Aristotle 384 - 322 62  
Eudemian Ethics
1 About Me 8
2 Education
3 Philosophy
4 Politics
5 News
6 Travel
7 Sports
8 Funding
1 Problem and its Difficulties  1.7 0.
2 Pre- Aristotelian Accounts of Soul  1.7 0.
3 Movement as an attribute of Soul 1.9 0.
4 Harmony and Number as Explanations of Soul 1.9 0.
5 Soul not compounded of the Elements of Existence 2 0.
6 End is to get to know virtue 2.1 0.
7 Reasoned argument seems to mark a philosopher 2.1 0.
8 What the best is 2.3 0.
9 Sequence of factors 2.3 0.
10 universality might be an attribute of even a small good 1.6 0.
2 Nature of Soul & specific Forms.
12 42.6 35:30
1 Abstract Definition of Soul  .5 0.
2 Biological Description of Soul 2.5 0.
3 Psychic Faculties and their Relationship  2.4 0.
4 Nutrient Functions 2.2 0.
5 Sense- Perception in its General Features 2 0.
6 Three Kinds of Objects of Sense 1.7 0.
7 Sense of Sight 2.1 0.
8 Hearing and Sound 2.4 0.
9 Sense of Smell  2.5 0.
10 Taste and Flavour 2.2 0.
11 Touch and the Tangible 2.4 0.
12 Essential Character of Sense 2.4 0.
13 Desire leads a man on without employing persuasion 2.5 0.
14 Another way in which people are said to act under compulsion 2.4 0.
15 Voluntary seems to be the opposite of the involuntary 2.2 0.
16 Purposive choice is not opinion 2.3 0.
17 To investigate which would be an endless undertaking 2.2 0.
18 At all events it approximates to the truth in a way 2.2 0.
19 Goodness and badness have to do with pleasures and pains 2.6 0.
20 Goodness is the cause of the End aimed at by choice being right .9 0.
0 0 0.
Page Data
Menu .86 :44
Total 39,607 159 2:12
Menu to Body .5% 1/185
Chapters 30
Pages per chapter 5.3 4:26
1 Adequacy of the Senses for knowing all Sensible Qualities .9 0.
2 Consciousness of Sensation and the Discrimination of Perceptions as given by Sense 2.4 0.
3 Imagination as separating Sense from Thought 2.3 0.
4 Thought and the Intelligible 2.1 0.
5 Creative Reason 2.3 0.
6 Unifying Work of Thought 2 0.
7 Reason as related to its Sensuous Materials 2.1 0.
8 Ideas as embodied in Things 2.1 0.
9 Erroneous explanations of Man's Active Powers 2 0.
10 Desire and Reason as united in Will 2.2 0.
11 Comparison of Mental Images in Will 2.4 0.
12 How the Different Faculties are adapted to the Conditions of Human Life 2.1 0.
13 Sense of Touch as determining the animal Organism 1.8 0.
14 the mean does not occur in combination with either extreme 1.8 0.
7 24 52.3 43:35
8 8 15.4 12:50
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The man who at Delos set forth in the precinct of the god his own opinion composed an inscription for the forecourt of the temple of Leto in which he distinguished goodness, beauty and pleasantness as not all being properties of the same thing. His verses are: 

“ Justice is fairest, and Health is best,
But to win one's desire is the pleasantest.”

But for our part let us not allow that he is right; for Happiness is at once the pleasantest and the fairest and best of all things whatever.

About every thing and every natural species there are many views that involve difficulty and require examination; of these some relate only to our knowledge of the thing, others deal also with modes of acquiring it and of acting in relation to it. As to all those views therefore that involve only speculative philosophy, we must say whatever may be proper to the inquiry when the suitable occasion occurs. But we must consider first what the good life consists in and how it is to be obtained—whether all of those who receive the designation 'happy' acquire happiness by nature, as is the case with tallness and shortness of stature and differences of complexion, or by study, which would imply that there is a science of happiness, or by some form of training, for there are many human attributes that are not bestowed by nature nor acquired by study but gained by habituation—bad attributes by those trained in bad habits and good attributes by those trained in good ones. Or does happiness come in none of these ways, but either by a sort of elevation of mind inspired by some divine power, as in the case of persons possessed by a nymph or a god, or, alternatively, by fortune? for many people identify happiness with good fortune.

Now it is pretty clear that the presence of happiness is bestowed upon men by all of these things, or by some or one of them; for almost all the modes in which it is produced fall under these principles, inasmuch as all the acts that spring from thought may be included with those that spring from knowledge. But to be happy and to five blissfully and finely may consist chiefly in three things deemed to be most desirable: some people say that Wisdom4 is the greatest good, others Goodness and others Pleasure. And certain persons debate about their importance in relation to happiness,

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declaring that one contributes more to it than another—some holding that Wisdom is a greater good than Goodness, others the reverse, and others that Pleasure is a greater good than either of them; and some think that the happy life comes from them all, others from two of them, others that it consists in some one of them.

Having then in regard to this subject established that everybody able to live according to his own purposive choice should set before him some object for noble living to aim at—either honor or else glory or wealth or culture—on which he will keep his eyes fixed in all his conduct (since clearly it is a mark of much folly not to have one's life regulated with regard to some End), it is therefore most necessary first to decide within oneself, neither hastily nor carelessly, in which of the things that belong to us the good life consists, and what are the indispensable conditions for men's possessing it. For there is a distinction between health and the things that are indispensable conditions of health, and this is similarly the case with many other things; consequently also to live finely is not the same as the things without which living finely is impossible. And in the latter class of things some that are indispensable conditions of health and life are not peculiar to special people but common to practically all men—both some states and some actions—for instance, without breathing or being awake or participating in movement we could not possess any good or any evil at all; whereas others are more peculiar to special types of natural constitution— for instance, eating meat and taking walking exercise after dinner are not closely related to health in the same way as the conditions mentioned. And these facts must not be overlooked, for these are the causes of the disputes about the real nature of happiness and about the means of procuring it; for some people regard the things that are indispensable conditions of being happy as actual parts of happiness.

Now to examine all the opinions that any people hold about happiness is a superfluous task3 For children and the sick and insane have many opinions which no sensible man would discuss, for these persons need not argument but the former time in which to grow up and alter and the latter medical or official chastisement (treatment with drugs being chastisement just as much as flogging is). And similarly it is also superfluous to examine the opinions of the multitude either;

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for they talk at random about almost everything, and especially about happiness. We ought to examine only the opinions of the wise1; for it is out of place to apply reasoning to those who do not need reasoning at all, but experience. But since every subject has special difficulties related to it, it is clear that there are such in regard to the highest life and the best mode of existence; it is then well to examine the opinions putting these difficulties, since the refutations advanced by those who challenge them are demonstrations of the theories that are opposed to them.

Moreover to notice such matters is especially advantageous with a view to the subjects to which all inquiry ought to be directed—the question what are the means that make it possible to participate in living well and finely (if 'blissfully' is too invidious an expression)—and with a view to the hope that we may have of the things that are good in the various departments. For if living finely depends on things that come by fortune or by nature, it would be beyond the hopes of many men, for then its attainment is not to be secured by effort, and does not rest with men themselves and is not a matter of their own conduct; but if it consists in oneself and one's own actions having a particular quality, the good would be more common and more divine—more common because it would be possible for more people to share it, and more divine because happiness would then be in store for those who made themselves and their actions of a particular quality. Most of the points debated and the difficulties raised will be clear if it be satisfactorily determined what the proper conception of happiness is—does it consist merely in a person's possessing some particular quality of spirit, as some of the sages and the older thinkers held, or although a particular personal character is indeed an indispensable condition, is a particular quality of conduct even more necessary?

There are various different modes of life, and some do not lay any claim to well-being of the kind under consideration, but are pursued merely for the sake of things necessary—for instance the lives devoted to the vulgar and mechanic arts and those dealing with business (by vulgar arts I mean those pursued only for reputation, by mechanic the sedentary and wage-earning pursuits, and by arts of business those concerned with market purchase and retail selling); but on the other hand, the things related to the happy conduct of life being three, the things already mentioned3 as the greatest possible goods for men—goodness, wisdom and pleasure, we see that there are also three ways of life in which those to whom fortune gives opportunity invariably choose to live, the life of politics, the life of philosophy, and the life of enjoyment.

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Of these the philosophic life denotes being concerned with the contemplation of truth, the political life means being occupied with honorable activities (and these are the activities that spring from goodness), and the life of enjoyment is concerned with the pleasures of the body. Owing to this, different people give the name of happy to different persons, as was said before too; and Anaxagoras of Clazomenae when asked 'Who is the happiest man?' said 'None of those whom you think, but he would seem to you an odd sort of person.' But Anaxagoras answered in that way because he saw that the man who put the question supposed it to be impossible to receive the appellation 'happy' without being great and beautiful or rich, whereas he himself perhaps thought that the person who humanly speaking enjoys bliss is he that lives by the standard of justice without pain and in purity, or participates in some form of divine contemplation.

While there are many different things as to which it is not easy to make a right judgement, this is especially the case with one about which everybody thinks that it is very easy to judge and that anybody can decide—the question which of the things contained in being alive is preferable, and which when attained would fully satisfy a man's desire. For many of life's events are such that they cause men to throw life away, for instance, diseases, excessive pains, storms; so that it is clear that on account of these things any way it would actually be preferable, if someone offered us the choice, not to be born at all.3 And in addition, the kind of life that people live while still children is not desirable—in fact no sensible person could endure to go back to it again. And further, many of the experiences that contain no pleasure nor pain, and also of those that do contain pleasure but pleasure of an ignoble kind, are such that non-existence would be better than being alive. And generally, if one collected together the whole of the things that the whole of mankind do and experience yet do and experience unwillingly, because not for the sake of the things themselves, and if one added an infinite extent of time, these things would not cause a man to choose to be alive rather than not alive. But moreover, also the pleasure of food or of sex alone, with the other pleasures abstracted that knowledge or sight or any other of the senses provides for human beings, would not induce anybody to value life higher if he were not utterly slavish, for it is clear that to one making this choice there would be no difference between being born a beast or a man; at all events, the ox in Egypt,

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which they reverence as Apis, has a greater abundance of such indulgences than many monarchs. Nor likewise would anyone desire life for the pleasure of sleep either; for what is the difference between slumbering without being awakened from the first day till the last of a thousand or any number of years, and living a vegetable existence? any way plants seem to participate in life of that kind; and so do children too, inasmuch as at their first procreation in the mother, although alive, they stay asleep all the time. So that it is clear from considerations of this sort that the precise nature of well-being and of the good in life escapes our investigation.

Now it is said that when somebody persisted in putting various difficulties of this sort to Anaxagoras and went on asking for what object one should choose to come into existence rather than not, he replied by saying, 'For the sake of contemplating the heavens and the whole order of the universe.' Anaxagoras therefore thought that the alternative of being alive was valuable for the sake of some kind of knowledge; but those who ascribe bliss to Sardanapallus or Smindyrides of Sybaris3 or some of the others living the life of enjoyment, all appear for their part to place happiness in delight; while a different set would not choose either wisdom of any kind or the bodily pleasures in preference to the actions that spring from goodness: at all events, some people choose those actions not only for the sake of reputation but even when they are not going to get any credit. But the majority of those engaged in politics are not correctly designated 'politicians,' for they are not truly political, since the political man is one who purposely chooses noble actions for their own sake, whereas the majority embrace that mode of life for the sake of money and gain.

What has been said, therefore, demonstrates that all men ascribe happiness to three modes of life—the political, the philosophic, and the life of enjoyment. Among these, the nature and quality of the pleasure connected with the body and with enjoyment, and the means that procure it, are not hard to see; so that it is not necessary for us to inquire what these pleasures are, but whether they conduce at all to happiness or not, and how they so conduce, and, if it be the case that the noble life ought to have some pleasures attached to it, whether these are the pleasures that ought to be attached, or whether these must be enjoyed in some other way, whereas the pleasures which people reasonably believe to make the happy man's life pleasant and not merely painless are different ones.

But these matters must be examined later. Let us first consider Goodness and Wisdom—what the nature of each is, and also whether they themselves or the actions that spring from them are parts of the good life,

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since that they are connected with happiness is asserted, if not by everybody, at all events by all of mankind who are worthy of consideration.

Accordingly Socrates the senior thought that the End is to get to know virtue, and he pursued an inquiry into the nature of justice and courage and each of the divisions of virtue. And this was a reasonable procedure, since he thought that all the virtues are forms of knowledge, so that knowing justice and being just must go together, for as soon as we have learnt geometry and architecture, we are architects and geometricians; owing to which he used to inquire what virtue is, but not how and from what sources it is produced. But although this does happen in the case of the theoretical sciences, inasmuch as astronomy and natural science and geometry have no other End except to get to know and to contemplate the nature of the things that are the subjects of the sciences (although it is true that they may quite possibly be useful to us accidentally for many of our necessary requirements), yet the End of the productive sciences is something different from science and knowledge, for example the End of medicine is health and that of political science ordered government, or something of that sort, different from mere knowledge of the science. Although, therefore, it is fine even to attain a knowledge of the various fine things, all the same nevertheless in the case of goodness it is not the knowledge of its essential nature that is most valuable but the ascertainment of the sources that produce it. For our aim is not to know what courage is but to be courageous, not to know what justice is but to be just, in the same way as we want to be healthy rather than to ascertain what health is, and to be in good condition of body rather than to ascertain what good bodily condition is.

And about all these matters the endeavor must be made to seek to convince by means of rational arguments, using observed facts as evidences and examples. For the best thing would be if all mankind were seen to be in agreement with the views that will be stated, but failing that, at any rate that all should agree in some way. And this they will do if led to change their ground,3 for everyone has something relative to contribute to the truth, and we must start from this to give a sort of proof about our views; for from statements that are true but not clearly expressed, as we advance, clearness will also be attained, if at every stage we adopt more scientific positions in exchange for the customary confused statements. And in every investigation arguments stated in philosophical form are different from those that are non-philosophical; hence we must not think that theoretical study of such a sort as to make manifest not only the nature of a thing but also its cause is superfluous even for the political student, since that is the philosophic procedure in every field of inquiry. Nevertheless this requires much caution.

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For because to say nothing at random but use reasoned argument seems to mark a philosopher, some people often without being detected advance arguments that are not germane to the subject under treatment and that have nothing in them (and they do this sometimes through ignorance and sometimes from charlatanry), which bring it about that even men of experience and practical capacity are taken in by these people, who neither possess nor are capable of constructive or practical thought. And this befalls them owing to lack of education—for in respect of each subject inability to distinguish arguments germane to the subject from those foreign to it is lack of education. And it is also well to judge separately the statement of the cause and the demonstrated fact, both for the reason stated just now, that it is not proper in regard to all things to attend to theoretical arguments, but often rather to the facts of observation (whereas now when men are unable to refute an argument they are forced to believe what has been said), and also because often, although the result that seems to have been proved by the arguments is true, it is not true because of the cause asserted in the argument. For it is possible to prove truth by falsehood, as is clear from Analytics.

These prefatory remarks having also been made, let us proceed by starting first from the firststatements, which, as has been said, are not clearly expressed, afterwards seeking to discover clearly the essential nature of happiness. Now it is agreed that happiness is the greatest and best of human goods (and we say 'human' because there might very likely also be a happiness belonging to some higher being, for instance a god); since none of the other animals, which are inferior in nature to men, share in the designation 'happy,' for a horse is not happy, nor is a bird nor a fish nor any other existing thing whose designation does not indicate that it possesses in its nature a share of something divine, but it is by some other mode of participating in things good that one of them has a better life and another a worse.

But the fact that this is so must be considered later. At the present let us say that among things good some are within the range of action for a human being and others are not. And we make this distinction for the reason that some existing things do not participate in change at all, and therefore some good things do not, and these are perhaps in their nature the best things; and some things, though practicable, are only practicable for beings superior to us. And inasmuch as 'practicable' has two meanings (for both the Ends for which we act and the actions that we do as means to those Ends have to do with action—for example we class among things practicable both health and wealth and the pursuits that are followed for the sake of health and wealth, healthy exercise and lucrative business), it is clear that happiness must be set down as the best of the things practicable for a human being.

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We must consider, therefore, what the best is, and in how many senses the term is used. The answer seems to be principally contained in three views. For it is said that the best of all things is the Absolute Good, and that the Absolute Good is that which has the attributes of being the first of goods and of being by its presence the cause to the other goods of their being good; and both of these attributes, it is said, belong to the Form of good (I mean both being the first of goods and being by its presence the cause to the other goods of their being good), since it is of that Form that goodness is most truly predicated (inasmuch as the other goods are good by participation in and resemblance to the Form of good) and also it is the first of goods, for the destruction of that which is participated in involves the destruction of the things participating in the Form (which get their designation by participating in it), and that is the relation existing between what is primary and what is subsequent; so that the Form of good is the Absolute Good, inasmuch as the Form of good is separable from the things that participate in it, as are the other Forms also.

Now a thorough examination of this opinion belongs to another course of study, and one that for the most part necessarily lies more in the field of Logic, for that is the only science dealing with arguments that are at the same time destructive and general. But if we are to speak about it concisely, we say that in the first place to assert the existence of a Form not only of good but of anything else is an expression of logic and a mere abstraction (but this has been considered in various ways both in extraneous discourses and in those on philosophical lines); next, even granting that Forms and the Form of good exist in the fullest sense, surely this is of no practical value for the good life or for conduct.

For 'good' has many senses, in fact as many as 'being.' For the term 'is,' as it has been analyzed in other works, signifies now substance, now quality, now quantity, now time, and in addition to these meanings it consists now in undergoing change and now in causing it; and the good is found in each of these cases—in essence, as mind and God, in quality justice, in quantity moderation, in time opportunity, and as instances of change, the teacher and the taught. Therefore, just as being is not some one thing in respect of the categories mentioned, so neither is the good, and there is no one science either of the real or of the good. But also even the goods predicated in the same category, for example opportunity or moderation, do not fall within the province of a single science to study, but different sorts of opportunity and of moderation are studied by different sciences, for instance opportunity and moderation in respect of food are studied by medicine and gymnastics, in respect of military operations by strategics, and similarly in respect of another pursuit by another science; so that it can hardly be the case that the Absolute Good is the subject of only one science.

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Again, wherever there is a sequence of factors, a prior and a subsequent, there is not some common element beside these factors and that element separable; for then there would be something prior to the first in the series, for the common and separable term would be prior because when the common element was destroyed the first factor would be destroyed. For example, if double is the first of the multiples, the multiplicity predicated of them in common cannot exist as a separable thing, for then it will be prior to double, if it is the case that the common element is the Form, as it would be if one were to make the common element separable: for if justice is a good, and courage, there is then, they say, a Good-in-itself, so the term 'in itself' is added to the common definition. But what could this denote except that the good is eternal and separable? Yet a thing that is white for days is no more white than a thing that is white for one day, so that the good is no more good by being eternal; nor yet therefore is the common good the same as the Form, for it is the common property of all the goods.

Also the proper method of proving the Absolute Good is the contrary of the method now adopted. At present it is from things not admitted to possess goodness that they prove the things admitted to be good, for instance, they prove from numbers that justice and health are good, because they are arrangements and numbers— on the assumption that goodness is a property of numbers and monads because the Absolute Good is unity. But the proper method is to start from things admitted to be good, for instance health, strength, sobriety of mind, and prove that beauty is present even more in the unchanging; for all these admitted goods consist in order and rest, and therefore, if that is so, the things unchanging are good in an even greater degree, for they possess order and rest in a greater degree.— And it is a hazardous way of proving that the Absolute Good is unity to say that numbers aim at unity; for it is not clearly stated how they aim at it, but the expression is used in too unqualified a manner; and how can one suppose that things not possessing life can have appetition? One ought to study this matter carefully, and not make an unreasoned assumption about something as to which it is not easy to attain certainty even with the aid of reason.—And the statement that all existing things desire some one good is not true; each thing seeks its own particular good, the eye sight, the body health, and similarly another thing another good.

Such then are the difficulties indicating that the Absolute Good does not exist,—and that it is of no use for political science, but that this has a special good of its own, as have the other sciences also—for instance the good of gymnastics is good bodily condition.

Further there is also what has been written in the discourse: either the Class-form of the good is in itself useful to no science, or it is useful to all alike.

Further it is not practicable.

And similarly the good as universal also is not an Absolute Good

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(for universality might be an attribute of even a small good), and also it is not practicable; for medical science does not study how to procure an attribute that belongs to anything, but how to procure health, and similarly also each of the other practical sciences. But 'good' has many meanings, and there is a part of it that is beautiful, and one form of it is practicable but another is not. The sort of good that is practicable is that which is an object aimed at, but the good in things unchangeable is not practicable. It is manifest, therefore, that the Absolute Good we are looking for is not the Form of good, nor yet the good as universal, for the Form is unchangeable and impracticable, and the universal good though changeable is not practicable. But the object aimed at as End is the chief good, and is the cause of the subordinate goods and first of all; so that the Absolute Good would be this—the End of the goods practicable for man. And this is the good that comes under the supreme of all the practical sciences, which is Politics and Economics and Wisdom; for these states of character differ from the others in the fact that they are supreme (whether they differ at all from one another must be discussed later on1). And that the End stands in a causal relation to the means subordinate to it is shown by the method of teachers; they prove that the various means are each good by first defining the End, because the End aimed at is a cause: for example, since to be in health is so-and-so, what contributes to health must necessarily be so-and-so; the wholesome is the efficient cause of health, though only the cause of its existing—it is not the cause of health's being a good. Furthermore nobody proves that health is a good (unless he is a sophist and not a physician—it is sophists that juggle with irrelevant arguments), any more than he proves any other first principle.

After this we must take a fresh starting-point and consider, in regard to the good as End for man and in regard to the best of practicable goods, how many senses there are of the term 'best of all,' since this is best.

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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.

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This is clear from induction, for we posit this in all cases: for instance, there is a goodness that belongs to a coat, for a coat has a particular function and use, and the best state of a coat is its goodness; and similarly with a ship and a house and the rest. So that the same is true also of the spirit, for it has a work of its own. And therefore let us assume that the better the state is the better is the work of that state, and that as states stand in relation to one another so do the works that result from them. And the work of each thing is its End; from this, therefore, it is plain that the work is a greater good than the state, for the End is the best as being an End, since the greatest good is assumed as an End and as the ultimate object for the sake of which all the other things exist. It is clear, therefore, that the work is a greater good than the state and disposition. But the term 'work' has two meanings; for some things have a work that is something different from the employment of them, for instance the work of architecture is a house, not the act of building, that of medicine health, not the process of healing or curing, whereas with other things their work is the process of using them, for instance the work of sight is the act of seeing, that of mathematical science the contemplation of mathematical truths. So it follows that with the things whose work is the employment of them, the act of employing them must be of more value than the state of possessing them.

And these points having been decided in this way, we say that the same work belongs to a thing and to its goodness (although not in the same way): for example, a shoe is the work of the art of shoemaking and of the act of shoemaking; so if there is such a thing as shoemaking goodness and a good shoemaker, their work is a good shoe; and in the same way in the case of the other arts also.

Again, let us grant that the work of the spirit is to cause life, and that being alive is employment and being awake (for sleep is a kind of inactivity and rest); with the consequence that since the work of the spirit and that of its goodness are necessarily one and the same, the work of goodness would be good life. Therefore this is the perfect good, which as we saw is happiness. And it is clear from the assumptions laid down (for we said that happiness is the greatest good and that the Ends or the greatest of goods are in the spirit, but things in the spirit are either a state or an activity) that, since an activity is a better thing than a disposition and the best activity than the best state, and since goodness is the best state, the activity of goodness is the spirit's greatest good. But also we saw that the greatest good is happiness. Therefore happiness is the activity of a good spirit. And since we saw1 that happiness is something perfect, and life is either perfect or imperfect, and the same with goodness (for some goodness is a whole and some a part), but the activity of imperfect things is imperfect, it would follow that happiness is an activity of perfect life in accordance with perfect goodness.

And that our classification and definition of it are correct is evidenced by opinions that we all hold.

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For we think that to do well and live well are the same as to be happy; but each of these, both life and action, is employment and activity, inasmuch as active life involves employing things—the coppersmith makes a bridle, but the horseman uses it. There is also the evidence of the opinion that a person is not happy for one day only, and that a child is not happy, nor any period of life(hence also Solon's advice holds good, not to call a man happy while he is alive, but only when he has reached the end), for nothing incomplete is happy, since it is not a whole. And again, there are the praises given to goodness on account of its deeds, and panegyrics describing deeds (and it is the victorious who are given wreaths, not those who are capable of winning but do not win); and there is the fact that we judge a man's character from his actions. Also why is happiness not praised? It is because it is on account of it that the other things are praised, either by being placed in relation to it or as being parts of it. Hence felicitation, praise and panegyric are different things: panegyric is a recital of a particular exploit, praise a statement of a man's general distinction, felicitation is bestowed on an end achieved. From these considerations light is also thrown on the question sometimes raised—what is the precise reason why the virtuous are for half their lives no better than the base, since all men are alike when asleep? The reason is that sleep is inaction of the spirit, not an activity. Hence the goodness of any other part of the spirit, for instance the nutritive, is not a portion of goodness as a whole, just as also goodness of the body is not; for the nutritive part functions more actively in sleep, where as the sensory and appetitive parts are ineffective in sleep. But even the imaginations of the virtuous, so far as the imaginative faculty participates in any mode of motion, are better than those of the base, provided they are not perverted by disease or mutilation.

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,

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and the reasoning faculty is a principle controlling not reasoning but appetite and passions; therefore he must necessarily possess those parts. And just as a good constitution consists of the separate excellences of the parts of the body, so also the goodness of the spirit, as being an End, is composed of the separate virtues.

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,

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as even its name implies that it has its growth from habit, and by our often moving in a certain way a habit not innate in us is finally trained to be operative in that way (which we do not observe in inanimate objects, for not even if you throw a stone upwards ten thousand times will it ever rise upward unless under the operation of force)—let moral character then be defined as a quality of the spirit in accordance with governing reason that is capable of following the reason. We have then to say what is the part of the spirit in respect of which our moral characters are of a certain quality. And it will be in respect of our faculties for emotions according to which people are termed liable to some emotion, and also of the states of character according to which people receive certain designations in respect of the emotions, because of their experiencing or being exempt from some form of emotion.

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: 

Irascibility Spiritlessness4 Gentleness
Rashness Cowardice Courage
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Shamelessness Diffidence Modesty
Profligacy Insensitiveness Temperance
Envy (nameless) Righteous Indignation
Profit Loss The Just
Prodigality Meanness Liberality
Boastfulness Self-depreciation Sincerity
Flattery Surliness Friendliness
Subservience Stubbornness Dignity
Luxuriousness Endurance Hardiness
Vanity  Smallness of Spirit Greatness of Spirit
Extravagance Shabbiness Magnificence
Rascality Simpleness  Wisdom.

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,

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but it is the man that goes too far in not being annoyed even at the prosperity of the undeserving, and is easy going, as gluttons are in regard to food, whereas his opposite is difficult-tempered in respect of jealousy.— It is superfluous to state in the definition that the specified relation to each thing must not be accidental; no science whether theoretical or productive makes this addition to the definition either in discourse or in practice, but this addition is aimed against the logical quibbling of the sciences. Let us then accept these simple definitions, and let us make them more precise when we are speaking about the opposite dispositions. But these modes of emotion themselves are divided into species designated according to their difference in respect of time or intensity or in regard to one of the objects that cause the emotions. I mean for instance that a man is called quick-tempered from feeling the emotion of anger sooner than he ought, harsh and passionate from feeling it more than he ought, bitter from having a tendency to cherish his anger, violent and abusive owing to the acts of retaliation to which his anger gives rise. Men are called gourmands or gluttons and drunkards from having an irrational liability to indulgence in one or the other sort of nutriment.

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.

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But we say that men are wicked owing to pleasures and pains, through pursuing and avoiding the wrong ones or in the wrong way. Hence all men readily define the virtues as insensitiveness or tranquillity in regard to pleasures and pains, and the vices by the opposite qualities.

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;

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yet there is also excess in the direction of being gentle and placable and not being angry when struck, but men of that sort are few, and everyone is more prone to the other extreme; on which account moreover a passionate temper is not a characteristic of a toady.

And since we have dealt with the scheme of states of character in respect of the various emotions in which there are excesses and deficiencies, and of the opposite states in accordance with which men are disposed in accordance with right principle (though the question what is the right principle and what rule is to guide us in defining the mean must be considered later), it is evident that all the forms of moral goodness and badness have to do with excesses and deficiencies of pleasures and pains, and that pleasures and pains result from the states of character and modes of emotion mentioned. But then the best state in relation to each class of thing is the middle state. It is clear, therefore, that the virtues will be either all or some of these middle states.

Let us, therefore, take another starting-point for the ensuing inquiry. Now all essences are by nature first principles of a certain kind, owing to which each is able to generate many things of the same sort as itself, for example a man engenders men, and in general an animal animals, and a plant plants. And in addition to this, obviously man alone among animals initiates certain conduct— for we should not ascribe conduct to any of the others. And the first principles of that sort, which are the first source of motions, are called first principles in the strict sense, and most rightly those that have necessary results; doubtless God is a ruling principle that acts in this way. But the strict sense of 'first principle' is not found in first principles incapable of movement, for example those of mathematics, although the term is indeed used of them by analogy, for in mathematics if the first principle were changed virtually all the things proved from it would change, though they do not change owing to themselves, one being destroyed by the other, except by destroying the assumption and thereby establishing a proof. But man is a first principle of a certain motion, for action is motion. And since as in other matters the first principle is a cause of the things that exist or come into existence because of it, we must think as we do in the case of demonstrations. For example, if as the angles of a triangle are together equal to two right angles the angles of a quadrilateral are necessarily equal to four right angles, that the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles is clearly the cause of that fact; and supposing a triangle were to change, a quadrilateral would necessarily change too—for example if the angles of a triangle became equal to three right angles, the angles of a quadrilateral would become equal to six right angles, or if four, eight; also if a triangle does not change but is as described, a quadrilateral too must of necessity be as described.

The necessity of what we are arguing is clear from Analytics; at present we cannot either deny or affirm anything definitely except just this. Supposing there were no further cause of the triangle's having the property stated, then the triangle would be a sort of first principle or cause of the later stages. Hence if in fact there are among existing things some that admit of the opposite state, their first principles also must necessarily have the same quality.

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 for of things that are of necessity the result is necessary, albeit the subsequent stages may possibly happen in the opposite way. And the things that depend on men themselves in many cases belong to this class of variables, and men are themselves the first principle of things of this sort. Hence it is clear that all the actions of which a man is the first principle and controller may either happen or not happen, and that it depends on himself for them to happen or not, as he controls their existence or non-existence. But of things which it depends on him to do or not to do he is himself the cause, and what he is the cause of depends on himself. And since goodness and badness and the actions that spring from them are in some cases praiseworthy and in other cases blameworthy (for praise and blame are not given to things that we possess from necessity or fortune or nature but to things of which we ourselves are the cause, since for things of which another person is the cause, that person has the blame and the praise), it is clear that both goodness and badness have to do with things where a man is himself the cause and origin of his actions. We must, then, ascertain what is the kind of actions of which a man is himself the cause and origin. Now we all agree that each man is the cause of all those acts that are voluntary and purposive for him individually, and that he is not himself the cause of those that are involuntary. And clearly he commits voluntarily all the acts that he commits purposely. It is clear, then, that both goodness and badness will be in the class of things voluntary.

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;

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so that the uncontrolled man will act unrighteously by acting in conformity with desire. But unrighteous action is voluntary. Therefore he will be acting voluntarily, and action guided by desire is voluntary. Indeed it would be strange if those who become uncontrolled will be more righteous.— From these considerations, then, it would appear that what is in conformity with desire is voluntary; and from this the oppositefollows, for all that a man does voluntarily he wishes to do, and what he wishes to do he does voluntarily, but nobody wishes what he thinks to be bad. But yet the uncontrolled man does not do what he wishes, for being uncontrolled means acting against what one thinks to be best owing to desire; hence it will come about that the same person is acting voluntarily and involuntarily at the same time. But this is impossible. And further, the self-controlled man will act righteously, or more righteously than lack of control will; for self-control is goodness, and goodness makes men more righteous. And a man exercises self-control when he acts against his desire in conformity with rational calculation. So that if righteous action is voluntary, as also unrighteous action (for both of these seem to be voluntary, and if one of them is voluntary it follows of necessity that the other is also), whereas what is contrary to desire is involuntary, it therefore follows that the same person will do the same action voluntarily and involuntarily at the same time.

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,

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but rather everything that one wishes is also voluntary—it has only been proved that it is possible to do a thing voluntarily without wishing; but many things that we wish we do suddenly, whereas nobody makes a purposive choice suddenly.

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;

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 whereas desire leads a man on without employing persuasion, since it possesses no element of rational principle. It has, then, been stated that these men only seem to act under force and involuntarily; and we have shown the reason—it is because their action has a certain resemblance to forced action, just as we speak of forced action even in the case of inanimate objects too. Yet nevertheless if one added there also the addition made in our definition, the statement is refuted. For we speak of a thing as being forced to act when something external moves it or brings it to rest, acting against the impulse within the thing itself—when there is no external motive, we do not say that it acts under force; and in the uncontrolled man and the self-controlled it is the impulse present in the man himself that drives him (for he has both impulses), so that as far as these considerations go neither of them would be acting under force, but voluntarily; nor yet are they acting of necessity, for by necessity we mean an external principle that either checks or moves a man in opposition to his impulse—as if A were to take hold of B's hand and with it strike C, B's will and desire both resisting; whereas when the source of action is from within, we do not speak of the act as done under force. Again, both pleasure and pain are present in both cases; for a man exercising self-control both feels pain when he finally acts in opposition to his desire and enjoys the pleasure of hoping that he will be benefited later on, or is even being benefited already, by being in good health; and the uncontrolled man enjoys getting what he desires owing to his lack of self-control, but feels prospective pain because he thinks he is doing a bad thing. Hence it is reasonable to say that each does what he does under compulsion, and that each is at one point acting involuntarily, from motives both of appetition and of rational calculation—for calculation and appetition are things quite separate, and each is pushed aside by the other. Hence men transfer this to the spirit as a whole, because they see something of this sort in the experiences of the spirit. Now it is admissible to say this in the case of the parts, but the spirit as a whole both in the uncontrolled and in the self-controlled man acts voluntarily, and in neither case does the man act under compulsion, but one of the parts in them so acts—for we possess by nature both parts; since rational principle is a natural property, because it will be present in us if our growth is allowed and not stunted, and also desire is natural, because it accompanies and is present in us from birth; and these are pretty nearly the two things by which we define the natural—it is what accompanies everybody as soon as he is born, or else what comes to us if development is allowed to go on regularly, for example grey hair, old age, etc. Therefore each of the two persons in a way acts not in accordance with nature, but absolutely each does act according to nature, though not according to the same nature. The difficulties, then, raised about the uncontrolled and the self-controlled man are these: do both, or does one of them, act under compulsion, so that they either act not voluntarily or else voluntarily and under compulsion at the same time—and if what is done under compulsion is involuntary, act voluntarily and involuntarily at the same time? And it is fairly clear from what has been said how these difficulties are to be met.
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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.

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Now the voluntary seems to be the opposite of the involuntary; and acting with knowledge of either the person acted on or the instrument or the result (for sometimes the agent knows that it is his father but does not intend to kill him but to save him—as the Peliads did—or knows that what he is offering is a drink but offers it as a love-charm or wine, when really it is hemlock) seems to be the opposite of acting without knowing the person acted on, the instrument and the nature of the act, through ignorance and not by accident. But to act through ignorance of the act, the means and the person acted on is involuntary action. Therefore the opposite is voluntary. It follows then that all the things that a man does not in ignorance, and through his own agency, when it is in his power not to do them, are voluntary acts, and it is in this that the voluntary consists; and all the things that he does in ignorance, and through being in ignorance, he does involuntarily. But since to understand or know has two meanings, one being to have the knowledge and the other to use it, a man who has knowledge but is not using it would in one case be justly described as acting in ignorance but in another case unjustly— namely, if his non-employment of the knowledge were due to carelessness. And similarly one would be blamed for not having the knowledge, if it were something that was easy or necessary and his not having it is due to carelessness or pleasure or pain. These points therefore must be added to our definition. Let this, then, be our mode of definition about the voluntary and involuntary.

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.

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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,

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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;

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for even if it is not precisely accurate, yet at all events it approximates to the truth in a way. But we will speak about this in our examination of justice. As to purposive choice, it is clear that it is not absolutely identical with wish nor with opinion, but is opinion plus appetition when these follow as a conclusion from deliberation.

But since one who deliberates always deliberates for the sake of some object, and a man deliberating always has some aim in view with reference to which he considers what is expedient, nobody deliberates about his End, but this is a starting-point or assumption, like the postulates in the theoretic sciences (we have spoken about this briefly at the beginning of this discourse, and in detail in Analytics); whereas with all men deliberation whether technical or untechnical is about the means that lead to their End, e.g. when they deliberate about whether to go to war or not to go to war with a given person. And the question of means will depend rather on a prior question, that is, the question of object, for instance wealth or pleasure or something else of that kind which happens to be our object. For one who deliberates deliberates if he has considered, from the standpoint of the End, either what tends to enable him to bring the End to himself or how he can himself go to the End. And by nature the End is always a good and a thing about which men deliberate step by step (for example a doctor may deliberate whether he shall give a drug, and a general where he shall pitch his camp) when their End is the good that is the absolute best; but in contravention of nature and by perversion not the good but the apparent good is the End. The reason is that there are some things that cannot be employed for something other than their natural objects, for instance sight—it is not possible to see a thing that is not visible, or to hear a thing that is not audible; but a science does enable us to do a thing that is not the object of the science. For health and disease are not the objects of the same science in the same way: health is its object in accordance with nature, and disease in contravention of nature. And similarly, by nature good is the object of wish, but evil is also its object in contravention of nature; by nature one wishes good, against nature and by perversion one even wishes evil.

But moreover with everything its corruption and perversion are not in any chance direction, but leads to the contrary and intermediate states. For it is not possible to go outside these, since even error does not lead to any chance thing, but, in the case of things that have contraries, to the contraries, and to those contraries that are contrary according to their science. It therefore necessarily follows that both error and purposive choice take place from the middle point to the contraries (the contraries of the middle being the more and the less).—And the cause is pleasure and pain; for things are so constituted that the pleasant appears to the spirit good and the more pleasant better, the painful bad and the more painful worse. 

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 So from these things also it is clear that goodness and badness have to do with pleasures and pains; for they occur in connection with the objects of purposive choice, and this has to do with good and bad and what appears to be good and bad, and pleasure and pain are by nature things of that kind.

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,

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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.

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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—

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 they fall short in daring and exceed in being afraid), it is clear that the middle state of character between daring and cowardice is courage, for this is the best state.

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.

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Or is it not possible that he may feel fear in the way described? For courage is following reason, and reason bids us choose what is fine. Hence he who endures formidable things not on account of reason is either out of his mind or daring, but only he who does so from motives of honor is fearless and brave. The coward, therefore, fears even things that he ought not to fear, and the daring man is bold even about things about which he ought not to be bold, but the brave man alone does both as he ought, and is intermediate in this respect, for he feels both confidence and fear about what ever things reason bids; but reason does not bid him endure things that are extremely painful and destructive, unless they are fine. The daring man, therefore, faces such things with confidence even if reason does not bid him face them, and the coward does not face them even if it does, but only the brave man faces them if reason bids.

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.

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Hence some people who are even very soft about certain things are brave, and some who are hard and enduring are also cowardly. Moreover it is thought to be almost a special property of courage to be of a certain disposition in regard to death and the pain of death; for if a man were such as to be capable of rational endurance in respect of heat and cold and pains of that sort that are not dangerous, but at the same time soft and excessively timid about death, not because of any other feeling but just because it brings destruction, while another man was soft in regard to those pains but impassive as regards death, the former would be thought a coward and the latter brave. For we speak of danger only in the case of such formidable things as bring near to us what causes destruction of that sort, and when this appears near it appears to be danger.

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:

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“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
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
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:

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'undivided' means both that which cannot be divided and that which though it can be has not been; and similarly with 'unchaste'—it denotes both that which is by nature incapable of chastening and that which, though capable, has not actually been chastened in respect of the errors as regards which the temperate man acts rightly, as is the case with children; for of them it is in this sense that the term 'unchaste' is used, whereas another use of it again refers to persons hard to cure or entirely incurable by chastisement. But though 'profligacy' has more than one sense, it is clear that the profligate are concerned with certain pleasures and pains and that they differ from one another and from the other vicious characters in being disposed in a certain manner towards these; and we described previously the way in which we apply the term 'profligacy' by analogy. Persons on the other hand who owing to insensitiveness are uninfluenced by these pleasures are called by some people 'insensitive' and by others are designated by other names of the same sort; but the state is not a very familiar one nor of common occurrence, because all men err more in the other direction, and susceptibility and sensitiveness to pleasures of this sort are natural to everybody. It specially attaches to persons like the boors who are a stock character in comedy— people who steer clear of pleasures even in moderate and necessary indulgences.

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—

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e.g. harmonious sound, or beauty; for clearly they are not affected in any degree worth speaking of by the mere sight of beautiful objects or by listening to musical sounds, except possibly in the case of some miraculous occurrences. Nor yet are they sensitive to good or bad smells, although it is true that all their senses are keener than man's; but even the smells they enjoy are those that have agreeable associations, and are not intrinsically agreeable. By smells not intrinsically agreeable I mean those that we enjoy because of either anticipation or recollection, for example the smell of things to eat or drink, for we enjoy these scents on account of a different pleasure, that of eating or drinking; by intrinsically agreeable I mean scents such as those of flowers (this is the reason of Stratonicus's neat remark that the scent of flowers is beautiful but that of things to eat and drink sweet). For even the pleasures of taste are not all attractive to animals, nor are those perceived with the tip of the tongue, but those perceived by the throat, the sensation of which seems more like touch than taste; so that gourmands do not pray that they may have a long tongue but a crane's gullet, like Philoxenus son of Eryxis. It follows that broadly speaking profligacy must be considered to be related to the objects of touch, and likewise it is with pleasures of that sort that the profligate is concerned; for tippling and gluttony and lechery and gormandizing and the like all have to do with the sensations specified, and these are the departments into which profligacy is divided. But nobody is called profligate if he exceeds in regard to the pleasures of sight or hearing or smell; those errors we criticize without severe rebuke, and generally all the things included under the term 'lack of self-control': the uncontrolled are not profligate, yet they are not temperate.

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,

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and the deficiency will either be nameless or will be denoted by the terms mentioned. We shall have to define the class of pleasures concerned more exactly in our discussion of Self-control and Lack of Control later on.

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,

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for example a shoe or a cloak, is proper to the article itself, another is accidental, though not as using a shoe for a weight would be an accidental use of it, but for example selling it or letting it on hire, for these uses do employ it as a shoe. The covetous man is the party whose interest centers on money, and money is a thing of ownership instead of accidental use. But the mean man might be even prodigal in regard to the accidental mode of getting wealth, inasmuch as it is in the natural acquisition of wealth that he pursues increase. The prodigal man lacks necessities, but the liberal man gives his superfluity. And of these classes themselves there are species designated as exceeding or deficient in respect of parts of the matter concerned: for example, the stingy man, the skinflint and the profiteer are mean—the stingy in not parting with money, the profiteer in accepting anything, the skinflint is he who is very excited about small sums; also the man who offends by way of meanness is a false reckoner and a cheat. Similarly 'prodigal' includes the spendthrift who is prodigal in unregulated spending and the reckless man who is prodigal in not being able to endure the pain of calculation.

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:

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for example, courage makes a man disdainful of dangers, for he thinks that to consider danger a great matter is a disgraceful thing, and that numbers are not always formidable; and the sober-minded man disdains great and numerous pleasures, and the liberal man wealth. But the reason why this is thought characteristic of the great-spirited man is because of his caring about few things and those great ones, and not about whatever somebody else thinks. And a great-spirited man would consider more what one virtuous man thinks than what many ordinary people think, as Antiphon after his condemnation said to Agathon when he praised his speech for his defence. And a feeling thought to be specially characteristic of the great-spirited man is disdain. On the other hand, as to the accepted objects of human interest, honor, life, wealth, he is thought to care nothing about any of them except honor; it would grieve him to be dishonored and ruled by someone unworthy, and his greatest joy is to obtain honor.

Thus he might therefore be thought inconsistent, on the ground that to be specially concerned about honor and to be disdainful of the multitude and of reputation do not go together. But in saying this we must distinguish. Honor is small or great in two ways: it differs in being conferred either by many ordinary people or by persons of consideration, and again it differs in what it is conferred for, since its greatness does not depend only on the number or the quality of those who confer it, but also on its being honorable; and in reality those offices and other good things are honorable and worthy of serious pursuit that are truly great, so that there is no goodness without greatness; owing to which each of the virtues seems to make men great-spirited in regard to the things with which that virtue is concerned, as we said. But nevertheless there is a single virtue of greatness of spirit side by side with the other virtues, so that the possessor of this virtue must be termed great-spirited in a special sense. And since there are certain goods which are in some cases honorable and in others not, according to the distinction made before, and of goods of this sort some are truly great and others small, and some men deserve and claim the former, it is among these men that the great-spirited man must be looked for. And there are necessarily four varieties of claim: it is possible to deserve great things and to claim them as one's desert; and there are small things and a man may deserve and claim things of that size; and as regards each of these two classes of things the reverse is possible—one man may be of such a character that although deserving small things he claims great ones—the goods held in high honor, and another man though deserving great things may claim small ones. Now the man worthy of small things but claiming great ones is blameworthy, for it is foolish and not fine to obtain what does not correspond to one's deserts. And he also is blameworthy who though worthy of such things does not deem himself worthy to partake of them although they are available for him. 

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But there is left here the man who is the opposite of both of these, who being worthy of great things claims them as his desert, and is of such a character as to deem himself worthy: he is praiseworthy, and he is in the middle between the two. Since, therefore, greatness of spirit is the best disposition in relation to the choice and the employment of honor and of the other good things that are esteemed, and not in relation to useful things, and since we assign this to the great-spirited man, and since also at the same time the middle state is most praiseworthy, it is clear that even greatness of spirit must be a middle state. And of the opposites as shown in our diagram, the one in the direction of deeming oneself worthy of great goods when one is not worthy is vanity (for the sort of men that fancy themselves worthy of great things though they are not we call vain), and the one that is concerned with not deeming oneself worthy of great things when one is worthy of them is smallness of spirit (for if a man does not think himself worthy of anything great although he possesses qualities which would justly make him considered worthy of it, he is thought small-spirited); so that it follows that greatness of spirit is a middle state between vanity and smallness of spirit. But the fourth of the persons in our classification is neither entirely reprehensible nor is he great spirited, as he is concerned with nothing possessing greatness, for he neither is nor thinks himself worthy of great things; owing to which he is not the opposite of the man of great spirit. Yet thinking oneself worthy of small things when one is worthy of small things might be thought the opposite of thinking oneself worthy of great ones when one is worthy of great ones; but he is not opposite to the great-spirited man because he is not blameworthy either, for his character is as reason bids, and in nature he is the same as the great-spirited man, for both claim as their desert the things that they are worthy of. And he might become great-spirited, for he will claim the things that he is worthy of; whereas the small-spirited man, who when great goods corresponding to his worth are available does not think himself worthy of them—what would he have done if his deserts were small? For either he would have conceitedly thought himself worthy of great things, or of still less. Hence nobody would call a man small-spirited for not claiming to hold office and submitting to authority if he is a resident alien, but one would do so if he were of noble birth and attached great importance to office.

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.

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For instance if a rich man spending money on the wedding of a favorite thinks it fitting for him to have the sort of arrangements that would be fitting when entertaining abstainers, he is shabby, while one who entertains guests of that sort after the manner of a wedding feast, if he does not do it for the sake of reputation or to gain an office, resembles the swaggerer; but he that entertains suitably and as reason directs is magnificent, for the fitting is the suitable, as nothing is fitting that is unsuitable. But it must be fitting in each particular, that is, in suitability to the agent and to the recipient and to the occasion—for example, what is fitting at the wedding of a servant is not what is fitting at that of a favorite; and it is fitting for the agent himself, if it is of an amount or quality suitable to him—for example people thought that the mission that Themistocles conducted to Olympia was not fitting for him, because of his former low station, but would have been for Cimon. But he who is casual in regard to the question of suitability is not in any of these classes.

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,

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he that exaggerates his merits is a charlatan, he that speaks of himself as he is is truthful and in Homer's phrase 'sagacious'; and in general the one is a lover of truth and the others lovers of falsehood.Wittiness also is a middle state, and the witty man is midway between the boorish or stiff man and the buffoon. For just as in the matter of food the squeamish man differs from the omnivorous in that the former takes nothing or little, and that reluctantly, and the latter accepts everything readily, so the boor stands in relation to the vulgar man or buffoon—the former takes no joke except with difficulty, the latter accepts everything easily and with pleasure. Neither course is right: one should allow some things and not others, and on principle,—that constitutes the witty man. The proof of the formula is the same as in the other cases: wittiness of this kind (not the quality to which we apply the term in a transferred sense) is a very becoming sort of character, and also a middle state is praiseworthy, whereas extremes are blameworthy. But as there are two kinds of wit (one consisting in liking a joke, even one that tells against oneself if it is funny, for instance a jeer, the other in the ability to produce things of this sort), these kinds of wit differ from one another, but both are middle states; for a man who can produce jokes of a sort that will give pleasure to a person of good judgement even though the laugh is against himself will be midway between the vulgar man and the frigid. This is a better definition than that the thing said must not be painful to the victim whatever sort of man he may be—rather, it must give pleasure to the man in the middle position, since his judgement is good.

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,

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because the mean does not occur in combination with either extreme, whereas the extremes often do occur in combination with one another, and sometimes the same men are venturesome cowards, or extravagant in some things and illiberal in others, and in general not uniform in a bad way— for when men lack uniformity in a good way, this results in men of the middle characters, since the mean contains both extremes.

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.

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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;

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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
“ 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.
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,

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when it dies, as a corpse is useless—but people that have a use for it keep it, as in Egypt. Now all these factors1 seem to be somewhat opposed to one another. For like is of no use to like and opposition is farthest removed from likeness, and at the same time opposite is most useless to opposite, since opposite is destructive of opposite. Moreover some think that to gain a friend is easy, but others that it is the rarest thing to recognize a friend, and not possible without misfortune, as everybody wants to be thought a friend of the prosperous; and others maintain that we must not trust even those who stay with us in our misfortunes, because they are deceiving us and pretending, in order that by associating with us when unfortunate they may gain our friendship when we are again prosperous.

Accordingly a line of argument must be taken that will best explain to us the views held on these matters and at the same time solve the difficulties and contradictions. And this will be secured if the contradictory views are shown to be held with some reason. For such a line of argument will be most in agreement with the observed facts: and in the upshot, if what is said is true in one sense but not true in another, both the contradictory views stand good.

There is also a question as to whether what is dear to us is the pleasant or the good. If we hold dear what we desire (and that is specially characteristic of love, for "None is a lover that holds not dear for aye"2), and desire is for what is pleasant, on this showing it is the pleasant that is dear; whereas if we hold dear what we wish, it is the good; but the pleasant and the good are different things.

We must therefore attempt to decide about these matters and others akin to them, taking as a starting point the following. The thing desired and wished is either the good or the apparent good. Therefore also the pleasant is desired, for it is an apparent good, since some people think it good, and to others it appears good even though they do not think it so (as appearance and opinion are not in the same part of the spirit).3 Yet it is clear that both the good and the pleasant are dear.

This being decided, we must make another assumption. Things good are some of them absolutely good, others good for someone but not good absolutely; and the same things are absolutely good and absolutely pleasant. For things advantageous for a healthy body we pronounce good for the body absolutely, but things good for a sick body not—for example doses of medicine and surgical operations; and likewise also the things pleasant for a healthy and perfect body are pleasant for the body absolutely, for example to live in the light and not in the dark, although the reverse is the case for a man with ophthalmia. And the pleasanter wine is not the wine pleasant to a man whose palate has been corrupted by tippling, since sometimes they pour in a dash of vinegar, but to the uncorrupted taste. 

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And similarly also in the case of the spirit, the really pleasant things are not those pleasant to children and animals, but those pleasant to the adult; at least it is these that we prefer when we remember both. And as a child or animal stands to an adult human being, so the bad and foolish man stands to the good and wise man; and these take pleasure in things that correspond to their characters, and these are things good and fine.

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)
On the other hand friendship based on pleasure is the friendship of the young, for they have a sense of what is pleasant; hence young people's friendship easily changes, for since their characters change as they grow up, their taste in pleasure also changes. But the friendship in conformity with goodness is the friendship of the best men.
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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;

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and the two ought to come into agreement. This is effected by goodness; and the purpose of political science is to bring it about in cases where it does not yet exist. And one who is a human being is well adapted to this and on the way to it (for by nature things that are absolutely good are good to him), and similarly a man rather than a woman and a gifted man rather than a dull one; but the road is through pleasure—it is necessary that fine things shall be pleasant. When there is discord between them, a man is not yet perfectly good; for it is possible for unrestraint to be engendered in him, as unrestraint is caused by discord between the good and the pleasant in the emotions.

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,

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 and the friend is an object of love to the friend qua dear to him but not qua musician or medical man, the pleasure of friendship is the pleasure derived from the person himself qua himself; for the friend loves him as himself, not because he is something else. Consequently if he does not take pleasure in him qua good, it is not the primary friendship. Nor ought any accidental quality to cause more hindrance than the friend's goodness causes delight; for surely, if a person is very evil-smelling, people cut him—he must be content with our goodwill, he must not expect our society!

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.”

Those who become friends without the test of time are not real friends but only wish to be friends; and such a character very readily passes for friendship, because when eager to be friends they think that by rendering each other all friendly services they do not merely wish to be friends but actually are friends. But as a matter of fact it happens in friendship as in everything else; people are not healthy merely if they wish to be healthy, so that even if people wish to be friends they are not actually friends already. A proof of this is that people who have come into this position without first testing one another are easily set at variance; for though men are not set at variance easily about things in which they have allowed each other to test them, in cases where they have not, whenever those who are attempting to set then, at variance produce evidence they may be convinced. At the same time it is manifest that this friendship does not occur between base people either; for the base and evil-natured man is distrustful towards everybody, because he measures other people by himself. Hence good men are more easily cheated, unless as a result of trial they are distrustful. But the base prefer the goods of nature to a friend, and none of them love people more than things; and so they are not friends, for the proverbial 'common property as between friends' is not realized in this way—the friend is made an appendage of the things, not the things of the friends.

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.

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For a friend is not to be had without trial and is not a matter of a single day, but time is needed; hence the peck of salt' has come to be proverbial. At the same time if a friend is really to be your friend he must be not only good absolutely but also good to you; for a man is good absolutely by being good, but he is a friend by being good to another, and he is both good absolutely and a friend when both these attributes harmonize together, so that what is good absolutely is also good for another person; or also he may be not good absolutely yet good to another because useful. But being a friend of many people at once is prevented even by the factor of affection, for it is not possible for affection to be active in relation to many at once.

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.

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It is also possible for a bad man to be friends with a good man, for the bad man may be useful to the good man for his purpose at the time-and the good man to the uncontrolled man for his purpose at the time and to the bad man for the purpose natural to him; and he will wish his friend what is good—wish absolutely things absolutely good, and under a given condition things good for him, as poverty or disease may be beneficial: things good for him he will wish for the sake of the absolute goods, in the way in which he wishes his friend to drink medicine—he does not wish the action in itself but wishes it for the given purpose. Moreover a bad man may also be friends with a good one in the ways in which men not good may be friends with one another: he may be pleasant to him not as being bad but as sharing some common characteristic, for instance if he is musical. Again they may be friends in the way in which there is some good in everybody (owing to which some men are sociable even though good), or in the way in which they suit each particular person, for all men have something of good.

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.

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There being then, as has been said, three kinds of friendship, based on goodness, utility and pleasantness, these are again divided in two, one set being on a footing of equality and the other on one of superiority. Though both sets, therefore, are friendships, only when they are on an equality are the parties friends; for it would be absurd for a man to be a friend of a child, though he does feel affection for him and receive it from him. In some cases, while the superior partner ought to receive affection, if he gives it he is reproached as loving an unworthy object; for affection is measured by the worth of the friends and by one sort of equality. So in some cases there is properly a dissimilarity of affection because of inferiority of age, in others on the ground of goodness or birth or some other such superiority; it is right for the superior to claim to feel3 either less affection or none, alike in a friendship of utility and in one of pleasure and one based on goodness. So in cases of small degrees of superiority disputes naturally occur (for a small amount is not of importance in some matters, as in weighing timber, though in gold plate it is; but people judge smallness of amount badly, since one's own good because of its nearness appears big and that of others because of its remoteness small); but when there is an excessive amount of difference, then even the parties themselves do not demand that they ought to be loved in return, or not loved alike—for example, if one were claiming a return of love from God. It is manifest, therefore, that men are friends when they are on an equality, but that a return of affection is possible without their being friends. And it is clear why men seek friendship on a basis of superiority more than that on one of equality; for in the former case they score both affection and a sense of superiority at the same time. Hence with some men the flatterer is more esteemed than the friend, for he makes the person flattered appear to score both advantages. And this most of all characterizes men ambitious of honors, since to be admired implies superiority. Some persons grow up by nature affectionate and others ambitious; one who enjoys loving more than being loved is affectionate, whereas the other enjoys being loved more. So the man who enjoys being admired and loved is a lover of superiority, whereas the other, the affectionate man, loves the pleasure of loving. For this he necessarily possesses by the mere activity of loving; for being loved is an accident, as one can be loved without knowing it, but one cannot love without knowing it. Loving depends, more than being loved, on the actual feeling, whereas being loved corresponds with the nature of the object. A sign of this is that a friend, if both things were not possible, would choose to know the other person rather than to be known by him, as for example women do when they allow others to adopt their children, and Andromache in the tragedy of Antiphon. Indeed the wish to be known seems to be selfish, and its motive a desire to receive and not to confer some benefit, whereas to wish to know a person is for the sake of conferring benefit and bestowing affection. 

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For this reason we praise those who remain constant in affection towards the dead; for they know, but are not known. It has, then, been stated that there are several modes of friendship, and how many modes there are, namely three, and that receiving affection and having one's affection returned, and friends on an equality and those on a footing of superiority, are different.

But as the term 'friend' is used in a more universal sense as well, as was also said at the beginning, by those who take in wider considerations (some saying that what is like is dear, others what is opposite), we must also speak about these forms of friendship and their relation to the kinds that have been discussed. As for likeness, it connects with pleasantness and also with goodness. For the good is simple, whereas the bad is multiform; and also the good man is always alike and does not change in character, whereas the wicked and the foolish are quite different in the evening from what they were in the morning. Hence if wicked men do not hit it off together, they are not friends with one another but they separate; yet an insecure friendship is not friendship at all. So the like is dear to us in this way, because the good is like. But in a way it is also dear on the score of pleasantness; for to those who are alike the same things are pleasant, and also everything is by nature pleasant to itself. Owing to this relations find one another's voices and characters and society pleasantest, and so with the lower animals; and in this way it is possible even for bad men to feel affection for each other: "But pleasure welds the bad man to the bad." But opposite is dear to opposite on the score of utility. For the like is useless to itself, and therefore master needs slave and slave master, man and wife need one another; and the opposite is pleasant and desirable as useful, not as contained in the End but as a means to the End—for when a thing has got what it desires it has arrived at its End, and does not strive to get its opposite, for example the hot the cold and the wet the dry.

But in a way love of the opposite is also love of the good. For opposites strive to reach one another through the middle point, for they strive after each other as tallies, because in that way one middle thing results from the two. Hence accidentally love of the good is love of the opposite, but essentially it is love of the middle, for opposites do not strive to reach one another but the middle. If when people have got too cold they are subjected to heat, and when they have got too hot to cold, they reach a mean temperature, and similarly in other matters; but without such treatment they are always in a state of desire, because they are not at the middle points. But a man in the middle enjoys without passionate desire things by nature pleasant, whereas the others enjoy everything that takes them outside their natural state. This kind of relationship, then, exists even between inanimate things; but when it occurs in the case of living things it becomes affection.

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Hence sometimes people take delight in persons unlike themselves, the stiff for instance in the witty and the active in the lazy, for they are brought by one another into the middle state. Hence accidentally, as was said, opposites are dear to opposites also on account of the good.

It has, then, been said how many kinds of friendship there are, and what are the different senses in which people are termed friends, and also givers and objects of affection, both in a manner that makes them actually friends and without being friends.

The question whether one is one's own friend or not involves much consideration. Some think that every man is his own best friend, and they use this friendship as a standard by which to judge his friendship for his other friends. On theoretical grounds, and in view of the accepted attributes of friends, self-love and love of others are in some respects opposed but in others manifestly similar. For in a way self-love is friendship by analogy, but not absolutely. For being loved and loving involve two separate factors; owing to which a man is his own friend rather in the way in which, in the case of the unrestrained and the self-restrained man, we have said how one has those qualities voluntarily or involuntarily—namely by the parts of one's spirit being related to each other in a certain way; and all such matters are a similar thing,whether a man can be his own friend or foe, and whether a man can treat himself unjustly. For all these relations involve two separate factors; in so far then as the spirit is in a manner two, these relations do in a manner belong to it, but in so far as the two are not separate, they do not.

From the state of friendship for oneself are determined the remaining modes of friendship under which we usually study it in our discourses. For a man is thought to be a friend who wishes for somebody things that are good, or that he believes to be good, not on his own account but for the other's sake; and in another way when a man wishes another's existence—even though not bestowing goods on him, let alone existence—for that other's sake and not for his own, he would be thought to be in a high degree the friend of that other; and in another way a man is a friend of one whose society he desires merely for the sake of his company and not for something else, as fathers desire their children's existence, though they associate with other people. All these cases conflict with one another; some men do not think they are loved unless the friend wishes them this or that particular good, others unless their existence is desired, others unless their society. Again we shall reckon it affection to grieve with one who grieves not for some ulterior motive—as for instance slaves in relation to their masters share their grief because when in grief they are harsh, and not for their masters' own sake, as mothers grieve with their children, and birds that share each other's pain. For a friend wishes most of all that he might not only feel pain when his friend is in pain but feel actually the same pain—for example when he is thirsty, share his thirst—if this were possible, and if not, as nearly the same as may be. The same principle applies also in the case of joy; it is characteristic of a friend to rejoice for no other reason than because the other is rejoicing. 

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Again there are sayings about friendship such as 'Amity is equality' and 'True friends have one spirit.' All these sayings refer back to the single individual; for that is the way in which the individual wishes good to himself, as nobody benefits himself for some ulterior motive, nor speaks well of himself for such and such a consideration, because he acted as an individual; for one who displays his affection wishes not to be but to be thought affectionate. And wishing for the other to exist, and associating together, and sharing joy and grief, and 'being one spirit' and being unable even to live without one another but dying together—for this is the case with the single individual, and he associates with himself in this way,—all these characteristics then belong to the man in relation to himself. In a wicked man on the other hand, for instance in one who lacks self-control, there is discord, and because of this it is thought to be possible for a man actually to be his own enemy; but as being one and indivisible he is desirable to himself. This is the case with a good man and one whose friendship is based on goodness, because assuredly an evil man is not a single individual but many, and a different person in the same day, and full of caprice. Hence a man's affection for himself carries back to love of the good; for because in a way a man is like himself and a single person and good to himself, in this way he is dear and desirable to himself. And a man is like that by nature, but a wicked man is contrary to nature. But a good man does not rebuke himself either at the time, like the uncontrolled, nor yet his former self his later, like the penitent, nor his later self his former, like the liar— (and generally, if it is necessary to distinguish as the sophists do, he is related to himself as 'John Styles' is related to 'good John Styles'; for it is clear that the same amount of 'John Styles' is good as of 'good John Styles')—because when men blame themselves they are murdering their own personalities, whereas everybody seems to himself good. And he who is absolutely good seeks to be dear even to himself, as has been said, because he has two factors within him which by nature desire to be friendly and which it is impossible to draw asunder. Therefore in the case of man each individual seems dear to himself, although in the case of other animals it is not so, for example a horse to itself . . . so it is not dear to itself. But neither are children, but only when they have come to possess purposive choice; for when that point is reached the mind is at variance with the appetite. And affection for oneself resembles the affection of relationship: neither connection is in people's own power to dissolve, but even if the parties quarrel, nevertheless relatives are still relatives and the individual is still one as long as he lives. From what has been said, then, it is clear how many meanings there are of the term 'affection,' and that all the forms of friendship carry back to the first one.
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It is relative to our inquiry to consider also the subject of agreement of feeling and kindly feeling; for some people think that they are the same thing, and others that they cannot exist apart. Kindly feeling is neither entirely distinct from friendship nor yet identical with it. If friendship is divided into three modes, kindly feeling is not found in the friendship of utility nor in friendship for pleasure. If A wishes B prosperity because he is useful, the motive of his wish would be not B's interest but his own, whereas it is thought that kindly feeling like . . . is not for the sake of the person who feels it himself but for the sake of him for whom he feels kindly; and if kindly feeling were found in friendship for the pleasant, men would feel kindly even towards inanimate objects. So that it is clear that kindly feeling has to do with the friendship that is based on character. But it is the mark of one who feels kindly only to wish good, whereas it is the mark of the friend also to do the good that he wishes; for kindly feeling is the beginning of friendship, as every friend feels kindly, but not everyone who feels kindly is a friend, since the kindly man is only as it were making a beginning. Therefore kindly feeling is the beginning of friendship, but it is not friendship.

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,

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 and there is the same relation between effect and activity as between the parties here: the person benefited is as it were the product of the benefactor. This is why even animals have the philoprogenitive instinct, which urges them to produce offspring and also to protect the offspring produced. And in fact fathers love their children more than they are loved by them (mothers more so than fathers) and these in their turn love their children more than their parents, because activity is the greatest good. And mothers love their children more than fathers, because they think that the children are more their work; for people estimate work by its difficulty, and in the production of a child the mother has more pain.

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.

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Specified sorts of friendship are therefore the friendship of relatives, that of comrades, that of partners and what is termed civic friendship. Really friendship of relatives has more than one species, one as between brothers, another as of father and son: it may be proportional, for example paternal friendship, or based on number, for example the friendship of brothers—for this is near the friendship of comrades, as in this also they claim privileges of seniority. Civic friendship on the other hand is constituted in the fullest degree on the principle of utility, for it seems to be the individual's lack of self-sufficiency that makes these unions permanent—since they would have been formed in any case merely for the sake of society. Only civic friendship and the deviation from it are not merely friendships but also partnerships on a friendly footing; the others are on a basis of superiority. The justice that underlies a friendship of utility is in the highest degree just, because this is the civic principle of justice. The coming together of a saw with the craft that uses it is on different lines—it is not for the sake of some common object, for saw and craft are like instrument and spirit, but for the sake of the man who employs them. It does indeed come about that even the tool itself receives attention which it deserves with a view to its work, since it exists for the sake of its work, and the essential nature of a gimlet is twofold, the more important half being its activity, boring. And the body and the slave are in the class of tool, as has been said before. Therefore to seek the proper way of associating with a friend is to seek for a particular kind of justice. In fact the whole of justice in general is in relation to a friend, for what is just is just for certain persons; and persons who are partners, and a friend is a partner, either in one's family or in one's life. For man is not only a political but also a house-holding animal, and does not, like the other animals, couple occasionally and with any chance female or male, but man is in a special way not a solitary but a gregarious animal, associating with the persons with whom he has a natural kinship; accordingly there would be partnership; and justice of a sort, even if there were no state. And a household is a sort of friendship—or rather the relationships of master and slave is that of craft and tools, and of spirit and body, and such relationships are not friendships or forms of justice but something analogous, just as health is not justice but analogous to it. But the friendship of man and wife is one of utility, a partnership; that of father and son is the same as that between god and man and between benefactor and beneficiary, and generally between natural ruler and natural subject. That between brothers is principally the friendship of comrades, as being on a footing of equality—“ For never did he make me out a bastard,
But the same Zeus, my lord, was called the sire
Of both—
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Hence in the household are first found the origins and springs of friendship, of political organization and of justice.

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,

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 and so represent it as not merely legal, pretending that it is a matter of trust.

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.

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 Hence it is clear how these cases must be decided. If they are moral friends, we must consider if their intentions are equal, and nothing else must be claimed by either from the other; and if they are friends on the ground of utility or civic friends, we must consider what form of agreement would have been profitable for them. But if one says they are friends on one footing and the other on another, it is not honorable, when an active return is due, merely to make fine speeches, and similarly also in the other case;— but since they did not provide for this in the contract, on the ground that it was a moral friendship, somebody must judge, and neither party must cheat by pretending; so that each must be content with his luck. But it is clear that moral friendship is a matter of intention, since even if a man after having received great benefits owing to inability did not repay them, but only repaid as much as he was able, he acts honorably; for even God is content with getting sacrifices in accordance with our ability. But a seller will not be satisfied if a man says he cannot pay more, nor will one who has made a loan.

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.

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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;”

and it is not one's duty to give everything to one's father, but there are other things that one ought to give to one's mother, although the father is the superior; for even to Zeus not all the sacrifices are offered, nor does he have all the honors but some particular ones. Perhaps, therefore, there are some services that ought to be rendered to the useful friend and others to the good friend: for instance, if a friend gives you food and necessaries you are not therefore bound to give him your society, and accordingly also you are not bound to render to the friend to whom you give your society the things that you do not get from him but from the useful friend; but those who by so doing wrongly give everything to one whom they love are good-for-nothing people. And the defining marks of friendship stated in the discourses all belong to friendship in some sense, but not to the same kind of friendship. It is a mark of the useful friend that one wishes the things good for him, and so of the benefactor, and in fact a friend of any sort (for this definition of friendship is not distinctive); of another friend, that one wishes his existence, of another that one wishes his society; of the friend on the ground of pleasure, that one shares his grief and his joy. All these defining marks are predicated in the case of some friendship, but none of them with reference to friendship as a single thing. Hence there are many of them, and each is thought to belong to friendship as one, though it does not: for instance, the desire for the friend's existence—for the superior friend and benefactor wishes existence to belong to his own work—and to him who gave one existence it is one's duty to give existence in return; but he wishes the society not of this friend but of the pleasant one.

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.

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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.

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If, therefore, of the pair of corresponding series of this kind one is always in the class of the desirable, and the known and the perceived are generally speaking constituted by their participation in the 'determined' nature, so that to wish to perceive oneself is to wish oneself to be of a certain character,—since, then, we are not each of these things in ourselves but only by participating in these faculties in the process of perceiving or knowing (for when perceiving one becomes perceived by means of what one previously perceives, in the manner and in the respect in which one perceives it, and when knowing one becomes known)—hence owing to this one wishes always to live because one wishes always to know; and this is because one wishes to be oneself the object known. To choose to live in the society of others might, therefore, from a certain point of view seem foolish (first in the case of the things common to the other animals also, for instance eating together or drinking together, for what difference does it make whether these things take place when we are near together or apart, if you take away speech? but even to share in speech that is merely casual is a thing indifferent, and also neither to impart nor to receive information is possible for friends who are self-sufficing, since receiving information implies a deficiency in oneself and imparting it a deficiency in one's friend, and likeness is friendship)— but nevertheless it surely seems that we all find it pleasanter to share good things with our friends, as far as these fall to each, and the best that each can— but among these, it falls to one to share bodily pleasure, to another artistic study, to another philosophy—; and so it is pleasanter to be with one's friend (whence the saying 'Distant friends a burden are'), so that they must not be separated when this is taking place. Hence also love seems to resemble friendship, for the lover is eager to share the life of the loved one, although not in the most proper way but in a sensuous manner.

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,

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and this is sometimes a passive, sometimes an active experience, sometimes something else. But if it is pleasant to live well oneself and for one's friend also to live well, and if living together involves working together, surely their partnership will be pre-eminently in things included in the End. Hence we should study together, and feast together—not on the pleasures of food and the necessary pleasures (for such partnerships do not seem to be real social intercourse but mere enjoyment), but each really wishes to share with his friends the End that he is capable of attaining, or failing this, men choose most of all to benefit their friends and to be benefited by them. It is therefore manifest that to live together is actually a duty, and that all people wish it very much, and that this is most the case with the man that is the happiest and best. But that the contrary appeared to be the conclusion of the argument was also reasonable, the statement being true. For the solution is on the line of the comparison, the correspondence being true; for the fact that God is not of such a nature as to need a friend postulates that man, who is like God, also does not need one. Yet according to this argument the virtuous man will not think of anything; for God's perfection does not permit of this, but he is too perfect to think of anything else beside himself. And the reason is that for us well-being has reference to something other than ourselves, but in his case he is himself his own well-being. As to seeking for ourselves and praying for many friends, and at the same time saying that one who has many friends has no friend, both statements are correct. For if it is possible to live with and share the perceptions of many at once, it is most desirable for them to be the largest possible number; but as that is very difficult, active community of perception must of necessity be in a smaller circle, so that it is not only difficult to acquire many friends (for probation is needed), but also to use them when one has got them.

One for whom we feel affection we sometimes wish to prosper in absence from us, but sometimes to share the same experiences. And to wish to be together is a mark of friendship, for if it is possible to be together and to prosper all choose this; but if it is not possible to prosper together, then we choose as the mother of Heracles perhaps would have chosen for her son, to be a god rather than to be with her but in service to Eurystheus. For men would say things like the jest which the Spartan made when somebody told him to invoke the Dioscuri in a storm.

It seems to be characteristic of one who feels affection for another to debar him from sharing his troubles, and of the person for whom affection is felt to wish to share them. Both these things happen reasonably; for to a friend nothing ought to give so much pain as his friend gives pleasure, yet it is felt that he ought not to choose his own interest. Hence people hinder their friends from sharing their sorrows; they are content to be in trouble by themselves, 

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 in order that they may not appear from selfish considerations actually to choose the joy of their friend's grief and furthermore to find it a relief not to bear their misfortunes alone. And as both well-being and companionship are desirable, it is clear that companionship combined with even a lesser good is in a way more desirable than separation with a greater good. But as it is not clear how much value companionship has, at this point men differ, and some think it is friendly to share everything in company, and say, for instance, that it is pleasanter to dine with company though having the same food; others wish to share only in well-being, because, they say, if one supposes extreme cases, people experiencing great adversity in company or great prosperity separately are on a par. And it is much the same as this in regard to misfortunes also; sometimes we wish our friends to be absent, and do not want to give them pain when their presence is not going to do any good, but at other times for them to be present is most pleasant. And the reason of this contrariety is very easily explained; it comes about because of the things stated before, and because to behold a friend in pain or in a bad state is a thing we absolutely shun, as we shun it in our own case, but to see a friend is as pleasant as anything can be, for the reason stated, and indeed to see him ill if one is ill oneself; so that whichever of these is more pleasant, it sways the balance of wishing him to be present or not. And it fits in that the former occurs in the case of inferior people, and for the same reason; they are most eager for their friends not to prosper and not to be absent if they themselves have to suffer adversity. Hence sometimes suicides kill those whom they love with themselves, as they think that they feel their own misfortune more if their loved ones are to survive; just as, if a man in trouble had the memory that he had once been prosperous, he would be more conscious of his trouble than if he thought that he had always done badly.
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But one may raise the question whether it is possible to use any given thing both for its natural purpose and otherwise, and in the latter case to use it qua itself or on the contrary incidentally: for instance, with an eye qua eye, to see, or also just to see wrong, by squinting so that one object appears two—both these uses of the eye, then, use it because it is an eye, but it would be possible to make use of an eye but to use it in another way, incidentally, for example, if it were possible to sell it or to eat it. And similarly with the use of knowledge: one can use it truly, and one can use it wrongly—for instance, when one spells a word incorrectly on purpose, then at the time one is using knowledge as ignorance, just as dancing-girls sometimes interchange the hand and the foot and use foot as hand and hand as foot. If then all the virtues are forms of knowledge, it would be possible to use even justice as injustice—in that case a man will be behaving unjustly by doing unjust acts as a result of justice, as when one makes ignorant mistakes from knowledge; but if this is impossible, it is clear that the virtues cannot be branches of knowledge.
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And also if it is not possible from knowledge to be ignorant, but only to make mistakes and do the same things as one does from ignorance, a man will assuredly never act from justice in the same way as he will act from injustice. But since wisdom is knowledge and a form of truth, wisdom also will produce the same effect as knowledge, that is, it would be possible from wisdom to act unwisely and to make the same mistakes as the unwise man does; but if the use of anything qua itself were single, when so acting men would be acting wisely. In the case of the other forms of knowledge, therefore, another higher form causes their diversion; but what knowledge causes the diversion of the actually highest of all? Obviously there is no longer any knowledge or any mind to do it. But moreover goodness does not cause it either; for wisdom makes use of goodness, since the goodness of the ruling part uses that of the ruled. Who then is there in whom this occurs? or is it in the same way as the vice of the irrational part of the spirit is termed lack of control, and the uncontrolled man is in a manner profligate—possessing reason, but ultimately if his appetite is powerful it will turn him round, and he will draw the opposite inference? Or is it manifest that also if there is goodness in the irrational part but folly in the reason, goodness and folly are transformed in another way? so that it will be possible to use justice unjustly and badly, and wisdom unwisely; and therefore the opposite uses also will be possible. For it is strange if whereas when wickedness at any time arises in the irrational part it will pervert the goodness in the rational and cause it to be ignorant, yet goodness in the irrational part when there is folly in the rational should not convert the folly and make it form wise and proper judgements, and again wisdom in the rational part should not make profligacy in the irrational act temperately—which seems to be what self-control essentially is. So that there will actually be wise action arising from folly. But these consequences are absurd, especially that of using wisdom wisely as a result of folly; for that is a thing which we certainly do not see in other cases—for instance profligacy perverts one's medical knowledge or scholarship, but it does not pervert one's ignorance if it be opposed to it, because it does not contain superiority, but rather it is goodness in general that stands in this relation to badness; for example, the just man is capable of all that the unjust man is, and in general inability is contained in ability. So that it is clear that men are wise and good simultaneously, and that the states of character above described belong to a different person, and the Socratic dictum 'Nothing is mightier than wisdom,' is right. But in that by 'wisdom' he meant 'knowledge,' he was wrong; for wisdom is a form of goodness, and is not scientific knowledge but another kind of cognition.

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

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but we also speak of the fortunate as faring well, which implies that good fortune also engenders welfare in the same way as knowledge does; we must therefore consider whether one man is fortunate and another unfortunate by nature or not, and how it stands with these matters. For that some men are fortunate we see, since many though foolish succeed in things in which luck is paramount, and some even in things which involve skill although also containing a large element of luck—for example strategy and navigation. Are, then, these men fortunate as a result of a certain state of character, or are they enabled to achieve fortunate results not by reason of a certain quality in themselves? As it is, people think the latter, holding that some men are successful by natural causes; but nature makes men of a certain quality, and the fortunate and unfortunate are different even from birth, in the same way as some men are blue-eyed and others black-eyed because a particular part of them is of a particular quality. For it is clear that they do not succeed by means of wisdom, because wisdom is not irrational but can give reason why it acts as it does, whereas they could not say why they succeed—for that would be science; and moreover it is manifest that they succeed in spite of being unwise—not unwise about other matters (for that would not be anything strange, for example Hippocrates was skilled in geometry but was thought to be stupid and unwise in other matters, and it is said that on a voyage owing to foolishness he lost a great deal of money, taken from him by the collectors of the two-per-cent duty at Byzantium), but even though they are unwise about the matters in which they are fortunate. For in navigation it is not the cleverest who are fortunate, but (just as in throwing dice one man throws a blank and another a six) a man is fortunate according as things were arranged by nature. Or is it because he is loved by God, as the phrase goes, and because success is something from outside? as for instance a badly built ship often gets through a voyage better, though not owing to itself, but because it has a good man at the helm. But on this showing the fortunate man has the deity as steersman. But it is strange that a god or deity should love a man of this sort, and not the best and most prudent. If, then, the success of the lucky must necessarily be due to either nature or intellect or some guardianship, and of these three causes two are ruled out, those who are fortunate will be so by nature. But again, nature of course is the cause of a thing that happens either always or generally in the same way, whereas fortune is the opposite. If, then, unexpected achievement seems a matter of fortune, but, if a man is fortunate owing to fortune, it would seem that the cause is not of such a sort as to produce the same result always or generally— further, if a man's succeeding or not succeeding is due to his being of a certain sort, as a man does not see clearly because he has blue eyes, not fortune but nature is the cause; therefore he is not a man who has good fortune but one who has as it were a good nature. Hence we should have to say that the people we call fortunate are so not by reason of fortune; therefore they are not fortunate,
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 for the fortunate are those for whom good fortune is a cause of good things.

But if so, shall we say that there is no such thing as fortune at all, or that it does exist but is not a cause? No, it must both exist and be a cause. Consequently it will furthermore be a cause of goods or evils to certain persons; whereas if fortune is to be eliminated altogether, then nothing must be said to come about from fortune, in spite of the fact that, although there is another cause, because we do not see it we say that fortune is a cause—owing to which people give it as a definition of fortune that it is a cause incalculable to human reasoning, implying that it is a real natural principle. This, then, would be a matter for another inquiry. But since we see that some people have good fortune on one occasion, why should they not succeed a second time too owing to the same cause? and a third time? and a fourth? for the same cause produces the same effect. Therefore this will not be a matter of fortune; but when the same result follows from indeterminate and in definite antecedents, it will be good or bad for somebody, but there will not be the knowledge of it that comes by experience, since, if there were, some fortunate persons would learn it, or indeed all branches of knowledge would, as Socrates said, be forms of good fortune. What, then, prevents such things from happening to somebody a number of times running not because he has a certain character, but in the way in which for instance it would be possible to make the highest throw at dice every time? And what then? are there not some impulses in the spirit that arise from reasoning and others from irrational appetition? and are not the latter prior? because if the impulse caused by desire for what is pleasant exists by nature, appetition also would merely by nature proceed towards what is good in every case. If, therefore, some men have good natures—just as musical people though they have not learnt to sing have a natural aptitude for it—and without the aid of reason have an impulse in the direction of the natural order of things and desire the right thing in the right way at the right time, these men will succeed even although they are in fact foolish and irrational, just as the others will sing well although unable to teach singing. And men of this sort obviously are fortunate—men who without the aid of reason are usually successful. Hence it will follow that the fortunate are so by nature.

Or has the term 'good fortune' more than one meaning? For some things are done from impulse and as a result of the agents' purposive choice, other things not so but on the contrary; and if in the former cases when the agents succeed they seem to have reasoned badly, we say that in fact they have had good fortune; and again in the latter cases, if they wished for a different good or less good than they have got. The former persons then may possibly owe their good fortune to nature, for their impulse and appetition, being for the right object, succeeded, but their reasoning was foolish; and in their case, when it happens that their reasoning seems to be incorrect but that impulse is the cause of it, this impulse being right has saved them; although sometimes on the contrary owing to appetite they have reasoned in this way and come to misfortune. But in the case of the others, then, how will good fortune be due to natural goodness of appetition and desire? 

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The fact is that the good fortune here and that in the other case are the same. Or is good fortune of more than one kind, and is fortune twofold? But since we see some people being fortunate contrary to all the teachings of science and correct calculation, it is clear that the cause of good fortune must be something different. But is it or is it not good fortune whereby a man formed a desire for the right thing and at the right time when in his case human reasoning could not make this calculation? For a thing the desire for which is natural is not altogether uncalculated, but the reasoning is perverted by something. So no doubt he seems fortunate, because fortune is the cause of things contrary to reason, and this is contrary to reason, for it is contrary to knowledge and to general principle. But probably it does not really come from fortune, but seems to do so from the above cause. So that this argument does not prove that good fortune comes by nature, but that not all those who seem fortunate succeed because of fortune, but because of nature; nor does it prove that there is no such thing as fortune, nor that fortune is not the cause of anything, but that it is not the cause of all the things of which it seems to be the cause.

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—

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just as the blind remember better, being released from having their faculty of memory engaged with objects of sight.

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;

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 hence though they are good men (for the things naturally good are good for them), yet they have not nobility, for it is not the case with them that they possess fine things for their own sake and that they purpose fine actions, and not only this, but also that things not fine by nature but good by nature are fine for them. For things are fine when that for which men do them and choose them is fine. Therefore to the noble man the things good by nature are fine; for what is just is fine, and what is according to worth is just, and he is worthy of these things; and what is befitting is fine, and these things befit him—wealth, birth, power. Hence for the noble man the same things are both advantageous and fine; but for the multitude these things do not coincide, for things absolutely good are not also good for them, whereas they are good for the good man; and to the noble man they are also fine, for he performs many fine actions because of them. But he who thinks that one ought to possess the virtues for the sake of external goods does fine things only by accident. Nobility then is perfect goodness.

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;

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and also in regard to large and small amount of property and of good fortune. Now in what preceded we stated the standard 'as reason directs'; but this is as if in matters of diet one were to say 'as medical science and its principles direct,' and this though true is not clear. It is proper, therefore, here as in other matters to live with reference to the ruling factor, and to the state and the activity of the ruling factor, as for example slave must live with reference to the rule of master, and each person with reference to the rule appropriate to each. And since man consists by nature of a ruling part and a subject part, and each would properly live with reference to the ruling principle within him (and this is twofold, for medical science is a ruling principle in one way and health is in another, and the former is a means to the latter), this is therefore the case in regard to the faculty of contemplation. For God is not a ruler in the sense of issuing commands, but is the End as a means to which wisdom gives commands (and the term 'End' has two meanings, but these have been distinguished elsewhere); since clearly God is in need of nothing. Therefore whatever mode of choosing and of acquiring things good by nature—whether goods of body or wealth or friends or the other goods—will best promote the contemplation of God, that is the best mode, and that standard is the finest; and any mode of choice and acquisition that either through deficiency or excess hinders us from serving and from contemplating God—that is a bad one. This is how it is for the spirit, and this is the best spiritual standard—to be as far as possible unconscious of the irrational part of the spirit, as such.

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