The Supreme End is what is not only chosen as an End, but is never chosen except as an End: not chosen both for itself and with a view to something ulterior. It must thus be—(1) Anend-in-itselfpursued for its own sake; (2) it must farther beself-sufficingleaving no outstanding wants—man's sociability being taken into account and gratified. Happiness is such an end; but we must state more clearly wherein happiness consists.
This will appear, if we examine what is the work appropriate and peculiar to man. Every artist, the sculptor, carpenter, currier (so too the eye and the hand), has his own peculiar work: and good, to him, consists in his performing that work well. Man also has his appropriate and peculiar work: not merely living—for that he has in common with vegetables; nor the life of sensible perception—for that he has in common with other animals, horses, oxen, &c. There remains the life of man as a rational being: that is, as a being possessing reason along with other mental elements, which last are controllable or modifiable by reason. This last life is the peculiar work or province of man. For our purpose, we must consider man, not merely as possessing, but as actually exercising and putting in action, these mental capacities. Moreover, when we talk generally of the work or province of an artist, we always tacitly imply a complete and excellent artist in his own craft: and so likewise when we speak of the work of a man, we mean that work as performed by a complete and competent man. Since the work of man, therefore, consists in the active exercise of the mental capacities, conformably to reason, the supreme good of man will consist in performing this work with excellence or virtue. Herein he will obtain happiness, if we assume continuance throughout a full period of life: one day or a short time is not sufficient for happiness (VII.).
Aristotle thus lays down the outline of man's supreme Good or Happiness: which he declares to be the beginning or principle [Greek: archae] of his deductions, and to be obtained in the best way that the subject admits. He next proceeds to compare this outline with the various received opinions on the subject of happiness, showing that it embraces much of what has been considered essential by former philosophers: such as being 'a good of the mind,' and not a mere external good: being equivalent to 'living well and doing well,' another definition; consisting in virtue (the Cynics); in practical wisdom—[Greek: phronaesis] (Sokrates); in philosophy; or in all these coupled with pleasure (Plato, in the Philebus). Agreeing with those who insisted on virtue, Aristotle considers his own theory an improvement, by requiring virtue in act, and not simply in possession. Moreover, he contends that to the virtuous man, virtuous performance is in itself pleasurable; so that no extraneous source of pleasure is needed. Such (he says) is the judgment of the truly excellent man; which must be taken as conclusive respecting the happiness, as well as the honourable pre-eminence of the best mental exercises. Nevertheless, he admits (so far complying with the Cyrenaics) that some extraneous conditions cannot be dispensed with; the virtuous man can hardly exhibit his virtue in act, without some aid from friends and property; nor can he be happy if his person is disgusting to behold or his parentage vile (VIII.).
This last admission opens the door to those that place good fortune in the same line with happiness, and raises the question, how happiness is attained. By teaching? By habitual exercise? By divine grace? By Fortune? If there be any gift vouchsafed by divine grace to man, it ought to be this; but whether such be the case or not, it is at any rate the most divine and best of all acquisitions. To ascribe such an acquisition as this to Fortune would be absurd. Nature, which always aims at the best, provides that it shall be attained, through a certain course of teaching and training, by all who are not physically or mentally disqualified. It thus falls within the scope of political science, whose object is to impart the best character and active habits to the citizens. It is with good reason that we never call a horse happy, for he can never reach such an attainment; nor indeed can a child be so called while yet a child, for the same reason; though in his case we may hope for the future, presuming on a full term of life, as was before postulated (IX.). But-this long term allows room for extreme calamities and change in a man's lot. Are we then to say, with Solon, that no one can be called happy so long as he lives? or that the same man may often pass backwards and forwards from happiness to misery? No; this only shows the mistake of resting happiness upon so unsound a basis as external fortune. The only true basis of it is the active manifestation of mental excellence, which no ill fortune can efface from a man's mind (X.). Such a man will bear calamity, if it comes, with dignity, and can never be made thoroughly miserable. If he be moderately supplied as to external circumstances, he is to be styled happy; that is, happy as a man—as far as man can reasonably expect. Even after his decease he-will be affected, yet only feebly affected, by the good or ill fortune of his surviving children. Aristotle evidently assigns little or no value to presumed posthumous happiness (XI.).
In his love of subtle distinctions, he asks, Is happiness a thing admirable in itself, or a thing praiseworthy? It is admirable in itself; for what is praiseworthy has a relative character, and is praised as conducive to some ulterior end; while the chief good must be an End in itself, for the sake of which everything else is done (XII.). [This is a defective recognition of Relativity.]
Having assumed as one of the items of his definition, that man's happiness must be in his special or characteristic work, performed with perfect excellence,—Aristotle now proceeds to settle wherein that excellence consists. This leads to a classification of the parts of the soul. The first distribution is, into Rational and Irrational; whether these two are separable in fact, or only logically separable (like concave and convex), is immaterial to the present enquiry. Of the irrational, the lowest portion is the Vegetative [Greek: phytikon], which seems most active in sleep; a state where bad men and good are on a par, and which is incapable of any human excellence. The next portion is the Appetitive [Greek: epithymaetikon], which is not thus incapable. It partakes of reason, yet it includes something conflicting with reason. These conflicting tendencies are usually modifiable by reason, and may become in the temperate man completely obedient to reason. There remains Reason—the highest and sovereign portion of the soul. Human excellence [Greek: aretae] or virtue, is either of the Appetitive part,—moral [Greek: aethikae] virtue; or of the Reason—intellectual [Greek: dianoaetikae] virtue. Liberality and temperance are Moral virtues; philosophy, intelligence, and wisdom, Intellectual (XIII.).
Such is an outline of the First Book, having for its subject the ChiefGood, the Supreme End of man.
Whereas intellectual excellence is chiefly generated and improved by teaching, moral excellence is a result of habit [Greek: ethos]; whence its name (Ethical). Hence we may see that moral excellence is no inherent part of our nature: if it were, it could not be reversed by habit—any more than a stone can acquire from any number of repetitions the habit of moving upward, or fire the habit of moving downward. These moral excellencies are neither a part of our nature, nor yet contrary to our nature: we are by nature fitted to take them on, but they are brought to consummation through habit. It is not with them, as with our senses, where nature first gives us the power to see and hear, and where we afterwards exercise that power. Moral virtues are acquired only by practice. We learn to build or to play the harp, by building or playing the harp: so too we become just or courageous, by a course of just or courageous acts. This is attested by all lawgivers in their respective cities; all of them shape the characters of their respective citizens, by enforcing habitual practice. Some do it well; others ill; according to the practice, so will be the resulting character; as he that is practised in building badly, will be a bad builder in the end; and he that begins on a bad habit of playing the harp, becomes confirmed into a bad player. Hence the importance of making the young perform good actions habitually and from the beginning. The permanent ethical acquirements are generated by uniform and persistent practice (I.). [This is the earliest statement of the philosophy ofhabit.]
Everything thus turns upon practice: and Aristotle reminds us that his purpose here is, not simply to teach what virtue is, but to produce virtuous agents. How are we to know what the practice should be? It must be conformable to right reason: every one admits this, and we shall explain it further in a future book. But let us proclaim at once, that in regard to moral action, as in regard to health, no exact rules can be laid down. Amidst perpetual variability, each agent must in the last resort be guided by the circumstances of the case. Still, however, something may be done to help him. Here Aristotle proceeds to introduce the famous doctrine of the MEAN. We may err, as regards health, both by too much and by too little of exercise, food, or drink. The same holds good in regard to temperance, courage, and the other excellences (II.).
His next remark is another of his characteristic doctrines, that thetest of a formed habit of virtue, is to feel no pain; he that feels pain in brave acts is a coward. Whence he proceeds to illustrate the position, that moral virtue [Greek: aethikae aretae] has to do with pleasures and pains. A virtuous education consists in making us feel pleasure and pain at proper objects, and on proper occasions. Punishment is a discipline of pain. Some philosophers (the Cynics) have been led by this consideration to make virtue consist in apathy, or insensibility; but Aristotle would regulate, and not extirpate our sensibilities (III.).
But does it not seem a paradox to say (according to the doctrine of habit in I.), that a man becomes just, by performing just actions; since, if he performs just actions, he is already just? The answer is given by a distinction drawn in a comparison with the training in the common arts of life. That a man is a good writer or musician, we see by his writing or his music; we take no account of the state of his mind in other respects: if he knows how to do this, it is enough. But in respect to moral excellence, such knowledge is not enough: a man may do just or temperate acts, but he is not necessarily a just or temperate man, unless he does them with right intention and on their own account. This state of the internal mind, which is requisite to constitute the just and temperate man, follows upon the habitual practice of just and temperate acts, and follows upon nothing else. But most men are content to talk without any such practice. They fancy erroneously thatknowing, without doing, will make a good man. [We have here the reaction against the Sokratic doctrine of virtue, and also the statement of the necessity of aprosper motive, in order to virtue.]
Aristotle now sets himself to find a definition of virtue,per genus et differentiam. There are three qualities in the Soul—Passions[Greek: pathae], as Desire, Anger, Fear, &c., followed by pleasure or pain;CapacitiesorFaculties[Greek: dynameis], as our capability of being angry, afraid, affected by pity, &c.;Fixed tendencies, acquirements, orstates[Greek: hexeis]. To which of the three does virtue or excellence belong? It cannot be a Passion; for passions are not in themselves good or evil, and are not accompanied with deliberate choice [Greek: prouiresis], will, or intention. Nor is it a Faculty: for we are not praised or blamed because wecanhave such or such emotions; and moreover our faculties are innate, which virtue is not. Accordingly, virtue, or excellence, must be an acquirement [Greek: hexis]—a State (V.). This is thegenus.
Now, as to thedifferentia, which brings us to a more specific statement of the doctrine of theMean. The specific excellence of virtue is to be got at from quantity in the abstract, from which we derive the conceptions of more, less, and equal; or excess, defect, and mean; the equal being the mean between excess and defect. But in the case of moral actions, the arithmetical mean may not hold (for example, six between two and ten); it must be a mean relative to the individual; Milo must have more food than a novice in the training school. In the arts, we call a work perfect, when anything either added or taken away would spoil it. Now, virtue, which, like Nature, is better and more exact than any art, has for its subject-matter, passions and actions; all which are wrong either in defect or in excess. Virtue aims at the mean between them, or the maximum of Good: which implies a correct estimation of all the circumstances of the act,—when we ought to do it—under what conditions—towards whom—for what purpose—in what manner, &c. This is the praise-worthy mean, which virtue aspires to. We may err in many ways (for evil, as the Pythagoreans said, is of the nature of the Infinite, good of the Finite), but we can do right only in one way; so much easier is the path of error.
Combining then thisdifferentiawith thegenus, as above established, the complete definition is given thus—'Virtue is an acquirement or fixed state, tending by deliberate purpose (genus), towards a mean relative to us (difference).' To which is added the following all-important qualification, 'determined by reason [Greek: logos], and as thejudicious man[Greek: ho Phronimos] would determine.' Such is the doctrine of the Mean, which combines the practical matter-of-fact quality of moderation, recognized by all sages, with a high and abstract conception, starting from the Pythagorean remark quoted by Aristotle, 'the Infinite, or Indefinite, is evil, the Finite or the Definite is good,' and re-appearing in Plato as 'conformity to measure' [Greek: metriotaes], by which he (Plato) proposes to discriminate between good and evil. The concluding qualification of virtue—'a rational determination, according to the ideal judicious man'—is an attempt to assign a standard or authority for what is the proper 'Mean;' an authority purely ideal or imaginary; the actual authority being always, rightly or wrongly, the society of the time.
Aristotle admits that his doctrine of Virtue being a mean, cannot have an application quite universal; because there are some acts that in their very name connote badness, which are wrong therefore, not from excess or defect, but in themselves (VI.). He next proceeds to resolve his general doctrine into particulars; enumerating the different virtues stated, each as a mean, between two extremes—Courage, Temperance, Liberality, Magnanimity, Magnificence, Meekness, Amiability or Friendliness, Truthfulness, Justice (VII.). They are described in detail in the two following books. In chap. VIII., he qualifies his doctrine of Mean and Extremes, by the remark that one Extreme may be much farther removed from the Mean than the other. Cowardice and Rashness are the extremes of Courage, but Cowardice is farthest removed from the Mean.
The concluding chapter (IX.) of the Book reflects on the great difficulty of hitting the mean in all things, and of correctly estimating all the requisite circumstances, in each particular case. He gives as practical rules:—To avoid at all events the worst extreme; to keep farthest from our natural bent; to guard against the snare of pleasure. Slight mistakes on either side are little blamed, but grave and conspicuous cases incur severe censure. Yet how far the censure ought to go, is difficult to lay down beforehand in general terms. There is the same difficulty in regard to all particular cases, and all the facts of sense: which must be left, after all, to the judgment of Sensible Perception [Greek: aisthaesis].
The next point is the nature of Purpose, Determination, or Deliberate Preference [Greek: proairesis], which is in the closest kindred with moral excellence, and is even more essential, in the ethical estimate, than acts themselves. This is a part of the Voluntary; but not co-extensive therewith. For it excludes sudden and unpremeditated acts; and is not shared by irrational beings. It is distinct from desire, from anger, from wish, and from opinion; with all which it is sometimes confounded. Desire is often opposed to it; the incontinent man acts upon his desires, but without any purpose, or even against his purpose; the continent man acts upon his purpose, but against his desires. Purpose is still more distinct from anger, and is even distinct (though in a less degree) from wish [Greek: boulaesis], which is choice of the End, while Purpose is of the Means; moreover, we sometimes wish for impossibilities, known as such, but we never purpose them. Nor is purpose identical with opinion [Greek: doxa], which relates to truth and falsehood, not to virtue and vice. It is among our voluntary proceedings, and includes intelligence; but is it identical with predeliberated action and its results? (II.)
To answer this query, Aristotle analyzes the process of Deliberation, as to its scope, and its mode of operation. We exclude from deliberation things Eternal, like the Kosmos, or the incommensurability of the side and the diagonal of a square; also things mutable, that are regulated by necessity, by nature, or by chance; things out of our power; also final ends of action, for we deliberate only about themeansto ends. The deliberative process is compared to the investigation of a geometrical problem. We assume the end, and enquire by what means it can be produced; then again, what will produce the means, until we at last reach something that we ourselves can command. If, after such deliberation, we see our way to execution, we form a Purpose, or Deliberate Preference [Greek: proairesis]. Purpose is then definable as a deliberative appetency of things in our power (III.).
Next is started the important question as to the choice of the finalEnd. Deliberation and Purpose respect means; our Wish respects the End—but what is the End that we wish? Two opinions are noticed; according to one (Plato) we are moved to the good; according to the other, to the apparent good. Both opinions are unsatisfactory; the one would make out an incorrect choice to be no choice at all; the other would take away all constancy from ends.
Aristotle settles the point by distinguishing, in this case as in others, between what bears a given character simply and absolutely, and what bears the same character relatively to this or that individual. The object of Wish, simply, truly, and absolutely, is the Good; while the object of Wish, to any given individual, is what appears Good to him. But by the Absolute here, Aristotle explains that he means what appears good to thevirtuousandintelligentman; who is is declared, here as elsewhere, to be the infallible standard; while most men, misled by pleasure, choose what is not truly good. In like manner, Aristotle affirms, that those substances are truly and absolutely wholesome, which are wholesome to the healthy and well-constituted man; other substances may be wholesome to the sick or degenerate. Aristotle's Absolute is thus a Relative with its correlate chosen or imagined by himself.
He then proceeds to maintain that virtue and vice are voluntary, and in our own power. The arguments are these. (1) If it be in our power to act right, the contrary is equally in our own power; hence vice is as much voluntary as virtue. (2) Man must be admitted to be the origin of his own actions. (3) Legislators and others punish men for wickedness, and confer honour on good actions; even culpable ignorance and negligence are punished. (4) Our character itself, or our fixed acquirements, are in our power, being produced by our successive acts; men become intemperate, by acts of drunkenness. (5) Not only the defects of the mind, but the infirmities of the body also, are blamed, when arising through our own neglect and want of training. (6) Even if it should be said that all men aim at the apparent good, but cannot control their mode of conceiving [Greek: phantasia] the end; still each person, being by his acts the cause of his own fixed acquirements, must be to a certain extent the cause of his own conceptions. On this head, too, Aristotle repeats the clenching argument, that the supposed imbecility of conceiving would apply alike to virtue and to vice; so that if virtuous action be regarded as voluntary, vicious action must be so regarded likewise. It must be remembered that a man's fixed acquirements or habits are not in his own power, in the same sense and degree in which his separate acts are in his own power. Each act, from first to last, is alike in his power; but in regard to the habit, it is only the initiation thereof that is thoroughly in his power; the habit, like a distemper, is taken on by imperceptible steps in advance (V.).
In the foregoing account of the Ethical questions connected with the Will, Aristotle is happily unembroiled with the modern controversy. Themal-aproposof 'Freedom' had not been applied to voluntary action. Accordingly, he treats the whole question from the inductive side, distinguishing the cases where people are praised or blamed for their conduct, from those where praise and blame are inapplicable as being powerless. It would have been well if the method had never been departed from; a sound Psychology would have improved the induction, but would never have introduced any question except as to the relative strength of the different feelings operating as motives to voluntary conduct.
In one part of his argument, however, where he maintains that vice must be voluntary, because its opposite, virtue, is voluntary, he is already touching on the magical island of the bad enchantress; allowing a question of fact to be swayed by the notion of factitious dignity. Virtue is assumed to be voluntary, not on the evidence of fact, but because there would be anindignitycast on it, to suppose otherwise. Now, this consideration, which Aristotle gives way to on various occasions, is the motive underlying the objectionable metaphor.
After the preceding digression on the Voluntary and Involuntary, Aristotle takes up the consideration of the Virtues in order, beginning with COURAGE, which was one of the received cardinal virtues, and a subject of frequent discussion. (Plato,Laches, Protagoras, Republic, &c.)
Courage [Greek: andreia], the mean between timidity and foolhardiness, has to do with evils. All evils are objects of fear; but there are some evils that even the brave man does right to fear—as disgrace. Poverty or disease he ought not to fear. Yet, he will not acquire the reputation of courage from not fearing these, nor will he acquire it if he be exempt from fear when about to be scourged. Again, if a man be afraid of envy from others, or of insults to his children or wife, he will not for that reason be regarded as a coward. It is by being superior to the fear of great evils, that a man is extolled as courageous; and the greatest of evils is death, since it is a final close, as well of good as of evil. Hence the dangers of war are the greatest occasion of courage. But the cause must be honourable (VI.).
Thus the key to true courage is the quality or merit of the action. That man is brave, who both fears, and affronts without fear, what he ought and when he ought: who suffers and acts according to the value of the cause, and according to a right judgment of it. The opposites or extremes of courage include (1) Deficiency of fear; (2) Excess of fear, cowardice; (3) Deficiency of daring, another formula for cowardice; (4) Excess of daring, Rashness. Between these, Courage is the mean (VII.).
Aristotle enumerates five analogous forms of quasi-courage, approaching more or less to genuine courage. (1) The first, most like to the true, is political courage, which is moved to encounter danger by the Punishments and the Honours of society. The desire of honour rises to virtue, and is a noble spring of action. (2) A second kind is the effect of Experience, which dispels seeming terrors, and gives skill to meet real danger. (3) Anger, Spirit, Energy [Greek: thymos] is a species of courage, founded on physical power and excitement, but not under the guidance of high emotions. (4) The Sanguine temperament, by overrating the chances of success, gives courage. (5) Lastly, Ignorance of the danger may have the same effect as courage (VIII.).
Courage is mainly connected with pain and loss. Men are called brave for the endurance of pain, even although it bring pleasure in the end, as to the boxer who endures bruises from the hope of honour. Death is painful, and most so to the man that by his virtue has made life valuable. Such a man is to be considered more courageous, as a soldier, than a mercenary with little to lose (IX.).
The account of Courage thus given is remarkably exhaustive; although the constituent parts might have been more carefully disentangled. A clear line should be drawn between two aspects of courage. The one is the resistance to Fear properly so called; that is, to the perturbation that exaggerates coming evil: a courageous man, in this sense, is one that possesses the true measure of impending danger, and acts according to that, and not according to an excessive measure. The other aspect of Courage, is what gives it all its nobleness as a virtue, namely,Self-sacrifice, or the deliberate encountering of evil, for some honourable or virtuous cause. When a man knowingly risks his life in battle for his country, he may be called courageous, but he is still better described as a heroic and devoted man.
Inasmuch as the leading form of heroic devotion, in the ancient world, was exposure of life in war, Self-sacrifice was presented under the guise of Courage, and had no independent standing as a cardinal virtue. From this circumstance, paganism is made to appear in a somewhat disadvantageous light, as regards self-denying duties.
Next in order among the excellences or virtues of the irrational department of mind is TEMPERANCE, or Moderation, [Greek: sophrosynae], a mean or middle state in the enjoyment of pleasure. Pleasures are mental and bodily. With the mental, as love of learning or of honour, temperance is not concerned. Nor with the bodily pleasures of muscular exercise, of hearing and of smell, but only with the animal pleasures of touch and taste: in fact, sensuality resides in touch; the pleasure of eating being a mode of contact (X.).
In the desires natural and common to men, as eating and the nuptial couch, men are given to err, and error is usually on the side of excess. But it is in the case of special tastes or preferences, that people are most frequently intemperate. Temperance does not apply to enduring pains, except those of abstinence from pleasures. The extreme of insensibility to pleasure is rarely found, and has no name. The temperate man has the feelings of pleasure and pain, but moderates his desires according to right reason (XL.). He desires what he ought, when he ought, and as he ought: correctly estimating each separate case (XII.). The question is raised, which is most voluntary, Cowardice or Intemperance? (1) Intemperance is more voluntary than Cowardice, for the one consists in choosing pleasure, while in the other there is a sort of compulsory avoidance of pain. (2) Temperance is easier to acquire as a habit than Courage. (3) In Intemperance, the particular acts are voluntary, although not the habit; in Cowardice, the first acts are involuntary, while by habit, it tends to become voluntary (XII.).
[Temperance is the virtue most suited to the formula of the Mean, although the settling of what is the mean depends after all upon a man's own judgment. Aristotle does not recognize asceticism as a thing existing. His Temperance is moderation in the sensual pleasures of eating and love.]
LIBERALITY [Greek: eleutheristaes], in the matter of property, is the mean of Prodigality and Illiberality. The right uses of money are spending and giving. Liberality consists in giving willingly, from an honourable motive, to proper persons, in proper quantities, and at proper times; each individual case being measured by correct reason. If such measure be not taken, or if the gift be not made willingly, it is not liberality. The liberal man is often so free as to leave little to himself. This virtue is one more frequent in the inheritors than in the makers of fortunes. Liberality beyond one's means is prodigality. The liberal man will receive only from proper sources and in proper quantities. Of the extremes, prodigality is more curable than illiberality. The faults of prodigality are, that it must derive supplies from improper sources; that it gives to the wrong objects, and is usually accompanied with intemperance. Illiberality is incurable: it is confirmed by age, and is more congenial to men generally than prodigality. Some of the illiberal fall short in giving—those called stingy, close-fisted, and so on; but do not desire what belongs to other people. Others are excessive in receiving from all sources; such are they that ply disreputable trades (I.).
MAGNIFICENCE [Greek: megaloprepeia] is a grander kind of Liberality; its characteristic is greatness of expenditure, with suitableness to the person, the circumstances, and the purpose. The magnificent man takes correct measure of each; he is in his way a man of Science [Greek: ho de megaloprepaes epistaemoni eoike]—II. The motive must be honourable, the outlay unstinted, and the effect artistically splendid. The service of the gods, hospitality to foreigners, public works, and gifts, are proper occasions. Magnificence especially becomes the well-born and the illustrious. The house of the magnificent man will be of suitable splendour; everything that he does will show taste and propriety. The extremes, or corresponding defects of character, are, on the one side, vulgar, tasteless profusion, and on the other, meanness or pettiness, which for some paltry saving will spoil the effect of a great outlay (II.).
MAGNANIMITY, or HIGH-MINDEDNESS [Greek: megalopsychia], loftiness of spirit, is the culmination of the virtues. It is concerned with greatness. The high-minded man is one that, being worthy, rates himself at his real worth, and neither more (which is vanity) nor less (which is littleness of mind). Now, worth has reference to external goods, of which the greatest is honour. The high-minded man must be in the highest degree honourable, for which he must be a good man; honour being the prize of virtue. He will accept honour only from the good, and will despise dishonour, knowing it to be undeserved. In all good or bad fortune, he will behave with moderation; in not highly valuing even the highest thing of all, honour itself, he may seem to others supercilious. Wealth and fortune contribute to high-mindedness; but most of all, superior goodness; for the character cannot exist without perfect virtue. The high-minded man neither shuns nor courts danger; nor is he indisposed to risk even his life. He gives favours, but does not accept them; he is proud to the great, but affable to the lowly. He attempts only great and important matters; is open in friendship and in hatred; truthful in conduct, with an ironical reserve. He talks little, either of himself or of others; neither desiring his own praise, nor caring to utter blame. He wonders at nothing, bears no malice, is no gossip. His movements are slow, his voice deep, his diction stately (III.).
There is a nameless virtue, a mean between the two extremes of too much and too little ambition, or desire of honour; the reference being to smaller matters and to ordinary men. The fact that both extremes are made terms of reproach, shows that there is a just mean; while each extreme alternately claims to be the virtue, as against the other, since there is no term to express the mean (IV.).
MILDNESS [Greek: praotaes] is a mean state with reference to Anger, although inclining to the defective side. The exact mean, which has no current name, is that state wherein the agent is free from perturbation [Greek: atarachos], is not impelled by passion, but guided by reason; is angry when he ought, as he ought, with whom, and as long as, he ought: taking right measure of all the circumstances. Not to be angry on the proper provocation, is folly, insensibility, slavish submission. Of those given to excess in anger, some are quick, impetuous, and soon appeased; others are sulky, repressing and perpetuating their resentment. It is not easy to define the exact mean; each case must be left to individual perception (V.).
The next virtue is Good-breeding in society, a balance between surliness on the one hand, and weak assent or interested flattery on the other. It is a nameless virtue, resembling friendship without the special affection. Aristotle shows what he considers the bearing of the finished gentleman, studying to give pleasure, and yet expressing disapprobation when it would be wrong to do otherwise (VI.).
Closely allied to the foregoing is the observance of a due mean, in the matter of Boastfulness. The boastful lay claim to what they do not possess; false modesty [Greek: eironeia] is denying or underrating one's own merits. The balance of the two is the straightforward and truthful character; asserting just what belongs to him, neither more nor less. This is a kind of truthfulness,—distinguished from 'truth' in its more serious aspect, as discriminating between justice and injustice—and has a worth of its own; for he that is truthful in little things will be so in more important affairs (VII.).
In the playful intercourse of society, there is room for the virtue of Wit, a balance or mean between buffoonish excess, and the clownish dulness that can neither make nor enjoy a joke. Here the man of refinement must be a law to himself (VIII.).
MODESTY [Greek: aidos] is briefly described, without being put through the comparison with its extremes. It is more a feeling than a state, or settled habit. It is the fear of ill-report; and has the physical expression of fear under danger—the blushing and the pallor. It befits youth as the age of passion and of errors. In the old it is no virtue, as they should do nothing to be ashamed of (IX.).
The first kind of justice, which includes all virtue, called Universal Justice, being set aside, the enquiry is reduced to the Particular Justice, or Justice proper and distinctive. Of this there are two kinds, Distributive and Corrective (II.). Distributive Justice is a kind of equality or proportion in the distribution of property, honours, &c., in the State, according to the merits of each citizen; the standard of worth or merit being settled by the constitution, whether democratic, oligarchic, or aristocratic (III.). Corrective, or Reparative Justice takes no account of persons; but, looking at cases where unjust loss or gain has occurred, aims to restore the balance, by striking an arithmetical mean (IV.). The Pythagorean idea, that Justice is Retaliation, is inadequate; proportion and other circumstances must be included. Proportionate Retaliation, or Reciprocity of services,—as in the case of Commercial Exchange, measured through the instrument of money, with its definite value,—is set forth as the great bond of society. Just dealing is the mean between doing injustice and suffering injustice (V.). Justice is definitely connected with Law, and exists only between citizens of the State, and not between father and children, master and slave, between whom there is no law proper, but only a sort of relation analogous to law (VI.). Civil Justice is partly Natural, partly conventional. The natural is what has the same force everywhere, whether accepted or not; the conventional varies with institutions, acquiring all its force from adoption by law, and being in itself a matter of indifference prior to such adoption. Some persons regard all Justice as thus conventional. They say—'What exists by nature is unchangeable, and has everywhere the same power; for example, fire burns alike in Persia and here; but we see regulations of justice often varied—differing here and there.' This, however, is not exactly the fact, though to a certain extent it is the fact. Among the gods indeed, it perhaps is not the fact at all: but among men, it is true that there exists something by nature changeable, though everything is not so. Nevertheless, there are some things existing by nature, other things not by nature. And we can plainly see, among those matters that admit of opposite arrangement, which of them belong to nature and which to law and convention; and the same distinction will fit in other cases also. Thus the right hand is by nature more powerful than the left; yet it is possible that all men may become ambidextrous. Those regulations of justice that are not by nature, but by human appointment, are not the same everywhere; nor is the political constitution everywhere the same; yet there is one political constitution only that is by nature the best everywhere (VII.).
To constitute Justice and Injustice in acts, the acts must be voluntary; there being degrees of culpability in injustice according to the intention, the premeditation, the greater or less knowledge of circumstances. The act that a person does may perhaps be unjust; but he is not, on that account, always to be regarded as an unjust man (VIII.).
Here a question arises, Can one be injured voluntarily? It seems not, for what a man consents to is not injury. Nor can a person injure himself. Injury is a relationship between two parties (IX.). Equity does not contradict, or set aside, Justice, but is a higher and finer kind of justice, coming in where the law is too rough and general.
According to the views most received at present, Morality is an affair of conscience and sentiment; little or nothing is said about estimating the full circumstances and consequences of each act, except that there is no time to calculate correctly, and that the attempt to do so is generally a pretence for evading the peremptory order of virtuous sentiment, which, if faithfully obeyed, ensures virtuous action in each particular case. If these views be adopted, an investigation of our intellectual excellences would find no place in a treatise on Ethics. But the theory of Aristotle is altogether different. Though he recognizes Emotion and Intellect as inseparably implicated in the mind of Ethical agents, yet the sovereign authority that he proclaims is not Conscience or Sentiment, but Reason. The subordination of Sentiment to Reason is with him essential. It is true that Reason must be supplied with First Principles, whence to take its start; and these First Principles are here declared to be, fixed emotional states or dispositions, engendered in the mind of the agent by a succession of similar acts. But even these dispositions themselves, though not belonging to the department of Reason, are not exempt from the challenge and scrutiny of Reason; while the proper application of them in act to the complicated realities of life, is the work of Reason altogether. Such an ethical theory calls upon Aristotle to indicate, more or less fully, those intellectual excellences, whereby alone we are enabled to overcome the inherent difficulties of right ethical conduct; and he indicates them in the present Book, comparing them with those other intellectual excellences which guide our theoretical investigations, where conduct is not directly concerned.
In specifying the ethical excellences, or excellences of disposition, we explained that each of them aimed to realize a mean—and that this mean was to be determined by Right Reason. To find the mean, is thus an operation of the Intellect; and we have now to explain what the right performance of it is,—or to enter upon the Excellences of the Intellect. The soul having been divided into Irrational and Rational, the Rational must farther be divided into two parts,—the Scientific (dealing with necessary matter), the Calculative, or Deliberative (dealing with contingent matter). We must touch, upon the excellence or best condition of both of them (I). There are three principal functions of the soul—Sensation, Reason, and Appetite or Desire. Now, Sensation (which beasts have as well as men) is not a principle of moral action. The Reason regards truth and falsehood only; it does not move to action, it is not an end in itself. Appetite or Desire, which aims at an end, introduces us to moral action. Truth and Falsehood, as regards Reason, correspond to Good and Evil as regards Appetite: Affirmation and Negation, with the first, are the analogues of Pursuit and Avoidance, with the second. In purpose, which is the principle of moral action, there is included deliberation or calculation. Reason and Appetite are thus combined: Good Purpose comprises both true affirmation and right pursuit: you may call it either an Intelligent Appetite, or an Appetitive Intelligence. Such is man, as a principle of action [hae toiautae archae anthropos].
Science has to do with the necessary and the eternal; it is teachable, but teachable always frompraecognita, or principles, obtained by induction; from which principles, conclusions are demonstrated by syllogism (III.). Art, or Production, is to be carefully distinguished from the action or agency that belongs to man as an ethical agent, and that does not terminate in any separate assignable product. But both the one and the other deal with contingent matters only. Art deals for the most part with the same matters as are subject to the intervention of Fortune or Chance (IV.).
Prudence or Judiciousness [Greek: phronaesis], the quality of [Greek: ho phronimos], the Practical Reason, comes next. We are told what are the matters wherewith it is, and wherewith it is not, conversant. It does not deal with matters wherein there exist art, or with rules of art. It does not deal with necessary matters, nor with matters not modifiable by human agency. The prudent or judicious man is one who (like Pericles) can accurately estimate and foresee matters (apart from Science and Art) such as are good or evil for himself and other human beings. On these matters, feelings of pleasure or pain are apt to bias the mind, by insinuating wrong aims; which they do not do in regard to the properties of a triangle and other scientific conclusions. To guard against such bias, the judicious man must be armed with the ethical excellence described above as Temperance or Moderation. Judiciousness is not an Art, admitting of better and worse; there are not good judicious men, and bad judicious men, as there are good and bad artists. Judiciousness is itself an excellence (i.e., the term connotes excellence)—an excellence of the rational soul, and of that branch of the rational soul which is calculating, deliberative, not scientific (V.). Reason or Intellect [Greek: nous] is the faculty for apprehending the first principles of demonstrative science. It is among the infallible faculties of the mind, together with Judiciousness, Science, and Philosophy. Each of these terms connotes truth and accuracy (VI.). Wisdom in the arts is the privilege of the superlative artists, such as Phidias in sculpture. But there are some men wise, not in any special art, but absolutely; and this wisdom [Greek: sophia] is Philosophy. It embraces both principles of science (which Aristotle considers to come under the review of the First Philosophy) and deductions therefrom; it is [Greek: nous] and [Greek: epistaemae] in one. It is more venerable and dignified than Prudence or Judiciousness; because its objects, the Kosmos and the celestial bodies, are far more glorious than man, with whose interests alone Prudence is concerned; and also because the celestial objects are eternal and unvarying; while man and his affairs are transitory and ever fluctuating. Hence the great honour paid to Thales, Anaxagoras, and others, who speculated on theories thus magnificent and superhuman, though useless in respect to human good.
We have already said that Prudence or Judiciousness is good counsel on human interests, with a view to action. But we must also add that it comprises a knowledge not of universals merely, but also of particulars; and experienced men, much conversant with particulars, are often better qualified for action than inexperienced men of science (VII.). Prudence is the same in its intellectual basis as the political science or art—yet looked at in a different aspect. Both of them are practical and consultative, respecting matters of human good and evil; but prudence, in the stricter sense of the word, concerns more especially the individual self; still, the welfare of the individual is perhaps inseparable from household and state concerns. Prudence farther implies a large experience; whence boys, who can become good mathematicians, cannot have practical judgment or prudence. In consultation, we are liable to error both in regard to universals, and in regard to particulars; it is the business of prudence, as well as of the political science, to guard against both. That prudence is not identical with Science, is plain enough; for Science is the intermediate process between the first principles and the last conclusions; whereas prudence consists chiefly in seizing these last, which are the applications of reasoning, and represent the particular acts to be done. Prudence is the counterpart of Reason [Greek: Nous] or Intellect, but at the opposite extremity of the mental process. For Intellect [Greek: Nous] apprehends the extreme Universals,—the first principles,—themselves not deducible, but from which deduction starts; while Prudence fastens on the extreme particulars, which are not known by Science, but by sensible Perception. We mean here by sensible Perception, not what is peculiar to any of the five senses, but what is common to them all—whereby we perceive that the triangle before us is a geometrical ultimatum, and that it is the final subject of application for all the properties previously demonstrated to belong to triangles generally. The mind will stop here in the downward march towards practical application, as it stopped at first principles in the upward march. Prudence becomes, however, confounded with sensible perception, when we reach this stage. [The statement here given involves Aristotle's distinction of the proper and the common Sensibles; a shadowing out of the muscular element in sensation] (VIII.).
Good counsel [Greek: euboulia] is distinguished from various other qualities. It is, in substance, choosing right means to a good end; the end being determined by the great faculty—Prudence or Judiciousness (IX.). Sagacity [Greek: synesis] is a just intellectual measure in regard to the business of life, individual and social; critical ability in appreciating and interpreting the phenomena of experience. It is distinguished from Prudence in this respect—that Prudence carries inferences into Practice (X.). Considerateness [Greek: gnomae] is another intellectual virtue, with a practical bearing. It is that virtue whereby we discern the proper occasions for indulgent construction, softening the rigour of logical consistency. It is the source of equitable decisions.
The different intellectual excellences just named—Considerateness, Sagacity, Prudence [Greek: phronaesis], and Intellect [Greek: Nous], seem all to bear on the same result, and are for the most part predicable of the same individuals. All of them are concerned with the ultimate applications of principle to practice, and with the actual moments for decision and action. Indeed, Intellect [Greek: Nous] deals with the extremes at both ends of the scale: with the highest and lowest terms. In theoretical science, it apprehends and sanctions the major propositions, the first and highestprincipiaof demonstrations: in practical dealings, it estimates the minor propositions of the syllogism, the possibilities of the situation, and the ultimate action required. All these are theprincipiafrom whence arises the determining motive: for the universal is always derived from particulars; these we must know through sensible perception, which is in this case the same thing as intellect [Greek: Nous]. Intellect is in fact both the beginning and the end: it cognizes both the first grounds of demonstration and the last applications of the results of demonstration. A man cannot acquire science by nature, or without teaching: but he may acquire Intellect and Sagacity by nature, simply through, long life and abundant experience. The affirmations and opinions of old men deserve attention, hardly less than demonstrations: they have acquired an eye from experience, and can thus see the practical principles (though they may not be able to lay out their reasons logically) (XI.).
But an objector may ask—Of what use are Philosophy and Prudence? He may take such grounds as these. (1) Philosophy has no practical aim at all; nor does it consider the means of happiness? (2) Prudence, though bearing on practice, is merely knowledge, and does not ensure right action. (3) Even granting the knowledge to be of value as direction, it might be obtained, like medical knowledge, from a professional adviser. (4) If philosophy is better than prudence, why does prudence control philosophy? We have to answer these doubts. The first is answered by asserting the independent value of philosophy and prudence, as perfections of our nature, and as sources of happiness in themselves. The second and third doubts are set at rest, by affirming prudence to have no existence apart from virtue. Without a virtuous aim, there is no such thing as Prudence: there is nothing but cleverness degenerating into cunning; while virtue without virtuous prudence is nothing better than a mere instinct, liable to be misguided in every way (XII.).
There is one more difficulty to be cleared up respecting virtue. All our dispositions; and therefore all our ethical excellences, come to us in a certain sense by nature; that is, we have from the moment of birth a certain aptitude for becoming temperate, courageous, just, &c. But these natural aptitudes or possessions [Greek: physikai hexeis] are something altogether distinct from the ethical excellences proper, though capable of being matured into them, if intellect and prudence be superadded. Sokrates was mistaken in resolving all the virtues into prudence; but he was right in saying that none of them can exist without prudence. The virtues ought to be defined as, not merely ethical dispositionsaccordingto right reason, but ethical dispositionsalong withright reason or prudence (i.e., prudence is an ever present co-efficient). It is thus abundantly evident that none but a prudent man can be good, and none but a good man can be prudent. The virtues are separable from each other, so far as the natural aptitudes are concerned: a man may have greater facility for acquiring one than another. But so far as regards the finished acquirements of excellence, in virtue of which a man is calledgood—no such separation is possible. All of them alike need the companionship of Prudence (XIII.).
With reference to moral power, in self-restraint, six grades are specified. (1) God-like virtue, or reason impelling as well as directing. (2) The highest human virtue, expressed by Temperance [Greek: sophrosynae]—appetite and passion perfectly harmonized with reason. (3) Continence [Greek: egkrateia] or the mastery of reason, after a struggle. (4) Incontinence, the mastery of appetite or passion, but not without a struggle. (5) Vice, reason perverted so as to harmonize entirely with appetite or passion. (6) Bestiality, naked appetite or passion, without reason. Certain prevalent opinions are enumerated, which are to form the subject of the discussions following—(1) Continence and endurance are morally good. (2) The Continent man sticks to his opinion. (3) The Incontinent err knowingly. (4) Temperance and Continence are the same. (5) Wise and clever men may be Incontinent. (6) Incontinence applies to other things than Pleasure, as anger, honour, and gain (I.).
The third point (the Incontinent sin knowingly) is first mooted. Sokrates held the contrary; he made vice and ignorance convertible. Others think that the knowledge possessed by the incontinent is mere opinion, or a vague and weak conviction. It is objected to No. 4, that continence implies evil desires to be controlled; while temperance means the character fully harmonized. As to No. 2, Continence must often be bad, if it consists in sticking to an opinion (II.).
The third point, the only question of real interest or difficulty, is resumed at greater length. The distinction betweenknowledgeandopinion(the higher and the lower kinds of knowledge) does not settle the question, for opinion may be asstrongas knowledge. The real point is, what is meant byhaving knowledge? A man's knowledge may be in abeyance, as it is when he is asleep or intoxicated. Thus, we may have in the mind two knowledges (like two separate syllogisms), one leading to continence, the other to incontinence; the first is not drawn out, like the syllogism wanting a minor; hence it may be said to be not present to the mind; so that, in a certain sense, Sokrates was right in denying that actual and present knowledge could be overborne. Vice is a form of oblivion (III.).
The next question is, what is the object-matter of incontinence; whether there is any man incontinent simply and absolutely (without any specification of wherein), or whether all incontinent men are so in regard to this or that particular matter? (No. 6). The answer is, that it applies directly to the bodily appetites and pleasures, which are necessary up to a certain point (the sphere of Temperance), and then he that commits unreasonable excess above this point is called Incontinent simply. But if he commits excess in regard to pleasures, which, though not necessary, are natural and, up to a certain point, reasonable—such as victory, wealth, honour—we designate him as incontinent, yet with a specification of the particular matter (IV.).
The modes of Bestiality, as cannibalism and unnatural passion, are ascribed to morbid depravity of nature or of habits, analogous to disease or madness (V.).
Incontinence in anger is not so bad as Incontinence in lust, because anger (1) has more semblance of reason, (2) is more a matter of constitution, (3) has less of deliberate purpose—while lust is crafty, (4) arises under pain; and not from wantonness (VI.).
Persons below the average in resistingpleasuresare incontinent; those below the average in resistingpainsare soft or effeminate. The mass of men incline to both weaknesses. He that deliberately pursues excessive pleasures, or other pleasures in an excessive way, is said to be abandoned. The intemperate are worse than the incontinent. Sport, in its excess, is effeminacy, as being relaxation from toil. There are two kinds of incontinence: the one proceeding from precipitancy, where a man acts without deliberating at all; the other from feebleness,—where he deliberates, but where the result of deliberation is too weak to countervail his appetite (VII.). Intemperance or profligacy is more vicious, and less curable than Incontinence. The profligate man is one who has in him no principle (archae) of good or of right reason, and who does wrong without afterwards repenting of it; the incontinent man has the good principle in him, but it is overcome when he does wrong, and he afterwards repents (VIII.). Here, again, Aristotle denies that sticking to one's opinions is,per se, continence. The opinion may be wrong; in that case, if a man sticks to it, prompted by mere self-assertion and love of victory, it is a species of incontinence. One of the virtues of the continent man is to be open to persuasion, and to desert one's resolutions for a noble end (IX.). Incontinence is like sleep or drunkenness as opposed to wakeful knowledge. The incontinent man is like a state having good laws, but not acting on them. The incontinence of passion is more curable than that of weakness; what proceeds from habit more than what is natural (X.).
The Eighth and Ninth Books contain the treatise on Friendship.
The subject deserves a place in an Ethical treatise, because of its connexion with virtue and with happiness. Several questions have been debated concerning Friendship,—Is it based on likeness or unlikeness? Can bad men be friends? Is there but one species of Friendship, or more than one? (I.) Some progress towards a solution of these questions may be made by considering what are the objects of liking; these are the good, the pleasant, the useful. By the good is not meant the absolute good of Plato, but the apparent good. Inanimate things must be excluded, as wanting reciprocation (II.). The varieties of friendship follow these three modes of the likeable. The friendships for the useful and the pleasant, are not disinterested, but self-seeking; they are therefore accidental and transitory; they do not involve intimate and frequent association. Friendship for the good, and between the virtuous, is alone perfect; it is formed slowly, and has the requisites of permanence. It occurs rarely (III.). As regards the useful and the pleasant, the bad may be friends. It may happen that two persons are mutually pleasant to each other, as lover and beloved; while this lasts, there is friendship. It is only as respects the good, that there exists a permanent liking for the person. Such friendship is of an absolute nature; the others are accidental (IV.). Friendship is in full exercise only during actual intercourse; it may exist potentially at a distance; but in long absence, there is danger of its being dissolved. Friendship is a settled state or habit, while fondness is a mere passion, which does not imply our wishing to do good to the object of it, as friendship does (V.). The perfect kind of friendship, from its intensity, cannot be exercised towards more than a small number. In regard to the useful and the pleasant, on the other hand, there may be friendship with many; as the friendship towards tradesmen and between the young. The happy desire pleasant friends. Men in power have two classes of friends; one for the useful, the other for the pleasant. Both qualities are found in the good man; but he will not be the friend of a superior, unless he be surpassed (by that superior) in virtue also. In all the kinds of friendship now specified there is equality (VI.). There are friendships where one party is superior, as father and son, older and younger, husband and wife, governor and governed. In such cases there should be a proportionably greater love on the part of the inferior. When the love on each side is proportioned to the merit of the party beloved, then we have a certain species of equality, which is an ingredient in friendship. But equality in matters of friendship, is not quite the same as equality in matters of justice. In matters of justice, equality proportioned to merit stands first—equality between man and man (no account being taken of comparative merit) stands only second. In friendship, the case is the reverse; the perfection of friendship is equal love between the friends towards each other; to have greater love on one side, by reason of and proportioned to superior merit, is friendship only of the second grade. This will be evident if we reflect that extreme inequality renders friendship impossible—as between private men and kings or gods. Hence the friend can scarcely wish for his friend the maximum of good, to become a god; such extreme elevation would terminate the friendship. Nor will he wish his friend to possess all the good; for every one wishes most for good to self (VII.). The essence of friendship is to love rather than to be loved, as seen in mothers; but the generality of persons desire rather to be loved, which is akin to being honoured (although honour is partly sought as a sign of future favours). By means of love, as already said, unequal friendships may be equalized. Friendship with the good, is based on equality and similarity, neither party ever desiring base services. Friendships for the useful are based on the contrariety of fulness and defect, as poor and rich, ignorant and knowing (VIII.). Friendship is an incident of political society; men associating together for common ends, become friends. Political justice becomes more binding when men are related by friendship. The state itself is a community for the sake of advantage; the expedient to all is the just. In the large society of the state, there are many inferior societies for business, and for pleasure: friendship starts up in all (IX.). There are three forms of Civil Government, with a characteristic declension or perversion of each:—Monarchy passing into Despotism; Aristocracy into Oligarchy; Timocracy (based on wealth) into Democracy; parent and child typifies the first; husband and wife the second; brothers the third (X.). The monarchial or paternal type has superiority on one side, and demands honour as well as love on the other. In aristocracy, the relation is one of merit, and the greater love is given to the better. In timocracy, and among brothers, there is equality; and hence the most frequent friendships. There is no friendship towards a slave, as a slave, for, as such he is a mere animate tool (XL.). In the relations of the family, friendship varies with the different situations. Parents love their children as a part of themselves, and from the first; children grow to love their parents. Brothers are affected by their community of origin, as well as by common education and habits of intimacy. Husband and wife come together by a natural bond, and as mutual helps; their friendship contains the useful and the pleasant, and, with virtue, the good. Their offspring strengthens the bond (XII.). The friendships that give rise to complaints are confined to the Useful. Such friendships involve a legal element of strict and measured reciprocity [mere trade], and a moral or unwritten understanding, which is properly friendship. Each party is apt to give less and expect more than he gets; and the rule must be for each to reciprocate liberally and fully, in such manner and kind as they are able (XIII.). In unequal friendships, between a superior and inferior, the inferior has the greater share of material assistance, the superior should receive the greater honour (XIV.).
The position is next examined—that the love felt by benefactors is stronger than the love felt by those benefitted. It is not a sufficient explanation to say, the benefactor is a creditor, who wishes the prosperity of his debtor. Benefactors are like workmen, who love their own work, and the exercise of their own powers. They also have the feeling of nobleness on their side; while the recipient has the less lovable idea of profit. Finally, activity is more akin to love than recipiency (VII.). Another question raised for discussion is—'Ought a man to love himself most, or another?' On the one hand, selfishness is usually condemned as the feature of bad men; on the other hand, the feelings towards self are made the standard of the feelings towards friends. The solution is given thus. There is a lower self (predominant with most men) that gratifies the appetites, seeking wealth, power, &c. With the select few, there is a higher self that seeks the honourable, the noble, intellectual excellence, at any cost of pleasure, wealth, honour, &c. These noble-minded men procure for themselves the greater good by sacrificing the less: and their self-sacrifice is thus a mode of self. It is the duty of the good man to love himself: for his noble life is profitable, both to himself, and to others; but the bad man ought not to love himself. [Self-sacrifice, formerly brought under Courage, is here depicted from another point of view] (VIII.).
By way of bringing out the advantages of friendship, it is next asked, Does the happy man need friends? To this, it is answered, (1) That happiness, being the sum of all human good, must suppose the possession of the greatest of external goods, which is friendship. (2) The happy man will require friends as recipients, of his overflow of kindness. (3) He cannot be expected either to be solitary, or to live with strangers. (4) The highest play of existence is to see the acts of another in harmony with self. (5) Sympathy supports and prolongs the glow of one's own emotions. (6) A friend confirms us in the practice of virtue. (7) The sense of existence in ourselves is enlarged by the consciousness of another's existence (IX.). The number of friends is again considered, and the same barriers stated—the impossibility of sharing among many the highest kind of affection, or of keeping up close and harmonious intimacy. The most renowned friendships are between pairs (X.). As to whether friends are most needed in adversity or in prosperity—in the one, friendship is more necessary, in the other more glorious (XI.). The essential support and manifestation of friendship is Intercourse. Whatever people's tastes are, they desire the society of others in exercising them (XII.).
Pleasure is deserving of consideration, from its close intimacy with the constitution of our race; on which account, in our training of youth, we steer them by pleasure and pain; and it is of the first importance that they should feel pleasure in what they ought, and displeasure in what they ought, as the groundwork (orprincipium) of good ethical dispositions. Such a topic can never be left unnoticed, especially when we look at the great difference of opinion thereupon. Some affirm pleasure to be the chief good [Eudoxus]. Others call it altogether vile and worthless [party of Speusippus]. Of these last, some perhaps really think so; but the rest are actuated by the necessity of checking men's too great proneness to it, and disparage it on that account. This policy Aristotle strongly censures, and contends for the superior efficacy of truth (I.).
The arguments urged by Eudoxus as proving pleasure to be the chief good, are, (1) That all beings seek pleasure; (2) and avoid its opposite, pain; (3) that they seek pleasure as an end-in-itself, and not as a means to any farther end; (4) that pleasure, added to any other good, such as justice or temperance, increases the amount of good; which could not be the case, unless pleasure were itself good. Yet this last argument (Aristotle urges) proves pleasure to beagood, but not to betheGood; indeed, Plato urged the same argument, to show that pleasure couldnotbe The Good: since The Good (the Chief Good) must be something that does not admit of being enhanced or made more good. The objection of Speusippus,—that irrational creatures are not to be admitted as witnesses,—Aristotle disallows, seeing that rational and irrational agree on the point; and the thing that seems to all, must be true. Another objection, That the opposite of pain is not pleasure, but a neutral state—is set aside as contradicted by the fact of human desire and aversion, the two opposite states of feeling (II.).
The arguments of the Platonists, to prove that pleasure is not good, are next examined. (1) Pleasure, they say, is not a quality; but neither (replies Aristotle) are the exercises or actual manifestations of virtue or happiness. (2) Pleasure is not definite, but unlimited, or admitting of degrees, while The Good is a something definite, and does not admit of degrees. But if these reasoners speak about the pure pleasures, they might take objection on similar grounds against virtue and justice also; for these too admit of degrees, and one man is more virtuous than another. And if they speak of the mixed pleasures (alloyed with pain), their reasoning will not apply to the unmixed. Good health is acknowledged to be a good, and to be a definite something; yet there are nevertheless some men more healthy, some less. (3) The Good is perfect or complete; but objectors urge that no motion or generation is complete, and pleasure is in one of these two categories. This last assertion Aristotle denies. Pleasure isnota motion; for the attribute of velocity, greater or less, which is essential to all motion, does not attach to pleasure. A man may be quick in becoming pleased, or in becoming angry; but in the act of being pleased or angry, he can neither be quick nor slow. Nor is it true that pleasure is a generation. In all generation, there is something assignable out of which generation takes place (not any one thing out of any other), and into which it reverts by destruction. If pleasure be a generation, pain must be the destruction of what is generated; but this is not correct, for pain does not re-establish the state antecedent to the pleasure. Accordingly, it is not true that pleasure is a generation. Some talk of pain as a want of something required by nature, and of pleasure as a filling up of that want. But these are corporeal, not mental facts, and are applicable only to eating and drinking; not applicable to many other pleasures, such as those of sight, hearing, or learning. (4) There are some disgraceful pleasures. Aristotle replies that these are not absolutely and properly pleasures, but only to the depraved man; just as things are not yellow, which appear so to men in a jaundice. Pleasures differ from each other in species: there are good pleasures,i.e., those arising from good sources; and bad pleasures,i.e., from bad sources. The pleasureper seis always desirable; but not when it comes from objectionable acts. The pleasures of each man will vary according to his character; none but a musical man can enjoy the pleasures of music. No one would consent to remain a child for life, even though he were to have his fill of childish pleasure.
Aristotle sums up the result thus. Pleasure is not The Good. Not every mode of pleasure is to be chosen. Some pleasures, distinguished from the rest specifically or according to their sources, are to be chosenper se(III.).
He then attempts to define pleasure. It is something perfect and complete in itself, at each successive moment of time; hence it is not motion, which is at every moment incomplete. Pleasure is like the act of vision, or a point, or a monad, always complete in itself. It accompanies every variety of sensible perception, intelligence, and theorizing contemplation. In each of these faculties, the act is more perfect, according as the subjective element is most perfect, and the object most grand and dignified. When the act is most perfect, the pleasure accompanying it is also the most perfect; and this pleasure puts the finishing consummation to the act. The pleasure is not a pre-existing acquirement now brought into exercise, but an accessory end implicated with the act, like the fresh look which belongs to the organism just matured. It is a sure adjunct, so long as subject and object are in good condition. But continuity of pleasure, as well as of the other exercises, is impossible. Life is itself an exercise much diversified, and each man follows the diversity that is suitable to his own inclination—music, study, &c. Each has its accessory and consummating mode of pleasure; and to say that all men desire pleasure, is the same as saying that all men desire life. It is no real question to ask—Do we choose life for the sake of pleasure, or pleasure for the sake of life? The truth is, that the two are implicated and inseparable (IV.).