέ ® A ὦ ,
καὶ τῷ ζῶντι “fy αισσανομεένῳ ες OLOV τιμαὶ καὶ ατΤιμιαι
eos Lo ᾽ , ; , ‘ BY ,
καὶ TEKV@V Και ὅλως απογοόνωῶν εὐπαραξίαι τε και υστύυχίιαι.
° ’ ‘ ‘ “ [ἃς ‘ ,
ἀπορίαν δὲ καὶ ταῦτα παρέχει" τῷ γὰρ μακαρίως βεβιω- 4
κότι μέχρι γήρως καὶ τελευτήσαντι κατὰ λόγον ἐνδέχεται
τε μέχρι γήρως ἘΤΕΣ ΕΟΥ ἐχ
πολλὰς μεταβολὰς συμβαίνειν περὶ τοὺς ἐκγόνους, καὶ
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?’ τέλος is
here used, not in the technical Aris-
totelian 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: (1) 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.
2 4 τοῦτό γε---εὐδαιμονία» ‘Nay,
surely this (the first position) is alto-
gether absurd, especially to us who
define happiness to be a kind of
actuality.’
3 ἔχει wev—rwa]} ‘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 ?
δοκεῖ γὰρ εἶναί τι τῷ τεθνεῶτι καὶ
κακὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ καὶ τῷ ζῶντι
μὴ αἰσθανομένῳ δέ] This is the read-
ing of all Bekker’s MSS.; but the
rendering of the Paraphrast is at
variance with it, and seems to imply
a reading of καὶ instead of μή. His
words are: πάλιν δὲ οὐκ ἀρκοῦσα ἡ
λύσις δοκεῖ, ᾿Απορία γάρ ἐστιν ἔτι, εἰ
λέγομεν εἶναί τι τῷ τεθνεῶτι καὶ κακόν
τι καὶ ἀγαθόν, καὶ αἰσθανομένῳ δέ,
ὥσπέρ καὶ τῷ ζῶντι. ‘For itis 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 stated in the mildest form
the popular belief that the happiness
of the dead is connected with the
fortunes of his family, and afterwards
(ἄτοπον δὲ καὶ τὸ μηδέν) 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
teference 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 τῷ γὰρ---κατὰ λόγον] ‘For to
him who has lived in felicity till old
στ:
ut
N
464 HOIKON NIKOMAXEION I. [CHap.
A A 9 “ 2 ‘ > A ory , ΄ °
Tous μὲν αὐτῶν ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι καὶ τυχεῖν βίου τοῦ Kat
A ~ -
ἀξίαν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐξ ἐναντίας. δῆλον δ᾽ ὅτι καὶ «τοῖς ἀποστή-
A A A A
μασι πρὸς τοὺς γονεῖς παντοδαπῶς ἔχειν αὐτοὺς ἐνδέχεται.
” ‘ , ἀν, 9 ’ A ε ‘ ‘
ἄτοπον δὴ γίνοιτ᾽ ἂν, εἰ συμμεταβάλλοι καὶ ὁ τεθνεὼς καὶ
,
γίνοιτο ὁτὲ μὲν εὐδαίμων πάλιν δ᾽ ἄθλιος, ἄτοπον δὲ Kal
4 \ ; , = =
TO μηδὲν μηδ᾽ ἐπί τινα χρόνον συνικνεῖσθαι τὰ τῶν ἐκγό-
νων τοῖς γονεῦσιν. ἀλλ᾽ ἐπανιτέον ἐπὶ τὸ πρότερον ἀπο-
, , ἣ a , κι ᾿ A 3 , 9
ρηθέν, τάχα γὰρ ἂν θεωρηθείη καὶ τὸ νῦν ἐπιζητούμενον ἐξ
ἐκείνου.
4 ς ς ΕΣ , 9 > ec , > a“
ἕκαστον οὐχ ὡς ὄντα μακαριον ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι πρότερον IV, πῶς
ΕἸ x 9 a) 9 ‘ 0 , A ς ᾽ >
οὐκ ἄτοπον, εἰ OT ἐστὶν εὐδαίμων, μὴ ἀληθεύσεται KAT
9 A Ve 3. x 4 A , Ἂ A 3
αὐτοῦ TO ὑπάρχον διὰ τὸ μὴ βούλεσθαι τοὺς ζῶντας εὐδαι-
͵ Ν A ’ A A A ’ὔ ih 4
μονίζειν διὰ τὰς μεταβολάς, καὶ διὰ τὸ μόνιμόν τι τὴν
x A
εὐδαιμονίαν ὑπειληφέναι καὶ μηδαμῶς εὐμετάβολον, τὰς δὲ
bh) A \ , e ‘te a Ss , , ΄
εἰ δὴ τὸ τέλος opay δεῖ καὶ τότε μακαρίζειν...
age, and died accordingly,’ κατὰ λόγον,
‘in the same ratio’; cf. below, § 15.
δῆλον δ᾽---ἐνδέχεται] ‘ And itis plain
that in their respective degrees of
removal (rots ἀποστήμασι) the de-
scendants may stand in an infinite
variety of relationships to their an-
cestors.’ ἔκγονοι apparently answers to
the ὅλως ἀπόγονοι in the preceding
section. The Paraphrast omits the
sentence. The Scholiast gives πρὸς
τοὺς γονεῖς τῶν ἀπογόνων ἀπόστασιν
, πολυειδῆ εἶναι καὶ ποικίλην ἀναγκαῖόν
ἐστιν.
5 ἄτοπον δὴ---γονεῦσιν] ‘It would
be absurd, therefore, if the dead should
change in sympathy with them, and
hecome 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,’ 1.6. 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. For the nonce he accepts the
common belief on the subject (ef. 1. xi.
I, I. xi. 6), but modifies it so as to
leave it unimportant. On the ap-
parently indeterminate views on the
question of a future life, held by
Aristotle, see Vol. 1. Essay V. p. 299,
sqq.
6 ‘But let us return to the former
difficulty, for perhaps the clue to our
present question also may be dis-
covered from it.’ τὸ πρότερον ἀπορηθέν
is not a very accurate expression.
Aristotle, when he stated the question
now reverted to, εἰ δεῖ τὸ τέλος ὁρᾶν,
gave it two meanings, and showed the
impossibility of holding the first, and
the difficulty that attached even to the
second. Henow 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 Tas δὲ τύχας πολλάκις ἃνακυ-
κλεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς αὐτούς] ‘ And be-
X.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 465
, - ~
τύχας πολλάκις ἀνακυκλεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς ; δῆλον 8
A »
γὰρ ὡς εἰ συνακολουθοίημεν ταῖς τύχαις, τὸν αὐτὸν εὐδαί-
‘ , ” 3 “ Ui , ΄
μονα καὶ πάλιν ἄθλιον ἐροῦμεν πολλάκις, χαμαιλέοντά
4 i) ’ 9 , 4 ~ ε , a
τινα Tov εὐδαίμονα ἀποφαίνοντες καὶ σαθρῶς ἱδρυμένον. 79
‘ - - ~
TO μὲν ταῖς αύχαι ἐπακολουθεῖν οὐδαμῶς ὀρθόν: οὐ γὰρ
ἐν ταύταις τὸ εὖ ἢ κακῶς, ἀλλὰ προσδεῖται τούτων ὁ ἀν-
θρώπινος βίος, καθάπερ εἴπαμεν, κύριαι δ᾽ εἰσὶν αἱ κατ᾽
ἀρετὴν ἐνέργειαι τῆς εὐδαιμονίας, αἱ δ᾽ ἐναντίαι τοῦ ἐναν-
τίου. μαρτυρεῖ δὲ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τὸ νῦν διαπορηθέν. περὶ 10
> δι ‘ “ Ἐπ Ὁ A ’ , » ,
οὐδὲν γὰρ οὕτως ὑπάρχει τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων ἔργων βεβαιότης
ὡς περὶ τὰς ἐνεργείας τὰς κατ᾽ ἀρετήν" μονι μώτεραι γὰρ
καὶ τῶν ἐπιστημῶν αὗται δοκοῦσιν εἶναι. πούτων δ᾽ αὐτῶν
αἱ τιμιώταται μονιμώταται διὰ τὸ μάλιστα καὶ ὀυγεχέ-
eee
στατα βαταζῆν ἐν αὐταῖς τοὺς μακαρίους" τοῦτο γὰρ
cause fortune makes many revolutions | essence is to be found in his own
around the same individuals.’ Various | conception of happiness, since he has
expressions of this sentiment are placed it in the individual conscious-
quoted from the Classics. The most ness, in that which is the life and
beautiful is that which occurs in _ soul of the man himself.
Soph. Trachinic, 127, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ πῆμα περὶ οὐδὲν γὰρ---λήθην] ‘ For about
καὶ χαρὰ Πᾶσι κυκλοῦσιν, οἷον ἄρκτου nothing human is there so much stabi-
στροφάδες κέλευθοι. | lity, 858 about the most excellent moods
8 χαμαιλέοντα ---- kal σαθρῶς ἱδρυ- | of the consciousness, for these are
μένον] It has been remarked that thought to be more abiding even than
these words’ form an iambic line, thesciences. And the highest among
probably quoted from some play. | them are most abiding of all, because
9 ἣ τὸ μὲν---ἐναντίου] ‘Rather, to the happy dwell in them most entirely
follow chances is altogether a mis- and continuously, which appears to
take, for good or evil resides not in | give the reason for their never being
these, but human life, as we have | forgotten.’ Aristotle’s doctrine of the
said, requires them as an external | stability and permanence of mental
condition; while what determines | states was inherited by him from the
happiness is the rightly regulated | CynicAntisthenes,Cf.Xenophon, Mem.
mental consciousness, and vice versd.’ | 1. ii. 19 Ovx dv ποτε ὁ δίκαιος ἄδικος
10 μαρτυρεῖ δὲ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τὸ νῦν | γένοιτο, οὐδὲ ὁ σώφρων ὑβριστής, οὐδὲ
διαπορηθέν] ‘And even the present ἄλλο οὐδέν, ὧν μάθησίς ἐστιν, ὁ μαθὼν
difficulty witnesses to our theory,’ i.e. ἀνεπιστήμων ἄν ποτε γένοιτο. To speak
the difficulty felt in predicating happi- | indeed of human ἐνέργειαι as μόνιμοι
ness, except retrospectively, betraysa | or συνεχεῖς is a sort of contradiction
latent sense that happiness must be | of Aristotle’s own philosophy, ef. Eth.
regarded as something more stable Χ, iv. 9; Metaph. vim. viii. 18. The
than the fluctuations of fortune. Aris- | more accurate expression of his prin-
totle finds out that this more stable | ciple would be to say that while the
VOL, 1. LL
wey
a oe
re
-
[Ὁ]
-
466 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [CHap.
ὑπά p&ee
δ) ¥ ’ὔ eS Ξ A) , A » ὃ . if fol
on TO ζητούμενον TW εὐθαίμονι, καὶ ETTAL ὁια βίου τοιοῦ-
» Dif, “ A , θ ‘ τ ‘ λῃθ
ἔοικεν αἰτίῳ TOU μὴ γίγνεσθαι περὶ αὐτὰ λήθην.
Lames ¢ ‘ a , , , A , ‘
Tos’ Gel yup ἢ μάλιστα πάντων πράξει καὶ θεωρήσει TU
A Ν , ,
κατ᾽ ἀρετήν. καὶ τὰς τύχας οἴσει κάλλιστα καὶ TAVTH πάν-
9 A “ ᾽ e ᾿] ω 9 Ν A , »
Tws ἐμμελῶς ὃ γ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὸς Kal τετράγωνος ἄνευ
ψόγου.
, A , x A x A .
τῶν μεγέθει καὶ μικρότητι, τὰ μὲν μικρὰ τῶν εὐτυχημάτων,
πολλῶν δὲ γινομένων κατὰ τύχην καὶ διαφερόν-
e , A A A 9 ᾿ ων © ’ a e ‘4
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν ἀντικειμένων, δῆλον ὡς οὐ ποιεῖ ῥοπὴν
΄ ~ Ν A “ A ‘ Vd A Ὁ
τῆς ζωῆς, τὰ δὲ μεγάλα καὶ πολλὰ γιγνόμενα μεν εὖ μακα-
At 4 a“
ριώτερον τὸν βίον ποιήσει (καὶ γὰρ αὐτὰ συνεπικοσμεῖν
“ - κ i
πέφυκεν, καὶ ἡ χρῆσις αὐτῶν καλὴ καὶ σπουδαία γίγνεται),
’ A ,
ἀνάπαλιν δὲ συμβαίνοντα θλίβει καὶ λυμαίνεται TO μακά-
᾿ΚΕνέργεια is perpetually blooming out, | Ὕωνος ἄνευ ψόγου] ‘He that is truly
and then disappearing, the “Eéts —
abides, and is ever tending to re-
produce the évépyea. Life then may
be regarded as a series of vivid mo- |
ments, with slight intervals or de- |
pressions between ; or again, ideally, |
as a vivid moment of consciousness,
the intervals being left out of sight.
Cf. Essay IV. p. 251. The ἐνέργεια
then is our life and being, and it would
be absurd to speak of forgetting this.
Itis ‘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 moraland intellectual
ἐνέργειαι, aS We may see from ὃ 11,
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.’ Σοφία,
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.
περὶ αὐτά] (sc. tvépyeas). Cf. Eth.
it, xii, 2, Pol. vit. xiii. 3, where |
there occur similar transitions to a |
neuter Brenan,
Il ὅ γ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὸς καὶ τετρά. |
good, and foursquare without ἃ flaw.’
These terms are borrowed from Simo-
nides. They are quoted also, and dis-
cussed, in the Protagoras of Plato, p.
339: ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὲν ἀλαθέως Γενέσθαι
χαλεπόν, χερσί τε καὶ ποσὶ καὶ νόῳ
Τετράγωνον, ἄνευ ψόγου τετυγμένον.
Cf. Rhetoric, UI. xi. 2: τὸν ἀγαθὸν
ἄνδρα φάναι εἶναι τετράγωνον, μεταφορά,
ἄμφω γὰρ τέλεια. Hor. Serm, 11. vii.
86: in seipso totus, teres BEANS ro-
tundus,
12 δῆλον ὡς --ποιήσει, κιτ.λ.}] The
distinction between {w7 and βίος 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, 1x. ix. 9.
καὶ yap αὐτὰ συνεπικοσμεῖν πέφυκε]
‘For they naturally add a lustre.’
This is said from the practical point
of view, which analyses happiness into
the internal mood and the external
circumstances. . From the ideal point
of view, which takes happiness as a
whole (Zth. 1. vii. 8), nothing can be
added to it, or make it better.
ἀνάπαλιν δὲ---μεγαλόψυχος] ‘ While
contrary circumstances marand deface
so
X.] HOIKON NIKOMAXEION I.
467
pov’ λύπας Te yap ἐπιφέρει Kat ἐμποδίζει πολλαῖς évep-
γείαις.
δὰν φέρη τις εὐκόλως πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας ἀτυχίας, μὴ δὲ
9.
εἰ δ᾽
Ph 2 ae , a a , ” 29.8
εἰσιν at ενεβγείαι κυρίαι τῆς ζωῆς, καθάπερ εἰπο μεν. οὐδεὶς
“ὦ A ,
ὅμως δὲ καὶ ἐν τούτοις διαλάμπει TO καλόν, ἐπει-
Ν᾿]
ἀναλγησίαν, ἀλλὰ γεννάδας Ov καὶ μεγαλόψυχος.
Ἂ , “a , * 307 ‘ , ‘
ἂν γένοιτο τῶν μακαρίων ἄθλιος" οὐδέποτε yap πράξει τὰ
μισητὰ καὶ φαῦλα. τὸν γὰρ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὸν καὶ
»» ’ 9“ ‘ , °’ , ’ 4
ἔμφρονα πάσας οἰόμεθα Tas τύχας εὐσχημόνως φέρειν καὶ
ἐκ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἀεὶ τὰ κάλλιστα πράττειν, καθάπερ
καὶ στρατηγὸν ἀγαθὸν τῷ παρόντι στρατοπέδῳ χρῆσθαι
πολεμικώτατα καὶ σκυτοτόμον ἐκ τῶν δοθέντων σκυτῶν
, e , - ‘ 7.48 ‘ , ‘ ‘
κάλλιστον ὑπόδημα ποιεῖν" τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ τοὺς
» ἢ ἡ > & “ " ‘ 207
ἄλλους τεχνίτας ἅπαντας. εἰ δ᾽ οὕτως, ἄθλιος μὲν οὐδέ-
, , “ ε ? , ,’ 4 ’ ’ nn II
ποτε γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁ εὐδαίμων, οὐ μὴν μακάριός ye, ἂν [Πῥι-
αμικαῖς τύχαις περιπέσῃ.
»” ‘ > A 9 , , e “
βολος" οὔτε γὰρ ἐκ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας κινηθήσεται ῥᾳδίως,
“ΧΛ ‘ , ‘ 9 ’
οὐδὲ δὴ ποικίλος γε καὶ εὐμετα-
Ὁ) ε 4 ~ , 9 U , g~@ A Ui ‘
οὐδ᾽ ὑπὸ τῶν τυχόντων ἀτυχημάτων GAN’ ὕπο μεγάλων καὶ
~ ~ ; ,
πολλῶν, ἔκ τε τῶν τοιούτων οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο πάλιν εὐδαίμων
ε΄ ,
ἐν ολίγῳ χρόνῳ, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ, ἐν πολλῷ τινὶ καὶ τελείῳ,
felicity, by introducing pains,andoften |
hindeting 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 Zth, 1. ix. 4
(where he describes the brave man
voluntarily consenting to death), Aris-
totle exhibits a high moral tone, quite
on a level with the Stoics, and which
places him above the accusation of
being a mere Eudemonist.
13 εἰ δ᾽ εἰσὶ ---- φαῦλα] ‘Now if
life is determined by its moments of
consciousness, as we have said, no one
of the blessed will ever become miser-
able, for he will never do what is
hateful and mean.’ μακάριος, which
is used repeatedly here and elsewhere,
¥ is a more enthusiastic term than
εὐδαίμων, Though it is applied to
βίος in the previous section, it would
seem generally more applicable to the
internal feelings.
mology, Eth. vii. xi. 2, it is connected
with xalpew. In the next section it is
predicated negatively of the εὐδαίμων.
‘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 evdal-
pov and μακάριος.
14 ἔκ τε τῶν τοιούτων---ἐπήβολοΞ]
‘And after such he cannot again be-
come happy in a short time, but if at
all, in a long and complete period,
havingattained greatand noble things
in it.’ This shows that happiness,
being deep-seated, and depending on
the entire state of mind (és), is
neither lost nor won easily.
—
—
By a false ety- .
3
4
15
II
“
468 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. [Cuap.
μεγάλων Kat καλῶν ἐν αὐτῷ γενόμενος ἐπήβολος. τί οὖν
, , Ν 7 ‘ et ‘ ’ ’ a
κωλύει λέγειν εὐδαίμονα TOV κατ ἀρετὴν τελείαν ἐνεργοῦντα
a ms n A
καὶ τοῖς ἐκτὸς ἀγαθοῖς ἱκανῶς κεχορηγημένον, μὴ τὸν τυ-
’ Ψ 5 Ν ; , es a , 4
χόντα χρόνον ἀλλὰ τέλειον βίον ; ἢ προσθετέον Kat βιω-
e τ Ἐς ὁ ‘ my
σόμενον οὕτω καὶ τελευτήσοντα κατὰ λόγον : ἐπειδὴ τὸ
μέλλον ἀφανὲς ἡμῖν, τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν δὲ τέλος καὶ τέλειον
, , ᾿ A A
τίθεμεν πάντη πάντως. εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, μακαρίους ἐροῦμεν τῶν
~ a ’
ζῶντων οἷς ὑπάρχει καὶ ὑπάρξει τὰ λεχθέντα, μακαρίους
δ᾽ ἀνθρώπους.
4A 4 \ iz 9 A ΄“ ’ § A
Kai περὶ μὲν τούτων ETL τοσοῦτον διωρίσθω, τὰς δὲ
lal ’ An \ A
TOV ἀπογόνων τύχας καὶ τῶν φίλων ἁπάντων τὸ μὲν
μηδοτιοῦν συμβάλλεσθαι λίαν ἄφιλον φαίνεται καὶ ταῖς
δό =) , Ν ~ 4 A Γ᾿ 3 ld ‘
ὅξαις ἐναντίον" πολλῶν δὲ καὶ παντοίας ἐχόντων διαφορὰς
15 τί οὖν---πάντως] ‘ 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?’
τέλειος, as before said, has two asso-
ciations ; one popular, with the com-
mon sense of τέλος, 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 τέλειον ©
here and the question to which this
chapter is an answer—el χρὴ τὸ τέλος
ὁρᾶν.
16 εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω---ἀνθρώπου:] ‘If so,
we shall call those happy during their
lifetime who have and still 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. 1 He returns to the question
before incidentally mooted (1. x. 4),
where 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 thtat in any case the impres-
sion produced by them must be too
slight and unimportant to affect our
notion of the dead.
ταῖς δόξαις ἐναντίον] In the so-called
Menexenus of Plato (p. 248 B) we
find this opinion stated in a wavering
form.—(The dead are supposed to ad-
᾿
dress their surviving parents) δεόμεθα.
δὴ καὶ πατέρων καὶ μητέρων τῇ αὐτῇ
ταύτῃ διανοίᾳ χρωμένους τὸν ἐπίλοιπον
βίον διάγειν, καὶ εἰδέναι ὅτι οὐ θρηνοῦντες
οὐδὲ ὀλοφυρόμενοι ἡμᾶς ἡμῖν μάλιστα
ΤῊ
XI.)
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1. 469
τῶν συμβαινόντων, καὶ τῶν μὲν μᾶλλον συνικνουμένων τῶν
? Φ ᾽ὔ Φ ‘ τ ‘ ‘ 9 ,
δ᾽ ἧττον, xa? ἕκαστον μὲν διαιρεῖν μακρὸν καὶ ἀπέραν-
, A \ ‘ , νυν e .«-
τὸν φαίνεται, καθόλου δὲ λεχθὲν καὶ τύπῳ Tax’ ἂν ἱκανῶς
ἔχοι. εἰ δή, καθάπερ καὶ τῶν περὶ αὑτὸν ἀτυχημάτων τὰ
μὲν ἔχει τι βρῖθος καὶ ῥοπὴν πρὸς τὸν βίον τὰ δ᾽ ἐλαφρο-
τέροις ἔοικεν, οὕτω καὶ τὰ περὶ τοὺς φίλους ὁμοίως ἅπαν-
τας. διαφέρει δὲ τῶν παθῶν ἕκαστον περὶ ζῶντας ἤ τελευ-
, , 4 ΄σ a A a A 4
τήσαντας συμβαίνειν πολὺ μάλλον ἢ τὰ παράνομα καὶ δεινὰ
- P53
προὕπάρχειν ἐν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις ὴ πράττεσθαι, συλλογι-
, 4 4 , ‘ ὃ ; ΄σ δ᾽ we 4
στέον δὴ Kat ταύτην THY cacbopav, μᾶλλον ίσως τὸ
διαπορεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς κεκμηκότας εἴ τινος ἀγαθοῦ κοινω-
νοῦσιν ἢ τῶν ἀντικειμένων" ἔοικε γὰρ ἐκ τούτων εἰ καὶ
χαριοῦνται, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τις ἔστι τοῖς τετε-
λευτηκόσιν αἴσθησις τῶν ζώντων, οὕτως
ἀχάριστοι εἶεν ἂν μάλιστα, κ.τ.λ.
3-4 εἰ δή---διαφοράν] There is a
complex protasis, (1) εἰ δή, (2) διαφέρει
δέ, The apodosis to both is συλλο-
yoréov δή. The argument fs, that we
must bear in mind the difference : (1)
between misfortunes in themselves,
light and heavy ; (2) between those,
of whatever kind, happening in our
lifetime and after ourdeath. ‘If,then,
it is the same case with regard to the
inisfortunes 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 eveats 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.’
προὔπάρχειν--- πράττεσθαι) The
contrast is that between the actual
representation of horrors, or the
ention of them as ‘presupposed,’
d done off the stage. It is merely
he principle of Horace. A. P. 181.
συλλογιστέον)] This cannot mean
‘We must conclude’; else the same
proposition would form both the pre-
mises and the conclusion; but ‘we
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
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.’ Cf. Plato, Charmides,
p. 160D: πάντα ταῦτα συλλογισάμενος
εἰπὲ εὖ καὶ ἀνδρείως. The Paraphrast
here writes σκεπτέον οὖν περὶ τῆς δια-
φορᾶς.
5 μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἴσως---ἀντικειμένων] ‘Or
rather, perhaps’ (we must take into
account, συλλογιστέον understood),
‘the fact that a question israised about
the dead, as to Whether they share at
allin goodorevil.’ A difficulty has been
madeabout7d διαπορεῖσθαι. ‘Lambinus
ex Vet. Int. et Argyrop. emendat τόδε
δεῖ, eamque lectionem Zwinger in tex-
tum recepit, que hactenus commenda-
tur, quia sequenti διά absorberi facile
poterat δέ et dez.’—Zell. The conjec-
ture is supported by the rendering of
the Paraphrast, who separates this
clause from the preceding one. σκε-
πτέον οὖν περὶ τῆς διαφορᾶς. βέλτιον
oO
L2
ι.
470 HOIKQON NIKOMAXEION I. [CHap,
ὃ a ‘ " \ e a 79 2 \ 4 9 ,
UKVELTEL πρὸς αὐτοὺς ὁτιοῦν, εἴτ ἀγαθὸν εἴτε τοὐναντίον,
ς , 4 ‘ a e “~ s 9 , > Φ A ,
ἀφαυρὸν τι καὶ μικρὸν ἢ ἁπλῶς ἢ ἐκείνοις εἶναι, εἰ δὲ μή,
΄ , \ “ + Ἂς a ’ , ᾿ς A
τοσοῦτον γε καὶ τοιοῦτον ὥστε μὴ ποιεῖν εὐδαίμονας τοὺς
μὴ BA . A +S ’ “- AY ,
μὴ ὄνταφ, pnd τοὺς ὄντας ἀφαιρεῖσθαι τὸ μακάριον. συμ-
[2 4 a , an , 7
βάλλεσθαι μὲν οὖν τι φαίνονται τοῖς κεκμηκόσιν αἱ εὐπρα-
, ~ , € , A A , ΄“ A
Etat TOV φίλων, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ αἱ δυσπραξίαι, τοιαῦτα δὲ
4 a * , 4 ᾿ ἢ A ,
καὶ τηλικαῦτα ὥστε μήτε τοὺς εὐδαίμονας μὴ εὐδαίμονας
a Pred Ei: An ’ὔ ,
ποιεῖν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων μηδέν.
A , δὲ ’ὔ ’ , θ 4 ~ 10
ιωρισμένων ὃὲ τούτων ἐπισκεψψγώμε a περὶ τῆς εὐδαι-
, , A ες Air 9 ΟΥ̓ \ ~ A ὦ
μονίας πότερα τῶν ἐπαινετῶν ἐστὶν ἢ μάλλον τῶν τιμίων᾽
δῆλ ‘ oe A ὃ va 9 4 , "
ἧλον γάρ OTL Τῶν ye υναμεῶν OUK ECTLY, φαίνεται δὴ
δέ ἐστι σκέψασθαι εἰ κοιωνοῦσιν, κιτ.λ. συμβάλλεσθαί τι] ‘to contribute,’
But against it these appear to be con- | or ‘communicate something.’ Cf.
clusive reasons: (1) The authority of | Eth. 1. i. 12: μηδὲν συμβαλλομένου
MSS. (2) We should expect διαπορεῖν, τοῦ βιασθέντος. X. x. 19.
and that the sentence should stand
μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἴσως rode δεῖ διαπορεῖν. XII. The question which occupies
(3) The alteration would really alter | this chapter—namely, in which class
and spoil the context. Aristotle does οἵ goods happiness is to be placed,
not say, ‘Perhaps after all we had | the admirable or the praiseworthy ?
better start the question anew whe- | is one that appears of little ethical in-
ther the dead are conscious of events.’ | terest, to have no important scientific
This would contradict § 6. He only | bearing; in short, to degenerate into a
says, ‘While granting the hypothesis | sort of trifling. Aristotle, however,
that they do feel, we must take into | who aims at verbal precision and dis-
account the element of doubt which | tinctness, and again who wishés to
still continues to attach tothe subject.’ | reconcile his theory with all questions,
6 This section was pronounced sus- | doctrines, and forms of language of
pect by Victorius on account of its | the day, appears to have thought it
being a mere repetition and summing | worth a passing consideration. We
up of former conclusions. He says | may regard the present question as
it is wanting in some MSS., and that | the last of that series of collateral
it may be a scholium, though a very | questions growing out of his defini-
old one. ᾿ In favour of its genuineness | tion of happiness. It is answered
we may urge that it is quite in Ari- | by being stated; for the Chief Good
stotle’s manner. Cf. #th. 111. v.22. | and the Absolutely Desirable must
It is found in all Bekker’s MSS., with | necessarily be above praise, which is
the exception of the words τῶν φίλων,Ἠ | only given to the relatively, not to
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ αἱ δυσπραξίαι ; which are | the absolutely good,
omitted in two, the omission being I δῆλον yap ὅτι των γε δυνάμεων οὐκ
obviously due to the similarity of ἔστιν] ‘For it is plain that it is ποῦ ἃ
εὐπραξίαι and δυσπραξίαι. It is also | merely potential good.’ This implies
recognised by the Paraphrast and | a classification of goods into (1) poten-
Eustratius. | tial, (2) actual, which latter are sub-
XI.—XII.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 471
πᾶν TO ἐπαινετὸν τῷ ποιόν τι εἶναι καὶ πρός τί πως ἔχειν
ἐπαινεῖσθαι: τὸν γὰρ δίκαιον καὶ τὸν ἀνδρεῖον καὶ ὅλως
τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ πὴν. ἀρετὴν ἐπαινοῦμεν διὰ τὰς ᾿ πράξεις καὶ
τὰ ἔργα, καὶ τὸν ἰσχυρὸν καὶ τὸν δρομμὸν καὶ Tov ἄλλων
ἕκαστον τῷ ποιόν τινα πεφυκέναι καὶ ἔχειν πως πρὸς ἄγα-
θόν τι καὶ σπουδαῖον. δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο καὶ ἐκ τῶν περὶ
ἡμᾶς
τοὺς
4 4 9 ’ - Ἀ , A
τοὺς θεοὺς ἐπαίνων: γελοῖοι γὰρ atvovra πρὸς
9 , - A , s A ’ »
ἀναφερόμενοι, τοῦτο δὲ συμβαίνει διὰ τὸ γίνεσθαι
εἰ δ᾽
» A , δ τε ” a Se RE
ETALVOS τῶων TOLOUTWY, λον OTL τῶν αρίιστῶν OUK ἐστιν
, , ᾽ 9 “ ” 4 > ‘ e
ἐπαίνους δ ἀναφορᾶς, ὥσπερ εἴπαμεν. ἐστὶν ὁ
ἔπαινος, ἀλλὰ μεῖζόν τι καὶ βέλτιον, καθάπερ καὶ φαίνεται"
τούς τε γὰρ θεοὺς μακαρίζομεν καὶ εὐδαιμονίζομεν καὶ τῶν
ἀνδρῶν τοὺς θειοτάτους μακαρί ζομεν. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν
“ os 204 ‘ ‘ ’ ’ rere a , κ᾿
ἀγαθῶν" οὐδεὶς γὰρ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἐπαινεῖ καθάπερ τὸ
’
δίκαιον, GAN’ ὡς θειότερόν τι καὶ βέλτιον μακαρίζει. δοκεῖ
δὲ καὶ Εὔδοξος καλῶς συνηγορῆσαι περὶ τῶν ἀριστείων τῇ
ς ὡς συνηγορὴ ρ ρ τῇ
ἡδονῇ"
» “ - , > ~ ’ A - ᾿ >
ᾧετο ὅτι κρεῖττόν ἐστι τῶν ἐπαινετῶν, τοιοῦτον δ᾽ εἶναι
‘ ‘ Re a ~ 9 ~ > ,
To yap μὴ ἐπαινεῖσθαι τῶν ἀγαθῶν οὔσαν μηνύειν
4 ‘4 4 . ’
τὸν θεὸν καὶ τἀγαθόν"
φέρεσθαι.
ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἔπαινος τῆς ἀρετῆς"
‘ A ‘ κι > 5)
πρὸς ταῦτα yap καὶ τἄλλα ava-
τ pax TK οἱ
Ge yt,
divided into praiseworthy and admir- |
able. There is a complete commen-
tary on the present passage to be
found in the Magna Moralia, τ. ii. 1:
᾿Επεὶ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τούτων διώρισται, πειρα-
θῶμεν λέγειν, τἀγαθὸν ποσαχῶς λέγεται.
"Ἔστι γὰρ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τὰ μὲν τίμια, τὰ
δ᾽ ἐπαινετά, τὰ δὲ δυνάμεις. τὸ δὲ τίμιον
λέγω τὸ τοιοῦτον, τὸ θεῖον, τὸ βέλτιον,
οἷον ψυχή, νοῦς, τὸ ἀρχαιότερον, ἡ ἀρχή,
τὰ τοιαῦτα. .. τὰ δὲ ἐπαινετὰ οἷον
ἀρεταί... .. τὰ δὲ δυνάμεις, οἷον ἀρχή
(rule), πλοῦτος, ἰσχύς, κᾶλλος" τούτοις
γὰρ καὶ ὁ σπουδαῖος εὖ ἂν δύνηται χρή-
σασθαὶ καὶ ὁ φαῦλος κακῶς, διὸ δυνάμει
τὰ τοιαῦτα καλοῦνται ἀγαθά. ...
λοιπὸν δὲ καὶ τέταρτον τῶν ἀγαθῶν, τὸ
σωστικὸν καὶ ποιητικὸν ἀγαθοῦ, οἷον
γυμνάσια ὑγιείας καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο τοιοῦτον.
3 γελοῖοι γὰρ φαίνονται] 80, οἱ θεοί,
Ὰ
vt
σι
Eth. x. viii. 7. Hence in the ‘ ΤῈ
Deum laudamus, laudare is used in a
different sense from ἐπαινεῖν.
διὰ τὸ γίνεσθαι τοὺς ἐπαίνους δι᾽
ἀναφορᾶς] ‘ Because praise is made by
a reference to some higher standard.’
5 δοκεῖ δέ--- ἀναφέρεσθαι) ‘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. 1-2, Essay III. p, 218.
The metaphor of the Aristeia here
seems borrowed from the Philebus of
Plato, p. 22 Ε: ᾿Αλλὰ μὴν, ὦ Σώκρατες,
ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ νῦν μὲν ἡδονή σοι πεπτω-
I
472
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.
[CHap.
‘ A XB 9 ‘ , A ‘ δ᾽ 93 , “ +
7 γάρ τῶν καλῶν απὸ ταύῦυτῆς Ta εγκωμίια των epyov
8 κὃ , A Lf A ,
εὐδαιμονία τῶν τιμίων καὶ τελείων.
ἊΨ
J
, 4 ~ ΄“ς A ~ ΄“
ὁμοίως καὶ τῶν σωματικῶν καὶ τῶν ψυχικῶν.
ἀλλὰ ταῦτα
᾿ » ς , ἢ A a ‘ χ ᾽ ,
Mev ἰσως οἰκειότερον ἐξακριβοῦν τοις πέρι τα εγκωμία
, (ers δὲ Ne > A 9 , . > ν ε
πεπονήμενοις, ἡμιν Ὁ ὄῆλον e€K TWY El PN [LEVOY OTL EOTLVY ἢ
cg 5) “ +
E€OLKE ὃ OUTWS EX ELV
A Ves A “" 3 ἢ ’ Ἂν ’ ‘ ‘ ,
Kal διὰ TO εἰναι αρχλ)" ταυτῆης γάρ χάριν Ta λοιπὰ TAaVTa
, , ‘ ° ‘ \ A \ » ae 9 A
TTAVTES πράττομεν. τὴν apxiv δὲ καὶ τὸ αιτιον THY ἀγαθῶν
[4 ’ A a ,
τίἰμιόν τι καὶ θεῖον τίθεμεν.
᾿Επεὶ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ εὐδαιμονία ψυχῆς ἐνέργειά τις κατ᾽
κέναι καθαπερεὶ πληγεῖσα ὑπὸ τῶν νῦν
᾿ knowing—the cause and the reason—
δὴ NOywr τῶν yap νικητηρίων πέρι |
μαχομένη κεῖται. K.T.r.
6 Praise is of qualities: ‘encomia
are for achievements, whether bodily
or mental.’ Cf. Rhetoric, 1. ix. 33,
where the same distinction is given :
ἔστι δ᾽ ἔπαινος λόγος ἐμφανίζων μέγεθος
. τὸ ὃ ἐγκώμιον 'τῶν ἔργων
ἐστίν... διὸ καὶ ἔγκωμιάζομεν πράξαν-
τας. τὰ δὲ ἔργα σημεῖα τῆς ἕξεώς ἐστιν,
ἀρετῆς ..
ἐπεὶ ἐπαινοῖμεν ἂν καὶ μὴ πεπραγότα εἰ
Cf. Eth.
Fud, τι. 1. Τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἐγκώμιον λόγος
τοῦ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἔργου... ὁ δ᾽ εὐδαι-
μονισμὸς τέλους.
7 ἀλλὰ---πεπονημένοι:)] ‘But per-
haps to go into the details of the
subject belongs more properly to the
writers on encomia.’ πεπονημένοις, a
deponent form, as in Eth. 1. 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 ἔοικε δ᾽ --- τίθεμεν]
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.’
πιστεύοιμεν εἷναι τοιοῦτον.
The two senses of ἀρχή---ἀρχὴ οὐσίας |
principle (ψμχήν into (1) the purely
and ἀρχὴ γνώσεως (cf. Metaph. rv. xvii.
2), the origin of being and the origin of
|
seem here to flow together. Happi-
ness, or the practical chief good, is
the ἀρχή of life, as being the final
cause or τέλος. In this sense ἀρχή and
τέλος, the first and the last, become
identical, But the idea of happiness
when apprehended becomes an ἀρχή
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. p. 204.
XIII. With this chapter commences
a new division of the treatise. Aris-
totle now opens the analysis of the
terms of his definition. If happiness
be ‘vital action in conformity with
the law of absolute excellence,’ the
question arises, what this law of ex-
| cellence is ?—a question essentially
‘And this |
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
physical or vegetative, (2) the semi-
XII.—XIII.} ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION 1, 478
ἀρετὴν τελείαν, περὶ. ἀρετῆς ἐπισκεπτέον" τάχα γὰρ
" , s 4 A ᾽ ’ ,
οὕτως ἂν βέλτιον καὶ περὶ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας θεωρήσαιμεν.
δοκεῖ δὲ καὶ ὁ κατ’ ἀλήθειαν πολιτικὸς περὶ ταύτην μάλιστα 2
πεπονῆσθαι" βούλεται γὰρ τοὺς πολίτας ἀγαθοὺς ποιεῖν
καὶ τῶν νόμων ὑπηκόους. παράδειγμα δὲ τούτων ἔχομεν 3
τοὺς Κρητῶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων νομοθέτας. καὶ εἴ τινες
ἕτεροι τοιοῦτοι γεγένηνται. εἰ δὲ τῆς πολιτικῆς ἐστὶν ἡ 4
σκέψις αὕτη, δῆλον ὅτι γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἡ ζήτησις κατὰ τὴν ἐξ
ἀρχῆς προαίρεσιν. περὶ ἀρετὴς δὲ ἐπισκεπτέον ἀνθρωπί- 5
~ “ 4 ‘ 9 4 ° ’ 9 Cal
νης δῆλον ὅτι. καὶ yap τἀγαθὸν ἀνθρώπινον ἐζητοῦμεν
‘ 4 3 Bee ς 3 , bJ ‘ 4 , ?
καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἀνθρωπίνην. ἀρετὴν δὲ λέγομεν ἀνθρω- 6
’ 3 A - ’ 3 ‘ 4 ΄“- ~ ‘A A
πίνην ov τὴν TOU σώματος ἀλλὰ THY τῆς ψυχῆς" καὶ τὴν
"δ , δὲ a ΒΟ λ , 3 δὲ “Δ᾽ “
εὐδαιμονίαν δὲ ψυχῆς ἐνέργειαν λέγομεν. εἰ δὲ ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως 7
rational or appetitive, (3) the purely | 3 παράδειγμα δὲ---γεγένηνται] ‘As
rational. The first being excluded | an instance of this we have the law-
from all share in virtue, or human | givers of the Cretans and Lacedemo-
excellence properly so called; the | nians, and if there have been any
second is considered the sphere of | others such like.’ Aristotle seems to
moral, and the third that of intellec- | have inherited the preference felt by
tual virtue. This division regulates | Plato and by Socrates for the Spartan
the methodical arrangement of the | constitution ; not so much as a his-
Ethics. Also it may be said to have | torical fact, but rather as a philo-
regulated almost all subsequent | sophical idea. It presented the scheme
human thought on moral subjects. | of an entire education for the citizens,
On Aristotle’s general philosophy of | though Aristotle confesses that this
the Ψυχή see Essay V. p. 295. became degraded into a school for
2 δοκεῖ δὲ--- ὑπηκόους} ‘This, too, | gymnastic.
seems to have been the main concern 5 περὶ ἀρετῆς δὲ ἐπισκεπτέον ἀνθρω-
of the true politician, for he wishes to | πίνης δῆλον ὅτι] ‘ Now it is obviously
make the citizens good and obedient | about human excellence that we have
to the laws.’ As we find in Plato | to inquire,’ This passage would prove,
ἀλήθεια is the quality most character- | if it were necessary, the indeterminate
istic of the Ideas, so κατ᾽ ἀλήθειαν | sense with which the term ἀρετὴ is
here implies a thing being absolutely, | introduced into Aristotle’s Ethics. At
deeply, essentially what it is to the ex- | first it appears merely as the law of
clusion of all mere seeming. The con- | excellence, quite in a general signifi-
trast here would be to those πρακτικοὶ | cation. Afterwards this is gradually
πολιτικοί mentioned Z#th. vi. viii. 2. | restricted to human excellence, and
Also to those historical and eminent | then physical or bodily excellence is
statesmen whom Plato attacks in the _ finally excluded.
Gorgias, p. 515 © sq., as having been 7 εἰ δὲ ταῦθ'.--ἰατρικῆ}] ‘But if
entirely devoid of thisobject—making | this be so, it is plain that the politician
the citizens better. must know in a way the nature of the
VOL, I, MM
10
474
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1.
[CHap.
wa ~ ef a ‘ Ν 707 ‘ Α
ἔχει; δῆλον ὅτι δεῖ τὸν πολιτικὸν εἰδέναι πως τὰ περὶ
, A A \ ° A if 4 Cf
ψυχήν, ὥσπερ καὶ TOV ὀφθαλμοὺς θεραπεύσοντα Kal πᾶν
“ x ox “ , A , 4A
σῶμα, καὶ μᾶλλον ὅσῳ τιμιωτέρα καὶ βελτίων ἡ πολιτικὴ
τῆς ἰατρικῆς.
, \ ‘ ~ a on
TEVOVTAL πέρι τὴν TOV σώματος γνῶσιν.
΄“ δ᾽ Ε “A e , A
τῶν ἰατρῶν οἱ χαρίεντες πολλᾷ πραγμα-
θεωρητέον δὴ καὶ
τῷ πολιτικῷ περὶ ψυ ns, O ον δὲ , Yyapi ὶ
Ἴ ; ρ Xis, θεωρητέον δὲ τούτων χάρὶν, καὶ
779 of ε A ” κ ν , ἃ \ A 4. ἃς
ἐφ οσον lKAYWS exel προς Ta ζητούμενα ΤΟ γὰρ επτι
a ul an 9 , ” 3 A “A ,
πλεῖον ἐξακριβοῦν ἐργωδέστερον σῶς ETTL Τῶν προκειμένων,
fe A A 9 a A 9 an 9 aA ,
λέγεται δὲ περι αὐτῆς καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις
ἀρκούντως ἔνια, καὶ χρηστέον αὐτοῖς.
ς. κ > \ A , ”
αυτῆς εἰναι. TO δὲ λόγον εχον.
᾿ ἣν A »»
οἷον τὸ μὲν ἄλογον
΄ A at ὦ vA
ταῦτα δὲ πότερον διώρι-
, Ν nan tA ’ A “ A ,
σται καθάπερ TA TOV σώματος μορια καὶ παν TO μερίιστον,
a A , , 9 Q 9 , , , ’ “
ἢ τῷ λόγῳ δύο ἐστὶν ἀχώριστα πεφυκότα καθάπερ εν Τῇ
περιφερείᾳ τὸ κυρτὸν καὶ τὸ κοῖλον, οὐθὲν διαφέρει πρὸς
internal principle, just as he whois to |
cure the eyes must also know 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 Argyropolus, follow-
ing the scholium of Eustratius, trans-
curaturus est oculos totumque corpus,
de ipsis scire oportet;’ as if the ana-
lagy between the ἰατρὸς and the πο-
λιτικὸς 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 καὶ πᾶν σῶμα not to θερα-
πεύσοντα but to δεῖ εἰδέναι. That this
is the true interpretation is rendered
(Charmides, p. 156 B), from which the
present comparison was in all proba-
bility taken: ἀλλ᾽ ὥ
σὺ ἀκήκοας τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἰατρῶν, ἐπειδάν
τις αὐτοῖς προσέλθῃ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς
ἀλγῶν, λέγουσί που, ὅτι οὐχ οἷόν τε
αὐτοὺς μόνους ἐπιχειρεῖν τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς
ἰᾶσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαῖαν εἴη ἅμα καὶ τὴν
κεφαλὴν θεραπεύειν, εἰ μέλλοι καὶ a
τῶν ὀμμάτων εὖ exew* καὶ αὖ τὸ τὴν
κεφαλὴν οἴεσθαι ἄν ποτε θεραπεῦσαι
αὐτήν ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτῆς ἄνευ ὅλου τοῦ σώματος
πολλὴν ἄνοιαν εἶναι. The general sense
here evidently is that as the oculist
must know toa certain extent the rest
of the body, so the politician, who has
not by any means to deal with the
lates: ‘Quemadmodum et eum, qui |
whole of the ψυχή, must yet, in some
measure, know its entire nature. This
knowledge, however, is to be limited
(§ 8) by a practical scope. With
χαρίεντες cf. De Sensu, i. 4: καὶ τῶν
ἰατρῶν of φιλοσοφωτέρως τὴν τέχνην
μετιόντες.
9. λέγεται---ἔχον] ‘Now even in
popular accounts certain points are
sufficiently stated with regard to the
_ internal principle, and we will avail
almost certain by a passage in Plato |
ourselves of them; as, for instance,
| that part of it is irrational and part
| rational.’
ὥσπερ ἴσως ἤδη καὶ |
For an account of the
ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι, and for arguments
showing that they do not designate
a separate class of Aristotle’s own
works, see Appendix B to Essays.
10 ταῦτα δὲ---παρόν] ‘But whether
these are divided like the limbs of the
body, and all other divisible matter,
δον
“4% + .
XIII] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQN I. 475
‘ , a 3 , 4 ‘ 4 »” “ ᾿ς OF eet.
TO παρόν. τοῦ ἀλόγου de TO μὲν ἔοικε κοινῷ καὶ φυτικῷ,
’ 4 ΄
λέγω δὲ τὸ αἴτιον τοῦ τρέφεσθαι καὶ αὔξεσθαι: τὴν τοιαύ-
τὴν γὰρ δύναμιν τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς τρεφομένοις θείη
τις ἂν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐμβρύοις, τῆν αὐτὴν δὲ ταύτην καὶ ἐν τοῖς
’ > , ‘ πὶ ͵ , ‘
τελείοις" εὐλογώτερον yap ἢ ἄλλην τινά. ταύτης μὲν
οὖν κοινή τις ἀρετὴ καὶ οὐκ ἀνθρωπίνη φαίνεται" δοκεῖ
4 - - ~
yap ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις ἐνεργεῖν μάλιστα τὸ μόριον τοῦτο καὶ ἡ
δύ ” ε δ᾽ 9. ‘4 A 4 ” ’ ᾽
ὕναμις αὕτη, ὁ 0 ἀγαθὸς καὶ κακὸς ἥκιστα διάδηλοι καθ
ὕπνον, ὅθεν φασὶν οὐδὲν διαφέρειν τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ βίου τοὺς
2 , A 16 , , δὲ a ἂν 4 ΟΝ
εὐδαίμονας τῶν ἀθλίων. συμβαίνει δὲ τοῦτο εἰκότως" ἀρ-
’ ~ ~
γία yap ἐστιν ὁ ὕπνος τῆς ψυχῆς ἣ λέγεται σπουδαία καὶ
φαύλη, πλὴν εἴ πη κατὰ μικρὸν δωκνοῦνταί τινες τῶν κινή-
σεων, καὶ ταύτη βελτίω γίνεται τὰ φαντάσματα τῶν ἐπιει-
nil
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 ψυχή, which is
attributed to Plato, Magna Moralia,
I. i. 7, is attacked by Aristotle, De
Anim, I. v. 26, and again, more de-
finitely, De Animé, 111. 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.
II τοῦ ἀλόγου---τινά] ‘ Now of the ir-
rational 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.’ Τὸ τὸ μὲν ἔοικε κοινῷ corre-
spond the words (§ 15), [Ἔοικε δὲ καὶ
ἄλλη τις φύσις, κατιλ, Aristotle first
makes theirrational 5146 double. After-
wards (§ 19) he says that, viewing it
differently, you may call the rational
twofold. κοινῴ, i.e. ‘not distinctive
of man.’ τελείοις is used in the non-
philosophical sense. Aristotle’s psy-
chology is of course constructed upon
a physical basis. The principle of
life develops 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, ur. sub fin.)
that man is -
‘ First vegetive, then feels, and reasons
last ;
Rich of three souls, and lives all
three to waste,’
12-13 ‘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 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
12
am
aoe
ae
>:
476
A a A /
14 κῶν ἢ Τῶν τυχόντων.
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION I.
[CHap.
ς \ ἈΠ gees | , Y ‘ \
ἀλλὰ περὶ wey τούτων ἅλις, Kat TO
θρεπτικὸν ἐατέον, ἐπειδὴ τῆς ἀνθρωπικῆς ἀρετῆς ἄμοιρον
{Z
15 πέφυκεν.
ἔοικε δὲ καὶ ἄλλη τις φύσις τῆς ψυχῆς ἄλογος
εἶναι, μετέχουσα μέντοι πὴ λόγου.
τοῦ γὰρ ἐγκρατοῦς
A ς ~ x , A an ~ AN ’ a
καὶ ἀκρατοῦς τὸν λόγον καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς τὸ λόγον ἔχον
3 A 3 A N ‘ ΔΥΣῚ Ἂν, ᾿ a
ἐπαινοῦμεν: ὀρθῶς yap καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ βέλτιστα παρακαλεῖ"
“ 3 ? J a A St Ν At ’
φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ ἄλλο τι παρὰ τὸν λόγον πεφυ-
, εἴ , , oan) , a ,
KOS, O μάχεται TE καὶ αντιτεινεὶ τῷ λόγῳ.
ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ
, Ν , ΄ ’ὔ , 5 \ a
καθάπερ τα παραλελυμενα τοὺ σώματος μόρια εἰς τὰ δεξιὰ
, “ 3 2 μὰ \ 9 οὐ
προαιρουμένων κινῆησαι TOVVAVYTLOV εἰς τὰ αρίιστερα Tapa-
, Ue es ee. A an “ Fe TAS 4 ’ Ν ε
φέρεται, καὶ ἔπι τῆς ψυχῆς OUTWS €7Tl TAVAVTLA γὰρ αι
ὁρμαὶ τῶν ἀκρατῶν.
9 >? a , ‘ eon \
arr’ ev τοῖς σώμασι μὲν ὁρῶμεν 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 De Somno et
Vigilid, 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
catalepsy 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 waking,
‘since creatures grow most during
sleep.’ In his discussions about
dreams we find a frequent recurrence
of the words here used, κινήσεις---δι-
ικνοῦνται---φαντάσματας. 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) τό φάντασμα τό
ἀπὸ τῆς κινήσεως τῶν αἰσθημάτων ὅταν
ἐν τῷ καθεύδειν 7, ἡ καθεύδει, τοῦτ᾽
ἐστὶν ἐνύπνιον. 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)
τό Te γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι τὸν πέμποντα, πρὸς
τῇ ἄλλῃ ἀλογίᾳ, καὶ τὸ μὴ τοῖς βελτί-
στοις Kal φρονιμωτάτοις ἀλλὰ τοῖς τυ-
χοῦσι πέμπειν ἄτοπον. (This is well
illustrated by Plato, Republic, ΤΧ. p.
571 Ὁ 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 Insom.
ii. 15). This last coincides with what
is said above about the φαντάσματα
τῶν ἐπιεικῶν. Cf. on dreams gene-
rally Aristotle’s Problemata, xxx.
xiv.
15-16 ἔοικε δέ---ἀντιβαῖνον] “ But
there seems also to be another na-
ture 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]
παραφερόμενον, ἐπὶ de τῆς ψυχῆς οὐχ ὁρῶμεν.
Ser,
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. co ae
ἴσως δ᾽
δ... Ὁ “κα, a “ , > » ‘ ‘
οὐδὲν ἧττον Kat εν Τῇ ψυχῇ VOPLOTEOV εἰναι τι παρα τον
, , , 3 Lu 5% “
λόγον, ἐναντιούμενον τούτῳ καὶ ἀντιβαῖνον.
οὐδὲν διαφέρει.
ὥσπερ εἴπομεν"
τοῦς.
“ ’
ἀνδρείου ᾿
4
καὶ τὸ ἄλογον διττόν. τὸ
“~ 7 ὦν
πῶς ὃ ETEPOV,
λόγου de καὶ τοῦτο φαίνεται μετέχειν,
πειθαρχεῖ γοῦν τῷ λόγῳ τὸ τοῦ ἐγκρα-
ao 7 0 9 ΄ ’ ? ‘ - , 4
ἔτι δ᾽ ἴσως εὐηκοώτερόν ἐστι TO τοῦ σώφρονος καὶ
πάντα γὰρ ὀμοφωνεῖ τῷ λόγῳ.
φαίνεται δὴ
μὲν γὰρ φυτικὸν οὐδαμῶς
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 itis with the mind. |
For the tendencies of the incontinent
are in the opposite direction to reason.
In the body wesee the false movement,
but with regard to the mind we do not
seeit. 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, τοῦ yap —
ἐγκρατοῦς καὶ εὐκρατοῦς. Butaslight
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. Aris-
totle’s remark (1) 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-
isently that in the σώφρων ‘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
| piecesofmoral psychology. Aristotle’s
purpose is to establish the existence
of a principle, μετέχον λόγου, which
is to be the sphere of the practical
virtues. This he exhibits in the case
of the continent and incontinent (i.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 was δ᾽ ἕτερον, οὐδὲν διαφέρει]
This shows that Aristotle does not
propose here to seek deeply for the
rationale of these phenomena in our ᾿
moral nature.
ἔτι δ᾽ ἴσως---λόγῳ] ‘And perhaps
it is still more obedient in him who
is temperate and brave. For in him
all things are in harmony with reason.’
We have here a character supposed
which unites the two first virtues of
the Aristotelian table—Courage and
Temperance—the virtues par excel-
lence of the ἄλογα μέρη (cf. Eth. 111.
x. 1). In a person possessing both
these virtues the unreasoning instincts
| would ex hypothesi have been har-
᾿ monised with the reason. Book vit.
19
20
478 HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1. (Crap.
κοινωνεῖ λόγου, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμητικὸν καὶ ὅλως ὀρεκτικὸν
μετέχει τοῦ ἢ κατήκοόν ἐστιν αὐτοῦ καὶ πειθαρχικόν:
οὕτω δὴ καὶ τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τῶν φίλων φαμὲν ἐ ἔχειν λόγον,
καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ τῶν μαθηματικῶν. ὅτι δὲ πείθεταί πως
« Ni , A oS: ’ A e , A “
ὑπὸ λόγου τὸ ἄλογον, μηνύει καὶ ἡ νουθέτησις καὶ πᾶσα
“
ἐπιτίμησίς τε καὶ παράκλησις. εἰ δὲ χρὴ καὶ τοῦτο φάναι
’ A
λόγον ἔχειν, διττὸν ἔσται καὶ τὸ λόγον ἔχον, τὸ μὲν κυρίως
διο-
Ul δὲ 4 ς 9 4 Ἂν Α A Ψ.
ρίζεται ε καὶ ἡ ἀρετὴ κατὰ τὴν διαφορὰν ταύτην" λέγο-
- 9 A 4 A ν a Α A ΕῚ [2 ,
μεν γὰρ αὐτῶν τὰς μὲν διανοητικὰς τὰς δὲ ἠθικᾶς, σοφίαν
᾿Ὶ 4 tf 4 , , 9 tA A
μὲν Kal σύνεσιν καὶ φρόνησιν διανοητικάς, ἐλευθεριότητα δὲ
©. 53 eA 4 ) , A δ 9 ,
καὶ €V αυτῷ ΤΟ ὃ ὥσπερ του TAT POs QKOUOTIKOY Tl,
καὶ σωφροσύνην ἠθικας.
λέγοντες γὰρ περὶ τοῦ ἤθους οὐ
viii. 5 distinguishes the σώφρων, in
whom reason hascomplete supremacy,
from the ἐγκρατής, who maintains his
virtue by a conflict.
18 τὸ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμητικὸν --- μαθημα-
τικῶν] ‘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” ma-
thematics.’ "Exew λόγον or μετέχειν
λόγου 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 ἔχειν λόγον with
a genitive, which exhibits also a
shade of variety in the meaning. With
ἔχειν λόγον πατρός, cf. Eurip. Alces-
tis, 51, ἔχω λόγον δὴ καὶ προθυμίαν
σέθεν. The passions are like the slave,
as defined in Politics, 1. ν. 9: Ἔστι yap
φύσει δοῦλος ὁ κοινωνῶν λόγου τοσοῦτον
ὅσον αἰσθάνεσθαι ἀλλὰ μὴ ἔχειν.
τῶν μαθηματικῶν] here apparently
means, not ‘the mathematicians,’ as
Eth. τ. iii. 4, but ‘mathematics,’ as v1.
viii. 9. .So it is taken by the Para-
phrast: Διττῶς δὲ λέγεται τὸ λόγου
μετέχειν καθάπερ καὶ τὸ λόγον ἔχειν.
Λέγομεν γὰρ τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τῶν φίλων
λόγον ἔχειν, τὸ ἐπιστρέφεσθαι πρὸς αὐ-
τούς, καὶ οἷς κελεύουσιν ἐξακολουθεῖν.
λέγομεν δὲ καὶ τῶν μαθηματικῶν λόγον
ἔχειν, τό εἰδέναι αὐτὰ καὶ γνῶσίν τινα
καὶ ἐπιστήμην αὐτῶν ἔχειν. Partly
there is a play on the words λόγον
ἔχειν, which it is impossible to trans-
late ; and partly there is an analogy
between the obedience of the passions
to the reason and the submission one
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.
20 διορίζεται---λέγομεν] ‘ According
to this division also is human excel-
lence divided. For we speak of in-
tellectual excellences, and moral ex-
cellences; philosophy, intelligence,
and thought being intellectual, libe-
rality and temperance moral. For
when speaking of the moral character
we do not say thata man is philosophic
or intelligent, but that he is gentle or
temperate: yet we praise the philo-
sophic man also, with regard to his
state of mind, and praiseworthy states
XI]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.
479
λέγομεν ὅτι σοφὸς ἢ συνετὸς ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι πρᾶος ἡ σώφρων,
3 , A ‘ ‘ 4 4 A “΄ e “- CZ ‘
ἐπαινούμεν δὲ καὶ τὸν σοφὸν κατὰ τὴν ἕξιν" τῶν ἕξεων δὲ
Α ᾽ ‘ > . ,
Tas ἐπαινετὰς ἀρετὰς λέγομεν.
of mind we call excellences.’ The old
difficulty of translating less definite
ancient words into more definite
modern ones occurs here, Aristotle
is founding the distinction between
the Intellectual and the Moral which
has lasted ever since. But he uses
the word ἀρετὴ 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
we can trace a progress, even in the
Peripatetic school, for while the sen-
tence ἐπαινοῦμεν δὲ καὶ τὸν σοφόν is
repeated in the Zudemian Ethics (τι.
i. 18), it is corrected in the Magna
Moralia (1. v. 3), κατὰ yap ταύτας
érawerol λεγόμεθα, κατὰ δὲ τὰς τοῦ
τὸν λόγον ἔχοντος οὐδεὶς ἐπαινεῖται"
οὔτε γὰρ ὅτι σοφός, οὐδεὶς ἐπαινεῖται,
οὔτε ὅτι φρόνιμος, οὐδ᾽ ὅλως κατά τι τῶν
τοιούτων οὐθέν. The last line in the
first Book contains an anticipation of
much that is demonstrated in Books
prominently exerted. On this point | II. and III.
PLAN OF BOOK II.
HE 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 ᾿Οςθὸς Λόγος and of Προαΐρεσις,
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 1. 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. L—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
᾿Ορθὸς Λόγος (II. ii. 2) for future analysis really afterwards gives
rise to Book VI, and the account of intellectual ἁρετή ; yet here
᾿Ορθὸς Λόγος is only cursorily, and by implication, identified with .
intellectual ἀρετή (τί ἐστιν ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος, καὶ πῶς ἔχει πρὸς τὰς
a ‘ ᾿» ΣΧ , 4 — Ζ '
ΟῚ ron 2
ar ας ἀφετάρ), and the ane MRE of Book VI. seems to
_ belong to a later development of the Psychology of Aristotle, Ὁ
whether due to himself or to his school. Other marks of crude- _
ness in detail will be adverted to in the notes. At the same time
it would be unjust not to recognise the analytic 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.
VoL. 1. . ἂν NN
Th ὶ ΕΑ
Ι -- ἊΣ ively
Pa et a χα, - τ |
bo
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION I.
ALT HS δὲ τῆς ἀρετῆς οὔσης, τῆς μὲν διανοητικῆς τῆς
δὲ ἠθικῆς, ἡ μὲν διανοητικὴ τὸ πλεῖον ἐκ διδασκαλίας
» ‘ ‘ , ‘ ‘ ” ὃ , 3 ’
EXEL καὶ THY γένεσιν καὶ τὴν αυξῆσιν, lo7rep εμπειριᾶς
δεῖται καὶ χρόνου, ἡ δ᾽ ἠθικὴ ἐξ ἔθους περιγίνεται, ὅθεν καὶ
, al Ν a 3 x ~ +,
TOVVOLaA εσχῆκε μικρον παρεκκλῖνον ατόὸ TOU ἔθους.
ἐξ οὗ
A ~ “ ᾿ , An 9 A 5 “- , Ce ’ ,
καὶ δῆλον ὅτι οὐδεμία τῶν ἠθικῶν ἀρετῶν φύσει ἡμίν eyyt-
νεται" οὐθὲν γὰρ τῶν φύσει ὄντων ἄλλως ἐθίζεται, οἷον ὁ
I. 1 The discussion is taken up |
from the point last arrived at in the
analysis of happiness, namely, the dis-
tinction of intellectual from moral |
' VII. p. 792 E: κυριώτατον yap οὖν éu-
ἀρετή. We are not immediately told
that the consideration of the former
is to be deferred. That indeed only
comes out incidentally, when (11. ii. 2)
whence also it has, with a slight de-
flection, derived its name’ (ἠθική
from ἔθος); a derivation which is
doubtless suggested by Plato, Laws,
φύεται πᾶσι τότε (scil. in youth) πᾶν
ἦθος διὰ ἔθος. A mechanical theory
_ is here given both of the intellect and
the discussion of ὀρθὸς λόγος is de- |
ferred, which ὀρθὸς λόγος is afterwards |
(γι. xiii. 3) identified with φρόνησις,
the perfection of the practical reason.
Here the mention made of the two |
forms of ἀρετή 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.
ἡ μὲν διανοητική --- ἔθου] * 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 ;
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.
1. ix. 4). It is qualified, however, by
adinissions with regard to εὐφυΐα,
φυσικὴ ἀρετή, &e. (Cf, 111. v. 17.)
2 ἐξ οὗ---ἐγγίνεται] ‘ Whence also
it is plain that none of the moral
virtues arises in us by nature.’
Additional proofs of this position are
subjoined. (1) The laws of nature
are unalterable, and independent of
habit. (2) According to the doctrine
of δυνάμεις and ἐνέργεια (see Essay
IV.), moral faculties are distinguished
Ἢ ᾿ς ma < ‘
Cuap. I.]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IT.
483
λίθος φύσει κάτω φερόμενος οὐκ ἂν ἐθισθείη ἄνω φέρε-
a , φι 4 "27 » er Pan
σθαι, οὐδ᾽ ἂν μυριάκις αὐτὸν ἐθί ζη τις ἄνω ῥίπτων, οὐδὲ
τὸ πῦρ κάτω, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν ἄλλως πεφυκότων ἄλλως
ἂν ἐθισθείη.
vs , ” «ὦ , ᾽ ,
οὔτ᾽ ἄρα φύσει οὔτε rapa φύσιν ἐγγίνονται 3
αἱ ἀρεταί, ἀλλὰ πεφυκόσι μὲν ἡμῖν δέξασθαι αὐτάς, τελει-
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 Meno 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 οὔτ᾽ ἄρα---ἔθους] ‘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. vt. xiii. 1-2, on the relation
of φυσικὴ ἀρετή to κυρία ἀρετή.) It
may be well, for the sake of clearness,
to collect here some of the chief ap-
plications of the word φύσις to moral
subjects in Aristotle, without going
into the deeper philosophy of his con-
ception of φύσις in relation to God,
ἕο, φύσις is defined (Metaph, rv. iv.
8) as ἡ οὐσία ἡ τῶν ἐχόντων ἀρχὴν
κινήσεως ἐν αὐτοῖς ἡ αὐτά. ‘The essence
of things having their efficient cause
in themselves, by reason of what they
are.’ Here, then, we have two notions
| blended together: (1) 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. φύσις denotes the self-produced, :
or self-producing, principle, opposed ;
especially to that which is produced,
by the intelligence or will of man τ’
thus to art (Zth. vi. iv. 4) or to the
moral will, care, or cultivation (x. ix.
6). It is that for which we are irre-
sponsible (ibid.), τὸ μὲν οὖν τῆς φύσεως
δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἐφ᾽ ἡμῖν ὑπάρχει. That
which comes of itself (vr. xi. 6), ἥδε
ἡ ἡλικία νοῦν ἔχει καὶ γνώμην, ws τῆς
φύσεως αἰτίας οὔσης. That which is*
innate, and out of the sphere of the-’
will, (VI. xiii. 1), πᾶσι γὰρ δοκεῖ ἕκαστα
τῶν ἠθῶν ὑπάρχειν φύσει πως. (III. γ΄,
18), τὸ τέλος φύσει ἣ ὅπως δήποτε
φαίνεται. It is opposed to habit, as
the original tendency to that which
is superinduced, (vil. x. 4) ῥᾷον ἔθος
μετακινῆσαι φύσεως. Also, to the re-
sult of circumstances, (ITI. v. 15) τυφλῷ
φύσει ἢ ἐκ νόσου ἣ ἐκ πληγῆς.
II. From the idea of the self-caused
(καθ᾽ αὑτό), it comes to mean that
which is under a fixed law opposed to
the variable, (Vv. vii. 2) τὸ μὲν φύσει
ἀκίνητον. Or, to the arbitrary and
conventional, (1. iii. 2) νόμῳ μόνον,
φύσει δὲ wh. The absolute opposed
to the relative, (1m. iv. 3) τὸ φύσει
βουλητόν.
III. It means not only a law, but
also a tendency, as Y. vii. 4, φύσει ἡ
δεξιὰ κρείττων,
IV. The character and attributes
of a thing, whether good or bad,
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.
484 [CHap.
, δὲ ὃ ‘ ~ ἔθ » Ψ A , « a
4 ουμένοις δὲ διὰ τοῦ ἔθους. ἔτι ὅσα μὲν φύσει ἡμῖν παρα-
,
γίνεται, Tas δυνάμεις τούτων πρότερον κομιζόμεθα, ὕστερον
δὲ τὰς ἐνεργείας ἀποδίδομεν. ὅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν αἰσθήσεων
~ “ a ΄
δῆλον" οὐ γὰρ ἐκ τοῦ πολλάκις ἰδεῖν ἢ πολλάκις ἀκοῦσαι
τὰς αἰσθήσεις ἐλάβομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάπαλιν ἔχοντες ἐχρησά-
9 , Ν ν 9 ᾿ x ,
μεθα, οὐ χρησάμενοι ἔσχομεν. Tas δ᾽ ἀρετὰς λαμβάνομεν
ἐνεργήσαντες πρότερον, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν᾽
ἃ γὰρ δεῖ μαθόντας ποιεῖν, ταῦτα ποιοῦντες μανθάνομεν,
οἷον οἰκοδομοῦντες οἰκοδόμοι γίνονται καὶ κιθαρίζοντες κι-
θαρισταί, οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὰ μὲν δίκαια πράττοντες δίκαιοι
γινόμεθα, τὰ δὲ σώφρονα σώφρονες, τὰ δ᾽ ἀνδρεῖα ἀνδρεῖοι.
5 μαρτυρεῖ δὲ καὶ τὸ γινόμενον ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν: οἱ γὰρ
΄ κ 2 "Δ A re , A Ἁ
νομοθέται τοὺς πολίτας ἐθίζοντες ποιοῦσιν ἀγαθούς, καὶ τὸ
the powers possessed by a thing, (I.
lil. 4) ἡ τοῦ πράγματος φύσις. (III.
i. 7) ἃ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν ὑπερ-
τείνει.
V. The whole constitution of ἃ
thing, viewed as realising its proper
τέλος, or the idea of good in itself,
the perfect or normal state of any-
thing. (vu. xi. 4) γένεσις els φύσιν
αἰσθητή. (I. xii, 2) ἡ μὲν λύπη
ἐξίστησι καὶ φθείρει τὴν τοῦ ἔχον-
tos φύσιν. Cf. Politics, 1. ii. ὃ : οἷον
yap ἕκαστόν ἐστι τῆς γενέσεως τελε-
σθείσης, ταύτην φαμὲν τὴν φύσιν εἷναι
ἑκάστου, ὥσπερ ἀνθρώπου, ἵππου, οἰκίας.
VI. The word is sometimes almost
periphrastic ; Topics, τ. i. 3, ἡ τοῦ
ψεύδους φύσις. Similar to this is the
usage in Eth, Nic. τ. xiii. 15: ἄλλη τις
φύσις τῆς ψυχῆς ἄλογος.
4 ἔτι ὅσα--- ἀνδρεῖοι] ‘ 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 Ar.
Metaph. vu. viii. and Essay IY.
above, from which it will be seen that
‘acts’ or ‘operations’ is an inadequate
translation for ἐνέργειαι. On Aris-
totle’s position with regard to the
question whether sight is an inherent
or an acquired faculty, see below, VI.
Viii. 9, note.
τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν] ‘The arts be-
side,’ not as if virtue were reckoned
among the arts. On the idiom, cf.
Plato, Gorgias, p. 473 Ο : εὐδαιμονιζό-
μενος ὑπὸ τῶν πολιτῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων
ξένων. οἱ ἄλλοι seems to imply a
separate class in juxtaposition, as in
the French idiom, ‘ vous autres.’ Cf.
Eth. τι. ii. 8: ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν
φανερωτέρων.
«-,
117 HOIKQN ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΈΙΩΝ II. 485
μὲν βούλημα παντὸς νομοθέτου τοῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ὅσοι δὲ μὴ εὖ
αὐτὸ ποιοῦσιν ἁμαρτάνουσιν, καὶ διαφέρει τούτῳ πολιτεία
.) 4 » ᾽ “- “ Α 4 -
πολιτείας ἀγαθὴ φαύλης. ἔτι ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν καὶ διὰ τῶν 6
αὐτῶν καὶ γίνεται πᾶσα ἀρετὴ καὶ φθείρεται, ὁμοίως δὲ
4 , . ‘ ~ 4 © ‘J A 4 ©
καὶ τέχνη" ἐκ yap τοῦ κιθαρίζειν καὶ of ἀγαθοὶ καὶ οἱ
Α , ’ ° [ὦ 4 4 ε 9 ,
κακοὶ γίνονται κιθαρισταί, ἀνάλογον de καὶ of οἰκοδόμοι
καὶ οἱ λοιποὶ πάντες" ἐκ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ εὖ οἰκοδομεῖν ἀγα-
εἰ γὰρ μὴ 7
οὕτως εἶχεν, οὐδὲν ἂν ἔδει τοῦ διδάξοντος, ἀλλὰ πάντες ἂν
‘ 4 [ »* > A ~ “- ,
Boi οἰκοδόμοι εἐσονταὶῖ, εκ δὲ TOU κακῶς Κακοι,
Φ ue 9 ἃ ’ oe ‘ 4 3, % ~ 9 ~
ἐγίνοντο ἀγαθοὶ ἢ κακοί, οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀρετῶν
ἔχει." πράττοντες γὰρ τὰ ἐν τοῖς συναλλάγμασι τοῖς
4 4 ἀνθ ’ , 0 e A Ou c δὲ HO
πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους γινόμεθα of μὲν δίκαιοι of δὲ ἄδικοι,
πράττοντες δὲ τὰ ἐν τοῖς δεινοῖς καὶ ἐθιζόμενοι φοβεῖσθαι
ἢ θαρρεῖν οἱ μὲν ἀνδρεῖοι οἱ δὲ δειλοί, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τὰ
περὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἔχει καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰς ὀργάς" οἱ μὲν
γὰρ σώφρονες καὶ πρᾶοι γίνονται, οἱ δ᾽ ἀκόλαστοι καὶ
“3 Ir ε ‘ 9 - « 5 Ὁ > - ᾿] ; «
ὀργίλοι, οἱ μὲν ἐκ τοῦ οὑτωσὶ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἀναστρέφεσθαι, οἱ
A » ~ e , 4A me 4 , 9 ~ « ,’ >
δὲ ἐκ TOU οὑτωσί, Kal ἑνὶ δὴ λόγῳ εκ τῶν ὁμοίων ἐνερ-
γειῶν αἱ ἕξεις γίνονται. διὸ δεῖ τὰς ἐνεργείας ποιὰς ἀπο- 8
quite admitted in the New Test., see
Matt. xxv. 14-30.
6 ἔτι ἐκ---κιθαρισταί] ‘ 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.’
ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν] i.e. the circumstances
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, aptitude, or the re-
verse ; in the other case, εὐφυΐα or
the natural bent of the character as
modified by circumstances. Such a
difference between man and man is
ἡ καὶ ἑνὶ δὴ---γίνονται)] ‘And, in
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 ex-
perience of life with the peculiar
forms of his philosophy. By means
of δύναμις and ἐνέργεια, he finds it
possible to explain the formation of
virtue, just as he does the existence
of the world. In each act and mo-
τ
486 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION TT, [Cuap.
διδόναι" κατὰ γὰρ τὰς τούτων διαφορὰς ἀκολουθοῦσιν αἱ
4 9 A 9 ὃ ’ ‘ ov a o “Δλ 9
ἕξεις. οὐ μικρὸν οὖν διαφέρει τὸ οὕτως ἢ οὕτως εὐθὺς ἐκ
νέων ἐθίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πάμπολυ, πλοῦν δὲ τὸ πᾶν.
᾿Επεὶ οὖν ἡ παροῦσα πραγματεία οὐ θεωρίας ὃ ἕνεκά ἐστιν
ὥσπερ αἱ ἄλλαι (οὐ γὰρ ἵν᾿ εἰδῶμεν τί ἐστιν ἡ ἀρετὴ
, . aC Tes ge κι , 9 a8 “ΣΧ a >
σκεπτόμεθα, ἀλλ᾽ ἵν’ ἀγαθοὶ γενώμεθα, ἐπεὶ οὐδὲν ἂν ἣν
» ΕῚ “ἢ. Ψ al ’ , Ἂν A A
ὄφελος αὐτῆς). ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστι σκέψασθαι τὰ περὶ τὰς
πράξεις, πῶς πρακτέον αὐτάς" αὗται γάρ εἰσι κύριαι καὶ
τοῦ ποιὰς γενέσθαι τὰς ἕξεις, καθάπερ εἰρήκαμεν. τὸ μὲν
> ‘ ‘ 9 ‘ , , \ : ae ,
οὖν κατὰ TOV ὀρθὸν λόγον πράττειν κοινὸν καὶ ὑποκείσθω.
ment at the outset of life, something | ἡ φυσικὴ πραγματεία, ἣ πολιτικὴ πραγ-
which was potential in us and quite | warela, &c. In Plato the word only
indeterminate for good or evil (Svva- | occurs in a general sense, denoting
jus)is brought intoactuality (ἐνέργεια), | ‘ business,’ ‘undertaking,’ ‘employ-
and now is determinately either good | ment,’ &c. ὥσπερ ai ἄλλαι. Accord-
or bad. This determination, by the | ing to this classification, sciences will
law of habits, reproduces itself, and _ be divided into speculative and prac-
thus there is no longer left an am- | tical ; elsewhere a third class is added,
biguous δύναμις, but a ἕξις, or definite | the productive. On Aristotle’s con-
tendency for good or evil, is super- | ception of the nature of Politics, see
induced (see Essay IV. p. 239, sqq.) | above, 1. 11, 8, 9, notes.
It will be observed that why an act αὐτῆς] Sc. τῆς σκέψεως or τῆς πραγ-
tends to reproduce itself Aristotle ματείας,
does not inquire. He contents him- αὗται yap] 1.6. αἱ πράξεις, which are
self with stating the fact as a uni- | thus identified with the ἐνέργειαι of
versal law, and expressing it in his | the last chapter.
own formula:—(7d δ᾽ ὅτι πρῶτον καὶ 2 τὸ μὲν οὖν --- ἀρετάς] ‘That we must
ἀρχή, I. Vii. 20). act according to the right law—this
indeed is a general principle, and may
II. 1 ᾿Επεὶ οὖν---εἰρήκαμεν] ‘Since | be assumed as a basis of our concep-
then this present science does not | tion—but we shall discuss hereafter,
aim at speculation, like the others | both what the right law is, and how
(for we do not inquire in order to | it is related to the other virtues.’
know what virtue is, but in order | The meaning of κοινόν is made plainer
that we may become virtuous, else | by VI. i. 2 infra. ἔστι δὲ τὸ μὲν εἰπεῖν
there would be no profit in the in- (βοΐ, κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον) ἀληθὲς
quiry), it is necessary to consider with μέν, οὐθὲν δὲ σαφές. The Paraphrast
regard to actions how they should be | has in the present passage, ἀληθὲς μέν,
done ; for these are what determine οὐκ ἔστι δὲ ἱκανὸν τὰς πράξεις σημᾶνας
the quality of the states of mind | Cf. Σέ. 1. vii. 9.
which are produced in us, as before ὑποκείσθω) The MSS. are at issue
stated.’ πραγματεία is used by Aris- | upon this word, the number of them
{totle and his commentators to denote | giving ὑπερκείσθω, which reading is
the whole body of a separate science, | followed by the Paraphrast. ὑπερκείσθω
1.--11]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.
487
ῥηθήσεται δ᾽ ὕστερον περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ τί ἐστιν ὁ ὀρθὸς λό-
‘ “ » ‘ ‘ ° ’
γος, καὶ πῶς ἔχει πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας ἀρετάς.
διομολογείσθω, ὅτι πᾶς ὁ περὶ τῶν πρακτῶν λόγος τύπῳ
9 7 ‘
€KELVO δὲ προ-
καὶ οὐκ ἀκριβῶς ὀφείλει λέγεσθαι, ὥσπερ καὶ κατ’ ἀρχὰς
cA ΄ Φ“ s ‘ ξ , ° , ‘ ᾿ 3
εἴπομεν ὅτι κατὰ τὴν ὕλην οἱ λόγοι ἀπαιτητέοι" τὰ δ᾽ ἐν
ταῖς πράξεσι καὶ τὰ συμφέροντα οὐδὲν ἑστηκὸς ἔχει, ὥσπερ
would mean, ‘must stand over,’ and
it would be taken in close connection
with ῥηθήσεται δ᾽ ὕστερον. But the
authority of Bekker and the usage of
Aristotle seem sufficient to establish
ὑποκείσθω. Cf. Eth. τι. iii. 6, V. i. 3,
Rhet. τ. xi, 1: ὑποκείσθω δ᾽ ἡμῖν εἶναι
τὴν ἡδονὴν κίνησίν τινα τῆς ψυχῆς.
Pol, vit. i. 13: νῦν δὲ ὑποκείσθω
τοσοῦτον, K.T.A.
κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον] We find the
phrase ὀρθὸς λόγος occasionally occur-
ring in Plato, thus Phedo, p. 73 A,
it is coupled with émorjun—e μὴ
ἐτύγχανεν αὐτοῖς ἐπιστήμη ἐνοῦσα καὶ
ὀρθὸς λόγος, where it means ‘a sound
understanding.’ In the same dialogue,
p- 94, it occurs with the signification
‘sound reasoning.’ κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν
λόγον κακίας οὐδεμία ψυχὴ μεθέξει,
εἴπερ ἁρμονία ἐστίν. Elsewhere λόγος
is found joined with φρόνησις. Cf.
Repub, 1X. p. 582 A, ἐμπειρίᾳ καὶ
φρονήσει καὶ λόγῳ. It is easy to see
; that ὀρθὸς λόγος 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 ἃ8 λόγος 18, Itmeans‘argument”
(Eth, x. ii. 1, ἐπιστεύοντο δ᾽ of λόγοι,
1. Vv. 8, πολλοὶ λόγοι), "
posed to intuition (VI. viii. 9, ὧν οὐκ
ἔστι λόγος), ‘ratio’ (Vv. iv. 2, κατὰ τὸν
λόγον τὶ .rév), ‘reckoning’ (Υ. iii.
15, ἐν dyabod λόγῳ), ‘ conception’ (1.
Vi. 5, ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος ὁ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου),
‘definition’ or ‘formula’ (11. iii. 5,
inference,’ op-”|
ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου διορίζεται. 11. Vi. 7, τὸν
λόγον τὸν τί ἣν εἶναι λέγοντα), ‘theory’
as opposed to ‘fact’ (x. viii. 12, λόγους
ὑποληπτέον), &c. In Eth. τ. xiii. 9,
τὸ δὲ λόγον ἔχον, it means ‘reason,’
but still in the present passage it
seems best to avoid translating κατὰ
τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον, ‘according to right
reason,’ as is usually done, (1) because
of the article, which seems to show
that Adyos is used in a general sense
here, and not to denote a particular
faculty of the mind ; (2) in reference
to the train of associations which
must havé been in Aristotle’s mind,
of ‘ standard,’ ‘ proportion,’ ‘ law,’ &c.
(see Essay IV. p. 257).
πρὸς Tas ἄλλας ἀρετάς] These words
cursorily imply that ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος is
an ἀρετή, if indeed ras ἄλλας is not to
be explained as above, i. 4, note.
3-4 τὰ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι κυ-
Bepynrixfjs] ‘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 incap-
able of being exactly fixed, for it falls
under the domain of noart or regimen,
but thé actors themselves must always
watch what suits the occasion, as is
the case with the physivian’s and the
pilot’s art.’ τὰ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι καὶ
| τὰ συμφέροντα refers to the two classes
specified, Eth. 1 iii. 2, 3, τὰ δὲ καλὰ
| καὶ τὰ δίκαια---τοιαύτην δέ τινα πλάνην
'
ἔχει καὶ τἀγαθά «7.4. On the mean-
ing of τὸ συμφέρον in morals, cf. Eth,
Il, i, 15, note.
“a
_
ΤΣ "ἢ
488
4 οὐδὲ τὰ ὑγιεινά.
ἨἩΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II.
[Cuap.
τοιούτου δ᾽ ὄντος τοῦ καθόλου λόγου.
" a e ‘ A 97 , ] x °
ἔτι μάλλον ὁ περὶ τῶν καθ᾽ ἕκαστα λόγος οὐκ ἔχει τάκρι-
, x Ἀν ε \ , Sf & \ ἢ 3 ,
Bés: OUTE yep ὑπο τέχνην οὔθ υπο παραγγελίαν οὐδεμίαν
’ AS ms δ᾽ " A op, A ’ \ \ \
πιττει. εἰ αὐτοὺς del Τοὺς πράττοντας “τα προῦ τον
᾿ a Ν 5. ἃ a ἢ A 6 A
καιρὸν OKOTELV, ὥσπερ καὶ ἔἔχι. TH ἰατρικῆς ἔχει καὶ τῆς
5 κυβερνητικῆς,
6 λόγου πειρατέον βοηθεῖν.
ἢ x , »» rd an ’
ἀλλὰ καίπερ ὄντος τοιούτου τοῦ παρόντος
πρῶτον οὖν τοῦτο θεωρητέον,
ὅτι τὰ τοιαῦτα πέφυκεν ὑπὸ ἐνδείας καὶ ὑπερβολῆς φθεί-
ρεσθαι, (δεῖ γὰρ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀφανῶν τοῖς φανεροῖς μαρτυ-
ρίοις χρῆσθαι) ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τῆς ἰσχύος καὶ τῆς ὑγιείας ὁρῶ-
,. ‘
μεν τά τε yap ὑπερβάλλοντα γυμνάσια Kal τὰ ἐλλεί-
, ‘ Ω , ε Ἷ \ A \ Q ‘ ᾿
ποντα φθείρει την ἰσχυν. OMOLWS δὲ καὶ TA TOTA Kat Τὰ
τὰ ὑγιεινά] Aristotle is fond of the
analogy between health and morals.
He speaks of health as a relative, not |
an absolute, balance of the bodily
constitution, cf. Eth. x. iii. 3.
τοιούτου δ᾽ ὄντος τοῦ καθόλου λόγου]
It seems an over-statement of the
uncertainty and relative character
of morals, to say that ‘the universal
theory’ is devoid of all fixedness.
Rather it seems true to say (1) That |
in some things there is an absolute,
immutable law of right and wrong.
This Aristotle would himself acknow-
ledge. (Cf. Eth. 11. vi. 19, 20.) (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,
|
|
|
|
5 πειρατέον βοηθεῖν] 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 δεῖ γὰρ--- χρῆσθαι] ‘For in illus-
tration of immaterial things we must
use material analogies.’ This sentence
is repeated in the Magna Moralia
(1. v. 4) with a context that seems at
᾿ first sight startling, ὅτι δὲ ἡ ἔνδεια καὶ
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 minuti of particular
actions.
ἡ ὑπερβολὴ φθείρει, τοῦτ᾽ ἰδεῖν ἔστιν ἐκ
τῶν ἠθικῶν. Δεῖ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀφανῶν
τοῖς φανεροῖς μαρτυρίοις χρῆσθαι. One
might almost fancy that the writer
was quoting the Ethics of Aristotle.
Spengel, however (Transactions of
Philos. -Philol. Class of Bavarian Aca-
demy, 111. 513), remarks that the true
reading must be not ἐκ τῶν ἠθικῶν,
but ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων, confirming this
conjecture by the words of Stobus,
who with regard to the Peripatetic
ethics says, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἔνδειξιν τού-
του τοῖς ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων μαρτυρίοις
χρῶντα. The writer therefore is
only borrowing, not quoting, from
Aristotle.
ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τῆς ἰσχύος---ἰσχύν] Taken
perhaps from Plato, cf. Εγαδέω, p. 134,
where, to prove that philosophy is not
11. ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II. 489
, ’ 4 , , , ‘4 e , 4
σιτία πλείω καὶ ἐλάττω γινόμενα φθείρει τὴν ὑγίειαν, τὰ
δὲ σύμμετρα καὶ ποιεῖ καὶ αὔξει καὶ σώζει. οὕτως οὖν καὶ 7
5, 4, ῇ A 9 , » 4 A “ ~
ἐπὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας ἔχει καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀρετῶν"
“ 4 , , A , 4 ‘ e ,
ὅ τε yap πάντα φεύγων καὶ φοβούμενος καὶ μηδὲν ὑπομέ-
νων δειλὸς γίνεται, ὅ τε μηδὲν ὅλως φοβούμενος ἀλλὰ πρὸς
, , ε A wy “ὁ ‘ , ε -
πάντα βαδίζων θρασύς. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ὁ μὲν πάσης ἡδονῆς
~ ,
ἀπολαύων καὶ μηδεμιᾶς ἀπεχόμενος ἀκόλαστος, ὁ δὲ πάσας
φεύγων, ὥσπερ οἱ ἀγροῖκοι, ἀναίσθητός τις - φθείρεται
‘ e , ee 3S, , «ε " A e ᾿ aA ‘ ~
γὰρ ἡ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἡ ἀνδρεία ὑπὸ τῆς ὑπερβολῆς Kat τῆς
ἐλλείψεως, ὑπὸ δὲ τῆς μεσότητος σώζεται. ἀλλ᾽ οὐ 8
, e , 4 ς 9 , 4 ε Φ, 9.9 ~ .
μόνον αἱ γενέσεις καὶ αἱ αὐξήσεις καὶ αἱ φθοραὶ ἐκ τῶν αὐ-
τῶν καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν γίνονται, ἀλλὰ καὶ αἱ ἐνέργειαι ἐν
τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἔσονται" καὶ γὰρ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν φανερω-
τῆς γίνεται γὰρ ἐκ
τοῦ πολλὴν τροφὴν λαμβάνειν καὶ πολλοὺς πόνους ὑπομέ-
, “ »; φ φυνῃ . ,
TEpwv OUTWS EXEL, OLOV ἐπι ἐσχυος"
A Us , ΄ - ere , “
νειν, καὶ μάλιστα δύναται ταῦτα ποιεῖν ὁ ἰσχυρός. οὕτω 9
δ᾽ ἔχει καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀρετῶν" ἔκ τε γὰρ τοῦ ἀπέχεσθαι
τῶν ἡδονῶν γινόμεθα σώφρονες, καὶ γενόμενοι μάλιστα
’ .] , ᾽ - ε ’ A A * 4 ~ °
δυνάμεθα ἀπέχεσθαι αὐτῶν. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ἀν-
- ’ ‘ a ~ A 4
ἐθιζόμενοι yap καταφρονεῖν. τῶν φοβερῶν καὶ
ὑπομένειν αὐτὰ γινόμεθα ἀνδρεῖοι, καὶ γενόμενοι μάλιστα
δυνησόμεθα ὑπομένειν τὰ φοβερά.
δρείας 7
πολυμαθία, Socrates argues that φιλο- 8 ἀλλ᾽ οὐ pdbvov—icxupss] ‘But
yupvacriaisnot πολυπονία, butexercise
in moderation. To which his opponent
agrees (C),"AXN’ ὁμολογῶ μὴ τὰ πολλὰ
ἀλλὰ τὰ μέτρια γυμνάσια τὴν εὐεξίαν
ἐμποιεῖν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις. Τί δὲ τὰ σιτία;
τὰ μέτρια ἣ τὰ πολλά; κιτιλ. There
are three points which this chapter
and the next contribute tentatively to
the theory of virtuous actions: (1)
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.
VOL. 1.
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 forinstance 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 ἐνέργειαι. But only
those which succeed the formation of
virtue are to be called virtuous; see
below, Chapter IV.
00
490
HOIKON NIKOMAXEION II.
[CHap.
Σημεῖον δὲ δεῖ ποιεῖσθαι τῶν ἕξεων τὴν ἐπιγινομένην
e A “ἃ , - Ν e ‘ A 4: ’ ΄
ἡδονὴν ἢ λύπην τοῖς ἔργοις" ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἀπεχόμενος τῶν
“A ε A A \ ae , , , ε ᾽
σωματικῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ αὑτῷ TOUTH χαιρῶν σώφρων, oO ὃ
5 , ag Ar eae ‘ ε , . 2 »" 4
ἀχθόμενος ἀκόλαστος, Kal O μὲν νυπομενῶν τα εινα Kal
χαίρων ἢ μὴ λυπούμενός γε ἀνδρεῖος, ὁ δὲ λυπούμενος δειλός.
Ν «ε x | ~ , bd A e 9 ‘ Ψ , Ἂν A
περι ἡδονὰς yap Kat λύπας ἐστὶν ἡ ἠθικὴ ἀρετὴ" διὰ μὲν
III. 1 Σημεῖον δὲ--- δειλός] ‘ 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 whoendures 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, Δ. 1. viii. 12. 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
εἴη this ideal way, £th. 1. xiii. 17. The
terms ἀκόλαστος and δειλός above
, seem used merely as the contradictories
“of σῴφρων and ἀνδρεῖος, so that ἀκό-
λαστος 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.
περὶ ἡδονὰς yap καὶ λύπας ἐστὶν ἡ
ἠθικὴ ἀρετή] ‘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 theclose connection of morality ,
with the feelings, instincts, desires, in
short with pleasures-and pains. The
arguments are : (1) Pleasuresand pains
induce and deter ; whence Plato said
that true education consistsin 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
TIL]
γὰρ τὴν ἡδονὴν τὰ φαῦλα πράττομεν, διὰ
διὸ det ἦχθαί πως
τῶν καλῶν ἀπεχόμεθα.
e ε , U “ , ‘
ws ὁ Πλάτων φησίν, ὥστε χαίρειν τε καὶ
δεῖ" ἡ γὰρ ὀρθὴ παιδεία αὕτη ἐστίν.
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION IT.
491
δὲ τὴν λύπην
va ’ ,
εὐθὺς ἐκ νέων, 2
λυπεῖσθαι οἷς
» 9. 9 ,
ἔτι δ᾽ εἰ ἀρεταί 3
" 4 , 4 , 4 δ , 4 ,
εἰσι περὶ πράξεις καὶ πάθη, παντὶ de πάθει καὶ macy
᾿ “ +O 4 ‘ , ‘ ὃ ‘ A x Kn ” Γῆς ‘
πράξει ἕπεται ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη, καὶ διὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἡ ἀρετή
Α e ‘ ‘4 ,
περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας.
, \ ‘ ε , ,
μηνυουσι δὲ καὶ αἱ κολάσεις γινο- 4
x , ἢ " , , 4 Oh) 2 “
μεναι διὰ TOUT@Y* ιατρειαι yep τινες εἰσιν, αἱ δὲ ἰατρειαι
διὰ τῶν ἐναντίων πεφύκασι γίνεσθαι. ἔτι, ὡς καὶ πρότερον ς
!
_
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. Itis |
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 connection of pleasure with
ἐνέργεια, and of ἐνέργεια with moral
virtue on the one hand, and happiness
on the other.
2 ὡς ὁ Πλάτων φησίν] The refer-
ence is to Plato, de Legibus, τι. p. 653
A: Λέγω τοίνυν τῶν παίδων παιδικὴν
elvde πρώτην αἴσθησιν ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην,
καὶ ἐν οἷς ἀρετὴ ψυχῇ καὶ κακία παραγί-
νεται πρῶτον, ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι---παιδείαν δὴ
λέγω τὴν παραγιγνομένην πρῶτονπαισὶν
ἀρετὴν, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ φιλία καὶ λύπη
καὶ μῖσος ἂν ὀρθῶς ἐν ψυχαῖς ἐγγίγνων-
ται μήπω δυναμένων λόγῳ λαμβάνειν,
λαβόντων δὲ τὸν λόγον συμφωνήσωσι
τῷ λόγῳ, ὀρθῶς εἰθίσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν προ-
σηκόντων ἐθῶν" αὐτῆς θ᾽ ἡ ξυμφωνία
ξύμπασα μὲν ἀρετή, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς
ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας τεθραμμένον αὐτῆς
ὀρθῶς, ὥστε μισεῖν μὲν ἃ χρὴ μισεῖν
εὐθὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους, στέργειν
δὲ ἃ χρὴ στέργειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀποτεμὼν
τῷ λόγῳ καὶ παιδείαν προσαγορεύων
κατά γετὴν ἐμὴν ὀρθῶς dv rpocayopevus.
4 αἱ δὲ ἱατρεῖαι διὰ τῶν ἐναντίων ©
πεφύκασι γίνεσθαι) * 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 XXII. § 2, and repeated Eth, x.
ix, 10.
5 ἔτι, ὡς καὶ πρότερον---προστίθε-
trai] ‘Again, as we have already
said, every mental state is essen-
tially 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.’
ὡς καὶ πρότερον] The Laurentian
MS. (Κ5) reads ὡς καὶ πρώην, which
is adopted by Dr. Cardwell. But there
does not seem to be -any instance
of a similar usage in Aristotle, by
which πρώην might be justified. The
reference is to the preceding chapter,
§§ 8, 9, where it is stated that vir-
tue finds its development in those
same acts and feelings out of which
it sprung.
ἊΣ
492 ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II. [Cuar-
΄ “ 4 , , ’
εἴπομεν, πᾶσα ψυχῆς ἕξις, ὑφ᾽ οἵων πέφυκε γίνεσθαι χείρων
΄ κ A lal 4 , +
καὶ βελτίων, πρὸς ταῦτα Kat περὶ ταῦτα τὴν φύσιν ἔχει"
δὲ ἡδονὰς δὲ καὶ λύπας φαῦλαι γίνονται, τῷ διώκειν ταύτας
\ , von \ ὃ ado 3 ὃ a aay Ὁ Ὁ " ὃ Aire 7
καὶ φεύγειν, ἢ ἃς μὴ δεῖ ἢ OTE οὐ δεῖ ἢ ὡς οὐ ὁεῖ ἢ ὁσαχῶς
ΞΡ, e 4 lal , , * a ὃ οὖ A
ἄλλως ὕπο τοῦ λόγου διορίζεται τὰ τοιαῦτα. OO καὶ
ὁρίζονται τὰς ἀρετὰς ἀπαθείας τινὰς καὶ ἠρεμίας" οὐκ εὖ
δέ, ὅτι ἁπλῶς λέγουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὡς δεῖ καὶ ὡς οὐ δεῖ,
ε “ A (v4 + / e , a €
καὶ OTe, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα προστίθεται. ὑπόκειται apa ἡ
9 3 3 « ’ Ne 4 ‘4 , “A ,
ἀρετὴ εἶναι ἡ τοιαύτη περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας τῶν βελτίστων
i εξ \ , . ἢ , > ὦ Ἐν ἘΣ ‘
T parti}, ἡ δὲ κακία τοὐναντίον. γένοιτο δ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν καὶ
“-ὄ᾿ “A ΄ ΜΝ »»
ἐκ τούτων φανερὸν ἔτι περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν. τριῶν γὰρ ὄντων
“ 4. ~ ΄“- sk , ΄
τῶν εἰς τὰς αἱρέσεις καὶ τριῶν τῶν εἰς τὰς φυγάς, καλοῦ
’ O06 4 ~ » ’ , - “
συμφέροντος ἤθεος; καὶ τρίων τῶν ἐναντίων, αἰσχρου βλα-
na lal A ἤ A ΄- « ° Ἅ
βεροῦ λυπηροῦ, περὶ πάντα μὲν ταῦτα ὁ ἀγαθὸς κατορθω-.
’ 9 ε x \ ¢ A fe A A ‘
TIKOS ἐστιν O δὲ κακος AMAPTHTIKOS, μάλιστα δὲ περι τὴν
\ | e A ’ A “ fn € ‘
ἡδονήν" κοινή TE yap αὕτη τοῖς ζῴοις, καὶ πασι τοις UTO
᾿ ε \ oY \ \ ‘ \
τὴν αἵρεσιν παρακολουθεῖ" καὶ yap TO καλον Kal TO συμ-
ἃς μὴ δεῖ ἢ ὅτε οὐ Set] The οὐ must vice is often caused by the pursuit of
be taken immediately with δεῖ, soas pleasure. He appeals to a similar
to form a positive conception, ‘when | over-statement of the truth that pro-
it is wrong ;’ else of course μή would | sperity is necessary for happiness,
be required. Eth, τ. viii. 17.
ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου] Not ‘by reason,’ οὐκ εὖ δέ, ὅτι ἁπλῶς} Amongst
but ‘by the formula of definition.’ other oppositions, ἁπλῶς 15 frequently
Cf. Physics, 11. ix. 5: καὶ τὸ τέλος τὸ opposed to κατὰ πρόσθεσιν, or προσ-
οὗ ἕνεκα, kal ἡ ἀρχὴ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὁρισμοῦ θήκην, ‘absolutely’ opposed to ‘with
καὶ τοῦ λόγου. ‘The notion of ἃ regu- ἃ qualification.’ Cf. Eth. vit. iv. 3:
lar formula for defining virtue occurs οὐ κατὰ πρόσθεσιν... ἀλλ᾽ ἁπλῶς
Eth, vi. xiii. 4: Σημεῖον δέ" καὶ yap μόνον. This shows the force of προσ-
viv πάντες, ὅταν ὁρίζωνται τὴν ἀρετήν, τίθεται above.
προστιθέασι τὴν ἕξιν, εἰπόντες καὶ πρὸς 6 ὑπόκειται--- τοὐναντίον] ‘We may
ἅ ἐστι, THY κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον. ᾿ begin by assuming then, as a ground
διὸ καὶ ὁρίζονται] Especially the ἴον future inquiries, that this kind of
Cynics, but other philosophers also, excellence (i.e. moral) is concerned
as, for instance, Democritus, who | with pleasures and pains, and tends
seems to have placed the highest | with regard to them to the perform-
good in ἀταραξία, Cf. Stobeus, Hcl. ance of what is best, while vice is
11. 76: τὴν δ᾽ εὐθυμίαν καὶ εὐεστὼ καὶ the opposite.’ The chapter might
ἁρμονίαν συμμετρίαν τε καὶ ἀταραξίαν | have ended here, but Aristotle re-
καλεῖ, Aristotle appeals to this defi- | opens the discussion with fresh argu-
nition, as being an evidence, though ments and again sums it up in
an over-statement, of the truth that | § 11.
1Π.---ΤΥ.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IT.
φέρον ἡδὺ φαίνεται.
θραπται: διὸ χαλεπὸν ἀποτρίψασθαι τοῦτο τὸ πάθος
ἐγκεχρωσμένον τῷ βίῳ. κανονίζομεν δὲ καὶ τὰς πράξεις,
of μὲν μᾶλλον οἱ δ᾽ ἧττον, ἡδονῇ καὶ λύπῃ.
οὖν ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι περὶ ταῦτα τὴν πᾶσαν πραγματέίαν"
493
» J ᾽ , ~ δ᾽ χὰ ,
ἔτι δ᾽ ἐκ νήπίου πᾶσιν ἡμῖν συντε- 8
διὰ τοῦτ᾽ 9
οὐ γὰρ μικρὸν εἰς τὰς πράξεις εὖ ἢ κακῶς χαίρειν καὶ λυ-
πεῖσθαι. ΄ ἔτι δὲ χαλεπώτερον ἡδονῇ μάχεσθαι ἢ θυμῷ, 10
, 4 e U 4 ‘ ‘ , 7 4
καθάπερ φησὶν Ηράκλειτος, περὶ δὲ τὸ χαλεπώτερον ἀεὶ
καὶ τέχνη γίνεται καὶ ἀρετή" καὶ γὰρ τὸ εὖ βέλτιον ἐν
τούτῳ. ὥστε καὶ διὰ τοῦτο περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας πᾶσα
ἡ πραγματεία καὶ τῇ ἀρετῇ καὶ τῇ πολιτικῇ" ὁ μὲν γὰρ
εὖ τούτοις χρώμενος ἀγαθὸς ἔσται, ὁ δὲ κακῶς κακός. ὅτι 11
‘ Ke > ‘ eS ‘ ‘ ἐδ τα ‘ , . @& > oe
μὲν οὖν ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ περὶ ἡδονὰς Kat λύπας, καὶ ὅτι ἐξ ὧν
’ « ‘A , ‘4 + 4 , 4 e ,
γίνεται, ὑπὸ τούτων καὶ αὔξεται καὶ φθείρεται μὴ ὡσαύτως
γινομένων, καὶ ὅτι ἐξ ὧν ἐγένετο, περὶ ταῦτα καὶ ἐνεργεῖ,
εἰρήσθω.
᾿Απορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν τις, πῶς λέγομεν ὅτι δεῖ τὰ μὲν δίκαια 4
8 ἔτι δ᾽ ἐκ νηπίου---λύπῃ] ‘ 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.’
χαλεπὸν ἀποτρίψασθαι — éyKexpw-
σμένον] The metaphor, though not
its precise application, seems taken
from Plato, Repub. Iv. 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 ἔτι δὲ---.Ἡράκλειτος] ‘ 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,
Politics, V. xi. 31: ἀφειδῶς γὰρ
ἑαυτῶν ἔχουσιν οἱ διὰ θυμὸν ἐπιχει-
χαλεπὸν φάσκων εἶναι θυμῷ μάχεσθαι"
ψυχῆς γὰρ ὠνεῖσθαι (i.e. that men are
ready to gratify their anger at the
cost of their life). It is repeated
also Eth. Eudem. τι. vii. 9. We see
that Heraclitus only spoke of anger ;
the comparison of anger with plea-
sure is not due to him.
IV. 1 ᾿Απορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν ris] The
theory thus far given of the γένεσις 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 diflfi-
culty is (1) in the arts, to whose
analogy appeal is made, mere per-
formance is no proofofart. The first
essays of the learner may by chance,
or by the guidance of his master
ροῦντες, καθάπερ καὶ Ἡράκλειτος εἶπε, (ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένου), ate
NS
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.
494 [Cuap.
πράττοντας δικαίους γίνεσθαι, τὰ δὲ σώφρονα σώφρονας"
εἰ γὰρ πράττουσι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ σώφρονα, ἤδη εἰσὶ
δίκαιοι καὶ σώφρονες, ὥσπερ εἰ τὰ γραμματικὰ καὶ τὰ
μουσικά, γραμματικοὶ καὶ μουσικοί. ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἐπὶ τῶν
τεχνῶν οὕτως ἔχει; ἐνδέχεται γὰρ γραμματικόν τι ποιῆ-.
σαι καὶ ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένους. τότε οὖν ἔσται
γραμματικός, ἐὰν καὶ γραμματικόν τι ποιήση καὶ γραμ-
ματικῶς" τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἐν αὑτῷ γραμματικήν.
ἔτι οὐδ᾽ ὅμοιόν ἐστιν ἐπὶ τῶν τεχνῶν καὶ τῶν ἀρετῶν" τὰ
μὲν γὰρ ὑπὸ τῶν τεχνῶν γινόμενα τὸ εὖ ἔχει ἐν αὑτοῖς,
’ a > esd ” , χ A χ nN
ἀρκέει οὐν TQaAUTA πῶς εχόντα γενέσθαι" ΤᾺΣ δὲ κατα TAS
5) X , 5 oN 2 ’ x ὃ , a ,
ApeTas γίνομενα ουκ ECV QAUTA πῶς EX (KALWS ἢ σωφρόνως
! Ξ ; ᾽
, 3 x A aN e A + ,
πράττεται, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐἂν ὁ πράττων πὼς ἔχων TPATTHs
A A 4A ς Ψ' ld aN if
πρῶτον μεν ἐὰν εἰδώς, ἔπειτ᾽ ἐὰν προαιρούμενος, καὶ
, 9. ᾿ ’ a A , \ oN Va 4A
προαιρούμενος δὲ αὐτά, τὸ δὲ τρίτον καὶ ἐὰν βεβαίως καὶ
tain a sort of success and an artistic
appearance, but the learner is no
artist as yet. (2) 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
important element in it; and that
philosophy without action is impotent
to attain it.
3 Knowledge; purpose; purity
of purpose (προαιρούμενος δι’ αὐτά),
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 (πρὸς δὲ τὸ τὰς ἀρετὰς τὸ μὲν
εἰδέναι μικρὸν ἢ οὐδὲν ἰσχύει, τὰ δ᾽
ἄλλα οὐ μικρὸν ἀλλὰ τὸ πᾶν δύναται).
This is a reaction against the Socra-
tico-Platonic doctrine that virtue
consists in knowledge ; but Aristotle.
only means to say—that knowledge,
if taken by itself, if separate from
the will, if merely existing in the
intellect, is of no avail. We find
afterwards a strong statement of the
opposite view,—that he who has
φρόνησις has all the virtues. Zth.
Vix Sil: 6) ViIneis 5;
προαιρούμενος δι᾿ αὐτά] 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.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IT. 495
’ col ‘ 4 4 ‘
ἀμετακινήτως ἔχων πράττη. ταῦτα de πρὸς μὲν TO τὰς
, ΝΜ ᾿] - 4 9 s 4 307
ἄλλας τέχνας ἔχειν οὐ συναριθμεῖται, πλὴν αὐτὸ TO εἰδέναι"
‘ 4 ‘ ‘ ? ‘ 4 ‘ so7 ‘ "8. ° ,
πρὸς δὲ TO Tas ἀρετὰς TO μὲν εἰδέναι μικρὸν ἢ οὐδὲν ἰσχύει,
. δ᾽ Ν) ᾽ ‘ > ‘ \ ΄ δ “ ᾿ a
Ta ἄλλα οὐ μικρὸν ἀλλὰ TO πᾶν ὀύναται, ἅπερ ἐκ TOU
πολλάκις πράττειν τὰ δίκαια καὶ σώφρονα περιγίνεται.
τὰ μὲν οὖν πράγματα δίκαια καὶ σώφρονα λέγεται, ὅταν 4
> - φ Ἂ e ou a) e , , δ΄
ἣ τοιαῦτα οἷα ἂν ὁ δίκαιος ἢ ὁ σώφρων πράξειεν" δίκαιος
4 4A , ᾿᾽ Α 9 ε ~ Ul 9. A e
δὲ Kat σώφρων ἐστὶν οὐχ ὁ ταῦτα πράττων, ἄλλα καὶ ὁ
οὕτω πράττων ὡς οἱ δίκαιοι καὶ οἱ σώφρονες πράττουσιν.
εὖ οὖν λέγεται ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ δίκαια πράττειν ὁ δίκαιος γίνεται 5
‘A ν᾽ - ‘ , e , 9 4 ~ A ,
καὶ ἐκ τοῦ Ta σώφρονα ὁ σώφρων" ἐκ δὲ τοῦ μὴ πρᾶτ-
a ΠῚ a “Ὁ. ’ , ’ ,
τειν ταῦτα οὐδεὶς ἂν οὐδὲ μελλήσειε γενέσθαι ἀγαθός.
9. ’ ε Ἁ ~ A " , φενῳ Α ‘ ὃ
ἀλλ᾽ οἱ πολλοὶ ταῦτα μὲν οὐ πράττουσιν, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸν ὁ
λόγον καταφεύγοντες οἴονται φιλοσοφεῖν καὶ οὕτως ἔσε-
- -“ - ’ ~
σθαι σπουδαῖοι. ὅμοιόν τι ποιοῦντες τοῖς κάμνουσιν, οἱ τῶν
ἰατρῶν ἀκούουσι μὲν ἐπιμελῶς, ποιοῦσι δ᾽ οὐθὲν τῶν προσ-
ταττομένων. ὥσπερ οὖν οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνοι εὖ ἕξουσι τὸ σῶμα
” , Ὁ a ‘ x “
οὕτω θεραπευόμενοι, οὐδ᾽ οὗτοι τὴν ψυχὴν οὕτω φιλοσο-
φοῦντες.
a a) " ‘ , “ἢ ὦ
Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τί ἐστιν ἡ ἀρετὴ σκεπτέον. ἐπεὶ οὖν ς
‘ ᾿ ΄-΄ na , , ᾽ , , , o
Ta ev TY ψυχῇ γινόμενα τρία εστι, πάθη δυνάμεις ἕξεις,
good act must be chosen, loved, and
done because it is beautiful (ὅτι
καλόν). Aristotle does not analyse
further than this.
dyeraxwhrws] No point is more
insisted on in these Ethics than the
stability of the moral ἕξεις when once
formed. Cf. 1. x. 10, I. x. 14, V. ix.
14.
6 ἀλλ᾽ οἱ πολλοὶ--- φιλοσοφοῦντες]
‘But most people, instead of doing
these things, take refuge in talk about
them, and flatter themselves that they
are studying philosophy, and are ina
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.
VY. 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 Β : ἐμαυτὸν καταμέμφομαι ὡς οὐκ
εἰδὼς περὶ ἀρετῆς τὸ παράπαν" ὅ δὲ μὴ
οἶδα τί ἐστι, πῶς ἂν ὁποῖόν γέ τι εἰδείην ;
Like other parts of logic, it was elabo-
rated and made systematic by Aris-
totle. See Essay III. In the pre-
sent chapter the ri ἐστιν; of virtue is
established, that it is a ἕξις, or formed
state of mind. This is arrived at
Caer .. ὁ"
WE MS Seu
A τὰ
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. [Cuap.
496
,
2 τούτων ἄν TL εἴη ἡ ἀρετή. λέγω δὲ πάθη μὲν ἐπιθυμίαν
ὀργὴν φόβον θράσος φθόνον χαρὰν φιλίαν μῖσος πόθον
κι “ “- ’ A
ζῆλον ἔλεον, ὅλως οἷς ἕπεται ἡδονὴ ἢ λύπη, δυνάμεις δὲ
ὶ Ω e ‘
ka? ἃς παθητικοὶ τούτων λεγόμεθα, οἷον καθ᾽ ἃς δυνατοὶ
3 a a ~ a NOAA “ ὯΝ θ᾽ τ b)
ὀργισθῆναι ἢ λυπηθῆναι ἢ ἐλεῆσαι, ἕξεις de~ καθ ἃς πρὸς
a A " An 9
τὰ πάθη ἔχομεν εὖ ἢ κακῶς, οἷον πρὸς τὸ ὀργισθῆναι, εἰ
‘ A Aats) , A , . \ , 2
μεν σφοδρῶς ἢ ἀνειμένως, κακῶς ἔχομεν, εἰ δὲ μέσως, εὖ.
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. 1. vii. 9-14, where it is
demonstrated what is the proper func-
tion of man, and that of the argument
in Republic tv. 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 (1. vi. 3: καὶ ἐν τῷ ποίῳ al
ἀρεταί), and the category of Quality is
subdivided into four divisions (Cat.
viii. ), (1) ἕξις and διάθεσις. (2) ὅσα κατὰ.
δύναμιν φυσικὴν ἢ ἀδυναμίαν λέγεται.
(3) παθητικαὶ ποιότητες. (4) σχῆμα καὶ
μορφή. 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 πάθος may be*in a sense
identified with ἐνέργεια, and ἕξις is a
sort of determinate dvvayuis,—a δύναμις,
so to speak, on the other side of évép-
yevut. 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
amindexists 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 πάθος, are: (1) 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 (προαίρεσι5). (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 δύναμις. (1) Because
we are not ‘called good’ for our facul-
ties. (2) Because a faculty is some-
thing natural and innate (δυνατοὶ μέν
ἐσμεν φύσει), and virtue is not.
2 λέγω dé—eb] ‘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, ina
i ee
ea,
V.—VI.] -HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. 497
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ πρὸς τἄλλα. πάθη μὲν οὖν οὐκ εἰσὶν οὔθ᾽ 3
3 Φ A ΜΔ" e ld 2 ᾽ ’ ‘ 4 ,
ai ἀρεταὶ οὔθ᾽ ai κακίαι, ὅτι οὐ λεγόμεθα κατὰ τὰ πάθη
a a <. ῃ ‘ > ‘ a κ ’
σπουδαῖοι ἢ φαῦλοι, κατὰ δὲ τὰς ἀρετὰς ἢ τὰς κακίας
λεγόμεθα, καὶ ὅτι κατὰ μὲν τὰ πάθη οὔτ᾽ ἐπαινούμεθα
οὔτε ψεγόμεθα {οὐ γὰρ ἐπαινεῖται ὁ φοβούμενος οὐδὲ
3 , 2} , ε ε - 9 ’ 3 >
ὀργιζόμενος, οὐδὲ ψέγεται ὁ ἁπλῶς ὀργιζόμενος ἀλλ
πῶς), κατὰ δὲ τὰς ἀρετὰς καὶ τὰς κακίας ἐπαινούμεθα
, », 9 ’ A 4 , ᾽ ’
ψεγόμεθα. ἔτι ὀργιζόμεθα μὲν καὶ φοβούμεθα ἀπροαιρέ- 4
Cas ae) ‘ , ae. Sle iat ,
τως, αἱ ὃ apeTat προαιρέσεις τινες ἢ οὐκ ανεὺ προαιρέσεως.
On
2s On
‘ 4 , 4 ‘ 4 , - ’
πρὸς δὲ τούτοις κατὰ μὲν τὰ πάθη κινεῖσθαι λεγόμεθα,
4 A ‘ . 4 4 ‘ , 9 »- > 4
κατὰ δὲ Tas ἀρετὰς καὶ τὰς κακίας οὐ κινεῖσθαι ἀλλὰ δια-
- Ul x ~ A 298 , pe 4 + ‘
κεῖσθαί πως, διὰ ταῦτα δὲ οὐδὲ δυνάμεις εἰσίν" οὔτε γὰρ 5
3 ‘ , “ , , ε “A + ,
ἀγαθοὶ λεγόμεθα τῷ δύνασθαι πάσχειν ἁπλῶς οὔτε κακοί,
καὶ ἔτι δυνατοὶ μέν
ἐσμεν φύσει, ἀγαθοὶ δὲ ἢ κακοὶ οὐ γινόμεθα φύσει" εἴπο-
μεν δὲ περὶ τούτου πρότερον.
οὔτ᾽ ἐπαινούμεθα οὔτε ψεγόμεθα.
3 Or , , ΞΕ e
εἰ οὖν μῆτε aan εἰσιν a6
3 ‘ , , ’ Ψ“ 4. ἃ 3
apeTat μῆτε δυνάμεις, λείπεται ἕξεις auTag¢g εἰναι,
“ρ A 53 ᾽ 4 “ ’, ε 9 , 4 - ὃ a δὲ
τι μὲν οὖν ἐστὶ τῷ γένει 4 ἀρετή, εἰρηται εἴ 0€ 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 specimensof 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,
&e. The words used are throughout
informal, τὰ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γινόμενα---οἷς
ἕπεται ἡδονὴ ---καθ᾽ ἃς δυνατοὶ--- καθ᾽ ἃς
παθητικοί. 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 ἕξεις
there is a play on words which it is
impossible to render, ἕξεις---καθ᾽ ἃς
ἔχομεν. Of. the use of πως ἔχων in
§ 3 of the preceding chapter.
4 al δ᾽ ἀρεταὶ προαιρέσεις τινές]
VOL. 1.
This is an extreme statement, in op-
position to the Socratic doctrine that
virtues were φρονήσεις, cf. Eth. vi.
xiii. 3. Aristotle immediately qualifies
it. There has been no proof of this
position as yet.
διακεῖσθαί ws] This word is very
common in Plato (as in other Greek).
Cf. Repub. Iv. 431 B: ἀκόλαστον τὸν
οὕτω διακείμενον, &c. In the treatise
on the Categories, which bears Aris-
totle’s name, it is made to imply a
διάθεσις in contradistinction to ἔχειν,
which implies a és. Cat. viii. 5: οἱ
μὲν γὰρ ἕξεις ἔχοντες καὶ διάκεινταί γέ
πως Kar’ αὐτάς, οἱ δὲ διακείμενοι οὐ
πάντως καὶ ἕξιν ἔχουσιν.
VI. Having stated the generic con-
ception of virtue (ri éor:)—that it
is a developed state of mind, Aristotle
now proceeds to determine it more
exactly (ποία ris). He lays the ground
PP
4a
Ὗ
498 ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II, [Cuap,
A , ev Ἂ “ “ (v4 ° Ν A , e ,
2 μὴ μόνον οὕτως εἰπεῖν, OTL ἕξις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ποία τις. ῥητέον
= lal a “ 5 ’ mo +
οὖν OTL πᾶσα ἀρετή, οὗ ἂν ἢ ἀρετή, αὐτό τε εὖ ἔχον
ἐς x Pe es , ΠῚ a
ἀποτελεῖ καὶ TO ἔργον αὐτοῦ εὖ ἀποδίδωσιν, οἷον ἡ τοῦ
A A ΄ - Α 4
ὀφθαλμοῦ ἀρετὴ Tov Te ὀφθαλμὸν σπουδαῖον ποιεῖ καὶ τὸ
΄ ἴω Ν a lol ς la a ~
ἔργον αὐτοῦ: τῇ yap τοῦ ὀφθαλμοῦ ἀρετῇ εὖ ὁρῶμεν.
a . Ψ ~ ΝΥ ι
ὁμοίως ἡ τοῦ ἵππου ἀρετὴ ἵππον τε σπουδαῖον ποιεῖ καὶ
“ - Ἂν, [2 A an A
ἀγαθὸν δραμεῖν καὶ ἐνεγκεῖν τὸν ἐπιβάτην καὶ μεῖναι τοὺς
, ς \ ett Teun ame , “ a ‘ae cal
3 πολεμίους. εἰ δὴ TOUT’ ἐπὶ πάντων οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἡ TOU
ς , ς A 4 A (4 ° 9. πὶ 9 \ ww ig
ἀνθρώπου ἀρετὴ εἴη ἂν ἕξις ἀφ᾽ ἧς ἀγαθὸς ἄνθρωπος yive-
for this more accurate determination
by giving a summary (borrowed from
Plato) of the characteristics of ’Aper7.
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 per-
fect ἔργον (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 (cuvexés)
or discrete (διαιρετόν), 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 re-
lative mean, so that nothing can be
added or taken away without spoil-
ing the effect (§§ 8-9). According
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
(88 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 amoral point of view
it is an extreme that is utterly re-
moved from its opposite, vice (88. 15-
17), 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-
20).
2 ῥητέον οὖν --- πολεμίου] ‘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, Repud.
I. p. 353 B: “Ap ἄν ποτε ὄμματα τὸ
αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς ἀπεργάσαιντο μὴ
ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν, κ-τ.λ.
An illustration had been drawn from
the horse and its excellence before in
the same book, p. 335 B.
3 εἰ δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπὶ πάντων οὕτως ἔχει,
VI] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IT. 499
ae , e x \ e ~ τ αν 9 , - Α
ται καὶ ἀφ᾽ ἧς εὖ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἔργον ἀποδώσει. πῶς δὲ 4
a De 2 A knee ¢ » \ G » ”
τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται, ἤδη μὲν εἰρήκαμεν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ὧδ᾽ ἔσται φανε-
ρόν, ἐὰν θεωρήσωμεν ποία τίς ἐστιν ἡ φύσις αὐτῆς. ἐν
4 A 7 4 ~ » - 4 ‘ -
παντὶ δὴ συνεχεῖ καὶ διαιρετῷ ἔστι λαβεῖν τὸ μὲν πλεῖον
κ᾿ δ »” x δ ” x! a a ’ een” \
TO ἔλαττον TO ἴσον, καὶ ταῦτα ἢ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ TO
» a: ‘4 ε ΄- 4 δ᾽ ΜΝ , « “ὴ ‘4
πρᾶγμα ἢ πρὸς ἡμᾶς" TO ἴσον μέσον τι ὑπερβολῆς καὶ
, , A ~ A , , ‘4 »
ἐλλείψεως. λέγω δὲ τοῦ μὲν πράγματος μέσον τὸ ἴσον 5
ἀπέχον ἀφ᾽ ἑκατέρου τῶν ἄκρων, ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἕν καὶ ταὐτὸν
lal ‘ δὰ, 8 A a , , , 6
πᾶσιν, πρὸς ἡμᾶς δὲ ὃ μήτε πλεονάζει μήτε ἐλλείπει. ;
A ? 9 Ψ “δι ee a = 9 ‘ , ‘
τοῦτο δ᾽ οὐχ ἕν, οὐδὲ ταὐτὸν πᾶσιν, οἷον εἰ τὰ δέκα πολλὰ 6
‘ A , 5. 7 δ , , κ ν ὡς
τὰ δὲ δύο ὀλίγα, τὰ ἕξ μέσα λαμβάνουσι κατὰ τὸ πράγμα"
ἴσῳ γὰρ ὑπερέχει τὲ καὶ ὑπερέχεται, τοῦτο δὲ μέσον ἐστὶ 7
κατὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν ἀναλογίαν. TO δὲ πρὸς ἡμᾶς οὐχ
“ , > 5 ” p18 “SO - \ ͵
οὕτω ληπτέον" οὐ γὰρ εἰ TH δέκα μναῖ φαγεῖν πολὺ δύο
δὲ Ἃ 7 rll” , “ κ ’ » x ”
ε ὀλίγον, ὁ ἀλείπτης && μνᾶς προστάξει" ἔστι γὰρ ἴσως
καὶ ἡ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἀρετὴ κιτ.λ.}] Aris- | μένον μὲν οἷον ἀριθμὸς καὶ λόγος (ἃ
totle treats of human virtue as part | word), συνεχὲς δὲ οἷον γραμμή, ἐπιφά.-
of a general law by which al/ natural | vea, σῶμα, ἔτι δὲ παρὰ ταῦτα χρόνος
objects fulfil their several functions, καὶ τόπος. Cf. Politics I. v. 3: ὅσα
and each in accordance with its own | yap ἐκ πλειόνων συνέστηκε,---εἴτε ἐκ
proper excellence. He next passes to συνεχῶν εἴτ᾽ ἐκ διῃρημένων. De Cello,
the analogy of the arts, though he | 1. i. 2.
regards virtue as higher than them, 5 λέγω δὲ τοῦ μὲν mpdyuaros—
and more akin to nature. (ἡ δ᾽ ἀρετὴ ἐλλείπει] “ΒΥ an objective mean, I
πάσης τέχνης ἀκριβεστέρα καὶ ἀμείνων | understand that which is equidistant
ἐστίν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἣ φύσις.) In the | from the two given extremes, and
present passage we have again to do | which is one and the same to all, and
with the conception of the ἔργον of | by a mean relatively to the person
‘man ; see above Eth, 1. vii. 14. (πρὸς judas), I understand that which
4 πῶς δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται, ἤδη μὲν is neither too much nor too little,’
εἰρήκαμεν] If any special passage is The principle of Relativity forms of
referred to, it must be 11. iv. 3. course an essential part of the Moral
ἐν παντὶ δὴ συνεχεῖ καὶ διαιρετῷ)] | Law. The recognition of this prin-
‘Now in all quantity whether continu- | ciple under the Christian ‘Law of
ous or discrete.’ The terms here are | Liberty’ was a prominent feature
not meant to go together, asif it were, | in the teaching of St, Paul. Cf.
‘In all that is continuous, and at the | Romans, chapter xiv.
same time capable of division ;’ but 7 κατὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν ἀναλογίαν
the two forms of quantity are referred | i.e. ‘arithmetical progression,’ opposed
to, about which we read, Categories v1. | to ‘ geometrical proportion,’ which
1: τοῦ δὲ πόσου τὸ μέν ἐστι διωρισμέ- | consists of four terms, cf. Lth. v,
γον, τὸ δὲ συνεχές.---στι δὲ Siwpic- | iv. 3.
| OUT
Io
II
12
500 HOIKON NIKOMAXEION II. [ Crap.
΄“ “ s
καὶ τοῦτο πολὺ τῷ ληψομένῳ 7 ὀλίγον" Μίλωνι μὲν yap
ὅν “ See? , A , , ε '
ὀλίγον; τῷ δὲ αρβρχομενῷ τῶν γυμνασιῶν πολύ. ομοίιὼς
x 4 , A te eo A ἴω 9 , A «
ἐπὶ δρόμου καὶ πάλης. οὕτω δὴ πᾶς ἐπιστήμων τὴν ὑπερ-
\ A a 4
βολὴν μὲν καὶ τὴν ἔλλειψιν φεύγει, TO δὲ μέσον ζητεῖ καὶ
“25 ε a , A 5 ‘ A 2 τὶ AY ‘
τοῦθ᾽ αἱρεῖται, μέσον δὲ οὐ τὸ τοῦ πράγματος ἀλλὰ τὸ
Ξ ε la
πρὸς Has.
a \ \ , ld A > “ + bs
τελεῖ, πρὸς TO μέσον βλέπουσα καὶ εἰς τοῦτο ἄγουσα τὰ
5 Νὴ a) 3 , " Nay: ye ὦ
εἰ On TATA επιστημη OVTW τὸ εργον εὖ επι-
Ve δ SP 9 , A 3 OS. δ “
ἔργα (ὅθεν εἰώθασιν ἐπιλέγειν τοῖς εὖ ἔχουσιν ἔργοις OTL
,) ° a yA ΕΣ A « a A fe. a
ἀφελεῖν ἔστιν οὔτε προσθεῖναι, ws τῆς μεν ὑπερβολῆς
4 ΄“ 9 ᾿ re \ a a Α ,
καὶ τῆς ἐλλείψεως φθειρούσης τὸ εὖ, τῆς δὲ μεσότητος σω-
ζούσης), οἱ δ᾽ ἀγαθοὶ τεχνῖται, ὡς λέγομεν, πρὸς τοῦτο
βλέποντες ἐργάζονται, ἡ δ᾽ ἀρετὴ πάσης τέχνης ἀκριβε-
στέρα καὶ ἀμείνων ἐστίν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἡ φύσις, τοῦ μέσου ἂν
» , , iS A ? , ev , 3
εἴη στοχαστικής. λέγω δὲ τὴν ἠθικήν: αὕτη γάρ ἐστι
x. , A y 9 A , 3 x Φ A A
περὶ πάθη καὶ πράξεις, ἐν δὲ τούτοις ἐστὶν ὑπερβολὴ Kat
ἔλλειψις καὶ τὸ μέσον. οἷον καὶ φοβηθῆναι καὶ θαρρῆσαι
A ’ a A 3: “ A ’ nq A eo e A
καὶ ἐπιθυμῆσαι καὶ ὀργισθῆναι καὶ ἐλεῆσαι καὶ ὅλως ἡσθῆ-
as An lj ‘ Lar Awe A ς ,
vat καὶ λυπηθῆναι ἔστι Kat μάλλον καὶ ἧττον, καὶ ἀμφό-
? a A AY Ψ ἃ a Ὁ 1} Φ ᾿ χ ΕΝ ᾿
τέρα OUK εὐ TO OTE εἰ Και ἐφ οις Και προς οὺυς καὶ
a ΔΩ͂ A €. er , Ἀν, Φ 2 A “
OU ενεκὰ Καὶ ὡς δεῖ, μέσον TE Kal apla TOV, οπέερ εστι τῆς
3 a ε , ‘ Q A SN ’ ᾽ ‘ ε ἃ, (ἡ
ἀρετῆς. ομοιὼς δὲ Kal περι τας πράξεις εστιν ὑπερβολὴ
Μίλωνι μὲν γὰρ ὀλίγον] This illus-
tration may remind us of the humour-
ous turn in Plato’s Republic, p. 338 ©,
where, on Thrasymachus defining jus-
tice to be τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος ξυμφέρον,
Socrates answers, ὦ Θρασύμαχε τί
ποτε λέγεις ; οὐ γάρ που τό γε τοιόνδε
φῇς" ef Πουλυδάμας ἡμῶν κρείττων ὁ
παγκρατιαστὴς καὶ αὐτῷ ξυμφέρει τὰ
βόεια κρέα πρὸς τὸ σῶμα, τοῦτο τὸ
σιτίον εἶναι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῖς ἥττοσιν ἐκείνου
ξυμφέρον ἅμα καὶ δίκαιον. Cf. γαδβίω,
Ῥ. 134, quoted above on 11. ii. 6. ͵
9 εἰ δὴ---ἔργα] ‘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 111. xiii.
21, Δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων
τεχνῶν καὶ ἐπιστημῶν, οὔτε γὰρ γραφεὺς
ἐάσειεν ἂν τὸν ὑπερβάλλοντα πόδα
τῆς συμμετρίας ἔχειν τὸ ζῴον, οὐδ᾽ εἰ
διαφέροι τὸ κάλλος. And on the
general doctrine οἵ μεσότης, its history,
and its applications, see Essay IV.
10 λέγω δὲ τὴν ἠθικήν] The intel-
lectual ἀρεταί are not μεσότητες, for
this simple reason—that they are
λόγοι ; the ‘laws’ or ‘standards’ of
the balance which is to be introduced
into the passions.
11 τὸ δ᾽ ὅτε deti—dperfs] ‘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] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. 501
καὶ ἔλλειψις καὶ τὸ μέσον, ἡ δ᾽ ἀρετὴ περὶ πάθη καὶ
πράξεις ἐστίν, ἐν οἷς ἡ μὲν ὑπερβολὴ ἁμαρτάνεται καὶ ἡ
ἔλλειψις ψέγεται, τὸ δὲ μέσον ἐπαινεῖται καὶ κατορθοῦται"
ταῦτα “δ᾽ ἄμφω “πῆς ἀρετῆς. μεσότης τις ἄρα ἐστὶν ἡ
ἀρετή, στοχαστική ἫΝ οὖσα τοῦ μέσου. ἔτι τὸ μὲν ue i
τάνειν πολλαχῶς ἔστιν (τὸ γὰρ κακὸν τοῦ ἀπείρου, ὡς οἱ
Πυθαγόρειοι εἴκαζον, τὸ δ᾽ ἀγαθὸν τοῦ πεπερασμένου), τὸ
δὲ κατορθοῦν μοναχῶς" διὸ καὶ τὸ μὲν ῥᾷάδιον τὸ δὲ χαλε-
TOV, ῥᾷδιον μὲν τὸ ἀποτυχεῖν τοῦ σκοποῦ, χαλεπὸν δὲ τὸ
ἐπιτυχεῖ ν.
καὶ ἡ ἔλλειψις, τῆς δ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἡ μεσότης"
‘4 ‘ ~ » = wn ‘ / ε ε 4
καὶ διὰ ταῦτ᾽ οὖν τῆς μὲν κακίας ἡ ὑπερβολὴ
ἐσθλοὶ μὲν γὰρ ἁπλῶς παντοδαπῶς δὲ κακοί,
ἢ τὰ »» ε 9 b) “ , 3 ,
στιν apa ἡ ἀρετὴ ἕξις προαιρετική, ἐν μεσότητι
-“ ΄-“ A ,
οὖσα τῇ πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ὡρισμένη λόγῳ Kat ws ἂν ὁ φρόνιμος
« ’ ’ Α ’ ~ ~ ‘ oS 4
ὁρίσειεν. μεσότης de δύο κακιῶν, τῆς μὲν καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν
~ ‘ κ 4
τῆς δὲ κατ᾽ ἔλλειψιν: καὶ ἔτι TH τὰς μὲν ἐλλείπειν τὰς
᾽ ΄ [2 ~ ’ ΕΣ - , 4 ᾿ a
ὃ ὑπερβάλλειν τοῦ δέοντος ἔν τε τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ἐν ταῖς
A ‘ -
πράξεσι, τὴν δ᾽ ἀρετὴν TO μέσον καὶ εὑρίσκειν καὶ aipei-
σθαι,
A 4 4 ‘4 > , 4 4 ’ 4 , >
διὸ κατὰ μὲν τὴν οὐσίαν καὶ τὸν λόγον TOV τὶ ἣν
> λέ , ’ 4 e 9 , ‘ δὲ , »
εἰναι eyovTa μεσοτης ρα βὰς 7] ἀρετὴ» KaTa O€ TO αριστον
easy to see that Aristotle means by
his μέσον to establish something more
than a merely quantitative difference
between vice and virtue.
14 ἔτι τὸ μὲν dpaprdvew—povaxGs]
‘ Again it is possible to err in many
ways (for evil belongs to the infinite,
as the Pythagoreans figured, and good
to thefinite), but todo right is possible
only in one way.’ See Essays II. and
IV. The authorship of the verse
ἐσθλοὶ μὲν γὰρ x.7.d. is unknown.
15 ἔστιν ἄρα---ὁρίσειεν)] ‘ Virtue,
therefore, is a developed state of the
moral purpose in relative balance,
which is determined by a standard,
according as the thoughtful man
would determine.’ Spengel regards
ὡρισμένη as a mere misprint in Bek-
ker’s editions for ὡρισμένῃ, which
all former editions had, It is the
μεσότης, and not the ἕξις which is
determined by λόγος. In two places
already, £th. τι. iv. 3, and 11, v. 4, we
have met with the tacit assumption
that virtue implies προαίρεσις. This
is justified by the account of προαί-
ρεσις, and its relation to action, in the
next book. The other terms of the
definition have been sufficiently estab-
lished in the progress of this book.
The reference to the φρόνιμος as an
impersonation of the ‘law’ or ‘stan-
dard’ of reason is a necessary modi-
fication of what would else be an
entirely relative, individual, and
arbitrary theory of virtue. The
‘thoughtful man’ stands as_ the
representative of the absolute reason
of man manifested in the indi-
vidual consciousness,
17 διὸ κατὰ μὲν τὴν οὐσίαν----ἀκρότης]
--
5
6
La |
18
502
‘ \ uth) ,
καὶ TO ἘΠ ak poTns.
κ ΄ ‘ ,
σαν πάθος τὴν μεσοτητα᾽
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II.
[CHar.
οὐ πᾶσα δ' ἐπιδέχεται πράξις οὐδὲ
» A “δὰ τὰ ,
eva yap εὐθὺς ὠνόμασται
‘Virtue, therefore, if viewed in the
light of itsessence and its constitutive
conception, is a mean state, but with
respect to supreme excellence and
rightness, it is an extreme.’ This
passage implies that the term Μεσότης
is an abstract and metaphysical ex-
pression for the law of virtue, esti-
mated by the understanding (though
doubtless the deepest viewattainable);
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 Aris-
totle between an abstract and a
concrete view of morals. With regard
to the terminology here employed,
the word οὐσία is, as Aristotle himself
tells us, to a certain extent ambiguous
(cf. Metaphys, VI. 111. 1: Λέγεται δ᾽ ἡ
οὐσία, εἰ μὴ πλεοναχῶς, GAN ἐν τέτταρσί
γε μάλιστα" καὶ γὰρ τὸ τί ἣν εἶναι καὶ
τὸ καθόλου καὶ τὸ γένος οὐσία δοκεῖ
εἶναι ἑκάστου καὶ τέταρτον τούτων τὸ
ὑποκείμενον). It is made definite,
however, in the present place by the
addition of the phrase καὶ τὸν λόγον
τὸν τί ἣν εἶναι λέγοντα, which may be
regarded here as an explanation of
οὐσία. On λόγον---λέγοντα, cf. De
Motu Animalium, x. 1: κατὰ μὲν οὖν
Tov λόγον τὸν λέγοντα τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς
κινήσεως. The formula τί ἣν εἶναι,
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 (1) that τί ἣν εἶναι
implies the essential nature of a thing
(ἕκαστον ὃ λέγεται καθ᾽ αὑτό) 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 σιμότης you
cannot assign a τί ἣν εἶναι ; (3) that
it is no mere abstraction, but closely
connected with individual existence,
and implying what the Germans call
Dasein ; hence it is separable from
the καθόλου 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 τί ἢν elvac’ (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
ἣν εἷναι implies mastering the meta-
physical system of Aristotle. With
regard tothe grammar of the formula
we are left to conjecture, and accord-
ingly at least two erroneous explana-
tions have been given. (1) That of
Alexander Aphrod. ad 70». 1.(Brandis,
Scholia, p. 256 a 43), that ἣν is simply
used for ἐστί, whereas we find a fre-
quent contrast between the formula
τί ἣν and τί ἐστί. (2) The whole
phrase has been translated ‘substantia
que est, etsi preterita,’ as though τί
ἣν could be used for ὅπερ ἦν. Τί ἣν
is of course a question, and has been
ΥἹ.--ὙΠ|]
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION IL 503
, ‘4 ~ , ? ω De ,
συνειλημμένα μετὰ τῆς φαυλότητος, οἷον ἐπιχαιρεκακία
᾿] ’ - ,
ἀναισχυντία φθόνος, καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν πράξεων μοιχεία κλοπὴ
39 ~ ΄“
avdpopovia’ πάντα γὰρ ταῦτα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα Ψέγεται
τῷ αὐτὰ φαῦλα εἶναι, GAN’ οὐχ αἱ ὑπερβολαὶ αὐτῶν οὐδ᾽
“ a
ai ἐλλείψεις. οὐκ ἔστιν οὖν οὐδέποτε περὶ αὐτὰ κατορ-
a
o's 19 ’ tia ᾿
θοῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ ἁμαρτάνειν" οὐδ᾽ ἔστι τὸ εὖ ἢ μὴ εὖ περὶ
‘ ~ 9. la “ 4 “ A e ’ὔ ᾿] >
τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐν τῷ ἣν δεῖ Kal OTE Kal ws μοιχεύειν, add’
« ~ 4 - “ , Ld > , ov
ἁπλῶς TO ποιεῖν ὁτιοῦν τούτων ἁμαρτάνειν ἐστιν. ὁμοιον
> 4 ~ -
οὖν τὸ ἀξιοῦν καὶ περὶ τὸ ἀδικεῖν καὶ δειλαίνειν καὶ ἀκολα-
, > 4
σταίνειν εἶναι μεσότητα Kat ὑπερβολὴν Kat ἔλλειψιν" ἔσται
γὰρ οὕτω γε ὑπερβολῆς καὶ ἐλλείψεως μεσότης καὶ ὑπερ-
βολῆς ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις ἐλλείψεως,
ὥσπερ δὲ
σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις
ὃ SY ‘ ‘ , δ τὰν ” ” 960. 9% ἃ ,
{a TO TO METOY εἰναι πῶς ακβον, OUTWS οὐδὲ EKELVWY μεέεσο-
ths οὐδὲ ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις, GAN’ ὡς ἂν πράττηται
ἁμαρτάνεται: ὅλως γὰρ οὔθ᾽ ὑπερβολῆς καὶ ἐλλείψεως
μεσότης ἐστίν, οὔτε μεσότητος ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις.
Δεῖ δὲ τοῦτο μὴ μόνον καθόλου λέγεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ
represented by the term Quidditas in
the Scholastic Latin. The preterite
| ἦν appears used to express the prior,
‘ i.e. the deeper and more essential
{ nature of a thing. ‘What was the
_ essence of the thing?’ (i.e. before its
_ present individual manifestation). Cf.
Metaphys. vi. vii. 6: Ὥστε συμβαίνει
' τρόπον τινὰ ἐξ ὑγιείας τὴν ὑγίειαν γίνε-
[σθαι καὶ τὴν οἰκίαν ἐξ οἰκίας, τῆς ἄνευ
, ὕλης τὴν ἔχουσαν ὕλην..--- Λέγω δὲ οὐσίαν
ἄνευ ὕλης τὸ τί ἣν εἶναι. 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 jw ἀνθρώπῳ εἶναι ἀνθρώπῳ;
| * What was that property in man
which constitutes the conception of
his being a man?’ Εἶναι is used in
Aristotle especially to denote the con-
ception or inner essence of a thing,
ef. Eth. v. i. 20. We may observe
that εἶναι is never affixed to the ques-
tion τί ἐστι, 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
504
a ᾽ ΜΨ 9 , 3 Ν ce
τοῖς Kal? ἕκαστα ἐφαρμόττειν: ἐν γὰρ τοῖς
’ , € A θ , , , ]
πράξεις λόγοις οἱ μὲν καθόλου Ἱκενώτεροι εἰσιν,
ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II.
[ Crap.
περὶ Tas
ε ᾽ 9.2%
οἱ ὃ ετι
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 φρόνησις and
σοφία, 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
Pretagoras, p. 349 B, another list of
five virtues, holiness (ὁσιότης) being
added to the other four ; this answers
to εὐσέβεια, 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. Zth.
II. Vii. 9, viv δὲ περὶ τῶν λοιπῶν ; 1.
vii. 11, ῥητέον οὖν x.7.d. 3 ITI. γ. 23,
ἅμα δ᾽ ἔσται δῆλον καὶ πόσαι εἰσίν.)
In the Rhetoric τ. ix. 5-13, we find ἃ
list of virtues (or, as they are called,
Μέρη ἀρετῆς) given, which is identical
with the present (not containing, how-
ever, φιλοτιμία, εὐτραπελία, ἀλήθεια,
φιλία), μέρη δὲ ἀρετῆς δικαιοσύνη,
ἀνδρία, σωφροσύνη,
μεγαλοψυχία, ἐλευθεριότης, πραότης,
φρόνησις, σοφία. Of those omitted,
the first may be said to be included
in μεγαλοψυχία, while the other three
possess only a minor degree of moral
importance. Even here Aristotle
seems to set them on a somewhat
lower footing than the rest.
I Ἐκενώτεροι] The MSS. vary here
between κενώτεροι and κοινότεροι. A
similar variation is found Zth. 111. viii.
6, where the readings are πολλὰ κενά
and πολλὰ καινά. Bekker has decided
against the majority of MSS. in favour
of κενώτεροι. The Paraphrast, how-
ever, supports the other reading, He
renders the passage, τῶν γὰρ περὶ τὰς
πράξεις λόγων οἱ μὲν καθολικοὶ κοινό-
τεροι καὶ πλείοσιν ἐφαρμόζουσιν " οἱ δὲ
μερικοὶ ἀληθινώτερο. Dr. Cardwell
accordingly reads κοινότεροι, which
seems most natural, and is supported,
by the best MSS. Kv and L of Bekker.
Whichever reading we take, the general
meaning is not affected. κενώτεροι,
which would be a term of disparage-
ment, is well illustrated by Eth. Lud.
I. vi. 4: πολλάκις λανθάνουσι λέγοντες
ἀλλοτρίους λόγους τῆς πραγματείας Kal
κενούς. Ἰζοινότεροι means ‘more gene-
ral,’ ‘of wider application.’ Cf. Zth. τι.
il, 2: τὸ μὲν οὖν κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον
Ac-
cordingly with this reading we may
translate the passage Δεῖ δὲ---διαγραφῆς
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
μεγαλοπρέπεια,
, a e
πράττειν κοινὸν καὶ ὑποκείσθω.
VII.) HOIKOQN NIKOMAXEION II, 505
, ° , ; ‘ ‘ ‘ > δ e ,
μέρους ἀληθινώτεροι" περὶ yap τὰ καθ᾽ ἕκαστα ai mpa-
, tag ὁ ΄ a , > A
ἕεις, δέον δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτων συμφωνεῖν. ληπτέον οὖν ταῦτα 2
> “- A 4 ‘ = , ‘ , ,
ἐκ τῆς διαγραφῆς. περὶ μὲν οὖν φόβους καὶ θάρρη ἀνδρεία
μεσότης" τῶν δ᾽ ὑπερβαλλόντων ὁ μὲν τῇ ἀφοβίᾳ ἀνώνυ-
A , 4 ° ’ e 9 ~ ΄-. e
μος (πολλὰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀνώνυμα), ὁ 8 ἐν τῷ θαρρεῖν ὑπερ-
βάλλων θρασύς, ὁ δὲ τῷ μὲν φοβεῖσθαι ὑπερβάλλων τῷ δὲ
θαρρεῖν ἐλλείπων δειλός, περὶ ἡδονὰς δὲ καὶ λύπας, οὐ 3:
πάσας, ἧττον δὲ καὶ περὶ τὰς λύπας, μεσότης μὲν σωφρο-
σύνη, ὑπερβολὴ δὲ ἀκολασία, ἐλλείποντες δὲ περὶ τὰς
ἡδονὰς οὐ πάνυ γίνονται" διόπερ οὐδ᾽ ὀνόματος τετυχή-
2% ε “- »” ἵ ᾽ , ‘ ‘
κασιν οὐδ᾽ of τοιοῦτοι, ἔστωσαν δὲ ἀναίσθητοι. περὶ de 4
δόσιν χρημάτων καὶ λῆψιν μεσότης μὲν ἐλευθεριότης, ὑπερ-
βολὴ δὲ καὶ ἔλλειψις ἀσωτία καὶ ἀνελευθερία. ἐναντίως
δ᾽ ἑαυταῖς ὑπερβάλλουσι καὶ ἐλλείπουσιν: ὁ μὲν γὰρ
ἄσωτος ἐν μὲν προέσει ὑπερβάλλει ἐν δὲ λήψει ἐλλείπει, ὁ
are concerned with particulars, and
it is necessary that our theories
should be borne out when applied
to these. Let us take our in-
' stances then from the table of the
’ virtues,’
ἀληθινώτεροι} ‘more real,’ as being
mére 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, 1. xiii. 10, Gorgias is praised
for enumerating the separate virtues,
while others contented themselves with
general definitions, Καθόλου γὰρ ol
λέγοντες ἐξαπατῶσιν ἑαυτούς, ὅτι τὸ
εὖ ἔχειν τὴν ψυχὴν ἀρετή, ἢ τὸ ὀρθο-
πραγεῖν, ἥ τι τῶν τοιούτων" πολὺ γὰρ
ἄμεινον λέγουσιν οἱ ἐξαριθμοῦντες τὰς
ἀρετάς, ὥσπερ Τοργίας, τῶν obras
ὁριζομένων, 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 multifarious exhibitions. Aris-
totle, wishing to establish a practical |
VOL, I.
theory of virtue, returns to the
concrete.
ἐκ τῆς διαγραφῆς] Ὑπογραφῆς is the
word in the corresponding passage of
the Ludemian Ethics, 11. iii., where a
formal table is given, containing four-
teen virtues with their respective
pairs of extremes. In this place in
all probability an already existing
‘table’ or ‘scheme’ of the virtues,
familiar to the Peripatetic School,
is referred to, We have seen above
(note on § 1) that this table was
nearly complete when Aristotle wrote
2 ὁ μὲν τῇ ἀφοβίᾳ κιτ.λ.}] It isa
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
QQ
Ὸ
506
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IL.
[Cuap.
δ᾽ ἀνελεύθερος ἐν μὲν λήψει ὑπερβάλλει ἐν δὲ mpoéo
9 ,
5 ἐλλείπει,
ΕῚ , 9 ~ ’
ἀρκούμενοι αὐτῷ τούτῳ"
6 αὐτῶν διορισθήσεται.
“ Α Ὁ ’ \ ba | c , ,
νῦν μὲν οὖν τύπῳ καὶ ἐπὶ κεφαλαίῳ λέγομε:.
ὕστερον δὲ ἀκριβέστερον Tey’
A A iY , νοὶ +
περὶ δὲ τὰ χρήματα καὶ ἄλλαι δι--
θέσεις εἰσί, μεσότης μὲν μεγαλοπρέπεια (ὁ γὰρ μεγαλυ
πρεπὴῆς διαφέρει ἐλευθερίου" ὁ μὲν γὰρ περὶ μεγάλα,
δὲ περὶ μικρά) ὃ
ὑπερβολὴ δὲ ἀπειροκαλία καὶ βαναυσ΄-.
ἔλλειψις δὲ μικροπρέπεια" διαφέρουσι δ᾽ αὗται τῶν π'
τὴν ἐλευθεριότητα, πῇ δὲ διαφέρουσιν, ὕστερον ῥηθήσετ
A A A A 9 7 ,
7 περὶ δὲ τιμὴν καὶ ἀτιμίαν μεσότης
μὲν μεγαλοψυχ
ὑπερβολὴ δὲ χαυνότης τις λεγομονν ἔλλειψις δὲ HK ΟΝ
ὃ χία"
ὡς δ᾽ δ ἔχειν πρὸς τὴν PayeNOn pena Thy,
ἐλειθερίότητα, περὶ μικρὰ διαφέρουσαν, οὕτως ἔχει τ καὶ
πρὸς τὴν He αλοψυ (ay, περὶ τιμὴν οὖσαν με ἀλην, αὐτὴ
ρ γ x ἐν Y
περὶ μικρὰν ova" ἔστι, γὰρ ὡς δεῖ ὀρέγεσθαι τιμῆς καὶ
~~ an fa ’ a
μῶλλον ἢ δεῖ καὶ ἧττον, λέγεται δ᾽ ὁ μὲν ὑπερβάλλων ταῖς
ὀρέξεσι φιλότιμος, ὁ δ᾽ ἐλλείπων ἀφιλότιμος, ὁ δὲ μέσος
ἀνώνυμος.
τίμου prroriise:
χώρας.
A A , A cal
ἀνώνυμοι δὲ καὶ αἱ διαθέσεις, πλὴν ἡ τοῦ φιλο-
[2 ἕ 9 U € A ΄“ ,
ὅθεν emeducaC ova οἱ ἄκροι τῆς μέσης
A
καὶ ἡμεῖς δὲ ἔστι μὲν ὅτε τὸν σον ΦΙΛΌΤΙΜΟΣ
A ,
καλοῦμεν ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε ἀφιλότιμον, καὶ ἔστιν ὅτε μὲν ἐπαι-
“ A A ς ’
νοῦμεν TOV φιλότιμον ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε τὸν ἀφιλότιμον.
διὰ
, δ᾽ 3 2 ΄ ΄ 9 A CHA e θη - an
τινα αἰτίαν TOUTO TOLOUMEV, εν τοις ἑξῆς βῆ σεται νὺν
A A ΄ ~ , A A ¢ , ,
δὲ περί τῶν λοιπῶν λέγωμεν κατὰ TOV ὑφηγημένον τρόπον.
ἔστι δὲ καὶ περὶ ὀργὴν ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις καὶ μεσότης,
refinement with regard to courage in
the fuller account of this virtue in
Book ITI.
5 ὕστερον δὲ ΓΕ ΎΕΙΝ All de-
tails with regard to the several virtues
may be accordingly reserved for con-
sideration under Books III. and IV.
6 ἄλλαι διαθέσεις] “ other_disposi-
tions.’ The word is used here as a
synonym for ἕξεις, though in Cate-
gories viii. I. ἕξις is distinguished from
διάθεσις. “Ev μὲν οὖν εἶδος ποιότητος
ἕξις καὶ διάθεσις λεγέσθωσαν᾽" διαφέρει
δὲ ἕξις διαθέσεως τῷ πολὺ χρονιώτερον
εἶναι καὶ μονιμώτερον. In the same
way, διακεῖσθαι is there opposed to
ἔχειν, whereas, Zth. 11. v. 4, it is used
as equivalent to it.
9 κατὰ τὸν ὑφηγημένον τρόπον ‘ Ac-
cording to the method which has
hitherto guided us,’ τύπῳ x.7.r. (cf. 8
5). The same phrase occurs Politics
1. i. 3: Δῆλον δ᾽ ἔσται τὸ λεγόμενον
ἐπισκοποῦσι κατὰ τὴν ὑφηγημένην μέθο-
δον. The word frequently occurs in
Plato, Cf. Protagoras, p. 326 D: κατὰ
τὴν ὑφήγησιν τῶν γραμμῶν. Repub, 111.
Ῥ. 403: εἰ ὅσον τοὺς τύπους ὑφηγησαί-
μεθα. Phedo, p. 82 Ὁ : ἣ φιλοσοφία
ὑφηγεῖται.
VIL] HOIKON NIKOMAXEION ILI. 507
δὸ δὲ 9 , » 9 ~ ‘ , r ,
TXEdov ὃε ἀνωνύμων ὄντων αὐτῶν τὸν μέσον πρᾶον λέγον-
τες τὴν μεσότητα πραότητα καλέσομεν" τῶν δ᾽ ἄκρων ὁ
A [2 j
μὲν ὑπερβάλλων ὀργίλος ἔστω, ἡ δὲ κακία ὀργιλότης, ὁ δ᾽
ἐλλείπων ἀόργητός τις, ἡ δ᾽ ἔλλειψις ἀοργησία. εἰσὶ δὲ
A
καὶ ἄλλαι τρεῖς μεσότητες, ἔχουσαι μέν τινα ὁμοιότητα
Ἁ ΄-
πρὸς ἀλλήλας, διαφέρουσαι δ᾽ ἀλλήλων᾽ πᾶσαι μὲν γάρ
9 ‘4 , 4 , , , A “
εἰσι περὶ λόγων καὶ πράξεων κοινωνίαν, διαφέρουσι δὲ ὅτι
€ , ᾽ Ν “ ‘ : @ ᾽ a e A ‘ S eQr
ἡ μέν ἐστι περὶ τἀληθὲς TO ἐν αὐτοῖς, αἱ δὲ περὶ TO ἡδύ".
, -» ΄ -
τούτου δὲ τὸ μὲν ἐν παιδιᾷ τὸ δ᾽ ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς κατὰ τὸν
, ε , Oy 4 ‘ , “ “
βίον. βήτεον οὖν καὶ περὶ τούτων, ἵνα μᾶλλον κατίδωμεν
4 9 ΄ ε , > , ‘ ? ” w 9 " ‘
ὅτι ἐν πᾶσιν ἡ μεσότης ἐπαινετόν, Ta δ᾽ ἄκρα οὔτ᾽ ὀρθὰ
ΝΠ. 1] = ‘ 9. 4 , ΝΜ A = 4 ’ s
οὔτ᾽ ἐπαινετὰ ἀλλὰ ψεκτά, ἔστι μὲν οὖν καὶ τούτων τὰ
Υ ’ 9 , , ᾽ “ ‘ 8.5.4 “A
πλείω ἀνώνυμα, πειρατέον δ᾽, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων,
" ‘ a ΄-
αὐτοὺς ὀνοματοποιεῖν σαφηνείας ἕνεκεν καὶ τοῦ εὐπαρακο-
λουθήτου. περὶ μὲν οὖν τὸ ἀληθὲς ὁ μὲν μέσος ἀληθής τις
A πὴ 4 , “ , ’, ε Α τς e ‘
καὶ ἡ μεσότης ἀλήθεια λεγέσθω, ἡ δὲ προσποίησις ἡ μὲν
Φ. ὦ ‘ ~ J , να ¢. 2 ey 4 , ε δ᾽ Φ'.4
ἐπὶ τὸ μεῖζον ἀλαζονεία καὶ ὁ ἔχων αὐτὴν ἀλαζών, ἡ δ᾽ ἐπὶ
»»γἤ , , ‘ ΝΜ ‘ A ‘ eg ‘ ‘ ᾽
τὸ ἔλαττον εἰρωνεία καὶ εἴρων. περὶ δὲ τὸ ἡδὺ τὸ μὲν ἐν
“Ὁ ε ‘ , ? ’ AS ie , " ,
παιδιᾷ ὁ μὲν μέσος εὐτράπελος καὶ ἡ διάθεσις εὐτραπελία,
’
ἡ 0 ὑπερβολὴ βωμολοχία καὶ ὁ ἔχων αὐτὴν βωμολόχος, ὁ
δ᾽ =r , 3 ΓΈ, ae a > , ‘ a; ‘
ἐλλείπων aypoikds τις καὶ ἡ ἕξις ἀγροικία" περὶ δὲ TO
A ‘ ad 4 - 4
λοιπὸν ἡδὺ TO ἐν τῷ βίῳ ὁ μὲν ὡς δεῖ ἡδὺς ὧν φίλος καὶ ἡ ᾿
μεσότης φιλία, ὁ ὃ ὑπερβάλλων, εἰ μὲν οὐδενὸς ἕνεκα, ἄρε-
σκος, εἰ δ᾽ ὠφελείας τῆς αὑτοῦ, κόλαξ, ὁ δ᾽ ἐλλείπων καὶ
11 ῥπτέον οὖν---εὐπαρακολουθήτου]
‘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 ἀλήθεια, the
author of the Magna Moralia says,
Ei μὲν οὖν εἰσὶν αὗται ἀρεταὶ ἢ μὴ
ἀρεταί, ἄλλος ἄν εἴη λόγος " ὅτι δὲ
μεσότητές εἰσι τῶν εἰρημένων, δῆλον, οἱ
yap κατ᾽ αὐτὰς ζῶντες ἐπαινοῦνται (1.
xxxiii. 2).
πειρατέον k.7.d.] 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
ἀλήθεια and φιλία. His influence
upon the forms of language of civi-
lised Europe can hardly be overtated.
"ἢ
508 ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION IL. [Cuar.
΄- A A
14 ἐν πᾶσιν ἀηδὴς δύσερίς τις καὶ δύσκολος. εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ ἐν
a , a A Uy , uN
τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ἐν τοῖς περὶ τὰ πάθη μεσότητες" ἡ γὰρ
SQA Φ Α \ Ψ ἂν 9 a A 4 e “ἃ,
αἰδὼς ἀρετὴ μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν, ἐπαινεῖται δὲ καὶ ὁ αἰδήμων.
‘ ‘ 3 , ε A , , ε > ¢ ’
καὶ yap εν τούτοις ὁ μεν λέγεται μέσος; O ὃ ὑπερβάλλων,
e e , ε U 3 , . ε a , a ε
ὡς ὁ καταπλήξ, ὁ πάντα αἰδούμενος" ὁ δ᾽ ἐλλείπων ἢ ὁ
Α
νέμεσις δὲ
εἰσὶ δὲ περὶ λύπην
A 4 \
15 μηδὲ ὅλως ἀναίσχυντος" ὁ δὲ μέσος αἰδήμων.
,
μεσότης φθόνου καὶ ἐπιχαιρεκακίας.
‘ « A Ν 9 A - ’ A , , "
καὶ ἡδονὴν τὰς ἐπὶ τοῖς συμβαίνουσι τοῖς πέλας γινομένας
\ 4 κι - Pr > ,
ὁ μὲν yap νεμεσητικὸς λυπεῖται ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀναξίως εὖ πρατ-
τουσιν, ὁ δὲ φθονερὸς ὑπερβάλλων τοῦτον ἐπὶ πᾶσι λυπεῖ-
ε ,) 2 , a , a εκ
ται, ὁ ὃ ἐπιχαιρέκακος τοσοῦτον ἐλλείπει τοῦ λυπεῖσθαι
It is far greater than has ever been
exercised by any one man beside.
14-15 Aristotle winds up his list
by adding Αἰδώς and Νέμεσις, 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
(μεσότης) existing even in these na-
tural 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 Ο, where,
however, the names are aléwsand δίκη).
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. Αἰδώς is further
discussed in Book IV., but Νέμεσις is
not again alluded to. This is probably
owing to the unfinished condition of
the L£thics, which indeed first begins
to show itself at the close of Book IV.
See Essay I. pp. 43, 50.
15 νέμεσις 5¢—xalpew] ‘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,
which the least after-reflection would
have remedied. It_is obvious that
φθόνος (envy) and ἐπιχαιρεκακία (ma-
lice) are only different. forms of the
same state of mind. Indeed, Aris-
totle, when he wrote his Rhetoric, had
been clear on the point; cf. Rhet. τι.
ix. 5:.‘O γὰρ αὐτός ἐστιν ἐπιχαιρέκα-
kos καὶ φθονερός. Hence they cannot
be opposed as two extremes. Again,
the ἐπιχαιρέκακος cannot be said το-
σοῦτον ἐλλείπειν ὥστε x.7.r., for he
does not rejoice at the success of the
good, which the envious man grieves
at. He rejoices at the misfortunes of
the good. This mistake is set right
VIL—VIIL] ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II.
509
ὥστε καὶ χαίρειν. ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων καὶ ἄλλοθι 16
καιρὸς ἔσται" περὶ δὲ δικαιοσύνης, ἐπεὶ οὐχ ἁπλῶς λέγε-
an , ‘ e ’ ᾽ “ ~
Tal, μετὰ ταῦτα διελόμενοι περι εκατέρας ερουμεν πως
, ΟΝ ΩΣ € , 4 ‘A A -“ ~ 9 -
μεσότητες εἰσιν" Τομοίως δὲ καὶ περί τῶν λογικῶν ἀρετῶν. -
Τριῶν δὲ διαθέσεων οὐσῶν, δύο μὲν κακιῶν, τῆς μὲν 8
καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν τῆς δὲ κατ᾽ ἔλλειψιν, μιᾶς δ᾽ ἀρετῆς τῆς
μεσότητος, πᾶσαι πάσαις ἀντίκεινταί πως" αἱ μὲν γὰρ
ΝΜ 4 a , A 9 , ‘J , \ eed € δὲ ’
akpal καὶ τῇ μεσῃ καὶ ἀλλήλαις ἐναντίαι εἰσίν, ἡ OE μέση
δ Ὁ “ . δι τ ‘ ‘ eee
ταις ak pats" ὠσπέερ γάρ TO ἰιἰσον προς μεν TO ἔλαττον 2
by Eudemus (11. iii. 4), who in his |
list writes φθόνος, ἀνώνυμον, νέμεσις.
Of course the opposite to φθόνος must
be ἀναισθησία τις. Socrates in Xen.
Memor. 111. ix. 8 defines φθόνος as it
is here defined, Mévous ἔφη φθονεῖν
τοὺς ἐπὶ ταῖς τῶν φίλων εὐπραξίαις
«ἀνιωμένους, Plato does not separate
envy and malice; cf. Philebus, p. 48 B:
Ὃ φθονῶν ye ἐπὶ κακοῖς τοῖς τῶν πέλας
ἡδόμενος ἀναφανήσεται.
there arguing that φθόνος 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,
16 ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων---εἰσιν)
‘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
Socrates is |
in more senses than one, we will |
separately (μετὰ ταῦτα) define it and
severally mean states.’ This passage
the order of subjects for Books III.
and IV.; the word ἄλλοθε seems to
kinds of justice here referred to are :
(1) Justice, in the Platonic sense, =
all virtue. (2) Justice, in a narrower
sense, =fair dealing with regard to
property. Cf. Eth, v. i.
t+ ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν λογικῶν
ἀρετῶν») This passage is obelised,
because of the term λογικαί, which \
never occurs elsewhere in Aristotle or
Eudemus, as applied to the δια-
νοητικαὶ dperai—secondly, because of +»
the sense, since Aristotle could not
possibly say that he meant to show
how the intellectual excellences were
μεσότητες --- thirdly, because of the »
extreme likelihood of an interpolation
here,
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
show how the two species of it are |
and exclusiveness between the several
_ terms. The extremes are opposed each
gives accurately enough beforehand |
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 περὶ ἑκατέρας ἐροῦμεν x.7.d. is
exactly fulfilled in Book V. The two ὦ
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
j
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. [Cuar.
510
rn A A ‘ a 4 eo e 7 4
μεῖζον προς δὲ τὸ μεῖζον ἔλαττον, οὕτως αἱ μέσαι ἕξεις
πρὸς μὲν τὰς ἐλλείψεις ὑπερβάλλουσι, πρὸς δὲ τὰς ὑπερ-
x 9 , ΕΣ rn y A a ’ «
βολὰς ἐλλείπουσιν ἔν τε τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ταῖς πράξεσιν. ὁ
‘ 3 a \ A \ ‘ A , A A
γὰρ ἀνδρεῖος πρὸς μὲν τὸν δειλὸν θρασὺς φαίνεται, πρὸς δὲ
‘ A , « ’ A A e , % A ‘
τὸν θρασὺν δειλός: ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ὁ σώφρων πρὸς μὲν τὸν
᾿ , vf » Ἂς A A νὰ lA ° ,
ἀναίσθητον ἀκόλαστος, πρὸς δὲ τὸν ἀκόλαστον ἀναίσθητος,
e ) , x A A 3 7 + ah A
ὁ ὃ ἐλευθέριος πρὸς μὲν τὸν ἀνελεύθερον ἄσωτος, πρὸς δὲ
Ν ΝΜ ° / Ν Α 2 an A 7,
3 TOV ἄσωτον ἀνελεύθερος. διὸ καὶ ἀπωθοῦνται τὸν μέσον
οἱ ἄκροι ἑκάτερος πρὸς ἑκάτερον, καὶ καλοῦσι τὸν ἀνδρεῖον
ὁ μὲν δειλὸς θρασὺν ὁ δὲ θρασὺς δειλόν, καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων
49 ’ +
4 ἀνάλογον. οὕτω δ᾽ ἀντικειμένων ἀλλήλοις τούτων, πλείων
Ε] ’ ΕῚ A a y+ A + aA A μὴ ’
ἐναντιότης ETL τοῖς ἄκροις πρὸς ἄλληλα ἢ πρὸς τὸ μέσον"
, x a 5) , 5 t a “ ,
πορρωτέρω γὰρ ταῦτα ἀφέστηκεν ἀλλήλων ἢ τοῦ μέσου,
e Mt lal a \ ‘ lol ,
ὥσπερ TO μέγα τοὺ μικροὺ καὶ τὸ μικρὸν τοὺ μεγάλου ἢ
ἊΨ CA + \ A \ , , 7 3, e
5 ἄμφω τοῦ ἴσου. ἔτι πρὸς μὲν TO μέσον ἐνίοις ἄκροις ὁμοι-
, , “ ’ὔ \ A
ὅτης τις φαίνεται, ὡς TH θρασύτητι πρὸς τὴν
wn“ ᾿] , A a , a A
τῇ ἀσωτίᾳ πρὸς τὴν ἐλευθεριότητα" τοῖς δὲ
Ἀ κ “-“ ° ’ὔ
τὰ δὲ πλεῖστον dale a
ἀνδρείαν καὶ
ἄκροις πρὸς
ἄλληλα πλείστη ἀνομοιότης.
ἀλλήλων ἐναντία ὁρίζονται; ὥστε καὶ άλλοι ἐναντία τὰ
τὸ μέσον ἀντίκειται μᾶλλον
6 πλεῖον ἀπέχοντα: πρὸς δὲ
δὲ ἡ ὑπερβολή, οἷον ἀνδρείᾳ
ἐφ᾽ ὧν μὲν ἡ ἔλλειψις ἐφ᾽ ὧν
the tendency itself, or from our fol-
lowing a natural bent and pushing
out the tendency to extravagance.
2 ὁ yap ἀνδρεῖος--- δειλός] ‘ 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. Ifthe 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
μεσότης is ὡρισμένη λόγῳ: And this
law or standard of the absolute reason
finds its exponent in the thoughtful
man, ws ἂν ὁ φρόνιμος ὁρίσειεν.
5 ἔτι πρὸς μὲν--- ἀπέχοντα] ‘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 τὰ πλεῖστον ἀπέχοντα,
how can we speak of them as πλεῖον
ἀπέχοντα ? 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 con-
trariety does not, so the i ery, is
merely verbal.
VIII.) HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. 511
μὲν οὐχ ἡ θρασύτης ὑπερβολὴ οὗσα, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ δειλία ἔλλειψις
οὖσα, τῇ δὲ σωφροσύνῃ οὐχ ἡ ἀναισθησία ἔνδεια οὖσα,
ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἀκολασία ὑπερβολὴ οὖσα.
τοῦτο συμβαίνει, μίαν μὲν τὴν ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ πράγματος"
τῷ γὰρ ἐγγύτερον εἶναι καὶ ὁμοιότερον τὸ ἕτερον ἄκρον
διὰ δύο δ᾽ αἰτίας 7
τῷ μέσῳ οὐ τοῦτο ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον ἀντιτίθεμεν μᾶλλον,
e Mae SOT , > a heat νῷ , ε , ‘
οἷον ἐπεὶ ὁμοιότερον εἶναι δοκεῖ TH ἀνδρείᾳ ἡ θρασύτης καὶ
J , 4 , δ ς ὃ ’ ’ ~ 9 ,
ἐγγύτερον, ἀνομοιότερον ἡ δειλία, ταύτην μάλλον ἀντιτί-
θεμεν: τὰ γὰρ ἀπέχοντα πλεῖον τοῦ μέσου ἐναντιώτερα
"»" > Ly ” “ ΄“
δοκεῖ εἶναι. μία μὲν οὖν αἰτία αὕτη, ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ πράγ- 8
- « , A 9 ε A “ " “ 4 9 A
ματος, ἑτέρα δὲ ἐξ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν" πρὸς ἃ γὰρ αὐτοὶ μάλ-
, , - ~ ’ , “ , ’
λον πεφύκαμέν πως, ταῦτα μᾶλλον ἐναντία τῷ μέσῳ φαι-
fd e 9 ‘ , ‘ 4 € ’ 4
veTal. οἷον αὐτοὶ μάλλον πεφύκαμεν πρὸς τὰς ἡδονάς, διὸ
4 , "ie. r 4 9 , ΓΙ ‘ ,
εὐκαταφοροί ἐσμεν μᾶλλον πρὸς ἀκολασίαν ἢ πρὸς κοσμιό-
τητα.
ἐπίδοσις μᾶλλον γίνεται" καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἡ ἀκολασία ὑπερ-
“΄Άᾶ Oe 3 , ’ ‘ " e
ταῦτ᾽ οὖν μάλλον ἐναντία λέγομεν, πρὸς ἃ ἡ
‘ a 3 , > ‘ ~ ,
βολὴ οὖσα ἐναντιωτέρα ἐστὶ τῇ σωφροσύνη.
7 διὰ δύο δ᾽ αἰτίας---μᾶλλον] ‘ 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 carried
too far, cowardice differs from it in
kind. This difference then is one with
which the agent has nothing to do,
" 8. ἑτέρα δὲ---σωφροσύνῃ] ‘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
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; andthusintemperance, 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, éwel yap ὁ πόλεμος
τῷ σπουδαίῳ πρὸς τὰ ἄκρα γίνεται, τὴν
μεσότητα ζητοῦντι, πρὸς ὃ τῶν ἄκρων
μείζων ἡ μάχη, ἐκεῖνο ἐναντιώτερον τῷ
μέσῳ δοκεῖ κιτιλ.., 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
9
τὸ
512 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IT. [Cuap.
ΠΣ Α a 9 5 Y e 9 4 e 50 4A , 4 ΄.
Οτι μὲν οὖν ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ ἡ ἠθικὴ μεσότης, καὶ πῶς,
A “ ’ , “ “ Α ’ ε A ~
καὶ ὅτι μεσότης δύο κακιῶν, τῆς μὲν καθ ὑπερβολὴν τῆς
A bee A (v4 ᾽ 9 A ὃ ‘ 4 4
δὲ κατ ἔλλειψιν, καὶ ὅτι τοιαύτη ἐστὶ διὰ τὸ στοχαστικὴ
nw , ἊΝ ~~ Φ “- , 7 » ,
τοῦ μέσου εἶναι Tov ἐν τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ταῖς πράξεσιν,
΄- ‘\ 4A ,, ’ Ν an > .
ἱκανῶς εἴρηται. . διὸ καὶ ἔργον ἐστὶ σπουδαῖον εἶναι: ἐν
ΓΕ, ν \ , a VS ® , \ A
ἑκάστῳ γὰρ TO μέσον λαβεῖν ἔργον, οἷον κύκλου τὸ μὲσον
’ Ν ς ‘ ΄“ ἰδό eo δὲ % x 4 9
οὐ παντὸς ἀλλὰ τοῦ εἰδότος. οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὸ μὲν ὀργι-
A ‘\ A ς A x “ ΕῚ , 4
σθῆναι παντὸς Kal ῥᾷδιον, καὶ τὸ δοῦναι ἀργύριον καὶ
τς κ . = « ὧν ν Φ Woe iar . ὦ
δαπανῆσαι" τὸ δ᾽ ᾧ καὶ ὅσον καὶ ὅτε καὶ οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ ὥς,
ἀπ \ OQ ev 8 , κ > \ ’ \
OUKETL TAVTOS οὐδὲ ῥάδιον" [περ TO εὖἡ' καὶ OTAVLOV Και
slightly favoured by 8 4 of the next | σωφροσύνη is here first contrasted
chapter, σκοπεῖν δὲ δεῖ κιτιλ.; but on | with κοσμιότης, as if that meant
the other hand, not a word is here | ‘asceticism,’ and afterwards the corre-
said of avoiding either extreme; the | sponding term is omitted. Aristotle
question is rather of following one’s | seems unwilling to employ the term
bent. (2) The other explanation is | ἀναισθησία, being too strong a word ;
that which the author of the Magna | cf. Zth, 11. ii. 7: 6 δὲ πάσας φεύγων---
Moralia espouses, Mag. Mor. 1. ix. 5: ἀναίσθητός τις. 11. vii. 3: ἐλλείποντες
ἡ οὖν ἐπίδοσις γίνεται μᾶλλον πρὸς ἃ δὲ περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς οὐ πάνυ γίνονται "
πεφύκαμεν" πρὸς ἃ δὲ μᾶλλον ἐπιδίδο.ς διόπερ οὐδ᾽ ὀνόματος τετυχήκασαν οὐδ᾽
μεν, ταῦτα καὶ μᾶλλον ἐναντία. ἐπι- οἱ τοιοῦτοι, ἔστωσαν δὲ ἀναίσθητοι.
δίδομεν δὲ πρὸς ἀκολασίαν μᾶλλον ἢ
πρὸς κοσμιότητα. This is surely what IX. The book is concluded with
Aristotle means, and his general | certain practical rules for attaining
sense may be given as follows: ‘One | the mean. (1) Avoid the worst ex-
difference is in the act itself, a differ- | treme; (2) Find out your bent and go
ence of kind; the other difference | even farther than is necessary in the
proceeds from ourselves, a difference | direction opposite to it; (3) Beware
of degree, for wherever we have an | of the delusions of pleasure; (4)
inclination towards one side, we run | After all, the appeal must be in the
into extravagance on that side, and | last resort to the intuitive judgment.
so aggravate that form of error, and 2 διὸ---εἰδότος.1 ‘On this account
make it seem worse than its opposite.’ | it is a hard task to be good: for it is
In order to make the words suit a | always hard to ascertain the mean;
preconceived meaning, people have | as, for instance, not every man, but
translated ἐπίδοσις ‘inclination,’ | only the mathematician, can find the
whereas it can only mean ‘advance,’ | centre of a circle.’ The words of ἡ
‘progression,’ ‘development,’ &c. As Simonides (quoted by Plato, Protag.
the Magna Moralia give it, mpds ἃ , p. 339, and referred to above, Lth.
πεφύκαμεν is the ‘inclination,’ and | 1. x. 11), ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὲν ἀλαθέως
ἐπίδοσις is the result of this, The γενέσθαι χαλεπόν xk.7.d., may have
addition of γίνεται might have been | been in the mind of Aristotle, who
sufficient to prevent the above misin- | here gives a rationale of them, and
terpretation. It is observable that | indeed shows that it is hard not only
IX.]
HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. 513
4 ‘ 4 , ὃ Α - ‘4 , ~ ,
ἐπαινετὸν καὶ καλόν. διὸ δεῖ τὸν στοχαζόμενον τοῦ μάσοῦ 3
mperroy μὲν ἀποχωρεῖν τοῦ μᾶλλον ἐναντίου, καθάπερ καὶ
ἡ Καλυψὼ παραινεῖ
τούτου μὲν καπνοῦ καὶ κύματος ἐκτὺς ἕεργε
νῆα.
- 4 ΕΣ ‘ , ᾿ e , ‘ 2 4
των yep ak pov TO μὲν εστιν ἁμαρτωλότερον, το ὃ TTOV"
eS. 4 ~ , A ὧδ , . ‘ ,
€7el OVV TOU μεσου TUXELV ak pws χαλεπὸν, κατα TOV δεύτε- 4
, lo ‘4 ’ ~ A ~
pov ᾧασι πλοῦν τὰ ἐλάχιστα ληπτέον τῶν κακῶν" τοῦτο
δ᾽ »” ’ a 4 , a ,
εσται μάλιστα TOUTOV TOV τρόπον ον λέγομεν.
σκο-
πεῖν δὲ δεῖ πρὸς ἃ καὶ αὐτοὶ εὐκατάφοροί ἐσμεν" ἄλλοι
γὰρ πρὸς ἄλλα πεφύκαμεν.
τῆς ἡδονῆς καὶ τῆς λύπης τῆς γινομένης περὶ ἡμᾶς.
“im a Νν ’ 9
TOUTO ὃ εσται γνώριμον εκ
εἰς
'τοὐναντίον δ᾽ ἑαυτοὺς ἀφέλκειν δεῖ: πολὺ γὰρ ἀπαγαγόν-
- ε , ‘ o , ‘
τες TOV ἀμαρτανειν εἰς τὸ μέσον ἥξομεν, περ οἱ Ta
διεστραμμένα τῶν ξύλων ὀρθοῦντες ποιοῦσιν.
> ‘ ‘
εν WavVTt δὲ
μάλιστα φυλακτέον τὸ ἡδὺ καὶ τὴν ἡδονήν" οὐ γὰρ ἀδέ-
to become, but to be, good, σπουδαῖον
εἶναι, not only γενέσθαι. See Essay
II. p. 96.
3 καθάπερ καὶ ἡ Καλυψὼ παραινεῖ]
There is a mistake here in which
Aristotle is followed by the Para-
phrast. It was Circe (not Calypso)
who advised Ulysses (Od. x11. 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 Κίρκη for
the authentic reading. The verse
here given Homer puts not into the
mouth of Circe, butof Ulysses ordering
his pilot, according to the directions
he had received (Od. x11. 219, 220).
4 κατὰ τὸν δεύτερόν φασι πλοῦ»
A common Greek proverb, which is
variously explained. It is sometimes _
| in everything we must especially be
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, ὁ τῶν |
voL, I.
κωπηλατούντων πλοῦς δεύτερος λέγεται
πλοῦς, ὡς πρώτου ὄντος τοῦ πλέειν πρὸς
ἄνεμον. Also ἴῃ page 1453. Other in-
stances of the proverb are Politics,
IIT. xiii. 23; Plato, Philebus, p. 190 ;
Pheedo, 99 D.
5 εἰς τοὐναντίον --- ποιοῦσιν] “ 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
are straightening a crooked stick, we
shall at length arrive at the mean.’
The metaphor is borrowed from Plato,
Protag. p. 325 D, where it is applied to
education, not, however, in precisely
the same sense as here. Καὶ ἐὰν μὲν
ἑκὼν πείθηται" ef δὲ μὴ, ὥσπερ ξύλον
διαστρέφόμενον καὶ καμπτόμενον εὐθύ-
νουσιν ἀπειλαῖς καὶ πληγαῖς.
6 ἐν παντὶ δὲ---ἁμαρτησόμεθα] ‘ But
on our guard against the pleasant and
pleasure. For we are not impartial
judges in her cause, Therefore, just
as the old counsellors felt towards
Helen, so ought we to feel towards
RR
5
6
a
a
ce.
δ14 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II. [Cuap. IX.
“ am ’
καστοι κρίνομεν αὐτήν, ὅπερ οὖν οἱ δημογέροντες ἔπαθον
Ἂν ‘ ς “ a a A ᾷ σι \ ‘
πρὸς THY Ἑλένην, τοῦτο δεῖ παθεῖν καὶ ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὴν
e , A 9 lal \ ’ , 3 ’ ware [2
ἡδονήν, καὶ ἐν πᾶσι τὴν ἐκείνων ἐπιλέγειν φωνήν" οὕτω
, γὰρ αὐτὴν ἀποπεμπόμενοι ἧττον ἁμαρτησόμεθα. ταῦτ᾽
9 a - U
οὖν ποιοῦντες, ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ εἰπεῖν, μάλιστα δυνησόμεθα
a , A ΄ ’
τοῦ μέσου τυγχάνειν. χαλεπὸν δ᾽ ἴσως τοῦτο. καὶ μάλιστ᾽
5 a A , ~
ἐν τοῖς καθ᾽ ἕκαστον" οὐ γὰρ ῥᾷδιον διορίσαι πῶς καὶ
A
τίσι Kal ἐπὶ ποίοις καὶ πόσον χρόνον ὀργιστέον" καὶ γὰρ
A “ ,
ἡμεῖς OTE μὲν τοὺς ἐλλείποντας ἐπαινοῦμεν καὶ πράους
, \ ee \ A , ° , ς ΄
φαμέν, OTE δὲ τοὺς χαλεπαίνοντας ἀνδρώδεις ἀποκαλοῦμεν.
Ω » ne ι ‘ εκ > , ’ , “7
αλλ ὁ μὲν μικρὸν τοῦ εὖ παρεκβαίνων ou ψέγεται, οὔτ
ψν “ἢ ‘ ~ Wee Fees ‘ @ ε \ , ae ‘
ἐπὶ TO μάλλον οὔτ᾽ ἐπὶ TO ἧττον, ὁ δὲ πλέον: οὗτος γὰρ
3 , ε A , , Ἂν Ψ- τ , \ 9
οὐ λανθάνει. ὁ δὲ μέχρι τίνος καὶ ἐπὶ πόσον ψεκτὸς οὐ
ee ἢ ‘ \ A
ῥάδιον τῷ λόγῳ ἀφορίσαι: οὐδὲ yap ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν
ν ~ A A ΄ “- A 9 ΄“
αἰσθητῶν: τὰ δὲ τοιαῦτα ἐν τοῖς καθ᾽ ἕκαστα, καὶ ἐν τῇ
3 , κα , i A ΝΜ an ~ ΨΜ « ,
αἰσθήσει ἡ κρίσις. TO μὲν ἄρα τοσοῦτο δῆλον ὅτι ἡ μέση
ΜΨΜ 9 “ 2 , bd , \ A He iN A eek" A
ἕξις ἐν πᾶσιν ἐπαινετή, ἀποκλίνειν de δεῖ OTE μὲν ἐπὶ THY
Ld A ε A ’ ’ A A » “ A ( Ded
ὑπερβολὴν ὁτὲ δ' ἐπὶ τὴν ἔλλειψιν οὕτω γὰρ ῥᾳστα
a , \ mG) ’
τοῦ μέσου καὶ τοῦ εὖ τευξόμεθα.
pleasure, and in everything apply | bribe the tribes at elections. See
their saying ; for by sending her out Cicero, pro Plancio, ο. xviii. 44.
of our sight we shall err the less.’ 8 ὁ δὲ μέχρι τίνος Kal ἐπὶ πόσον
The reference is to Homer, Jliad 111. ψεκτός] a condensed phrase meaning
156-160: ‘to what point and how far a man
Ov νέμεσις Τρῶας καὶ ἐϊκνημῖδας (may Ἐν eee 86) i Blamenple
"Αχαιοὺς ἐν τῇ αἰσθήσει ἡ Kplows] ‘The de-
τοιῇδ᾽ ἀμφὶ γυναικὶ πολὺν χρόνον cision of them is a matter of percep-
_ ἄλγεα πάσχειν. tion.’ Aristotle meant that general
sce ibid θεῃς εἰς ὦπα sues are often inapplicable to particu-
Bk οι ὡς τοίη περ ἐοῦσ᾽ ἐν νηνσὶ lar cases, which must then be decided
νεέσθω by a kind of ‘intuition’ or ‘tact,’ not
μηδ᾽ ἡμῖν τεκέεσσί τ᾽ ὀπίσσω πῆμα derived from philosophy, but natural.
ἜΣ Compare 111. iii. 13: ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἡ τελευταία
ἀδέκαστοι)ἠ͵ “ Unbribed,’ ‘ uncor- πρότασις δόξα τε αἰσθητοῦ καὶ κυρία τῶν
rupted.’ δεκάξω, the origin of which πραξέων.--- διὰ τὸ μὴ καθόλου μηδ᾽ ἐπι-
is obscure, finds a parallel in the στημονικὸν ὁμοίως εἶναι δοκεῖν τῷ καθό-
Latin ‘decuriare,’ which meant to | Nov τὸν ἔσχατον ὅρον.
END OF VUL. I.
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