THE MORAL VIRTUES
LET US TAKE UP THE SEVERAL VIRTUES AND SAY WHICH [5] they are and what sort of things they are concerned with and how they are concerned with them; at the same time it will become plain how many they are. And first let us speak of courage.
That it is a mean with regard to fear and confidence has already been made evident; and plainly the things we fear are frightening things, and these are, broadly speaking bad things—that is why people even define fear as expectation of [10] something bad. Now we fear all bad things (for instance disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness, death); but the courageous man is not thought to be concerned with all; for some things one ought to fear and it is noble to do so, and ignoble not to fear them—for instance, disgrace: he who fears it is upright and modest, and he who does not is shameless. But [15] some people call him courageous by an extension of the word; for he has in him something which is like the courageous man, since the courageous man also is a fearless person. Poverty and disease we perhaps ought not to fear, nor in general the things that do not proceed from vice and are not brought about by the man himself. The man who is fearless of these is not courageous either. Yet we apply the word to [20] him too in virtue of a similarity; for some who in the dangers of war are cowards are liberal and are confident in face of the loss of wealth. Nor is a man a coward if he fears an outrage to his wife and children or envy or anything of the kind; nor courageous if he is confident when he is about to be flogged.
[25] With what sort of frightening things, then, is the courageous man concerned? Surely with the greatest; for no one is more likely than he to face up to what is fearful. Now death is the most frightening of all things; for it is the end, and nothing is thought to be any longer either good or bad for the dead. But the courageous man would not seem to be concerned even with death in all circumstances, for instance at sea or by disease. In what circumstances, then? Surely in the [30] noblest. Now such deaths are those in battle; for these take place in the greatest and noblest danger. And this agrees with the ways in which honours are bestowed in States and at the courts of monarchs. Strictly speaking, then, he will be called courageous who is fearless in face of a noble death, and of all emergencies that involve death; and the emergencies of war are in the highest degree of this kind. Yet at sea [1115b] also, and in disease, the courageous man is fearless, but not in the same way as the seamen; for he has given up hope for safety, and is vexed at the thought of death in this shape, while they are sanguine because of their experience. At the same time, we show courage in situations where there is the [5] opportunity of showing prowess or where death is noble; but in these forms of death neither of these conditions is fulfilled.
What is frightening is not the same for all men; but we say there are things frightening even beyond human strength. These, then, are frightening to everyone—at least to every intelligent man; but the frightening things that are not beyond [10] human strength differ in magnitude and degree, and so too do the things that inspire confidence. Now the courageous man is as dauntless as a man may be. Therefore, while he will fear even the things that are not beyond human strength, he will fear them as he ought and as reason directs, and1 he will face them for the sake of what is noble; for this is the end of virtue. It is possible to fear these more, or less, and again to fear things that are not frightening as if they [15] were. Of the errors that are committed one consists in fearing what one should not, another in fearing as one should not, another in fearing when one should not, and so on; and so too with respect to the things that inspire confidence. The man, then, who faces and who fears what he should and with the end he should have and how he should and when he should, and who feels confidence under the corresponding conditions, is courageous; for the courageous man feels and [20] acts worthily and as reason directs. The end of every activity is conformity to the corresponding state. This is true, therefore, of the courageous man. But courage is noble.2 Therefore the end also is noble; for each thing is defined by its end. Therefore it is for a noble end that the courageous man faces things and acts as courage directs.
Of those who go to excess he who exceeds in fearlessness [25] has no name (we have said previously that many states have no names), but he would be a sort of madman or insensate person if he feared nothing, neither earthquakes nor the waves, as they say the Celts do not; while the man who exceeds in confidence about what is frightening is over-confident. The over-confident man is also thought to be [30] boastful and a pretender to courage: thus3 as the courageous man is with regard to what is frightening, so the over-confident man wants to appear; and so he imitates him where he can. That is why most of them are a mixture of over-confidence and cowardice; for, while in these situations they display confidence, they do not face what is frightening.
The man who exceeds in fear is a coward; for he fears both what he ought not and as he ought not, and all the similar [1116a] characterizations attach to him. He is lacking also in confidence; but he is more conspicuous for his excess of fear in painful situations. The coward, then, is a pessimistic sort of person; for he fears everything. The courageous man has the contrary disposition; for confidence is the mark of an optimistic [5] disposition. The coward, the over-confident man, and the courageous man, then, are concerned with the same things but are differently disposed towards them; for the first two exceed and fall short, while the third is in a middling state and as he should be; and over-confident men are impetuous, and are willing before the dangers arrive but draw back when they are in them, while courageous men are keen in the moment of action but quiet beforehand.
[10] As we have said, then, courage is a mean with respect to things that inspire confidence or fear, in the circumstances that have been stated; and it chooses or faces up to things because it is noble to do so, or because it is ignoble not to do so. But to die to escape from poverty or love or anything painful is not the mark of a courageous man, but rather of a coward; for it is softness to fly from what demands exertion, and such [15] a man faces death not because it is noble but rather to avoid something bad.
COURAGE, THEN, IS SOMETHING OF THIS SORT; BUT THE name is also applied to five other kinds. First comes the political kind; for this is most like it. Citizens seem to face dangers because of penalties imposed by the laws and reproaches, [20] and because of honours; and therefore those peoples seem to be most courageous among whom cowards are held in dishonour and courageous men in honour. This is the kind of courage that Homer depicts, for instance in Diomedes and in Hector:
Polydamas will be the first to taunt me;
and
[25] For Hector one day ’mid the Trojans shall utter his vaulting harangue:
‘Afraid was Tydeides, and fled from my face’.4
This kind of courage is most like that which we described earlier because it is due to virtue; for it is due to modesty and to desire of a noble object (honour) and to avoidance of reproach, which is ignoble. One might rank in the same [30] class even those who are compelled by their rulers; but they are inferior, inasmuch as they act not from modesty but from fear, and to avoid not what is ignoble but what is painful; for those who control them compel them, as Hector does:
But if I shall spy any dastard that cowers far from the fight,
and
Vainly will such a one hope to escape from the dogs.5
And those who give them their orders and beat them if they [1116b] retreat do the same, and so do those who draw them up with trenches or something of the sort behind them: all of these apply compulsion. But one ought to be courageous not under compulsion but because it is noble to be so.
Experience with regard to particular facts is also thought [5] to be courage—this is why Socrates thought courage was knowledge. Other people exhibit this quality in other dangers, and soldiers exhibit it in the dangers of war; for there seem to be many empty alarms in war, of which these have had the most comprehensive experience: so they seem courageous because the others do not know the nature of the facts. Again, their experience makes them most capable of [10] doing without being done to, since they can use their arms and have the kind that are likely to be best both for doing and for not being done to: so they fight like armed men against unarmed or like trained athletes against amateurs—for in such contests too it is not the most courageous men that [15] fight best but those who are strongest and have their bodies in the best condition. Soldiers turn cowards, however, when the danger puts too great a strain on them and they are inferior in numbers and equipment; for they are the first to fly, while citizen-forces die at their posts, as in fact happened at the temple of Hermes. For to the latter flight is ignoble and [20] death is more desirable than safety on those terms; while the former from the beginning faced the danger on the supposition that they were stronger, and when they know the facts they fly, fearing death more than what is ignoble. The courageous man is not that sort of person.
Passion also is sometimes reckoned as courage: those [25] who act from passion, like brutes rushing at those who have wounded them, are thought to be courageous, because courageous men also are given to passion. For passion above all things is eager to rush on danger, and hence Homer’s ‘He put strength in his passion’ and ‘He aroused their spirit and passion’ and ‘bitter spirit in his nostrils’ and ‘his blood [30] boiled’.6 For all such expressions seem to indicate the stirring and onrush of passion. Now courageous men act because of the noble, and passion collaborates with them; but brutes act because of pain—they attack because they have been wounded or because they are afraid, since if they are in a forest they do not come near one. Thus they are not courageous because, driven by pain and passion, they rush on danger without foreseeing anything fearful. At that rate even asses would be courageous when they are hungry—for blows [1117a] will not drive them from their food; and their appetites make adulterers do many daring things.7 The courage that is due to [5] passion seems to be the most natural, and to be courage if choice and aim be added.
Men suffer pain when they are angry, and are pleased when they exact their revenge. Those who fight for these reasons, however, are pugnacious but not courageous; for they do not act for the sake of the noble nor as reason directs, but from emotion. They have, however, something akin to courage.
[10] Nor are optimists courageous; for they are confident in danger only because they have conquered often and against many foes. Yet they closely resemble courageous men, because both are confident; but courageous men are confident for the reasons stated earlier, while these are so because they think they are the strongest and will suffer nothing. (Drunks [15] also behave in this way: they become optimistic.) When their adventures do not succeed, however, they run away; but it is the mark of a courageous man to face things that are, and seem, frightening for a man, because it is noble to do so and ignoble not to. That is why it is thought the mark of a more courageous man to be fearless and undisturbed in sudden alarms than to be so in those that are foreseen; for it must [20] have proceeded more from a state of character, because less from preparation; for acts that are foreseen may be chosen by calculation and reason, but sudden actions in accordance with one’s state of character.
People who are ignorant also appear courageous, and they are not far removed from the optimists, but are inferior inasmuch as they have no self-confidence while these have. That [25] is why the optimists hold their ground for a time; but those who have been deceived fly if they know or suspect that things are different—as happened to the Argives when they fell in with the Spartans and took them for Sicyonians.
We have, then, described the character both of courageous men and of those who are thought to be courageous.
THOUGH COURAGE IS CONCERNED WITH CONFIDENCE [30] and fear, it is not concerned with both alike, but more with frightening things; for he who is undisturbed in face of these and bears himself as he should towards them is more courageous than the man who does so towards the things that inspire confidence. It is for facing what is painful, then, as has been said, that men are called courageous. That is why courage involves pain, and is justly praised; for it is harder to face what is painful than to abstain from what is pleasant. Yet the [1117b] end which courage sets before it would seem to be pleasant, but to be concealed by the attending circumstances, as happens also in athletic contests; for the end at which boxers aim is pleasant—the crown and the honours—but the blows [5] they take are distressing to flesh and blood, and painful, and so is their whole exertion; and because the blows and the exertions are many, the aim, which is but small, appears to have nothing pleasant in it. And so, if the case of courage is similar, death and wounds will be painful to the courageous man and he will receive them involuntarily, but he will face them because it is noble to do so or because it is ignoble not [10] to. And the more he is possessed of virtue in its entirety and the happier he is, the more he will be pained at the thought of death; for life is best worth living for such a man, and he is knowingly losing the greatest goods, and this is painful. But he is nonetheless courageous, and perhaps all the more so, [15] because he chooses noble deeds of war at that cost. It is not the case, then, with all the virtues that the exercise of them is pleasant, except in so far as it reaches its end. But perhaps nothing prevents it from being the case that the best soldiers are not men of this sort but rather those who are less courageous but have no other good; for these are ready to face [20] danger, and they sell their life for trifling profits.
So much, then, for courage; it is not difficult to grasp its nature in outline, at any rate, from what has been said.
AFTER COURAGE LET US SPEAK OF TEMPERANCE; FOR these seem to be the virtues of the irrational parts. We have [25] said that temperance is a mean with regard to pleasures (for it is less, and not in the same way, concerned with pains); and self-indulgence also is manifested in the same circumstances. Now, therefore, let us determine with what sort of pleasures they are concerned. We may take for granted the distinction between bodily pleasures and those of the soul, [30] such as love of honour and love of learning. The lover of each of these things delights in that of which he is a lover, his body being in no way affected but rather his mind; but men who are concerned with such pleasures are called neither temperate nor self-indulgent. Nor, again, are those who are concerned with the other pleasures that are not bodily; for those [1118a] who are fond of hearing and telling stories and who spend their days on anything that turns up are called gossips but not self-indulgent, nor are those who are pained at the loss of wealth or of friends.
Temperance must be concerned with bodily pleasures—but not with all of them. For those who delight in objects of sight, such as colours and shapes and painting, are called [5] neither temperate nor self-indulgent; yet it would seem possible to delight even in these either as one should or to excess or deficiency. And so too is it with objects of hearing: no one calls those who delight excessively in music or acting self-indulgent, nor those who do so as they ought temperate. Nor do we apply these names to those who delight in smells, [10] unless it be coincidentally: we call self-indulgent not those who delight in the smell of apples or roses or incense, but rather of unguents or of dainty dishes; for self-indulgent people delight in these because these remind them of the objects of their appetite. And one may see other people, when [15] they are hungry, delighting in the smell of food; but to delight in this kind of thing is the mark of the self-indulgent man; for these are objects of appetite to him.
Nor is there in animals other than man any pleasure connected with these senses except coincidentally. For dogs do not delight in the scent of hares but in eating them—but the [20] scent lets them perceive them; nor does the lion delight in the lowing of the ox but in eating it—but he perceived by the lowing that it was near, and therefore appears to delight in the lowing; and similarly he does not delight because he sees ‘a stag or a wild goat’8 but because he is going to make a meal of it. Temperance and self-indulgence, however, are concerned [25] with the kind of pleasures that the other animals share in, which therefore appear slavish and brutish: these are touch and taste. But of taste they appear to make little or no use; for the business of taste is the discriminating of flavours, which is done by wine-tasters and people who season [30] dishes. They hardly take delight in these things—or at least self-indulgent people do not—but rather in the enjoyment, which in all cases comes through touch, both in the case of food and in that of drink and in that of sexual intercourse. This is why a certain gourmand prayed that his throat might become longer than a crane’s, implying that it was the contact [1118b] that he took pleasure in. Thus self-indulgence is connected with what is the most widely shared of the senses; and it would seem to be justly a matter of reproach because it attaches to us not as men but as animals. To delight in such things, then, and to cherish them above all others, is brutish. [5] For the most liberal of the pleasures of touch have been eliminated—for instance, those produced in the gymnasium by rubbing and by the consequent heat; for the contact characteristic of the self-indulgent man does not affect the whole body but certain parts.
Of the appetites some seem to be common, others to be peculiar to individuals and acquired: for instance, the appetite [10] for nourishment is natural, since everyone who is without it craves for food or drink, and sometimes for both—and for a bed too (as Homer says) if he is young and lusty; but not everyone craves for this or that kind, nor for the same things. That is why such craving appears to be our very own. Yet it has of course something natural about it; for different things are pleasant to different kinds of people, and some things [15] are more pleasant to everyone than chance objects. Now in the natural appetites few err, and only in one direction, that of excess; for to eat or drink whatever offers itself till one is surfeited is to exceed the natural amount, since natural appetite is the replenishment of a lack. That is why these people [20] are called belly-gods, this implying that they fill their belly beyond what they should. It is people of entirely slavish character that become like this. But with regard to the pleasures peculiar to individuals many people err and in many ways. For while the people who are fond of so and so are so called because they delight either in what they should not, or more than most people do, or not how they should, the self-indulgent [25] exceed in every way: they delight in some things that they ought not to delight in (since they are are hateful), and if one ought to delight in some of the things they delight in, they do so more than one ought and than most men do.
Plainly, then, excess with regard to pleasures is self-indulgence and is blameworthy. With regard to pains one is [30] not, as in the case of courage, called temperate for facing them or self-indulgent for not doing so—rather the self-indulgent man is so called because he is pained more than he ought to be at not getting pleasant things (even his pain being caused by pleasure), and the temperate man is so called because he is not pained at the absence of what is pleasant and at his abstinence from it.
[1119a] The self-indulgent man, then, craves for all pleasant things or those that are most pleasant, and is led by his appetite to choose these at the cost of other things. That is why he is pained both when he fails to get them and when he is craving for them (for appetite involves pain); but it seems absurd [5] to be pained because of pleasure. People who fall short with regard to pleasures and delight in them less than they should are hardly found; for such insensibility is not human. Even the other animals distinguish different kinds of food and delight in some and not in others; and if there is anyone who finds nothing pleasant and nothing more attractive [10] than anything else, he must be something quite different from a man. This sort of person has not received a name because he is hardly found. The temperate man occupies a middle position with regard to these objects. For he neither takes pleasure in the things that the self-indulgent man takes most pleasure in—but rather is vexed by them—nor in general in the things that he should not, nor in anything of this sort intensely; nor again does he feel pain or appetite when they are absent, or does so only to an appropriate degree, [15] and not more than he should, nor when he should not, and so on. But the things that, being pleasant, make for health or for good condition, he will desire appropriately and as he should, and also other pleasant things if they are not hindrances to these ends, or contrary to what is noble, or beyond his means. For he who neglects these conditions [20] cherishes such pleasures for more than they are worth, whereas the temperate man is not that sort of person but the sort of person that correct reasoning prescribes.
Self-indulgence is more like a voluntary state than cowardice is. For the former is actuated by pleasure, the latter by pain, of which the one is desirable and the other to be avoided; and pain upsets and destroys the nature of the person who feels it, while pleasure does nothing of the sort. So [25] self-indulgence is more voluntary. That is why also it is more a matter of reproach; for it is easier to become habituated to its objects, since there are many things of this sort in life, and the process of habituation is free from danger, while with frightening things the reverse is the case. But cowardice would seem to be voluntary in a different degree from its particular acts; for it is itself painless, whereas in acting we [30] are upset by pain, so that we even throw down our arms and disgrace ourselves in other ways—that is why our acts are even thought to be done perforce. For the self-indulgent man, on the other hand, the particular acts are voluntary (for he does them with appetite and desire), but the whole state is less so; for no one craves to be self-indulgent.
The name self-indulgence is applied also to childish errors; [1119b] for they bear a certain resemblance to it. Which is called after which, makes no difference to our present purpose: plainly, however, the later is called after the earlier. The extension of the name seems not a bad one; for that which desires what is ignoble and which develops quickly ought to [5] have been chastised,9 and these characteristics belong above all to appetite and to the child, since children in fact live at the beck and call of appetite, and it is in them that the desire for what is pleasant is strongest. If, then, it is not obedient and subject to the ruling principle, it will go to great lengths; for in an unintelligent being the desire for pleasure is insatiable and tries every source of gratification, the exercise of [10] appetite increases its innate force, and if appetites are strong and intense they even expel the power of calculation. That is why they should be appropriate and few, and should in no way be contrary to reason (this is what we call an obedient and chastened state); and as the child should live according to the direction of his tutor, so the appetitive element should live according to reason. That is why the appetitive element [15] in a temperate man should harmonize with reason; for the noble is the mark at which both aim, and the temperate man craves for the things he ought, as he ought, and when he ought; and this is what reason directs.
Here we conclude our account of temperance.
[Book Δ] LET US SPEAK NEXT OF LIBERALITY. IT SEEMS TO BE THE mean with regard to wealth; for the liberal man is praised not in respect of military matters, nor of those in respect of which the temperate man is praised, nor of assessments, but [25] with regard to the giving and taking of wealth, and especially in respect of giving. Now by wealth we mean all the things whose worth is measured by money. Prodigality and illiberality are excesses and deficiencies with regard to wealth. Illiberality [30] we always impute to those who busy themselves more than they ought about wealth, but we sometimes apply the word ‘prodigality’ in a complex sense; for we call those men prodigals who are incontinent and spend on self-indulgence. That is why they are thought the basest characters; for they have more vices than one. The application of the word to them is not appropriate; for ‘prodigal’ means a [1120a] man who has a single bad quality, that of wasting his substance; for a prodigal is one who is being ruined by his own doing, and the wasting of substance is thought to be a sort of ruining of oneself, life being held to depend on possession of substance. This, then, is how we understand prodigality.
The things that have a use may be used either well or [5] badly; riches are a useful thing; and everything is used best by the man who has the virtue concerned with it: riches, therefore, will be used best by the man who has the virtue concerned with wealth, and this is the liberal man. Spending and giving seem to be the using of wealth; taking and keeping rather the possessing of it. That is why it is more the [10] mark of the liberal man to give to whom he should to than to take whence he should and not to take whence he should not. For it is more characteristic of virtue to do good than to have good done to one, and to do what is noble than not to do what is ignoble; and it is not hard to see that giving implies doing good and doing what is noble, and taking implies [15] having good done to one or not acting ignobly. Gratitude is felt towards him who gives, not towards him who does not take, and praise also is bestowed more on him. It is easier too not to take than to give; for men are apter to give away their own too little than to take what is another’s. Givers, [20] too, are called liberal whereas those who do not take are not praised for liberality but rather for justice, and those who take are not praised at all. The liberal are practically the most loved of all virtuous characters, since they are beneficial; and this depends on their giving.
Virtuous actions are noble and done for the sake of the noble. Therefore the liberal man will give for the sake of the [25] noble and correctly: he will give to whom he should, as much as he should, and when he should, with all the other qualifications that accompany correct giving. And that with pleasure or without pain; for that which is virtuous is pleasant or painless—least of all will it be painful. He who gives to those he should not or not for the sake of the noble but for some other cause, will be called not liberal but by some other [30] name. Nor is he liberal who gives with pain; for he would prefer the wealth to the noble action, and this is not characteristic of a liberal man. No more will he take whence he should not; for such taking is not characteristic of the man who sets no value on wealth. Nor will he be a ready asker; for it is not characteristic of a benefactor to accept gifts lightly. But he will take from where he should, for instance from his [1120b] own possessions—not as something noble but as a necessity, so that he may have something to give. Nor will he neglect his own property, since he wants by means of this to help others. And he will refrain from giving to all and sundry so that he may have something to give to whom he should, when he should, and where it is noble to do so. It is highly [5] characteristic of a liberal man also to go to excess in giving, so that he leaves less for himself; for it is the nature of a liberal man not to look to himself.
The term ‘liberality’ is used relatively to a man’s substance; for liberality resides not in the multitude of the gifts but in the state of the giver, and this is relative to the giver’s [10] substance.10 There is therefore nothing to prevent the man who gives less from being the more liberal man, if he has less to give. Those are thought to be more liberal who have not acquired their wealth but inherited it; for they have no experience of want, and all men cherish their own products more, as parents and poets do. It is not easy for the liberal man to [15] be rich, since he is not apt either at taking or at keeping but rather at giving away, and he does not value wealth for its own sake but for the sake of giving. That is why the charge is brought against fortune that those who are most worthy of riches get least. But it is not unreasonable that it should turn [20] out so; for you cannot have wealth, any more than anything else, if you do not take care to have it. He will not give to those he ought not, when he ought not, and so on; for he would no longer be acting in accordance with liberality, and if he spent on these objects he would have nothing to spend on what he should. For, as has been said, he is liberal who spends according to his substance and on what he should. [25] He who exceeds is prodigal. That is why we do not call despots prodigal; for it is thought not easy for them to give and spend beyond the amount of their possessions.
Liberality, then, being a mean with regard to the giving and taking of wealth, the liberal man will both give and spend as much as he should on what he should, alike in small [30] things and in great, and that with pleasure; he will also take as much as he should whence he should. For, the virtue being a mean with regard to both, he will do both as he should. For an upright sort of taking goes with an upright sort of giving, and a taking that is not upright is contrary: accordingly those that accompany each other are present together in the [1121a] same man, while the contrary kinds plainly are not. If he happens to spend not what he should or not what is noble, he will be pained—but appropriately and as he should; for it is the mark of virtue both to be pleased and to be pained at what one should be and how one should be. Further, the liberal [5] man is an easy associate in business matters; for he can be treated unjustly since he sets no value on wealth, and is more annoyed if he has not spent something that he ought than pained if he has spent something that he ought not, and he wins the approval of Simonides.11 The prodigal errs in these respects also; for he is neither pleased nor pained at what he should be nor how he should be—this will be more evident as we go on.
[10] We have said that prodigality and illiberality are excesses and deficiencies, and in two things, in giving and in taking; for we include spending under giving. Now prodigality exceeds in giving and not taking, and falls short in taking, while [15] illiberality falls short in giving and exceeds in taking, except in small things. The characteristics of prodigality are not often combined; for it is not easy to give to all if you take from none. Private persons soon exhaust their substance with giving, and it is they that are thought to be prodigal—though a man of this sort would seem to be in no small degree better [20] than an illiberal man. For he is easily cured both by age and by poverty, and thus he may come to the middle state. For he has the characteristics of the liberal man, since he both gives and refrains from taking, though he does neither of these as he should or well. So if he were habituated to do so or changed in some other way, he would be liberal; for he [25] would then give to whom he should, and would not take whence he should not. This is why he is thought not to have a base character: it is the mark not of a depraved or ill-bred man to go to excess in giving and not taking, but of a fool. The man who is prodigal in this way is thought much better than the illiberal man both for the aforesaid reasons and because [30] he benefits many while the other benefits no one, not even himself.
But most prodigal people, as has been said, also take whence they should not, and are in this respect illiberal. They become apt to take because they want to spend and cannot do this readily; for their possessions soon run short. Thus they are compelled to provide means from some other [1121b] source. At the same time, because they care nothing for the noble, they take disdainfully and from any source; for they crave to give, and they do not mind how or whence. Hence also their giving is not liberal; for it is not noble, nor does it [5] aim at nobility, nor is it done as it should be: sometimes they make rich those who should be poor, and they will give nothing to people of respectable character, and much to flatterers or to those who provide them with some other pleasure. That is why most of them are self-indulgent; for they spend [10] readily and waste money on their indulgences, and they incline towards pleasures because they do not live with a view to what is noble.
The prodigal man, then, turns into what we have described if he is left untutored, but if he is cared for he will arrive at the middle state and where he should be. But illiberality is both incurable (for old age and every incapacity is thought to make men illiberal) and more innate in men than [15] prodigality; for most men are fonder of wealth than of giving. It also extends widely, and is multiform—for there seem to be many kinds of illiberality.
It consists in two things, deficiency in giving and excess in taking, and is not found complete in all cases but is some-times [20] divided, some men being excessive in taking and others falling short in giving. Those who are called by such names as ‘miserly’, ‘close’, ‘stingy’, are all deficient in giving, but they do not aim for the possessions of others nor want to get them. In some this is due to a sort of uprightness and [25] avoidance of what is ignoble (for some seem, or at least profess, to hoard their money so that they may not some day be compelled to do something ignoble: to this class belong the cheeseparer and everyone of the sort, who are so called from their excess in not giving). Others again keep their hands off other people’s goods from fear, on the ground that it is not [30] easy, if one takes the property of others oneself, to avoid having one’s own taken by them—they approve, therefore, neither of taking nor of giving.
Others again exceed in respect of taking by taking anything and from any source, for instance those who ply sordid trades, pimps and all such people, and those who lend small [1122a] sums and at high rates. For all of these take more than they ought and whence they ought not. What is common to them is evidently avarice: they all face up to reproaches for the sake of profit, and little profit at that. For those who make great profits whence they should not and which they should not—for instance, despots when they sack cities and spoil [5] temples—we do not call illiberal but rather vicious, impious, and unjust. But the gamester and the footpad12 belong to the class of the illiberal, since they are avaricious. For it is for gain that both of them ply their craft and face up to reproaches, [10] and the one faces the greatest dangers for the sake of the takings, while the other profits from his friends, to whom he ought to be giving. Both, then, since they are willing to profit whence they ought not, are avaricious; and all such forms of taking are illiberal.
It is reasonable that illiberality is described as the contrary [15] of liberality; for it is a greater evil than prodigality, and men err more often in this direction than in the way of the prodigality we have described.
So much, then, for liberality and the opposed vices.
IT WOULD SEEM COHERENT TO DISCUSS MAGNIFICENCE next. For this also seems to be a virtue concerned with [20] wealth; but it does not like liberality extend to all the actions that are concerned with wealth but only to those that involve expenditure; and in these it surpasses liberality in scale. For, as the name itself intimates, it is a fitting expenditure involving largeness of scale.13 The largeness is relative; for the expense [25] of equipping a trireme is not the same as that of heading a sacred embassy. It is what is fitting, then, in relation to the agent, and to the circumstances and the object. The man who in small or moderate matters spends worthily is not called magnificent (for instance, the man who can say ‘many a gift I gave the wanderer’14), but only the man who does so in great things. For the magnificent man is liberal, but the liberal man is not necessarily magnificent.
[30] The deficiency of this state is called shabbiness, the excess vulgarity, tastelessness, and the like. They do not go to excess by spending largely on what they should but by showy expenditure where it should not be made and as it should not be made. We shall speak of these vices later.
The magnificent man is like a connoisseur; for he can contemplate what is fitting and spend large sums tastefully. [1122b] For, as we said at the beginning, a state is determined by its activities and by its objects. Now the expenses of the magnificent man are great and fitting. Such, therefore, are also his deeds; for thus there will be a great expenditure and one that [5] is fitting for the deed. Therefore the deed should be worthy of the expense, and the expense should be worthy of the deed, or should even exceed it. The magnificent man will spend such sums for the sake of the noble; for this is common to the virtues. Further, he will do so gladly and lavishly; for precise calculation is a shabby thing. And he will consider how the result can be made most noble and most becoming [10] rather than for how much and in what way most cheaply. It is necessary, then, that the magnificent man be also liberal. For the liberal man will spend what he ought and as he ought; and it is in these matters that the greatness implied in the name of the magnificent man—his magnitude, as it were—is found, since liberality is concerned with these matters; and at an equal expense he will do a more magnificent deed. [15] For a possession and a deed have not the same virtue. The possession worth most is that which is most valuable (for instance, gold), but the deed worth most is that which is great and noble (for the contemplation of such a thing inspires admiration, and so does magnificence); and the virtue of a deed15 involves magnitude.
It concerns expenditures of the kind we call honourable, [20] for instance those connected with the gods—offerings, buildings, sacrifices—and similarly with anything to do with religion, and all those that are proper objects of public-spirited ambition, as when people think they ought to equip a chorus or a trireme, or entertain the city in a brilliant way. But in all cases, as has been said, we have regard to the agent [25] as well and ask who he is and what means he has; for the expenditure should be worthy of his means, and suit not only the deed but also the doer. That is why a poor man cannot be magnificent, since he has not the means with which to spend large sums fittingly; and he who tries is a fool, since he spends unworthily and not as he should, and it is correct expenditure [30] that is virtuous. It is fitting for those who have suitable means to start with, acquired by their own efforts or from ancestors or connexions, and for people of high birth or reputation, and so on; for all these things bring with them greatness and prestige.
Primarily, then, the magnificent man is of this sort, and magnificence is found in expenditures of this sort, as has been said; for these are the greatest and most honourable. [1123a] Of private occasions they are those that take place once for all, for instance a wedding or anything of the kind, or anything about which the whole State or the people of prestige in it busy themselves, and the receiving of foreign guests and the sending of them on their way, and gifts and countergifts. [5] For the magnificent man spends not on himself but on public objects, and gifts bear some resemblance to offerings. A magnificent man will also furnish his house fittingly to his riches (for a house is a sort of adornment), he will spend by preference on those deeds that are lasting (for they are the noblest), and on every class of things he will spend what is fitting—for [10] the same things are not suitable for gods and for men, nor in a temple and a tomb. And since each expenditure may be great of its kind, and what is most magnificent in the abstract is great expenditure on a great object, but what is magnificent here is what is great in these circumstances, and greatness in the deed differs from greatness in the expense (for the most beautiful ball or bottle is magnificent [15] as a gift to a child, but its value is small and ungenerous)—therefore it is characteristic of the magnificent man, whatever kind of thing he is doing, to do it magnificently (for that is not easily exceeded) and to make it worthy of the expenditure.
Such, then, is the magnificent man. The man who goes to [20] excess and is vulgar exceeds, as has been said, by spending beyond what he should. For on small objects of expenditure he spends much and displays a tasteless showiness: for instance, he gives a club dinner on the scale of a wedding banquet, and when he provides the chorus for a comedy he brings them on to the stage in purple, as they do at Megara. [25] And all such things he will do not for the sake of the noble but to show off his riches, and because he thinks he is admired for these things; and where he ought to spend much he spends little and where little, much. The shabby man on the other hand will be deficient in everything, and after spending the greatest sums will spoil the nobility of it for a [30] trifle, and whatever he is doing he will hesitate and consider how he may spend least, and lament even that, and think he is doing everything on a bigger scale than he ought.
These states, then, are vices; yet they do not incur reproach because they are neither harmful to one’s neighbour nor very unseemly.
PRIDE SEEMS EVEN FROM ITS NAME TO BE CONCERNED with great things:16 with what sort of great things, is the first [1123b] question we must try to answer. It makes no difference whether we consider the state of character or the man characterized by it. Now the man is thought to be proud who thinks himself worthy of great things, being worthy of them; for he who does so beyond his worth is a fool, but no virtuous man is foolish or unintelligent. The proud man, then, is [5] the man we have described. For he who is worthy of little and thinks himself worthy of little is temperate but not proud; for pride implies greatness, as beauty implies a big body—little people may be neat and well-proportioned but cannot be beautiful. He who thinks himself worthy of great things, being unworthy of them, is vain; though not everyone who thinks himself worthy of more than he is is vain. The man [10] who thinks himself worthy of less than he is, is diffident, whether his worth be great or moderate, or his worth small but his claims yet smaller. And the man whose worth is great would seem most diffident; for what would he have done if it had been less? The proud man, then, is extreme in respect of greatness, but midway in respect of what he should be; for he [15] claims what is in accordance with his worth, while the others are excessive or deficient.
If, then, he is worthy of great things and claims them (and above all the greatest things), he will be concerned with one thing in particular. Worth is relative to external goods; and the greatest of these, we should say, is that which we render to the gods, and which people of prestige most aim at, and [20] which is the prize appointed for the noblest deeds; and this is honour: that is the greatest of external goods. Honours and dishonours, therefore, are the objects with respect to which the proud man is as he should be. And even apart from argument it is evident that proud men are concerned with honour; for it is honour that they chiefly claim—but in accordance with their worth. The diffident man is deficient [25] both in comparison with his own worth and in comparison with the proud man’s claims. The vain man goes to excess in comparison with his own worth but does not exceed the proud man’s claims.
The proud man, since he is worthy of the greatest things, must be good in the highest degree; for the better man is always worthy of the greater things, and the best man of the greatest. Therefore the truly proud man must be good. And [30] greatness in every virtue would seem to be characteristic of a proud man. It would be most unsuitable for a proud man to fly from danger, swinging his arms by his sides, or to treat anyone unjustly; for to what end will he do ignoble acts, he to whom nothing is great? If we consider him point by point we shall see that a proud man who is not good would be utterly ridiculous. Nor, again, would he be worthy of honour if [1124a] he were base; for honour is the prize of virtue and it is to the good that it is rendered. Pride, then, seems to be a sort of ornament of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. That is why it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without gentlemanliness.
[5] It is chiefly with honours and dishonours, then, that the proud man is concerned; and at honours that are great and conferred by virtuous men he will be moderately pleased, thinking that he is coming by his own or even less than his own. For there can be no honour that is worthy of perfect virtue, yet he will at any rate accept it since they have nothing [10] greater to bestow on him. Honour from all and sundry and on trifling grounds he will utterly disdain, since it is not this of which he is worthy, and dishonour too, since in his case it cannot be just. In the first place, then, as has been said, the proud man is concerned with honours; yet he will also bear himself appropriately towards riches and power and all good [15] or bad fortune, whatever may befall him, and will be neither over-joyed by good fortune nor over-pained by bad. For not even about honour does he care much, although it is the greatest thing17 (for power and riches are desirable for the sake of honour—at least those who have them want to get honour by means of them); and for him to whom even honour [20] is a little thing the other things must be so too. Hence proud men are thought to be supercilious.
The goods of fortune also are thought to contribute towards pride. For men who are well-born are thought worthy of honour, and so are those who enjoy power or riches; for they are in a superior position, and everything that has a superiority in something good is held in greater honour. That is why even such things make men prouder; for they are honoured [25] by some. In truth the good man alone is to be honoured; but he who has both advantages is thought the more worthy of honour. But those who without virtue have such goods are neither justified in making great claims nor correctly called proud; for these things imply perfect virtue. Supercilious [30] and insolent, however, even those who have such goods become. For without virtue it is not easy to bear gracefully [1124b] the goods of fortune; and, being unable to bear them, and thinking themselves superior to others, they despise others and themselves do what they please. They imitate the proud man without being like him, and this they do where [5] they can. They do not act virtuously, but they do despise others. For the proud man despises justly (since he has true beliefs), but the many do so at random.
He does not run into trifling dangers, nor is he fond of danger, because he honours few things; but he will face great dangers, and when he is in danger he is unsparing of his life, knowing that there are conditions on which life is not worth having. And he is the sort of man to be a benefactor, but he is [10] ashamed of being a beneficiary; for the one is the mark of a superior, the other of an inferior. And he is apt to confer greater benefactions in return; for thus the original benefactor will incur a debt to him, and will have been done well by. They seem also to remember any service they have done, but not those they have received (for he who receives a service is inferior to him who has done it, and the proud man wants to [15] be superior), and to hear of the former with pleasure, of the latter with displeasure. That, it seems, is why Thetis did not mention to Zeus the benefactions she had showered on him, and why the Spartans did not recount their services to the Athenians but those they had received from them.18
It is a mark of the proud man also to ask for nothing or scarcely anything, but to give help eagerly, and to be haughty towards people who enjoy prestige and good fortune, and [20] unassuming towards those of the middle class—for it is a difficult and dignified thing to be superior to the former, but easy to be so to the latter, and a dignified bearing over the former is no mark of ill-breeding, but among humble people it is as vulgar as a display of strength against the weak.
Again, it is characteristic of the proud man not to aim at the things held in honour, or the things in which others excel; to be idle and to hold back except where there are [25] great honours and great deeds; and to be a man of few deeds but of great and notable ones. He must also be open in his hate and in his love (for to conceal one’s feelings is a mark of fear), and must care19 more for the truth than for his reputation, and must speak and act openly; for he is free of speech [30] because he is supercilious, and candid, except when he speaks in self-deprecation to the vulgar. He must be unable [1125a] to make his life revolve round another unless it be a friend; for this is slavish—that is why all flatterers are servile and the humble are flatterers. Nor is he given to admiration; for nothing to him is great. Nor is he mindful of wrongs; for it is not the part of a proud man to have a long memory, especially [5] for wrongs, but rather to overlook them. Nor is he a gossip; for he will speak neither about himself nor about another, since he cares not to be praised nor for others to be blamed; nor again is he given to praise; and for the same reason he is not an evil-speaker, even about his enemies, except from insolence. With regard to necessary or small matters he [10] is least of all men given to lamentation or the asking of favours; for it is the part of one who busies himself about such matters to behave so with respect to them. He is one who will possess beautiful and fruitless things rather than fruitful and beneficial ones; for this is rather a mark of the self-sufficient man.
A slow step is thought characteristic of the proud man, a deep voice, and a level utterance; for the man who busies [15] himself about few things is not likely to be hurried, nor the man who thinks nothing great to be excited, while a shrill voice and a rapid gait are the results of hurry and excitement.
Such, then, is the proud man: the man who is deficient is diffident, and the man who exceeds is vain. These are not thought to be bad (for they are not evil-doers) but mistaken. [20] For the diffident man, being worthy of good things, robs himself of what he is worthy of, and seems to have something bad about him from the fact that he does not think himself worthy of good things. He seems also not to know himself: else he would have desired the things he was worthy of, since these were good. Yet such people are not thought to be fools, but rather retiring. Such a belief, however, seems [25] actually to make them worse; for each class of people aims at what corresponds to its worth, and these people stand back even from noble actions and undertakings, deeming them-selves unworthy, and from external goods no less. Vain people, on the other hand, are fools and ignorant of themselves, and that manifestly; for, not being worthy of them, they attempt honourable undertakings, and then are found out; [30] and they adorn themselves with clothing and outward show and such things, and want their strokes of good fortune to be evident, and speak about them as if they would be honoured for them. Diffidence is more opposed to pride than vanity is; for it is both commoner and worse.
PRIDE, THEN, IS CONCERNED WITH HONOUR ON THE [1125b] grand scale, as has been said. There appears to be a virtue concerned with it, as was said in our first remarks, which would seem to be related to pride as liberality is to magnificence. For neither of these has anything to do with the grand [5] scale, but both dispose us as we should be with regard to moderate and small matters: just as in getting and giving of wealth there is a mean and an excess and deficiency, so too honour may be desired more than it should be, or less, or whence it should be and as it should be. We blame both the ambitious man as aiming at more honour than he should [10] and whence he should not, and the unambitious man as not choosing to be honoured even for noble reasons. But some-times we praise the ambitious man as being manly and a lover of what is noble, and the unambitious man as being moderate and temperate as we said in our first remarks on the subject. Plainly, since people are said to love such and [15] such in more than one way, we do not assign the term ‘ambition’20 always to the same thing: rather, when we praise the quality we think of the man who loves honour more than most people, and when we blame it we think of him who loves it more than he should. The mean being without a name, the extremes seem to dispute for its place as though that were vacant. But where there is excess and deficiency, there is also a middle state: men desire honour both more [20] than they should and less, and so it is possible also to do so as one should; and this is the state that is praised, being an unnamed mean in respect of honour. Relatively to ambition it seems to be unambitiousness, and relatively to unambitiousness it seems to be ambition, while relatively to both it seems in a sense to be both. This appears to be true of the other virtues [25] also. But in this case the men at the extremes seem to be opposed because the man in the middle state has not received a name.
GOOD TEMPER IS A MEAN WITH RESPECT TO ANGER: THE middle state being unnamed, and the extremes practically without a name as well, we place good temper in the middle position, though it inclines towards the deficiency, which is without a name. The excess might be called a sort of irascibility. [30] For the emotion is anger, while its causes are many and diverse.
The man who is angry at what he should be and with whom he should be, and, further, as he should, when he should, and for as long as he should, is praised. This will be the good-tempered man, then, since good temper is praised. For the good-tempered man tends to be undisturbed and not to be led by emotion, but rather to be angry in the manner, at the things, and for the length of time, that reason dictates. [1126a] He is thought to err rather in the direction of deficiency; for the good-tempered man is not revengeful, but rather tends to sympathize.
The deficiency, whether it is a sort of inirascibility or whatever it is, is blamed. For those who are not angry at the things [5] they should be are thought to be fools, and so are those who are not angry as they should be, when they should be, or with whom they should be; for such a man is thought not to perceive things nor to be pained by them, and since he does not get angry, he is thought unlikely to defend himself; and to endure being insulted and to overlook insults to one’s associates is slavish.
The excess can be manifested in all the points (for one [10] can be angry with whom one should not be, at what one should not be, more than one should be, too quickly, or too long); yet all are not found in the same person. Indeed they could not be; for the bad destroys even itself, and if it is complete becomes unbearable. Hot-tempered people get angry quickly and with whom they should not and at what [15] they should not and more than they should, but their anger ceases quickly—which is the best point about them. This happens to them because they do not repress their anger but retaliate openly owing to their quickness of temper, and then their anger ceases. By reason of excess choleric people are quick-tempered and ready to be angry with everything and on every occasion; whence their name.21 Bitter people [20] are hard to appease, and retain their anger long; for they repress their passion. But it ceases when they retaliate; for revenge ends their anger, producing in them pleasure instead of pain. If this does not happen they retain their burden; for owing to its not being manifest no one even tries to persuade [25] them, and to digest one’s anger in oneself needs time. Such people are most troublesome to themselves and to their closest friends. We call bad- tempered those who are angry at what they should not be, more than they should be, and longer, and cannot be appeased until they inflict vengeance or punishment.
To good temper we oppose the excess rather than the deficiency; [30] for not only is it commoner (since revenge is the more human), but bad-tempered people are worse to live with.
What we have said before is plain also from what is said; for it is not easy to define how, with whom, at what, and how long one should be angry, and up to what point one acts correctly [35] or errs. For the man who strays a little from the path, either towards the more or towards the less, is not blamed; for sometimes we praise those who exhibit the deficiency, [1126b] and call them good-tempered, and sometimes we call angry people manly, as being capable of ruling. How far, therefore, and how a man must stray before he becomes blameworthy, it is not easy to determine by reason; for the assessment depends on the particular facts and on perception. But this [5] much at least is plain: the middle state is praiseworthy—that in virtue of which we are angry with whom we should be, at what we should, as we should, and so on; and the excesses and deficiencies are blameworthy—slightly so if they are present in a low degree, more if in a higher degree, and very much if they are intense. Plainly, then, we must cling to the middle state.
[10] Enough of the states relative to anger.
IN COMPANY, IN LIVING TOGETHER AND IN THE SHARING of words and actions, some men are thought to be obsequious, namely those who to give pleasure praise everything and oppose nothing but think they should give no pain to the people they meet; while those who, on the contrary, oppose [15] everything and care not a whit about giving pain are called grumpy and contentious. That the states we have named are blameworthy is plain enough, and that the middle state is praiseworthy—that in virtue of which a man will put up with, and will be vexed at, what he should and as he [20] should. No name has been assigned to it, though it most resembles friendship. For the man who corresponds to this middle state is the sort whom, with affection added, we tend to call an upright friend. But it differs from friendship in that it implies no emotion or affection for one’s companions; for it is not by reason of loving or hating that such a man takes things as he should, but by being a man of a certain kind. For [25] he will behave so alike towards those he knows and those he does not know, towards intimates and those who are not so, except that in each of these cases he will behave as is befitting; for it is not proper to have the same care for intimates and for strangers, nor again to pain them in the same ways.
Now we have said generally that he will behave in company as he should; but it is by reference to what is noble and [30] what is advantageous that he will aim at either22 giving pain or contributing pleasure. For he seems to be concerned with the pleasures and pains of being in company with people; and wherever it is not noble, or is harmful, for him to contribute pleasure, he will be vexed, and will choose rather to give pain. If his acquiescence in another’s action would bring disgrace, and that in a high degree, or harm, on the agent, while his being contrary to it brings a little pain, he will not acquiesce but will be vexed. He will behave differently in the company of people of prestige and with ordinary people, [1127a] with closer and more distant acquaintances, and so too with regard to all other differences, rendering to each class what is fitting. And while for its own sake he chooses to contribute pleasure, and avoids the giving of pain, he will be guided by [5] the consequences if these are greater—I mean by the noble and the advantageous. For the sake of a great future pleasure, too, he will inflict small pains.
The man in the middle state, then, is such as we have described, but has not received a name. Of those who contribute pleasure, the man who aims at being pleasant with no other aim is obsequious, and the man who does so in order that he may get some advantage in the way of money or the [10] things that money buys is a flatterer; while the man who is vexed at everything is, as has been said, grumpy and contentious. The extremes seem to be opposed to each other because the middle is without a name.
THE MEAN FOR BOASTFULNESS23 CONCERNS PRETTY WELL the same things. It too is without a name. It will be no bad [15] plan to describe these states as well; for we shall both know the facts about character better if we go through them in detail, and we shall be convinced that the virtues are means if we see this to be so in all cases. In the matter of living together those who make the giving of pleasure or pain their object in seeking the company of others have been described: let us now describe those who pursue truth or falsehood [20] alike in words and deeds and in their pretentions. The boastful man, then, is thought to be apt to pretend to the things that bring reputation, when he has not got them, or to pretend to more of them than he has, and the self-deprecator, conversely, to disclaim what he has or belittle it, while the man in the middle state is one who calls a thing by its own [25] name, being candid both in life and in word, owning to what he has, and neither more nor less. Each of these courses may be adopted either with or without an aim. Each man speaks and acts and lives in accordance with his character if he is not acting for some aim. And falsehood is in itself base and [30] blameworthy, and truth noble and praiseworthy. Thus the candid man, being in the middle, is praiseworthy, and false men of both sorts are blameworthy, but more so the boastful man.
Let us discuss them both—but first the candid man. We are not speaking of the man who is true to his agreements [1127b] and in the things that pertain to justice or injustice (for this would belong to another virtue), but rather of him who in the matters in which nothing of this sort is at stake is true both in word and in life because his character is such. Such a man would seem to be upright. For the man who loves truth, [5] and is truthful where nothing is at stake, will still more be truthful where something is at stake: he will avoid falsehood as something ignoble, seeing that he avoided it even for its own sake; and such a man is praiseworthy. He inclines rather to understate the truth; for this seems in better taste because exaggerations are wearisome.
[10] He who pretends to more than he has with no end in view is a base sort of fellow (otherwise he would not delight in falsehood), but seems futile rather than bad. If it is done with an end in view, he who does it for the sake of reputation or honour is (for a boaster24) not very much to be blamed, but he who does it for money, or the things that lead to money, is an uglier character (it is not the capacity that [15] makes the boaster, but the choice; for it is in virtue of his state and by being a man of a certain kind that he is a boaster). In the same way, one man is a liar because he delights in the lie itself, and another because he desires reputation or profit. Now those who boast for the sake of reputation pretend to such qualities as win praise or felicitation, while those whose end is profit pretend to qualities which [20] are enjoyed by his neighbours and the absence of which is not easily detected—for instance, the powers of a seer, a sage, or a doctor. For this reason it is such things as these that most people pretend to and boast about; for in them the above-mentioned qualities are found.
Self-deprecators, who understate things, seem more refined in character; for they are thought to speak not for [25] profit but to avoid parade; and it is especially qualities which bring reputation that they disclaim, as Socrates did. Those who disclaim trifling and evident qualities are called humbugs and are more despicable; and sometimes this seems to be boastfulness, like the Spartan dress; for both excess and [30] great deficiency are boastful. But those who use understatement appropriately and understate about matters that are not too obtrusive or evident seem refined. It is the boaster that seems to be opposed to the candid man; for he is the worse character.
SINCE LIFE INCLUDES REST AS WELL, AND IN THIS IS INCLUDED leisure and amusement, there seems here also to be a [1128a] tasteful kind of behaviour in company: there is such a thing as saying—and again listening to—what one should and as one should. The kind of people one is speaking or listening to will also make a difference. Plainly, here also there is both an excess and a deficiency with regard to the middle. Those who [5] carry humour to excess are thought to be vulgar buffoons, striving after humour at all costs, and aiming rather at raising a laugh than at saying what is becoming and at avoiding pain to the object of their mockery; while those who cannot say anything funny themselves and are vexed with those who do are thought to be boorish and unpolished. Those who joke in [10] a tasteful way are called convivial, which implies a sort of readiness to turn this way and that;25 for such things are thought to be movements of the character, and as bodies are assessed by their movements, so too are characters. The ridiculous side of things is not far to seek, however, and most people delight more than they should in amusement and in [15] mockery, and so even buffoons are called convivial because they are found refined; but that they differ from the convivial man, and to no small extent, is plain from what has been said.
Tact is related to the middle state, and it is the mark of a tactful man to say and listen to such things as befit an upright and liberal man; for there are some things that it befits [20] such a man to say and to hear by way of amusement, and the liberal man’s amusements differ from those of a slavish man, and those of an educated man from those of an uneducated. One may see this even from the old and the new comedies: to the authors of the former ignoble language was funny, to those of the latter innuendo is more so; and these differ in no [25] small degree in respect of gracefulness.
Should we define the man who mocks well by his saying what is not unbecoming to a liberal man, or by his not giving pain, or even giving delight, to the hearer? Or is the latter, at any rate, itself indefinite, since different things are hateful or pleasant to different people? The kind of things he will listen to will be the same; for the kind he can face up to are also the kind he seems to make. There are, then, things he will not [30] do; for mockery is a sort of abuse, and there are things that lawgivers restrain us from abusing; and they should, perhaps, have restrained us even from mocking them. The refined and liberal man, therefore, will be as we have described, being as it were a law to himself.
Such, then, is the man in the middle state, whether he be called tactful or convivial. The buffoon is the slave of his sense of humour: he spares neither himself nor others if he [1128b] can raise a laugh, and says things none of which a man of refinement would say, and to some of which he would not even listen. The boor is useless in company; for he contributes nothing and is vexed at everything. But relaxation and amusement are thought to be a necessary element in life.
[5] The means in life that have been described, then, are three in number, and are all concerned with the sharing of words and actions of some kind. They differ, however, in that one is concerned with truth, and the others with pleasantness. Of those concerned with pleasure, one is displayed in amusements, the other in the rest of life’s companionships.
[10] MODESTY SHOULD NOT BE DESCRIBED AS A VIRTUE; FOR IT is more like an emotion than a state of character. It is defined, at any rate, as a kind of fear of disrepute and produces an effect similar to that26 produced by fear of danger; for people who feel disgraced blush, and those who fear death [15] turn pale. Both seem to be in a way bodily conditions, which is thought to be characteristic of emotions rather than of states of character.
The emotion is not becoming to every age but only to youth. For we think young people should be prone to modesty because they live by emotion and therefore commit many errors, but are restrained by modesty; and we praise [20] young people who are modestly inclined, but an older person no one would praise for being prone to shame, since we think he should not do anything of which he should feel ashamed. For shame is not even characteristic of an upright man, since it is consequent on base actions (for such actions should not be done; and if some actions are ignoble in very truth and others only according to belief, this makes no difference; [25] for neither sort should be done, so that no shame should be felt); and it is a mark of a base man even to be such as to do any ignoble action. To be so constituted such as to feel ashamed if one does such an action, and for this reason to think oneself upright, is absurd; for it is for voluntary actions that modesty is felt, and the upright man will never voluntarily do base actions. Modesty may indeed be said to be [30] conditionally an upright thing: if a good man did such actions, he would feel ashamed; but the virtues are not like that. And if shamelessness—not to be ashamed of doing ignoble actions—is base, that does not make it upright to be ashamed of doing such actions. Continence too is not virtue but rather a mixed sort of state; this will be shown later.
Now let us discuss justice.
1 Adding τε after ὑπομενεῖ.
2 Reading δή · ἡ δ᾽ ἀνδρεία for δὲ ἡ ἀνδρεία (which Bywater prints between obeli).
3 Reading οὖν (Bywater changes to γοῦν).
4 Iliad XXII 100 and VII 148–149.
5 Iliad II 391 and XV 348.
6 Iliad V 470; XI 11; XVI 529; Odyssey XXIV 318.
7 Most manuscripts here add a sentence which Bywater deletes: ‘Those things are not courageous, then, which are driven on to danger by pain or passion’.
8 Homer, Iliad III 24.
9 ‘Self-indulgent’ is ἀκόλαστος, ‘to have been chastised’ is κεκολάσθαι, the perfect passive infinitive of κολάζειν.
10 Omitting δίδωσιν (as Bywater suggests).
11 See the anecdote in Rhet B, 1391a8–12, according to which Simonides said that it is better to be rich than to be wise.
12 Omitting (perhaps with Aspasius) καὶ ὁ λῃστής (‘and the brigand’).
13 ‘Magnificence’ is μεγαλοπρέπεια, a compound deriving from μέγας (‘great’) and πρέπειν (‘to be fitting’).
14 Homer, Odyssey XVII 420.
15 Omitting ἡ μεγαλοπρέπεια (Muretus).
16 ‘Pride’ is μεγαλοψυχία, a compound from μέγας (‘great’) and ψυχή (‘soul’).
17 Omitting ὡς.
18 See Homer, Iliad I 503–504 (Thetis), and Xenophon, Hell VI v 33–34 (the Spartans)—though neither text supports what Aristotle says.
19 Reading μέλειν with most manuscripts for ἄμελειν (‘and must not care’).
20 ‘Ambition’ is φιλοτιμία, a compound in φιλο- : a φιλο-such-and-such is someone who φιλεῖ or loves such-and-such.
21 ‘Choleric’ is ἀκρόχολος, which Aristotle seems to construe as ‘having bile near the surface’.
22 Reading ἢ λυπεῖν (Imelmann) for μὴ λυπεῖν (‘not giving pain’).
23 Omitting καὶ εἰρωνείας (which Bywater inserts).
24 Reading ὡς γ᾽ ἀλαζών (Imelmann) for ὡς ὁ ἀλαζών (‘like the boaster’).
25 ‘Conviviality’ is εὐτραπελία, which Aristotle connects to εὔτροπος (‘easily turning’).
26 Reading ἀποτελεῖ τι for ἀποτελεῖται.