After this we must take a fresh starting-point and discuss the subjects that follow.

Now all goods are either external or within the spirit, and of these two kinds the latter are preferable, as we class them even in the extraneous discourses. For Wisdom and Goodness and Pleasure are in the spirit, and either some or all of these are thought by everybody to be an End. And the contents of the spirit are in two groups, one states or faculties, the other activities and processes.

Let these assumptions, then, be made, and let it be assumed as to Goodness that it is the best disposition or state or faculty of each class of things that have some use or work.

Next we must study the spirit; for goodness is a property of the spirit, it is not accidental. And since it is human goodness that we are investigating, let us begin by positing that the spirit has two parts that partake of reason, but that they do not both partake of reason in the same manner, but one of them by having by nature the capacity to give orders, and the other to obey and listen (let us leave out any part that is irrational in another way). And it makes no difference whether the spirit is divisible or is undivided yet possessed of different capacities, namely those mentioned, just as the concave and convex sides in a curve are inseparable, and the straightness and whiteness in a straight white line, although a straight thing is not white except accidentally and not by its own essence. And we have also abstracted any other part of the spirit that there may be, for instance the factor of growth; for the parts that we have mentioned are the special properties of the human spirit, and hence the excellences of the part dealing with nutrition and growth are not the special property of a man, for necessarily, if considered as a man, he must possess a reasoning faculty for a principle and with a view to conduct,

And goodness has two forms, moral virtue and intellectual excellence; for we praise not only the just but also the intelligent and the wise. For we assumed that what is praiseworthy is either goodness or its work, and these are not activities but possess activities. And since the intellectual excellences involve reason, these forms of goodness belong to the rational part, which as having reason is in command of the spirit; whereas the moral virtues belong to the part that is irrational but by nature capable of following the rational—for in stating a man's moral qualities we do not say that he is wise or clever but that he is gentle or rash.

After this we must first consider Moral Goodness—its essence and the nature of its divisions (for that is the subject now arrived at), and the means by which it is produced. Our method of inquiry then must be that employed by all people in other matters when they have something in hand to start with—we must endeavor by means of statements that are true but not clearly expressed to arrive at a result that is both true and clear. For our present state is as if we knew that health is the best disposition of the body and that Coriscus is the darkest man in the market-place; for that is not to know what health is and who Coriscus is, but nevertheless to be in that state is a help towards knowing each of these things.— Then let it first be taken as granted that the best disposition is produced by the best means, and that the best actions in each department of conduct result from the excellences belonging to each department—for example, it is the best exercises and food that produce a good condition of body, and a good condition of body enables men to do the best work; further, that every disposition is both produced and destroyed by the same things applied in a certain manner, for example health by food and exercises and climate; these points are clear from induction. Therefore goodness too is the sort of disposition that is created by the best movements in the spirit and is also the source of the production of the spirit's best actions and emotions; and it is in one way produced and in another way destroyed by the same things, and its employment of the things that cause both its increase and its destruction is directed towards the things towards which it creates the best disposition. And this is indicated by the fact that both goodness and badness have to do with things pleasant and painful; for punishments, which are medicines, and which as is the case with other cures operate by means of opposites, operate by means of pleasures and pains.

It is clear, therefore, that Moral Goodness has to do with pleasures and pains. And since moral character is,

After this comes the classification, made in previous discussions, of the modes of emotion, the faculties and the states of character. By emotions I mean such things as anger, fear, shame, desire, and generally those experiences that are in themselves usually accompanied by sensory pleasure or pain. And to these there is no quality corresponding but they are passive. But quality corresponds to the faculties: by faculties I mean the properties acting by which persons are designated by the names of the various emotions, for instance choleric, insensitive, erotic, bashful, shameless. States of character are the states that cause the emotions to be present either rationally or the opposite: for example courage, sobriety of mind, cowardice, profligacy.

These distinctions having been established, it must be grasped that in every continuum that is divisible there is excess and deficiency and a mean, and these either in relation to one another or in relation to us, for instance in gymnastics or medicine or architecture or navigation, and in any practical pursuit of whatever sort, both scientific and unscientific, both technical and untechnical; for motion is a continuum, and conduct is a motion. And in all things the mean in relation to us is the best, for that is as knowledge and reason bid. And everywhere this also produces the best state. This is proved by induction and reason: contraries are mutually destructive, and extremes are contrary both to each other and to the mean, as the mean is either extreme in relation to the other—for example the equal is greater than the less and less than the greater. Hence moral goodness must be concerned with certain means and must be a middle state. We must, therefore, ascertain what sort of middle state is goodness and with what sort of means it is concerned. Let each then be taken by way of illustration and studied with the help of the schedule: 

These and such as these are the emotions that the spirit experiences, and they are all designated from being either excessive or defective. The man that gets angry more and more quickly and with more people than he ought is irascible, he that in respect of persons and occasions and manner is deficient in anger is insensitive; the man that is not afraid of things of which he ought to be afraid, nor when nor as he ought, is rash, he that is afraid of things of which he ought not to be afraid, and when and as he ought not to be, is cowardly.  Similarly also one that is a prey to his desires and that exceeds in everything possible is profligate, and one that is deficient and does not desire even to a proper degree and in a natural way, but is as devoid of feeling as a stone, is insensitive. The man that seeks gain from every source is a profiteer, and he that seeks gain if not from no source, yet from few, is a waster. He that pretends to have more possessions than he really has is a boaster, and he that pretends to have fewer is a self-depreciator. One that joins in approval more than is fitting is a flatterer, one that does so less than is fitting is surly. To be too complaisant is subservience; to be complaisant seldom and reluctantly is stubbornness. Again, the man that endures no pain, not even if it is good for him, is luxurious; one that can endure all pain alike is strictly speaking nameless, but by metaphor he is called hard, patient or enduring. He that rates himself too high is vain, he that rates himself too low, small-spirited. Again, he that exceeds in all expenditure is prodigal, he that falls short in all, mean. Similarly the shabby man and the swaggerer—the latter exceeds what is fitting and the former falls below it. The rascal grasps profit by every means and from every source, the simpleton does not make profit even from the proper sources. Envy consists in being annoyed at prosperity more often than one ought to be, for the envious are annoyed by the prosperity even of those who deserve to prosper; the opposite character is less definitely named,

But it must not be ignored that some of the vices mentioned cannot be classed under the heading of manner, if manner is taken to be feeling the emotion to excess. For example, a man is not an adulterer because he exceeds in intercourse with married women, for 'excess' does not apply here, but adultery merely in itself is a vice, since the term denoting the passion implicitly denotes that the man is vicious; and similarly with outrage. Hence men dispute the charge, and admit intercourse but deny adultery on the ground of having acted in ignorance or under compulsion, or admit striking a blow but deny committing an outrage; and similarly in meeting the other charges of the same kind.

These points having been taken, we must next say that since the spirit has two parts, and the virtues are divided between them, one set being those of the rational part, intellectual virtues, whose work is truth, whether about the nature of a thing or about its mode of production, while the other set belongs to the part that is irrational but possesses appetition (for if the spirit is divided into parts, not any and every part possesses appetition), it therefore follows that the moral character is vicious or virtuous by reason of pursuing or avoiding certain pleasures and pains. This is clear from the classification of the emotions, faculties and states of character. For the faculties and the states are concerned with the modes of emotion, and the emotions are distinguished by pain and pleasure; so that it follows from these considerations as well as from the positions already laid down that all moral goodness is concerned with pleasures and pains. For our state of character is related to and concerned with such things as have the property of making every person's spirit worse and better.

But since it has been assumed that goodness is a state of character of a sort that causes men to be capable of doing the best actions and gives them the best disposition in regard to the greatest good, and the best and greatest good is that which is in accordance with right principle, and this is the mean between excess and deficiency relative to ourselves, it would necessarily follow that moral goodness corresponds with each particular middle state and is concerned with certain mean points in pleasures and pains and pleasant and painful things. And this middle state will sometimes be in pleasures (for even in these there is excess and deficiency), sometimes in pains, sometimes in both. For he that exceeds in feeling delight exceeds in the pleasant, and he that exceeds in feeling pain exceeds in the opposite—and this whether his feelings are excessive absolutely or excessive in relation to some standard, for instance are felt more than ordinary men feel them; whereas the good man feels in the proper way.— And since there is a certain state of character which results in its possessor's being in one instance such as to accept an excess and in another such as to accept a deficiency of the same thing, it follows that as these actions are contrary to each other and to the mean, so also the states of character that cause them are contrary to each other and to virtue.

It comes about, however, that sometimes all the oppositions are more evident, sometimes those on the side of excess, in some cases those on the side of deficiency. The cause of this contrariety is that the resemblance does not always reach the same point of inequality in regard to the middle, but sometimes it may pass over more quickly from the excess, sometimes from the deficiency, to the middle state, the person farther removed from which seems to be more contrary: for instance, with regard to the body excess is more healthy and nearer the middle than deficiency in the case of exercises but deficiency than excess in the case of food. Consequently the states of will favorable to athletic training will be variously favorable to health according to the two different fields of choice—in the one case the over-energetic men <will be nearer the mean than the slack ones>, in the other the too hardy <will be nearer the mean than the self-indulgent ones>; and also the character contrary to the moderate and rational will be in the one case the slack and not both the slack and the over-energetic, and in the other case the self-indulgent and not the man who goes hungry. And this comes about because from the start our nature does not diverge from the mean in the same way as regards everything, but in energy we are deficient and in self-indulgence excessive, and this is also the same with regard the spirit. And we class as contrary to the mean the disposition to which we, and most men, are more liable to err; whereas the other passes unnoticed as if non-existent, because its rarity makes it not observed. For instance we count anger the contrary of gentleness and the passionate man the contrary of the gentle;

We must, therefore, ascertain what voluntary and involuntary mean, and what is purposive choice, since they enter into the definition of goodness and badness. And first we must consider the meaning of voluntary and involuntary. Now they would seem to refer to one of three things—conformity with appetition, or with purposive choice, or with thought: voluntary is what conforms with one of these and involuntary is what contravenes one of them. But moreover there are three subdivisions of appetition—wish, passion and desire; so that we have to distinguish these. And first we must consider conformity with desire.

It would seem that everything that conforms with desire is voluntary. For everything involuntary seems to be forced, and what is forced and everything that people do or suffer under necessity is painful, as indeed Evenus says: “ For all necessity doth cause distress—
” Evenus of Paros = Theog. 472  so that if a thing is painful it is forced and if a thing is forced it is painful; but everything contrary to desire is painful (for desire is for what is pleasant), so that it is forced and involuntary. Therefore what conforms with desire is voluntary, for things contrary to and things in conformity with desire are opposite to one another. Again, all wickedness makes a man more unrighteous, and lack of self-control seems to be wickedness; and the uncontrolled man is the sort of man to act in conformity with desire contrary to calculation, and he shows his lack of control when his conduct is guided by desire;

The same argument applies also in the case of passion; for there appear to be control and lack of control of passion as well as of desire and what is contrary to passion is painful and restraint is a matter of force, so that if what is forced is involuntary, what is in accordance with passion will always be voluntary. Even Heracleitus seems to have in view the strength of passion when he remarks that the checking of passion is painful; for 'It is difficult (he says) to do battle with passion, for it buys its wish at the price of life.' And if it is impossible to do the same act voluntarily and involuntarily at the same time and in respect of the same part of the act, action guided by one's wish is more voluntary than action guided by desire or passion. And a proof of this is that we do many things voluntarily without anger or desire.

It remains, therefore, to consider whether acting as we wish and acting voluntarily are the same. This also seems impossible. For it is a fundamental assumption with us, and a general opinion, that wickedness makes men more unrighteous; and lack of self-control seems to be a sort of wickedness. But from the hypothesis that acting as we wish and acting voluntarily are the same the opposite will result; for nobody wishes things that he thinks to be bad, yet he does them when he has become uncontrolled, so if to do injustice is voluntary and the voluntary is what is in accordance with one's wish, then when a man has become uncontrolled he will no longer be acting unjustly but will be more just than he was before he lost control of himself. But this is impossible. Therefore it is clear that acting voluntarily does not mean acting in accordance with appetition nor acting involuntarily acting in opposition to appetition.

Also it is clear from the following considerations that voluntary action does not mean acting in accordance with purposive choice. It was proved that acting in accordance with one's wish is not acting involuntarily,

But if as we said the voluntary must necessarily be one of three things—what is in conformity with appetition, or with purposive choice, or with thought—, and if it is not the two former, it remains that voluntariness consists in acting with some kind of thought. Moreover, let us put a conclusion to our delimitation of the voluntary and involuntary by carrying the thought argument a little further. Acting under compulsion and not under compulsion seem to be terms akin to the ones mentioned; for we say that everything forced is involuntary and everything involuntary is forced. So we must first consider the exact meaning of 'forced,' and how what is forced is related to the voluntary and involuntary. It seems, then, that in the sphere of conduct 'forced' or 'necessary,' and force or necessity, are the opposite of 'voluntary,' and of persuasion. And we employ the terms force and necessity in a general sense even in the case of inanimate objects: we say that a stone travels upwards and fire downwards by force and under necessity, whereas when they travel according to their natural and intrinsic impulse we say that they do not move under force—although nevertheless they are not spoken of as moving voluntarily: the state opposite to forced motion has no name, but when they travel contrary to their natural impulse we say that they move by force. Similarly also in the case of living things and of animals, we see many being acted on by force, and also acting under force when something moves them from outside, contrary to the impulse within the thing itself. In inanimate things the moving principle is simple, but in living things it is multiple, for appetition and rational principle are not always in harmony. Hence whereas in the case of the other animals the factor of force is simple, as it is in the case of inanimate objects, for animals do not possess rational principle and appetition in opposition to it, but live by their appetition, in man both forms of force are present—that is, at a certain age, the age to which we attribute action in the proper sense; for we do not speak of a child as acting, any more than a wild animal, but only a person who has attained to acting by rational calculation. So what is forced always seems to be painful, and no one acting under force acts gladly. Consequently there is a great deal of dispute about the self-controlled man and the uncontrolled. For each of them acts under a conflict of impulses within him, so that the self-controlled man, they say, acts under force in dragging himself away from the pleasures that he covets (for he feels pain in dragging himself away against the resistance of appetition), while the uncontrolled man acts under force in going contrary to his rational faculty. But he seems to feel less pain, because desire is for what is pleasant, and he follows his desire; so that the uncontrolled man rather acts voluntarily and not under force, because not painfully. On the other hand persuasion is thought to be the opposite of force and necessity; and the self-controlled man is led towards things that he has been persuaded to pursue, and proceeds not under force but voluntarily;

But there is another way in which people are said to act under compulsion and of necessity without disagreement between rational principle and appetition, when they do something that they consider actually painful and bad but they are faced by flogging or imprisonment or execution if they do not do it; for in these cases they say that they are acting under necessity. Possibly, however, this is not the case, but they all do the actual deeds willingly, since it is open to them not to do them but to endure the penalty threatened. Moreover, perhaps someone might say that in some cases these actions are done of necessity and in others not. For in cases where the presence or absence of such circumstances depends on the agent himself, even the actions that he does without wishing to do them he does willingly and not under compulsion; but where in such cases the circumstances do not rest with himself, he acts under compulsion in a sense, though not indeed under compulsion absolutely, because he does not definitely choose the actual thing that he does but the object for which he does it; since even in the objects of action there is a certain difference. For if someone were to kill a man to prevent his catching him by groping for him, it would be ridiculous for him to say that he had done it under compulsion and of necessity—there must be some greater and more painful evil that he will suffer if he does not do it. It is when a man does something evil for the sake of something good, or for deliverance from another evil, that he will be acting under necessity and by compulsion, or at all events not by nature; and then he will really be acting unwillingly, for these actions do not rest with himself. On this account many reckon even love as involuntary, and some forms of anger, and natural impulses, because their power is even beyond nature; and we pardon them as naturally capable of constraining nature. And it would be thought that a man is acting more under compulsion and involuntarily when his object is to avoid violent pain than when it is to avoid mild pain, and in general more when his object is the avoidance of pain than when it is to gain enjoyment. For what rests with himself—and it wholly turns on this—means what his nature is able to bear; what his nature is not able to bear and what is not a matter of his own natural appetition or calculation does not rest with himself. On this account also in the case of persons who are inspired and utter prophecies, although they perform an act of thought, nevertheless we do not say that saying what they said and doing what they did rested with themselves. Nor yet do we say that what men do because of desire rests with themselves; so that some thoughts and emotions, or the actions that are guided by such thoughts and calculations, do not rest with ourselves, but it is as Philolaus said—'some arguments are too strong for us.' Hence if it was necessary to consider the voluntary and involuntary with reference also to acting under compulsion, let this be our decision of the matter (for those who cause most hindrance . . . the voluntary . . . as acting under compulsion, but voluntarily).

Now that this is concluded, and as the voluntary has been found not to be defined by appetition, nor yet by purposive choice, it therefore remains to define it as that which is in accordance with thought.

Next let us speak about purposive choice, first raising various difficulties about it. For one might doubt to which class it naturally belongs and in what class it ought to be put, and whether the voluntary and the purposely chosen are different things or the same thing. And a view specially put forward from some quarters, which on inquiry may seem correct, is that purposive choice is one of two things, either opinion or appetition; for both are seen to accompany it. Now it is evident that it is not appetition; for in that case it would be either wish or desire or passion, since nobody wants to get a thing without having experienced one of those feelings. Now even animals possess passion and desire, but they do not have purposive choice. And again, beings that possess both of these often make choices even without passion and desire; and while they are experiencing these feelings do not make a choice but hold out. Again, desire and passion are always accompanied by pain, but we often make a choice even without pain. But moreover purposive choice is not the same as wish either; for men wish for some things that they know to be impossible, for instance to be king of all mankind and to be immortal, but nobody purposively chooses a thing knowing it to be impossible, nor in general a thing that, though possible, he does not think in his own power to do or not to do. So that this much is clear—a thing purposively chosen must necessarily be something that rests with oneself.

And similarly it is manifest that purposive choice is not opinion either, nor something that one simply thinks; for we saw1 that a thing chosen is something in one's own power, but we have opinions as to many things that do not depend on us, for instance that the diagonal of a square is incommensurable2 with the side; and again, choice is not true or false. Nor yet is purposive choice an opinion about practicable things within one's own power that makes us think that we ought to do or not to do something; but this characteristic is common to opinion and to wish. For no one purposively chooses any End, but the means to his End—I mean for instance no one chooses to be healthy, but to take a walk or sit down for the sake of being healthy, no one chooses to be well off, but to go into business or to speculate for the sake of being well off; and generally, one who makes a choice always makes it clear both what his choice is and what its object is, 'object' meaning that for the sake of which he chooses something else and 'choice' meaning that which he chooses for the sake of something else. Whereas clearly it is specially an End that a man wishes, and the feeling that he ought to be healthy and prosperous is an opinion. So these considerations make it clear that purposive choice is different from both opinion and wish. Forming wishes and forming opinions apply specially to one's End; purposive choice is not of Ends.

It is clear, then, that purposive choice is not either wish or opinion or judgement simply; but in what does it differ from them? and how is it related to the voluntary? To answer these questions will make it clear what purposive choice is. Now of things that can both be and not be, some are such that it is possible to deliberate about them, but about others it is not possible. Some things can either be or not be but their coming into being does not rest with us, but in some cases is due to the operation of nature and in others to other causes; and about these things nobody would deliberate unless in ignorance of the facts. But with some things not only their existence or non-existence is possible, but also for human beings to deliberate about them; and these are all the things that it rests with us to do or not to do. Hence we do not deliberate about affairs in India, or about how to square the circle; for affairs in India do not rest with us, whereas the objects of choice and things practicable are among things resting with us, and squaring the circle is entirely impracticable (and thus it is clear that purposive choice is not simply opinion either). But purposive choice does not deal with all the practicable things resting with us either. Hence one might also raise the question, why is it exactly that, whereas doctors deliberate about things in their field of science, scholars do not? The reason is that since error occurs in two ways (for we err either in reasoning, or in perception when actually doing the thing), in medicine it is possible to err in both ways, but in grammar error only occurs in our perception and action,

to investigate which would be an endless undertaking.

Since then purposive choice is not either opinion nor wish separately, nor yet both (for no one makes a deliberate choice suddenly, but men do suddenly think they ought to act and wish to act), therefore it arises as from both, for both of them are present with a person choosing. But how purposive choice arises out of opinion and wish must be considered. And indeed in a manner the actual term 'choice' makes this clear. 'Choice' is 'taking,' but not taking simply—it is taking one thing in preference to another; but this cannot be done without consideration and deliberation; hence purposive choice arises out of deliberative opinion.

Now nobody deliberates about his End—this everybody has fixed; but men deliberate about the means leading to their End—does this contribute to it, or does this ? or when a means has been decided on, how will that be procured? and this deliberation as to means we all pursue until we have carried the starting-point in the process of producing the End back to ourselves. If, then, nobody chooses without first preparing, and deliberating as to the comparative merits of the alternatives, and a man deliberates as to those among the means to the End capable of existing or not existing that are within our power, it is clear that purposive choice is deliberative appetition of things within one's power. For we deliberate about everything that we choose, although of course we do not choose everything that we deliberate about. I call appetition deliberative when its origin or cause is deliberation, and when a man desires because of having deliberated. Therefore the faculty of purposive choice is not present in the other animals, nor in man at every age nor in every condition, for no more is the act of deliberation, nor yet the concept of cause: it is quite possible that many men may possess the faculty of forming an opinion whether to do or not to do a thing without also having the power of forming this opinion by process of reasoning. For the deliberative faculty is the spirit's power of contemplating a kind of cause—for one sort of cause is the final cause, as although cause means anything because of which a thing comes about, it is the object of a thing's existence or production that we specially designate as its cause: for instance, if a man walks in order to fetch things, fetching things is the cause of his walking. Consequently people who have no fixed aim are not given to deliberation. Hence inasmuch as if a man of his own accord and not through ignorance does or refrains from doing something resting with himself either to do or not to do, he acts or refrains from acting voluntarily, but yet we do many such things without deliberation or previous thought, it necessarily follows that, although all that has been purposively chosen is voluntary, 'voluntary' is not the same as 'chosen,' and, although all things done by purposive choice are voluntary, not all things voluntary are done by purposive choice. And at the same time it is clear from these considerations that the classification of offences made by legislators as in voluntary, voluntary and premeditated is a good one;

It therefore follows that since moral goodness is itself a middle state and is entirely concerned with pleasures and pains, and badness consists in excess and defect and is concerned with the same things as goodness, moral goodness or virtue is a state of purposively choosing the mean in relation to ourselves in all those pleasant and painful things in regard to which according as a person feels pleasure or pain he is described as having some particular moral quality(for a person is not said to have a particular moral character merely for being fond of sweets or savories).

These things having been settled, let us say whether goodness makes the purposive choice correct and the End right in the sense of making the agent choose for the sake of the proper End, or whether (as some hold) it makes the rational principle right. But what does this is self-control—for that saves the rational principle from being corrupted; and goodness and self-control are different. But we must speak about this later, since all who do hold that goodness makes the rational principle right think so on the ground that that is the nature of self-control and self-control is a praiseworthy thing. Having raised this preliminary question let us continue. It is possible to have one's aim right but to be entirely wrong in one's means to the end aimed at; and it is possible for the aim to have been wrongly chosen but the means conducing to it to be right; and for neither to be right. But does goodness decide the aim or the means to it? Well, our position is that it decides the aim, because this is not a matter of logical inference or rational principle, but in fact this must be assumed as a starting-point. For a doctor does not consider whether his patient ought to be healthy or not, but whether he ought to take walking exercise or not, and the gymnastic trainer does not consider whether his pupil ought to be in good condition or not, but whether he ought to go in for wrestling or not; and similarly no other science either deliberates about its End. For as in the theoretic sciences the assumptions are first principles, so in the productive sciences the End is a starting-point and assumption: since it is required that so-and-so is to be in good health, if that is to be secured it is necessary for such-and-such a thing to be provided—just as in mathematics, if the angles of a triangle are together equal to two right angles, such and such a consequence necessarily follows. Therefore the End is the starting-point of the process of thought, but the conclusion of the process of thought is the starting-point of action. If, then, of all rightness either rational principle or goodness is the cause, if rational principle is not the cause of the rightness of the End, then the End (though not the means to the End) will be right owing to goodness. But the End is the object for which one acts; for every purposive choice is a choice of something and for some object. The End is therefore the object for which the thing chosen is the mean, of which End goodness is the cause by its act of choice—though the choice is not of the End but of the means adopted for the sake of the End. Therefore though it belongs to another faculty to hit on the things that must be done for the sake of the End,

goodness is the cause of the End aimed at by choice being right. And owing to this it is by a man's purposive choice that we judge his character—that is, not by what he does but what he does it for. Similarly also badness causes purposive choice to be made from the opposite motives. If therefore, when a man has it in his power to do what is honorable and refrain from doing what is base, he does the opposite, it is clear that this man is not virtuous. Hence it necessarily follows that both badness and goodness are voluntary; for there is no necessity to do wicked things. For this reason badness is a blameworthy thing and goodness praiseworthy; for involuntary baseness and evil are not blamed nor involuntary good things praised, but voluntary ones are. Moreover we praise and blame all men with regard to their purpose rather than with regard to their actions (although activity is a more desirable thing than goodness), because men may do bad acts under compulsion, but no one is compelled to choose to do them. Moreover because it is not easy to see the quality of a man's purpose we are forced to judge his character from his actions; therefore activity is more desirable, but purpose more praiseworthy. And this not only follows from our assumptions but also is admitted by reason of observed facts.

It has then been stated in general terms that there are middle states in the virtues and that these are purposive, and also that the opposite dispositions are vices and what these are. But let us take them separately and discuss them seriatim. And first let us speak about Courage.

Now almost everybody holds that the brave man is concerned with fears, and that courage is one of the virtues. And in our schedule previously we distinguished daring and fear as contraries, for they are indeed in a manner opposed to one another. It is clear, therefore, that the persons named after these states of character will also be similarly opposed to each other—that is, the coward (for that is the term that denotes being more afraid than is proper and less daring than is proper) and the daring man (for that denotes the characteristic of being less afraid than is proper and more daring than is proper—and from this the name is derived, as the word 'daring' is cognate with the word 'dare'). So that since courage is the best state of character in relation to feelings of fear and daring, and the proper character is neither that of the daring (for they fall short in one respect and exceed in another) nor that of the cowardly (for they also do the same, only not as regards the same things but inversely—

And it seems that the brave man is in general fearless, and the coward liable to fear; and that the latter fears things when they are few in number and small in size as well as when numerous and great, and fears violently, and gets frightened quickly, whereas the former on the contrary either never feels fear at all or only slightly and reluctantly and seldom, and in regard to things of magnitude; and he endures things that are extremely formidable, whereas the other does not endure even those that are slightly formidable. What sort of things, then, does the brave man endure? First, is it the things that are formidable to himself or formidable to somebody else? If the things formidable to somebody else, one would not indeed call it anything remarkable; but if it is those that are formidable to himself, what is formidable to him must be things of great magnitude and number. But formidable things are productive of fear in the particular person to whom they are formidable—that is, if they are very formidable, the fear they produce will be violent, if slightly formidable, it will be weak; so it follows that the brave man's fears are great and many. Yet on the contrary it appeared that courage makes a man fearless, and that fearlessness consists in fearing nothing, or else few things, and those slightly and reluctantly. But perhaps 'formidable' is an ambiguous term, like 'pleasant' and 'good.' Some things are pleasant and good absolutely, whereas others are so to a particular person but absolutely are not so, but on the contrary are bad and unpleasant—all the things that are beneficial for the base, and all those that are pleasant to children qua children. And similarly some things are formidable absolutely and others to a particular person: thus the things that the coward qua coward fears are some of them not formidable to anybody and others only slightly formidable, but things that are formidable to most men, and all that are formidable to human nature, we pronounce to be formidable absolutely. But the brave man is fearless in regard to them, and endures formidable things of this sort, which are formidable to him in one way but in another way are not—they are formidable to him qua human being, but qua brave not formidable except slightly, or not at all. Yet such things really are formidable, for they are formidable to most men. Owing to this the brave man's state of character is praised, because it resembles that of the strong and the healthy. These have those characters not because no labor in the one case or extreme of temperature in the other can crush them, but because they are not affected at all, or only affected slightly, by the things that affect the many or the majority. Therefore whereas the sickly and weak and cowardly are affected also by the afflictions commonly felt, only more quickly and to a greater extent than the mass of men, the healthy, strong and brave, although affected by the very great afflictions, are affected by them more slowly and less than the mass of men, and moreover they are entirely unaffected or only slightly affected by things that affect the mass.

But the question is raised whether to the brave man nothing is formidable, and whether he would be insensible to fear.

There are five kinds of courage so called by analogy, because brave men of these kinds endure the same things as the really courageous but not for the same reasons. One is civic courage; this is courage due to a sense of shame. Second is military courage; this is due to experience and to knowledge, not of what is formidable, as Socrates said, but of ways of encountering what is formidable. Third is the courage due to inexperience and ignorance, that makes children and madmen face things rushing on them, or grasp snakes. Another is the courage caused by hope, which often makes those who have had a stroke of luck endure dangers, and those who are intoxicated—for wine makes men sanguine. Another is due to some irrational emotion, for example love or passion. For if a man is in love he is more daring than cowardly, and endures many dangers, like the man who murdered the tyrant at Metapontium and the person in Crete in the story; and similarly if a man is under the influence of anger and passion, for passion is a thing that makes him beside himself. Hence wild boars are thought to be brave, though they are not really, for they are so when they are beside themselves, but otherwise they are variable, like daring men. But nevertheless the courage of passion is in the highest degree natural; passion is a thing that does not know defeat, owing to which the young are the best fighters. Civic courage is due to law. But none of these is truly courage, though they are all useful for encouragement in dangers.

Up to this point we have spoken about things formidable in general terms, but it will be better to define them more precisely. As a general term the formidable denotes what causes fear, and that is of a property of things that appear capable of causing pain of a destructive kind: for persons expecting some other pain might perhaps experience a different sort of pain and a different feeling, but will not have fear—for example if a man foresaw that he was going to feel the pain felt by the jealous, or the sort of pain felt by the envious or by those who are ashamed. But fear only occurs in the case of pains that seem likely to be of the kind whose nature it is to destroy life.

The formidable things, therefore, in relation to which we speak of a man as brave are, we have said, those that appear likely to cause pain of the destructive kind—provided that these appear close at hand and not far off, and are or appear to be of a magnitude proportionate to a human being; for some things must necessarily appear fearful to every human being and throw everybody into alarm, since it is quite possible that, just as heat and cold and some of the other forces are above us and above the conditions of the human body, so also are some mental sufferings.

Therefore whereas the cowardly and the daring are mistaken owing to their characters, since the coward thinks things not formidable formidable and things slightly formidable extremely formidable, and the daring man on the contrary thinks formidable things perfectly safe and extremely formidable things only slightly formidable, to the brave man on the other hand things seem exactly what they are. Hence a man is not brave if he endures formidable things through ignorance (for instance, if owing to madness he were to endure a flight of thunderbolts), nor if he does so owing to passion when knowing the greatness of the danger, as the Celts 'take arms and march against the waves'; and in general, the courage of barbarians has an element of passion. And some men endure terrors for the sake of other pleasures also—for even passion contains pleasure of a sort, since it is combined with hope of revenge. But nevertheless neither if a man endures death for the sake of this pleasure nor for another, nor for the sake of avoiding greater pains, would any of these persons justly be termed brave. For if dying were pleasant, profligates would be dying constantly, owing to lack of self-control, just as even as it is, when, although death itself is not pleasant, things that cause it are, many men through lack of self control knowingly encounter it; none of whom would be thought brave, even though he were thought to die quite readily. Nor yet are any of those brave who, as many men do, commit suicide to escape from trouble, as Agathon says:

“The base among mankind, by toil o'ercome,
Conceive a love of death.”

Agathon Fr. 7
As also Cheiron,1 in the legendary story of the poets, because of the pain from his wound prayed that though immortal he might die. And in like manner to these, all who face dangers because of experience are not brave; this is how perhaps most of the military class face dangers. For the fact is the exact opposite of the view of Socrates, who thought that bravery was knowledge: sailors who know how to go aloft are not daring through knowing what things are formidable, but because they know how to protect themselves against the dangers; also courage is not merely what makes men more daring fighters, for in that case strength and wealth would be courage—as Theognis puts it:

“ For every man by poverty subdued.”

Theog. 177
2
But manifestly some men do face emergencies in spite of being cowards, owing to experience, and they do so because they do not think that there is any danger, as they know how to protect themselves. A proof of this is that when they think that they have no protection and that the cause of alarm is now close at hand, they turn tail. But among all such causes, it is when shame makes men face what is alarming that they would appear to be bravest, as Homer says Hector faced the danger of encountering Achilles: “ And shame on Hector seized—
” Source unknown 3 and

“ Polydamas will be the first to taunt me.
”

Hom. Il. 22.100
4
Civic courage is this kind. But true courage is neither this nor any of the others, though it resembles them, as does the courage of wild animals, which are led by passion to rush to meet the blow. For it is not from fear that he will incur disgrace that a man ought to stand his ground, nor from motives of anger, nor because he does not think that he will be killed or because he has forces to protect him, for in that case he will not think that there is really anything to be afraid of. But, since indeed all goodness involves purposive choice (it has been said before what we mean by this—goodness makes a man choose everything for the sake of some object, and that object is what is fine), it is clear that courage being a form of goodness will make a man face formidable things for some object, so that he does not do it through ignorance (for it rather makes him judge correctly), nor yet for pleasure, but because it is fine, since in a case where it is not fine but insane he will not face them, for then it would be base to do so.

We have now given an account that is fairly adequate for our present procedure of the kind of things in relation to which Courage is a middle state, and between what vices and for what reason it is this, and what is the power that formidable things exercise.

We must next attempt to decide about Temperance and Profligacy. The term 'profligate' (unchaste) has a variety of meanings. It means the man who has not been (as it were) 'chastised' or cured, just as 'undivided' means one that has not been divided; and these terms include both one capable of the process and one not capable of it:

And since the temperate character is shown in connection with pleasures, it follows that it is also related to certain desires. We must, therefore, ascertain what these are. For the temperate man is not temperate about all pleasures nor about everything pleasant, but apparently about the objects of two of the senses, taste and touch, and in reality about the objects of touch. For the temperate man is not concerned with the pleasure of beautiful things (apart from sexual desire) or pain caused by ugly things, the medium of which is sight, nor with the pleasure of harmonious sounds or pain of discords conveyed through the medium of hearing, nor yet with the pleasures and pains of smell, derived from good and bad scents; for neither is anyone termed profligate because of being sensitive or not sensitive to sensations of that sort— for example, a man would not be considered profligate if when looking at a beautiful statue or horse or person, or listening to someone singing, he did not wish for food or drink or sexual indulgence but only wished to look at the beautiful objects or listen to the music,—any more than the persons held spell-bound in the abode of the Sirens. Temperance and profligacy have to do with those two sorts of sensory objects in relation to which alone the lower animals also happen to be sensitive and to feel pleasure and pain—the objects of taste and of touch, whereas about virtually all the pleasures of the other senses alike animals are clearly so constituted as to be insensitive—

Therefore the person of such a character as to be deficient in all the enjoyments which practically everybody must share and must enjoy, is insensitive (or whatever the proper term is), and he that exceeds in them is profligate. For all people by nature enjoy these things, and conceive desires for them, without being or being called profligate, for they do not exceed by feeling more joy than they ought when they get them nor more pain than they ought when they do not get them; nor yet are they unfeeling, for they do not fall short in feeling joy or pain, but rather exceed.

And since there are excess and deficiency in regard to these things, it is clear that there is also a middle state, and that this state of character is the best one, and is the opposite of both the others. Hence if temperance is the best state of character in relation to the things with which the profligate is concerned, the middle state in regard to the pleasant objects of sense mentioned will be Temperance, being a middle state between profligacy and insensitiveness: the excess will be Profligacy,

And also the nature of Gentleness and Harshness must be ascertained in the same way. For we see that the term 'gentle' is concerned with the pain that arises from passion—a man is gentle by being disposed in a certain way towards that pain. And in our diagramwe opposed to the irascible and harsh and fierce man (for all such traits belong to the same disposition) the slavish and spiritless man; for these are perhaps the most usual words to denote those whose passion is not aroused even at all the things at which it ought to be, but who undergo insulting treatment readily and meet slights with humility; since as opposed to feeling the pain that we call passion quickly, extremely or for a long time there is feeling it slowly, slightly, or for a short time. And since, as we said in the other cases, so here also there is excess and deficiency (for the harsh man is the sort of man that feels this emotion too quickly, too long, at the wrong time, with the wrong kind of people, and with many people, while the slavish man is the opposite), it is clear that there is also some body who is at the middle point in the inequality. Since, therefore, both those states of character are wrong, it is clear that the state midway between them is right, for it is neither too hasty nor too slow-tempered, nor does it get angry with the people with whom it ought not nor fail to get angry with those with whom it ought. So that since the best state of character in regard to those feelings is gentleness, Gentleness also would be a middle state, and the gentle man would be midway between the harsh man and the slavish man.

Greatness of Spirit and Magnificence and Liberality are also middle states. Liberality is the mean in regard to the acquisition and expenditure of wealth. The man who is more pleased than he ought to be by all acquisition and more pained than he ought to be by all expenditure is mean, he that feels both feelings less than he ought is prodigal, and he that feels both as he ought is liberal (what I mean by 'as he ought,' both in this and in the other cases, is 'as right principle directs'). And since the two former characters consist in excess and deficiency, and where there are extremes there is also a mean, and that mean is best, there being a single best for each kind of action, a single thing, it necessarily follows that liberality is a middle state between prodigality and meanness as regards getting and parting with wealth. But the terms 'wealth' and 'art of wealth' we use in two senses, since one way of using an article of property,

On the subject of Greatness of Spirit we must define its characteristic from the attributes of the great-spirited man. For just as in the other cases of things that, owing to their affinity and similarity up to a point, are not noticed to differ when they advance further, the same has happened about greatness of spirit. Hence sometimes the opposite characters claim the same quality, for instance the extravagant man claims to be the same as the liberal, the self-willed as the proud, the daring as the brave; for they are concerned with the same things, and also are neighbors up to a point, as the brave man can endure dangers and so can the daring man, but the former in one way and the latter in another, and that makes a very great difference. And we use the term 'great-spirited' according to the designation of the word, as consisting in a certain greatness or power of spirit. So that the great-spirited man seems to resemble both the proud man and the magnificent, because greatness of spirit seems to go with all the virtues also. For it is praiseworthy to judge great and small goods rightly; and those goods seem great which a man pursues who possesses the best state of character in relation to such pleasures, and greatness of spirit is the best. And the virtue concerned with each thing judges rightly the greater and the smaller good, just as the wise man and virtue would bid, so that all the virtues go with it, or it goes with all the virtues.

Again, it is thought characteristic of the great-spirited man to be disdainful. Each virtue makes men disdainful of things irrationally deemed great:

The Magnificent Man also (except in a case when we are using the term metaphorically) is not concerned with any and every action and purposive choice, but with expenditure. Without expenditure there is no magnificence, for it is what is appropriate in ornament, and ornament does not result from any chance expenditure, but consists in going beyond the merely necessary. Therefore the magnificent man is the man who purposively chooses the appropriate greatness in great expenditure, and who even on the occasion of a pleasure of this nature aims at this sort of moderation. There is no name denoting the man who likes spending to excess and inappropriately; however the persons whom some people call tasteless and swaggering have a certain affinity to him.

Similarly in regard to liberality: a man may be neither liberal nor illiberal.

Generally speaking the other praiseworthy and blameworthy states of character also are excesses or deficiencies or middle states, but in respect of an emotion: for instance, the envious man and the malicious. For—to take the states of character after which they are named— Envy means being pained at people who are deservedly prosperous, while the emotion of the malicious man is itself nameless, but the possessor of it is shown by his feeling joy at undeserved adversities; and midway between them is the righteously indignant man, and what the ancients called Righteous Indignation—feeling pain at undeserved adversities and prosperities and pleasure at those that are deserved; hence the idea that Nemesis is a deity.

Modesty is a middle state between Shamelessness and Bashfulness: the man who pays regard to nobody's opinion is shameless, he who regards everybody's is bashful, he who regards the opinion of those who appear good is modest.

Friendliness is a middle state between Animosity and Flattery; the man who accommodates himself readily to his associates' desires in everything is a flatterer, he who runs counter to them all shows animosity, he who neither falls in with nor resists every pleasure, but falls in with what seems to be the best, is friendly.

Dignity is a middle state between Self-will and Obsequiousness. A man who in his conduct pays no regard at all to another but is contemptuous is self-willed; he who regards another in everything and is inferior to everybody is obsequious; he who regards another in some things but not in others, and is regardful of persons worthy of regard, is dignified.

The truthful and sincere man, called 'downright,' is midway between the dissembler and the charlatan. He that wittingly makes a false statement against himself that is depreciatory is a dissembler,

All these middle states, though praiseworthy, are not virtues, nor are the opposite states vices, for they do not involve purposive choice; they are all in the classification of the emotions, for each of them is an emotion. But because they are natural they contribute to the natural virtues; for, as will be said in what follows, each virtue exists both naturally and otherwise, that is, in conjunction with thought. Therefore envy contributes to injustice (for the actions that spring from it affect another person), and righteous indignation to justice, and modesty to temperance (owing to which people even define temperance as a species of emotion), and the sincere and false are respectively wise and foolish.

And the mean is more opposed to the extremes than the extremes are to one another,

The opposition existing between the mean and the extremes does not seem to be the same in the case of both the extremes, but sometimes the greater opposition is by way of excess, sometimes by way of deficiency. The causes of this are partly the two first mentioned, rarity (for example, the rarity of people insensitive to pleasant things) and the fact that the error to which we are more prone seems more opposite to the mean, and thirdly the fact that the extreme that more resembles the mean seems less opposite to it, as is the case with daring in relation to boldness and extravagance in relation to liberality. We have therefore sufficiently discussed the other praiseworthy virtues, and must now speak about Justice.

Friendship—its nature and qualities, what constitutes a friend, and whether the term friendship has one or several meanings, and if several, how many, and also what is our duty towards a friend and what are the just claims of friendship—is a matter that calls for investigation no less than any of the things that are fine and desirable in men's characters. For to promote friendship is thought to be the special task of political science; and people say that it is on this account that goodness is a valuable thing, for persons wrongfully treated by one another cannot be each other's friends. Furthermore we all say that justice and injustice are chiefly displayed towards friends; it is thought that a good man is a friendly man, and that friendship is a state of the moral character; and if one wishes to make men not act unjustly, it is enough to make them friends, for true friends do not wrong one another. But neither will men act unjustly if they are just; therefore justice and friendship are either the same or nearly the same thing.

In addition to this, we consider a friend to be one of the greatest goods, and friendlessness and solitude a very terrible thing, because the whole of life and voluntary association is with friends;

for we pass our days with our family or relations or comrades, children, parents or wife. And our private rights in relation to our friends depend only on ourselves, whereas our rights in relation to the rest of men are established by law and do not depend on us.
Many questions are raised about friendship—first, on the line of those who take in wider considerations and extend the term. For some hold that like is friend to like, whence the sayings:

“ Mark how God ever brings like men together
”

Hom. Od. 17.218
1;
“ For jackdaw by the side of jackdaw . . .
”

2; “And thief knows thief and wolf his fellow wolf.”3
And the natural philosophers even arrange the whole of nature in a system by assuming as a first principle that like goes to like, owing to which Empedocles4 said that the dog sits on the tiling because it is most like him.5

Some people then give this account of a friend; but others say that opposite is dear to opposite, since it is what is loved and desired that is dear to everybody, and the dry does not desire the dry but the wet (whence the sayings—"Earth loveth rain,"6 and "In all things change is sweet—"7 change being transition to the opposite), whereas like hates like, for "Potter against potter has a grudge,"8 and animals that live on the same food are hostile to one another. These opinions, therefore, are thus widely variant. One party thinks that the like is friend and the opposite foe—

“ The less is rooted enemy to the more
For ever, and begins the day of hate,
”

Eur. Phoen. 539f.
9
and moreover adversaries are separated in locality, whereas friendship seems to bring men together. The other party say that opposites are friends, and Heracleitus rebukes the poet who wrote—

“ Would strife might perish out of heaven and earth,
”

Hom. Il. 18.107
for, he says, there would be no harmony without high and low notes, and no animals without male and female, which are opposites.
These, then, are two opinions about friendship, and being so widely separated they are too general; but there are others that are closer together and more akin to the facts of observation. Some persons think that it is not possible for bad men to be friends, but only for the good. Others think it strange that mothers should not love their own children (and maternal affection we see existing even among animals—at least, animals choose to die for their young). Others hold that only what is useful is a friend, the proof being that all men actually do pursue the useful, and discard what is useless even in their own persons (as the old Socrates used to say, instancing spittle, hair and nails), and that we throw away even parts of the body that are of no use, and finally the body itself,

Since therefore good is a term of more than one meaning (for we call one thing good because that is its essential nature, but another because it is serviceable and useful), and furthermore pleasant includes both what is absolutely pleasant and absolutely good and what is pleasant for somebody and apparently good—, as in the case of inanimate objects we may choose a thing and love it for each of these reasons, so also in the case of a human being, one man we love because of his character, and for goodness, another because he is serviceable and useful, another because he is pleasant, and for pleasure. And a man becomes a friend when while receiving affection he returns it, and when he and the other are in some way aware of this.

It follows, therefore, that there are three sorts of friendship, and that they are not all so termed in respect of one thing or as species of one genus, nor yet have they the same name entirely by accident. For all these uses of the term are related to one particular sort of friendship which is primary, like the term 'surgical'—and we speak of a surgical mind and a surgical hand and a surgical instrument and a surgical operation, but we apply the term properly to that which is primarily so called. The primary is that of which the definition is implicit in the definition of all, for example a surgical instrument is an instrument that a surgeon would use, whereas the definition of the instrument is not implicit in that of surgeon. Therefore in every case people seek the primary, and because the universal is primary they assume that also the primary is universal; but this is untrue. Hence in the case of friendship, they cannot take account of all the observed facts. For as one definition does not fit, they think that the other kinds of friendship are not friendships at all; but really they are, although not in the same way, but when they find that the primary friendship does not fit, assuming that it would be universal if it really were primary, they say that the others are not friendships at all. But in reality there are many kinds of friendships: this was among the things said already,1 as we have distinguished three senses of the term friendship—one sort has been defined as based on goodness, another on utility, another on pleasure.

Of these the one based on utility is assuredly the friendship of most people; for they love one another because they are useful, and in so far as they are and so, as says the proverb—“Glaucus, an ally is a friend, as long as he our battle fights,2 and 

“ Athens no longer knows Megara.
”

Fr. Eleg. Adespota 6 (Bergk)

It is clear from this that the primary friendship, that of the good, is mutual reciprocity of affection and purpose. For the object of affection is dear to the giver of it, but also the giver of affection is himself dear to the object. This friendship, therefore, only occurs in man, for he alone perceives purpose; but the other forms occur also in the lower animals. Indeed mutual utility manifestly exists to some small extent between the domestic animals and man, and between animals themselves, for instance Herodotus's account of the friendship between the crocodile and the sandpiper,1 and the perching together and separating of birds of which soothsayers speak. The bad may be each other's friends from motives both of utility and of pleasure; though some say that they are not really friends, because the primary kind of friendship does not belong to them, since obviously a bad man will injure a bad man, and those who suffer injury from one another do not feel affection for one another. But as a matter of fact bad men do feel affection for one another, though not according to the primary form of friendship—because clearly nothing hinders their being friends under the other forms, since for the sake of pleasure they put up with one another although they are being harmed, so long as they are lacking in self-restraint. The view is also held, when people look into the matter closely, that those who feel affection for each other on account of pleasure are not friends, because it is not the primary friendship, since that is reliable but this is unreliable. But as a matter of fact it is friendship, as has been said, though not that sort of friendship but one derived from it. Therefore to confine the use of the term friend to that form of friendship alone is to do violence to observed facts, and compels one to talk paradoxes; though it is not possible to bring all friendship under one definition. The only remaining alternative, therefore, is, that in a sense the primary sort of friendship alone is friendship, but in a sense all sorts are, not as having a common name by accident and standing in a merely chance relationship to one another, nor yet as falling under one species, but rather as related to one thing.

And since the same thing is absolutely good and absolutely pleasant at the same time if nothing interferes, and the true friend and friend absolutely is the primary friend, and such is a friend chosen in and for himself (and he must necessarily be such, for he for whom one wishes good for his own sake must necessarily be desirable for his own sake), a true friend is also absolutely pleasant; owing to which it is thought that a friend of any sort is pleasant. But we must define this still further, for it is debatable whether what is good merely for oneself is dear or what is absolutely good, and whether the actual exercise of affection is accompanied by pleasure, so that an object of affection is also pleasant, or not. Both questions must be brought to the same issue; for things not absolutely good but possibly evil are to be avoided, and also a thing not good for oneself is no concern of oneself, but what is sought for is that things absolutely good shall be good for oneself. For the absolutely good is absolutely desirable, but what is good for oneself is desirable for oneself;

Therefore since the primary sort of friendship is in accordance with goodness, friends of this sort will be absolutely good in themselves also, and this not because of being useful, but in another manner. For good for a given person and good absolutely are twofold; and the same is the case with states of character as with profitableness—what is profitable absolutely and what is profitable for given persons are different things (just as taking exercise is a different thing from taking drugs). So the state of character called human goodness is of two kinds— for let us assume that man is one of the things that are excellent by nature: consequently the goodness of a thing excellent by nature is good absolutely, but that of a thing not excellent by nature is only good for that thing.

The case of the pleasant also, therefore, is similar. For here we must pause and consider whether there is any friendship without pleasure, and how such a friendship differs from other friendship, and on which exactly of the two things1 the affection depends—do we love a man because he is good even if he is not pleasant, but not because he is pleasant?2 Then, affection having two meanings,3 does actual affection seem to involve pleasure because activity is good? It is clear that as in science recent studies and acquirements are most fully apprehended, because of their pleasantness,4 so with the recognition of familiar things, and the principle is the same in both cases. By nature at all events the absolutely good is absolutely pleasant, and the relatively good is pleasant to those for whom it is good.5 Hence ipso facto like takes pleasure in like, and man is the thing most pleasant to man; so that as this is so even with imperfect things, it is clearly so with things when perfected, and a good man is a perfect man. And if active affection is the reciprocal choice, accompanied by pleasure, of one another's acquaintance, it is clear that friendship of the primary kind is in general the reciprocal choice of things absolutely good and pleasant because they are good and pleasant; and friendship itself is a state from which such choice arises. For its function is an activity, but this not external but within the lover himself; whereas the function of every faculty is external, for it is either in another or in oneself qua other. Hence to love is to feel pleasure but to be loved is not; for being loved is not an activity of the thing loved, whereas loving is an activity—the activity of friendship; and loving occurs only in an animate thing, whereas being loved occurs with an inanimate thing also, for even inanimate things are loved. And since to love actively is to treat the loved object qua loved,

This then is the primary friendship, which all people recognize. It is on account of it that the other sorts are considered to be friendship, and also that their claim is disputed—for friendship seems to be some thing stable, and only this friendship is stable; for a formed judgement is stable, and not doing things quickly or easily makes the judgement right. And there is no stable friendship without confidence, and confidence only comes with time; for it is necessary to make trial, as Theognis says: 

“ You cannot know the mind of man nor woman
Before have you tried them as you try cattle.”

Therefore the first kind of friendship does not occur between many men, because it is difficult to test many—one would have to go and live with each of them. Nor indeed should one exercise choice in the case of a friend in the same way as about a coat; although in all matters it seems the mark of a sensible man to choose the better of two things, and if he had been wearing his worse coat for a long time and had not yet worn his better one, the better one ought to be chosen—but you ought not in place of an old friend to choose one whom you do not know to be a better man.

These things, therefore, show the correctness of the saying that friendship is a thing to be relied on, just as happiness is a thing that is self-sufficing. And it has been rightly said: "Nature is permanent, but wealth is not—" although it would be much finer to say 'Friendship' than 'Nature.' And it is proverbial that time shows a friend, and also misfortunes more than good fortune. For then the truth of the saying 'friends' possessions are common property' is clear for only friends, instead of the natural goods and natural evils on which good and bad fortune turn, choose a human being rather than the presence of the former and the absence of the latter; and misfortune shows those who are not friends really but only because of some casual utility. And both are shown by time; for even the useful friend is not shown quickly, but rather the pleasant one—except that one who is absolutely pleasant is also not quick to show himself. For men are like wines and foods; the sweetness of those is quickly evident, but when lasting longer it is unpleasant and not sweet, and similarly in the case of men. For absolute pleasantness is a thing to be defined by the End it effects and the time it lasts. And even the multitude would agree, not in consequence of results only, but in the same way as in the case of a drink they call it sweeter—for a drink fails to be pleasant not because of its result, but because its pleasantness is not continuous, although at first it quite takes one in.

The primary form of friendship therefore, and the one that causes the name to be given to the others, is friendship based on goodness and due to the pleasure of goodness, as has been said before. The other friendships occur even among children and animals and wicked people: whence the sayings— "Two of an age each other gladden" and "Pleasure welds the bad man to the bad."

And also the bad may be pleasant to each other not as being bad or neutral, but if for instance both are musicians or one fond of music and the other a musician, and in the way in which all men have some good in them and so fit in with one another. Further they might be mutually useful and beneficial (not absolutely but for their purpose) not as being bad or neutral.

These then are three kinds of friendship; and in all of these the term friendship in a manner indicates equality, for even with those who are friends on the ground of goodness the friendship is in a manner based on equality of goodness.

But another variety of these kinds is friendship on a basis of superiority, as in that of a god for a man, for that is a different kind of friendship, and generally of a ruler and subject; just as the principle of justice between them is also different, being one of equality proportionally but not of equality numerically. The friendship of father for son is in this class, and that of benefactor for beneficiary. And of these sorts of friendship themselves there are varieties: the friendship of father for son is different from that of husband for wife—the former is friendship as between ruler and subject, the latter that of benefactor for beneficiary. And in these varieties either there is no return of affection or it is not returned in a similar way. For it would be ludicrous if one were to accuse God because he does not return love in the same way as he is loved, or for a subject to make this accusation against a ruler; for it is the part of a ruler to be loved, not to love, or else to love in another way. And the pleasure differs; the pleasure that a man of established position has in his own property or son and that which one who lacks them feels in an estate or a child coming to him are not one and the same. And in the same way also in the case of those who are friends for utility or for pleasure—some are on a footing of equality, others one of superiority. Owing to this those who think they are on the former footing complain if they are not useful and beneficial in a similar manner; and also in the case of pleasure. This is clear in cases of passionate affection, for this is often a cause of combat between the lover and his beloved: the lover does not see that they have not the same reason for their affection. Hence Aenicus has said: "A loved one so would speak, but not a lover." But they think that the reason is the same.

For it is thought that friends agree in feeling, and that those who agree in feeling are friends. But the agreement of friendship is not in regard to everything, but to things practicable for the parties, and the good to all that contributes to their association. Nor is it only agreement in thought or in appetition, for it is possible to think and to desire opposite things, as in the man lacking self-control this discord occurs; if a man agrees with another in purposive choice he does not necessarily agree with him in desire also. Agreement occurs in the case of good men—at all events when bad men purpose and desire the same things they harm one another. And it appears that agreement, like friendship, is not a term of single meaning, but whereas the primary and natural form of it is good, so that it is not possible for bad men to agree in this way, there is another sort of agreement shown even by bad men when their purpose and desire are for the same objects. But it is only proper for them to aim at the same objects in cases when it is possible for both to have the things aimed at, since if they aim at a thing of a kind that it is not possible for both to have, they will quarrel; but those who agree in mind do not quarrel.

Therefore agreement exists when there is the same purposive choice as to ruling and being ruled—not each choosing himself to rule but both the same one. Agreement is civic friendship. So much for the subject of agreement in feeling and kindly feeling.

The question is raised, why those who have conferred a benefit feel more affection for those who have received it than those who have received it feel for those who have conferred it; whereas justice seems to require the opposite. One might conceive that it occurs for reasons of utility and personal benefit; for benefit is owing to one party and it is the other party's duty to repay it. But really it is not this alone; it is also a law of nature—activity is a more desirable thing,

Such may be our decision on the subject of friendship for oneself and of friendship among more than one.

It is thought that what is just is something that is equal, and also that friendship is based on equality, if there is truth in the saying 'Amity is equality.' And all constitutions are some species of justice; for they are partnerships, and every partnership is founded on justice, so that there are as many species of justice and of partnership as there are of friendship, and all these species border on each other and have their differentia closely related. But since the relations of soul and body, craftsman and tool, and master and slave are similar, between the two terms of each of these pairs there is no partnership; for they are not two, but the former is one and the latter a part of that one, not one itself; nor is the good divisible between them, but that of both belongs to the one for whose sake they exist. For the body is the soul's tool born with it, a slave is as it were a member or tool of his master, a tool is a sort of inanimate slave.

The other partnerships are a constituent part of the partnerships of the state—for example that of the members of a brotherhood or a priesthood, or with business partnerships. All forms of constitution exist together in the household, both the correct forms and the deviations (for the same thing is found in constitutions as in the case of musical modes)— paternal authority being royal, the relationship of man and wife aristocratic, that of brothers a republic, while the deviation-forms of these are tyranny, oligarchy and democracy; and there are therefore as many varieties of justice.

And since there are two sorts of equality, numerical and proportional, there will also be various species of justice and of partnership and friendship. The partnership of democracy is based on numerical equality, and so is the friendship of comrades, as it is measured by the same standard; whereas the aristocratic partnership (which is the best) and the royal are proportional, for it is just for superior and inferior to have not the same share but proportional shares; and similarly also the friendship of father and son, and the same way in partnerships.

And since there are three sorts of friendship, based on goodness, on utility and on pleasure, and two varieties of each sort (for each of them is either on a basis of superiority or of equality), and what is just in relation to them is clear from our discussions, in the variety based on superiority the proportionate claims are not on the same lines, but the superior party claims by inverse proportion—the contribution of the inferior to stand in the same ratio to his own as he himself stands in to the inferior, his attitude being that of ruler to subject; or if not that, at all events he claims a numerically equal share (for in fact it happens in this way in other associations too—sometimes the shares are numerically equal, sometimes proportionally: if the parties contributed a numerically equal sum of money, they also take a share equal by numerical equality, if an unequal sum, a share proportionally equal). The inferior party on the contrary inverts the proportion, and makes a diagonal conjunction; but it would seem that in this way the superior comes off worse, and the friendship or partnership is a charitable service.Therefore equality must be restored and proportion secured by some other means; and this means is honor, which belongs by nature to a ruler and god in relation to a subject. But the profit must be made equal to the honor.

Friendship on a footing of equality is civic friendship. Civic friendship is, it is true, based on utility, and fellow-citizens are one another's friends in the same way as different cities are, and "Athens no longer knoweth Megara," nor similarly do citizens know one another, when they are not useful to one another; their friendship is a ready-money transaction. Nevertheless there is present here a ruling factor and a ruled—not a natural ruler or a royal one, but one that rules in his turn, and not for the purpose of conferring benefit, as God rules, but in order that he may have an equal share of the benefit and of the burden. Therefore civic friendship aims at being on a footing of equality. But useful friendship is of two kinds, the merely legal and the moral. Civic friendship looks to equality and to the object, as buyers and sellers do—hence the saying “ Unto a friend his wage—
”.

When, therefore, it is based on a definite agreement, this is civic and legal friendship; but when they trust each other for repayment, it tends to be moral friendship, that of comrades. Hence this is the kind of friendship in which recriminations most occur, the reason being that it is contrary to nature; for friendship based on utility and friendship based on goodness are different, but these people wish to have it both ways at once—they associate together for the sake of utility but make it out to be a moral friendship as between good men,

For in general, of the three kinds of friendship, it is in useful friendship that most recriminations occur (for goodness is not given to recrimination, and pleasant friends having got and given their share break it off, but useful friends do not dissolve the association at once, if their intercourse is on comradely and not merely legal lines); nevertheless the legal sort of useful friendship is not given to recrimination. The legal method of discharging the obligation is a matter of money, for that serves as a measure of equality; but the moral method is voluntary. Hence in some places there is a law prohibiting friendly associates of this sort from actions as to their voluntary contracts—rightly, since it is not natural for good men to go to law, and these men make their contracts as good men and as dealing with trustworthy people. And in fact in this sort of friendship the recriminations are doubtful on both sides—what line of accusation each party will take, inasmuch as their confidence was of a moral kind and not merely legal.

Indeed it is a question in which of two ways one ought to judge what is a just return, whether by looking at the actual amount or quality of the service rendered, or by its amount or quality for the recipient; for it may be as Theognis says—“ Goddess, 'tis small to thee, but great to me”, and also the result may be opposite, as in the saying 'This is sport to you but death to me.' Hence recriminations, as has been said; for one party claims recompense as having rendered a great service, because he did it for his friend in need, or saying something else of the sort as to how much it was worth in relation to the benefit given to the recipient and not what it was to himself, while the other party on the contrary speaks of how much it was to the donor and not bow much it was to himself. And at other times the position is reversed: the one says how little he got out of it, the other how much the service was worth to him—for instance, if by taking a risk he did the other a shilling's worth of benefit, the one talks about the amount of the risk and the other about the amount of the cash; just as in the repayment of a money loan, for there too the dispute turns on this—one claims to be repaid the value that the money had when lent,the other claims to repay it at the present value, unless they have put a proviso in the contract.

Civic friendship, then, looks at the agreement and to the thing, but moral friendship at the intention; hence the latter is more just—it is friendly justice. The cause of conflict is that moral friendship is nobler but friendship of utility more necessary; and men begin as being moral friends and friends on grounds of goodness, but when some private interest comes into collision it becomes clear that really they were different. For most men pursue what is fine only when they have a good margin in hand, and so with the finer sort of friendship too.

In friendships not based on direct reciprocity many causes of recrimination occur, and it is not easy to see what is just; for it is difficult to measure by one given thing relations that are not directly reciprocal. This is how it happens in love affairs, since in them one party pursues the other as a pleasant person to live with, but sometimes the other the one as useful, and when the lover ceases to love, he having changed the other changes, and then they calculate the quid pro quo, and quarrel as Pytho and Pammenesused, and as teacher and pupil do in general (for knowledge and money have no common measure), and as Herodicus the doctor did with the patient who offered to pay his fee with a discount, and as the harpist and the king fell out. The king associated with the harpist as pleasant and the harpist with the king as useful; but the king, when the time came for him to pay, made out that he was himself of the pleasant sort, and said that just as the harpist had given him pleasure by his singing, so he had given the harpist pleasure by his promises to him. Nevertheless here too it is clear how we must decide: here too we must measure by one standard, but by a ratio, not a number. For we must measure by proportion, as also the civic partnership is measured. For how is a shoemaker to be partner with a farmer unless their products are equalized by proportion? Therefore the measure for partnerships not directly reciprocal is proportion—for example if one party complains that he has given wisdom and the other says he has given the former money, what is the ratio of wisdom to being rich? and then, what is the amount given for each? for if one party has given half of the smaller amount but the other not even a small fraction of the larger, it is clear that the latter is cheating. But here too there is a dispute at the outset, if one says that they came together on grounds of utility and the other denies it and says it was on the basis of some other kind of friendship.

About the good friend and the friend on the basis of goodness, we must consider whether one ought to render useful services and assistance to him or to the friend who is able to make an equal return. This is the same problem as whether it is more one's duty to benefit a friend or a virtuous man. If a man is a friend and virtuous, perhaps it is not over-difficult, provided one does not exaggerate the one factor and underrate the other, benefiting him greatly as friend but only slightly as good. But in other cases many problems arise, for instance, if A was a friend but is going not to be and B is going to be but is not now, or if A became one but is not one now and B is one now but was not and is going not to be. But the former problem is more difficult. For possibly there is something in the lines of Euripides: 

“ Prithee take words as thy just pay for words,
But he, that gave a deed, a deed shall have;”

Friends in some cases wrong each other, because they love things more, not the possessor of them, and are friends of the possessor too on this account (just as a man chose his wine because it was sweet and chose his wealth because it was useful), for he is more useful.6 Hence naturally he is annoyed, just as if they had preferred his possessions to himself as being inferior; and they complain, for now they look to find in him the good man, having previously looked for the pleasant or the useful man.

We must also consider self-sufficiency and friendship, and the interrelationship of their potentialities. For one may raise the question whether if a person be self-sufficing in every respect he will have a friend, or whether on the contrary a friend is sought for in need, and the good man will be most self-sufficing. If the life that is combined with goodness is happy, what need would there be of a friend? For it does not belong to the self-sufficing man to need either useful friends or friends to amuse him and society, for he is sufficient society for himself. This is most manifest in the case of God; for it is clear that as he needs nothing more he will not need a friend, and that supposing he has no need of one he will not have one. Consequently the happiest human being also will very little need a friend, except in so far as to be self-sufficing is impossible. Of necessity, therefore, he who lives the best life will have fewest friends, and they will constantly become fewer, and he will not be eager to have friends but will think lightly not only of useful friends but also of those desirable for society. But assuredly even his case would seem to show that a friend is not for the sake of utility or benefit but that one loved on account of goodness is the only real friend. For when we are not in need of something, then we all seek people to share our enjoyments, and beneficiaries rather than benefactors; and we can judge them better when we are self-sufficing than when in need, and we most need friends who are worthy of our society.

But about this question we must consider whether perhaps, although the view stated is partly sound, in part the truth escapes us because of the comparison. The matter is clear if we ascertain what life in the active sense and as an End is. It is manifest that life is perception and knowledge, and that consequently social life is perception and knowledge in common. But perception and knowledge themselves are the thing most desirable for each individually (and it is owing to this that the appetition for life is implanted by nature in all, for living must be deemed a mode of knowing). If therefore one were to abstract and posit absolute knowledge and its negation (though this, it is true, is obscure in the argument as we have written it, but it may be observed in experience), there would be no difference between absolute knowledge and another person's knowing instead of oneself; but that is like another person's living instead of oneself, whereas perceiving and knowing oneself is reasonably more desirable. For two things must be taken into consideration together, that life is desirable and that good is desirable, and as a consequence that it is desirable for ourselves to possess a nature of that quality.

Therefore the argument in raising the question asserts the former position, but the facts of experience are obviously on the latter lines, so that it is clear that the raiser of the question in a way misleads us. We must therefore examine the truth from the following consideration: 'friend' really denotes, in the language of the proverb, 'another Hercules'—another self; but the characteristics are scattered, and it is difficult for all to be realized in the case of one person; though by nature a friend is what is most akin, yet one resembles his friend in body and another in spirit, and one in one part of the body or spirit, another in another. But still none the less a friend really means as it were a separate self. To perceive and to know a friend, therefore, is necessarily in a manner to perceive and in a manner to know oneself. Consequently to share even vulgar pleasures and ordinary life with a friend is naturally pleasant (for it always involves our simultaneously perceiving the friend), but more so to share the more divine pleasures; the reason of which is that it is always more pleasant to behold oneself enjoying the superior good,

But wisdom is not the only thing which acting in accordance with goodness causes welfare,

Yet someone may raise the question whether fortune is the cause of precisely this—forming a desire for the right thing at the right time. Or, on that showing, will not fortune be the cause of everything—even of thought and deliberation? since it is not the case, that one only deliberates when one has deliberated even previously to that deliberation, nor does one only think when one has previously thought before thinking, and so on to infinity, but there is some starting-point; therefore thought is not the starting-point of thinking, nor deliberation of deliberating. Then what else is, save fortune? It will follow that everything originates from fortune. Or shall we say that there is a certain starting-point outside which there is no other, and that this, merely owing to its being of such and such a nature, can produce a result of such and such a nature? But this is what we are investigating—what is the starting-point of motion in the spirit? The answer then is clear: as in the universe, so there, everything is moved by God; for in a manner the divine element in us is the cause of all our motions. And the starting-point of reason is not reason but something superior to reason. What, then, could be superior even to knowledge and to intellect, except God? Not goodness, for goodness is an instrument of the mind; and owing to this, as I was saying some time ago, those are called fortunate who although irrational succeed in whatever they start on. And it does not pay them to deliberate, for they have within them a principle of a kind that is better than mind and deliberation (whereas the others have reason but have not this): they have inspiration, but they cannot deliberate. For although irrational they attain even what belongs to the prudent and wise—swiftness of divination: only the divination that is based on reason we must not specify, but some of them attain it by experience and others by practice in the use of observation; and these men use the divine. For this quality discerns aright the future as well as the present, and these are the men whose reason is disengaged. This is why the melancholic even have dreams that are true; for it seems that when the reason is disengaged principle has more strength—

It is clear, then, that there are two kinds of good fortune—one divine, owing to which the fortunate man's success is thought to be due to the aid of God, and this is the man who is successful in accordance with his impulse, while the other is he who succeeds against his impulse. Both persons are irrational. The former kind is more continuous good fortune, the latter is not continuous.

We have, then, previously spoken about each virtue in particular; and as we have distinguished their meaning separately, we must also describe in detail the virtue constituted from them, to which we now give the name of nobility. Now it is manifest that one who is to obtain this appellation truly must possess the particular virtues; for it is impossible for it to be otherwise in the case of any other matter either—for instance, no one is healthy in his whole body but not in any part of it, but all the parts, or most of them and the most important, must necessarily be in the same condition as the whole. Now being good and being noble are really different not only in their names but also in themselves. For all goods have Ends that are desirable in and for themselves. Of these, all those are fine which are laudable as existing for their own sakes, for these are the Ends which are both the motives of laudable actions and laudable themselves—justice itself and its actions, and temperate actions, for temperance also is laudable; but health is not laudable, for its effect is not, nor is vigorous action laudable, for strength is not—these things are good but they are not laudable. And similarly induction makes this clear in the other cases also. Therefore a man is good for whom the things good by nature are good. For the things men fight about and think the greatest, honor and wealth and bodily excellences and pieces of good fortune and powers, are good by nature but may possibly be harmful to some men owing to their characters. If a man is foolish or unjust or profligate he would gain no profit by employing them, any more than an invalid would benefit from using the diet of a man in good health, or a weakling and cripple from the equipment of a healthy man and of a sound one. A man is noble because he possesses those good things that are fine for their own sake and because he is a doer of fine deeds even for their own sake; and the fine things are the virtues and the actions that arise from virtue.

But there is also a state of character that is the 'civic' character, such as the Spartans have or others like them may have; and this character is of the following sort. There are those who think that one ought, it is true, to possess goodness, but for the sake of the things that are naturally good;

We have also spoken about the nature of pleasure and the manner in which it is a good, and have said that things pleasant absolutely are also fine and that things good absolutely are also pleasant. Pleasure does not occur except in action; on this account the truly happy man will also live most pleasantly, and it is not without reason that people demand this.

But since a doctor has a certain standard by referring to which he judges the healthy body and the goods unhealthy, and in relation to which each thing up to a certain point ought to be done and is wholesome, but if less is done, or more, it ceases to be wholesome, so in regard to actions and choices of things good by nature but not laudable a virtuous man ought to have a certain standard both of character and of choice and avoidance;

Let this, then, be our statement of what is the standard of nobility and what is the aim of things absolutely good.