ACTION
LET US, THEN, TAKE ANOTHER STARTING-POINT FOR THE succeeding inquiry. Every substance is by nature a sort of originating principle: that is why each can produce many things similar to itself—for instance, man man, animals in general animals, and plants plants. But in addition to this [20] man alone of animals is also an origin of actions of a kind; for action is ascribed to no other animal. Of originating principles, those which are primary sources of movement are said to be controlling, and most properly so those that have necessary results: god is doubtless an origin of this kind. There is no such thing as control among originating principles without movement (for instance, those of [25] mathematics), though by analogy we use the name there also. For there, too, if the originating principle should move, practically all that is proved from it would change; but these consequences do not themselves change, one being destroyed by another, except by destroying the supposition and proving by way of that. Man is the originating principle of a kind of [30] movement; for action is movement. Since, as elsewhere, the originating principle is the cause of all that exists or arises through it, we must take the same view as in demonstrations. For if, supposing the triangle to have its angles equal to two right angles, the quadrilateral must have them equal to four right angles, it is evident that the cause of this is that the triangle has them equal to two right angles. If the triangle [35] changes, then so must the quadrilateral—for instance, having six right angles if the triangle has three, and eight if it has four. But if the triangle does not change but remains as it was before, so too must the quadrilateral.
The necessity of what we are endeavouring to show is plain from the Analytics; at present we can neither affirm nor deny anything with precision except just this: supposing [40] there were no other cause for the triangle’s being as it is, then the triangle would be a sort of principle or cause of all that [1223a] comes later. So if some of the things that exist can be in a contrary state, then so of necessity can its principles. For what results from the necessary is necessary; but the results from these can be the contrary. What depends on men forms a great portion of things of this kind, and of such things men themselves are the originating principles. So it is evident [5] that all the actions which a man controls and of which he is the origin can either happen or not happen, and that their happening or not happening—those at least for whose existence or non-existence he is authoritative—is in his power. But for what it is in his power to do or not to do, he is himself responsible; and what he is responsible for is in his power. [10] And since virtue and vice and the deeds to which they give rise are praiseworthy or blameworthy—for we do not blame or praise what is due to necessity or to fortune or to nature, but what we ourselves are responsible for; for what another is responsible for, for that he bears the blame or praise—it is plain that both virtue and vice have to do with matters where [15] the man himself is the responsible origin of his actions.
We must then grasp of what actions he is himself the responsible origin. We all admit that for acts that are voluntary and done from the choice of each man he is responsible but for involuntary acts he is not himself responsible. All that he does from choice he plainly does voluntarily. It is plain then [20] that virtue and vice have to do with voluntary acts.
We must then grasp what is the voluntary and the involuntary, and what is choice, since by these virtue and vice are defined. First we must consider the voluntary and involuntary. Of three things it would seem to be one: what is in accordance [25] with either desire or choice or thought—the voluntary being what is in accordance with and the involuntary what goes against one of these. But desire is divided into three sorts, will or wanting, passion, and appetite. We have, then, to distinguish these, and first to consider the case of appetite.
All that is in accordance with appetite would seem to be [30] voluntary; for all the involuntary seems to be enforced, and what is enforced is painful, and so is all that men do and suffer from compulsion—as Evenus says, ‘All to which we are compelled is unpleasant’. So that if something is painful it is enforced, and if enforced painful. But all that is against appetite is painful—for appetite is for the pleasant—and [35] therefore enforced and involuntary. So what is in accordance with appetite is voluntary; for they are contraries.
Further, all depravity makes one more unjust, and incontinence seems to be depravity, the incontinent being the sort of man that acts in accordance with his appetite and against his calculation, and shows his incontinence when he is active [1223b] in accordance with it. But to act unjustly is voluntary: he will therefore act voluntarily, and what is done in accordance with appetite is voluntary. Hence the incontinent will act unjustly by acting in accordance with his appetite. Indeed, it would be absurd that those who become incontinent should be more just.
From these considerations, then, what is in accordance [5] with appetite would seem voluntary—but from the following the contrary. What a man does voluntarily he wants to do, and what he wants to do he does voluntarily. But no one wants what he thinks to be bad. But surely the man who acts incontinently does not do what he wants, for to act incontinently is to act through appetite against what the man thinks best. Hence it will result that the same man acts at [10] the same time both voluntarily and involuntarily; but this is impossible.
Further, the continent will act justly, and more so than incontinence; for continence is a virtue, and virtue makes men more just. One acts continently whenever he acts against his appetite in accordance with his calculation. So that if to act [15] justly is voluntary, as to act unjustly is—for both these seem to be voluntary, and if the one is voluntary, so must the other be—but action against appetite is involuntary, then the same man will at the same time do the same thing voluntarily and involuntarily.
The same argument may be applied to passion. For there is thought to be an incontinence and a continence of passion [20] just as there is of appetite; and what is against passion is painful, and the repression is enforced, so that if the enforced is involuntary, everything in accordance with passion is voluntary. Heraclitus seems to be regarding the strength of passion when he says that the restraint of it is painful: ‘It is hard’, he says, ‘to fight passion; for it buys with its life’. But if [25] it is impossible for a man voluntarily and involuntarily to do the same thing1 at the same time in regard to2 the same part of the act, then what is in accordance with will is more voluntary than what is in accordance with appetite or passion; and evidence of this is that we do many things voluntarily without anger or appetite.
It remains then to consider whether what is wanted and [30] what is voluntary are identical. But this too is evidently impossible. For we supposed, and it is held, that depravity makes men more unjust, and incontinence seems a kind of depravity. But the contrary will result; for although no one wants what he thinks bad, he does it when he becomes incontinent. If, then, to commit injustice is voluntary, and the voluntary is what is in accordance with will, then when a [35] man becomes incontinent he will no longer act unjustly—rather, he will be more just than before he became incontinent. But this is impossible.
That the voluntary then is not action in accordance with desire, nor the involuntary action against desire, is plain.
Again, that the voluntary is not the same as what is in accordance with choice is evident from the following considerations. It has been demonstrated that what is in accordance [1224a] with will is not involuntary but rather that all that one wants is voluntary—though it has only been shown that one can do voluntarily what one does not want. But many things we want we do suddenly, but no one chooses an act suddenly.
[5] If, as we saw, the voluntary must be one of these three—action according either to desire or to choice or to thought—and it is not two of these, it remains that the voluntary consists in action with some kind of thinking.
Advancing the argument a little further, let us finish our definition of the voluntary and the involuntary. To act perforce [10] or not perforce seems connected with these terms; for we say that the enforced is involuntary and all the involuntary enforced. So first we must consider actions done perforce, their nature and their relation to the voluntary and the involuntary. Now the enforced and the compelled, and force and compulsion, seem opposed to the voluntary and to persuasion [15] in the case of actions done. Generally, we speak of force and compulsion even in the case of inanimate things; for we say that a stone moves upwards and fire downwards by force and compulsion; but when they move according to their natural internal impulse, we do not speak of force; nor [20] do we call it voluntary either: rather, there is no name for this antithesis. When they move against this impulse, then we say they move perforce. So too among animate things and among animals we often see things being acted on and acting from force, when something from without moves them against their own internal impulse. Now in the inanimate the originating principle is simple, but in the animate there is more than one; for desire and reason do not always [25] agree. And so with the other animals what is enforced is simple (just as in the inanimate), for they have not desire and reason contrary to one another, but live by desire; but men have both—or do so at a certain age, namely the age at which we ascribe actions to them. For we do not say that children act or that brutes do, but only men who have come to act from calculation.
[30] The enforced seems always painful, and no one does something perforce and yet with delight. That is why there arises much dispute about the continent and incontinent; for each of them acts with two impulses mutually contrary, so that (as they say) the continent man forcibly drags himself [35] from the pleasant appetites (for he feels pain in dragging himself away against the resistance of desire), while the incontinent suffers force against his calculation. But the latter seems less to be in pain; for appetite is for the pleasant, and this he follows with delight. So the incontinent rather acts voluntarily and not from force, because he acts without pain. But persuasion is opposed to force and compulsion, and the [1224b] continent goes towards what he is persuaded of, and so proceeds not perforce but voluntarily. But appetite leads without persuading, being devoid of reason.
We have, then, shown that these alone seem to act perforce and voluntarily,3 and why they seem to—namely from a certain likeness to the enforced action, in virtue of which [5] we attribute enforced action also to the inanimate. Yet if we add the addition made in our definition, there also the problem is solved. For it is when something external moves a thing or brings it to rest, against its own internal impulse, that we say this happens perforce; and when it does not, we do not say that it happens perforce. But in the continent and the incontinent it is the present internal impulse that leads [10] them—for they have both impulses. So that neither acts perforce, but, as far at least as the above goes, voluntarily and not by compulsion. For the external originating principle that hinders or moves in opposition to the internal impulse is what we call compulsion—for instance, when we strike someone with the hand of one whose will and appetite alike resist; but when the origin is within, there is no force.
[15] Further, there is both pleasure and pain in both; for the continent feels pain now in acting against his appetite, and he has the pleasure of hope that he will be later benefited, or else he is already being benefited because he is in health; while the incontinent is pleased at getting through his incontinency [20] the object of his appetite, but he has a pain of expectation, thinking that he is doing something bad. So to say that both act perforce is not without reason, the one some-times acting involuntarily because of his desire, the other because of his calculation; for these two items, being separated, [25] are thrust out by one another. Hence men extend what they say to the soul as a whole, because they see something of the sort in the elements of the soul. Now of the parts of the soul this may be said; but the soul as a whole acts voluntarily, both in the continent man and in the incontinent, neither of whom acts perforce—rather, one of the elements in them does, since by nature we have both. For reason is [30] there by nature, because if development is permitted and not maimed, it will be there; and appetite, because it accompanies and is present from birth. But these are practically the two marks by which we define the natural: it is either that which accompanies all of us as soon as we are born, or that which comes to us if development is allowed to proceed regularly—for instance, grey hair, old age, and so on. So each [35] acts against nature, and yet in the abstract each acts according to nature—but not the same nature. The problems then about the continent and incontinent are these—do both, or one of them, act perforce, so that they act either involuntarily or else at the same time both perforce and voluntarily, and if force is involuntary, both voluntarily and involuntarily? [1225a] And it is pretty plain from what has been said how these problems are to be met.
In another way, too, men are said to act by force and compulsion without any disagreement between reason and desire, namely when they do what they assume to be both painful [5] and base but are threatened with whipping, imprisonment, or death if they do not do it. Such acts they say they were compelled to do. Or shall we deny this, and say that all do what they do voluntarily? For they have the power not to do it, and to face the suffering.
Again perhaps one might say that some such cases were voluntary and some not. For where it is in the agent’s power [10] whether a situation should obtain or not the acts that he does but does not want to do he always does voluntarily and not perforce; but those in which he has not this power, he does perforce in a way (but not tout court) because he does not choose the very thing he does but the end for which it is done, since there is a difference, too, in this. For if a man were to murder another so as not to be caught at blind man’s buff he [15] would be laughed at if he were to say that he acted perforce and on compulsion: there ought to be some greater and more painful evil that he would suffer if he did not do what he did. For then he will act on compulsion and perforce, or at least not by nature, when he does something bad for the sake of something good or for release from something worse—and involuntarily, for such acts are not in his power.
[20] That is why many regard love, rage in some cases, and natural conditions as involuntary, as being too strong for nature: we sympathize with them inasmuch as these things exert a force upon their nature. A man would more seem to act perforce and involuntarily if he acted to escape violent than if to escape gentle pain, and generally if to escape pain [25] than if to get pleasure. For that which is in his power—and all turns on this—is what his nature is able to bear; and what it is not, and what is not under the control of his natural desire or his calculation, that is not in his power. That is why those who are inspired and prophesy, though what they do is the product of thought, we still say have it not in their power [30] either to say what they said, or to do what they did. Nor is it a result of appetite. So that some thoughts and emotions are not within our power, nor the acts4 following such thoughts and calculations—rather, as Philolaus said, some reasons are too strong for us.
So if the voluntary and involuntary have to be considered [35] in reference to the presence of force, let this be our account. Nothing obscures the idea of the voluntary so much as arguing that people can act from force and yet voluntarily.5
Since we have reached this conclusion, and the voluntary [1225b] has been defined neither by desire nor by choice, it remains to define it as that which is in accordance with thought. The voluntary seems contrary to the involuntary; and to act with knowledge of the person acted on, instrument and end (for sometimes one knows who one is acting on (for instance, one’s father), but not to what end (for instance, to kill, not to save, as in the case of Pelias’ daughters), or one knows the object [5] to be a drink but takes it to be a philtre or wine when it was really hemlock) seems contrary to action in ignorance of the person, instrument, or thing, if the ignorance is not coincidental. All that is done owing to ignorance, whether of person, instrument, or thing, is involuntary; the contrary therefore is voluntary. All, then, that a man does—it being in his power not to do it—not in ignorance and on his own initiative [10] must needs be voluntary; and this is what voluntariness is. But all that he does in ignorance and owing to his ignorance, he does involuntarily. Since knowledge or awareness is of two sorts, one the possession and the other the use of knowledge, the man who has but does not use knowledge may in one way be justly called ignorant, but in another way not justly—for instance, if he had not used his knowledge [15] owing to carelessness. Similarly, one might be blamed for not having the knowledge, if it were something easy or necessary and he does not have it because of carelessness or pleasure or pain. This, then, we must add to our definition.
Such, then, is our definition of the voluntary and the involuntary.
LET US NEXT SPEAK ABOUT CHOICE, FIRST RAISING VARIOUS [20] problems about it. For one might doubt to what genus it belongs and in which kind to place it, and whether the voluntary and the chosen are or are not the same. Some insist that choice is either belief or desire, and the inquirer might think that it is one or the other—for both accompany it. Now that [25] it is not desire is evident; for then it would be either will or appetite or passion—for no one desires without having experienced one of these feelings. But passion and appetite belong also to the brutes while choice does not; further, even those who have both of these often choose without either passion or appetite; and when they are under the influence of [30] their passions they do not choose but endure. Further, passion and appetite always involve pain, but we often choose without pain. But neither are will and choice the same; for we often want what we know is impossible (for example, to rule all mankind or to be immortal), but no one chooses such [35] things unless ignorant of the impossibility, nor, generally, does he choose what is possible if he does not think it in his power to do or not to do it. So it is evident that the object of choice must be one of the things in our power.
[1226a] Similarly, choice is plainly not belief nor simply what one thinks; for the object of choice was something in one’s power and many things may be believed that are not in our power (for instance, that the diagonal is commensurable). Further, [5] choice is not either true or false. Nor yet is choice belief about matters of action which are in our power, as when we think that we ought to do or not to do something. The following point applies to will as well as to belief: no one chooses an end but rather things that contribute to an end—for instance, no one chooses to be in health but to walk or to sit for the purpose of keeping well; no one chooses to be [10] happy but to make money or run risks for the purpose of being happy. And in general, in choosing we make plain both what we choose and for what we choose it, the latter being that for which we choose something else, the former that which we choose for something else. But it is the end that we specially want, and we believe we ought to be healthy and [15] happy. So it is evident from this that choice is different both from belief and from will; for will and belief pertain especially to the end, but choice does not.
It is plain, then, that choice is not will, nor belief, nor assumption tout court. But in what does it differ from these? And how is it related to the voluntary? The answer to these [20] questions will also make it plain what choice is. Of things that can either be or not be, then, there are some such that we can deliberate about them, while about others we cannot. For some things can either be or not be, but bringing them about is not in our power: rather, they are due some to nature [25] and others to other causes; and about these no one would attempt to deliberate except in ignorance. But about others, not only is being and not being possible, but so too6 is human deliberation; these are things the doing or not doing of which is in our power. That is why we do not deliberate about the affairs of India nor how the circle may be [30] squared; for the first are not in our power, and the second is not a matter of action at all (by which it is plain that choice is not belief tout court). Matters of choice and action belong to the class of things in our power; but we do not deliberate about all matters of action that are in our power.
That is why one might then raise the problem: Why do [35] doctors deliberate about matters within their science but not grammarians? The reason is that error may occur in two ways (either in calculation or in sense-perception when we are engaged in the very act), and in medicine one may go wrong in both ways, but in grammar one can do so only in [1226b] respect of the perception and action, and if they inquired about this there would be no end to their inquiries.
Since then choice is7 neither belief nor will singly nor yet both together (for no one chooses suddenly, though on a sudden a man believes he ought to act and wants to act), it [5] must be compounded of both—for both are found in a man choosing. But we must ask how it is compounded out of these. The very name in a way makes it plain. For choice is not simply picking but picking one thing before another;8 and this is impossible without consideration and deliberation: that is why choice arises out of deliberative belief.
[10] Now about the end no one deliberates (this being fixed for all), but about that which tends to it—whether this or that tends to it, and—supposing that resolved on—how it is to be brought about. We all deliberate about this till we have brought the process to an originating principle within ourselves. If then, no one chooses without preparation and deliberation [15] about what is better or worse, and if of the things which contribute to an end and which may or may not come about, we deliberate about those that are in our power, then it is plain that choice is a deliberative desire for something in our power. For we all deliberate about what we choose, though we do not choose all the things we deliberate about. I [20] call a desire deliberative when deliberation is its origin and cause, and the man desires because of the deliberation.
That is why in the other animals choice does not exist, nor in man at every age or in every condition. For there is no deliberation or assumption about why to act. But nothing prevents many people from having a belief about whether a [25] thing is to be done or not, but not through calculation. For the deliberating part of the soul is that which considers a cause of some sort; for the end is one of the causes: a cause is that owing to which a thing is or comes about, and the end of a thing’s being or coming about we call its cause (for instance, of walking, the fetching of things, if this is the purpose [30] for which one walks). That is why those who have no aim fixed have no inclination to deliberate.
So if a man of himself and not through ignorance does or abstains from that which is in his power to do or not do, he acts or abstains voluntarily; but we do many such things without deliberation or forethought: it follows that all that has been chosen is voluntary, but not all the voluntary is chosen, [35] and that all that is according to choice is voluntary, but not all that is voluntary is according to choice.9 And at the same time it is evident from this that those legislators define well who enact that some phenomena are to be considered voluntary, some involuntary, and some done aforethought; [1227a] for if they are not thoroughly precise, at least they touch on the truth. But about this we will speak in our investigation of justice. It is plain that choice is not simply will or simply belief [5] but belief and desire together when they are drawn from deliberation.
Since in deliberating one always deliberates for the sake of something, and he who deliberates has always an aim by reference to which he judges what is advantageous, no one deliberates about the end: rather, this is the originating principle and supposition, like the suppositions in the contemplative [10] sciences (we have spoken about this briefly at the start and more precisely in the Analytics). Everyone’s inquiry, whether made with or without craftsmanship, is about what tends to the end—for instance, whether they shall go to war or not, when this is what they are deliberating about. But the [15] reason or purpose will come first—for instance, riches, pleasure, or anything else of the sort that happens to be our purpose. For the man deliberating deliberates if, starting from the end, he has considered what10 conduces to bringing the end within his own action, or what he can do towards the end. But the end is always something good by nature, and men deliberate about it in particular—for instance, the doctor [20] whether he is to give a drug, or the general where he is to pitch his camp. To them there is a good end, which is the thing that in the abstract is best. But against nature and by perversion11 not the good but the apparent good is the end. The reason is that some things cannot be used for anything but what their nature determines—for instance, sight; for [25] one can see nothing but what is visible, nor hear anything but what is audible. But a science enables us to do what does not belong to that science; for the same science is not similarly related to health and disease, but naturally to the former and unnaturally to the latter. Similarly will is of the good naturally but of the bad unnaturally; and by nature one [30] wants the good but against nature and by perversion12 the bad as well.
But further, the corruption and perversion of a thing does not tend to anything whatever but to the contrary or the intermediate. For out of this province one cannot go, since mistake leads not to anything whatever but to the contrary [35] where there is a contrary, and to that contrary which is contrary with regard to the science. Therefore, both the mistake and the choice must deviate from the middle towards the contrary—and the more and the less are contrary to the middle. The cause is pleasantness or painfulness; for we are so constituted that the pleasant appears good to the soul and [40] the more pleasant better, while the painful appears bad and [1227b] the more painful worse. So from this also it is plain that virtue and vice have to do with pleasures and pains; for they have to do with objects of choice, and choice has to do with the good and bad or what appears such, and pleasure and pain naturally seem such.
[5] It follows then, since moral virtue is a mean and is always concerned with pleasures and pains, whereas vice lies in excess or deficiency and is concerned with the same matters as virtue, that moral virtue is a state tending to choose the mean in relation to us in things pleasant and painful, in regard to which, according as one is pleased or pained, men [10] are said to have a definite sort of character—for one is not said to have a special sort of character for loving what is sweet or what is bitter.
THESE DISTINCTIONS HAVING BEEN MADE, LET US SAY whether virtue makes the choice unerring and the end correct so that a man chooses for the end he ought, or whether [15] (as some say) it makes the reasoning so. But what does this is continence; for this does not destroy the reason. And virtue and continence differ. We must speak later about them, since those who think that virtue makes the reasoning correct, do so for this cause—namely, that continence is of this nature and continence is one of the things we praise.
Now that we have discussed the problems let us state our [20] view.13 It is possible for the aim to be correct but for a man to go wrong in what contributes to that aim; and again the aim may be mistaken while the things leading to it are correct; or both may be mistaken. Does then virtue make the aim correct or rather the things that contribute to the aim? We say the aim, because this is not attained by deduction or reasoning [25] but is to be supposed as an origin or principle. For the doctor does not inquire whether one ought to be in health or not but whether one ought to walk or not; nor does the trainer ask whether one ought to be in good condition or not but whether one ought to wrestle or not; nor does any other craft inquire about the end. For as in the contemplative sciences the suppositions are principles, so in the productive [30] the end is a principle and a supposition. For instance, since this body is to be made healthy, therefore so and so must be found in it if health is to be had—just as there: if the angles of the triangle are equal to two right angles, then so and so must be the case. The end aimed at is, then, the principle of the thinking, and the end of the thinking is the principle of the action.
If of all correctness either reason or virtue is the cause, [35] then if reason is not the cause, then the end (but not the things contributing to it) must owe its correctness to virtue. The end is the purpose; for all choice is of something and for the sake of something. The purpose, then, is the mid-point, and virtue is the cause of this by choosing the purpose. Still choice is not of this but of the things done for the sake of this. To hit on these things—namely, what ought to be done [1228a] for the sake of the end—belongs to another capacity but of the correctness of the end of the choice the cause is virtue. And that is why it is from a man’s choice that we assess his character—that is, from the purpose for which he acts, not from the act itself. Similarly, vice brings it about that we [5] choose for contrary purposes. If, then, a man, having it in his power to do noble things and abstain from ignoble, does the contrary, it is plain that this man is not virtuous. Hence it follows that both vice and virtue are voluntary; for there is no compulsion to do what is depraved. Therefore vice is [10] blameworthy and virtue praiseworthy. For the involuntary if ignoble and bad is not blameworthy and if good is not praiseworthy: rather, the voluntary is. Further, we praise and blame all men with regard to their choice rather than their deeds (though the exercise of virtue is more desirable than [15] virtue), because men do base acts under compulsion, but no one chooses them so. Further, it is because it is not easy to see the nature of a man’s choice that we are compelled to assess his character by his deeds. The exercise then is more desirable but the choice is more praiseworthy. And this both follows from our suppositions and is in agreement with people’s perceptions.
1 Reading αὐτό, with half the tradition, for αὐτόν.
2 Omitting τό after ἅμα (Russell).
3 Reading ἕκοντες (Allan) for ἄκοντες (‘involuntarily’).
4 Reading καὶ πράξεις (Richards) for ἢ πράξεις.
5 The text is uncertain.
6 Susemihl marks a lacuna here.
7 Omitting ἔστι (Bonitz).
8 ‘Choice’ is προαίρεσις, a compound of αἵρεσις (‘choice’) and πρό (‘before’, ‘in preference to’).
9 Reading ἑκούσια (Susemihl’s ἀκούσια is a misprint).
10 Omitting the ἤ which Susemihl adds.
11 Reading διαστροφῇ (Fritzsche) for διαστροφήν.
12 Reading διαστροφῇ (Fritzsche) for διαστροφήν.
13 Reading λέγωμεν (a mediaeval correction) for λέγομεν (‘we state …’).