Discussion Question -PHI 220
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Rafael, The School of Athens - Alinari Archives / Universal Images Group
The NOVA PHI220 Reader PHI220 - ETHICS
Edited by Stephanie Semler 2017
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Preface
Welcome to PHI220 Ethics!
The study of ethics is generally a subdiscipline of philosophy. Philosophical study concerns the systematic and
rational examination of our beliefs – whether they be anout the natural world or the human mind. The
method of asking and answering questions about our belief is therefore fundamental to philosophical study –
logic, the rules of reasoning, is the medium with which philosophy paints its pictures. The branch of
philosophy called ‘ethics’ is centered on questions how we ought to live our lives, and about what is ‘right’ or
‘wrong’. In this Reader we look at how philosophers attempt to answer such questions in a systematic and
rational way.
As human beings live their lives, they acquire a wealth of information about the world around them that they
use to build up a collection of ideas about the world and their place within it. Those ideas come from a variety
of sources. They may come from scientific discoveries, personal experience, traditional beliefs commonly held
by people in the society in which they live, and so on. Much of the time people accept those ideas without
questioning them; they are relatively ‘unexamined’. A philosopher, however, will attempt to analyze these
ideas about the world to see if they are based on sound evidence. Instead of having a collection of inrelated
and scattered beliefs and opinions that may be incoherent and self-contradictory, the philosopher believes
that a person’s views should be carefully considered and integrated into a coherent, meaningful, rational
system.
The earliest European philosophers about which we have historical records came from the Greek colonies in
Asia Minor (present-day Turkey) and lived in the 6th century BCE. The first Chinese philosophers may datre
from as ealy as the 7th century BCE, and those for whom we have historical records date from at least the 5th
century BCE. Previously, it is assumed that people accepted a variety of myths and legends that explained the
world around them. The early Greek philosophers, however, realised that different societies believed in
different mythologies, and that those ideas often conflicted with each other. The philosophers in these pages
have wrestled with questions for nearly two millennia: How should society be organized? How ought we to
live? What is ‘right’ and ‘wrong’? These are some of the questions that have intrigued and occupied
philosophers across the ages – and continue to do so today.
A Note about Selections
The selections in this collection often have deletions of text im passim; consequently, the ideas of the writers
are presented, but may be out of their original literary and historical context. The focus of this reader is to
present some of the most important and seminal ideas in ethics. Your instructor will be able to fill in any
details, or answer any questions you might have about the works in this reader.
In addition to this core set of readings, supplementary readings are assigned in your course shell. This reader
is a work in process and your comments and suggestions are most welcome. Please send your questions and
inquiries of interest to the “Editors” at philbook@nvcc.edu
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Table of Contents Plato, Euthyphro, Translated by Benjamin Jowett .................................................................. 1 Plato, Republic, Translated by Paul Shorey (Selections) ........................................................ 12
BOOK I ..................................................................................... 12 BOOK II ................................................................................... 27 BOOK IV ................................................................................... 31 BOOK VI .................................................................................. 38 BOOK VII ................................................................................ 43 BOOK VIII ............................................................................... 46
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, translated by D.P. Chase ..................................................... 61 BOOK I ..................................................................................... 61 BOOK II .................................................................................... 71 BOOK III .................................................................................. 78 BOOK IV .................................................................................. 89 BOOK VII ................................................................................ 99
Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus, Translated by Robert Drew Hicks ..................................... 112 Epicurus, Principal Doctrines, Translated by Robert Drew Hicks ....................................... 115 Epictetus, Enchridion, Translated by Elizabeth Carter ........................................................ 118 Saint Augustine of Hippo, City of God (selections) ..............................................................128 Moses Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed (Selections) ...................................................147 Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica (selections) .................................................... 149 David Hume, Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (Selections) .......................... 188
SECTION I. ............................................................................. 188 SECTION II. ............................................................................ 190 SECTION III. .......................................................................... 196 SECTION V. ........................................................................... 202
Immanuel Kant, Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals (Selections), Translated by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott ..............................................................................210
FIRST SECTION ..................................................................... 213 SECOND SECTION ................................................................ 219
Jeremy Bentham, Principles of Legislation and Morals (Selections) .................................. 239 Chapter 1 ................................................................................ 239
John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism (Selections) ....................................................................... 243 CHAPTER I. ........................................................................... 243 CHAPTER II. .......................................................................... 245 CHAPTER III. .........................................................................255
John Stuart Mill, On Liberty, (Selections) ........................................................................... 259 CHAPTER I. ........................................................................... 259 CHAPTER II. .......................................................................... 266
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching Translated by J. Legge, (Selections) ............................................... 286 2 .............................................................................................. 286 8 ............................................................................................. 286 9 ............................................................................................. 286 10 ............................................................................................ 286 16 ............................................................................................ 287
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21 ............................................................................................ 287 22 ............................................................................................ 287 23 ............................................................................................ 287 28............................................................................................ 288 38 ............................................................................................ 288 57 ............................................................................................ 288
The Bhagavad Gita, translated by Sir Edwin Arnold (selections) ....................................... 290 CHAPTER II ........................................................................... 290 CHAPTER III ......................................................................... 292 CHAPTER IV ......................................................................... 294 CHAPTER V ........................................................................... 295 CHAPTER XVIII .................................................................... 296
The Buddha (Siddhartha Gaudama), First Sermon and Synopsus of Truth (Selections) .. 300 FIRST SERMON .................................................................... 300
Confucius, Analects, Translated by James Legge (Selections) ............................................ 302 BOOK I. HSIO R. ................................................................... 302 BOOK II. WEI CHANG. ........................................................ 303 BOOK IV. LE JIN. .................................................................. 304 BOOK VII. SHU R. ................................................................ 305 BOOK VIII. T'AI-PO.............................................................. 307 BOOK XII. YEN YUAN. ......................................................... 308 BOOK XIV. HSIEN WAN. ...................................................... 310 BOOK XV. WEI LING KUNG. ............................................... 313 BOOK XX. YAO YUEH. ......................................................... 315
Al Ghazali, Some Religious and Moral Teachings of Al-Ghazzali, translated by Syed Nawab Ali, (Selections) ...................................................................................................................... 316
THE NATURE OF MAN ......................................................... 316 PRIDE AND VANITY* ............................................................ 322 THE NATURE OF LOVE†..................................................... 329 MAN’S HIGHEST HAPPINESS .............................................. 331
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PLATO (427?-347 B.C.). - Greek philosopher. Roman marble copy of a lost Greek original of the 4th century B.C.. Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica
Plato, Euthyphro, Translated by Benjamin Jowett Persons of the Dialogue
SOCRATES - EUTHYPHRO
Scene - The Porch of the King Archon.
Euthyphro. Why have you left the Lyceum,
Socrates? and what are you doing in the Porch of
the King Archon? Surely you cannot be concerned
in a suit before the King, like myself?
Socrates. Not in a suit, Euthyphro; impeachment
is the word which the Athenians use.
Euth. What! I suppose that some one has been
prosecuting you, for I cannot believe that you are
the prosecutor of another.
Soc. Certainly not.
Euth. Then some one else has been prosecuting
you?
Soc. Yes.
Euth. And who is he?
Soc. A young man who is little known, Euthyphro;
and I hardly know him: his name is Meletus, and
he is of the deme of Pitthis. Perhaps you may
remember his appearance; he has a beak, and long
straight hair, and a beard which is ill grown.
Euth. No, I do not remember him, Socrates. But
what is the charge which he brings against you?
Soc. What is the charge? Well, a very serious
charge, which shows a good deal of character in
the young man, and for which he is certainly not
to be despised. He says he knows how the youth
are corrupted and who are their corruptors. I
fancy that he must be a wise man, and seeing that
I am the reverse of a wise man, he has found me
out, and is going to accuse me of corrupting his
young friends. And of this our mother the state is
to be the judge. Of all our political men he is the
only one who seems to me to begin in the right
way, with the cultivation of virtue in youth; like a
good husbandman, he makes the young shoots his
first care, and clears away us who are the
destroyers of them. This is only the first step; he
will afterwards attend to the elder branches; and if
he goes on as he has begun, he will be a very great
public benefactor.
Euth. I hope that he may; but I rather fear,
Socrates, that the opposite will turn out to be the
truth. My opinion is that in attacking you he is
simply aiming a blow at the foundation of the
state. But in what way does he say that you
corrupt the young?
Soc. He brings a wonderful accusation against me,
which at first hearing excites surprise: he says that
I am a poet or maker of gods, and that I invent
new gods and deny the existence of old ones; this
is the ground of his indictment.
Euth. I understand, Socrates; he means to attack
you about the familiar sign which occasionally, as
you say, comes to you. He thinks that you are a
neologian, and he is going to have you up before
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the court for this. He knows that such a charge is
readily received by the world, as I myself know too
well; for when I speak in the assembly about
divine things, and foretell the future to them, they
laugh at me and think me a madman. Yet every
word that I say is true. But they are jealous of us
all; and we must be brave and go at them.
Soc. Their laughter, friend Euthyphro, is not a
matter of much consequence. For a man may be
thought wise; but the Athenians, I suspect, do not
much trouble themselves about him until he
begins to impart his wisdom to others, and then
for some reason or other, perhaps, as you say,
from jealousy, they are angry.
Euth. I am never likely to try their temper in this
way.
Soc. I dare say not, for you are reserved in your
behaviour, and seldom impart your wisdom. But I
have a benevolent habit of pouring out myself to
everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and
I am afraid that the Athenians may think me too
talkative. Now if, as I was saying, they would only
laugh at me, as you say that they laugh at you, the
time might pass gaily enough in the court; but
perhaps they may be in earnest, and then what the
end will be you soothsayers only can predict.
Euth. I dare say that the affair will end in nothing,
Socrates, and that you will win your cause; and I
think that I shall win my own.
Soc. And what is your suit, Euthyphro? are you the
pursuer or the defendant?
Euth. I am the pursuer.
Soc. Of whom?
Euth. You will think me mad when I tell you.
Soc. Why, has the fugitive wings?
Euth. Nay, he is not very volatile at his time of life.
Soc. Who is he?
Euth. My father.
Soc. Your father! my good man?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And of what is he accused?
Euth. Of murder, Socrates.
Soc. By the powers, Euthyphro! how little does the
common herd know of the nature of right and
truth. A man must be an extraordinary man, and
have made great strides in wisdom, before he
could have seen his way to bring such an action.
Euth. Indeed, Socrates, he must.
Soc. I suppose that the man whom your father
murdered was one of your relatives-clearly he was;
for if he had been a stranger you would never have
thought of prosecuting him.
Euth. I am amused, Socrates, at your making a
distinction between one who is a relation and one
who is not a relation; for surely the pollution is the
same in either case, if you knowingly associate
with the murderer when you ought to clear
yourself and him by proceeding against him. The
real question is whether the murdered man has
been justly slain. If justly, then your duty is to let
the matter alone; but if unjustly, then even if the
murderer lives under the same roof with you and
eats at the same table, proceed against him. Now
the man who is dead was a poor dependent of
mine who worked for us as a field labourer on our
farm in Naxos, and one day in a fit of drunken
passion he got into a quarrel with one of our
domestic servants and slew him. My father bound
him hand and foot and threw him into a ditch,
and then sent to Athens to ask of a diviner what
he should do with him. Meanwhile he never
attended to him and took no care about him, for
he regarded him as a murderer; and thought that
no great harm would be done even if he did die.
Now this was just what happened. For such was
the effect of cold and hunger and chains upon
him, that before the messenger returned from the
diviner, he was dead. And my father and family
are angry with me for taking the part of the
murderer and prosecuting my father. They say
that he did not kill him, and that if he did, dead
man was but a murderer, and I ought not to take
any notice, for that a son is impious who
prosecutes a father. Which shows, Socrates, how
little they know what the gods think about piety
and impiety.
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Soc. Good heavens, Euthyphro! and is your
knowledge of religion and of things pious and
impious so very exact, that, supposing the
circumstances to be as you state them, you are not
afraid lest you too may be doing an impious thing
in bringing an action against your father?
Euth. The best of Euthyphro, and that which
distinguishes him, Socrates, from other men, is his
exact knowledge of all such matters. What should
I be good for without it?
Soc. Rare friend! I think that I cannot do better
than be your disciple. Then before the trial with
Meletus comes on I shall challenge him, and say
that I have always had a great interest in religious
questions, and now, as he charges me with rash
imaginations and innovations in religion, I have
become your disciple. You, Meletus, as I shall say
to him, acknowledge Euthyphro to be a great
theologian, and sound in his opinions; and if you
approve of him you ought to approve of me, and
not have me into court; but if you disapprove, you
should begin by indicting him who is my teacher,
and who will be the ruin, not of the young, but of
the old; that is to say, of myself whom he
instructs, and of his old father whom he
admonishes and chastises. And if Meletus refuses
to listen to me, but will go on, and will not shift
the indictment from me to you, I cannot do better
than repeat this challenge in the court.
Euth. Yes, indeed, Socrates; and if he attempts to
indict me I am mistaken if I do not find a flaw in
him; the court shall have a great deal more to say
to him than to me.
Soc. And I, my dear friend, knowing this, am
desirous of becoming your disciple. For I observe
that no one appears to notice you- not even this
Meletus; but his sharp eyes have found me out at
once, and he has indicted me for impiety. And
therefore, I adjure you to tell me the nature of
piety and impiety, which you said that you knew
so well, and of murder, and of other offences
against the gods. What are they? Is not piety in
every action always the same? and impiety, again-
is it not always the opposite of piety, and also the
same with itself, having, as impiety, one notion
which includes whatever is impious?
Euth. To be sure, Socrates.
Soc. And what is piety, and what is impiety?
Euth. Piety is doing as I am doing; that is to say,
prosecuting any one who is guilty of murder,
sacrilege, or of any similar crime-whether he be
your father or mother, or whoever he may be-that
makes no difference; and not to prosecute them is
impiety. And please to consider, Socrates, what a
notable proof I will give you of the truth of my
words, a proof which I have already given to
others:-of the principle, I mean, that the impious,
whoever he may be, ought not to go unpunished.
For do not men regard Zeus as the best and most
righteous of the gods?-and yet they admit that he
bound his father (Cronos) because he wickedly
devoured his sons, and that he too had punished
his own father (Uranus) for a similar reason, in a
nameless manner. And yet when I proceed against
my father, they are angry with me. So inconsistent
are they in their way of talking when the gods are
concerned, and when I am concerned.
Soc. May not this be the reason, Euthyphro, why I
am charged with impiety-that I cannot away with
these stories about the gods? and therefore I
suppose that people think me wrong. But, as you
who are well informed about them approve of
them, I cannot do better than assent to your
superior wisdom. What else can I say, confessing
as I do, that I know nothing about them? Tell me,
for the love of Zeus, whether you really believe
that they are true.
Euth. Yes, Socrates; and things more wonderful
still, of which the world is in ignorance.
Soc. And do you really believe that the gods,
fought with one another, and had dire quarrels,
battles, and the like, as the poets say, and as you
may see represented in the works of great artists?
The temples are full of them; and notably the robe
of Athene, which is carried up to the Acropolis at
the great Panathenaea, is embroidered with them.
Are all these tales of the gods true, Euthyphro?
Euth. Yes, Socrates; and, as I was saying, I can tell
you, if you would like to hear them, many other
things about the gods which would quite amaze
you.
Soc. I dare say; and you shall tell me them at some
other time when I have leisure. But just at present
I would rather hear from you a more precise
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answer, which you have not as yet given, my
friend, to the question, What is "piety"? When
asked, you only replied, Doing as you do, charging
your father with murder.
Euth. And what I said was true, Socrates.
Soc. No doubt, Euthyphro; but you would admit
that there are many other pious acts?
Euth. There are.
Soc. Remember that I did not ask you to give me
two or three examples of piety, but to explain the
general idea which makes all pious things to be
pious. Do you not recollect that there was one
idea which made the impious impious, and the
pious pious?
Euth. I remember.
Soc. Tell me what is the nature of this idea, and
then I shall have a standard to which I may look,
and by which I may measure actions, whether
yours or those of any one else, and then I shall be
able to say that such and such an action is pious,
such another impious.
Euth. I will tell you, if you like.
Soc. I should very much like.
Euth. Piety, then, is that which is dear to the gods,
and impiety is that which is not dear to them.
Soc. Very good, Euthyphro; you have now given
me the sort of answer which I wanted. But
whether what you say is true or not I cannot as yet
tell, although I make no doubt that you will prove
the truth of your words.
Euth. Of course.
Soc. Come, then, and let us examine what we are
saying. That thing or person which is dear to the
gods is pious, and that thing or person which is
hateful to the gods is impious, these two being the
extreme opposites of one another. Was not that
said?
Euth. It was.
Soc. And well said?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, I thought so; it was certainly
said.
Soc. And further, Euthyphro, the gods were
admitted to have enmities and hatreds and
differences?
Euth. Yes, that was also said.
Soc. And what sort of difference creates enmity
and anger? Suppose for example that you and I,
my good friend, differ about a number; do
differences of this sort make us enemies and set us
at variance with one another? Do we not go at
once to arithmetic, and put an end to them by a
sum?
Euth. True.
Soc. Or suppose that we differ about magnitudes,
do we not quickly end the differences by
measuring?
Euth. Very true.
Soc. And we end a controversy about heavy and
light by resorting to a weighing machine?
Euth. To be sure.
Soc. But what differences are there which cannot
be thus decided, and which therefore make us
angry and set us at enmity with one another? I
dare say the answer does not occur to you at the
moment, and therefore I will suggest that these
enmities arise when the matters of difference are
the just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and
dishonourable. Are not these the points about
which men differ, and about which when we are
unable satisfactorily to decide our differences, you
and I and all of us quarrel, when we do quarrel?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, the nature of the differences
about which we quarrel is such as you describe.
Soc. And the quarrels of the gods, noble
Euthyphro, when they occur, are of a like nature?
Euth. Certainly they are.
Soc. They have differences of opinion, as you say,
about good and evil, just and unjust, honourable
and dishonourable: there would have been no
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quarrels among them, if there had been no such
differences-would there now?
Euth. You are quite right.
Soc. Does not every man love that which he deems
noble and just and good, and hate the opposite of
them?
Euth. Very true.
Soc. But, as you say, people regard the same
things, some as just and others as unjust,-about
these they dispute; and so there arise wars and
fightings among them.
Euth. Very true.
Soc. Then the same things are hated by the gods
and loved by the gods, and are both hateful and
dear to them?
Euth. True.
Soc. And upon this view the same things,
Euthyphro, will be pious and also impious?
Euth. So I should suppose.
Soc. Then, my friend, I remark with surprise that
you have not answered the question which I
asked. For I certainly did not ask you to tell me
what action is both pious and impious: but now it
would seem that what is loved by the gods is also
hated by them. And therefore, Euthyphro, in thus
chastising your father you may very likely be
doing what is agreeable to Zeus but disagreeable
to Cronos or Uranus, and what is acceptable to
Hephaestus but unacceptable to Hera, and there
may be other gods who have similar differences of
opinion.
Euth. But I believe, Socrates, that all the gods
would be agreed as to the propriety of punishing a
murderer: there would be no difference of opinion
about that.
Soc. Well, but speaking of men, Euthyphro, did
you ever hear any one arguing that a murderer or
any sort of evil-doer ought to be let off?
Euth. I should rather say that these are the
questions which they are always arguing,
especially in courts of law: they commit all sorts of
crimes, and there is nothing which they will not
do or say in their own defence.
Soc. But do they admit their guilt, Euthyphro, and
yet say that they ought not to be punished?
Euth. No; they do not.
Soc. Then there are some things which they do
not venture to say and do: for they do not venture
to argue that the guilty are to be unpunished, but
they deny their guilt, do they not?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Then they do not argue that the evil-doer
should not be punished, but they argue about the
fact of who the evil-doer is, and what he did and
when?
Euth. True.
Soc. And the gods are in the same case, if as you
assert they quarrel about just and unjust, and
some of them say while others deny that injustice
is done among them. For surely neither God nor
man will ever venture to say that the doer of
injustice is not to be punished?
Euth. That is true, Socrates, in the main.
Soc. But they join issue about the particulars-gods
and men alike; and, if they dispute at all, they
dispute about some act which is called in
question, and which by some is affirmed to be
just, by others to be unjust. Is not that true?
Euth. Quite true.
Soc. Well then, my dear friend Euthyphro, do tell
me, for my better instruction and information,
what proof have you that in the opinion of all the
gods a servant who is guilty of murder, and is put
in chains by the master of the dead man, and dies
because he is put in chains before he who bound
him can learn from the interpreters of the gods
what he ought to do with him, dies unjustly; and
that on behalf of such an one a son ought to
proceed against his father and accuse him of
murder. How would you show that all the gods
absolutely agree in approving of his act? Prove to
me that they do, and I will applaud your wisdom
as long as I live.
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Euth. It will be a difficult task; but I could make
the matter very dear indeed to you.
Soc. I understand; you mean to say that I am not
so quick of apprehension as the judges: for to
them you will be sure to prove that the act is
unjust, and hateful to the gods.
Euth. Yes indeed, Socrates; at least if they will
listen to me.
Soc. But they will be sure to listen if they find that
you are a good speaker. There was a notion that
came into my mind while you were speaking; I
said to myself: "Well, and what if Euthyphro does
prove to me that all the gods regarded the death
of the serf as unjust, how do I know anything
more of the nature of piety and impiety? for
granting that this action may be hateful to the
gods, still piety and impiety are not adequately
defined by these distinctions, for that which is
hateful to the gods has been shown to be also
pleasing and dear to them." And therefore,
Euthyphro, I do not ask you to prove this; I will
suppose, if you like, that all the gods condemn and
abominate such an action. But I will amend the
definition so far as to say that what all the gods
hate is impious, and what they love pious or holy;
and what some of them love and others hate is
both or neither. Shall this be our definition of
piety and impiety?
Euth. Why not, Socrates?
Soc. Why not! certainly, as far as I am concerned,
Euthyphro, there is no reason why not. But
whether this admission will greatly assist you in
the task of instructing me as you promised, is a
matter for you to consider.
Euth. Yes, I should say that what all the gods love
is pious and holy, and the opposite which they all
hate, impious.
Soc. Ought we to enquire into the truth of this,
Euthyphro, or simply to accept the mere
statement on our own authority and that of
others? What do you say?
Euth. We should enquire; and I believe that the
statement will stand the test of enquiry.
Soc. We shall know better, my good friend, in a
little while. The point which I should first wish to
understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved
by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is
beloved of the gods.
Euth. I do not understand your meaning, Socrates.
Soc. I will endeavour to explain: we, speak of
carrying and we speak of being carried, of leading
and being led, seeing and being seen. You know
that in all such cases there is a difference, and you
know also in what the difference lies?
Euth. I think that I understand.
Soc. And is not that which is beloved distinct from
that which loves?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Well; and now tell me, is that which is carried
in this state of carrying because it is carried, or for
some other reason?
Euth. No; that is the reason.
Soc. And the same is true of what is led and of
what is seen?
Euth. True.
Soc. And a thing is not seen because it is visible,
but conversely, visible because it is seen; nor is a
thing led because it is in the state of being led, or
carried because it is in the state of being carried,
but the converse of this. And now I think,
Euthyphro, that my meaning will be intelligible;
and my meaning is, that any state of action or
passion implies previous action or passion. It does
not become because it is becoming, but it is in a
state of becoming because it becomes; neither
does it suffer because it is in a state of suffering,
but it is in a state of suffering because it suffers.
Do you not agree?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Is not that which is loved in some state either
of becoming or suffering?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And the same holds as in the previous
instances; the state of being loved follows the act
of being loved, and not the act the state.
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Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And what do you say of piety, Euthyphro: is
not piety, according to your definition, loved by all
the gods?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Because it is pious or holy, or for some other
reason?
Euth. No, that is the reason.
Soc. It is loved because it is holy, not holy because
it is loved?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And that which is dear to the gods is loved by
them, and is in a state to be loved of them because
it is loved of them?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Then that which is dear to the gods,
Euthyphro, is not holy, nor is that which is holy
loved of God, as you affirm; but they are two
different things.
Euth. How do you mean, Socrates?
Soc. I mean to say that the holy has been
acknowledge by us to be loved of God because it is
holy, not to be holy because it is loved.
Euth. Yes.
Soc. But that which is dear to the gods is dear to
them because it is loved by them, not loved by
them because it is dear to them.
Euth. True.
Soc. But, friend Euthyphro, if that which is holy is
the same with that which is dear to God, and is
loved because it is holy, then that which is dear to
God would have been loved as being dear to God;
but if that which dear to God is dear to him
because loved by him, then that which is holy
would have been holy because loved by him. But
now you see that the reverse is the case, and that
they are quite different from one another. For one
(theophiles) is of a kind to be loved cause it is
loved, and the other (osion) is loved because it is
of a kind to be loved. Thus you appear to me,
Euthyphro, when I ask you what is the essence of
holiness, to offer an attribute only, and not the
essence-the attribute of being loved by all the
gods. But you still refuse to explain to me the
nature of holiness. And therefore, if you please, I
will ask you not to hide your treasure, but to tell
me once more what holiness or piety really is,
whether dear to the gods or not (for that is a
matter about which we will not quarrel) and what
is impiety?
Euth. I really do not know, Socrates, how to
express what I mean. For somehow or other our
arguments, on whatever ground we rest them,
seem to turn round and walk away from us.
Soc. Your words, Euthyphro, are like the
handiwork of my ancestor Daedalus; and if I were
the sayer or propounder of them, you might say
that my arguments walk away and will not remain
fixed where they are placed because I am a
descendant of his. But now, since these notions
are your own, you must find some other gibe, for
they certainly, as you yourself allow, show an
inclination to be on the move.
Euth. Nay, Socrates, I shall still say that you are
the Daedalus who sets arguments in motion; not I,
certainly, but you make them move or go round,
for they would never have stirred, as far as I am
concerned.
Soc. Then I must be a greater than Daedalus: for
whereas he only made his own inventions to
move, I move those of other people as well. And
the beauty of it is, that I would rather not. For I
would give the wisdom of Daedalus, and the
wealth of Tantalus, to be able to detain them and
keep them fixed. But enough of this. As I perceive
that you are lazy, I will myself endeavor to show
you how you might instruct me in the nature of
piety; and I hope that you will not grudge your
labour. Tell me, then-Is not that which is pious
necessarily just?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And is, then, all which is just pious? or, is that
which is pious all just, but that which is just, only
in part and not all, pious?
Euth. I do not understand you, Socrates.
8
Soc. And yet I know that you are as much wiser
than I am, as you are younger. But, as I was saying,
revered friend, the abundance of your wisdom
makes you lazy. Please to exert yourself, for there
is no real difficulty in understanding me. What I
mean I may explain by an illustration of what I do
not mean. The poet (Stasinus) sings-
Of Zeus, the author and creator of all these things,
You will not tell: for where there is fear there is
also reverence. Now I disagree with this poet.
Shall I tell you in what respect?
Euth. By all means.
Soc. I should not say that where there is fear there
is also reverence; for I am sure that many persons
fear poverty and disease, and the like evils, but I
do not perceive that they reverence the objects of
their fear.
Euth. Very true.
Soc. But where reverence is, there is fear; for he
who has a feeling of reverence and shame about
the commission of any action, fears and is afraid of
an ill reputation.
Euth. No doubt.
Soc. Then we are wrong in saying that where there
is fear there is also reverence; and we should say,
where there is reverence there is also fear. But
there is not always reverence where there is fear;
for fear is a more extended notion, and reverence
is a part of fear, just as the odd is a part of
number, and number is a more extended notion
than the odd. I suppose that you follow me now?
Euth. Quite well.
Soc. That was the sort of question which I meant
to raise when I asked whether the just is always
the pious, or the pious always the just; and
whether there may not be justice where there is
not piety; for justice is the more extended notion
of which piety is only a part. Do you dissent?
Euth. No, I think that you are quite right.
Soc. Then, if piety is a part of justice, I suppose
that we should enquire what part? If you had
pursued the enquiry in the previous cases; for
instance, if you had asked me what is an even
number, and what part of number the even is, I
should have had no difficulty in replying, a
number which represents a figure having two
equal sides. Do you not agree?
Euth. Yes, I quite agree.
Soc. In like manner, I want you to tell me what
part of justice is piety or holiness, that I may be
able to tell Meletus not to do me injustice, or
indict me for impiety, as I am now adequately
instructed by you in the nature of piety or
holiness, and their opposites.
Euth. Piety or holiness, Socrates, appears to me to
be that part of justice which attends to the gods,
as there is the other part of justice which attends
to men.
Soc. That is good, Euthyphro; yet still there is a
little point about which I should like to have
further information, What is the meaning of
"attention"? For attention can hardly be used in
the same sense when applied to the gods as when
applied to other things. For instance, horses are
said to require attention, and not every person is
able to attend to them, but only a person skilled in
horsemanship. Is it not so?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. I should suppose that the art of horsemanship
is the art of attending to horses?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. Nor is every one qualified to attend to dogs,
but only the huntsman?
Euth. True.
Soc. And I should also conceive that the art of the
huntsman is the art of attending to dogs?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. As the art of the ox herd is the art of
attending to oxen?
Euth. Very true.
9
Soc. In like manner holiness or piety is the art of
attending to the gods?-that would be your
meaning, Euthyphro?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And is not attention always designed for the
good or benefit of that to which the attention is
given? As in the case of horses, you may observe
that when attended to by the horseman's art they
are benefited and improved, are they not?
Euth. True.
Soc. As the dogs are benefited by the huntsman's
art, and the oxen by the art of the ox herd, and all
other things are tended or attended for their good
and not for their hurt?
Euth. Certainly, not for their hurt.
Soc. But for their good?
Euth. Of course.
Soc. And does piety or holiness, which has been
defined to be the art of attending to the gods,
benefit or improve them? Would you say that
when you do a holy act you make any of the gods
better?
Euth. No, no; that was certainly not what I meant.
Soc. And I, Euthyphro, never supposed that you
did. I asked you the question about the nature of
the attention, because I thought that you did not.
Euth. You do me justice, Socrates; that is not the
sort of attention which I mean.
Soc. Good: but I must still ask what is this
attention to the gods which is called piety?
Euth. It is such, Socrates, as servants show to their
masters.
Soc. I understand-a sort of ministration to the
gods.
Euth. Exactly.
Soc. Medicine is also a sort of ministration or
service, having in view the attainment of some
object-would you not say of health?
Euth. I should.
Soc. Again, there is an art which ministers to the
ship-builder with a view to the attainment of some
result?
Euth. Yes, Socrates, with a view to the building of
a ship.
Soc. As there is an art which ministers to the
housebuilder with a view to the building of a
house?
Euth. Yes.
Soc. And now tell me, my good friend, about the
art which ministers to the gods: what work does
that help to accomplish? For you must surely
know if, as you say, you are of all men living the
one who is best instructed in religion.
Euth. And I speak the truth, Socrates.
Soc. Tell me then, oh tell me-what is that fair work
which the gods do by the help of our
ministrations?
Euth. Many and fair, Socrates, are the works which
they do. Soc. Why, my friend, and so are those of a
general. But the chief of them is easily told. Would
you not say that victory in war is the chief of
them?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. Many and fair, too, are the works of the
husbandman, if I am not mistaken; but his chief
work is the production of food from the earth?
Euth. Exactly.
Soc. And of the many and fair things done by the
gods, which is the chief or principal one?
Euth. I have told you already, Socrates, that to
learn all these things accurately will be very
tiresome. Let me simply say that piety or holiness
is learning, how to please the gods in word and
deed, by prayers and sacrifices. Such piety, is the
salvation of families and states, just as the
impious, which is unpleasing to the gods, is their
ruin and destruction.
10
Soc. I think that you could have answered in much
fewer words the chief question which I asked,
Euthyphro, if you had chosen. But I see plainly
that you are not disposed to instruct me-dearly
not: else why, when we reached the point, did you
turn, aside? Had you only answered me I should
have truly learned of you by this time the-nature
of piety. Now, as the asker of a question is
necessarily dependent on the answerer, whither
he leads-I must follow; and can only ask again,
what is the pious, and what is piety? Do you mean
that they are a, sort of science of praying and
sacrificing?
Euth. Yes, I do.
Soc. And sacrificing is giving to the gods, and
prayer is asking of the gods?
Euth. Yes, Socrates.
Soc. Upon this view, then piety is a science of
asking and giving?
Euth. You understand me capitally, Socrates.
Soc. Yes, my friend; the. reason is that I am a
votary of your science, and give my mind to it, and
therefore nothing which you say will be thrown
away upon me. Please then to tell me, what is the
nature of this service to the gods? Do you mean
that we prefer requests and give gifts to them?
Euth. Yes, I do.
Soc. Is not the right way of asking to ask of them
what we want?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And the right way of giving is to give to them
in return what they want of us. There would be
no, in an art which gives to any one that which he
does not want.
Euth. Very true, Socrates.
Soc. Then piety, Euthyphro, is an art which gods
and men have of doing business with one another?
Euth. That is an expression which you may use, if
you like.
Soc. But I have no particular liking for anything
but the truth. I wish, however, that you would tell
me what benefit accrues to the gods from our
gifts. There is no doubt about what they give to us;
for there is no good thing which they do not give;
but how we can give any good thing to them in
return is far from being equally clear. If they give
everything and we give nothing, that must be an
affair of business in which we have very greatly the
advantage of them.
Euth. And do you imagine, Socrates, that any
benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts?
Soc. But if not, Euthyphro, what is the meaning of
gifts which are conferred by us upon the gods?
Euth. What else, but tributes of honour; and, as I
was just now saying, what pleases them?
Soc. Piety, then, is pleasing to the gods, but not
beneficial or dear to them?
Euth. I should say that nothing could be dearer.
Soc. Then once more the assertion is repeated that
piety is dear to the gods?
Euth. Certainly.
Soc. And when you say this, can you wonder at
your words not standing firm, but walking away?
Will you accuse me of being the Daedalus who
makes them walk away, not perceiving that there
is another and far greater artist than Daedalus
who makes them go round in a circle, and he is
yourself; for the argument, as you will perceive,
comes round to the same point. Were we not
saying that the holy or pious was not the same
with that which is loved of the gods? Have you
forgotten?
Euth. I quite remember.
Soc. And are you not saying that what is loved of
the gods is holy; and is not this the same as what
is dear to them-do you see?
Euth. True.
Soc. Then either we were wrong in former
assertion; or, if we were right then, we are wrong
now.
11
Euth. One of the two must be true.
Soc. Then we must begin again and ask, What is
piety? That is an enquiry which I shall never be
weary of pursuing as far as in me lies; and I entreat
you not to scorn me, but to apply your mind to
the utmost, and tell me the truth. For, if any man
knows, you are he; and therefore I must detain
you, like Proteus, until you tell. If you had not
certainly known the nature of piety and impiety, I
am confident that you would never, on behalf of a
serf, have charged your aged father with murder.
You would not have run such a risk of doing
wrong in the sight of the gods, and you would
have had too much respect for the opinions of
men. I am sure, therefore, that you know the
nature of piety and impiety. Speak out then, my
dear Euthyphro, and do not hide your knowledge.
Euth. Another time, Socrates; for I am in a hurry,
and must go now.
Soc. Alas! my companion, and will you leave me in
despair? I was hoping that you would instruct me
in the nature of piety and impiety; and then I
might have cleared myself of Meletus and his
indictment. I would have told him that I had been
enlightened by Euthyphro, and had given up rash
innovations and speculations, in which I indulged
only through ignorance, and that now I am about
to lead a better life.
THE END
12
SOCRATES (470?-399 B.C.).Greek philosopher. Antique Roman bust.. Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica, 25 May 2016.
Plato, Republic, Translated
by Paul Shorey (Selections)
BOOK I
[327a] Socrates: I1 went down yesterday to the
Peiraeus2 with Glaucon, the son of Ariston, to pay
my devotions3 to the Goddess,4 and also because I
wished to see how they would conduct the festival
since this was its inauguration.5 I thought the
procession of the citizens very fine, but it was no
better than the show, made by the marching of
the Thracian contingent. [327b]
After we had said our prayers and seen the
spectacle we were starting for town when
Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus, caught sight of
us from a distance as we were hastening
homeward6 and ordered his boy7 run and bid us to
wait8 for him, and the boy caught hold9 of my
himation from behind and said, “Polemarchus
wants you to wait.” And I turned around and
asked where his master10 was. “There he is,” he
said, “behind you, coming this way. Wait for him.”
“So we will,” said Glaucon, [327c] and shortly after
Polemarchus came up and Adeimantus, the
brother of Glaucon, and Niceratus, the son of
Nicias, and a few others apparently from the
procession. Whereupon Polemarchus said,
“Socrates, you appear to have turned your faces
townward and to be going to leave us.”
(Socrates and Glaucon join Polemarchus and the
others.)
So we went with them to Polemarchus's house,
and there we found Lysias and Euthydemus, the
brothers of Polemarchus, yes, and Thrasymachus,
too, of Chalcedon, and Charmantides of the deme
of Paeania, and Kleitophon the son of
Aristonymus. And the father of Polemarchus,
Cephalus, was also at home.
(Cephalus and Socrates discuss the benefits of old
age and the benefits of owning property.)
For in very truth there comes to old age a great
tranquillity in such matters and a blessed release.
When the fierce tensions30 of the passions and
desires relax, then is the word of Sophocles
approved, [329d] and we are rid of many and
mad31 masters. But indeed in respect of these
complaints and in the matter of our relations with
kinsmen and friends there is just one cause,
Socrates—not old age, but the character of the
man. For if men are temperate and cheerful32 even
old age is only moderately burdensome. But if the
reverse, old age, Socrates, and youth are hard for
such dispositions.”
Now he to whom the ledger of his life shows an
account of many evil deeds starts up43 even from
his dreams like children again and again in
affright and his days are haunted by anticipations
of worse to come. But on him who is conscious of
no wrong [331a] that he has done a sweet hope44
ever attends and a goodly to be nurse of his old
age, as Pindar45 too says. For a beautiful saying it
is, Socrates, of the poet that when a man lives out
his days in justice and piety“ sweet companion
with him, to cheer his heart and nurse his old age,
accompanies Hope, who chiefly rules the
changeful mind of mortals.”(Pindar Frag. 214,
Loeb) That is a fine saying and an admirable. It is
for this, then, that I affirm that the possession of
wealth is of most value [331b] not it may be to
13
every man but to the good man. Not to cheat any
man even unintentionally or play him false, not
remaining in debt to a god46 for some sacrifice or
to a man for money, so to depart in fear to that
other world—to this result the possession of
property contributes not a little. It has also many
other uses. But, setting one thing against another,
I would lay it down, Socrates, that for a man of
sense this is the chief service of wealth.”
“An admirable sentiment, Cephalus,” [331c] said I.
“But speaking of this very thing, justice, are we to
affirm thus without qualification47 that it is truth-
telling and paying back what one has received
from anyone, or may these very actions sometimes
be just and sometimes unjust? I mean, for
example, as everyone I presume would admit, if
one took over weapons from a friend who was in
his right mind and then the lender should go mad
and demand them back, that we ought not to
return them in that case and that he who did so
return them would not be acting justly—nor yet
would he who chose to speak nothing but the
truth [331d] to one who was in that state.” “You are
right,” he replied. “Then this is not the definition
of justice: to tell the truth and return what one has
received.” “Nay, but it is, Socrates,” said
Polemarchus breaking in, “if indeed we are to put
any faith in Simonides.” “Very well,” said
Cephalus, “indeed I make over the whole
argument48 to you. For it is time for me to attend
the sacrifices.” “Well,” said I, “is not Polemarchus
the heir of everything that is yours?” “Certainly,”
said he with a laugh, and at the same time went
out to the sacred rites.49 [331e]
“Tell me, then, you the inheritor of the argument,
what it is that you affirm that Simonides says and
rightly says about justice.” “That it is just,” he
replied, “to render to each his due.50 In saying this
I think he speaks well.” “I must admit,” said I,
“that it is not easy to disbelieve Simonides. For he
is a wise and inspired man.51 But just what he may
mean by this you, Polemarchus, doubtless know,
but I do not. Obviously he does not mean what we
were just speaking of, this return of a deposit52 to
anyone whatsoever even if he asks it back when
not in his right mind. And yet what the man
deposited [332a] is due to him in a sense, is it
not?” “Yes.” “But rendered to him it ought not to
be by any manner of means when he demands it
not being his right mind.” “True,” said he. “It is
then something other than this that Simonides
must, as it seems, mean by the saying that it is just
to render back what is due.” “Something else in
very deed,” he replied, “for he believes that friends
owe it to friends to do them some good and no
evil.” “I see,” said I; “you mean that53 he does not
render what is due or owing who returns a deposit
of gold [332b] if this return and the acceptance
prove harmful and the returner and the recipient
are friends. Isn't that what you say Simonides
means?” “Quite so.” “But how about this—should
one not render to enemies what is their due?” “By
all means,” he said, “what is due54 and owing to
them, and there is due and owing from an enemy
to an enemy what also is proper for him, some
evil.”
“It was a riddling55 definition of justice, then, that
Simonides gave after the manner of poets; for
while his meaning, [332c] it seems, was that justice
is rendering to each what befits him, the name
that he gave to this was the due.'” “What else do
you suppose?” said he. “In heaven's name!” said I,
“suppose56 someone had questioned him thus:
'Tell me, Simonides, the art that renders what that
is due and befitting to what is called the art of
medicine.'57 What do you take it would have been
his answer?” “Obviously,” he said, “the art that
renders to bodies drugs, foods, and drinks.” “And
the art that renders to what things what that is
due and befitting is called the culinary art?” [332d]
“Seasoning to meats.” “Good. In the same way tell
me the art that renders what to whom would be
denominated justice.” “If we are to follow the
previous examples,58 Socrates, it is that which
renders benefits and harms to friends and
enemies.” “To do good to friends and evil to
enemies,59 then, is justice in his meaning?” “I
think so.” “Who then is the most able when they
are ill to benefit friends and harm enemies in
respect to disease and health?” “The physician.”
[332e] “And who navigators in respect of the perils
of the sea?” “The pilot.” “Well then, the just man,
in what action and for what work is he the most
competent to benefit friends and harm enemies?”
“In making war and as an ally, I should say.” “Very
well. But now if they are not sick, friend
Polemarchus, the physician is useless to them.”
“True.” “And so to those who are not at sea the
pilot.” “Yes.” “Shall we also say this that for those
who are not at war the just man is useless?” “By no
means.” “There is a use then even in peace for
14
justice?” [333a] “Yes, it is useful.” “But so is
agriculture, isn't it?” “Yes.” “Namely, for the
getting of a harvest?” “Yes.” “But likewise the
cobbler's art?” “Yes.” “Namely, I presume you
would say, for the getting of shoes.” “Certainly.”
“Then tell me, for the service and getting of what
would you say that justice is useful in time of
peace?” “In engagements and dealings, Socrates.”
“And by dealings do you mean associations,
partnerships, or something else?” “Associations, of
course.” “Is it the just man, [333b] then, who is a
good and useful associate and partner in the
placing of draughts or the draught-player?” “The
player.” “And in the placing of bricks and stones is
the just man a more useful and better associate
than the builder?” “By no means.” “Then what is
the association60 in which the just man is a better
partner than the harpist as an harpist is better
than the just man for striking the chords?” “For
money-dealings,61 I think.” “Except, I presume,
Polemarchus, for the use of money when there is
occasion to buy in common [333c] or sell a horse.
Then, I take it, the man who knows horses, isn't it
so?” “Apparently.” “And again, if it is a vessel, the
shipwright or the pilot.” “It would seem so.” “What
then is the use of money in common for which a
just man is the better partner?” “When it is to be
deposited and kept safe, Socrates.” “You mean
when it is to be put to no use but is to lie idle62?”
“Quite so.” “Then it is when money is useless that
justice is useful in relation to it?” [333d] “It looks
that way.” “And similarly when a scythe is to be
kept safe, then justice is useful both in public and
private. But when it is to be used, the vinedresser's
art is useful?” “Apparently.” “And so you will have
to say that when a shield and a lyre are to be kept
and put to no use, justice is useful, but when they
are to be made use of, the military art and music.”
“Necessarily.” “And so in all other cases, in the use
of each thing, justice is useless but in its
uselessness useful?” “It looks that way.” [333e]
(Socrates compares Justice to other forms of craft.)
“But all the same is then just for them to benefit
the bad [334d] and injure the good?” “It would
seem so.” “But again the good are just and
incapable of injustice.” “True.” “On your reasoning
then it is just to wrong those who do no injustice.”
“Nay, nay, Socrates,” he said, “the reasoning can't
be right.”71 “Then,” said I, “it is just to harm the
unjust and benefit the just.” “That seems a better
conclusion than the other.” “It will work out, then,
for many, Polemarchus, who have misjudged men
that it is just to harm their friends, [334e] for they
have got bad ones, and to benefit their enemies,
for they are good. And so we shall find ourselves
saying the very opposite of what we affirmed
Simonides to mean.” “Most certainly,” he said, “it
does work out so. But let us change our ground;
for it looks as if we were wrong in the notion we
took up about the friend and the enemy.” “What
notion, Polemarchus?” “That the man who seems
to us good is the friend.” “And to what shall we
change it now?” said I. “That the man who both
seems and is good is the friend, but that he who
seems [335a] but is not really so seems but is not
really the friend. And there will be the same
assumption about the enemy.” “Then on this view
it appears the friend will be the good man and the
bad the enemy.” “Yes.” “So you would have us
qualify our former notion of the just man by an
addition. We then said it was just to do good to a
friend and evil to an enemy, but now we are to
add that it is just to benefit the friend if he is good
and harm the enemy if he is bad?” [335b] “By all
means,” he said, “that, I think, would be the right
way to put it.”
“Is it then,” said I, “the part of a good man to harm
anybody whatsoever?”72 “Certainly it is,” he
replied; “a man ought to harm those who are both
bad and his enemies.” “When horses73 are harmed
does it make them better or worse?” “Worse.” “In
respect of the excellence or virtue of dogs or that
of horses?” “Of horses.” “And do not also dogs
when harmed become worse in respect of canine
and not of equine virtue?” “Necessarily.” [335c]
“And men, my dear fellow, must we not say that
when they are harmed it is in respect of the
distinctive excellence or virtue of man that they
become worse?” “Assuredly.” “And is not justice
the specific virtue of man?”74 “That too must be
granted.” “Then it must also be admitted, my
friend, that men who are harmed become more
unjust.” “It seems so.” “Do musicians then make
men unmusical by the art of music?” “Impossible.”
“Well, do horsemen by horsemanship unfit men
for dealing with horses?” “No.” “By justice then do
the just make men unjust, [335d] or in sum do the
good by virtue make men bad?” “Nay, it is
impossible.” “It is not, I take it, the function75 of
heat to chill but of its opposite.” “Yes.” “Nor of
dryness to moisten but of its opposite.”
15
“Assuredly.” “Nor yet of the good to harm but of
its opposite.” “So it appears.” “But the just man is
good?” “Certainly.” “It is not then the function of
the just man, Polemarchus, to harm either friend
or anyone else, but of his opposite.” “I think you
are altogether right, [335e] Socrates.” “If, then,
anyone affirms that it is just to render to each his
due and he means by this, that injury and harm is
what is due to his enemies from the just man76
and benefits to his friends, he was no truly wise
man who said it. For what he meant was not true.
For it has been made clear to us that in no case is
it just to harm anyone.” “I concede it,” he said.
“We will take up arms against him, then,” said I,
“you and I together, if anyone affirms that either
Simonides or Bias77 or Pittacus or any other of the
wise and blessed said such a thing.” “I, for my
part,” he said, “am ready to join in the battle with
you.” [336a] “Do you know,” said I, “to whom I
think the saying belongs—this statement that it is
just to benefit friends and harm enemies?” “To
whom?” he said. “I think it was the saying of
Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias78 the
Theban or some other rich man who had great
power in his own conceit.”79 “That is most true,”
he replied. “Very well,” said I, “since it has been
made clear that this too is not justice and the just,
what else is there that we might say justice to
be?”80 [336b]
Now Thrasymachus,81 even while we were
conversing, had been trying several times to break
in and lay hold of the discussion but he was
restrained by those who sat by him who wished to
hear the argument out. But when we came to a
pause after I had said this, he couldn't any longer
hold his peace. But gathering himself up like a
wild beast he hurled himself upon us as if he
would tear us to pieces. And Polemarchus and I
were frightened and fluttered apart, and he
bawled out into our midst, [336c] “What
balderdash is this that you have been talking, and
why do you Simple Simons truckle and give way to
one another? But if you really wish, Socrates, to
know what the just is, don't merely ask questions
or plume yourself upon controverting any answer
that anyone gives—since your acumen has
perceived that it is easier to ask questions than to
answer them,82 but do you yourself answer and tell
[336d] what you say the just is. And don't you be
telling me83 that it is that which ought to be, or
the beneficial or the profitable or the gainful or
the advantageous, but express clearly and
precisely whatever you say. For I won't take from
you any such drivel as that!” And I, when I heard
him, was dismayed, and looking upon him was
filled with fear, and I believe that if I had not
looked at him before he did at me I should have
lost my voice.84 But as it is, at the very moment
when he began to be exasperated by the course of
the argument [336e] I glanced at him first, so that
I became capable of answering him and said with
a light tremor: “Thrasymachus, don't be harsh85
with us. If I and my friend have made mistakes in
the consideration of the question, rest assured
that it is unwillingly that we err. For you surely
must not suppose that while86 if our quest were
for gold87 we would never willingly truckle to one
another and make concessions in the search and
so spoil our chances of finding it, yet that when we
are searching for justice, a thing more precious
than much fine gold, we should then be so foolish
as to give way to one another and not rather do
our serious best to have it discovered. You surely
must not suppose that, my friend. But you see it is
our lack of ability that is at fault. It is pity then
that we should far more reasonably receive [337a]
from clever fellows like you than severity.”
And he on hearing this gave a great guffaw and
laughed sardonically and said, “Ye gods! here we
have the well-known irony88 of Socrates, and I
knew it and predicted that when it came to
replying you would refuse and dissemble and do
anything rather than answer any question that
anyone asked you.” “That's because you are wise,
Thrasymachus, and so you knew very well that if
you asked a man how many are twelve, [337b] and
in putting the question warned him: don't you be
telling me, fellow, that twelve is twice six or three
times four or six times two or four times three, for
I won't accept any such drivel as that from you as
an answer—it was obvious I fancy to you that no
one could give an answer to a question framed in
that fashion. Suppose he had said to you,
'Thrasymachus, what do you mean? Am I not to
give any of the prohibited answers, not even, do
you mean to say, if the thing really is one of these,
but must I say something different from the truth,
[337c] or what do you mean?' What would have
been your answer to him?” “Humph!” said he,
“how very like the two cases are!” “There is
nothing to prevent,” said I; “yet even granted that
they are not alike, yet if it appears to the person
16
asked the question that they are alike, do you
suppose that he will any the less answer what
appears to him, whether we forbid him or whether
we don't?” “Is that, then,” said he, “what you are
going to do? Are you going to give one of the
forbidden answers?” “I shouldn't be surprised,” I
said, “if on reflection that would be my view.”
“What then,” [337d] he said, “if I show you another
answer about justice differing from all these, a
better one—what penalty do you think you
deserve?” “Why, what else,” said I, “than that
which it befits anyone who is ignorant to suffer? It
befits him, I presume, to learn from the one who
does know. That then is what I propose that I
should suffer.” “I like your simplicity,”89 said he;
“but in addition to 'learning' you must pay a fine
of money.” “Well, I will when I have got it,” I said.
“It is there,” said Glaucon: “if money is all that
stands in the way, Thrasymachus, go on with your
speech. We will all contribute for Socrates.” “Oh
yes, of course,” [337e] said he, “so that Socrates
may contrive, as he always does, to evade
answering himself but may cross-examine the
other man and refute his replies.” “Why, how,” I
said, “my dear fellow, could anybody answer if in
the first place he did not know and did not even
profess to know, and secondly even if he had some
notion of the matter, he had been told by a man of
weight that he mustn't give any of his suppositions
as an answer? [338a] Nay, it is more reasonable
that you should be the speaker. For you do affirm
that you know and are able to tell. Don't be
obstinate, but do me the favor to reply and don't
be chary90 of your wisdom, and instruct Glaucon
here and the rest of us.”
When I had spoken thus Glaucon and the others
urged him not to be obstinate. It was quite plain
that Thrasymachus was eager to speak in order
that he might do himself credit, since he believed
that he had a most excellent answer to our
question. But he demurred and pretended to make
a point of my being the respondent. Finally he
gave way and then said, [338b] “Here you have the
wisdom of Socrates, to refuse himself to teach, but
go about and learn from others and not even pay
thanks91 therefor.” “That I learn from others,” I
said, “you said truly, Thrasymachus. But in saying
that I do not pay thanks you are mistaken. I pay as
much as I am able. And I am able only to bestow
praise. For money I lack.92 But that I praise right
willingly those who appear to speak well you will
well know forthwith as soon as you have given
your answer. [338c] For I think that you will speak
well.” “Hearken and hear then,” said he. “I affirm
that the just is nothing else than93 the advantage
of the stronger.94 WeIl, why don't you applaud?
Nay, you'll do anything but that.” “Provided only I
first understand your meaning,” said I; “for I don't
yet apprehend it. The advantage of the stronger is
what you affirm the just to be. But what in the
world do you mean by this? I presume you don't
intend to affirm this, that if Polydamas the
pancratiast is stronger than we are and the flesh of
beeves95 is advantageous for him, [338d] for his
body, this viand is also for us who are weaker than
he both advantageous and just.” “You're a
buffoon,96 Socrates, and take my statement97 in
the most detrimental sense.” “Not at all, my dear
fellow” said I; “I only want you to make your
meaning plainer.”98 “Don't you know then,” said
he, “that some cities are governed by tyrants, in
others democracy rules, in others aristocracy?”99
“Assuredly.” “And is not this the thing that is
strong and has the mastery100 in each—the ruling
party?” “Certainly.” [338e] “And each form of
government enacts the laws with a view to its own
advantage, a democracy democratic laws and
tyranny autocratic and the others likewise, and by
so legislating they proclaim that the just for their
subjects is that which is for their—the rulers'—
advantage and the man who deviates101 from this
law they chastise as a law-breaker and a
wrongdoer. This, then, my good sir, is what I
understand as the identical principle of justice
that obtains in all states [339a] —the advantage of
the established government. This I presume you
will admit holds power and is strong, so that, if
one reasons rightly, it works out that the just is
the same thing everywhere,102 the advantage of the
stronger.” “Now,” said I, “I have learned your
meaning, but whether it is true or not I have to try
to learn. The advantageous, then, is also your
reply, Thrasymachus, to the question, what is the
just—though you forbade me to give that answer.
[339b] But you add thereto that of the stronger.”
“A trifling addition103 perhaps you think it,” he
said. “It is not yet clear104 whether it is a big one
either; but that we must inquire whether what you
say is true, is clear.105 For since I too admit that the
just is something that is of advantage106—but you
are for making an addition and affirm it to be the
advantage of the stronger, while I don't profess to
17
know,107 we must pursue the inquiry.” “Inquire
away,” he said.
“I will do so,” said I. “Tell me, then; you affirm
also, do you not, that obedience to rulers is just?”
[339c] “I do.” “May I ask whether the rulers in the
various states are infallible108 or capable
sometimes of error?” “Surely,” he said, “they are
liable to err.” “Then in their attempts at legislation
they enact some laws rightly and some not rightly,
do they not?” “So I suppose.” “And by rightly we
are to understand for their advantage, and by
wrongly to their disadvantage? Do you mean that
or not?” “That.” “But whatever they enact109 must
be performed by their subjects and is justice?” “Of
course.” [339d] “Then on your theory it is just not
only to do what is the advantage of the stronger
but also the opposite, what is not to his
advantage.” “What's that you're saying?”110 he
replied. “What you yourself are saying,111 I think.
Let us consider it more closely. Have we not
agreed that the rulers in giving orders to the ruled
sometimes mistake their own advantage, and that
whatever the rulers enjoin is just for the subjects
to perform? Was not that admitted?” “I think it
was,” he replied. [339e] “Then you will have to
think,”112 I said, “that to do what is
disadvantageous to the rulers and the stronger has
been admitted by you to be just in the case when
the rulers unwittingly enjoin what is bad for
themselves, while you affirm that it is just for the
others to do what they enjoined. In that way does
not this conclusion inevitably follow, my most
sapient113 Thrasymachus, that it is just to do the
very opposite114 of what you say? For it is in that
case surely the disadvantage of the stronger or
superior that the inferior [340a] are commanded
to perform.” “Yes, by Zeus, Socrates,” said
Polemarchus, “nothing could be more conclusive.”
“Of course,” said Cleitophon, breaking in, “if you
are his witness.”115 “What need is there of a
witness?” Polemarchus said. “Thrasymachus
himself admits that the rulers sometimes enjoin
what is evil for themselves and yet says that it is
just for the subjects to do this.” “That,
Polemarchus, is because Thrasymachus laid it
down that it is just to obey the orders116 of the
rulers.” “Yes, Cleitophon, but he also took the
position that the advantage of the stronger is just.
[340b] And after these two assumptions he again
admitted that the stronger sometimes bid the
inferior and their subjects do what is to the
disadvantage of the rulers. And from these
admissions the just would no more be the
advantage of the stronger than the contrary.” “O
well,” said Cleitophon, “by the advantage of the
superior he meant what the superior supposed to
be for his advantage. This was what the inferior
had to do, and that this is the just was his
position.” “That isn't what he said,” [340c] replied
Polemarchus. “Never mind, Polemarchus,” said I,
“but if that is Thrasymachus's present meaning, let
us take it from him117 in that sense.
“So tell me, Thrasymachus, was this what you
intended to say, that the just is the advantage of
the superior as it appears to the superior whether
it really is or not? Are we to say this was your
meaning?” “Not in the least,” he said.118 “Do you
suppose that I call one who is in error a superior
when he errs?” “I certainly did suppose that you
meant that,” I replied, “when you agreed that
rulers are not infallible [340d] but sometimes
make mistakes.” “That is because you argue like a
pettifogger, Socrates. Why, to take the nearest
example, do you call one who is mistaken about
the sick a physician in respect of his mistake or
one who goes wrong in a calculation a calculator
when he goes wrong and in respect of this error?
Yet that is what we say literally—we say that the
physician119 erred and the calculator and the
schoolmaster. But the truth, I take it, is, that each
of these [340e] in so far as he is that which we
entitle him never errs; so that, speaking precisely,
since you are such a stickler for precision,120 no
craftsman errs. For it is when his knowledge
abandons him that he who goes wrong goes
wrong—when he is not a craftsman. So that no
craftsman, wise man, or ruler makes a mistake
then when he is a ruler, though everybody would
use the expression that the physician made a
mistake and the ruler erred. It is in this loose way
of speaking, then, that you must take the answer I
gave you a little while ago. But the most precise
statement is that other, that the ruler [341a] in so
far forth as ruler does not err, and not erring he
enacts what is best for himself, and this the
subject must do, so that, even as I meant from the
start, I say the just is to do what is for the
advantage of the stronger.”
“So then, Thrasymachus,” said I, “my manner of
argument seems to you pettifogging?” “It does,” he
said. “You think, do you, that it was with malice
18
aforethought and trying to get the better of you
unfairly that I asked that question?” “I don't think
it, I know it,” he said, “and you won't make
anything by it, for you won't get the better of me
by stealth and [341b], failing stealth, you are not of
the force121 to beat me in debate.” “Bless your
soul,” said I, “I wouldn't even attempt such a
thing. But that nothing of the sort may spring up
between us again, define in which sense you take
the ruler and stronger. Do you mean the so-called
ruler122 or that ruler in the precise sense of whom
you were just now telling us, and for whose
advantage as being the superior it will be just for
the inferior to act?” “I mean the ruler in the very
most precise sense of the word,” he said. “Now
bring on against this your cavils and your shyster's
tricks if you are able. [341c] I ask no quarter. But
you'll find yourself unable.” “Why, do you
suppose,” I said, “that I am so mad to try to try to
beard a lion123 and try the pettifogger on
Thrasymachus?” “You did try it just now,” he said,
“paltry fellow though you be.”124 “Something too
much125 of this sort of thing,” said I. “But tell me,
your physician in the precise sense of whom you
were just now speaking, is he a moneymaker, an
earner of fees, or a healer of the sick? And
remember to speak of the physician who is really
such.” “A healer of the sick,” he replied. “And what
of the lot—the pilot rightly so called—is he a ruler
of sailors or a sailor?” [341d] “A ruler of sailors.”
“We don't, I fancy, have to take into account the
fact that he actually sails in the ship, nor is he to
be denominated a sailor. For it is not in respect of
his sailing that he is called a pilot but in respect of
his art and his ruling of the sailors.” “True,” he
said. “Then for each of them126 is there not a
something that is for his advantage?” “Quite so.”
“And is it not also true,” said I, “that the art
naturally exists for this, to discover and provide
for each his advantage?” “Yes, for this.” “Is there,
then, for each of the arts any other advantage than
to be perfect as possible127?” [341e] “What do you
mean by that question?” “Just as if,” I said, “you
should ask me whether it is enough for the body
to be the body or whether it stands in need of
something else, I would reply, 'By all means it
stands in need. That is the reason why the art of
medicine has now been invented, because the
body is defective and such defect is unsatisfactory.
To provide for this, then, what is advantageous,
that is the end for which the art was devised.' Do
you think that would be a correct answer, or not?”
[342a] “Correct,” he said. “But how about this? Is
the medical art itself defective or faulty, or has any
other art any need of some virtue, quality, or
excellence—as the eyes of vision, the ears of
hearing, and for this reason is there need of some
art over them that will consider and provide what
is advantageous for these very ends—does there
exist in the art itself some defect and does each art
require another art to consider its advantage and
is there need of still another for the considering
art and so on ad infinitum, or will the art look out
for its own advantage? [342b] Or is it a fact that it
needs neither itself nor another art to consider its
advantage and provide against its deficiency? For
there is no defect or error at all that dwells in any
art. Nor does it befit an art to seek the advantage
of anything else than that of its object. But the art
itself is free from all harm and admixture of evil,
and is right so long as each art is precisely and
entirely that which it is. And consider the matter
in that precise way of speaking. Is it so or not?” “It
appears to be so,” he said. “Then medicine,” said I,
[342c] “does not consider the advantage of
medicine but of the body?” “Yes.” “Nor
horsemanship of horsemanship but of horses, nor
does any other art look out for itself—for it has no
need—but for that of which it is the art.” “So it
seems,” he replied. “But surely,128 Thrasymachus,
the arts do hold rule and are stronger than that of
which they are the arts.” He conceded this but it
went very hard. “Then no art considers or
enjoins129 the advantage of the stronger but every
art that of the weaker [342d] which is ruled by it.”
This too he was finally brought to admit though
he tried to contest it. But when he had agreed—
“Can we deny, then,” said I, “that neither does any
physician in so far as he is a physician seek or
enjoin the advantage of the physician but that of
the patient? For we have agreed that the
physician, 'precisely' speaking, is a ruler and
governor of bodies and not a moneymaker. Did we
agree on that?” He assented. “And so the 'precise'
pilot is a ruler of sailors, [342e] not a sailor?” That
was admitted. “Then that sort of a pilot and ruler
will not consider and enjoin the advantage of the
pilot but that of the sailor whose ruler he is.” He
assented reluctantly. “Then,” said I,
“Thrasymachus, neither does anyone in any office
of rule in so far as he is a ruler consider and enjoin
his own advantage but that of the one whom he
rules and for whom he exercises his craft, and he
keeps his eyes fixed on that and on what is
19
advantageous and suitable to that in all that he
says and does.” [343a]
When we had come to this point in the discussion
and it was apparent to everybody that his formula
of justice had suffered a reversal of form,
Thrasymachus, instead of replying,130 said, “Tell
me, Socrates, have you got a nurse?” “What do you
mean?” said I. “Why didn't you answer me instead
of asking such a question?” “Because,” he said,
“she lets her little 'snotty' run about drivelling131
and doesn't wipe your face clean, though you need
it badly, if she can't get you to know132 the
difference between the shepherd and the sheep.”
“And what, pray, makes you think that?” said I.
“Because you think that the shepherds [343b] and
the neat-herds are considering the good of the
sheep and the cattle and fatten and tend them
with anything else in view than the good of their
masters and themselves; and by the same token
you seem to suppose that the rulers in our cities, I
mean the real rulers,133 differ at all in their
thoughts of the governed from a man's attitude
towards his sheep134 or that they think of anything
else night and day than [343c] the sources of their
own profit. And you are so far out135 concerning
the just and justice and the unjust and injustice
that you don't know that justice and the just are
literally136 the other fellow's good137—the
advantage of the stronger and the ruler, but a
detriment that is all his own of the subject who
obeys and serves; while injustice is the contrary
and rules those who are simple in every sense of
the word and just, and they being thus ruled do
what is for his advantage who is the stronger and
make him happy [343d] in serving him, but
themselves by no manner of means. And you must
look at the matter, my simple-minded Socrates, in
this way: that the just man always comes out at a
disadvantage in his relation with the unjust. To
begin with, in their business dealings in any joint
undertaking of the two you will never find that the
just man has the advantage over the unjust at the
dissolution of the partnership but that he always
has the worst of it. Then again, in their relations
with the state, if there are direct taxes or
contributions to be paid, the just man contributes
more from an equal estate and the other less, and
when there is a distribution [343e] the one gains
much and the other nothing. And so when each
holds office, apart from any other loss the just
man must count on his own affairs138 falling into
disorder through neglect, while because of his
justice makes no profit from the state, and thereto
he will displease his friends and his acquaintances
by his unwillingness to serve them unjustly. But to
the unjust man all the opposite advantages accrue.
I mean, of course, the one I was just speaking of,
[344a] the man who has the ability to overreach
on a large scale. Consider this type of man, then, if
you wish to judge how much more profitable it is
to him personally to be unjust than to be just. And
the easiest way of all to understand this matter
will be to turn to the most consummate form of
injustice which makes the man who has done the
wrong most happy and those who are wronged
and who would not themselves willingly do wrong
most miserable. And this is tyranny, which both
by stealth and by force takes away what belongs to
others, both sacred and profane, both private and
public, not little by little but at one swoop.139
[344b] For each several part of such wrongdoing
the malefactor who fails to escape detection is
fined and incurs the extreme of contumely; for
temple-robbers, kidnappers, burglars, swindlers,
and thieves the appellations of those who commit
these partial forms of injustice. But when in
addition to the property of the citizens men
kidnap and enslave the citizens themselves,
instead of these opprobrious names they are
pronounced happy and blessed140 not only by their
fellow-citizens [344c] but by all who hear the story
of the man who has committed complete and
entire injustice.141 For it is not the fear of doing142
but of suffering wrong that calls forth the
reproaches of those who revile injustice. Thus,
Socrates, injustice on a sufficiently large scale is a
stronger, freer, and a more masterful thing than
justice, and, as I said in the beginning, it is the
advantage of the stronger that is the just, while
the unjust is what profits man's self and is for his
advantage.” [344d]
After this Thrasymachus was minded to depart
when like a bathman143 he had poured his speech
in a sudden flood over our ears. But the company
would not suffer him and were insistent that he
should remain and render an account of what he
had said. And I was particularly urgent and said, “I
am surprised at you, Thrasymachus; after
hurling144 such a doctrine at us, can it be that you
propose to depart without staying to teach us
properly or learn yourself whether this thing is so
or not? Do you think it is a small matter145 that
20
you are attempting to determine [344e] and not
the entire conduct of life that for each of us would
make living most worth while?”
(Socrates challenges Thrasymachus to defend his
view).
“Come then, Thrasymachus,” I said, “go back to
the beginning and answer us. You affirm that
perfect and complete injustice is more profitable
than justice that is complete.” [348c] “I affirm it,”
he said, “and have told you my reasons.” “Tell me
then how you would express yourself on this point
about them. You call one of them, I presume, a
virtue and the other a vice?” “Of course.” “Justice
the virtue and injustice the vice?” “It is likely,170
you innocent, when I say that injustice pays and
justice doesn't pay.” “But what then, pray?” “The
opposite,” he replied. “What! justice vice?” “No,
but a most noble simplicity171 or goodness of
heart.” “Then do you call injustice badness of
heart?” [348d] “No, but goodness of judgement.”
“Do you also, Thrasymachus, regard the unjust as
intelligent and good?” “Yes, if they are capable of
complete injustice,” he said, “and are able to
subject to themselves cities and tribes of men. But
you probably suppose that I mean those who take
purses. There is profit to be sure even in that sort
of thing,” he said, “if it goes undetected. But such
things are not worth taking into the account,
[348e] but only what I just described.” “I am not
unaware of your meaning in that,” I said; “but this
is what surprised me,172 that you should range
injustice under the head of virtue and wisdom,
and justice in the opposite class.” “Well, I do so
class them,” he said. “That,” said I, “is a stiffer
proposition,173 my friend, and if you are going as
far as that it is hard to know what to answer. For if
your position were that injustice is profitable yet
you conceded it to be vicious and disgraceful as
some other174 disputants do, there would be a
chance for an argument on conventional
principles. But, as it is, you obviously are going to
affirm that it is honorable and strong and you will
attach to it all the other qualities [349a] that we
were assigning to the just, since you don't shrink
from putting it in the category of virtue and
wisdom.” “You are a most veritable prophet,” he
replied. “Well,” said I, “I mustn't flinch from
following out the logic of the inquiry, so long as I
conceive you to be saying what you think.175 For
now, Thrasymachus, I absolutely believe that you
are not 'mocking' us but telling us your real
opinions about the truth.176” “What difference
does it make to you,” he said, “whether I believe it
or not?” “Why don't you test the argument?”
[349b] “No difference,” said I, “but here is
something I want you to tell me in addition to
what you have said. Do you think the just man
would want to overreach177 or exceed another just
man?” “By no means,” he said; “otherwise he
would not be the delightful simpleton that he is.”
“And would he exceed or overreach or go beyond
the just action?” “Not that either,” he replied. “But
how would he treat the unjust man—would he
deem it proper and just to outdo, overreach, or go
beyond him or would he not?” “He would,” he
said, “but he wouldn't be able to.” “That is not my
question,” I said, [349c] “but whether it is not the
fact that the just man does not claim and wish to
outdo the just man but only the unjust?” “That is
the case,” he replied. “How about the unjust then?
Does he claim to overreach and outdo the just
man and the just action?” “Of course,” he said,
“since he claims to overreach and get the better of
everything.” “Then the unjust man will overreach
and outdo also both the unjust man and the
unjust action, and all his endeavor will be to get
the most in everything for himself.” “That is so.”
“Let us put it in this way,” I said; “the just man
does not seek to take advantage of his like but of
his unlike, but the unjust man [349d] of both.”
“Admirably put,” he said. “But the unjust man is
intelligent and good and the just man neither.”
“That, too, is right,” he said. “Is it not also true,” I
said, “that the unjust man is like the intelligent
and good and the just man is not?” “Of course,” he
said, “being such he will be like to such and the
other not.” “Excellent. Then each is such178 as that
to which he is like.” “What else do you suppose?”
he said. “Very well, Thrasymachus, [349e] but do
you recognize that one man is a musician179 and
another unmusical?” “I do.” “Which is the
intelligent and which the unintelligent?” “The
musician, I presume, is the intelligent and the
unmusical the unintelligent.” “And is he not good
in the things in which he is intelligent180 and bad
in the things in which he is unintelligent?” “Yes.”
“And the same of the physician?” “The same.” “Do
you think then, my friend, that any musician in
the tuning of a lyre would want to overreach181
another musician in the tightening and relaxing of
the strings or would claim and think fit to exceed
21
or outdo him?” “I do not.” “But would the the
unmusical man?” “Of necessity,” he said. “And
how about the medical man? [350a] In prescribing
food and drink would he want to outdo the
medical man or the medical procedure?” “Surely
not.” “But he would the unmedical man?” “Yes.”
“Consider then with regard to all182 forms of
knowledge and ignorance whether you think that
anyone who knows would choose to do or say
other or more than what another who knows
would do or say, and not rather exactly what his
like would do in the same action.” “Why, perhaps
it must be so,” he said, “in such cases.” “But what
of the ignorant man—of him who does not know?
Would he not overreach or outdo equally [350b]
the knower and the ignorant?” “It may be.” “But
the one who knows is wise?” “I'll say so.” “And the
wise is good?” “I'll say so.” “Then he who is good
and wise will not wish to overreach his like but his
unlike and opposite.” “It seems so,” he said. “But
the bad man and the ignoramus will overreach
both like and unlike?” “So it appears.” “And does
not our unjust man, Thrasymachus, overreach
both unlike and like? Did you not say that?” “I
did,” he replied. [350c] “But the just man will not
overreach his like but only his unlike?” “Yes.”
“Then the just man is like the wise and good, and
the unjust is like the bad and the ignoramus.” “It
seems likely.” “But furthermore we agreed that
such is each as that to which he is like.” “Yes, we
did.” “Then the just man has turned out183 on our
hands to be good and wise and the unjust man
bad and ignorant.”
Thrasymachus made all these admissions [350d]
not as I now lightly narrate them, but with much
baulking and reluctance184 and prodigious
sweating, it being summer, and it was then I
beheld what I had never seen before—
Thrasymachus blushing.185 But when we did reach
our conclusion that justice is virtue and wisdom
and injustice vice and ignorance, “Good,” said I,
“let this be taken as established.186 But we were
also affirming that injustice is a strong and potent
thing. Don't you remember, Thrasymachus?” “I
remember,” he said; “but I don't agree with what
you are now saying either and I have an answer to
it, [350e] but if I were to attempt to state it, I know
very well that you would say that I was delivering
a harangue.187 Either then allow me to speak at
such length as I desire,188 or, if you prefer to ask
questions, go on questioning and I, as we do for
old wives189 telling their tales, will say 'Very good'
and will nod assent and dissent.” “No, no,” said I,
“not counter to your own belief.” “Yes, to please
you,” he said, “since you don't allow me freedom
of speech. And yet what more do you want?”
“Nothing, indeed,” said I; “but if this is what you
propose to do, do it and I will ask the questions.”
“Ask on, then.” “This, then, is the question I ask,
the same as before, so that our inquiry may
proceed in sequence. [351a] What is the nature of
injustice as compared with justice? For the
statement made, I believe, was that injustice is a
more potent and stronger thing than justice. But
now,” I said, “if justice is wisdom and virtue, it will
easily, I take it, be shown to be also a stronger
thing than injustice, since injustice is ignorance—
no one could now fail to recognize that—but what
I want is not quite so simple190 as that. I wish,
Thrasymachus, to consider it in some such fashion
as this. A city, you would say, may be unjust and
[351b] try to enslave other cities unjustly, have
them enslaved and hold many of them in
subjection.” “Certainly,” he said; “and this is what
the best state will chiefly do, the state whose
injustice is most complete.” “I understand,” I said,
“that this was your view. But the point that I am
considering is this, whether the city that thus
shows itself superior to another will have this
power without justice or whether she must of
necessity combine it with justice.” [351c] “If,191” he
replied, “what you were just now saying holds
good, that justice is wisdom, with justice; if it is as
I said, with injustice.” “Admirable, Thrasymachus,”
I said; “you not only nod assent and dissent, but
give excellent answers.” “I am trying to please
you,” he replied.
“Very kind of you. But please me in one thing
more and tell me this: do you think that a city,192
an army, or bandits, or thieves, or any other group
that attempted any action in common, could
accomplish anything if they wronged one
another?” [351d] “Certainly not,” said he. “But if
they didn't, wouldn't they be more likely to?”
“Assuredly.” “For factions, Thrasymachus, are the
outcome of injustice, and hatreds and internecine
conflicts, but justice brings oneness of mind and
love. Is it not so?” “So be it,” he replied, “not to
differ from you.” “That is good of you, my friend;
but tell me this: if it is the business of injustice to
engender hatred wherever it is found, will it not,
when it springs up either among freemen or
22
slaves, cause them to hate and be at strife with
one another, and make them incapable [351e] of
effective action in common?” “By all means.”
“Suppose, then, it springs up between two, will
they not be at outs with and hate each other and
be enemies both to one another and to the just?”
“They will,” he said. “And then will you tell me
that if injustice arises in one193 it will lose its force
and function or will it none the less keep it?”
“Have it that it keeps it,” he said. “And is it not
apparent that its force is such that wherever it is
found in city, family, camp, or in anything else
[352a] it first renders the thing incapable of
cooperation with itself owing to faction and
difference, and secondly an enemy to itself194 and
to its opposite in every case, the just? Isn't that
so?” “By all means.” “Then in the individual too, I
presume, its presence will operate all these effects
which it is its nature to produce. It will in the first
place make him incapable of accomplishing
anything because of inner faction and lack of self-
agreement, and then an enemy to himself and to
the just. Is it not so?” “Yes.” “But, my friend, [352b]
the gods too195 are just.” “Have it that they are,” he
said. “So to the gods also, it seems, the unjust man
will be hateful, but the just man dear.” “Revel in
your discourse,” he said, “without fear, for I shall
not oppose you, so as not to offend your partisans
here.” “Fill up the measure of my feast,196 then,
and complete it for me,” I said, “by continuing to
answer as you have been doing. Now that the just
appear to be wiser and better and more capable of
action and the unjust incapable of any common
action, [352c] and that if we ever say that any men
who are unjust have vigorously combined to put
something over, our statement is not altogether
true, for they would not have kept their hands
from one another if they had been thoroughly
unjust, but it is obvious that there was in them
some justice which prevented them from
wronging at the same time one another too as well
as those whom they attacked; and by dint of this
they accomplished whatever they did and set out
to do injustice only half corrupted197 by injustice,
since utter rascals completely unjust [352d] are
completely incapable of effective action—all this I
understand to be the truth, and not what you
originally laid down. But whether it is also true198
that the just have a better life than the unjust and
are happier, which is the question we afterwards
proposed for examination, is what we now have to
consider. It appears even now that they are, I
think, from what has already been said. But all the
same we must examine it more carefully.199 For it
is no ordinary200 matter that we are discussing,
but the right conduct of life.” “Proceed with your
inquiry,” he said. “I proceed,” said I. “Tell me
then—would you say [352e] that a horse has a
specific work201 or function?” “I would.” “Would
you be willing to define the work of a horse or of
anything else to be that which one can do only
with it or best with it?” “I don't understand,” he
replied. “Well, take it this way: is there anything
else with which you can see except the eyes?”
“Certainly not.” “Again, could you hear with
anything but ears?” “By no means.” “Would you
not rightly say that these are the functions of
these (organs)?” “By all means.” “Once more,
[353a] you could use a dirk to trim vine branches
and a knife and many other instruments.”
“Certainly.” “But nothing so well, I take it, as a
pruning-knife fashioned for this purpose.” “That is
true.” “Must we not then assume this to be the
work or function of that?” “We must.”
“You will now, then, I fancy, better apprehend the
meaning of my question when I asked whether
that is not the work of a thing which it only or it
better than anything else can perform.” “Well,” he
said, “I do understand, and agree [353b] that the
work of anything is that.” “Very good,” said I. “Do
you not also think that there is a specific virtue or
excellence of everything for which a specific work
or function is appointed? Let us return to the
same examples. The eyes we say have a function?”
“They have.” “Is there also a virtue of the eyes?”
“There is.” “And was there not a function of the
ears?” “Yes.” “And so also a virtue?” “Also a virtue.”
“And what of all other things? Is the case not the
same?” “The same.” “Take note now. Could the
eyes possibly fulfil their function well [353c] if they
lacked their own proper excellence and had in its
stead the defect?” “How could they?” he said; “for I
presume you meant blindness instead of vision.”
“Whatever,” said I, “the excellence may be. For I
have not yet come202 to that question, but am
only asking whether whatever operates will not do
its own work well by its own virtue and badly by
its own defect.” “That much,” he said, “you may
affirm to be true.” “Then the ears, too, if deprived
of their own virtue will do their work ill?”
“Assuredly.” “And do we then apply [353d] the
same principle to all things?” “I think so.” “Then
next consider this. The soul, has it a work which
23
you couldn't accomplish with anything else in the
world, as for example, management, rule,
deliberation, and the like, is there anything else
than soul to which you could rightly assign these
and say that they were its peculiar work?”
“Nothing else.” “And again life? Shall we say that
too is the function of the soul?” “Most certainly,”
he said. “And do we not also say that there is an
excellence virtue of the soul?” [353e] “We do.”
“Will the soul ever accomplish its own work well if
deprived of its own virtue, or is this impossible?”
“It is impossible.” “Of necessity, then, a bad soul
will govern and manage things badly while the
good soul will in all these things do well.203” “Of
necessity.” “And did we not agree that the
excellence or virtue of soul is justice and its defect
injustice?” “Yes, we did.” “The just soul and the
just man then will live well and the unjust ill?” “So
it appears,” he said, “by your reasoning.” [354a]
“But furthermore, he who lives well is blessed and
happy, and he who does not the contrary.” “Of
course.” “Then the just is happy and the unjust
miserable.” “So be it,” he said. “But it surely does
not pay to be miserable, but to be happy.” “Of
course not.” “Never, then, most worshipful
Thrasymachus, can injustice be more profitable
than justice.” “Let this complete your
entertainment, Socrates, at the festival of Bendis.”
“A feast furnished by you, Thrasymachus,” I said,
“now that you have become gentle with me and
are no longer angry.204 I have not dined well,
however— [354b] by my own fault, not yours. But
just as gluttons205 snatch at every dish that is
handed along and taste it before they have
properly enjoyed the preceding, so I, methinks,
before finding the first object of our inquiry—
what justice is—let go of that and set out to
consider something about it, namely whether it is
vice and ignorance or wisdom and virtue; and
again, when later the view was sprung upon us
that injustice is more profitable than justice I
could not refrain from turning to that from the
other topic. So that for me [354c] the present
outcome of the discussion206 is that I know
nothing.207 For if I don't know what the just is,208 I
shall hardly know whether it is a virtue or not, and
whether its possessor is or is not happy.”
Notes
1 Socrates narrates in the first person, as in the Charmides and Lysis; see Introduction p. vii, Hirzel, Der Dialog, i. p. 84. Demetrius, On Style, 205, cites this sentence as an example of “trimeter members.” Editors give references for the anecdote that it was found in Plato's tablets with many
variations. For Plato's description of such painstaking Cf. Phaedrus 278 D. Cicero De sen.. 5. 13 “scribens est mortuus.” 2 Cf. 439 E; about a five-mile walk. 3 Plato and Xenophon represent Socrates as worshipping the gods, νόμῳ πόλεως. Athanasius, Contra gentes, 9, censures Plato for thus adoring an Artemis made with hands, and the fathers and medieval writers frequently cite the passage for Plato's regrettable concessions to polytheism— “persuasio civilis” as Minucius Felix styles it. Cf. Eusebius Praep. Evang. xiii. 13. 66. 4 Presumably Bendis (354 A), though, as the scholiast observes, Athena is ἡ θεός for an Athenian. For foreign cults at the Peiraeus see Holm, History of Greece, iii. p. 189. 5 See Introduction. 6 “Headed homeward” is more exact and perhaps better. 7 A Greek gentleman would always be so attended. Cf. Charmides 155 A, Meno 82 B, Protagoras 310 C, Demosthenes xlvii. 36. 8 The “bounder” in Theophrastus, Char. xi. (xvii.), if he sees persons in a hurry will ask them to wait. 9 Charmides 153 B, Parmenides 126 A, 449 B. 10 “Ipse,” Cf. Protagoras 314 D; “ipse dixit;” “Now you are not ‘ipse,’ for I am he.”—Shakes. 11 Cf. the playful threat in Philebus 16 A, Phaedrus 236 C, Horace, Satire i. 4. 142. 12 For the characteristic Socratic contrast between force and persuasion cf. 411 D, and the anecdote in Diogenes Laertius vii. 24. 13 See Sterrett in AJP xxii. p. 393. “The torch was passed down the lines which competed as wholes. For the metaphorical transmission of the torch of life cf. Plato, Laws, 776 B, Lucretius ii. 79. 14 Rise from the table. This is forgotten. 15 In “American,” the colloquial Greek means “be a sport.” 16 The particles single out Thrasymachus for ironical emphasis. Proclus in Tim. 3 E preserves them in his enumeration of the dramatis personae. 17 A companion picture to the fair vision of the youthful Lysis (Lysis, 207 A). The wreath was worn at the sacrifice. 18 For the seats compare Protagoras 317 D-E, Cicero Laelius 1. 2 “in hemicyclio sedentem.” 19 The language recalls the Homeric formula,πάρος γε μὲν οὔτι θαμίζεις, Iliad xviii. 386, Odyssey v. 88, Jebb on O.C. 672. Cephalus' friendly urgency to Socrates is in the tone of Laches 181 C. 20 Plato characteristically contrasts the transitory pleasures of the body with the enduring joys of the mind. Phaedrus 258 E. Anaximenes imitates and expands the passage, Stobaeus, 117. 5. Pleasures are not strictly speaking “of” the body, but “in” or “relating to” it. See my Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 45. 21 Much of this passage, including the comparison of old men to travellers, is copied by Cicero, De sen. 3 ff. 22 Cf. Horace, Epistles i. 11 “Quid tibi visa Chios?” The vague neuter and the slight anacoluthon give a colloquial turn to the sentence. 23 Hesiod, Works and Days 290, says that the path of virtue is rough at first and then grows easy. 24 This, whatever its precise meaning, was a familiar phrase like our “One foot in the grave.” Cf. Leaf on Iliad xxii. 60, xxiv 487; Hyperides (i. xx. 13) employs it without apology in prose. 25 Lit. “preserving.” For the reverse Cf. Symposium 174 B. Cicero renders, “similes cum similibus veteri proverbio facile congregantur.” The proverb is ἧλιξ ἥλικα τέρπειPhaedrus 240 C, or, as in Lysis 214 A, Protagoras 337 D, Symposium 195 B, the reference may be to Homer's ὡς αἰεὶ τὸν ὁμοῖον ἄγει θεὸς ὡς τὸν ὁμοῖον, Odyssey xvii. 218. Milton, Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, x., “The ancient proverb in Homer . . . entitles this work of leading each like person to his like, peculiarly to God, himself.” 26 The sentiment of the sensualist from Mimnermus to Byron; cf. also Simonides fr. 71, Sophocles Antigone 1165, Antiphanes, in Stobaeus 63. 12. For the application to old age Cf. Anth. Pal. ix. 127, Horace Epistles ii. 2. 55, and the ψόγος γήρως in Stobaeus, 116. 27 For such a litany cf. Sophocles O.C. 1235. 28 This suggests Aristotle's fallacy of the false cause, Soph. El. 167 b 21. Cf. Philebus 28 A and Isocrates xv. 230. 29 Allusions to the passage are frequent. Theon, Progymn. ii. 66 (Spengel), turns to the anecdote in an edifying χρεία. Ammianus Marcellinus xxv. 4. 2 tells us that the chastity of the emperor Julian drew its inspiration hence. Schopenhauer often dwelt on the thought, cf. Cicero Cato M. 14, Plutarch, De cupid. divit. 5, An seni p. 788, Athen. xii. p. 510, Philostr.Vit. Apoll. 1. 13. 30 Cf. Phaedo 86 C, Philebus 47 A, Laws 645 B, 644 Eσπῶσι. 31 Cf. Euripides I.A. 547μαινομένων οἴστρων. 32 For Sophocles as εὔκολος cf. Aristophanes Frogs 82, and on this quality, Laws 791 C. 33 Cephalus prefigures the old age of the righteous, 612-613. There is then no parody of Antisthenes as Joel fancies. 34 Cf. Teles. (Hense, pp.9-10), Philemon in Plutarch p. 358, Musonius, Stobaeus 117. 8. A fragment of Anaxandrides in Stobaeus Florileg. 68. 1 is almost a paraphrase of this passage. Thucydides ii. 44 says that honour, not money, is the consolation of old age. 35 Lit. “the” Seriphean of the anecdote, which, however, Herodotus (viii. 125) tells of another. Cicero Cato M. 8 “Seriphio cuidam.” 36 Cephalus, Lysanias, Cephalus, and so frequently.
24
37 Aristotle makes a similar observation, Eth. Nic. iv. 1.20, Rhet. i. 11. 26, ii. 16. 4. For nouveaux riches, γενναῖοι ἐκ βαλλαντίου, see Starkie on Aristophanes Wasps, 1309. 38 Cf. Theaetetus 160 E, Symposium 209 C, Phaedrus 274 E, with Epaminondas' saying, that Leuctra and Mantineia were his children. 39 Perhaps the earliest positive expression of faith in future life and judgement for sin is Pindar's Second Olympian. See Rohde's Psyche and Adam in Cambridge Praelections. The Epicureans and sometimes the Stoics unfairly reprobated Plato's appeal here to this motive, which he disregards in his main argument and returns to only in the tenth book. Cf. 363 C-D, 386 B, 613 E ff., also 496 E, 498 D, 608 D. 40 Cf. 498 C and Pindar Ol. ii. 64. But 500 D, “there” is the realm of Platonic ideas. 41 Cf. Gorgias 523 A, 527 A. 42 The conclusion logically expected, “is more credulous,” shifts to the alternative preferred by Plato.ὥσπερ marks the figurative sense of “nearer.”καθοπᾷ is not “takes a more careful view of it” (Goodwin) but wins a glimpse, catches sight of those obscure things, as a sailor descries land. So often in Plato. Cf. Epin. 985 C. 43 Polyb. v. 52. 13, and for the thought Iamblichus, Protrepticus 127 A, Job iv. 13-14. Tennyson, Vastness ix.—“Pain, that has crawl'd from the corpse of Pleasure, a worm which writhes all day, and at night/ Stirs up again in the heart of the sleeper, and stings him back to the curse of the light.” 44 The better hope of the initiated, often mentioned in connection with the mysteries, blends with the better hope of the righteous (Isocrates i. 39, iv. 20, viii. 34, Schmidt, Ethik der Griechen, ii. 73), and in the conclusion of the Pindar passage almost becomes the hope against which Greek moralists warn us. Cf. Pindar Nem. xi. in fine, Sophocles Antigone 615, Thuc. 2.62, Thuc. 3.45 45 Pindar, Fragment 214, L.C.L. Edition. 46 Cf. the famous, “We owe a cock to Aesculapius,”Phaedo 118 A. Cf. further, Browne, Christian Morals, i. 26 “Well content if they be but rich enough to be honest, and to give every man his due.” 47 It is Platonic Doctrine that no act is per se good or bad. Plat. Sym. 181a. This opens the door to casuistry, Xen. Mem. 4.2.12, Cic. De offic. 3.25. For the argument cf. Xen. Mem. 4.2.18, Cic. De offic. 3.25. For the proverb, “a knife to a child” or a madman cf. Athen. 5.52, Iambl. Protrep. 18k, Jebb's Bentley , p. 69, where Jebb misses Bentley's allusion to it. 48 The argument, or one side of it, is often treated as a thesis which may be thus transferred. Cf. Philebus 12 A, Charmides 162 E, Protagoras 331 A. 49 Cicero Ad Att. iv. 16 “Credo Platonem vix putasse satis consonum fore, si hominem id aetatis in tam longo sermone diutius retinuisset,” Bagehot, Hartley Coleridge, “It (metaphysical debate) attracts the scorn of middle- aged men, who depart πρὸς τὰ ἱερά,” etc. 50 Th defintion is not found in the fragments of Simonides. Cf. 433 E, and the Roman Jurists' “Iustitia est constans et perpetua voluntas suum cuique tribuens.” For the various meanings of the Greek word cf. my Articles “Righteousness” and “Theognis” in Hastings, Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics. 51 The Platonic Socrates ironically treats the poets as inspired but not wise because they cannot explain their fine sayings.Apology 22 A-B, Ion 542 A. He always assumes that the utterances of the “wise” men must be true.Theaetetus 152 B, Phaedrus 260 A, Laws 888 E, Euthydemus 280 A. But they are often obscure, and he reserves for himself the right of interpretation (335 E). Since the poets contradict one another and cannot be cross-examined they are not to be taken seriously as authorities.Protagoras 347 E, Meno 71 D, Lysis 214-215, Hippias Minor 365 D. 52 Owing to the rarity of banks “reddere depositum” was throughout antiquity the typical instance of just conduct. Cf. 442 E, Mayor on Juvenal Satire 13. 15, Herodotus. vi. 86, Democr. fr. 265 Diels, Philo, De spec. leg. 4. 67. Salt was a symbol of justice because it preserves ἃ παραλαμβάνει: Diogenes Laertius viii. 35. Earth is “iustissima tellus” because she returns the seed with interest. Socrates' distinction between the fact of returning a deposit, and returning it rightly is expressed in Stoic terminology: “ut si iuste depositum reddere in recte factis sit, in officiis ponatur depositum reddere,” Cicero De fin. iii. 18. 53 Adam insists that the meaning of μανθάνω ὅτι here and everywhere is “it is because.” 54 In the Greek the particles indicate slight irritation in the speaker. 55 Cf. Lysis 214 D, Charmides 162 A, Theaetetus 152 C, 194 C, Alc. II. 147 B. The poet, like the soothsayer, is “inspired,” but only the thinker can interpret his meaning. Cf. 331 E, Tim. 72 A. Allegory and the allegorical interpretation are always conscious and often ironical in Plato. 56 Socrates often presents an argument in this polite form. Cf. 337 A-B, 341 E, Gorgias 451 B, Hippias Major 287 B ff., Thompson on Meno 72 B. 57 Socrates tests ambitious general definitions by the analogy of the arts and their more specific functions. Cf. Gorgias 451 A, Protagoras 311 B, 318 B. The idiomatic double question must be retained in the translation. The English reader, if puzzled, may compare Calverly's Pickwick examination: “Who thinks that in which pocket of what garment and where he has left what entreating him to return to whom and how many what and all how big? 58 Similarly Protagoras 312 A. 59 Simonides' defintion is reduced to the formula of traditional Greek morality which Plato was the first to transcend not only in the Republic infra, 335 D-336 A, but in the Crito 49 B-C. It is often expressed by
Xenophon (Memorabilia ii. 3. 14, ii. 6. 35) and Isocrates (i. 26). But the polemic is not especially aimed at them. Cf. Schmidt, Ethik, ii. 313, 319, 363, Pindar, Pyth. ii. 85, Aeschylus Choeph. 123, Jebb, introduction to Sopocles Ajax, p. xxxix, Thumser, Staats-Altertumer, p. 549, n. 6, Thompson on Meno 71 E. 60 Justice (the political art) must be something as definite as the special arts, yet of universal scope. This twofold requirement no definition of a virtue in the minor dialogues is ever able to satisfy. It is met only by the theory worked out in the Republic. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 14. 61 Justice is more nearly defined as having to do with money or legal obligations—the common-sense view to which Aristotle inclines. 62 Interest is ignored. Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 1120 a 9, splits hairs on this. 63 A virtue is presumably a good. A defintion that makes justice useless is ipso facto refuted. This line of argument is a standardized procedure in the minor dialogues. Cf. my Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 78. The argument continues: The arts are faculties of opposites. The fallacy is intentional, as in Hippias Minor 365, where it is argued that the voluntary lie is better than the involuntary. This impressed Aristotle, who met it with his distinction between habit and faculty (ἕξις and δύναμις). Cf Topics, vi. 12. 6, Eth. Nic. v. 1. 4, vi. 5. 7, Met. 1046 b, Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 38. 64 The shift from the active to the middle here helps Plato to his transition from guarding to guarding against. 65 The play on the Greek word recalls Shakespeare's “If you do take a thief . . . let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company,”Much Ado, III. iii. 66 The qualified assent here marks the speaker's perception that something is wrong. But often it expresses modesty or is a mere mannerism. Cf. 399 D, 401 D, 409 C, 410 A, 553 E, etc. 67 Plato playfully follows the fashion of tracing all modern wisdom to Homer. Cf. Theaetetus 152 E. 68 “A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles” (Winter's Tale, IV. iii. 26), whom Homer celebrates (Hom. Od. 19.395). The naivete of Homer's “amoral” standpoint (Cf. Odyssey xiii. 290 ff.) tickles Plato's sense of humor, and he amuses himself by showing that the popular rule “help friends and harm enemies” is on the same ethical plane. So in the Euthyphro, popular piety is gravely reduced to a kind of καπηλεία or retail trade in prayer and blessings. Cf. also Dio Chrys.Or. xi. 315 R., and modern laments over the “Decay of Lying.” 69 For humorous bewildermentof Socrates' interlocutors cf. Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 2. 19, Lysis 216 C, Alc. I. 127 D, Meno 80, Euthyphro 11 B, Symposium 201 B, Theaetetus 149 A, 169 C. 70 The antithesis of “seeming” and “being” is a common category of early Greek and Platonic thought. Cf. 361 A-B, 365 C, Aeschylus Agamemnon 788, and the fragments of Parmenides. This discussion of the true φίλος recalls the manner of the Lysis; cf. Aristotle Topics i. 8. 5. 71 Or, “that is an immoral conclusion.” 72 After the word-fence the ethical idea is reached which Plato was the first to affirm. 73 For Socratic comparison of animals and men Cf. Apology 30 C, Euthyphro 13 B-C, and on 451 C. 74 The desired conclusion and all the idealistic paradoxes of Socrates, and later of Stoicism, follow at once from the assumption that justice, being the specific virtue of man, is human excellence generally, so that nothing is of import except justice, and no real wrong (or harm) can be done to a man except by making him less just (or wise, or good). Cf Apology 41 D, Crito 44 D. The ambiguity of ἀρετή is similarly used 353 and 609 B-D. 75 The special “work” (Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 2. 12, iv. 6. 14) is generalized as the idea of specific function, which after Plato and Aristotle retains a prominent place in the moralizing of the Stoics and in all philosophizing. See 351 D, 352 E, Aristotle Eth. Nic. i. 7. 10, Idea of Good p. 210, Diogenes Laertius vii. 103, Porphyr.De abstin. ii. 41, Courtney, Studies in Philosophy p. 125, Spencer, Data of Ethics 12. 76 Xenophon approves the doctrine (Memorabilia ii. 6. 35, ii. 3. 14) and attributes it to Simonides (Hiero 2. 2). But Plato is not thinking specially of him. See on 332 p. 77 For the legend and the varying lists of the Seven Wise Men see Zeller i. 158, n. 2. No sage or saint could have taught unedifying doctrine. His meaning must have been right. Cf. 331 E, 332 B, Protagoras 345 D, Simplic. on Aristotle Physics 107. 30. 78 Cf. Thompson, Meno xl. 79 It is a Socratic paradox that “doing as one likes” is not power or freedom unless one likes the good. Cf. Gorgias 467 A, 577 D. 80 Cf. Introduction pp. ix-x. 81 Cf. Introduction. 82 Cf. Gorgias 483 A, Aristotle Soph. El. 183 b 7. “Socrates asked questions but did not answer, for he admitted that he did not know.” For similar complaints cf. Xenophon Memorabilia i. 2. 36, iv. 4. 9, Theaetetus 150 C, Clitophon passim. 83 Thrasymachus objects to definition by substitution of synonyms (Cf. Clitophon 409 C). He demands an analysis of the underlying facts (338 D- E), such as is given in the later books. 84 For the fancy that to be seen first by the wolf makes dumb see Virgil Eclogues 9. 53, Theocr. 14. 22, Pliny, N.H. viii. 34, Milton, Epitaphium Damonis 27 “nisi me lupus ante videbit.. 85 For similar irony Cf. Gorgias 461 C-D, 489 D.
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86 For this type of a fortiori or ex contrario argument cf. 589 E, 600 C-D, Crito 46 D, Laws 647 C, 931 C, Protagoras 325 B-C, Phaedo 68 A, Thompson on Meno 91 E. 87 Cf. Heracleitus fr. 22 Diels, and Ruskin, King's Treasuries“The physical type of wisdom, gold,”Psalms xix. 10. 88 Cf. Symposium 216 E, and Gomperz, Greek Thinkers iii. p. 277. 89 In “American,” “nerve.” Socrates' statement that παθεῖν“due him” is μαθεῖν(gratis) affects Thrasymachus as the dicasts were affected by the proposal in the Apology that his punishment should be—to dine at the City Hall. The pun on the legal formula could be remotely rendered: “In addition to the recovery of your wits, you must pay a fine.” Plato constantly harps on the taking of pay by the Sophists, but Thrasymachus is trying to jest, too. 90 “Grudging.” Cf. Laches 200 B. 91 Cf. Cratylus 391 B. 92 Socrates' poverty (Apology 38 A-B) was denied by some later writers who disliked to have him classed with the Cynics. 93 For this dogmatic formulation of a definition Cf. Theaetetus 151 E. 94 To idealists law is the perfection of reason, or νοῦ διανομή, Laws 714 A; “her seat is in the bosom of God” (Hooker). To the political positivist there is no justice outside of positive law, and “law is the command of a political superior to a political inferior.” “Whatsoever any state decrees and establishes is just for the state while it is in force,”Theaetetus 177 D. The formula “justice is the advantage of the superior” means, as explained in Laws 714, that the ruling class legislates in its own interest, that is, to keep itself in power. This interpretation is here drawn out of Thrasymachus by Socrates' affected misapprehensions (cf. further Pascal, Pensees iv. 4, “la commodite du souverain.” Leibniz approves Thrasymachus's definition: “justum potentiori utile . . . nam Deus ceteris potentior!”). 95 The unwholesomeness of this diet for the ordinary man proves nothing for Plato's alleged vegetarianism. The Athenians ate but little meat. 96 The Greek is stronger—a beastly cad. A common term of abuse in the orators. Cf. Aristophanes Frogs 465, Theophrast.Char. xvii. (Jebb). 97 Cf. 392 C, 394 B, 424 C, Meno 78 C, Euthydemus 295 C, Gorgias 451 Aδικαίως ὑπολαμβάνεις, “you take my meaning fairly.” For complaints of unfair argument cf. 340 D, Charmides 166 C, Meno 80 A, Theaetetus 167 E, Gorgias 461 B-C, 482 E. 98 This is the point. Thrasymachus is represented as challenging assent before explaining his meaning, and Socrates forces him to be more explicit by jocosely putting a perverse interpretation on his words. Similarly in Gorgias 451 E, 453 B, 489 D, 490 C, Laws 714 C. To the misunderstanding of such dramatic passages is due the impression of hasty readers that Plato is a sophist. 99 These three forms of government are mentioned by Pindar, Pyth. ii. 86, Aeschines In Ctes. 6. See 445 D, Whibley, Greek Oligarchies, and Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 62. 100 κρατεῖ with emphasis to suggest κρείττων. Cf. Menexenus 238 D, Xenophon Memorabilia 1. 2. 43. Platonic dialectic proceeds by minute steps and linked synonyms. Cf. 333 A, 339 A, 342 C, 346 A, 353 E, 354 A-B, 369 C, 370 A-B, 379 B, 380-381, 394 B, 400 C, 402 D, 412 D, 433-434, 486, 585 C, Meno 77 B, Lysis 215 B, where L. and S. miss the point. 101 On this view justice is simply τὸ νόμιμον(Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 4. 12; Cf. Gorgias 504 D). This is the doctrine of the “Old Oligarch,” [Xenophon]Rep. Ath. 2. Against this conception of class domination as political justice, Plato (Laws 713 ff.) and Aristotle Politics iii. 7) protest. Cf. Arnold, Culture and Anarchy, chap. ii.: “We only conceive of the State as something equivalent to the class in occupation of the executive government” etc. 102 Thrasymachus makes it plain that he, unlike Meno (71 E), Euthyphro (5 ff.), Laches (191 E), Hippias (Hippias Major 286 ff.), and even Theaetetus (146 C-D) at first, understands the nature of a definition. 103 Cf. Laches 182 C. 104 For the teasing or challenging repetition cf. 394 B, 470 B-C, 487 E, 493 A, 500 B, 505 D, 514 B, 517 C, 523 A, 527 C, Lysis 203 B, Sophocles O.T. 327. 105 For the teasing or challenging repetition cf. 394 B, 470 B-C, 487 E, 493 A, 500 B, 505 D, 514 B, 517 C, 523 A, 527 C, Lysis 203 B, Sophocles O.T. 327. 106 For Plato's so-called utilitarianism or eudaemonism see 457 B, Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 21-22, Gomperz, ii. p. 262. He would have nearly accepted Bentham's statement that while the proper end of government is the greatest happiness of the greatest number, the actual end of every government is the greatest happiness of the governors. Cf. Leslie Stephen, English Utilitarianism, i. p. 282, ii. p. 89. 107 This profession of ignorance may have been a trait of the real Socrates, but in Plato it is a dramatic device for the evolution of the argument. 108 The argument turns on the opposition between the real (i.e. ideal) and the mistakenly supposed interest of the rulers. See on 334 C. 109 Cf. 338 E and Theaetetus 177 D. 110 Τί λέγεις σύ; is rude. See Blaydes on Aristophanes Clouds 1174. The supspicion that he is being refuted makes Thrasymachus rude again. But Cf. Euthydemus 290 E. 111 Cf. Berkeley, Divine Visual Language, 13: “The conclusions are yours as much as mine, for you were led to them by your own concessions.” See on 334 D, Alc. I. 112-113. On a misunderstanding of this passage and 344 E, Herbert Spencer (Data of Ethics, 19) bases the statement that Plato (and Aristotle), like Hobbes, made state enactments the source of right and wrong. 112 Socrates is himself a little rude.
113 Cf. Gorgias 495 D. 114 Cf. Laches 215 E, Phaedo 62 E. 115 It is familiar Socratic doctrine that the only witness needed in argument is the admission of your opponent. Cf. Gorgias 472 A-B. 116 τὰ κελευόμενα ποιεῖν is a term of praise for obedience to lawful authority, and of disdain for a people or state that takes orders from another. Cleitophon does not apprehend the argument and, thinking only of the last clause, reaffirms the definition in the form “it is just to do what rulers bid.” Polemarchus retorts: “And (I was right), for he (also) . . .” 117 Socrates always allows his interlocutors to amend their statements. Cf. Gorgias 491 B, 499 B, Protagoras 349 C, Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 2. 18. 118 Thrasymachus rejects the aid of an interpretation which Socrates would apply not only to the politician's miscalculation but to his total misapprehension of his true ideal interests. He resorts to the subtlety that the ruler qua ruler is infallible, which Socrates meets by the fair retort that the ruler qua ruler, the artist qua artist has no “sinister” or selfish interest but cares only for the work. If we are to substitute an abstraction or an ideal for the concrete man we must do so consistently. Cf. modern debates about the “economic man.” 119 For the idea cf. Rousseau's Emile, i.: “On me dira . . . que les fautes sont du medecin, mais que la medicine en elle-meme est infaillible. A al bonne heure; mais qu'elle vienne donc sans le medecin.” Lucian, De Parasito 54, parodies this reasoning. 120 For the invidious associations of ἀκριβολογία(1) in money dealings, (2) in argument, cf. Aristotle Met. 995 a 11, Cratylus 415 A, Lysias vii. 12, Antiphon B 3, Demosthenes. xxiii. 148, Timon in Diogenes Laertius ii. 19. 121 Cf. 365 D. 122 i.e., the one who in vulgar parlance is so; cf. τῷ ῥήματι, Plat. Rep. 340d. 123 A rare but obvious proverb. Cf. Schol. ad loc. and Aristides, Orat. Plat. ii. p. 143. 124 καὶ ταῦτα=idque, normally precedes (cf. 404 C, 419 E, etc.). But Thrasymachus is angry and the whole phrase is short. Commentators on Aristophanes Wasps 1184, Frogs 704, and Acharn. 168 allow this position. See my note in A.J.P. vol. xvi. p. 234. Others: “though you failed in that too.” 125 Cf. 541 B, Euthyphro 11 E, Charmides 153 D. 126 Plato, like Herodotus and most idiomatic and elliptical writers, is content if his antecedent can be fairly inferred from the context. Cf. 330 Cτοῦτο, 373 C, 396 B, 598 Cτεχνῶν, Protagoras 327 C. 127 Pater, Plato and Platonism, p. 242, fancifully cites this for “art for art's sake.” See Zeller, p. 605. Thrasymachus does not understand what is meant by saying that the art (=the artist qua artist) has no interest save the perfection of its (his) own function. Socrates explains that the body by its very nature needs art to remedy its defects (Herodotus i. 32, Lysis 217 B). But the nature of art is fulfilled in its service, and it has no other ends to be accomplished by another art and so on ad infinitum. It is idle to cavil and emend the text, because of the shift from the statement (341 D) that art has no interest save its perfection, to the statement that it needs nothing except to be itself (342 A-B). The art and the artist qua artist are ideals whose being by hypothesis is their perfection. 128 The next step is the identification of (true) politics with the disinterested arts which also rule and are the stronger. Cf. Xenophon Memorabilia iii. 9. 11.γε emphasizes the argumentative implication of ἄρχουσι to which Thrasymachus assents reluctantly; and Socrates develops and repeats the thought for half a page. Art is virtually science, as contrasted with empiric rule of thumb, and Thrasymachus's infallible rulers are of course scientific. “Ruler” is added lest we forget the analogy between political rule and that of the arts. Cf. Newman, Introduction Aristotle Politics 244, Laws 875 C. 129 It is not content with theoretic knowledge, but like other arts gives orders to achieve results. Cf. Politicus 260 A, C. 130 Thrasymachus first vents his irritation by calling Socrates a snivelling innocent, and then, like Protagoras (Protagoras 334), when pressed by Socrates' dialectic makes a speech. He abandons the abstract (ideal) ruler, whom he assumed to be infallible and Socrates proved to be disinterested, for the actual ruler or shepherd of the people, who tends the flock only that he might shear it. All political experience and the career of successful tyrants, whom all men count happy, he thinks confirms this view, which is that of Callicles in the Gorgias. Justice is another's good which only the naive and innocent pursue. It is better to inflict than to suffer wrong. The main problem of the Republic is clearly indicated, but we are not yet ready to debate it seriously. 131 κορυζῶνταL. and S., also s.v. κόυζα. Lucian, Lexiphanes 18, treats the expression as an affectation, but elsewhere employs it. The philosophers used this and similar terms (1) of stupidity, (2) as a type of the minor ills of the flesh. Horace, Satire i. 4. 8, ii. 2. 76, Epictet. i. 6. 30ἀλλ᾽ αἱ μύξαι μου ῥέουσι. 132 Literally, “if you don't know for her.” For the ethical dative cf. Shakespeare Taming of the Shrew, I. ii. 8 “Knock me here soundly.” Not to know the shepherd from the sheep seems to be proverbial. “Shepherd of the people,” like “survival of the fittest,” may be used to prove anything in ethics and politics. Cf. Newman, Introduction Aristotle Politics p. 431, Xenophon Memorabilia iii. 2. 1, Suetonius Vit. Tib. 32, and my note in Class. Phil. vol. i. p. 298.
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133 Thrasymachus's real rulers are the bosses and tyrsnts. Socrates' true rulers are the true kings of the Stoics and Ruskin, the true shepherds of Ruskin and Milton. 134 Cf. Aristophanes Clouds 1203πρόβατ᾽ ἄλλως, Herrick, “Kings ought to shear, not skin their sheep.” 135 This (quite possible) sense rather than the ironical, “so far advanced,” better accords with ἀγνοεῖς and with the direct brutality of Thrasymachus. 136 τῷ ὄντι like ὡς ἀληθῶς, ἀτεχνῶς, etc., marks the application (often ironical or emphatic) of an image or familiar proverbial or technical expression or etymology. Cf. 443 D, 442 A, 419 A, 432 A, Laches 187 B, Philebus 64 E. Similarly ἐτήτυμον of a proverb, Archil. fr. 35 (87). The origin of the usage appears in Aristophanes Birds 507τοῦτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐκεῖν ἦν τοὔπος ἀληθῶς, etc. Cf. Anth. Pal. v. 6. 3. With εὐηθικῶν, however,ὡς ἀληθῶς does not verify the etymology but ironically emphasizes the contradiction between the etymology and the conventional meaning, “simple,” which Thrasymachus thinks truly fits those to whom Socrates would apply the full etymological meaning “of good character.” Cf. 348 C, 400 E, Laws 679 C, Thucydides iii. 83. Cf. in English the connexion of “silly” with “selig”, and in Italian, Leopardi's bitter comment on “dabbenaggine” (Pensieri xxvi.). 137 Justice not being primarily a self-regarding virtue, like prudence, is of course another's good. Cf. Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1130 a 3; 1134 b 5. Thrasymachus ironically accepts the formula, adding the cynical or pessimistic comment, “but one's own harm,” for which see 392 B, Euripides Heracleid. 1-5, and Isocrates' protest (viii. 32). Bion (Diogenes Laertius iv. 7. 48) wittily defined beauty as “the other fellow's good”; which recalls Woodrow Wilson's favourite limerick, and the definition of business as “l'argent des autres.” 138 For the idea that the just ruler neglects his own business and gains no compensating “graft” cf. the story of Deioces in Herodotus i. 97, Democ. fr. 253 Diels, Laches 180 B, Isocrates xii. 145, Aristotle Pol. v. 8/ 15-20. For office as a means of helping friends and harming enemies cf. Meno 71 E, Lysias ix. 14, and the anecdote of Themistocles (Plutarch, Praecept. reipub. ger. 13) cited by Goodwin (Political Justice) in the form: “God forbid that I should sit upon a bench of justice where my friends found no more favour than my enemies.” Democr. (fr. 266 Diels) adds that the just ruler on laying down his office is exposed to the revenge of wrongdoers with whom he has dealt severely. 139 The order of the words dramatically expressses Thrasymachus's excitement and the sweeping success of the tyrant. 140 The European estimate of Louis Napoleon before 1870 is a good illustration. Cf. Theopompus on Philip, Polybius viii. 11. Euripides'Bellerophon(fr. 288) uses the happiness of the tyrant as an argument against the moral government of the world. 141 Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1130 b 15 uses the expression in a different sense. 142 The main issue of the Republic. Cf. 360 D, 358 E and Gorgias 469 B. 143 Cf. Theophrastus, Char. xv. 19 (Jebb), Tucker, Life in Ancient Athens, p. 134. For the metaphor cf. 536 B, Lysis 204 D, Aristophanes Wasps 483. “Sudden,” lit. “all at once.” 144 Cf. Euripides Alcestis 680οὐ βαλὼν οὕτως ἄπει. 145 Socrates reminds us that a serious moral issue is involved in all this word-play. So 352 D, Gorgias 492 C, 500 C, Laches 185 A. Cf. 377 B, 578 C, 608 B. 146 Plainly a protesting question, “Why, do I think otherwise?” Cf. 339 D. 147 For the impossibility of J. and C.'s “or rather” see my note in A.J.P. vol. xiii. p. 234. 148 κείσεται of an investment perhaps. Cf. Plautus, Rudens 939 “bonis quod bene fit, haud perit.” 149 Isocrates viii. 31 and elsewhere seems to be copying Plato's idea that injustice can never be profitable in the higher sense of the word. Cf. also the proof in the Hipparchus that all true κέρδος is ἀγαθόν. 150 Plato neglects for the present the refinement that the unjust man does not do what he really wishes, since all desire the good. Cf. 438 A, 577 D, and Gorgias 467 B. 151 Cf. 365 D. 152 Thrasymachus has stated his doctrine. Like Dr. Johnson he cannot supply brains to understand it. Cf. Gorgias 489 C, 499 B, Meno 75 D. 153 The language is idiomatic, and the metaphor of a nurse feeding a baby, Aristophanes Eccl. 716, is rude. Cf. Shakespeare, “He crams these words into my ears against the stomach of my sense.” 154 Cf. Socrates' complaint of Callicles' shifts, Gorgias 499 B-C, but Cf. 334 E, 340 B-C. 155 The art=the ideal abstract artist. See on 342 A-C. Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1098 a 8 ff. says that the function of a harper and that of a good harper are generically the same. Cf. Crito 48 A. 156 Aristotle's despotic rule over slaves would seem to be an exception (Newman, Introduction Aristotle Politics p. 245.). But that too should be for the good of the slave;590 D. 157 See on 343 B, Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1102 a 8. The new point that good rulers are reluctant to take office is discussed to 347 E, and recalled later, 520 D. See Newman, l.c. pp. 244-245, Dio Cass. xxxvi. 27. 1. 158 Cf. Gorgias 495 A. But elsewhere Socrates admits that the “argument” may be discussed regardless of the belief of the respondent (349 A). Cf. Thompson on Meno 83 D, Campbell on Soph. 246 D.
159 As each art has a specific function, so it renders a specific service and aims at a specific good. This idea and the examples of the physician and the pilot are commonplaces in Plato and Aristotle. 160 Hence, as argued below, from this abstract point of view wage-earning, which is common to many arts, cannot be the specific service of any of them, but must pertain to the special art μισθωτική. This refinement is justified by Thrasymachus' original abstraction of the infallible craftsman as such. It also has this much moral truth, that the good workman, as Ruskin says, rarely thinks first of his pay, and that the knack of getting well paid does not always go with the ability to do the work well. See Aristolte on χρηματιστική, Politics i. 3 (1253 b 14). 161 κακά=troubles, “miseres”, 517 D. For the thought cf. 343 E, 345 E, Xen. Mem. 2.1.8, Hdt. 1.97. 162 Cf. 345 E, Aristot. Eth. Nic. 1134b 6. 163 Plato habitually explains metaphors, abstractions, and complicated defintions in this dramatic fashion. Cf. 352 E, 377 A, 413 A, 429 C, 438 B, 510 B. 164 Cf. Aristotle Politics 1318 b 36. In a good democracy the better classes will be content, for they will not be ruled by worse men. Cf. Cicero, Ad Att. ii. 9 “male vehi malo alio gubernante quam tam ingratis vectoribus bene gubernare”; Democr. fr. 49 D.: “It is hard to be ruled by a worse man;” Spencer, Data of Ethics, 77. 165 The good and the necessary is a favorite Platonic antithesis, but the necessary is often the condicio sine qua non of the good. Cf. 358 C, 493 C, 540 B, Laws 628 C-D, 858 A. Aristotle took over the idea, Met. 1072 b 12. 166 This suggests an ideal state, but not more strongly than Meno 100 A, 89 B. 167 The paradox suggests Spencer's altruistic competition and Archibald Marshall's Upsidonia. Cf. 521 A, 586 C, Isocrates vii. 24, xii. 145; Mill, On Representative Government, p. 56: “The good despot . . . can hardly be imagined as conseting to undertake it unless as a refuge from intolerable evils;” ibid. p. 200: “Until mankind in general are of opinion with Plato that the proper person to be entrusted with power is the person most unwilling to accept it.” 168 εἰσαῦθις lays the matter on the table. Cf. 430 C. The suggestiveness of Thrasymachus' defintion is exhausted, and Socrates turns to the larger question and main theme of the Republic raised by the contention that the unjust life is happier and more profitable than the just. 169 This is done in 358 D ff. It is the favorite Greek method of balancing pros and cons in set speeches and antithetic enumerations. Cf. Herodotus viii. 83, the διαλέξεις(Diels, Vorsokratiker ii. pp. 334-345), the choice of Heracles (Xenophon Memorabilia ii. 1), and the set speeches in Euripides. With this method the short question and answer of the Socratic dialectic is often contrasted. Cf. Protagoras 329 A, 334-335, Gorgias 461-462, also Gorgias 471 E, Cratylus 437 D, Theaetetus 171 A. 170 Thrasymachus's “Umwertung aller Werte” reverses the normal application of the words, as Callicles does in Gorgias 491 E. 171 Thrasymachus recoils from the extreme position. Socrates' inference from the etymology of εὐήθεια(cf. 343 C) is repudiated. Injustice is not turpitude (bad character) but—discretion.εὐβουλία in a higher sense is what Protagoras teaches (Protagoras 318 E) and in the highest sense is the wisdom of Plato's guardians (428 B). 172 Socrates understands the theory, and the distinction between wholesale injustice and the petty profits that are not worth mentioning, but is startled by the paradox that injustice will then fall in the category of virtue and wisdom. Thrasymachus affirms the paradox and is brought to self- contradiction by a subtle argument (349-350 C) which may pass as a dramatic illustration of the game of question and answer. Cf. Introduction p. x. 173 ἤδη marks the advance from the affirmation that injustice is profitable to the point of asserting that it is a virtue. This is a “stiffer proposition,” i.e. harder to refute, or possibly more stubborn. 174 e.g. Polus in Gorgias 474 ff., 482 D-E. Cf. Isocrates De Pace 31. Thrasymachus is too wary to separate the κακόν and the αἰσχρόν and expose himself to a refutation based on conventional usage. Cf. Laws 627 D, Politicus 306 A, Laws 662 A. 175 Cf. on 346 A. 176 περὶ τῆς ἀληθείας suggests the dogmatic titles of sophistic and pre- Socratic books. Cf. Antiphon, p. 553 Diels, Campbell on Theaetetus 161 C, and Aristotle Met. passim. 177 In pursuance of the analogy between the virtues and the arts the moral idea πλεονεξία(overreaching, getting more than your share; see on 359 C) is generalized to include doing more than or differently from. English can hardly reproduce this. Jowett's Shakespearian quotation (King JohnIV. ii. 28), “When workmen strive to do better than well,/ They do confound their skill in covetousness,” though apt, only illustrates the thought in part. 178 The assumption that a thing is what it is like is put as an inference from Thrasymachus's ready admission that the unjust man is wise and good and is like the wise and good. Jevons says in “Substitution of Similars”; “Whatever is true of a thing is true of its like.” But practical logic requires the qualification “in respect of their likness.” Socrates, however, argues that since the good man is like the good craftsman in not overreaching, and the good craftsman is good, therefore the just man is good. The conclusion is sound, and the analogy may have a basis of psychological truth; but the argument is a verbal fallacy.
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179 Cf. 608 E, Gorgias 463 E, Protagoras 332 A, 358 D, Phaedo 103 C, Soph. 226 B, Philebus 34 E, Meno 75 D, 88 A, Alc. I. 128 B, Cratylus 385 B. The formula, which is merely used to obtain formal recognition of a term or idea required in the argument, readily lends itself to modern parody. Socrates seems to have gone far afield. Thrasymachus answers quite confidently,ἔγωγε, but in δήπου there is a hint of bewilderment as to the object of it all. 180 Familiar Socratic doctrine. Cf. Laches 194 D, Lysis 210 D, Gorgias 504 D. 181 πλεονεκτεῖν is here a virtual synonym of πλέον ἔχειν. The two terms help the double meaning. Cf. Laws 691 Aπλεονεκτεῖν τῶν νόμων. 182 Generalizing from the inductive instances. 183 Cf. 334 A. 184 Cf. Protagoras 333 B 185 Cf. the blush of the sophist in Euthydemus 297 A 186 The main paradox of Thrasymachus is refuted. It will be easy to transfer the other laudatory epithets ἰσχυρόν, etc., from injustice back to justice. Thrasymachus at first refuses to share in the discussion but finally nods an ironical assent to everything that Socrates says. So Callicles in Gorgias 510 A. 187 This is really a reminiscence of such passages as Theaetetus 162 D, Protagoras 336 B, Gorgias 482 C, 494 D, 513 A ff., 519 D. The only justification for it in the preceding conversation is 348 A-B. 188 So Polus in Gorgias 527 A. 189 Cf. Gorgias 527 A. 190 Cf. 331 C, 386 B. Instead of the simple or absolute argument that justice, since it is wisdom and virtue, must be stronger, etc., then injustice, Socrates wishes to bring out the deeper thought that the unjust city or man is strong not because but in spite of his injustice and by virtue of some saving residue of justice. 191 Thrasymachus can foresee the implications of either theory. 192 For the thought cf. Spencer, Data of Ethics, 114: “Joint aggressions upon men outside the society cannot prosper if there are many aggressions of man on man within the society;” Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, Chapter. VIII. 31: “It (the loyalty of a thief to his gang) is rather a spurious or class morality,” etc.; Carlyle: “Neither James Boswell's good book, nor any other good thinng . . . is or can be performed by any man in virtue of his badness, but always solely in spite thereof.” Proclus, In Rempub. Kroll i. 20 expands this idea. Dante (ConvivioI. xii.) attributes to the Philosopher in the fifth of the ethics the saying that even robbers and plunderers love justice. Locke (Human Understanding i. 3) denies that this proves the principles of justice innate: “They practise them as rules of convenience within their own communities,” etc. Cf. further Isocrates xii. 226 on the Spartans, and Plato Protagoras 322 B, on the inconveniences of injustice in the state of nature,ἠδίκουν ἀλλήλους. 193 The specific function must operate universally in bond or free, in many, two, or one. The application to the individual reminds us of the main argument of the Republic. Cf. 369 A, 433 D, 441 C. For the argument many, few or two, one, Cf. Laws 626 C. 194 Plato paradoxically treats the state as one organism and the individual as many warring members (cf. Introduction p. xxxv). Hence, justice in one, and being a friend to oneself are more than metaphors for him. Cf. 621 C, 416 C, 428 D, Laws 626 E, 693 B, Epistles vii. 332 D, Antiphon 556.45 Diels ὁμονοεῖ πρὸς ἑαυτόν. Aritotle, Eth. Nic. v. 11, inquires whether a man can wrong himself, and Chrysippus (Plutarch, Stoic. Repug. xvi.) pronounces the expression absurd. 195 This is the conventional climax of the plea for any moral ideal. So Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 1179 a 24, proves that the σοφός being likest God is θεοφιλέστατος. Cf. Democ. fr. 217 D.μοῦνοι θεοφιλέες ὅσοις ἐχθρὸν τὸ ἀδικεῖν;382 E, 612 E, Philebus 39 E, Laws 716 D. The “enlightened” Thrasymachus is disgusted at this dragging in of the gods. Cf. Theaetetus 162 Dθεούς τε εἰς τὸ μέσον ἄγοντες. He is reported as saying (Diels p. 544.40) that the gods regard not human affairs, else they would not have overlooked the greatest of goods, justice, which men plainly do not use. 196 ἑστιάσεως keeps up the image of the feast of reason. Cf. 354 A-B, Lysis 211 C, Gorgias 522 A, Phaedrus 227 B, and Tim. 17 A, from which perhaps it becomes a commonplace in Dante and the Middle Ages. 197 For the idea cf. the argument in Protagoras 327 C-D, that Socrates would yearn for the wickedness of Athens if he found himself among wild men who knew no justice at all. 198 The main ethical question of the Republic, suggested in 347 E, now recurs. 199 Similarly 578 C. What has been said implies that injustice is the corruption and disease of the soul (see on 445 A-B). But Socrates wishes to make further use of the argument from ἔργον or specific function. 200 Cf. on 344 D, , pp. 71 f. 201 See on 335 D, and Aristotle Eth. Nic. i. 7. 14. The virtue or excellence of a thing is the right performance of its specific function. See Schmidt, Ethik der Griechen, i. p. 301, Newman, Introduction Aristotle Politics p. 48. The following argument is in a sense a fallacy, since it relies on the double meaning of life, physical and moral (cf. 445 B and Cratylus 399 D) and on the ambiguity of εὖ πράττειν, “fare well” and “do well.” The Aristotelian commentator, Alexander, animadverts on the fallacy. For ἔργον cf. further Epictet.Dis. i. 4. 11, Max. Tyr.Dis. ii. 4, Musonius apud Stobaeus 117. 8, Thompson on Meno 90 E, Plato, Laws 896 D, Phaedrus 246 B. 202 Platonic dialectic asks and affirms only so much as is needed for the present purpose.
203 For the equivocation Cf. Charmides 172 A, Gorgias 507 C, Xenophon Memorabilia iii. 9. 14, Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1098 b 21, Newman, Introduction Aristotle Politics p. 401, Gomperz, Greek Thinkers(English ed.), ii. p. 70. It does not seriously affect the validity of the argument, for it is used only as a rhetorical confirmation of the implication that κακῶς ἄρχειν, etc.=misery and the reverse of happiness. 204 For similar irony Cf. Gorgias 489 D, Euthydemus 304 C. 205 Similarly Holmes (Poet at the Breakfast Table, p. 108) of the poet: “He takes a bite out of the sunny side of this and the other, and ever stimulated and never satisfied,” etc. Cf. Lucian, Demosth. Encom. 18, Julian Orat. ii. p. 69 c, Polyb. iii. 57. 7. 206 Hirzel, Der Dialog, i. p. 4, n. 1, argues that διαλόγου here means “inquiry” (Erorterung), not the dialogue with Thrasymachus. 207 For the profession of ignorance at the close of a Socratic dialogue Cf. Charmides 175 A-B, Lysis 222 D-E, Protagoras 361 A-B, Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 2. 39. Cf. also Introduction p. x. 208 Knowledge of the essence or definition must precede discussion of qualities and relations. Cf Meno 71 B, 86 D-E, Laches 190 B, Gorgias 448 E
BOOK II
[357a] Socrates: When I had said this I supposed
that I was done with the subject, but it all turned
out to be only a prelude. For Glaucon, who is
always an intrepid enterprising spirit in
everything, would not on this occasion acquiesce
in Thrasymachus's abandonment1 of his case, but
said, “Socrates, is it your desire to seem to have
persuaded us [357b] or really to persuade us that it
is without exception better to be just than unjust?”
“Really,” I said, “if the choice rested with me.”
“Well, then, you are not doing what you wish. For
tell me: do you agree that there is a kind of good2
which we would choose to possess, not from
desire for its after effects, but welcoming it for its
own sake? As, for example, joy and such pleasures
are harmless3 and nothing results from them
afterwards save to have and to hold the
enjoyment.” [357c] “I recognise that kind,” said I.
“And again a kind that we love both for its own
sake and for its consequences,4 such as
understanding,5 sight, and health?6 For these
presume we welcome for both reasons.” “Yes,” I
said. “And can you discern a third form of good
under which falls exercise and being healed when
sick and the art of healing and the making of
money generally? For of them we would say that
they are laborious and painful yet beneficial, and
for their own sake [357d] we would not accept
them, but only for the rewards and other benefits
that accrue from them.” “Why yes,” I said, “I must
admit this third class also. But what of it?” “In
which of these classes do you place justice?” he
said. [358a] “In my opinion,” I said, “it belongs in
the fairest class, that which a man who is to be
happy must love both for its own sake and for the
results.” “Yet the multitude,” he said, “do not think
so, but that it belongs to the toilsome class of
things that must be practised for the sake of
28
rewards and repute due to opinion but that in
itself is to be shunned as an affliction.”
“I am aware,” said I, “that that is the general
opinion and Thrasymachus has for some time
been disparaging it as such and praising injustice.
But I, it seems, am somewhat slow to learn.”
“Come now,” [358b] he said, “hear what I too have
to say and see if you agree with me. For
Thrasymachus seems to me to have given up to
you too soon, as if he were a serpent7 that you had
charmed, but I am not yet satisfied with the proof
that has been offered about justice and injustice.
For what I desire is to hear what each of them is
and what potency and effect it has in and of itself
dwelling in the soul,8 but to dismiss their rewards
and consequences. This, then, is what I propose to
do, with your concurrence. I will renew [358c] the
argument of Thrasymachus and will first state
what men say is the nature and origin of justice;
secondly, that all who practise it do so reluctantly,
regarding it as something necessary9 and not as a
good; and thirdly, that they have plausible
grounds for thus acting, since forsooth the life of
the unjust man is far better than that of the just
man—as they say; though I, Socrates, don't believe
it. Yet I am disconcerted when my ears are dinned
by the arguments of Thrasymachus and
innumerable others.10 But the case for justice,
[358d] to prove that it is better than injustice, I
have never yet heard stated by any as I desire to
hear it. What I desire is to hear an encomium on
justice in and by itself. And I think I am most
likely to get that from you. For which reason I will
lay myself out in praise of the life of injustice, and
in so speaking will give you an example of the
manner in which I desire to hear from you in turn
the dispraise of injustice and the praise of justice.
Consider whether my proposal pleases you.”
“Nothing could please me more,” said I; [358e] “for
on what subject would a man of sense rather
delight to hold and hear discourse again and
again?” “That is excellent,” he said; “and now listen
to what I said would be the first topic—the nature
and origin of justice. By nature,11 they say, to
commit injustice is a good and to suffer it is an
evil, but that the excess of evil in being wronged is
greater than the excess of good in doing wrong. So
that when men do wrong and are wronged by one
another and taste of both, those who lack the
power [359a] to avoid the one and take the other
determine that it is for their profit to make a
compact with one another neither to commit nor
to suffer injustice; and that this is the beginning of
legislation and covenants between men, and that
they name the commandment of the law the
lawful and the just, and that this is the genesis and
essential nature of justice—a compromise
between the best, which is to do wrong with
impunity, and the worst, which is to be wronged
and be impotent to get one's revenge. Justice, they
tell us, being mid-way between the two, is
accepted and approved, [359b] not as a real good,
but as a thing honored in the lack of vigor to do
injustice, since anyone who had the power to do it
and was in reality 'a man' would never make a
compact with anybody either to wrong nor to be
wronged; for he would be mad. The nature, then,
of justice is this and such as this, Socrates, and
such are the conditions in which it originates,
according to the theory.
“But as for the second point, that those who
practise it do so unwillingly and from want of
power to commit injustice—we shall be most
likely to apprehend that if we entertain some such
supposition as this in thought: [359c] if we grant
to each, the just and the unjust, licence and power
to do whatever he pleases, and then accompany
them in imagination and see whither his desire
will conduct each. We should then catch the just
man in the very act of resorting to the same
conduct as the unjust man because of the self-
advantage which every creature by its nature
pursues as a good, while by the convention of
law12 it is forcibly diverted to paying honor to
'equality.'13 The licence that I mean would be most
nearly such as would result from supposing them
to have the power [359d] which men say once
came to the ancestor of Gyges the Lydian.14 They
relate that he was a shepherd in the service of the
ruler at that time of Lydia, and that after a great
deluge of rain and an earthquake the ground
opened and a chasm appeared in the place where
he was pasturing; and they say that he saw and
wondered and went down into the chasm; and the
story goes that he beheld other marvels there and
a hollow bronze horse with little doors, and that
he peeped in and saw a corpse within, as it
seemed, of more than mortal stature, [359e] and
that there was nothing else but a gold ring on its
hand, which he took off and went forth. And when
the shepherds held their customary assembly to
make their monthly report to the king about the
29
flocks, he also attended wearing the ring. So as he
sat there it chanced that he turned the collet of
the ring towards himself, towards the inner part of
his hand, and when this took place they say that
he became invisible15 [360a] to those who sat by
him and they spoke of him as absent and that he
was amazed, and again fumbling with the ring
turned the collet outwards and so became visible.
On noting this he experimented with the ring to
see if it possessed this virtue, and he found the
result to be that when he turned the collet
inwards he became invisible, and when outwards
visible; and becoming aware of this, he
immediately managed things so that he became
one of the messengers [360b] who went up to the
king, and on coming there he seduced the king's
wife and with her aid set upon the king and slew
him and possessed his kingdom. If now there
should be two such rings, and the just man should
put on one and the unjust the other, no one could
be found, it would seem, of such adamantine16
temper as to persevere in justice and endure to
refrain his hands from the possessions of others
and not touch them, though he might with
impunity take what he wished even from the
marketplace, [360c] and enter into houses and lie
with whom he pleased, and slay and loose from
bonds whomsoever he would, and in all other
things conduct himself among mankind as the
equal of a god.17 And in so acting he would do no
differently from the other man, but both would
pursue the same course. And yet this is a great
proof, one might argue, that no one is just of his
own will but only from constraint, in the belief
that justice is not his personal good, inasmuch as
every man, when he supposes himself to have the
power to do wrong, does wrong. [360d] For that
there is far more profit for him personally in
injustice than in justice is what every man
believes, and believes truly, as the proponent of
this theory will maintain. For if anyone who had
got such a licence within his grasp should refuse
to do any wrong or lay his hands on others'
possessions, he would be regarded as most
pitiable18 and a great fool by all who took note of
it,19 though they would praise him20 before one
another's faces, deceiving one another because of
their fear of suffering injustice. So much for this
point. [360e]
“But to come now to the decision21 between our
two kinds of life, if we separate the most
completely just and the most completely unjust
man, we shall be able to decide rightly, but if not,
not. How, then, is this separation to be made?
Thus: we must subtract nothing of his injustice
from the unjust man or of his justice from the just,
but assume the perfection of each in his own
mode of conduct. In the first place, the unjust
man must act as clever craftsmen do: a first-rate
pilot or physician, for example, feels the difference
between impossibilities22 and possibilities in his
art [361a] and attempts the one and lets the others
go; and then, too, if he does happen to trip, he is
equal to correcting his error. Similarly, the unjust
man who attempts injustice rightly must be
supposed to escape detection if he is to be
altogether unjust, and we must regard the man
who is caught as a bungler.23 For the height of
injustice24 is to seem just without being so. To the
perfectly unjust man, then, we must assign perfect
injustice and withhold nothing of it, but we must
allow him, while committing the greatest wrongs,
to have secured for himself the greatest reputation
for justice; [361b] and if he does happen to trip,25
we must concede to him the power to correct his
mistakes by his ability to speak persuasively if any
of his misdeeds come to light, and when force is
needed, to employ force by reason of his manly
spirit and vigor and his provision of friends and
money; and when we have set up an unjust man of
this character, our theory must set the just man at
his side—a simple and noble man, who, in the
phrase of Aeschylus, does not wish to seem but be
good. Then we must deprive him of the seeming.26
For if he is going to be thought just [361c] he will
have honors and gifts because of that esteem. We
cannot be sure in that case whether he is just for
justice' sake or for the sake of the gifts and the
honors. So we must strip him bare of everything
but justice and make his state the opposite of his
imagined counterpart.27 Though doing no wrong
he must have the repute of the greatest injustice,
so that he may be put to the test as regards justice
through not softening because of ill repute and
the consequences thereof. But let him hold on his
course unchangeable even unto death, [361d]
seeming all his life to be unjust though being just,
that so, both men attaining to the limit, the one of
injustice, the other of justice, we may pass
judgement which of the two is the happier.”
“Bless me, my dear Glaucon,” said I, “how
strenuously you polish off each of your two men
30
for the competition for the prize as if it were a
statue.28” “To the best of my ability,” he replied,
“and if such is the nature of the two, it becomes an
easy matter, I fancy, to unfold the tale of the sort
of life that awaits each. [361e] We must tell it,
then; and even if my language is somewhat rude
and brutal,29 you must not suppose, Socrates, that
it is I who speak thus, but those who commend
injustice above justice. What they will say is this:
that such being his disposition the just man will
have to endure the lash, the rack, chains, [362a]
the branding-iron in his eyes, and finally, after
every extremity of suffering, he will be crucified,30
and so will learn his lesson that not to be but to
seem just is what we ought to desire. And the
saying of Aeschylus31 was, it seems, far more
correctly applicable to the unjust man. For it is
literally true, they will say, that the unjust man, as
pursuing what clings closely to reality, to truth,
and not regulating his life by opinion, desires not
to seem but to be unjust,“ Exploiting the deep
furrows of his wit
[362b]“ From which there grows the fruit of
counsels shrewd,” (Aesch. Seven 592-594) first
office and rule in the state because of his
reputation for justice, then a wife from any family
he chooses, and the giving of his children in
marriage to whomsoever he pleases, dealings and
partnerships with whom he will, and in all these
transactions advantage and profit for himself
because he has no squeamishness about
committing injustice; and so they say that if he
enters into lawsuits, public or private, he wins and
gets the better of his opponents, and, getting the
better,32 is rich and benefits his friends [362c] and
harms his enemies33; and he performs sacrifices
and dedicates votive offerings to the gods
adequately and magnificently,34 and he serves and
pays court35 to men whom he favors and to the
gods far better than the just man, so that he may
reasonably expect the favor of heaven36 also to fall
rather to him than to the just. So much better they
say, Socrates, is the life that is prepared for the
unjust man from gods and men than that which
awaits the just.”
When Glaucon had thus spoken, I had a mind
[362d] to make some reply thereto, but his brother
Adeimantus said, “You surely don't suppose,
Socrates, that the statement of the case is
complete?” “Why, what else?” I said. “The very
(Socrates sets out to prove that being just is good
for its own sake by making a comparison between
justice in a nation and justice in a person…)
Notes
1 So in Philebus 11 C, Philebus cries off or throws up the sponge in the argument. 2 Aristotle borrows this classification from Plato (Topics 118 b 20-22), but liking to differ from his teacher, says in one place that the good which is desired solely for itself is the highest. The Stoics apply the classification to “preferables” (Diogenes Laertius vii. 107). Cf. Hooker, Eccles. Pol. i. 11. Elsewhere Plato distinguishes goods of the soul, of the body, and of possessions (Laws 697 B, 727-729) or as the first Alcibiades puts it (131) the self, the things of the self, and other things. 3 Plato here speaks of harmless pleasures, from the point of view of common sense and prudential morality. Cf. Tim. 59 Dἀμεταμέλητον ἡδονήν, Milton's “Mirth that after no repenting draws.” But the Republic(583 D) like the Gorgias(493 E-494 C) knows the more technical distinction of the Philebus(42 C ff., 53 C ff.) between pure pleasures and impure, which are conditioned by desire and pain. 4 Isocrates i. 47 has this distinction, as well as Aristotle. 5 Some philosophers, as Aristippus (Diogenes Laertius x. 1. 138), said that intelligence is a good only for its consequences, but the opening sentences of Aritotle's Metaphysics treat all forms of knowledge as goods in themselves. 6 Plutarch (1040 C) says that Chrysippus censured Plato for recognizing health as a good, but elsewhere Plato explicitly says that even health is to be disregarded when the true interests of the soul require it. 7 For Plato's fondness for the idea of κηλεῖν Cf. The Unity of Plato's Thought, note 500. 8 Cf. 366 E. 9 Cf. 347 C-D. 10 Cf. Philebus 66 E. Plato affirms that the immoralism of Thrasymachus and Callicles was widespread in Greece. Cf. Introduction x-xi, and Gorgias 511 B, Protagoras 333 C, Euthydemus 279 B, and my paper on the interpretation of the Timaeus, A.J.P. vol. ix. pp. 403-404. 11 Glaucon employs the antithesis between nature and law and the theory of an original social contract to expound the doctrine of Thrasymachus and Callicles in the Gorgias. His statement is more systematic than theirs, but the principle is the same; for, though Callicles does not explicitly speak of a social contract, he implies that conventional justice is an agreement of the weak devised to hold the strong in awe. (Gorgias 492 C), and Glaucon here affirms that no relally strong man would enter into any such agreement. The social contract without the immoral application is also suggested in Protagoras 322 B. Cf. also Crito 50 C, f. 12 The antithesis of φύσις and νόμος, nature and law, custom or convention, is a commonplace of both Greek rhetoric and Greek ethics. Cf. the Chicago dissertation of John Walter Beardslee, The Use of φύσις in Fifth Century Greek Literature, ch. x. p. 68. Cf. Herodotus iii. 38, Pindar, quoted by Plato, Gorgias 484 B, Laws 690 B, 715 A; Euripides or Critias, Frag. of Sisyphus, Aristophanes Birds 755 ff., Plato Protagoras 337 D, Gorgias 483 E, Laws 889 C and 890 D. It was misused by ancient as it is by modern radicals. Cf. my interpretation of the Timaeus, A.J.P. vol. ix. p. 405. The ingenuity of modern philologians has tried to classify the Greek sophists as distinctly partisans of νόμος or φύσις. It cannot be done. Cf. my unsigned review of Alfred Benn in the New York Nation, July 20, 1899, p. 57. 13 Cf. Gorgias 508 A. 14 So manuscripts and Proclus. There are many emendations which the curious will find in Adam's first appendix to the book. Herodotus i. 8-13 tells a similar but not identical story of Gyges himself, in which the magic ring and many other points of Plato's tale are lacking. On the whole legend cf. the study of Kirby Flower Smith, A.J.P. vol. xxiii. pp. 261-282, 361-387, and Frazer's Paus. iii. p. 417. 15 Mr. H.G. Wells'The Invisible Man rests on a similar fancy. Cf. also the lawless fancies of Aristophanes Birds 785 ff. 16 The word is used of the firmness of moral faith in Gorgias 509 A and Republic 618 E. 17 ἰσόθεος. The word is a leit-motif anticipating Plato's rebuke of the tragedians for their praises of the tyraant. Cf. 568 A-B. It does not, as Adam suggests, foreshadow Plato's attack on the popular theology. 18 Cf. 344 A, Gorgias 492 B. 19 αἰσθανομένοις suggests men of discernment who are not taken in by phrases, “the knowing ones.” Cf. Protagoras 317 A, and Aristophanes Clouds 1241τοῖς εἰδόσιν. 20 Cf. Gorgias 483 B, 492 A, Protagoras 327 B, Aristotle Rhet. ii. 23. 21 Cf. 580 B-C, Philebus 27 C. 22 Cf. Quint. iv. 5. 17 “recte enim Graeci praecipiunt non tentanda quae effici omnino non possint.” 23 Cf. Emerson, Eloquence: “Yet any swindlers we have known are novices and bunglers. . . . A greater power of face would accomplish anything and with the rest of the takings take away the bad name.” 24 Cf, Cicero De offic. i. 13.
31
25 Cf. Thucydides vii. 24 on the miscalculation of the shrewd Chians. 26 As Aristotle sententiously says,ὅρος δὲ τοῦ πρὸς δόξαν ὃ λανθάνειν μέλλων οὐκ ἂν ἕλοιτο（Rhet. 1365 b 1, Topics iii. 3. 14).
27 For the thought cf. Euripides Helen 270-271.
BOOK IV
“Apparently,” said I; [435d] “and let me tell you,
Glaucon, that in my opinion we shall never in the
world apprehend this matter176 from such
methods as we are now employing in discussion.
For there is another longer and harder way that
conducts to this. Yet we may perhaps discuss it on
the level of previous statements and inquiries.”
“May we acquiesce in that?” he said. “I for my part
should be quite satisfied with that for the
present.” “And I surely should be more than
satisfied,” I replied. “Don't you weary then,” he
said, “but go on with the inquiry.” “Is it not, then,”
[435e] said I, “impossible for us to avoid
admitting177 this much, that the same forms and
qualities are to be found in each one of us that are
in the state? They could not get there from any
other source. It would be absurd to suppose that
the element of high spirit was not derived in states
from the private citizens who are reputed to have
this quality as the populations of the Thracian and
Scythian lands and generally of northern regions;
or the quality of love of knowledge, which would
chiefly be attributed to178 the region where we
dwell, [436a] or the love of money179 which we
might say is not least likely to be found in
Phoenicians180 and the population of Egypt.” “One
certainly might,” he replied. “This is the fact then,”
said I, “and there is no difficulty in recognizing it.”
“Certainly not.”
“But the matter begins to be difficult when you
ask whether we do all these things with the same
thing or whether there are three things and we do
one thing with one and one with another—learn
with one part of ourselves, feel anger with
another, and with yet a third desire the pleasures
of nutrition [436b] and generation and their kind,
or whether it is with the entire soul181 that we
function in each case when we once begin. That is
what is really hard to determine properly.” “I think
so too,” he said. “Let us then attempt to define the
boundary and decide whether they are identical
with one another in this way.” “How?” “It is
obvious that the same thing will never do or suffer
opposites182 in the same respect183 in relation to
the same thing and at the same time. So that if
ever we find184 these contradictions in the
functions of the mind [436c] we shall know that it
was185 not the same thing functioning but a
plurality.”
[437b] “Will you not then,” said I, “set down as
opposed to one another assent and dissent, and
the endeavor after a thing to the rejection of it,
and embracing to repelling—do not these and all
things like these belong to the class of opposite
actions or passions; it will make no difference
which?194” “None,” said he, “but they are
opposites.” “What then,” said I, “of thirst and
hunger and the appetites generally, and again
consenting195 and willing, would you not put them
all somewhere in the classes [437c] just described?
Will you not say, for example, that the soul of one
who desires either strives for that which he desires
or draws towards its embrace what it wishes to
accrue to it; or again, in so far as it wills that
anything be presented to it, nods assent to itself
thereon as if someone put the question,196 striving
towards its attainment?” “I would say so,” he said.
“But what of not-willing197 and not consenting nor
yet desiring, shall we not put these under the
soul's rejection198 and repulsion from itself and
[437d] generally into the opposite class from all
the former?” “Of course.” “This being so, shall we
say that the desires constitute a class199 and that
the most conspicuous members of that class200 are
what we call thirst and hunger?” “We shall,” said
he. “Is not the one desire of drink, the other of
food?” “Yes.” “Then in so far as it is thirst, would it
be of anything more than that of which we say it is
a desire in the soul?201 I mean is thirst thirst for
hot drink or cold or much or little or in a word for
a draught of any particular quality, or is it the fact
that if heat202 [437e] is attached203 to the thirst it
would further render the desire—a desire of cold,
and if cold of hot? But if owing to the presence of
muchness the thirst is much it would render it a
thirst for much and if little for little. But mere
thirst will never be desire of anything else than
that of which it is its nature to be, mere drink,204
and so hunger of food.” “That is so,” he said; “each
desire in itself is of that thing only of which it is its
nature to be. The epithets belong to the quality—
such or such.205”
“The soul of the thirsty then, in so far as it thirsts,
wishes nothing else than to drink, and [439b]
yearns for this and its impulse is towards this.”
“Obviously.” “Then if anything draws it back218
32
when thirsty it must be something different in it
from that which thirsts and drives it like a beast219
to drink. For it cannot be, we say, that the same
thing with the same part of itself at the same time
acts in opposite ways about the same thing.” “We
must admit that it does not.” “So I fancy it is not
well said of the archer220 that his hands at the
same time thrust away the bow and draw it nigh,
but we should rather say that there is one hand
that puts it away and another that draws it to.”
[439c] “By all means,” he said. “Are we to say,
then, that some men sometimes though thirsty
refuse to drink?” “We are indeed,” he said, “many
and often.” “What then,” said I, “should one affirm
about them?” “Is it not that there is221 something
in the soul that bids them drink and a something
that forbids, a different something that masters
that which bids?” “I think so.” “And is it not the
fact that that which inhibits such actions arises
when it arises from the calculations of reason,
[439d] but the impulses which draw and drag
come through affections222 and diseases?”
“Apparently.” “Not unreasonably,” said I, “shall we
claim that they are two and different from one
another, naming that in the soul whereby it
reckons and reasons the rational223 and that with
which it loves, hungers, thirsts, and feels the
flutter224 and titillation of other desires, the
irrational and appetitive—companion225 of various
repletions and pleasures.” “It would not be
unreasonable but quite natural,” [439e] he said,
“for us to think this.” “These two forms, then, let
us assume to have been marked off as actually
existing in the soul. But now the Thumos226 or
principle of high spirit, that with which we feel
anger, is it a third, or would it be identical in
nature with one of these?” “Perhaps,” he said,
“with one of these, the appetitive.” “But,” I said, “I
once heard a story227 which I believe, that Leontius
the son of Aglaion, on his way up from the
Peiraeus under the outer side of the northern
wall,228 becoming aware of dead bodies229 that lay
at the place of public execution at the same time
felt a desire to see them and a repugnance and
aversion, and that for a time [440a] he resisted230
and veiled his head, but overpowered in despite of
all by his desire, with wide staring eyes he rushed
up to the corpses and cried, ‘There, ye wretches,231
take your fill of the fine spectacle!'” “I too,” he
said, “have heard the story.” “Yet, surely, this
anecdote,” I said, “signifies that the principle of
anger sometimes fights against desires as an alien
thing against an alien.” “Yes, it does,” he said.
“And do we not,” said I, “on many other occasions
observe when his desires constrain a man contrary
to his reason [440b] that he reviles himself and is
angry with that within which masters him and
that as it were in a faction of two parties the high
spirit of such a man becomes the ally of his
reason? But its232 making common cause233 with
the desires against the reason when reason
whispers low234‘Thou must not’—that, I think, is a
kind of thing you would not affirm ever to have
perceived in yourself, nor, I fancy, in anybody else
either.” [440c] “No, by heaven,” he said. “Again,
when a man thinks himself to be in the wrong,235
is it not true that the nobler he is the less is he
capable of anger though suffering hunger and
cold236 and whatsoever else at the hands of him
whom he believes to be acting justly therein, and
as I say237 his spirit refuses to be aroused against
such a one?” “True,” he said. “But what when a
man believes himself to be wronged, does not his
spirit in that case238 seethe and grow fierce (and
also because of his suffering hunger, [440d] cold
and the like) and make itself the ally of what he
judges just, and in noble souls239 it endures and
wins the victory and will not let go until either it
achieves its purpose, or death ends all, or, as a dog
is called back by a shepherd, it is called back by
the reason within and calmed.” “Your similitude is
perfect,” he said, “and it confirms240 our former
statements that the helpers are as it were dogs
subject to the rulers who are as it were the
shepherds of the city.” “You apprehend my
meaning excellently,” said I. “But do you also
[440e] take note of this?” “Of what?” “That what
we now think about the spirited element is just
the opposite of our recent surmise. For then we
supposed it to be a part of the appetitive, but now,
far from that, we say that, in the factions241 of the
soul, it much rather marshals itself on the side of
the reason.” “By all means,” he said. “Is it then
distinct from this too, or is it a form of the
rational, so that there are not three but two kinds
in the soul, the rational and the appetitive, or just
as in the city there were [441a] three existing kinds
that composed its structure, the moneymakers,
the helpers, the counsellors, so also in the soul
there exists a third kind, this principle of high
spirit, which is the helper of reason by nature
unless it is corrupted by evil nurture?” “We have
33
to assume it as a third,” he said. “Yes,” said I,
“provided242 it shall have been shown to be
something different from the rational, as it has
been shown to be other than the appetitive.” “That
is not hard to be shown,” he said; “for that much
one can see in children, that they are from their
very birth chock-full of rage and high spirit, but as
for reason, [441b] some of them, to my thinking,
never participate in it, and the majority quite late.”
“Yes, by heaven, excellently said,” I replied; “and
further, one could see in animals that what you
say is true. And to these instances we may add the
testimony of Homer quoted above:“ He smote his
breast and chided thus his heart.
”Hom. Od. 20.17 For there Homer has clearly
represented that in us [441c] which has reflected
about the better and the worse as rebuking that
which feels unreasoning anger as if it were a
distinct and different thing.” “You are entirely
right,” he said.
“Through these waters, then,” said I, “we have
with difficulty made our way243 and we are fairly
agreed that the same kinds equal in number are to
be found in the state and in the soul of each one of
us.” “That is so.” “Then does not the necessity of
our former postulate immediately follow, that as
and whereby244 the state was wise so and thereby
is the individual wise?” “Surely.” “And so whereby
and as [441d] the individual is brave, thereby and
so is the state brave, and that both should have all
the other constituents of virtue in the same
way245?” “Necessarily.” “Just too, then, Glaucon, I
presume we shall say a man is in the same way in
which a city was just.” “That too is quite
inevitable.” “But we surely cannot have forgotten
this, that the state was just by reason of each of
the three classes found in it fulfilling its own
function.” “I don't think we have forgotten,” he
said. “We must remember, then, that each of us
also in whom246 the several parts within him
[441e] perform each their own task—he will be a
just man and one who minds his own affair.” “We
must indeed remember,” he said. “Does it not
belong to the rational part to rule, being wise and
exercising forethought in behalf of the entire soul,
and to the principle of high spirit to be subject to
this and its ally?” “Assuredly.” “Then is it not, as
we said,247 the blending of music and gymnastics
that will render them concordant, intensifying
[442a] and fostering the one with fair words and
teachings and relaxing and soothing and making
gentle the other by harmony and rhythm?” “Quite
so,” said he. “And these two thus reared and
having learned and been educated to do their own
work in the true sense of the phrase,248 will
preside over the appetitive part which is the
mass249 of the soul in each of us and the most
insatiate by nature of wealth. They will keep watch
upon it, lest, by being filled and infected with the
so-called pleasures associated with the body250 and
so waxing big and strong, it may not keep to251 its
own work [442b] but may undertake to enslave
and rule over the classes which it is not fitting252
that it should, and so overturn253 the entire life of
all.” “By all means,” he said. “Would not these two,
then, best keep guard against enemies from
without254 also in behalf of the entire soul and
body, the one taking counsel,255 the other giving
battle, attending upon the ruler, and by its
courage executing the ruler's designs?” “That is
so.” “Brave, too, then, I take it, we call [442c] each
individual by virtue of this part in him, when,
namely, his high spirit preserves in the midst of
pains and pleasures256 the rule handed down by
the reason as to what is or is not to be feared.”
“Right,” he said. “But wise by that small part
that257 ruled in him and handed down these
commands, by its possession258 in turn within it of
the knowledge of what is beneficial for each and
for the whole, the community composed of the
three.” “By all means.” “And again, was he not
sober [442d] by reason of the friendship and
concord of these same parts, when, namely, the
ruling principle and its two subjects are at one in
the belief that the reason ought to rule, and do not
raise faction against it?” “The virtue of soberness
certainly,” said he, “is nothing else than this,
whether in a city or an individual.” “But surely,
now, a man is just by that which and in the way
we have so often259 described.” “That is altogether
necessary.” “Well then,” said I, “has our idea of
justice in any way lost the edge260 of its contour so
as to look like anything else than precisely what it
showed itself to be in the state?” “I think not,” he
said. [442e] “We might,” I said, “completely
confirm your reply and our own conviction thus, if
anything in our minds still disputes our
definition—by applying commonplace and
vulgar261 tests to it.” “What are these?” “For
example, if an answer were demanded to the
question concerning that city and the man whose
birth and breeding was in harmony with it,
34
whether we believe that such a man, entrusted
with a deposit262 of gold or silver, would withhold
it and embezzle it, who do you suppose would
think that he would be more likely so to act [443a]
than men of a different kind?” “No one would,” he
said. “And would not he be far removed from
sacrilege and theft and betrayal of comrades in
private life or of the state in public?” “He would.”
“And, moreover, he would not be in any way
faithless either in the keeping of his oaths or in
other agreements.” “How could he?” “Adultery,
surely, and neglect of parents and of the due
service of the gods would pertain to anyone rather
than to such a man.” “To anyone indeed,” [443b]
he said. “And is not the cause of this to be found
in the fact that each of the principles within him
does its own work in the matter of ruling and
being ruled?” “Yes, that and nothing else.” “Do you
still, then, look for justice to be anything else than
this potency which provides men and cities of this
sort?” “No, by heaven,” he said, “I do not.”
“Finished, then, is our dream and perfected —the
surmise we spoke of,263 that, by some Providence,
at the very beginning of our foundation of the
state, [443c] we chanced to hit upon the original
principle and a sort of type of justice.” “Most
assuredly.” “It really was, it seems, Glaucon, which
is why it helps,264 a sort of adumbration of justice,
this principle that it is right for the cobbler by
nature to cobble and occupy himself with nothing
else, and the carpenter to practice carpentry, and
similarly all others. But the truth of the matter265
was, as it seems, [443d] that justice is indeed
something of this kind, yet not in regard to the
doing of one's own business externally, but with
regard to that which is within and in the true
sense concerns one's self, and the things of one's
self—it means that266 a man must not suffer the
principles in his soul to do each the work of some
other and interfere and meddle with one another,
but that he should dispose well of what in the true
sense of the word is properly his own,267 and
having first attained to self-mastery268 and
beautiful order269 within himself,270 and having
harmonized271 these three principles, the notes or
intervals of three terms quite literally the lowest,
the highest, and the mean, [443e] and all others
there may be between them, and having linked
and bound all three together and made of himself
a unit,272 one man instead of many, self-controlled
and in unison, he should then and then only turn
to practice if he find aught to do either in the
getting of wealth or the tendance of the body or it
may be in political action or private business, in
all such doings believing and naming273 the just
and honorable action to be that which preserves
and helps to produce this condition of soul, and
wisdom the science [444a] that presides over such
conduct; and believing and naming the unjust
action to be that which ever tends to overthrow
this spiritual constitution, and brutish ignorance,
to be the opinion274 that in turn presides275 over
this.” “What you say is entirely true, Socrates.”
“Well,” said I, “if we should affirm that we had
found the just man and state and what justice
really is276 in them, I think we should not be much
mistaken.” “No indeed, we should not,” he said.
“Shall we affirm it, then?” “Let us so affirm.”
“So be it, then,” said I; “next after this, I take it, we
must consider injustice.” “Obviously.” [444b]
“Must not this be a kind of civil war277 of these
three principles, their meddlesomeness278 and
interference with one another's functions, and the
revolt of one part against the whole of the soul
that it may hold therein a rule which does not
belong to it, since its nature is such that it befits it
to serve as a slave to the ruling principle?
Something of this sort, I fancy, is what we shall
say, and that the confusion of these principles and
their straying from their proper course is injustice
and licentiousness and cowardice and brutish
ignorance and, in general,279 all turpitude.”
“Precisely this,” [444c] he replied. “Then,” said I,
“to act unjustly and be unjust and in turn to act
justly the meaning of all these terms becomes at
once plain and clear, since injustice and justice are
so.” “How so?” “Because,” said I, “these are in the
soul what280 the healthful and the diseaseful are in
the body; there is no difference.” “In what
respect?” he said. “Healthful things surely
engender health281 and diseaseful disease.” “Yes.”
“Then does not doing just acts engender justice
[444d] and unjust injustice?” “Of necessity.” “But
to produce health is to establish the elements in a
body in the natural relation of dominating and
being dominated282 by one another, while to cause
disease is to bring it about that one rules or is
ruled by the other contrary to nature.” “Yes, that is
so.” “And is it not likewise the production of
justice in the soul to establish its principles in the
natural relation of controlling and being
controlled by one another, while injustice is to
35
cause the one to rule or be ruled by the other
contrary to nature?” “Exactly so,” he said. “Virtue,
then, as it seems, would be a kind of health283
[444e] and beauty and good condition of the soul,
and vice would be disease,284 ugliness, and
weakness.” “It is so.” “Then is it not also true that
beautiful and honorable pursuits tend to the
winning of virtue and the ugly to vice?” “Of
necessity.”
“And now at last, it seems, it remains for us to
consider whether it is profitable to do justice
[445a] and practice honorable pursuits and be
just, whether285 one is known to be such or not, or
whether injustice profits, and to be unjust, if only
a man escape punishment and is not bettered by
chastisement.286” “Nay, Socrates,” he said, “I think
that from this point on our inquiry becomes an
absurdity287—if, while life is admittedly intolerable
with a ruined constitution of body even though
accompanied by all the food and drink and wealth
and power in the world, we are yet to be asked to
suppose that, when the very nature and
constitution of that whereby we live288 is
disordered [445b] and corrupted, life is going to
be worth living, if a man can only do as he
pleases,289 and pleases to do anything save that
which will rid him of evil and injustice and make
him possessed of justice and virtue—now that the
two have been shown to be as we have described
them.” “Yes, it is absurd,” said I; “but nevertheless,
now that we have won to this height, we must not
grow weary in endeavoring to discover290 with the
utmost possible clearness that these things are so.”
“That is the last thing in the world we must do,”
he said.
Notes
176 τοῦτο by strict grammatical implication means the problem of the tripartite soul, but the reference to this passage in 504 B shows that it includes the whole question of the definition of the virtues, and so ultimately the whole of ethical and political philosophy. We are there told again that the definitions of the fourth book are sufficient for the purpose, but that complete insight can be attained only by relating them to the idea of the good. That required a longer and more circuitous way of discipline and training. Plato then does not propose the “longer way” as a method of reasoning which he himself employs to correct the approximations of the present discussion. He merely describes it as the higher education which will enable his philosophical rulers to do that. We may then disregard all idle guesses about a “new logic” hinted at in the longer way, and all fantastic hypotheses about the evolution of Plato's thought and the composition of the Republic based on supposed contradictions between this passage and the later books. Cf. Introduction p. xvi, “Idea of Good,” p. 190, Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 16, n. 90; followed by Professor Wilamowitz, ii. p. 218, who, however, does not understand the connection of it all with the idea of good. Plato the logician never commits himself to more than is required by the problem under discussion (cf. on 353 c), and Plato the moralist never admits that the ideal has been adequately expressed, but always points to heights beyond. Cf. 506 E, 533 A, Phaedo 85 C, Ti. 29 B-C, Soph. 254 C.
177 Plato takes for granted as obvious the general correspondence which some modern philosophers think it necessary to reaffirm. Cf. Mill, Logic, vi. 7. 1 “Human beings in society have no properties, but those which are derived from and may be resolved into the laws and the nature of individual man”; Spencer, Autobiog. ii. p. 543 “Society is created by its units. . . . The nature of its organization is determined by the nature of its units.” Plato illustrates the commonplace in a slight digression on national characteristics, with a hint of the thought partially anticipated by Hippocrates and now identified with Buckle's name, that they are determined by climate and environment. Cf. Newman, Introduction to Aristotle Politics pp. 318-320. 178 αἰτιάσαιτο: this merely varies the idiom αἰτίαν ἔχειν, “predicate of,” “say of.” Cf. 599 E. It was a common boast of the Athenians that the fine air of Athens produced a corresponding subtlety of wit. Cf. Euripides Medea 829- 830, Isocrates vii. 74, Roberts, The Ancient Boeotians, pp. 59, 76. 179 φιλοχρήματον is a virtual synonym of ἐπιθυμητικόν. Cf. 580 E and Phaedo 68 C, 82 C. 180 In Laws 747 C, Plato tells that for this or some other cause the mathematical education of the Phoenicians and Egyptians, which he commends, developed in them πανουργία rather than σοφία. 181 The questions debated by psychologists from Aristotle (Eth. Nic. 1102 a 31) to the present day is still a matter of rhetoric, poetry, and point of view rather than of strict science. For some purposes we must treat the “faculties” of the mind as distinct entities, for others we must revert to the essential unity of the soul. Cf. Arnold's “Lines on Butler's Sermons” and my remarks in The Assault on Humanism. Plato himself is well aware of this, and in different dialogues emphasizes the aspect that suits his purpose. There is no contradiction between this passage and Phaedo 68 C, 82 C, and Republic x. 611-12. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 42-43. 182 The first formulation of the law of contradiction. Cf. Phaedo 102 E, Theaetetus 188 A, Soph. 220 B, 602 E. Sophistical objections are anticipated here and below (436 E) by attaching to it nearly all the qualifying distinctions of the categories which Aristotle wearily observes are necessary πρὸς τὰς σοφιστικὰς ἐνοχλήσεις（De interp. 17 a 36-37). Cf. Met. 1005 b
22πρὸς τὰς λογικὰς δυσχερείας, and Rhet. ii. 24. Plato invokes the principle against Heraclitism and other philosophies of relativity and the sophistries that grew out of them or played with their formulas. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 50 ff., 53, 58, 68. Aristotle follows Plato in this, pronouncing it πασῶν βεβαιοτάτη ἀρχή. 183 κατὰ ταὐτόν=in the same part or aspect of itself;πρὸς ταὐτόν=in relation to the same (other) thing. Cf. Sophist 230 Bἅμα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν πρὸς τὰ αὐτὰ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐναντίας. 184 For this method of reasoning cf. 478 D, 609 B, Laws 896 C, Charmides 168 B-C, Gorgias 496 C, Philebus 11 D-E. 185 ἦν="was all along and is.” 186 The maxim is applied to the antithesis of rest and motion, so prominent in the dialectics of the day. Cf. Sophist 249 C-D, Parmenides 156 D and passim. 187 Cf. Theaetetus 181 E. 188 The argumentative γε is controversial. For the illustration of the top cf. Spencer, First Principle, 170, who analyzes “certain oscillations described by the expressive though inelegant word 'wobbling'” and their final dissipation when the top appears stationary in the equilibrium mobile. 189 The meaning is plain, the alleged rest and motion do not relate to the same parts of the objects. But the syntax of τὰ τοιαῦτα is difficult. Obvious remedies are to expunge the words or to read τῶν τοιούτων, the cacophony of which in the context Plato perhaps rejected at the cost of leaving his syntax to our conjectures. 190 Cf. Aristotle Met. 1022 a 23ἔτι δὲ τὸ καθὸ τὸ κατὰ θέσιν λέγεται, καθὸ ἕστηκεν, etc, 191 εἴη, the reading of most Mss., should stand. It covers the case of contradictory predicates, especially of relation, that do not readily fall under the dichotomy ποιεῖν πάσχειν. So Phaedo 97 Cἢ εἶναι ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν πάσχειν ἢ ποιεῖν. 192 ἀμφισβητήσεις is slightly contemptuous. Cf. Aristotle , ἐνοχλήσεις, and Theaetetus 158 Cτό γε ἀμφισβητῆσαι οὐ χαλεπόν. 193 It is almost a Platonic method thus to emphasize the dependence of one conclusion on another already accepted. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 471, Politicus 284 D, Phaedo 77 A, 92 D, Timaeus 51 D, Parmenides 149 A. It may be used to cut short discussion (Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 471) or divert it into another channel. Here, however, he is aware, as Aristotle is, that the maximum of contradiction can be proved only controversially against an adversary who says something. (cf. my De Platonis Idearum Doctrina, pp. 7-9, Aristotle Met. 1012 b 1-10); and so, having sufficiently guarded his meaning, he dismisses the subject with the ironical observation that, if the maxim is ever proved false, he will give up all that he bases on the hypothesis of its truth. Cf. Sophist 247 E.
36
194 Cf. Gorgias 496 E, and on 435 D. 195 ἐθέλειν in Plato normally means to be willing, and βούλεσθαι to wish or desire. But unlike Prodicus, Plato emphasizes distinctions of synonyms only when relevant to his purpose. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 47 and n. 339, Philebus 60 D.προσάγεσθαι below relates to ἐπιθυμία and ἐπινεύειν to ἐθέλειν . . . βούλεσθαι. 196 Cf. Aristotle De anima 434 a 9. The Platonic doctrine that opinion,δόξα, is discussion of the soul with herself, or the judgement in which such discussion terminates (Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 47) is here applied to the specific case of the practical reason issuing in an affirmation of the will. 197 ἀβουλεῖν recalls the French coinage “nolonté,” and the southern mule's “won't-power.” Cf. Epistle vii. 347 A, Demosthenes Epistle ii. 17. 198 Cf. Aristotle's ἀνθέλκειν, De anima 433 b 8. “All willing is either pushing or pulling,” Jastrow, Fact and Fable in Psychology, p. 336. Cf. the argument in Spencer's First Principles 80, that the phrase “impelled by desires” is not a metaphor but a physical fact. Plato's generalization of the concepts “attraction” and “repulsion” brings about a curious coincidence with the language of a materialistic, physiological psychology (cf. Lange, History of Materialism, passim), just as his rejection in the Timaeus of attraction and actio in distans allies his physics with that of the most consistent materialists. 199 Cf. on 349 E. 200 Cf. 412 B and Class. Phil. vii. (1912) pp. 485-486. 201 The argument might proceed with 439 Aτοῦ διψῶντος ἄρα ἡ ψυχή. All that intervenes is a digression on logic, a caveat against possible misunderstandings of the proposition that thirst qua thirst is a desire for drink only and unqualifiedly. We are especially warned (438 A) against the misconception that since all men desire the good, thirst must be a desire not for mere drink but for good drink. Cf. the dramatic correction of a misconception, Phaedo 79 B, 529 A-B. 202 In the terminology of the doctrine of ideas the “presence” of cold is the cause of cool, and that of heat, of hot. Cf. “The Origin of the Syllogism,”Class. Phil. vol. xix. p. 10. But in the concrete instance heat causes the desire of cool and vice versa. Cf. Philebus 35 Aἐπιθυμεῖ τῶν ἐναντίων ἢ πάσχει. If we assume that Plato is here speaking from the point of view of common sense (Cf. Lysis 215 Eτὸ δὲ ψυχρὸν θερμοῦ), there is no need of Hermann's transposition of ψυχροῦ and θερμοῦ, even though we do thereby get a more exact symmetry with πλήθους παρουσίαν . . . τοῦ πολλοῦ below. 203 προσῇ denotes that the “presence” is an addition. Cf.προσείη in Parmenides 149 E. 204 Philebus 35 A adds a refinement not needed here, that thirst is, strictly speaking, a desire for repletion by drink. 205 Cf. 429 B. But (the desires) of such or such a (specific) drink are (due to) that added qualification (of the thirst). 206 μήτοι τις=look you to it that no one, etc. 207 ἄρα marks the rejection of this reasoning. Cf 358 C, 364 E, 381 E, 499 C. Plato of course is not repudiating his doctrine that all men really will the good, but the logic of this passage requires us to treat the desire of good as a distinct qualification of the mere drink. 208 ὅσα γ᾽ ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα etc.: a palmary example of the concrete simplicity of Greek idiom in the expression of abstract ideas ὅσα etc. (that is, relative terms) divide by partitive apposition into two classes,τὰ μὲν . . . τὰ δέ. The meaning is that if one term of the relation is qualified, the other must be, but if one term is without qualification, the other is also taken absolutely. Plato, as usual (Cf. on 347 B), represents the interlocutor as not understandiong the first general abstract statement, which he therefore interprets and repeats. I have varied the translation in the repetition in order to bring out the full meaning, and some of the differences between Greek and English idiom. 209 The notion of relative terms is familiar. Cf. Charmides 167 E, Theaetetus 160 A, Symposium 199 D-E, Parmenides 133 C ff., Sophist 255 D, Aristotle Topics vi. 4, and Cat. v. It is expounded here only to insure the apprehension of the further point that the qualifications of either term of the relation are relative to each other. In the Politicus 283 f. Plato adds that the great and small are measured not only in relation to each other, but by absolute standards. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 61, 62, and 531 A. 210 καὶ . . . καὶ αὖ . . . καὶ ἔτι γε etc. mark different classes of relations, magnitudes, precise quantites, the mechanical properties of matter and the physical properties. 211 Plato does not wish to complicate his logic with metaphysics. The objective correlate of ἐπιστήμη is a difficult problem. In the highest sense it is the ideas. Cf. Parmenides 134 A. But the relativity of ἐπιστήμη(Aristotle Topics iv. 1. 5) leads to psychological difficulties in Charmides 168 and to theological in Parmenides 134 C-E, which are waived by this phrase. Sceince in the abstract is of knowledge in the abstract, architectural science is of the specific knowledge called architecture. Cf. Sophist 257 C. 212 Cf. Philebus 37 C. 213 Cf. Cratylus 393 B, Phaedo 81 D, and for the thought Aristotle Met. 1030 b 2 ff. The “added determinants” need not be the same. The study of useful things is not necessarily a useful study, as opponents of the Classics argue. In Gorgias 476 B this principle is violated by the wilful fallacy that if to do justice is fine, so must it be to suffer justice, but the motive for this is explained in Laws 859-860. 214 αὐτοῦ οὗπερ ἐπιστήμη ἐστίν is here a mere periphrasis for μαθήματος, αὐτοῦ expressing the idea abstract, mere, absolute, or per se, but ὅπερ or
ἥπερ ἐστίν is often a synonym of αὐτός or αὐτή in the sense of abstract, absolute, or ideal. Cf. Thompson on Meno 71 B, Sophist 255 Dτοῦτο ὅπερ ἐστὶν εἶναι. 215 δή marks the application of this digression on relativity, for δῖψος is itself a relative term and is what it is in relation to something else, namely drink. 216 τῶν τινὸς εἶναι: if the text is sound,εἶναι seems to be taken twice, (1) with τοῦτο etc., (2)τῶν τινός as predicates. This is perhaps no harsher than τὸ δοκεῖν εἶναι in Aeschylus Agamemnon 788. Cf. Tennyson's “How sweet are the looks that ladies bend/ On whom their favors fall,” and Pope's “And virgins smiled at what they blushed before.” Possibly θήσεις τῶν τινός is incomplete in itself (cf. 437 B) and εἶναι τοῦτο etc. is a loose epexegesis. The only emendation worth notice is Adam's insertion of καὶ τινὸς between τινὸς and εἶναι, which yields a smooth, but painfully explicit, construction. 217 Cf. further Sophist 255 D, Aristotle Met. 1021 a 27. Aristotle Cat. v., Top. vi. 4. So Plotinus vi. 1. 7 says that relative terms are those whose very being is the relation καὶ τὸ εἶναι οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὸ ἀλλήλοις εἶναι. 218 Cf. on 437 C, Aristotle, De anima 433 b 8, Laws 644 E, 604 B, Phaedrus 238 C. The practical moral truth of this is independent of our metaphysical psychology. Plato means that the something which made King David refuse the draught purchased by the blood of his soldiers and Sir Philip Sidney pass the cup to a wounded comrade is somehow different than the animal instinct which it overpowers. Cf. Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1102 b 24, Laws 863 E. 219 Cf. 589, Epistle 335 B. Cf. Descartes, Les Passions de l'âme, article xlvii: “En quoi consistent les combats qu'on a coutume d'imaginer entre la partie inférieure et la supérieure de l'âme.” He says in effect that the soul is a unit and the “lower soul” is the body. Cf. ibid. lxviii, where he rejects the “concupiscible” and the “irascible.” 220 Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 68: “Plato . . . delights to prick the bubbles of imagery, rhetoric, and antithesis blown by his predecessors. Heraclitus means well when he says that the one is united by disunion (Symposium 187 A) or that the hands at once draw and repel the bow. But the epigram vanishes under logical analysis.” For the conceit cf. Samuel Butler's lines: “He that will win his dame must do/ As love does when he bends his bow,/ With one hand thrust his lady from/ And with the other pull her home.” 221 ἐνεῖναι μὲν . . . ἐνεῖναι δέ: the slight artificiality of the anaphora matches well with the Gorgian jingle κελεῦον . . . κωλῦον. Cf. Iambl.Protrept. p. 41 Postelli ἔστι γὰρ τοιοῦτον ὃ κελεύει καὶ κωλύει. 222 The “pulls” are distinguished verbally from the passions that are their instruments νοσημάτων suggests the Stoic doctrine that passions are diseases. Cf. Cicero Tusc. iii. 4perturbationes, and passim, and Philebus 45 C. 223 λογιστικόν is one of Plato's many synonyms for the intellectual principle. Cf. 441 C, 571 C, 587 D, 605 B. It emphasizes the moral calculation of consequences, as opposed to blind passion. Cf. Crito 46 B (one of the passages which the Christian apologists used to prove that Socrates knew the λόγος), Theaetetus 186 Cἀναλογίσματα πρός τε οὐσίαν καὶ ὠφέλειαν, and Laws 644 D. Aristotle Eth. 1139 a 12 somewhat differently. 224 ἐπτόηται: almost technical, as in Sappho's ode, for the flutter of desire.ἀλόγιστον, though applied here to the ἐπιθυμητικόν only, suggests the bipartite division of Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 1102 a 28. 225 So the bad steed which symbolizes the ἐπιθυμητικόν in Phaedrus 253 E is ἀλαζονείας ἑταῖρος. 226 We now approach the distinctively Platonic sense of θυμός as the power of noble wrath, which, unless perverted by a bad education, is naturally the ally of the reason, though as mere angry passion it might seem to belong to the irrational part of the soul, and so, as Glaucon suggets, be akin to appetite, with which it is associated in the mortal soul of the Timaeus 69 D. In Laws 731 B-C Plato tells us again that the soul cannot combat injustice without the capacity for righteous indignation. The Stoics affected to deprecate anger always, and the difference remained a theme of controversy between them and the Platonists. Cf. Schmidt, Ethik der Griechen, ii. pp. 321 ff., Seneca, De ira, i. 9, and passim. Moralists are still divided on the point. Cf. Bagehot, Lord Brougham: “Another faculty of Brougham . . . is the faculty of easy anger. The supine placidity of civilization is not favorable to animosity [Bacon's word for θυμός].” Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, pp. 60 ff. and p. 62, seems to contradict Plato: “The supposed conflict between reason and passion is, as I hold, meaningless if it is taken to imply that the reason is a faculty separate from the emotions,” etc. But this is only his metaphysics. On the practical ethical issue he is with Plato. 227 Socrates has heard and trusts a, to us, obscure anecdote which shows how emotion may act as a distinct principle rebuking the lower appetites or curiosities. Leontius is unknown, except for Bergk's guess identifying him with the Leotrophides of a corrupt fragment of Theopompus Comicus, fr. 1 Kock, p. 739. 228 He was following the outer side of the north wall up the city. Cf. Lysis 203 A, Frazer, Paus. ii. 40, Wachsmuth, Stadt Athen, i. p. 190. 229 The corpses were by, near, or with the executioner (ὁ ἐπὶ τῷ ὀρύγματι) whether he had thrown them into the pit (βάραθρον) or not. 230 Cf. Antiphon fr. 18 Kock PLHGEI/S, TE/WS ME\N E)PEKRA/TEI TH=S SUMFORA=S, etc., and “Maids who shrieked to see the heads/ Yet shrieking pressed more nigh.” 231 He apostrophizes his eyes, in a different style from Romeo's, “Eyes, look your last.” 232 αὐτόν: we shift from the θυμός to the man and back again.
37
233 ἀντιπράττειν: that is, opposite the reason. It may be construed with δεῖν or as the verb of αὐτόν. There are no real difficulties in the passage, though many have been found. The order of the words and the anacoluthon are intentional and effective. Cf. on 434 C.οὐκ ἂν . . . ποτέ is to literal understanding an exaggeration. But Plato is speaking of the normal action of uncorrupted θυμός. Plato would not accept the psychology of Euripides'Medea（1079-1080):καὶ μανθάνω μὲν οἷα δρᾶν μέλλω κακά, θυμὸς
δὲ κρείσσω τῶν ἐμῶν βουλευμάτων. Cf. Dr. Loeb's translation of Décharme, p. 340. 234 αἱροῦντος: cf. 604 C, and L. and S. s.v. A. II. 5. 235 So Aristotle Rhet. 1380 b 17οὐ γίγνεται γὰρ ἡ ὀργὴ πρὸς τὸ δίκαιον, and Eth. Nic. 1135 b 28ἐπὶ φαινομένῃ γὰρ ἀδικίᾳ ἡ ὀργή ἐστιν. This is true only with Plato's reservation γενναιότερος. The baser type is angry when in the wrong. 236 Cf. Demosthenes xv. 10 for the same general idea. 237 ὃ λέγω: idiomatic, “as I was saying.” 238 ἐν τούτῳ: possibly “in such an one,” preferably “in such a case.”θυμός is plainly the subject of ζεῖ. (Cf. the physiological definition in Aristotle De anima 403 a 31ζέσιν τοῦ περὶ τὴν καρδίαν αἵματος), and so, strictly speaking, of all the other verbs down to λήγει. καὶ διὰ τὸ πεινῆν . . . πάσχειν is best taken as a parenthesis giving an additional reason for the anger, besides the sense of injustice. 239 τῶν γενναίων: i.e. the θυμός of the noble, repeating ὅσῳ ἂν γενναιότερος ᾖ above. The interpretation “does not desist from his noble (acts)” destroys this symmetry and has no warrant in Plato's use of γενναῖος. Cf. 375 E, 459 A. The only argument against the view here taken is that “θυμός is not the subject of λήγει,” which it plainly is. The shift from θυμός to the man in what follows is no difficulty and is required only by τελευτήσῃ, which may well be a gloss. Cf. A.J.P. xvi. p. 237. 240 καίτοι γε calls attention to the confirmation supplied by the image. Cf on 376 B, and my article in Class. Journ. vol. iii. p. 29. 241 Cf. 440 B and Phaedrus 237 E. 242 It still remains to distinguish the λογιστικόν from θυμός, which is done first by pointing out that young children and animals possess θυμός(Cf. Laws 963 E, Aristotle Politics 1334 b 22 ff.), and by quoting a line of Homer already cited in 390 D, and used in Phaedo 94 E, to prove that the soul, regarded there as a unit, is distinct from the passions, there treated as belonging to the body, like the mortal soul of the Timaeus. See Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 42-43. 243 Cf. Parmenides 137 A, Pindar, Ol. xiii. 114ἐκνεῦσαι. 244 Cf. 435 B. 245 Cf. Meno 73 C, Hippias Major 295 D. A virtual synonym for τῷ αὐτῷ εἶδει, Meno 72 E. 246 ὅτου: cf. 431 Bοὗ, and 573 Dὧν. 247 Cf. 411 E, 412 A. 248 Cf. on 433 B-E, 443 D, and Charmides 161 B. 249 Cf. on 431 A-B, Laws 689 A-B. 250 Strictly speaking, pleasure is in the mind, not in the body. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 330.καλουμένων implies the doctrine of the Gorgias 493 E, 494 C, Philebus 42 C, Phaedrus 258 E, and 583 B-584 A, that the pleasures of appetite are not pure or real. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 152. Cf. on λεγομένων431 C. 251 Cf. on 426 E, 606 B. 252 προσῆκον: sc.ἐστὶν ἄρχειν. γένει, by affinity, birth or nature. Cf. 444 B. q reads γενῶν. 253 Cf. 389 D. 254 Cf. 415 E. 255 Cf. Isocrates xii. 138αὕτη γάρ ἐστιν ἡ βουλευομένη περὶ ἁπάντων. 256 Cf. 429 C-D 257 Cf. Goodwin's Greek Grammar, 1027. 258 ἔχον: anacoluthic epexegesis, corresponding to ὅταν . . . διασώζῃ. αὖ probably marks the correspondence. 259 ᾧ πολλάκις: that is, by the principle of τὸ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν. 260 ἀπαμβλύνεται: is the edge or outline of the definition blunted or dimmed when we transfer it to the individual? 261 The transcendental or philosophical definition is confirmed by vulgar tests. The man who is just in Plato's sense will not steal or betray or fail in ordinary duties. Cf. Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1178 b 16ἢ φορτικὸς ὁ ἔπαινος. . . to say that the gods are σώφρονες. Similarly Plato feels that there is a certain vulgarity in applying the cheap tests of prudential morality (Cf. Phaedo 68 C-D) to intrinsic virtue. “Be this,” is the highest expression of the moral law. “Do this,” eventually follows. Cf. Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, pp. 376 and 385, and Emerson, Self-Reliance: “But I may also neglect the reflex standard, and absolve me to myself . . . If anyone imagines that this law is lax, let him keep its commandment one day.” The Xenophontic Socrates (Xenophon Memorabilia iv. 4. 10-11 and iv. 4. 17) relies on these vulgar tests. 262 Cf. on 332 A and Aristotle Rhet. 1383 b 21. 263 ὅ: Cf. on 434 D. 264 The contemplation of the εἴδωλον, image or symbol, leads us to the reality. The reality is always the Platonic Idea. The εἴδωλον, in the case of ordinary “things,” is the material copy which men mistake for the reality (516 A). In the case of spiritual things and moral ideas, there is no visible image or symbol (Politicus 286 A), but imperfect analogies, popular definitions, suggestive phrases, as τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν, well-meant laws and institutions serve as the εἴδωλα in which the philosophic dialectician may
find a reflection of the true idea. Cf. on 520 C, Sophist 234 C, Theaetetus 150 B. 265 Cf. Timaeus 86 D, Laws 731 E, Apology 23 A. The reality of justice as distinguished from the εἴδωλον, which in this case is merely the economic division of labor. Adam errs in thinking that the real justice is justice in the soul, and the εἴδωλον is justice in the state. In the state too the division of labor may be taken in the lower or in the higher sense. Cf. on 370 A, Introduction p. xv. 266 μὴ ἐάσαντα . . . δόχαν444 A: Cf. Gorgias 459 C, 462 C. A series of participles in implied indirect discourse expand the meaning of τὴν ἐντός（
πρᾶξιν), and enumerate the conditions precedent (resumed in οὕτω δή443 E; Cf. Protagoras 325 A) of all action which is to be called just if it tends to preserve this inner harmony of the soul, and the reverse if it tends to dissolve it. The subject of πράττειν is anybody or Everyman. For the general type of sentence and the Stoic principle that nothing imports but virtue cf. 591 E and 618 C. 267 Cf. on 433 E. 268 Cf. Gorgias 491 D where Callicles does not understand. 269 Cf. Gorgias 504. 270 Cf. 621 C and on 352 A. 271 The harmony of the three parts of the soul is compared to that of the three fundamental notes or strings in the octave, including any intervening tones, and so by implication any faculties of the soul overlooked in the preceding classification. Cf. Plutarch, Plat. Quest. 9. Proclus, p. 230 Kroll.ὥσπερ introduces the images, the exact application of which is pointed by ἀτεχνῶς. Cf. on 343 C. The scholiast tries to make two octaves (δὶς διὰ πασῶν) of it. The technical musical details have at the most an antiquarian interest, and in no way affect the thought, which is that of Shakespeare's “For government, though high and low and lower,/ Put into parts, doth keep one in concent,/ Congreeing in a full and natural close/ Like music.” (Henry V. I. ii. 179) Cf. Cicero, De rep. ii. 42, and Milton (Reason of Church Government), “Discipline . . . which with her musical chords preserves and holds all the parts thereof together.” 272 Cf. Epin. 992 B. The idea was claimed for the Pythagoreans; cf. Zeller I. i. p. 463, Guyau, Esquisse d'une Morale, p. 109 “La moralité n'est autre chose que l'unité de l'être.” “The key to effective life is unity of life,” says another modern rationalist. 273 ὀνομάζοντα betrays a consciousness that the ordinary meaning of words is somewhat forced for edification. Cf. Laws 864 A-B and Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 9, n. 21. Aristotle (Eth. Nic. 1138 b 6) would regard all this as mere metaphor. 274 ἐπιστήμην . . . δόχαν: a hint of a fundamental distinction, not explicitly mentioned before in the Republic. Cf. Meno 97 B ff. and Unity of Plato's Thought, pp. 47-49. It is used here rhetorically to exalt justice and disparage injustice.ἀμαθία is a very strong word, possibly used here already in the special Platonic sense: the ignorance that mistakes itself for knowledge. Cf. Sophist. 275 ἐπιστατοῦσαν: Isocrates would have used a synonym instead of repeating the word. 276 Cf. 337 B. 277 στάσιν: cf. 440 E. It is defined in Sophist 228 B. Aristotle would again regard this as mere metaphor. 278 πολυπραγμοσύνην:434 B and Isocrates viii. 59. 279 συλλήβδην: summing up, as in Phaedo 69 B. 280 ὡς ἐκεῖνα: a proportion is thus usually stated in an ancoluthic apposition. 281 The common-sense point of view, “fit fabricando faber.” Cf. Aristotle Eth. Nic. 1103 a 32. In Gorgias 460 B, Socrates argues the paradox that he who knows justice does it. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 11, n. 42. 282 Cf. the generalization of ἔρως to include medicine and music in Symposium 186-187, and Timaeus 82 A, Laws 906 C, Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 500. 283 The identification of virtue with spiritual health really, as Plato says (445 A), answers the main question of the Republic. It is not explicitly used as one of the three final arguments in the ninth book, but is implied in 591 B. It is found “already” in Crito 47 D-E. Cf. Gorgias 479 B 284 κακία . . . αἶσχος:Sophist 228 E distinguishes two forms of κακία: νόσος or moral evil, and ignorance or αἰσχος. Cf. Gorgias 477 B. 285 ἐάν τε . . . ἐάν τε: Cf. 337 C, 367 E, 427 D, 429 E. 286 Cf. Gorgias 512 A-B, and on 380 B. 287 Cf. on 456 D. On the following argumentum ex contrario Cf. on 336 E. 288 Cf. on 353 D and Aristotle De anima 414 a 12 ff. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 41. 289 Cf. 577 D, Gorgias 466 E. If all men desire the good, he who does evil does not do what he really wishes. 290 ὅσον . . . κατιδεῖν is generally taken as epexegetic of ἐνταῦθα. It is rather well felt with οὐ χρὴ ἀποκάμνειν. 291 Cf. Apology 25 C. 292 ἅ γε δὴ καὶ ἄξια θέας
38
BOOK VI
“But, furthermore, you know this too, that the
multitude believe pleasure279 to be the good, and
the finer280 spirits intelligence or knowledge.281”
“Certainly.” “And you are also aware, my friend,
that those who hold this latter view are not able to
point out what knowledge282 it is but are finally
compelled to say that it is the knowledge of the
good.” “Most absurdly,” he said. “Is it not absurd,”
[505c] said I, “if while taunting us with our
ignorance of the good they turn about and talk to
us as if we knew it? For they say it is the
knowledge of the good,283 as if we understood
their meaning when they utter284 the word
‘good.'” “Most true,” he said. “Well, are those who
define the good as pleasure infected with any less
confusion285 of thought than the others? Or are
not they in like manner286 compelled to admit
that there are bad pleasures287?” “Most
assuredly.” “The outcome is, I take it, that they are
admitting [505d] the same things to be both good
and bad, are they not?” “Certainly.” “Then is it not
apparent that there are many and violent
disputes288 about it?” “Of course.” “And again, is
it not apparent that while in the case of the just
and the honorable many would prefer the
semblance289 without the reality in action,
possession, and opinion, yet when it comes to the
good nobody is content with the possession of the
appearance but all men seek the reality, and the
semblance satisfies nobody here?” [505e] “Quite
so,” he said. “That, then, which every soul
pursues290 and for its sake does all that it does,
with an intuition291 of its reality, but yet
baffled292 and unable to apprehend its nature
adequately, or to attain to any stable belief about
it as about other things,293 and for that reason
failing of any possible benefit from other things,—
[506a] in a matter of this quality and moment, can
we, I ask you, allow a like blindness and obscurity
in those best citizens294 to whose hands we are to
entrust all things?” “Least of all,” he said. “I fancy,
at any rate,” said I, “that the just and the
honorable, if their relation and reference to the
good is not known,295 will not have secured a
guardian296 of much worth in the man thus
ignorant, and my surmise is that no one will
understand them adequately before he knows
this.” “You surmise well,” he said. “Then our
constitution [506b] will have its perfect and
definitive organization297 only when such a
guardian, who knows these things, oversees it.”
“Necessarily,” he said. “But you yourself, Socrates,
do you think that knowledge is the good or
pleasure or something else and different?” “What
a man it is,” said I; “you made it very plain298 long
ago that you would not be satisfied with what
others think about it.” “Why, it does not seem
right to me either, Socrates,” he said, “to be ready
to state the opinions of others but not one's own
when one has occupied himself with the matter so
long.299” [506c] “But then,” said I, “do you think it
right to speak as having knowledge about things
one does not know?” “By no means,” he said, “as
having knowledge, but one ought to be willing to
tell as his opinion what he opines.” “Nay,” said I,
“have you not observed that opinions divorced
from knowledge300 are ugly things? The best of
them are blind.301 Or do you think that those who
hold some true opinion without intelligence differ
appreciably from blind men who go the right
way?” “They do not differ at all,” he said. “Is it,
then, ugly things that you prefer [506d] to
contemplate, things blind and crooked, when you
might hear from others what is luminous302 and
fair?” “Nay, in heaven's name, Socrates,” said
Glaucon, “do not draw back, as it were, at the very
goal.303 For it will content us if you explain the
good even as you set forth the nature of justice,
sobriety, and the other virtues.” “It will right
well304 content me, my dear fellow,” I said, “but I
fear that my powers may fail and that in my
eagerness I may cut a sorry figure and become a
laughing-stock.305 Nay, my beloved, [506e] let us
dismiss for the time being the nature of the good
in itself;306 for to attain to my present surmise of
that seems a pitch above the impulse that wings
my flight today.307 But of what seems to be the
offspring of the good and most nearly made in its
likeness308 I am willing to speak if you too wish it,
and otherwise to let the matter drop.” “Well,
speak on,” he said, “for you will duly pay me the
tale of the parent another time.” “I could wish,”
[507a] I said, “that I were able to make and you to
receive the payment and not merely as now the
interest. But at any rate receive this interest309
and the offspring of the good. Have a care,
however, lest I deceive you unintentionally with a
false reckoning of the interest.” “We will do our
best,” he said, “to be on our guard. Only speak on.”
“Yes,” I said, “after first coming to an
39
understanding with you and reminding you of
what has been said here before and often on other
occasions.310” [507b] “What?” said he. “We
predicate ‘to be’311 of many beautiful things and
many good things, saying of them severally that
they are, and so define them in our speech.” “We
do.” “And again, we speak of a self-beautiful and of
a good that is only and merely good, and so, in the
case of all the things that we then posited as
many, we turn about and posit each as a single
idea or aspect, assuming it to be a unity and call it
that which each really is.312 “It is so.” “And the
one class of things we say can be seen but not
thought, [507c] while the ideas can be thought but
not seen.” “By all means.” “With which of the parts
of ourselves, with which of our faculties, then, do
we see visible things?” “With sight,” he said. “And
do we not,” I said, “hear audibles with hearing,
and perceive all sensibles with the other senses?”
“Surely.” “Have you ever observed,” said I, “how
much the greatest expenditure the creator313 of
the senses has lavished on the faculty of seeing
and being seen?314 “Why, no, I have not,” he said.
“Well, look at it thus. Do hearing and voice stand
in need of another medium315 so that the one may
hear and the other be heard, [507d] in the absence
of which third element the one will not hear and
the other not be heard?” “They need nothing,” he
said. “Neither, I fancy,” said I,” do many others,
not to say that none require anything of the sort.
Or do you know of any?” “Not I,” he said. “But do
you not observe that vision and the visible do have
this further need?” “How?” “Though vision may be
in the eyes and its possessor may try to use it, and
though color be present, yet without [507e] the
presence of a third thing316 specifically and
naturally adapted to this purpose, you are aware
that vision will see nothing and the colors will
remain invisible.317” “What318 is this thing of
which you speak?” he said. “The thing,” I said,
“that you call light.” “You say truly,” he replied.
“The bond, then, that yokes together [508a]
visibility and the faculty of sight is more precious
by no slight form319 that which unites the other
pairs, if light is not without honor.” “It surely is far
from being so,” he said.
“Which one can you name of the divinities in
heaven320 as the author and cause of this, whose
light makes our vision see best and visible things
to be seen?” “Why, the one that you too and other
people mean,” he said; “for your question
evidently refers to the sun.321” “Is not this, then,
the relation of vision to that divinity?” “What?”
“Neither vision itself nor its vehicle, which we call
the eye, is identical with the sun.” [508b] “Why,
no.” “But it is, I think, the most sunlike322 of all
the instruments of sense.” “By far the most.” “And
does it not receive the power which it possesses as
an influx, as it were, dispensed from the sun?”
“Certainly.” “Is it not also true that the sun is not
vision, yet as being the cause thereof is beheld by
vision itself?” “That is so,” he said. “This, then, you
must understand that I meant by the offspring of
the good323 which the good [508c] begot to stand
in a proportion324 with itself: as the good is in the
intelligible region to reason and the objects of
reason, so is this in the visible world to vision and
the objects of vision.” “How is that?” he said;
“explain further.” “You are aware,” I said, “that
when the eyes are no longer turned upon objects
upon whose colors the light of day falls but that of
the dim luminaries of night, their edge is blunted
and they appear almost blind, as if pure vision did
not dwell in them.” “Yes, indeed,” he said. “But
when, I take it, [508d] they are directed upon
objects illumined by the sun, they see clearly, and
vision appears to reside in these same eyes.”
“Certainly.” “Apply this comparison to the soul
also in this way. When it is firmly fixed on the
domain where truth and reality shine
resplendent325 it apprehends and knows them
and appears to possess reason; but when it
inclines to that region which is mingled with
darkness, the world of becoming and passing
away, it opines only and its edge is blunted, and it
shifts its opinions hither and thither, and again
seems as if it lacked reason.” [508e] “Yes, it does,”
“This reality, then, that gives their truth to the
objects of knowledge and the power of knowing to
the knower, you must say is the idea326 of good,
and you must conceive it as being the cause of
knowledge, and of truth in so far as known.327 Yet
fair as they both are, knowledge and truth, in
supposing it to be something fairer still328 than
these you will think rightly of it. But as for
knowledge and truth, even as in our illustration
[509a] it is right to deem light and vision sunlike,
but never to think that they are the sun, so here it
is right to consider these two their counterparts,
as being like the good or boniform,329 but to
think that either of them is the good330 is not
right. Still higher honor belongs to the possession
and habit331 of the good.” “An inconceivable
40
beauty you speak of,” he said, “if it is the source of
knowledge and truth, and yet itself surpasses
them in beauty. For you surely332 cannot mean
that it is pleasure.” “Hush,” said I, “but examine
[509b] the similitude of it still further in this
way.333” “How?” “The sun, I presume you will say,
not only furnishes to visibles the power of
visibility but it also provides for their generation
and growth and nurture though it is not itself
generation.” “Of course not.” “In like manner,
then, you are to say that the objects of knowledge
not only receive from the presence of the good
their being known, but their very existence and
essence is derived to them from it, though the
good itself is not essence but still transcends
essence334 in dignity and surpassing power.”
[509c]
And Glaucon very ludicrously335 said, “Heaven
save us, hyperbole336 can no further go.” “The
fault is yours,” I said, “for compelling me to utter
my thoughts about it.” “And don't desist,” he said,
“but at least337 expound the similitude of the sun,
if there is anything that you are omitting.” “Why,
certainly,” I said, “I am omitting a great deal.”
“Well, don't omit the least bit,” he said. “I fancy,” I
said, “that I shall have to pass over much, but
nevertheless so far as it is at present practicable I
shall not willingly leave anything out.” “Do not,”
[509d] he said. “Conceive then,” said I, “as we were
saying, that there are these two entities, and that
one of them is sovereign over the intelligible order
and region and the other over the world of the
eye-ball, not to say the sky-ball,338 but let that
pass. You surely apprehend the two types, the
visible and the intelligible.” “I do.” “Represent
them then, as it were, by a line divided339 into
two unequal340 sections and cut each section
again in the same ratio (the section, that is, of the
visible and that of the intelligible order), and then
as an expression of the ratio of their comparative
clearness and obscurity you will have, as one of
the sections [509e] of the visible world, images. By
images341 I mean, [510a] first, shadows, and then
reflections in water and on surfaces of dense,
smooth and bright texture, and everything of that
kind, if you apprehend.” “I do.” “As the second
section assume that of which this is a likeness or
an image, that is, the animals about us and all
plants and the whole class of objects made by
man.” “I so assume it,” he said. “Would you be
willing to say,” said I, “that the division in respect
of reality and truth or the opposite is expressed by
the proportion:342 as is the opinable to the
knowable so is the likeness to that [510b] of which
it is a likeness?” “I certainly would.” “Consider
then again the way in which we are to make the
division of the intelligible section.” “In what way?”
“By the distinction that there is one section of it
which the soul is compelled to investigate by
treating as images the things imitated in the
former division, and by means of assumptions
from which it proceeds not up to a first principle
but down to a conclusion, while there is another
section in which it advances from its assumption
to a beginning or principle that transcends
assumption,343 and in which it makes no use of
the images employed by the other section, relying
on ideas344 only and progressing systematically
through ideas.” “I don't fully understand345 what
you mean by this,” he said. “Well, I will try again,”
[510c] said I,” for you will better understand after
this preamble. For I think you are aware that
students of geometry and reckoning and such
subjects first postulate the odd and the even and
the various figures and three kinds of angles and
other things akin to these in each branch of
science, regard them as known, and, treating them
as absolute assumptions, do not deign to render
any further account of them346 to themselves or
others, taking it for granted that they are obvious
to everybody. They take their start [510d] from
these, and pursuing the inquiry from this point on
consistently, conclude with that for the
investigation of which they set out.” “Certainly,”
he said, “I know that.” “And do you not also know
that they further make use of the visible forms and
talk about them, though they are not thinking of
them but of those things of which they are a
likeness, pursuing their inquiry for the sake of the
square as such and the diagonal as such, and not
for the sake of the image of it which they
draw347? [510e] And so in all cases. The very
things which they mould and draw, which have
shadows and images of themselves in water, these
things they treat in their turn348 as only images,
but what they really seek is to get sight of those
realities which can be seen [511a] only by the
mind.349” “True,” he said.
“This then is the class that I described as
intelligible, it is true,350 but with the reservation
first that the soul is compelled to employ
assumptions in the investigation of it, not
41
proceeding to a first principle because of its
inability to extricate itself from and rise above its
assumptions, and second, that it uses as images or
likenesses the very objects that are themselves
copied and adumbrated by the class below them,
and that in comparison with these latter351 are
esteemed as clear and held in honor.352” “I
understand,” [511b] said he, “that you are speaking
of what falls under geometry and the kindred
arts.” “Understand then,” said I, “that by the other
section of the intelligible I mean that which the
reason353 itself lays hold of by the power of
dialectics,354 treating its assumptions not as
absolute beginnings but literally as hypotheses,355
underpinnings, footings,356 and springboards so
to speak, to enable it to rise to that which requires
no assumption and is the starting-point of all,357
and after attaining to that again taking hold of the
first dependencies from it, so to proceed
downward to the conclusion, [511c] making no use
whatever of any object of sense358 but only of
pure ideas moving on through ideas to ideas and
ending with ideas.359” “I understand,” he said;
“not fully, for it is no slight task that you appear to
have in mind, but I do understand that you mean
to distinguish the aspect of reality and the
intelligible, which is contemplated by the power of
dialectic, as something truer and more exact than
the object of the so-called arts and sciences whose
assumptions are arbitrary starting-points. And
though it is true that those who contemplate them
are compelled to use their understanding360 and
not [511d] their senses, yet because they do not go
back to the beginning in the study of them but
start from assumptions you do not think they
possess true intelligence361 about them
although362 the things themselves are intelligibles
when apprehended in conjunction with a first
principle. And I think you call the mental habit of
geometers and their like mind or
understanding363 and not reason because you
regard understanding as something intermediate
between opinion and reason.” “Your interpretation
is quite sufficient,” I said; “and now, answering
to364 these four sections, assume these four
affections occurring in the soul: intellection or
reason for the highest, [511e] understanding for the
second; assign belief365 to the third, and to the
last picture-thinking or conjecture,366 and
arrange them in a proportion,367 considering that
they participate in clearness and precision in the
same degree as their objects partake of truth and
reality.” “I understand,” he said; “I concur and
arrange them as you bid.”
Notes
272 Plato assumed that the reader will understand that the unavailing quest for “the good” in the earlier dialogues is an anticipation of the idea of good. Cf. Vol. I. on 476 A and What Plato Said, p. 71. Wilamowitz, Platon, i. p. 567, does not understand. 273 Cf. 508 E, 517 C, Cratyl. 418 E. Cf. Phileb. 64 E and What Plato Said, p. 534, on Phaedo 99 A. Plato is unwilling to confine his idea of good to a formula and so seems to speak of it as a mystery. It was so regarded throughout antiquity (cf. Diog. Laert. iii. 27), and by a majority of modern scholars. Cf. my Idea of Good in Plato's Republic, pp. 188-189, What Plato Said, pp. 72, 230-231, Introd. Vol. I. pp. xl-xli, and Vol. II. pp. xxvii, xxxiv. 274 Lit. “the use of which,” i.e. a theory of the cardinal virtues is scientific only if deduced from an ultimate sanction or ideal. 275 The omission of the article merely gives a vaguely generalizing color. It makes no difference. 276 For the idiom οὐδὲν ὄφελος Cf. Euthyph. 4 E, Lysis 208 E, 365 B, Charm. 155 E, etc. 277 Cf. 427 A, Phaedr. 275 C, Cratyl. 387 A, Euthyd. 288 E, Laws 751 B, 944 C, etc. 278 καλὸν δὲ καὶ ἀγαθόν suggests but does not mean καλοκἀγαθόν in its half-technical sense. The two words fill out the rhythm with Platonic fulness and are virtual synonyms. Cf. Phileb. 65 A and Symp. 210-211 where because of the subject the καλόν is substituted for the ἀγαθόν. 279 So Polus and Callicles in the Gorgias and later the Epicureans and Cyrenaics. Cf. also What Plato Said, p. 131; Eurip.Hippol. 382οἱ δ᾽ ἡδονὴν προθέντες ἀντὶ τοῦ καλοῦ, and on 329 A-B. There is no contradiction here with the Philebus. Plato does not himself say that either pleasure or knowledge is the good. 280 κομψοτέροις is very slightly if at all ironical here. Cf. the American “sophisticated” in recent use. See too Theaet. 156 A, Aristot.Eth. Nic 1905 a 18οἱ χαρίεντες. 281 Plato does not distinguish synonyms in the style of Prodicus (Cf. Protag. 337 A ff.) and Aristotle (Cf. Eth. Nic. 1140-1141) when the distinction is irrelevant to his purpose. 282 Cf. Euthyd. 281 D, Theaet. 288 D f., Laws 961 Eὁ περὶ τί νοῦς. See Unity of Plato's Thought, n. 650. The demand for specification is frequent in the dialogues. Cf. Euthyph. 13 D, Laches 192 E, Gorg. 451 A, Charm. 165 C-E, Alc. I. 124 E ff. 283 There is no “the” in the Greek. Emendations are idle. Plato is supremely indifferent to logical precision when it makes no difference for a reasonably intelligent reader. Cf. my note on Phileb. 11 B-C in Class. Phil. vol. iii. (1908) pp. 343-345. 284 φθέγξωνται logically of mere physical utterance (Cf. Theaet. 157 B), not, I think, as Adam says, of high-sounding oracular utterance. 285 Lit. “wandering,” the mark of error. Cf. 484 B, Lysis 213 E, Phaedo 79 C, Soph. 230 B, Phaedr. 263 B, Parmen. 135 E, Laws 962 D. 286 καὶ οὗτοι is an illogical idiom of over-particularization. The sentence begins generally and ends specifically. Plato does not care, since the meaning is clear. Cf. Protag. 336 C, Gorg. 456 C-D, Phaedo 62 A. 287 A distinct reference to Callicles' admission in Gorgias 499 Bτὰς μὲν βελτίους ἡδονάς, τὰς δὲ χείρους cf. 499 C, Rep. 561 C, and Phileb. 13 Cπάσας ὁμοίας εἶναι. Stenzel's notion (Studien zur Entw. d. Plat. Dialektik, p. 98) that in the PhilebusPlato “ist von dem Standpunkt des Staates 503 C weit entfernt” is uncritical. the Republic merely refers to the GorgiasTo show that the question is disputed and the disputants contradict themselves. 288 ἀμφισβητήσεις is slightly disparaging, Cf. Theaet. 163 C, 158 C, 198 C, Sophist 233 B, 225 B, but less so than ἐρίζειν in Protag. 337 A. 289 Men may deny the reality of the conventional virtues but not of the ultimate sanction, whatever it is. Cf. Theaet. 167 C, 172 A-B, and Shorey in Class. Phil. xvi (1921) pp. 164-168. 290 Cf. Gorg. 468 Bτὸ ἀγαθὸν ἄρα διώκοντες, 505 A-B, Phileb. 20 D, Symp. 206 A, Euthyd. 278 E, Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1173 a, 1094 a οὗ πάντα ἐφίεται, Zeller, Aristot. i. pp. 344-345, 379, Boethius iii. 10, Dante, Purg. xvii. 127-129. 291 Cf. Phileb. 64 Aμαντευτέον. Cf. Arnold's phrase, God and the Bible, chap. i. p. 23 “approximate language thrown out as it were at certain great objects which the human mind augurs and feels after.” 292 As throughout the minor dialogues. Cf. What Plato Said, p. 71. 293 Because, in the language of Platonic metaphysics, it is the παρουσία τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ that makes them good; but for the practical purpose of ethical theory, because they need the sanction. Cf. Introd. p. xxvii, and Montaigne i. 24 “Toute aultre science est dommageable à celuy qui n'a Ia science de la bonté.” 294 As in the “longer way” Plato is careful not to commit himself to a definition of the ideal or the sanction, but postulates it for his guardians. 295 The personal or ab urbe condita construction. Cf. Theaet. 169 E. 296 the guardians must be able to give a reason, which they can do only by reference to the sanction. For the idea that the statesman must know better than other men. Cf. Laws 968 A, 964 C, 858 C-E, 817 C, Xen Mem. iii. 6. 8.
42
297 For the effect of the future perfect cf. 457 Bλελέξεται465 Aπροστετάξεται, Eurip.Heracleidae 980πεπράξεται. 298 For the personal construction 348 E, Isoc.To Nic.I. καταφανής is a variation in this idiom for δῆλος. Cf. also Theaet. 189 C, Symp. 221 B, Charm. 162 C, etc. 299 Cf. 367 D-E. 300 This is not a contradiction of Meno 97 B, Theaet. 201 B-C and Phileb. 62 A-B, but simply a different context and emphasis. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 47, nn. 338 and 339. 301 Cf. on 484 C, Phaedr. 270 E. 302 Probably an allusion to the revelation of the mysteries. Cf. Phaedr. 250 C, Phileb. 16 C, rep. 518 C, 478 C, 479 D, 518 A. It is fantastic to see in it a reference to what Cicero calls the lumina orationis of Isocratean style. The rhetoric and synonyms of this passage are not to be pressed. 303 Cf. Phileb. 64 Cἐπὶ μὲν τοῖς τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἤδη προθύροις, “we are now in the vestibule of the good.” 304 καὶ μάλα, “jolly well,” humorous emphasis on the point that it is much easier to “define” the conventional virtues than to explain the “sanction.” Cf. Symp. 189 A, Euthydem. 298 D-E, Herod. viii. 66. It is frequent in the Republic. Ritter gives forty-seven cases. I have fifty-four! But the point that matters is the humorous tone. Cf. e.g. 610 E. 305 Excess of Zeal,προθυμία, seemed laughable to the Greeks. Cf. my interpretation of Iliad i. in fine, Class. Phil. xxii. (1927） pp. 222-223.
306 Cf. More, Principia Ethica, p. 17 “Good, then, is indefinable; and yet, so far as I know, there is only one ethical writer, Professor Henry Sidgwick, who has clearly recognized and stated this fact.” 307 This is not superstitious mysticism but a deliberate refusal to confine in a formula what requires either a volume or a symbol. See Introd. p. xxvii, and my Idea of Good in Plato's Republic, p. 212. τὰ νῦν repeats τὸ νῦν εἶναι(Cf. Tim. 48 C), as the evasive phrase εἰσαῦθις below sometimes lays the topic on the table, never to be taken up again. Cf. 347 E and 430 C. 308 Cf. Laws 897 D-E, Phaedr. 246 A. 309 This playful interlude relieves the monotony of the argument and is a transition to the symbolism.τόκος means both interest and offspring. Cf. 555 E, Polit. 267 A, Aristoph.Clouds 34, Thesm. 845, Pindar, Ol. x. 12. the equivocation, which in other languages became a metaphor, has played a great part in the history of opinion about usury. Cf. the article “Usury” in Hastings's Encyclopaedia of Relig. and Ethics. 310 Cf. 475 E f. Plato as often begins by a restatement of the theory of ideas, i.e. practically of the distinction between the concept and the objects of sense. Cf. Rep. 596 A ff., Phaedo 108 b ff. 311 The modern reader will never understand Plato from translation that talk about “Being.” Cf. What Plato Said, p. 605. 312 ὃ ἔστιν is technical for the reality of the ideas. Cf. Phaedo 75 B, D, 78 D, Parmen. 129 B, Symp. 211 C, Rep. 490 B, 532 A, 597 A. 313 Creator,δημιουργός, God, the gods, and nature, are all virtual synonyms in such passages. 314 Cf. Phaedr. 259 D, Tim. 45 B. 315 This is literature, not science. Plato knew that sound required a medium, Tim. 67 B. But the statement here is true enough to illustrate the thought. 316 Lit. “kind of thing,”γένος. Cf. 507 C-D. 317 Cf. Troland, The Mystery of Mind, p. 82: “In order that there should be vision, it is not sufficient that a physical object should exist before the eyes. there must also be a source of so-called ‘light.’” 318 Plato would not have tried to explain this loose colloquial genitive, and we need not. 319 The loose Herodotean-Thucydidean-Isocratean use of ἰδέα. Cf. Laws 689 Dκαὶ τὸ σμικρότατον εἶδος. “Form” over-translates ἰδέᾳ here, which is little more than a synonym for γένος above. Cf. Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 250. 320 Plato was willing to call the stars gods as the barbarians did (Cratyl. 397 D, Aristoph.Peace 406 ff., Herod. iv. 188). Cf. Laws 821 B, 899 B, 950 D, Apol. 26 D, Epinomis 985 B, 988 B. 321 Cf. my Idea of good in Plato's Republic pp. 223-225, Reinhardt, Kosmos und Sympathie, pp. 374-384. Mediaeval writers have much to say of Platos mysterious Tagathon. Aristotle, who rejects the idea of good, uses τἀγαθόν in much the same way. It is naive to take the language of Platonic unction too literally. Cf. What Plato Said, pp. 394 ff. 322 Cf. 509 A, Plotinus, Enn. i. 6. 9οὐ γὰρ ἂν πώποτε εἶδεν ὀφθαλμὸς ἥλιον ἡλιοειδὴς μὴ γεγενημένος and vi. 7. 19, Cic.Tusc.. i. 25. 73 in fine “quod si in hoc mundo fieri sine deo non potest, ne in sphaera quidem eosdem motus Archimedes sine divino ingenio potuisset imitare,” Manilius ii. 115: Quis caelum posset nisi caeli munere nosse, Et reperire deum nisi qui pars ipse deorum? 323 i.e. creation was the work of benevolent design. This is one of the few passages in the Republic where the idea of good is considered in relation to the universe, a thesis reserved for poetical or mythical development in the Timaeus. It is idle to construct a systematic metaphysical theology for Plato by identification of τἀγαθόν here either with god or with the ideas as a whole. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p 512. 324 Cf. Gorg. 465 B-C, 510 A-B, 511 E, 530 D, 534 A, 576 C, Phaedo 111 A-B, Tim. 29 C, 32 A-B. For ἀνάλογον in this sense cf. 511 E, 534 A, Phaedo 110 D. 325 Plato's rhetoric is not to be pressed. Truth, being the good, are virtual synonyms. Still, for Plato's ethical and political philosophy the light that
makes things intelligible is the idea of good, i.e. the “sanction,” and not, as some commentators insist, the truth. 326 No absolute distinction can be drawn between εἶδος and ἰδέα in Plato. But ἰδέα may be used o carry the notion of “apprehended aspect” which I think is more pertinent here than the metaphysical entity of the idea, though of course Plato would affirm that. Cf. 379 A, Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 35, What Plato Said, p. 585, Class. Phil. xx. (1925) p. 347. 327 The meaning is clear. we really understand and know anything only when we apprehend its purpose, the aspect of the good that it reveals. Cf. Introd. pp. xxxv-xxxvi. the position and case of γιγνωσκομένης are difficult. But no change proposed is any improvement. 328 Plato likes to cap a superlative by a further degree of completeness, a climax beyond the climax. Cf. 405 Bαἴσχιστον . . . αἴσχιον, 578 B, Symp. 180 A-B and Bury ad loc. The same characteristic can be observed in his method, e.g. in the Symposium where Agathon's speech, which seems the climax, is surpassed by that of Socrates: similarly in the Gorgias and the tenth book of the Republic, Cf. Friedländer, Platon, i. p. 174, Introd. p. lxi. This and the next half page belong, I think, to rhetoric rather than to systematic metaphysics. Plato the idealist uses transcendental language of his ideal, and is never willing to admit that expression has done justice to it. But Plato the rationalist distinctly draws the line between his religious language thrown out at an object and his definite logical and practical conclusions. Cf. e.g. Meno 81 D-E. 329 ἀγαθοειδῆ occurs only here in classical Greek literature. Plato quite probably coined it for his purpose. 330 There is no article in the Greek. Plato is not scrupulous to distinguish good and the good here. cf. on 505 C, p. 89, note f. 331 ἕξις is not yet in Plato quite the technical Aristotelian “habit.” However Protag. 344 C approaches it. Cf. also Phileb. 11 D, 41 C, Ritter-Preller, p. 285. Plato used many words in periphrasis with the genitive, e.g.ἕξιςLaws 625 C,γένεσιςLaws 691 B, Tim. 73 B, 76 E,μοῖραPhaedr. 255 B, 274 E, Menex. 249 B,φύσιςPhaedo 109 E, Symp. 186 B, Laws 729 C, 845 D, 944 D, etc. He may have chosen ἕξις here to suggest the ethical aspect of the good as a habit or possession of the soul. The introduction of ἡδονή below supports this view. Some interpreters think it=τὸ ἀγαθὸν ὡς ἔχει, which is possible but rather pointless. 332 For οὐ γὰρ δήπου Cf. Apol. 20 C, Gorg. 455 A, Euthyph. 13 A. 333 i.e. not only do we understand a thing when we know its purpose, but a purpose in some mind is the chief cause of its existence, God's mind for the universe, man's mind for political institutions. this, being the only interpretation that makes sense o the passage, is presumably more or less consciously Plato's meaning. Cf. Introd. pp. xxxv-xxxvi. Quite irrelevant are Plato's supposed identification of the ἀγαθόν with the ἕν, one, and Aristotle's statement, Met. 988 a, that the ideas are the cause of other things and the one is the cause of the ideas. the remainder of the paragraph belongs to transcendental rhetoric. It has been endlessly quoted and plays a great part in Neoplatonism, in all philosophies of the unknowable and in all negative and mystic theologies. 334 It is an error to oppose Plato here to the Alexandrians who sometimes said ἐπέκεινα τοῦ ὄντος. Plato's sentence would have made ὄντος very inconvenient here. But εἶναι shows that οὐσίας is not distinguished from τοῦ ὄντος here. ἐπέκεινα became technical and a symbol for the transcendental in Neoplatonism and all similar philosophies. cf. Plotinus xvii. 1, Dionysius Areop.De divinis nominibus, ii. 2, Friedländer, Platon, i. p. 87. 335 He is amused at Socrates' emphasis. Fanciful is Wilamowitz' notion (Platon, i. p. 209)that the laughable thing is Glaucon's losing control of himself, for which he compares Aristoph.Birds 61. Cf. the extraordinary comment of Proclus, p. 265. The dramatic humor of Glaucon's surprise is Plato's way of smiling at himself, as he frequently does in the dialogues. Cf. 536 B, 540 B, Lysis 223 B, Protag. 340 E, Charm. 175 E, Cratyl. 426 B, Theaet. 200 B, 197 D, etc. Cf. Friedländer, Platon, i. p. 172 on the Phaedo. 336 “What a comble!” would be nearer the tone of the Greek. There is no good English equivalent for ὑπερβολῆς. Cf. Sir Thomas Browne's remark that “nothing can be said hyperbolically of God.” The banter here relieves the strain, as is Plato's manner. 337 Cf. 502 A, Symp. 222 E, Meno 86 E. 338 Cf. the similar etymological pun in Cratyl. 396 B-C. Here, as often, the translator must choose between over-translating for some tastes, or not translating at all. 339 The meaning is given in the text. Too many commentators lose the meaning in their study of the imagery. Cf. the notes of Adam, Jowett, Campbell, and Apelt. See Introd. p. xxi for my interpretation of the passage. 340 Some modern and ancient critics prefer ἀν᾽ ἴσα. It is a little more plausible to make the sections unequal. But again there is doubt which shall be longer, the higher as the more honorable or the lower as the more multitudinous. Cf. Plut.Plat. Quest. 3. 341 Cf. 402 B, Soph. 266 B-C. 342 Cf. on 508 C, p. 103. note b. 343 Cf. my Idea of good in Plato's republic, pp. 230-234, for the ἀνυπόθετον. Ultimately, the ἀνυπόθετον is the Idea of Good so far as we assume that idea to be attainable either in ethics or in physics. But it is the Idea of Good, not as a transcendental ontological mystery, but in the ethical sense already explained. The ideal dialectician is the man who can, if challenged, run his reasons for any given proposition back, not to some assumed axioma medium, but to its relation to ultimate Good, To call the ἀνυπόθετον the
43
Unconditioned or Absolute introduces metaphysical associations foreign to the passage. Cf. also Introd. pp. xxxiii-xxxiv. 344 The practical meaning of this is independent of the disputed metaphysics. Cf. Introd. pp. xvi-xviii. 345 Cf. Vol. I. p. 79, note c on 347 A and p. 47, not f on 338 D; What Plato Said, p. 503 on Gorg. 463 D. 346 Aristot.top. 100 b 2-3οὐ δεῖ γὰρ ἐν ταῖς ἐπιστημονικαῖς ἀρχαῖς ἐπιζητεῖσθαι τὸ διὰ τί, exactly expresses Plato's thought and the truth, though Aristotle may have meant it mainly for the principle of non- contradiction and other first principles of logic. Cf. the mediaeval “contra principium negantem non est disputandum.” A teacher of geometry will refuse to discuss the psychology of the idea of space, a teacher of chemistry will not permit the class to ask whether matter is “real.” 347 Cf. 527 A-B. This explanation of mathematical reasoning does not differ at all from that of Aristotle and Berkely and the moderns who praise Aristotle, except that the metaphysical doctrine of ideas is in the background to be asserted if challenged. 348 i.e. a bronze sphere would be the original of its imitative reflection in water, but it is in turn only the imperfect imitation of the mathematical idea of a sphere. 349 Stenzel, Handbuch, 118 “das er nur mit dem Verstande(διανοίᾳ)sieht” is mistaken. διανοίᾳ is used not in its special sense (“understanding.” See p. 116, note c), but generally for the mind as opposed to the senses. Cf. 511 c. 350 For the concessive μέν cf. 546 E, 529 D, Soph. 225 C. 351 The loosely appended dative ἐκείνοις is virtually a dative absolute. Cf. Phaedo 105 A. Wilamowitz' emendation (Platon, ii. p. 384) to πρὸς ἐκεῖνα, καὶ ἐκείνοις rests on a misunderstanding of the passage. 352 The translation of this sentence is correct. But cf. Adam ad loc. 353 λόγος here suggests bot the objective personified argument and the subjective faculty. 354 Cf. 533 A.Phileb. 57 E. 355 τῷ ὄντι emphasized the etymological meaning of the word. Similarly ὡς ἀληθῶς in 551 E, Phaedo 80 D, Phileb. 64 E. For hypotheses cf. Burnet, Greek Philosophy, p. 229, Thompson on Meno 86 E. But the thing to note is that the word according to the context may emphasize the arbitrariness of an assumption or the fact that it is the starting-point—ἀπχή—of the inquiry. 356 Cf. Symp. 211 Cὥσπερ ἐπαναβάσμοις, “like steps of a stair.” 357 παντὸς ἀρχήν taken literally leads support to the view that Plato is thinking of an absolute first principle. But in spite of the metaphysical suggestions for practical purposes the παντὸς ἀρχή may be the virtual equivalent of the ἱκανόν of the Phaedo. It is the ἀρχή on which all in the particular case depends and is reached by dialectical agreement, not by arbitrary assumption. Cf. on 510 B, p. 110, note a. 358 This is one of the passages that are misused to attribute to Plato disdain for experience and the perceptions of the senses. Cf. on 530 B, p. 187, note c. The dialectician is able to reason purely in concepts and words without recurring to images. Plato is not here considering how much or little of his knowledge is ultimately derived from experience. 359 The description undoubtedly applies to a metaphysical philosophy that deduces all things from a transcendent first principle. I have never denied that. The point of my interpretation is that it also describes the method which distinguishes the dialectician as such from the man of science, and that this distinction is for practical and educational purposes the chief result of the discussion, as Plato virtually says in the next few lines. Cf. What Plato Said, pp. 233-234. 360 διανοίᾳ here as in 511 A is general and not technical. 361 νοῦν οὐκ ἴσχειν is perhaps intentionally ambiguous. Colloquially the phrase means “have not sense.” for its higher meaning Cf. Meno 99 C, Laws 962 A. 362 Unnecessary difficulties have been raised about καίτοι and μετά here. Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 345 mistakenly resorts to emendation. the meaning is plain. Mathematical ideas are ideas or concepts like other ideas; but the mathematician does not deal with them quiet as the dialectician deals with ideas and therefore does not possess νοῦς or reason in the highest sense. 363 Here the word διάνοια is given a technical meaning as a faculty inferior to νοῦς, but, as Plato says, the terminology does not matter. The question has been much and often idly discussed. 364 For ἐπί Cf. Polit. 280 A, Gorg. 463 B. 365 πίστις is of course not “faith” in Plato, but Neoplatonists, Christians, and commentators have confused the two ideas hopelessly. 366 εἰκασία undoubtedly had this connotation for Plato. 367 Cf. on 508 C, p. 103, note b.
BOOK VII
[514a] “Next,” said I, “compare our nature in
respect of education and its lack to such an
experience as this. Picture men dwelling in a sort
of subterranean cavern1 with a long entrance
open2 to the light on its entire width. Conceive
them as having their legs and necks fettered3 from
childhood, so that they remain in the same spot,
[514b] able to look forward only, and prevented by
the fetters from turning their heads. Picture
further the light from a fire burning higher up and
at a distance behind them, and between the fire
and the prisoners and above them a road along
which a low wall has been built, as the exhibitors
of puppet-shows4 have partitions before the men
themselves, above which they show the puppets.”
“All that I see,” he said. “See also, then, men
carrying5 past the wall [514c] implements of all
kinds that rise above the wall, and human images
[515a] and shapes of animals as well, wrought in
stone and wood and every material, some of these
bearers presumably speaking and others silent.” “A
strange image you speak of,” he said, “and strange
prisoners.” “Like to us,” I said; “for, to begin with,
tell me do you think that these men would have
seen anything of themselves or of one another
except the shadows cast from the fire on the wall
of the cave that fronted them?” “How could they,”
he said, “if they were compelled [515b] to hold
their heads unmoved through life?” “And again,
would not the same be true of the objects carried
past them?” “Surely.” “If then they were able to
talk to one another, do you not think that they
would suppose that in naming the things that they
saw6 they were naming the passing objects?”
“Necessarily.” “And if their prison had an echo7
from the wall opposite them, when one of the
passersby uttered a sound, do you think that they
would suppose anything else than the passing
shadow to be the speaker?” “By Zeus, I do not,”
said he. “Then in every way [515c] such prisoners
would deem reality to be nothing else than the
shadows of the artificial objects.” “Quite
inevitably,” he said. “Consider, then, what would
be the manner of the release8 and healing from
these bonds and this folly if in the course of
nature9 something of this sort should happen to
them: When one was freed from his fetters and
compelled to stand up suddenly and turn his head
around and walk and to lift up his eyes to the
light, and in doing all this felt pain and, because of
the dazzle and glitter of the light, was unable to
discern the objects whose shadows he formerly
saw, [515d] what do you suppose would be his
answer if someone told him that what he had seen
before was all a cheat and an illusion, but that
now, being nearer to reality and turned toward
44
more real things, he saw more truly? And if also
one should point out to him each of the passing
objects and constrain him by questions to say
what it is, do you not think that he would be at a
loss10 and that he would regard what he formerly
saw as more real than the things now pointed out
to him?” “Far more real,” he said.
“And if he were compelled to look at the light
itself, [515e] would not that pain his eyes, and
would he not turn away and flee to those things
which he is able to discern and regard them as in
very deed more clear and exact than the objects
pointed out?” “It is so,” he said. “And if,” said I,
“someone should drag him thence by force up the
ascent11 which is rough and steep, and not let him
go before he had drawn him out into the light of
the sun, do you not think that he would find it
painful to be so haled along, and would chafe at it,
and when [516a] he came out into the light, that
his eyes would be filled with its beams so that he
would not be able to see12 even one of the things
that we call real?” “Why, no, not immediately,” he
said. “Then there would be need of habituation, I
take it, to enable him to see the things higher up.
And at first he would most easily discern the
shadows and, after that, the likenesses or
reflections in water13 of men and other things, and
later, the things themselves, and from these he
would go on to contemplate the appearances in
the heavens and heaven itself, more easily by
night, looking at the light [516b] of the stars and
the moon, than by day the sun and the sun's
light.14” “Of course.” “And so, finally, I suppose, he
would be able to look upon the sun itself and see
its true nature, not by reflections in water or
phantasms of it in an alien setting,15 but in and by
itself in its own place.” “Necessarily,” he said. “And
at this point he would infer and conclude that this
it is that provides the seasons and the courses of
the year and presides over all things in the visible
region, [516c] and is in some sort the cause16 of all
these things that they had seen.” “Obviously,” he
said, “that would be the next step.” “Well then, if
he recalled to mind his first habitation and what
passed for wisdom there, and his fellow-
bondsmen, do you not think that he would count
himself happy in the change and pity them17?” “He
would indeed.” “And if there had been honors and
commendations among them which they
bestowed on one another and prizes for the man
who is quickest to make out the shadows as they
pass and best able to remember their customary
precedences, [516d] sequences and co-existences,18
and so most successful in guessing at what was to
come, do you think he would be very keen about
such rewards, and that he would envy and
emulate those who were honored by these
prisoners and lorded it among them, or that he
would feel with Homer19 and “‘greatly prefer while
living on earth to be serf of another, a landless
man,’”Hom. Od. 11.489 and endure anything
rather than opine with them [516e] and live that
life?” “Yes,” he said, “I think that he would choose
to endure anything rather than such a life.” “And
consider this also,” said I, “if such a one should go
down again and take his old place would he not
get his eyes full20 of darkness, thus suddenly
coming out of the sunlight?” “He would indeed.”
“Now if he should be required to contend with
these perpetual prisoners [517a] in 'evaluating'
these shadows while his vision was still dim and
before his eyes were accustomed to the dark—and
this time required for habituation would not be
very short—would he not provoke laughter,21 and
would it not be said of him that he had returned
from his journey aloft with his eyes ruined and
that it was not worth while even to attempt the
ascent? And if it were possible to lay hands on and
to kill the man who tried to release them and lead
them up, would they not kill him22?” “They
certainly would,” he said.
“This image then, dear Glaucon, we must apply as
a whole to all that has been said, [517b] likening
the region revealed through sight to the
habitation of the prison, and the light of the fire in
it to the power of the sun. And if you assume that
the ascent and the contemplation of the things
above is the soul's ascension to the intelligible
region,23 you will not miss my surmise, since that
is what you desire to hear. But God knows24
whether it is true. But, at any rate, my dream as it
appears to me is that in the region of the known
the last thing to be seen and hardly seen is the
idea of good, [517c] and that when seen it must
needs point us to the conclusion that this is
indeed the cause for all things of all that is right
and beautiful, giving birth25 in the visible world to
light, and the author of light and itself in the
intelligible world being the authentic source of
truth and reason, and that anyone who is to act
wisely26 in private or public must have caught
sight of this.” “I concur,” he said, “so far as I am
45
able.” “Come then,” I said, “and join me in this
further thought, and do not be surprised that
those who have attained to this height are not
willing27 to occupy themselves with the affairs of
men, but their souls ever feel the upward urge and
[517d] the yearning for that sojourn above. For
this, I take it, is likely if in this point too the
likeness of our image holds” “Yes, it is likely.” “And
again, do you think it at all strange,” said I, “if a
man returning from divine contemplations to the
petty miseries28 of men cuts a sorry figure29 and
appears most ridiculous, if, while still blinking
through the gloom, and before he has become
sufficiently accustomed to the environing
darkness, he is compelled in courtrooms30 or
elsewhere to contend about the shadows of justice
or the images31 that cast the shadows and to
wrangle in debate [517e] about the notions of
these things in the minds of those who have never
seen justice itself?” “It would be by no men
strange,” he said. “But a sensible man,” [518a] I
said, “would remember that there are two distinct
disturbances of the eyes arising from two causes,
according as the shift is from light to darkness or
from darkness to light,32 and, believing that the
same thing happens to the soul too, whenever he
saw a soul perturbed and unable to discern
something, he would not laugh33 unthinkingly, but
would observe whether coming from a brighter
life its vision was obscured by the unfamiliar
darkness, or [518b] whether the passage from the
deeper dark of ignorance into a more luminous
world and the greater brightness had dazzled its
vision.34 And so35 he would deem the one happy in
its experience and way of life and pity the other,
and if it pleased him to laugh at it, his laughter
would be less laughable than that at the expense
of the soul that had come down from the light
above.” “That is a very fair statement,” he said.
“Then, if this is true, our view of these matters
must be this, that education is not in reality what
some people proclaim it to be in their
professions.36 [518c] What they aver is that they
can put true knowledge into a soul that does not
possess it, as if they were inserting37 vision into
blind eyes.” “They do indeed,” he said. “But our
present argument indicates,” said I, “that the true
analogy for this indwelling power in the soul and
the instrument whereby each of us apprehends is
that of an eye that could not be converted to the
light from the darkness except by turning the
whole body. Even so this organ of knowledge must
be turned around from the world of becoming
together with the entire soul, like the scene-
shifting periact38 in the theater, until the soul is
able to endure the contemplation of essence and
the brightest region of being. [518d] And this, we
say, is the good,39 do we not?” “Yes.” “Of this very
thing, then,” I said, “there might be an art,40 an art
of the speediest and most effective shifting or
conversion of the soul, not an art of producing
vision in it, but on the assumption that it
possesses vision but does not rightly direct it and
does not look where it should, an art of bringing
this about.” “Yes, that seems likely,” he said. “Then
the other so-called virtues41 of the soul do seem
akin to those of the body. [518e] For it is true that
where they do not pre-exist, they are afterwards
created by habit42 and practice. But the excellence
of thought,43 it seems, is certainly of a more divine
quality, a thing that never loses its potency, but,
according to the direction of its conversion,
becomes useful and beneficent, [519a] or, again,
useless and harmful.
Notes
1 The image of the cave illustrates by another proportion the contrast between the world of sense-perception and the world of thought. Instead of going above the plane of ordinary experience for the other two members of the proportion, Plato here goes below and invents a fire and shadows cast from it on the walls of a cave to correspond to the sun and the “real” objects of sense. In such a proportion our “real” world becomes the symbol of Plato's ideal world. Modern fancy may read what meanings it pleases into the Platonic antithesis of the “real” and the “ideal.” It has even been treated as an anticipation of the fourth dimension. But Plato never leaves an attentive and critical reader in doubt as to his own intended meaning. there may be at the most a little uncertainty as to which are merely indispensable parts of the picture. The source and first suggestion of Plato's imagery is an interesting speculation, but it is of no significance for the interpretation of the thought. Cf. John Henry Wright, “The Origin of Plato's Cave” in Harvard Studies in Class. Phil. xvii. (1906) pp. 130-142. Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, pp. 89-90, thinks the allegory Orphic. Cf. also Wright, loc. cit. pp. 134-135. Empedocles likens our world to a cave, Diels i.3 269. Cf. Wright, loc. cit. Wright refers it to the Cave of Vari in Attica, pp. 140-142. Others have supposed that Plato had in mind rather the puppet and marionette shows to which he refers. Cf. Diès in Bulletin Budé,No. 14 (1927) pp. 8 f. The suggestiveness of the image has been endless. The most eloquent and frequently quoted passage of Aristotle's early writings is derived from it, Cic.De nat.deor. ii. 37. It is the source of Bacon's “idols of the den.” Sir Thomas Browne writes in Urne-Buriall: “We yet discourse in Plato's den and are but embryo philosophers.” Huxley's allegory of “Jack and the Beanstalk” in Evolution and Ethics, pp. 47 ff. is a variation on it. Berkeley recurs to it, Siris, 263. The Freudians would have still more fantastic interpretations. Cf. Jung, Analytic Psych. p. 232. Eddington perhaps glances at it when he attributes to the new physics the frank realization that physical science is concerned with a world of shadows 2 Cf. Phaedo 111 Cἀναπεπταμένους 3 Cf. Phaedo 67 E. 4 H. Rackham, CIass. Rev. xxix. pp. 77-78, suggests that the τοῖς θαυματοποιοῖς should be translated “at the marionettes” and be classed with καινοῖς τραγῳδοῖς(Pseph.ap.Dem. xviii. 116). For the dative he refers to Kuehner-Gerth, II. i. p. 445. 5 The men are merely a part of the necessary machinery of the image. Their shadows are not cast on the wall. The artificial objects correspond to the things of sense and opinion in the divided line, and the shadows to the world of reflections,εἰκόνες. 6 Cf. Parmen. 130 c, Tim. 51 B, 52 A, and my De Platonis Idearum doctrina, pp. 24-25; also E. Hoffmann in Wochenschrift f. klass. Phil. xxxvi. (1919) pp. 196-197. As we use the word tree of the trees we see, though the reality (αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστι) is the idea of a tree, so they would speak of the shadows as the
46
world, though the real reference unknown to them would be to the objects that cause the shadows, and back of the objects to the things of the “real” world of which they are copies. The general meaning, which is quite certain, is that they wold suppose the shadows to be the realities. The text and the precise turn of expression are doubtful. See crit. note.παριόντα is intentionally ambiguous in its application to the shadows or to the objects which cast them. They suppose that the names refer to the passing shadows, but (as we know) they really apply to the objects. Ideas and particulars are homonymous. Assuming a slight illogicality we can get somewhat the same meaning from the text ταὐτά. “Do you not think that they would identify the passing objects (which strictly speaking they do not know) with what they saw?” Cf. also P. Corssen, Philologische Wochenschrift, 1913, p. 286. He prefers οὐκ αὐτά and renders: “Sie würden in dem, was sie sähen, das Vorübergehende selbst zu benennen glauben.” 7 The echo and the voices (515 A) merely complete the picture. 8 Phaedo 67 Dλύειν, and 82 Dλύσει τε καὶ καθαρμῷ. λύσις became technical in Neoplatonism. 9 Lit. “by nature.” φύσις in Plato often suggests reality and truth. 10 The entire passage is an obvious allegory of the painful experience of one whose false conceit of knowledge is tested by the Socratic elenchus. Cf. Soph. 230 B-D, and for ἀπορεῖνMeno 80 A, 84 B-C, Theaet. 149 A, Apol. 23 D. Cf. also What Plato Said, p. 5123 on Meno 80 A, Eurip.Hippol. 247τὸ γὰρ ὀρθοῦσθαι γνώμαν ὀδυνᾷ, “it is painful to have one's opinions set right,” and 517 A, 494 D. 11 Cf. Theaet. 175 B, Boethius, Cons. iii. 12 “quicunque in superum diem mentem ducere quaeritis”; 529 A, 521 C, and the Neoplatonists' use of ἀνάγειν and their “anagogical” virtue and interpretation. Cf. Leibniz, ed. Gerhardt, vii. 270. 12 Cf. Laws 897 D, Phaedo 99 D. 13 Cf. Phaedo 99 D. Stallbaum says this was imitated by Themistius, Orat. iv. p. 51 B. 14 It is probably a mistake to look for a definite symbolism in all the details of this description. There are more stages of progress than the proportion of four things calls for. all that Plato's thought requires is the general contrast between an unreal and a real world, and the goal of the rise from one to the other in the contemplation of the sun, or the idea of good, Cf. 517 B-C. 15 i.e. a foreign medium. 16 Cf. 508 B, and for the idea of good as the cause of all things cf. on 509 B, and Introd. pp. xxxv-xxxvi. P. Corssen, Philol. Wochenschrift, 1913, pp. 287- 299, unnecessarily proposes to emend ὧν σφεῖς ἑώρων to ὧν σκιὰς ἑ. or ὧν σφεῖς σκιὰς ἑ., “ne sol umbrarum, quas videbant, auctor fuisse dicatur, cum potius earum rerum, quarum umbras videbant, fuerit auctor.” 17 Cf. on 486 a, p. 10, note a. 18 Another of Plato's anticipations of modern thought. This is precisely the Humian, Comtian, positivist, pragmatist view of causation. Cf. Gorg. 501 Aτριβῇ καὶ ἐμπειρίᾳ μνήμην μόνον σωζομένη τοῦ εἰθότος γίγνεσθαι“relying on routine and habitude for merely preserving a memory of what is wont to result.” (Loeb tr.) 19 The quotation is almost as apt as that at the beginning of the Crito. 20 On the metaphor of darkness and light cf. also Soph. 254 A. 21 Like the philosopher in the court-room. Cf. Theaet. 172 C, 173 C ff., Gorg.. 484 D-e. Cf. also on 387 C-D. 515 D, 517 D, Soph. 216 D, Laches 196 B, Phaedr. 249 D. 22 An obvious allusion to the fate of Socrates. For other stinging allusions to this Cf. Gorg. 486 B, 521 C, Meno 100 B-C. Cf. Hamlet's “Wormwood, wormwood” (III. ii. 191). The text is disputed. See crit. note. A. Drachmann, “Zu Platons Staat,”Hermes, 1926, p. 110, thinks that an οἴει or something like it must be understood as having preceded, at least in Plato's thought, and that ἀποκτείνειν can be taken as a gloss or variant of ἀποκτεινύναι and the correct reading must be λαβεῖν, καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι ἄν. See also Adam ad loc. 23 Cf. 508 B-C, where Arnou (Le Désir de dieu dans la philos. de Plotin, p. 48 and Robin (La Théorie plat. de l'amour, pp. 83-84) make τόπος νοητός refer to le ciel astronomique as opposed to the ὑπερουράνιος τόπος of the Phaedrus 247 A-E, 248 B, 248 D-249 A. The phrase νοητὸς κόσμος, often attributed to Plato, does not occur in his writings. 24 Plato was much less prodigal of affirmation about metaphysical ultimates than interpreters who take his myths literally have supposed. Cf. What Plato Said, p. 515, on Meno 86 B. 25 Cf. 506 E. 26 This is the main point for the Republic. The significance of the idea of good for cosmogony is just glanced at and reserved for the Timaeus. Cf. on 508 B, p. 102, note a and p. 505-506. For the practical application Cf. Meno 81 D-E. See also Introd. pp. xxxv-xxxvi. 27 Cf. 521 A, 345 E, and Vol. I. on 347 D, p. 81, note d. 28 Cf. 346 E. 29 Cf. Theaet. 174 Cἀσχημοσύνη. 30 For the contrast between the philosophical and the pettifogging soul Cf. Theaet. 173 C-175 E. Cf. also on 517 A, p 128, note b. 31 For ἀγαλμάτων cf. my Idea of Good in Plato's Republic, p. 237, Soph. 234 C, Polit. 303 C. 32 Aristotle, De an. 422 a 20 f. says the over-bright is ἀόρατον but otherwise than the dark. 33 Cf. Theaet. 175 D-E. 34 Lit. “or whether coming from a deeper ignorance into a more luminous world, it is dazzled by the brilliance of a greater light.”
35 i.e. only after that. For οὕτω δή in this sense cf. 484 D, 429 D, 443 E, Charm. 171 E. 36 ἐπαγγελλόμενοι connotes the boastfulness of their claims. Cf. Protag. 319 A, Gorg. 447 c, Laches 186 C, Euthyd. 273 E, Isoc.Soph. 1, 5, 9, 10, Antid. 193, Xen.Mem. iii. 1. 1, i. 2. 8, Aristot.Rhet. 1402 a 25. 37 Cf. Theognis 429 ff. Stallbaum compares Eurip.Hippol. 917 f. Similarly Anon. Theaet. Comm.(Berlin, 1905), p. 32, 48. 4καὶ δεῖν αὐτῇ οὐκ ἐνθέσεως μαθημάτων, ἀλλὰ ἀναμνήσεως. Cf. also St. Augustine: “Nolite putare quemquam hominem aliquid discere ab homine. Admonere possumus per strepitum vocis nostrae;” and Emerson's “strictly speaking, it is not instruction but provocation that I can receive from another soul.” 38 περιακτέον is probably a reference to the περίακτοι or triangular prisms on each side of the stage. They revolved on an axis and had different scenes painted on their three faces. Many scholars are of the opinion that they were not known in the classical period, as they are mentioned only by late writers; but others do not consider this conclusive evidence, as a number of classical plays seem to have required something of the sort. Cf. O. Navarre in Daremberg-Saglio s.v. Machine, p. 1469. 39 Hard-headed distaste for the unction or seeming mysticism of Plato's language should not blind us to the plain meaning. Unlike Schopenhauer, who affirms the moral will to be unchangeable, Plato says that men may be preached and drilled into ordinary morality, but that the degree of their intelligence is an unalterable endowment of nature. Some teachers will concur. 40 Plato often distinguishes the things that do or do not admit of reduction to an art or science. Cf. on 488 E p. 22, note b. Adam is mistaken in taking it “Education (ἡ παιδεία) would be an art,” etc. 41 This then is Plato's answer (intended from the first) to the question whether virtue can be taught, debated in the Protagoras and Meno. The intellectual virtues (to use Aristotle's term), broadly speaking, cannot be taught; they are a gift. And the highest moral virtue is inseparable from rightly directed intellectual virtue. Ordinary moral virtue is not rightly taught in democratic Athens, but comes by the grace of God. In a reformed state it could be systematically inculcated and “taught.” Cf. What Plato Said, pp. 51-512 on Meno 70 A. but we need not infer that Plato did not believe in mental discipline. cf. Charles Fox, Educational Psychology, p. 164 “The conception of mental discipline is a least as old as Plato, as may be seen from the seventh book of the Republic . . .” 42 Cf. Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1103 a 14-17ἡ δὲ ἠθικὴ ἐξ ἔθους. Plato does not explicitly name “ethical” and “intellectual” virtues. Cf. Fox, op. cit. p. 104 “Plato correctly believed . . . 43 Plato uses such synonyms as φρόνησις, σοφία, νοῦς, διάνοια, etc., as suits his purpose and context. He makes no attempt to define and discriminate them with impracticable Aristotelian meticulousness. 44 Cf. Theaet. 176 D, Laws 689 C-D, Cic.De offic. i. 19, and also Laws 819 A. 45 Cf. Theaet. 195 A, ibid. 173 Aσμικροὶ . . . τὰς ψυχάς, Marcus Aurelius’ψυχάριον εἶ βαστάζων νεκρόν, Swinburne's “A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man” (“Hymn to Proserpine,” in fine), Tennyson's “If half the little soul is dirt.” 46 Lit. “Toward which it is turned.” 47 The meaning is plain, the precise nature of the image that carries it is doubtful. Jowett's “circumcision” was suggested by Stallbaum's “purgata ac circumcisa,” but carries alien associations. The whole may be compared with the incrustation of the soul, 611 C-D, and with Phaedo 81 B f. 48 Or “eye of the mind.” Cf. 533 D, Sym. 219 A, Soph. 254 A, Aristot.Eth. 1144 a 30 , and the parallels and imitations collected by Gomperz, Apol. der Heilkunst, 166-167. cf. also What Plato Said, p. 534, on Phaedo 99 E, Ovid, Met. 15.64: “. . . quae natura negabat Visibus humanis, oculis ea pectoris hausit.” Cf. Friedlander, Platon, i. pp. 12-13, 15, and perhaps Odyssey, i. 115, Marc. Aurel. iv. 29καταμύειν τῷ νοερῷ ὄμματι. 49 For likely and necessary cf. on 485 C, p. 6, note c. 50 σκοπόν: this is what distinguishes the philosophic statesman from the opportunist politician. Cf. 452 E, Laws 962 A-B, D, Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 18 n. 102.
BOOK VIII
Are you aware, then,” said I, “that there must be as
many types of character among men as there are
forms of government28? Or do you suppose that
constitutions spring from the proverbial oak or
rock29 and not from the characters30 of the
citizens, [544e] which, as it were, by their
momentum and weight in the scales31 draw other
things after them?” “They could not possibly come
from any other source,” he said. “Then if the forms
of government are five, the patterns of individual
47
souls must be five also.” “Surely.” “Now we have
already described the man corresponding to
aristocracy32 or the government of the best,
whom we aver to be the truly good and just man.”
[545a] “We have.” “Must we not, then, next after
this, survey the inferior types, the man who is
contentious and covetous of honor,33
corresponding to the Laconian constitution, and
the oligarchical man in turn, and the democratic
and the tyrant, in order that,34 after observing the
most unjust of all, we may oppose him to the most
just, and complete our inquiry as to the relation of
pure justice and pure injustice in respect of the
happiness and unhappiness of the possessor, so
that we may either follow the counsel of
Thrasymachus and pursue injustice [545b] or the
present argument and pursue justice?”
“Assuredly,” he said, “that is what we have to
do.35” “Shall we, then, as we began by examining
moral qualities in states before individuals, as
being more manifest there, so now consider first
the constitution based on the love of honor? I do
not know of any special name36 for it in use. We
must call it either timocracy37 or timarchy. And
then in connection with this [545c] we will
consider the man of that type, and thereafter
oligarchy and the oligarch, and again, fixing our
eyes on democracy, we will contemplate the
democratic man: and fourthly, after coming to the
city ruled by a tyrant and observing it, we will in
turn take a look into the tyrannical soul,38 and so
try to make ourselves competent judges39 of the
question before us.” “That would be at least40 a
systematic and consistent way of conducting the
observation and the decision,” he said.
“Come, then,” said I, “let us try to tell in what way
a timocracy would arise out of an aristocracy.
[545d] Or is this the simple and unvarying rule,
that in every form of government revolution takes
its start from the ruling class itself,41 when
dissension arises in that, but so long as it is at one
with itself, however small it be, innovation is
impossible?” “Yes, that is so.” “How, then,
Glaucon,” I said, “will disturbance arise in our city,
and how will our helpers and rulers fall out and be
at odds with one another and themselves? Shall
we, like Homer, invoke the Muses42 to tell “‘how
faction first fell upon them,’”Hom. Il. 1.6 [545e]
and say that these goddesses playing with us and
teasing us as if we were children address us in
lofty, mock-serious tragic43 style?” [546a] “How?”
“Somewhat in this fashion. Hard in truth44 it is
for a state thus constituted to be shaken and
disturbed; but since for everything that has come
into being destruction is appointed,45 not even
such a fabric as this will abide for all time, but it
shall surely be dissolved, and this is the manner of
its dissolution. Not only for plants that grow from
the earth but also for animals that live upon it
there is a cycle of bearing and barrenness46 for
soul and body as often as the revolutions of their
orbs come full circle, in brief courses for the short-
lived and oppositely for the opposite; but the laws
of prosperous birth or infertility for your race,
[546b] the men you have bred to be your rulers
will not for all their wisdom ascertain by reasoning
combined with sensation,47 but they will escape
them, and there will be a time when they will
beget children out of season. Now for divine
begettings there is a period comprehended by a
perfect number,48 and for mortal by the first in
which augmentations dominating and dominated
when they have attained to three distances and
four limits of the assimilating and the
dissimilating, the waxing and the waning, render
all things conversable49 and commensurable
[546c] with one another, whereof a basal four-
thirds wedded to the pempad yields two
harmonies at the third augmentation, the one the
product of equal factors taken one hundred times,
the other of equal length one way but oblong,—
one dimension of a hundred numbers determined
by the rational diameters of the pempad lacking
one in each case, or of the irrational50 lacking
two; the other dimension of a hundred cubes of
the triad. And this entire geometrical number is
determinative of this thing, of better and inferior
births. [546d] And when your guardians, missing
this, bring together brides and bridegrooms
unseasonably,51 the offspring will not be well-born
or fortunate. Of such offspring the previous
generation will establish the best, to be sure, in
office, but still these, being unworthy, and having
entered in turn52 into the powers of their fathers,
will first as guardians begin to neglect us, paying
too little heed to music53 and then to gymnastics,
so that our young men will deteriorate in their
culture; and the rulers selected from them [546e]
will not approve themselves very efficient
guardians for testing [547a] Hesiod's and our races
of gold, silver, bronze and iron.54 And this
intermixture of the iron with the silver and the
bronze with the gold will engender unlikeness55
48
and an unharmonious unevenness, things that
always beget war and enmity wherever they arise.
“‘Of this lineage, look you,’”Hom. Il. 6.211 we must
aver the dissension to be, wherever it occurs and
always.” “‘And rightly too,’” he said, “we shall
affirm that the Muses answer.” “They must needs,”
I said, “since they are56 Muses.” [547b] “Well,
then,” said he, “what do the Muses say next?”
“When strife arose,” said I, “the two groups were
pulling against each other, the iron and bronze
towards money-making and the acquisition of
land and houses and gold and silver, and the other
two, the golden and silvern, not being poor, but by
nature rich in their souls,57 were trying to draw
them back to virtue and their original
constitution, and thus, striving and contending
against one another, they compromised58 on the
plan of distributing and taking for themselves the
land and the houses, [547c] enslaving and
subjecting as perioeci and serfs59 their former
friends60 and supporters, of whose freedom they
had been the guardians, and occupying
themselves with war and keeping watch over these
subjects.” “I think,” he said, “that this is the
starting-point of the transformation.” “Would not
this polity, then,” said I, “be in some sort
intermediate between aristocracy and oligarchy ?”
“By all means.”
“By this change, then, it would arise. But after the
change [547d] what will be its way of life? Is it not
obvious that in some things it will imitate the
preceding polity, in some the oligarchy, since it is
intermediate, and that it will also have some
qualities peculiar to itself?” “That is so,” he said.
“Then in honoring its rulers and in the abstention
of its warrior class from farming61 and handicraft
and money-making in general, and in the
provision of common public tables62 and the
devotion to physical training and expertness in the
game and contest of war—in all these traits it will
copy the preceding state?” “Yes.” “But in its fear
[547e] to admit clever men to office, since the men
it has of this kind are no longer simple63 and
strenuous but of mixed strain, and in its inclining
rather to the more high-spirited and simple-
minded type, who are better suited for war [548a]
than for peace, and in honoring the stratagems
and contrivances of war and occupying itself with
war most of the time—in these respects for the
most part its qualities will be peculiar to itself?”
“Yes.” “Such men,” said I, “will be avid of wealth,
like those in an oligarchy, and will cherish a fierce
secret lust for gold64 and silver, owning
storehouses65 and private treasuries where they
may hide them away, and also the enclosures66 of
their homes, literal private love-nests67 in which
they can lavish their wealth on their women68
[548b] and any others they please with great
expenditure.” “Most true,” he said. “And will they
not be stingy about money, since they prize it and
are not allowed to possess it openly, prodigal of
others' wealth69 because of their appetites,
enjoying70 their pleasures stealthily, and running
away from the law as boys from a father,71 since
they have not been educated by persuasion72 but
by force because of their neglect of the true Muse,
the companion of discussion and philosophy,
[548c] and because of their preference of
gymnastics to music?” “You perfectly describe,” he
said, “a polity that is a mixture73 of good and evil.”
“Why, yes, the elements have been mixed,” I said,
“but the most conspicuous74 feature in it is one
thing only, due to the predominance of the high-
spirited element, namely contentiousness and
covetousness of honor.75” “Very much so,” said he.
“Such, then, would be the origin and nature of this
polity if we may merely outline the figure [548d]
of a constitution in words and not elaborate it
precisely, since even the sketch will suffice to
show us the most just and the most unjust type of
man, and it would be an impracticable task to set
forth all forms76 of government without omitting
any, and all customs and qualities of men.” “Quite
right,” he said.
“What, then, is the man that corresponds to this
constitution? What is his origin and what his
nature?” “I fancy,” Adeimantus said, “that he
comes rather close77 to Glaucon here [548e] in
point of contentiousness.” “Perhaps,” said I, “in
that, but I do not think their natures are alike in
the following respects.” “In what?” “He will have to
be somewhat self-willed78 and lacking in
culture,79 yet a lover of music and fond of
listening80 to talk and speeches, though by no
means himself a rhetorician; [549a] and to slaves
such a one would be harsh,81 not scorning them as
the really educated do, but he would be gentle
with the freeborn and very submissive to officials,
a lover of office and of honor,82 not basing his
claim to office83 on ability to speak or anything of
that sort but on his exploits in war or preparation
for war, and he would be a devotee of gymnastics
49
and hunting.84” “Why, yes,” he said, “that is the
spirit of that polity.85” “And would not such a
man [549b] be disdainful of wealth too in his
youth, but the older he grew the more he would
love it because of his participation in the covetous
nature and because his virtue is not sincere and
pure since it lacks the best guardian?” “What
guardian?” said Adeimantus. “Reason,” said I,
“blended with culture,86 which is the only
indwelling preserver of virtue throughout life in
the soul that possesses it.” “Well said,” he replied.
“This is the character,” I said, “of the timocratic
youth, resembling the city that bears his name.”
“By all means.” [549c] “His origin87 is somewhat
on this wise: Sometimes he is the young son of a
good father who lives in a badly governed state
and avoids honors and office and law-suits and all
such meddlesomeness88 and is willing to forbear
something of his rights89 in order to escape
trouble.90” “How does he originate?” he said.
“Why, when, to begin with,” I said, “he hears his
mother complaining91 [549d] that her husband is
not one of the rulers and for that reason she is
slighted among the other women, and when she
sees that her husband is not much concerned
about money and does not fight and brawl in
private lawsuits and in the public assembly, but
takes all such matters lightly, and when she
observes that he is self-absorbed92 in his thoughts
and neither regards nor disregards her
overmuch,93 and in consequence of all this
laments and tells the boy that his father is too
slack94 and no kind of a man, with all the other
complaints [549e] with which women95 nag96 in
such cases.” “Many indeed,” said Adeimantus,
“and after their kind.97” “You are aware, then,”
said I, “that the very house-slaves of such men, if
they are loyal and friendly, privately say the same
sort of things to the sons, and if they observe a
debtor or any other wrongdoer whom the father
does not prosecute, they urge the boy to punish all
such when he grows to manhood [550a] and prove
himself more of a man than his father, and when
the lad goes out he hears and sees the same sort of
thing.98 Men who mind their own affairs99 in the
city are spoken of as simpletons and are held in
slight esteem, while meddlers who mind other
people's affairs are honored and praised. Then it
is100 that the youth, hearing and seeing such
things, and on the other hand listening to the
words of his father, and with a near view of his
pursuits contrasted with those of other men, is
solicited by both, his father [550b] watering and
fostering the growth of the rational principle101 in
his soul and the others the appetitive and the
passionate102; and as he is not by nature of a bad
disposition but has fallen into evil
communications,103 under these two solicitations
he comes to a compromise104 and turns over the
government in his soul105 to the intermediate
principle of ambition and high spirit and becomes
a man haughty of soul106 and covetous of
honor.107” “You have, I think, most exactly
described his origin.” [550c] “Then,” said I, “we
have our second polity and second type of man.”
“We have,” he said.
“Shall we then, as Aeschylus: would say, “‘tell of
another champion before another gate,’”Aesch.
Seven 451108 or rather, in accordance with our
plan,109 the city first?” “That, by all means,” he
said. “The next polity, I believe, would be
oligarchy.” “And what kind of a regime,” said he,
“do you understand by oligarchy?” “That based on
a property qualification,110” said I, “wherein the
rich hold office [550d] and the poor man is
excluded.” “I understand,” said he. “Then, is not
the first thing to speak of how democracy passes
over into this?” “Yes.” “And truly,” said I, “the
manner of the change is plain even to the
proverbial blind man.111” “How so?” “That
treasure-house112 which each possesses filled with
gold destroys that polity; for first they invent ways
of expenditure for themselves and pervert the laws
to this end, [550e] and neither they nor their wives
obey them.” “That is likely,” he said. “And then, I
take it, by observing and emulating one another
they bring the majority of them to this way of
thinking.” “That is likely,” he said. “And so, as time
goes on, and they advance113 in the pursuit of
wealth, the more they hold that in honor the less
they honor virtue. May not the opposition of
wealth and virtue114 be conceived as if each lay in
the scale115 of a balance inclining opposite ways?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “So, when wealth is
honored [551a] in a state, and the wealthy, virtue
and the good are less honored.” “Obviously.” “And
that which men at any time honor they
practise,116 and what is not honored is neglected.”
“It is so.” “Thus, finally, from being lovers of
victory and lovers of honor they become lovers of
gain-getting and of money, and they commend
and admire the rich man and put him in office but
despise the man who is poor.” “Quite so.” “And is
50
it not then that they pass a law [551b] defining the
limits117 of an oligarchical polity, prescribing118 a
sum of money, a larger sum where it is more119 of
an oligarchy, where it is less a smaller, and
proclaiming that no man shall hold office whose
property does not come up to the required
valuation? And this law they either put through by
force of arms, or without resorting to that they
establish their government by terrorization.120 Is
not that the way of it?” “It is.” “The establishment
then, one may say, is in this wise.” “Yes,” he said,
“but what is the character of this constitution, and
what are the defects that we said [551c] it had?”
“To begin with,” said I, “consider the nature of its
constitutive and defining principle. Suppose men
should appoint the pilots121 of ships in this way,
by property qualification, and not allow122 a poor
man to navigate, even if he were a better pilot.” “A
sorry voyage they would make of it,” he said. “And
is not the same true of any other form of rule?” “I
think so.” “Except of a city,” said I, “or does it hold
for a city too?” “Most of all,” he said, “by as much
as that is the greatest and most difficult123 rule of
all.” [551d] “Here, then, is one very great defect in
oligarchy.” “So it appears.” “Well, and is this a
smaller one?” “What?” “That such a city should of
necessity be not one,124 but two, a city of the rich
and a city of the poor, dwelling together, and
always plotting125 against one another.” “No, by
Zeus,” said he, “it is not a bit smaller.” “Nor,
further, can we approve of this—the likelihood
that they will not be able to wage war, because of
the necessity of either arming and employing the
multitude,126 [551e] and fearing them more than
the enemy, or else, if they do not make use of
them, of finding themselves on the field of battle,
oligarchs indeed,127 and rulers over a few. And to
this must be added their reluctance to contribute
money, because they are lovers of money.” “No,
indeed, that is not admirable.” “And what of the
trait we found fault with long ago128—the fact
that in such a state the citizens are busy-bodies
and jacks-of-all-trades, farmers, [552a] financiers
and soldiers all in one? Do you think that is right?”
“By no manner of means.” “Consider now whether
this polity is not the first that admits that which is
the greatest of all such evils.” “What?” “The
allowing a man to sell all his possessions,129 which
another is permitted to acquire, and after selling
them to go on living in the city, but as no part of
it,130 neither a money-maker, nor a craftsman, nor
a knight, nor a foot-soldier, but classified only as a
pauper131 and a dependent.” [552b] “This is the
first,” he said. “There certainly is no prohibition of
that sort of thing in oligarchical states. Otherwise
some of their citizens would not be excessively
rich, and others out and out paupers.” “Right.” “
But observe this. When such a fellow was
spending his wealth, was he then of any more use
to the state in the matters of which we were
speaking, or did he merely seem to belong to the
ruling class, while in reality he was neither ruler
nor helper in the state, but only a consumer of
goods132?” “It is so,” he said; “he only seemed, but
was [552c] just a spendthrift.” “Shall we, then, say
of him that as the drone133 springs up in the cell, a
pest of the hive, so such a man grows up in his
home, a pest of the state?” “By all means,
Socrates,” he said. “And has not God, Adeimantus,
left the drones which have wings and fly stingless
one and all, while of the drones here who travel
afoot he has made some stingless but has armed
others with terrible stings? And from the stingless
finally issue beggars in old age,134 [552d] but from
those furnished with stings all that are
denominated135 malefactors?” “Most true,” he
said. “It is plain, then,” said I, “that wherever you
see beggars in a city, there are somewhere in the
neighborhood concealed thieves and cutpurses
and temple-robbers and similar artists in crime.”
“Clearly,” he said. “Well, then, in oligarchical cities
do you not see beggars?” “Nearly all are such,” he
said, “except the ruling class.” “Are we not to
suppose, then, [552e] that there are also many
criminals in them furnished with stings, whom the
rulers by their surveillance forcibly136 restrain?”
“We must think so,” he said. “And shall we not say
that the presence of such citizens is the result of a
defective culture and bad breeding and a wrong
constitution of the state?” “We shall.” “Well, at
any rate such would be the character of the
oligarchical state, and these, or perhaps even more
than these, would be the evils that afflict it.”
“Pretty nearly these,” he said. [553a] “Then,” I said,
“let us regard as disposed of the constitution
called oligarchy, whose rulers are determined by a
property qualification.137 And next we are to
consider the man who resembles it—how he arises
and what after that his character is.” “Quite so,” he
said.
“Is not the transition from that timocratic youth to
the oligarchical type mostly on this wise?” “How?”
51
“When a son born to the timocratic man at first
emulates his father, and follows in his footsteps138
and then sees him [553b] suddenly dashed,139 as a
ship on a reef,140 against the state, and making
complete wreckage141 of both his possessions and
himself perhaps he has been a general, or has held
some other important office, and has then been
dragged into court by mischievous sycophants and
put to death or banished142 or outlawed and has
lost all his property—” “It is likely,” he said. “And
the son, my friend, after seeing and suffering these
things, and losing his property, grows timid, I
fancy, and forthwith thrusts headlong143 from his
bosom's throne144 [553c] that principle of love of
honor and that high spirit, and being humbled by
poverty turns to the getting of money, and
greedily145 and stingily and little by little by thrift
and hard work collects property. Do you not
suppose that such a one will then establish on that
throne the principle of appetite and avarice, and
set it up as the great king in his soul, adorned with
tiaras and collars of gold, and girt with the Persian
sword?” “I do,” he said. “And under this
domination he will force the rational [553d] and
high-spirited principles to crouch lowly to right
and left146 as slaves, and will allow the one to
calculate and consider nothing but the ways of
making more money from a little,147 and the
other to admire and honor nothing but riches and
rich men, and to take pride in nothing but the
possession of wealth and whatever contributes to
that?” “There is no other transformation so swift
and sure of the ambitious youth into the
avaricious type.” [553e] “Is this, then, our
oligarchical man?” said I. “He is developed, at any
rate, out of a man resembling the constitution
from which the oligarchy sprang.” [554a] “Let us
see, then, whether he will have a like character.”
“Let us see.”
“Would he not, in the first place, resemble it in
prizing wealth above everything?” “Inevitably.”
“And also by being thrifty and laborious, satisfying
only his own necessary148 appetites and desires
and not providing for expenditure on other things,
but subduing his other appetites as vain and
unprofitable?” “By all means.” “He would be a
squalid149 fellow,” said I, “looking for a surplus of
profit150 in everything, [554b] and a hoarder, the
type the multitude approves.151 Would not this be
the character of the man who corresponds to such
a polity?” “I certainly think so,” he said. “Property,
at any rate, is the thing most esteemed by that
state and that kind of man.” “That, I take it,” said
I, “is because he has never turned his thoughts to
true culture.” “I think not,” he said, “else he would
not have made the blind152 one leader of his choir
and first in honor.153” “Well said,” I replied. “But
consider this. Shall we not say that owing to this
lack of culture the appetites of the drone spring up
in him, [554c] some the beggarly, others the
rascally, but that they are forcibly restrained by his
general self-surveillance and self- control154?”
“We shall indeed,” he said. “Do you know, then,”
said I, “to what you must look to discern the
rascalities of such men?” “To what?” he said. “To
guardianships of orphans,155 and any such
opportunities of doing injustice with impunity.”
“True.” “And is it not apparent by this that in
other dealings, where he enjoys the repute of a
seeming just man, he by some better156 element
in himself [554d] forcibly keeps down other evil
desires dwelling within,157 not persuading them
that it ‘is better not’158 nor taming them by
reason, but by compulsion and fear, trembling for
his possessions generally.” “Quite so,” he said.
“Yes, by Zeus,” said I, “my friend. In most of them,
when there is occasion to spend the money of
others, you will discover the existence of drone-
like appetites.” “Most emphatically.” “Such a man,
then, would not be free from internal
dissension.159 He would not be really one, but in
some sort a double160 man. Yet for the most part,
[554e] his better desires would have the upper
hand over the worse.” “It is so.” “And for this
reason, I presume, such a man would be more
seemly, more respectable, than many others; but
the true virtue of a soul in unison and harmony161
with itself would escape him and dwell afar.” “I
think so.” “And again, the thrifty stingy man
would be a feeble competitor personally [555a] in
the city for any prize of victory or in any other
honorable emulation. He is unwilling to spend
money for fame and rivalries of that sort, and,
fearing to awaken his prodigal desires and call
them into alliance for the winning of the victory,
he fights in true oligarchical162 fashion with a
small part of his resources and is defeated for the
most part and—finds himself rich!163” “Yes
indeed,” he said. “Have we any further doubt,
then,” I said, “as to the correspondence and
resemblance164 between the thrifty and money-
making man [555b] and the oligarchical state?”
“None,” he said.
52
“We have next to consider, it seems, the origin
and nature of democracy, that we may next learn
the character of that type of man and range him
beside the others for our judgement.165” “That
would at least be a consistent procedure.” “Then,”
said I, “is not the transition from oligarchy to
democracy effected in some such way as this—by
the insatiate greed for that which it set before
itself as the good,166 the attainment of the
greatest possible wealth?” [555c] “In what way?”
“Why, since its rulers owe their offices to their
wealth, they are not willing to prohibit by law the
prodigals who arise among the youth from
spending and wasting their substance. Their
object is, by lending money on the property of
such men, and buying it in, to become still richer
and more esteemed.” “By all means.” “And is it not
at once apparent in a state that this honoring of
wealth is incompatible with a sober and temperate
citizenship,167 [555d] but that one or the other of
these two ideals is inevitably neglected.” “That is
pretty clear,” he said. “And such negligence and
encouragement of licentiousness168 in oligarchies
not infrequently has reduced to poverty men of no
ignoble quality.169” “It surely has.” “And there
they sit, I fancy, within the city, furnished with
stings, that is, arms, some burdened with debt,
others disfranchised, others both, hating and
conspiring against the acquirers of their estates
and the rest of the citizens, [555e] and eager for
revolution.170” “’Tis so.” “But these money-makers
with down-bent heads,171 pretending not even to
see172 them, but inserting the sting of their
money173 into any of the remainder who do not
resist, and harvesting from them in interest as it
were a manifold progeny of the parent sum, [556a]
foster the drone and pauper element in the state.”
“They do indeed multiply it,” he said. “And they
are not willing to quench the evil as it bursts into
flame either by way of a law prohibiting a man
from doing as he likes with his own,174 or in this
way, by a second law that does away with such
abuses.” “What law?” “The law that is next best,
and compels the citizens to pay heed to virtue.175
For if a law commanded that most voluntary
contracts176 should be at the contractor's risk,
[556b] the pursuit of wealth would be less
shameless in the state and fewer of the evils of
which we spoke just now would grow up there.”
“Much fewer,” he said. “But as it is, and for all
these reasons, this is the plight to which the rulers
in the state reduce their subjects, and as for
themselves and their off-spring, do they not make
the young spoiled177 wantons averse to toil of
body and mind, [556c] and too soft to stand up
against pleasure and pain,178 and mere idlers?”
“Surely.” “And do they not fasten upon themselves
the habit of neglect of everything except the
making of money, and as complete an indifference
to virtue as the paupers exhibit?” “Little they care.”
“And when, thus conditioned, the rulers and the
ruled are brought together on the march, in
wayfaring, or in some other common undertaking,
either a religious festival, or a campaign, or as
shipmates or fellow-soldiers [556d] or, for that
matter, in actual battle, and observe one another,
then the poor are not in the least scorned by the
rich, but on the contrary, do you not suppose it
often happens that when a lean, sinewy,
sunburnt179 pauper is stationed in battle beside a
rich man bred in the shade, and burdened with
superfluous flesh,180 and sees him panting and
helpless181—do you not suppose he will think that
such fellows keep their wealth by the
cowardice182 of the poor, and that when the latter
are together in private, [556e] one will pass the
word to another ‘our men are good for nothing’?”
“Nay, I know very well that they do,” said he. “And
just as an unhealthy body requires but a slight
impulse183 from outside to fall into sickness, and
sometimes, even without that, all the man is one
internal war, in like manner does not the
corresponding type of state need only a slight
occasion,184 the one party bringing in185 allies
from an oligarchical state, or the other from a
democratic, to become diseased and wage war
with itself, and sometimes even [557a] apart from
any external impulse faction arises186?” “Most
emphatically.” “And a democracy, I suppose,
comes into being when the poor, winning the
victory, put to death some of the other party, drive
out187 others, and grant the rest of the citizens an
equal share188 in both citizenship and offices—
and for the most part these offices are assigned by
lot.189” “Why, yes,” he said, “that is the
constitution of democracy alike whether it is
established by force of arms or by terrorism190
resulting in the withdrawal of one of the parties.”
“What, then,” said I, “is the manner of their life
[557b] and what is the quality of such a
constitution? For it is plain that the man of this
quality will turn out to be a democratic sort of
man.” “It is plain,” he said. “To begin with, are
53
they not free? and is not the city chock-full of
liberty and freedom of speech? and has not every
man licence191 to do as he likes?” “So it is said,” he
replied. “And where there is such licence, it is
obvious that everyone would arrange a plan192 for
leading his own life in the way that pleases him.”
“Obvious.” “All sorts193 and conditions of men,
[557c] then, would arise in this polity more than in
any other?” “Of course.” “Possibly,” said I, “this is
the most beautiful of polities as a garment of
many colors, embroidered with all kinds of hues,
so this, decked and diversified with every type of
character, would appear the most beautiful. And
perhaps,” I said, “many would judge it to be the
most beautiful, like boys and women194 when
they see bright-colored things.” [557d] “Yes
indeed,” he said. “Yes,” said I, “and it is the fit
place, my good friend, in which to look for a
constitution.” “Why so?” “Because, owing to this
licence, it includes all kinds, and it seems likely
that anyone who wishes to organize a state, as we
were just now doing, must find his way to a
democratic city and select the model that pleases
him, as if in a bazaar195 of constitutions, and after
making his choice, establish his own.” “Perhaps at
any rate,” he said, [557e] “he would not be at a loss
for patterns.” “And the freedom from all
compulsion to hold office in such a city, even if
you are qualified,196 or again, to submit to rule,
unless you please, or to make war when the rest
are at war,197 or to keep the peace when the
others do so, unless you desire peace; and again,
the liberty, in defiance of any law that forbids you,
to hold office and sit on juries none the less,
[558a] if it occurs to you to do so, is not all that a
heavenly and delicious entertainment198 for the
time being?” “Perhaps,” he said, “for so long.” “And
is not the placability199 of some convicted
criminals exquisite200? Or have you never seen in
such a state men condemned to death or exile
who none the less stay on, and go to and fro
among the people, and as if no one saw or heeded
him, the man slips in and out201 like a
revenant202?” “Yes, many,” he said. “And the
tolerance of democracy, [558b] its superiority203
to all our meticulous requirements, its disdain or
our solemn204 pronouncements205 made when
we were founding our city, that except in the case
of transcendent206 natural gifts no one could ever
become a good man unless from childhood his
play and all his pursuits were concerned with
things fair and good,—how superbly207 it
tramples under foot all such ideals, caring nothing
from what practices208 and way of life a man
turns to politics, but honoring him [558c] if only
he says that he loves the people!209” “It is a
noble210 polity, indeed!” he said. “These and
qualities akin to these democracy would exhibit,
and it would, it seems, be a delightful211 form of
government, anarchic and motley, assigning a
kind of equality indiscriminately to equals and
unequals alike!212” “Yes,” he said, “everybody
knows that.”
“Observe, then, the corresponding private
character. Or must we first, as in the case of the
polity, consider the origin of the type?” “Yes,” he
said. “Is not this, then, the way of it? Our thrifty213
oligarchical man [558d] would have a son bred in
his father's ways.” “Why not?” “And he, too, would
control by force all his appetites for pleasure that
are wasters and not winners of wealth, those
which are denominated unnecessary.”
“Obviously.” “And in order not to argue in the
dark, shall we first define214 our distinction
between necessary and unnecessary appetites215?”
“Let us do so.” “Well, then, desires that we cannot
divert or suppress may be properly called
necessary, [558e] and likewise those whose
satisfaction is beneficial to us, may they not? For
our nature compels us to seek their satisfaction.
[559a] Is not that so ?” “Most assuredly.” “Then we
shall rightly use the word ‘necessary’ of them?”
“Rightly.” “And what of the desires from which a
man could free himself by discipline from youth
up, and whose presence in the soul does no good
and in some cases harm? Should we not fairly call
all such unnecessary?” “Fairly indeed.” “Let us
select an example of either kind, so that we may
apprehend the type.216” “Let us do so.” “Would
not the desire of eating to keep in health and
condition and the appetite [559b] for mere bread
and relishes217 be necessary?” “I think so.” “The
appetite for bread is necessary in both respects, in
that it is beneficial and in that if it fails we die.”
“Yes.” “And the desire for relishes, so far as it
conduces to fitness?” “By all means.” “And should
we not rightly pronounce unnecessary the
appetite that exceeds these and seeks other
varieties of food, and that by correction218 and
training from youth up can be got rid of in most
cases and is harmful to the body and a hindrance
to the soul's attainment of [559c] intelligence and
sobriety?” “Nay, most rightly.” “And may we not
54
call the one group the spendthrift desires and the
other the profitable,219 because they help
production?” “Surely.” “And we shall say the same
of sexual and other appetites?” “The same.” “And
were we not saying that the man whom we
nicknamed the drone is the man who teems220
with such pleasures and appetites, and who is
governed by his unnecessary desires, while the
one who is ruled [559d] by his necessary appetites
is the thrifty oligarchical man?” “Why, surely.”
“To return, then,” said I, “we have to tell how the
democratic man develops from the oligarchical
type. I think it is usually in this way.” “How?”
“When a youth, bred in the illiberal and niggardly
fashion that we were describing, gets a taste of the
honey of the drones and associates with fierce221
and cunning creatures who know how to purvey
pleasures of every kind and variety222 and
condition, there you must doubtless conceive is
the beginning [559e] of the transformation of the
oligarchy in his soul into democracy.” “Quite
inevitably,” he said. “May we not say that just as
the revolution in the city was brought about by
the aid of an alliance from outside, coming to the
support of the similar and corresponding party in
the state, so the youth is revolutionized when a
like and kindred223 group of appetites from
outside comes to the aid of one of the parties in
his soul?” “By all means,” he said. “And if, I take it,
a counter-alliance224 comes to the rescue of the
oligarchical part of his soul, either it may be from
his father [560a] or from his other kin, who
admonish and reproach him, then there arises
faction225 and counter-faction and internal strife
in the man with himself.” “Surely.” “And
sometimes, I suppose, the democratic element
retires before the oligarchical, some of its
appetites having been destroyed and others226
expelled, and a sense of awe and reverence grows
up in the young man's soul and order is restored.”
“That sometimes happens,” he said. “And
sometimes, again, another brood of desires akin to
those expelled [560b] are stealthily nurtured to
take their place, owing to the father's ignorance of
true education, and wax numerous and strong.”
“Yes, that is wont to be the way of it.” “And they
tug and pull back to the same associations and in
secret intercourse engender a multitude.” “Yes
indeed.” “And in the end, I suppose, they seize the
citadel227 of the young man's soul, finding it
empty and unoccupied by studies and honorable
pursuits and true discourses, which are the best
watchmen [560c] and guardians228 in the minds
of men who are dear to the gods.” “Much the
best,” he said. “And then false and braggart
words229 and opinions charge up the height and
take their place and occupy that part of such a
youth.” “They do indeed.” “And then he returns,
does he not, to those Lotus-eaters230 and without
disguise lives openly with them. And if any
support231 comes from his kin to the thrifty
element in his soul, those braggart discourses
close the gates of the royal fortress within him
[560d] and refuse admission to the auxiliary force
itself, and will not grant audience as to envoys to
the words of older friends in private life. And they
themselves prevail in the conflict, and naming
reverence and awe ‘folly’232 thrust it forth, a
dishonored fugitive. And temperance they call
‘want of manhood’ and banish it with contumely,
and they teach that moderation and orderly
expenditure are ‘rusticity’ and ‘illiberality,’ and
they combine with a gang of unprofitable and
harmful appetites to drive them over the
border.233” “They do indeed.” “And when they
have emptied [560e] and purged234 of all these
the soul of the youth that they have thus
possessed235 and occupied, and whom they are
initiating with these magnificent and costly
rites,236 they proceed to lead home from exile
insolence and anarchy and prodigality and
shamelessness, resplendent237 in a great
attendant choir and crowned with garlands, and in
celebration of their praises they euphemistically
denominate insolence ‘good breeding,’ licence
‘liberty,’ prodigality ‘magnificence,’ [561a] and
shamelessness ‘manly spirit.’ And is it not in some
such way as this,” said I, “that in his youth the
transformation takes place from the restriction to
necessary desires in his education to the liberation
and release of his unnecessary and harmful
desires?” “Yes, your description is most vivid,” said
he. “Then, in his subsequent life, I take it, such a
one expends money and toil and time no more on
his necessary than on his unnecessary pleasures.
But if it is his good fortune that the period of
storm and stress does not last too long, and as he
grows older [561b] the fiercest tumult within him
passes, and he receives back a part of the banished
elements and does not abandon himself altogether
to the invasion of the others, then he establishes
and maintains all his pleasures on a footing of
equality, forsooth,238 and so lives turning over the
55
guard-house239 of his soul to each as it happens
along until it is sated, as if it had drawn the lot for
that office, and then in turn to another, disdaining
none but fostering them all equally.240” “Quite
so.” “And he does not accept or admit into the
guard-house the words of truth when anyone tells
him [561c] that some pleasures arise from
honorable and good desires, and others from
those that are base,241 and that we ought to
practise and esteem the one and control and
subdue the others; but he shakes his head242 at all
such admonitions and avers that they are all alike
and to be equally esteemed.” “Such is indeed his
state of mind and his conduct.” “And does he not,”
said I, “also live out his life in this fashion, day by
day indulging the appetite of the day, now wine-
bibbing and abandoning himself to the lascivious
pleasing of the flute243 and again drinking only
water and dieting; [561d] and at one time
exercising his body, and sometimes idling and
neglecting all things, and at another time seeming
to occupy himself with philosophy. And frequently
he goes in for politics and bounces up244 and says
and does whatever enters his head.245 And if
military men excite his emulation, thither he
rushes, and if moneyed men, to that he turns, and
there is no order or compulsion in his existence,
but he calls this life of his the life of pleasure and
freedom and happiness and [561e] cleaves to it to
the end.” “That is a perfect description,” he said,
“of a devotee of equality.” “I certainly think,” said
I, “that he is a manifold246 man stuffed with most
excellent differences, and that like that city247 he
is the fair and many-colored one whom many a
man and woman would count fortunate in his life,
as containing within himself the greatest number
of patterns of constitutions and qualities.” “Yes,
that is so,” he said. [562a] “Shall we definitely
assert, then, that such a man is to be ranged with
democracy and would properly be designated as
democratic?” “Let that be his place,” he said.
“And now,” said I, “the fairest248 polity and the
fairest man remain for us to describe, the tyranny
and the tyrant.” “Certainly,” he said. “Come then,
tell me, dear friend, how tyranny arises.249 That it
is an outgrowth of democracy is fairly plain.” “Yes,
plain.” “Is it, then, in a sense, in the same way in
which democracy arises out of oligarchy that
tyranny arises from democracy?” [562b] “How is
that?” “The good that they proposed to
themselves250 and that was the cause of the
establishment of oligarchy—it was wealth,251 was
it not?” “Yes.” “Well, then, the insatiate lust for
wealth and the neglect of everything else for the
sake of money-making was the cause of its
undoing.” “True,” he said. “And is not the avidity
of democracy for that which is its definition and
criterion of good the thing which dissolves it252
too?” “What do you say its criterion to be?”
“Liberty,253” I replied; “for you may hear it said
that this is best managed in a democratic city,
[562c] and for this reason that is the only city in
which a man of free spirit will care to live.254”
“Why, yes,” he replied, “you hear that saying
everywhere.” “Then, as I was about to observe,255
is it not the excess and greed of this and the
neglect of all other things that revolutionizes this
constitution too and prepares the way for the
necessity of a dictatorship?” “How?” he said.
“Why, when a democratic city athirst for liberty
gets bad cupbearers [562d] for its leaders256 and
is intoxicated by drinking too deep of that
unmixed wine,257 and then, if its so-called
governors are not extremely mild and gentle with
it and do not dispense the liberty unstintedly,it
chastises them and accuses them of being
accursed258 oligarchs.259” “Yes, that is what they
do,” he replied. “But those who obey the rulers,” I
said, “it reviles as willing slaves260 and men of
naught,261 but it commends and honors in public
and private rulers who resemble subjects and
subjects who are like rulers. [562e] Is it not
inevitable that in such a state the spirit of liberty
should go to all lengths262?” “Of course.” “And
this anarchical temper,” said I, “my friend, must
penetrate into private homes and finally enter into
the very animals.263” “Just what do we mean by
that?” he said. “Why,” I said, “the father habitually
tries to resemble the child and is afraid of his sons,
and the son likens himself to the father and feels
no awe or fear of his parents,264 [563a] so that he
may be forsooth a free man.265 And the resident
alien feels himself equal to the citizen and the
citizen to him, and the foreigner likewise.” “Yes,
these things do happen,” he said. “They do,” said I,
“and such other trifles as these. The teacher in
such case fears and fawns upon the pupils, and the
pupils pay no heed to the teacher or to their
overseers either. And in general the young ape
their elders and vie with them in speech and
action, while the old, accommodating266
themselves to the young, [563b] are full of
pleasantry267 and graciousness, imitating the
56
young for fear they may be thought disagreeable
and authoritative.” “By all means,” he said. “And
the climax of popular liberty, my friend,” I said, “is
attained in such a city when the purchased slaves,
male and female, are no less free268 than the
owners who paid for them. And I almost forgot to
mention the spirit of freedom and equal rights in
the relation of men to women and women to
men.” [563c] “Shall we not, then,” said he, “in
Aeschylean phrase,269 say “whatever rises to our
lips’?” “Certainly,” I said, “so I will. Without
experience of it no one would believe how much
freer the very beasts270 subject to men are in such
a city than elsewhere. The dogs literally verify the
adage271 and ‘like their mistresses become.’ And
likewise the horses and asses are wont to hold on
their way with the utmost freedom and dignity,
bumping into everyone who meets them and who
does not step aside.272 And so all things
everywhere are just bursting with the spirit of
liberty.273” [563d] “It is my own dream274 you are
telling me,” he said; “for it often happens to me
when I go to the country.” “And do you note that
the sum total of all these items when footed up is
that they render the souls of the citizens so
sensitive275 that they chafe at the slightest
suggestion of servitude276 and will not endure it?
For you are aware that they finally pay no heed
even to the laws277 written or unwritten,278
[563e] so that forsooth they may have no master
anywhere over them.” “I know it very well,” said
he.
“This, then, my friend,” said I, “is the fine and
vigorous root from which tyranny grows, in my
opinion.” “Vigorous indeed,” he said; “but what
next?” “The same malady,” I said, “that, arising in
oligarchy, destroyed it, this more widely diffused
and more violent as a result of this licence,
enslaves democracy. And in truth, any excess is
wont to bring about a corresponding reaction279
to the opposite in the seasons, [564a] in plants, in
animal bodies,280 and most especially in political
societies.” “Probably,” he said. “And so the
probable outcome of too much freedom is only
too much slavery in the individual and the state.”
“Yes, that is probable.” “Probably, then, tyranny
develops out of no other constitution281 than
democracy—from the height of liberty, I take it,
the fiercest extreme of servitude.” “That is
reasonable,” he said. “That, however, I believe, was
not your question,282 but what identical283
malady [564b] arising in democracy as well as in
oligarchy enslaves it?” “You say truly,” he replied.
“That then,” I said, “was what I had in mind, the
class of idle and spendthrift men, the most
enterprising and vigorous portion being leaders
and the less manly spirits followers. We were
likening them to drones,284 some equipped with
stings and others stingless.” “And rightly too,” he
said. “These two kinds, then,” I said, “when they
arise in any state, create a disturbance like that
produced in the body285 by phlegm and gall.
[564c] And so a good physician and lawgiver must
be on his guard from afar against the two kinds,
like a prudent apiarist, first and chiefly286 to
prevent their springing up, but if they do arise to
have them as quickly as may be cut out, cells and
all.” “Yes, by Zeus,” he said, “by all means.” “Then
let us take it in this way,” I said, “so that we may
contemplate our purpose more distinctly.287”
“How?” “Let us in our theory make a tripartite288
division of the democratic state, which is in fact its
structure. One such class, [564d] as we have
described, grows up in it because of the licence, no
less than in the oligarchic state.” “That is so.” “But
it is far fiercer in this state than in that.” “How
so?” “There, because it is not held in honor, but is
kept out of office, it is not exercised and does not
grow vigorous. But in a democracy this is the
dominating class, with rare exceptions, and the
fiercest part of it makes speeches and transacts
business, and the remainder swarms and settles
about the speaker's stand and keeps up a
buzzing289 and [564e] tolerates290 no dissent, so
that everything with slight exceptions is
administered by that class in such a state.” “Quite
so,” he said. “And so from time to time there
emerges or is secreted from the multitude another
group of this sort.” “What sort?” he said. “When all
are pursuing wealth the most orderly and thrifty
natures for the most part become the richest.” “It
is likely.” “Then they are the most abundant
supply of honey for the drones, and it is the easiest
to extract.291” “Why, yes,” he said, “how could one
squeeze it out of those who have little?” “The
capitalistic292 class is, I take it, the name by
which they are designated—the pasture of the
drones.” “Pretty much so,” he said. [565a]
“And the third class,293 composing the ‘people,’
would comprise all quiet294 cultivators of their
own farms295 who possess little property. This is
the largest and most potent group in a democracy
57
when it meets in assembly.” “Yes, it is,” he said,
“but it will not often do that,296 unless it gets a
share of the honey.” “Well, does it not always
share,” I said, “to the extent that the men at the
head find it possible, in distributing297 to the
people what they take from the well-to-do,298 to
keep the lion's share for themselves299?” “Why,
yes,” he said, “it shares [565b] in that sense.” “And
so, I suppose, those who are thus plundered are
compelled to defend themselves by speeches in
the assembly and any action in their power.” “Of
course.” “And thereupon the charge is brought
against them by the other party, though they may
have no revolutionary designs, that they are
plotting against the people, and it is said that they
are oligarchs.300” “Surely.” “And then finally,
when they see the people, not of its own will301
but through misapprehension,302 and being
misled [565c] by the calumniators, attempting to
wrong them, why then,303 whether they wish it or
not,304 they become in very deed oligarchs, not
willingly, but this evil too is engendered by those
drones which sting them.” “Precisely.” “And then
there ensue impeachments and judgements and
lawsuits on either side.” “Yes, indeed.” “And is it
not always the way of a demos to put forward one
man as its special champion and protector305 and
cherish and magnify him?” “Yes, it is.” “This, then,
is plain,” [565d] said I, “that when a tyrant arises
he sprouts from a protectorate root306 and from
nothing else.” “Very plain.” “What, then, is the
starting-point of the transformation of a protector
into a tyrant? Is it not obviously when the
protector's acts begin to reproduce the legend that
is told of the shrine of Lycaean Zeus in
Arcadia307?” “What is that?” he said. “The story
goes that he who tastes of the one bit of human
entrails minced up with those of other victims
[565e] is inevitably transformed into a wolf. Have
you not heard the tale?” “I have.” “And is it not
true that in like manner a leader of the people
who, getting control of a docile mob,308 does not
withhold his hand from the shedding of tribal
blood,309 but by the customary unjust
accusations brings a citizen into court and
assassinates him, blotting out310 a human life, and
with unhallowed tongue and lips that have tasted
kindred blood, [566a] banishes and slays and hints
at the abolition of debts and the partition of
lands311—is it not the inevitable consequence and
a decree of fate312 that such a one be either slain
by his enemies or become a tyrant and be
transformed from a man into a wolf?” “It is quite
inevitable,” he said. “He it is,” I said, “who
becomes the leader of faction against the
possessors of property.313” “Yes, he.” “May it not
happen that he is driven into exile and, being
restored in defiance of his enemies, returns a
finished tyrant?” “Obviously.” “And if they are
unable [566b] to expel him or bring about his
death by calumniating him to the people, they
plot to assassinate him by stealth.” “That is
certainly wont to happen,” said he. “And
thereupon those who have reached this stage
devise that famous petition314 of the tyrant—to
ask from the people a bodyguard to make their
city safe315 for the friend of democracy.” [566c]
“They do indeed,” he said. “And the people grant
it, I suppose, fearing for him but unconcerned for
themselves.” “Yes, indeed.” “And when he sees
this, the man who has wealth and with his wealth
the repute of hostility to democracy,316 then in
the words of the oracle delivered to Croesus,“By
the pebble-strewn strand of the Hermos Swift is
his flight, he stays not nor blushes to show the
white feather.””Hdt. 1.55 “No, for he would never
get a second chance to blush.” “And he who is
caught, methinks, is delivered to his death.”
“Inevitably.” “And then obviously that protector
does not lie prostrate, “‘mighty with far-flung
limbs,’”Hom. Il. 16.776 in Homeric overthrow,317
but [566d] overthrowing many others towers in
the car of state318 transformed from a protector
into a perfect and finished tyrant.” “What else is
likely?” he said.
“Shall we, then, portray the happiness,” said I, “of
the man and the state in which such a creature
arises?” “By all means let us describe it,” he said.
“Then at the start and in the first days does he not
smile319 upon all men and greet everybody he
meets and deny that he is a tyrant, [566e] and
promise many things in private and public, and
having freed men from debts, and distributed
lands to the people and his own associates, he
affects a gracious and gentle manner to all?”
“Necessarily,” he said. “But when, I suppose, he
has come to terms with some of his exiled
enemies320 and has got others destroyed and is no
longer disturbed by them, in the first place he is
always stirring up some war321 so that the people
may be in need of a leader.” “That is likely.” [567a]
“And also that being impoverished by war-taxes
they may have to devote themselves to their daily
58
business and be less likely to plot against him?”
“Obviously.” “And if, I presume, he suspects that
there are free spirits who will not suffer his
domination, his further object is to find pretexts
for destroying them by exposing them to the
enemy? From all these motives a tyrant is
compelled to be always provoking wars322?” “Yes,
he is compelled to do so.” “And by such conduct
[567b] will he not the more readily incur the
hostility of the citizens?” “Of course.” “And is it
not likely that some of those who helped to
establish323 and now share in his power, voicing
their disapproval of the course of events, will
speak out frankly to him and to one another—
such of them as happen to be the bravest?” “Yes, it
is likely.” “Then the tyrant must do away324 with
all such if he is to maintain his rule, until he has
left no one of any worth, friend or foe.”
“Obviously.” “He must look sharp to see, then,
[567c] who is brave, who is great-souled, who is
wise, who is rich and such is his good fortune that,
whether he wishes it or not, he must be their
enemy and plot against them all until he purge the
city.325” “A fine purgation,” he said. “Yes,” said I,
“just the opposite of that which physicians
practise on our bodies. For while they remove the
worst and leave the best, he does the reverse.”
“Yes, for apparently he must, he said, “if he is to
keep his power.”
Notes
25 δυναστεῖαι Cf. Laws 680 B, 681 D. But the word usually has an invidious suggestion. See Newman on Aristot.Pol. 1272 b 10. Cf. ibid. 1292 b 5-10, 1293 a 31, 1298 a 32; also Lysias ii. 18, where it is opposed to democracy, Isoc.Panath. 148, where it is used of the tyranny of Peisistratus, ibid. 43 of Minos. Cf. Panegyr. 39 and NorIin on Panegyr. 105 (Loeb). Isocrates also uses it frequently of the power or sovereignty of Philip, Phil. 3, 6, 69, 133, etc. Cf. also Gorg. 492 B, Polit. 291 D. 26 Newman on Aristot.Pol. 1273 a 35 thinks that Plato may have been thinking of Carthage. Cf. Polyb. vi. 56. 4. 27 Plato, as often is impatient of details, for which he was rebuked by Aristotle. Cf. also Tim. 57 D, 67 C, and the frequent leaving of minor matters to future legislators in the Republic and Laws,Vol. I. p. 294, note b, on 412 B. 28 For the correspondence of individual and state cf. also 425 E, 445 C-D, 579 C and on 591 E. Cf. Laws 829 A, Isoc.Peace 120. 29 Or “stock or stone,” i.e. inanimate, insensible things. For the quotation ἐκ δρυός ποθεν ἢ ἐκ πέτρας Cf. Odyssey xix. 163, Il. xxii. 126aliter, Apol. 34 D and Thompson on Phaedrus 275 B; also Stallbaum ad loc. 30 The “mores,” 45 E, 436 A. Cf. Bagehot, Physics and Politics, p. 206: “A lazy nation may be changed into an industrious, a rich into a poor, a religious into a profane, as if by magic, if any single cause, though slight, or any combination of causes, however subtle, is strong enough to change the favorite and detested types of character.” 31 For the metaphor cf. also 550 E and on 556 E. 32 ἀριστοκρατία is used by both Plato and Aristotle some times technically, sometimes etymologically as the government of the best, whoever they may be. Cf. 445 D, and Menex. 238 C-D (What Plato Said, p. 539). 33 Cf. Phaedr. 256 C 1, 475 A, 347 B. 34 Cf. on 544 A, p. 237, note g. 35 In considering the progress of degeneration portrayed in the following pages, it is too often forgotten that Plato is describing or satirizing divergences from ideal rather than an historical process. Cf. Rehm, Der Untergang Roms im abendländischen Denken, p. 11: “Plato gibt eine zum Mythos gesteigerte Naturgeschichte des Staates, so wie Hesiod eine als
Mythos zu verstehende Natur-, d.h. Entartungsgeschichte des Menschengeschlechts gibt.” Cf. Sidney B. Fay, on Bury, The Idea of Progress, in “Methods of Social Science,” edited by Stuart A. Rice, p. 289: “ . . . there was a widely spread belief in an earlier ‘golden age’ of simplicity, which had been followed by a degeneration and decay of the human race. Plato's theory of degradation set forth a gradual deterioration through the successive stages of timocracy, oligarchy, democracy and despotism. The Greek theory of ‘cycles,’ with its endless, monotonous iteration, excluded the possibility of permanent advance or ‘progress.'” Kurt Singer, Platon der Gründer, p. 141, says that the timocratic state reminds one of late Sparta, the democratic of Athens after Pericles, the oligarchic is related to Corinth, and the tyrannical has some Syracusan features. Cicero, De div. ii., uses this book of the Republic to console himself for the revolutions in the Roman state, and Polybius's theory of the natural succession of governments is derived from it, with modifications (Polyb. vi. 4. 6 ff. Cf. vi. 9. 10 αὕτη πολιτειῶν ἀνακύκλωσις). Aristotle objects that in a cycle the ideal state should follow the tyranny. 36 Cf. on 544 C, p. 238, note b. 37 In Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1160 a 33-34, the meaning is “the rule of those who possess a property qualification.” 38 Cf. 577 A-B. 39 Cf. 582 A ff. 40 For the qualified assent Cf. HamletI. i. 19 “What? is Horatio there? A piece of him.” It is very frequent in the Republic, usually with γοῦν. Cf. 442 D, 469 B, 476 C, 501 C, 537 C, 584 A, 555 B, 604 D,and Vol. I. p. 30, note a, on 334 A; also 460 C and 398 B, where the interlocutor adds a condition, 392 B, 405 B, 556 E, 581 B, and 487 A, where he uses the corrective μὲν οὖν. 41 For the idea that the state is destroyed only by factions in the ruling class cf. also Laws 683 E. Cf. 465 B, Lysias xxv. 21, Aristot.Pol. 1305 b, 1306 a 10ὁμονοοῦσα δὲ ὀλιγαρχία οὐκ εὐδιάφθορος ἐξ αὑτῆς, 1302 a 10 Polybius, Teubner, vol. ii. p. 298 (vi. 57). Newman, Aristot.Pol. i. p. 521, says that Aristotle “does not remark on Plato's observation . . . though he cannot have agreed with it.” Cf. Halévy, Notes et souvenirs, p. 153 “l'histoire est là pour démontrer clairement que, depuis un siècle, not gouvernements n'ont jamais été renversés que par eux-mêmes”; Bergson, Les Deux Sources de la morale et de la religion, p. 303: “Mais l'instinct résiste. Il ne commence à céder que lorsque Ia classe supérieure elle-même l'y invite.” 42 For the mock-heroic style of this invocation Cf. Phaedr. 237 A, Laws 885 C. 43 f. 413 B, Meno 76 E, Aristot.Meteorol. 353 b 1, Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 146. 44 Cf. Alc. I. 104 E. 45 Cf. What Plato Said, p. 627 on Laws 677 A; also Polyb. vi. 57, Cic.De rep. ii. 25. 46 Cf. Pindar, Mem. vi. 10-12 for the thought. 47 Cf. Tim. 28 Aδόξῃ μετ᾽ αἰσθήσεως. 48 For its proverbial obscurity cf. Cic.Ad att. vii. 13 “est enim numero Platonis obscurius,” Censorinus, De die natali xi. See supra,Introd. p. xliv for literature on this “number.” 49 προσήγορα: Cf. Theaet. 146 A. 50 Cf. 534 D; also Theaet. 202 Bῥητάς. 51 Cf. 409 D. 52 αὖ: cf. my note in Class. Phil. xxiii. (1928) pp. 285-287. 53 This does not indicate a change in Plato's attitude toward music, as has been alleged. 54 Cf. 415 A-B. 55 Cf. Theaet. 159 A. 56 γεvi terminiCf. 379 A-B. 57 Cf. 416 E-417 A, 521 A, Phaedrus 279 B-C. 58 For εἰς μέσον Cf. Protag. 338 A; 572 D, 558 B. 59 An allusion to Sparta. On slavery in Plato cf. Newman i. p. 143. Cf. 549 A, 578-579, Laws 776-777; Aristot.Pol. 1259 a 21 f., 1269 a 36 f., 1330 a 29. 60 Cf. 417 A-B. 61 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1328 b 41 and Newman i. pp. 107-108. 62 Cf. 416 E, 458 C, Laws 666 B, 762 C, 780 A-B, 781 C, 806 E, 839 C, Critias 112 C. 63 Cf. 397 E, Isoc. ii. 46ἁπλοῦς δ᾽ ἡγοῦνται τοὺς νοῦν οὐκ ἔχοντας. Cf. the psychology of Thucyd. iii. 83. 64 This was said to be characteristic of Sparta. Cf. Newman on Aristot.Pol. 1270 a 13, Xen.Rep. Lac. 14, 203 and 7. 6, and the Chicago Dissertation of P. H. Epps, The Place of Sparta in Greek History and Civilization, pp. 180-184. 65 Cf. 416 D. 66 Cf. Laws 681 A, Theaet. 174 E. 67 νεοττιάς suggests Horace's ‘tu nidum servas” (Epist. i. 10.6). Cf also Laws 776 A. 68 Cf. Laws 806 A-C, 637 B-C, Aristot.Pol. 1269 b 3, and Newman ii. p. 318 on the Spartan women. Cf. Epps, op. cit. pp. 322-346. 69 φιλαναλωταί, though different, suggests Sallust's “alieni appetens sui profusus” (Cat. 5). Cf. Cat. 52 “publice egestatem, privatim opulentiam.” 70 Cf. 587 A, Laws 636 D, Symp. 187 E, Phaedr. 251 E. 71 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1270 b 34 with Newman's note; and Euthyphro 2 C “tell his mother the state.” 72 Cf. Laws 720 D-E. This is not inconsistent with Polit. 293 A, where the context and the point of view are different. 73 This is of course not the mixed government which Plato approves Laws 691-692, 712 D-E, 759 B. Cf. What Plato Said, p. 629.
59
74 For διαφανέστατον cf. 544 D. The expression διαφανέστατον . . . ἕν τι μόνον, misunderstood and emended by ApeIt, is colored by an idea of Anaxagoras expressed by Lucretius i. 877-878: “illud Apparere unum cuius sint plurima mixta. Anaxag. Fr. 12. Diels 1.3, p. 405ἀλλ᾽ ὅτων πλεῖστα ἔνι, ταῦτα ἐνδηλότατα ἓν ἕκαστον ἐστι καὶ ἦν. Cf. Phaedr. 238 A, Cratyl. 393 misunderstood by Dümmler and emended (ἐναργής for ἐγκρατής)with the approval of Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 350. 75 There is no contradiction between this and Laws 870 C if the passage is read carefully. 76 Cf. on 544 D, p. 240, note a. 77 Cf. Phaedo 65 A, Porphyry, De abst. i. 27, Teubner, p. 59ἐγγὺς τείνειν ἀποσιτίας. 78 αὐθαδέστερον. The fault of Prometheus (Aesch.P. V. 1034, 1937) and Medea must not be imputed to Glaucon. 79 Cf. Arnold, Culture and Anarchy, who imitates or parodies Plato throughout, e.g. p. 83 “A little inaccessible to ideas and light,” and pp. 54-55 “The peculiar serenity of aristocracies of Teutonic origin appears to come from their never having had any ideas to trouble them.” 80 Cf. 475 D, 535 D, Lysis 206 C. 81 Cf. p. 249, note g, on 547 C, and Newman ii. p. 317. In i. p. 143, n. 3 he says that this implies slavery in the ideal state, in spite of 547 C. 82 Cf. Lysias xix. 18. Lysias xxi. portrays a typical φιλότιμος. Cf Phaedr. 256 C, Eurip.I. A. 527. He is a Xenophontic type. Cf Xen.Oecon. 14. 10, Hiero 7. 3, Agesil. 10. 4. Isoc.Antid. 141 and 226 uses the word in a good sense. Cf. “But if it be a sin to covet honor,” Shakes.Henry V. iv. iii. 28. 83 Cf. the ἀξιώματα of Laws 690 A, Aristot.Pol. 1280 a 8 ff., 1282 b 26, 1283- 1284. 84 Cf. Arnold on the “barbarians” in Culture and Anarchy, pp. 78, 82, 84. 85 For the ἦθος of a state cf. Isoc.Nic. 31. 86 The Greek words λόγος and μουσική are untranslatable. Cf. also 560 B. For μουσική cf. 546 D. Newman i. p. 414 fancies that his is a return to the position of Book IV. from the disparagement of music in 522 A. Cf. Unity of Plato's Thought, p. 4 on this supposed ABA development of Plato's opinions. 87 δέ γ᾽ marks the transition from the description of the type to its origin. Cf. 547 E, 553 C, 556 B, 557 B, 560 D, 561 E, 563 B, 566 E. Ritter, pp. 69-70, comments on its frequency in this book, but does not note the reason. There are no cases in the first five pages. 88 Cf. Lysias xix. 18ἐκείνῳ μὲν γὰρ ἦν τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν, with the contrasted type ἀνήλωσεν ἐπιθυμῶν τιμᾶσθαι, Isoc.Antid. 227ἀπραγμονεστάτους μὲν ὄντας ἐν τῇ πόλει. Cf.πολυπραγμοσύνη444 B, 434 B, Isoc.Antid. 48, Peace 108,30, and 26, with Norlin's note (Loeb). Cf. also Aristoph.Knights 261. 89 ἐλαττοῦσθαι cf. Thuc. i. 77. 1, Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1198 b 26-32, Pol. 1319 a 3. 90 For πράγματα ἔχειν cf. 370 A, Gorg. 467 D, Alc. I. 119 B, Aristoph.Birds 1026, Wasps 1392. Cf.πράγματα παρέχειν, Rep. 505 A, 531 B, Theages 121 D, Herod. i. 155, Aristoph.Birds 931, Plutus 20, 102. 91 Wilamowitz, Platon, i. p. 434 with some exaggeration says that this is the only woman character in Plato and is probably his mother, Perictione. Pohlenz, Gött. Gel. Anz. 1921, p. 18, disagrees. For the complaints cf. Gerard, Four Years in Germany, p. 115 “Now if a lawyer gets to be about forty years old and is not some kind of a Rat his wife begins to nag him . . .” 92 Cf. Symp. 174 D, Isoc.Antid. 227. 93 Cf. the husband in Lysias i. 6. 94 λίαν ἀνειμένος: one who has grown too slack or negligent. Cf. Didot, Com. Fr. p. 728τίς ὧδε μῶρος καὶ λίαν ἀνειμένος; Porphyry, De abst. ii. 58. 95 Cf. Phaedo 60 A. For Plato's attitude towards women Cf. What Plato Said, p. 632, on Laws 631 D. 96 ὑμνεῖν. Cf. Euthydem. 296 D, Soph.Ajax 292. Commentators have been troubled by the looseness of Plato's style in this sentence. Cf. Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 385. 97 Cf. Aristoph.Thesm. 167ὅμοια γὰρ ποιεῖν ἀνάγκη τῇ φύσει. 98 ἕτερα τοιαῦτα: cf. on 488 B; also Gorg. 481 E, 482 A, 514 D, Euthyd. 298 E, Protag. 326 A, Phaedo 58 D, 80 D, Symp. 201 E, etc. 99 Cf. What Plato Said, p. 480, on Charm. 161 B. 100 τότε δή cf. 551 A, 566 C, 330 E, 573 A, 591 A, Phaedo 85 A, 96 B and D, Polit. 272 E. Cf. also τότ᾽ ἤδη, on 565 C. 101 Cf. on 439 D, Vol. I. p. 397, note d. 102 For these three principles of the soul cf. on 435 A ff., 439 D-E ff., 441 A. 103 Cf. the fragment of Menander,φθείρουσιν ἤθη χρήσθ᾽ ὁμιλίαι κακαί, quoted in 1Cor. xv. 33 (Kock, C.A.F. iii. No. 218). Cf. also Phaedr. 250 Aὑπό τινων ὁμιλιῶν, Aesch.Seven Against Thebes 599ἔσθ᾽ ὁμιλίας κακῆς κάκιον οὐδέν. 104 Cf. p. 249, note f. 105 Cf. 553 B-C, 608 B. 106 ὑψηλόφρων is a poetical word. Cf. Eurip.I. A. 919. 107 Cf. p. 255, note f. 108 λέγ᾽ ἄλλον ἄλλαις ἐν πύλαις εἰληχότα. 109 Cf. Laws 743 C, and Class. Phil. ix. (1914) p. 345. 110 Cf. Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1160 a 33, Isoc.Panath. 131, Laws 698 Baliter. 111 Cf. 465 D, Soph. 241 D. 112 Cf. 548 A, 416 D. 113 εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν: cf. 437 A, 604 B, Prot. 339 D, Symp. 174 D, Polit. 262 D, Soph. 258 C, 261 B, Alc. I. 132 B, Protag. 357 D where ἧς is plainly wrong, Aristoph.Knights 751.
114 Cf. 591 D, Laws 742 E, 705 B, 8931 C ff., 836 A, 919 B with Rep. 421 D; also Aristot.Pol. 1273 a 37-38. 115 Cf. on 544 E, Demosth. v. 12. 116 This sentence has been much quoted. Cf. Cic.Tusc. i. 2 “honos alit artes . . . iacentque ea semper, quae apud quosque inprobantur.” Themistius and Libanius worked it into almost every oration. Cf. Mrs. W. C. Wright, The Emperor Julian, p. 70, n. 3. Cf. also Stallbaum ad loc. For ἀσκεῖται cf. Pindar, Ol. viii. 22. 117 ὅρον: cf. 551 C, Laws 714 C, 962 D, 739 D, 626 B, Menex. 238 D, Polit. 293 E, 296 E, 292 C, Lysis 209 C, Aristot.Pol. 1280 a 7, 1271 a 35, and Newman i. p. 220, Eth. Nic. 1138 b 23. Cf. also τέλοςRhet. 1366 a 3. For the true criterion of office-holding see Laws 715 C-D and Isoc. xii. 131. For wealth as the criterion cf. Aristot.Pol. 1273 a 37. 118 For ταξάμενοι cf. Vol. I. p. 310, note c, on 416 E. 119 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1301 b 13-14. 120 Cf. 557 A. 121 Cf. 488, and Polit. 299 B-C, What Plato Said, p. 521, on Euthydem. 291 D. 122 Stallbaum says that ἐπιτρέποι is used absolutely as in 575 D, Symp. 213 E, Lysis 210 B, etc. Similarly Latin permitto. Cf. Shorey on Jowett's translation of Meno 92 A-B, A. J. P. xiii. p. 367. See too Diog. L. i. 65. 123 Men are the hardest creatures to govern. Cf. Polit. 292 D, and What Plato Said, p. 635, on Laws 766 A. 124 For the idea that a city should be a unity Cf. Laws 739 D and on 423 A-B. Cf. also 422 E with 417 A-B, Livy ii. 24 “adeo duas ex una civitate discordia fecerat.” Aristot.Pol. 1316 b 7 comments ἄτοπον δὲ καὶ τὸ φάναι δύο πόλεις εἶναι τὴν ὀλιγαρχικήν, πλουσίων καὶ πενήτων . . . and tries to prove the point by his topical method. 125 Cf. 417 B. 126 For the idea that the rulers fear to arm the people cf. Thuc. iii. 27, Livy iii. 15 “consules et armare pIebem et inermem pati timebant.” 127 He plays on the word. In 565 Cὡς ἀληθῶς ὀλιγαρχικούς is used in a different sense. Cf. Symp. 181 Aὡς ἀληθῶς πάνδημος, Phaedo 80 Dεἰς Ἅιδου ὡς ἀληθῶς. 128 Cf. 374 B, 434 A, 443 D-E. For the specialty of function Cf. What Plato Said, p. 480, on Charm. 161 E. 129 So in the Laws the householder may not sell his lot, Laws 741 B-C, 744 D-E. Cf. 755 A, 857 A, Aristot.Pol. 1270 a 19, Newman i. p. 376. 130 Cf Aristot.Pol. 1326 a 20, Newman i. pp. 98 and 109. Cf Leslie Stephen, Util. ii. 111 “A vast populace has grown up outside of the old order.” 131 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1266 b 13. 132 ἑτοίμων“things ready at hand.” Cf. 573 A, Polyb. vi. (Teubner, vol. ii. p. 237); Horace Epist. i. 2. 27 “fruges consumere nati.” 133 Cf. Laws 901 A, Hesiod, Works and Days 300 f., Aristoph.Wasps 1071 ff., Eurip.Suppl. 242, Xen.Oecon. 17. 15, and Virgil, Georg. iv. 168 “ignavum fucos pecus a praesepibus arcent.” the sentence was much quoted. Stallbaum refers to Ruhnken on Tim. 157 ff. for many illustration, and to Petavius adThemist.Orat. xxiii. p. 285 D. 134 Cf 498 A, Laws 653 A; also the modern distinction between defectives and delinquents. 135 κέκληνται: cf. 344 B-C. 136 βίᾳ is so closely connected with κατέχουσιν that the double dative is not felt to be awkward. But Adam takes ἐπιμελείᾳ as an adverb. 137 Cf. on 550 C. p. 261, note h. 138 Cf. 410 B, Homer Od. xix. 436ἴχνη ἐρευνῶντος, ii. 406, iii. 30, v. 193, vii. 38μετ᾽ ἴχνια βαῖνε. 139 For πταίσαντα cf.Aesch.Prom. 926, Ag. 1624 (Butl. emend.). 140 Cf. Aesch.Ag. 1007, Eumen. 564, Thuc. vii. 25. 7, and Thompson on Phaedr. 255 D. 141 Lit. “spilling.” Cf. Lucian, Timon 23. 142 For ἐκπεσόντα cf. 560 A, 566 A. In Xen.An. vii. 5. 13 it is used of shipwreck. Cf.εκ̓βάλλοντες488 C. 143 Cf. Herod. vii. 136. 144 Cf. Aesch.Ag. 983. Cf. 550 B. 145 For γλίσχρως cf. on 488 A, Class. Phil. iv. p. 86 on Diog. L. iv. 59, Aelian, Epist. Rust. 18γλίσχρως τε καὶ κατ᾽ ὀλίγον. 146 ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν: Cf. Protag. 315 B, Tim. 46 C, Critias 117 C, etc., Herod. iv. 175. 147 Cf. 554 A, 556 C, Xen.Mem. ii. 6. 4μηδὲ πρὸς ἓν ἄλλο σχολὴν ποιεῖται ἢ ὁπόθεν αὐτός τι κερδανεῖ, and Aristot.Pol. 1257 b 407, and 330 C. See too Inge, Christian Ethics, p. 220: “The Times obituary notice of Holloway (of the pills) will suffice. ‘Money-making is an art by itself; it demands for success the devotion of the whole man,'” etc. For the phrase σκοπεῖν ὁπόθεν cf. Isoc.Areop. 83, Panegyr. 133-134σκοπεῖν ἐξ ὧν. 148 Cf. on 558 D, p. 291, note i. 149 αὐχμηρός: Cf. Symp. 203 D. 150 For περιουσίαν cf. Blaydes on Aristoph.Clouds 50 and Theaet. 154 E. 151 Cf. Phaedr. 256 E, Meno 90 A-B by implication. Numenius (ed. Mullach iii. 159) relates of Lacydes that he was “a bit greedy (ὑπογλισχρότερος) and after a fashion a thrifty manager (οἰκονομικός） —as the expression is—the
sort approved by most people.” Emerson, The Young American,“they recommend conventional virtues, whatever will earn and preserve property.” But this is not always true in an envious democracy: cf. Isoc. xv. 159-160 and America today. 152 Plato distinctly refers to the blind god Wealth. Cf. Aristoph.Plutus,Eurip. fr. 773, Laws 631 C πλοῦτος οὐ τυφλός which was often quoted. Cf. What Plato Said, p. 624, Otto, p. 60.
60
153 Cf. Herod. iii. 34, vii. 107. 154 Cf. 552 Eἐπιμελείᾳ βίᾳ. For ἄλλης cf. 368 Bἐκ τοῦ ἄλλου τοῦ ὑμετέρου τρόπου. 155 For the treatment of inferiors and weaker persons as a test of character Cf. Laws 777 D-E, Hesiod, Works and Days, 330, and Murray, Rise of the Greek Epic, pp. 84-85, who, however, errs on the meaning of αἰδώς. For orphans cf. also Laws 926-928, 766 C, 877 C, 909 C-D. 156 ἐπιεικεῖ is here used generally, and not in its special sense of “sweet reasonableness.” 157 For ἐνούσας Cf. Phileb. 16 D, Symp. 187 E. 158 Cf. 463 D. For the idea here Cf. Phaedo 68-69, What Plato Said, p. 527. 159 For the idea “at war with himself,” Cf. 440 B and E (στάσις), Phaedr. 237 D-E, and Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1099 a 12 f. 160 Cf. 397 E. 161 Cf. on 443 D-E, Vol. I. p. 414, note e; also Phaedo 61 A, and What Plato Said, p. 485 on Laches 188 D. 162 ὀλιγαρχικῶς keeps up the analogy between the man and the state. Cf. my “Idea of Justice,”Ethical Record,Jan. 1890, pp. 188, 191, 195. 163 i.e. he saves the cost of a determined fight. For the effect of surprise cf. on 544 C, p. 239, note f. 164 ὁμοιότητι: cf. 576 C. 165 Cf. Phileb. 55 Cεἰς τὴν κρίσιν, Laws 856 C, 943 C. 166 The σκοπός or ὅρος. Cf. on 551 A, p. 263, note e, and Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1094 a 2. 167 Ackermann, Das Christliche bei Plato, compares Luke xvi.13 “Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.” Cf. also Laws 742 D-E, 727 E f., 831 C. 168 ἀκολασταίνεινCf. Gorg. 478 A, Phileb. 12 D. 169 Cf. Laws 832 Aοὐκ ἀφυεῖς. For the men reduced to poverty swelling the number of drones cf. Eurip.Herc. Fur. 588-592, and Wilamowitz ad loc. 170 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1305 b 40-41, 1266 b 14. 171 Cf. Persius, Sat. ii. 61 “o curvae in terras animae, et caelestium inanes,” Cf. 586 Aκεκυφότες. Cf. also on 553 D for the general thought. 172 Cf. Euthyph. 5 C, Polit. 287 A, Aristoph.Peace 1051, Plut. 837, Eurip.Hippol. 119, I. T. 956, Medea 67, Xen.Hell. iv. 5. 6. 173 Or, as Ast, Stallbaum and others take it, “the poison of their money.”τιτρώσκοντες suggests the poisonous sting, especially as Plato has been speaking of hives and drones. For ἐνιέντες cf. Eurip.Bacchae 851ἐνεὶς . . . λύσσαν, “implanting madness.” In the second half of the sentence the figure is changed, the poison becoming the parent, i.e. the principal, which breeds interest,. cf. 507 A, p. 96. 174 Cf. on 552 A, Laws 922 E-923 A. 175 Cf. Protag. 327 Dἀναγκάζουσα ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, Symp. 185 B, and for ἐπιμελεῖσθαι Cf. What Plato Said, p. 464, on Apol. 29 D-E. 176 For refusing to enforce monetary contracts Cf. Laws 742 C, 849 E, 915 E, and Newman ii. p. 254 on Aristot.Pol. 1263 b 21. 177 Cf. What Plato Said, p. 483, on Laches 179 D, and Aristot.Pol. 1310 a 23. 178 Cf. 429 C-D, Laches 191 D-E, Laws 633 D. 179 Cf. Tucker on Aesch.Suppl. 726. 180 Cf. Soph.Ajax 758περισσὰ κἀνόνητα σώματα. 181 For a similar picture cf. Aristoph.Frogs 1086-1098. Cf. also Gorg. 518 C, and for the whole passage Xen.Mem. iii. 5. 15, Aristot.Pol. 1310 a 24-25. 182 The poor, though stronger, are too cowardly to use force. For κακίᾳ τῇ σφετέρᾳ cf. Lysias ii. 65κακίᾳ τῇ αὑτῶν, Rhesus 813-814τῇ Φρυγῶν κακανδρίᾳ, Phaedrus 248 B, Symp. 182 D, Crito 45 E, Eurip.Androm. 967, Aristoph.Thesm. 868τῇ κοράκων πονηρίᾳ. 183 Cf. Soph.O. T. 961σμικρὰ παλαῖα σώματ᾽ εὐνάζει ῥοπή” a slight impulse puts aged bodies to sleep,” Demosth.Olynth. ii. 9 and 21. Cf. 544 E. 184 Cf. Polyb. vi. 57. Montaigne, apudHöffding, i. 30 “Like every other being each illness has its appointed time of development and close—interference is futile,” with Tim. 89 B. 185 Cf. Thuc. i. 3, ii. 68, iv. 64, Herod. ii. 108. 186 στασιάζει is applied here to disease of body. Cf. Herod. v. 28νοσήσασα ἐς τὰ μάλιστα στάσι, “grievously ill of faction.” Cf. on 554 D, p. 276, note c. 187 Cf. 488 C, 560 A, Gorg. 466 C, 468 D, Prot. 325 B. Exile, either formal or voluntary, was always regarded as the proper thing for the defeated party in the Athenian democracy. The custom even exists at the present time. Venizelos, for instance, has frequently, when defeated at the polls, chosen to go into voluntary exile. But that term, in modern as in ancient Greece, must often be interpreted cum grano salis. 188 ἐξ ἴσου: one of the watchwords of democracy. Cf. 561 B and C, 599 B, 617 C, Laws 919 D, Alc. I. 115 D, Crito 50 E, Isoc.Archid. 96, Peace 3. 189 But Isoc.Areop. 22-23 considers the lot undemocratic because it might result in the establishment in office of men with oligarchical sentiments. See Norlin ad loc.For the use of the lot in Plato Cf. Laws 759 B, 757 E, 690 C, 741 B-C, 856 D, 946 B, Rep. 460 A, 461 E. Cf. Apelt, p. 520. 190 Cf. 551 B. 191 ἐξουσία: cf. Isoc. xii. 131τὴν δ᾽ ἐξουσίαν ὅ τι βούλεται τις ποιεῖν εὐδαιμονίαν. Cf. Arnold, Culture and Anarchy, chap. ii. Doing as One Likes. 192 κατασκευή is a word of all work in Plato. Cf. 419 A, 449 A, 455 A, Gorg. 455 E, 477 B, etc. 193 παντοδαπός usually has an unfavorable connotation in Plato. Cf. 431 b- C, 561 D, 567 E, 550 D, Symp. 198 B, Gorg. 489 C, Laws 788 C, etc. Isoc. iv. 45 uses it in a favorable sense, but in iii. 16 more nearly as Plato does. for the mixture of things in a democracy cf. Xen.Rep. Ath. 2. 8φωνῇ καὶ διαίτῃ καὶ σχήματι . . . Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ κεκραμένῃ ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων; and Laws 681 D. Libby, Introduction to History of Science, p. 273, says
“Arnold failed in his analysis of American civilization to confirm Plato's judgement concerning the variety of natures to be found in the democratic state.” De Tocqueville also, and many English observers, have commented on the monotony and standardization of American life. 194 For the idea that women and children like many colors cf. Sappho's admiration for Jason's mantle mingled with all manner of colors (Lyr. Graec. i. 196). For the classing together of women and boys Cf. Laws 658 D, Shakes.As You Like It,III. ii. 435 “As boys and women are for the most part cattle of this color,” Faguet, Nineteenth Century“Lamartine a été infiniment aimé des adolescents sérieux et des femmes distinguées.” 195 Cf. Plutarch, Dion 53. Burke says “A republic, as an ancient philosopher has observed, is no one species of government, but a magazine of every species.” Cf. Laws 789 B for an illustration of the point. Filmer, Patriarcha, misquotes this saying “The Athenians sold justice . . . , which made Plato call a popular estate a fair where everything is to be sold.” 196 Cf. Aristot.Pol. 1271 a 12δεῖ γὰρ καὶ βουλόμενον καὶ μὴ βουλόμενον ἄρχειν τὸν ἄξιον τῆς ἀρχῆς. cf. 347 B-C. 197 Cf. Laws 955 B-C, where a penalty is pronounced for making peace or war privately, and the parody in Aristoph.Acharn. passim. 198 διαγωγή: cf. 344 E, where it is used more seriously of the whole conduct of life. Cf. also Theaet. 177 A, Polit. 274 D, Tim. 71 D, Laws 806 E, Aristot.Met. 981 b 18 and 982 b 24 uses the word in virtual anaphora with pleasure. See too Zeller, Aristot. ii. pp. 307-309, 266, n. 5. 199 Cf. 562 D. For the mildness of the Athenian democracy cf. Aristot.Ath. Pol. 22. 19, Demosth. xxi. 184, xxii. 51, xxiv. 51 Lysias vi. 34, Isoc.Antid. 20, Areopagit. 67-68, Hel. 27; also Menex. 243 E and also Euthydem. 303 Dδημοτικόν τι καὶ πρᾷον ἐν τοῖς λόγοις. Here the word πρᾳότης is ironically transferred to the criminal himself. 200 κομψή: cf. 376 A, Theaet. 171 A. 201 For περινοστεῖ cf. Lucian, Bis Acc. 6, Aristoph.Plut. 121, 494, Peace 762. 202 His being unnoticed accords better with the rendering “spirit,” “one returned from the dead” (a perfectly possible meaning for ἥρως. Wilamowitz, Platon, i. p. 435 translates “Geist”) than with that of a hero returning from the wars. Cf. Adam ad loc. 203 For οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν σμικρολογία cf. on 532 Bἔτι ἀδυναμία. 204 σεμνύνοντες here has an ironical or colloquial tone—“high-brow,” “top- lofty.” 205 Cf. 401 B-C, 374 C and on 467 A, Laws 643 B, Delacroix, Psychologie de l'art, p. 46. 206 For ὑπερβεβλημένη Cf. Laws 719 D, Eurip.Alcest. 153. 207 μεγαλοπρεπῶς is often ironical in Plato. Cf. 362 C, Symp. 199 C, Charm. 175 C, Theaet. 161 C, Meno 94 B, Polit. 277 B, Hipp. Maj. 291 E. 208 In Aristoph.Knights 180 ff. Demosthenes tells the sausage-seller that his low birth and ignorance and his trade are the very things that fit him for political leadership. 209 Cf. Aristoph.Knights 732 f., 741 and passim. Andoc. iv. 16εὔνους τῷ δήμῳ. Emile Faguet, Moralistes, iii. p. 84, says of Tocqueville, “Il est bien je crois le premier qui ait dit que la démocratie abaisse le niveau intellectuel des gouvernements.” For the other side of the democratic shield see Thucyd. ii. 39. 210 For the ironical use of γενναία cf. 544 C, Soph. 231 B, Theaet. 209 E. 211 ἡδεῖα: cf. Isoc. vii. 70 of good government,τοῖς χρωμένοις ἡδίους. 212 Cf. What Plato Said, p. 634, on Laws 744 B-C, and ibid. p. 508 on Gorg. 508 A, Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1131 a 23-24, Newman, i. p. 248, Xen.Cyr. ii. 2. 18. 213 Cf. 572 C, Theogn. 915 f., Anth. Pal. x. 41, Democr. fr. 227 and 228, DieIs ii.3 p. 106, and Epicharm.fr. 45, Diels i.3 126. 214 Cf. What Plato Said, p.485, on Laches 190 B, and p. 551, on Phaedr. 237 E. 215 Cf. 554 A, 571 B, Phaedo 64 D-E, Phileb. 62 E, Aristot.Eth. Nic. 1147 b 29. The Epicureans made much of this distinction. Cf. Cic.De fin. i. 13. 45, Tusc. v. 33, 93, Porphyry, De abst. i. 49. Ath. xii. 511 quotes this passage and says it anticipates the Epicureans. 216 Or “grasp them in outline.” 217 For ὄψον cf. on 372 C, Vol. I. p. 158, note a. 218 For κολαζομένη cf. 571 B, Gorg. 505 B, 491 E, 507 D. For the thought cf. also 519 A-B. 219 Lit. “money-making.” Cf. 558 D. 220 For γέμοντα cf. 577 D, 578 A, 603 D, 611 B, Gorg. 525 A, 522 E, etc. 221 αἴθων occurs only here in Plato. It is common in Pindar and tragedy. Ernst Maass, “Die Ironie des Sokrates,”Sokrates, 11, p. 94 “Platon hat an jener Stelle des Staats, von der wir ausgingen, die schlimmen Erzieher gefährliche Fuchsbestien genannt.” (Cf. Pindar, Ol. xi. 20.) 222 Cf. on 557 C, p. 286, note a. 223 Cf. 554 D. 224 For the metaphor cf. Xen.Mem. i. 2. 24ἐδυνάσθην ἐκείνῳ χρωμένω συμμάχῳ τῶν μὴ καλῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν κρατεῖν, “they [Critias and Alcibiades] found in him [Socrates] an ally who gave them strength to conquer their evil passions.” (Loeb tr.) 225 Cf. on 554 D, p. 276, note c.
61
Aristotle, Nicomachean
Ethics, translated by D.P.
Chase
BOOK I
Part 1
Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every
action and pursuit, is thought to aim at some
good; and for this reason the good has rightly
been declared to be that at which all things aim.
But a certain difference is found among ends;
some are activities, others are products apart from
the activities that produce them. Where there are
ends apart from the actions, it is the nature of the
products to be better than the activities. Now, as
there are many actions, arts, and sciences, their
ends also are many; the end of the medical art is
health, that of shipbuilding a vessel, that of
strategy victory, that of economics wealth. But
where such arts fall under a single capacity- as
bridle-making and the other arts concerned with
the equipment of horses fall under the art of
riding, and this and every military action under
strategy, in the same way other arts fall under yet
others- in all of these the ends of the master arts
are to be preferred to all the subordinate ends; for
it is for the sake of the former that the latter are
pursued. It makes no difference whether the
activities themselves are the ends of the actions,
or something else apart from the activities, as in
the case of the sciences just mentioned.
Part 2
If, then, there is some end of the things we do,
which we desire for its own sake (everything else
being desired for the sake of this), and if we do not
choose everything for the sake of something else
(for at that rate the process would go on to
infinity, so that our desire would be empty and
vain), clearly this must be the good and the chief
good. Will not the knowledge of it, then, have a
great influence on life? Shall we not, like archers
who have a mark to aim at, be more likely to hit
upon what is right? If so, we must try, in outline at
least, to determine what it is, and of which of the
sciences or capacities it is the object. It would
seem to belong to the most authoritative art and
that which is most truly the master art. And
politics appears to be of this nature; for it is this
that ordains which of the sciences should be
studied in a state, and which each class of citizens
should learn and up to what point they should
learn them; and we see even the most highly
esteemed of capacities to fall under this, e.g.
strategy, economics, rhetoric; now, since politics
uses the rest of the sciences, and since, again, it
legislates as to what we are to do and what we are
to abstain from, the end of this science must
include those of the others, so that this end must
be the good for man. For even if the end is the
same for a single man and for a state, that of the
state seems at all events something greater and
more complete whether to attain or to preserve;
though it is worth while to attain the end merely
for one man, it is finer and more godlike to attain
it for a nation or for city-states. These, then, are
the ends at which our inquiry aims, since it is
political science, in one sense of that term.
Part 3
Our discussion will be adequate if it has as much
clearness as the subject-matter admits of, for
precision is not to be sought for alike in all
discussions, any more than in all the products of
the crafts. Now fine and just actions, which
Marble and alabaster bust of Aristotle, copy of Greek bronze original by Lysippus. Photograph. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica, 25 May 2016.
62
political science investigates, admit of much
variety and fluctuation of opinion, so that they
may be thought to exist only by convention, and
not by nature. And goods also give rise to a similar
fluctuation because they bring harm to many
people; for before now men have been undone by
reason of their wealth, and others by reason of
their courage. We must be content, then, in
speaking of such subjects and with such premisses
to indicate the truth roughly and in outline, and in
speaking about things which are only for the most
part true and with premisses of the same kind to
reach conclusions that are no better. In the same
spirit, therefore, should each type of statement be
received; for it is the mark of an educated man to
look for precision in each class of things just so far
as the nature of the subject admits; it is evidently
equally foolish to accept probable reasoning from
a mathematician and to demand from a
rhetorician scientific proofs.
Now each man judges well the things he knows,
and of these he is a good judge. And so the man
who has been educated in a subject is a good
judge of that subject, and the man who has
received an all-round education is a good judge in
general. Hence a young man is not a proper hearer
of lectures on political science; for he is
inexperienced in the actions that occur in life, but
its discussions start from these and are about
these; and, further, since he tends to follow his
passions, his study will be vain and unprofitable,
because the end aimed at is not knowledge but
action. And it makes no difference whether he is
young in years or youthful in character; the defect
does not depend on time, but on his living, and
pursuing each successive object, as passion
directs. For to such persons, as to the incontinent,
knowledge brings no profit; but to those who
desire and act in accordance with a rational
principle knowledge about such matters will be of
great benefit.
These remarks about the student, the sort of
treatment to be expected, and the purpose of the
inquiry, may be taken as our preface.
Part 4
Let us resume our inquiry and state, in view of the
fact that all knowledge and every pursuit aims at
some good, what it is that we say political science
aims at and what is the highest of all goods
achievable by action. Verbally there is very general
agreement; for both the general run of men and
people of superior refinement say that it is
happiness, and identify living well and doing well
with being happy; but with regard to what
happiness is they differ, and the many do not give
the same account as the wise. For the former think
it is some plain and obvious thing, like pleasure,
wealth, or honour; they differ, however, from one
another- and often even the same man identifies it
with different things, with health when he is ill,
with wealth when he is poor; but, conscious of
their ignorance, they admire those who proclaim
some great ideal that is above their
comprehension. Now some thought that apart
from these many goods there is another which is
self-subsistent and causes the goodness of all
these as well. To examine all the opinions that
have been held were perhaps somewhat fruitless;
enough to examine those that are most prevalent
or that seem to be arguable.
Let us not fail to notice, however, that there is a
difference between arguments from and those to
the first principles. For Plato, too, was right in
raising this question and asking, as he used to do,
'are we on the way from or to the first principles?'
There is a difference, as there is in a race-course
between the course from the judges to the
turning-point and the way back. For, while we
must begin with what is known, things are objects
of knowledge in two senses- some to us, some
without qualification. Presumably, then, we must
begin with things known to us. Hence any one
who is to listen intelligently to lectures about what
is noble and just, and generally, about the subjects
of political science must have been brought up in
good habits. For the fact is the starting-point, and
if this is sufficiently plain to him, he will not at the
start need the reason as well; and the man who
has been well brought up has or can easily get
startingpoints. And as for him who neither has nor
can get them, let him hear the words of Hesiod:
Far best is he who knows all things himself; Good,
he that hearkens when men counsel right; But he
who neither knows, nor lays to heart Another's
wisdom, is a useless wight.
Part 5
Let us, however, resume our discussion from the
point at which we digressed. To judge from the
63
lives that men lead, most men, and men of the
most vulgar type, seem (not without some
ground) to identify the good, or happiness, with
pleasure; which is the reason why they love the life
of enjoyment. For there are, we may say, three
prominent types of life- that just mentioned, the
political, and thirdly the contemplative life. Now
the mass of mankind are evidently quite slavish in
their tastes, preferring a life suitable to beasts, but
they get some ground for their view from the fact
that many of those in high places share the tastes
of Sardanapallus. A consideration of the
prominent types of life shows that people of
superior refinement and of active disposition
identify happiness with honour; for this is, roughly
speaking, the end of the political life. But it seems
too superficial to be what we are looking for, since
it is thought to depend on those who bestow
honour rather than on him who receives it, but
the good we divine to be something proper to a
man and not easily taken from him. Further, men
seem to pursue honour in order that they may be
assured of their goodness; at least it is by men of
practical wisdom that they seek to be honoured,
and among those who know them, and on the
ground of their virtue; clearly, then, according to
them, at any rate, virtue is better. And perhaps
one might even suppose this to be, rather than
honour, the end of the political life. But even this
appears somewhat incomplete; for possession of
virtue seems actually compatible with being
asleep, or with lifelong inactivity, and, further,
with the greatest sufferings and misfortunes; but a
man who was living so no one would call happy,
unless he were maintaining a thesis at all costs.
But enough of this; for the subject has been
sufficiently treated even in the current
discussions. Third comes the contemplative life,
which we shall consider later.
The life of money-making is one undertaken
under compulsion, and wealth is evidently not the
good we are seeking; for it is merely useful and for
the sake of something else. And so one might
rather take the aforenamed objects to be ends; for
they are loved for themselves. But it is evident that
not even these are ends; yet many arguments have
been thrown away in support of them. Let us leave
this subject, then.
Part 6
We had perhaps better consider the universal
good and discuss thoroughly what is meant by it,
although such an inquiry is made an uphill one by
the fact that the Forms have been introduced by
friends of our own. Yet it would perhaps be
thought to be better, indeed to be our duty, for
the sake of maintaining the truth even to destroy
what touches us closely, especially as we are
philosophers or lovers of wisdom; for, while both
are dear, piety requires us to honour truth above
our friends.
The men who introduced this doctrine did not
posit Ideas of classes within which they
recognized priority and posteriority (which is the
reason why they did not maintain the existence of
an Idea embracing all numbers); but the term
'good' is used both in the category of substance
and in that of quality and in that of relation, and
that which is per se, i.e. substance, is prior in
nature to the relative (for the latter is like an off
shoot and accident of being); so that there could
not be a common Idea set over all these goods.
Further, since 'good' has as many senses as 'being'
(for it is predicated both in the category of
substance, as of God and of reason, and in quality,
i.e. of the virtues, and in quantity, i.e. of that
which is moderate, and in relation, i.e. of the
useful, and in time, i.e. of the right opportunity,
and in place, i.e. of the right locality and the like),
clearly it cannot be something universally present
in all cases and single; for then it could not have
been predicated in all the categories but in one
only. Further, since of the things answering to one
Idea there is one science, there would have been
one science of all the goods; but as it is there are
many sciences even of the things that fall under
one category, e.g. of opportunity, for opportunity
in war is studied by strategics and in disease by
medicine, and the moderate in food is studied by
medicine and in exercise by the science of
gymnastics. And one might ask the question, what
in the world they mean by 'a thing itself', is (as is
the case) in 'man himself' and in a particular man
the account of man is one and the same. For in so
far as they are man, they will in no respect differ;
and if this is so, neither will 'good itself' and
particular goods, in so far as they are good. But
again it will not be good any the more for being
eternal, since that which lasts long is no whiter
than that which perishes in a day. The
Pythagoreans seem to give a more plausible
64
account of the good, when they place the one in
the column of goods; and it is they that
Speusippus seems to have followed.
But let us discuss these matters elsewhere; an
objection to what we have said, however, may be
discerned in the fact that the Platonists have not
been speaking about all goods, and that the goods
that are pursued and loved for themselves are
called good by reference to a single Form, while
those which tend to produce or to preserve these
somehow or to prevent their contraries are called
so by reference to these, and in a secondary sense.
Clearly, then, goods must be spoken of in two
ways, and some must be good in themselves, the
others by reason of these. Let us separate, then,
things good in themselves from things useful, and
consider whether the former are called good by
reference to a single Idea. What sort of goods
would one call good in themselves? Is it those that
are pursued even when isolated from others, such
as intelligence, sight, and certain pleasures and
honours? Certainly, if we pursue these also for the
sake of something else, yet one would place them
among things good in themselves. Or is nothing
other than the Idea of good good in itself? In that
case the Form will be empty. But if the things we
have named are also things good in themselves,
the account of the good will have to appear as
something identical in them all, as that of
whiteness is identical in snow and in white lead.
But of honour, wisdom, and pleasure, just in
respect of their goodness, the accounts are distinct
and diverse. The good, therefore, is not some
common element answering to one Idea.
But what then do we mean by the good? It is
surely not like the things that only chance to have
the same name. Are goods one, then, by being
derived from one good or by all contributing to
one good, or are they rather one by analogy?
Certainly as sight is in the body, so is reason in the
soul, and so on in other cases. But perhaps these
subjects had better be dismissed for the present;
for perfect precision about them would be more
appropriate to another branch of philosophy. And
similarly with regard to the Idea; even if there is
some one good which is universally predicable of
goods or is capable of separate and independent
existence, clearly it could not be achieved or
attained by man; but we are now seeking
something attainable. Perhaps, however, some one
might think it worth while to recognize this with a
view to the goods that are attainable and
achievable; for having this as a sort of pattern we
shall know better the goods that are good for us,
and if we know them shall attain them. This
argument has some plausibility, but seems to
clash with the procedure of the sciences; for all of
these, though they aim at some good and seek to
supply the deficiency of it, leave on one side the
knowledge of the good. Yet that all the exponents
of the arts should be ignorant of, and should not
even seek, so great an aid is not probable. It is
hard, too, to see how a weaver or a carpenter will
be benefited in regard to his own craft by knowing
this 'good itself', or how the man who has viewed
the Idea itself will be a better doctor or general
thereby. For a doctor seems not even to study
health in this way, but the health of man, or
perhaps rather the health of a particular man; it is
individuals that he is healing. But enough of these
topics.
Part 7
Let us again return to the good we are seeking,
and ask what it can be. It seems different in
different actions and arts; it is different in
medicine, in strategy, and in the other arts
likewise. What then is the good of each? Surely
that for whose sake everything else is done. In
medicine this is health, in strategy victory, in
architecture a house, in any other sphere
something else, and in every action and pursuit
the end; for it is for the sake of this that all men do
whatever else they do. Therefore, if there is an end
for all that we do, this will be the good achievable
by action, and if there are more than one, these
will be the goods achievable by action.
So the argument has by a different course reached
the same point; but we must try to state this even
more clearly. Since there are evidently more than
one end, and we choose some of these (e.g.
wealth, flutes, and in general instruments) for the
sake of something else, clearly not all ends are
final ends; but the chief good is evidently
something final. Therefore, if there is only one
final end, this will be what we are seeking, and if
there are more than one, the most final of these
will be what we are seeking. Now we call that
which is in itself worthy of pursuit more final than
that which is worthy of pursuit for the sake of
something else, and that which is never desirable
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for the sake of something else more final than the
things that are desirable both in themselves and
for the sake of that other thing, and therefore we
call final without qualification that which is
always desirable in itself and never for the sake of
something else.
Now such a thing happiness, above all else, is held
to be; for this we choose always for self and never
for the sake of something else, but honour,
pleasure, reason, and every virtue we choose
indeed for themselves (for if nothing resulted from
them we should still choose each of them), but we
choose them also for the sake of happiness,
judging that by means of them we shall be happy.
Happiness, on the other hand, no one chooses for
the sake of these, nor, in general, for anything
other than itself.
From the point of view of self-sufficiency the same
result seems to follow; for the final good is
thought to be self-sufficient. Now by self-sufficient
we do not mean that which is sufficient for a man
by himself, for one who lives a solitary life, but
also for parents, children, wife, and in general for
his friends and fellow citizens, since man is born
for citizenship. But some limit must be set to this;
for if we extend our requirement to ancestors and
descendants and friends' friends we are in for an
infinite series. Let us examine this question,
however, on another occasion; the self-sufficient
we now define as that which when isolated makes
life desirable and lacking in nothing; and such we
think happiness to be; and further we think it
most desirable of all things, without being
counted as one good thing among others- if it
were so counted it would clearly be made more
desirable by the addition of even the least of
goods; for that which is added becomes an excess
of goods, and of goods the greater is always more
desirable. Happiness, then, is something final and
self-sufficient, and is the end of action.
Presumably, however, to say that happiness is the
chief good seems a platitude, and a clearer
account of what it is still desired. This might
perhaps be given, if we could first ascertain the
function of man. For just as for a flute-player, a
sculptor, or an artist, and, in general, for all things
that have a function or activity, the good and the
'well' is thought to reside in the function, so would
it seem to be for man, if he has a function. Have
the carpenter, then, and the tanner certain
functions or activities, and has man none? Is he
born without a function? Or as eye, hand, foot,
and in general each of the parts evidently has a
function, may one lay it down that man similarly
has a function apart from all these? What then can
this be? Life seems to be common even to plants,
but we are seeking what is peculiar to man. Let us
exclude, therefore, the life of nutrition and
growth. Next there would be a life of perception,
but it also seems to be common even to the horse,
the ox, and every animal. There remains, then, an
active life of the element that has a rational
principle; of this, one part has such a principle in
the sense of being obedient to one, the other in
the sense of possessing one and exercising
thought. And, as 'life of the rational element' also
has two meanings, we must state that life in the
sense of activity is what we mean; for this seems to
be the more proper sense of the term. Now if the
function of man is an activity of soul which
follows or implies a rational principle, and if we
say 'so-and-so-and 'a good so-and-so' have a
function which is the same in kind, e.g. a lyre, and
a good lyre-player, and so without qualification in
all cases, eminence in respect of goodness being
idded to the name of the function (for the
function of a lyre-player is to play the lyre, and
that of a good lyre-player is to do so well): if this is
the case, and we state the function of man to be a
certain kind of life, and this to be an activity or
actions of the soul implying a rational principle,
and the function of a good man to be the good
and noble performance of these, and if any action
is well performed when it is performed in
accordance with the appropriate excellence: if this
is the case, human good turns out to be activity of
soul in accordance with virtue, and if there are
more than one virtue, in accordance with the best
and most complete.
But we must add 'in a complete life.' For one
swallow does not make a summer, nor does one
day; and so too one day, or a short time, does not
make a man blessed and happy.
Let this serve as an outline of the good; for we
must presumably first sketch it roughly, and then
later fill in the details. But it would seem that any
one is capable of carrying on and articulating what
has once been well outlined, and that time is a
good discoverer or partner in such a work; to
which facts the advances of the arts are due; for
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any one can add what is lacking. And we must also
remember what has been said before, and not look
for precision in all things alike, but in each class of
things such precision as accords with the subject-
matter, and so much as is appropriate to the
inquiry. For a carpenter and a geometer
investigate the right angle in different ways; the
former does so in so far as the right angle is useful
for his work, while the latter inquires what it is or
what sort of thing it is; for he is a spectator of the
truth. We must act in the same way, then, in all
other matters as well, that our main task may not
be subordinated to minor questions. Nor must we
demand the cause in all matters alike; it is enough
in some cases that the fact be well established, as
in the case of the first principles; the fact is the
primary thing or first principle. Now of first
principles we see some by induction, some by
perception, some by a certain habituation, and
others too in other ways. But each set of principles
we must try to investigate in the natural way, and
we must take pains to state them definitely, since
they have a great influence on what follows. For
the beginning is thought to be more than half of
the whole, and many of the questions we ask are
cleared up by it.
Part 8
We must consider it, however, in the light not
only of our conclusion and our premisses, but also
of what is commonly said about it; for with a true
view all the data harmonize, but with a false one
the facts soon clash. Now goods have been divided
into three classes, and some are described as
external, others as relating to soul or to body; we
call those that relate to soul most properly and
truly goods, and psychical actions and activities
we class as relating to soul. Therefore our account
must be sound, at least according to this view,
which is an old one and agreed on by
philosophers. It is correct also in that we identify
the end with certain actions and activities; for
thus it falls among goods of the soul and not
among external goods. Another belief which
harmonizes with our account is that the happy
man lives well and does well; for we have
practically defined happiness as a sort of good life
and good action. The characteristics that are
looked for in happiness seem also, all of them, to
belong to what we have defined happiness as
being. For some identify happiness with virtue,
some with practical wisdom, others with a kind of
philosophic wisdom, others with these, or one of
these, accompanied by pleasure or not without
pleasure; while others include also external
prosperity. Now some of these views have been
held by many men and men of old, others by a few
eminent persons; and it is not probable that either
of these should be entirely mistaken, but rather
that they should be right in at least some one
respect or even in most respects.
With those who identify happiness with virtue or
some one virtue our account is in harmony; for to
virtue belongs virtuous activity. But it makes,
perhaps, no small difference whether we place the
chief good in possession or in use, in state of mind
or in activity. For the state of mind may exist
without producing any good result, as in a man
who is asleep or in some other way quite inactive,
but the activity cannot; for one who has the
activity will of necessity be acting, and acting well.
And as in the Olympic Games it is not the most
beautiful and the strongest that are crowned but
those who compete (for it is some of these that are
victorious), so those who act win, and rightly win,
the noble and good things in life.
Their life is also in itself pleasant. For pleasure is a
state of soul, and to each man that which he is
said to be a lover of is pleasant; e.g. not only is a
horse pleasant to the lover of horses, and a
spectacle to the lover of sights, but also in the
same way just acts are pleasant to the lover of
justice and in general virtuous acts to the lover of
virtue. Now for most men their pleasures are in
conflict with one another because these are not by
nature pleasant, but the lovers of what is noble
find pleasant the things that are by nature
pleasant; and virtuous actions are such, so that
these are pleasant for such men as well as in their
own nature. Their life, therefore, has no further
need of pleasure as a sort of adventitious charm,
but has its pleasure in itself. For, besides what we
have said, the man who does not rejoice in noble
actions is not even good; since no one would call a
man just who did not enjoy acting justly, nor any
man liberal who did not enjoy liberal actions; and
similarly in all other cases. If this is so, virtuous
actions must be in themselves pleasant. But they
are also good and noble, and have each of these
attributes in the highest degree, since the good
man judges well about these attributes; his
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judgement is such as we have described.
Happiness then is the best, noblest, and most
pleasant thing in the world, and these attributes
are not severed as in the inscription at Delos-
Most noble is that which is justest, and best is
health; But pleasantest is it to win what we love.
For all these properties belong to the best
activities; and these, or one- the best- of these, we
identify with happiness.
Yet evidently, as we said, it needs the external
goods as well; for it is impossible, or not easy, to
do noble acts without the proper equipment. In
many actions we use friends and riches and
political power as instruments; and there are some
things the lack of which takes the lustre from
happiness, as good birth, goodly children, beauty;
for the man who is very ugly in appearance or ill-
born or solitary and childless is not very likely to
be happy, and perhaps a man would be still less
likely if he had thoroughly bad children or friends
or had lost good children or friends by death. As
we said, then, happiness seems to need this sort of
prosperity in addition; for which reason some
identify happiness with good fortune, though
others identify it with virtue.
Part 9
For this reason also the question is asked, whether
happiness is to be acquired by learning or by
habituation or some other sort of training, or
comes in virtue of some divine providence or
again by chance. Now if there is any gift of the
gods to men, it is reasonable that happiness
should be god-given, and most surely god-given of
all human things inasmuch as it is the best. But
this question would perhaps be more appropriate
to another inquiry; happiness seems, however,
even if it is not god-sent but comes as a result of
virtue and some process of learning or training, to
be among the most godlike things; for that which
is the prize and end of virtue seems to be the best
thing in the world, and something godlike and
blessed.
It will also on this view be very generally shared;
for all who are not maimed as regards their
potentiality for virtue may win it by a certain kind
of study and care. But if it is better to be happy
thus than by chance, it is reasonable that the facts
should be so, since everything that depends on the
action of nature is by nature as good as it can be,
and similarly everything that depends on art or
any rational cause, and especially if it depends on
the best of all causes. To entrust to chance what is
greatest and most noble would be a very defective
arrangement.
The answer to the question we are asking is plain
also from the definition of happiness; for it has
been said to be a virtuous activity of soul, of a
certain kind. Of the remaining goods, some must
necessarily pre-exist as conditions of happiness,
and others are naturally co-operative and useful as
instruments. And this will be found to agree with
what we said at the outset; for we stated the end
of political science to be the best end, and political
science spends most of its pains on making the
citizens to be of a certain character, viz. good and
capable of noble acts.
It is natural, then, that we call neither ox nor
horse nor any other of the animals happy; for
none of them is capable of sharing in such activity.
For this reason also a boy is not happy; for he is
not yet capable of such acts, owing to his age; and
boys who are called happy are being congratulated
by reason of the hopes we have for them. For there
is required, as we said, not only complete virtue
but also a complete life, since many changes occur
in life, and all manner of chances, and the most
prosperous may fall into great misfortunes in old
age, as is told of Priam in the Trojan Cycle; and
one who has experienced such chances and has
ended wretchedly no one calls happy.
Part 10
Must no one at all, then, be called happy while he
lives; must we, as Solon says, see the end? Even if
we are to lay down this doctrine, is it also the case
that a man is happy when he is dead? Or is not
this quite absurd, especially for us who say that
happiness is an activity? But if we do not call the
dead man happy, and if Solon does not mean this,
but that one can then safely call a man blessed as
being at last beyond evils and misfortunes, this
also affords matter for discussion; for both evil
and good are thought to exist for a dead man, as
much as for one who is alive but not aware of
them; e.g. honours and dishonours and the good
or bad fortunes of children and in general of
descendants. And this also presents a problem; for
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though a man has lived happily up to old age and
has had a death worthy of his life, many reverses
may befall his descendants- some of them may be
good and attain the life they deserve, while with
others the opposite may be the case; and clearly
too the degrees of relationship between them and
their ancestors may vary indefinitely. It would be
odd, then, if the dead man were to share in these
changes and become at one time happy, at
another wretched; while it would also be odd if
the fortunes of the descendants did not for some
time have some effect on the happiness of their
ancestors.
But we must return to our first difficulty; for
perhaps by a consideration of it our present
problem might be solved. Now if we must see the
end and only then call a man happy, not as being
happy but as having been so before, surely this is a
paradox, that when he is happy the attribute that
belongs to him is not to be truly predicated of him
because we do not wish to call living men happy,
on account of the changes that may befall them,
and because we have assumed happiness to be
something permanent and by no means easily
changed, while a single man may suffer many
turns of fortune's wheel. For clearly if we were to
keep pace with his fortunes, we should often call
the same man happy and again wretched, making
the happy man out to be chameleon and
insecurely based. Or is this keeping pace with his
fortunes quite wrong? Success or failure in life
does not depend on these, but human life, as we
said, needs these as mere additions, while virtuous
activities or their opposites are what constitute
happiness or the reverse.
The question we have now discussed confirms our
definition. For no function of man has so much
permanence as virtuous activities (these are
thought to be more durable even than knowledge
of the sciences), and of these themselves the most
valuable are more durable because those who are
happy spend their life most readily and most
continuously in these; for this seems to be the
reason why we do not forget them. The attribute
in question, then, will belong to the happy man,
and he will be happy throughout his life; for
always, or by preference to everything else, he will
be engaged in virtuous action and contemplation,
and he will bear the chances of life most nobly and
altogether decorously, if he is 'truly good' and
'foursquare beyond reproach'.
Now many events happen by chance, and events
differing in importance; small pieces of good
fortune or of its opposite clearly do not weigh
down the scales of life one way or the other, but a
multitude of great events if they turn out well will
make life happier (for not only are they
themselves such as to add beauty to life, but the
way a man deals with them may be noble and
good), while if they turn out ill they crush and
maim happiness; for they both bring pain with
them and hinder many activities. Yet even in these
nobility shines through, when a man bears with
resignation many great misfortunes, not through
insensibility to pain but through nobility and
greatness of soul.
If activities are, as we said, what gives life its
character, no happy man can become miserable;
for he will never do the acts that are hateful and
mean. For the man who is truly good and wise, we
think, bears all the chances life becomingly and
always makes the best of circumstances, as a good
general makes the best military use of the army at
his command and a good shoemaker makes the
best shoes out of the hides that are given him; and
so with all other craftsmen. And if this is the case,
the happy man can never become miserable;
though he will not reach blessedness, if he meet
with fortunes like those of Priam.
Nor, again, is he many-coloured and changeable;
for neither will he be moved from his happy state
easily or by any ordinary misadventures, but only
by many great ones, nor, if he has had many great
misadventures, will he recover his happiness in a
short time, but if at all, only in a long and
complete one in which he has attained many
splendid successes.
When then should we not say that he is happy
who is active in accordance with complete virtue
and is sufficiently equipped with external goods,
not for some chance period but throughout a
complete life? Or must we add 'and who is
destined to live thus and die as befits his life'?
Certainly the future is obscure to us, while
happiness, we claim, is an end and something in
every way final. If so, we shall call happy those
among living men in whom these conditions are,
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and are to be, fulfilled- but happy men. So much
for these questions.
Part 11
That the fortunes of descendants and of all a
man's friends should not affect his happiness at all
seems a very unfriendly doctrine, and one
opposed to the opinions men hold; but since the
events that happen are numerous and admit of all
sorts of difference, and some come more near to
us and others less so, it seems a long- nay, an
infinite- task to discuss each in detail; a general
outline will perhaps suffice. If, then, as some of a
man's own misadventures have a certain weight
and influence on life while others are, as it were,
lighter, so too there are differences among the
misadventures of our friends taken as a whole, and
it makes a difference whether the various suffering
befall the living or the dead (much more even
than whether lawless and terrible deeds are
presupposed in a tragedy or done on the stage),
this difference also must be taken into account; or
rather, perhaps, the fact that doubt is felt whether
the dead share in any good or evil. For it seems,
from these considerations, that even if anything
whether good or evil penetrates to them, it must
be something weak and negligible, either in itself
or for them, or if not, at least it must be such in
degree and kind as not to make happy those who
are not happy nor to take away their blessedness
from those who are. The good or bad fortunes of
friends, then, seem to have some effects on the
dead, but effects of such a kind and degree as
neither to make the happy unhappy nor to
produce any other change of the kind.
Part 12
These questions having been definitely answered,
let us consider whether happiness is among the
things that are praised or rather among the things
that are prized; for clearly it is not to be placed
among potentialities. Everything that is praised
seems to be praised because it is of a certain kind
and is related somehow to something else; for we
praise the just or brave man and in general both
the good man and virtue itself because of the
actions and functions involved, and we praise the
strong man, the good runner, and so on, because
he is of a certain kind and is related in a certain
way to something good and important. This is
clear also from the praises of the gods; for it seems
absurd that the gods should be referred to our
standard, but this is done because praise involves
a reference, to something else. But if if praise is for
things such as we have described, clearly what
applies to the best things is not praise, but
something greater and better, as is indeed
obvious; for what we do to the gods and the most
godlike of men is to call them blessed and happy.
And so too with good things; no one praises
happiness as he does justice, but rather calls it
blessed, as being something more divine and
better.
Eudoxus also seems to have been right in his
method of advocating the supremacy of pleasure;
he thought that the fact that, though a good, it is
not praised indicated it to be better than the
things that are praised, and that this is what God
and the good are; for by reference to these all
other things are judged. Praise is appropriate to
virtue, for as a result of virtue men tend to do
noble deeds, but encomia are bestowed on acts,
whether of the body or of the soul. But perhaps
nicety in these matters is more proper to those
who have made a study of encomia; to us it is clear
from what has been said that happiness is among
the things that are prized and perfect. It seems to
be so also from the fact that it is a first principle;
for it is for the sake of this that we all do all that
we do, and the first principle and cause of goods
is, we claim, something prized and divine.
Part 13
Since happiness is an activity of soul in accordance
with perfect virtue, we must consider the nature
of virtue; for perhaps we shall thus see better the
nature of happiness. The true student of politics,
too, is thought to have studied virtue above all
things; for he wishes to make his fellow citizens
good and obedient to the laws. As an example of
this we have the lawgivers of the Cretans and the
Spartans, and any others of the kind that there
may have been. And if this inquiry belongs to
political science, clearly the pursuit of it will be in
accordance with our original plan. But clearly the
virtue we must study is human virtue; for the good
we were seeking was human good and the
happiness human happiness. By human virtue we
mean not that of the body but that of the soul;
and happiness also we call an activity of soul. But
if this is so, clearly the student of politics must
know somehow the facts about soul, as the man
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who is to heal the eyes or the body as a whole
must know about the eyes or the body; and all the
more since politics is more prized and better than
medicine; but even among doctors the best
educated spend much labour on acquiring
knowledge of the body. The student of politics,
then, must study the soul, and must study it with
these objects in view, and do so just to the extent
which is sufficient for the questions we are
discussing; for further precision is perhaps
something more laborious than our purposes
require.
Some things are said about it, adequately enough,
even in the discussions outside our school, and we
must use these; e.g. that one element in the soul is
irrational and one has a rational principle.
Whether these are separated as the parts of the
body or of anything divisible are, or are distinct by
definition but by nature inseparable, like convex
and concave in the circumference of a circle, does
not affect the present question.
Of the irrational element one division seems to be
widely distributed, and vegetative in its nature, I
mean that which causes nutrition and growth; for
it is this kind of power of the soul that one must
assign to all nurslings and to embryos, and this
same power to fullgrown creatures; this is more
reasonable than to assign some different power to
them. Now the excellence of this seems to be
common to all species and not specifically human;
for this part or faculty seems to function most in
sleep, while goodness and badness are least
manifest in sleep (whence comes the saying that
the happy are not better off than the wretched for
half their lives; and this happens naturally enough,
since sleep is an inactivity of the soul in that
respect in which it is called good or bad), unless
perhaps to a small extent some of the movements
actually penetrate to the soul, and in this respect
the dreams of good men are better than those of
ordinary people. Enough of this subject, however;
let us leave the nutritive faculty alone, since it has
by its nature no share in human excellence.
There seems to be also another irrational element
in the soul-one which in a sense, however, shares
in a rational principle. For we praise the rational
principle of the continent man and of the
incontinent, and the part of their soul that has
such a principle, since it urges them aright and
towards the best objects; but there is found in
them also another element naturally opposed to
the rational principle, which fights against and
resists that principle. For exactly as paralysed
limbs when we intend to move them to the right
turn on the contrary to the left, so is it with the
soul; the impulses of incontinent people move in
contrary directions. But while in the body we see
that which moves astray, in the soul we do not. No
doubt, however, we must none the less suppose
that in the soul too there is something contrary to
the rational principle, resisting and opposing it. In
what sense it is distinct from the other elements
does not concern us. Now even this seems to have
a share in a rational principle, as we said; at any
rate in the continent man it obeys the rational
principle and presumably in the temperate and
brave man it is still more obedient; for in him it
speaks, on all matters, with the same voice as the
rational principle.
Therefore the irrational element also appears to be
two-fold. For the vegetative element in no way
shares in a rational principle, but the appetitive
and in general the desiring element in a sense
shares in it, in so far as it listens to and obeys it;
this is the sense in which we speak of 'taking
account' of one's father or one's friends, not that
in which we speak of 'accounting for a
mathematical property. That the irrational
element is in some sense persuaded by a rational
principle is indicated also by the giving of advice
and by all reproof and exhortation. And if this
element also must be said to have a rational
principle, that which has a rational principle (as
well as that which has not) will be twofold, one
subdivision having it in the strict sense and in
itself, and the other having a tendency to obey as
one does one's father.
Virtue too is distinguished into kinds in
accordance with this difference; for we say that
some of the virtues are intellectual and others
moral, philosophic wisdom and understanding
and practical wisdom being intellectual, liberality
and temperance moral. For in speaking about a
man's character we do not say that he is wise or
has understanding but that he is good-tempered
or temperate; yet we praise the wise man also with
respect to his state of mind; and of states of mind
we call those which merit praise virtues.
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BOOK II
Part 1
Virtue, then, being of two kinds, intellectual and
moral, intellectual virtue in the main owes both its
birth and its growth to teaching (for which reason
it requires experience and time), while moral
virtue comes about as a result of habit, whence
also its name (ethike) is one that is formed by a
slight variation from the word ethos (habit). From
this it is also plain that none of the moral virtues
arises in us by nature; for nothing that exists by
nature can form a habit contrary to its nature. For
instance the stone which by nature moves
downwards cannot be habituated to move
upwards, not even if one tries to train it by
throwing it up ten thousand times; nor can fire be
habituated to move downwards, nor can anything
else that by nature behaves in one way be trained
to behave in another. Neither by nature, then, nor
contrary to nature do the virtues arise in us; rather
we are adapted by nature to receive them, and are
made perfect by habit.
Again, of all the things that come to us by nature
we first acquire the potentiality and later exhibit
the activity (this is plain in the case of the senses;
for it was not by often seeing or often hearing that
we got these senses, but on the contrary we had
them before we used them, and did not come to
have them by using them); but the virtues we get
by first exercising them, as also happens in the
case of the arts as well. For the things we have to
learn before we can do them, we learn by doing
them, e.g. men become builders by building and
lyreplayers by playing the lyre; so too we become
just by doing just acts, temperate by doing
temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts.
This is confirmed by what happens in states; for
legislators make the citizens good by forming
habits in them, and this is the wish of every
legislator, and those who do not effect it miss their
mark, and it is in this that a good constitution
differs from a bad one.
Again, it is from the same causes and by the same
means that every virtue is both produced and
destroyed, and similarly every art; for it is from
playing the lyre that both good and bad lyre-
players are produced. And the corresponding
statement is true of builders and of all the rest;
men will be good or bad builders as a result of
building well or badly. For if this were not so,
there would have been no need of a teacher, but
all men would have been born good or bad at their
craft. This, then, is the case with the virtues also;
by doing the acts that we do in our transactions
with other men we become just or unjust, and by
doing the acts that we do in the presence of
danger, and being habituated to feel fear or
confidence, we become brave or cowardly. The
same is true of appetites and feelings of anger;
some men become temperate and good-tempered,
others self-indulgent and irascible, by behaving in
one way or the other in the appropriate
circumstances. Thus, in one word, states of
character arise out of like activities. This is why
the activities we exhibit must be of a certain kind;
it is because the states of character correspond to
the differences between these. It makes no small
difference, then, whether we form habits of one
kind or of another from our very youth; it makes a
very great difference, or rather all the difference.
Part 2
Since, then, the present inquiry does not aim at
theoretical knowledge like the others (for we are
inquiring not in order to know what virtue is, but
in order to become good, since otherwise our
inquiry would have been of no use), we must
examine the nature of actions, namely how we
ought to do them; for these determine also the
nature of the states of character that are produced,
as we have said. Now, that we must act according
to the right rule is a common principle and must
be assumed-it will be discussed later, i.e. both
what the right rule is, and how it is related to the
other virtues. But this must be agreed upon
beforehand, that the whole account of matters of
conduct must be given in outline and not
precisely, as we said at the very beginning that the
accounts we demand must be in accordance with
the subject-matter; matters concerned with
conduct and questions of what is good for us have
no fixity, any more than matters of health. The
general account being of this nature, the account
of particular cases is yet more lacking in exactness;
for they do not fall under any art or precept but
the agents themselves must in each case consider
what is appropriate to the occasion, as happens
also in the art of medicine or of navigation.
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But though our present account is of this nature
we must give what help we can. First, then, let us
consider this, that it is the nature of such things to
be destroyed by defect and excess, as we see in the
case of strength and of health (for to gain light on
things imperceptible we must use the evidence of
sensible things); both excessive and defective
exercise destroys the strength, and similarly drink
or food which is above or below a certain amount
destroys the health, while that which is
proportionate both produces and increases and
preserves it. So too is it, then, in the case of
temperance and courage and the other virtues. For
the man who flies from and fears everything and
does not stand his ground against anything
becomes a coward, and the man who fears
nothing at all but goes to meet every danger
becomes rash; and similarly the man who indulges
in every pleasure and abstains from none becomes
self-indulgent, while the man who shuns every
pleasure, as boors do, becomes in a way insensible;
temperance and courage, then, are destroyed by
excess and defect, and preserved by the mean.
But not only are the sources and causes of their
origination and growth the same as those of their
destruction, but also the sphere of their
actualization will be the same; for this is also true
of the things which are more evident to sense, e.g.
of strength; it is produced by taking much food
and undergoing much exertion, and it is the
strong man that will be most able to do these
things. So too is it with the virtues; by abstaining
from pleasures we become temperate, and it is
when we have become so that we are most able to
abstain from them; and similarly too in the case of
courage; for by being habituated to despise things
that are terrible and to stand our ground against
them we become brave, and it is when we have
become so that we shall be most able to stand our
ground against them.
Part 3
We must take as a sign of states of character the
pleasure or pain that ensues on acts; for the man
who abstains from bodily pleasures and delights in
this very fact is temperate, while the man who is
annoyed at it is self-indulgent, and he who stands
his ground against things that are terrible and
delights in this or at least is not pained is brave,
while the man who is pained is a coward. For
moral excellence is concerned with pleasures and
pains; it is on account of the pleasure that we do
bad things, and on account of the pain that we
abstain from noble ones. Hence we ought to have
been brought up in a particular way from our very
youth, as Plato says, so as both to delight in and to
be pained by the things that we ought; for this is
the right education.
Again, if the virtues are concerned with actions
and passions, and every passion and every action
is accompanied by pleasure and pain, for this
reason also virtue will be concerned with
pleasures and pains. This is indicated also by the
fact that punishment is inflicted by these means;
for it is a kind of cure, and it is the nature of cures
to be effected by contraries.
Again, as we said but lately, every state of soul has
a nature relative to and concerned with the kind
of things by which it tends to be made worse or
better; but it is by reason of pleasures and pains
that men become bad, by pursuing and avoiding
these- either the pleasures and pains they ought
not or when they ought not or as they ought not,
or by going wrong in one of the other similar ways
that may be distinguished. Hence men even define
the virtues as certain states of impassivity and rest;
not well, however, because they speak absolutely,
and do not say 'as one ought' and 'as one ought
not' and 'when one ought or ought not', and the
other things that may be added. We assume, then,
that this kind of excellence tends to do what is
best with regard to pleasures and pains, and vice
does the contrary.
The following facts also may show us that virtue
and vice are concerned with these same things.
There being three objects of choice and three of
avoidance, the noble, the advantageous, the
pleasant, and their contraries, the base, the
injurious, the painful, about all of these the good
man tends to go right and the bad man to go
wrong, and especially about pleasure; for this is
common to the animals, and also it accompanies
all objects of choice; for even the noble and the
advantageous appear pleasant.
Again, it has grown up with us all from our
infancy; this is why it is difficult to rub off this
passion, engrained as it is in our life. And we
measure even our actions, some of us more and
others less, by the rule of pleasure and pain. For
this reason, then, our whole inquiry must be about
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these; for to feel delight and pain rightly or
wrongly has no small effect on our actions.
Again, it is harder to fight with pleasure than with
anger, to use Heraclitus' phrase', but both art and
virtue are always concerned with what is harder;
for even the good is better when it is harder.
Therefore for this reason also the whole concern
both of virtue and of political science is with
pleasures and pains; for the man who uses these
well will be good, he who uses them badly bad.
That virtue, then, is concerned with pleasures and
pains, and that by the acts from which it arises it
is both increased and, if they are done differently,
destroyed, and that the acts from which it arose
are those in which it actualizes itself- let this be
taken as said.
Part 4
The question might be asked,; what we mean by
saying that we must become just by doing just
acts, and temperate by doing temperate acts; for if
men do just and temperate acts, they are already
just and temperate, exactly as, if they do what is in
accordance with the laws of grammar and of
music, they are grammarians and musicians.
Or is this not true even of the arts? It is possible to
do something that is in accordance with the laws
of grammar, either by chance or at the suggestion
of another. A man will be a grammarian, then,
only when he has both done something
grammatical and done it grammatically; and this
means doing it in accordance with the
grammatical knowledge in himself.
Again, the case of the arts and that of the virtues
are not similar; for the products of the arts have
their goodness in themselves, so that it is enough
that they should have a certain character, but if
the acts that are in accordance with the virtues
have themselves a certain character it does not
follow that they are done justly or temperately.
The agent also must be in a certain condition
when he does them; in the first place he must
have knowledge, secondly he must choose the
acts, and choose them for their own sakes, and
thirdly his action must proceed from a firm and
unchangeable character. These are not reckoned
in as conditions of the possession of the arts,
except the bare knowledge; but as a condition of
the possession of the virtues knowledge has little
or no weight, while the other conditions count not
for a little but for everything, i.e. the very
conditions which result from often doing just and
temperate acts.
Actions, then, are called just and temperate when
they are such as the just or the temperate man
would do; but it is not the man who does these
that is just and temperate, but the man who also
does them as just and temperate men do them. It
is well said, then, that it is by doing just acts that
the just man is produced, and by doing temperate
acts the temperate man; without doing these no
one would have even a prospect of becoming
good.
But most people do not do these, but take refuge
in theory and think they are being philosophers
and will become good in this way, behaving
somewhat like patients who listen attentively to
their doctors, but do none of the things they are
ordered to do. As the latter will not be made well
in body by such a course of treatment, the former
will not be made well in soul by such a course of
philosophy.
Part 5
Next we must consider what virtue is. Since things
that are found in the soul are of three kinds-
passions, faculties, states of character, virtue must
be one of these. By passions I mean appetite,
anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, friendly feeling,
hatred, longing, emulation, pity, and in general
the feelings that are accompanied by pleasure or
pain; by faculties the things in virtue of which we
are said to be capable of feeling these, e.g. of
becoming angry or being pained or feeling pity; by
states of character the things in virtue of which we
stand well or badly with reference to the passions,
e.g. with reference to anger we stand badly if we
feel it violently or too weakly, and well if we feel it
moderately; and similarly with reference to the
other passions.
Now neither the virtues nor the vices are passions,
because we are not called good or bad on the
ground of our passions, but are so called on the
ground of our virtues and our vices, and because
we are neither praised nor blamed for our passions
(for the man who feels fear or anger is not praised,
nor is the man who simply feels anger blamed, but
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the man who feels it in a certain way), but for our
virtues and our vices we are praised or blamed.
Again, we feel anger and fear without choice, but
the virtues are modes of choice or involve choice.
Further, in respect of the passions we are said to
be moved, but in respect of the virtues and the
vices we are said not to be moved but to be
disposed in a particular way.
For these reasons also they are not faculties; for
we are neither called good nor bad, nor praised
nor blamed, for the simple capacity of feeling the
passions; again, we have the faculties by nature,
but we are not made good or bad by nature; we
have spoken of this before. If, then, the virtues are
neither passions nor faculties, all that remains is
that they should be states of character.
Thus we have stated what virtue is in respect of its
genus.
Part 6
We must, however, not only describe virtue as a
state of character, but also say what sort of state it
is. We may remark, then, that every virtue or
excellence both brings into good condition the
thing of which it is the excellence and makes the
work of that thing be done well; e.g. the excellence
of the eye makes both the eye and its work good;
for it is by the excellence of the eye that we see
well. Similarly the excellence of the horse makes a
horse both good in itself and good at running and
at carrying its rider and at awaiting the attack of
the enemy. Therefore, if this is true in every case,
the virtue of man also will be the state of character
which makes a man good and which makes him
do his own work well.
How this is to happen we have stated already, but
it will be made plain also by the following
consideration of the specific nature of virtue. In
everything that is continuous and divisible it is
possible to take more, less, or an equal amount,
and that either in terms of the thing itself or
relatively to us; and the equal is an intermediate
between excess and defect. By the intermediate in
the object I mean that which is equidistant from
each of the extremes, which is one and the same
for all men; by the intermediate relatively to us
that which is neither too much nor too little- and
this is not one, nor the same for all. For instance,
if ten is many and two is few, six is the
intermediate, taken in terms of the object; for it
exceeds and is exceeded by an equal amount; this
is intermediate according to arithmetical
proportion. But the intermediate relatively to us is
not to be taken so; if ten pounds are too much for
a particular person to eat and two too little, it does
not follow that the trainer will order six pounds;
for this also is perhaps too much for the person
who is to take it, or too little- too little for Milo,
too much for the beginner in athletic exercises.
The same is true of running and wrestling. Thus a
master of any art avoids excess and defect, but
seeks the intermediate and chooses this- the
intermediate not in the object but relatively to us.
If it is thus, then, that every art does its work well-
by looking to the intermediate and judgling its
works by this standard (so that we often say of
good works of art that it is not possible either to
take away or to add anything, implying that excess
and defect destroy the goodness of works of art,
while the mean preserves it; and good artists, as
we say, look to this in their work), and if, further,
virtue is more exact and better than any art, as
nature also is, then virtue must have the quality of
aiming at the intermediate. I mean moral virtue;
for it is this that is concerned with passions and
actions, and in these there is excess, defect, and
the intermediate. For instance, both fear and
confidence and appetite and anger and pity and in
general pleasure and pain may be felt both too
much and too little, and in both cases not well;
but to feel them at the right times, with reference
to the right objects, towards the right people, with
the right motive, and in the right way, is what is
both intermediate and best, and this is
characteristic of virtue. Similarly with regard to
actions also there is excess, defect, and the
intermediate. Now virtue is concerned with
passions and actions, in which excess is a form of
failure, and so is defect, while the intermediate is
praised and is a form of success; and being praised
and being successful are both characteristics of
virtue. Therefore virtue is a kind of mean, since, as
we have seen, it aims at what is intermediate.
Again, it is possible to fail in many ways (for evil
belongs to the class of the unlimited, as the
Pythagoreans conjectured, and good to that of the
limited), while to succeed is possible only in one
way (for which reason also one is easy and the
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other difficult- to miss the mark easy, to hit it
difficult); for these reasons also, then, excess and
defect are characteristic of vice, and the mean of
virtue;
For men are good in but one way, but bad in
many.
Virtue, then, is a state of character concerned with
choice, lying in a mean, i.e. the mean relative to
us, this being determined by a rational principle,
and by that principle by which the man of
practical wisdom would determine it. Now it is a
mean between two vices, that which depends on
excess and that which depends on defect; and
again it is a mean because the vices respectively
fall short of or exceed what is right in both
passions and actions, while virtue both finds and
chooses that which is intermediate. Hence in
respect of its substance and the definition which
states its essence virtue is a mean, with regard to
what is best and right an extreme.
But not every action nor every passion admits of a
mean; for some have names that already imply
badness, e.g. spite, shamelessness, envy, and in
the case of actions adultery, theft, murder; for all
of these and suchlike things imply by their names
that they are themselves bad, and not the excesses
or deficiencies of them. It is not possible, then,
ever to be right with regard to them; one must
always be wrong. Nor does goodness or badness
with regard to such things depend on committing
adultery with the right woman, at the right time,
and in the right way, but simply to do any of them
is to go wrong. It would be equally absurd, then,
to expect that in unjust, cowardly, and voluptuous
action there should be a mean, an excess, and a
deficiency; for at that rate there would be a mean
of excess and of deficiency, an excess of excess,
and a deficiency of deficiency. But as there is no
excess and deficiency of temperance and courage
because what is intermediate is in a sense an
extreme, so too of the actions we have mentioned
there is no mean nor any excess and deficiency,
but however they are done they are wrong; for in
general there is neither a mean of excess and
deficiency, nor excess and deficiency of a mean.
Part 7
We must, however, not only make this general
statement, but also apply it to the individual facts.
For among statements about conduct those which
are general apply more widely, but those which
are particular are more genuine, since conduct has
to do with individual cases, and our statements
must harmonize with the facts in these cases. We
may take these cases from our table. With regard
to feelings of fear and confidence courage is the
mean; of the people who exceed, he who exceeds
in fearlessness has no name (many of the states
have no name), while the man who exceeds in
confidence is rash, and he who exceeds in fear and
falls short in confidence is a coward. With regard
to pleasures and pains- not all of them, and not so
much with regard to the pains- the mean is
temperance, the excess self-indulgence. Persons
deficient with regard to the pleasures are not often
found; hence such persons also have received no
name. But let us call them 'insensible'.
With regard to giving and taking of money the
mean is liberality, the excess and the defect
prodigality and meanness. In these actions people
exceed and fall short in contrary ways; the
prodigal exceeds in spending and falls short in
taking, while the mean man exceeds in taking and
falls short in spending. (At present we are giving a
mere outline or summary, and are satisfied with
this; later these states will be more exactly
determined.) With regard to money there are also
other dispositions- a mean, magnificence (for the
magnificent man differs from the liberal man; the
former deals with large sums, the latter with small
ones), an excess, tastelessness and vulgarity, and a
deficiency, niggardliness; these differ from the
states opposed to liberality, and the mode of their
difference will be stated later. With regard to
honour and dishonour the mean is proper pride,
the excess is known as a sort of 'empty vanity', and
the deficiency is undue humility; and as we said
liberality was related to magnificence, differing
from it by dealing with small sums, so there is a
state similarly related to proper pride, being
concerned with small honours while that is
concerned with great. For it is possible to desire
honour as one ought, and more than one ought,
and less, and the man who exceeds in his desires is
called ambitious, the man who falls short
unambitious, while the intermediate person has
no name. The dispositions also are nameless,
except that that of the ambitious man is called
ambition. Hence the people who are at the
extremes lay claim to the middle place; and we
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ourselves sometimes call the intermediate person
ambitious and sometimes unambitious, and
sometimes praise the ambitious man and
sometimes the unambitious. The reason of our
doing this will be stated in what follows; but now
let us speak of the remaining states according to
the method which has been indicated.
With regard to anger also there is an excess, a
deficiency, and a mean. Although they can
scarcely be said to have names, yet since we call
the intermediate person good-tempered let us call
the mean good temper; of the persons at the
extremes let the one who exceeds be called
irascible, and his vice irascibility, and the man
who falls short an inirascible sort of person, and
the deficiency inirascibility.
There are also three other means, which have a
certain likeness to one another, but differ from
one another: for they are all concerned with
intercourse in words and actions, but differ in that
one is concerned with truth in this sphere, the
other two with pleasantness; and of this one kind
is exhibited in giving amusement, the other in all
the circumstances of life. We must therefore speak
of these too, that we may the better see that in all
things the mean is praise-worthy, and the
extremes neither praiseworthy nor right, but
worthy of blame. Now most of these states also
have no names, but we must try, as in the other
cases, to invent names ourselves so that we may
be clear and easy to follow. With regard to truth,
then, the intermediate is a truthful sort of person
and the mean may be called truthfulness, while
the pretence which exaggerates is boastfulness
and the person characterized by it a boaster, and
that which understates is mock modesty and the
person characterized by it mock-modest. With
regard to pleasantness in the giving of amusement
the intermediate person is ready-witted and the
disposition ready wit, the excess is buffoonery and
the person characterized by it a buffoon, while the
man who falls short is a sort of boor and his state
is boorishness. With regard to the remaining kind
of pleasantness, that which is exhibited in life in
general, the man who is pleasant in the right way
is friendly and the mean is friendliness, while the
man who exceeds is an obsequious person if he
has no end in view, a flatterer if he is aiming at his
own advantage, and the man who falls short and is
unpleasant in all circumstances is a quarrelsome
and surly sort of person.
There are also means in the passions and
concerned with the passions; since shame is not a
virtue, and yet praise is extended to the modest
man. For even in these matters one man is said to
be intermediate, and another to exceed, as for
instance the bashful man who is ashamed of
everything; while he who falls short or is not
ashamed of anything at all is shameless, and the
intermediate person is modest. Righteous
indignation is a mean between envy and spite, and
these states are concerned with the pain and
pleasure that are felt at the fortunes of our
neighbours; the man who is characterized by
righteous indignation is pained at undeserved
good fortune, the envious man, going beyond him,
is pained at all good fortune, and the spiteful man
falls so far short of being pained that he even
rejoices. But these states there will be an
opportunity of describing elsewhere; with regard
to justice, since it has not one simple meaning, we
shall, after describing the other states, distinguish
its two kinds and say how each of them is a mean;
and similarly we shall treat also of the rational
virtues.
Part 8
There are three kinds of disposition, then, two of
them vices, involving excess and deficiency
respectively, and one a virtue, viz. the mean, and
all are in a sense opposed to all; for the extreme
states are contrary both to the intermediate state
and to each other, and the intermediate to the
extremes; as the equal is greater relatively to the
less, less relatively to the greater, so the middle
states are excessive relatively to the deficiencies,
deficient relatively to the excesses, both in
passions and in actions. For the brave man
appears rash relatively to the coward, and
cowardly relatively to the rash man; and similarly
the temperate man appears self-indulgent
relatively to the insensible man, insensible
relatively to the self-indulgent, and the liberal
man prodigal relatively to the mean man, mean
relatively to the prodigal. Hence also the people at
the extremes push the intermediate man each
over to the other, and the brave man is called rash
by the coward, cowardly by the rash man, and
correspondingly in the other cases.
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These states being thus opposed to one another,
the greatest contrariety is that of the extremes to
each other, rather than to the intermediate; for
these are further from each other than from the
intermediate, as the great is further from the small
and the small from the great than both are from
the equal. Again, to the intermediate some
extremes show a certain likeness, as that of
rashness to courage and that of prodigality to
liberality; but the extremes show the greatest
unlikeness to each other; now contraries are
defined as the things that are furthest from each
other, so that things that are further apart are
more contrary.
To the mean in some cases the deficiency, in some
the excess is more opposed; e.g. it is not rashness,
which is an excess, but cowardice, which is a
deficiency, that is more opposed to courage, and
not insensibility, which is a deficiency, but self-
indulgence, which is an excess, that is more
opposed to temperance. This happens from two
reasons, one being drawn from the thing itself; for
because one extreme is nearer and liker to the
intermediate, we oppose not this but rather its
contrary to the intermediate. E.g. since rashness is
thought liker and nearer to courage, and
cowardice more unlike, we oppose rather the
latter to courage; for things that are further from
the intermediate are thought more contrary to it.
This, then, is one cause, drawn from the thing
itself; another is drawn from ourselves; for the
things to which we ourselves more naturally tend
seem more contrary to the intermediate. For
instance, we ourselves tend more naturally to
pleasures, and hence are more easily carried away
towards self-indulgence than towards propriety.
We describe as contrary to the mean, then, rather
the directions in which we more often go to great
lengths; and therefore self-indulgence, which is an
excess, is the more contrary to temperance.
Part 9
That moral virtue is a mean, then, and in what
sense it is so, and that it is a mean between two
vices, the one involving excess, the other
deficiency, and that it is such because its character
is to aim at what is intermediate in passions and in
actions, has been sufficiently stated. Hence also it
is no easy task to be good. For in everything it is
no easy task to find the middle, e.g. to find the
middle of a circle is not for every one but for him
who knows; so, too, any one can get angry- that is
easy- or give or spend money; but to do this to the
right person, to the right extent, at the right time,
with the right motive, and in the right way, that is
not for every one, nor is it easy; wherefore
goodness is both rare and laudable and noble.
Hence he who aims at the intermediate must first
depart from what is the more contrary to it, as
Calypso advises-
Hold the ship out beyond that surf and spray.
For of the extremes one is more erroneous, one
less so; therefore, since to hit the mean is hard in
the extreme, we must as a second best, as people
say, take the least of the evils; and this will be
done best in the way we describe. But we must
consider the things towards which we ourselves
also are easily carried away; for some of us tend to
one thing, some to another; and this will be
recognizable from the pleasure and the pain we
feel. We must drag ourselves away to the contrary
extreme; for we shall get into the intermediate
state by drawing well away from error, as people
do in straightening sticks that are bent.
Now in everything the pleasant or pleasure is most
to be guarded against; for we do not judge it
impartially. We ought, then, to feel towards
pleasure as the elders of the people felt towards
Helen, and in all circumstances repeat their
saying; for if we dismiss pleasure thus we are less
likely to go astray. It is by doing this, then, (to
sum the matter up) that we shall best be able to
hit the mean.
But this is no doubt difficult, and especially in
individual cases; for or is not easy to determine
both how and with whom and on what
provocation and how long one should be angry;
for we too sometimes praise those who fall short
and call them good-tempered, but sometimes we
praise those who get angry and call them manly.
The man, however, who deviates little from
goodness is not blamed, whether he do so in the
direction of the more or of the less, but only the
man who deviates more widely; for he does not
fail to be noticed. But up to what point and to
what extent a man must deviate before he
becomes blameworthy it is not easy to determine
by reasoning, any more than anything else that is
perceived by the senses; such things depend on
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particular facts, and the decision rests with
perception. So much, then, is plain, that the
intermediate state is in all things to be praised,
but that we must incline sometimes towards the
excess, sometimes towards the deficiency; for so
shall we most easily hit the mean and what is
right.
BOOK III
Part 1
Since virtue is concerned with passions and
actions, and on voluntary passions and actions
praise and blame are bestowed, on those that are
involuntary pardon, and sometimes also pity, to
distinguish the voluntary and the involuntary is
presumably necessary for those who are studying
the nature of virtue, and useful also for legislators
with a view to the assigning both of honours and
of punishments. Those things, then, are thought-
involuntary, which take place under compulsion
or owing to ignorance; and that is compulsory of
which the moving principle is outside, being a
principle in which nothing is contributed by the
person who is acting or is feeling the passion, e.g.
if he were to be carried somewhere by a wind, or
by men who had him in their power.
But with regard to the things that are done from
fear of greater evils or for some noble object (e.g.
if a tyrant were to order one to do something base,
having one's parents and children in his power,
and if one did the action they were to be saved,
but otherwise would be put to death), it may be
debated whether such actions are involuntary or
voluntary. Something of the sort happens also
with regard to the throwing of goods overboard in
a storm; for in the abstract no one throws goods
away voluntarily, but on condition of its securing
the safety of himself and his crew any sensible
man does so. Such actions, then, are mixed, but
are more like voluntary actions; for they are
worthy of choice at the time when they are done,
and the end of an action is relative to the
occasion. Both the terms, then, 'voluntary' and
'involuntary', must be used with reference to the
moment of action. Now the man acts voluntarily;
for the principle that moves the instrumental
parts of the body in such actions is in him, and the
things of which the moving principle is in a man
himself are in his power to do or not to do. Such
actions, therefore, are voluntary, but in the
abstract perhaps involuntary; for no one would
choose any such act in itself.
For such actions men are sometimes even praised,
when they endure something base or painful in
return for great and noble objects gained; in the
opposite case they are blamed, since to endure the
greatest indignities for no noble end or for a
trifling end is the mark of an inferior person. On
some actions praise indeed is not bestowed, but
pardon is, when one does what he ought not
under pressure which overstrains human nature
and which no one could withstand. But some acts,
perhaps, we cannot be forced to do, but ought
rather to face death after the most fearful
sufferings; for the things that 'forced' Euripides
Alcmaeon to slay his mother seem absurd. It is
difficult sometimes to determine what should be
chosen at what cost, and what should be endured
in return for what gain, and yet more difficult to
abide by our decisions; for as a rule what is
expected is painful, and what we are forced to do
is base, whence praise and blame are bestowed on
those who have been compelled or have not.
What sort of acts, then, should be called
compulsory? We answer that without qualification
actions are so when the cause is in the external
circumstances and the agent contributes nothing.
But the things that in themselves are involuntary,
but now and in return for these gains are worthy
of choice, and whose moving principle is in the
agent, are in themselves involuntary, but now and
in return for these gains voluntary. They are more
like voluntary acts; for actions are in the class of
particulars, and the particular acts here are
voluntary. What sort of things are to be chosen,
and in return for what, it is not easy to state; for
there are many differences in the particular cases.
But if some one were to say that pleasant and
noble objects have a compelling power, forcing us
from without, all acts would be for him
compulsory; for it is for these objects that all men
do everything they do. And those who act under
compulsion and unwillingly act with pain, but
those who do acts for their pleasantness and
nobility do them with pleasure; it is absurd to
make external circumstances responsible, and not
oneself, as being easily caught by such attractions,
and to make oneself responsible for noble acts but
the pleasant objects responsible for base acts. The
compulsory, then, seems to be that whose moving
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principle is outside, the person compelled
contributing nothing.
Everything that is done by reason of ignorance is
not voluntary; it is only what produces pain and
repentance that is involuntary. For the man who
has done something owing to ignorance, and feels
not the least vexation at his action, has not acted
voluntarily, since he did not know what he was
doing, nor yet involuntarily, since he is not
pained. Of people, then, who act by reason of
ignorance he who repents is thought an
involuntary agent, and the man who does not
repent may, since he is different, be called a not
voluntary agent; for, since he differs from the
other, it is better that he should have a name of
his own.
Acting by reason of ignorance seems also to be
different from acting in ignorance; for the man
who is drunk or in a rage is thought to act as a
result not of ignorance but of one of the causes
mentioned, yet not knowingly but in ignorance.
Now every wicked man is ignorant of what he
ought to do and what he ought to abstain from,
and it is by reason of error of this kind that men
become unjust and in general bad; but the term
'involuntary' tends to be used not if a man is
ignorant of what is to his advantage- for it is not
mistaken purpose that causes involuntary action
(it leads rather to wickedness), nor ignorance of
the universal (for that men are blamed), but
ignorance of particulars, i.e. of the circumstances
of the action and the objects with which it is
concerned. For it is on these that both pity and
pardon depend, since the person who is ignorant
of any of these acts involuntarily.
Perhaps it is just as well, therefore, to determine
their nature and number. A man may be ignorant,
then, of who he is, what he is doing, what or
whom he is acting on, and sometimes also what
(e.g. what instrument) he is doing it with, and to
what end (e.g. he may think his act will conduce
to some one's safety), and how he is doing it (e.g.
whether gently or violently). Now of all of these
no one could be ignorant unless he were mad, and
evidently also he could not be ignorant of the
agent; for how could he not know himself? But of
what he is doing a man might be ignorant, as for
instance people say 'it slipped out of their mouths
as they were speaking', or 'they did not know it
was a secret', as Aeschylus said of the mysteries, or
a man might say he 'let it go off when he merely
wanted to show its working', as the man did with
the catapult. Again, one might think one's son was
an enemy, as Merope did, or that a pointed spear
had a button on it, or that a stone was
pumicestone; or one might give a man a draught
to save him, and really kill him; or one might want
to touch a man, as people do in sparring, and
really wound him. The ignorance may relate, then,
to any of these things, i.e. of the circumstances of
the action, and the man who was ignorant of any
of these is thought to have acted involuntarily,
and especially if he was ignorant on the most
important points; and these are thought to be the
circumstances of the action and its end. Further,
the doing of an act that is called involuntary in
virtue of ignorance of this sort must be painful
and involve repentance.
Since that which is done under compulsion or by
reason of ignorance is involuntary, the voluntary
would seem to be that of which the moving
principle is in the agent himself, he being aware of
the particular circumstances of the action.
Presumably acts done by reason of anger or
appetite are not rightly called involuntary. For in
the first place, on that showing none of the other
animals will act voluntarily, nor will children; and
secondly, is it meant that we do not do voluntarily
any of the acts that are due to appetite or anger, or
that we do the noble acts voluntarily and the base
acts involuntarily? Is not this absurd, when one
and the same thing is the cause? But it would
surely be odd to describe as involuntary the things
one ought to desire; and we ought both to be
angry at certain things and to have an appetite for
certain things, e.g. for health and for learning.
Also what is involuntary is thought to be painful,
but what is in accordance with appetite is thought
to be pleasant. Again, what is the difference in
respect of involuntariness between errors
committed upon calculation and those committed
in anger? Both are to be avoided, but the irrational
passions are thought not less human than reason
is, and therefore also the actions which proceed
from anger or appetite are the man's actions. It
would be odd, then, to treat them as involuntary.
Part 2
Both the voluntary and the involuntary having
been delimited, we must next discuss choice; for it
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is thought to be most closely bound up with virtue
and to discriminate characters better than actions
do.
Choice, then, seems to be voluntary, but not the
same thing as the voluntary; the latter extends
more widely. For both children and the lower
animals share in voluntary action, but not in
choice, and acts done on the spur of the moment
we describe as voluntary, but not as chosen.
Those who say it is appetite or anger or wish or a
kind of opinion do not seem to be right. For
choice is not common to irrational creatures as
well, but appetite and anger are. Again, the
incontinent man acts with appetite, but not with
choice; while the continent man on the contrary
acts with choice, but not with appetite. Again,
appetite is contrary to choice, but not appetite to
appetite. Again, appetite relates to the pleasant
and the painful, choice neither to the painful nor
to the pleasant.
Still less is it anger; for acts due to anger are
thought to be less than any others objects of
choice.
But neither is it wish, though it seems near to it;
for choice cannot relate to impossibles, and if any
one said he chose them he would be thought silly;
but there may be a wish even for impossibles, e.g.
for immortality. And wish may relate to things
that could in no way be brought about by one's
own efforts, e.g. that a particular actor or athlete
should win in a competition; but no one chooses
such things, but only the things that he thinks
could be brought about by his own efforts. Again,
wish relates rather to the end, choice to the
means; for instance, we wish to be healthy, but we
choose the acts which will make us healthy, and
we wish to be happy and say we do, but we cannot
well say we choose to be so; for, in general, choice
seems to relate to the things that are in our own
power.
For this reason, too, it cannot be opinion; for
opinion is thought to relate to all kinds of things,
no less to eternal things and impossible things
than to things in our own power; and it is
distinguished by its falsity or truth, not by its
badness or goodness, while choice is distinguished
rather by these.
Now with opinion in general perhaps no one even
says it is identical. But it is not identical even with
any kind of opinion; for by choosing what is good
or bad we are men of a certain character, which
we are not by holding certain opinions. And we
choose to get or avoid something good or bad, but
we have opinions about what a thing is or whom it
is good for or how it is good for him; we can
hardly be said to opine to get or avoid anything.
And choice is praised for being related to the right
object rather than for being rightly related to it,
opinion for being truly related to its object. And
we choose what we best know to be good, but we
opine what we do not quite know; and it is not the
same people that are thought to make the best
choices and to have the best opinions, but some
are thought to have fairly good opinions, but by
reason of vice to choose what they should not. If
opinion precedes choice or accompanies it, that
makes no difference; for it is not this that we are
considering, but whether it is identical with some
kind of opinion.
What, then, or what kind of thing is it, since it is
none of the things we have mentioned? It seems
to be voluntary, but not all that is voluntary to be
an object of choice. Is it, then, what has been
decided on by previous deliberation? At any rate
choice involves a rational principle and thought.
Even the name seems to suggest that it is what is
chosen before other things.
Part 3
Do we deliberate about everything, and is
everything a possible subject of deliberation, or is
deliberation impossible about some things? We
ought presumably to call not what a fool or a
madman would deliberate about, but what a
sensible man would deliberate about, a subject of
deliberation. Now about eternal things no one
deliberates, e.g. about the material universe or the
incommensurability of the diagonal and the side
of a square. But no more do we deliberate about
the things that involve movement but always
happen in the same way, whether of necessity or
by nature or from any other cause, e.g. the
solstices and the risings of the stars; nor about
things that happen now in one way, now in
another, e.g. droughts and rains; nor about chance
events, like the finding of treasure. But we do not
deliberate even about all human affairs; for
instance, no Spartan deliberates about the best
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constitution for the Scythians. For none of these
things can be brought about by our own efforts.
We deliberate about things that are in our power
and can be done; and these are in fact what is left.
For nature, necessity, and chance are thought to
be causes, and also reason and everything that
depends on man. Now every class of men
deliberates about the things that can be done by
their own efforts. And in the case of exact and self-
contained sciences there is no deliberation, e.g.
about the letters of the alphabet (for we have no
doubt how they should be written); but the things
that are brought about by our own efforts, but not
always in the same way, are the things about
which we deliberate, e.g. questions of medical
treatment or of money-making. And we do so
more in the case of the art of navigation than in
that of gymnastics, inasmuch as it has been less
exactly worked out, and again about other things
in the same ratio, and more also in the case of the
arts than in that of the sciences; for we have more
doubt about the former. Deliberation is concerned
with things that happen in a certain way for the
most part, but in which the event is obscure, and
with things in which it is indeterminate. We call
in others to aid us in deliberation on important
questions, distrusting ourselves as not being equal
to deciding.
We deliberate not about ends but about means.
For a doctor does not deliberate whether he shall
heal, nor an orator whether he shall persuade, nor
a statesman whether he shall produce law and
order, nor does any one else deliberate about his
end. They assume the end and consider how and
by what means it is to be attained; and if it seems
to be produced by several means they consider by
which it is most easily and best produced, while if
it is achieved by one only they consider how it will
be achieved by this and by what means this will be
achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in
the order of discovery is last. For the person who
deliberates seems to investigate and analyse in the
way described as though he were analysing a
geometrical construction (not all investigation
appears to be deliberation- for instance
mathematical investigations- but all deliberation
is investigation), and what is last in the order of
analysis seems to be first in the order of becoming.
And if we come on an impossibility, we give up
the search, e.g. if we need money and this cannot
be got; but if a thing appears possible we try to do
it. By 'possible' things I mean things that might be
brought about by our own efforts; and these in a
sense include things that can be brought about by
the efforts of our friends, since the moving
principle is in ourselves. The subject of
investigation is sometimes the instruments,
sometimes the use of them; and similarly in the
other cases- sometimes the means, sometimes the
mode of using it or the means of bringing it about.
It seems, then, as has been said, that man is a
moving principle of actions; now deliberation is
about the things to be done by the agent himself,
and actions are for the sake of things other than
themselves. For the end cannot be a subject of
deliberation, but only the means; nor indeed can
the particular facts be a subject of it, as whether
this is bread or has been baked as it should; for
these are matters of perception. If we are to be
always deliberating, we shall have to go on to
infinity.
The same thing is deliberated upon and is chosen,
except that the object of choice is already
determinate, since it is that which has been
decided upon as a result of deliberation that is the
object of choice. For every one ceases to inquire
how he is to act when he has brought the moving
principle back to himself and to the ruling part of
himself; for this is what chooses. This is plain also
from the ancient constitutions, which Homer
represented; for the kings announced their
choices to the people. The object of choice being
one of the things in our own power which is
desired after deliberation, choice will be deliberate
desire of things in our own power; for when we
have decided as a result of deliberation, we desire
in accordance with our deliberation.
We may take it, then, that we have described
choice in outline, and stated the nature of its
objects and the fact that it is concerned with
means.
Part 4
That wish is for the end has already been stated;
some think it is for the good, others for the
apparent good. Now those who say that the good
is the object of wish must admit in consequence
that that which the man who does not choose
aright wishes for is not an object of wish (for if it is
to be so, it must also be good; but it was, if it so
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happened, bad); while those who say the apparent
good is the object of wish must admit that there is
no natural object of wish, but only what seems
good to each man. Now different things appear
good to different people, and, if it so happens,
even contrary things.
If these consequences are unpleasing, are we to
say that absolutely and in truth the good is the
object of wish, but for each person the apparent
good; that that which is in truth an object of wish
is an object of wish to the good man, while any
chance thing may be so the bad man, as in the
case of bodies also the things that are in truth
wholesome are wholesome for bodies which are in
good condition, while for those that are diseased
other things are wholesome- or bitter or sweet or
hot or heavy, and so on; since the good man
judges each class of things rightly, and in each the
truth appears to him? For each state of character
has its own ideas of the noble and the pleasant,
and perhaps the good man differs from others
most by seeing the truth in each class of things,
being as it were the norm and measure of them. In
most things the error seems to be due to pleasure;
for it appears a good when it is not. We therefore
choose the pleasant as a good, and avoid pain as
an evil.
Part 5
The end, then, being what we wish for, the means
what we deliberate about and choose, actions
concerning means must be according to choice
and voluntary. Now the exercise of the virtues is
concerned with means. Therefore virtue also is in
our own power, and so too vice. For where it is in
our power to act it is also in our power not to act,
and vice versa; so that, if to act, where this is
noble, is in our power, not to act, which will be
base, will also be in our power, and if not to act,
where this is noble, is in our power, to act, which
will be base, will also be in our power. Now if it is
in our power to do noble or base acts, and likewise
in our power not to do them, and this was what
being good or bad meant, then it is in our power
to be virtuous or vicious.
The saying that 'no one is voluntarily wicked nor
involuntarily happy' seems to be partly false and
partly true; for no one is involuntarily happy, but
wickedness is voluntary. Or else we shall have to
dispute what has just been said, at any rate, and
deny that man is a moving principle or begetter of
his actions as of children. But if these facts are
evident and we cannot refer actions to moving
principles other than those in ourselves, the acts
whose moving principles are in us must
themselves also be in our power and voluntary.
Witness seems to be borne to this both by
individuals in their private capacity and by
legislators themselves; for these punish and take
vengeance on those who do wicked acts (unless
they have acted under compulsion or as a result of
ignorance for which they are not themselves
responsible), while they honour those who do
noble acts, as though they meant to encourage the
latter and deter the former. But no one is
encouraged to do the things that are neither in
our power nor voluntary; it is assumed that there
is no gain in being persuaded not to be hot or in
pain or hungry or the like, since we shall
experience these feelings none the less. Indeed, we
punish a man for his very ignorance, if he is
thought responsible for the ignorance, as when
penalties are doubled in the case of drunkenness;
for the moving principle is in the man himself,
since he had the power of not getting drunk and
his getting drunk was the cause of his ignorance.
And we punish those who are ignorant of anything
in the laws that they ought to know and that is not
difficult, and so too in the case of anything else
that they are thought to be ignorant of through
carelessness; we assume that it is in their power
not to be ignorant, since they have the power of
taking care.
But perhaps a man is the kind of man not to take
care. Still they are themselves by their slack lives
responsible for becoming men of that kind, and
men make themselves responsible for being unjust
or self-indulgent, in the one case by cheating and
in the other by spending their time in drinking
bouts and the like; for it is activities exercised on
particular objects that make the corresponding
character. This is plain from the case of people
training for any contest or action; they practise
the activity the whole time. Now not to know that
it is from the exercise of activities on particular
objects that states of character are produced is the
mark of a thoroughly senseless person. Again, it is
irrational to suppose that a man who acts unjustly
does not wish to be unjust or a man who acts self-
indulgently to be self-indulgent. But if without
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being ignorant a man does the things which will
make him unjust, he will be unjust voluntarily. Yet
it does not follow that if he wishes he will cease to
be unjust and will be just. For neither does the
man who is ill become well on those terms. We
may suppose a case in which he is ill voluntarily,
through living incontinently and disobeying his
doctors. In that case it was then open to him not
to be ill, but not now, when he has thrown away
his chance, just as when you have let a stone go it
is too late to recover it; but yet it was in your
power to throw it, since the moving principle was
in you. So, too, to the unjust and to the self-
indulgent man it was open at the beginning not to
become men of this kind, and so they are unjust
and self-indulgent voluntarily; but now that they
have become so it is not possible for them not to
be so.
But not only are the vices of the soul voluntary,
but those of the body also for some men, whom
we accordingly blame; while no one blames those
who are ugly by nature, we blame those who are
so owing to want of exercise and care. So it is, too,
with respect to weakness and infirmity; no one
would reproach a man blind from birth or by
disease or from a blow, but rather pity him, while
every one would blame a man who was blind from
drunkenness or some other form of self-
indulgence. Of vices of the body, then, those in
our own power are blamed, those not in our
power are not. And if this be so, in the other cases
also the vices that are blamed must be in our own
power.
Now some one may say that all men desire the
apparent good, but have no control over the
appearance, but the end appears to each man in a
form answering to his character. We reply that if
each man is somehow responsible for his state of
mind, he will also be himself somehow responsible
for the appearance; but if not, no one is
responsible for his own evildoing, but every one
does evil acts through ignorance of the end,
thinking that by these he will get what is best, and
the aiming at the end is not self-chosen but one
must be born with an eye, as it were, by which to
judge rightly and choose what is truly good, and
he is well endowed by nature who is well endowed
with this. For it is what is greatest and most noble,
and what we cannot get or learn from another, but
must have just such as it was when given us at
birth, and to be well and nobly endowed with this
will be perfect and true excellence of natural
endowment. If this is true, then, how will virtue be
more voluntary than vice? To both men alike, the
good and the bad, the end appears and is fixed by
nature or however it may be, and it is by referring
everything else to this that men do whatever they
do.
Whether, then, it is not by nature that the end
appears to each man such as it does appear, but
something also depends on him, or the end is
natural but because the good man adopts the
means voluntarily virtue is voluntary, vice also will
be none the less voluntary; for in the case of the
bad man there is equally present that which
depends on himself in his actions even if not in his
end. If, then, as is asserted, the virtues are
voluntary (for we are ourselves somehow partly
responsible for our states of character, and it is by
being persons of a certain kind that we assume the
end to be so and so), the vices also will be
voluntary; for the same is true of them.
With regard to the virtues in general we have
stated their genus in outline, viz. that they are
means and that they are states of character, and
that they tend, and by their own nature, to the
doing of the acts by which they are produced, and
that they are in our power and voluntary, and act
as the right rule prescribes. But actions and states
of character are not voluntary in the same way; for
we are masters of our actions from the beginning
right to the end, if we know the particular facts,
but though we control the beginning of our states
of character the gradual progress is not obvious
any more than it is in illnesses; because it was in
our power, however, to act in this way or not in
this way, therefore the states are voluntary.
Let us take up the several virtues, however, and
say which 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.
Part 6
That it is a mean with regard to feelings of fear
and confidence has already been made evident;
and plainly the things we fear are terrible things,
and these are, to speak without qualification, evils;
for which reason people even define fear as
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expectation of evil. Now we fear all evils, e.g.
disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness, death,
but the brave man is not thought to be concerned
with all; for to fear some things is even right and
noble, and it is base not to fear them- e.g.
disgrace; he who fears this is good and modest,
and he who does not is shameless. He is, however,
by some people called brave, by a transference of
the word to a new meaning; for he has in him
something which is like the brave man, since the
brave 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 due to a man himself. But not even
the man who is fearless of these is brave. Yet we
apply the word to him also 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
money. Nor is a man a coward if he fears insult to
his wife and children or envy or anything of the
kind; nor brave if he is confident when he is about
to be flogged. With what sort of terrible things,
then, is the brave man concerned? Surely with the
greatest; for no one is more likely than he to stand
his ground against what is awe-inspiring. Now
death is the most terrible 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 brave man
would not seem to be concerned even with death
in all circumstances, e.g. at sea or in disease. In
what circumstances, then? Surely in the noblest.
Now such deaths are those in battle; for these take
place in the greatest and noblest danger. And
these are correspondingly honoured in city-states
and at the courts of monarchs. Properly, then, he
will be called brave 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 also, and in
disease, the brave man is fearless, but not in the
same way as the seaman; for he has given up hope
of safety, and is disliking the thought of death in
this shape, while they are hopeful because of their
experience. At the same time, we show courage in
situations where there is the opportunity of
showing prowess or where death is noble; but in
these forms of death neither of these conditions is
fulfilled.
Part 7
What is terrible is not the same for all men; but
we say there are things terrible even beyond
human strength. These, then, are terrible to every
one- at least to every sensible man; but the terrible
things that are not beyond human strength differ
in magnitude and degree, and so too do the things
that inspire confidence. Now the brave man is as
dauntless as man may be. Therefore, while he will
fear even the things that are not beyond human
strength, he will face them as he ought and as the
rule directs, for honour's sake; for this is the end
of virtue. But it is possible to fear these more, or
less, and again to fear things that are not terrible
as if they were. Of the faults that are committed
one consists in fearing what one should not,
another in fearing as we should not, another in
fearing when we should not, and so on; and so too
with respect to the things that inspire confidence.
The man, then, who faces and who fears the right
things and from the right motive, in the right way
and from the right time, and who feels confidence
under the corresponding conditions, is brave; for
the brave man feels and acts according to the
merits of the case and in whatever way the rule
directs. Now the end of every activity is
conformity to the corresponding state of
character. This is true, therefore, of the brave man
as well as of others. But courage is noble.
Therefore the end also is noble; for each thing is
defined by its end. Therefore it is for a noble end
that the brave man endures and acts as courage
directs.
Of those who go to excess he who exceeds in
fearlessness has no name (we have said previously
that many states of character have no names), but
he would be a sort of madman or insensible
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
really is terrible is rash. The rash man, however, is
also thought to be boastful and only a pretender
to courage; at all events, as the brave man is with
regard to what is terrible, so the rash man wishes
to appear; and so he imitates him in situations
where he can. Hence also most of them are a
mixture of rashness and cowardice; for, while in
these situations they display confidence, they do
not hold their ground against what is really
terrible. 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 characterizations
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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
despairing sort of person; for he fears everything.
The brave man, on the other hand, has the
opposite disposition; for confidence is the mark of
a hopeful disposition. The coward, the rash man,
and the brave man, then, are concerned with the
same objects but are differently disposed towards
them; for the first two exceed and fall short, while
the third holds the middle, which is the right,
position; and rash men are precipitate, and wish
for dangers beforehand but draw back when they
are in them, while brave men are keen in the
moment of action, but quiet beforehand.
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 endures things because it is noble to do
so, or because it is base not to do so. But to die to
escape from poverty or love or anything painful is
not the mark of a brave man, but rather of a
coward; for it is softness to fly from what is
troublesome, and such a man endures death not
because it is noble but to fly from evil.
Part 8
Courage, then, is something of this sort, but the
name is also applied to five other kinds.
First comes the courage of the citizen-soldier; for
this is most like true courage. Citizen-soldiers
seem to face dangers because of the penalties
imposed by the laws and the reproaches they
would otherwise incur, and because of the
honours they win by such action; and therefore
those peoples seem to be bravest among whom
cowards are held in dishonour and brave men in
honour. This is the kind of courage that Homer
depicts, e.g. in Diomede and in Hector:
First will Polydamas be to heap reproach on me
then; and
For Hector one day 'mid the Trojans shall utter his
vaulting harangue: Afraid was Tydeides, and fled
from my face.
This kind of courage is most like to that which we
described earlier, because it is due to virtue; for it
is due to shame and to desire of a noble object (i.e.
honour) and avoidance of disgrace, which is
ignoble. One might rank in the same class even
those who are compelled by their rulers; but they
are inferior, inasmuch as they do what they do not
from shame but from fear, and to avoid not what
is disgraceful but what is painful; for their masters
compel them, as Hector does:
But if I shall spy any dastard that cowers far from
the fight, Vainly will such an one hope to escape
from the dogs.
And those who give them their posts, and beat
them if they 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 brave not under
compulsion but because it is noble to be so.
(2) Experience with regard to particular facts is
also thought to be courage; this is indeed the
reason why Socrates thought courage was
knowledge. Other people exhibit this quality in
other dangers, and professional 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; therefore they
seem brave, because the others do not know the
nature of the facts. Again, their experience makes
them most capable in attack and in defence, since
they can use their arms and have the kind that are
likely to be best both for attack and for defence;
therefore they fight like armed men against
unarmed or like trained athletes against amateurs;
for in such contests too it is not the bravest men
that fight best, but those who are strongest and
have their bodies in the best condition.
Professional 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 disgraceful and
death is preferable to safety on those terms; while
the former from the very beginning faced the
danger on the assumption that they were stronger,
and when they know the facts they fly, fearing
death more than disgrace; but the brave man is
not that sort of person.
(3) Passion also is sometimes reckoned as courage;
those who act from passion, like wild beasts
rushing at those who have wounded them, are
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thought to be brave, because brave men also are
passionate; for passion above all things is eager to
rush on danger, and hence Homer's 'put strength
into his passion' and 'aroused their spirit and
passion and 'hard he breathed panting' and 'his
blood boiled'. For all such expressions seem to
indicate the stirring and onset of passion. Now
brave men act for honour's sake, but passion aids
them; while wild beasts act under the influence of
pain; for 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 brave because, driven by pain and
passion, they rush on danger without foreseeing
any of the perils, since at that rate even asses
would be brave when they are hungry; for blows
will not drive them from their food; and lust also
makes adulterers do many daring things. (Those
creatures are not brave, then, which are driven on
to danger by pain or passion.) The 'courage' that is
due to passion seems to be the most natural, and
to be courage if choice and motive be added.
Men, then, as well as beasts, 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 brave; for they
do not act for honour's sake nor as the rule
directs, but from strength of feeling; they have,
however, something akin to courage.
(4) Nor are sanguine people brave; for they are
confident in danger only because they have
conquered often and against many foes. Yet they
closely resemble brave men, because both are
confident; but brave men are confident for the
reasons stated earlier, while these are so because
they think they are the strongest and can suffer
nothing. (Drunken men also behave in this way;
they become sanguine). When their adventures do
not succeed, however, they run away; but it was
the mark of a brave man to face things that are,
and seem, terrible for a man, because it is noble to
do so and disgraceful not to do so. Hence also it is
thought the mark of a braver man to be fearless
and undisturbed in sudden alarms than to be so in
those that are foreseen; for it must have proceeded
more from a state of character, because less from
preparation; acts that are foreseen may be chosen
by calculation and rule, but sudden actions must
be in accordance with one's state of character.
(5) People who are ignorant of the danger also
appear brave, and they are not far removed from
those of a sanguine temper, but are inferior
inasmuch as they have no self-reliance while these
have. Hence also the sanguine hold their ground
for a time; but those who have been deceived
about the facts fly if they know or suspect that
these are different from what they supposed, 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
brave men and of those who are thought to be
brave.
Part 9
Though courage is concerned with feelings of
confidence and of fear, it is not concerned with
both alike, but more with the things that inspire
fear; for he who is undisturbed in face of these and
bears himself as he should towards these is more
truly brave 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 brave. Hence also 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 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 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
end, 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
brave man and against his will, but he will face
them because it is noble to do so or because it is
base not to do so. 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 none the less brave, and perhaps
all the more so, 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 it is quite
possible that the best soldiers may be not men of
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this sort but those who are less brave but have no
other good; for these are ready to face danger, and
they sell their life for trifling gains.
So much, then, for courage; it is not difficult to
grasp its nature in outline, at any rate, from what
has been said.
Part 10
After courage let us speak of temperance; for these
seem to be the virtues of the irrational parts. We
have said that temperance is a mean with regard
to pleasures (for it is less, and not in the same
way, concerned with pains); self-indulgence also is
manifested in the same sphere. Now, therefore, let
us determine with what sort of pleasures they are
concerned. We may assume the distinction
between bodily pleasures and those of the soul,
such as love of honour and love of learning; for the
lover of each of these delights in that of which he
is a lover, the body being in no way affected, but
rather the 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 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 money or of friends.
Temperance must be concerned with bodily
pleasures, but not all even of these; for those who
delight in objects of vision, such as colours and
shapes and painting, are called neither temperate
nor self-indulgent; yet it would seem possible to
delight even in these either as one should or to
excess or to a deficient degree.
And so too is it with objects of hearing; no one
calls those who delight extravagantly 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 odour, unless it be incidentally; we do not call
those self-indulgent who delight in the odour of
apples or roses or incense, but rather those who
delight in the odour 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 even other people,
when 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
incidentally. For dogs do not delight in the scent
of hares, but in the eating of them, but the scent
told them the hares were there; 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', but because he is going to
make a meal of it. Temperance and self-
indulgence, however, are concerned with the kind
of pleasures that the other animals share in, which
therefore appear slavish and brutish; these are
touch and taste. But even of taste they appear to
make little or no use; for the business of taste is
the discriminating of flavours, which is done by
winetasters and people who season dishes; but
they hardly take pleasure in making these
discriminations, or at least self-indulgent people
do not, but in the actual 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 that he
took pleasure in. Thus the sense with which self-
indulgence is connected is the most widely shared
of the senses; and self-indulgence 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 love them above all others, is
brutish. For even of the pleasures of touch the
most liberal have been eliminated, e.g. 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 only certain parts.
Part 11
Of the appetites some seem to be common, others
to be peculiar to individuals and acquired; e.g. the
appetite for food is natural, since every one who is
without it craves for food or drink, and sometimes
for both, and for love also (as Homer says) if he is
young and lusty; but not every one craves for this
or that kind of nourishment or love, nor for the
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same things. Hence 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 are
more pleasant to every one than chance objects.
Now in the natural appetites few go wrong, 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 one's deficiency.
Hence these people are called belly-gods, this
implying that they fill their belly beyond what is
right. It is people of entirely slavish character that
become like this. But with regard to the pleasures
peculiar to individuals many people go wrong and
in many ways. For while the people who are 'fond
of so and so' are so called because they delight
either in the wrong things, or more than most
people do, or in the wrong way, the self-indulgent
exceed in all three ways; they both delight in some
things that they ought not to delight in (since they
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 culpable; with regard to
pains one is not, as in the case of courage, called
temperate for facing them or self-indulgent for not
doing so, but the selfindulgent man is so called
because he is pained more than he ought 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.
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 everything else; hence he is pained both
when he fails to get them and when he is merely
craving for them (for appetite involves pain); but
it seems absurd to be pained for the sake 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 enjoy some and not
others; and if there is any one who finds nothing
pleasant and nothing more attractive than
anything else, he must be something quite
different from a man; this sort of person has not
received a name because he hardly occurs. The
temperate man occupies a middle position with
regard to these objects. For he neither enjoys the
things that the self-indulgent man enjoys most-
but rather dislikes them-nor in general the things
that he should not, nor anything of this sort to
excess, nor does he feel pain or craving when they
are absent, or does so only to a moderate degree,
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 moderately 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 loves
such pleasures more than they are worth, but the
temperate man is not that sort of person, but the
sort of person that the right rule prescribes.
Part 12
Self-indulgence is more like a voluntary state than
cowardice. For the former is actuated by pleasure,
the latter by pain, of which the one is to be chosen
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. Therefore
self-indulgence is more voluntary. Hence also it is
more a matter of reproach; for it is easier to
become accustomed to its objects, since there are
many things of this sort in life, and the process of
habituation to them is free from danger, while
with terrible objects the reverse is the case. But
cowardice would seem to be voluntary in a
different degree from its particular manifestations;
for it is itself painless, but in these we are upset by
pain, so that we even throw down our arms and
disgrace ourselves in other ways; hence our acts
are even thought to be done under compulsion.
For the self-indulgent man, on the other hand, the
particular acts are voluntary (for he does them
with craving 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 faults; for they bear a certain resemblance
to what we have been considering. Which is called
after which, makes no difference to our present
purpose; plainly, however, the later is called after
the earlier. The transference of the name seems
not a bad one; for that which desires what is base
and which develops quickly ought to be kept in a
chastened condition, and these characteristics
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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 going to
be obedient and subject to the ruling principle, it
will go to great lengths; for in an irrational being
the desire for pleasure is insatiable even if it tries
every source of gratification, and the exercise of
appetite increases its innate force, and if appetites
are strong and violent they even expel the power
of calculation. Hence they should be moderate
and few, and should in no way oppose the rational
principle-and 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
rational principle. Hence the appetitive element in
a temperate man should harmonize with the
rational principle; for the noble is the mark at
which both aim, and the temperate man craves for
the things be ought, as he ought, as when he
ought; and when he ought; and this is what
rational principle directs.
Here we conclude our account of temperance.
BOOK IV
Part 1
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 judicial decisions, but with regard
to the giving and taking of wealth, and especially
in respect of giving. Now by 'wealth' we mean all
the things whose value is measured by money.
Further, prodigality and meanness are excesses
and defects with regard to wealth; and meanness
we always impute to those who care more than
they ought for wealth, but we sometimes apply the
word 'prodigality' in a complex sense; for we call
those men prodigals who are incontinent and
spend money on self-indulgence. Hence also they
are thought the poorest characters; for they
combine more vices than one. Therefore the
application of the word to them is not its proper
use; for a 'prodigal' means a man who has a single
evil quality, that of wasting his substance; since a
prodigal is one who is being ruined by his own
fault, 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 the sense in which we take the word
'prodigality'. Now the things that have a use may
be used either well or badly; and riches is 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.
Now spending and giving seem to be the using of
wealth; taking and keeping rather the possession
of it. Hence it is more the mark of the liberal man
to give to the right people than to take from the
right sources and not to take from the wrong. For
it is more characteristic of virtue to do good than
to have good done to one, and more characteristic
to do what is noble than not to do what is base;
and it is not hard to see that giving implies doing
good and doing what is noble, and taking implies
having good done to one or not acting basely. And
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, also, 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, too, are called liberal; but those who do
not take are not praised for liberality but rather
for justice; while those who take are hardly praised
at all. And the liberal are almost the most loved of
all virtuous characters, since they are useful; and
this depends on their giving.
Now virtuous actions are noble and done for the
sake of the noble. Therefore the liberal man, like
other virtuous men, will give for the sake of the
noble, and rightly; for he will give to the right
people, the right amounts, and at the right time,
with all the other qualifications that accompany
right giving; and that too with pleasure or without
pain; for that which is virtuous is pleasant or free
from pain-least of all will it be painful. But he who
gives to the wrong people or not for the sake of
the noble but for some other cause, will be called
not liberal but by some other name. Nor is he
liberal who gives with pain; for he would prefer
the wealth to the noble act, and this is not
characteristic of a liberal man. But no more will
the liberal man take from wrong sources; for such
taking is not characteristic of the man who sets no
store by wealth. Nor will he be a ready asker; for it
is not characteristic of a man who confers benefits
90
to accept them lightly. But he will take from the
right sources, e.g. from his own possessions, not as
something noble but as a necessity, that he may
have something to give. Nor will he neglect his
own property, since he wishes by means of this to
help others. And he will refrain from giving to
anybody and everybody, that he may have
something to give to the right people, at the right
time, and where it is noble to do so. It is highly
characteristic of a liberal man also to go to excess
in giving, so that he leaves too little 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 character
of the giver, and this is relative to the giver's
substance. 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 made their wealth
but inherited it; for in the first place they have no
experience of want, and secondly all men are
fonder of their own productions, as are parents
and poets. It is not easy for the liberal man to be
rich, since he is not apt either at taking or at
keeping, but at giving away, and does not value
wealth for its own sake but as a means to giving.
Hence comes the charge that is brought against
fortune, that those who deserve riches most get it
least. But it is not unreasonable that it should turn
out so; for he cannot have wealth, any more than
anything else, if he does not take pains to have it.
Yet he will not give to the wrong people nor at the
wrong time, 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 the right objects. For, as has been said,
he is liberal who spends according to his
substance and on the right objects; and he who
exceeds is prodigal. Hence 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 giving and taking of wealth, the liberal
man will both give and spend the right amounts
and on the right objects, alike in small things and
in great, and that with pleasure; he will also take
the right amounts and from the right sources. For,
the virtue being a mean with regard to both, he
will do both as he ought; since this sort of taking
accompanies proper giving, and that which is not
of this sort is contrary to it, and accordingly the
giving and taking that accompany each other are
present together in the same man, while the
contrary kinds evidently are not. But if he happens
to spend in a manner contrary to what is right and
noble, he will be pained, but moderately and as he
ought; for it is the mark of virtue both to be
pleased and to be pained at the right objects and
in the right way. Further, the liberal man is easy to
deal with in money matters; for he can be got the
better of, since he sets no store by money, 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 does not agree with the
saying of Simonides.
The prodigal errs in these respects also; for he is
neither pleased nor pained at the right things or in
the right way; this will be more evident as we go
on. We have said that prodigality and meanness
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, while meanness 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 to these that
the name of prodigals is applied- though a man of
this sort would seem to be in no small degree
better than a mean man. For he is easily cured
both by age and by poverty, and thus he may
move towards 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 in the right manner or well.
Therefore if he were brought to do so by
habituation or in some other way, he would be
liberal; for he will then give to the right people,
and will not take from the wrong sources. This is
why he is thought to have not a bad character; it is
not the mark of a wicked or ignoble man to go to
excess in giving and not taking, but only of a
foolish one. The man who is prodigal in this way is
thought much better than the mean man both for
the aforesaid reasons and because he benefits
many while the other benefits no one, not even
himself.
But most prodigal people, as has been said, also
take from the wrong sources, and are in this
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respect mean. They become apt to take because
they wish to spend and cannot do this easily; for
their possessions soon run short. Thus they are
forced to provide means from some other source.
At the same time, because they care nothing for
honour, they take recklessly and from any source;
for they have an appetite for giving, and they do
not mind how or from what source. Hence also
their giving is not liberal; for it is not noble, nor
does it aim at nobility, nor is it done in the right
way; sometimes they make rich those who should
be poor, and will give nothing to people of
respectable character, and much to flatterers or
those who provide them with some other
pleasure. Hence also most of them are self-
indulgent; for they spend lightly and waste money
on their indulgences, and 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
treated with care he will arrive at the intermediate
and right state. But meanness is both incurable
(for old age and every disability is thought to
make men mean) and more innate in men than
prodigality; for most men are fonder of getting
money than of giving. It also extends widely, and
is multiform, since there seem to be many kinds of
meanness.
For it consists in two things, deficiency in giving
and excess in taking, and is not found complete in
all men but is sometimes divided; some men go to
excess in taking, others fall short in giving. Those
who are called by such names as 'miserly', 'close',
'stingy', all fall short in giving, but do not covet the
possessions of others nor wish to get them. In
some this is due to a sort of honesty and
avoidance of what is disgraceful (for some seem,
or at least profess, to hoard their money for this
reason, that they may not some day be forced to
do something disgraceful; to this class belong the
cheeseparer and every one of the sort; he is so
called from his excess of unwillingness to give
anything); while others again keep their hands off
the property of others from fear, on the ground
that it is not easy, if one takes the property of
others oneself, to avoid having one's own taken by
them; they are therefore content neither to take
nor to give.
Others again exceed in respect of taking by taking
anything and from any source, e.g. those who ply
sordid trades, pimps and all such people, and
those who lend small sums and at high rates. For
all of these take more than they ought and from
wrong sources. What is common to them is
evidently sordid love of gain; they all put up with a
bad name for the sake of gain, and little gain at
that. For those who make great gains but from
wrong sources, and not the right gains, e.g.
despots when they sack cities and spoil temples,
we do not call mean but rather wicked, impious,
and unjust. But the gamester and the footpad (and
the highwayman) belong to the class of the mean,
since they have a sordid love of gain. For it is for
gain that both of them ply their craft and endure
the disgrace of it, and the one faces the greatest
dangers for the sake of the booty, while the other
makes gain from his friends, to whom he ought to
be giving. Both, then, since they are willing to
make gain from wrong sources, are sordid lovers
of gain; therefore all such forms of taking are
mean.
And it is natural that meanness is described as the
contrary of liberality; for not only is it a greater
evil than prodigality, but men err more often in
this direction than in the way of prodigality as we
have described it.
So much, then, for liberality and the opposed
vices.
Part 2
It would seem proper to discuss magnificence
next. For this also seems to be a virtue concerned
with 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 suggests, it is a fitting expenditure
involving largeness of scale. But the scale is
relative; for the expense 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 middling things spends according
to the merits of the case is not called magnificent
(e.g. the man who can say 'many a gift I gave the
wanderer'), but only the man who does so in great
things. For the magnificent man is liberal, but the
liberal man is not necessarily magnificent. The
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deficiency of this state of character is called
niggardliness, the excess vulgarity, lack of taste,
and the like, which do not go to excess in the
amount spent on right objects, but by showy
expenditure in the wrong circumstances and the
wrong manner; we shall speak of these vices later.
The magnificent man is like an artist; for he can
see what is fitting and spend large sums tastefully.
For, as we said at the begining, a state of character
is determined by its activities and by its objects.
Now the expenses of the magnificent man are
large and fitting. Such, therefore, are also his
results; for thus there will be a great expenditure
and one that is fitting to its result. Therefore the
result should be worthy of the expense, and the
expense should be worthy of the result, or should
even exceed it. And the magnificent man will
spend such sums for honour's sake; for this is
common to the virtues. And further he will do so
gladly and lavishly; for nice calculation is a
niggardly thing. And he will consider how the
result can be made most beautiful and most
becoming rather than for how much it can be
produced and how it can be produced most
cheaply. It is necessary, then, that the magnificent
man be also liberal. For the liberal man also 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 bigness, as it
were-is manifested, since liberality is concerned
with these matters; and at an equal expense he
will produce a more magnificent work of art. For a
possession and a work of art have not the same
excellence. The most valuable possession is that
which is worth most, e.g. gold, but the most
valuable work of art is that which is great and
beautiful (for the contemplation of such a work
inspires admiration, and so does magnificence);
and a work has an excellence-viz. magnificence-
which involves magnitude. Magnificence is an
attribute of expenditures of the kind which we call
honourable, e.g. those connected with the gods-
votive offerings, buildings, and sacrifices-and
similarly with any form of religious worship, 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 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 result but also the producer. Hence 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 beyond
what can be expected of him and what is proper,
but it is right expenditure that is virtuous. But
great expenditure is becoming to those who have
suitable means to start with, acquired by their
own efforts or from ancestors or connexions, and
to 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 shown in
expenditures of this sort, as has been said; for
these are the greatest and most honourable. Of
private occasions of expenditure the most suitable
are those that take place once for all, e.g. a
wedding or anything of the kind, or anything that
interests the whole city or the people of position
in it, and also the receiving of foreign guests and
the sending of them on their way, and gifts and
counter-gifts; for the magnificent man spends not
on himself but on public objects, and gifts bear
some resemblance to votive offerings. A
magnificent man will also furnish his house
suitably to his wealth (for even a house is a sort of
public ornament), and will spend by preference on
those works that are lasting (for these are the
most beautiful), and on every class of things he
will spend what is becoming; for the same things
are not suitable for gods and for men, nor in a
temple and in a tomb. And since each expenditure
may be great of its kind, and what is most
magnificent absolutely is great expenditure on a
great object, but what is magnificent here is what
is great in these circumstances, and greatness in
the work differs from greatness in the expense (for
the most beautiful ball or bottle is magnificent as
a gift to a child, but the price of it is small and
mean),-therefore it is characteristic of the
magnificent man, whatever kind of result he is
producing, to produce it magnificently (for such a
result is not easily surpassed) and to make it
worthy of the expenditure.
Such, then, is the magnificent man; the man who
goes to excess and is vulgar exceeds, as has been
said, by spending beyond what is right. For on
small objects of expenditure he spends much and
displays a tasteless showiness; e.g. he gives a club
dinner on the scale of a wedding banquet, and
when he provides the chorus for a comedy he
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brings them on to the stage in purple, as they do
at Megara. And all such things he will do not for
honour's sake but to show off his wealth, 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 niggardly man
on the other hand will fall short in everything, and
after spending the greatest sums will spoil the
beauty of the result for a 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 of character, then, are vices; yet they
do not bring disgrace because they are neither
harmful to one's neighbour nor very unseemly.
Part 3
Pride seems even from its name to be concerned
with great things; what sort of great things, is the
first 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 deserts is a fool, but no
virtuous man is foolish or silly. The proud man,
then, is 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 goodsized body, and
little people may be neat and well-proportioned
but cannot be beautiful. On the other hand, he
who thinks himself worthy of great things, being
unworthy of them, is vain; though not every one
who thinks himself worthy of more than he really
is worthy of in vain. The man who thinks himself
worthy of worthy of less than he is really worthy of
is unduly humble, whether his deserts be great or
moderate, or his deserts be small but his claims
yet smaller. And the man whose deserts are great
would seem most unduly humble; for what would
he have done if they had been less? The proud
man, then, is an extreme in respect of the
greatness of his claims, but a mean in respect of
the rightness of them; for he claims what is
accordance with his merits, while the others go to
excess or fall short.
If, then, he deserves and claims great things, and
above all the great things, he will be concerned
with one thing in particular. Desert 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 position most aim at, and
which is the prize appointed for the noblest deeds;
and this is honour; that is surely 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 with honour that proud men
appear to be concerned; for it is honour that they
chiefly claim, but in accordance with their deserts.
The unduly humble man falls short both in
comparison with his own merits and in
comparison with the proud man's claims. The vain
man goes to excess in comparison with his own
merits, but does not exceed the proud man's
claims.
Now the proud man, since he deserves most, must
be good in the highest degree; for the better man
always deserves more, and the best man most.
Therefore the truly proud man must be good. And
greatness in every virtue would seem to be
characteristic of a proud man. And it would be
most unbecoming for a proud man to fly from
danger, swinging his arms by his sides, or to
wrong another; for to what end should he do
disgraceful acts, he to whom nothing is great? If
we consider him point by point we shall see the
utter absurdity of a proud man who is not good.
Nor, again, would he be worthy of honour if he
were bad; 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 crown of the virtues; for it
makes them greater, and it is not found without
them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it
is impossible without nobility and goodness of
character. It is chiefly with honours and
dishonours, then, that the proud man is
concerned; and at honours that are great and
conferred by good 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 greater to
bestow on him; but honour from casual people
and on trifling grounds he will utterly despise,
since it is not this that he deserves, 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 with moderation towards wealth and
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power and all good or evil fortune, whatever may
befall him, and will be neither over-joyed by good
fortune nor over-pained by evil. For not even
towards honour does he bear himself as if it were a
very great thing. Power and wealth are desirable
for the sake of honour (at least those who have
them wish to get honour by means of them); and
for him to whom even honour is a little thing the
others must be so too. Hence proud men are
thought to be disdainful.
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 wealth; for they are in a
superior position, and everything that has a
superiority in something good is held in greater
honour. Hence even such things make men
prouder; for they are honoured by some for having
them; but in truth the good man alone is to be
honoured; he, however, 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 entitled to the
name of 'proud'; for these things imply perfect
virtue. Disdainful and insolent, however, even
those who have such goods become. For without
virtue it is not easy to bear gracefully 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 they can; so they
do not act virtuously, but they do despise others.
For the proud man despises justly (since he thinks
truly), 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 confer
benefits, but he is ashamed of receiving them; for
the one is the mark of a superior, the other of an
inferior. And he is apt to confer greater benefits in
return; for thus the original benefactor besides
being paid will incur a debt to him, and will be the
gainer by the transaction. 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, but the
proud man wishes to be superior), and to hear of
the former with pleasure, of the latter with
displeasure; this, it seems, is why Thetis did not
mention to Zeus the services she had done him,
and why the Spartans did not recount their
services to the Athenians, but those they had
received. It is a mark of the proud man also to ask
for nothing or scarcely anything, but to give help
readily, and to be dignified towards people who
enjoy high position and good fortune, but
unassuming towards those of the middle class; for
it is a difficult and lofty thing to be superior to the
former, but easy to be so to the latter, and a lofty
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 commonly held in honour, or the things in
which others excel; to be sluggish and to hold
back except where great honour or a great work is
at stake, 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,
i.e. to care less for truth than for what people will
think, is a coward's part), and must speak and act
openly; for he is free of speech because he is
contemptuous, and he is given to telling the truth,
except when he speaks in irony to the vulgar. He
must be unable to make his life revolve round
another, unless it be a friend; for this is slavish,
and for this reason all flatterers are servile and
people lacking in self-respect 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 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 haughtiness. With regard to necessary
or small matters he is least of all me given to
lamentation or the asking of favours; for it is the
part of one who takes such matters seriously to
behave so with respect to them. He is one who will
possess beautiful and profitless things rather than
profitable and useful ones; for this is more proper
to a character that suffices to itself.
Further, a slow step is thought proper to the
proud man, a deep voice, and a level utterance; for
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the man who takes few things seriously 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 falls
short of him is unduly humble, and the man who
goes beyond him is vain. Now even these are not
thought to be bad (for they are not malicious), but
only mistaken. For the unduly humble man, being
worthy of good things, robs himself of what he
deserves, and to have something bad about him
from the fact that he does not think himself
worthy of good things, and 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 unduly retiring. Such a reputation,
however, seems 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
themselves 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;
and tetadorn themselves with clothing and
outward show and such things, and wish their
strokes of good fortune to be made public, and
speak about them as if they would be honoured
for them. But undue humility is more opposed to
pride than vanity is; for it is both commoner and
worse.
Pride, then, is concerned with honour on the
grand scale, as has been said.
Part 4
There seems to be in the sphere of honour also, as
was said in our first remarks on the subject, a
virtue which would appear to be related to pride
as liberality is to magnificence. For neither of
these has anything to do with the grand scale, but
both dispose us as is right with regard to middling
and unimportant objects; as in getting and giving
of wealth there is a mean and an excess and
defect, so too honour may be desired more than is
right, or less, or from the right sources and in the
right way. We blame both the ambitious man as
am at honour more than is right and from wrong
sources, and the unambitious man as not willing
to be honoured even for noble reasons. But
sometimes we praise the ambitious man as being
manly and a lover of what is noble, and the
unambitious man as being moderate and self-
controlled, as we said in our first treatment of the
subject. Evidently, since 'fond of such and such an
object' has more than one meaning, we do not
assign the term 'ambition' or 'love of honour'
always to the same thing, but 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 is right. The
mean being without a name, the extremes seem to
dispute for its place as though that were vacant by
default. But where there is excess and defect, there
is also an intermediate; now men desire honour
both more than they should and less; therefore it
is possible also to do so as one should; at all events
this is the state of character 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 severally it
seems in a sense to be both together. This appears
to be true of the other virtues also. But in this case
the extremes seem to be contradictories because
the mean has not received a name.
Part 5
Good temper is a mean with respect to anger; the
middle state being unnamed, and the extremes
almost 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 called a sort of 'irascibility'. For
the passion is anger, while its causes are many and
diverse.
The man who is angry at the right things and with
the right people, and, further, as he ought, when
he ought, and as long as he ought, is praised. This
will be the good-tempered man, then, since good
temper is praised. For the good-tempered man
tends to be unperturbed and not to be led by
passion, but to be angry in the manner, at the
things, and for the length of time, that the rule
dictates; but he is thought to err rather in the
direction of deficiency; for the good-tempered
man is not revengeful, but rather tends to make
allowances.
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The deficiency, whether it is a sort of
'inirascibility' or whatever it is, is blamed. For
those who are not angry at the things they should
be angry at are thought to be fools, and so are
those who are not angry in the right way, at the
right time, or with the right persons; for such a
man is thought not to feel 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 put up with insult to one's
friends is slavish.
The excess can be manifested in all the points that
have been named (for one can be angry with the
wrong persons, at the wrong things, more than is
right, too quickly, or too long); yet all are not
found in the same person. Indeed they could not;
for evil destroys even itself, and if it is complete
becomes unbearable. Now hot-tempered people
get angry quickly and with the wrong persons and
at the wrong things and more than is right, but
their anger ceases quickly-which is the best point
about them. This happens to them because they
do not restrain 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. Sulky people are hard to appease, and
retain their anger long; for they repress their
passion. But it ceases when they retaliate; for
revenge relieves them of their anger, producing in
them pleasure instead of pain. If this does not
happen they retain their burden; for owing to its
not being obvious no one even reasons with them,
and to digest one's anger in oneself takes time.
Such people are most troublesome to themselves
and to their dearest friends. We call had-tempered
those who are angry at the wrong things, more
than is right, and longer, and cannot be appeased
until they inflict vengeance or punishment.
To good temper we oppose the excess rather than
the defect; 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 in our earlier treatment of the
subject is plain also from what we are now saying;
viz. that it is not easy to define how, with whom,
at what, and how long one should be angry, and at
what point right action ceases and wrong begins.
For the man who strays a little from the path,
either towards the more or towards the less, is not
blamed; since sometimes we praise those who
exhibit the deficiency, 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 state in
words; for the decision depends on the particular
facts and on perception. But so much at least is
plain, that the middle state is praiseworthy- that
in virtue of which we are angry with the right
people, at the right things, in the right way, and so
on, while the excesses and defects are
blameworthy- slightly so if they are present in a
low degree, more if in a higher degree, and very
much if in a high degree. Evidently, then, we must
cling to the middle state.- Enough of the states
relative to anger.
Part 6
In gatherings of men, in social life and the
interchange of words and deeds, some men are
thought to be obsequious, viz. those who to give
pleasure praise everything and never oppose, but
think it their duty 'to give no pain to the people
they meet'; while those who, on the contrary,
oppose everything and care not a whit about
giving pain are called churlish and contentious.
That the states we have named are culpable is
plain enough, and that the middle state is
laudable- that in virtue of which a man will put up
with, and will resent, the right things and in the
right way; but no name has been assigned to it,
though it most resembles friendship. For the man
who corresponds to this middle state is very much
what, with affection added, we call a good friend.
But the state in question differs from friendship in
that it implies no passion or affection for one's
associates; since it is not by reason of loving or
hating that such a man takes everything in the
right way, but by being a man of a certain kind.
For 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 is it the
same conditions that make it right to give pain to
them. Now we have said generally that he will
associate with people in the right way; but it is by
reference to what is honourable and expedient
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that he will aim at not giving pain or at
contributing pleasure. For he seems to be
concerned with the pleasures and pains of social
life; and wherever it is not honourable, or is
harmful, for him to contribute pleasure, he will
refuse, and will choose rather to give pain; also if
his acquiescence in another's action would bring
disgrace, and that in a high degree, or injury, on
that other, while his opposition brings a little
pain, he will not acquiesce but will decline. He will
associate differently with people in high station
and with ordinary people, with closer and more
distant acquaintances, and so too with regard to
all other differences, rendering to each class what
is befitting, and while for its own sake he chooses
to contribute pleasure, and avoids the giving of
pain, he will be guided by the consequences, if
these are greater, i.e. honour and expediency. For
the sake of a great future pleasure, too, he will
inflict small pains.
The man who attains the mean, 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 ulterior object is
obsequious, but the man who does so in order
that he may get some advantage in the direction
of money or the things that money buys is a
flatterer; while the man who quarrels with
everything is, as has been said, churlish and
contentious. And the extremes seem to be
contradictory to each other because the mean is
without a name.
Part 7
The mean opposed to boastfulness is found in
almost the same sphere; and this also is without a
name. It will be no bad 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
field of social life those who make the giving of
pleasure or pain their object in associating with
others have been described; let us now describe
those who pursue truth or falsehood alike in
words and deeds and in the claims they put
forward. The boastful man, then, is thought to be
apt to claim the things that bring glory, when he
has not got them, or to claim more of them than
he has, and the mock-modest man on the other
hand to disclaim what he has or belittle it, while
the man who observes the mean is one who calls a
thing by its own name, being truthful both in life
and in word, owning to what he has, and neither
more nor less. Now each of these courses may be
adopted either with or without an object. But each
man speaks and acts and lives in accordance with
his character, if he is not acting for some ulterior
object. And falsehood is in itself mean and
culpable, and truth noble and worthy of praise.
Thus the truthful man is another case of a man
who, being in the mean, is worthy of praise, and
both forms of untruthful man are culpable, and
particularly the boastful man.
Let us discuss them both, but first of all the
truthful man. We are not speaking of the man
who keeps faith in his agreements, i.e. in the
things that pertain to justice or injustice (for this
would belong to another virtue), but the man 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. But such a man would seem to
be as a matter of fact equitable. For the man who
loves truth, and is truthful where nothing is at
stake, will still more be truthful where something
is at stake; he will avoid falsehood as something
base, seeing that he avoided it even for its own
sake; and such a man is worthy of praise. He
inclines rather to understate the truth; for this
seems in better taste because exaggerations are
wearisome.
He who claims more than he has with no ulterior
object is a contemptible sort of fellow (otherwise
he would not have delighted in falsehood), but
seems futile rather than bad; but if he does it for
an object, he who does it for the sake of reputation
or honour is (for a boaster) 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 makes the boaster, but the
purpose; for it is in virtue of his state of character
and by being a man of a certain kind that he is
boaster); as one man is a liar because he enjoys the
lie itself, and another because he desires
reputation or gain. Now those who boast for the
sake of reputation claim such qualities as will
praise or congratulation, but those whose object is
gain claim qualities which are of value to one's
neighbours and one's lack of which is not easily
detected, e.g. the powers of a seer, a sage, or a
physician. For this reason it is such things as these
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that most people claim and boast about; for in
them the above-mentioned qualities are found.
Mock-modest people, who understate things,
seem more attractive in character; for they are
thought to speak not for gain but to avoid parade;
and here too it is qualities which bring reputation
that they disclaim, as Socrates used to do. Those
who disclaim trifling and obvious qualities are
called humbugs and are more contemptible; and
sometimes this seems to be boastfulness, like the
Spartan dress; for both excess and great deficiency
are boastful. But those who use understatement
with moderation and understate about matters
that do not very much force themselves on our
notice seem attractive. And it is the boaster that
seems to be opposed to the truthful man; for he is
the worse character.
Part 8
Since life includes rest as well as activity, and in
this is included leisure and amusement, there
seems here also to be a kind of intercourse which
is tasteful; 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. Evidently
here also there is both an excess and a deficiency
as compared with the mean. Those who 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 fun; while those who can neither
make a joke themselves nor put up with those
who do are thought to be boorish and unpolished.
But those who joke in a tasteful way are called
ready-witted, which implies a sort of readiness to
turn this way and that; for such sallies are thought
to be movements of the character, and as bodies
are discriminated 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 jestinly.
and so even buffoons are called ready-witted
because they are found attractive; but that they
differ from the ready-witted man, and to no small
extent, is clear from what has been said.
To the middle state belongs also tact; it is the
mark of a tactful man to say and listen to such
things as befit a good and well-bred man; for there
are some things that it befits such a man to say
and to hear by way of jest, and the well-bred man's
jesting differs from that of a vulgar man, and the
joking of an educated man from that of an
uneducated. One may see this even from the old
and the new comedies; to the authors of the
former indecency of language was amusing, to
those of the latter innuendo is more so; and these
differ in no small degree in respect of propriety.
Now should we define the man who jokes well by
his saying what is not unbecoming to a well-bred
man, or by his not giving pain, or even giving
delight, to the hearer? Or is the latter definition,
at any rate, itself indefinite, since different things
are hateful or pleasant to different people? The
kind of jokes he will listen to will be the same; for
the kind he can put up with are also the kind he
seems to make. There are, then, jokes he will not
make; for the jest is a sort of abuse, and there are
things that lawgivers forbid us to abuse; and they
should, perhaps, have forbidden us even to make a
jest of such. The refined and well-bred man,
therefore, will be as we have described, being as it
were a law to himself.
Such, then, is the man who observes the mean,
whether he be called tactful or ready-witted. The
buffoon, on the other hand, is the slave of his
sense of humour, and spares neither himself nor
others if he 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,
again, is useless for such social intercourse; for he
contributes nothing and finds fault with
everything. But relaxation and amusement are
thought to be a necessary element in life.
The means in life that have been described, then,
are three in number, and are all concerned with an
interchange of words and deeds of some kind.
They differ, however, in that one is concerned
with truth; and the other two with pleasantness.
Of those concerned with pleasure, one is displayed
in jests, the other in the general social intercourse
of life.
Part 9
Shame should not be described as a virtue; for it is
more like a feeling than a state of character. It is
defined, at any rate, as a kind of fear of dishonour,
and produces an effect similar to that produced by
fear of danger; for people who feel disgraced
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blush, and those who fear death turn pale. Both,
therefore, seem to be in a sense bodily conditions,
which is thought to be characteristic of feeling
rather than of a state of character.
The feeling is not becoming to every age, but only
to youth. For we think young people should be
prone to the feeling of shame because they live by
feeling and therefore commit many errors, but are
restrained by shame; and we praise young people
who are prone to this feeling, but an older person
no one would praise for being prone to the sense
of disgrace, since we think he should not do
anything that need cause this sense. For the sense
of disgrace is not even characteristic of a good
man, since it is consequent on bad actions (for
such actions should not be done; and if some
actions are disgraceful in very truth and others
only according to common opinion, this makes no
difference; for neither class of actions should be
done, so that no disgrace should be felt); and it is
a mark of a bad man even to be such as to do any
disgraceful action. To be so constituted as to feel
disgraced if one does such an action, and for this
reason to think oneself good, is absurd; for it is for
voluntary actions that shame is felt, and the good
man will never voluntarily do bad actions. But
shame may be said to be conditionally a good
thing; if a good man does such actions, he will feel
disgraced; but the virtues are not subject to such a
qualification. And if shamelessness-not to be
ashamed of doing base actions-is bad, that does
not make it good to be ashamed of doing such
actions. Continence too is not virtue, but a mixed
sort of state; this will be shown later. Now,
however, let us discuss justice.
BOOK VII
Part 1
Let us now make a fresh beginning and point out
that of moral states to be avoided there are three
kinds-vice, incontinence, brutishness. The
contraries of two of these are evident,-one we call
virtue, the other continence; to brutishness it
would be most fitting to oppose superhuman
virtue, a heroic and divine kind of virtue, as
Homer has represented Priam saying of Hector
that he was very good,
For he seemed not, he, The child of a mortal man,
but as one that of God's seed came.
Therefore if, as they say, men become gods by
excess of virtue, of this kind must evidently be the
state opposed to the brutish state; for as a brute
has no vice or virtue, so neither has a god; his
state is higher than virtue, and that of a brute is a
different kind of state from vice.
Now, since it is rarely that a godlike man is found-
to use the epithet of the Spartans, who when they
admire any one highly call him a 'godlike man'-so
too the brutish type is rarely found among men; it
is found chiefly among barbarians, but some
brutish qualities are also produced by disease or
deformity; and we also call by this evil name those
men who go beyond all ordinary standards by
reason of vice. Of this kind of disposition,
however, we must later make some mention,
while we have discussed vice before we must now
discuss incontinence and softness (or effeminacy),
and continence and endurance; for we must treat
each of the two neither as identical with virtue or
wickedness, nor as a different genus. We must, as
in all other cases, set the observed facts before us
and, after first discussing the difficulties, go on to
prove, if possible, the truth of all the common
opinions about these affections of the mind, or,
failing this, of the greater number and the most
authoritative; for if we both refute the objections
and leave the common opinions undisturbed, we
shall have proved the case sufficiently.
Now (1) both continence and endurance are
thought to be included among things good and
praiseworthy, and both incontinence and soft,
ness among things bad and blameworthy; and the
same man is thought to be continent and ready to
abide by the result of his calculations, or
incontinent and ready to abandon them. And (2)
the incontinent man, knowing that what he does
is bad, does it as a result of passion, while the
continent man, knowing that his appetites are
bad, refuses on account of his rational principle to
follow them (3) The temperate man all men call
continent and disposed to endurance, while the
continent man some maintain to be always
temperate but others do not; and some call the
self-indulgent man incontinent and the
incontinent man selfindulgent indiscriminately,
while others distinguish them. (4) The man of
practical wisdom, they sometimes say, cannot be
incontinent, while sometimes they say that some
who are practically wise and clever are
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incontinent. Again (5) men are said to be
incontinent even with respect to anger, honour,
and gain.-These, then, are the things that are said.
Part 2
Now we may ask (1) how a man who judges rightly
can behave incontinently. That he should behave
so when he has knowledge, some say is
impossible; for it would be strange-so Socrates
thought-if when knowledge was in a man
something else could master it and drag it about
like a slave. For Socrates was entirely opposed to
the view in question, holding that there is no such
thing as incontinence; no one, he said, when he
judges acts against what he judges best-people act
so only by reason of ignorance. Now this view
plainly contradicts the observed facts, and we
must inquire about what happens to such a man;
if he acts by reason of ignorance, what is the
manner of his ignorance? For that the man who
behaves incontinently does not, before he gets
into this state, think he ought to act so, is evident.
But there are some who concede certain of
Socrates' contentions but not others; that nothing
is stronger than knowledge they admit, but not
that on one acts contrary to what has seemed to
him the better course, and therefore they say that
the incontinent man has not knowledge when he
is mastered by his pleasures, but opinion. But if it
is opinion and not knowledge, if it is not a strong
conviction that resists but a weak one, as in men
who hesitate, we sympathize with their failure to
stand by such convictions against strong appetites;
but we do not sympathize with wickedness, nor
with any of the other blameworthy states. Is it
then practical wisdom whose resistance is
mastered? That is the strongest of all states. But
this is absurd; the same man will be at once
practically wise and incontinent, but no one
would say that it is the part of a practically wise
man to do willingly the basest acts. Besides, it has
been shown before that the man of practical
wisdom is one who will act (for he is a man
concerned with the individual facts) and who has
the other virtues.
(2) Further, if continence involves having strong
and bad appetites, the temperate man will not be
continent nor the continent man temperate; for a
temperate man will have neither excessive nor bad
appetites. But the continent man must; for if the
appetites are good, the state of character that
restrains us from following them is bad, so that
not all continence will be good; while if they are
weak and not bad, there is nothing admirable in
resisting them, and if they are weak and bad, there
is nothing great in resisting these either.
(3) Further, if continence makes a man ready to
stand by any and every opinion, it is bad, i.e. if it
makes him stand even by a false opinion; and if
incontinence makes a man apt to abandon any
and every opinion, there will be a good
incontinence, of which Sophocles' Neoptolemus in
the Philoctetes will be an instance; for he is to be
praised for not standing by what Odysseus
persuaded him to do, because he is pained at
telling a lie.
(4) Further, the sophistic argument presents a
difficulty; the syllogism arising from men's wish to
expose paradoxical results arising from an
opponent's view, in order that they may be
admired when they succeed, is one that puts us in
a difficulty (for thought is bound fast when it will
not rest because the conclusion does not satisfy it,
and cannot advance because it cannot refute the
argument). There is an argument from which it
follows that folly coupled with incontinence is
virtue; for a man does the opposite of what he
judges, owing to incontinence, but judges what is
good to be evil and something that he should not
do, and consequence he will do what is good and
not what is evil.
(5) Further, he who on conviction does and
pursues and chooses what is pleasant would be
thought to be better than one who does so as a
result not of calculation but of incontinence; for
he is easier to cure since he may be persuaded to
change his mind. But to the incontinent man may
be applied the proverb 'when water chokes, what
is one to wash it down with?' If he had been
persuaded of the rightness of what he does, he
would have desisted when he was persuaded to
change his mind; but now he acts in spite of his
being persuaded of something quite different.
(6) Further, if incontinence and continence are
concerned with any and every kind of object, who
is it that is incontinent in the unqualified sense?
No one has all the forms of incontinence, but we
say some people are incontinent without
qualification.
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Part 3
Of some such kind are the difficulties that arise;
some of these points must be refuted and the
others left in possession of the field; for the
solution of the difficulty is the discovery of the
truth. (1) We must consider first, then, whether
incontinent people act knowingly or not, and in
what sense knowingly; then (2) with what sorts of
object the incontinent and the continent man may
be said to be concerned (i.e. whether with any and
every pleasure and pain or with certain
determinate kinds), and whether the continent
man and the man of endurance are the same or
different; and similarly with regard to the other
matters germane to this inquiry. The starting-
point of our investigation is (a) the question
whether the continent man and the incontinent
are differentiated by their objects or by their
attitude, i.e. whether the incontinent man is
incontinent simply by being concerned with such
and such objects, or, instead, by his attitude, or,
instead of that, by both these things; (b) the
second question is whether incontinence and
continence are concerned with any and every
object or not. The man who is incontinent in the
unqualified sense is neither concerned with any
and every object, but with precisely those with
which the self-indulgent man is concerned, nor is
he characterized by being simply related to these
(for then his state would be the same as self-
indulgence), but by being related to them in a
certain way. For the one is led on in accordance
with his own choice, thinking that he ought
always to pursue the present pleasure; while the
other does not think so, but yet pursues it.
(1) As for the suggestion that it is true opinion and
not knowledge against which we act
incontinently, that makes no difference to the
argument; for some people when in a state of
opinion do not hesitate, but think they know
exactly. If, then, the notion is that owing to their
weak conviction those who have opinion are more
likely to act against their judgement than those
who know, we answer that there need be no
difference between knowledge and opinion in this
respect; for some men are no less convinced of
what they think than others of what they know; as
is shown by the of Heraclitus. But (a), since we use
the word 'know' in two senses (for both the man
who has knowledge but is not using it and he who
is using it are said to know), it will make a
difference whether, when a man does what he
should not, he has the knowledge but is not
exercising it, or is exercising it; for the latter seems
strange, but not the former.
(b) Further, since there are two kinds of
premisses, there is nothing to prevent a man's
having both premisses and acting against his
knowledge, provided that he is using only the
universal premiss and not the particular; for it is
particular acts that have to be done. And there are
also two kinds of universal term; one is predicable
of the agent, the other of the object; e.g. 'dry food
is good for every man', and 'I am a man', or 'such
and such food is dry'; but whether 'this food is
such and such', of this the incontinent man either
has not or is not exercising the knowledge. There
will, then, be, firstly, an enormous difference
between these manners of knowing, so that to
know in one way when we act incontinently would
not seem anything strange, while to know in the
other way would be extraordinary.
And further (c) the possession of knowledge in
another sense than those just named is something
that happens to men; for within the case of having
knowledge but not using it we see a difference of
state, admitting of the possibility of having
knowledge in a sense and yet not having it, as in
the instance of a man asleep, mad, or drunk. But
now this is just the condition of men under the
influence of passions; for outbursts of anger and
sexual appetites and some other such passions, it
is evident, actually alter our bodily condition, and
in some men even produce fits of madness. It is
plain, then, that incontinent people must be said
to be in a similar condition to men asleep, mad, or
drunk. The fact that men use the language that
flows from knowledge proves nothing; for even
men under the influence of these passions utter
scientific proofs and verses of Empedocles, and
those who have just begun to learn a science can
string together its phrases, but do not yet know it;
for it has to become part of themselves, and that
takes time; so that we must suppose that the use
of language by men in an incontinent state means
no more than its utterance by actors on the stage.
(d) Again, we may also view the cause as follows
with reference to the facts of human nature. The
one opinion is universal, the other is concerned
with the particular facts, and here we come to
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something within the sphere of perception; when
a single opinion results from the two, the soul
must in one type of case affirm the conclusion,
while in the case of opinions concerned with
production it must immediately act (e.g. if
'everything sweet ought to be tasted', and 'this is
sweet', in the sense of being one of the particular
sweet things, the man who can act and is not
prevented must at the same time actually act
accordingly). When, then, the universal opinion is
present in us forbidding us to taste, and there is
also the opinion that 'everything sweet is
pleasant', and that 'this is sweet' (now this is the
opinion that is active), and when appetite happens
to be present in us, the one opinion bids us avoid
the object, but appetite leads us towards it (for it
can move each of our bodily parts); so that it turns
out that a man behaves incontinently under the
influence (in a sense) of a rule and an opinion, and
of one not contrary in itself, but only incidentally-
for the appetite is contrary, not the opinion-to the
right rule. It also follows that this is the reason
why the lower animals are not incontinent, viz.
because they have no universal judgement but
only imagination and memory of particulars.
The explanation of how the ignorance is dissolved
and the incontinent man regains his knowledge, is
the same as in the case of the man drunk or asleep
and is not peculiar to this condition; we must go
to the students of natural science for it. Now, the
last premiss both being an opinion about a
perceptible object, and being what determines our
actions this a man either has not when he is in the
state of passion, or has it in the sense in which
having knowledge did not mean knowing but only
talking, as a drunken man may utter the verses of
Empedocles. And because the last term is not
universal nor equally an object of scientific
knowledge with the universal term, the position
that Socrates sought to establish actually seems to
result; for it is not in the presence of what is
thought to be knowledge proper that the affection
of incontinence arises (nor is it this that is
'dragged about' as a result of the state of passion),
but in that of perceptual knowledge.
This must suffice as our answer to the question of
action with and without knowledge, and how it is
possible to behave incontinently with knowledge.
Part 4
(2) We must next discuss whether there is any one
who is incontinent without qualification, or all
men who are incontinent are so in a particular
sense, and if there is, with what sort of objects he
is concerned. That both continent persons and
persons of endurance, and incontinent and soft
persons, are concerned with pleasures and pains,
is evident.
Now of the things that produce pleasure some are
necessary, while others are worthy of choice in
themselves but admit of excess, the bodily causes
of pleasure being necessary (by such I mean both
those concerned with food and those concerned
with sexual intercourse, i.e. the bodily matters
with which we defined self-indulgence and
temperance as being concerned), while the others
are not necessary but worthy of choice in
themselves (e.g. victory, honour, wealth, and good
and pleasant things of this sort). This being so, (a)
those who go to excess with reference to the latter,
contrary to the right rule which is in themselves,
are not called incontinent simply, but incontinent
with the qualification 'in respect of money, gain,
honour, or anger',-not simply incontinent, on the
ground that they are different from incontinent
people and are called incontinent by reason of a
resemblance. (Compare the case of Anthropos
(Man), who won a contest at the Olympic games;
in his case the general definition of man differed
little from the definition peculiar to him, but yet it
was different.) This is shown by the fact that
incontinence either without qualification or in
respect of some particular bodily pleasure is
blamed not only as a fault but as a kind of vice,
while none of the people who are incontinent in
these other respects is so blamed.
But (b) of the people who are incontinent with
respect to bodily enjoyments, with which we say
the temperate and the self-indulgent man are
concerned, he who pursues the excesses of things
pleasant-and shuns those of things painful, of
hunger and thirst and heat and cold and all the
objects of touch and taste-not by choice but
contrary to his choice and his judgement, is called
incontinent, not with the qualification 'in respect
of this or that', e.g. of anger, but just simply. This
is confirmed by the fact that men are called 'soft'
with regard to these pleasures, but not with regard
to any of the others. And for this reason we group
together the incontinent and the self-indulgent,
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the continent and the temperate man-but not any
of these other types-because they are concerned
somehow with the same pleasures and pains; but
though these are concerned with the same objects,
they are not similarly related to them, but some of
them make a deliberate choice while the others do
not.
This is why we should describe as self-indulgent
rather the man who without appetite or with but a
slight appetite pursues the excesses of pleasure
and avoids moderate pains, than the man who
does so because of his strong appetites; for what
would the former do, if he had in addition a
vigorous appetite, and a violent pain at the lack of
the 'necessary' objects?
Now of appetites and pleasures some belong to
the class of things generically noble and good-for
some pleasant things are by nature worthy of
choice, while others are contrary to these, and
others are intermediate, to adopt our previous
distinction-e.g. wealth, gain, victory, honour. And
with reference to all objects whether of this or of
the intermediate kind men are not blamed for
being affected by them, for desiring and loving
them, but for doing so in a certain way, i.e. for
going to excess. (This is why all those who
contrary to the rule either are mastered by or
pursue one of the objects which are naturally
noble and good, e.g. those who busy themselves
more than they ought about honour or about
children and parents, (are not wicked); for these
too are good, and those who busy themselves
about them are praised; but yet there is an excess
even in them-if like Niobe one were to fight even
against the gods, or were to be as much devoted to
one's father as Satyrus nicknamed 'the filial', who
was thought to be very silly on this point.) There
is no wickedness, then, with regard to these
objects, for the reason named, viz. because each of
them is by nature a thing worthy of choice for its
own sake; yet excesses in respect of them are bad
and to be avoided. Similarly there is no
incontinence with regard to them; for
incontinence is not only to be avoided but is also a
thing worthy of blame; but owing to a similarity in
the state of feeling people apply the name
incontinence, adding in each case what it is in
respect of, as we may describe as a bad doctor or a
bad actor one whom we should not call bad,
simply. As, then, in this case we do not apply the
term without qualification because each of these
conditions is no shadness but only analogous to it,
so it is clear that in the other case also that alone
must be taken to be incontinence and continence
which is concerned with the same objects as
temperance and self-indulgence, but we apply the
term to anger by virtue of a resemblance; and this
is why we say with a qualification 'incontinent in
respect of anger' as we say 'incontinent in respect
of honour, or of gain'.
Part 5
(1) Some things are pleasant by nature, and of
these (a) some are so without qualification, and
(b) others are so with reference to particular
classes either of animals or of men; while (2)
others are not pleasant by nature, but (a) some of
them become so by reason of injuries to the
system, and (b) others by reason of acquired
habits, and (c) others by reason of originally bad
natures. This being so, it is possible with regard to
each of the latter kinds to discover similar states
of character to those recognized with regard to the
former; I mean (A) the brutish states, as in the
case of the female who, they say, rips open
pregnant women and devours the infants, or of
the things in which some of the tribes about the
Black Sea that have gone savage are said to
delight-in raw meat or in human flesh, or in
lending their children to one another to feast
upon-or of the story told of Phalaris.
These states are brutish, but (B) others arise as a
result of disease (or, in some cases, of madness, as
with the man who sacrificed and ate his mother,
or with the slave who ate the liver of his fellow),
and others are morbid states (C) resulting from
custom, e.g. the habit of plucking out the hair or
of gnawing the nails, or even coals or earth, and in
addition to these paederasty; for these arise in
some by nature and in others, as in those who
have been the victims of lust from childhood, from
habit.
Now those in whom nature is the cause of such a
state no one would call incontinent, any more
than one would apply the epithet to women
because of the passive part they play in
copulation; nor would one apply it to those who
are in a morbid condition as a result of habit. To
have these various types of habit is beyond the
limits of vice, as brutishness is too; for a man who
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has them to master or be mastered by them is not
simple (continence or) incontinence but that
which is so by analogy, as the man who is in this
condition in respect of fits of anger is to be called
incontinent in respect of that feeling but not
incontinent simply. For every excessive state
whether of folly, of cowardice, of self-indulgence,
or of bad temper, is either brutish or morbid; the
man who is by nature apt to fear everything, even
the squeak of a mouse, is cowardly with a brutish
cowardice, while the man who feared a weasel did
so in consequence of disease; and of foolish people
those who by nature are thoughtless and live by
their senses alone are brutish, like some races of
the distant barbarians, while those who are so as a
result of disease (e.g. of epilepsy) or of madness
are morbid. Of these characteristics it is possible
to have some only at times, and not to be
mastered by them. e.g. Phalaris may have
restrained a desire to eat the flesh of a child or an
appetite for unnatural sexual pleasure; but it is
also possible to be mastered, not merely to have
the feelings. Thus, as the wickedness which is on
the human level is called wickedness simply, while
that which is not is called wickedness not simply
but with the qualification 'brutish' or 'morbid', in
the same way it is plain that some incontinence is
brutish and some morbid, while only that which
corresponds to human self-indulgence is
incontinence simply.
That incontinence and continence, then, are
concerned only with the same objects as
selfindulgence and temperance and that what is
concerned with other objects is a type distinct
from incontinence, and called incontinence by a
metaphor and not simply, is plain.
Part 6
That incontinence in respect of anger is less
disgraceful than that in respect of the appetites is
what we will now proceed to see. (1) Anger seems
to listen to argument to some extent, but to
mishear it, as do hasty servants who run out
before they have heard the whole of what one
says, and then muddle the order, or as dogs bark if
there is but a knock at the door, before looking to
see if it is a friend; so anger by reason of the
warmth and hastiness of its nature, though it
hears, does not hear an order, and springs to take
revenge. For argument or imagination informs us
that we have been insulted or slighted, and anger,
reasoning as it were that anything like this must
be fought against, boils up straightway; while
appetite, if argument or perception merely says
that an object is pleasant, springs to the
enjoyment of it. Therefore anger obeys the
argument in a sense, but appetite does not. It is
therefore more disgraceful; for the man who is
incontinent in respect of anger is in a sense
conquered by argument, while the other is
conquered by appetite and not by argument.
(2) Further, we pardon people more easily for
following natural desires, since we pardon them
more easily for following such appetites as are
common to all men, and in so far as they are
common; now anger and bad temper are more
natural than the appetites for excess, i.e. for
unnecessary objects. Take for instance the man
who defended himself on the charge of striking his
father by saying 'yes, but he struck his father, and
he struck his, and' (pointing to his child) 'this boy
will strike me when he is a man; it runs in the
family'; or the man who when he was being
dragged along by his son bade him stop at the
doorway, since he himself had dragged his father
only as far as that.
(2) Further, those who are more given to plotting
against others are more criminal. Now a
passionate man is not given to plotting, nor is
anger itself-it is open; but the nature of appetite is
illustrated by what the poets call Aphrodite, 'guile-
weaving daughter of Cyprus', and by Homer's
words about her 'embroidered girdle':
And the whisper of wooing is there, Whose
subtlety stealeth the wits of the wise, how prudent
soe'er. Therefore if this form of incontinence is
more criminal and disgraceful than that in respect
of anger, it is both incontinence without
qualification and in a sense vice.
(4) Further, no one commits wanton outrage with
a feeling of pain, but every one who acts in anger
acts with pain, while the man who commits
outrage acts with pleasure. If, then, those acts at
which it is most just to be angry are more criminal
than others, the incontinence which is due to
appetite is the more criminal; for there is no
wanton outrage involved in anger.
Plainly, then, the incontinence concerned with
appetite is more disgraceful than that concerned
105
with anger, and continence and incontinence are
concerned with bodily appetites and pleasures;
but we must grasp the differences among the
latter themselves. For, as has been said at the
beginning, some are human and natural both in
kind and in magnitude, others are brutish, and
others are due to organic injuries and diseases.
Only with the first of these are temperance and
self-indulgence concerned; this is why we call the
lower animals neither temperate nor self-
indulgent except by a metaphor, and only if some
one race of animals exceeds another as a whole in
wantonness, destructiveness, and omnivorous
greed; these have no power of choice or
calculation, but they are departures from the
natural norm, as, among men, madmen are. Now
brutishness is a less evil than vice, though more
alarming; for it is not that the better part has been
perverted, as in man,-they have no better part.
Thus it is like comparing a lifeless thing with a
living in respect of badness; for the badness of that
which has no originative source of movement is
always less hurtful, and reason is an originative
source. Thus it is like comparing injustice in the
abstract with an unjust man. Each is in some sense
worse; for a bad man will do ten thousand times as
much evil as a brute.
Part 7
With regard to the pleasures and pains and
appetites and aversions arising through touch and
taste, to which both self-indulgence and
temperance were formerly narrowed down, it
possible to be in such a state as to be defeated
even by those of them which most people master,
or to master even those by which most people are
defeated; among these possibilities, those relating
to pleasures are incontinence and continence,
those relating to pains softness and endurance.
The state of most people is intermediate, even if
they lean more towards the worse states.
Now, since some pleasures are necessary while
others are not, and are necessary up to a point
while the excesses of them are not, nor the
deficiencies, and this is equally true of appetites
and pains, the man who pursues the excesses of
things pleasant, or pursues to excess necessary
objects, and does so by choice, for their own sake
and not at all for the sake of any result distinct
from them, is self-indulgent; for such a man is of
necessity unlikely to repent, and therefore
incurable, since a man who cannot repent cannot
be cured. The man who is deficient in his pursuit
of them is the opposite of self-indulgent; the man
who is intermediate is temperate. Similarly, there
is the man who avoids bodily pains not because he
is defeated by them but by choice. (Of those who
do not choose such acts, one kind of man is led to
them as a result of the pleasure involved, another
because he avoids the pain arising from the
appetite, so that these types differ from one
another. Now any one would think worse of a man
with no appetite or with weak appetite were he to
do something disgraceful, than if he did it under
the influence of powerful appetite, and worse of
him if he struck a blow not in anger than if he did
it in anger; for what would he have done if he had
been strongly affected? This is why the self-
indulgent man is worse than the incontinent.) of
the states named, then, the latter is rather a kind
of softness; the former is self-indulgence. While to
the incontinent man is opposed the continent, to
the soft is opposed the man of endurance; for
endurance consists in resisting, while continence
consists in conquering, and resisting and
conquering are different, as not being beaten is
different from winning; this is why continence is
also more worthy of choice than endurance. Now
the man who is defective in respect of resistance
to the things which most men both resist and
resist successfully is soft and effeminate; for
effeminacy too is a kind of softness; such a man
trails his cloak to avoid the pain of lifting it, and
plays the invalid without thinking himself
wretched, though the man he imitates is a
wretched man.
The case is similar with regard to continence and
incontinence. For if a man is defeated by violent
and excessive pleasures or pains, there is nothing
wonderful in that; indeed we are ready to pardon
him if he has resisted, as Theodectes' Philoctetes
does when bitten by the snake, or Carcinus'
Cercyon in the Alope, and as people who try to
restrain their laughter burst out into a guffaw, as
happened to Xenophantus. But it is surprising if a
man is defeated by and cannot resist pleasures or
pains which most men can hold out against, when
this is not due to heredity or disease, like the
softness that is hereditary with the kings of the
Scythians, or that which distinguishes the female
sex from the male.
106
The lover of amusement, too, is thought to be self-
indulgent, but is really soft. For amusement is a
relaxation, since it is a rest from work; and the
lover of amusement is one of the people who go to
excess in this.
Of incontinence one kind is impetuosity, another
weakness. For some men after deliberating fail,
owing to their emotion, to stand by the
conclusions of their deliberation, others because
they have not deliberated are led by their emotion;
since some men (just as people who first tickle
others are not tickled themselves), if they have
first perceived and seen what is coming and have
first roused themselves and their calculative
faculty, are not defeated by their emotion,
whether it be pleasant or painful. It is keen and
excitable people that suffer especially from the
impetuous form of incontinence; for the former by
reason of their quickness and the latter by reason
of the violence of their passions do not await the
argument, because they are apt to follow their
imagination.
Part 8
The self-indulgent man, as was said, is not apt to
repent; for he stands by his choice; but
incontinent man is likely to repent. This is why
the position is not as it was expressed in the
formulation of the problem, but the selfindulgent
man is incurable and the incontinent man curable;
for wickedness is like a disease such as dropsy or
consumption, while incontinence is like epilepsy;
the former is a permanent, the latter an
intermittent badness. And generally incontinence
and vice are different in kind; vice is unconscious
of itself, incontinence is not (of incontinent men
themselves, those who become temporarily beside
themselves are better than those who have the
rational principle but do not abide by it, since the
latter are defeated by a weaker passion, and do not
act without previous deliberation like the others);
for the incontinent man is like the people who get
drunk quickly and on little wine, i.e. on less than
most people.
Evidently, then, incontinence is not vice (though
perhaps it is so in a qualified sense); for
incontinence is contrary to choice while vice is in
accordance with choice; not but what they are
similar in respect of the actions they lead to; as in
the saying of Demodocus about the Milesians, 'the
Milesians are not without sense, but they do the
things that senseless people do', so too
incontinent people are not criminal, but they will
do criminal acts.
Now, since the incontinent man is apt to pursue,
not on conviction, bodily pleasures that are
excessive and contrary to the right rule, while the
self-indulgent man is convinced because he is the
sort of man to pursue them, it is on the contrary
the former that is easily persuaded to change his
mind, while the latter is not. For virtue and vice
respectively preserve and destroy the first
principle, and in actions the final cause is the first
principle, as the hypotheses are in mathematics;
neither in that case is it argument that teaches the
first principles, nor is it so here-virtue either
natural or produced by habituation is what
teaches right opinion about the first principle.
Such a man as this, then, is temperate; his
contrary is the self-indulgent.
But there is a sort of man who is carried away as a
result of passion and contrary to the right rule-a
man whom passion masters so that he does not
act according to the right rule, but does not
master to the extent of making him ready to
believe that he ought to pursue such pleasures
without reserve; this is the incontinent man, who
is better than the self-indulgent man, and not bad
without qualification; for the best thing in him,
the first principle, is preserved. And contrary to
him is another kind of man, he who abides by his
convictions and is not carried away, at least as a
result of passion. It is evident from these
considerations that the latter is a good state and
the former a bad one.
Part 9
Is the man continent who abides by any and every
rule and any and every choice, or the man who
abides by the right choice, and is he incontinent
who abandons any and every choice and any and
every rule, or he who abandons the rule that is not
false and the choice that is right; this is how we
put it before in our statement of the problem. Or
is it incidentally any and every choice but per se
the true rule and the right choice by which the
one abides and the other does not? If any one
chooses or pursues this for the sake of that, per se
he pursues and chooses the latter, but incidentally
the former. But when we speak without
107
qualification we mean what is per se. Therefore in
a sense the one abides by, and the other abandons,
any and every opinion; but without qualification,
the true opinion.
There are some who are apt to abide by their
opinion, who are called strong-headed, viz. those
who are hard to persuade in the first instance and
are not easily persuaded to change; these have in
them something like the continent man, as the
prodigal is in a way like the liberal man and the
rash man like the confident man; but they are
different in many respects. For it is to passion and
appetite that the one will not yield, since on
occasion the continent man will be easy to
persuade; but it is to argument that the others
refuse to yield, for they do form appetites and
many of them are led by their pleasures. Now the
people who are strong-headed are the
opinionated, the ignorant, and the boorish-the
opinionated being influenced by pleasure and
pain; for they delight in the victory they gain if
they are not persuaded to change, and are pained
if their decisions become null and void as decrees
sometimes do; so that they are liker the
incontinent than the continent man.
But there are some who fail to abide by their
resolutions, not as a result of incontinence, e.g.
Neoptolemus in Sophocles' Philoctetes; yet it was
for the sake of pleasure that he did not stand fast-
but a noble pleasure; for telling the truth was
noble to him, but he had been persuaded by
Odysseus to tell the lie. For not every one who
does anything for the sake of pleasure is either
self-indulgent or bad or incontinent, but he who
does it for a disgraceful pleasure.
Since there is also a sort of man who takes less
delight than he should in bodily things, and does
not abide by the rule, he who is intermediate
between him and the incontinent man is the
continent man; for the incontinent man fails to
abide by the rule because he delights too much in
them, and this man because he delights in them
too little; while the continent man abides by the
rule and does not change on either account. Now
if continence is good, both the contrary states
must be bad, as they actually appear to be; but
because the other extreme is seen in few people
and seldom, as temperance is thought to be
contrary only to self-indulgence, so is continence
to incontinence.
Since many names are applied analogically, it is by
analogy that we have come to speak of the
'continence' the temperate man; for both the
continent man and the temperate man are such as
to do nothing contrary to the rule for the sake of
the bodily pleasures, but the former has and the
latter has not bad appetites, and the latter is such
as not to feel pleasure contrary to the rule, while
the former is such as to feel pleasure but not to be
led by it. And the incontinent and the self-
indulgent man are also like another; they are
different, but both pursue bodily pleasures- the
latter, however, also thinking that he ought to do
so, while the former does not think this.
Part 10
Nor can the same man have practical wisdom and
be incontinent; for it has been shown' that a man
is at the same time practically wise, and good in
respect of character. Further, a man has practical
wisdom not by knowing only but by being able to
act; but the incontinent man is unable to act-there
is, however, nothing to prevent a clever man from
being incontinent; this is why it is sometimes
actually thought that some people have practical
wisdom but are incontinent, viz. because
cleverness and practical wisdom differ in the way
we have described in our first discussions, and are
near together in respect of their reasoning, but
differ in respect of their purpose-nor yet is the
incontinent man like the man who knows and is
contemplating a truth, but like the man who is
asleep or drunk. And he acts willingly (for he acts
in a sense with knowledge both of what he does
and of the end to which he does it), but is not
wicked, since his purpose is good; so that he is
half-wicked. And he is not a criminal; for he does
not act of malice aforethought; of the two types of
incontinent man the one does not abide by the
conclusions of his deliberation, while the excitable
man does not deliberate at all. And thus the
incontinent man like a city which passes all the
right decrees and has good laws, but makes no use
of them, as in Anaxandrides' jesting remark,
The city willed it, that cares nought for laws; but
the wicked man is like a city that uses its laws, but
has wicked laws to use.
Now incontinence and continence are concerned
with that which is in excess of the state
characteristic of most men; for the continent man
108
abides by his resolutions more and the
incontinent man less than most men can.
Of the forms of incontinence, that of excitable
people is more curable than that of those who
deliberate but do not abide by their decisions, and
those who are incontinent through habituation
are more curable than those in whom
incontinence is innate; for it is easier to change a
habit than to change one's nature; even habit is
hard to change just because it is like nature, as
Evenus says:
I say that habit's but a long practice, friend, And
this becomes men's nature in the end.
We have now stated what continence,
incontinence, endurance, and softness are, and
how these states are related to each other.
Part 11
The study of pleasure and pain belongs to the
province of the political philosopher; for he is the
architect of the end, with a view to which we call
one thing bad and another good without
qualification. Further, it is one of our necessary
tasks to consider them; for not only did we lay it
down that moral virtue and vice are concerned
with pains and pleasures, but most people say that
happiness involves pleasure; this is why the
blessed man is called by a name derived from a
word meaning enjoyment.
Now (1) some people think that no pleasure is a
good, either in itself or incidentally, since the
good and pleasure are not the same; (2) others
think that some pleasures are good but that most
are bad. (3) Again there is a third view, that even if
all pleasures are good, yet the best thing in the
world cannot be pleasure. (1) The reasons given
for the view that pleasure is not a good at all are
(a) that every pleasure is a perceptible process to a
natural state, and that no process is of the same
kind as its end, e.g. no process of building of the
same kind as a house. (b) A temperate man avoids
pleasures. (c) A man of practical wisdom pursues
what is free from pain, not what is pleasant. (d)
The pleasures are a hindrance to thought, and the
more so the more one delights in them, e.g. in
sexual pleasure; for no one could think of
anything while absorbed in this. (e) There is no art
of pleasure; but every good is the product of some
art. (f) Children and the brutes pursue pleasures.
(2) The reasons for the view that not all pleasures
are good are that (a) there are pleasures that are
actually base and objects of reproach, and (b)
there are harmful pleasures; for some pleasant
things are unhealthy. (3) The reason for the view
that the best thing in the world is not pleasure is
that pleasure is not an end but a process.
Part 12
These are pretty much the things that are said.
That it does not follow from these grounds that
pleasure is not a good, or even the chief good, is
plain from the following considerations. (A) (a)
First, since that which is good may be so in either
of two senses (one thing good simply and another
good for a particular person), natural
constitutions and states of being, and therefore
also the corresponding movements and processes,
will be correspondingly divisible. Of those which
are thought to be bad some will be bad if taken
without qualification but not bad for a particular
person, but worthy of his choice, and some will
not be worthy of choice even for a particular
person, but only at a particular time and for a
short period, though not without qualification;
while others are not even pleasures, but seem to
be so, viz. all those which involve pain and whose
end is curative, e.g. the processes that go on in
sick persons.
(b) Further, one kind of good being activity and
another being state, the processes that restore us
to our natural state are only incidentally pleasant;
for that matter the activity at work in the
appetites for them is the activity of so much of our
state and nature as has remained unimpaired; for
there are actually pleasures that involve no pain or
appetite (e.g. those of contemplation), the nature
in such a case not being defective at all. That the
others are incidental is indicated by the fact that
men do not enjoy the same pleasant objects when
their nature is in its settled state as they do when
it is being replenished, but in the former case they
enjoy the things that are pleasant without
qualification, in the latter the contraries of these
as well; for then they enjoy even sharp and bitter
things, none of which is pleasant either by nature
or without qualification. The states they produce,
therefore, are not pleasures naturally or without
qualification; for as pleasant things differ, so do
the pleasures arising from them.
109
(c) Again, it is not necessary that there should be
something else better than pleasure, as some say
the end is better than the process; for leasures are
not processes nor do they all involve process-they
are activities and ends; nor do they arise when we
are becoming something, but when we are
exercising some faculty; and not all pleasures have
an end different from themselves, but only the
pleasures of persons who are being led to the
perfecting of their nature. This is why it is not
right to say that pleasure is perceptible process,
but it should rather be called activity of the
natural state, and instead of 'perceptible'
'unimpeded'. It is thought by some people to be
process just because they think it is in the strict
sense good; for they think that activity is process,
which it is not.
(B) The view that pleasures are bad because some
pleasant things are unhealthy is like saying that
healthy things are bad because some healthy
things are bad for money-making; both are bad in
the respect mentioned, but they are not bad for
that reason-indeed, thinking itself is sometimes
injurious to health.
Neither practical wisdom nor any state of being is
impeded by the pleasure arising from it; it is
foreign pleasures that impede, for the pleasures
arising from thinking and learning will make us
think and learn all the more.
(C) The fact that no pleasure is the product of any
art arises naturally enough; there is no art of any
other activity either, but only of the corresponding
faculty; though for that matter the arts of the
perfumer and the cook are thought to be arts of
pleasure.
(D) The arguments based on the grounds that the
temperate man avoids pleasure and that the man
of practical wisdom pursues the painless life, and
that children and the brutes pursue pleasure, are
all refuted by the same consideration. We have
pointed out in what sense pleasures are good
without qualification and in what sense some are
not good; now both the brutes and children
pursue pleasures of the latter kind (and the man
of practical wisdom pursues tranquil freedom
from that kind), viz. those which imply appetite
and pain, i.e. the bodily pleasures (for it is these
that are of this nature) and the excesses of them,
in respect of which the self-indulgent man is self-
indulent. This is why the temperate man avoids
these pleasures; for even he has pleasures of his
own.
Part 13
But further (E) it is agreed that pain is bad and to
be avoided; for some pain is without qualification
bad, and other pain is bad because it is in some
respect an impediment to us. Now the contrary of
that which is to be avoided, qua something to be
avoided and bad, is good. Pleasure, then, is
necessarily a good. For the answer of Speusippus,
that pleasure is contrary both to pain and to good,
as the greater is contrary both to the less and to
the equal, is not successful; since he would not say
that pleasure is essentially just a species of evil.
And (F) if certain pleasures are bad, that does not
prevent the chief good from being some pleasure,
just as the chief good may be some form of
knowledge though certain kinds of knowledge are
bad. Perhaps it is even necessary, if each
disposition has unimpeded activities, that,
whether the activity (if unimpeded) of all our
dispositions or that of some one of them is
happiness, this should be the thing most worthy of
our choice; and this activity is pleasure. Thus the
chief good would be some pleasure, though most
pleasures might perhaps be bad without
qualification. And for this reason all men think
that the happy life is pleasant and weave pleasure
into their ideal of happiness-and reasonably too;
for no activity is perfect when it is impeded, and
happiness is a perfect thing; this is why the happy
man needs the goods of the body and external
goods, i.e. those of fortune, viz. in order that he
may not be impeded in these ways. Those who say
that the victim on the rack or the man who falls
into great misfortunes is happy if he is good, are,
whether they mean to or not, talking nonsense.
Now because we need fortune as well as other
things, some people think good fortune the same
thing as happiness; but it is not that, for even
good fortune itself when in excess is an
impediment, and perhaps should then be no
longer called good fortune; for its limit is fixed by
reference to happiness.
And indeed the fact that all things, both brutes
and men, pursue pleasure is an indication of its
being somehow the chief good:
110
No voice is wholly lost that many peoples... But
since no one nature or state either is or is thought
the best for all, neither do all pursue the same
pleasure; yet all pursue pleasure. And perhaps
they actually pursue not the pleasure they think
they pursue nor that which they would say they
pursue, but the same pleasure; for all things have
by nature something divine in them. But the
bodily pleasures have appropriated the name both
because we oftenest steer our course for them and
because all men share in them; thus because they
alone are familiar, men think there are no others.
It is evident also that if pleasure, i.e. the activity of
our faculties, is not a good, it will not be the case
that the happy man lives a pleasant life; for to
what end should he need pleasure, if it is not a
good but the happy man may even live a painful
life? For pain is neither an evil nor a good, if
pleasure is not; why then should he avoid it?
Therefore, too, the life of the good man will not be
pleasanter than that of any one else, if his
activities are not more pleasant.
Part 14
(G) With regard to the bodily pleasures, those
who say that some pleasures are very much to be
chosen, viz. the noble pleasures, but not the
bodily pleasures, i.e. those with which the self-
indulgent man is concerned, must consider why,
then, the contrary pains are bad. For the contrary
of bad is good. Are the necessary pleasures good in
the sense in which even that which is not bad is
good? Or are they good up to a point? Is it that
where you have states and processes of which
there cannot be too much, there cannot be too
much of the corresponding pleasure, and that
where there can be too much of the one there can
be too much of the other also? Now there can be
too much of bodily goods, and the bad man is bad
by virtue of pursuing the excess, not by virtue of
pursuing the necessary pleasures (for all men
enjoy in some way or other both dainty foods and
wines and sexual intercourse, but not all men do
so as they ought). The contrary is the case with
pain; for he does not avoid the excess of it, he
avoids it altogether; and this is peculiar to him, for
the alternative to excess of pleasure is not pain,
except to the man who pursues this excess.
Since we should state not only the truth, but also
the cause of error-for this contributes towards
producing conviction, since when a reasonable
explanation is given of why the false view appears
true, this tends to produce belief in the true view-
therefore we must state why the bodily pleasures
appear the more worthy of choice. (a) Firstly,
then, it is because they expel pain; owing to the
excesses of pain that men experience, they pursue
excessive and in general bodily pleasure as being a
cure for the pain. Now curative agencies produce
intense feeling-which is the reason why they are
pursued-because they show up against the
contrary pain. (Indeed pleasure is thought not to
be good for these two reasons, as has been said,
viz. that (a) some of them are activities belonging
to a bad nature-either congenital, as in the case of
a brute, or due to habit, i.e. those of bad men;
while (b) others are meant to cure a defective
nature, and it is better to be in a healthy state than
to be getting into it, but these arise during the
process of being made perfect and are therefore
only incidentally good.) (b) Further, they are
pursued because of their violence by those who
cannot enjoy other pleasures. (At all events they
go out of their way to manufacture thirsts
somehow for themselves. When these are
harmless, the practice is irreproachable; when
they are hurtful, it is bad.) For they have nothing
else to enjoy, and, besides, a neutral state is
painful to many people because of their nature.
For the animal nature is always in travail, as the
students of natural science also testify, saying that
sight and hearing are painful; but we have become
used to this, as they maintain. Similarly, while, in
youth, people are, owing to the growth that is
going on, in a situation like that of drunken men,
and youth is pleasant, on the other hand people of
excitable nature always need relief; for even their
body is ever in torment owing to its special
composition, and they are always under the
influence of violent desire; but pain is driven out
both by the contrary pleasure, and by any chance
pleasure if it be strong; and for these reasons they
become self-indulgent and bad. But the pleasures
that do not involve pains do not admit of excess;
and these are among the things pleasant by nature
and not incidentally. By things pleasant
incidentally I mean those that act as cures (for
because as a result people are cured, through
some action of the part that remains healthy, for
this reason the process is thought pleasant); by
things naturally pleasant I mean those that
stimulate the action of the healthy nature.
111
There is no one thing that is always pleasant,
because our nature is not simple but there is
another element in us as well, inasmuch as we are
perishable creatures, so that if the one element
does something, this is unnatural to the other
nature, and when the two elements are evenly
balanced, what is done seems neither painful nor
pleasant; for if the nature of anything were simple,
the same action would always be most pleasant to
it. This is why God always enjoys a single and
simple pleasure; for there is not only an activity of
movement but an activity of immobility, and
pleasure is found more in rest than in movement.
But 'change in all things is sweet', as the poet says,
because of some vice; for as it is the vicious man
that is changeable, so the nature that needs
change is vicious; for it is not simple nor good.
We have now discussed continence and
incontinence, and pleasure and pain, both what
each is and in what sense some of them are good
and others bad; it remains to speak of friendship.
112
Epicurus, Letter to
Menoeceus, Translated by Robert Drew Hicks
Greeting.
Let no one be slow to seek wisdom when he is
young nor weary in the search thereof when he is
grown old. For no age is too early or too late for
the health of the soul. And to say that the season
for studying philosophy has not yet come, or that
it is past and gone, is like saying that the season
for happiness is not yet or that it is now no more.
Therefore, both old and young ought to seek
wisdom, the former in order that, as age comes
over him, he may be young in good things because
of the grace of what has been, and the latter in
order that, while he is young, he may at the same
time be old, because he has no fear of the things
which are to come. So we must exercise ourselves
in the things which bring happiness, since, if that
be present, we have everything, and, if that be
absent, all our actions are directed toward
attaining it.
Those things which without ceasing I have
declared to you, those do, and exercise yourself in
those, holding them to be the elements of right
life. First believe that God is a living being
immortal and happy, according to the notion of a
god indicated by the common sense of
humankind; and so of him anything that is at
agrees not with about him whatever may uphold
both his happyness and his immortality. For truly
there are gods, and knowledge of them is evident;
but they are not such as the multitude believe,
seeing that people do not steadfastly maintain the
notions they form respecting them. Not the
person who denies the gods worshipped by the
multitude, but he who affirms of the gods what
the multitude believes about them is truly
impious. For the utterances of the multitude
about the gods are not true preconceptions but
false assumptions; hence it is that the greatest
evils happen to the wicked and the greatest
blessings happen to the good from the hand of the
gods, seeing that they are always favorable to their
own good qualities and take pleasure in people
like to themselves, but reject as alien whatever is
not of their kind.
Accustom yourself to believe that death is nothing
to us, for good and evil imply awareness, and
death is the privation of all awareness; therefore a
right understanding that death is nothing to us
makes the mortality of life enjoyable, not by
adding to life an unlimited time, but by taking
away the yearning after immortality. For life has
no terror; for those who thoroughly apprehend
that there are no terrors for them in ceasing to
live. Foolish, therefore, is the person who says that
he fears death, not because it will pain when it
comes, but because it pains in the prospect.
Whatever causes no annoyance when it is present,
causes only a groundless pain in the expectation.
Death, therefore, the most awful of evils, is
nothing to us, seeing that, when we are, death is
not come, and, when death is come, we are not. It
is nothing, then, either to the living or to the dead,
for with the living it is not and the dead exist no
longer. But in the world, at one time people shun
death as the greatest of all evils, and at another
time choose it as a respite from the evils in life.
The wise person does not deprecate life nor does
he fear the cessation of life. The thought of life is
no offense to him, nor is the cessation of life
regarded as an evil. And even as people choose of
food not merely and simply the larger portion, but
the more pleasant, so the wise seek to enjoy the
time which is most pleasant and not merely that
which is longest. And he who admonishes the
EPICURUS (342?-270 B.C.). - Greek philosopher. Roman marble copy of a lost Greek work of the mid-3rd century B.C.. Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica
113
young to live well and the old to make a good end
speaks foolishly, not merely because of the
desirability of life, but because the same exercise
at once teaches to live well and to die well. Much
worse is he who says that it were good not to be
born, but when once one is born to pass with all
speed through the gates of Hades. For if he truly
believes this, why does he not depart from life? It
were easy for him to do so, if once he were firmly
convinced. If he speaks only in mockery, his words
are foolishness, for those who hear believe him
not.
We must remember that the future is neither
wholly ours nor wholly not ours, so that neither
must we count upon it as quite certain to come
nor despair of it as quite certain not to come.
We must also reflect that of desires some are
natural, others are groundless; and that of the
natural some are necessary as well as natural, and
some natural only. And of the necessary desires
some are necessary if we are to be happy, some if
the body is to be rid of uneasiness, some if we are
even to live. He who has a clear and certain
understanding of these things will direct every
preference and aversion toward securing health of
body and tranquillity of mind, seeing that this is
the sum and end of a happy life. For the end of all
our actions is to be free from pain and fear, and,
when once we have attained all this, the tempest
of the soul is laid; seeing that the living creature
has no need to go in search of something that is
lacking, nor to look anything else by which the
good of the soul and of the body will be fulfilled.
When we are pained pleasure, then, and then
only, do we feel the need of pleasure. For this
reason we call pleasure the alpha and omega of a
happy life. Pleasure is our first and kindred good.
It is the starting-point of every choice and of every
aversion, and to it we come back, inasmuch as we
make feeling the rule by which to judge of every
good thing. And since pleasure is our first and
native good, for that reason we do not choose
every pleasure whatever, but often pass over many
pleasures when a greater annoyance ensues from
them. And often we consider pains superior to
pleasures when submission to the pains for a long
time brings us as a consequence a greater
pleasure. While therefore all pleasure because it is
naturally akin to us is good, not all pleasure is
worthy of choice, just as all pain is an evil and yet
not all pain is to be shunned. It is, however, by
measuring one against another, and by looking at
the conveniences and inconveniences, teat all
these matters must be judged. Sometimes we treat
the good as an evil, and the evil, on the contrary,
as a good. Again, we regard. independence of
outward things as a great good, not so as in all
cases to use little, but so as to be contented with
little if we have not much, being honestly
persuaded that they have the sweetest enjoyment
of luxury who stand least in need of it, and that
whatever is natural is easily procured and only the
vain and worthless hard to win. Plain fare gives as
much pleasure as a costly diet, when one the pain
of want has been removed, while bread an water
confer the highest possible pleasure when they are
brought to hungry lips. To habituate one's se
therefore, to simple and inexpensive diet supplies
al that is needful for health, and enables a person
to meet the necessary requirements of life without
shrinking and it places us in a better condition
when we approach at intervals a costly fare and
renders us fearless of fortune.
When we say, then, that pleasure is the end and
aim, we do not mean the pleasures of the prodigal
or the pleasures of sensuality, as we are
understood to do by some through ignorance,
prejudice, or willful misrepresentation. By
pleasure we mean the absence of pain in the body
and of trouble in the soul. It is not an unbroken
succession of drinking-bouts and of merrymaking,
not sexual love, not the enjoyment of the fish and
other delicacies of a luxurious table, which
produce a pleasant life; it is sober reasoning,
searching out the grounds of every choice and
avoidance, and banishing those beliefs through
which the greatest disturbances take possession of
the soul. Of all this the d is prudence. For this
reason prudence is a more precious thing even
than the other virtues, for ad a life of pleasure
which is not also a life of prudence, honor, and
justice; nor lead a life of prudence, honor, and
justice, which is not also a life of pleasure. For the
virtues have grown into one with a pleasant life,
and a pleasant life is inseparable from them.
Who, then, is superior in your judgment to such a
person? He holds a holy belief concerning the
gods, and is altogether free from the fear of death.
He has diligently considered the end fixed by
nature, and understands how easily the limit of
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good things can be reached and attained, and how
either the duration or the intensity of evils is but
slight. Destiny which some introduce as sovereign
over all things, he laughs to scorn, affirming rather
that some things happen of necessity, others by
chance, others through our own agency. For he
sees that necessity destroys responsibility and that
chance or fortune is inconstant; whereas our own
actions are free, and it is to them that praise and
blame naturally attach. It were better, indeed, to
accept the legends of the gods than to bow
beneath destiny which the natural philosophers
have imposed. The one holds out some faint hope
that we may escape if we honor the gods, while
the necessity of the naturalists is deaf to all
entreaties. Nor does he hold chance to be a god, as
the world in general does, for in the acts of a god
there is no disorder; nor to be a cause, though an
uncertain one, for he believes that no good or evil
is dispensed by chance to people so as to make life
happy, though it supplies the starting-point of
great good and great evil. He believes that the
misfortune of the wise is better than the
prosperity of the fool. It is better, in short, that
what is well judged in action should not owe its
successful issue to the aid of chance.
Exercise yourself in these and kindred precepts
day and night, both by yourself and with him who
is like to you; then never, either in waking or in
dream, will you be disturbed, but will live as a god
among people. For people lose all appearance of
mortality by living in the midst of immortal
blessings.
THE END
115
Epicurus, Principal
Doctrines, Translated by Robert Drew Hicks
1. A happy and eternal being has no trouble
himself and brings no trouble upon any other
being; hence he is exempt from movements of
anger and partiality, for every such movement
implies weakness
2. Death is nothing to us; for the body, when it has
been resolved into its elements, has no feeling,
and that which has no feeling is nothing to us.
3. The magnitude of pleasure reaches its limit in
the removal of all pain. When pleasure is present,
so long as it is uninterrupted, there is no pain
either of body or of mind or of both together.
4. Continuous pain does not last long in the body;
on the contrary, pain, if extreme, is present a short
time, and even that degree of pain which barely
outweighs pleasure in the body does not last for
many days together. Illnesses of long duration
even permit of an excess of pleasure over pain in
the body.
5. It is impossible to live a pleasant life without
living wisely and well and justly, and it is
impossible to live wisely and well and justly
without living pleasantly. Whenever any one of
these is lacking, when, for instance, the person is
not able to live wisely, though he lives well and
justly, it is impossible for him to live a pleasant
life.
6. In order to obtain security from other people
any means whatever of procuring this was a
natural good.
7. Some people have sought to become famous
and renowned, thinking that thus they would
make themselves secure against their fellow-
humans. If, then, the life of such persons really
was secure, they attained natural good; if,
however, it was insecure, they have not attained
the end which by nature's own prompting they
originally sought.
8. No pleasure is in itself evil, but the things which
produce certain pleasures entail annoyances many
times greater than the pleasures themselves.
9. If all pleasure had been capable of
accumulation, -- if this had gone on not only be
recurrences in time, but all over the frame or, at
any rate, over the principal parts of human nature,
there would never have been any difference
between one pleasure and another, as in fact there
is.
10. If the objects which are productive of pleasures
to profligate persons really freed them from fears
of the mind, -- the fears, I mean, inspired by
celestial and atmospheric phenomena, the fear of
death, the fear of pain; if, further, they taught
them to limit their desires, we should never have
any fault to find with such persons, for they would
then be filled with pleasures to overflowing on all
sides and would be exempt from all pain, whether
of body or mind, that is, from all evil.
11. If we had never been molested by alarms at
celestial and atmospheric phenomena, nor by the
misgiving that death somehow affects us, nor by
neglect of the proper limits of pains and desires,
we should have had no need to study natural
science.
12. It would be impossible to banish fear on
matters of the highest importance, if a person did
not know the nature of the whole universe, but
lived in dread of what the legends tell us. Hence
without the study of nature there was no
enjoyment of unmixed pleasures.
13. There would be no advantage in providing
security against our fellow humans, so long as we
were alarmed by occurrences over our heads or
beneath the earth or in general by whatever
happens in the boundless universe.
14. When tolerable security against our fellow
humans is attained, then on a basis of power
sufficient to afford supports and of material
prosperity arises in most genuine form the
security of a quiet private life withdrawn from the
multitude.
15. Nature's wealth at once has its bounds and is
easy to procure; but the wealth of vain fancies
recedes to an infinite distance.
16. Fortune but seldom interferes with the wise
person; his greatest and highest interests have
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been, are, and will be, directed by reason
throughout the course of his life.
17. The just person enjoys. the greatest peace of
mind, while the unjust is full of the utmost
disquietude.
18. Pleasure in the body admits no increase when
once the pain of want has been removed; after
that it only admits of variation. The limit of
pleasure in the mind, however, is reached when
we reflect on the things themselves and their
congeners which cause the mind the greatest
alarms.
19. Unlimited time and limited time afford an
equal amount of pleasure, if we measure the limits
of that pleasure by reason.
20. The body receives as unlimited the limits of
pleasure; and to provide it requires unlimited
time. But the mind, grasping in thought what the
end and limit of the body is, and banishing the
terrors of futurity, procures a complete and
perfect life, and has no longer any need of
unlimited time. Nevertheless it does not shun
pleasure, and even in the hour of death, when
ushered out of existence by circumstances, the
mind does not lack enjoyment of the best life.
21. He who understands the limits of life knows
how easy it is to procure enough to remove the
pain of want and make the whole of life complete
and perfect. Hence he has no longer any need of
things which are not to be won save by labor and
conflict.
22. We must take into account as the end all that
really exists and all clear evidence of sense to
which we refer our opinions; for otherwise
everything will be full of uncertainty and
confusion.
23. If you fight against all your sensations, you will
have no standard to which to refer, and thus no
means of judging even those judgments which you
pronounce false.
24. If you reject absolutely any single sensation
without stopping to discriminate with respect to
that which awaits confirmation between matter of
opinion and that which is already present,
whether in sensation or in feelings or in any
immediate perception of the mind, you will throw
into confusion even the rest of your sensations by
your groundless belief and so you will be rejecting
the standard of truth altogether. If in your ideas
based upon opinion you hastily affirm as true all
that awaits confirmation as well as that which
does not, you will not escape error, as you will be
maintaining complete ambiguity whenever it is a
case of judging between right and wrong opinion.
25. If you do not on every separate occasion refer
each of your actions to the end prescribed by
nature, but instead of this in the act of choice or
avoidance swerve aside to some other end, your
acts will not be consistent with your theories.
26. All such desires as lead to no pain when they
remain ungratified are unnecessary, and the
longing is easily got rid of, when the thing desired
is difficult to procure or when the desires seem
likely to produce harm.
27. Of all the means which are procured by
wisdom to ensure happiness throughout the
whole of life, by far the most important is the
acquisition of friends.
28. The same conviction which inspires
confidence that nothing we have to fear is eternal
or even of long duration, also enables us to see
that even in our limited conditions of life nothing
enhances our security so much as friendship.
29. Of our desires some are natural and necessary
others are natural, but not necessary; others,
again, are neither natural nor necessary, but are
due to illusory opinion.
30. Those natural desires which entail no pain
when not gratified, though their objects are
vehemently pursued, are also due to illusory
opinion; and when they are not got rid of, it is not
because of their own nature, but because of the
person's illusory opinion.
31. Natural justice is a symbol or expression of
usefullness, to prevent one person from harming
or being harmed by another.
32. Those animals which are incapable of making
covenants with one another, to the end that they
may neither inflict nor suffer harm, are without
either justice or injustice. And those tribes which
117
either could not or would not form mutual
covenants to the same end are in like case.
33. There never was an absolute justice, but only
an agreement made in reciprocal association in
whatever localities now and again from time to
time, providing against the infliction or suffering
of harm.
34. Injustice is not in itself an evil, but only in its
consequence, viz. the terror which is excited by
apprehension that those appointed to punish such
offenses will discover the injustice.
35. It is impossible for the person who secretly
violates any article of the social compact to feel
confident that he will remain undiscovered, even
if he has already escaped ten thousand times; for
right on to the end of his life he is never sure he
will not be detected.
36. Taken generally, justice is the same for all, to
wit, something found useful in mutual association;
but in its application to particular cases of locality
or conditions of whatever kind, it varies under
different circumstances.
37. Among the things accounted just by
conventional law, whatever in the needs of mutual
association is attested to be useful, is thereby
stamped as just, whether or not it be the same for
all; and in case any law is made and does not
prove suitable to the usefulness of mutual
association, then this is no longer just. And should
the usefulness which is expressed by the law vary
and only for a time correspond with the prior
conception, nevertheless for the time being it was
just, so long as we do not trouble ourselves about
empty words, but look simply at the facts.
38. Where without any change in circumstances
the conventional laws, when judged by their
consequences, were seen not to correspond with
the notion of justice, such laws were not really
just; but wherever the laws have ceased to be
useful in consequence of a change in
circumstances, in that case the laws were for the
time being just when they were useful for the
mutual association of the citizens, and
subsequently ceased to be just when they ceased
to be useful.
39. He who best knew how to meet fear of external
foes made into one family all the creatures he
could; and those he could not, he at any rate did
not treat as aliens; and where he found even this
impossible, he avoided all association, and, so far
as was useful, kept them at a distance.
40. Those who were best able to provide
themselves with the means of security against
their neighbors, being thus in possession of the
surest guarantee, passed the most agreeable life in
each other's society; and their enjoyment of the
fullest intimacy was such that, if one of them died
before his time, the survivors did not mourn his
death as if it called for sympathy.
THE END
118
Epictetus, Enchridion, Translated by Elizabeth Carter
1. Some things are in our control and others not.
Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire,
aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own
actions. Things not in our control are body,
property, reputation, command, and, in one word,
whatever are not our own actions.
The things in our control are by nature free,
unrestrained, unhindered; but those not in our
control are weak, slavish, restrained, belonging to
others. Remember, then, that if you suppose that
things which are slavish by nature are also free,
and that what belongs to others is your own, then
you will be hindered. You will lament, you will be
disturbed, and you will find fault both with gods
and men. But if you suppose that only to be your
own which is your own, and what belongs to
others such as it really is, then no one will ever
compel you or restrain you. Further, you will find
fault with no one or accuse no one. You will do
nothing against your will. No one will hurt you,
you will have no enemies, and you not be harmed.
Aiming therefore at such great things, remember
that you must not allow yourself to be carried,
even with a slight tendency, towards the
attainment of lesser things. Instead, you must
entirely quit some things and for the present
postpone the rest. But if you would both have
these great things, along with power and riches,
then you will not gain even the latter, because you
aim at the former too: but you will absolutely fail
of the former, by which alone happiness and
freedom are achieved.
Work, therefore to be able to say to every harsh
appearance, "You are but an appearance, and not
absolutely the thing you appear to be." And then
examine it by those rules which you have, and
first, and chiefly, by this: whether it concerns the
things which are in our own control, or those
which are not; and, if it concerns anything not in
our control, be prepared to say that it is nothing to
you.
2. Remember that following desire promises the
attainment of that of which you are desirous; and
aversion promises the avoiding that to which you
are averse. However, he who fails to obtain the
object of his desire is disappointed, and he who
incurs the object of his aversion wretched. If, then,
you confine your aversion to those objects only
which are contrary to the natural use of your
faculties, which you have in your own control, you
will never incur anything to which you are averse.
But if you are averse to sickness, or death, or
poverty, you will be wretched. Remove aversion,
then, from all things that are not in our control,
and transfer it to things contrary to the nature of
what is in our control. But, for the present, totally
suppress desire: for, if you desire any of the things
which are not in your own control, you must
necessarily be disappointed; and of those which
are, and which it would be laudable to desire,
nothing is yet in your possession. Use only the
appropriate actions of pursuit and avoidance; and
By Frontispiece drawn by “Sonnem.” (? hard to read, left bottom corner) and engraved by “MB” (bottom right corner). Image scanned by the John Adams Library at the Boston Public Library. Image slightly improved by Aristeas. - http://www.archive.org/detail
119
even these lightly, and with gentleness and
reservation.
3. With regard to whatever objects give you
delight, are useful, or are deeply loved, remember
to tell yourself of what general nature they are,
beginning from the most insignificant things. If,
for example, you are fond of a specific ceramic
cup, remind yourself that it is only ceramic cups in
general of which you are fond. Then, if it breaks,
you will not be disturbed. If you kiss your child, or
your wife, say that you only kiss things which are
human, and thus you will not be disturbed if
either of them dies.
4. When you are going about any action, remind
yourself what nature the action is. If you are going
to bathe, picture to yourself the things which
usually happen in the bath: some people splash
the water, some push, some use abusive language,
and others steal. Thus you will more safely go
about this action if you say to yourself, "I will now
go bathe, and keep my own mind in a state
conformable to nature." And in the same manner
with regard to every other action. For thus, if any
hindrance arises in bathing, you will have it ready
to say, "It was not only to bathe that I desired, but
to keep my mind in a state conformable to nature;
and I will not keep it if I am bothered at things
that happen.
5. Men are disturbed, not by things, but by the
principles and notions which they form
concerning things. Death, for instance, is not
terrible, else it would have appeared so to
Socrates. But the terror consists in our notion of
death that it is terrible. When therefore we are
hindered, or disturbed, or grieved, let us never
attribute it to others, but to ourselves; that is, to
our own principles. An uninstructed person will
lay the fault of his own bad condition upon others.
Someone just starting instruction will lay the fault
on himself. Some who is perfectly instructed will
place blame neither on others nor on himself.
6. Don't be prideful with any excellence that is not
your own. If a horse should be prideful and say, " I
am handsome," it would be supportable. But when
you are prideful, and say, " I have a handsome
horse," know that you are proud of what is, in fact,
only the good of the horse. What, then, is your
own? Only your reaction to the appearances of
things. Thus, when you behave conformably to
nature in reaction to how things appear, you will
be proud with reason; for you will take pride in
some good of your own.
7. Consider when, on a voyage, your ship is
anchored; if you go on shore to get water you may
along the way amuse yourself with picking up a
shellish, or an onion. However, your thoughts and
continual attention ought to be bent towards the
ship, waiting for the captain to call on board; you
must then immediately leave all these things,
otherwise you will be thrown into the ship, bound
neck and feet like a sheep. So it is with life. If,
instead of an onion or a shellfish, you are given a
wife or child, that is fine. But if the captain calls,
you must run to the ship, leaving them, and
regarding none of them. But if you are old, never
go far from the ship: lest, when you are called, you
should be unable to come in time.
8. Don't demand that things happen as you wish,
but wish that they happen as they do happen, and
you will go on well.
9. Sickness is a hindrance to the body, but not to
your ability to choose, unless that is your choice.
Lameness is a hindrance to the leg, but not to your
ability to choose. Say this to yourself with regard
to everything that happens, then you will see such
obstacles as hindrances to something else, but not
to yourself.
10. With every accident, ask yourself what abilities
you have for making a proper use of it. If you see
an attractive person, you will find that self-
restraint is the ability you have against your
desire. If you are in pain, you will find fortitude. If
you hear unpleasant language, you will find
patience. And thus habituated, the appearances of
things will not hurry you away along with them.
11. Never say of anything, "I have lost it"; but, "I
have returned it." Is your child dead? It is
returned. Is your wife dead? She is returned. Is
your estate taken away? Well, and is not that
likewise returned? "But he who took it away is a
bad man." What difference is it to you who the
giver assigns to take it back? While he gives it to
you to possess, take care of it; but don't view it as
your own, just as travelers view a hotel.
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12. If you want to improve, reject such reasonings
as these: "If I neglect my affairs, I'll have no
income; if I don't correct my servant, he will be
bad." For it is better to die with hunger, exempt
from grief and fear, than to live in affluence with
perturbation; and it is better your servant should
be bad, than you unhappy.
Begin therefore from little things. Is a little oil
spilt? A little wine stolen? Say to yourself, "This is
the price paid for apathy, for tranquillity, and
nothing is to be had for nothing." When you call
your servant, it is possible that he may not come;
or, if he does, he may not do what you want. But
he is by no means of such importance that it
should be in his power to give you any
disturbance.
13. If you want to improve, be content to be
thought foolish and stupid with regard to external
things. Don't wish to be thought to know
anything; and even if you appear to be somebody
important to others, distrust yourself. For, it is
difficult to both keep your faculty of choice in a
state conformable to nature, and at the same time
acquire external things. But while you are careful
about the one, you must of necessity neglect the
other.
14. If you wish your children, and your wife, and
your friends to live for ever, you are stupid; for you
wish to be in control of things which you cannot,
you wish for things that belong to others to be
your own. So likewise, if you wish your servant to
be without fault, you are a fool; for you wish vice
not to be vice," but something else. But, if you
wish to have your desires undisappointed, this is
in your own control. Exercise, therefore, what is in
your control. He is the master of every other
person who is able to confer or remove whatever
that person wishes either to have or to avoid.
Whoever, then, would be free, let him wish
nothing, let him decline nothing, which depends
on others else he must necessarily be a slave.
15. Remember that you must behave in life as at a
dinner party. Is anything brought around to you?
Put out your hand and take your share with
moderation. Does it pass by you? Don't stop it. Is
it not yet come? Don't stretch your desire towards
it, but wait till it reaches you. Do this with regard
to children, to a wife, to public posts, to riches,
and you will eventually be a worthy partner of the
feasts of the gods. And if you don't even take the
things which are set before you, but are able even
to reject them, then you will not only be a partner
at the feasts of the gods, but also of their empire.
For, by doing this, Diogenes, Heraclitus and
others like them, deservedly became, and were
called, divine.
16. When you see anyone weeping in grief because
his son has gone abroad, or is dead, or because he
has suffered in his affairs, be careful that the
appearance may not misdirect you. Instead,
distinguish within your own mind, and be
prepared to say, "It's not the accident that
distresses this person., because it doesn't distress
another person; it is the judgment which he makes
about it." As far as words go, however, don't
reduce yourself to his level, and certainly do not
moan with him. Do not moan inwardly either.
17. Remember that you are an actor in a drama, of
such a kind as the author pleases to make it. If
short, of a short one; if long, of a long one. If it is
his pleasure you should act a poor man, a cripple,
a governor, or a private person, see that you act it
naturally. For this is your business, to act well the
character assigned you; to choose it is another's.
18. When a raven happens to croak unluckily,
don't allow the appearance hurry you away with it,
but immediately make the distinction to yourself,
and say, "None of these things are foretold to me;
but either to my paltry body, or property, or
reputation, or children, or wife. But to me all
omens are lucky, if I will. For whichever of these
things happens, it is in my control to derive
advantage from it."
19. You may be unconquerable, if you enter into
no combat in which it is not in your own control
to conquer. When, therefore, you see anyone
eminent in honors, or power, or in high esteem on
any other account, take heed not to be hurried
away with the appearance, and to pronounce him
happy; for, if the essence of good consists in things
in our own control, there will be no room for envy
or emulation. But, for your part, don't wish to be a
general, or a senator, or a consul, but to be free;
and the only way to this is a contempt of things
not in our own control.
20. Remember, that not he who gives ill language
or a blow insults, but the principle which
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represents these things as insulting. When,
therefore, anyone provokes you, be assured that it
is your own opinion which provokes you. Try,
therefore, in the first place, not to be hurried away
with the appearance. For if you once gain time and
respite, you will more easily command yourself.
21. Let death and exile, and all other things which
appear terrible be daily before your eyes, but
chiefly death, and you win never entertain any
abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.
22. If you have an earnest desire of attaining to
philosophy, prepare yourself from the very first to
be laughed at, to be sneered by the multitude, to
hear them say, "He is returned to us a philosopher
all at once," and " Whence this supercilious look?"
Now, for your part, don't have a supercilious look
indeed; but keep steadily to those things which
appear best to you as one appointed by God to this
station. For remember that, if you adhere to the
same point, those very persons who at first
ridiculed will afterwards admire you. But if you are
conquered by them, you will incur a double
ridicule.
23. If you ever happen to turn your attention to
externals, so as to wish to please anyone, be
assured that you have ruined your scheme of life.
Be contented, then, in everything with being a
philosopher; and, if you wish to be thought so
likewise by anyone, appear so to yourself, and it
will suffice you.
24. Don't allow such considerations as these
distress you. "I will live in dishonor, and be
nobody anywhere." For, if dishonor is an evil, you
can no more be involved in any evil by the means
of another, than be engaged in anything base. Is it
any business of yours, then, to get power, or to be
admitted to an entertainment? By no means. How,
then, after all, is this a dishonor? And how is it
true that you will be nobody anywhere, when you
ought to be somebody in those things only which
are in your own control, in which you may be of
the greatest consequence? "But my friends will be
unassisted." -- What do you mean by unassisted?
They will not have money from you, nor will you
make them Roman citizens. Who told you, then,
that these are among the things in our own
control, and not the affair of others? And who can
give to another the things which he has not
himself? "Well, but get them, then, that we too
may have a share." If I can get them with the
preservation of my own honor and fidelity and
greatness of mind, show me the way and I will get
them; but if you require me to lose my own proper
good that you may gain what is not good, consider
how inequitable and foolish you are. Besides,
which would you rather have, a sum of money, or
a friend of fidelity and honor? Rather assist me,
then, to gain this character than require me to do
those things by which I may lose it. Well, but my
country, say you, as far as depends on me, will be
unassisted. Here again, what assistance is this you
mean? "It will not have porticoes nor baths of your
providing." And what signifies that? Why, neither
does a smith provide it with shoes, or a shoemaker
with arms. It is enough if everyone fully performs
his own proper business. And were you to supply
it with another citizen of honor and fidelity, would
not he be of use to it? Yes. Therefore neither are
you yourself useless to it. "What place, then, say
you, will I hold in the state?" Whatever you can
hold with the preservation of your fidelity and
honor. But if, by desiring to be useful to that, you
lose these, of what use can you be to your country
when you are become faithless and void of shame.
25. Is anyone preferred before you at an
entertainment, or in a compliment, or in being
admitted to a consultation? If these things are
good, you ought to be glad that he has gotten
them; and if they are evil, don't be grieved that
you have not gotten them. And remember that
you cannot, without using the same means [which
others do] to acquire things not in our own
control, expect to be thought worthy of an equal
share of them. For how can he who does not
frequent the door of any [great] man, does not
attend him, does not praise him, have an equal
share with him who does? You are unjust, then,
and insatiable, if you are unwilling to pay the price
for which these things are sold, and would have
them for nothing. For how much is lettuce sold?
Fifty cents, for instance. If another, then, paying
fifty cents, takes the lettuce, and you, not paying
it, go without them, don't imagine that he has
gained any advantage over you. For as he has the
lettuce, so you have the fifty cents which you did
not give. So, in the present case, you have not
been invited to such a person's entertainment,
because you have not paid him the price for which
a supper is sold. It is sold for praise; it is sold for
attendance. Give him then the value, if it is for
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your advantage. But if you would, at the same
time, not pay the one and yet receive the other,
you are insatiable, and a blockhead. Have you
nothing, then, instead of the supper? Yes, indeed,
you have: the not praising him, whom you don't
like to praise; the not bearing with his behavior at
coming in.
26. The will of nature may be learned from those
things in which we don't distinguish from each
other. For example, when our neighbor's boy
breaks a cup, or the like, we are presently ready to
say, "These things will happen." Be assured, then,
that when your own cup likewise is broken, you
ought to be affected just as when another's cup
was broken. Apply this in like manner to greater
things. Is the child or wife of another dead? There
is no one who would not say, "This is a human
accident." but if anyone's own child happens to
die, it is presently, "Alas I how wretched am I!" But
it should be remembered how we are affected in
hearing the same thing concerning others.
27. As a mark is not set up for the sake of missing
the aim, so neither does the nature of evil exist in
the world.
28. If a person gave your body to any stranger he
met on his way, you would certainly be angry. And
do you feel no shame in handing over your own
mind to be confused and mystified by anyone who
happens to verbally attack you?
29. In every affair consider what precedes and
follows, and then undertake it. Otherwise you will
begin with spirit; but not having thought of the
consequences, when some of them appear you will
shamefully desist. "I would conquer at the
Olympic games." But consider what precedes and
follows, and then, if it is for your advantage,
engage in the affair. You must conform to rules,
submit to a diet, refrain from dainties; exercise
your body, whether you choose it or not, at a
stated hour, in heat and cold; you must drink no
cold water, nor sometimes even wine. In a word,
you must give yourself up to your master, as to a
physician. Then, in the combat, you may be
thrown into a ditch, dislocate your arm, turn your
ankle, swallow dust, be whipped, and, after all,
lose the victory. When you have evaluated all this,
if your inclination still holds, then go to war.
Otherwise, take notice, you will behave like
children who sometimes play like wrestlers,
sometimes gladiators, sometimes blow a trumpet,
and sometimes act a tragedy when they have seen
and admired these shows. Thus you too will be at
one time a wrestler, at another a gladiator, now a
philosopher, then an orator; but with your whole
soul, nothing at all. Like an ape, you mimic all you
see, and one thing after another is sure to please
you, but is out of favor as soon as it becomes
familiar. For you have never entered upon
anything considerately, nor after having viewed
the whole matter on all sides, or made any
scrutiny into it, but rashly, and with a cold
inclination. Thus some, when they have seen a
philosopher and heard a man speaking like
Euphrates (though, indeed, who can speak like
him?), have a mind to be philosophers too.
Consider first, man, what the matter is, and what
your own nature is able to bear. If you would be a
wrestler, consider your shoulders, your back, your
thighs; for different persons are made for different
things. Do you think that you can act as you do,
and be a philosopher? That you can eat and drink,
and be angry and discontented as you are now?
You must watch, you must labor, you must get the
better of certain appetites, must quit your
acquaintance, be despised by your servant, be
laughed at by those you meet; come off worse
than others in everything, in magistracies, in
honors, in courts of judicature. When you have
considered all these things round, approach, if you
please; if, by parting with them, you have a mind
to purchase apathy, freedom, and tranquillity. If
not, don't come here; don't, like children, be one
while a philosopher, then a publican, then an
orator, and then one of Caesar's officers. These
things are not consistent. You must be one man,
either good or bad. You must cultivate either your
own ruling faculty or externals, and apply yourself
either to things within or without you; that is, be
either a philosopher, or one of the vulgar.
30. Duties are universally measured by relations. Is
anyone a father? If so, it is implied that the
children should take care of him, submit to him in
everything, patiently listen to his reproaches, his
correction. But he is a bad father. Is you naturally
entitled, then, to a good father? No, only to a
father. Is a brother unjust? Well, keep your own
situation towards him. Consider not what he does,
but what you are to do to keep your own faculty of
choice in a state conformable to nature. For
another will not hurt you unless you please. You
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will then be hurt when you think you are hurt. In
this manner, therefore, you will find, from the idea
of a neighbor, a citizen, a general, the
corresponding duties if you accustom yourself to
contemplate the several relations.
31. Be assured that the essential property of piety
towards the gods is to form right opinions
concerning them, as existing "I and as governing
the universe with goodness and justice. And fix
yourself in this resolution, to obey them, and yield
to them, and willingly follow them in all events, as
produced by the most perfect understanding. For
thus you will never find fault with the gods, nor
accuse them as neglecting you. And it is not
possible for this to be effected any other way than
by withdrawing yourself from things not in our
own control, and placing good or evil in those
only which are. For if you suppose any of the
things not in our own control to be either good or
evil, when you are disappointed of what you wish,
or incur what you would avoid, you must
necessarily find fault with and blame the authors.
For every animal is naturally formed to fly and
abhor things that appear hurtful, and the causes of
them; and to pursue and admire those which
appear beneficial, and the causes of them. It is
impractical, then, that one who supposes himself
to be hurt should be happy about the person who,
he thinks, hurts him, just as it is impossible to be
happy about the hurt itself. Hence, also, a father is
reviled by a son, when he does not impart to him
the things which he takes to be good; and the
supposing empire to be a good made Polynices
and Eteocles mutually enemies. On this account
the husbandman, the sailor, the merchant, on this
account those who lose wives and children, revile
the gods. For where interest is, there too is piety
placed. So that, whoever is careful to regulate his
desires and aversions as he ought, is, by the very
same means, careful of piety likewise. But it is also
incumbent on everyone to offer libations and
sacrifices and first fruits, conformably to the
customs of his country, with purity, and not in a
slovenly manner, nor negligently, nor sparingly,
nor beyond his ability.
32. When you have recourse to divination,
remember that you know not what the event will
be, and you come to learn it of the diviner; but of
what nature it is you know before you come, at
least if you are a philosopher. For if it is among the
things not in our own control, it can by no means
be either good or evil. Don't, therefore, bring
either desire or aversion with you to the diviner
(else you will approach him trembling), but first
acquire a distinct knowledge that every event is
indifferent and nothing to you., of whatever sort it
may be, for it will be in your power to make a right
use of it, and this no one can hinder; then come
with confidence to the gods, as your counselors,
and afterwards, when any counsel is given you,
remember what counselors you have assumed,
and whose advice you will neglect if you disobey.
Come to divination, as Socrates prescribed, in
cases of which the whole consideration relates to
the event, and in which no opportunities are
afforded by reason, or any other art, to discover
the thing proposed to be learned. When,
therefore, it is our duty to share the danger of a
friend or of our country, we ought not to consult
the oracle whether we will share it with them or
not. For, though the diviner should forewarn you
that the victims are unfavorable, this means no
more than that either death or mutilation or exile
is portended. But we have reason within us, and it
directs, even with these hazards, to the greater
diviner, the Pythian god, who cast out of the
temple the person who gave no assistance to his
friend while another was murdering him.
33. Immediately prescribe some character and
form of conduce to yourself, which you may keep
both alone and in company. \
Be for the most part silent, or speak merely what is
necessary, and in few words. We may, however,
enter, though sparingly, into discourse sometimes
when occasion calls for it, but not on any of the
common subjects, of gladiators, or horse races, or
athletic champions, or feasts, the vulgar topics of
conversation; but principally not of men, so as
either to blame, or praise, or make comparisons. If
you are able, then, by your own conversation bring
over that of your company to proper subjects; but,
if you happen to be taken among strangers, be
silent.
Don't allow your laughter be much, nor on many
occasions, nor profuse.
Avoid swearing, if possible, altogether; if not, as
far as you are able.
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Avoid public and vulgar entertainments; but, if
ever an occasion calls you to them, keep your
attention upon the stretch, that you may not
imperceptibly slide into vulgar manners. For be
assured that if a person be ever so sound himself,
yet, if his companion be infected, he who
converses with him will be infected likewise.
Provide things relating to the body no further
than mere use; as meat, drink, clothing, house,
family. But strike off and reject everything relating
to show and delicacy.
As far as possible, before marriage, keep yourself
pure from familiarities with women, and, if you
indulge them, let it be lawfully." But don't
therefore be troublesome and full of reproofs to
those who use these liberties, nor frequently boast
that you yourself don't.
If anyone tells you that such a person speaks ill of
you, don't make excuses about what is said of you,
but answer: " He does not know my other faults,
else he would not have mentioned only these."
It is not necessary for you to appear often at public
spectacles; but if ever there is a proper occasion
for you to be there, don't appear more solicitous
for anyone than for yourself; that is, wish things to
be only just as they are, and him only to conquer
who is the conqueror, for thus you will meet with
no hindrance. But abstain entirely from
declamations and derision and violent emotions.
And when you come away, don't discourse a great
deal on what has passed, and what does not
contribute to your own amendment. For it would
appear by such discourse that you were
immoderately struck with the show.
Go not [of your own accord] to the rehearsals of
any authors , nor appear [at them] readily. But, if
you do appear, keepyour gravity and sedateness,
and at the same time avoid being morose.
When you are going to confer with anyone, and
particularly of those in a superior station,
represent to yourself how Socrates or Zeno would
behave in such a case, and you will not be at a loss
to make a proper use of whatever may occur.
When you are going to any of the people in power,
represent to yourself that you will not find him at
home; that you will not be admitted; that the
doors will not be opened to you; that he will take
no notice of you. If, with all this, it is your duty to
go, bear what happens, and never say [to yourself],
" It was not worth so much." For this is vulgar, and
like a man dazed by external things.
In parties of conversation, avoid a frequent and
excessive mention of your own actions and
dangers. For, however agreeable it may be to
yourself to mention the risks you have run, it is
not equally agreeable to others to hear your
adventures. Avoid, likewise, an endeavor to excite
laughter. For this is a slippery point, which may
throw you into vulgar manners, and, besides, may
be apt to lessen you in the esteem of your
acquaintance. Approaches to indecent discourse
are likewise dangerous. Whenever, therefore,
anything of this sort happens, if there be a proper
opportunity, rebuke him who makes advances
that way; or, at least, by silence and blushing and
a forbidding look, show yourself to be displeased
by such talk.
34. If you are struck by the appearance of any
promised pleasure, guard yourself against being
hurried away by it; but let the affair wait your
leisure, and procure yourself some delay. Then
bring to your mind both points of time: that in
which you will enjoy the pleasure, and that in
which you will repent and reproach yourself after
you have enjoyed it; and set before you, in
opposition to these, how you will be glad and
applaud yourself if you abstain. And even though
it should appear to you a seasonable gratification,
take heed that its enticing, and agreeable and
attractive force may not subdue you; but set in
opposition to this how much better it is to be
conscious of having gained so great a victory.
35. When you do anything from a clear judgment
that it ought to be done, never shun the being
seen to do it, even though the world should make
a wrong supposition about it; for, if you don't act
right, shun the action itself; but, if you do, why are
you afraid of those who censure you wrongly?
36. As the proposition, "Either it is day or it is
night," is extremely proper for a disjunctive
argument, but quite improper in a conjunctive
one, so, at a feast, to choose the largest share is
very suitable to the bodily appetite, but utterly
inconsistent with the social spirit of an
entertainment. When you eat with another, then,
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remember not only the value of those things
which are set before you to the body, but the value
of that behavior which ought to be observed
towards the person who gives the entertainment.
37. If you have assumed any character above your
strength, you have both made an ill figure in that
and quitted one which you might have supported.
38. When walking, you are careful not to step on a
nail or turn your foot; so likewise be careful not to
hurt the ruling faculty of your mind. And, if we
were to guard against this in every action, we
should undertake the action with the greater
safety.
39. The body is to everyone the measure of the
possessions proper for it, just as the foot is of the
shoe. If, therefore, you stop at this, you will keep
the measure; but if you move beyond it, you must
necessarily be carried forward, as down a cliff; as
in the case of a shoe, if you go beyond its fitness to
the foot, it comes first to be gilded, then purple,
and then studded with jewels. For to that which
once exceeds a due measure, there is no bound.
40. Women from fourteen years old are flattered
with the title of "mistresses" by the men.
Therefore, perceiving that they are regarded only
as qualified to give the men pleasure, they begin
to adorn themselves, and in that to place ill their
hopes. We should, therefore, fix our attention on
making them sensible that they are valued for the
appearance of decent, modest and discreet
behavior.
41. It is a mark of want of genius to spend much
time in things relating to the body, as to be long in
our exercises, in eating and drinking, and in the
discharge of other animal functions. These should
be done incidentally and slightly, and our whole
attention be engaged in the care of the
understanding.
42. When any person harms you, or speaks badly
of you, remember that he acts or speaks from a
supposition of its being his duty. Now, it is not
possible that he should follow what appears right
to you, but what appears so to himself. Therefore,
if he judges from a wrong appearance, he is the
person hurt, since he too is the person deceived.
For if anyone should suppose a true proposition to
be false, the proposition is not hurt, but he who is
deceived about it. Setting out, then, from these
principles, you will meekly bear a person who
reviles you, for you will say upon every occasion,
"It seemed so to him."
43. Everything has two handles, the one by which
it may be carried, the other by which it cannot. If
your brother acts unjustly, don't lay hold on the
action by the handle of his injustice, for by that it
cannot be carried; but by the opposite, that he is
your brother, that he was brought up with you;
and thus you will lay hold on it, as it is to be
carried.
44. These reasonings are unconnected: "I am
richer than you, therefore I am better"; "I am more
eloquent than you, therefore I am better." The
connection is rather this: "I am richer than you,
therefore my property is greater than yours;" "I am
more eloquent than you, therefore my style is
better than yours." But you, after all, are neither
property nor style.
45. Does anyone bathe in a mighty little time?
Don't say that he does it ill, but in a mighty little
time. Does anyone drink a great quantity of wine?
Don't say that he does ill, but that he drinks a
great quantity. For, unless you perfectly
understand the principle from which anyone acts,
how should you know if he acts ill? Thus you will
not run the hazard of assenting to any
appearances but such as you fully comprehend.
46. Never call yourself a philosopher, nor talk a
great deal among the unlearned about theorems,
but act conformably to them. Thus, at an
entertainment, don't talk how persons ought to
eat, but eat as you ought. For remember that in
this manner Socrates also universally avoided all
ostentation. And when persons came to him and
desired to be recommended by him to
philosophers, he took and- recommended them,
so well did he bear being overlooked. So that if
ever any talk should happen among the unlearned
concerning philosophic theorems, be you, for the
most part, silent. For there is great danger in
immediately throwing out what you have not
digested. And, if anyone tells you that you know
nothing, and you are not nettled at it, then you
may be sure that you have begun your business.
For sheep don't throw up the grass to show the
shepherds how much they have eaten; but,
inwardly digesting their food, they outwardly
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produce wool and milk. Thus, therefore, do you
likewise not show theorems to the unlearned, but
the actions produced by them after they have been
digested.
47. When you have brought yourself to supply the
necessities of your body at a small price, don't
pique yourself upon it; nor, if you drink water, be
saying upon every occasion, "I drink water." But
first consider how much more sparing and patient
of hardship the poor are than we. But if at any
time you would inure yourself by exercise to labor,
and bearing hard trials, do it for your own sake,
and not for the world; don't grasp statues, but,
when you are violently thirsty, take a little cold
water in your mouth, and spurt it out and tell
nobody.
48. The condition and characteristic of a vulgar
person, is, that he never expects either benefit or
hurt from himself, but from externals. The
condition and characteristic of a philosopher is,
that he expects all hurt and benefit from himself.
The marks of a proficient are, that he censures no
one, praises no one, blames no one, accuses no
one, says nothing concerning himself as being
anybody, or knowing anything: when he is, in any
instance, hindered or restrained, he accuses
himself; and, if he is praised, he secretly laughs at
the person who praises him; and, if he is censured,
he makes no defense. But he goes about with the
caution of sick or injured people, dreading to
move anything that is set right, before it is
perfectly fixed. He suppresses all desire in himself;
he transfers his aversion to those things only
which thwart the proper use of our own faculty of
choice; the exertion of his active powers towards
anything is very gentle; if he appears stupid or
ignorant, he does not care, and, in a word, he
watches himself as an enemy, and one in ambush.
49. When anyone shows himself overly confident
in ability to understand and interpret the works of
Chrysippus, say to yourself, " Unless Chrysippus
had written obscurely, this person would have had
no subject for his vanity. But what do I desire? To
understand nature and follow her. I ask, then, who
interprets her, and, finding Chrysippus does, I
have recourse to him. I don't understand his
writings. I seek, therefore, one to interpret them."
So far there is nothing to value myself upon. And
when I find an interpreter, what remains is to
make use of his instructions. This alone is the
valuable thing. But, if I admire nothing but merely
the interpretation, what do I become more than a
grammarian instead of a philosopher? Except,
indeed, that instead of Homer I interpret
Chrysippus. When anyone, therefore, desires me
to read Chrysippus to him, I rather blush when I
cannot show my actions agreeable and consonant
to his discourse.
50. Whatever moral rules you have deliberately
proposed to yourself. abide by them as they were
laws, and as if you would be guilty of impiety by
violating any of them. Don't regard what anyone
says of you, for this, after all, is no concern of
yours. How long, then, will you put off thinking
yourself worthy of the highest improvements and
follow the distinctions of reason? You have
received the philosophical theorems, with which
you ought to be familiar, and you have been
familiar with them. What other master, then, do
you wait for, to throw upon that the delay of
reforming yourself? You are no longer a boy, but a
grown man. If, therefore, you will be negligent and
slothful, and always add procrastination to
procrastination, purpose to purpose, and fix day
after day in which you will attend to yourself, you
will insensibly continue without proficiency, and,
living and dying, persevere in being one of the
vulgar. This instant, then, think yourself worthy of
living as a man grown up, and a proficient. Let
whatever appears to be the best be to you an
inviolable law. And if any instance of pain or
pleasure, or glory or disgrace, is set before you,
remember that now is the combat, now the
Olympiad comes on, nor can it be put off. By once
being defeated and giving way, proficiency is lost,
or by the contrary preserved. Thus Socrates
became perfect, improving himself by everything.
attending to nothing but reason. And though you
are not yet a Socrates, you ought, however, to live
as one desirous of becoming a Socrates.
51. The first and most necessary topic in
philosophy is that of the use of moral theorems,
such as, "We ought not to lie;" the second is that
of demonstrations, such as, "What is the origin of
our obligation not to lie;" the third gives strength
and articulation to the other two, such as, "What
is the origin of this is a demonstration." For what
is demonstration? What is consequence? What
contradiction? What truth? What falsehood? The
third topic, then, is necessary on the account of
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the second, and the second on the account of the
first. But the most necessary, and that whereon we
ought to rest, is the first. But we act just on the
contrary. For we spend all our time on the third
topic, and employ all our diligence about that, and
entirely neglect the first. Therefore, at the same
time that we lie, we are immediately prepared to
show how it is demonstrated that lying is not
right.
52. Upon all occasions we ought to have these
maxims ready at hand:
"Conduct me, Jove, and you, 0 Destiny,
Wherever your decrees have fixed my station."
Cleanthes
"I follow cheerfully; and, did I not,
Wicked and wretched, I must follow still
Whoever yields properly to Fate, is deemed
Wise among men, and knows the laws of heaven."
Euripides, Frag. 965
And this third:
"0 Crito, if it thus pleases the gods, thus let it be.
Anytus and Melitus may kill me indeed, but hurt
me they cannot." - Plato's Crito and Apology
THE END
128
Saint Augustine. Photographer. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica, 25 May
2016.
Saint Augustine of Hippo,
City of God (selections)
BOOK TWELFTH.
ARGUMENT.
3. That the enemies of God are so, not by nature
but by will, which, as it injures them, injures a
good nature; for if vice does not injure, it is not
vice.
In Scripture they are called God's enemies who
oppose His rule, not by nature, but by vice; having
no power to hurt Him, but only themselves. For
they are His enemies, not through their power to
hurt, but by their will to oppose Him. For God is
unchangeable, and wholly proof against injury.
Therefore the vice which makes those who are
called His enemies resist Him, is an evil not to
God, but to themselves. And to them it is an evil,
solely because it corrupts the good of their nature.
It is not nature, therefore, but vice, which is
contrary to God. For that which is evil is contrary
to the good. And who will deny that God is the
supreme good? Vice, therefore, is contrary to God,
as evil to good. Further, the nature it vitiates is a
good, and therefore to this good also it is contrary.
But while it is contrary to God only as evil to good,
it is contrary to the nature it vitiates, both as evil
and as hurtful. For to God no evils are hurtful; but
only to natures mutable and corruptible, though,
by the testimony of the vices themselves,
originally good. For were they not good, vices
could not hurt them. For how do they hurt them
but by depriving them of integrity, beauty,
welfare, virtue, and, in short, whatever natural
good vice is wont to diminish or destroy? But if
there be no good to take away, then no injury can
be done, and consequently there can be no vice.
For it is impossible that there should be a
harmless vice. Whence we gather, that though
vice cannot injure the unchangeable good, it can
injure nothing but good; because it does not exist
where it does not injure. This, then, may be thus
formulated: Vice cannot be in the highest good,
and cannot be but in some good. Things solely
good, therefore, can in some circumstances exist;
things solely evil, never; for even those natures
which are vitiated by an evil will, so far indeed as
they are vitiated, are evil, but in so far as they are
natures they are good. And when a vitiated nature
is punished, besides the good it has in being a
nature, it has this also, that it is not unpunished.
For this is just, and certainly everything just is a
good. For no one is punished for natural, but for
voluntary vices. For even the vice which by the
force of habit and long continuance has become a
second nature, had its origin in the will. For at
present we are speaking of the vices of the nature,
which has a mental capacity for that
enlightenment which discriminates between what
is just and what is unjust.
4. Of the nature of irrational and lifeless creatures,
which in their own kind and order do not mar the
beauty of the universe.
But it is ridiculous to condemn the faults of beasts
and trees, and other such mortal and mutable
things as are void of intelligence, sensation, or life,
even though these faults should destroy their
corruptible nature; for these creatures received, at
their Creator's will, an existence fitting them, by
passing away and giving place to others, to secure
that lowest form of beauty, the beauty of seasons,
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which in its own place is a requisite part of this
world. For things earthly were neither to be made
equal to things heavenly, nor were they, though
inferior, to be quite omitted from the universe.
Since, then, in those situations where such things
are appropriate, some perish to make way for
others that are born in their room, and the less
succumb to the greater, and the things that are
overcome are transformed into the quality of
those that have the mastery, this is the appointed
order of things transitory. Of this order the beauty
does not strike us, because by our mortal frailty
we are so involved in a part of it, that we cannot
perceive the whole, in which these fragments that
offend us are harmonized with the most accurate
fitness and beauty. And therefore, where we are
not so well able to perceive the wisdom of the
Creator, we are very properly enjoined to believe
it, lest in the vanity of human rashness we
presume to find any fault with the work of so great
an Artificer. At the same time, if we attentively
consider even these faults of earthly things, which
are neither voluntary nor penal, they seem to
illustrate the excellence of the natures themselves,
which are all originated and created by God; for it
is that which pleases us in this nature which we
are displeased to see removed by the fault,—
unless even the natures themselves displease men,
as often happens when they become hurtful to
them, and then men estimate them not by their
nature, but by their utility; as in the case of those
animals whose swarms scourged the pride of the
Egyptians. But in this way of estimating, they may
find fault with the sun itself; for certain criminals
or debtors are sentenced by the judges to be set in
the sun. Therefore it is not with respect to our
convenience or discomfort, but with respect to
their own nature, that the creatures are glorifying
to their Artificer. Thus even the nature of the
eternal fire, penal though it be to the condemned
sinners, is most assuredly worthy of praise. For
what is more beautiful than fire flaming, blazing,
and shining? What more useful than fire for
warming, restoring, cooking, though nothing is
more destructive than fire burning and
consuming? The same thing, then, when applied
in one way, is destructive, but when applied
suitably, is most beneficial. For who can find
words to tell its uses throughout the whole world?
We must not listen, then, to those who praise the
light of fire but find fault with its heat, judging it
not by its nature, but by their convenience or
discomfort. For they wish to see, but not to be
burnt. But they forget that this very light which is
so pleasant to them, disagrees with and hurts
weak eyes; and in that heat which is disagreeable
to them, some animals find the most suitable
conditions of a healthy life.
5. That in all natures, of every kind and rank, God
is glorified.
All natures, then, inasmuch as they are, and have
therefore a rank and species of their own, and a
kind of internal harmony, are certainly good. And
when they are in the places assigned to them by
the order of their nature, they preserve such being
as they have received. And those things which
have not received everlasting being, are altered for
better or for worse, so as to suit the wants and
motions of those things to which the Creator's law
has made them subservient; and thus they tend in
the divine providence to that end which is
embraced in the general scheme of the
government of the universe. So that, though the
corruption of transitory and perishable things
brings them to utter destruction, it does not
prevent their producing that which was designed
to be their result. And this being so, God, who
supremely is, and who therefore created every
being which has not supreme existence (for that
which was made of nothing could not be equal to
Him, and indeed could not be at all had He not
made it), is not to be found fault with on account
of the creature's faults, but is to be praised in view
of the natures He has made.
7. That we ought not to expect to find any efficient
cause of the evil will.
Let no one, therefore, look for an efficient cause of
the evil will; for it is not efficient, but deficient, as
the will itself is not an effecting of something, but
a defect. For defection from that which supremely
is, to that which has less of being,—this is to begin
to have an evil will. Now, to seek to discover the
causes of these defections,—causes, as I have said,
not efficient, but deficient,—is as if some one
sought to see darkness, or hear silence. Yet both of
these are known by us, and the former by means
only of the eye, the latter only by the ear; but not
by their positive actuality, but by their want of it.
Let no one, then, seek to know from me what I
know that I do not know; unless he perhaps
wishes to learn to be ignorant of that of which all
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we know is, that it cannot be known. For those
things which are known not by their actuality, but
by their want of it, are known, if our expression
may be allowed and understood, by not knowing
them, that by knowing them they may be not
known. For when the eyesight surveys objects that
strike the sense, it nowhere sees darkness but
where it begins not to see. And so no other sense
but the ear can perceive silence, and yet it is only
perceived by not hearing. Thus, too, our mind
perceives intelligible forms by understanding
them; but when they are deficient, it knows them
by not knowing them; for "who can understand
defects?"
8. Of the misdirected love whereby the will fell
away from the immutable to the mutable good.
This I do know, that the nature of God can never,
nowhere, nowise be defective, and that natures
made of nothing can. These latter, however, the
more being they have, and the more good they do
(for then they do something positive), the more
they have efficient causes; but in so far as they are
defective in being, and consequently do evil (for
then what is their work but vanity?), they have
deficient causes. And I know likewise, that the will
could not become evil, were it unwilling to
become so; and therefore its failings are justly
punished, being not necessary, but voluntary. For
its defections are not to evil things, but are
themselves evil; that is to say, are not towards
things that are naturally and in themselves evil,
but the defection of the will is evil, because it is
contrary to the order of nature, and an
abandonment of that which has supreme being for
that which has less. For avarice is not a fault
inherent in gold, but in the man who inordinately
loves gold, to the detriment of justice, which
ought to be held in incomparably higher regard
than gold. Neither is luxury the fault of lovely and
charming objects, but of the heart that
inordinately loves sensual pleasures, to the neglect
of temperance, which attaches us to objects more
lovely in their spirituality, and more delectable by
their incorruptibility. Nor yet is boasting the fault
of human praise, but of the soul that is
inordinately fond of the applause of men, and that
makes light of the voice of conscience. Pride, too,
is not the fault of him who delegates power, nor of
power itself, but of the soul that is inordinately
enamoured of its own power, and despises the
more just dominion of a higher authority.
Consequently he who inordinately loves the good
which any nature possesses, even though he
obtain it, himself becomes evil in the good, and
wretched because deprived of a greater good.
23. Of the nature of the human soul created in the
image of God.
God, then, made man in His own image. For He
created for him a soul endowed with reason and
intelligence, so that he might excel all the
creatures of earth, air, and sea, which were not so
gifted. And when He had formed the man out of
the dust of the earth, and had willed that his soul
should be such as I have said,—whether He had
already made it, and now by breathing imparted it
to man, or rather made it by breathing, so that
that breath which God made by breathing (for
what else is "to breathe" than to make breath?) is
the soul,[562]—He made also a wife for him, to
aid him in the work of generating his kind, and
her He formed of a bone taken out of the man's
side, working in a divine manner. For we are not
to conceive of this work in a carnal fashion, as if
God wrought as we commonly see artisans, who
use their hands, and material furnished to them,
that by their artistic skill they may fashion some
material object. God's hand is God's power; and
He, working invisibly, effects visible results. But
this seems fabulous rather than true to men, who
measure by customary and everyday works the
power and wisdom of God, whereby He
understands and produces without seeds even
seeds themselves; and because they cannot
understand the things which at the beginning
were created, they are sceptical regarding them—
as if the very things which they do know about
human propagation, conceptions and births,
would seem less incredible if told to those who
had no experience of them; though these very
things, too, are attributed by many rather to
physical and natural causes than to the work of
the divine mind.
27. That the whole plenitude of the human race
was embraced in the first man, and that God there
saw the portion of it which was to be honoured
and rewarded, and that which was to be
condemned and punished.
With good cause, therefore, does the true religion
recognise and proclaim that the same God who
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created the universal cosmos, created also all the
animals, souls as well as bodies. Among the
terrestrial animals man was made by Him in His
own image, and, for the reason I have given, was
made one individual, though he was not left
solitary. For there is nothing so social by nature,
so unsocial by its corruption, as this race. And
human nature has nothing more appropriate,
either for the prevention of discord, or for the
healing of it, where it exists, than the
remembrance of that first parent of us all, whom
God was pleased to create alone, that all men
might be derived from one, and that they might
thus be admonished to preserve unity among their
whole multitude. But from the fact that the
woman was made for him from his side, it was
plainly meant that we should learn how dear the
bond between man and wife should be. These
works of God do certainly seem extraordinary,
because they are the first works. They who do not
believe them, ought not to believe any prodigies;
for these would not be called prodigies did they
not happen out of the ordinary course of nature.
But, is it possible that anything should happen in
vain, however hidden be its cause, in so grand a
government of divine providence? One of the
sacred Psalmists says, "Come, behold the works of
the Lord, what prodigies He hath wrought in the
earth." Why God made woman out of man's side,
and what this first prodigy prefigured, I shall, with
God's help, tell in another place. But at present,
since this book must be concluded, let us merely
say that in this first man, who was created in the
beginning, there was laid the foundation, not
indeed evidently, but in God's foreknowledge, of
these two cities or societies, so far as regards the
human race. For from that man all men were to be
derived—some of them to be associated with the
good angels in their reward, others with the
wicked in punishment; all being ordered by the
secret yet just judgment of God. For since it is
written, "All the paths of the Lord are mercy and
truth," neither can His grace be unjust, nor His
justice cruel.
BOOK NINETEENTH.
ARGUMENT.
IN THIS BOOK THE END OF THE TWO CITIES,
THE EARTHLY AND THE HEAVENLY, IS
DISCUSSED. AUGUSTINE REVIEWS THE
OPINIONS OF THE PHILOSOPHERS
REGARDING THE SUPREME GOOD, AND THEIR
VAIN EFFORTS TO MAKE FOR THEMSELVES A
HAPPINESS IN THIS LIFE; AND, WHILE HE
REFUTES THESE, HE TAKES OCCASION TO
SHOW WHAT THE PEACE AND HAPPINESS
BELONGING TO THE HEAVENLY CITY, OR THE
PEOPLE OF CHRIST, ARE BOTH NOW AND
HEREAFTER.
1. That Varro has made out that two hundred and
eighty-eight different sects of philosophy might be
formed by the various opinions regarding the
supreme good.
As I see that I have still to discuss the fit destinies
of the two cities, the earthly and the heavenly, I
must first explain, so far as the limits of this work
allow me, the reasonings by which men have
attempted to make for themselves a happiness in
this unhappy life, in order that it may be evident,
not only from divine authority, but also from such
reasons as can be adduced to unbelievers, how the
empty dreams of the philosophers differ from the
hope which God gives to us, and from the
substantial fulfilment of it which He will give us as
our blessedness. Philosophers have expressed a
great variety of diverse opinions regarding the
ends of goods and of evils, and this question they
have eagerly canvassed, that they might, if
possible, discover what makes a man happy. For
the end of our good is that for the sake of which
other things are to be desired, while it is to be
desired for its own sake; and the end of evil is that
on account of which other things are to be
shunned, while it is avoided on its own account.
Thus, by the end of good, we at present mean, not
that by which good is destroyed, so that it no
longer exists, but that by which it is finished, so
that it becomes complete; and by the end of evil
we mean, not that which abolishes it, but that
which completes its development. These two
ends, therefore, are the supreme good and the
supreme evil; and, as I have said, those who have
in this vain life professed the study of wisdom
have been at great pains to discover these ends,
and to obtain the supreme good and avoid the
supreme evil in this life. And although they erred
in a variety of ways, yet natural insight has
prevented them from wandering from the truth so
far that they have not placed the supreme good
and evil, some in the soul, some in the body, and
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some in both. From this tripartite distribution of
the sects of philosophy, Marcus Varro, in his book
De Philosophia, has drawn so large a variety of
opinions, that, by a subtle and minute analysis of
distinctions, he numbers without difficulty as
many as 288 sects,—not that these have actually
existed, but sects which are possible.
To illustrate briefly what he means, I must begin
with his own introductory statement in the above-
mentioned book, that there are four things which
men desire, as it were by nature without a master,
without the help of any instruction, without
industry or the art of living which is called virtue,
and which is certainly learned: either pleasure,
which is an agreeable stirring of the bodily sense;
or repose, which excludes every bodily
inconvenience; or both these, which Epicurus calls
by the one name, pleasure; or the primary objects
of nature, which comprehend the things already
named and other things, either bodily, such as
health, and safety, and integrity of the members,
or spiritual, such as the greater and less mental
gifts that are found in men. Now these four
things—pleasure, repose, the two combined, and
the primary objects of nature—exist in us in such
sort that we must either desire virtue on their
account, or them for the sake of virtue, or both for
their own sake; and consequently there arise from
this distinction twelve sects, for each is by this
consideration tripled. I will illustrate this in one
instance, and, having done so, it will not be
difficult to understand the others. According,
then, as bodily pleasure is subjected, preferred, or
united to virtue, there are three sects. It is
subjected to virtue when it is chosen as
subservient to virtue. Thus it is a duty of virtue to
live for one's country, and for its sake to beget
children, neither of which can be done without
bodily pleasure. For there is pleasure in eating and
drinking, pleasure also in sexual intercourse. But
when it is preferred to virtue, it is desired for its
own sake, and virtue is chosen only for its sake,
and to effect nothing else than the attainment or
preservation of bodily pleasure. And this, indeed,
is to make life hideous; for where virtue is the
slave of pleasure it no longer deserves the name of
virtue. Yet even this disgraceful distortion has
found some philosophers to patronize and defend
it. Then virtue is united to pleasure when neither
is desired for the other's sake, but both for their
own. And therefore, as pleasure, according as it is
subjected, preferred, or united to virtue, makes
three sects, so also do repose, pleasure and repose
combined, and the prime natural blessings, make
their three sects each. For as men's opinions vary,
and these four things are sometimes subjected,
sometimes preferred, and sometimes united to
virtue, there are produced twelve sects. But this
number again is doubled by the addition of one
difference, viz. the social life; for whoever attaches
himself to any of these sects does so either for his
own sake alone, or for the sake of a companion,
for whom he ought to wish what he desires for
himself. And thus there will be twelve of those
who think some one of these opinions should be
held for their own sakes, and other twelve who
decide that they ought to follow this or that
philosophy not for their own sakes only, but also
for the sake of others whose good they desire as
their own. These twenty-four sects again are
doubled, and become forty-eight by adding a
difference taken from the New Academy. For each
of these four and twenty sects can hold and
defend their opinion as certain, as the Stoics
defended the position that the supreme good of
man consisted solely in virtue; or they can be held
as probable, but not certain, as the New
Academics did. There are, therefore, twenty-four
who hold their philosophy as certainly true, other
twenty-four who hold their opinions as probable,
but not certain. Again, as each person who
attaches himself to any of these sects may adopt
the mode of life either of the Cynics or of the
other philosophers, this distinction will double the
number, and so make ninety-six sects. Then,
lastly, as each of these sects may be adhered to
either by men who love a life of ease, as those who
have through choice or necessity addicted
themselves to study, or by men who love a busy
life, as those who, while philosophizing, have been
much occupied with state affairs and public
business, or by men who choose a mixed life, in
imitation of those who have apportioned their
time partly to erudite leisure, partly to necessary
business: by these differences the number of the
sects is tripled, and becomes 288.
I have thus, as briefly and lucidly as I could, given
in my own words the opinions which Varro
expresses in his book. But how he refutes all the
rest of these sects, and chooses one, the Old
Academy, instituted by Plato, and continuing to
Polemo, the fourth teacher of that school of
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philosophy which held that their system was
certain; and how on this ground he distinguishes
it from the New Academy, which began with
Polemo's successor Arcesilaus, and held that all
things are uncertain; and how he seeks to
establish that the Old Academy was as free from
error as from doubt,—all this, I say, were too long
to enter upon in detail, and yet I must not
altogether pass it by in silence. Varro then rejects,
as a first step, all those differences which have
multiplied the number of sects; and the ground on
which he does so is that they are not differences
about the supreme good. He maintains that in
philosophy a sect is created only by its having an
opinion of its own different from other schools on
the point of the ends-in-chief. For man has no
other reason for philosophizing than that he may
be happy; but that which makes him happy is
itself the supreme good. In other words, the
supreme good is the reason of philosophizing; and
therefore that cannot be called a sect of
philosophy which pursues no way of its own
towards the supreme good. Thus, when it is asked
whether a wise man will adopt the social life, and
desire and be interested in the supreme good of
his friend as in his own, or will, on the contrary,
do all that he does merely for his own sake, there
is no question here about the supreme good, but
only about the propriety of associating or not
associating a friend in its participation: whether
the wise man will do this not for his own sake, but
for the sake of his friend in whose good he
delights as in his own. So, too, when it is asked
whether all things about which philosophy is
concerned are to be considered uncertain, as by
the New Academy, or certain, as the other
philosophers maintain, the question here is not
what end should be pursued, but whether or not
we are to believe in the substantial existence of
that end; or, to put it more plainly, whether he
who pursues the supreme good must maintain
that it is a true good, or only that it appears to him
to be true, though possibly it may be delusive,—
both pursuing one and the same good. The
distinction, too, which is founded on the dress and
manners of the Cynics, does not touch the
question of the chief good, but only the question
whether he who pursues that good which seems to
himself true should live as do the Cynics. There
were, in fact, men who, though they pursued
different things as the supreme good, some
choosing pleasure, others virtue, yet adopted that
mode of life which gave the Cynics their name.
Thus, whatever it is which distinguishes the
Cynics from other philosophers, this has no
bearing on the choice and pursuit of that good
which constitutes happiness. For if it had any such
bearing, then the same habits of life would
necessitate the pursuit of the same chief good, and
diverse habits would necessitate the pursuit of
different ends.
2. How Varro, by removing all the differences
which do not form sects, but are merely secondary
questions, reaches three definitions of the chief
good, of which we must choose one.
The same may be said of those three kinds of life,
the life of studious leisure and search after truth,
the life of easy engagement in affairs, and the life
in which both these are mingled. When it is asked,
which of these should be adopted, this involves no
controversy about the end of good, but inquires
which of these three puts a man in the best
position for finding and retaining the supreme
good. For this good, as soon as a man finds it,
makes him happy; but lettered leisure, or public
business, or the alternation of these, do not
necessarily constitute happiness. Many, in fact,
find it possible to adopt one or other of these
modes of life, and yet to miss what makes a man
happy. The question, therefore, regarding the
supreme good and the supreme evil, and which
distinguishes sects of philosophy, is one; and these
questions concerning the social life, the doubt of
the Academy, the dress and food of the Cynics, the
three modes of life—the active, the contemplative,
and the mixed—these are different questions, into
none of which the question of the chief good
enters. And therefore, as Marcus Varro multiplied
the sects to the number of 288 (or whatever larger
number he chose) by introducing these four
differences derived from the social life, the New
Academy, the Cynics, and the threefold form of
life, so, by removing these differences as having no
bearing on the supreme good, and as therefore not
constituting what can properly be called sects, he
returns to those twelve schools which concern
themselves with inquiring what that good is which
makes man happy, and he shows that one of these
is true, the rest false. In other words, he dismisses
the distinction founded on the threefold mode of
life, and so decreases the whole number by two-
thirds, reducing the sects to ninety-six. Then,
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putting aside the Cynic peculiarities, the number
decreases by a half, to forty-eight. Taking away
next the distinction occasioned by the hesitancy of
the New Academy, the number is again halved,
and reduced to twenty-four. Treating in a similar
way the diversity introduced by the consideration
of the social life, there are left but twelve, which
this difference had doubled to twenty-four.
Regarding these twelve, no reason can be assigned
why they should not be called sects. For in them
the sole inquiry is regarding the supreme good
and the ultimate evil,—that is to say, regarding
the supreme good, for this being found, the
opposite evil is thereby found. Now, to make these
twelve sects, he multiplies by three these four
things—pleasure, repose, pleasure and repose
combined, and the primary objects of nature
which Varro calls primigenia. For as these four
things are sometimes subordinated to virtue, so
that they seem to be desired not for their own
sake, but for virtue's sake; sometimes preferred to
it, so that virtue seems to be necessary not on its
own account, but in order to attain these things;
sometimes joined with it, so that both they and
virtue are desired for their own sakes,—we must
multiply the four by three, and thus we get twelve
sects. But from those four things Varro eliminates
three—pleasure, repose, pleasure and repose
combined—not because he thinks these are not
worthy of the place assigned them, but because
they are included in the primary objects of nature.
And what need is there, at any rate, to make a
threefold division out of these two ends, pleasure
and repose, taking them first severally and then
conjunctly, since both they, and many other
things besides, are comprehended in the primary
objects of nature? Which of the three remaining
sects must be chosen? This is the question that
Varro dwells upon. For whether one of these three
or some other be chosen, reason forbids that more
than one be true. This we shall afterwards see; but
meanwhile let us explain as briefly and distinctly
as we can how Varro makes his selection from
these three, that is, from the sects which severally
hold that the primary objects of nature are to be
desired for virtue's sake, that virtue is to be
desired for their sake, and that virtue and these
objects are to be desired each for their own sake.
3. Which of the three leading opinions regarding
the chief good should be preferred, according to
Varro, who follows Antiochus and the Old
Academy.
Which of these three is true and to be adopted he
attempts to show in the following manner. As it is
the supreme good, not of a tree, or of a beast, or of
a god, but of man, that philosophy is in quest of,
he thinks that, first of all, we must define man. He
is of opinion that there are two parts in human
nature, body and soul, and makes no doubt that of
these two the soul is the better and by far the
more worthy part. But whether the soul alone is
the man, so that the body holds the same relation
to it as a horse to the horseman, this he thinks has
to be ascertained. The horseman is not a horse
and a man, but only a man, yet he is called a
horseman, because he is in some relation to the
horse. Again, is the body alone the man, having a
relation to the soul such as the cup has to the
drink? For it is not the cup and the drink it
contains which are called the cup, but the cup
alone; yet it is so called because it is made to hold
the drink. Or, lastly, is it neither the soul alone
nor the body alone, but both together, which are
man, the body and the soul being each a part, but
the whole man being both together, as we call two
horses yoked together a pair, of which pair the
near and the off horse is each a part, but we do not
call either of them, no matter how connected with
the other, a pair, but only both together? Of these
three alternatives, then, Varro chooses the third,
that man is neither the body alone, nor the soul
alone, but both together. And therefore the
highest good, in which lies the happiness of man,
is composed of goods of both kinds, both bodily
and spiritual. And consequently he thinks that the
primary objects of nature are to be sought for their
own sake, and that virtue, which is the art of
living, and can be communicated by instruction, is
the most excellent of spiritual goods. This virtue,
then, or art of regulating life, when it has received
these primary objects of nature which existed
independently of it, and prior to any instruction,
seeks them all, and itself also, for its own sake;
and it uses them, as it also uses itself, that from
them all it may derive profit and enjoyment,
greater or less, according as they are themselves
greater or less; and while it takes pleasure in all of
them, it despises the less that it may obtain or
retain the greater when occasion demands. Now,
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of all goods, spiritual or bodily, there is none at all
to compare with virtue. For virtue makes a good
use both of itself and of all other goods in which
lies man's happiness; and where it is absent, no
matter how many good things a man has, they are
not for his good, and consequently should not be
called good things while they belong to one who
makes them useless by using them badly. The life
of man, then, is called happy when it enjoys virtue
and these other spiritual and bodily good things
without which virtue is impossible. It is called
happier if it enjoys some or many other good
things which are not essential to virtue; and
happiest of all, if it lacks not one of the good
things which pertain to the body and the soul. For
life is not the same thing as virtue, since not every
life, but a wisely regulated life, is virtue; and yet,
while there can be life of some kind without
virtue, there cannot be virtue without life. This I
might apply to memory and reason, and such
mental faculties; for these exist prior to
instruction, and without them there cannot be any
instruction, and consequently no virtue, since
virtue is learned. But bodily advantages, such as
swiftness of foot, beauty, or strength, are not
essential to virtue, neither is virtue essential to
them, and yet they are good things; and, according
to our philosophers, even these advantages are
desired by virtue for its own sake, and are used
and enjoyed by it in a becoming manner.
They say that this happy life is also social, and
loves the advantages of its friends as its own, and
for their sake wishes for them what it desires for
itself, whether these friends live in the same
family, as a wife, children, domestics; or in the
locality where one's home is, as the citizens of the
same town; or in the world at large, as the nations
bound in common human brotherhood; or in the
universe itself, comprehended in the heavens and
the earth, as those whom they call gods, and
provide as friends for the wise man, and whom we
more familiarly call angels. Moreover, they say
that, regarding the supreme good and evil, there is
no room for doubt, and that they therefore differ
from the New Academy in this respect, and they
are not concerned whether a philosopher pursues
those ends which they think true in the Cynic
dress and manner of life or in some other. And,
lastly, in regard to the three modes of life, the
contemplative, the active, and the composite, they
declare in favour of the third. That these were the
opinions and doctrines of the Old Academy, Varro
asserts on the authority of Antiochus, Cicero's
master and his own, though Cicero makes him out
to have been more frequently in accordance with
the Stoics than with the Old Academy. But of
what importance is this to us, who ought to judge
the matter on its own merits, rather than to
understand accurately what different men have
thought about it?
4. What the Christians believe regarding the
supreme good and evil, in opposition to the
philosophers, who have maintained that the
supreme good is in themselves.
If, then, we be asked what the city of God has to
say upon these points, and, in the first place, what
its opinion regarding the supreme good and evil
is, it will reply that life eternal is the supreme
good, death eternal the supreme evil, and that to
obtain the one and escape the other we must live
rightly. And thus it is written, "The just lives by
faith," for we do not as yet see our good, and must
therefore live by faith; neither have we in
ourselves power to live rightly, but can do so only
if He who has given us faith to believe in His help
do help us when we believe and pray. As for those
who have supposed that the sovereign good and
evil are to be found in this life, and have placed it
either in the soul or the body, or in both, or, to
speak more explicitly, either in pleasure or in
virtue, or in both; in repose or in virtue, or in
both; in pleasure and repose, or in virtue, or in all
combined; in the primary objects of nature, or in
virtue, or in both,—all these have, with a
marvellous shallowness, sought to find their
blessedness in this life and in themselves.
Contempt has been poured upon such ideas by the
Truth, saying by the prophet, "The Lord knoweth
the thoughts of men" (or, as the Apostle Paul cites
the passage, "The Lord knoweth the thoughts of
the wise") "that they are vain."
For what flood of eloquence can suffice to detail
the miseries of this life? Cicero, in the Consolation
on the death of his daughter, has spent all his
ability in lamentation; but how inadequate was
even his ability here? For when, where, how, in
this life can these primary objects of nature be
possessed so that they may not be assailed by
unforeseen accidents? Is the body of the wise man
exempt from any pain which may dispel pleasure,
from any disquietude which may banish repose?
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The amputation or decay of the members of the
body puts an end to its integrity, deformity blights
its beauty, weakness its health, lassitude its
vigour, sleepiness or sluggishness its activity,—
and which of these is it that may not assail the
flesh of the wise man? Comely and fitting
attitudes and movements of the body are
numbered among the prime natural blessings; but
what if some sickness makes the members
tremble? what if a man suffers from curvature of
the spine to such an extent that his hands reach
the ground, and he goes upon all-fours like a
quadruped? Does not this destroy all beauty and
grace in the body, whether at rest or in motion?
What shall I say of the fundamental blessings of
the soul, sense and intellect, of which the one is
given for the perception, and the other for the
comprehension of truth? But what kind of sense is
it that remains when a man becomes deaf and
blind? where are reason and intellect when disease
makes a man delirious? We can scarcely, or not at
all, refrain from tears, when we think of or see the
actions and words of such frantic persons, and
consider how different from and even opposed to
their own sober judgment and ordinary conduct
their present demeanour is. And what shall I say
of those who suffer from demoniacal possession?
Where is their own intelligence hidden and buried
while the malignant spirit is using their body and
soul according to his own will? And who is quite
sure that no such thing can happen to the wise
man in this life? Then, as to the perception of
truth, what can we hope for even in this way while
in the body, as we read in the true book of
Wisdom, "The corruptible body weigheth down
the soul, and the earthly tabernacle presseth down
the mind that museth upon many things?" And
eagerness, or desire of action, if this is the right
meaning to put upon the Greek ὁρμή, is also
reckoned among the primary advantages of
nature; and yet is it not this which produces those
pitiable movements of the insane, and those
actions which we shudder to see, when sense is
deceived and reason deranged?
In fine, virtue itself, which is not among the
primary objects of nature, but succeeds to them as
the result of learning, though it holds the highest
place among human good things, what is its
occupation save to wage perpetual war with
vices,—not those that are outside of us, but
within; not other men's, but our own,—a war
which is waged especially by that virtue which the
Greeks call σωφροσύνη, and we temperance, and
which bridles carnal lusts, and prevents them
from winning the consent of the spirit to wicked
deeds? For we must not fancy that there is no vice
in us, when, as the apostle says, "The flesh lusteth
against the spirit;" for to this vice there is a
contrary virtue, when, as the same writer says,
"The spirit lusteth against the flesh." "For these
two," he says, "are contrary one to the other, so
that you cannot do the things which you would."
But what is it we wish to do when we seek to
attain the supreme good, unless that the flesh
should cease to lust against the spirit, and that
there be no vice in us against which the spirit may
lust? And as we cannot attain to this in the
present life, however ardently we desire it, let us
by God's help accomplish at least this, to preserve
the soul from succumbing and yielding to the
flesh that lusts against it, and to refuse our
consent to the perpetration of sin. Far be it from
us, then, to fancy that while we are still engaged in
this intestine war, we have already found the
happiness which we seek to reach by victory. And
who is there so wise that he has no conflict at all
to maintain against his vices?
What shall I say of that virtue which is called
prudence? Is not all its vigilance spent in the
discernment of good from evil things, so that no
mistake may be admitted about what we should
desire and what avoid? And thus it is itself a proof
that we are in the midst of evils, or that evils are in
us; for it teaches us that it is an evil to consent to
sin, and a good to refuse this consent. And yet this
evil, to which prudence teaches and temperance
enables us not to consent, is removed from this
life neither by prudence nor by temperance. And
justice, whose office it is to render to every man
his due, whereby there is in man himself a certain
just order of nature, so that the soul is subjected
to God, and the flesh to the soul, and
consequently both soul and flesh to God,—does
not this virtue demonstrate that it is as yet rather
labouring towards its end than resting in its
finished work? For the soul is so much the less
subjected to God as it is less occupied with the
thought of God; and the flesh is so much the less
subjected to the spirit as it lusts more vehemently
against the spirit. So long, therefore, as we are
beset by this weakness, this plague, this disease,
how shall we dare to say that we are safe? and if
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not safe, then how can we be already enjoying our
final beatitude? Then that virtue which goes by
the name of fortitude is the plainest proof of the
ills of life, for it is these ills which it is compelled
to bear patiently. And this holds good, no matter
though the ripest wisdom co-exists with it. And I
am at a loss to understand how the Stoic
philosophers can presume to say that these are no
ills, though at the same time they allow the wise
man to commit suicide and pass out of this life if
they become so grievous that he cannot or ought
not to endure them. But such is the stupid pride of
these men who fancy that the supreme good can
be found in this life, and that they can become
happy by their own resources, that their wise man,
or at least the man whom they fancifully depict as
such, is always happy, even though he become
blind, deaf, dumb, mutilated, racked with pains,
or suffer any conceivable calamity such as may
compel him to make away with himself; and they
are not ashamed to call the life that is beset with
these evils happy. O happy life, which seeks the
aid of death to end it! If it is happy, let the wise
man remain in it; but if these ills drive him out of
it, in what sense is it happy? Or how can they say
that these are not evils which conquer the virtue
of fortitude, and force it not only to yield, but so
to rave that it in one breath calls life happy and
recommends it to be given up? For who is so blind
as not to see that if it were happy it would not be
fled from? And if they say we should flee from it
on account of the infirmities that beset it, why
then do they not lower their pride and
acknowledge that it is miserable? Was it, I would
ask, fortitude or weakness which prompted Cato
to kill himself? for he would not have done so had
he not been too weak to endure Cæsar's victory.
Where, then, is his fortitude? It has yielded, it has
succumbed, it has been so thoroughly overcome
as to abandon, forsake, flee this happy life. Or was
it no longer happy? Then it was miserable. How,
then, were these not evils which made life
miserable, and a thing to be escaped from?
And therefore those who admit that these are
evils, as the Peripatetics do, and the Old Academy,
the sect which Varro advocates, express a more
intelligible doctrine; but theirs also is a surprising
mistake, for they contend that this is a happy life
which is beset by these evils, even though they be
so great that he who endures them should commit
suicide to escape them. "Pains and anguish of
body," says Varro, "are evils, and so much the
worse in proportion to their severity; and to
escape them you must quit this life." What life, I
pray? This life, he says, which is oppressed by such
evils. Then it is happy in the midst of these very
evils on account of which you say we must quit it?
Or do you call it happy because you are at liberty
to escape these evils by death? What, then, if by
some secret judgment of God you were held fast
and not permitted to die, nor suffered to live
without these evils? In that case, at least, you
would say that such a life was miserable. It is soon
relinquished, no doubt, but this does not make it
not miserable; for were it eternal, you yourself
would pronounce it miserable. Its brevity,
therefore, does not clear it of misery; neither
ought it to be called happiness because it is a brief
misery. Certainly there is a mighty force in these
evils which compel a man—according to them,
even a wise man—to cease to be a man that he
may escape them, though they say, and say truly,
that it is as it were the first and strongest demand
of nature that a man cherish himself, and
naturally therefore avoid death, and should so
stand his own friend as to wish and vehemently
aim at continuing to exist as a living creature, and
subsisting in this union of soul and body. There is
a mighty force in these evils to overcome this
natural instinct by which death is by every means
and with all a man's efforts avoided, and to
overcome it so completely that what was avoided
is desired, sought after, and if it cannot in any
other way be obtained, is inflicted by the man on
himself. There is a mighty force in these evils
which make fortitude a homicide,—if, indeed, that
is to be called fortitude which is so thoroughly
overcome by these evils, that it not only cannot
preserve by patience the man whom it undertook
to govern and defend, but is itself obliged to kill
him. The wise man, I admit, ought to bear death
with patience, but when it is inflicted by another.
If, then, as these men maintain, he is obliged to
inflict it on himself, certainly it must be owned
that the ills which compel him to this are not only
evils, but intolerable evils. The life, then, which is
either subject to accidents, or environed with evils
so considerable and grievous, could never have
been called happy, if the men who give it this
name had condescended to yield to the truth, and
to be conquered by valid arguments, when they
inquired after the happy life, as they yield to
unhappiness, and are overcome by overwhelming
138
evils, when they put themselves to death, and if
they had not fancied that the supreme good was
to be found in this mortal life; for the very virtues
of this life, which are certainly its best and most
useful possessions, are all the more telling proofs
of its miseries in proportion as they are helpful
against the violence of its dangers, toils, and woes.
For if these are true virtues,—and such cannot
exist save in those who have true piety,—they do
not profess to be able to deliver the men who
possess them from all miseries; for true virtues tell
no such lies, but they profess that by the hope of
the future world this life, which is miserably
involved in the many and great evils of this world,
is happy as it is also safe. For if not yet safe, how
could it be happy? And therefore the Apostle Paul,
speaking not of men without prudence,
temperance, fortitude, and justice, but of those
whose lives were regulated by true piety, and
whose virtues were therefore true, says, "For we
are saved by hope: now hope which is seen is not
hope; for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope
for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we
with patience wait for it."As, therefore, we are
saved, so we are made happy by hope. And as we
do not as yet possess a present, but look for a
future salvation, so is it with our happiness, and
this "with patience;" for we are encompassed with
evils, which we ought patiently to endure, until we
come to the ineffable enjoyment of unmixed good;
for there shall be no longer anything to endure.
Salvation, such as it shall be in the world to come,
shall itself be our final happiness. And this
happiness these philosophers refuse to believe in,
because they do not see it, and attempt to
fabricate for themselves a happiness in this life,
based upon a virtue which is as deceitful as it is
proud.
5. Of the social life, which, though most desirable,
is frequently disturbed by many distresses.
We give a much more unlimited approval to their
idea that the life of the wise man must be social.
For how could the city of God (concerning which
we are already writing no less than the nineteenth
book of this work) either take a beginning or be
developed, or attain its proper destiny, if the life of
the saints were not a social life? But who can
enumerate all the great grievances with which
human society abounds in the misery of this
mortal state? Who can weigh them? Hear how one
of their comic writers makes one of his characters
express the common feelings of all men in this
matter: "I am married; this is one misery. Children
are born to me; they are additional cares." What
shall I say of the miseries of love which Terence
also recounts—"slights, suspicions, quarrels, war
to-day, peace to-morrow?" Is not human life full of
such things? Do they not often occur even in
honourable friendships? On all hands we
experience these slights, suspicions, quarrels, war,
all of which are undoubted evils; while, on the
other hand, peace is a doubtful good, because we
do not know the heart of our friend, and though
we did know it to-day, we should be as ignorant of
what it might be to-morrow. Who ought to be, or
who are more friendly than those who live in the
same family? And yet who can rely even upon this
friendship, seeing that secret treachery has often
broken it up, and produced enmity as bitter as the
amity was sweet, or seemed sweet by the most
perfect dissimulation? It is on this account that
the words of Cicero so move the heart of every
one, and provoke a sigh: "There are no snares
more dangerous than those which lurk under the
guise of duty or the name of relationship. For the
man who is your declared foe you can easily baffle
by precaution; but this hidden, intestine, and
domestic danger not merely exists, but
overwhelms you before you can foresee and
examine it." It is also to this that allusion is made
by the divine saying, "A man's foes are those of his
own household,"—words which one cannot hear
without pain; for though a man have sufficient
fortitude to endure it with equanimity, and
sufficient sagacity to baffle the malice of a
pretended friend, yet if he himself is a good man,
he cannot but be greatly pained at the discovery of
the perfidy of wicked men, whether they have
always been wicked and merely feigned goodness,
or have fallen from a better to a malicious
disposition. If, then, home, the natural refuge
from the ills of life, is itself not safe, what shall we
say of the city, which, as it is larger, is so much the
more filled with lawsuits civil and criminal, and is
never free from the fear, if sometimes from the
actual outbreak, of disturbing and bloody
insurrections and civil wars?
6. Of the error of human judgments when the
truth is hidden.
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What shall I say of these judgments which men
pronounce on men, and which are necessary in
communities, whatever outward peace they enjoy?
Melancholy and lamentable judgments they are,
since the judges are men who cannot discern the
consciences of those at their bar, and are therefore
frequently compelled to put innocent witnesses to
the torture to ascertain the truth regarding the
crimes of other men. What shall I say of torture
applied to the accused himself? He is tortured to
discover whether he is guilty, so that, though
innocent, he suffers most undoubted punishment
for crime that is still doubtful, not because it is
proved that he committed it, but because it is not
ascertained that he did not commit it. Thus the
ignorance of the judge frequently involves an
innocent person in suffering. And what is still
more unendurable—a thing, indeed, to be
bewailed, and, if that were possible, watered with
fountains of tears—is this, that when the judge
puts the accused to the question, that he may not
unwittingly put an innocent man to death, the
result of this lamentable ignorance is that this very
person, whom he tortured that he might not
condemn him if innocent, is condemned to death
both tortured and innocent. For if he has chosen,
in obedience to the philosophical instructions to
the wise man, to quit this life rather than endure
any longer such tortures, he declares that he has
committed the crime which in fact he has not
committed. And when he has been condemned
and put to death, the judge is still in ignorance
whether he has put to death an innocent or a
guilty person, though he put the accused to the
torture for the very purpose of saving himself from
condemning the innocent; and consequently he
has both tortured an innocent man to discover his
innocence, and has put him to death without
discovering it. If such darkness shrouds social life,
will a wise judge take his seat on the bench or no?
Beyond question he will. For human society,
which he thinks it a wickedness to abandon,
constrains him and compels him to this duty. And
he thinks it no wickedness that innocent witnesses
are tortured regarding the crimes of which other
men are accused; or that the accused are put to
the torture, so that they are often overcome with
anguish, and, though innocent, make false
confessions regarding themselves, and are
punished; or that, though they be not condemned
to die, they often die during, or in consequence of,
the torture; or that sometimes the accusers, who
perhaps have been prompted by a desire to benefit
society by bringing criminals to justice, are
themselves condemned through the ignorance of
the judge, because they are unable to prove the
truth of their accusations though they are true,
and because the witnesses lie, and the accused
endures the torture without being moved to
confession. These numerous and important evils
he does not consider sins; for the wise judge does
these things, not with any intention of doing
harm, but because his ignorance compels him,
and because human society claims him as a judge.
But though we therefore acquit the judge of
malice, we must none the less condemn human
life as miserable. And if he is compelled to torture
and punish the innocent because his office and his
ignorance constrain him, is he a happy as well as a
guiltless man? Surely it were proof of more
profound considerateness and finer feeling were
he to recognise the misery of these necessities,
and shrink from his own implication in that
misery; and had he any piety about him, he would
cry to God, "From my necessities deliver Thou
me."
8. That the friendship of good men cannot be
securely rested in, so long as the dangers of this
life force us to be anxious.
In our present wretched condition we frequently
mistake a friend for an enemy, and an enemy for a
friend. And if we escape this pitiable blindness, is
not the unfeigned confidence and mutual love of
true and good friends our one solace in human
society, filled as it is with misunderstandings and
calamities? And yet the more friends we have, and
the more widely they are scattered, the more
numerous are our fears that some portion of the
vast masses of the disasters of life may light upon
them. For we are not only anxious lest they suffer
from famine, war, disease, captivity, or the
inconceivable horrors of slavery, but we are also
affected with the much more painful dread that
their friendship may be changed into perfidy,
malice, and injustice. And when these
contingencies actually occur,—as they do the
more frequently the more friends we have, and the
more widely they are scattered,—and when they
come to our knowledge, who but the man who has
experienced it can tell with what pangs the heart
is torn? We would, in fact, prefer to hear that they
were dead, although we could not without anguish
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hear of even this. For if their life has solaced us
with the charms of friendship, can it be that their
death should affect us with no sadness? He who
will have none of this sadness must, if possible,
have no friendly intercourse. Let him interdict or
extinguish friendly affection; let him burst with
ruthless insensibility the bonds of every human
relationship; or let him contrive so to use them
that no sweetness shall distil into his spirit. But if
this is utterly impossible, how shall we contrive to
feel no bitterness in the death of those whose life
has been sweet to us? Hence arises that grief
which affects the tender heart like a wound or a
bruise, and which is healed by the application of
kindly consolation. For though the cure is affected
all the more easily and rapidly the better
condition the soul is in, we must not on this
account suppose that there is nothing at all to
heal. Although, then, our present life is afflicted,
sometimes in a milder, sometimes in a more
painful degree, by the death of those very dear to
us, and especially of useful public men, yet we
would prefer to hear that such men were dead
rather than to hear or perceive that they had fallen
from the faith, or from virtue,—in other words,
that they were spiritually dead. Of this vast
material for misery the earth is full, and therefore
it is written, "Is not human life upon earth a trial?"
And with the same reference the Lord says, "Woe
to the world because of offences!" and again,
"Because iniquity abounded, the love of many
shall wax cold." And hence we enjoy some
gratification when our good friends die; for
though their death leaves us in sorrow, we have
the consolatory assurance that they are beyond
the ills by which in this life even the best of men
are broken down or corrupted, or are in danger of
both results.
11. Of the happiness of the eternal peace, which
constitutes the end or true perfection of the saints.
And thus we may say of peace, as we have said of
eternal life, that it is the end of our good; and the
rather because the Psalmist says of the city of God,
the subject of this laborious work, "Praise the
Lord, O Jerusalem; praise thy God, O Zion: for He
hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; He hath
blessed thy children within thee; who hath made
thy borders peace." For when the bars of her gates
shall be strengthened, none shall go in or come
out from her; consequently we ought to
understand the peace of her borders as that final
peace we are wishing to declare. For even the
mystical name of the city itself, that is, Jerusalem,
means, as I have already said, "Vision of Peace."
But as the word peace is employed in connection
with things in this world in which certainly life
eternal has no place, we have preferred to call the
end or supreme good of this city life eternal rather
than peace. Of this end the apostle says, "But now,
being freed from sin, and become servants to God,
ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end life
eternal." But, on the other hand, as those who are
not familiar with Scripture may suppose that the
life of the wicked is eternal life, either because of
the immortality of the soul, which some of the
philosophers even have recognised, or because of
the endless punishment of the wicked, which
forms a part of our faith, and which seems
impossible unless the wicked live for ever, it may
therefore be advisable, in order that every one
may readily understand what we mean, to say that
the end or supreme good of this city is either
peace in eternal life, or eternal life in peace. For
peace is a good so great, that even in this earthly
and mortal life there is no word we hear with such
pleasure, nothing we desire with such zest, or find
to be more thoroughly gratifying. So that if we
dwell for a little longer on this subject, we shall
not, in my opinion, be wearisome to our readers,
who will attend both for the sake of
understanding what is the end of this city of
which we speak, and for the sake of the sweetness
of peace which is dear to all.
12. That even the fierceness of war and all the
disquietude of men make towards this one end of
peace, which every nature desires.
Whoever gives even moderate attention to human
affairs and to our common nature, will recognise
that if there is no man who does not wish to be
joyful, neither is there any one who does not wish
to have peace. For even they who make war desire
nothing but victory,—desire, that is to say, to
attain to peace with glory. For what else is victory
than the conquest of those who resist us? and
when this is done there is peace. It is therefore
with the desire for peace that wars are waged,
even by those who take pleasure in exercising
their warlike nature in command and battle. And
hence it is obvious that peace is the end sought for
by war. For every man seeks peace by waging war,
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but no man seeks war by making peace. For even
they who intentionally interrupt the peace in
which they are living have no hatred of peace, but
only wish it changed into a peace that suits them
better. They do not, therefore, wish to have no
peace, but only one more to their mind. And in
the case of sedition, when men have separated
themselves from the community, they yet do not
effect what they wish, unless they maintain some
kind of peace with their fellow-conspirators. And
therefore even robbers take care to maintain peace
with their comrades, that they may with greater
effect and greater safety invade the peace of other
men. And if an individual happen to be of such
unrivalled strength, and to be so jealous of
partnership, that he trusts himself with no
comrades, but makes his own plots, and commits
depredations and murders on his own account, yet
he maintains some shadow of peace with such
persons as he is unable to kill, and from whom he
wishes to conceal his deeds. In his own home, too,
he makes it his aim to be at peace with his wife
and children, and any other members of his
household; for unquestionably their prompt
obedience to his every look is a source of pleasure
to him. And if this be not rendered, he is angry, he
chides and punishes; and even by this storm he
secures the calm peace of his own home, as
occasion demands. For he sees that peace cannot
be maintained unless all the members of the same
domestic circle be subject to one head, such as he
himself is in his own house. And therefore if a city
or nation offered to submit itself to him, to serve
him in the same style as he had made his
household serve him, he would no longer lurk in a
brigand's hiding-places, but lift his head in open
day as a king, though the same covetousness and
wickedness should remain in him. And thus all
men desire to have peace with their own circle
whom they wish to govern as suits themselves. For
even those whom they make war against they wish
to make their own, and impose on them the laws
of their own peace.
But let us suppose a man such as poetry and
mythology speak of,—a man so insociable and
savage as to be called rather a semi-man than a
man. Although, then, his kingdom was the
solitude of a dreary cave, and he himself was so
singularly bad-hearted that he was named Κακός,
which is the Greek word for bad; though he had
no wife to soothe him with endearing talk, no
children to play with, no sons to do his bidding,
no friend to enliven him with intercourse, not
even his father Vulcan (though in one respect he
was happier than his father, not having begotten a
monster like himself); although he gave to no
man, but took as he wished whatever he could,
from whomsoever he could, when he could; yet in
that solitary den, the floor of which, as Virgil says,
was always reeking with recent slaughter, there
was nothing else than peace sought, a peace in
which no one should molest him, or disquiet him
with any assault or alarm. With his own body he
desired to be at peace; and he was satisfied only in
proportion as he had this peace. For he ruled his
members, and they obeyed him; and for the sake
of pacifying his mortal nature, which rebelled
when it needed anything, and of allaying the
sedition of hunger which threatened to banish the
soul from the body, he made forays, slew, and
devoured, but used the ferocity and savageness he
displayed in these actions only for the
preservation of his own life's peace. So that, had
he been willing to make with other men the same
peace which he made with himself in his own
cave, he would neither have been called bad, nor a
monster, nor a semi-man. Or if the appearance of
his body and his vomiting smoky fires frightened
men from having any dealings with him, perhaps
his fierce ways arose not from a desire to do
mischief, but from the necessity of finding a living.
But he may have had no existence, or, at least, he
was not such as the poets fancifully describe him,
for they had to exalt Hercules, and did so at the
expense of Cacus. It is better, then, to believe that
such a man or semi-man never existed, and that
this, in common with many other fancies of the
poets, is mere fiction. For the most savage animals
(and he is said to have been almost a wild beast)
encompass their own species with a ring of
protecting peace. They cohabit, beget, produce,
suckle, and bring up their young, though very
many of them are not gregarious, but solitary,—
not like sheep, deer, pigeons, starlings, bees, but
such as lions, foxes, eagles, bats. For what tigress
does not gently purr over her cubs, and lay aside
her ferocity to fondle them? What kite, solitary as
he is when circling over his prey, does not seek a
mate, build a nest, hatch the eggs, bring up the
young birds, and maintain with the mother of his
family as peaceful a domestic alliance as he can?
How much more powerfully do the laws of man's
nature move him to hold fellowship and maintain
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peace with all men so far as in him lies, since even
wicked men wage war to maintain the peace of
their own circle, and wish that, if possible, all men
belonged to them, that all men and things might
serve but one head, and might, either through
love or fear, yield themselves to peace with him! It
is thus that pride in its perversity apes God. It
abhors equality with other men under Him; but,
instead of His rule, it seeks to impose a rule of its
own upon its equals. It abhors, that is to say, the
just peace of God, and loves its own unjust peace;
but it cannot help loving peace of one kind or
other. For there is no vice so clean contrary to
nature that it obliterates even the faintest traces of
nature.
He, then, who prefers what is right to what is
wrong, and what is well-ordered to what is
perverted, sees that the peace of unjust men is not
worthy to be called peace in comparison with the
peace of the just. And yet even what is perverted
must of necessity be in harmony with, and in
dependence on, and in some part of the order of
things, for otherwise it would have no existence at
all. Suppose a man hangs with his head
downwards, this is certainly a perverted attitude
of body and arrangement of its members; for that
which nature requires to be above is beneath, and
vice versâ. This perversity disturbs the peace of
the body, and is therefore painful. Nevertheless
the spirit is at peace with its body, and labours for
its preservation, and hence the suffering; but if it
is banished from the body by its pains, then, so
long as the bodily framework holds together, there
is in the remains a kind of peace among the
members, and hence the body remains suspended.
And inasmuch as the earthy body tends towards
the earth, and rests on the bond by which it is
suspended, it tends thus to its natural peace, and
the voice of its own weight demands a place for it
to rest; and though now lifeless and without
feeling, it does not fall from the peace that is
natural to its place in creation, whether it already
has it, or is tending towards it. For if you apply
embalming preparations to prevent the bodily
frame from mouldering and dissolving, a kind of
peace still unites part to part, and keeps the whole
body in a suitable place on the earth,—in other
words, in a place that is at peace with the body. If,
on the other hand, the body receive no such care,
but be left to the natural course, it is disturbed by
exhalations that do not harmonize with one
another, and that offend our senses; for it is this
which is perceived in putrefaction until it is
assimilated to the elements of the world, and
particle by particle enters into peace with them.
Yet throughout this process the laws of the most
high Creator and Governor are strictly observed,
for it is by Him the peace of the universe is
administered. For although minute animals are
produced from the carcase of a larger animal, all
these little atoms, by the law of the same Creator,
serve the animals they belong to in peace. And
although the flesh of dead animals be eaten by
others, no matter where it be carried, nor what it
be brought into contact with, nor what it be
converted and changed into, it still is ruled by the
same laws which pervade all things for the
conservation of every mortal race, and which
bring things that fit one another into harmony.
13. Of the universal peace which the law of nature
preserves through all disturbances, and by which
every one reaches his desert in a way regulated by
the just Judge.
The peace of the body then consists in the duly
proportioned arrangement of its parts. The peace
of the irrational soul is the harmonious repose of
the appetites, and that of the rational soul the
harmony of knowledge and action. The peace of
body and soul is the well-ordered and harmonious
life and health of the living creature. Peace
between man and God is the well-ordered
obedience of faith to eternal law. Peace between
man and man is well-ordered concord. Domestic
peace is the well-ordered concord between those
of the family who rule and those who obey. Civil
peace is a similar concord among the citizens. The
peace of the celestial city is the perfectly ordered
and harmonious enjoyment of God, and of one
another in God. The peace of all things is the
tranquillity of order. Order is the distribution
which allots things equal and unequal, each to its
own place. And hence, though the miserable, in so
far as they are such, do certainly not enjoy peace,
but are severed from that tranquillity of order in
which there is no disturbance, nevertheless,
inasmuch as they are deservedly and justly
miserable, they are by their very misery connected
with order. They are not, indeed, conjoined with
the blessed, but they are disjoined from them by
the law of order. And though they are disquieted,
their circumstances are notwithstanding adjusted
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to them, and consequently they have some
tranquillity of order, and therefore some peace.
But they are wretched because, although not
wholly miserable, they are not in that place where
any mixture of misery is impossible. They would,
however, be more wretched if they had not that
peace which arises from being in harmony with
the natural order of things. When they suffer,
their peace is in so far disturbed; but their peace
continues in so far as they do not suffer, and in so
far as their nature continues to exist. As, then,
there may be life without pain, while there cannot
be pain without some kind of life, so there may be
peace without war, but there cannot be war
without some kind of peace, because war supposes
the existence of some natures to wage it, and these
natures cannot exist without peace of one kind or
other.
And therefore there is a nature in which evil does
not or even cannot exist; but there cannot be a
nature in which there is no good. Hence not even
the nature of the devil himself is evil, in so far as it
is nature, but it was made evil by being perverted.
Thus he did not abide in the truth, but could not
escape the judgment of the Truth; he did not
abide in the tranquillity of order, but did not
therefore escape the power of the Ordainer. The
good imparted by God to his nature did not screen
him from the justice of God by which order was
preserved in his punishment; neither did God
punish the good which He had created, but the
evil which the devil had committed. God did not
take back all He had imparted to his nature, but
something He took and something He left, that
there might remain enough to be sensible of the
loss of what was taken. And this very sensibility to
pain is evidence of the good which has been taken
away and the good which has been left. For, were
nothing good left, there could be no pain on
account of the good which had been lost. For he
who sins is still worse if he rejoices in his loss of
righteousness. But he who is in pain, if he derives
no benefit from it, mourns at least the loss of
health. And as righteousness and health are both
good things, and as the loss of any good thing is
matter of grief, not of joy,—if, at least, there is no
compensation, as spiritual righteousness may
compensate for the loss of bodily health,—
certainly it is more suitable for a wicked man to
grieve in punishment than to rejoice in his fault.
As, then, the joy of a sinner who has abandoned
what is good is evidence of a bad will, so his grief
for the good he has lost when he is punished is
evidence of a good nature. For he who laments the
peace his nature has lost is stirred to do so by
some relics of peace which make his nature
friendly to itself. And it is very just that in the final
punishment the wicked and godless should in
anguish bewail the loss of the natural advantages
they enjoyed, and should perceive that they were
most justly taken from them by that God whose
benign liberality they had despised. God, then, the
most wise Creator and most just Ordainer of all
natures, who placed the human race upon earth as
its greatest ornament, imparted to men some good
things adapted to this life, to wit, temporal peace,
such as we can enjoy in this life from health and
safety and human fellowship, and all things
needful for the preservation and recovery of this
peace, such as the objects which are
accommodated to our outward senses, light,
night, the air, and waters suitable for us, and
everything the body requires to sustain, shelter,
heal, or beautify it: and all under this most
equitable condition, that every man who made a
good use of these advantages suited to the peace
of this mortal condition, should receive ampler
and better blessings, namely, the peace of
immortality, accompanied by glory and honour in
an endless life made fit for the enjoyment of God
and of one another in God; but that he who used
the present blessings badly should both lose them
and should not receive the others.
14. Of the order and law which obtain in heaven
and earth, whereby it comes to pass that human
society is served by those who rule it.
The whole use, then, of things temporal has a
reference to this result of earthly peace in the
earthly community, while in the city of God it is
connected with eternal peace. And therefore, if we
were irrational animals, we should desire nothing
beyond the proper arrangement of the parts of the
body and the satisfaction of the appetites,—
nothing, therefore, but bodily comfort and
abundance of pleasures, that the peace of the body
might contribute to the peace of the soul. For if
bodily peace be awanting, a bar is put to the peace
even of the irrational soul, since it cannot obtain
the gratification of its appetites. And these two
together help out the mutual peace of soul and
body, the peace of harmonious life and health. For
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as animals, by shunning pain, show that they love
bodily peace, and, by pursuing pleasure to gratify
their appetites, show that they love peace of soul,
so their shrinking from death is a sufficient
indication of their intense love of that peace
which binds soul and body in close alliance. But,
as man has a rational soul, he subordinates all this
which he has in common with the beasts to the
peace of his rational soul, that his intellect may
have free play and may regulate his actions, and
that he may thus enjoy the well-ordered harmony
of knowledge and action which constitutes, as we
have said, the peace of the rational soul. And for
this purpose he must desire to be neither
molested by pain, nor disturbed by desire, nor
extinguished by death, that he may arrive at some
useful knowledge by which he may regulate his
life and manners. But, owing to the liability of the
human mind to fall into mistakes, this very
pursuit of knowledge may be a snare to him unless
he has a divine Master, whom he may obey
without misgiving, and who may at the same time
give him such help as to preserve his own
freedom. And because, so long as he is in this
mortal body, he is a stranger to God, he walks by
faith, not by sight; and he therefore refers all
peace, bodily or spiritual or both, to that peace
which mortal man has with the immortal God, so
that he exhibits the well-ordered obedience of
faith to eternal law. But as this divine Master
inculcates two precepts,—the love of God and the
love of our neighbour,—and as in these precepts a
man finds three things he has to love,—God,
himself, and his neighbour,—and that he who
loves God loves himself thereby, it follows that he
must endeavour to get his neighbour to love God,
since he is ordered to love his neighbour as
himself. He ought to make this endeavour in
behalf of his wife, his children, his household, all
within his reach, even as he would wish his
neighbour to do the same for him if he needed it;
and consequently he will be at peace, or in well-
ordered concord, with all men, as far as in him
lies. And this is the order of this concord, that a
man, in the first place, injure no one, and, in the
second, do good to every one he can reach.
Primarily, therefore, his own household are his
care, for the law of nature and of society gives him
readier access to them and greater opportunity of
serving them. And hence the apostle says, "Now, if
any provide not for his own, and specially for
those of his own house, he hath denied the faith,
and is worse than an infidel." This is the origin of
domestic peace, or the well-ordered concord of
those in the family who rule and those who obey.
For they who care for the rest rule,—the husband
the wife, the parents the children, the masters the
servants; and they who are cared for obey,—the
women their husbands, the children their parents,
the servants their masters. But in the family of the
just man who lives by faith and is as yet a pilgrim
journeying on to the celestial city, even those who
rule serve those whom they seem to command; for
they rule not from a love of power, but from a
sense of the duty they owe to others—not because
they are proud of authority, but because they love
mercy.
15. Of the liberty proper to man's nature, and the
servitude introduced by sin,—a servitude in which
the man whose will is wicked is the slave of his
own lust, though he is free so far as regards other
men.
This is prescribed by the order of nature: it is thus
that God has created man. For "let them," He says,
"have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over
the fowl of the air, and over every creeping thing
which creepeth on the earth." He did not intend
that His rational creature, who was made in His
image, should have dominion over anything but
the irrational creation,—not man over man, but
man over the beasts. And hence the righteous
men in primitive times were made shepherds of
cattle rather than kings of men, God intending
thus to teach us what the relative position of the
creatures is, and what the desert of sin; for it is
with justice, we believe, that the condition of
slavery is the result of sin. And this is why we do
not find the word "slave" in any part of Scripture
until righteous Noah branded the sin of his son
with this name. It is a name, therefore, introduced
by sin and not by nature. The origin of the Latin
word for slave is supposed to be found in the
circumstance that those who by the law of war
were liable to be killed were sometimes preserved
by their victors, and were hence called servants.
And these circumstances could never have arisen
save through sin. For even when we wage a just
war, our adversaries must be sinning; and every
victory, even though gained by wicked men, is a
result of the first judgment of God, who humbles
the vanquished either for the sake of removing or
of punishing their sins. Witness that man of God,
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Daniel, who, when he was in captivity, confessed
to God his own sins and the sins of his people, and
declares with pious grief that these were the cause
of the captivity. The prime cause, then, of slavery
is sin, which brings man under the dominion of
his fellow,—that which does not happen save by
the judgment of God, with whom is no
unrighteousness, and who knows how to award fit
punishments to every variety of offence. But our
Master in heaven says, "Every one who doeth sin is
the servant of sin." And thus there are many
wicked masters who have religious men as their
slaves, and who are yet themselves in bondage;
"for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is he
brought in bondage." And beyond question it is a
happier thing to be the slave of a man than of a
lust; for even this very lust of ruling, to mention
no others, lays waste men's hearts with the most
ruthless dominion. Moreover, when men are
subjected to one another in a peaceful order, the
lowly position does as much good to the servant as
the proud position does harm to the master. But
by nature, as God first created us, no one is the
slave either of man or of sin. This servitude is,
however, penal, and is appointed by that law
which enjoins the preservation of the natural
order and forbids its disturbance; for if nothing
had been done in violation of that law, there
would have been nothing to restrain by penal
servitude. And therefore the apostle admonishes
slaves to be subject to their masters, and to serve
them heartily and with good-will, so that, if they
cannot be freed by their masters, they may
themselves make their slavery in some sort free,
by serving not in crafty fear, but in faithful love,
until all unrighteousness pass away, and all
principality and every human power be brought to
nothing, and God be all in all.
17. What produces peace, and what discord,
between the heavenly and earthly cities.
But the families which do not live by faith seek
their peace in the earthly advantages of this life;
while the families which live by faith look for
those eternal blessings which are promised, and
use as pilgrims such advantages of time and of
earth as do not fascinate and divert them from
God, but rather aid them to endure with greater
ease, and to keep down the number of those
burdens of the corruptible body which weigh
upon the soul. Thus the things necessary for this
mortal life are used by both kinds of men and
families alike, but each has its own peculiar and
widely different aim in using them. The earthly
city, which does not live by faith, seeks an earthly
peace, and the end it proposes, in the well-ordered
concord of civic obedience and rule, is the
combination of men's wills to attain the things
which are helpful to this life. The heavenly city, or
rather the part of it which sojourns on earth and
lives by faith, makes use of this peace only because
it must, until this mortal condition which
necessitates it shall pass away. Consequently, so
long as it lives like a captive and a stranger in the
earthly city, though it has already received the
promise of redemption, and the gift of the Spirit as
the earnest of it, it makes no scruple to obey the
laws of the earthly city, whereby the things
necessary for the maintenance of this mortal life
are administered; and thus, as this life is common
to both cities, so there is a harmony between them
in regard to what belongs to it. But, as the earthly
city has had some philosophers whose doctrine is
condemned by the divine teaching, and who,
being deceived either by their own conjectures or
by demons, supposed that many gods must be
invited to take an interest in human affairs, and
assigned to each a separate function and a
separate department,—to one the body, to
another the soul; and in the body itself, to one the
head, to another the neck, and each of the other
members to one of the gods; and in like manner,
in the soul, to one god the natural capacity was
assigned, to another education, to another anger,
to another lust; and so the various affairs of life
were assigned,—cattle to one, corn to another,
wine to another, oil to another, the woods to
another, money to another, navigation to another,
wars and victories to another, marriages to
another, births and fecundity to another, and
other things to other gods: and as the celestial
city, on the other hand, knew that one God only
was to be worshipped, and that to Him alone was
due that service which the Greeks call λατρεία,
and which can be given only to a god, it has come
to pass that the two cities could not have common
laws of religion, and that the heavenly city has
been compelled in this matter to dissent, and to
become obnoxious to those who think differently,
and to stand the brunt of their anger and hatred
and persecutions, except in so far as the minds of
their enemies have been alarmed by the multitude
of the Christians and quelled by the manifest
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protection of God accorded to them. This
heavenly city, then, while it sojourns on earth,
calls citizens out of all nations, and gathers
together a society of pilgrims of all languages, not
scrupling about diversities in the manners, laws,
and institutions whereby earthly peace is secured
and maintained, but recognising that, however
various these are, they all tend to one and the
same end of earthly peace. It therefore is so far
from rescinding and abolishing these diversities,
that it even preserves and adopts them, so long
only as no hindrance to the worship of the one
supreme and true God is thus introduced. Even
the heavenly city, therefore, while in its state of
pilgrimage, avails itself of the peace of earth, and,
so far as it can without injuring faith and
godliness, desires and maintains a common
agreement among men regarding the acquisition
of the necessaries of life, and makes this earthly
peace bear upon the peace of heaven; for this
alone can be truly called and esteemed the peace
of the reasonable creatures, consisting as it does in
the perfectly ordered and harmonious enjoyment
of God and of one another in God. When we shall
have reached that peace, this mortal life shall give
place to one that is eternal, and our body shall be
no more this animal body which by its corruption
weighs down the soul, but a spiritual body feeling
no want, and in all its members subjected to the
will. In its pilgrim state the heavenly city possesses
this peace by faith; and by this faith it lives
righteously when it refers to the attainment of
that peace every good action towards God and
man; for the life of the city is a social life.
147
The Wellcome Library, London / Universal Images Group
Moses Maimonides, Guide
for the Perplexed
(Selections)
PART ONE
"Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation
which keepeth the truth may enter in."(Isa. xxvi.
2.)
CHAPTER II
Some years ago a learned man asked me a
question of great importance; the problem and
the solution which we gave in our reply deserve
the closest attention. Before, however, entering
upon this problem and its solution I must premise
that every Hebrew knows that the term Elohim is
a homonym, and denotes God, angels, judges, and
the rulers of countries, and that Onkelos the
proselyte explained it in the true and correct
manner by taking Elohim in the sentence, "and ye
shall be like Elohim" (Gen. iii. 5) in the last -
mentioned meaning, and rendering the sentence
"and ye shall be like princes." Having pointed out
the homonymity of the term "Elohim" we return
to the question under consideration. "It would at
first sight," said the objector, "appear from
Scripture that man was originally intended to be
perfectly equal to the rest of the animal creation,
which is not endowed with intellect, reason, or
power of distinguishing between good and evil:
but that Adam's disobedience to the command of
God procured him that great perfection which is
the peculiarity of man, viz., the power of
distinguishing between good and evilthe noblest
of all the faculties of our nature, the essential
characteristic of the human race. It thus appears
strange that the punishment for rebelliousness
should be the means of elevating man to a
pinnacle of perfection to which he had not
attained previously. This is equivalent to saying
that a certain man was rebellious and extremely
wicked, wherefore his nature was changed for the
better, and he was made to shine as a star in the
heavens." Such was the purport and subject of the
question, though not in the exact words of the
inquirer. Now mark our reply, which was as
follows: "You appear to have studied the matter
superficially, and nevertheless you imagine that
you can understand a book which has been the
guide of past and present generations, when you
for a moment withdraw from your lusts and
appetites, and glance over its contents as if you
were reading a historical work or some poetical
composition. Collect your thoughts and examine
the matter carefully, for it is not to be understood
as you at first sight think, but as you will find after
due deliberation; namely, the intellect which was
granted to man as the highest endowment, was
bestowed on him before his disobedience. With
reference to this gift the Bible states that "man
was created in the form and likeness of God." On
account of this gift of intellect man was addressed
by God, and received His commandments, as it is
said: "And the Lord God commanded Adam" (Gen.
ii. 16) for no commandments are given to the
brute creation or to those who are devoid of
understanding. Through the intellect man
distinguishes between the true and the false. This
faculty Adam possessed perfectly and completely.
The right and the wrong are terms employed in
the science of apparent truths (morals), not in that
of necessary truths, as, e.g., it is not correct to say,
in reference to the proposition "the heavens are
spherical," it is "good" or to declare the assertion
148
that "the earth is flat" to be "bad": but we say of
the one it is true, of the other it is false. Similarly
our language expresses the idea of true and false
by the terms emet and sheker, of the morally right
and the morally wrong, by tob and ra'. Thus it is
the function of the intellect to discriminate
between the true and the false distinction which is
applicable to all objects of intellectual perception.
When Adam was yet in a state of innocence, and
was guided solely by reflection and reasonon
account of which it is said: "Thou hast made him
(man) little lower than the angels" (Ps. viii. 6) he
was not at all able to follow or to understand the
principles of apparent truths; the most manifest
impropriety, viz., to appear in a state of nudity,
was nothing unbecoming according to his idea: he
could not comprehend why it should be so. After
man's disobedience, however, when he began to
give way to desires which had their source in his
imagination and to the gratification of his bodily
appetites, as it is said, "And the wife saw that the
tree was good for food and delightful to the eyes"
(Gen. iii. 6), he was punished by the loss of part of
that intellectual faculty which he had previously
possessed. He therefore transgressed a command
with which he had been charged on the score of
his reason; and having obtained a knowledge of
the apparent truths, he was wholly absorbed in
the study of what is proper and what improper.
Then he fully understood the magnitude of the
loss he had sustained, what he had forfeited, and
in what situation he was thereby placed. Hence we
read, "And ye shall be like elohim, knowing good
and evil," and not "knowing" or "discerning the
true and the false": while in necessary truths we
can only apply the words "true and false," not
"good and evil." Further observe the passage, "And
the eyes of both were opened, and they knew they
were naked" (Gen. iii. 7): it is not said, "And the
eyes of both were opened, and they saw"; for what
the man had seen previously and what he saw
after this circumstance was precisely the same:
there had been no blindness which was now
removed, but he received a new faculty whereby
he found things wrong which previously he had
not regarded as wrong. Besides, you must know
that the Hebrew word pakah used in this passage
is exclusively employed in the figurative sense of
receiving new sources of knowledge, not in that of
regaining the sense of sight. Comp., "God opened
her eyes" (Gen. xxi. 19). "Then shall the eyes of the
blind be opened" (Isaiah xxxviii. 8). "Open ears, he
heareth not" (ibid. Xlii. 20), similar in sense to the
verse, "Which have eyes to see, and see not" (Ezek.
xii. 2). When, however, Scripture says of Adam,
"He changed his face (panav) and thou sentest
him forth" Job xiv. 20), it must be understood in
the following way: On account of the change of his
original aim he was sent away. For panim, the
Hebrew equivalent of face, is derived from the
verb panah, "he turned," and signifies also "aim,"
because man generally turns his face towards the
thing he desires. In accordance with this
interpretation, our text suggests that Adam, as he
altered his intention and directed his thoughts to
the acquisition of what he was forbidden, he was
banished from Paradise: this was his
punishment; it was measure for measure. At first
he had the privilege of tasting pleasure and
happiness, and of enjoying repose and
security; but as his appetites grew stronger, and he
followed his desires and impulses, (as we have
already stated above), and partook of the food he
was forbidden to taste, he was deprived of
everything, was doomed to subsist on the meanest
kind of food, such as he never tasted before, and
this even only after exertion and labour, as it is
said, "Thorns and thistles shall grow up for thee"
(Gen. iii. 18), "By the sweat of thy brow," etc., and
in explanation of this the text continues, "And the
Lord God drove him from the Garden of Eden, to
till the ground whence he was taken." He was now
with respect to food and many other requirements
brought to the level of the lower animals: comp.,
"Thou shalt eat the grass of the field" (Gen. iii. 18).
Reflecting on his condition, the Psalmist says,
"Adam unable to dwell in dignity, was brought to
the level of the dumb beast" (Ps. xlix. 13)." May the
Almighty be praised, whose design and wisdom
cannot be fathomed."
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The Granger Collection / Universal Images Group
Saint Thomas Aquinas,
Summa Theologica
(selections)
Art. 1: Whether it belongs to man to act for an
end?
Obj. 1: It would seem that it does not belong to
man to act for an end. For a cause is naturally first.
But an end, in its very name, implies something
that is last. Therefore an end is not a cause. But
that for which a man acts, is the cause of his
action; since this preposition "for" indicates a
relation of causality. Therefore it does not belong
to man to act for an end.
Obj. 2: Further, that which is itself the last end is
not for an end. But in some cases the last end is an
action, as the Philosopher states (Ethic. i, 1).
Therefore man does not do everything for an end.
Obj. 3: Further, then does a man seem to act for
an end, when he acts deliberately. But man does
many things without deliberation, sometimes not
even thinking of what he is doing; for instance
when one moves one's foot or hand, or scratches
one's beard, while intent on something else.
Therefore man does not do everything for an end.
On the contrary, All things contained in a genus
are derived from the principle of that genus. Now
the end is the principle in human operations, as
the Philosopher states (Phys. ii, 9). Therefore it
belongs to man to do everything for an end.
I answer that, Of actions done by man those alone
are properly called "human," which are proper to
man as man. Now man differs from irrational
animals in this, that he is master of his actions.
Wherefore those actions alone are properly called
human, of which man is master. Now man is
master of his actions through his reason and will;
whence, too, the free-will is defined as "the faculty
and will of reason." Therefore those actions are
properly called human which proceed from a
deliberate will. And if any other actions are found
in man, they can be called actions "of a man," but
not properly "human" actions, since they are not
proper to man as man. Now it is clear that
whatever actions proceed from a power, are
caused by that power in accordance with the
nature of its object. But the object of the will is the
end and the good. Therefore all human actions
must be for an end.
Reply Obj. 1: Although the end be last in the order
of execution, yet it is first in the order of the
agent's intention. And it is this way that it is a
cause.
Reply Obj. 2: If any human action be the last end,
it must be voluntary, else it would not be human,
as stated above. Now an action is voluntary in one
of two ways: first, because it is commanded by the
will, e.g. to walk, or to speak; secondly, because it
is elicited by the will, for instance the very act of
willing. Now it is impossible for the very act
elicited by the will to be the last end. For the
object of the will is the end, just as the object of
sight is color: wherefore just as the first visible
cannot be the act of seeing, because every act of
seeing is directed to a visible object; so the first
appetible, i.e. the end, cannot be the very act of
willing. Consequently it follows that if a human
action be the last end, it must be an action
commanded by the will: so that there, some action
of man, at least the act of willing, is for the end.
150
Therefore whatever a man does, it is true to say
that man acts for an end, even when he does that
action in which the last end consists.
Reply Obj. 3: Such like actions are not properly
human actions; since they do not proceed from
deliberation of the reason, which is the proper
principle of human actions. Therefore they have
indeed an imaginary end, but not one that is fixed
by reason.
^Q. 1
Art. 2: Whether it is proper to the rational nature
to act for an end?
It would seem that it is proper to the rational
nature to act for an end.
Obj. 1: For man, to whom it belongs to act for an
end, never acts for an unknown end. On the other
hand, there are many things that have no
knowledge of an end; either because they are
altogether without knowledge, as insensible
creatures: or because they do not apprehend the
idea of an end as such, as irrational animals.
Therefore it seems proper to the rational nature to
act for an end.
Obj. 2: Further, to act for an end is to order one's
action to an end. But this is the work of reason.
Therefore it does not belong to things that lack
reason.
Obj. 3: Further, the good and the end is the object
of the will. But "the will is in the reason" (De
Anima iii, 9). Therefore to act for an end belongs
to none but a rational nature.
On the contrary, The Philosopher proves (Phys. ii,
5) that "not only mind but also nature acts for an
end."
I answer that, Every agent, of necessity, acts for an
end. For if, in a number of causes ordained to one
another, the first be removed, the others must, of
necessity, be removed also. Now the first of all
causes is the final cause. The reason of which is
that matter does not receive form, save in so far as
it is moved by an agent; for nothing reduces itself
from potentiality to act. But an agent does not
move except out of intention for an end. For if the
agent were not determinate to some particular
effect, it would not do one thing rather than
another: consequently in order that it produce a
determinate effect, it must, of necessity, be
determined to some certain one, which has the
nature of an end. And just as this determination is
effected, in the rational nature, by the "rational
appetite," which is called the will; so, in other
things, it is caused by their natural inclination,
which is called the "natural appetite."
Nevertheless it must be observed that a thing
tends to an end, by its action or movement, in two
ways: first, as a thing, moving itself to the end, as
man; secondly, as a thing moved by another to the
end, as an arrow tends to a determinate end
through being moved by the archer who directs
his action to the end. Therefore those things that
are possessed of reason, move themselves to an
end; because they have dominion over their
actions through their free-will, which is the
"faculty of will and reason." But those things that
lack reason tend to an end, by natural inclination,
as being moved by another and not by themselves;
since they do not know the nature of an end as
such, and consequently cannot ordain anything to
an end, but can be ordained to an end only by
another. For the entire irrational nature is in
comparison to God as an instrument to the
principal agent, as stated above (I, Q. 22, A. 2, ad
4; Q. 103, A. 1, ad 3). Consequently it is proper to
the rational nature to tend to an end, as directing
(agens) and leading itself to the end: whereas it is
proper to the irrational nature to tend to an end,
as directed or led by another, whether it
apprehend the end, as do irrational animals, or do
not apprehend it, as is the case of those things
which are altogether void of knowledge.
Reply Obj. 1: When a man of himself acts for an
end, he knows the end: but when he is directed or
led by another, for instance, when he acts at
another's command, or when he is moved under
another's compulsion, it is not necessary that he
should know the end. And it is thus with irrational
creatures.
Reply Obj. 2: To ordain towards an end belongs to
that which directs itself to an end: whereas to be
ordained to an end belongs to that which is
directed by another to an end. And this can
belong to an irrational nature, but owing to some
one possessed of reason.
151
Reply Obj. 3: The object of the will is the end and
the good in universal. Consequently there can be
no will in those things that lack reason and
intellect, since they cannot apprehend the
universal; but they have a natural appetite or a
sensitive appetite, determinate to some particular
good. Now it is clear that particular causes are
moved by a universal cause: thus the governor of a
city, who intends the common good, moves, by his
command, all the particular departments of the
city. Consequently all things that lack reason are,
of necessity, moved to their particular ends by
some rational will which extends to the universal
good, namely by the Divine will.
^Q. 1
Art. 3: Whether human acts are specified by their
end?
It would seem that human acts are not specified
by their end.
Obj. 1: For the end is an extrinsic cause. But
everything is specified by an intrinsic principle.
Therefore human acts are not specified by their
end.
Obj. 2: Further, that which gives a thing its species
should exist before it. But the end comes into
existence afterwards. Therefore a human act does
not derive its species from the end.
Obj. 3: Further, one thing cannot be in more than
one species. But one and the same act may happen
to be ordained to various ends. Therefore the end
does not give the species to human acts.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Mor. Eccl. et
Manich. ii, 13): "According as their end is worthy
of blame or praise so are our deeds worthy of
blame or praise."
I answer that, Each thing receives its species in
respect of an act and not in respect of potentiality;
wherefore things composed of matter and form
are established in their respective species by their
own forms. And this is also to be observed in
proper movements. For since movements are, in a
way, divided into action and passion, each of these
receives its species from an act; action indeed
from the act which is the principle of acting, and
passion from the act which is the terminus of the
movement. Wherefore heating, as an action, is
nothing else than a certain movement proceeding
from heat, while heating as a passion is nothing
else than a movement towards heat: and it is the
definition that shows the specific nature. And
either way, human acts, whether they be
considered as actions, or as passions, receive their
species from the end. For human acts can be
considered in both ways, since man moves
himself, and is moved by himself. Now it has been
stated above (A. 1) that acts are called human,
inasmuch as they proceed from a deliberate will.
Now the object of the will is the good and the end.
And hence it is clear that the principle of human
acts, in so far as they are human, is the end. In like
manner it is their terminus: for the human act
terminates at that which the will intends as the
end; thus in natural agents the form of the thing
generated is conformed to the form of the
generator. And since, as Ambrose says (Prolog.
super Luc.) "morality is said properly of man,"
moral acts properly speaking receive their species
from the end, for moral acts are the same as
human acts.
Reply Obj. 1: The end is not altogether extrinsic to
the act, because it is related to the act as principle
or terminus; and thus it just this that is essential
to an act, viz. to proceed from something,
considered as action, and to proceed towards
something, considered as passion.
Reply Obj. 2: The end, in so far as it pre-exists in
the intention, pertains to the will, as stated above
(A. 1, ad 1). And it is thus that it gives the species
to the human or moral act.
Reply Obj. 3: One and the same act, in so far as it
proceeds once from the agent, is ordained to but
one proximate end, from which it has its species:
but it can be ordained to several remote ends, of
which one is the end of the other. It is possible,
however, that an act which is one in respect of its
natural species, be ordained to several ends of the
will: thus this act "to kill a man," which is but one
act in respect of its natural species, can be
ordained, as to an end, to the safeguarding of
justice, and to the satisfying of anger: the result
being that there would be several acts in different
species of morality: since in one way there will be
an act of virtue, in another, an act of vice. For a
movement does not receive its species from that
which is its terminus accidentally, but only from
152
that which is its per se terminus. Now moral ends
are accidental to a natural thing, and conversely
the relation to a natural end is accidental to
morality. Consequently there is no reason why
acts which are the same considered in their
natural species, should not be diverse, considered
in their moral species, and conversely.
^Q. 1
Art. 4: Whether there is one last end of human
life?
It would seem that there is no last end of human
life, but that we proceed to infinity.
Obj. 1: For good is essentially diffusive, as
Dionysius states (Div. Nom. iv). Consequently if
that which proceeds from good is itself good, the
latter must needs diffuse some other good: so that
the diffusion of good goes on indefinitely. But
good has the nature of an end. Therefore there is
an indefinite series of ends.
Obj. 2: Further, things pertaining to the reason
can be multiplied to infinity: thus mathematical
quantities have no limit. For the same reason the
species of numbers are infinite, since, given any
number, the reason can think of one yet greater.
But desire of the end is consequent on the
apprehension of the reason. Therefore it seems
that there is also an infinite series of ends.
Obj. 3: Further, the good and the end is the object
of the will. But the will can react on itself an
infinite number of times: for I can will something,
and will to will it, and so on indefinitely. Therefore
there is an infinite series of ends of the human
will, and there is no last end of the human will.
On the contrary, The Philosopher says (Metaph. ii,
2) that "to suppose a thing to be indefinite is to
deny that it is good." But the good is that which
has the nature of an end. Therefore it is contrary
to the nature of an end to proceed indefinitely.
Therefore it is necessary to fix one last end.
I answer that, Absolutely speaking, it is not
possible to proceed indefinitely in the matter of
ends, from any point of view. For in whatsoever
things there is an essential order of one to
another, if the first be removed, those that are
ordained to the first, must of necessity be removed
also. Wherefore the Philosopher proves (Phys. viii,
5) that we cannot proceed to infinitude in causes
of movement, because then there would be no
first mover, without which neither can the others
move, since they move only through being moved
by the first mover. Now there is to be observed a
twofold order in ends—the order of intention and
the order of execution: and in either of these
orders there must be something first. For that
which is first in the order of intention, is the
principle, as it were, moving the appetite;
consequently, if you remove this principle, there
will be nothing to move the appetite. On the other
hand, the principle in execution is that wherein
operation has its beginning; and if this principle
be taken away, no one will begin to work. Now the
principle in the intention is the last end; while the
principle in execution is the first of the things
which are ordained to the end. Consequently, on
neither side is it possible to go to infinity since if
there were no last end, nothing would be desired,
nor would any action have its term, nor would the
intention of the agent be at rest; while if there is
no first thing among those that are ordained to
the end, none would begin to work at anything,
and counsel would have no term, but would
continue indefinitely.
On the other hand, nothing hinders infinity from
being in things that are ordained to one another
not essentially but accidentally; for accidental
causes are indeterminate. And in this way it
happens that there is an accidental infinity of
ends, and of things ordained to the end.
Reply Obj. 1: The very nature of good is that
something flows from it, but not that it flows from
something else. Since, therefore, good has the
nature of end, and the first good is the last end,
this argument does not prove that there is no last
end; but that from the end, already supposed, we
may proceed downwards indefinitely towards
those things that are ordained to the end. And this
would be true if we considered but the power of
the First Good, which is infinite. But, since the
First Good diffuses itself according to the intellect,
to which it is proper to flow forth into its effects
according to a certain fixed form; it follows that
there is a certain measure to the flow of good
things from the First Good from Which all other
goods share the power of diffusion. Consequently
the diffusion of goods does not proceed
153
indefinitely but, as it is written (Wis. 11:21), God
disposes all things "in number, weight and
measure."
Reply Obj. 2: In things which are of themselves,
reason begins from principles that are known
naturally, and advances to some term. Wherefore
the Philosopher proves (Poster. i, 3) that there is
no infinite process in demonstrations, because
there we find a process of things having an
essential, not an accidental, connection with one
another. But in those things which are
accidentally connected, nothing hinders the
reason from proceeding indefinitely. Now it is
accidental to a stated quantity or number, as such,
that quantity or unity be added to it. Wherefore in
such like things nothing hinders the reason from
an indefinite process.
Reply Obj. 3: This multiplication of acts of the will
reacting on itself, is accidental to the order of
ends. This is clear from the fact that in regard to
one and the same end, the will reacts on itself
indifferently once or several times.
^Q. 1
Art. 5: Whether one man can have several last
ends?
It would seem possible for one man's will to be
directed at the same time to several things, as last
ends.
Obj. 1: For Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xix, 1) that
some held man's last end to consist in four things,
viz. "in pleasure, repose, the gifts of nature, and
virtue." But these are clearly more than one thing.
Therefore one man can place the last end of his
will in many things.
Obj. 2: Further, things not in opposition to one
another do not exclude one another. Now there
are many things which are not in opposition to
one another. Therefore the supposition that one
thing is the last end of the will does not exclude
others.
Obj. 3: Further, by the fact that it places its last
end in one thing, the will does not lose its
freedom. But before it placed its last end in that
thing, e.g. pleasure, it could place it in something
else, e.g. riches. Therefore even after having
placed his last end in pleasure, a man can at the
same time place his last end in riches. Therefore it
is possible for one man's will to be directed at the
same time to several things, as last ends.
On the contrary, That in which a man rests as in
his last end, is master of his affections, since he
takes therefrom his entire rule of life. Hence of
gluttons it is written (Phil. 3:19): "Whose god is
their belly": viz. because they place their last end
in the pleasures of the belly. Now according to
Matt. 6:24, "No man can serve two masters," such,
namely, as are not ordained to one another.
Therefore it is impossible for one man to have
several last ends not ordained to one another.
I answer that, It is impossible for one man's will to
be directed at the same time to diverse things, as
last ends. Three reasons may be assigned for this.
First, because, since everything desires its own
perfection, a man desires for his ultimate end, that
which he desires as his perfect and crowning good.
Hence Augustine (De Civ. Dei xix, 1): "In speaking
of the end of good we mean now, not that it passes
away so as to be no more, but that it is perfected
so as to be complete." It is therefore necessary for
the last end so to fill man's appetite, that nothing
is left besides it for man to desire. Which is not
possible, if something else be required for his
perfection. Consequently it is not possible for the
appetite so to tend to two things, as though each
were its perfect good.
The second reason is because, just as in the
process of reasoning, the principle is that which is
naturally known, so in the process of the rational
appetite, i.e. the will, the principle needs to be
that which is naturally desired. Now this must
needs be one: since nature tends to one thing
only. But the principle in the process of the
rational appetite is the last end. Therefore that to
which the will tends, as to its last end, is one.
The third reason is because, since voluntary
actions receive their species from the end, as
stated above (A. 3), they must needs receive their
genus from the last end, which is common to
them all: just as natural things are placed in a
genus according to a common form. Since, then,
all things that can be desired by the will, belong,
as such, to one genus, the last end must needs be
one. And all the more because in every genus
there is one first principle; and the last end has the
154
nature of a first principle, as stated above. Now as
the last end of man, simply as man, is to the whole
human race, so is the last end of any individual
man to that individual. Therefore, just as of all
men there is naturally one last end, so the will of
an individual man must be fixed on one last end.
Reply Obj. 1: All these several objects were
considered as one perfect good resulting
therefrom, by those who placed in them the last
end.
Reply Obj. 2: Although it is possible to find several
things which are not in opposition to one another,
yet it is contrary to a thing's perfect good, that
anything besides be required for that thing's
perfection.
Reply Obj. 3: The power of the will does not
extend to making opposites exist at the same time.
Which would be the case were it to tend to several
diverse objects as last ends, as has been shown
above (ad 2).
^Q. 1
Art. 6: Whether man wills all, whatsoever he wills,
for the last end?
It would seem that man does not will all,
whatsoever he wills, for the last end.
Obj. 1: For things ordained to the last end are said
to be serious matter, as being useful. But jests are
foreign to serious matter. Therefore what man
does in jest, he ordains not to the last end.
Obj. 2: Further, the Philosopher says at the
beginning of his Metaphysics (i. 2) that speculative
science is sought for its own sake. Now it cannot
be said that each speculative science is the last
end. Therefore man does not desire all,
whatsoever he desires, for the last end.
Obj. 3: Further, whosoever ordains something to
an end, thinks of that end. But man does not
always think of the last end in all that he desires
or does. Therefore man neither desires nor does
all for the last end.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xix,
1): "That is the end of our good, for the sake of
which we love other things, whereas we love it for
its own sake."
I answer that, Man must, of necessity, desire all,
whatsoever he desires, for the last end. This is
evident for two reasons. First, because whatever
man desires, he desires it under the aspect of
good. And if he desire it, not as his perfect good,
which is the last end, he must, of necessity, desire
it as tending to the perfect good, because the
beginning of anything is always ordained to its
completion; as is clearly the case in effects both of
nature and of art. Wherefore every beginning of
perfection is ordained to complete perfection
which is achieved through the last end. Secondly,
because the last end stands in the same relation in
moving the appetite, as the first mover in other
movements. Now it is clear that secondary moving
causes do not move save inasmuch as they are
moved by the first mover. Therefore secondary
objects of the appetite do not move the appetite,
except as ordained to the first object of the
appetite, which is the last end.
Reply Obj. 1: Actions done jestingly are not
directed to any external end; but merely to the
good of the jester, in so far as they afford him
pleasure or relaxation. But man's consummate
good is his last end.
Reply Obj. 2: The same applies to speculative
science; which is desired as the scientist's good,
included in complete and perfect good, which is
the ultimate end.
Reply Obj. 3: One need not always be thinking of
the last end, whenever one desires or does
something: but the virtue of the first intention,
which was in respect of the last end, remains in
every desire directed to any object whatever, even
though one's thoughts be not actually directed to
the last end. Thus while walking along the road
one needs not to be thinking of the end at every
step.
^Q. 1
Art. 7: Whether all men have the same last end?
It would seem that all men have not the same last
end.
Obj. 1: For before all else the unchangeable good
seems to be the last end of man. But some turn
away from the unchangeable good, by sinning.
Therefore all men have not the same last end.
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Obj. 2: Further, man's entire life is ruled according
to his last end. If, therefore, all men had the same
last end, they would not have various pursuits in
life. Which is evidently false.
Obj. 3: Further, the end is the term of action. But
actions are of individuals. Now although men
agree in their specific nature, yet they differ in
things pertaining to individuals. Therefore all men
have not the same last end.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Trin. xiii, 3)
that all men agree in desiring the last end, which
is happiness.
I answer that, We can speak of the last end in two
ways: first, considering only the aspect of last end;
secondly, considering the thing in which the
aspect of last end is realized. So, then, as to the
aspect of last end, all agree in desiring the last
end: since all desire the fulfilment of their
perfection, and it is precisely this fulfilment in
which the last end consists, as stated above (A. 5).
But as to the thing in which this aspect is realized,
all men are not agreed as to their last end: since
some desire riches as their consummate good;
some, pleasure; others, something else. Thus to
every taste the sweet is pleasant but to some, the
sweetness of wine is most pleasant, to others, the
sweetness of honey, or of something similar. Yet
that sweet is absolutely the best of all pleasant
things, in which he who has the best taste takes
most pleasure. In like manner that good is most
complete which the man with well disposed
affections desires for his last end.
Reply Obj. 1: Those who sin turn from that in
which their last end really consists: but they do
not turn away from the intention of the last end,
which intention they mistakenly seek in other
things.
Reply Obj. 2: Various pursuits in life are found
among men by reason of the various things in
which men seek to find their last end.
Reply Obj. 3: Although actions are of individuals,
yet their first principle of action is nature, which
tends to one thing, as stated above (A. 5).
^Q. 1
Art. 8: Whether other creatures concur in that last
end?
It would seem that all other creatures concur in
man's last end.
Obj. 1: For the end corresponds to the beginning.
But man's beginning—i.e. God—is also the
beginning of all else. Therefore all other things
concur in man's last end.
Obj. 2: Further, Dionysius says (Div. Nom. iv) that
"God turns all things to Himself as to their last
end." But He is also man's last end; because He
alone is to be enjoyed by man, as Augustine says
(De Doctr. Christ. i, 5, 22). Therefore other things,
too, concur in man's last end.
Obj. 3: Further, man's last end is the object of the
will. But the object of the will is the universal
good, which is the end of all. Therefore other
things, too, concur in man's last end.
On the contrary, man's last end is happiness;
which all men desire, as Augustine says (De Trin.
xiii, 3, 4). But "happiness is not possible for
animals bereft of reason," as Augustine says (QQ.
83, qu. 5). Therefore other things do not concur in
man's last end.
I answer that, As the Philosopher says (Phys. ii, 2),
the end is twofold—the end "for which" and the
end "by which"; viz. the thing itself in which is
found the aspect of good, and the use or
acquisition of that thing. Thus we say that the end
of the movement of a weighty body is either a
lower place as "thing," or to be in a lower place, as
"use"; and the end of the miser is money as
"thing," or possession of money as "use."
If, therefore, we speak of man's last end as of the
thing which is the end, thus all other things
concur in man's last end, since God is the last end
of man and of all other things. If, however, we
speak of man's last end, as of the acquisition of the
end, then irrational creatures do not concur with
man in this end. For man and other rational
creatures attain to their last end by knowing and
loving God: this is not possible to other creatures,
which acquire their last end, in so far as they share
in the Divine likeness, inasmuch as they are, or
live, or even know.
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Hence it is evident how the objections are solved:
since happiness means the acquisition of the last
end.
^Q. 1
QUESTION 2: OF THOSE THINGS IN WHICH
MAN'S HAPPINESS CONSISTS
^TOC
We have now to consider happiness: and
(1) in what it consists;
(2) what it is;
(3) how we can obtain it.
Concerning the first there are eight points of
inquiry:
(1) Whether happiness consists in wealth?
(2) Whether in honor?
(3) Whether in fame or glory?
(4) Whether in power?
(5) Whether in any good of the body?
(6) Whether in pleasure?
(7) Whether in any good of the soul?
(8) Whether in any created good?
Art. 1: Whether man's happiness consists in
wealth?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in
wealth.
Obj. 1: For since happiness is man's last end, it
must consist in that which has the greatest hold
on man's affections. Now this is wealth: for it is
written (Eccles. 10:19): "All things obey money."
Therefore man's happiness consists in wealth.
Obj. 2: Further, according to Boethius (De Consol.
iii), happiness is "a state of life made perfect by the
aggregate of all good things." Now money seems
to be the means of possessing all things: for, as the
Philosopher says (Ethic. v, 5), money was
invented, that it might be a sort of guarantee for
the acquisition of whatever man desires. Therefore
happiness consists in wealth.
Obj. 3: Further, since the desire for the sovereign
good never fails, it seems to be infinite. But this is
the case with riches more than anything else;
since "a covetous man shall not be satisfied with
riches" (Eccles. 5:9). Therefore happiness consists
in wealth.
On the contrary, Man's good consists in retaining
happiness rather than in spreading it. But as
Boethius says (De Consol. ii), "wealth shines in
giving rather than in hoarding: for the miser is
hateful, whereas the generous man is applauded."
Therefore man's happiness does not consist in
wealth.
I answer that, It is impossible for man's happiness
to consist in wealth. For wealth is twofold, as the
Philosopher says (Polit. i, 3), viz. natural and
artificial. Natural wealth is that which serves man
as a remedy for his natural wants: such as food,
drink, clothing, cars, dwellings, and such like,
while artificial wealth is that which is not a direct
help to nature, as money, but is invented by the
art of man, for the convenience of exchange, and
as a measure of things salable.
Now it is evident that man's happiness cannot
consist in natural wealth. For wealth of this kind is
sought for the sake of something else, viz. as a
support of human nature: consequently it cannot
be man's last end, rather is it ordained to man as
to its end. Wherefore in the order of nature, all
such things are below man, and made for him,
according to Ps. 8:8: "Thou hast subjected all
things under his feet."
And as to artificial wealth, it is not sought save for
the sake of natural wealth; since man would not
seek it except because, by its means, he procures
for himself the necessaries of life. Consequently
much less can it be considered in the light of the
last end. Therefore it is impossible for happiness,
which is the last end of man, to consist in wealth.
Reply Obj. 1: All material things obey money, so
far as the multitude of fools is concerned, who
know no other than material goods, which can be
obtained for money. But we should take our
157
estimation of human goods not from the foolish
but from the wise: just as it is for a person whose
sense of taste is in good order, to judge whether a
thing is palatable.
Reply Obj. 2: All things salable can be had for
money: not so spiritual things, which cannot be
sold. Hence it is written (Prov. 17:16): "What doth
it avail a fool to have riches, seeing he cannot buy
wisdom."
Reply Obj. 3: The desire for natural riches is not
infinite: because they suffice for nature in a
certain measure. But the desire for artificial wealth
is infinite, for it is the servant of disordered
concupiscence, which is not curbed, as the
Philosopher makes clear (Polit. i, 3). Yet this desire
for wealth is infinite otherwise than the desire for
the sovereign good. For the more perfectly the
sovereign good is possessed, the more it is loved,
and other things despised: because the more we
possess it, the more we know it. Hence it is
written (Ecclus. 24:29): "They that eat me shall yet
hunger." Whereas in the desire for wealth and for
whatsoever temporal goods, the contrary is the
case: for when we already possess them, we
despise them, and seek others: which is the sense
of Our Lord's words (John 4:13): "Whosoever
drinketh of this water," by which temporal goods
are signified, "shall thirst again." The reason of
this is that we realize more their insufficiency
when we possess them: and this very fact shows
that they are imperfect, and the sovereign good
does not consist therein.
^Q. 2
Art. 2: Whether man's happiness consists in
honors?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in
honors.
Obj. 1: For happiness or bliss is "the reward of
virtue," as the Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 9). But
honor more than anything else seems to be that
by which virtue is rewarded, as the Philosopher
says (Ethic. iv, 3). Therefore happiness consists
especially in honor.
Obj. 2: Further, that which belongs to God and to
persons of great excellence seems especially to be
happiness, which is the perfect good. But that is
honor, as the Philosopher says (Ethic. iv, 3).
Moreover, the Apostle says (1 Tim. 1:17): "To . . .
the only God be honor and glory." Therefore
happiness consists in honor.
Obj. 3: Further, that which man desires above all is
happiness. But nothing seems more desirable to
man than honor: since man suffers loss in all other
things, lest he should suffer loss of honor.
Therefore happiness consists in honor.
On the contrary, Happiness is in the happy. But
honor is not in the honored, but rather in him
who honors, and who offers deference to the
person honored, as the Philosopher says (Ethic. i,
5). Therefore happiness does not consist in honor.
I answer that, It is impossible for happiness to
consist in honor. For honor is given to a man on
account of some excellence in him; and
consequently it is a sign and attestation of the
excellence that is in the person honored. Now a
man's excellence is in proportion, especially to his
happiness, which is man's perfect good; and to its
parts, i.e. those goods by which he has a certain
share of happiness. And therefore honor can result
from happiness, but happiness cannot principally
consist therein.
Reply Obj. 1: As the Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 5),
honor is not that reward of virtue, for which the
virtuous work: but they receive honor from men
by way of reward, "as from those who have
nothing greater to offer." But virtue's true reward
is happiness itself, for which the virtuous work:
whereas if they worked for honor, it would no
longer be a virtue, but ambition.
Reply Obj. 2: Honor is due to God and to persons
of great excellence as a sign of attestation of
excellence already existing: not that honor makes
them excellent.
Reply Obj. 3: That man desires honor above all
else, arises from his natural desire for happiness,
from which honor results, as stated above.
Wherefore man seeks to be honored especially by
the wise, on whose judgment he believes himself
to be excellent or happy.
^Q. 2
158
Art. 3: Whether man's happiness consists in fame
or glory?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in
glory.
Obj. 1: For happiness seems to consist in that
which is paid to the saints for the trials they have
undergone in the world. But this is glory: for the
Apostle says (Rom. 8:18): "The sufferings of this
time are not worthy to be compared with the glory
to come, that shall be revealed in us." Therefore
happiness consists in glory.
Obj. 2: Further, good is diffusive of itself, as stated
by Dionysius (Div. Nom. iv). But man's good is
spread abroad in the knowledge of others by glory
more than by anything else: since, according to
Ambrose [*Augustine, Contra Maxim. Arian. ii. 13],
glory consists "in being well known and praised."
Therefore man's happiness consists in glory.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness is the most enduring
good. Now this seems to be fame or glory; because
by this men attain to eternity after a fashion.
Hence Boethius says (De Consol. ii): "You seem to
beget unto yourselves eternity, when you think of
your fame in future time." Therefore man's
happiness consists in fame or glory.
On the contrary, Happiness is man's true good.
But it happens that fame or glory is false: for as
Boethius says (De Consol. iii), "many owe their
renown to the lying reports spread among the
people. Can anything be more shameful? For
those who receive false fame, must needs blush at
their own praise." Therefore man's happiness does
not consist in fame or glory.
I answer that, Man's happiness cannot consist in
human fame or glory. For glory consists "in being
well known and praised," as Ambrose [*Augustine,
Contra Maxim. Arian. ii, 13] says. Now the thing
known is related to human knowledge otherwise
than to God's knowledge: for human knowledge is
caused by the things known, whereas God's
knowledge is the cause of the things known.
Wherefore the perfection of human good, which is
called happiness, cannot be caused by human
knowledge: but rather human knowledge of
another's happiness proceeds from, and, in a
fashion, is caused by, human happiness itself,
inchoate or perfect. Consequently man's
happiness cannot consist in fame or glory. On the
other hand, man's good depends on God's
knowledge as its cause. And therefore man's
beatitude depends, as on its cause, on the glory
which man has with God; according to Ps. 90:15,
16: "I will deliver him, and I will glorify him; I will
fill him with length of days, and I will show him
my salvation."
Furthermore, we must observe that human
knowledge often fails, especially in contingent
singulars, such as are human acts. For this reason
human glory is frequently deceptive. But since
God cannot be deceived, His glory is always true;
hence it is written (2 Cor. 10:18): "He . . . is
approved . . . whom God commendeth."
Reply Obj. 1: The Apostle speaks, then, not of the
glory which is with men, but of the glory which is
from God, with His Angels. Hence it is written
(Mk. 8:38): "The Son of Man shall confess him in
the glory of His Father, before His angels" [*St.
Thomas joins Mk. 8:38 with Luke 12:8 owing to a
possible variant in his text, or to the fact that he
was quoting from memory].
Reply Obj. 2: A man's good which, through fame
or glory, is in the knowledge of many, if this
knowledge be true, must needs be derived from
good existing in the man himself: and hence it
presupposes perfect or inchoate happiness. But if
the knowledge be false, it does not harmonize
with the thing: and thus good does not exist in
him who is looked upon as famous. Hence it
follows that fame can nowise make man happy.
Reply Obj. 3: Fame has no stability; in fact, it is
easily ruined by false report. And if sometimes it
endures, this is by accident. But happiness
endures of itself, and for ever.
^Q. 2
Art. 4: Whether man's happiness consists in
power?
It would seem that happiness consists in power.
Obj. 1: For all things desire to become like to God,
as to their last end and first beginning. But men
who are in power, seem, on account of the
similarity of power, to be most like to God: hence
also in Scripture they are called "gods" (Ex. 22:28),
159
"Thou shalt not speak ill of the gods." Therefore
happiness consists in power.
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is the perfect good. But
the highest perfection for man is to be able to rule
others; which belongs to those who are in power.
Therefore happiness consists in power.
Obj. 3: Further, since happiness is supremely
desirable, it is contrary to that which is before all
to be shunned. But, more than aught else, men
shun servitude, which is contrary to power.
Therefore happiness consists in power.
On the contrary, Happiness is the perfect good.
But power is most imperfect. For as Boethius says
(De Consol. iii), "the power of man cannot relieve
the gnawings of care, nor can it avoid the thorny
path of anxiety": and further on: "Think you a man
is powerful who is surrounded by attendants,
whom he inspires with fear indeed, but whom he
fears still more?"
I answer that, It is impossible for happiness to
consist in power; and this for two reasons. First
because power has the nature of principle, as is
stated in Metaph. v, 12, whereas happiness has the
nature of last end. Secondly, because power has
relation to good and evil: whereas happiness is
man's proper and perfect good. Wherefore some
happiness might consist in the good use of power,
which is by virtue, rather than in power itself.
Now four general reasons may be given to prove
that happiness consists in none of the foregoing
external goods. First, because, since happiness is
man's supreme good, it is incompatible with any
evil. Now all the foregoing can be found both in
good and in evil men. Secondly, because, since it is
the nature of happiness to "satisfy of itself," as
stated in Ethic. i, 7, having gained happiness, man
cannot lack any needful good. But after acquiring
any one of the foregoing, man may still lack many
goods that are necessary to him; for instance,
wisdom, bodily health, and such like. Thirdly,
because, since happiness is the perfect good, no
evil can accrue to anyone therefrom. This cannot
be said of the foregoing: for it is written (Eccles.
5:12) that "riches" are sometimes "kept to the hurt
of the owner"; and the same may be said of the
other three. Fourthly, because man is ordained to
happiness through principles that are in him;
since he is ordained thereto naturally. Now the
four goods mentioned above are due rather to
external causes, and in most cases to fortune; for
which reason they are called goods of fortune.
Therefore it is evident that happiness nowise
consists in the foregoing.
Reply Obj. 1: God's power is His goodness: hence
He cannot use His power otherwise than well. But
it is not so with men. Consequently it is not
enough for man's happiness, that he become like
God in power, unless he become like Him in
goodness also.
Reply Obj. 2: Just as it is a very good thing for a
man to make good use of power in ruling many, so
is it a very bad thing if he makes a bad use of it.
And so it is that power is towards good and evil.
Reply Obj. 3: Servitude is a hindrance to the good
use of power: therefore is it that men naturally
shun it; not because man's supreme good consists
in power.
^Q. 2
Art. 5: Whether man's happiness consists in any
bodily good?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in
bodily goods.
Obj. 1: For it is written (Ecclus. 30:16): "There is no
riches above the riches of the health of the body."
But happiness consists in that which is best.
Therefore it consists in the health of the body.
Obj. 2: Further, Dionysius says (Div. Nom. v), that
"to be" is better than "to live," and "to live" is
better than all that follows. But for man's being
and living, the health of the body is necessary.
Since, therefore, happiness is man's supreme
good, it seems that health of the body belongs
more than anything else to happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, the more universal a thing is, the
higher the principle from which it depends;
because the higher a cause is, the greater the
scope of its power. Now just as the causality of the
efficient cause consists in its flowing into
something, so the causality of the end consists in
its drawing the appetite. Therefore, just as the
First Cause is that which flows into all things, so
the last end is that which attracts the desire of all.
But being itself is that which is most desired by all.
160
Therefore man's happiness consists most of all in
things pertaining to his being, such as the health
of the body.
On the contrary, Man surpasses all other animals
in regard to happiness. But in bodily goods he is
surpassed by many animals; for instance, by the
elephant in longevity, by the lion in strength, by
the stag in fleetness. Therefore man's happiness
does not consist in goods of the body.
I answer that, It is impossible for man's happiness
to consist in the goods of the body; and this for
two reasons. First, because, if a thing be ordained
to another as to its end, its last end cannot consist
in the preservation of its being. Hence a captain
does not intend as a last end, the preservation of
the ship entrusted to him, since a ship is ordained
to something else as its end, viz. to navigation.
Now just as the ship is entrusted to the captain
that he may steer its course, so man is given over
to his will and reason; according to Ecclus. 15:14:
"God made man from the beginning and left him
in the hand of his own counsel." Now it is evident
that man is ordained to something as his end:
since man is not the supreme good. Therefore the
last end of man's reason and will cannot be the
preservation of man's being.
Secondly, because, granted that the end of man's
will and reason be the preservation of man's being,
it could not be said that the end of man is some
good of the body. For man's being consists in soul
and body; and though the being of the body
depends on the soul, yet the being of the human
soul depends not on the body, as shown above (I,
Q. 75, A. 2); and the very body is for the soul, as
matter for its form, and the instruments for the
man that puts them into motion, that by their
means he may do his work. Wherefore all goods of
the body are ordained to the goods of the soul, as
to their end. Consequently happiness, which is
man's last end, cannot consist in goods of the
body.
Reply Obj. 1: Just as the body is ordained to the
soul, as its end, so are external goods ordained to
the body itself. And therefore it is with reason that
the good of the body is preferred to external
goods, which are signified by "riches," just as the
good of the soul is preferred to all bodily goods.
Reply Obj. 2: Being taken simply, as including all
perfection of being, surpasses life and all that
follows it; for thus being itself includes all these.
And in this sense Dionysius speaks. But if we
consider being itself as participated in this or that
thing, which does not possess the whole
perfection of being, but has imperfect being, such
as the being of any creature; then it is evident that
being itself together with an additional perfection
is more excellent. Hence in the same passage
Dionysius says that things that live are better than
things that exist, and intelligent better than living
things.
Reply Obj. 3: Since the end corresponds to the
beginning; this argument proves that the last end
is the first beginning of being, in Whom every
perfection of being is: Whose likeness, according
to their proportion, some desire as to being only,
some as to living being, some as to being which is
living, intelligent and happy. And this belongs to
few.
^Q. 2
Art. 6: Whether man's happiness consists in
pleasure?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in
pleasure.
Obj. 1: For since happiness is the last end, it is not
desired for something else, but other things for it.
But this answers to pleasure more than to
anything else: "for it is absurd to ask anyone what
is his motive in wishing to be pleased" (Ethic. x, 2).
Therefore happiness consists principally in
pleasure and delight.
Obj. 2: Further, "the first cause goes more deeply
into the effect than the second cause" (De Causis
i). Now the causality of the end consists in its
attracting the appetite. Therefore, seemingly that
which moves most the appetite, answers to the
notion of the last end. Now this is pleasure: and a
sign of this is that delight so far absorbs man's will
and reason, that it causes him to despise other
goods. Therefore it seems that man's last end,
which is happiness, consists principally in
pleasure.
Obj. 3: Further, since desire is for good, it seems
that what all desire is best. But all desire delight;
161
both wise and foolish, and even irrational
creatures. Therefore delight is the best of all.
Therefore happiness, which is the supreme good,
consists in pleasure.
On the contrary, Boethius says (De Consol. iii):
"Any one that chooses to look back on his past
excesses, will perceive that pleasures had a sad
ending: and if they can render a man happy, there
is no reason why we should not say that the very
beasts are happy too."
I answer that, Because bodily delights are more
generally known, "the name of pleasure has been
appropriated to them" (Ethic. vii, 13), although
other delights excel them: and yet happiness does
not consist in them. Because in every thing, that
which pertains to its essence is distinct from its
proper accident: thus in man it is one thing that
he is a mortal rational animal, and another that he
is a risible animal. We must therefore consider
that every delight is a proper accident resulting
from happiness, or from some part of happiness;
since the reason that a man is delighted is that he
has some fitting good, either in reality, or in hope,
or at least in memory. Now a fitting good, if
indeed it be the perfect good, is precisely man's
happiness: and if it is imperfect, it is a share of
happiness, either proximate, or remote, or at least
apparent. Therefore it is evident that neither is
delight, which results from the perfect good, the
very essence of happiness, but something resulting
therefrom as its proper accident.
But bodily pleasure cannot result from the perfect
good even in that way. For it results from a good
apprehended by sense, which is a power of the
soul, which power makes use of the body. Now
good pertaining to the body, and apprehended by
sense, cannot be man's perfect good. For since the
rational soul excels the capacity of corporeal
matter, that part of the soul which is independent
of a corporeal organ, has a certain infinity in
regard to the body and those parts of the soul
which are tied down to the body: just as
immaterial things are in a way infinite as
compared to material things, since a form is, after
a fashion, contracted and bounded by matter, so
that a form which is independent of matter is, in a
way, infinite. Therefore sense, which is a power of
the body, knows the singular, which is
determinate through matter: whereas the
intellect, which is a power independent of matter,
knows the universal, which is abstracted from
matter, and contains an infinite number of
singulars. Consequently it is evident that good
which is fitting to the body, and which causes
bodily delight through being apprehended by
sense, is not man's perfect good, but is quite a
trifle as compared with the good of the soul.
Hence it is written (Wis. 7:9) that "all gold in
comparison of her, is as a little sand." And
therefore bodily pleasure is neither happiness
itself, nor a proper accident of happiness.
Reply Obj. 1: It comes to the same whether we
desire good, or desire delight, which is nothing
else than the appetite's rest in good: thus it is
owing to the same natural force that a weighty
body is borne downwards and that it rests there.
Consequently just as good is desired for itself, so
delight is desired for itself and not for anything
else, if the preposition "for" denote the final cause.
But if it denote the formal or rather the motive
cause, thus delight is desirable for something else,
i.e. for the good, which is the object of that
delight, and consequently is its principle, and
gives it its form: for the reason that delight is
desired is that it is rest in the thing desired.
Reply Obj. 2: The vehemence of desire for sensible
delight arises from the fact that operations of the
senses, through being the principles of our
knowledge, are more perceptible. And so it is that
sensible pleasures are desired by the majority.
Reply Obj. 3: All desire delight in the same way as
they desire good: and yet they desire delight by
reason of the good and not conversely, as stated
above (ad 1). Consequently it does not follow that
delight is the supreme and essential good, but that
every delight results from some good, and that
some delight results from that which is the
essential and supreme good.
^Q. 2
Art. 7: Whether some good of the soul constitutes
man's happiness?
It would seem that some good of the soul
constitutes man's happiness.
Obj. 1: For happiness is man's good. Now this is
threefold: external goods, goods of the body, and
goods of the soul. But happiness does not consist
162
in external goods, nor in goods of the body, as
shown above (AA. 4, 5). Therefore it consists in
goods of the soul.
Obj. 2: Further, we love that for which we desire
good, more than the good that we desire for it:
thus we love a friend for whom we desire money,
more than we love money. But whatever good a
man desires, he desires it for himself. Therefore he
loves himself more than all other goods. Now
happiness is what is loved above all: which is
evident from the fact that for its sake all else is
loved and desired. Therefore happiness consists in
some good of man himself: not, however, in goods
of the body; therefore, in goods of the soul.
Obj. 3: Further, perfection is something belonging
to that which is perfected. But happiness is a
perfection of man. Therefore happiness is
something belonging to man. But it is not
something belonging to the body, as shown above
(A. 5). Therefore it is something belonging to the
soul; and thus it consists in goods of the soul.
On the contrary, As Augustine says (De Doctr.
Christ. i, 22), "that which constitutes the life of
happiness is to be loved for its own sake." But man
is not to be loved for his own sake, but whatever is
in man is to be loved for God's sake. Therefore
happiness consists in no good of the soul.
I answer that, As stated above (Q. 1, A. 8), the end
is twofold: namely, the thing itself, which we
desire to attain, and the use, namely, the
attainment or possession of that thing. If, then, we
speak of man's last end, it is impossible for man's
last end to be the soul itself or something
belonging to it. Because the soul, considered in
itself, is as something existing in potentiality: for it
becomes knowing actually, from being potentially
knowing; and actually virtuous, from being
potentially virtuous. Now since potentiality is for
the sake of act as for its fulfilment, that which in
itself is in potentiality cannot be the last end.
Therefore the soul itself cannot be its own last
end.
In like manner neither can anything belonging to
it, whether power, habit, or act. For that good
which is the last end, is the perfect good fulfilling
the desire. Now man's appetite, otherwise the will,
is for the universal good. And any good inherent
to the soul is a participated good, and
consequently a portioned good. Therefore none of
them can be man's last end.
But if we speak of man's last end, as to the
attainment or possession thereof, or as to any use
whatever of the thing itself desired as an end, thus
does something of man, in respect of his soul,
belong to his last end: since man attains happiness
through his soul. Therefore the thing itself which
is desired as end, is that which constitutes
happiness, and makes man happy; but the
attainment of this thing is called happiness.
Consequently we must say that happiness is
something belonging to the soul; but that which
constitutes happiness is something outside the
soul.
Reply Obj. 1: Inasmuch as this division includes all
goods that man can desire, thus the good of the
soul is not only power, habit, or act, but also the
object of these, which is something outside. And
in this way nothing hinders us from saying that
what constitutes happiness is a good of the soul.
Reply Obj. 2: As far as the proposed objection is
concerned, happiness is loved above all, as the
good desired; whereas a friend is loved as that for
which good is desired; and thus, too, man loves
himself. Consequently it is not the same kind of
love in both cases. As to whether man loves
anything more than himself with the love of
friendship there will be occasion to inquire when
we treat of Charity.
Reply Obj. 3: Happiness, itself, since it is a
perfection of the soul, is an inherent good of the
soul; but that which constitutes happiness, viz.
which makes man happy, is something outside his
soul, as stated above.
^Q. 2
Art. 8: Whether any created good constitutes
man's happiness?
It would seem that some created good constitutes
man's happiness.
Obj. 1: For Dionysius says (Div. Nom. vii) that
Divine wisdom "unites the ends of first things to
the beginnings of second things," from which we
may gather that the summit of a lower nature
touches the base of the higher nature. But man's
163
highest good is happiness. Since then the angel is
above man in the order of nature, as stated in the
First Part (Q. 111, A. 1), it seems that man's
happiness consists in man somehow reaching the
angel.
Obj. 2: Further, the last end of each thing is that
which, in relation to it, is perfect: hence the part is
for the whole, as for its end. But the universe of
creatures which is called the macrocosm, is
compared to man who is called the microcosm
(Phys. viii, 2), as perfect to imperfect. Therefore
man's happiness consists in the whole universe of
creatures.
Obj. 3: Further, man is made happy by that which
lulls his natural desire. But man's natural desire
does not reach out to a good surpassing his
capacity. Since then man's capacity does not
include that good which surpasses the limits of all
creation, it seems that man can be made happy by
some created good. Consequently some created
good constitutes man's happiness.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xix,
26): "As the soul is the life of the body, so God is
man's life of happiness: of Whom it is written:
'Happy is that people whose God is the Lord' (Ps.
143:15)."
I answer that, It is impossible for any created good
to constitute man's happiness. For happiness is
the perfect good, which lulls the appetite
altogether; else it would not be the last end, if
something yet remained to be desired. Now the
object of the will, i.e. of man's appetite, is the
universal good; just as the object of the intellect is
the universal true. Hence it is evident that naught
can lull man's will, save the universal good. This is
to be found, not in any creature, but in God alone;
because every creature has goodness by
participation. Wherefore God alone can satisfy the
will of man, according to the words of Ps. 102:5:
"Who satisfieth thy desire with good things."
Therefore God alone constitutes man's happiness.
Reply Obj. 1: The summit of man does indeed
touch the base of the angelic nature, by a kind of
likeness; but man does not rest there as in his last
end, but reaches out to the universal fount itself of
good, which is the common object of happiness of
all the blessed, as being the infinite and perfect
good.
Reply Obj. 2: If a whole be not the last end, but
ordained to a further end, then the last end of a
part thereof is not the whole itself, but something
else. Now the universe of creatures, to which man
is compared as part to whole, is not the last end,
but is ordained to God, as to its last end. Therefore
the last end of man is not the good of the
universe, but God himself.
Reply Obj. 3: Created good is not less than that
good of which man is capable, as of something
intrinsic and inherent to him: but it is less than
the good of which he is capable, as of an object,
and which is infinite. And the participated good
which is in an angel, and in the whole universe, is
a finite and restricted good.
^Q. 2
QUESTION 3: WHAT IS HAPPINESS
^TOC
We have now to consider
(1) what happiness is, and
(2) what things are required for it.
Concerning the first there are eight points of
inquiry:
(1) Whether happiness is something uncreated?
(2) If it be something created, whether it is an
operation?
(3) Whether it is an operation of the sensitive, or
only of the intellectual part?
(4) If it be an operation of the intellectual part,
whether it is an operation of the intellect, or of the
will?
(5) If it be an operation of the intellect, whether it
is an operation of the speculative or of the
practical intellect?
(6) If it be an operation of the speculative
intellect, whether it consists in the consideration
of speculative sciences?
(7) Whether it consists in the consideration of
separate substances viz. angels?
164
(8) Whether it consists in the sole contemplation
of God seen in His Essence?
Art. 1: Whether happiness is something
uncreated?
It would seem that happiness is something
uncreated.
Obj. 1: For Boethius says (De Consol. iii): "We
must needs confess that God is happiness itself."
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is the supreme good.
But it belongs to God to be the supreme good.
Since, then, there are not several supreme goods,
it seems that happiness is the same as God.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness is the last end, to which
man's will tends naturally. But man's will should
tend to nothing else as an end, but to God, Who
alone is to be enjoyed, as Augustine says (De
Doctr. Christ. i, 5, 22). Therefore happiness is the
same as God.
On the contrary, Nothing made is uncreated. But
man's happiness is something made; because
according to Augustine (De Doctr. Christ. i, 3):
"Those things are to be enjoyed which make us
happy." Therefore happiness is not something
uncreated.
I answer that, As stated above (Q. 1, A. 8; Q. 2, A.
7), our end is twofold. First, there is the thing
itself which we desire to attain: thus for the miser,
the end is money. Secondly there is the
attainment or possession, the use or enjoyment of
the thing desired; thus we may say that the end of
the miser is the possession of money; and the end
of the intemperate man is to enjoy something
pleasurable. In the first sense, then, man's last end
is the uncreated good, namely, God, Who alone by
His infinite goodness can perfectly satisfy man's
will. But in the second way, man's last end is
something created, existing in him, and this is
nothing else than the attainment or enjoyment of
the last end. Now the last end is called happiness.
If, therefore, we consider man's happiness in its
cause or object, then it is something uncreated;
but if we consider it as to the very essence of
happiness, then it is something created.
Reply Obj. 1: God is happiness by His Essence: for
He is happy not by acquisition or participation of
something else, but by His Essence. On the other
hand, men are happy, as Boethius says (De Consol.
iii), by participation; just as they are called "gods,"
by participation. And this participation of
happiness, in respect of which man is said to be
happy, is something created.
Reply Obj. 2: Happiness is called man's supreme
good, because it is the attainment or enjoyment of
the supreme good.
Reply Obj. 3: Happiness is said to be the last end,
in the same way as the attainment of the end is
called the end.
^Q. 3
Art. 2: Whether happiness is an operation?
It would seem that happiness is not an operation.
Obj. 1: For the Apostle says (Rom. 6:22): "You have
your fruit unto sanctification, and the end, life
everlasting." But life is not an operation, but the
very being of living things. Therefore the last end,
which is happiness, is not an operation.
Obj. 2: Further, Boethius says (De Consol. iii) that
happiness is "a state made perfect by the aggregate
of all good things." But state does not indicate
operation. Therefore happiness is not an
operation.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness signifies something
existing in the happy one: since it is man's final
perfection. But the meaning of operation does not
imply anything existing in the operator, but rather
something proceeding therefrom. Therefore
happiness is not an operation.
Obj. 4: Further, happiness remains in the happy
one. Now operation does not remain, but passes.
Therefore happiness is not an operation.
Obj. 5: Further, to one man there is one happiness.
But operations are many. Therefore happiness is
not an operation.
Obj. 6: Further, happiness is in the happy one
uninterruptedly. But human operation is often
interrupted; for instance, by sleep, or some other
occupation, or by cessation. Therefore happiness
is not an operation.
165
On the contrary, The Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 13)
that "happiness is an operation according to
perfect virtue."
I answer that, In so far as man's happiness is
something created, existing in him, we must needs
say that it is an operation. For happiness is man's
supreme perfection. Now each thing is perfect in
so far as it is actual; since potentiality without act
is imperfect. Consequently happiness must consist
in man's last act. But it is evident that operation is
the last act of the operator, wherefore the
Philosopher calls it "second act" (De Anima ii, 1):
because that which has a form can be potentially
operating, just as he who knows is potentially
considering. And hence it is that in other things,
too, each one is said to be "for its operation" (De
Coel ii, 3). Therefore man's happiness must of
necessity consist in an operation.
Reply Obj. 1: Life is taken in two senses. First for
the very being of the living. And thus happiness is
not life: since it has been shown (Q. 2, A. 5) that
the being of a man, no matter in what it may
consist, is not that man's happiness; for of God
alone is it true that His Being is His Happiness.
Secondly, life means the operation of the living, by
which operation the principle of life is made
actual: thus we speak of active and contemplative
life, or of a life of pleasure. And in this sense
eternal life is said to be the last end, as is clear
from John 17:3: "This is eternal life, that they may
know Thee, the only true God."
Reply Obj. 2: Boethius, in defining happiness,
considered happiness in general: for considered
thus it is the perfect common good; and he
signified this by saying that happiness is "a state
made perfect by the aggregate of all good things,"
thus implying that the state of a happy man
consists in possessing the perfect good. But
Aristotle expressed the very essence of happiness,
showing by what man is established in this state,
and that it is by some kind of operation. And so it
is that he proves happiness to be "the perfect
good" (Ethic. i, 7).
Reply Obj. 3: As stated in Metaph. ix, 7 action is
twofold. One proceeds from the agent into
outward matter, such as "to burn" and "to cut."
And such an operation cannot be happiness: for
such an operation is an action and a perfection,
not of the agent, but rather of the patient, as is
stated in the same passage. The other is an action
that remains in the agent, such as to feel, to
understand, and to will: and such an action is a
perfection and an act of the agent. And such an
operation can be happiness.
Reply Obj. 4: Since happiness signifies some final
perfection; according as various things capable of
happiness can attain to various degrees of
perfection, so must there be various meanings
applied to happiness. For in God there is
happiness essentially; since His very Being is His
operation, whereby He enjoys no other than
Himself. In the happy angels, the final perfection
is in respect of some operation, by which they are
united to the Uncreated Good: and this operation
of theirs is one only and everlasting. But in men,
according to their present state of life, the final
perfection is in respect of an operation whereby
man is united to God: but this operation neither
can be continual, nor, consequently, is it one only,
because operation is multiplied by being
discontinued. And for this reason in the present
state of life, perfect happiness cannot be attained
by man. Wherefore the Philosopher, in placing
man's happiness in this life (Ethic. i, 10), says that
it is imperfect, and after a long discussion,
concludes: "We call men happy, but only as men."
But God has promised us perfect happiness, when
we shall be "as the angels . . . in heaven" (Matt.
22:30).
Consequently in regard to this perfect happiness,
the objection fails: because in that state of
happiness, man's mind will be united to God by
one, continual, everlasting operation. But in the
present life, in as far as we fall short of the unity
and continuity of that operation so do we fall
short of perfect happiness. Nevertheless it is a
participation of happiness: and so much the
greater, as the operation can be more continuous
and more one. Consequently the active life, which
is busy with many things, has less of happiness
than the contemplative life, which is busied with
one thing, i.e. the contemplation of truth. And if
at any time man is not actually engaged in this
operation, yet since he can always easily turn to it,
and since he ordains the very cessation, by
sleeping or occupying himself otherwise, to the
aforesaid occupation, the latter seems, as it were,
continuous. From these remarks the replies to
Objections 5 and 6 are evident.
166
^Q. 3
Art. 3: Whether happiness is an operation of the
sensitive part, or of the intellective part only?
It would seem that happiness consists in an
operation of the senses also.
Obj. 1: For there is no more excellent operation in
man than that of the senses, except the intellective
operation. But in us the intellective operation
depends on the sensitive: since "we cannot
understand without a phantasm" (De Anima iii, 7).
Therefore happiness consists in an operation of
the senses also.
Obj. 2: Further, Boethius says (De Consol. iii) that
happiness is "a state made perfect by the aggregate
of all good things." But some goods are sensible,
which we attain by the operation of the senses.
Therefore it seems that the operation of the senses
is needed for happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness is the perfect good, as
we find proved in Ethic. i, 7: which would not be
true, were not man perfected thereby in all his
parts. But some parts of the soul are perfected by
sensitive operations. Therefore sensitive operation
is required for happiness.
On the contrary, Irrational animals have the
sensitive operation in common with us: but they
have not happiness in common with us. Therefore
happiness does not consist in a sensitive
operation.
I answer that, A thing may belong to happiness in
three ways: (1) essentially, (2) antecedently, (3)
consequently. Now the operation of sense cannot
belong to happiness essentially. For man's
happiness consists essentially in his being united
to the Uncreated Good, Which is his last end, as
shown above (A. 1): to Which man cannot be
united by an operation of his senses. Again, in like
manner, because, as shown above (Q. 2, A. 5),
man's happiness does not consist in goods of the
body, which goods alone, however, we attain
through the operation of the senses.
Nevertheless the operations of the senses can
belong to happiness, both antecedently and
consequently: antecedently, in respect of
imperfect happiness, such as can be had in this
life, since the operation of the intellect demands a
previous operation of the sense; consequently, in
that perfect happiness which we await in heaven;
because at the resurrection, "from the very
happiness of the soul," as Augustine says (Ep. ad
Dioscor.) "the body and the bodily senses will
receive a certain overflow, so as to be perfected in
their operations"; a point which will be explained
further on when we treat of the resurrection
(Suppl. QQ. 82-85). But then the operation
whereby man's mind is united to God will not
depend on the senses.
Reply Obj. 1: This objection proves that the
operation of the senses is required antecedently
for imperfect happiness, such as can be had in this
life.
Reply Obj. 2: Perfect happiness, such as the angels
have, includes the aggregate of all good things, by
being united to the universal source of all good;
not that it requires each individual good. But in
this imperfect happiness, we need the aggregate of
those goods that suffice for the most perfect
operation of this life.
Reply Obj. 3: In perfect happiness the entire man
is perfected, in the lower part of his nature, by an
overflow from the higher. But in the imperfect
happiness of this life, it is otherwise; we advance
from the perfection of the lower part to the
perfection of the higher part.
^Q. 3
Art. 4: Whether, if happiness is in the intellective
part, it is an operation of the intellect or of the
will?
It would seem that happiness consists in an act of
the will.
Obj. 1: For Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xix, 10, 11),
that man's happiness consists in peace; wherefore
it is written (Ps. 147:3): "Who hath placed peace in
thy end [Douay: 'borders']". But peace pertains to
the will. Therefore man's happiness is in the will.
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is the supreme good.
But good is the object of the will. Therefore
happiness consists in an operation of the will.
Obj. 3: Further, the last end corresponds to the
first mover: thus the last end of the whole army is
167
victory, which is the end of the general, who
moves all the men. But the first mover in regard to
operations is the will: because it moves the other
powers, as we shall state further on (Q. 9, AA. 1, 3).
Therefore happiness regards the will.
Obj. 4: Further, if happiness be an operation, it
must needs be man's most excellent operation.
But the love of God, which is an act of the will, is a
more excellent operation than knowledge, which
is an operation of the intellect, as the Apostle
declares (1 Cor. 13). Therefore it seems that
happiness consists in an act of the will.
Obj. 5: Further, Augustine says (De Trin. xiii, 5)
that "happy is he who has whatever he desires,
and desires nothing amiss." And a little further on
(6) he adds: "He is most happy who desires well,
whatever he desires: for good things make a man
happy, and such a man already possesses some
good—i.e. a good will." Therefore happiness
consists in an act of the will.
On the contrary, Our Lord said (John 17:3): "This is
eternal life: that they may know Thee, the only
true God." Now eternal life is the last end, as
stated above (A. 2, ad 1). Therefore man's
happiness consists in the knowledge of God,
which is an act of the intellect.
I answer that, As stated above (Q. 2, A. 6) two
things are needed for happiness: one, which is the
essence of happiness: the other, that is, as it were,
its proper accident, i.e. the delight connected with
it. I say, then, that as to the very essence of
happiness, it is impossible for it to consist in an
act of the will. For it is evident from what has been
said (AA. 1, 2; Q. 2, A. 7) that happiness is the
attainment of the last end. But the attainment of
the end does not consist in the very act of the will.
For the will is directed to the end, both absent,
when it desires it; and present, when it is
delighted by resting therein. Now it is evident that
the desire itself of the end is not the attainment of
the end, but is a movement towards the end: while
delight comes to the will from the end being
present; and not conversely, is a thing made
present, by the fact that the will delights in it.
Therefore, that the end be present to him who
desires it, must be due to something else than an
act of the will.
This is evidently the case in regard to sensible
ends. For if the acquisition of money were through
an act of the will, the covetous man would have it
from the very moment that he wished for it. But at
the moment it is far from him; and he attains it, by
grasping it in his hand, or in some like manner;
and then he delights in the money got. And so it is
with an intelligible end. For at first we desire to
attain an intelligible end; we attain it, through its
being made present to us by an act of the intellect;
and then the delighted will rests in the end when
attained.
So, therefore, the essence of happiness consists in
an act of the intellect: but the delight that results
from happiness pertains to the will. In this sense
Augustine says (Confess. x, 23) that happiness is
"joy in truth," because, to wit, joy itself is the
consummation of happiness.
Reply Obj. 1: Peace pertains to man's last end, not
as though it were the very essence of happiness;
but because it is antecedent and consequent
thereto: antecedent, in so far as all those things
are removed which disturb and hinder man in
attaining the last end: consequent inasmuch as
when man has attained his last end, he remains at
peace, his desire being at rest.
Reply Obj. 2: The will's first object is not its act:
just as neither is the first object of the sight,
vision, but a visible thing. Wherefore, from the
very fact that happiness belongs to the will, as the
will's first object, it follows that it does not belong
to it as its act.
Reply Obj. 3: The intellect apprehends the end
before the will does: yet motion towards the end
begins in the will. And therefore to the will
belongs that which last of all follows the
attainment of the end, viz. delight or enjoyment.
Reply Obj. 4: Love ranks above knowledge in
moving, but knowledge precedes love in attaining:
for "naught is loved save what is known," as
Augustine says (De Trin. x, 1). Consequently we
first attain an intelligible end by an act of the
intellect; just as we first attain a sensible end by an
act of sense.
Reply Obj. 5: He who has whatever he desires, is
happy, because he has what he desires: and this
indeed is by something other than the act of his
168
will. But to desire nothing amiss is needed for
happiness, as a necessary disposition thereto. And
a good will is reckoned among the good things
which make a man happy, forasmuch as it is an
inclination of the will: just as a movement is
reduced to the genus of its terminus, for instance,
"alteration" to the genus "quality."
^Q. 3
Art. 5: Whether happiness is an operation of the
speculative, or of the practical intellect?
It would seem that happiness is an operation of
the practical intellect.
Obj. 1: For the end of every creature consists in
becoming like God. But man is like God, by his
practical intellect, which is the cause of things
understood, rather than by his speculative
intellect, which derives its knowledge from things.
Therefore man's happiness consists in an
operation of the practical intellect rather than of
the speculative.
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is man's perfect good.
But the practical intellect is ordained to the good
rather than the speculative intellect, which is
ordained to the true. Hence we are said to be
good, in reference to the perfection of the
practical intellect, but not in reference to the
perfection of the speculative intellect, according to
which we are said to be knowing or
understanding. Therefore man's happiness
consists in an act of the practical intellect rather
than of the speculative.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness is a good of man
himself. But the speculative intellect is more
concerned with things outside man; whereas the
practical intellect is concerned with things
belonging to man himself, viz. his operations and
passions. Therefore man's happiness consists in an
operation of the practical intellect rather than of
the speculative.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Trin. i, 8)
that "contemplation is promised us, as being the
goal of all our actions, and the everlasting
perfection of our joys."
I answer that, Happiness consists in an operation
of the speculative rather than of the practical
intellect. This is evident for three reasons. First
because if man's happiness is an operation, it must
needs be man's highest operation. Now man's
highest operation is that of his highest power in
respect of its highest object: and his highest power
is the intellect, whose highest object is the Divine
Good, which is the object, not of the practical but
of the speculative intellect. Consequently
happiness consists principally in such an
operation, viz. in the contemplation of Divine
things. And since that "seems to be each man's
self, which is best in him," according to Ethic. ix,
8, and x, 7, therefore such an operation is most
proper to man and most delightful to him.
Secondly, it is evident from the fact that
contemplation is sought principally for its own
sake. But the act of the practical intellect is not
sought for its own sake but for the sake of action:
and these very actions are ordained to some end.
Consequently it is evident that the last end cannot
consist in the active life, which pertains to the
practical intellect.
Thirdly, it is again evident, from the fact that in
the contemplative life man has something in
common with things above him, viz. with God and
the angels, to whom he is made like by happiness.
But in things pertaining to the active life, other
animals also have something in common with
man, although imperfectly.
Therefore the last and perfect happiness, which
we await in the life to come, consists entirely in
contemplation. But imperfect happiness, such as
can be had here, consists first and principally, in
an operation of the practical intellect directing
human actions and passions, as stated in Ethic. x,
7, 8.
Reply Obj. 1: The asserted likeness of the practical
intellect to God is one of proportion; that is to say,
by reason of its standing in relation to what it
knows, as God does to what He knows. But the
likeness of the speculative intellect to God is one
of union and "information"; which is a much
greater likeness. And yet it may be answered that,
in regard to the principal thing known, which is
His Essence, God has not practical but merely
speculative knowledge.
Reply Obj. 2: The practical intellect is ordained to
good which is outside of it: but the speculative
169
intellect has good within it, viz. the contemplation
of truth. And if this good be perfect, the whole
man is perfected and made good thereby: such a
good the practical intellect has not; but it directs
man thereto.
Reply Obj. 3: This argument would hold, if man
himself were his own last end; for then the
consideration and direction of his actions and
passions would be his happiness. But since man's
last end is something outside of him, to wit, God,
to Whom we reach out by an operation of the
speculative intellect; therefore, man's happiness
consists in an operation of the speculative intellect
rather than of the practical intellect.
^Q. 3
Art. 6: Whether happiness consists in the
consideration of speculative sciences?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in the
consideration of speculative sciences.
Obj. 1: For the Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 13) that
"happiness is an operation according to perfect
virtue." And in distinguishing the virtues, he gives
no more than three speculative virtues—
"knowledge," "wisdom" and "understanding,"
which all belong to the consideration of
speculative sciences. Therefore man's final
happiness consists in the consideration of
speculative sciences.
Obj. 2: Further, that which all desire for its own
sake, seems to be man's final happiness. Now such
is the consideration of speculative sciences;
because, as stated in Metaph. i, 1, "all men
naturally desire to know"; and, a little farther on
(2), it is stated that speculative sciences are sought
for their own sakes. Therefore happiness consists
in the consideration of speculative sciences.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness is man's final
perfection. Now everything is perfected, according
as it is reduced from potentiality to act. But the
human intellect is reduced to act by the
consideration of speculative sciences. Therefore it
seems that in the consideration of these sciences,
man's final happiness consists.
On the contrary, It is written (Jer. 9:23): "Let not
the wise man glory in his wisdom": and this is said
in reference to speculative sciences. Therefore
man's final happiness does not consist in the
consideration of these.
I answer that, As stated above (A. 2, ad 4), man's
happiness is twofold, one perfect, the other
imperfect. And by perfect happiness we are to
understand that which attains to the true notion
of happiness; and by imperfect happiness that
which does not attain thereto, but partakes of
some particular likeness of happiness. Thus
perfect prudence is in man, with whom is the idea
of things to be done; while imperfect prudence is
in certain irrational animals, who are possessed of
certain particular instincts in respect of works
similar to works of prudence.
Accordingly perfect happiness cannot consist
essentially in the consideration of speculative
sciences. To prove this, we must observe that the
consideration of a speculative science does not
extend beyond the scope of the principles of that
science: since the entire science is virtually
contained in its principles. Now the first principles
of speculative sciences are received through the
senses, as the Philosopher clearly states at the
beginning of the Metaphysics (i, 1), and at the end
of the Posterior Analytics (ii, 15). Wherefore the
entire consideration of speculative sciences cannot
extend farther than knowledge of sensibles can
lead. Now man's final happiness, which is his final
perfection cannot consist in the knowledge of
sensibles. For a thing is not perfected by
something lower, except in so far as the lower
partakes of something higher. Now it is evident
that the form of a stone or of any sensible, is lower
than man. Consequently the intellect is not
perfected by the form of a stone, as such, but
inasmuch as it partakes of a certain likeness to
that which is above the human intellect, viz. the
intelligible light, or something of the kind. Now
whatever is by something else is reduced to that
which is of itself. Therefore man's final perfection
must needs be through knowledge of something
above the human intellect. But it has been shown
(I, Q. 88, A. 2), that man cannot acquire through
sensibles, the knowledge of separate substances,
which are above the human intellect.
Consequently it follows that man's happiness
cannot consist in the consideration of speculative
sciences. However, just as in sensible forms there
is a participation of the higher substances, so the
170
consideration of speculative sciences is a certain
participation of true and perfect happiness.
Reply Obj. 1: In his book on Ethics the Philosopher
treats of imperfect happiness, such as can be had
in this life, as stated above (A. 2, ad 4).
Reply Obj. 2: Not only is perfect happiness
naturally desired, but also any likeness or
participation thereof.
Reply Obj. 3: Our intellect is reduced to act, in a
fashion, by the consideration of speculative
sciences, but not to its final and perfect act.
^Q. 3
Art. 7: Whether happiness consists in the
knowledge of separate substances, namely, angels?
It would seem that man's happiness consists in the
knowledge of separate substances, namely, angels.
Obj. 1: For Gregory says in a homily (xxvi in
Evang.): "It avails nothing to take part in the feasts
of men, if we fail to take part in the feasts of
angels"; by which he means final happiness. But
we can take part in the feasts of the angels by
contemplating them. Therefore it seems that
man's final happiness consists in contemplating
the angels.
Obj. 2: Further, the final perfection of each thing
is for it to be united to its principle: wherefore a
circle is said to be a perfect figure, because its
beginning and end coincide. But the beginning of
human knowledge is from the angels, by whom
men are enlightened, as Dionysius says (Coel.
Hier. iv). Therefore the perfection of the human
intellect consists in contemplating the angels.
Obj. 3: Further, each nature is perfect, when
united to a higher nature; just as the final
perfection of a body is to be united to the spiritual
nature. But above the human intellect, in the
natural order, are the angels. Therefore the final
perfection of the human intellect is to be united to
the angels by contemplation.
On the contrary, It is written (Jer. 9:24): "Let him
that glorieth, glory in this, that he understandeth
and knoweth Me." Therefore man's final glory or
happiness consists only in the knowledge of God.
I answer that, As stated above (A. 6), man's perfect
happiness consists not in that which perfects the
intellect by some participation, but in that which
is so by its essence. Now it is evident that
whatever is the perfection of a power is so in so far
as the proper formal object of that power belongs
to it. Now the proper object of the intellect is the
true. Therefore the contemplation of whatever has
participated truth, does not perfect the intellect
with its final perfection. Since, therefore, the order
of things is the same in being and in truth
(Metaph. ii, 1); whatever are beings by
participation, are true by participation. Now
angels have being by participation: because in God
alone is His Being His Essence, as shown in the
First Part (Q. 44, A. 1). It follows that
contemplation of Him makes man perfectly
happy. However, there is no reason why we should
not admit a certain imperfect happiness in the
contemplation of the angels; and higher indeed
than in the consideration of speculative science.
Reply Obj. 1: We shall take part in the feasts of the
angels, by contemplating not only the angels, but,
together with them, also God Himself.
Reply Obj. 2: According to those that hold human
souls to be created by the angels, it seems fitting
enough, that man's happiness should consist in
the contemplation of the angels, in the union, as it
were, of man with his beginning. But this is
erroneous, as stated in the First Part (Q. 90, A. 3).
Wherefore the final perfection of the human
intellect is by union with God, Who is the first
principle both of the creation of the soul and of its
enlightenment. Whereas the angel enlightens as a
minister, as stated in the First Part (Q. 111, A. 2, ad
2). Consequently, by his ministration he helps
man to attain to happiness; but he is not the
object of man's happiness.
Reply Obj. 3: The lower nature may reach the
higher in two ways. First, according to a degree of
the participating power: and thus man's final
perfection will consist in his attaining to a
contemplation such as that of the angels.
Secondly, as the object is attained by the power:
and thus the final perfection of each power is to
attain that in which is found the fulness of its
formal object.
^Q. 3
171
Art. 8: Whether man's happiness consists in the
vision of the divine essence?
It would seem that man's happiness does not
consist in the vision of the Divine Essence.
Obj. 1: For Dionysius says (Myst. Theol. i) that by
that which is highest in his intellect, man is united
to God as to something altogether unknown. But
that which is seen in its essence is not altogether
unknown. Therefore the final perfection of the
intellect, namely, happiness, does not consist in
God being seen in His Essence.
Obj. 2: Further, the higher the perfection belongs
to the higher nature. But to see His own Essence is
the perfection proper to the Divine intellect.
Therefore the final perfection of the human
intellect does not reach to this, but consists in
something less.
On the contrary, It is written (1 John 3:2): "When
He shall appear, we shall be like to Him; and
[Vulg.: 'because'] we shall see Him as He is."
I answer that, Final and perfect happiness can
consist in nothing else than the vision of the
Divine Essence. To make this clear, two points
must be observed. First, that man is not perfectly
happy, so long as something remains for him to
desire and seek: secondly, that the perfection of
any power is determined by the nature of its
object. Now the object of the intellect is "what a
thing is," i.e. the essence of a thing, according to
De Anima iii, 6. Wherefore the intellect attains
perfection, in so far as it knows the essence of a
thing. If therefore an intellect knows the essence
of some effect, whereby it is not possible to know
the essence of the cause, i.e. to know of the cause
"what it is"; that intellect cannot be said to reach
that cause simply, although it may be able to
gather from the effect the knowledge that the
cause is. Consequently, when man knows an
effect, and knows that it has a cause, there
naturally remains in the man the desire to know
about the cause, "what it is." And this desire is one
of wonder, and causes inquiry, as is stated in the
beginning of the Metaphysics (i, 2). For instance, if
a man, knowing the eclipse of the sun, consider
that it must be due to some cause, and know not
what that cause is, he wonders about it, and from
wondering proceeds to inquire. Nor does this
inquiry cease until he arrive at a knowledge of the
essence of the cause.
If therefore the human intellect, knowing the
essence of some created effect, knows no more of
God than "that He is"; the perfection of that
intellect does not yet reach simply the First Cause,
but there remains in it the natural desire to seek
the cause. Wherefore it is not yet perfectly happy.
Consequently, for perfect happiness the intellect
needs to reach the very Essence of the First Cause.
And thus it will have its perfection through union
with God as with that object, in which alone man's
happiness consists, as stated above (AA. 1, 7; Q. 2,
A. 8).
Reply Obj. 1: Dionysius speaks of the knowledge of
wayfarers journeying towards happiness.
Reply Obj. 2: As stated above (Q. 1, A. 8), the end
has a twofold acceptation. First, as to the thing
itself which is desired: and in this way, the same
thing is the end of the higher and of the lower
nature, and indeed of all things, as stated above
(Q. 1, A. 8). Secondly, as to the attainment of this
thing; and thus the end of the higher nature is
different from that of the lower, according to their
respective habitudes to that thing. So then in the
happiness of God, Who, in understanding his
Essence, comprehends It, is higher than that of a
man or angel who sees It indeed, but
comprehends It not.
^Q. 3
QUESTION 4: OF THOSE THINGS THAT ARE
REQUIRED FOR HAPPINESS
^TOC
We have now to consider those things that are
required for happiness: and concerning this there
are eight points of inquiry:
(1) Whether delight is required for happiness?
(2) Which is of greater account in happiness,
delight or vision?
(3) Whether comprehension is required?
(4) Whether rectitude of the will is required?
172
(5) Whether the body is necessary for man's
happiness?
(6) Whether any perfection of the body is
necessary?
(7) Whether any external goods are necessary?
(8) Whether the fellowship of friends is necessary?
Art. 1: Whether delight is required for happiness?
It would seem that delight is not required for
happiness.
Obj. 1: For Augustine says (De Trin. i, 8) that
"vision is the entire reward of faith." But the prize
or reward of virtue is happiness, as the
Philosopher clearly states (Ethic. i, 9). Therefore
nothing besides vision is required for happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is "the most self-
sufficient of all goods," as the Philosopher declares
(Ethic. i, 7). But that which needs something else
is not self-sufficient. Since then the essence of
happiness consists in seeing God, as stated above
(Q. 3, A. 8); it seems that delight is not necessary
for happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, the "operation of bliss or
happiness should be unhindered" (Ethic. vii, 13).
But delight hinders the operation of the intellect:
since it destroys the estimate of prudence (Ethic.
vi, 5). Therefore delight is not necessary for
happiness.
On the contrary, Augustine says (Confess. x, 23)
that happiness is "joy in truth."
I answer that, One thing may be necessary for
another in four ways. First, as a preamble and
preparation to it: thus instruction is necessary for
science. Secondly, as perfecting it: thus the soul is
necessary for the life of the body. Thirdly, as
helping it from without: thus friends are necessary
for some undertaking. Fourthly, as something
attendant on it: thus we might say that heat is
necessary for fire. And in this way delight is
necessary for happiness. For it is caused by the
appetite being at rest in the good attained.
Wherefore, since happiness is nothing else but the
attainment of the Sovereign Good, it cannot be
without concomitant delight.
Reply Obj. 1: From the very fact that a reward is
given to anyone, the will of him who deserves it is
at rest, and in this consists delight. Consequently,
delight is included in the very notion of reward.
Reply Obj. 2: The very sight of God causes delight.
Consequently, he who sees God cannot need
delight.
Reply Obj. 3: Delight that is attendant upon the
operation of the intellect does not hinder it, rather
does it perfect it, as stated in Ethic. x, 4: since
what we do with delight, we do with greater care
and perseverance. On the other hand, delight
which is extraneous to the operation is a
hindrance thereto: sometimes by distracting the
attention because, as already observed, we are
more attentive to those things that delight us; and
when we are very attentive to one thing, we must
needs be less attentive to another: sometimes on
account of opposition; thus a sensual delight that
is contrary to reason, hinders the estimate of
prudence more than it hinders the estimate of the
speculative intellect.
^Q. 4
Art. 2: Whether in happiness vision ranks before
delight?
It would seem that in happiness, delight ranks
before vision.
Obj. 1: For "delight is the perfection of operation"
(Ethic. x, 4). But perfection ranks before the thing
perfected. Therefore delight ranks before the
operation of the intellect, i.e. vision.
Obj. 2: Further, that by reason of which a thing is
desirable, is yet more desirable. But operations are
desired on account of the delight they afford:
hence, too, nature has adjusted delight to those
operations which are necessary for the
preservation of the individual and of the species,
lest animals should disregard such operations.
Therefore, in happiness, delight ranks before the
operation of the intellect, which is vision.
Obj. 3: Further, vision corresponds to faith; while
delight or enjoyment corresponds to charity. But
charity ranks before faith, as the Apostle says (1
173
Cor. 13:13). Therefore delight or enjoyment ranks
before vision.
On the contrary, The cause is greater than its
effect. But vision is the cause of delight. Therefore
vision ranks before delight.
I answer that, The Philosopher discusses this
question (Ethic. x, 4), and leaves it unsolved. But if
one consider the matter carefully, the operation of
the intellect which is vision, must needs rank
before delight. For delight consists in a certain
repose of the will. Now that the will finds rest in
anything, can only be on account of the goodness
of that thing in which it reposes. If therefore the
will reposes in an operation, the will's repose is
caused by the goodness of the operation. Nor does
the will seek good for the sake of repose; for thus
the very act of the will would be the end, which
has been disproved above (Q. 1, A. 1, ad 2;Q. 3, A.
4): but it seeks to be at rest in the operation,
because that operation is its good. Consequently it
is evident that the operation in which the will
reposes ranks before the resting of the will
therein.
Reply Obj. 1: As the Philosopher says (Ethic. x, 4)
"delight perfects operation as vigor perfects
youth," because it is a result of youth.
Consequently delight is a perfection attendant
upon vision; but not a perfection whereby vision is
made perfect in its own species.
Reply Obj. 2: The apprehension of the senses does
not attain to the universal good, but to some
particular good which is delightful. And
consequently, according to the sensitive appetite
which is in animals, operations are sought for the
sake of delight. But the intellect apprehends the
universal good, the attainment of which results in
delight: wherefore its purpose is directed to good
rather than to delight. Hence it is that the Divine
intellect, which is the Author of nature, adjusted
delights to operations on account of the
operations. And we should form our estimate of
things not simply according to the order of the
sensitive appetite, but rather according to the
order of the intellectual appetite.
Reply Obj. 3: Charity does not seek the beloved
good for the sake of delight: it is for charity a
consequence that it delights in the good gained
which it loves. Thus delight does not answer to
charity as its end, but vision does, whereby the
end is first made present to charity.
^Q. 4
Art. 3: Whether comprehension is necessary for
happiness?
It would seem that comprehension is not
necessary for happiness.
Obj. 1: For Augustine says (Ad Paulinam de
Videndo Deum; [*Cf. Serm. xxxciii De Verb.
Dom.]): "To reach God with the mind is
happiness, to comprehend Him is impossible."
Therefore happiness is without comprehension.
Obj. 2: Further, happiness is the perfection of man
as to his intellective part, wherein there are no
other powers than the intellect and will, as stated
in the First Part (QQ. 79 and following). But the
intellect is sufficiently perfected by seeing God,
and the will by enjoying Him. Therefore there is
no need for comprehension as a third.
Obj. 3: Further, happiness consists in an
operation. But operations are determined by their
objects: and there are two universal objects, the
true and the good: of which the true corresponds
to vision, and good to delight. Therefore there is
no need for comprehension as a third.
On the contrary, The Apostle says (1 Cor. 9:24):
"So run that you may comprehend [Douay:
'obtain']." But happiness is the goal of the spiritual
race: hence he says (2 Tim. 4:7, 8): "I have fought a
good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept
the faith; as to the rest there is laid up for me a
crown of justice." Therefore comprehension is
necessary for Happiness.
I answer that, Since Happiness consists in gaining
the last end, those things that are required for
Happiness must be gathered from the way in
which man is ordered to an end. Now man is
ordered to an intelligible end partly through his
intellect, and partly through his will: through his
intellect, in so far as a certain imperfect
knowledge of the end pre-exists in the intellect:
through the will, first by love which is the will's
first movement towards anything; secondly, by a
real relation of the lover to the thing beloved,
which relation may be threefold. For sometimes
174
the thing beloved is present to the lover: and then
it is no longer sought for. Sometimes it is not
present, and it is impossible to attain it: and then,
too, it is not sought for. But sometimes it is
possible to attain it, yet it is raised above the
capability of the attainer, so that he cannot have it
forthwith; and this is the relation of one that
hopes, to that which he hopes for, and this
relation alone causes a search for the end. To
these three, there are a corresponding three in
Happiness itself. For perfect knowledge of the end
corresponds to imperfect knowledge; presence of
the end corresponds to the relation of hope; but
delight in the end now present results from love,
as already stated (A. 2, ad 3). And therefore these
three must concur with Happiness; to wit, vision,
which is perfect knowledge of the intelligible end;
comprehension, which implies presence of the
end; and delight or enjoyment, which implies
repose of the lover in the object beloved.
Reply Obj. 1: Comprehension is twofold. First,
inclusion of the comprehended in the
comprehensor; and thus whatever is
comprehended by the finite, is itself finite.
Wherefore God cannot be thus comprehended by
a created intellect. Secondly, comprehension
means nothing but the holding of something
already present and possessed: thus one who runs
after another is said to comprehend [*In English
we should say 'catch.'] him when he lays hold on
him. And in this sense comprehension is necessary
for Happiness.
Reply Obj. 2: Just as hope and love pertain to the
will, because it is the same one that loves a thing,
and that tends towards it while not possessed, so,
too, comprehension and delight belong to the will,
since it is the same that possesses a thing and
reposes therein.
Reply Obj. 3: Comprehension is not a distinct
operation from vision; but a certain relation to the
end already gained. Wherefore even vision itself,
or the thing seen, inasmuch as it is present, is the
object of comprehension.
^Q. 4
Art. 4: Whether rectitude of the will is necessary
for happiness?
It would seem that rectitude of the will is not
necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 1: For Happiness consists essentially in an
operation of the intellect, as stated above (Q. 3, A.
4). But rectitude of the will, by reason of which
men are said to be clean of heart, is not necessary
for the perfect operation of the intellect: for
Augustine says (Retract. i, 4) "I do not approve of
what I said in a prayer: O God, Who didst will
none but the clean of heart to know the truth. For
it can be answered that many who are not clean of
heart, know many truths." Therefore rectitude of
the will is not necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, what precedes does not depend on
what follows. But the operation of the intellect
precedes the operation of the will. Therefore
Happiness, which is the perfect operation of the
intellect, does not depend on rectitude of the will.
Obj. 3: Further, that which is ordained to another
as its end, is not necessary, when the end is
already gained; as a ship, for instance, after arrival
in port. But rectitude of will, which is by reason of
virtue, is ordained to Happiness as to its end.
Therefore, Happiness once obtained, rectitude of
the will is no longer necessary.
On the contrary, It is written (Matt. 5:8): "Blessed
are the clean of heart; for they shall see God": and
(Heb. 12:14): "Follow peace with all men, and
holiness; without which no man shall see God."
I answer that, Rectitude of will is necessary for
Happiness both antecedently and concomitantly.
Antecedently, because rectitude of the will
consists in being duly ordered to the last end. Now
the end in comparison to what is ordained to the
end is as form compared to matter. Wherefore,
just as matter cannot receive a form, unless it be
duly disposed thereto, so nothing gains an end,
except it be duly ordained thereto. And therefore
none can obtain Happiness, without rectitude of
the will. Concomitantly, because as stated above
(Q. 3, A. 8), final Happiness consists in the vision
of the Divine Essence, Which is the very essence
of goodness. So that the will of him who sees the
Essence of God, of necessity, loves, whatever he
loves, in subordination to God; just as the will of
him who sees not God's Essence, of necessity,
loves whatever he loves, under the common
notion of good which he knows. And this is
175
precisely what makes the will right. Wherefore it
is evident that Happiness cannot be without a
right will.
[Reply Obj. 1: Augustine is speaking of knowledge
of truth that is not the essence of goodness itself.]
Reply Obj. 2: Every act of the will is preceded by
an act of the intellect: but a certain act of the will
precedes a certain act of the intellect. For the will
tends to the final act of the intellect which is
happiness. And consequently right inclination of
the will is required antecedently for happiness,
just as the arrow must take a right course in order
to strike the target.
Reply Obj. 3: Not everything that is ordained to
the end, ceases with the getting of the end: but
only that which involves imperfection, such as
movement. Hence the instruments of movement
are no longer necessary when the end has been
gained: but the due order to the end is necessary.
^Q. 4
Art. 5: Whether the body is necessary for man's
happiness?
It would seem that the body is necessary for
Happiness.
Obj. 1: For the perfection of virtue and grace
presupposes the perfection of nature. But
Happiness is the perfection of virtue and grace.
Now the soul, without the body, has not the
perfection of nature; since it is naturally a part of
human nature, and every part is imperfect while
separated from its whole. Therefore the soul
cannot be happy without the body.
Obj. 2: Further, Happiness is a perfect operation,
as stated above (Q. 3, AA. 2, 5). But perfect
operation follows perfect being: since nothing
operates except in so far as it is an actual being.
Since, therefore, the soul has not perfect being,
while it is separated from the body, just as neither
has a part, while separate from its whole; it seems
that the soul cannot be happy without the body.
Obj. 3: Further, Happiness is the perfection of
man. But the soul, without the body, is not man.
Therefore Happiness cannot be in the soul
separated from the body.
Obj. 4: Further, according to the Philosopher
(Ethic. vii, 13) "the operation of bliss," in which
operation happiness consists, is "not hindered."
But the operation of the separate soul is hindered;
because, as Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. xii, 35), the
soul "has a natural desire to rule the body, the
result of which is that it is held back, so to speak,
from tending with all its might to the heavenward
journey," i.e. to the vision of the Divine Essence.
Therefore the soul cannot be happy without the
body.
Obj. 5: Further, Happiness is the sufficient good
and lulls desire. But this cannot be said of the
separated soul; for it yet desires to be united to
the body, as Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. xii, 35).
Therefore the soul is not happy while separated
from the body.
Obj. 6: Further, in Happiness man is equal to the
angels. But the soul without the body is not equal
to the angels, as Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. xii,
35). Therefore it is not happy.
On the contrary, It is written (Apoc. 14:13): "Happy
[Douay: 'blessed'] are the dead who die in the
Lord."
I answer that, Happiness is twofold; the one is
imperfect and is had in this life; the other is
perfect, consisting in the vision of God. Now it is
evident that the body is necessary for the
happiness of this life. For the happiness of this life
consists in an operation of the intellect, either
speculative or practical. And the operation of the
intellect in this life cannot be without a phantasm,
which is only in a bodily organ, as was shown in
the First Part (Q. 84, AA. 6, 7). Consequently that
happiness which can be had in this life, depends,
in a way, on the body. But as to perfect Happiness,
which consists in the vision of God, some have
maintained that it is not possible to the soul
separated from the body; and have said that the
souls of saints, when separated from their bodies,
do not attain to that Happiness until the Day of
Judgment, when they will receive their bodies
back again. And this is shown to be false, both by
authority and by reason. By authority, since the
Apostle says (2 Cor. 5:6): "While we are in the
body, we are absent from the Lord"; and he points
out the reason of this absence, saying: "For we
walk by faith and not by sight." Now from this it is
clear that so long as we walk by faith and not by
176
sight, bereft of the vision of the Divine Essence,
we are not present to the Lord. But the souls of
the saints, separated from their bodies, are in
God's presence; wherefore the text continues: "But
we are confident and have a good will to be absent
. . . from the body, and to be present with the
Lord." Whence it is evident that the souls of the
saints, separated from their bodies, "walk by
sight," seeing the Essence of God, wherein is true
Happiness.
Again this is made clear by reason. For the
intellect needs not the body, for its operation, save
on account of the phantasms, wherein it looks on
the intelligible truth, as stated in the First Part (Q.
84, A. 7). Now it is evident that the Divine Essence
cannot be seen by means of phantasms, as stated
in the First Part (Q. 12, A. 3). Wherefore, since
man's perfect Happiness consists in the vision of
the Divine Essence, it does not depend on the
body. Consequently, without the body the soul
can be happy.
We must, however, notice that something may
belong to a thing's perfection in two ways. First, as
constituting the essence thereof; thus the soul is
necessary for man's perfection. Secondly, as
necessary for its well-being: thus, beauty of body
and keenness of perfection belong to man's
perfection. Wherefore though the body does not
belong in the first way to the perfection of human
Happiness, yet it does in the second way. For since
operation depends on a thing's nature, the more
perfect is the soul in its nature, the more perfectly
it has its proper operation, wherein its happiness
consists. Hence, Augustine, after inquiring (Gen.
ad lit. xii, 35) "whether that perfect Happiness can
be ascribed to the souls of the dead separated
from their bodies," answers "that they cannot see
the Unchangeable Substance, as the blessed angels
see It; either for some other more hidden reason,
or because they have a natural desire to rule the
body."
Reply Obj. 1: Happiness is the perfection of the
soul on the part of the intellect, in respect of
which the soul transcends the organs of the body;
but not according as the soul is the natural form
of the body. Wherefore the soul retains that
natural perfection in respect of which happiness is
due to it, though it does not retain that natural
perfection in respect of which it is the form of the
body.
Reply Obj. 2: The relation of the soul to being is
not the same as that of other parts: for the being
of the whole is not that of any individual part:
wherefore, either the part ceases altogether to be,
when the whole is destroyed, just as the parts of
an animal, when the animal is destroyed; or, if
they remain, they have another actual being, just
as a part of a line has another being from that of
the whole line. But the human soul retains the
being of the composite after the destruction of the
body: and this because the being of the form is the
same as that of its matter, and this is the being of
the composite. Now the soul subsists in its own
being, as stated in the First Part (Q. 75, A. 2). It
follows, therefore, that after being separated from
the body it has perfect being and that
consequently it can have a perfect operation;
although it has not the perfect specific nature.
Reply Obj. 3: Happiness belongs to man in respect
of his intellect: and, therefore, since the intellect
remains, it can have Happiness. Thus the teeth of
an Ethiopian, in respect of which he is said to be
white, can retain their whiteness, even after
extraction.
Reply Obj. 4: One thing is hindered by another in
two ways. First, by way of opposition; thus cold
hinders the action of heat: and such a hindrance
to operation is repugnant to Happiness. Secondly,
by way of some kind of defect, because, to wit,
that which is hindered has not all that is necessary
to make it perfect in every way: and such a
hindrance to operation is not incompatible with
Happiness, but prevents it from being perfect in
every way. And thus it is that separation from the
body is said to hold the soul back from tending
with all its might to the vision of the Divine
Essence. For the soul desires to enjoy God in such
a way that the enjoyment also may overflow into
the body, as far as possible. And therefore, as long
as it enjoys God, without the fellowship of the
body, its appetite is at rest in that which it has, in
such a way, that it would still wish the body to
attain to its share.
Reply Obj. 5: The desire of the separated soul is
entirely at rest, as regards the thing desired; since,
to wit, it has that which suffices its appetite. But it
is not wholly at rest, as regards the desirer, since it
does not possess that good in every way that it
would wish to possess it. Consequently, after the
177
body has been resumed, Happiness increases not
in intensity, but in extent.
Reply Obj. 6: The statement made (Gen. ad lit. xii,
35) to the effect that "the souls of the departed see
not God as the angels do," is not to be understood
as referring to inequality of quantity; because even
now some souls of the Blessed are raised to the
higher orders of the angels, thus seeing God more
clearly than the lower angels. But it refers to
inequality of proportion: because the angels, even
the lowest, have every perfection of Happiness
that they ever will have, whereas the separated
souls of the saints have not.
^Q. 4
Art. 6: Whether perfection of the body is
necessary for happiness?
It would seem that perfection of the body is not
necessary for man's perfect Happiness.
Obj. 1: For perfection of the body is a bodily good.
But it has been shown above (Q. 2) that Happiness
does not consist in bodily goods. Therefore no
perfect disposition of the body is necessary for
man's Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, man's Happiness consists in the
vision of the Divine Essence, as shown above (Q.
3, A. 8). But the body has no part in this operation,
as shown above (A. 5). Therefore no disposition of
the body is necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, the more the intellect is abstracted
from the body, the more perfectly it understands.
But Happiness consists in the most perfect
operation of the intellect. Therefore the soul
should be abstracted from the body in every way.
Therefore, in no way is a disposition of the body
necessary for Happiness.
On the contrary, Happiness is the reward of
virtue; wherefore it is written (John 13:17): "You
shall be blessed, if you do them." But the reward
promised to the saints is not only that they shall
see and enjoy God, but also that their bodies shall
be well-disposed; for it is written (Isa. 66:14): "You
shall see and your heart shall rejoice, and your
bones shall flourish like a herb." Therefore good
disposition of the body is necessary for Happiness.
I answer that, If we speak of that happiness which
man can acquire in this life, it is evident that a
well-disposed body is of necessity required for it.
For this happiness consists, according to the
Philosopher (Ethic. i, 13) in "an operation
according to perfect virtue"; and it is clear that
man can be hindered, by indisposition of the
body, from every operation of virtue.
But speaking of perfect Happiness, some have
maintained that no disposition of body is
necessary for Happiness; indeed, that it is
necessary for the soul to be entirely separated
from the body. Hence Augustine (De Civ. Dei xxii,
26) quotes the words of Porphyry who said that
"for the soul to be happy, it must be severed from
everything corporeal." But this is unreasonable.
For since it is natural to the soul to be united to
the body; it is not possible for the perfection of the
soul to exclude its natural perfection.
Consequently, we must say that perfect
disposition of the body is necessary, both
antecedently and consequently, for that
Happiness which is in all ways perfect.
Antecedently, because, as Augustine says (Gen. ad
lit. xii, 35), "if the body be such, that the
governance thereof is difficult and burdensome,
like unto flesh which is corruptible and weighs
upon the soul, the mind is turned away from that
vision of the highest heaven." Whence he
concludes that, "when this body will no longer be
'natural,' but 'spiritual,' then will it be equalled to
the angels, and that will be its glory, which
erstwhile was its burden." Consequently, because
from the Happiness of the soul there will be an
overflow on to the body, so that this too will
obtain its perfection. Hence Augustine says (Ep.
ad Dioscor.) that "God gave the soul such a
powerful nature that from its exceeding fulness of
happiness the vigor of incorruption overflows into
the lower nature."
Reply Obj. 1: Happiness does not consist in bodily
good as its object: but bodily good can add a
certain charm and perfection to Happiness.
Reply Obj. 2: Although the body has no part in
that operation of the intellect whereby the
Essence of God is seen, yet it might prove a
hindrance thereto. Consequently, perfection of the
body is necessary, lest it hinder the mind from
being lifted up.
178
Reply Obj. 3: The perfect operation of the intellect
requires indeed that the intellect be abstracted
from this corruptible body which weighs upon the
soul; but not from the spiritual body, which will
be wholly subject to the spirit. On this point we
shall treat in the Third Part of this work (Suppl.,
Q. 82, seqq.).
^Q. 4
Art. 7: Whether any external goods are necessary
for happiness?
It would seem that external goods also are
necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 1: For that which is promised the saints for
reward, belongs to Happiness. But external goods
are promised the saints; for instance, food and
drink, wealth and a kingdom: for it is said (Luke
22:30): "That you may eat and drink at My table in
My kingdom": and (Matt. 6:20): "Lay up to
yourselves treasures in heaven": and (Matt. 25:34):
"Come, ye blessed of My Father, possess you the
kingdom." Therefore external goods are necessary
for Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, according to Boethius (De Consol.
iii): happiness is "a state made perfect by the
aggregate of all good things." But some of man's
goods are external, although they be of least
account, as Augustine says (De Lib. Arb. ii, 19).
Therefore they too are necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, Our Lord said (Matt. 5:12): "Your
reward is very great in heaven." But to be in
heaven implies being in a place. Therefore at least
external place is necessary for Happiness.
On the contrary, It is written (Ps. 72:25): "For what
have I in heaven? and besides Thee what do I
desire upon earth?" As though to say: "I desire
nothing but this, "—"It is good for me to adhere to
my God." Therefore nothing further external is
necessary for Happiness.
I answer that, For imperfect happiness, such as
can be had in this life, external goods are
necessary, not as belonging to the essence of
happiness, but by serving as instruments to
happiness, which consists in an operation of
virtue, as stated in Ethic. i, 13. For man needs in
this life, the necessaries of the body, both for the
operation of contemplative virtue, and for the
operation of active virtue, for which latter he
needs also many other things by means of which
to perform its operations.
On the other hand, such goods as these are nowise
necessary for perfect Happiness, which consists in
seeing God. The reason of this is that all suchlike
external goods are requisite either for the support
of the animal body; or for certain operations
which belong to human life, which we perform by
means of the animal body: whereas that perfect
Happiness which consists in seeing God, will be
either in the soul separated from the body, or in
the soul united to the body then no longer animal
but spiritual. Consequently these external goods
are nowise necessary for that Happiness, since
they are ordained to the animal life. And since, in
this life, the felicity of contemplation, as being
more Godlike, approaches nearer than that of
action to the likeness of that perfect Happiness,
therefore it stands in less need of these goods of
the body as stated in Ethic. x, 8.
Reply Obj. 1: All those material promises
contained in Holy Scripture, are to be understood
metaphorically, inasmuch as Scripture is wont to
express spiritual things under the form of things
corporeal, in order "that from things we know, we
may rise to the desire of things unknown," as
Gregory says (Hom. xi in Evang.). Thus food and
drink signify the delight of Happiness; wealth, the
sufficiency of God for man; the kingdom, the
lifting up of man to union of God.
Reply Obj. 2: These goods that serve for the
animal life, are incompatible with that spiritual
life wherein perfect Happiness consists.
Nevertheless in that Happiness there will be the
aggregate of all good things, because whatever
good there be in these things, we shall possess it
all in the Supreme Fount of goodness.
Reply Obj. 3: According to Augustine (De Serm.
Dom. in Monte i, 5), it is not material heaven that
is described as the reward of the saints, but a
heaven raised on the height of spiritual goods.
Nevertheless a bodily place, viz. the empyrean
heaven, will be appointed to the Blessed, not as a
need of Happiness, but by reason of a certain
fitness and adornment.
^Q. 4
179
Art. 8: Whether the fellowship of friends is
necessary for happiness?
It would seem that friends are necessary for
Happiness.
Obj. 1: For future Happiness is frequently
designated by Scripture under the name of "glory."
But glory consists in man's good being brought to
the notice of many. Therefore the fellowship of
friends is necessary for Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, Boethius [*Seneca, Ep. 6] says that
"there is no delight in possessing any good
whatever, without someone to share it with us."
But delight is necessary for Happiness. Therefore
fellowship of friends is also necessary.
Obj. 3: Further, charity is perfected in Happiness.
But charity includes the love of God and of our
neighbor. Therefore it seems that fellowship of
friends is necessary for Happiness.
On the contrary, It is written (Wis. 7:11): "All good
things came to me together with her," i.e. with
divine wisdom, which consists in contemplating
God. Consequently nothing else is necessary for
Happiness.
I answer that, If we speak of the happiness of this
life, the happy man needs friends, as the
Philosopher says (Ethic. ix, 9), not, indeed, to
make use of them, since he suffices himself; nor to
delight in them, since he possesses perfect delight
in the operation of virtue; but for the purpose of a
good operation, viz. that he may do good to them;
that he may delight in seeing them do good; and
again that he may be helped by them in his good
work. For in order that man may do well, whether
in the works of the active life, or in those of the
contemplative life, he needs the fellowship of
friends.
But if we speak of perfect Happiness which will be
in our heavenly Fatherland, the fellowship of
friends is not essential to Happiness; since man
has the entire fulness of his perfection in God. But
the fellowship of friends conduces to the well-
being of Happiness. Hence Augustine says (Gen.
ad lit. viii, 25) that "the spiritual creatures receive
no other interior aid to happiness than the
eternity, truth, and charity of the Creator. But if
they can be said to be helped from without,
perhaps it is only by this that they see one another
and rejoice in God, at their fellowship."
Reply Obj. 1: That glory which is essential to
Happiness, is that which man has, not with man
but with God.
Reply Obj. 2: This saying is to be understood of
the possession of good that does not fully satisfy.
This does not apply to the question under
consideration; because man possesses in God a
sufficiency of every good.
Reply Obj. 3: Perfection of charity is essential to
Happiness, as to the love of God, but not as to the
love of our neighbor. Wherefore if there were but
one soul enjoying God, it would be happy, though
having no neighbor to love. But supposing one
neighbor to be there, love of him results from
perfect love of God. Consequently, friendship is, as
it were, concomitant with perfect Happiness.
^Q. 4
QUESTION 5: OF THE ATTAINMENT OF
HAPPINESS
^TOC
We must now consider the attainment of
Happiness. Under this heading there are eight
points of inquiry:
(1) Whether man can attain Happiness?
(2) Whether one man can be happier than
another?
(3) Whether any man can be happy in this life?
(4) Whether Happiness once had can be lost?
(5) Whether man can attain Happiness by means
of his natural powers?
(6) Whether man attains Happiness through the
action of some higher creature?
(7) Whether any actions of man are necessary in
order that man may obtain Happiness of God?
(8) Whether every man desires Happiness?
180
Art. 1: Whether man can attain happiness?
It would seem that man cannot attain happiness.
Obj. 1: For just as the rational is above the sensible
nature, so the intellectual is above the rational, as
Dionysius declares (Div. Nom. iv, vi, vii) in several
passages. But irrational animals that have the
sensitive nature only, cannot attain the end of the
rational nature. Therefore neither can man, who is
of rational nature, attain the end of the
intellectual nature, which is Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, True Happiness consists in seeing
God, Who is pure Truth. But from his very nature,
man considers truth in material things: wherefore
"he understands the intelligible species in the
phantasm" (De Anima iii, 7). Therefore he cannot
attain Happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, Happiness consists in attaining
the Sovereign Good. But we cannot arrive at the
top without surmounting the middle. Since,
therefore, the angelic nature through which man
cannot mount is midway between God and human
nature; it seems that he cannot attain Happiness.
On the contrary, It is written (Ps. 93:12): "Blessed
is the man whom Thou shalt instruct, O Lord."
I answer that, Happiness is the attainment of the
Perfect Good. Whoever, therefore, is capable of
the Perfect Good can attain Happiness. Now, that
man is capable of the Perfect Good, is proved both
because his intellect can apprehend the universal
and perfect good, and because his will can desire
it. And therefore man can attain Happiness. This
can be proved again from the fact that man is
capable of seeing God, as stated in the First Part
(Q. 12, A. 1): in which vision, as we stated above
(Q. 3, A. 8) man's perfect Happiness consists.
Reply Obj. 1: The rational exceeds the sensitive
nature, otherwise than the intellectual surpasses
the rational. For the rational exceeds the sensitive
nature in respect of the object of its knowledge:
since the senses have no knowledge whatever of
the universal, whereas the reason has knowledge
thereof. But the intellectual surpasses the rational
nature, as to the mode of knowing the same
intelligible truth: for the intellectual nature grasps
forthwith the truth which the rational nature
reaches by the inquiry of reason, as was made
clear in the First Part (Q. 58, A. 3; Q. 79, A. 8).
Therefore reason arrives by a kind of movement at
that which the intellect grasps. Consequently the
rational nature can attain Happiness, which is the
perfection of the intellectual nature: but otherwise
than the angels. Because the angels attained it
forthwith after the beginning of their creation:
whereas man attains if after a time. But the
sensitive nature can nowise attain this end.
Reply Obj. 2: To man in the present state of life
the natural way of knowing intelligible truth is by
means of phantasms. But after this state of life, he
has another natural way, as was stated in the First
Part (Q. 84, A. 7; Q. 89, A. 1).
Reply Obj. 3: Man cannot surmount the angels in
the degree of nature so as to be above them
naturally. But he can surmount them by an
operation of the intellect, by understanding that
there is above the angels something that makes
men happy; and when he has attained it, he will
be perfectly happy.
^Q. 5
Art. 2: Whether one man can be happier than
another?
It would seem that one man cannot be happier
than another.
Obj. 1: For Happiness is "the reward of virtue," as
the Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 9). But equal reward
is given for all the works of virtue; because it is
written (Matt. 20:10) that all who labor in the
vineyard "received every man a penny"; for, as
Gregory says (Hom. Xix in Evang.), "each was
equally rewarded with eternal life." Therefore one
man cannot be happier than another.
Obj. 2: Further, Happiness is the supreme good.
But nothing can surpass the supreme. Therefore
one man's Happiness cannot be surpassed by
another's.
Obj. 3: Further, since Happiness is "the perfect
and sufficient good" (Ethic. i, 7) it brings rest to
man's desire. But his desire is not at rest, if he yet
lacks some good that can be got. And if he lack
nothing that he can get, there can be no still
greater good. Therefore either man is not happy;
181
or, if he be happy, no other Happiness can be
greater.
On the contrary, It is written (John 14:2): "In My
Father's house there are many mansions"; which,
according to Augustine (Tract. lxvii in Joan.)
signify "the diverse dignities of merits in the one
eternal life." But the dignity of eternal life which is
given according to merit, is Happiness itself.
Therefore there are diverse degrees of Happiness,
and Happiness is not equally in all.
I answer that, As stated above (Q. 1, A. 8; Q. 2, A.
7), Happiness implies two things, to wit, the last
end itself, i.e. the Sovereign Good; and the
attainment or enjoyment of that same Good. As to
that Good itself, Which is the object and cause of
Happiness, one Happiness cannot be greater than
another, since there is but one Sovereign Good,
namely, God, by enjoying Whom, men are made
happy. But as to the attainment or enjoyment of
this Good, one man can be happier than another;
because the more a man enjoys this Good the
happier he is. Now, that one man enjoys God more
than another, happens through his being better
disposed or ordered to the enjoyment of Him. And
in this sense one man can be happier than
another.
Reply Obj. 1: The one penny signifies that
Happiness is one in its object. But the many
mansions signify the manifold Happiness in the
divers degrees of enjoyment.
Reply Obj. 2: Happiness is said to be the supreme
good, inasmuch as it is the perfect possession or
enjoyment of the Supreme Good.
Reply Obj. 3: None of the Blessed lacks any
desirable good; since they have the Infinite Good
Itself, Which is "the good of all good," as
Augustine says (Enarr. in Ps. 134). But one is said
to be happier than another, by reason of diverse
participation of the same good. And the addition
of other goods does not increase Happiness, since
Augustine says (Confess. v, 4): "He who knows
Thee, and others besides, is not the happier for
knowing them, but is happy for knowing Thee
alone."
^Q. 5
Art. 3: Whether one can be happy in this life?
It would seem that Happiness can be had in this
life.
Obj. 1: For it is written (Ps. 118:1): "Blessed are the
undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the
Lord." But this happens in this life. Therefore one
can be happy in this life.
Obj. 2: Further, imperfect participation in the
Sovereign Good does not destroy the nature of
Happiness, otherwise one would not be happier
than another. But men can participate in the
Sovereign Good in this life, by knowing and loving
God, albeit imperfectly. Therefore man can be
happy in this life.
Obj. 3: Further, what is said by many cannot be
altogether false: since what is in many, comes,
apparently, from nature; and nature does not fail
altogether. Now many say that Happiness can be
had in this life, as appears from Ps. 143:15: "They
have called the people happy that hath these
things," to wit, the good things in this life.
Therefore one can be happy in this life.
On the contrary, It is written (Job 14:1): "Man born
of a woman, living for a short time, is filled with
many miseries." But Happiness excludes misery.
Therefore man cannot be happy in this life.
I answer that, A certain participation of Happiness
can be had in this life: but perfect and true
Happiness cannot be had in this life. This may be
seen from a twofold consideration.
First, from the general notion of happiness. For
since happiness is a "perfect and sufficient good,"
it excludes every evil, and fulfils every desire. But
in this life every evil cannot be excluded. For this
present life is subject to many unavoidable evils;
to ignorance on the part of the intellect; to
inordinate affection on the part of the appetite,
and to many penalties on the part of the body; as
Augustine sets forth in De Civ. Dei xix, 4. Likewise
neither can the desire for good be satiated in this
life. For man naturally desires the good, which he
has, to be abiding. Now the goods of the present
life pass away; since life itself passes away, which
we naturally desire to have, and would wish to
hold abidingly, for man naturally shrinks from
death. Wherefore it is impossible to have true
Happiness in this life.
182
Secondly, from a consideration of the specific
nature of Happiness, viz. the vision of the Divine
Essence, which man cannot obtain in this life, as
was shown in the First Part (Q. 12, A. 11). Hence it
is evident that none can attain true and perfect
Happiness in this life.
Reply Obj. 1: Some are said to be happy in this life,
either on account of the hope of obtaining
Happiness in the life to come, according to Rom.
8:24: "We are saved by hope"; or on account of a
certain participation of Happiness, by reason of a
kind of enjoyment of the Sovereign Good.
Reply Obj. 2: The imperfection of participated
Happiness is due to one of two causes. First, on
the part of the object of Happiness, which is not
seen in Its Essence: and this imperfection destroys
the nature of true Happiness. Secondly, the
imperfection may be on the part of the
participator, who indeed attains the object of
Happiness, in itself, namely, God: imperfectly,
however, in comparison with the way in which
God enjoys Himself. This imperfection does not
destroy the true nature of Happiness; because,
since Happiness is an operation, as stated above
(Q. 3, A. 2), the true nature of Happiness is taken
from the object, which specifies the act, and not
from the subject.
Reply Obj. 3: Men esteem that there is some kind
of happiness to be had in this life, on account of a
certain likeness to true Happiness. And thus they
do not fail altogether in their estimate.
^Q. 5
Art. 4: Whether happiness once had can be lost?
It would seem that Happiness can be lost.
Obj. 1: For Happiness is a perfection. But every
perfection is in the thing perfected according to
the mode of the latter. Since then man is, by his
nature, changeable, it seems that Happiness is
participated by man in a changeable manner. And
consequently it seems that man can lose
Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, Happiness consists in an act of the
intellect; and the intellect is subject to the will.
But the will can be directed to opposites.
Therefore it seems that it can desist from the
operation whereby man is made happy: and thus
man will cease to be happy.
Obj. 3: Further, the end corresponds to the
beginning. But man's Happiness has a beginning,
since man was not always happy. Therefore it
seems that it has an end.
On the contrary, It is written (Matt. 25:46) of the
righteous that "they shall go . . . into life
everlasting," which, as above stated (A. 2), is the
Happiness of the saints. Now what is eternal
ceases not. Therefore Happiness cannot be lost.
I answer that, If we speak of imperfect happiness,
such as can be had in this life, in this sense it can
be lost. This is clear of contemplative happiness,
which is lost either by forgetfulness, for instance,
when knowledge is lost through sickness; or again
by certain occupations, whereby a man is
altogether withdrawn from contemplation.
This is also clear of active happiness: since man's
will can be changed so as to fall to vice from the
virtue, in whose act that happiness principally
consists. If, however, the virtue remain
unimpaired, outward changes can indeed disturb
such like happiness, in so far as they hinder many
acts of virtue; but they cannot take it away
altogether because there still remains an act of
virtue, whereby man bears these trials in a
praiseworthy manner. And since the happiness of
this life can be lost, a circumstance that appears to
be contrary to the nature of happiness, therefore
did the Philosopher state (Ethic. i, 10) that some
are happy in this life, not simply, but "as men,"
whose nature is subject to change.
But if we speak of that perfect Happiness which
we await after this life, it must be observed that
Origen (Peri Archon. ii, 3), following the error of
certain Platonists, held that man can become
unhappy after the final Happiness.
This, however, is evidently false, for two reasons.
First, from the general notion of happiness. For
since happiness is the "perfect and sufficient
good," it must needs set man's desire at rest and
exclude every evil. Now man naturally desires to
hold to the good that he has, and to have the
surety of his holding: else he must of necessity be
troubled with the fear of losing it, or with the
sorrow of knowing that he will lose it. Therefore it
183
is necessary for true Happiness that man have the
assured opinion of never losing the good that he
possesses. If this opinion be true, it follows that he
never will lose happiness: but if it be false, it is in
itself an evil that he should have a false opinion:
because the false is the evil of the intellect, just as
the true is its good, as stated in Ethic. vi, 2.
Consequently he will no longer be truly happy, if
evil be in him.
Secondly, it is again evident if we consider the
specific nature of Happiness. For it has been
shown above (Q. 3, A. 8) that man's perfect
Happiness consists in the vision of the Divine
Essence. Now it is impossible for anyone seeing
the Divine Essence, to wish not to see It. Because
every good that one possesses and yet wishes to be
without, is either insufficient, something more
sufficing being desired in its stead; or else has
some inconvenience attached to it, by reason of
which it becomes wearisome. But the vision of the
Divine Essence fills the soul with all good things,
since it unites it to the source of all goodness;
hence it is written (Ps. 16:15): "I shall be satisfied
when Thy glory shall appear"; and (Wis. 7:11): "All
good things came to me together with her," i.e.
with the contemplation of wisdom. In like manner
neither has it any inconvenience attached to it;
because it is written of the contemplation of
wisdom (Wis. 8:16): "Her conversation hath no
bitterness, nor her company any tediousness." It is
thus evident that the happy man cannot forsake
Happiness of his own accord. Moreover, neither
can he lose Happiness, through God taking it away
from him. Because, since the withdrawal of
Happiness is a punishment, it cannot be enforced
by God, the just Judge, except for some fault; and
he that sees God cannot fall into a fault, since
rectitude of the will, of necessity, results from that
vision as was shown above (Q. 4, A. 4). Nor again
can it be withdrawn by any other agent. Because
the mind that is united to God is raised above all
other things: and consequently no other agent can
sever the mind from that union. Therefore it
seems unreasonable that as time goes on, man
should pass from happiness to misery, and vice
versa; because such like vicissitudes of time can
only be for such things as are subject to time and
movement.
Reply Obj. 1: Happiness is consummate perfection,
which excludes every defect from the happy. And
therefore whoever has happiness has it altogether
unchangeably: this is done by the Divine power,
which raises man to the participation of eternity
which transcends all change.
Reply Obj. 2: The will can be directed to opposites,
in things which are ordained to the end; but it is
ordained, of natural necessity, to the last end. This
is evident from the fact that man is unable not to
wish to be happy.
Reply Obj. 3: Happiness has a beginning owing to
the condition of the participator: but it has no end
by reason of the condition of the good, the
participation of which makes man happy. Hence
the beginning of happiness is from one cause, its
endlessness is from another.
^Q. 5
Art. 5: Whether man can attain happiness by his
natural powers?
It would seem that man can attain Happiness by
his natural powers.
Obj. 1: For nature does not fail in necessary things.
But nothing is so necessary to man as that by
which he attains the last end. Therefore this is not
lacking to human nature. Therefore man can
attain Happiness by his natural powers.
Obj. 2: Further, since man is more noble than
irrational creatures, it seems that he must be
better equipped than they. But irrational creatures
can attain their end by their natural powers. Much
more therefore can man attain Happiness by his
natural powers.
Obj. 3: Further, Happiness is a "perfect operation,"
according to the Philosopher (Ethic. vii, 13). Now
the beginning of a thing belongs to the same
principle as the perfecting thereof. Since,
therefore, the imperfect operation, which is as the
beginning in human operations, is subject to
man's natural power, whereby he is master of his
own actions; it seems that he can attain to perfect
operation, i.e. Happiness, by his natural powers.
On the contrary, Man is naturally the principle of
his action, by his intellect and will. But final
Happiness prepared for the saints, surpasses the
intellect and will of man; for the Apostle says (1
Cor. 2:9) "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
184
neither hath it entered into the heart of man, what
things God hath prepared for them that love
Him." Therefore man cannot attain Happiness by
his natural powers.
I answer that, Imperfect happiness that can be had
in this life, can be acquired by man by his natural
powers, in the same way as virtue, in whose
operation it consists: on this point we shall speak
further on (Q. 63). But man's perfect Happiness, as
stated above (Q. 3, A. 8), consists in the vision of
the Divine Essence. Now the vision of God's
Essence surpasses the nature not only of man, but
also of every creature, as was shown in the First
Part (Q. 12, A. 4). For the natural knowledge of
every creature is in keeping with the mode of his
substance: thus it is said of the intelligence (De
Causis; Prop. viii) that "it knows things that are
above it, and things that are below it, according to
the mode of its substance." But every knowledge
that is according to the mode of created
substance, falls short of the vision of the Divine
Essence, which infinitely surpasses all created
substance. Consequently neither man, nor any
creature, can attain final Happiness by his natural
powers.
Reply Obj. 1: Just as nature does not fail man in
necessaries, although it has not provided him with
weapons and clothing, as it provided other
animals, because it gave him reason and hands,
with which he is able to get these things for
himself; so neither did it fail man in things
necessary, although it gave him not the
wherewithal to attain Happiness: since this it
could not do. But it did give him free-will, with
which he can turn to God, that He may make him
happy. "For what we do by means of our friends, is
done, in a sense, by ourselves" (Ethic. iii, 3).
Reply Obj. 2: The nature that can attain perfect
good, although it needs help from without in
order to attain it, is of more noble condition than
a nature which cannot attain perfect good, but
attains some imperfect good, although it need no
help from without in order to attain it, as the
Philosopher says (De Coel. ii, 12). Thus he is better
disposed to health who can attain perfect health,
albeit by means of medicine, than he who can
attain but imperfect health, without the help of
medicine. And therefore the rational creature,
which can attain the perfect good of happiness,
but needs the Divine assistance for the purpose, is
more perfect than the irrational creature, which is
not capable of attaining this good, but attains
some imperfect good by its natural powers.
Reply Obj. 3: When imperfect and perfect are of
the same species, they can be caused by the same
power. But this does not follow of necessity, if
they be of different species: for not everything,
that can cause the disposition of matter, can
produce the final perfection. Now the imperfect
operation, which is subject to man's natural
power, is not of the same species as that perfect
operation which is man's happiness: since
operation takes its species from its object.
Consequently the argument does not prove.
^Q. 5
Art. 6: Whether man attains happiness through
the action of some higher creature?
It would seem that man can be made happy
through the action of some higher creature, viz. an
angel.
Obj. 1: For since we observe a twofold order in
things—one, of the parts of the universe to one
another, the other, of the whole universe to a good
which is outside the universe; the former order is
ordained to the second as to its end (Metaph. xii,
10). Thus the mutual order of the parts of an army
is dependent on the order of the parts of an army
is dependent on the order of the whole army to
the general. But the mutual order of the parts of
the universe consists in the higher creatures
acting on the lower, as stated in the First Part (Q.
109, A. 2): while happiness consists in the order of
man to a good which is outside the universe, i.e.
God. Therefore man is made happy, through a
higher creature, viz. an angel, acting on him.
Obj. 2: Further, that which is such in potentiality,
can be reduced to act, by that which is such
actually: thus what is potentially hot, is made
actually hot, by something that is actually hot. But
man is potentially happy. Therefore he can be
made actually happy by an angel who is actually
happy.
Obj. 3: Further, Happiness consists in an
operation of the intellect as stated above (Q. 3, A.
4). But an angel can enlighten man's intellect as
185
shown in the First Part (Q. 111, A. 1). Therefore an
angel can make a man happy.
On the contrary, It is written (Ps. 83:12): "The Lord
will give grace and glory."
I answer that, Since every creature is subject to the
laws of nature, from the very fact that its power
and action are limited: that which surpasses
created nature, cannot be done by the power of
any creature. Consequently if anything need to be
done that is above nature, it is done by God
immediately; such as raising the dead to life,
restoring sight to the blind, and such like. Now it
has been shown above (A. 5) that Happiness is a
good surpassing created nature. Therefore it is
impossible that it be bestowed through the action
of any creature: but by God alone is man made
happy, if we speak of perfect Happiness. If,
however, we speak of imperfect happiness, the
same is to be said of it as of the virtue, in whose
act it consists.
Reply Obj. 1: It often happens in the case of active
powers ordained to one another, that it belongs to
the highest power to reach the last end, while the
lower powers contribute to the attainment of that
last end, by causing a disposition thereto: thus to
the art of sailing, which commands the art of
shipbuilding, it belongs to use a ship for the end
for which it was made. Thus, too, in the order of
the universe, man is indeed helped by the angels
in the attainment of his last end, in respect of
certain preliminary dispositions thereto: whereas
he attains the last end itself through the First
Agent, which is God.
Reply Obj. 2: When a form exists perfectly and
naturally in something, it can be the principle of
action on something else: for instance a hot thing
heats through heat. But if a form exist in
something imperfectly, and not naturally, it
cannot be the principle whereby it is
communicated to something else: thus the
intention of color which is in the pupil, cannot
make a thing white; nor indeed can everything
enlightened or heated give heat or light to
something else; for if they could, enlightening and
heating would go on to infinity. But the light of
glory, whereby God is seen, is in God perfectly and
naturally; whereas in any creature, it is imperfectly
and by likeness or participation. Consequently no
creature can communicate its Happiness to
another.
Reply Obj. 3: A happy angel enlightens the
intellect of a man or of a lower angel, as to certain
notions of the Divine works: but not as to the
vision of the Divine Essence, as was stated in the
First Part (Q. 106, A. 1): since in order to see this,
all are immediately enlightened by God.
^Q. 5
Art. 7: Whether any good works are necessary that
man may receive happiness from God?
It would seem that no works of man are necessary
that he may obtain Happiness from God.
Obj. 1: For since God is an agent of infinite power,
He requires before acting, neither matter, nor
disposition of matter, but can forthwith produce
the whole effect. But man's works, since they are
not required for Happiness, as the efficient cause
thereof, as stated above (A. 6), can be required
only as dispositions thereto. Therefore God who
does not require dispositions before acting,
bestows Happiness without any previous works.
Obj. 2: Further, just as God is the immediate cause
of Happiness, so is He the immediate cause of
nature. But when God first established nature, He
produced creatures without any previous
disposition or action on the part of the creature,
but made each one perfect forthwith in its species.
Therefore it seems that He bestows Happiness on
man without any previous works.
Obj. 3: Further, the Apostle says (Rom. 4:6) that
Happiness is of the man "to whom God reputeth
justice without works." Therefore no works of man
are necessary for attaining Happiness.
On the contrary, It is written (John 13:17): "If you
know these things, you shall be blessed if you do
them." Therefore Happiness is obtained through
works.
I answer that, Rectitude of the will, as stated
above (Q. 4, A. 4), is necessary for Happiness;
since it is nothing else than the right order of the
will to the last end; and it is therefore necessary
for obtaining the end, just as the right disposition
of matter, in order to receive the form. But this
does not prove that any work of man need precede
186
his Happiness: for God could make a will having a
right tendency to the end, and at the same time
attaining the end; just as sometimes He disposes
matter and at the same time introduces the form.
But the order of Divine wisdom demands that it
should not be thus; for as is stated in De Coelo ii,
12, "of those things that have a natural capacity for
the perfect good, one has it without movement,
some by one movement, some by several." Now to
possess the perfect good without movement,
belongs to that which has it naturally: and to have
Happiness naturally belongs to God alone.
Therefore it belongs to God alone not to be moved
towards Happiness by any previous operation.
Now since Happiness surpasses every created
nature, no pure creature can becomingly gain
Happiness, without the movement of operation,
whereby it tends thereto. But the angel, who is
above man in the natural order, obtained it,
according to the order of Divine wisdom, by one
movement of a meritorious work, as was explained
in the First Part (Q. 62, A. 5); whereas man obtains
it by many movements of works which are called
merits. Wherefore also according to the
Philosopher (Ethic. i, 9), happiness is the reward
of works of virtue.
Reply Obj. 1: Works are necessary to man in order
to gain Happiness; not on account of the
insufficiency of the Divine power which bestows
Happiness, but that the order in things be
observed.
Reply Obj. 2: God produced the first creatures so
that they are perfect forthwith, without any
previous disposition or operation of the creature;
because He instituted the first individuals of the
various species, that through them nature might
be propagated to their progeny. In like manner,
because Happiness was to be bestowed on others
through Christ, who is God and Man, "Who,"
according to Heb. 2:10, "had brought many
children into glory"; therefore, from the very
beginning of His conception, His soul was happy,
without any previous meritorious operation. But
this is peculiar to Him: for Christ's merit avails
baptized children for the gaining of Happiness,
though they have no merits of their own; because
by Baptism they are made members of Christ.
Reply Obj. 3: The Apostle is speaking of the
Happiness of Hope, which is bestowed on us by
sanctifying grace, which is not given on account of
previous works. For grace is not a term of
movement, as Happiness is; rather is it the
principle of the movement that tends towards
Happiness.
^Q. 5
Art. 8: Whether every man desires happiness?
It would seem that not all desire Happiness.
Obj. 1: For no man can desire what he knows not;
since the apprehended good is the object of the
appetite (De Anima iii, 10). But many know not
what Happiness is. This is evident from the fact
that, as Augustine says (De Trin. xiii, 4), "some
thought that Happiness consists in pleasures of
the body; some, in a virtue of the soul; some in
other things." Therefore not all desire Happiness.
Obj. 2: Further, the essence of Happiness is the
vision of the Divine Essence, as stated above (Q. 3,
A. 8). But some consider it impossible for man to
see the Divine Essence; wherefore they desire it
not. Therefore all men do not desire Happiness.
Obj. 3: Further, Augustine says (De Trin. xiii, 5)
that "happy is he who has all he desires, and
desires nothing amiss." But all do not desire this;
for some desire certain things amiss, and yet they
wish to desire such things. Therefore all do not
desire Happiness.
On the contrary, Augustine says (De Trin. xiii, 3):
"If that actor had said: 'You all wish to be happy;
you do not wish to be unhappy,' he would have
said that which none would have failed to
acknowledge in his will." Therefore everyone
desires to be happy.
I answer that, Happiness can be considered in two
ways. First according to the general notion of
happiness: and thus, of necessity, every man
desires happiness. For the general notion of
happiness consists in the perfect good, as stated
above (AA. 3, 4). But since good is the object of
the will, the perfect good of a man is that which
entirely satisfies his will. Consequently to desire
happiness is nothing else than to desire that one's
will be satisfied. And this everyone desires.
Secondly we may speak of Happiness according to
its specific notion, as to that in which it consists.
And thus all do not know Happiness; because they
187
know not in what thing the general notion of
happiness is found. And consequently, in this
respect, not all desire it. Wherefore the reply to
the first Objection is clear.
Reply Obj. 2: Since the will follows the
apprehension of the intellect or reason; just as it
happens that where there is no real distinction,
there may be a distinction according to the
consideration of reason; so does it happen that
one and the same thing is desired in one way, and
not desired in another. So that happiness may be
considered as the final and perfect good, which is
the general notion of happiness: and thus the will
naturally and of necessity tends thereto, as stated
above. Again it can be considered under other
special aspects, either on the part of the operation
itself, or on the part of the operating power, or on
the part of the object; and thus the will does not
tend thereto of necessity.
Reply Obj. 3: This definition of Happiness given by
some—"Happy is the man that has all he desires,"
or, "whose every wish is fulfilled," is a good and
adequate definition, if it be understood in a
certain way; but an inadequate definition if
understood in another. For if we understand it
simply of all that man desires by his natural
appetite, thus it is true that he who has all that he
desires, is happy: since nothing satisfies man's
natural desire, except the perfect good which is
Happiness. But if we understand it of those things
that man desires according to the apprehension of
the reason, thus it does not belong to Happiness,
to have certain things that man desires; rather
does it belong to unhappiness, in so far as the
possession of such things hinders man from
having all that he desires naturally; thus it is that
reason sometimes accepts as true things that are a
hindrance to the knowledge of truth. And it was
through taking this into consideration that
Augustine added so as to include perfect
Happiness—that he "desires nothing amiss":
although the first part suffices if rightly
understood, to wit, that "happy is he who has all
he desires."
^Q. 5
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De Agostini Picture Library / Universal Images Group
David Hume, Enquiry
Concerning the Principles of
Morals (Selections)
SECTION I.
Of the General Principles of MORALS.
DISPUTES with Persons, pertinaciously obstinate
in their Principles, are, of all others, the most
irksome; except, perhaps, those with Persons, who
really do not believe at all the Opinion they
defend, but engage in the Controversy, from
Affectation, from a Spirit of Opposition, or from a
Desire of showing Wit and Ingenuity, superior to
the rest of Mankind. The same blind Adherence to
their own Arguments is to be excepted in both;
the same Contempt of their Antagonists; and the
same passionate Vehemence, in inforcing
Sophistry and Falshood. And as reasoning is not
the Source, whence either Disputant derives his
Tenets; 'tis in vain to expect, that any Logic, which
speaks not to the Affections, will ever engage him
to embrace sounder Principles.
THOSE who have refused the Reality of moral
Distinctions, may be ranked in the latter Class,
amongst the disingenuous Disputants; nor is it
conceivable, that any human Creature could ever
seriously believe, that all Characters and Actions
were alike entitled to the Affection and Regard of
every one. The Difference, which Nature has
plac'd betwixt one Man and another, is so wide,
and this Difference is still so much farther
widened, by Education, Example, and Habit, that,
where the opposite Extremes come at once under
our Apprehension, there is no Scepticism so
scrupulous, and scarce any Assurance so
determin'd, as absolutely to deny all Distinction
betwixt them. Let a Man's Insensibility be ever so
great, he must often be touch'd with the Images of
RIGHT and WRONG; and let his Prejudices be
ever so obstinate, he must observe, that others are
susceptible of like Impressions. The only Way,
therefore, of converting an Antagonist of this
Kind, is to leave him to himself. For, finding that
No-body keeps up the Controversy with him, 'tis
probable he will, at last, of himself, from mere
Weariness, come over to the Side of common
Sense and Reason.
THERE has been a Controversy started of late,
much better worth Examination, concerning the
general Foundation of MORALS, whether they are
derived from REASON or from SENTIMENT;
whether we attain the Knowledge of them by a
Chain of Argument and Deduction, or by an
immediate Feeling and finer internal Sense;
whether, like all sound Judgment of Truth and
Falshood, they should be the same in every
rational intelligent Being; or whether, like the
Perception of Beauty and Deformity, they are
founded entirely on the particular Fabric and
Constitution of the human Species.
THE antient Philosophers, tho' they often affirm,
that Virtue is nothing but Conformity to Reason,
yet, in general, seem to consider Morals as
deriving their Existence from Taste and
Sentiment. On the other Hand, our modern
Enquirers, tho' they also talk much of the Beauty
of Virtue, and Deformity of Vice, yet have
commonly endeavoured to account for these
Distinctions by metaphysical Reasonings, and by
Deductions from the most abstract Principles of
human Understanding. Such Confusion reign'd in
these Subjects, that an Opposition of the greatest
Consequence could prevail betwixt one System
and another, and even in the Parts almost of each
189
individual System; and yet No-body, till very
lately, was ever sensible of it. The elegant and
sublime Lord Shaftesbury, who first gave Occasion
to remark this Distinction, and who, in general,
adher'd to the Principles of the Antients, is not,
himself, entirely free from the same Confusion.
IT must be acknowledged, that both Sides of the
Question are susceptible of specious Arguments.
Moral Distinctions, it may be said, are discernible
by pure Reason: Else, whence the many Disputes,
that reign, in common Life, as well as in
Philosophy, with regard to this Subject: The long
Chain of Proofs often adduc'd on both Sides; the
Examples cited, the Authorities appeal'd to, the
Analogies employ'd, the Fallacies detected, the
Inferences drawn, and the several Conclusions
adjusted to their proper Principles. Truth is
disputable; not, Taste: What exists in the Nature
of Things is the Standard of our Judgment; what
each Man feels within himself is the Standard of
Sentiment. Propositions in Geometry may be
prov'd, Systems in Physics may be controverted;
but the Harmony of Verse, the Tenderness of
Passion, the Brilliancy of Wit must give immediate
Pleasure. No Man reasons concerning another's
Beauty; but frequently concerning the Justice or
Injustice of his Actions. In every Trial of
Criminals, their first Object is to disprove the
Facts alledged, and deny the Actions imputed to
them: The second to prove, that even if these
Actions were real, they might be justified, as
innocent and lawful. 'Tis confessedly by
Deductions of the Understanding, that the first
Point is ascertain'd:
How can we suppose, that a different Faculty of
the Mind is employ'd in fixing the other?
ON the other Hand, those, who would resolve all
moral Determinations into Sentiment, may
endeavour to show, that 'tis impossible for Reason
ever to draw Conclusions of this Nature. To
Virtue, say they, it belongs to be amiable, and Vice
odious. This forms their very Nature or Essence.
But can Reason or Argumentation distribute these
different Epithets to any Subjects, and pronounce
a priori, that this must produce Love, and that
Hatred? Or what other Reason can we ever assign
for these Affections, but the original Fabric and
Formation of the human Mind, which is naturally
adapted to receive them?
THE End of all moral Speculations is to teach us
our Duty; and by proper Representations of the
Deformity of Vice and Beauty of Virtue, beget
correspondent Habits, and engage us to avoid the
one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to be
expected from Inferences and Conclusions of the
Understanding, which, of themselves, have no
Hold of the Affections, nor set the active Powers
of Men in Motion and Employment? They
discover Truth; but where the Truths they
discover are indifferent, and beget no Desire or
Aversion, they can have no Influence on Conduct
and Behaviour. What is honourable, what is fair,
what is becoming, what is noble, what is generous,
takes Possession of the Heart, and animates us to
embrace and to maintain it. What is intelligible,
what is evident, what is probable, what is true,
procures only the cool Assent of the
Understanding; and gratifying a speculative
Curiosity, puts an end to our Researches.
EXTINGUISH all the warm Feelings and
Prepossessions in favour of Virtue, and all Disgust
or Aversion against Vice: Render Men totally
indifferent towards these Distinctions; and
Morality is no longer a practical Study, nor has
any Tendency to regulate our Lives and Actions.
THESE Arguments on both Sides (and many more
might be adduc'd) are so plausible, that I am apt
to suspect they may, both of them, be solid and
satisfactory, and that Reason and Sentiment
concur in almost all moral Determinations and
Conclusions. The final Sentence, 'tis probable,
which pronounces Characters and Actions
amiable or odious, praiseworthy or blameable;
that which stamps on them the Mark of Honour
or Infamy, Approbation or Censure; that which
renders Morality an active Principle, and
constitutes Virtue our Happiness, and Vice our
Misery: 'Tis probable, I say, that this final
Sentence depends on some internal Sense or
Feeling, which Nature has made universal to the
whole Species. For what else can have an Influence
of this Nature? But, in order to pave the Way for
such a Sentiment, and give Men a proper
Discernment of its Object, 'tis often necessary, we
find, that much Reasoning should precede, that
nice Distinctions he made, just Conclusions
drawn, distant Comparisons form'd, accurate
Relations examin'd, and general Facts fix'd and
ascertain'd. Some Species of Beauty, especially the
190
natural Kinds, on their first Appearance,
command our Affection, and Approbation; and
where they fail of this Effect, 'tis impossible for
any Reasoning to redress their Influence, or adapt
them better to our Taste and Sentiment. But in
many Orders of Beauty, particularly those of the
finer Arts, 'tis requisite to employ much
Reasoning, in order to feel the proper Sentiment;
and a false Relish may frequently be corrected by
Argument and Reflection. There are just Grounds
to conclude, that moral Beauty partakes much of
this latter Species, and demands the Assistance of
our intellectual Faculties, in order to give it a
suitable Influence on the human Mind.
BUT tho' this Question, concerning the general
Principle of Morals, be extremely curious and
important; 'tis needless for us, at present, to
employ farther Care in our Enquiries concerning
it. For if we can be so happy, in the Course of this
Enquiry, as to fix the just Origin of Morals, 'twill
then easily appear how far Sentiment or Reason
enters into all Determinations of this Nature*.
Mean while, it will scarce be possible for us, 'ere
this Controversy is fully decided, to proceed in
that accurate Manner, requir'd in the Sciences; by
beginning with exact Definitions of VIRTUE and
VICE, which are the Objects of our present
Enquiry. But we shall do what may justly be
esteem'd as satisfactory. We shall consider the
Matter as an Object of Experience. We shall call
every Quality or Action of the Mind, virtuous,
which is attended with the general Approbation of
Mankind: And we shall denominate vicious, every
Quality, which is the Object of general Blame or
Censure. These Qualities we shall endeavour to
collect; and after examining, on both Sides, the
several Circumstances, in which they agree, 'tis
hop'd we may, at last, reach the Foundation of
Ethics, and find those universal Principles, from
which all moral Blame or Approbation is
ultimately derived. As this is a Question of Fact,
not of abstract Science, we can only expect
Success, by following this experimental Method,
and deducing general Maxims from a Comparison
of particular Instances. The other scientifical
Method; where a general abstract Principle is first
establish'd, and is afterwards branch'd out into a
Variety of Inferences and Conclusions, may be
more perfect in itself, but suits less the
Imperfection of human Nature, and is a common
Source of Illusion and Mistake, in this as well as in
other Subjects. Men are now cured of their
Passion for Hypotheses and Systems in natural
Philosophy, and will hearken to no Arguments but
those deriv'd from Experience. 'Tis full Time they
should begin a like Reformation in all moral
Disquisitions; and reject every System of Ethics,
however subtile or ingenious, that is not founded
on Fact and Observation.
SECTION II.
Of BENEVOLENCE.
PART I.
THERE is a Principle, suppos'd to prevail amongst
many, which is utterly incompatible with all
Virtue or moral Sentiment; and as it can proceed
from nothing but the most deprav'd Disposition,
so in its Turn it tends still farther to foster and
encourage that Depravity. This Principle is, that
all Benevolence is mere Hypocrisy, Friendship a
Cheat, Public Spirit a Farce, Fidelity a Snare to
procure Trust and Confidence; and while all of us,
at the Bottom, pursue only our private Interest, we
wear these fair Disguises, in order to put others off
their Guard, and expose them the more to our
Wiles and Machinations. What Heart one must be
possess'd of, who professes such Principles, and
who feels no internal Sentiment to belye so
pernicious a Theory, 'tis easy to imagine: And also,
what Degree of Affection and Benevolence he can
bear to a Species, whom he represents under such
odious Colours, and supposes so little susceptible
of Gratitude or any Return of Affection. Or if we
will not ascribe these Principles altogether to a
corrupted Heart, we must, at least, account for
them from the most careless and precipitate
Examination. Superficial Reasoners, indeed,
observing many false Pretences amongst Mankind,
and feeling, perhaps, no very strong Restraint in
their own Disposition, might draw a general and a
hasty Conclusion, that all is equally corrupted,
and that Men, different from all other Animals,
and indeed from all other Species of Existence,
admit of no Degrees of Good or Bad, but are, in
every Instance, the same Creatures, under
different Disguises and Appearances.
THERE is another Principle, somewhat
resembling, the former; which has been much
insisted on by Philosophers, and has been the
Foundation of many a fair System; that whatever
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Affection one may feel, or imagine he feels for
others, no Passion is, or can be disinterested; that
the most generous Friendship, however sincere, is
a Modification of Self-love; and, that even
unknown to Ourselves, we seek only our
Gratification, while we appear the most deeply
engag'd in Schemes for the Liberty and Happiness
of Mankind. By a Turn of Imagination, by a
Refinement of Reflection, by an Enthusiasin of
Passion, we seem to take Part in the Interests of
others, and imagine Ourselves divested of all
selfish Views and Considerations: But at the
Bottom, the most generous Patriot and most
niggardly Miser, the bravest Hero and most abject
Coward, have, in every Action, an equal Regard to
their own Happiness and Welfare.
WHOEVER concludes, from the seeming
Tendency of this Opinion, that those, who make
Profession of it, cannot possibly feel the true
Sentiments of Benevolence, or have any Regard for
genuine Virtue, will often find himself, in Practice,
very much mistaken. Probity and Honour were no
Strangers to Epicurus and his Sect. Atticus and
Horace seem to have enjoy'd from Nature, and
cultivated by Reflection, as generous and friendly
Dispositions as any Disciple of the austerer
Schools. And amongst the Moderns, Hobbes and
Locke, who maintain'd the selfish System of
Morals, liv'd most irreproachable Lives; tho' the
former lay not under any Restraints of Religion,
which might supply the Defects of his Philosophy.
AN Epicurean or a Hobbist readily allows, that
there is such a Thing as Friendship in the World,
without Hypocrisy or Disguise; tho' he may
attempt, by a philosophical Chymistry, to resolve
the Elements of this Passion, if I may so speak,
into those of another, and explain every Affection
to be Self-love, twisted and moulded into a Variety
of Shapes and Appearances. But as the same Turn
of Imagination prevails not in every Man, nor
gives the same Direction to the original Passion;
this is sufficient, even according to the selfish
System, to make the widest Difference in human
Characters, and denominate one Man virtuous
and humane, another vicious and meanly
interested. I esteem the Man, whose Selflove, by
whatever Means, is so directed as to give him a
Concern for others, and render him serviceable to
Society: As I hate or despise him, who has no
Regard to any Thing beyond his own pitiful
Gratifications and Enjoyments. In vain would you
suggest, that these Characters, tho' seemingly
opposite, are, at the Bottom, the same, and that a
very inconsiderable Turn of Imagination forms the
whole Difference betwixt them. Each Character,
notwithstanding these inconsiderable Differences,
appears to me, in Practice, pretty durable and
untransmutable. And I find not, in this, more than
in other Subjects, that the natural Sentiments,
arising from the general Appearances of Things,
are easily destroy'd by resin'd Reflections
concerning the minute Origin of these
Appearances. Does not the lively, cheerful Colour
of a Countenance inspire me with Complacency
and Pleasure; even tho' I learn from Philosophy,
that all Difference of Complexion arises from the
most minute Differences of Thickness, in the most
minute Parts of the Skin; by which Differences one
Superficies is qualify'd to reflect one of the original
Colours of Light, and absorb the others?
BUT tho' the Question, concerning the universal
or partial Selfishness of Man, be not so material, as
is usually imagin'd, to Morality and Practice, it is
certainly of great Consequence in the speculative
Science of human Nature, and is a proper Object
of Curiosity and Enquiry. It may not, therefore, be
improper, in this Place, to bestow a few
Reflections upon it*.
THE most obvious Objection to the selfish
Hypothesis, is, that being contrary to common
Feeling and our most unprejudic'd Notions and
Opinions; there is requir'd the highest Stretch of
Philosophy to establish so extraordinary a
Paradox. To the most careless Observer, there
appear to be such Dispositions as Benevolence and
Generosity; such Affections as Love, Friendship,
Compassion, Gratitude. These Sentiments have
their Causes, Effects, Objects, and Operations,
markt by common Language and Observation,
and plainly distinguish'd from the selfish Passions.
And as this is the obvious Appearance of Things, it
must be admitted; till some Hypothesis be
discover'd, which, by penetrating deeper into
human Nature, may prove the former Affections
to be Nothing but Modifications of the latter. All
Attempts of this Kind have hitherto prov'd
fruitless, and seem to have proceeded entirely
from that Love of Simplicity, which has been the
Source of much false Reasoning in Philosophy. I
shall not here enter into any Detail on the present
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Subject. Many able Philosophers have shown the
Insufficiency of these Systems. And I shall take for
granted what, I believe, the smallest Reflection
will make evident to every impartial Enquirer.
BUT the Nature of the Subject furnishes the
strongest Presumption, that no better System will
ever, for the future, be invented, to account for the
Origin of the benevolent from the selfish
Affections, and reduce all the various Emotions of
the human Mind to a perfect Simplicity and
Uniformity. The Case is not the same in this
Species of Philosophy as in Physics. Many an
Hypothesis in Nature, contrary to first
Appearances, has been found, on more accurate
Scrutiny, solid and satisfactory. Instances of this
Kind are so frequent, that a judicious, as well as
witty Philosopher * has ventur'd to affirm, if there
be more than one Way, in which any
Phaenomenon may be produc'd, that there is a
general Presumption for its arising from the
Causes, which are the least obvious and familiar.
But the Presumption always lies on the other Side,
in all Enquiries concerning the Origin of our
Passions, and the internal Operations of the
human Mind. The simplest and most obvious
Cause, that can there be assign'd for any
Phaenomenon, is probably the true one. When a
Philosopher, in the Explication of his System, is
oblig'd to have Recourse to some very intricate
and refin'd Reflections, and to suppose them
essential to the Production of any Passion or
Emotion, we have Reason to be extremely on our
Guard against so fallacious an Hypothesis. The
Affections are not susceptible of any Impression
from the Refinements of Reason or Imagination;
and 'tis always found, that a vigorous Exertion of
the latter Faculties, from the narrow Capacity of
the human Mind, destroys all Energy and Activity
in the former. Our predominant Motive or
Intention is, indeed, frequently conceal'd from
Ourselves, when it is mingled and confounded
with others, which the Mind, from Vanity or Self-
conceit, is desirous of supposing of greater Force
and Influence: But there is no Instance, that a
Concealment of this Nature has ever arisen from
the Abstruseness and Intricacy of the Motive. A
Man, who has lost a Friend and Patron, may flatter
himself, that all his Grief arises from generous
Sentiments, without any Mixture of narrow or
interested Considerations: But a Man, who grieves
for a valuable Friend, that needed his Patronage
and Protection; how can we suppose, that his
passionate Tenderness arises from some
metaphysical Regards to a Self-interest, which has
no Foundation or Reality? We may as well
imagine, that minute Wheels and Springs, like
those of a Watch, give Motion to a loaded
Waggon, as account for the Origin of Passion from
such abstruse Reflections.
ANIMALS are found susceptible of Kindness, both
to their own Species and to ours; nor is there, in
this Case, the least Suspicion of Disguise or
Artifice. Shall we account for all their Sentiments
too, from refin'd Deductions of Self-interest? Or if
we admit a disinterested Benevolence in the
inferior Species, by what Rule of Analogy can we
refuse it in the Superior?
LOVE betwixt the Sexes begets a Complacency
and Good-will, very distinct from the Gratification
of an Appetite. Tenderness to their Offspring, in
all sensible Beings, is commonly able alone to
counterballance the strongest Motives of Self-love,
and has no Manner of Dependance on that
Affection. What Interest can a fond Mother have
in View, who loses her Health by assiduous
Attendance on her sick Child, and afterwards
languishes, and dies for Grief, when freed, by its
Death, from the Slavery of that Attendance?
Is Gratitude no Affection of the human Breast, or
is that a Word merely, without any Meaning or
Reality? Have we no Complacency or Satisfaction
in one Man's Company above another's, and no
Desire of the Welfare of our Friend, even tho'
Absence or Death should prevent us from all
Participation in it? Or what is it commonly, that
gives us any Participation in it, even while alive
and present, but our Affection and Regard to him?
THESE and a thousand other Instances are Marks
of a generous Benevolence in human Nature,
where no real Interest binds us to the Object. And
how an imaginary Interest, known and avow'd for
such, can be the Origin of any Passion or Emotion,
seems difficult to explain. No satisfactory
Hypothesis of this Kind has yet been discover'd;
nor is there the smallest Probability, that the
future Industry of Men will ever be attended with
more favourable Success.
BUT farther, if we consider rightly of the Matter,
we shall find, that the Hypothesis, which allows of
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a disinterested Benevolence, distinct from Self-
love, has really more Simplicity in it, and is more
conformable to the Analogy of Nature, than that
which pretends to resolve all Friendship and
Humanity into this latter Principle. There are
bodily Wants or Appetites, acknowledged by every
one, which necessarily precede all sensual
Enjoyment, and carry us directly to seek
Possession of the Object. Thus, Hunger and Thirst
have eating and drinking for their End; and from
the Gratification of these primary Appetites arises
a Pleasure, which may become the Object of
another Species of Desire or Inclination, that is
secondary and interested. In the same Manner,
there are mental Passions, by which we are
impell'd immediately to seek particular Objects,
such as Fame or Power or Vengeance, without any
Regard to Interest; and when these Objects are
attain'd, a pleasing Enjoyment ensues, as the
Consequence of our indulg'd Affections. Nature
must, by the internal Frame and Constitution of
the Mind, give an original Propensity to Fame, 'ere
we can reap any Pleasure from it, or pursue it from
Motives of Self-love, and a Desire of Happiness. If
I have no Vanity, I take no Delight in Praise: If I be
void of Ambition, Power gives no Enjoyment: If I
be not angry, the Punishment of an Adversary is
totally indifferent to me. In all these Cases, there
is a Passion, which points immediately to the
Object, and constitutes it our Good or Happiness;
as there are other secondary Passions, which
afterwards arise, and pursue it as a Part of our
Happiness, when once it is constituted such, by
our original Affections. Were there no Appetites of
any Kind, antecedent to Self-love, that Propensity
could scarce ever exert itself; because we should,
in that Case, have felt few and slender Pains or
Pleasures, and have little Misery or Happiness, to
avoid or to pursue.
Now where is the Difficulty of conceiving, that
this may likewise be the Case with Benevolence
and Friendship, and that, from the original Frame
of our Temper, we may feel a Desire of another's
Happiness or Good, which, by Means of that
Affection, becomes our own Good, and is
afterwards pursued, from the conjoin'd Motives of
Benevolence and Self-enjoyment? Who sees not
that Vengeance, from the Force alone of Passion,
may be so eagerly pursued, as to make us
knowingly neglect every Consideration of Ease,
Interest, or Safety; and, like some vindictive
Animals, infuse our very Souls into the Wounds
we give an Enemy*? And what a malignant
Philosophy must it be, that will not allow, to
Humanity and Friendship, the same Privileges,
which are indisputably granted to the darker
Passions of Enmity and Resentment? Such a
Philosophy is more like a Satyr, than a true
Delineation or Description, of human Nature; and
may be a good Foundation for paradoxical Wit
and Raillery, but is a very bad one for any serious
Argument or Reasoning.
PART II.
IT may be esteem'd, perhaps, a superfluous Task
to prove, that the benevolent or softer Affections
are VIRTUOUS; and wherever they appear, attract
the Esteem, Approbation, and Good-will of
Mankind. The Epithets sociable, good-natur'd,
humane, merciful, grateful, friendly, generous,
beneficent, are known in all Languages, and
universally express the highest Merit, which
human Nature is capable of attaining: Where
these amiable Qualities are attended with Birth
and Power and eminent Abilities, and display
themselves in the good Government or useful
Instruction of Mankind, they seem even to raise
the Possessors of them above the Rank of human
Nature, and approach them, in some Measure, to
the Divine. Exalted Capacity, undaunted Courage,
prosperous Success; these may only expose a Hero
or Politician to the Envy and Malignity of the
Public: But as soon as the Praises are added of
humane and beneficent; when Instances are
display'd of Lenity, Tenderness, or Friendship;
Envy itself is silent, or joins the general Voice of
Applause and Acclamation.
WHEN Pericles, the great Athenian Statesman
and General, was on his Death-bed, his
surrounding Friends, esteeming him now
insensible, began to indulge their Sorrow for their
expiring Patron, by enumerating his great
Qualities and Successes, his Conquests and
Victories, the unusual Length of his
Administration, and his nine Trophies, erected
over the Enemies of the Republic. You forget, cries
the dying Hero, who had heard all, you forget the
most eminent of my Praises, while you dwell so
much on those vulgar Advantages, in which
Fortune had a principal Share. You have not
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observ'd, that no Citizen has ever yet wore
Mourning on my Account*.
IN Men of more ordinary Talents and Capacity,
the social Virtues become, if possible, still more
essentially requisite; there being nothing eminent,
in that Case, to compensate for the Want of them,
or preserve the Person from our severest Hatred,
as well as Contempt. A high Ambition, an elevated
Courage is apt, says Cicero, in less perfect
Characters, to degenerate into a turbulent
Ferocity. The more social and softer Virtues are
there chiefly to be regarded. These are always
good and amiable*.
THE principal Advantage, which Juvenal discovers
in the extensive Capacity of the human Species, is,
that it renders our Benevolence also more
extensive, and gives us larger Opportunities of
spreading our kindly Influence than what are
indulg'd to the inferior Creation†. It must, indeed,
be confest, that by doing Good only, can a Man
truly enjoy the Advantages of being eminent. His
exalted Station, of itself, but the more exposes him
to Tempest and Thunder. His sole Prerogative is
to afford Shelter to Inferiors, who repose
themselves under his Cover and Protection.
BUT I forget, that it is not my present Business to
recommend Generosity and Benevolence, or to
paint, in their true Colours, all the genuine
Charms of the social Virtues. These, indeed,
sufficiently engage every Heart, on the first
Apprehension of them; and 'tis difficult to abstain
from some Sally of Panegyric, as often as they
occur in Discourse or Reasoning. But our Object
here being more the speculative, than the
practical Part of Morals, 'twill suffice to remark,
what will readily, I believe, be allow'd, that no
Qualities are more entitled to the general Good-
will and Approbation of Mankind, than
Beneficence and Humanity, Friendship and
Gratitude, Natural Affection and Public Spirit, or
whatever proceeds from a tender Sympathy with
others, and a generous Concern for our Kind and
Species. These, whereever they appear, seem to
transfuse themselves, in a Manner, into each
Beholder, and to call forth, in their own Behalf,
the same favourable and affectionate Sentiments,
which they exert on all around them.
PART III.
WE may observe, that, in displaying the Praises of
any humane, beneficent Man, there is one
Circumstance, which never fails to be amply
insisted on, viz. the Happiness and Satisfaction,
deriv'd to Society from his Intercourse and Good
offices.
To his Parents, we are apt to say, he endears
himself, by his pious Attachment and duteous
Care, still more than by the Connexions of Nature.
His Children never feel his Authority, but when
employ'd for their Advantage. With him, the Ties
of Love are consolidated by Beneficence and
Friendship. The Ties of Friendship approach, in a
fond Observance of ech obliging Office, to those
of Love and Inclination. His Domestics and
Dependants have in him a sure Resource; and no
longer dread the Power of Fortune, but so far as
she exercises it over him. From him, the hungry
receive Food, the naked Cloathing, the ignorant
and slothful Skill and Industry. Like the Sun, an
inferior Minister of Providence, he cheers,
invigorates, and sustains the surrounding World.
Is consin'd to private Life, the Sphere of his
Activity is narrower; but his Influence is all benign
and gentle. If exalted into a higher Station,
Mankind and Posterity reap the Fruit of his
Labours.
As these Topics of Praise never fail to be employ'd,
and with Success, where we would inspire Esteem
for any one; may we not thence conclude, that the
UTILITY, resulting from the social Virtues, forms,
at least, a Part of their Merit, and is one Source of
that Approbation and Regard so universally pay'd
them?
WHEN we recommend even an Animal or Plant as
useful and beneficial, we give it an Applause and
Recommendation suited to its Nature. As on the
other Hand, Reflection on the baneful Influence of
any of these inferior Beings always inspires us with
the Sentiments of Aversion. The Eye is pleas'd
with the Prospect of Corn-fields and loaded
Vineyards; Horses grazing, and Flocks pasturing:
But flies the View of Bryars and Brambles,
affording Shelter to Wolves and Serpents.
A Machine, a Piece of Furniture, a Garment, a
House, well contriv'd for Use and Conveniency, is
so far beautiful, and is contemplated with Pleasure
and Approbation. An experienc'd Eye is here
195
sensible to many Excellencies, which escape
Persons ignorant and uninstructed.
CAN any Thing stronger be said in Praise of a
Profession, such as Merchandize or Manufactory,
than to observe the Advantages, which it procures
to Society? And is not a Monk and Inquisitor
enrag'd, when we treat his Rank and Order as
useless or pernicious to Mankind?
THE Historian exults in displaying the Benefit
arising from his Labours. The Writer of Romances
alleviates or denies the bad Consequences ascrib'd
to his Manner of Composition.
IN general, what Praise is imply'd in the simple
Epithet, useful! What Reproach in the contrary!
YOUR Gods, says Cicero*, in Opposition to the
Epicureans, cannot justly claim any Worship or
Adoration, with whatever imaginary Perfections
you may suppose them endow'd. They are totally
useless and inactive. And even the Egyptians,
whom you so much ridicule, never consecrated
any Animal but on Account of its Utility.
THE Sceptics assert†, tho' absurdly, that the
Origin of all religious Worship was deriv'd from
the Utility of inanimate Objects, as the Sun and
Moon, to the Support and Well-being of Mankind.
This is also the common Reason, assign'd by
Historians, for the Deification of eminent Heroes
and Legislators‡.
To plant a Tree, to cultivate a Field, to beget
Children; meritorious Acts, according to the
Religion of Zoroaster.
IN all Determinations of Morality, this
Circumstance of public Utility is ever principally
in View; and wherever Disputes arise, whether in
Philosophy or common Life, concerning the
Bounds of Duty, the Question cannot, by any
Means, be decided with greater Certainty, than by
ascertaining, on any Side, the true Interests of
Mankind. If any false Opinion, embrac'd from
Appearances, has been found to prevail; as soon as
farther Experience, and sounder Reasoning have
given us juster Notions of human Affairs; we
retract our first Sentiments, and adjust a-new the
Boundaries of moral Good and Evil.
ALMS to common Beggars is naturally prais'd;
because it seems to carry Relief to the distrest and
indigent: But when we observe the
Encouragement thence arising to Idleness and
Debauchery, we regard that Species of Charity
rather as a Weakness than a Virtue.
Tyrannicide or the Assassination of Usurpers and
oppressive Princes was highly prais'd in antient
Times; because it both freed Mankind from many
of these Monsters, and seem'd to keep the others
in Awe, whom the Poinard or the Poison could not
reach. But History and Experience having since
convinc'd us, that this Practice encreases the
Jealousy and Cruelty of Princes; a Timoleon and a
Brutus, tho' treated with Indulgence on Account
of the Prejudices of their Times, are now
consider'd as very improper Models for Imitation.
LIBERALITY in Princes is regarded as a Mark of
Beneficence: But when it occurs, that the homely
Bread of the Honest and Industrious is often
thereby converted into delicious Cates for the Idle
and the Prodigal, we soon retract our heedless
Praises. The Regrets of a Prince, for having lost a
Day, were noble and generous: But had he
intended to have spent it in Acts of Generosity to
his greedy Courtiers, 'twas better lost than
misemploy'd after that Manner.
LUXURY, or a Refinement on the Pleasures and
Conveniencies of Life, had long been suppos'd the
Source of every Corruption and Disorder in
Government, and the immediate Cause of Faction,
Sedition, civil Wars, and the total Loss of Liberty.
It was, therefore, universally regarded as a Vice,
and was an Object of Declamation to all Satyrists
and severe Moralists. Those, who prove, or
attempt to prove, that such Refinements rather
tend to the Encrease of Industry, Civility, and Arts,
regulate a new our moral as well as political
Sentiments, and represent as laudable and
innocent, what had formerly been regarded as
pernicious and blameable.
UPON the Whole, then, it seems undeniable, that
there is such a Sentiment in human Nature as
disinterested Benevolence; that nothing can
bestow more Merit on any human Creature than
the Possession of it in an eminent Degree; and
that a Part, at least, of its Merit arises from its
Tendency to promote the Interests of our Species,
and bestow Happiness on human Society. We
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carry our View into the salutary Consequences of
such a Character and Disposition; and whatever
has so benign an Influence, and forwards so
desirable an End is beheld with Complacency and
Pleasure. The social Virtues are never regarded
without their beneficial Tendencies, nor view'd as
barren and unfruitful. The Happiness of Mankind,
the Order of Society, the Harmony of Families, the
mutual Support of Friends are always consider'd as
the Result of their gentle Dominion over the
Breasts of Men.
How considerable a Part of their Merit we ought
to ascribe to their Utility, will better appear from
future Disquisitions*; as well as the Reason, why
this Circumstance has such a Command over our
Esteem and Approbation.
SECTION III.
Of JUSTICE.
PART I.
THAT JUSTICE is useful to Society, and
consequently that Part of its Merit, at least, must
arise from that Consideration; 'twould be
asuperfluous Undertaking to prove. That public
Utility is the sole Origin of Justice, and that
Reflections on the beneficial Consequences of this
Virtue are the sole Foundation of its Merit; this
Proposition, being more curious and important,
will better deserve our Examination and Enquiry.
LET us suppose, that Nature has bestow'd on
human Race such profuse Abundance of all
external Conveniencies, that, without any
Uncertainty in the Event, without any Care or
Industry on our Part, every Individual finds
himself fully provided of whatever his most
voracious Appetites can want, or luxurious
Imagination wish or desire. His natural Beauty, we
shall suppose, surpasses all acquir'd Ornaments:
The perpetual Clemency of the Seasons renders
useless all Cloaths or Covering: The raw Herbage
affords him the most delicious Fare; the clear
Fountain, the richest Beverage. No laborious
Occupation requir'd: No Tillage: No Navigation.
Music, Poetry, and Contemplation form his sole
Business: Conversation, Mirth, and Friendship his
sole Amusement.
IT seems evident, that, in such a happy State,
every other social Virtue would flourish, and
receive a tenfold Encrease; but the cautious,
jealous Virtue of Justice would never once have
been dreamt of. For what Purpose make a
Partition of Goods, where every one has already
more than enough? Why give Rise to Property,
where there cannot possibly be any Injury? Why
call this Object mine, when, upon the Seizure of it
by another, I need but stretch out my Hand to
possess myself of what is equally valuable? Justice,
in that Case, being totally USELESS, would be an
idle Ceremonial, and could never possibly have
Place amongst the Catalogue of Virtues.
WE see, even in the present necessitous Condition
of Mankind, that, wherever any Benefit is bestow'd
by Nature in an unlimited Abundance, we leave it
always in common amongst the whole human
Race, and make no Subdivisions of Right and
Property. Water and Air, tho' the most necessary
of all Objects, are not challeng'd by Individuals;
nor can any one commit Injustice by the most
lavish Use and Enjoyment of these Blessings. In
fertile, extensive Countries, with few Inhabitants,
Land is regarded on the same Footing. And no
Topic is so much insisted on by those, who defend
the Liberty of the Seas, as the unexhausted Use of
them in Navigation. Were the Advantages,
procur'd by Navigation, as inexhaustible, these
Reasoners never had had any Adversaries to
refute; nor had any Claims been ever advanc'd of a
separate, exclusive Dominion over the Ocean.
IT may happen in some Countries, at some
Periods, that there be establish'd a Property in
Water, none in Land*; if the latter be in greater
Abundance than can be us'd by the Inhabitants,
and the former be found, with Difficulty, and in
very small Quantities.
AGAIN; suppose, that, tho' the Necessities of
human Race continue the same as at present, yet
the Mind is so enlarg'd, and so replete with
Friendship and Generosity, that every Man has the
utmost Tenderness for every Man, and feels no
more Concern for his own Interest than for that of
his Fellow: It seems evident, that the USE of
Justice would, in this Case, be suspended by such
an extensive Benevolence, nor would the Divisions
and Barriers of Property and Obligation have ever
been thought of. Why should I bind another, by a
Deed or Promise, to do me any Good-office, when
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I know he is before-hand prompted, by the
strongest Inclination, to seek my Happiness, and
would, of himself, perform the desir'd Service;
except the Hurt, he thereby receives, be greater
than the Benefit accruing to me: In which Case, he
knows, that, from my innate Humanity and
Friendship, I should be the first to oppose myself
to his imprudent Generosity? Why raise Land-
marks betwixt my Neighbour's Field and mine,
when my Heart has made no Division betwixt our
Interests; but shares all his Joys and Sorrows with
equal Force and Vivacity as if originally my own?
Every Man, upon this Supposition, being a
Second-self to another, would trust all his
Interests to the Discretion of every Man, without
Jealousy, without Partition, without Distinction.
what, otherwise, he could not suffer without
Wrong or Injury.
THE Rage and Violence of public War; what is it
but a Suspension of Justice amongst the warring.
Parties, who perceive, that that Virtue is now no
longer of any Use or Advantage to them? The
Laws of War, which then succeed to those of
Equity and Justice, are Rules calculated for the
Advantage and Utility of that particular State, in
which Men are now plac'd. And were a civiliz'd
Nation engag'd with Barbarians, who observ'd no
Rules even of War; the former must also suspend
their Observance of them, where they no longer
serve to any Purpose; and must render every
Action or Rencounter as bloody and pernicious as
possible to the first Aggressors.
THUS the Rules of Equity or Justice depend
entirely on the particular State and Condition, in
which Men are plac'd, and owe their Origin and
Existence to that UTILITY, which results to the
Public from their strict and regular Observance.
Reverse, in any considerable Circumstance, the
Condition of Men: Produce extreme Abundance or
extreme Necessity: Implant in the human Breast
perfect Moderation and Humanity, or perfect
Rapaciousness and Malice: By rendering Justice
totally useless, you thereby totally destroy its
Essence, and suspend its Obligation upon
Mankind.
THE common Situation of Society is a Medium
amidst all these Extremes. We are naturally partial
to Ourselves, and to our Friends; but are capable
of learning the Advantage, resulting from a more
equal Conduct. Few Enjoyments are given us from
the open and liberal Hand of Nature; but by Art,
Labour, and Industry, we can extract them in great
Abundance. Hence the Ideas of Property become
necessary in all civil Society: Hence Justice derives
its Usefulness to the Public: And hence alone
arises its Merit and moral Obligation.
THESE Conclusions are so natural and obvious,
that they have not escap'd even the Poets, in their
Descriptions of the Felicity, attending the Golden
Age or the Reign of Saturn. The Seasons, in that
first Period of Nature, were so temperate, if we
credit these agreeable Fictions, that there was no
Necessity for Men to provide themselves with
Cloaths and Houses, as a Security against the
Violence of Heat and Cold: The Rivers flow'd with
Wine and Milk: The Oaks yielded Honey; and
Nature spontaneously produc'd her greatest
Delicacies. Nor were these the chief Advantages of
that happy Age. The Storms and Tempests were
not alone remov'd from Nature; but those more
furious Tempests were unknown to human
Breasts, which now cause such Uproar, and
engender such Confusion. Avarice, Ambition,
Cruelty, Selfishness were never heard of: Cordial
Affection, Compassion, Sympathy were the only
Movements, with which the Mind was yet
acquainted. Even the punctilious Distinction of
Mine and Thine was banish'd from amongst that
happy Race of Mortals, and carry'd with it the very
Notion of Property and Obligation, Justice and
Injustice.
THIS poetical Fiction of the Golden Age is, in
some Respects, of a Piece with the philosophical
Fiction of the State of Nature; only that the former
is represented as the most charming and most
peaceable Condition, that can possibly be
imagin'd; whereas the latter is pointed out as a
State of mutual War and Violence, attended with
the most extreme Necessity. On the first Origin of
Mankind, as we are told, their Ignorance and
savage Nature were so prevalent, that they could
give no mutual Trust, but must each depend upon
himself, and his own Force or Cunning for
Protection and Security. No Law was heard of: No
Rule of Justice known: No Distinction of Property
regarded: Power was the only Measure of Right;
and a perpetual War of All against All was the
Result of their untam'd Selfishness and Barbarity*.
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WHETHER such a Condition of human Nature
could ever exist, or if it did, could continue so long
as to merit the Appellation of a State, may justly
be doubted. Men are necessarily born in a Family-
society, at least; and are train'd up by their Parents
to some Rule of Conduct and Behaviour. But this
must be admitted, that if such a State of mutual
War and Violence was ever real, the Suspension of
all Laws of Justice, from their absolute Inutility, is
a necessary and infallible Consequence.
THE more we vary our Views of human Life, and
the newer and more unusual the Lights are, in
which we survey it, the more shall we be
convinc'd, that the Origin here assign'd for the
Virtue of Justice is real and satisfactory.
WERE there a Species of Creatures, intermingied
with Men, which, tho' rational, were possest of
such inferior Strength, both of Body and Mind,
that they were incapable of all Resistance, and
could never, upon the highest Provocation, make
us feel the Effects of their Resentment; the
necessary Consequence, I think, is, that we should
be bound, by the Laws of Humanity, to give gentle
Usage to these Creatures, but should not, properly
speaking, lie under any Restraint of Justice with
Regard to them, nor could they possess any Right
or Property, exclusive of such arbitrary Lords. Our
Intercourse with them could not be call'd Society,
which supposes a Degree of Equality; but absolute
Command on the one Side, and servile Obedience
on the other. Whatever we covet, they must
instantly resign: Our Permission is the only
Tenure, by which they hold their Possessions: Our
Compassion and Kindness the only Check, by
which they curb our lawless Will: And as no
Inconvenience ever results from the Exercise of a
Power, so firmly establish'd in Nature, the
Restraints of Justice and Property, being totally
useless, would never have Place, in so unequal a
Confederacy.
THIS is plainly the Situation of Men with regard to
Animals; and how far these may be said to possess
Reason, I leave it to others to determine. The great
Superiority of civiliz'd Europeans above barbarous
Indians, tempted us to imagine ourselves on the
same Footing with regard to them, and made us
throw off all Restraints of Justice, and even of
Humanity, in our Treatment of them. In many
Nations, the female Sex are reduc'd to like Slavery,
and are render'd incapable of all Property, in
Opposition to their lordly Masters. But tho' the
Males, when united, have, in all Countries, brute
Force sufficient to maintain this severe Tyranny;
yet such are the Insinuation, Address, and Charms
of their fair Companions, that they are commonly
able to break the Confederacy, and share with the
superior Sex in all the Rights and Privileges of
Society.
WERE the human Species so fram'd by Nature as
that each Individual possest within himself every
Faculty, requisite both for his own Preservation
and for the Propagation of his Kind: Were all
Society and Intercourse cut off betwixt Man and
Man, by the primary Intention of the supreme
Creator: It seems evident, that so solitary a Being
would be as much incapable of Justice, as of social
Discourse and Conversation. Where mutual
Regards and Forbearance serve no Manner of
Purpose, they would never direct the Conduct of
any reasonable Man. The headlong Course of the
Passions would be check'd by no Reflection on
future Consequences. And as each Man is here
suppos'd to love himself alone, and to depend only
on himself and his own Activity for Safety and
Happiness, he would, on every Occasion, to the
utmost of his Power, challenge the Preference
above every other Being, to whom he is not bound
by any Ties, either of Nature or of Interest.
BUT suppose the Conjunction of the Sexes to be
establish'd in Nature, a Family immediately arises;
and particular Rules being found requisite for its
Subsistance, these are immediately embrac'd; tho'
without comprehending the rest of Mankind
within their Prescriptions. Suppose, that several
Families unite together into one Society, which is
totally disjoin'd from all others, the Rules, which
preserve Peace and Order, enlarge themselves to
the utmost Extent of that Society; but, being
entirely useless, lose their Force when carry'd one
Step farther. But again suppose, that several
distinct Societies maintain a Kind of Entercourse
for mutual Convenience and Advantage, the
Boundaries of Justice still grow larger and larger,
in Proportion to the Largeness of Men's Views,
and the Force of their mutual Connexions.
History, Experience, Reason sufficiently instruct
us in this natural Progress of human Sentiments,
and the gradual Encrease of our Regards to
Property and Justice in Proportion as we become
199
acquainted with the extensive Utility of that
Virtue.
PART II.
IF we examine all the particular Laws, by which
Justice is directed, and Property determin'd; we
shall still be presented with the same Conclusion.
The Good of Mankind is the only Object of all
these Laws and Regulations. Not only 'tis
requisite, for the Peace and Interest of Society,
that Men's Possessions should be separated; but
the Rules, which we follow in making the
Separation, are such as can best be contriv'd to
serve farther the Interests of Society.
WE shall suppose, that a Creature, possest of
Reason, but unacquainted with human Nature,
deliberates with himself what RULES of Justice or
Property would best promote public Interest, and
establish Peace and Security amongst Mankind:
His most obvious Thought would be, to assign the
largest Possessions to the most extensive Virtue,
and give every one the Power of doing Good,
proportion'd to his Inclination. In a perfect
Theocracy, where a Being, infinitely intelligent,
governs by particular Volitions, this Rule would
certainly have Place, and might serve the wisest
Purposes: But were Mankind to execute such a
Law; (so great is the Uncertainty of Merit, both
from its natural Obscurity,
and from the Self-conceit of each Individual) that
no determinate Rule of Conduct would ever result
from it; and the total Dissolution of Society must
be the immediate Consequence. Fanatics may
suppose, that Dominion is founded in Grace, and
that Saints alone inherit the Earth; but the civil
Magistrate very justly puts these sublime Theorists
on the same Footing with common Robbers, and
teaches them, by the severest Discipline, that a
Rule, which, in Speculation, may seem the most
advantageous to Society, may yet be found, in
Practice, totally pernicious and destructive.
THAT there were religious Fanatics of this kind in
England, during the civil Wars, we learn from
History; tho' 'tis probable, that the obvious
Tendency of these Principles excited such Horrour
in Mankind, as soon oblig'd the dangerous
Enthusiasts to renounce, or at least conceal their
Tenets. Perhaps, the Levellers, who claim'd an
equal Distribution of Property, were a Kind of
political Fanatics, which arose from the religious
Species, and more openly avow'd their
Pretensions, as carrying a more plausible
Appearance, of being practicable, as well as useful
to human Society.
IT must, indeed, be confest, that Nature is so
liberal to Mankind, that were all her Presents
equally divided amongst the Species, and improv'd
by Art and Industry, every Individual would enjoy
all the Necessaries, and even most of the Comforts
of Life; nor would ever be liable to any Ills, but
such as might accidentally arise from the sickly
Frame and Constitution of his Body. It must also
be confest, that, wherever we depart from this
Equality, we rob the Poor of more Satisfaction
than we add to the Rich, and that the slight
Gratification of a frivolous Vanity, in one
Individual, frequently costs more than Bread to
many Families, and even Provinces. It may appear
withal, that the Rule of Equality, as it would be
highly useful, is not altogether impracticable; but
has taken Place, at least, in an imperfect Degree,
in some Republics; particularly, that of Sparta;
where it was attended, as 'tis said, with the most
beneficial Consequences. Not to mention, that the
Agrarian Laws, so frequently claim'd in Rome, and
carry'd to Execution in many Greek Cities,
proceeded, all of them, from a general Idea of the
Utility of this Principle.
But Historians, and even common Sense, may
inform us, that, however specious these Ideas of
perfect Equality may seem, they are really, at the
Bottom, impracticable; and were they not so,
would be extremely pernicious to human Society.
Render the Possessions of Men ever so equal, their
different Degrees of Art, Care, and Industry will
immediately break that Equality. Or if you check
these Virtues, you reduce Society to the extremest
Indigence; and instead of preventing Want and
Beggary in a few, render it unavoidable to the
whole Community. The most rigorous Inquisition
too, is requisite to watch every Inequality on its
first Appearance; and the most severe Jurisdiction,
to punish and redress it. But besides, that so much
Authority must soon degenerate into Tyranny,
and be exerted with great Partialities; who can
possibly be possest of it, in such a Situation as is
here suppos'd? Perfect Equality of Possessions,
destroying all Subordination, weakens extremely
200
the Authority of Magistracy, and must reduce all
Power nearly to a Level, as well as Property.
WE may conclude, therefore, that, in order to
establish Laws for the Regulation of Property, we
must be acquainted with the Nature and Situation
of Man, must reject Appearances, which may be
false, tho' specious, and must search for those
Rules, which are, on the whole, most useful, and
beneficial, Vulgar Sense and slight Experience are
sufficient for this Purpose; where Men give not
way to too selfish Avidity, or too extensive
Enthusiasm.
WHO sees not, for Instance, that whatever is
produc'd or improv'd by a Man's Art or Industry
ought, for ever, to be secur'd to him, in order to
give Encouragement to such useful Habits and
Accomplishments? That the Property ought also
to descend to Children and Relations, for the same
useful Purpose? That it may be alienated by
Consent, in order to beget that Commerce and
Intercourse, which is so beneficial to human
Society? And that all Contracts and Promises
ought carefully to be fulfill'd, in order to secure
mutual Trust and Confidence, by which the
general Interest of Mankind is so much promoted?
EXAMINE the Writers on the Laws of Nature; and
you will always find, that, whatever Principles they
set out with, they are sure to terminate here at
last, and to assign, as the ultimate Reason for
every Rule they establish, the Convenience and
Necessities of Mankind. A Concession thus
extorted, in Opposition to Systems, has more
Authority, than if it had been made, in
Prosecution of them.
WHAT other Reason, indeed, could Writers ever
give, why this must be mine and that yours; since
uninstructed Nature, surely, never made any such
Distinction? These Objects are, of themselves,
foreign to us; they are totally disjoin'd and
separate; and nothing but the general Interests of
Society can form the Connection.
SOMETIMES, the Interests of Society may require
a Rule of Justice in a particular Case; but may no•
determine any particular Rule, amongst several,
which are all equally beneficial. In that Case, the
slightest Analogies are laid hold of, in order to
prevent that Indifference and Ambiguity, which
would be the Source of perpetual Quarrels and
Dissentions. Thus Possession alone, and first
Possession, is suppos'd to convey Property, where
no-body else has any precedent Claim and
Pretension. Many of the Reasonings of Lawyers are
of this analogical Nature, and depend on very
slight Connexions of the Imagination.
Is it ever scrupled, in extraordinary Cases, to
violate all Regard to the private Property of
Individuals, and sacrifice to public Interest a
Distinction, which had been establish'd for the
Sake of that Interest? The Safety of the People is
the supreme Law: All other particular Laws are
subordinate to it, and dependant on it: And if, in
the common Course of Things, they be followed
and regarded; 'tis only because the public Safety
and Interest, commonly demand so equal and
impartial an Administration.
SOMETIMES both Utility and Analogy fail, and
leave the Laws of Justice in total Uncertainty.
Thus, 'tis highly requisite, that Prescription or
long Possession should convey Property; but what
Number of Days or Months or Years should be
sufficient for that Purpose, 'tis impossible for
Reason alone to determine. Civil Laws here supply
the Place of the natural Code, and assign different
Terms for Prescription, according to the different
Utilities, propos'd by the Legislator. Bills of
Exchange and promissory Notes, by the Laws of
most Countries, prescribe sooner than Bonds and
Mortgages, and Contracts of a more formal
Nature.
IN general we may observe, that all Questions of
Property are subordinate to the Authority of civil
Laws, which extend, restrain, modify, and alter the
Rules of natural Justice, according to the
particular Convenience of each Community. The
Laws have, or ought to have, a constant Reference
to the Constitution of Government, the Manners,
the Climate, the Religion, the Commerce, the
Situation of each Society. A late Author of great
Genius, as well as extensive Learning, has
prosecuted this Subject at large, and has
establish'd, from these Principles, the best System
of political Knowledge, that, perhaps, has ever yet
been communicated to the World*.
WHAT is a Man's Property? Any Thing, which it is
lawful for him and for him alone, to use. But what
201
Rule have we, by which we can distinguish these
Objects? Here we must have Recourse to Statutes,
Customs, Precedents, Analogies, and a hundred
other Circumstances; some of which are constant
and inflexible, some variable and arbitrary. But the
ultimate Point, in which they all professedly
terminate, is, the Interest and Happiness of
human Society. Where this enters not into
Consideration, nothing can appear more
whimsical, unnatural, and even superstitious than
all or most of the Laws of Justice and of Property.
THOSE, who ridicule vulgar Superstitions, and
expose the Folly of particular Regards to Meats,
Days, Places, Postures, Apparel, have an easy Task;
while they consider all the Qualities and Relations
of the Objects, and discover no adequate Cause for
that Affection or Antipathy, Veneration or
Horrour, which have so mighty an Influence over
a considerable Part of Mankind. A Syrian would
have starv'd rather than taste Pigeon; an Egyptian
would not have approach'd Bacon: But if these
Species of Food be examin'd by the Senses of
Sight, Smell or Taste, or scrutiniz'd by the
Sciences of Chymistry, Medicine, or Physics; no
Difference is ever found betwixt them and any
other Species, nor can that precise Circumstance
be pitch'd on, which may afford a just Foundation
for the religious Passion. A Fowl on Thursday is
lawful Food; on Friday, abominable: Eggs in this
House, and in this Diocese are permitted during
Lent; a hundred Paces farther, to eat them is a
damnable Sin. This Earth or Building▪ yesterday,
was prophane; to-day, by the muttering of certain
Words, it has become holy and sacred. Such
Reflections, as these, in the Mouth of a
Philosopher, one may safely say, are too obvious
to have any Influence; because they must always,
to every Man, occur at first Sight; and where they
prevail not, of themselves, they are surely
obstructed by Education, Prejudice and Passion,
not by Ignorance or Mistake.
IT may appear, to a careless View; or rather, a too
abstracted Reflection; that there enters a like
Superstition into all the Regards of Justice; and
that, if a Man subjects its Objects, or what we call
Property, to the same Scrutiny of Sense and
Science, he will not, by the most accurate Enquiry,
find any Foundation for the Difference made by
moral Sentiment. I may lawfully nourish myself
from this Tree; but the Fruit of another of the
same Species, ten Paces off, 'tis criminal for me to
touch. Had I wore this Apparel an Hour ago, I had
merited the severest Punishment; but a Man, by
pronouncing a few magical Syllables, has now
render'd it fit for my Use and Service. Were this
House plac'd in the neighbouring Territory, it had
been immoral for me to dwell in it; but being built
on this Side the River, it is subject to a different
municipal Law, and I incur no Blame or Censure.
The same Species of Reasoning, it may be thought,
which so successfully exposes Superstition, is also
applicable to Justice; nor is it possible, in the one
Case more than in the other, to point out, in the
Object, that precise Quality or Circumstance,
which is the Foundation of the Sentiment.
BUT there is this material Difference betwixt
Superstition and Justice, that the former is
frivolous, useless, and burthensome; the latter is
absolutely requisite to the Well-being of Mankind
and Existence of Society. When we abstract from
this Circumstance (for 'tis too apparent ever to be
overlookt) it must be confest, that all Regards to
Right and Property, seem entirely without
Foundation, as much as the grossest and most
vulgar Superstition. Were the Interests of Society
no way concern'd, 'tis as unintelligible, why
another's articulating certain Sounds, implying
Consent, should change the Nature of my Actions
with regard to a particular Object, as why the
reciting of a Liturgy by a Priest, in a certain Habit
and Posture, should dedicate a Heap of Brick and
Timber, and render it, thenceforth and for ever,
sacred*
THESE Reflections are far from weakening the
Obligations of Justice, or diminishing any Thing
from the most sacred Attention to Property. On
the contrary, such Sentiments must acquire new
Force from the present Reasoning. For what
stronger Foundation can be desir'd or conceiv'd
for any Duty than to observe, that human Society,
or even human Nature could not subsist, without
the Establishment of it, and will still arrive at
greater Degrees of Happiness and Perfection, the
more inviolable the Regard is, which is pay'd to
that Duty?
THUS we seem, upon the Whole, to have attain'd
a Knowledge of the Force of that Principle here
insisted on, and can determine what Degree of
Esteem or moral Approbation may result from
Reflections on public Interest and Utility. The
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Necessity of Justice to the Support of Society is the
SOLE Foundation of that Virtue; and since no
moral Excellence is more highly esteem'd, we may
conclude, that this Circumstance of Usefulness
has, in general, the strongest Energy, and most
entire Command over our Sentiments. It must,
therefore, be the Source of a considerable Part of
the Merit, ascrib'd to Humanity, Benevolence,
Friendship, public Spirit, and other social Virtues
of that Stamp; as it is the SOLE Source of the
moral Approbation pay'd to Fidelity, Justice,
Veracity, Integrity, and those other estimable and
useful Qualities and Principles. 'Tis entirely
agreeable to the Rules of Philosophy, and even of
common Reason; where any Principle has been
found to have a great Force and Energy in one
Instance, to ascribe to it a like Energy in all similar
Instances*.
SECTION V.
Why UTILITY pleases.
PART I.
IT seems so natural a Thought to ascribe to their
Utility the Praise which we bestow on the social
Virtues, that one would expect to meet with this
Principle every-where in moral Writers, as the
chief Foundation of their Reasoning and Inquiry.
In common Life, we may observe, that the
Circumstance of Utility is always appeal'd to; nor
is it suppos'd, that a greater Elogy can be given to
any Man, than to display his Usefulness to the
Public, and enumerate the Services he has
perform'd to Mankind and Society. What Praise,
even of an inanimate Form, if the Regularity and
Elegance of its Parts destroy not its Fitness for any
useful Purpose! And how satisfactory an Apology
for any Disproportion of seeming Deformity, if we
can show the Necessity of that particular
Construction for the Use intended! A Ship appears
infinitely more beautiful to an Artist, or one
moderately skill'd in Navigation; where its Prow is
wide and swelling beyond its Poop, than if it were
fram'd with a precise geometrical Regularity, in
Contradiction to all the Laws of Mechanics. A
Building, whose Doors and Windows were exact
Squares, would hurt the Eye by that very
Proportion; as ill adapted to the human Figure, for
whose Service the Fabric was intended What
Wonder then, that a Man, whose Habits and
Conduct are hurtful to Society, and dangerous or
pernicious to every one, that has an Intercourse
with him, should, on that Account, be an Object
of Disapprobation, and communicate to every
Spectator the strongest Sentiments of Disgust and
Hatred*?
BUT perhaps the Difficulty of accounting for these
Effects of Usefulness, or its contrary, has kept
Philosophers from admitting them into their
Systems of Ethics, and has induc'd them rather to
employ any other Principle, in explaining the
Origin of moral Good and Evil. But 'tis no just
Reason for rejecting any Principle, confirm'd by
Experience, that we can give no satisfactory
Account of its Origin, nor are able to resolve it
into other more general Principles. And if we
would employ a little Thought on the present
Subject, we need be at no Loss to account for the
Influence of Utility, and to deduce it from
Principles, the most known and avow'd in human
Nature.
FROM the apparent Usefulness of the social
Virtues, it has readily been inferr'd by Sceptics,
both antient and modern, that all moral
Distinctions arise from Education, and were, at
first, invented, and afterwards encourag'd, by the
Arts of Politicians, in order to render Men
tractable, and subdue their natural Ferocity and
Selfishness, which incapacitated them for Society.
This Principle, indeed, of Precept and Education
must be so far own'd to have a powerful Influence,
that it may frequently encrease or diminish,
beyond their natural Standard, the Sentiments of
Approbation or Dislike; and may even, in
particular Instances, create, without any natural
Principle, a new Sentiment of this Kind; as is
evident in all superstitious Practices and
Observances: But that all moral Affection or
Dislike arises from this Origin will never surely be
allow'd by any judicious Enquirer. Had Nature
made no such Distinction, founded on the original
Frame and Constitution of the Mind, the Words,
honourable and shameful, lovely and odious,
noble and despicable, never had had place in any
Language; nor could Politicians, had they invented
these Terms, ever have been able to render them
intelligible, or make them convey any Idea to the
Audience. So that nothing can be more superficial
than this Paradox of the Sceptics; and 'twere well,
if, in the abstruser Studies of Logics and
Metaphysics,
203
we could as easily get rid of the Cavils of that Sect,
as in the more practical and intelligible Sciences of
Politics and Morals.
THE social Virtues must, therefore, be allow'd to
have a natural Beauty and Amiableness, which, at
first, antecedent to all Precept or Education,
recommends them to the Esteem of uninstructed
Mankind, and engages their Affections. And as the
Utility of these Virtues is the chief Circumstance,
whence they derive their Merit, it follows, that the
End, which they have a Tendency to promote,
must be some way agreeable to us, and take hold
of some natural Affection. It must please, either
from Considerations of Self-interest, or from more
generous Motives and Regards.
IT has often been asserted, that, as every Man has
a strong Connexion with Society, and perceives
the Impossibility of his solitary Subsistence, he
becomes, on that Account, favourable to all those
Habits or Principles, which promote Order in
Society, and ensure to him the quiet Possession of
so inestimable a Blessing. As much as we value our
own Happiness and Welfare, as much must we
value the Practice of Justice and Humanity, by
which alone the social Confederacy can be
maintain'd, and every Man reap the Fruits of
mutual Protection and Assistance.
THIS Deduction of Morals from Self-love or a
Regard to private Interest, is a very obvious
Thought, and has not arisen altogether from the
wanton Sallies and sportive Assaults of the
Sceptics. To mention no others, Polybius, one of
the gravest, and most judicious, as well as most
moral Writers of Antiquity, has assign'd this
selfish Origin to all our Sentiments of Virtue.*. But
tho' the solid, practical Sense of that Author, and
his Aversion to all vain Subtilties render his
Authority on the present Subject very
considerable; yet this is not an Affair to be decided
by Authority; and the Voice of Nature and
Experience seems plainly to oppose the selfish
Theory.
WE frequently bestow Praises on virtuous Actions,
perform'd in very distant Ages and remote
Countries; where the utmost Subtilty of
Imagination would not discover any Appearance
of Self-interest, or find any Connexion of our
present Happiness and Security with Events so
widely separated from us.
A generous, a brave, a noble Deed, perform'd by
an Adversary, commands our Approbation; while
in its Consequences it may be acknowledged
prejudicial to our particular Interests.
WHERE private Advantage concurs with general
Affection for Virtue, we readily perceive and avow
the Mixture of these distinct Sentiments, which
have a very different Feeling and Influence on the
Mind. We praise, perhaps, with more Alacrity,
where the generous, humane Action contributes
to our particular Interest: But the Topics of Praise
we insist on are very wide of this Circumstance.
And we may attempt to bring over others to our
Sentiments, without endeavouring to convince
them, that they reap any Advantage from the
Actions, which we recommend to their
Approbation and Applause.
FRAME the Model of a praise-worthy Character,
consisting of all the most amiable moral Virtues:
Give Instances, in which these display themselves,
after an eminent and extraordinary Manner: You
readily engage the Esteem and Approbation of all
your Audience, who never so much as enquir'd in
what Age and Country the Person liv'd, who
possest these noble Qualities: A Circumstance,
however, of all others, the most material to Self-
love, or a Concern for our own individual
Happiness.
ONCE on a Time, a Statesmen, in the Shock and
Concurrence of Parties, prevail'd so far as to
procure, by his Eloquence, the Banishment of an
able Adversary; whom he secretly follow'd,
offering him. Money for his Support during his
Exile, and soothing him with Topics of
Consolation on his Misfortunes. Alas! cries the
banish'd Statesman, with what Regret must I leave
my Friends in this City, where even Enemies are so
generous! Virtue, tho' in an Enemy, here pleas'd
him: And we also give it the just Tribute of Praise
and Approbation; nor do we retract these
Sentiments, when we hear, that the Action past at
Athens, about two thousand Years ago, and that
the Persons Names were Eschines and
Demosthenes.
WHAT is that to me? There are few Occasions,
when this Question is not pertinent: And had it
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that universal, infallible Influence suppos'd, it
would turn into Ridicule every Composition, and
almost every Conversation, which contain any
Praise or Censure of Men and Manners.
'Tis but a weak Subterfuge, when press'd by these
Facts and Arguments, to say, that we transport
ourselves, by the Force of Imagination, into
distant Ages and Countries, and consider the
Advantage, which we should have reapt from
these Characters, had we been Contemporaries,
and had any Commerce with the Persons. 'Tis not
conceivable, how a real Sentiment or Passion can
ever arise from a known imaginary Interest;
especially when our real Interest is still kept in
View, and is often acknowledg'd to be entirely
distinct from the imaginary, and even sometimes
opposite to it.
A Man, brought to the Brink of a Precipice, cannot
look down without trembling; and the Sentiment
of imaginary Danger actuates him, in Opposition
to the Opinion and Belief of real Safety. But the
Imagination is here assisted by the Presence of a
striking Object; and yet prevails not, except it be
also aided by Novelty, and the unusual
Appearance of the Object. Custom soon reconciles
us to Heights and Precipices, and wears off these
false and delusive Terrors. The Reverse is
observable in the Estimates we form of Characters
and Manners; and the more we habituate
ourselves to an accurate Scrutiny of the moral
Species, the more delicate Feeling do we acquire
of the most minute Distinctions betwixt Vice and
Virtue. Such frequent Occasion, indeed, have we,
in common Life, to pronounce all Kinds of moral
Determinations, that no Object of this Kind can
be new or unusual to us; nor could any false Views
or Prepossessions maintain their Ground against
an Experience, so common and familiar.
Experience and Custom being chiefly what form
the Associations of Ideas, 'tis impossible, that any
Association could establish and support itself, in
direct Opposition to these Principles.
USEFULNESS is agreeable, and engages our
Approbation. This is a Matter of Fact, confirm'd by
daily Observation. But, useful? For what? For
some Body's Interest, surely. Whose Interest then?
Not our own only: For our Approbation frequently
extends farther. It must, therefore, be the Interest
of those, who are serv'd by the Character or Action
approv'd of; and then we may conclude, however
remote, are not totally indifferent to us. By
opening up this Principle, we shall discover the
great Secret of moral Distinctions.
PART II.
SELF-LOVE is a Principle in human Nature of
such extensive Energy, and the Interest of each
Individual is, in general, so closely connected with
that of Community, that those Philosophers were
excusable, who fancy'd, that all our Concern for
the Public might, perhaps, be resolv'd into a
Concern for our own Happiness and Preservation.
They saw, every Moment, Instances of
Approbation or Blame, Satisfaction or Displeasure
towards Characters and Actions; they
denominated the Objects of these Sentiments,
Virtues or Vices; they observ'd, that the former
had a Tendency to encrease the Happiness, and
the latter the Misery of Society; they ask'd, if it was
possible we could have any general Concern for
Society, or any disinterested Resentment of the
Welfare or Injury of others; they found it simpler
to consider all these Sentiments as Modifications
of Self-love; and they discover'd a Pretext, at least,
for this Unity of Principle, in that close Union of
Interest, which is so observable betwixt the Public
and each Individual.
BUT notwithstanding this frequent Confusion of
Interests, 'tis easy to attain what natural
Philosophers, after my Lord Bacon, have affected
to call the Experimentum crucis, or that
Experiment, which points out the Way we should
follow, in any Doubt or Ambiguity. We have found
Instances, wherein private Interest was separate
from public; wherein it was even contrary: And yet
we observ'd the moral Sentiment to continue,
notwithstanding this Disjunction of Interests. And
wherever these distinct Interests sensibly
concur'd, we always found a sensible Encrease of
the Sentiment, and a more warm Affection to
Virtue, and Detestation of Vice, or what we
properly call, Gratitude and Revenge. Compell'd
by these Instances, we must renounce the Theory,
which accounts for every moral Sentiment by the
Principle of Self-love. We must adopt a more
public Affection, and allow, that the Interests of
Society are not, even on their own Account,
altogether indifferent to us. Usefulness is only a
Tendency to a certain End; and 'tis a
Contradiction in Terms, that any Thing pleases as
Means to an End, where the End itself does no
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way affect us. If therefore Usefulness be a Source
of moral Sentiment, and if this Usefulness be not
always consider'd with a Reference to Self; it
follows, that every Thing, which contributes to the
Happiness of Society, recommends itself directly
to our Approbation and Good-will. Here is a
Principle, which accounts, in great Part, for the
Origin of Morality: And what need we seek for
abstruse and remote Systems, when there occurs
one so obvious and natural*?
HAVE we any Difficulty to comprehend the Force
of Humanity and Benevolence? Or to conceive,
that the very Aspect of Happiness, Joy, Prosperity,
gives Pleasure; that of Pain, Sufferance, Sorrow,
communicates Uneasiness? The human
Countenance, says Horace†, borrows Smiles or
Tears from the human Countenance. Reduce a
Person to Solitude, and he loses all Enjoyment,
except merely of the speculative Kind; and that
because the Movements of his Heart are not
forwarded by correspondent Movements in his
Fellow-creatures. The Signs of Sorrow and
Mourning, tho' arbitrary, affect us with
Melancholy; but the natural Symptoms, Tears, and
Cries, and Groans, never fail to infuse Compassion
and Uneasiness. And if the Effects of Misery touch
us in so lively a Manner; can we be suppos'd
altogether insensible or indifferent towards its
Causes; when a malicious or treacherous
Character and Behaviour is presented to us?
WE enter, I shall suppose, into a convenient,
warm, well-contriv'd Apartment: We necessarily
receive a Pleasure from its very Survey; because it
presents us with the pleasing Ideas of Ease,
Satisfaction, and Enjoyment. The hospitable,
goodhumour'd, humane Landlord appears. This
Cirstance surely must embellish the whole; nor
can we easily forbear reflecting, with Pleasure, on
the Satisfaction and Enjoyment, which results to
every one from his Intercourse and Good-offices.
HIS whole Family, by the Freedom, Ease,
Confidence, and calm Satisfaction, diffus'd over
their Countenances, sufficiently express their
Happiness. I have a pleasing Sympathy in the
Prospect of so much Joy, and can never consider
the Source of it, without the most agreeable
Emotions.
HE tells me, that an oppressive and powerful
Neighbour had attempted to dispossess him of his
Inheritance, and had long disturb'd all his
innocent and social Enjoyments. I feel an
immediate Indignation arise in me against such
Violence and Injury.
BUT 'tis no Wonder, he adds, that a private
Wrong should proceed from a Man, who had
enslav'd Provinces, depopulated Cities, and made
the Field and Scaffold stream with human Blood. I
am struck with Horror at the Prospect of so much
Misery and am actuated by the strongest
Antipathy against its Author.
IN general, 'tis certain, that wherever we go,
whatever we reflect on or converse about; every
Thing still presents us with the View of human
Happiness or Misery, and excites in our Breasts a
sympathetic Movement of Pleasure or Uneasiness.
In our serious Occupations, in our careless
Amusements, this Principle still exerts its active
Energy.
A MAN, who enters the Theatre, is immediately
struck with the View of so great a Multitude,
participating of one common Amusement; and
experiences, from their very Aspect, a superior
Sensibility or Disposition of being affected with
every Sentiment, which he shares with his Fellow-
creatures.
HE observes the Actors to be animated by the
Appearance of a full Audience; and rais'd to a
Degree of Enthusiasm, which they cannot
command in any solitary or calm Moment.
EVERY Movement of the Theatre, by a skillful
Poet, is communicated, as it were by Magic, to the
Spectators, who weep, tremble, resent, rejoice,
and are enflam'd with all the Variety of Passions,
which actuate the several Personages of the
Drama.
WHERE any Event crosses our Wishes, and
interrupts the Happiness of the favourite
Personages, we feel a sensible Anxiety and
Concern. But where their Sufferings proceed from
the Treachery, Cruelty or Tyranny of an Enemy,
our Breasts are affected with the liveliest
Resentment against the Author of these
Calamities.
'TIS here esteem'd contrary to the Rules of Art to
represent any Thing cool and indifferent. A distant
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Friend, or a Confident, who has no immediate
Interest in the Catastrophe, ought, if possible, to
be avoided by the Poet; as communicating a like
Indifference to the Audience, and checking the
Progress of the Passions.
No Species of Poetry is more entertaining than
Pastoral; and every one is sensible, that the chief
Source of its Pleasure arises from those Images of
a gentle and tender Tranquillity, which it
represents in its Personages, and of which it
communicates a like Sentiment to the Readers.
Sannazarius, who transfer'd the Scene to the Sea-
shore, tho' he presented the most magnificent
Object in Nature, is confest to have err'd in his
Choice. The Idea of Toil, Labour, and Danger,
suffer'd by the Fishermen, is painful, by an
unavoidable Sympathy, which attends every
Conception of human Happiness or Misery.
WHEN I was twenty, says a French Poet, Ovid was
my Choice: Now I am forty, I declare for Horace.
We enter, to be sure, more readily into
Sentiments, that resemble those we feel every
Moment: But no Passion, when well represented,
can be altogether indifferent to us; because there
is none, of which every Man has not within him, at
least, the Seeds and first Principles. 'Tis the
Business of Poetry to approach every Object by
lively Imagery and Description, and make it look
like Truth and Reality: A certain Proof, that
wherever that Reality is found, our Minds are
dispos'd to be strongly affected by it.
ANY recent Event or Piece of News, by which the
Fortunes of States, Provinces or many Individuals,
are affected, is extremely interesting even to those
whose Welfare is not immediately engag'd. Such
Intelligence is propagated with Celerity, heard
with Avidity, and enquir'd into with Attention and
Concern. The Interests of Society appear, on this
Occasion, to be, in some Degree, the Interests of
each Individual. The Imagination is sure to be
affected; tho' the Passions excited may not always
be so strong and steady as to have great Influence
on the Conduct and Behaviour.
THE Perusal of a History seems a calm
Entertainment; but would be no Entertainment at
all, did not our Hearts beat with correspondent
Movements to those described by the Historian.
Thucydides and Guicciardin support with
Difficulty our Attention, while the former
describes the trivial Rencounters of the small
Cities of Greece, and the latter the harmless Wars
of Pisa. The few Persons interested, and the small
Interest fill not the Imagination, and engage not
the Affections. The deep Distress of the numerous
Athenian Army before Syracuse; the Danger,
which so nearly threatens Venice; these excite
Compassion; these move Terror and Anxiety.
THE indifferent, uninteresting Stile of Suetonius,
equally with the masterly Pencil of Tacitus, may
convince us of the cruel Depravity of Nero or
Tiberius: But what a Difference of Sentiment!
While the former coldly relates the Facts; and the
latter sets before our Eyes the venerable Figures of
a Soranus and a Thrasea, intrepid in their Fate,
and only mov'd by the melting Sorrows of their
Friends and Kindred. What Sympathy then
touches every human Heart! What Indignation
against the inhuman Tyrant, whose causeless Fear
or unprovok'd Malice, gave rise to such detestable
Barbarity!
IF we bring these Subjects nearer: If we remove all
Suspicion of Fiction and Deceit: What powerful
Concern is excited, and how much superior, in
many Instances, to the narrow Attachments of
Self-love and private Interest! Popular Sedition,
Party Zeal, a devoted Obedience to factious
Leaders; these are some of the most visible, tho'
less laudable Effects of this social Sympathy in
human Nature.
THE Frivolousness of the Subject too, we may
observe, is not able to detach us entirely from
what carries an Image of human Sentiment and
Affection.
WHEN a Person stutters, and pronounces with
Difficulty, we even sympathize with this trivial
Uneasiness, and suffer for him. And 'tis a Rule in
Criticism, that every Combination of Syllables or
Letters, which gives Pain to the Organs of Speech
in the Recital, appears also, from a Species of
Sympathy, harsh and disagreeable to the Ear. Nay,
when we run over a Book with our Eye, we are
sensible of such unharmonious Composition;
because we still imagine, that a Person recites it to
us, and suffers from the Pronunciation of these
jarring Sounds. So delicate is our Sympathy!
207
EASY and unconstrain'd Postures and Motions are
always beautiful: An Air of Health and Vigour is
agreeable: Cloaths, that warm, without burthening
the Body; that cover, without imprisoning the
Limbs, are well-fashion'd. In every Judgment of
Beauty, the Sentiments are Feelings of the Persons
affected enter into Consideration, and
communicate to the Spectators similar Touches of
Pain or Pleasure*.
What Wonder, then, if we can pronounce no
Sentence concerning the Characters and Conduct
of Men without considering the Tendencies of
their Actions, and the Happiness or Misery, which
thence arises to Society? What Association of
Ideas would ever operate, were that Principle here
totally inactive†?
IF any Man, from a cold Insensibility, or narrow
Selfishness of Temper, is unaffected with the
Images of human Happiness or Misery, he must be
equally indifferent to the Images of Vice and
Virtue: As on the other Hand, 'tis always found,
that a warm Concern for the Interests of our
Species is attended with a delicate Feeling of all
moral Distinctions; a strong Resentment of Injury
done to Men; a lively Approbation of their
Welfare. In this Particular, tho' great Superiority is
observable of one Man above another; yet none
are so entirely indifferent to the Interest of their
Fellow-creatures, as to perceive no Distinctions of
moral Good and Evil, in consequence of the
different Tendencies of Actions and Principles.
How, indeed, can we suppose it possible of any
one, who wears a human Heart, that, if there be
subjected to his Censure, one Character or System
of Conduct, which is beneficial, and another,
which is pernicious, to his Species or Community,
he will not so much as give a cool Preference to
the former, or ascribe to it the smallest Merit or
Regard? Let us suppose such a Person ever so
selfish; let private Interest have ingrost ever so
much his Attention; yet in Instances, where that is
not concern'd, he must unavoidably feel some
Propensity to the Good of Mankind, and make it
an Object of Choice, if every Thing else be equal.
Would any Man, that is walking alone, tread just
as willingly on another's gouty Toes, whom he has
no Quarrel with, as on the hard Flint and
Pavement? There is here surely a Difference in the
Case. We surely take into Consideration the
Happiness and Misery of others, in weighing the
several Motives of Action, and incline to the
former, where no private Regards draw us to seek
our own Promotion or Advantage by the Injury of
our Fellow-Creatures. And if the Principles of
Humanity are capable, in many Instances, of
influencing our Actions, they must, at all Times,
have some Authority over our Sentiments, and
give us a general Approbation of what is useful to
Society, and Blame of what is dangerous or
pernicious. The Degrees of these Sentiments may
be the Subject of Controversy, but the Reality of
their Existence, one should think, must be
admitted, in every Theory or System.
A CREATURE, absolutely malicious and spiteful,
were there any such in Nature, must be worse
than indifferent to the Images of Vice and Virtue.
All his Sentiments must be inverted, and directly
opposite to those, which prevail in the human
Species. Whatever contributes to the Good of
Mankind, as it crosses the constant Bent of his
Wishes and Desires, must produce Uneasiness and
Disapprobation; and on the contrary, whatever is
the Source of Disorder
order and Misery in Society, must, for the same
Reason, be regarded with Pleasure and
Complacency. Timon, who probably from his
affected Spleen, more than any inveterate Malice,
was denominated the Man-hater, embrac'd
Alcibiades, 'tis said, with great Fondness. Go on,
my Boy! cries he, Acquire the Confidence of the
People: You will one Day, I foresee, be the Cause
of great Calamities to them*. Could we admit the
two Principles of the Manichaeans, 'tis an
infallible Consequence, that their Sentiments of
human Actions, as well as of every Thing else,
must be totally opposite; and that every Instance
of Justice and Humanity, from its necessary
Tendency, must please the one Deity, and
displease the other. All Mankind so far resemble
the good Principle, that where Interest or Revenge
or Envy perverts not our Disposition, we are
always enclin'd, from our natural Philanthropy, to
give the Preference to the Happiness of Society,
and consequently to Virtue, above its opposite.
Absolute, unprovok'd, disinterested Malice has
never, perhaps, Place in any human Breast; or if it
had, must there pervert all the Sentiments of
Morals, as well as the Feelings of Humanity. If the
Cruelty of Nero be allow'd altogether voluntary,
208
and not rather the Effect of constant Fear and
Resentment; 'tis evident, that Tigellinus,preferably
to Seneca or Burrhus, must have possest his steady
and uniform Approbation.
A STATESMAN or Patriot, that serves our own
Country, in our own Time, has always a more
passionate Regard paid him, than one whose
beneficial Influence operated on distant Ages or
remote Nations; where the Good, resulting from
his generous Humanity, being less connected with
us, seems more obscure, and affects us with a less
lively Sympathy. We may own the Merit to be
equally great, tho' our Sentiments are not rais'd to
an equal Height, in both Cases. The Judgment
here corrects the Inequalities of our internal
Emotions and Perceptions; in like Manner, as it
preserves us from Error, in the several Variations
of Images, presented to our external Senses. The
same Object, at a double Distance, really throws
on the Eye a Picture of but half the Bulk; and yet
we imagine it appears of the same Size in both
Situations; because we know, that, on our
Approach to it, its Image would expand on the
Senses, and that the Difference consists not in the
Object itself, but in our Position with regard to it.
And, indeed, without such Correction of
Appearances, both in internal and external
Sentiment, Men could never think or talk steadily
on any Subject; while their fluctuating Situations
produce a continual Variation on Objects, and
throw them into such different and contrary
Lights and Positions*.
THE more we converse with Mankind, and the
greater social Entercourse we maintain, the more
will we be familiariz'd to these general Preferences
and Distinctions, without which our Conversation
and Discourse could scarcely be render'd
intelligible to each other. Every Man's Interest is
peculiar to himself, and the Aversions and Desires,
which result from it, cannot be suppos'd to affect
others in a like Degree. General Language,
therefore, being form'd for general Use, must be
moulded on some more general Views, and must
affix the Epithets of Praise or Blame, in
Conformity to Sentiments, which arise from the
general Interests of the Community. And if these
Sentiments, in most Men, be not so strong as
those, which have a Reference to private Good; yet
still they must make some Distinction, even in
Persons the most deprav'd and selfish; and must
attach the Notion of Good to a beneficent
Conduct, and of Evil to the contrary. Sympathy,
we shall allow, is much fainter than our Concern
for Ourselves, and Sympathy with Persons, remote
from us, much sainter than that with Persons,
near and contiguous; but for this very Reason, 'tis
necessary for us, in our calm Judgments and
Discourse concerning the Characters of Men, to
neglect all these Differences, and render our
Sentiments more public and social. Besides, that
we Ourselves often change our Situation in this
Particular, we every Day meet with Persons, who
are in a different Situation from us, and who could
never converse with us on any reasonable Terms,
were we to remain constantly in that Position and
Point of View, which is peculiar to Ourself. The
Entercourse of Sentiments, therefore, in Society
and Conversation makes us form some general,
inalterable Standard, by which we may approve or
disapprove of Characters and Manners. And tho'
the Heart takes not part entirely with those
general Notions, nor regulates all its Love and
Hatred, by the universal, abstract Differences of
Vice and Virtue, without regard to Self or the
Persons, with whom we are more immediately
connected; yet have these moral Differences a
considerable Influence, and being sufficient, at
least, for Discourse, serve all our Purposes in
Company, in the Pulpit, on the Theatre, and in the
Schools*.
THUS, in whatever Light we take this Subject, the
Merit, ascrib'd to the social Virtues, appears still
uniform, and arises chiefly from that Regard,
which the natural Sentiment of Benevolence
engages us to pay to the Interests of Mankind and
Society. If we consider the Principles of the human
Make; such as they appear to daily Experience and
Observation we must, a priori, conclude it
impossible for such a Creature as Man to be totally
indifferent to the Well or Ill-being of his Fellow-
creatures, and not readily, of himself, to
pronounce, where nothing gives him any
particular Byass, that what promotes their
Happiness is good, what tends to their Misery is
evil, without any farther Regard or Consideration.
Here then are the faint Rudiments, at least, or
Outlines, of a general Distinction betwixt Actions;
and in Proportion as the Humanity of the Person
is suppos'd to encrease, his Connexion to those
injur'd or benefited, and his lively Conception of
their Misery or Happiness; his consequent
209
Censure or Approbation acquires proportionable
Force and Vigour. There is no Necessity, that a
generous Action, barely mention'd in an old
History or remote Gazette, should communicate
any strong Feelings of Applause and Admiration.
Virtue, plac'd at such a Distance, is like a fixt Star,
which, tho', to the Eye of Reason, it may appear as
luminous as the Sun in his Meridian, is so
infinitely remov'd, as to affect the Senses, neither
with Light nor Heat. Bring this Virtue nearer, by
our Acquaintance or Connexion with the Persons,
or even by an eloquent Narration and Recital of
the Case; our Hearts are immediately caught, our
Sympathy enliven'd, and our cool Approbation
converted into the warmest Sentiments of
Friendship and Regard. These seem necessary
andvinfallible Consequences of the general
Principles of human Nature, as discover'd in
common Life and Practice.
AGAIN; reverse these Views and Reasonings:
Consider the Matter a posteriori; and weighing the
Consequences, enquire, if the Merit of all social
Virtue is not deriv'd from the Feelings of
Humanity, with which it affects the Spectators. It
appears to be Matter of Fact, that the
Circumstance of Utility, in all Subjects, is a Source
of Praise and Approbation: That it is constantly
appeal'd to in all moral Decisions concerning the
Merit and Demerit of Actions: That it is the sole
Source of that high Regard paid to Justice, Fidelity,
Honour, Allegiance and Chastity: That it is
inseperable from all the other social Virtues of
Humanity, Generosity, Charity, Affability, Lenity,
Mercy and Moderation: And in a Word, that it is
the Foundation of the chief Part of Morals, which
has a Reference to Mankind and Society.
IT appears also, in our general Approbation or
Judgment of Characters and Manners, that the
useful Tendency of the social Virtues moves us not
by any Regards to Self-interest, but has an
Influence much more universal and extensive. It
appears, that a Tendency to public Good, and to
the promoting of Peace, Harmony, and Concord in
Society, by affecting the benevolent Principles of
our Frame, engages us on the Side of the social
Virtues. And it appears, as an additional
Confirmation, that these Principles of Humanity
and Sympathy enter so deep into all our
Sentiments, and have so powerful an Influence, as
may enable them to excite the strongest Censure
and Applause. The present Theory is the simple
Result of all these Inferences, each of which seems
founded on uniform Experience and Observation.
WERE it doubtful, whether there was any such
Principle in our Nature as Humanity or a Concern
for others, yet when we see, in numberless
Instances, that, whatever has a Tendency to
promote the Interests of Society, is so highly
approv'd of, we ought thence to learn the Force of
the benevolent Principle; since 'tis impossible for
any Thing to please as Means to an End, where the
End itself is totally indifferent: On the other Hand,
were it doubtful, whether there was, implanted in
our Natures, any general Principle of moral Blame
and Approbation, yet when we see, in numberless
Instances, the Influence of Humanity, we ought
thence to conclude, that 'tis impossible, but that
every Thing, which promotes the Interests of
Society, must communicate Pleasure, and what is
pernicious give Uneasiness. But when
these different Reflections and Observations
concur in establishing the same Conclusion, must
they not bestow an undisputed Evidence upon it?
'Tis however hop'd, that the Progress of this
Argument will bring a farther Confirmation of the
present Theory, by showing the Rise of other
Sentiments of Esteem and Regard from the same
or like Principles.
210
Immanuel Kant,
Fundamental Principles of
the Metaphysic of Morals
(Selections), Translated by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott
PREFACE
Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three
sciences: physics, ethics, and logic. This division is
perfectly suitable to the nature of the thing; and
the only improvement that can be made in it is to
add the principle on which it is based, so that we
may both satisfy ourselves of its completeness,
and also be able to determine correctly the
necessary subdivisions.
All rational knowledge is either material or formal:
the former considers some object, the latter is
concerned only with the form of the
understanding and of the reason itself, and with
the universal laws of thought in general without
distinction of its objects. Formal philosophy is
called logic. Material philosophy, however, which
has to do with determinate objects and the laws to
which they are subject, is again twofold; for these
laws are either laws of nature or of freedom. The
science of the former is physics, that of the latter,
ethics; they are also called natural philosophy and
moral philosophy respectively.
Logic cannot have any empirical part; that is, a
part in which the universal and necessary laws of
thought should rest on grounds taken from
experience; otherwise it would not be logic, i.e., a
canon for the understanding or the reason, valid
for all thought, and capable of demonstration.
Natural and moral philosophy, on the contrary,
can each have their empirical part, since the
former has to determine the laws of nature as an
object of experience; the latter the laws of the
human will, so far as it is affected by nature: the
former, however, being laws according to which
everything does happen; the latter, laws according
to which everything ought to happen. Ethics,
however, must also consider the conditions under
which what ought to happen frequently does not.
We may call all philosophy empirical, so far as it is
based on grounds of experience: on the other
hand, that which delivers its doctrines from a
priori principles alone we may call pure
philosophy. When the latter is merely formal it is
logic; if it is restricted to definite objects of the
understanding it is metaphysic.
In this way there arises the idea of a twofold
metaphysic- a metaphysic of nature and a
metaphysic of morals. Physics will thus have an
empirical and also a rational part. It is the same
with Ethics; but here the empirical part might
have the special name of practical anthropology,
the name morality being appropriated to the
rational part.
All trades, arts, and handiworks have gained by
division of labour, namely, when, instead of one
man doing everything, each confines himself to a
certain kind of work distinct from others in the
treatment it requires, so as to be able to perform it
with greater facility and in the greatest perfection.
Where the different kinds of work are not
distinguished and divided, where everyone is a
jack-of-all-trades, there manufactures remain still
in the greatest barbarism. It might deserve to be
considered whether pure philosophy in all its
parts does not require a man specially devoted to
it, and whether it would not be better for the
whole business of science if those who, to please
the tastes of the public, are wont to blend the
rational and empirical elements together, mixed in
IMMANUEL KANT (1724-1804). - German philosopher. Steel engraving, German, 19th century.. Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica
211
all sorts of proportions unknown to themselves,
and who call themselves independent thinkers,
giving the name of minute philosophers to those
who apply themselves to the rational part only- if
these, I say, were warned not to carry on two
employments together which differ widely in the
treatment they demand, for each of which perhaps
a special talent is required, and the combination
of which in one person only produces bunglers.
But I only ask here whether the nature of science
does not require that we should always carefully
separate the empirical from the rational part, and
prefix to Physics proper (or empirical physics) a
metaphysic of nature, and to practical
anthropology a metaphysic of morals, which must
be carefully cleared of everything empirical, so
that we may know how much can be
accomplished by pure reason in both cases, and
from what sources it draws this its a priori
teaching, and that whether the latter inquiry is
conducted by all moralists (whose name is legion),
or only by some who feel a calling thereto.
As my concern here is with moral philosophy, I
limit the question suggested to this: Whether it is
not of the utmost necessity to construct a pure
thing which is only empirical and which belongs
to anthropology? for that such a philosophy must
be possible is evident from the common idea of
duty and of the moral laws. Everyone must admit
that if a law is to have moral force, i.e., to be the
basis of an obligation, it must carry with it
absolute necessity; that, for example, the precept,
"Thou shalt not lie," is not valid for men alone, as
if other rational beings had no need to observe it;
and so with all the other moral laws properly so
called; that, therefore, the basis of obligation must
not be sought in the nature of man, or in the
circumstances in the world in which he is placed,
but a priori simply in the conception of pure
reason; and although any other precept which is
founded on principles of mere experience may be
in certain respects universal, yet in as far as it rests
even in the least degree on an empirical basis,
perhaps only as to a motive, such a precept, while
it may be a practical rule, can never be called a
moral law.
Thus not only are moral laws with their principles
essentially distinguished from every other kind of
practical knowledge in which there is anything
empirical, but all moral philosophy rests wholly
on its pure part. When applied to man, it does not
borrow the least thing from the knowledge of man
himself (anthropology), but gives laws a priori to
him as a rational being. No doubt these laws
require a judgement sharpened by experience, in
order on the one hand to distinguish in what cases
they are applicable, and on the other to procure
for them access to the will of the man and
effectual influence on conduct; since man is acted
on by so many inclinations that, though capable of
the idea of a practical pure reason, he is not so
easily able to make it effective in concreto in his
life.
A metaphysic of morals is therefore indispensably
necessary, not merely for speculative reasons, in
order to investigate the sources of the practical
principles which are to be found a priori in our
reason, but also because morals themselves are
liable to all sorts of corruption, as long as we are
without that clue and supreme canon by which to
estimate them correctly. For in order that an
action should be morally good, it is not enough
that it conform to the moral law, but it must also
be done for the sake of the law, otherwise that
conformity is only very contingent and uncertain;
since a principle which is not moral, although it
may now and then produce actions conformable
to the law, will also often produce actions which
contradict it. Now it is only in a pure philosophy
that we can look for the moral law in its purity
and genuineness (and, in a practical matter, this is
of the utmost consequence): we must, therefore,
begin with pure philosophy (metaphysic), and
without it there cannot be any moral philosophy
at all. That which mingles these pure principles
with the empirical does not deserve the name of
philosophy (for what distinguishes philosophy
from common rational knowledge is that it treats
in separate sciences what the latter only
comprehends confusedly); much less does it
deserve that of moral philosophy, since by this
confusion it even spoils the purity of morals
themselves, and counteracts its own end.
Let it not be thought, however, that what is here
demanded is already extant in the propaedeutic
prefixed by the celebrated Wolf to his moral
philosophy, namely, his so-called general practical
philosophy, and that, therefore, we have not to
strike into an entirely new field. Just because it
was to be a general practical philosophy, it has not
212
taken into consideration a will of any particular
kind- say one which should be determined solely
from a priori principles without any empirical
motives, and which we might call a pure will, but
volition in general, with all the actions and
conditions which belong to it in this general
signification. By this it is distinguished from a
metaphysic of morals, just as general logic, which
treats of the acts and canons of thought in general,
is distinguished from transcendental philosophy,
which treats of the particular acts and canons of
pure thought, i.e., that whose cognitions are
altogether a priori. For the metaphysic of morals
has to examine the idea and the principles of a
possible pure will, and not the acts and conditions
of human volition generally, which for the most
part are drawn from psychology. It is true that
moral laws and duty are spoken of in the general
moral philosophy (contrary indeed to all fitness).
But this is no objection, for in this respect also the
authors of that science remain true to their idea of
it; they do not distinguish the motives which are
prescribed as such by reason alone altogether a
priori, and which are properly moral, from the
empirical motives which the understanding raises
to general conceptions merely by comparison of
experiences; but, without noticing the difference
of their sources, and looking on them all as
homogeneous, they consider only their greater or
less amount. It is in this way they frame their
notion of obligation, which, though anything but
moral, is all that can be attained in a philosophy
which passes no judgement at all on the origin of
all possible practical concepts, whether they are a
priori, or only a posteriori.
Intending to publish hereafter a metaphysic of
morals, I issue in the first instance these
fundamental principles. Indeed there is properly
no other foundation for it than the critical
examination of a pure practical reason; just as that
of metaphysics is the critical examination of the
pure speculative reason, already published. But in
the first place the former is not so absolutely
necessary as the latter, because in moral concerns
human reason can easily be brought to a high
degree of correctness and completeness, even in
the commonest understanding, while on the
contrary in its theoretic but pure use it is wholly
dialectical; and in the second place if the critique
of a pure practical Reason is to be complete, it
must be possible at the same time to show its
identity with the speculative reason in a common
principle, for it can ultimately be only one and the
same reason which has to be distinguished merely
in its application. I could not, however, bring it to
such completeness here, without introducing
considerations of a wholly different kind, which
would be perplexing to the reader. On this
account I have adopted the title of Fundamental
Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals instead of
that of a Critical Examination of the pure practical
reason.
But in the third place, since a metaphysic of
morals, in spite of the discouraging title, is yet
capable of being presented in popular form, and
one adapted to the common understanding, I find
it useful to separate from it this preliminary
treatise on its fundamental principles, in order
that I may not hereafter have need to introduce
these necessarily subtle discussions into a book of
a more simple character.
The present treatise is, however, nothing more
than the investigation and establishment of the
supreme principle of morality, and this alone
constitutes a study complete in itself and one
which ought to be kept apart from every other
moral investigation. No doubt my conclusions on
this weighty question, which has hitherto been
very unsatisfactorily examined, would receive
much light from the application of the same
principle to the whole system, and would be
greatly confirmed by the adequacy which it
exhibits throughout; but I must forego this
advantage, which indeed would be after all more
gratifying than useful, since the easy applicability
of a principle and its apparent adequacy give no
very certain proof of its soundness, but rather
inspire a certain partiality, which prevents us from
examining and estimating it strictly in itself and
without regard to consequences.
I have adopted in this work the method which I
think most suitable, proceeding analytically from
common knowledge to the determination of its
ultimate principle, and again descending
synthetically from the examination of this
principle and its sources to the common
knowledge in which we find it employed. The
division will, therefore, be as follows:
213
1 FIRST SECTION. Transition from the common
rational knowledge of morality to the
philosophical.
2 SECOND SECTION. Transition from popular
moral philosophy to the metaphysic of morals.
3 THIRD SECTION. Final step from the
metaphysic of morals to the critique of the pure
practical reason.
SEC_1
FIRST SECTION
TRANSITION FROM THE COMMON RATIONAL
KNOWLEDGE
OF MORALITY TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL
Nothing can possibly be conceived in the world, or
even out of it, which can be called good, without
qualification, except a good will. Intelligence, wit,
judgement, and the other talents of the mind,
however they may be named, or courage,
resolution, perseverance, as qualities of
temperament, are undoubtedly good and desirable
in many respects; but these gifts of nature may
also become extremely bad and mischievous if the
will which is to make use of them, and which,
therefore, constitutes what is called character, is
not good. It is the same with the gifts of fortune.
Power, riches, honour, even health, and the
general well-being and contentment with one's
condition which is called happiness, inspire pride,
and often presumption, if there is not a good will
to correct the influence of these on the mind, and
with this also to rectify the whole principle of
acting and adapt it to its end. The sight of a being
who is not adorned with a single feature of a pure
and good will, enjoying unbroken prosperity, can
never give pleasure to an impartial rational
spectator. Thus a good will appears to constitute
the indispensable condition even of being worthy
of happiness.
There are even some qualities which are of service
to this good will itself and may facilitate its action,
yet which have no intrinsic unconditional value,
but always presuppose a good will, and this
qualifies the esteem that we justly have for them
and does not permit us to regard them as
absolutely good. Moderation in the affections and
passions, self-control, and calm deliberation are
not only good in many respects, but even seem to
constitute part of the intrinsic worth of the
person; but they are far from deserving to be
called good without qualification, although they
have been so unconditionally praised by the
ancients. For without the principles of a good will,
they may become extremely bad, and the coolness
of a villain not only makes him far more
dangerous, but also directly makes him more
abominable in our eyes than he would have been
without it.
A good will is good not because of what it
performs or effects, not by its aptness for the
attainment of some proposed end, but simply by
virtue of the volition; that is, it is good in itself,
and considered by itself is to be esteemed much
higher than all that can be brought about by it in
favour of any inclination, nay even of the sum
total of all inclinations. Even if it should happen
that, owing to special disfavour of fortune, or the
niggardly provision of a step-motherly nature, this
will should wholly lack power to accomplish its
purpose, if with its greatest efforts it should yet
achieve nothing, and there should remain only the
good will (not, to be sure, a mere wish, but the
summoning of all means in our power), then, like
a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a
thing which has its whole value in itself. Its
usefulness or fruitlessness can neither add nor
take away anything from this value. It would be, as
it were, only the setting to enable us to handle it
the more conveniently in common commerce, or
to attract to it the attention of those who are not
yet connoisseurs, but not to recommend it to true
connoisseurs, or to determine its value.
There is, however, something so strange in this
idea of the absolute value of the mere will, in
which no account is taken of its utility, that
notwithstanding the thorough assent of even
common reason to the idea, yet a suspicion must
arise that it may perhaps really be the product of
mere high-flown fancy, and that we may have
misunderstood the purpose of nature in assigning
reason as the governor of our will. Therefore we
will examine this idea from this point of view.
In the physical constitution of an organized being,
that is, a being adapted suitably to the purposes of
life, we assume it as a fundamental principle that
no organ for any purpose will be found but what is
214
also the fittest and best adapted for that purpose.
Now in a being which has reason and a will, if the
proper object of nature were its conservation, its
welfare, in a word, its happiness, then nature
would have hit upon a very bad arrangement in
selecting the reason of the creature to carry out
this purpose. For all the actions which the
creature has to perform with a view to this
purpose, and the whole rule of its conduct, would
be far more surely prescribed to it by instinct, and
that end would have been attained thereby much
more certainly than it ever can be by reason.
Should reason have been communicated to this
favoured creature over and above, it must only
have served it to contemplate the happy
constitution of its nature, to admire it, to
congratulate itself thereon, and to feel thankful for
it to the beneficent cause, but not that it should
subject its desires to that weak and delusive
guidance and meddle bunglingly with the purpose
of nature. In a word, nature would have taken care
that reason should not break forth into practical
exercise, nor have the presumption, with its weak
insight, to think out for itself the plan of
happiness, and of the means of attaining it. Nature
would not only have taken on herself the choice of
the ends, but also of the means, and with wise
foresight would have entrusted both to instinct.
And, in fact, we find that the more a cultivated
reason applies itself with deliberate purpose to the
enjoyment of life and happiness, so much the
more does the man fail of true satisfaction. And
from this circumstance there arises in many, if
they are candid enough to confess it, a certain
degree of misology, that is, hatred of reason,
especially in the case of those who are most
experienced in the use of it, because after
calculating all the advantages they derive, I do not
say from the invention of all the arts of common
luxury, but even from the sciences (which seem to
them to be after all only a luxury of the
understanding), they find that they have, in fact,
only brought more trouble on their shoulders,
rather than gained in happiness; and they end by
envying, rather than despising, the more common
stamp of men who keep closer to the guidance of
mere instinct and do not allow their reason much
influence on their conduct. And this we must
admit, that the judgement of those who would
very much lower the lofty eulogies of the
advantages which reason gives us in regard to the
happiness and satisfaction of life, or who would
even reduce them below zero, is by no means
morose or ungrateful to the goodness with which
the world is governed, but that there lies at the
root of these judgements the idea that our
existence has a different and far nobler end, for
which, and not for happiness, reason is properly
intended, and which must, therefore, be regarded
as the supreme condition to which the private
ends of man must, for the most part, be
postponed.
For as reason is not competent to guide the will
with certainty in regard to its objects and the
satisfaction of all our wants (which it to some
extent even multiplies), this being an end to which
an implanted instinct would have led with much
greater certainty; and since, nevertheless, reason is
imparted to us as a practical faculty, i.e., as one
which is to have influence on the will, therefore,
admitting that nature generally in the distribution
of her capacities has adapted the means to the
end, its true destination must be to produce a will,
not merely good as a means to something else, but
good in itself, for which reason was absolutely
necessary. This will then, though not indeed the
sole and complete good, must be the supreme
good and the condition of every other, even of the
desire of happiness. Under these circumstances,
there is nothing inconsistent with the wisdom of
nature in the fact that the cultivation of the
reason, which is requisite for the first and
unconditional purpose, does in many ways
interfere, at least in this life, with the attainment
of the second, which is always conditional,
namely, happiness. Nay, it may even reduce it to
nothing, without nature thereby failing of her
purpose. For reason recognizes the establishment
of a good will as its highest practical destination,
and in attaining this purpose is capable only of a
satisfaction of its own proper kind, namely that
from the attainment of an end, which end again is
determined by reason only, notwithstanding that
this may involve many a disappointment to the
ends of inclination.
We have then to develop the notion of a will
which deserves to be highly esteemed for itself
and is good without a view to anything further, a
notion which exists already in the sound natural
understanding, requiring rather to be cleared up
than to be taught, and which in estimating the
215
value of our actions always takes the first place
and constitutes the condition of all the rest. In
order to do this, we will take the notion of duty,
which includes that of a good will, although
implying certain subjective restrictions and
hindrances. These, however, far from concealing
it, or rendering it unrecognizable, rather bring it
out by contrast and make it shine forth so much
the brighter.
I omit here all actions which are already
recognized as inconsistent with duty, although
they may be useful for this or that purpose, for
with these the question whether they are done
from duty cannot arise at all, since they even
conflict with it. I also set aside those actions which
really conform to duty, but to which men have no
direct inclination, performing them because they
are impelled thereto by some other inclination.
For in this case we can readily distinguish whether
the action which agrees with duty is done from
duty, or from a selfish view. It is much harder to
make this distinction when the action accords
with duty and the subject has besides a direct
inclination to it. For example, it is always a matter
of duty that a dealer should not over charge an
inexperienced purchaser; and wherever there is
much commerce the prudent tradesman does not
overcharge, but keeps a fixed price for everyone,
so that a child buys of him as well as any other.
Men are thus honestly served; but this is not
enough to make us believe that the tradesman has
so acted from duty and from principles of honesty:
his own advantage required it; it is out of the
question in this case to suppose that he might
besides have a direct inclination in favour of the
buyers, so that, as it were, from love he should
give no advantage to one over another.
Accordingly the action was done neither from
duty nor from direct inclination, but merely with a
selfish view.
On the other hand, it is a duty to maintain one's
life; and, in addition, everyone has also a direct
inclination to do so. But on this account the often
anxious care which most men take for it has no
intrinsic worth, and their maxim has no moral
import. They preserve their life as duty requires,
no doubt, but not because duty requires. On the
other hand, if adversity and hopeless sorrow have
completely taken away the relish for life; if the
unfortunate one, strong in mind, indignant at his
fate rather than desponding or dejected, wishes
for death, and yet preserves his life without loving
it- not from inclination or fear, but from duty-
then his maxim has a moral worth.
To be beneficent when we can is a duty; and
besides this, there are many minds so
sympathetically constituted that, without any
other motive of vanity or self-interest, they find a
pleasure in spreading joy around them and can
take delight in the satisfaction of others so far as it
is their own work. But I maintain that in such a
case an action of this kind, however proper,
however amiable it may be, has nevertheless no
true moral worth, but is on a level with other
inclinations, e.g., the inclination to honour, which,
if it is happily directed to that which is in fact of
public utility and accordant with duty and
consequently honourable, deserves praise and
encouragement, but not esteem. For the maxim
lacks the moral import, namely, that such actions
be done from duty, not from inclination. Put the
case that the mind of that philanthropist were
clouded by sorrow of his own, extinguishing all
sympathy with the lot of others, and that, while he
still has the power to benefit others in distress, he
is not touched by their trouble because he is
absorbed with his own; and now suppose that he
tears himself out of this dead insensibility, and
performs the action without any inclination to it,
but simply from duty, then first has his action its
genuine moral worth. Further still; if nature has
put little sympathy in the heart of this or that
man; if he, supposed to be an upright man, is by
temperament cold and indifferent to the
sufferings of others, perhaps because in respect of
his own he is provided with the special gift of
patience and fortitude and supposes, or even
requires, that others should have the same- and
such a man would certainly not be the meanest
product of nature- but if nature had not specially
framed him for a philanthropist, would he not still
find in himself a source from whence to give
himself a far higher worth than that of a good-
natured temperament could be? Unquestionably.
It is just in this that the moral worth of the
character is brought out which is incomparably
the highest of all, namely, that he is beneficent,
not from inclination, but from duty.
216
To secure one's own happiness is a duty, at least
indirectly; for discontent with one's condition,
under a pressure of many anxieties and amidst
unsatisfied wants, might easily become a great
temptation to transgression of duty. But here
again, without looking to duty, all men have
already the strongest and most intimate
inclination to happiness, because it is just in this
idea that all inclinations are combined in one
total. But the precept of happiness is often of such
a sort that it greatly interferes with some
inclinations, and yet a man cannot form any
definite and certain conception of the sum of
satisfaction of all of them which is called
happiness. It is not then to be wondered at that a
single inclination, definite both as to what it
promises and as to the time within which it can be
gratified, is often able to overcome such a
fluctuating idea, and that a gouty patient, for
instance, can choose to enjoy what he likes, and to
suffer what he may, since, according to his
calculation, on this occasion at least, he has not
sacrificed the enjoyment of the present moment to
a possibly mistaken expectation of a happiness
which is supposed to be found in health. But even
in this case, if the general desire for happiness did
not influence his will, and supposing that in his
particular case health was not a necessary element
in this calculation, there yet remains in this, as in
all other cases, this law, namely, that he should
promote his happiness not from inclination but
from duty, and by this would his conduct first
acquire true moral worth.
It is in this manner, undoubtedly, that we are to
understand those passages of Scripture also in
which we are commanded to love our neighbour,
even our enemy. For love, as an affection, cannot
be commanded, but beneficence for duty's sake
may; even though we are not impelled to it by any
inclination- nay, are even repelled by a natural
and unconquerable aversion. This is practical love
and not pathological- a love which is seated in the
will, and not in the propensions of sense- in
principles of action and not of tender sympathy;
and it is this love alone which can be commanded.
The second proposition is: That an action done
from duty derives its moral worth, not from the
purpose which is to be attained by it, but from the
maxim by which it is determined, and therefore
does not depend on the realization of the object of
the action, but merely on the principle of volition
by which the action has taken place, without
regard to any object of desire. It is clear from what
precedes that the purposes which we may have in
view in our actions, or their effects regarded as
ends and springs of the will, cannot give to actions
any unconditional or moral worth. In what, then,
can their worth lie, if it is not to consist in the will
and in reference to its expected effect? It cannot
lie anywhere but in the principle of the will
without regard to the ends which can be attained
by the action. For the will stands between its a
priori principle, which is formal, and its a
posteriori spring, which is material, as between
two roads, and as it must be determined by
something, it follows that it must be determined
by the formal principle of volition when an action
is done from duty, in which case every material
principle has been withdrawn from it.
The third proposition, which is a consequence of
the two preceding, I would express thus: Duty is
the necessity of acting from respect for the law. I
may have inclination for an object as the effect of
my proposed action, but I cannot have respect for
it, just for this reason, that it is an effect and not
an energy of will. Similarly I cannot have respect
for inclination, whether my own or another's; I
can at most, if my own, approve it; if another's,
sometimes even love it; i.e., look on it as
favourable to my own interest. It is only what is
connected with my will as a principle, by no
means as an effect- what does not subserve my
inclination, but overpowers it, or at least in case of
choice excludes it from its calculation- in other
words, simply the law of itself, which can be an
object of respect, and hence a command. Now an
action done from duty must wholly exclude the
influence of inclination and with it every object of
the will, so that nothing remains which can
determine the will except objectively the law, and
subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and
consequently the maxim * that I should follow this
law even to the thwarting of all my inclinations.
217
* A maxim is the subjective principle of volition.
The objective principle (i.e., that which would also
serve subjectively as a practical principle to all
rational beings if reason had full power over the
faculty of desire) is the practical law.
Thus the moral worth of an action does not lie in
the effect expected from it, nor in any principle of
action which requires to borrow its motive from
this expected effect. For all these effects-
agreeableness of one's condition and even the
promotion of the happiness of others- could have
been also brought about by other causes, so that
for this there would have been no need of the will
of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that
the supreme and unconditional good can be
found. The pre-eminent good which we call moral
can therefore consist in nothing else than the
conception of law in itself, which certainly is only
possible in a rational being, in so far as this
conception, and not the expected effect,
determines the will. This is a good which is
already present in the person who acts
accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to
appear first in the result. *
* It might be here objected to me that I take
refuge behind the word respect in an obscure
feeling, instead of giving a distinct solution of the
question by a concept of the reason. But although
respect is a feeling, it is not a feeling received
through influence, but is self-wrought by a
rational concept, and, therefore, is specifically
distinct from all feelings of the former kind, which
may be referred either to inclination or fear, What
I recognise immediately as a law for me, I
recognise with respect. This merely signifies the
consciousness that my will is subordinate to a law,
without the intervention of other influences on
my sense. The immediate determination of the
will by the law, and the consciousness of this, is
called respect, so that this is regarded as an effect
of the law on the subject, and not as the cause of
it. Respect is properly the conception of a worth
which thwarts my self-love. Accordingly it is
something which is considered neither as an
object of inclination nor of fear, although it has
something analogous to both. The object of
respect is the law only, and that the law which we
impose on ourselves and yet recognise as
necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected too it
without consulting self-love; as imposed by us on
ourselves, it is a result of our will. In the former
aspect it has an analogy to fear, in the latter to
inclination. Respect for a person is properly only
respect for the law (of honesty, etc.) of which he
gives us an example. Since we also look on the
improvement of our talents as a duty, we consider
that we see in a person of talents, as it were, the
example of a law (viz., to become like him in this
by exercise), and this constitutes our respect. All
so-called moral interest consists simply in respect
for the law.
But what sort of law can that be, the conception of
which must determine the will, even without
paying any regard to the effect expected from it, in
order that this will may be called good absolutely
and without qualification? As I have deprived the
will of every impulse which could arise to it from
obedience to any law, there remains nothing but
the universal conformity of its actions to law in
general, which alone is to serve the will as a
principle, i.e., I am never to act otherwise than so
that I could also will that my maxim should
become a universal law. Here, now, it is the simple
conformity to law in general, without assuming
any particular law applicable to certain actions,
that serves the will as its principle and must so
serve it, if duty is not to be a vain delusion and a
chimerical notion. The common reason of men in
its practical judgements perfectly coincides with
this and always has in view the principle here
suggested. Let the question be, for example: May I
when in distress make a promise with the
intention not to keep it? I readily distinguish here
between the two significations which the question
may have: Whether it is prudent, or whether it is
right, to make a false promise? The former may
undoubtedly often be the case. I see clearly indeed
that it is not enough to extricate myself from a
present difficulty by means of this subterfuge, but
it must be well considered whether there may not
hereafter spring from this lie much greater
inconvenience than that from which I now free
myself, and as, with all my supposed cunning, the
consequences cannot be so easily foreseen but
that credit once lost may be much more injurious
to me than any mischief which I seek to avoid at
present, it should be considered whether it would
not be more prudent to act herein according to a
universal maxim and to make it a habit to promise
nothing except with the intention of keeping it.
218
But it is soon clear to me that such a maxim will
still only be based on the fear of consequences.
Now it is a wholly different thing to be truthful
from duty and to be so from apprehension of
injurious consequences. In the first case, the very
notion of the action already implies a law for me;
in the second case, I must first look about
elsewhere to see what results may be combined
with it which would affect myself. For to deviate
from the principle of duty is beyond all doubt
wicked; but to be unfaithful to my maxim of
prudence may often be very advantageous to me,
although to abide by it is certainly safer. The
shortest way, however, and an unerring one, to
discover the answer to this question whether a
lying promise is consistent with duty, is to ask
myself, "Should I be content that my maxim (to
extricate myself from difficulty by a false promise)
should hold good as a universal law, for myself as
well as for others?" and should I be able to say to
myself, "Every one may make a deceitful promise
when he finds himself in a difficulty from which
he cannot otherwise extricate himself?" Then I
presently become aware that while I can will the
lie, I can by no means will that lying should be a
universal law. For with such a law there would be
no promises at all, since it would be in vain to
allege my intention in regard to my future actions
to those who would not believe this allegation, or
if they over hastily did so would pay me back in
my own coin. Hence my maxim, as soon as it
should be made a universal law, would necessarily
destroy itself.
I do not, therefore, need any far-reaching
penetration to discern what I have to do in order
that my will may be morally good. Inexperienced
in the course of the world, incapable of being
prepared for all its contingencies, I only ask
myself: Canst thou also will that thy maxim should
be a universal law? If not, then it must be rejected,
and that not because of a disadvantage accruing
from it to myself or even to others, but because it
cannot enter as a principle into a possible
universal legislation, and reason extorts from me
immediate respect for such legislation. I do not
indeed as yet discern on what this respect is based
(this the philosopher may inquire), but at least I
understand this, that it is an estimation of the
worth which far outweighs all worth of what is
recommended by inclination, and that the
necessity of acting from pure respect for the
practical law is what constitutes duty, to which
every other motive must give place, because it is
the condition of a will being good in itself, and the
worth of such a will is above everything.
Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge
of common human reason, we have arrived at its
principle. And although, no doubt, common men
do not conceive it in such an abstract and
universal form, yet they always have it really
before their eyes and use it as the standard of their
decision. Here it would be easy to show how, with
this compass in hand, men are well able to
distinguish, in every case that occurs, what is
good, what bad, conformably to duty or
inconsistent with it, if, without in the least
teaching them anything new, we only, like
Socrates, direct their attention to the principle
they themselves employ; and that, therefore, we
do not need science and philosophy to know what
we should do to be honest and good, yea, even
wise and virtuous. Indeed we might well have
conjectured beforehand that the knowledge of
what every man is bound to do, and therefore also
to know, would be within the reach of every man,
even the commonest. Here we cannot forbear
admiration when we see how great an advantage
the practical judgement has over the theoretical in
the common understanding of men. In the latter,
if common reason ventures to depart from the
laws of experience and from the perceptions of the
senses, it falls into mere inconceivabilities and
self-contradictions, at least into a chaos of
uncertainty, obscurity, and instability. But in the
practical sphere it is just when the common
understanding excludes all sensible springs from
practical laws that its power of judgement begins
to show itself to advantage. It then becomes even
subtle, whether it be that it chicanes with its own
conscience or with other claims respecting what is
to be called right, or whether it desires for its own
instruction to determine honestly the worth of
actions; and, in the latter case, it may even have as
good a hope of hitting the mark as any
philosopher whatever can promise himself. Nay, it
is almost more sure of doing so, because the
philosopher cannot have any other principle,
while he may easily perplex his judgement by a
multitude of considerations foreign to the matter,
and so turn aside from the right way. Would it not
therefore be wiser in moral concerns to acquiesce
in the judgement of common reason, or at most
219
only to call in philosophy for the purpose of
rendering the system of morals more complete
and intelligible, and its rules more convenient for
use (especially for disputation), but not so as to
draw off the common understanding from its
happy simplicity, or to bring it by means of
philosophy into a new path of inquiry and
instruction?
Innocence is indeed a glorious thing; only, on the
other hand, it is very sad that it cannot well
maintain itself and is easily seduced. On this
account even wisdom- which otherwise consists
more in conduct than in knowledge- yet has need
of science, not in order to learn from it, but to
secure for its precepts admission and permanence.
Against all the commands of duty which reason
represents to man as so deserving of respect, he
feels in himself a powerful counterpoise in his
wants and inclinations, the entire satisfaction of
which he sums up under the name of happiness.
Now reason issues its commands unyieldingly,
without promising anything to the inclinations,
and, as it were, with disregard and contempt for
these claims, which are so impetuous, and at the
same time so plausible, and which will not allow
themselves to be suppressed by any command.
Hence there arises a natural dialectic, i.e., a
disposition, to argue against these strict laws of
duty and to question their validity, or at least their
purity and strictness; and, if possible, to make
them more accordant with our wishes and
inclinations, that is to say, to corrupt them at their
very source, and entirely to destroy their worth- a
thing which even common practical reason cannot
ultimately call good.
Thus is the common reason of man compelled to
go out of its sphere, and to take a step into the
field of a practical philosophy, not to satisfy any
speculative want (which never occurs to it as long
as it is content to be mere sound reason), but even
on practical grounds, in order to attain in it
information and clear instruction respecting the
source of its principle, and the correct
determination of it in opposition to the maxims
which are based on wants and inclinations, so that
it may escape from the perplexity of opposite
claims and not run the risk of losing all genuine
moral principles through the equivocation into
which it easily falls. Thus, when practical reason
cultivates itself, there insensibly arises in it a
dialetic which forces it to seek aid in philosophy,
just as happens to it in its theoretic use; and in
this case, therefore, as well as in the other, it will
find rest nowhere but in a thorough critical
examination of our reason.
SEC_2
SECOND SECTION
TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL
PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSIC OF
MORALS
If we have hitherto drawn our notion of duty from
the common use of our practical reason, it is by no
means to be inferred that we have treated it as an
empirical notion. On the contrary, if we attend to
the experience of men's conduct, we meet
frequent and, as we ourselves allow, just
complaints that one cannot find a single certain
example of the disposition to act from pure duty.
Although many things are done in conformity
with what duty prescribes, it is nevertheless
always doubtful whether they are done strictly
from duty, so as to have a moral worth. Hence
there have at all times been philosophers who
have altogether denied that this disposition
actually exists at all in human actions, and have
ascribed everything to a more or less refined self-
love. Not that they have on that account
questioned the soundness of the conception of
morality; on the contrary, they spoke with sincere
regret of the frailty and corruption of human
nature, which, though noble enough to take its
rule an idea so worthy of respect, is yet weak to
follow it and employs reason which ought to give
it the law only for the purpose of providing for the
interest of the inclinations, whether singly or at
the best in the greatest possible harmony with one
another.
In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make out by
experience with complete certainty a single case in
which the maxim of an action, however right in
itself, rested simply on moral grounds and on the
conception of duty. Sometimes it happens that
with the sharpest self-examination we can find
nothing beside the moral principle of duty which
could have been powerful enough to move us to
this or that action and to so great a sacrifice; yet
we cannot from this infer with certainty that it
was not really some secret impulse of self-love,
220
under the false appearance of duty, that was the
actual determining cause of the will. We like them
to flatter ourselves by falsely taking credit for a
more noble motive; whereas in fact we can never,
even by the strictest examination, get completely
behind the secret springs of action; since, when
the question is of moral worth, it is not with the
actions which we see that we are concerned, but
with those inward principles of them which we do
not see.
Moreover, we cannot better serve the wishes of
those who ridicule all morality as a mere chimera
of human imagination over stepping itself from
vanity, than by conceding to them that notions of
duty must be drawn only from experience (as from
indolence, people are ready to think is also the
case with all other notions); for or is to prepare for
them a certain triumph. I am willing to admit out
of love of humanity that even most of our actions
are correct, but if we look closer at them we
everywhere come upon the dear self which is
always prominent, and it is this they have in view
and not the strict command of duty which would
often require self-denial. Without being an enemy
of virtue, a cool observer, one that does not
mistake the wish for good, however lively, for its
reality, may sometimes doubt whether true virtue
is actually found anywhere in the world, and this
especially as years increase and the judgement is
partly made wiser by experience and partly, also,
more acute in observation. This being so, nothing
can secure us from falling away altogether from
our ideas of duty, or maintain in the soul a well-
grounded respect for its law, but the clear
conviction that although there should never have
been actions which really sprang from such pure
sources, yet whether this or that takes place is not
at all the question; but that reason of itself,
independent on all experience, ordains what
ought to take place, that accordingly actions of
which perhaps the world has hitherto never given
an example, the feasibility even of which might be
very much doubted by one who founds everything
on experience, are nevertheless inflexibly
commanded by reason; that, e.g., even though
there might never yet have been a sincere friend,
yet not a whit the less is pure sincerity in
friendship required of every man, because, prior to
all experience, this duty is involved as duty in the
idea of a reason determining the will by a priori
principles.
When we add further that, unless we deny that
the notion of morality has any truth or reference
to any possible object, we must admit that its law
must be valid, not merely for men but for all
rational creatures generally, not merely under
certain contingent conditions or with exceptions
but with absolute necessity, then it is clear that no
experience could enable us to infer even the
possibility of such apodeictic laws. For with what
right could we bring into unbounded respect as a
universal precept for every rational nature that
which perhaps holds only under the contingent
conditions of humanity? Or how could laws of the
determination of our will be regarded as laws of
the determination of the will of rational beings
generally, and for us only as such, if they were
merely empirical and did not take their origin
wholly a priori from pure but practical reason?
Nor could anything be more fatal to morality than
that we should wish to derive it from examples.
For every example of it that is set before me must
be first itself tested by principles of morality,
whether it is worthy to serve as an original
example, i.e., as a pattern; but by no means can it
authoritatively furnish the conception of morality.
Even the Holy One of the Gospels must first be
compared with our ideal of moral perfection
before we can recognise Him as such; and so He
says of Himself, "Why call ye Me (whom you see)
good; none is good (the model of good) but God
only (whom ye do not see)?" But whence have we
the conception of God as the supreme good?
Simply from the idea of moral perfection, which
reason frames a priori and connects inseparably
with the notion of a free will. Imitation finds no
place at all in morality, and examples serve only
for encouragement, i.e., they put beyond doubt
the feasibility of what the law commands, they
make visible that which the practical rule
expresses more generally, but they can never
authorize us to set aside the true original which
lies in reason and to guide ourselves by examples.
If then there is no genuine supreme principle of
morality but what must rest simply on pure
reason, independent of all experience, I think it is
not necessary even to put the question whether it
is good to exhibit these concepts in their
generality (in abstracto) as they are established a
priori along with the principles belonging to them,
221
if our knowledge is to be distinguished from the
vulgar and to be called philosophical.
In our times indeed this might perhaps be
necessary; for if we collected votes whether pure
rational knowledge separated from everything
empirical, that is to say, metaphysic of morals, or
whether popular practical philosophy is to be
preferred, it is easy to guess which side would
preponderate.
This descending to popular notions is certainly
very commendable, if the ascent to the principles
of pure reason has first taken place and been
satisfactorily accomplished. This implies that we
first found ethics on metaphysics, and then, when
it is firmly established, procure a hearing for it by
giving it a popular character. But it is quite absurd
to try to be popular in the first inquiry, on which
the soundness of the principles depends. It is not
only that this proceeding can never lay claim to
the very rare merit of a true philosophical
popularity, since there is no art in being
intelligible if one renounces all thoroughness of
insight; but also it produces a disgusting medley of
compiled observations and half-reasoned
principles. Shallow pates enjoy this because it can
be used for every-day chat, but the sagacious find
in it only confusion, and being unsatisfied and
unable to help themselves, they turn away their
eyes, while philosophers, who see quite well
through this delusion, are little listened to when
they call men off for a time from this pretended
popularity, in order that they might be rightfully
popular after they have attained a definite insight.
We need only look at the attempts of moralists in
that favourite fashion, and we shall find at one
time the special constitution of human nature
(including, however, the idea of a rational nature
generally), at one time perfection, at another
happiness, here moral sense, there fear of God. a
little of this, and a little of that, in marvellous
mixture, without its occurring to them to ask
whether the principles of morality are to be
sought in the knowledge of human nature at all
(which we can have only from experience); or, if
this is not so, if these principles are to be found
altogether a priori, free from everything empirical,
in pure rational concepts only and nowhere else,
not even in the smallest degree; then rather to
adopt the method of making this a separate
inquiry, as pure practical philosophy, or (if one
may use a name so decried) as metaphysic of
morals, * to bring it by itself to completeness, and
to require the public, which wishes for popular
treatment, to await the issue of this undertaking.
* Just as pure mathematics are distinguished from
applied, pure logic from applied, so if we choose
we may also distinguish pure philosophy of morals
(metaphysic) from applied (viz., applied to human
nature). By this designation we are also at once
reminded that moral principles are not based on
properties of human nature, but must subsist a
priori of themselves, while from such principles
practical rules must be capable of being deduced
for every rational nature, and accordingly for that
of man.
Such a metaphysic of morals, completely isolated,
not mixed with any anthropology, theology,
physics, or hyperphysics, and still less with occult
qualities (which we might call hypophysical), is
not only an indispensable substratum of all sound
theoretical knowledge of duties, but is at the same
time a desideratum of the highest importance to
the actual fulfilment of their precepts. For the
pure conception of duty, unmixed with any
foreign addition of empirical attractions, and, in a
word, the conception of the moral law, exercises
on the human heart, by way of reason alone
(which first becomes aware with this that it can of
itself be practical), an influence so much more
powerful than all other springs * which may be
derived from the field of experience, that, in the
consciousness of its worth, it despises the latter,
and can by degrees become their master; whereas
a mixed ethics, compounded partly of motives
drawn from feelings and inclinations, and partly
also of conceptions of reason, must make the
mind waver between motives which cannot be
brought under any principle, which lead to good
only by mere accident and very often also to evil.
* I have a letter from the late excellent Sulzer, in
which he asks me what can be the reason that
moral instruction, although containing much that
is convincing for the reason, yet accomplishes so
little? My answer was postponed in order that I
might make it complete. But it is simply this: that
the teachers themselves have not got their own
notions clear, and when they endeavour to make
up for this by raking up motives of moral
goodness from every quarter, trying to make their
physic right strong, they spoil it. For the
222
commonest understanding shows that if we
imagine, on the one hand, an act of honesty done
with steadfast mind, apart from every view to
advantage of any kind in this world or another,
and even under the greatest temptations of
necessity or allurement, and, on the other hand, a
similar act which was affected, in however low a
degree, by a foreign motive, the former leaves far
behind and eclipses the second; it elevates the
soul and inspires the wish to be able to act in like
manner oneself. Even moderately young children
feel this impression, ana one should never
represent duties to them in any other light.
From what has been said, it is clear that all moral
conceptions have their seat and origin completely
a priori in the reason, and that, moreover, in the
commonest reason just as truly as in that which is
in the highest degree speculative; that they cannot
be obtained by abstraction from any empirical,
and therefore merely contingent, knowledge; that
it is just this purity of their origin that makes them
worthy to serve as our supreme practical principle,
and that just in proportion as we add anything
empirical, we detract from their genuine influence
and from the absolute value of actions; that it is
not only of the greatest necessity, in a purely
speculative point of view, but is also of the
greatest practical importance, to derive these
notions and laws from pure reason, to present
them pure and unmixed, and even to determine
the compass of this practical or pure rational
knowledge, i.e., to determine the whole faculty of
pure practical reason; and, in doing so, we must
not make its principles dependent on the
particular nature of human reason, though in
speculative philosophy this may be permitted, or
may even at times be necessary; but since moral
laws ought to hold good for every rational
creature, we must derive them from the general
concept of a rational being. In this way, although
for its application to man morality has need of
anthropology, yet, in the first instance, we must
treat it independently as pure philosophy, i.e., as
metaphysic, complete in itself (a thing which in
such distinct branches of science is easily done);
knowing well that unless we are in possession of
this, it would not only be vain to determine the
moral element of duty in right actions for
purposes of speculative criticism, but it would be
impossible to base morals on their genuine
principles, even for common practical purposes,
especially of moral instruction, so as to produce
pure moral dispositions, and to engraft them on
men's minds to the promotion of the greatest
possible good in the world.
But in order that in this study we may not merely
advance by the natural steps from the common
moral judgement (in this case very worthy of
respect) to the philosophical, as has been already
done, but also from a popular philosophy, which
goes no further than it can reach by groping with
the help of examples, to metaphysic (which does
allow itself to be checked by anything empirical
and, as it must measure the whole extent of this
kind of rational knowledge, goes as far as ideal
conceptions, where even examples fail us), we
must follow and clearly describe the practical
faculty of reason, from the general rules of its
determination to the point where the notion of
duty springs from it.
Everything in nature works according to laws.
Rational beings alone have the faculty of acting
according to the conception of laws, that is
according to principles, i.e., have a will. Since the
deduction of actions from principles requires
reason, the will is nothing but practical reason. If
reason infallibly determines the will, then the
actions of such a being which are recognised as
objectively necessary are subjectively necessary
also, i.e., the will is a faculty to choose that only
which reason independent of inclination
recognises as practically necessary, i.e., as good.
But if reason of itself does not sufficiently
determine the will, if the latter is subject also to
subjective conditions (particular impulses) which
do not always coincide with the objective
conditions; in a word, if the will does not in itself
completely accord with reason (which is actually
the case with men), then the actions which
objectively are recognised as necessary are
subjectively contingent, and the determination of
such a will according to objective laws is
obligation, that is to say, the relation of the
objective laws to a will that is not thoroughly good
is conceived as the determination of the will of a
rational being by principles of reason, but which
the will from its nature does not of necessity
follow.
223
The conception of an objective principle, in so far
as it is obligatory for a will, is called a command
(of reason), and the formula of the command is
called an imperative.
All imperatives are expressed by the word ought
[or shall], and thereby indicate the relation of an
objective law of reason to a will, which from its
subjective constitution is not necessarily
determined by it (an obligation). They say that
something would be good to do or to forbear, but
they say it to a will which does not always do a
thing because it is conceived to be good to do it.
That is practically good, however, which
determines the will by means of the conceptions
of reason, and consequently not from subjective
causes, but objectively, that is on principles which
are valid for every rational being as such. It is
distinguished from the pleasant, as that which
influences the will only by means of sensation
from merely subjective causes, valid only for the
sense of this or that one, and not as a principle of
reason, which holds for every one. *
* The dependence of the desires on sensations is
called inclination, and this accordingly always
indicates a want. The dependence of a
contingently determinable will on principles of
reason is called an interest. This therefore, is
found only in the case of a dependent will which
does not always of itself conform to reason; in the
Divine will we cannot conceive any interest. But
the human will can also take an interest in a thing
without therefore acting from interest. The former
signifies the practical interest in the action, the
latter the pathological in the object of the action.
The former indicates only dependence of the will
on principles of reason in themselves; the second,
dependence on principles of reason for the sake of
inclination, reason supplying only the practical
rules how the requirement of the inclination may
be satisfied. In the first case the action interests
me; in the second the object of the action
(because it is pleasant to me). We have seen in the
first section that in an action done from duty we
must look not to the interest in the object, but
only to that in the action itself, and in its rational
principle (viz., the law).
A perfectly good will would therefore be equally
subject to objective laws (viz., laws of good), but
could not be conceived as obliged thereby to act
lawfully, because of itself from its subjective
constitution it can only be determined by the
conception of good. Therefore no imperatives
hold for the Divine will, or in general for a holy
will; ought is here out of place, because the
volition is already of itself necessarily in unison
with the law. Therefore imperatives are only
formulae to express the relation of objective laws
of all volition to the subjective imperfection of the
will of this or that rational being, e.g., the human
will.
Now all imperatives command either
hypothetically or categorically. The former
represent the practical necessity of a possible
action as means to something else that is willed
(or at least which one might possibly will). The
categorical imperative would be that which
represented an action as necessary of itself
without reference to another end, i.e., as
objectively necessary.
Since every practical law represents a possible
action as good and, on this account, for a subject
who is practically determinable by reason,
necessary, all imperatives are formulae
determining an action which is necessary
according to the principle of a will good in some
respects. If now the action is good only as a means
to something else, then the imperative is
hypothetical; if it is conceived as good in itself and
consequently as being necessarily the principle of
a will which of itself conforms to reason, then it is
categorical.
Thus the imperative declares what action possible
by me would be good and presents the practical
rule in relation to a will which does not forthwith
perform an action simply because it is good,
whether because the subject does not always know
that it is good, or because, even if it know this, yet
its maxims might be opposed to the objective
principles of practical reason.
Accordingly the hypothetical imperative only says
that the action is good for some purpose, possible
or actual. In the first case it is a problematical, in
the second an assertorial practical principle. The
categorical imperative which declares an action to
be objectively necessary in itself without reference
to any purpose, i.e., without any other end, is valid
as an apodeictic (practical) principle.
224
Whatever is possible only by the power of some
rational being may also be conceived as a possible
purpose of some will; and therefore the principles
of action as regards the means necessary to attain
some possible purpose are in fact infinitely
numerous. All sciences have a practical part,
consisting of problems expressing that some end
is possible for us and of imperatives directing how
it may be attained. These may, therefore, be called
in general imperatives of skill. Here there is no
question whether the end is rational and good, but
only what one must do in order to attain it. The
precepts for the physician to make his patient
thoroughly healthy, and for a poisoner to ensure
certain death, are of equal value in this respect,
that each serves to effect its purpose perfectly.
Since in early youth it cannot be known what ends
are likely to occur to us in the course of life,
parents seek to have their children taught a great
many things, and provide for their skill in the use
of means for all sorts of arbitrary ends, of none of
which can they determine whether it may not
perhaps hereafter be an object to their pupil, but
which it is at all events possible that he might aim
at; and this anxiety is so great that they commonly
neglect to form and correct their judgement on
the value of the things which may be chosen as
ends
There is one end, however, which may be assumed
to be actually such to all rational beings (so far as
imperatives apply to them, viz., as dependent
beings), and, therefore, one purpose which they
not merely may have, but which we may with
certainty assume that they all actually have by a
natural necessity, and this is happiness. The
hypothetical imperative which expresses the
practical necessity of an action as means to the
advancement of happiness is assertorial. We are
not to present it as necessary for an uncertain and
merely possible purpose, but for a purpose which
we may presuppose with certainty and a priori in
every man, because it belongs to his being. Now
skill in the choice of means to his own greatest
well-being may be called prudence, * in the
narrowest sense. And thus the imperative which
refers to the choice of means to one's own
happiness, i.e., the precept of prudence, is still
always hypothetical; the action is not commanded
absolutely, but only as means to another purpose.
* The word prudence is taken in two senses: in the
one it may bear the name of knowledge of the
world, in the other that of private prudence. The
former is a man's ability to influence others so as
to use them for his own purposes. The latter is the
sagacity to combine all these purposes for his own
lasting benefit. This latter is properly that to
which the value even of the former is reduced, and
when a man is prudent in the former sense, but
not in the latter, we might better say of him that
he is clever and cunning, but, on the whole,
imprudent.
Finally, there is an imperative which commands a
certain conduct immediately, without having as its
condition any other purpose to be attained by it.
This imperative is categorical. It concerns not the
matter of the action, or its intended result, but its
form and the principle of which it is itself a result;
and what is essentially good in it consists in the
mental disposition, let the consequence be what it
may. This imperative may be called that of
morality.
There is a marked distinction also between the
volitions on these three sorts of principles in the
dissimilarity of the obligation of the will. In order
to mark this difference more clearly, I think they
would be most suitably named in their order if we
said they are either rules of skill, or counsels of
prudence, or commands (laws) of morality. For it
is law only that involves the conception of an
unconditional and objective necessity, which is
consequently universally valid; and commands are
laws which must be obeyed, that is, must be
followed, even in opposition to inclination.
Counsels, indeed, involve necessity, but one which
can only hold under a contingent subjective
condition, viz., they depend on whether this or
that man reckons this or that as part of his
happiness; the categorical imperative, on the
contrary, is not limited by any condition, and as
being absolutely, although practically, necessary,
may be quite properly called a command. We
might also call the first kind of imperatives
technical (belonging to art), the second pragmatic
* (to welfare), the third moral (belonging to free
conduct generally, that is, to morals).
* It seems to me that the proper signification of
the word pragmatic may be most accurately
defined in this way. For sanctions are called
pragmatic which flow properly not from the law of
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the states as necessary enactments, but from
precaution for the general welfare. A history is
composed pragmatically when it teaches
prudence, i.e., instructs the world how it can
provide for its interests better, or at least as well
as, the men of former time.
Now arises the question, how are all these
imperatives possible? This question does not seek
to know how we can conceive the
accomplishment of the action which the
imperative ordains, but merely how we can
conceive the obligation of the will which the
imperative expresses. No special explanation is
needed to show how an imperative of skill is
possible. Whoever wills the end, wills also (so far
as reason decides his conduct) the means in his
power which are indispensably necessary thereto.
This proposition is, as regards the volition,
analytical; for, in willing an object as my effect,
there is already thought the causality of myself as
an acting cause, that is to say, the use of the
means; and the imperative educes from the
conception of volition of an end the conception of
actions necessary to this end. Synthetical
propositions must no doubt be employed in
defining the means to a proposed end; but they do
not concern the principle, the act of the will, but
the object and its realization. E.g., that in order to
bisect a line on an unerring principle I must draw
from its extremities two intersecting arcs; this no
doubt is taught by mathematics only in
synthetical propositions; but if I know that it is
only by this process that the intended operation
can be performed, then to say that, if I fully will
the operation, I also will the action required for it,
is an analytical proposition; for it is one and the
same thing to conceive something as an effect
which I can produce in a certain way, and to
conceive myself as acting in this way.
If it were only equally easy to give a definite
conception of happiness, the imperatives of
prudence would correspond exactly with those of
skill, and would likewise be analytical. For in this
case as in that, it could be said: "Whoever wills the
end, wills also (according to the dictate of reason
necessarily) the indispensable means thereto
which are in his power." But, unfortunately, the
notion of happiness is so indefinite that although
every man wishes to attain it, yet he never can say
definitely and consistently what it is that he really
wishes and wills. The reason of this is that all the
elements which belong to the notion of happiness
are altogether empirical, i.e., they must be
borrowed from experience, and nevertheless the
idea of happiness requires an absolute whole, a
maximum of welfare in my present and all future
circumstances. Now it is impossible that the most
clear-sighted and at the same time most powerful
being (supposed finite) should frame to himself a
definite conception of what he really wills in this.
Does he will riches, how much anxiety, envy, and
snares might he not thereby draw upon his
shoulders? Does he will knowledge and
discernment, perhaps it might prove to be only an
eye so much the sharper to show him so much the
more fearfully the evils that are now concealed
from him, and that cannot be avoided, or to
impose more wants on his desires, which already
give him concern enough. Would he have long
life? who guarantees to him that it would not be a
long misery? would he at least have health? how
often has uneasiness of the body restrained from
excesses into which perfect health would have
allowed one to fall? and so on. In short, he is
unable, on any principle, to determine with
certainty what would make him truly happy;
because to do so he would need to be omniscient.
We cannot therefore act on any definite principles
to secure happiness, but only on empirical
counsels, e.g. of regimen, frugality, courtesy,
reserve, etc., which experience teaches do, on the
average, most promote well-being. Hence it
follows that the imperatives of prudence do not,
strictly speaking, command at all, that is, they
cannot present actions objectively as practically
necessary; that they are rather to be regarded as
counsels (consilia) than precepts precepts of
reason, that the problem to determine certainly
and universally what action would promote the
happiness of a rational being is completely
insoluble, and consequently no imperative
respecting it is possible which should, in the strict
sense, command to do what makes happy; because
happiness is not an ideal of reason but of
imagination, resting solely on empirical grounds,
and it is vain to expect that these should define an
action by which one could attain the totality of a
series of consequences which is really endless.
This imperative of prudence would however be an
analytical proposition if we assume that the means
to happiness could be certainly assigned; for it is
226
distinguished from the imperative of skill only by
this, that in the latter the end is merely possible,
in the former it is given; as however both only
ordain the means to that which we suppose to be
willed as an end, it follows that the imperative
which ordains the willing of the means to him
who wills the end is in both cases analytical. Thus
there is no difficulty in regard to the possibility of
an imperative of this kind either.
On the other hand, the question how the
imperative of morality is possible, is undoubtedly
one, the only one, demanding a solution, as this is
not at all hypothetical, and the objective necessity
which it presents cannot rest on any hypothesis,
as is the case with the hypothetical imperatives.
Only here we must never leave out of
consideration that we cannot make out by any
example, in other words empirically, whether
there is such an imperative at all, but it is rather to
be feared that all those which seem to be
categorical may yet be at bottom hypothetical. For
instance, when the precept is: "Thou shalt not
promise deceitfully"; and it is assumed that the
necessity of this is not a mere counsel to avoid
some other evil, so that it should mean: "Thou
shalt not make a lying promise, lest if it become
known thou shouldst destroy thy credit," but that
an action of this kind must be regarded as evil in
itself, so that the imperative of the prohibition is
categorical; then we cannot show with certainty in
any example that the will was determined merely
by the law, without any other spring of action,
although it may appear to be so. For it is always
possible that fear of disgrace, perhaps also obscure
dread of other dangers, may have a secret
influence on the will. Who can prove by
experience the non-existence of a cause when all
that experience tells us is that we do not perceive
it? But in such a case the so-called moral
imperative, which as such appears to be
categorical and unconditional, would in reality be
only a pragmatic precept, drawing our attention to
our own interests and merely teaching us to take
these into consideration.
We shall therefore have to investigate a priori the
possibility of a categorical imperative, as we have
not in this case the advantage of its reality being
given in experience, so that [the elucidation of] its
possibility should be requisite only for its
explanation, not for its establishment. In the
meantime it may be discerned beforehand that the
categorical imperative alone has the purport of a
practical law; all the rest may indeed be called
principles of the will but not laws, since whatever
is only necessary for the attainment of some
arbitrary purpose may be considered as in itself
contingent, and we can at any time be free from
the precept if we give up the purpose; on the
contrary, the unconditional command leaves the
will no liberty to choose the opposite;
consequently it alone carries with it that necessity
which we require in a law.
Secondly, in the case of this categorical imperative
or law of morality, the difficulty (of discerning its
possibility) is a very profound one. It is an a priori
synthetical practical proposition; * and as there is
so much difficulty in discerning the possibility of
speculative propositions of this kind, it may
readily be supposed that the difficulty will be no
less with the practical.
* I connect the act with the will without
presupposing any condition resulting from any
inclination, but a priori, and therefore necessarily
(though only objectively, i.e., assuming the idea of
a reason possessing full power over all subjective
motives). This is accordingly a practical
proposition which does not deduce the willing of
an action by mere analysis from another already
presupposed (for we have not such a perfect will),
but connects it immediately with the conception
of the will of a rational being, as something not
contained in it.
In this problem we will first inquire whether the
mere conception of a categorical imperative may
not perhaps supply us also with the formula of it,
containing the proposition which alone can be a
categorical imperative; for even if we know the
tenor of such an absolute command, yet how it is
possible will require further special and laborious
study, which we postpone to the last section.
When I conceive a hypothetical imperative, in
general I do not know beforehand what it will
contain until I am given the condition. But when I
conceive a categorical imperative, I know at once
what it contains. For as the imperative contains
besides the law only the necessity that the maxims
* shall conform to this law, while the law contains
no conditions restricting it, there remains nothing
but the general statement that the maxim of the
227
action should conform to a universal law, and it is
this conformity alone that the imperative properly
represents as necessary.
* A maxim is a subjective principle of action, and
must be distinguished from the objective
principle, namely, practical law. The former
contains the practical rule set by reason according
to the conditions of the subject (often its
ignorance or its inclinations), so that it is the
principle on which the subject acts; but the law is
the objective principle valid for every rational
being, and is the principle on which it ought to act
that is an imperative.
There is therefore but one categorical imperative,
namely, this: Act only on that maxim whereby
thou canst at the same time will that it should
become a universal law.
Now if all imperatives of duty can be deduced
from this one imperative as from their principle,
then, although it should remain undecided what is
called duty is not merely a vain notion, yet at least
we shall be able to show what we understand by it
and what this notion means.
Since the universality of the law according to
which effects are produced constitutes what is
properly called nature in the most general sense
(as to form), that is the existence of things so far
as it is determined by general laws, the imperative
of duty may be expressed thus: Act as if the maxim
of thy action were to become by thy will a
universal law of nature.
We will now enumerate a few duties, adopting the
usual division of them into duties to ourselves and
ourselves and to others, and into perfect and
imperfect duties. *
* It must be noted here that I reserve the division
of duties for a future metaphysic of morals; so that
I give it here only as an arbitrary one (in order to
arrange my examples). For the rest, I understand
by a perfect duty one that admits no exception in
favour of inclination and then I have not merely
external but also internal perfect duties. This is
contrary to the use of the word adopted in the
schools; but I do not intend to justify there, as it is
all one for my purpose whether it is admitted or
not.
1. A man reduced to despair by a series of
misfortunes feels wearied of life, but is still so far
in possession of his reason that he can ask himself
whether it would not be contrary to his duty to
himself to take his own life. Now he inquires
whether the maxim of his action could become a
universal law of nature. His maxim is: "From self-
love I adopt it as a principle to shorten my life
when its longer duration is likely to bring more
evil than satisfaction." It is asked then simply
whether this principle founded on self-love can
become a universal law of nature. Now we see at
once that a system of nature of which it should be
a law to destroy life by means of the very feeling
whose special nature it is to impel to the
improvement of life would contradict itself and,
therefore, could not exist as a system of nature;
hence that maxim cannot possibly exist as a
universal law of nature and, consequently, would
be wholly inconsistent with the supreme principle
of all duty.
2. Another finds himself forced by necessity to
borrow money. He knows that he will not be able
to repay it, but sees also that nothing will be lent
to him unless he promises stoutly to repay it in a
definite time. He desires to make this promise, but
he has still so much conscience as to ask himself:
"Is it not unlawful and inconsistent with duty to
get out of a difficulty in this way?" Suppose
however that he resolves to do so: then the maxim
of his action would be expressed thus: "When I
think myself in want of money, I will borrow
money and promise to repay it, although I know
that I never can do so." Now this principle of self-
love or of one's own advantage may perhaps be
consistent with my whole future welfare; but the
question now is, "Is it right?" I change then the
suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and
state the question thus: "How would it be if my
maxim were a universal law?" Then I see at once
that it could never hold as a universal law of
nature, but would necessarily contradict itself. For
supposing it to be a universal law that everyone
when he thinks himself in a difficulty should be
able to promise whatever he pleases, with the
purpose of not keeping his promise, the promise
itself would become impossible, as well as the end
that one might have in view in it, since no one
would consider that anything was promised to
him, but would ridicule all such statements as vain
pretences.
228
3. A third finds in himself a talent which with the
help of some culture might make him a useful
man in many respects. But he finds himself in
comfortable circumstances and prefers to indulge
in pleasure rather than to take pains in enlarging
and improving his happy natural capacities. He
asks, however, whether his maxim of neglect of his
natural gifts, besides agreeing with his inclination
to indulgence, agrees also with what is called duty.
He sees then that a system of nature could indeed
subsist with such a universal law although men
(like the South Sea islanders) should let their
talents rest and resolve to devote their lives
merely to idleness, amusement, and propagation
of their species- in a word, to enjoyment; but he
cannot possibly will that this should be a universal
law of nature, or be implanted in us as such by a
natural instinct. For, as a rational being, he
necessarily wills that his faculties be developed,
since they serve him and have been given him, for
all sorts of possible purposes.
4. A fourth, who is in prosperity, while he sees that
others have to contend with great wretchedness
and that he could help them, thinks: "What
concern is it of mine? Let everyone be as happy as
Heaven pleases, or as he can make himself; I will
take nothing from him nor even envy him, only I
do not wish to contribute anything to his welfare
or to his assistance in distress!" Now no doubt if
such a mode of thinking were a universal law, the
human race might very well subsist and doubtless
even better than in a state in which everyone talks
of sympathy and good-will, or even takes care
occasionally to put it into practice, but, on the
other side, also cheats when he can, betrays the
rights of men, or otherwise violates them. But
although it is possible that a universal law of
nature might exist in accordance with that maxim,
it is impossible to will that such a principle should
have the universal validity of a law of nature. For a
will which resolved this would contradict itself,
inasmuch as many cases might occur in which one
would have need of the love and sympathy of
others, and in which, by such a law of nature,
sprung from his own will, he would deprive
himself of all hope of the aid he desires.
These are a few of the many actual duties, or at
least what we regard as such, which obviously fall
into two classes on the one principle that we have
laid down. We must be able to will that a maxim
of our action should be a universal law. This is the
canon of the moral appreciation of the action
generally. Some actions are of such a character
that their maxim cannot without contradiction be
even conceived as a universal law of nature, far
from it being possible that we should will that it
should be so. In others this intrinsic impossibility
is not found, but still it is impossible to will that
their maxim should be raised to the universality of
a law of nature, since such a will would contradict
itself It is easily seen that the former violate strict
or rigorous (inflexible) duty; the latter only laxer
(meritorious) duty. Thus it has been completely
shown how all duties depend as regards the nature
of the obligation (not the object of the action) on
the same principle.
If now we attend to ourselves on occasion of any
transgression of duty, we shall find that we in fact
do not will that our maxim should be a universal
law, for that is impossible for us; on the contrary,
we will that the opposite should remain a
universal law, only we assume the liberty of
making an exception in our own favour or (just for
this time only) in favour of our inclination.
Consequently if we considered all cases from one
and the same point of view, namely, that of
reason, we should find a contradiction in our own
will, namely, that a certain principle should be
objectively necessary as a universal law, and yet
subjectively should not be universal, but admit of
exceptions. As however we at one moment regard
our action from the point of view of a will wholly
conformed to reason, and then again look at the
same action from the point of view of a will
affected by inclination, there is not really any
contradiction, but an antagonism of inclination to
the precept of reason, whereby the universality of
the principle is changed into a mere generality, so
that the practical principle of reason shall meet
the maxim half way. Now, although this cannot be
justified in our own impartial judgement, yet it
proves that we do really recognise the validity of
the categorical imperative and (with all respect for
it) only allow ourselves a few exceptions, which we
think unimportant and forced from us.
We have thus established at least this much, that
if duty is a conception which is to have any import
and real legislative authority for our actions, it can
only be expressed in categorical and not at all in
hypothetical imperatives. We have also, which is
229
of great importance, exhibited clearly and
definitely for every practical application the
content of the categorical imperative, which must
contain the principle of all duty if there is such a
thing at all. We have not yet, however, advanced
so far as to prove a priori that there actually is
such an imperative, that there is a practical law
which commands absolutely of itself and without
any other impulse, and that the following of this
law is duty.
With the view of attaining to this, it is of extreme
importance to remember that we must not allow
ourselves to think of deducing the reality of this
principle from the particular attributes of human
nature. For duty is to be a practical, unconditional
necessity of action; it must therefore hold for all
rational beings (to whom an imperative can apply
at all), and for this reason only be also a law for all
human wills. On the contrary, whatever is
deduced from the particular natural
characteristics of humanity, from certain feelings
and propensions, nay, even, if possible, from any
particular tendency proper to human reason, and
which need not necessarily hold for the will of
every rational being; this may indeed supply us
with a maxim, but not with a law; with a
subjective principle on which we may have a
propension and inclination to act, but not with an
objective principle on which we should be
enjoined to act, even though all our propensions,
inclinations, and natural dispositions were
opposed to it. In fact, the sublimity and intrinsic
dignity of the command in duty are so much the
more evident, the less the subjective impulses
favour it and the more they oppose it, without
being able in the slightest degree to weaken the
obligation of the law or to diminish its validity.
Here then we see philosophy brought to a critical
position, since it has to be firmly fixed,
notwithstanding that it has nothing to support it
in heaven or earth. Here it must show its purity as
absolute director of its own laws, not the herald of
those which are whispered to it by an implanted
sense or who knows what tutelary nature.
Although these may be better than nothing, yet
they can never afford principles dictated by
reason, which must have their source wholly a
priori and thence their commanding authority,
expecting everything from the supremacy of the
law and the due respect for it, nothing from
inclination, or else condemning the man to self-
contempt and inward abhorrence.
Thus every empirical element is not only quite
incapable of being an aid to the principle of
morality, but is even highly prejudicial to the
purity of morals, for the proper and inestimable
worth of an absolutely good will consists just in
this, that the principle of action is free from all
influence of contingent grounds, which alone
experience can furnish. We cannot too much or
too often repeat our warning against this lax and
even mean habit of thought which seeks for its
principle amongst empirical motives and laws; for
human reason in its weariness is glad to rest on
this pillow, and in a dream of sweet illusions (in
which, instead of Juno, it embraces a cloud) it
substitutes for morality a bastard patched up from
limbs of various derivation, which looks like
anything one chooses to see in it, only not like
virtue to one who has once beheld her in her true
form. *
* To behold virtue in her proper form is nothing
else but to contemplate morality stripped of all
admixture of sensible things and of every spurious
ornament of reward or self-love. How much she
then eclipses everything else that appears
charming to the affections, every one may readily
perceive with the least exertion of his reason, if it
be not wholly spoiled for abstraction.
The question then is this: "Is it a necessary law for
all rational beings that they should always judge of
their actions by maxims of which they can
themselves will that they should serve as universal
laws?" If it is so, then it must be connected
(altogether a priori) with the very conception of
the will of a rational being generally. But in order
to discover this connexion we must, however
reluctantly, take a step into metaphysic, although
into a domain of it which is distinct from
speculative philosophy, namely, the metaphysic of
morals. In a practical philosophy, where it is not
the reasons of what happens that we have to
ascertain, but the laws of what ought to happen,
even although it never does, i.e., objective
practical laws, there it is not necessary to inquire
into the reasons why anything pleases or
displeases, how the pleasure of mere sensation
differs from taste, and whether the latter is
distinct from a general satisfaction of reason; on
what the feeling of pleasure or pain rests, and how
230
from it desires and inclinations arise, and from
these again maxims by the co-operation of reason:
for all this belongs to an empirical psychology,
which would constitute the second part of physics,
if we regard physics as the philosophy of nature,
so far as it is based on empirical laws. But here we
are concerned with objective practical laws and,
consequently, with the relation of the will to itself
so far as it is determined by reason alone, in which
case whatever has reference to anything empirical
is necessarily excluded; since if reason of itself
alone determines the conduct (and it is the
possibility of this that we are now investigating), it
must necessarily do so a priori.
The will is conceived as a faculty of determining
oneself to action in accordance with the
conception of certain laws. And such a faculty can
be found only in rational beings. Now that which
serves the will as the objective ground of its self-
determination is the end, and, if this is assigned
by reason alone, it must hold for all rational
beings. On the other hand, that which merely
contains the ground of possibility of the action of
which the effect is the end, this is called the
means. The subjective ground of the desire is the
spring, the objective ground of the volition is the
motive; hence the distinction between subjective
ends which rest on springs, and objective ends
which depend on motives valid for every rational
being. Practical principles are formal when they
abstract from all subjective ends; they are material
when they assume these, and therefore particular
springs of action. The ends which a rational being
proposes to himself at pleasure as effects of his
actions (material ends) are all only relative, for it
is only their relation to the particular desires of
the subject that gives them their worth, which
therefore cannot furnish principles universal and
necessary for all rational beings and for every
volition, that is to say practical laws. Hence all
these relative ends can give rise only to
hypothetical imperatives.
Supposing, however, that there were something
whose existence has in itself an absolute worth,
something which, being an end in itself, could be
a source of definite laws; then in this and this
alone would lie the source of a possible categorical
imperative, i.e., a practical law.
Now I say: man and generally any rational being
exists as an end in himself, not merely as a means
to be arbitrarily used by this or that will, but in all
his actions, whether they concern himself or other
rational beings, must be always regarded at the
same time as an end. All objects of the inclinations
have only a conditional worth, for if the
inclinations and the wants founded on them did
not exist, then their object would be without
value. But the inclinations, themselves being
sources of want, are so far from having an absolute
worth for which they should be desired that on
the contrary it must be the universal wish of every
rational being to be wholly free from them. Thus
the worth of any object which is to be acquired by
our action is always conditional. Beings whose
existence depends not on our will but on nature's,
have nevertheless, if they are irrational beings,
only a relative value as means, and are therefore
called things; rational beings, on the contrary, are
called persons, because their very nature points
them out as ends in themselves, that is as
something which must not be used merely as
means, and so far therefore restricts freedom of
action (and is an object of respect). These,
therefore, are not merely subjective ends whose
existence has a worth for us as an effect of our
action, but objective ends, that is, things whose
existence is an end in itself; an end moreover for
which no other can be substituted, which they
should subserve merely as means, for otherwise
nothing whatever would possess absolute worth;
but if all worth were conditioned and therefore
contingent, then there would be no supreme
practical principle of reason whatever.
If then there is a supreme practical principle or, in
respect of the human will, a categorical
imperative, it must be one which, being drawn
from the conception of that which is necessarily
an end for everyone because it is an end in itself,
constitutes an objective principle of will, and can
therefore serve as a universal practical law. The
foundation of this principle is: rational nature
exists as an end in itself. Man necessarily
conceives his own existence as being so; so far
then this is a subjective principle of human
actions. But every other rational being regards its
existence similarly, just on the same rational
principle that holds for me: * so that it is at the
same time an objective principle, from which as a
supreme practical law all laws of the will must be
capable of being deduced. Accordingly the
practical imperative will be as follows: So act as to
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treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in
that of any other, in every case as an end withal,
never as means only. We will now inquire whether
this can be practically carried out.
* This proposition is here stated as a postulate.
The ground of it will be found in the concluding
section.
To abide by the previous examples:
Firstly, under the head of necessary duty to
oneself: He who contemplates suicide should ask
himself whether his action can be consistent with
the idea of humanity as an end in itself. If he
destroys himself in order to escape from painful
circumstances, he uses a person merely as a mean
to maintain a tolerable condition up to the end of
life. But a man is not a thing, that is to say,
something which can be used merely as means,
but must in all his actions be always considered as
an end in himself. I cannot, therefore, dispose in
any way of a man in my own person so as to
mutilate him, to damage or kill him. (It belongs to
ethics proper to define this principle more
precisely, so as to avoid all misunderstanding, e.
g., as to the amputation of the limbs in order to
preserve myself, as to exposing my life to danger
with a view to preserve it, etc. This question is
therefore omitted here.)
Secondly, as regards necessary duties, or those of
strict obligation, towards others: He who is
thinking of making a lying promise to others will
see at once that he would be using another man
merely as a mean, without the latter containing at
the same time the end in himself. For he whom I
propose by such a promise to use for my own
purposes cannot possibly assent to my mode of
acting towards him and, therefore, cannot himself
contain the end of this action. This violation of the
principle of humanity in other men is more
obvious if we take in examples of attacks on the
freedom and property of others. For then it is clear
that he who transgresses the rights of men intends
to use the person of others merely as a means,
without considering that as rational beings they
ought always to be esteemed also as ends, that is,
as beings who must be capable of containing in
themselves the end of the very same action. *
* Let it not be thought that the common "quod
tibi non vis fieri, etc." could serve here as the rule
or principle. For it is only a deduction from the
former, though with several limitations; it cannot
be a universal law, for it does not contain the
principle of duties to oneself, nor of the duties of
benevolence to others (for many a one would
gladly consent that others should not benefit him,
provided only that he might be excused from
showing benevolence to them), nor finally that of
duties of strict obligation to one another, for on
this principle the criminal might argue against the
judge who punishes him, and so on.
Thirdly, as regards contingent (meritorious) duties
to oneself: It is not enough that the action does
not violate humanity in our own person as an end
in itself, it must also harmonize with it. Now there
are in humanity capacities of greater perfection,
which belong to the end that nature has in view in
regard to humanity in ourselves as the subject: to
neglect these might perhaps be consistent with
the maintenance of humanity as an end in itself,
but not with the advancement of this end.
Fourthly, as regards meritorious duties towards
others: The natural end which all men have is
their own happiness. Now humanity might indeed
subsist, although no one should contribute
anything to the happiness of others, provided he
did not intentionally withdraw anything from it;
but after all this would only harmonize negatively
not positively with humanity as an end in itself, if
every one does not also endeavour, as far as in him
lies, to forward the ends of others. For the ends of
any subject which is an end in himself ought as far
as possible to be my ends also, if that conception
is to have its full effect with me.This principle,
that humanity and generally every rational nature
is an end in itself (which is the supreme limiting
condition of every man's freedom of action), is not
borrowed from experience, firstly, because it is
universal, applying as it does to all rational beings
whatever, and experience is not capable of
determining anything about them; secondly,
because it does not present humanity as an end to
men (subjectively), that is as an object which men
do of themselves actually adopt as an end; but as
an objective end, which must as a law constitute
the supreme limiting condition of all our
subjective ends, let them be what we will; it must
therefore spring from pure reason. In fact the
objective principle of all practical legislation lies
(according to the first principle) in the rule and its
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form of universality which makes it capable of
being a law (say, e. g., a law of nature); but the
subjective principle is in the end; now by the
second principle the subject of all ends is each
rational being, inasmuch as it is an end in itself.
Hence follows the third practical principle of the
will, which is the ultimate condition of its
harmony with universal practical reason, viz.: the
idea of the will of every rational being as a
universally legislative will.
On this principle all maxims are rejected which
are inconsistent with the will being itself universal
legislator. Thus the will is not subject simply to
the law, but so subject that it must be regarded as
itself giving the law and, on this ground only,
subject to the law (of which it can regard itself as
the author).
In the previous imperatives, namely, that based on
the conception of the conformity of actions to
general laws, as in a physical system of nature, and
that based on the universal prerogative of rational
beings as ends in themselves- these imperatives,
just because they were conceived as categorical,
excluded from any share in their authority all
admixture of any interest as a spring of action;
they were, however, only assumed to be
categorical, because such an assumption was
necessary to explain the conception of duty. But
we could not prove independently that there are
practical propositions which command
categorically, nor can it be proved in this section;
one thing, however, could be done, namely, to
indicate in the imperative itself, by some
determinate expression, that in the case of volition
from duty all interest is renounced, which is the
specific criterion of categorical as distinguished
from hypothetical imperatives. This is done in the
present (third) formula of the principle, namely,
in the idea of the will of every rational being as a
universally legislating will.
For although a will which is subject to laws may be
attached to this law by means of an interest, yet a
will which is itself a supreme lawgiver so far as it is
such cannot possibly depend on any interest, since
a will so dependent would itself still need another
law restricting the interest of its self-love by the
condition that it should be valid as universal law.
Thus the principle that every human will is a will
which in all its maxims gives universal laws, *
provided it be otherwise justified, would be very
well adapted to be the categorical imperative, in
this respect, namely, that just because of the idea
of universal legislation it is not based on interest,
and therefore it alone among all possible
imperatives can be unconditional. Or still better,
converting the proposition, if there is a categorical
imperative (i.e., a law for the will of every rational
being), it can only command that everything be
done from maxims of one's will regarded as a will
which could at the same time will that it should
itself give universal laws, for in that case only the
practical principle and the imperative which it
obeys are unconditional, since they cannot be
based on any interest.
* I may be excused from adducing examples to
elucidate this principle, as those which have
already been used to elucidate the categorical
imperative and its formula would all serve for the
like purpose here.
Looking back now on all previous attempts to
discover the principle of morality, we need not
wonder why they all failed. It was seen that man
was bound to laws by duty, but it was not
observed that the laws to which he is subject are
only those of his own giving, though at the same
time they are universal, and that he is only bound
to act in conformity with his own will; a will,
however, which is designed by nature to give
universal laws. For when one has conceived man
only as subject to a law (no matter what), then
this law required some interest, either by way of
attraction or constraint, since it did not originate
as a law from his own will, but this will was
according to a law obliged by something else to
act in a certain manner. Now by this necessary
consequence all the labour spent in finding a
supreme principle of duty was irrevocably lost. For
men never elicited duty, but only a necessity of
acting from a certain interest. Whether this
interest was private or otherwise, in any case the
imperative must be conditional and could not by
any means be capable of being a moral command.
I will therefore call this the principle of autonomy
of the will, in contrast with every other which I
accordingly reckon as heteronomy.
The conception of the will of every rational being
as one which must consider itself as giving in all
the maxims of its will universal laws, so as to judge
itself and its actions from this point of view- this
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conception leads to another which depends on it
and is very fruitful, namely that of a kingdom of
ends.
By a kingdom I understand the union of different
rational beings in a system by common laws. Now
since it is by laws that ends are determined as
regards their universal validity, hence, if we
abstract from the personal differences of rational
beings and likewise from all the content of their
private ends, we shall be able to conceive all ends
combined in a systematic whole (including both
rational beings as ends in themselves, and also the
special ends which each may propose to himself),
that is to say, we can conceive a kingdom of ends,
which on the preceding principles is possible.
For all rational beings come under the law that
each of them must treat itself and all others never
merely as means, but in every case at the same
time as ends in themselves. Hence results a
systematic union of rational being by common
objective laws, i.e., a kingdom which may be
called a kingdom of ends, since what these laws
have in view is just the relation of these beings to
one another as ends and means. It is certainly only
an ideal.
A rational being belongs as a member to the
kingdom of ends when, although giving universal
laws in it, he is also himself subject to these laws.
He belongs to it as sovereign when, while giving
laws, he is not subject to the will of any other.
A rational being must always regard himself as
giving laws either as member or as sovereign in a
kingdom of ends which is rendered possible by the
freedom of will. He cannot, however, maintain the
latter position merely by the maxims of his will,
but only in case he is a completely independent
being without wants and with unrestricted power
adequate to his will.
Morality consists then in the reference of all
action to the legislation which alone can render a
kingdom of ends possible. This legislation must be
capable of existing in every rational being and of
emanating from his will, so that the principle of
this will is never to act on any maxim which could
not without contradiction be also a universal law
and, accordingly, always so to act that the will
could at the same time regard itself as giving in its
maxims universal laws. If now the maxims of
rational beings are not by their own nature
coincident with this objective principle, then the
necessity of acting on it is called practical
necessitation, i.e., duty. Duty does not apply to the
sovereign in the kingdom of ends, but it does to
every member of it and to all in the same degree.
The practical necessity of acting on this principle,
i.e., duty, does not rest at all on feelings, impulses,
or inclinations, but solely on the relation of
rational beings to one another, a relation in which
the will of a rational being must always be
regarded as legislative, since otherwise it could
not be conceived as an end in itself. Reason then
refers every maxim of the will, regarding it as
legislating universally, to every other will and also
to every action towards oneself; and this not on
account of any other practical motive or any
future advantage, but from the idea of the dignity
of a rational being, obeying no law but that which
he himself also gives.
In the kingdom of ends everything has either
value or dignity. Whatever has a value can be
replaced by something else which is equivalent;
whatever, on the other hand, is above all value,
and therefore admits of no equivalent, has a
dignity.
Whatever has reference to the general inclinations
and wants of mankind has a market value;
whatever, without presupposing a want,
corresponds to a certain taste, that is to a
satisfaction in the mere purposeless play of our
faculties, has a fancy value; but that which
constitutes the condition under which alone
anything can be an end in itself, this has not
merely a relative worth, i.e., value, but an intrinsic
worth, that is, dignity.
Now morality is the condition under which alone
a rational being can be an end in himself, since by
this alone is it possible that he should be a
legislating member in the kingdom of ends. Thus
morality, and humanity as capable of it, is that
which alone has dignity. Skill and diligence in
labour have a market value; wit, lively
imagination, and humour, have fancy value; on
the other hand, fidelity to promises, benevolence
from principle (not from instinct), have an
intrinsic worth. Neither nature nor art contains
anything which in default of these it could put in
their place, for their worth consists not in the
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effects which spring from them, not in the use and
advantage which they secure, but in the
disposition of mind, that is, the maxims of the will
which are ready to manifest themselves in such
actions, even though they should not have the
desired effect. These actions also need no
recommendation from any subjective taste or
sentiment, that they may be looked on with
immediate favour and satisfaction: they need no
immediate propension or feeling for them; they
exhibit the will that performs them as an object of
an immediate respect, and nothing but reason is
required to impose them on the will; not to flatter
it into them, which, in the case of duties, would be
a contradiction. This estimation therefore shows
that the worth of such a disposition is dignity, and
places it infinitely above all value, with which it
cannot for a moment be brought into comparison
or competition without as it were violating its
sanctity.
What then is it which justifies virtue or the
morally good disposition, in making such lofty
claims? It is nothing less than the privilege it
secures to the rational being of participating in the
giving of universal laws, by which it qualifies him
to be a member of a possible kingdom of ends, a
privilege to which he was already destined by his
own nature as being an end in himself and, on
that account, legislating in the kingdom of ends;
free as regards all laws of physical nature, and
obeying those only which he himself gives, and by
which his maxims can belong to a system of
universal law, to which at the same time he
submits himself. For nothing has any worth except
what the law assigns it. Now the legislation itself
which assigns the worth of everything must for
that very reason possess dignity, that is an
unconditional incomparable worth; and the word
respect alone supplies a becoming expression for
the esteem which a rational being must have for it.
Autonomy then is the basis of the dignity of
human and of every rational nature.
The three modes of presenting the principle of
morality that have been adduced are at bottom
only so many formulae of the very same law, and
each of itself involves the other two. There is,
however, a difference in them, but it is rather
subjectively than objectively practical, intended
namely to bring an idea of the reason nearer to
intuition (by means of a certain analogy) and
thereby nearer to feeling. All maxims, in fact,
have:
1. A form, consisting in universality; and in this
view the formula of the moral imperative is
expressed thus, that the maxims must be so
chosen as if they were to serve as universal laws of
nature.
2. A matter, namely, an end, and here the formula
says that the rational being, as it is an end by its
own nature and therefore an end in itself, must in
every maxim serve as the condition limiting all
merely relative and arbitrary ends.
3. A complete characterization of all maxims by
means of that formula, namely, that all maxims
ought by their own legislation to harmonize with a
possible kingdom of ends as with a kingdom of
nature. * There is a progress here in the order of
the categories of unity of the form of the will (its
universality), plurality of the matter (the objects,
i.e., the ends), and totality of the system of these.
In forming our moral judgement of actions, it is
better to proceed always on the strict method and
start from the general formula of the categorical
imperative: Act according to a maxim which can
at the same time make itself a universal law. If,
however, we wish to gain an entrance for the
moral law, it is very useful to bring one and the
same action under the three specified
conceptions, and thereby as far as possible to
bring it nearer to intuition.
* Teleology considers nature as a kingdom of ends;
ethics regards a possible kingdom of ends as a
kingdom nature. In the first case, the kingdom of
ends is a theoretical idea, adopted to explain what
actually is. In the latter it is a practical idea,
adopted to bring about that which is not yet, but
which can be realized by our conduct, namely, if it
conforms to this idea.
We can now end where we started at the
beginning, namely, with the conception of a will
unconditionally good. That will is absolutely good
which cannot be evil- in other words, whose
maxim, if made a universal law, could never
contradict itself. This principle, then, is its
supreme law: "Act always on such a maxim as thou
canst at the same time will to be a universal law";
this is the sole condition under which a will can
never contradict itself; and such an imperative is
235
categorical. Since the validity of the will as a
universal law for possible actions is analogous to
the universal connexion of the existence of things
by general laws, which is the formal notion of
nature in general, the categorical imperative can
also be expressed thus: Act on maxims which can
at the same time have for their object themselves
as universal laws of nature. Such then is the
formula of an absolutely good will.
Rational nature is distinguished from the rest of
nature by this, that it sets before itself an end.
This end would be the matter of every good will.
But since in the idea of a will that is absolutely
good without being limited by any condition (of
attaining this or that end) we must abstract wholly
from every end to be effected (since this would
make every will only relatively good), it follows
that in this case the end must be conceived, not as
an end to be effected, but as an independently
existing end. Consequently it is conceived only
negatively, i.e., as that which we must never act
against and which, therefore, must never be
regarded merely as means, but must in every
volition be esteemed as an end likewise. Now this
end can be nothing but the subject of all possible
ends, since this is also the subject of a possible
absolutely good will; for such a will cannot
without contradiction be postponed to any other
object. The principle: "So act in regard to every
rational being (thyself and others), that he may
always have place in thy maxim as an end in
himself," is accordingly essentially identical with
this other: "Act upon a maxim which, at the same
time, involves its own universal validity for every
rational being." For that in using means for every
end I should limit my maxim by the condition of
its holding good as a law for every subject, this
comes to the same thing as that the fundamental
principle of all maxims of action must be that the
subject of all ends, i.e., the rational being himself,
be never employed merely as means, but as the
supreme condition restricting the use of all means,
that is in every case as an end likewise.
It follows incontestably that, to whatever laws any
rational being may be subject, he being an end in
himself must be able to regard himself as also
legislating universally in respect of these same
laws, since it is just this fitness of his maxims for
universal legislation that distinguishes him as an
end in himself; also it follows that this implies his
dignity (prerogative) above all mere physical
beings, that he must always take his maxims from
the point of view which regards himself and,
likewise, every other rational being as law-giving
beings (on which account they are called persons).
In this way a world of rational beings (mundus
intelligibilis) is possible as a kingdom of ends, and
this by virtue of the legislation proper to all
persons as members. Therefore every rational
being must so act as if he were by his maxims in
every case a legislating member in the universal
kingdom of ends. The formal principle of these
maxims is: "So act as if thy maxim were to serve
likewise as the universal law (of all rational
beings)." A kingdom of ends is thus only possible
on the analogy of a kingdom of nature, the former
however only by maxims, that is self-imposed
rules, the latter only by the laws of efficient causes
acting under necessitation from without.
Nevertheless, although the system of nature is
looked upon as a machine, yet so far as it has
reference to rational beings as its ends, it is given
on this account the name of a kingdom of nature.
Now such a kingdom of ends would be actually
realized by means of maxims conforming to the
canon which the categorical imperative prescribes
to all rational beings, if they were universally
followed. But although a rational being, even if he
punctually follows this maxim himself, cannot
reckon upon all others being therefore true to the
same, nor expect that the kingdom of nature and
its orderly arrangements shall be in harmony with
him as a fitting member, so as to form a kingdom
of ends to which he himself contributes, that is to
say, that it shall favour his expectation of
happiness, still that law: "Act according to the
maxims of a member of a merely possible
kingdom of ends legislating in it universally,"
remains in its full force, inasmuch as it commands
categorically. And it is just in this that the paradox
lies; that the mere dignity of man as a rational
creature, without any other end or advantage to
be attained thereby, in other words, respect for a
mere idea, should yet serve as an inflexible
precept of the will, and that it is precisely in this
independence of the maxim on all such springs of
action that its sublimity consists; and it is this that
makes every rational subject worthy to be a
legislative member in the kingdom of ends: for
otherwise he would have to be conceived only as
subject to the physical law of his wants. And
although we should suppose the kingdom of
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nature and the kingdom of ends to be united
under one sovereign, so that the latter kingdom
thereby ceased to be a mere idea and acquired
true reality, then it would no doubt gain the
accession of a strong spring, but by no means any
increase of its intrinsic worth. For this sole
absolute lawgiver must, notwithstanding this, be
always conceived as estimating the worth of
rational beings only by their disinterested
behaviour, as prescribed to themselves from that
idea [the dignity of man] alone. The essence of
things is not altered by their external relations,
and that which, abstracting from these, alone
constitutes the absolute worth of man, is also that
by which he must be judged, whoever the judge
may be, and even by the Supreme Being. Morality,
then, is the relation of actions to the relation of
actions will, that is, to the autonomy of potential
universal legislation by its maxims. An action that
is consistent with the autonomy of the will is
permitted; one that does not agree therewith is
forbidden. A will whose maxims necessarily
coincide with the laws of autonomy is a holy will,
good absolutely. The dependence of a will not
absolutely good on the principle of autonomy
(moral necessitation) is obligation. This, then,
cannot be applied to a holy being. The objective
necessity of actions from obligation is called duty.
From what has just been said, it is easy to see how
it happens that, although the conception of duty
implies subjection to the law, we yet ascribe a
certain dignity and sublimity to the person who
fulfils all his duties. There is not, indeed, any
sublimity in him, so far as he is subject to the
moral law; but inasmuch as in regard to that very
law he is likewise a legislator, and on that account
alone subject to it, he has sublimity. We have also
shown above that neither fear nor inclination, but
simply respect for the law, is the spring which can
give actions a moral worth. Our own will, so far as
we suppose it to act only under the condition that
its maxims are potentially universal laws, this
ideal will which is possible to us is the proper
object of respect; and the dignity of humanity
consists just in this capacity of being universally
legislative, though with the condition that it is
itself subject to this same legislation.
The Autonomy of the Will as the Supreme
Principle of Morality
Autonomy of the will is that property of it by
which it is a law to itself (independently of any
property of the objects of volition). The principle
of autonomy then is: "Always so to choose that the
same volition shall comprehend the maxims of our
choice as a universal law." We cannot prove that
this practical rule is an imperative, i.e., that the
will of every rational being is necessarily bound to
it as a condition, by a mere analysis of the
conceptions which occur in it, since it is a
synthetical proposition; we must advance beyond
the cognition of the objects to a critical
examination of the subject, that is, of the pure
practical reason, for this synthetic proposition
which commands apodeictically must be capable
of being cognized wholly a priori. This matter,
however, does not belong to the present section.
But that the principle of autonomy in question is
the sole principle of morals can be readily shown
by mere analysis of the conceptions of morality.
For by this analysis we find that its principle must
be a categorical imperative and that what this
commands is neither more nor less than this very
autonomy.
Heteronomy of the Will as the Source of all
spurious Principles of Morality
If the will seeks the law which is to determine it
anywhere else than in the fitness of its maxims to
be universal laws of its own dictation,
consequently if it goes out of itself and seeks this
law in the character of any of its objects, there
always results heteronomy. The will in that case
does not give itself the law, but it is given by the
object through its relation to the will. This
relation, whether it rests on inclination or on
conceptions of reason, only admits of hypothetical
imperatives: "I ought to do something because I
wish for something else." On the contrary, the
moral, and therefore categorical, imperative says:
"I ought to do so and so, even though I should not
wish for anything else." E.g., the former says: "I
ought not to lie, if I would retain my reputation";
the latter says: "I ought not to lie, although it
should not bring me the least discredit." The latter
therefore must so far abstract from all objects that
they shall have no influence on the will, in order
that practical reason (will) may not be restricted
to administering an interest not belonging to it,
but may simply show its own commanding
authority as the supreme legislation. Thus, e.g., I
237
ought to endeavour to promote the happiness of
others, not as if its realization involved any
concern of mine (whether by immediate
inclination or by any satisfaction indirectly gained
through reason), but simply because a maxim
which excludes it cannot be comprehended as a
universal law in one and the same volition.
Classification of all Principles of Morality which
can be founded on the Conception of Heteronomy
Here as elsewhere human reason in its pure use,
so long as it was not critically examined, has first
tried all possible wrong ways before it succeeded
in finding the one true way.
All principles which can be taken from this point
of view are either empirical or rational. The
former, drawn from the principle of happiness, are
built on physical or moral feelings; the latter,
drawn from the principle of perfection, are built
either on the rational conception of perfection as a
possible effect, or on that of an independent
perfection (the will of God) as the determining
cause of our will
Empirical principles are wholly incapable of
serving as a foundation for moral laws. For the
universality with which these should hold for all
rational beings without distinction, the
unconditional practical necessity which is thereby
imposed on them, is lost when their foundation is
taken from the particular constitution of human
nature, or the accidental circumstances in which it
is placed. The principle of private happiness,
however, is the most objectionable, not merely
because it is false, and experience contradicts the
supposition that prosperity is always proportioned
to good conduct, nor yet merely because it
contributes nothing to the establishment of
morality- since it is quite a different thing to make
a prosperous man and a good man, or to make one
prudent and sharp-sighted for his own interests
and to make him virtuous- but because the
springs it provides for morality are such as rather
undermine it and destroy its sublimity, since they
put the motives to virtue and to vice in the same
class and only teach us to make a better
calculation, the specific difference between virtue
and vice being entirely extinguished. On the other
hand, as to moral feeling, this supposed special
sense, * the appeal to it is indeed superficial when
those who cannot think believe that feeling will
help them out, even in what concerns general
laws: and besides, feelings, which naturally differ
infinitely in degree, cannot furnish a uniform
standard of good and evil, nor has anyone a right
to form judgements for others by his own feelings:
nevertheless this moral feeling is nearer to
morality and its dignity in this respect, that it pays
virtue the honour of ascribing to her immediately
the satisfaction and esteem we have for her and
does not, as it were, tell her to her face that we are
not attached to her by her beauty but by profit.
* I class the principle of moral feeling under that
of happiness, because every empirical interest
promises to contribute to our well-being by the
agreeableness that a thing affords, whether it be
immediately and without a view to profit, or
whether profit be regarded. We must likewise,
with Hutcheson, class the principle of sympathy
with the happiness of others under his assumed
moral sense.
Amongst the rational principles of morality, the
ontological conception of perfection,
notwithstanding its defects, is better than the
theological conception which derives morality
from a Divine absolutely perfect will. The former
is, no doubt, empty and indefinite and
consequently useless for finding in the boundless
field of possible reality the greatest amount
suitable for us; moreover, in attempting to
distinguish specifically the reality of which we are
now speaking from every other, it inevitably tends
to turn in a circle and cannot avoid tacitly
presupposing the morality which it is to explain; it
is nevertheless preferable to the theological view,
first, because we have no intuition of the divine
perfection and can only deduce it from our own
conceptions, the most important of which is that
of morality, and our explanation would thus be
involved in a gross circle; and, in the next place, if
we avoid this, the only notion of the Divine will
remaining to us is a conception made up of the
attributes of desire of glory and dominion,
combined with the awful conceptions of might
and vengeance, and any system of morals erected
on this foundation would be directly opposed to
morality.
However, if I had to choose between the notion of
the moral sense and that of perfection in general
(two systems which at least do not weaken
morality, although they are totally incapable of
238
serving as its foundation), then I should decide for
the latter, because it at least withdraws the
decision of the question from the sensibility and
brings it to the court of pure reason; and although
even here it decides nothing, it at all events
preserves the indefinite idea (of a will good in
itself free from corruption, until it shall be more
precisely defined.
For the rest I think I may be excused here from a
detailed refutation of all these doctrines; that
would only be superfluous labour, since it is so
easy, and is probably so well seen even by those
whose office requires them to decide for one of
these theories (because their hearers would not
tolerate suspension of judgement). But what
interests us more here is to know that the prime
foundation of morality laid down by all these
principles is nothing but heteronomy of the will,
and for this reason they must necessarily miss
their aim.
In every case where an object of the will has to be
supposed, in order that the rule may be prescribed
which is to determine the will, there the rule is
simply heteronomy; the imperative is conditional,
namely, if or because one wishes for this object,
one should act so and so: hence it can never
command morally, that is, categorically. Whether
the object determines the will by means of
inclination, as in the principle of private
happiness, or by means of reason directed to
objects of our possible volition generally, as in the
principle of perfection, in either case the will
never determines itself immediately by the
conception of the action, but only by the influence
which the foreseen effect of the action has on the
will; I ought to do something, on this account,
because I wish for something else; and here there
must be yet another law assumed in me as its
subject, by which I necessarily will this other
thing, and this law again requires an imperative to
restrict this maxim. For the influence which the
conception of an object within the reach of our
faculties can exercise on the will of the subject, in
consequence of its natural properties, depends on
the nature of the subject, either the sensibility
(inclination and taste), or the understanding and
reason, the employment of which is by the
peculiar constitution of their nature attended with
satisfaction. It follows that the law would be,
properly speaking, given by nature, and, as such, it
must be known and proved by experience and
would consequently be contingent and therefore
incapable of being an apodeictic practical rule,
such as the moral rule must be. Not only so, but it
is inevitably only heteronomy; the will does not
give itself the law, but is given by a foreign
impulse by means of a particular natural
constitution of the subject adapted to receive it.
An absolutely good will, then, the principle of
which must be a categorical imperative, will be
indeterminate as regards all objects and will
contain merely the form of volition generally, and
that as autonomy, that is to say, the capability of
the maxims of every good will to make themselves
a universal law, is itself the only law which the will
of every rational being imposes on itself, without
needing to assume any spring or interest as a
foundation.
How such a synthetical practical a priori
proposition is possible, and why it is necessary, is
a problem whose solution does not lie within the
bounds of the metaphysic of morals; and we have
not here affirmed its truth, much less professed to
have a proof of it in our power. We simply showed
by the development of the universally received
notion of morality that an autonomy of the will is
inevitably connected with it, or rather is its
foundation. Whoever then holds morality to be
anything real, and not a chimerical idea without
any truth, must likewise admit the principle of it
that is here assigned. This section then, like the
first, was merely analytical. Now to prove that
morality is no creation of the brain, which it
cannot be if the categorical imperative and with it
the autonomy of the will is true, and as an a priori
principle absolutely necessary, this supposes the
possibility of a synthetic use of pure practical
reason, which however we cannot venture on
without first giving a critical examination of this
faculty of reason. In the concluding section we
shall give the principal outlines of this critical
examination as far as is sufficient for our purpose.
239
Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) English social reformer and philosopher (Utilitarianism). A founder of University College, London. Bentham's skeleton in his own clothes in University College, London..
Jeremy Bentham, Principles
of Legislation and Morals
(Selections)
CHAPTER 1
I. Nature has placed mankind under the
governance of two sovereign masters, pain and
pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we
ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall
do. On the one hand the standard of right and
wrong, on the other the chain of causes and
effects, are fastened to their throne. They govern
us in all we do, in all we say, in all we think: every
effort we can make to throw off our subjection,
will serve but to demonstrate and confirm it. In
words a man may pretend to abjure their empire:
but in reality he will remain subject to it all the
while. The principle of utility[1] recognizes this
subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of
that system, the object of which is to rear the
fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of law.
Systems which attempt to question it, deal in
sounds instead of sense, in caprice instead of
reason, in darkness instead of light.
But enough of metaphor and declamation: it is not
by such means that moral science is to be
improved.
II. The principle of utility is the foundation of the
present work: it will be proper therefore at the
outset to give an explicit and determinate account
of what is meant by it. By the principle[2] of utility
is meant that principle which approves or
disapproves of every action whatsoever. according
to the tendency it appears to have to augment or
diminish the happiness of the party whose interest
is in question: or, what is the same thing in other
words to promote or to oppose that happiness. I
say of every action whatsoever, and therefore not
only of every action of a private individual, but of
every measure of government.
III. By utility is meant that property in any object,
whereby it tends to produce benefit, advantage,
pleasure, good, or happiness, (all this in the
present case comes to the same thing) or (what
comes again to the same thing) to prevent the
happening of mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness
to the party whose interest is considered: if that
party be the community in general, then the
happiness of the community: if a particular
individual, then the happiness of that individual.
IV. The interest of the community is one of the
most general expressions that can occur in the
phraseology of morals: no wonder that the
meaning of it is often lost. When it has a meaning,
it is this. The community is a fictitious body,
composed of the individual persons who are
considered as constituting as it were its members.
The interest of the community then is, what is
it?— the sum of the interests of the several
members who compose it.
V. It is in vain to talk of the interest of the
community, without understanding what is the
interest of the individual.[3] A thing is said to
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promote the interest, or to be for the interest, of
an individual, when it tends to add to the sum
total of his pleasures: or, what comes to the same
thing, to diminish the sum total of his pains.
VI. An action then may be said to be conformable
to then principle of utility, or, for shortness sake,
to utility, (meaning with respect to the
community at large) when the tendency it has to
augment the happiness of the community is
greater than any it has to diminish it.
VII.' A measure of government (which is but a
particular kind of action, performed by a
particular person or persons) may be said to be
conformable to or dictated by the principle of
utility, when in like manner the tendency which it
has to augment the happiness of the community is
greater than any which it has to diminish it.
VIII. When an action, or in particular a measure of
government, is supposed by a man to be
conformable to the principle of utility, it may be
convenient, for the purposes of discourse, to
imagine a kind of law or dictate, called a law or
dictate of utility: and to speak of the action in
question, as being conformable to such law or
dictate.
IX. A man may be said to be a partizan of the
principle of utility, when the approbation or
disapprobation he annexes to any action, or to any
measure, is determined by and proportioned to
the tendency which he conceives it to have to
augment or to diminish the happiness of the
community: or in other words, to its conformity or
unconformity to the laws or dictates of utility.
X. Of an action that is conformable to the
principle of utility one may always say either that
it is one that ought to be done, or at least that it is
not one that ought not to be done. One may say
also, that it is right it should be done; at least that
it is not wrong it should be done: that it is a right
action; at least that it is not a wrong action. When
thus interpreted, the words ought, and right and
wrong and others of that stamp, have a meaning:
when otherwise, they have none.
XI. Has the rectitude of this principle been ever
formally contested? It should seem that it had, by
those who have not known what they have been
meaning. Is it susceptible of any direct proof? it
should seem not: for that which is used to prove
every thing else, cannot itself be proved: a chain of
proofs must have their commencement
somewhere. To give such proof is as impossible as
it is needless.
XII. Not that there is or ever has been that human
creature at breathing, however stupid or perverse,
who has not on many, perhaps on most occasions
of his life, deferred to it. By the natural
constitution of the human frame, on most
occasions of their lives men in general embrace
this principle, without thinking of it: if not for the
ordering of their own actions, yet for the trying of
their own actions, as well as of those of other men.
There have been, at the same time, not many
perhaps, even of the most intelligent, who have
been disposed to embrace it purely and without
reserve. There are even few who have not taken
some occasion or other to quarrel with it, either
on account of their not understanding always how
to apply it, or on account of some prejudice or
other which they were afraid to examine into, or
could not bear to part with. For such is the stuff
that man is made of: in principle and in practice,
in a right track and in a wrong one, the rarest of
all human qualities is consistency.
XIII. When a man attempts to combat the
principle of utility, it is with reasons drawn,
without his being aware of it, from that very
principle itself.[4] His arguments, if they prove
any thing, prove not that the principle is wrong,
but that, according to the applications he
supposes to be made of it, it is misapplied. Is it
possible for a man to move the earth? Yes; but he
must first find out another earth to stand upon.
XIV. To disprove the propriety of it by arguments
is impossible; but, from the causes that have been
mentioned, or from some confused or partial view
of it, a man may happen to be disposed not to
relish it. Where this is the case, if he thinks the
settling of his opinions on such a subject worth
the trouble, let him take the following steps, and
at length, perhaps, he may come to reconcile
himself to it.
Let him settle with himself, whether he would
wish to discard this principle altogether; if so, let
him consider what it is that all his reasonings (in
matters of politics especially) can amount to?
241
If he would, let him settle with himself, whether
he would judge and act without any principle, or
whether there is any other he would judge an act
by?
If there be, let him examine and satisfy himself
whether the principle he thinks he has found is
really any separate intelligible principle; or
whether it be not a mere principle in words, a kind
of phrase, which at bottom expresses neither more
nor less than the mere averment of his own
unfounded sentiments; that is, what in another
person he might be apt to call caprice?
If he is inclined to think that his own approbation
or disapprobation, annexed to the idea of an act,
without any regard to its consequences, is a
sufficient foundation for him to judge and act
upon, let him ask himself whether his sentiment is
to be a standard of right and wrong, with respect
to every other man, or whether every man's
sentiment has the same privilege of being a
standard to itself?
In the first case, let him ask himself whether his
principle is not despotical, and hostile to all the
rest of human race?
In the second case, whether it is not anarchial, and
whether at this rate there are not as many
different standards of right and wrong as there are
men? and whether even to the same man, the
same thing, which is right today, may not (without
the least change in its nature) be wrong
tomorrow? and whether the same thing is not
right and wrong in the same place at the same
time? and in either case, whether all argument is
not at an end? and whether, when two men have
said, "I like this," and "I don't like it," they can
(upon such a principle) have any thing more to
say?
If he should have said to himself, No: for that the
sentiment which he proposes as a standard must
be grounded on reflection, let him say on what
particulars the reflection is to turn? if on
particulars having relation to the utility of the act,
then let him say whether this is not deserting his
own principle, and borrowing assistance from that
very one in opposition to which he sets it up: or if
not on those particulars, on what other
particulars?
If he should be for compounding the matter, and
adopting his own principle in part, and the
principle of utility in part, let him say how far he
will adopt it?
When he has settled with himself where he will
stop, then let him ask himself how he justifies to
himself the adopting it so far? and why he will not
adopt it any farther?
Admitting any other principle than the principle
of utility to be a right principle, a principle that it
is right for a man to pursue; admitting (what is
not true) that the word right can have a meaning
without reference to utility, let him say whether
there is any such thing as a motive that a man can
have to pursue the dictates of it: if there is, let him
say what that motive is, and how it is to be
distinguished from those which enforce the
dictates of utility: if not, then lastly let him say
what it is this other principle can be good for?
Footnotes
Note by the Author, July 1822.
To this denomination has of late been added, or substituted, the greatest
happiness or greatest felicity principle: this for shortness, instead of saying
at length that principle which states the greatest happiness of all those
whose interest is in question, as being the right and proper, and only right
and proper and universally desirable, end of human action: of human action
in every situation, and in particular in that of a functionary or set of
functionaries exercising the powers of Government. The word utility does
not so clearly point to the ideas of pleasure and pain as the words happiness
and felicity do: nor does it lead us to the consideration of the number, of
the interests affected; to the number, as being the circumstance, which
contributes, in the largest proportion, to the formation of the standard here
in question; the standard of right and wrong, by which alone the propriety
of human conduct, in every situation, can with propriety be tried. This want
of a sufficiently manifest connexion between the ideas of happiness and
pleasure on the one hand, and the idea of utility on the other, I have every
now and then found operating, and with but too much efficiency, as a bar
to the acceptance, that might otherwise have been given, to this principle.
The word principle is derived from the Latin principium: which seems to be
compounded of the two words primus, first, or chief, and cipium a
termination which seems to be derived from capio, to take, as in
mancipium, municipium; to which are analogous, auceps, forceps, and
others. It is a term of very vague and very extensive signification: it is
applied to any thing which is conceived to serve as a foundation or
beginning to any series of operations: in some cases, of physical operations;
but of mental operations in the present case.
The principle here in question may be taken for an act of the mind; a
sentiment; a sentiment of approbation; a sentiment which, when applied to
an action, approves of its utility, as that quality of it by which the measure
of approbation or disapprobation bestowed upon it ought to be governed.
Interest is one of those words, which not having any superior genus, cannot
in the ordinary way be defined.
The principle of utility, (I have heard it said) is a dangerous principle: it is
dangerous on certain occasions to consult it.' This is as much as to say,
what? that it is not consonant to utility, to consult utility: in short, that it is
not consulting it, to consult it.
242
Addition by the Author, July 1822.
Not long after the publication of the Fragment on Government, anno 1776,
in which, in the character of all-comprehensive and all-commanding
principle, the principle of utility was brought to view, one person by whom
observation to the above effect was made was Alexander Wedderburn, at
that time Attorney or Solicitor General, afterwards successively Chief Justice
of the Common Pleas, and Chancellor of England, under the successive
titles of Lord Loughborough and Earl of Rosslyn. It was made—not indeed
in my hearing, but in the hearing of a person by whom it was almost
immediately communicated to me. So far from being self-contradictory, it
was a shrewd and perfectly true one. By that distinguished functionary, the
state of the Government was thoroughly understood: by the obscure
individual, at that time not so much as supposed to be so: his disquisitions
had not been as yet applied, with any thing like a comprehensive view, to
the field of Constitutional Law, nor therefore to those features of the
English Government, by which the greatest happiness of the ruling one with
or without that of a favoured few, are now so plainly seen to be the only
ends to which the course of it has at any time been directed. The principle
of utility was an appellative, at that time employed by me, as it had been by
others, to designate that which, in a more perspicuous and instructive
manner, may, as above, be designated by the name of the greatest
happiness principle. 'This principle (said Wedderburn) is a dangerous one.'
Saying so, he said that which, to a certain extent, is strictly true: a principle,
which lays down, as the only right and justifiable end of Government, the
greatest happiness of the greatest number—how can it be denied to be a
dangerous one? dangerous it unquestionably is, to every government which
has for its actual end or object, the greatest happiness of a certain one, with
or without the addition of some comparatively small number of others,
whom it is matter of pleasure or accommodation to him to admit, each of
them, to a share in the concern, on the footing of so many junior partners.
Dangerous it therefore really was, to the interest—the sinister interest—of
all those functionaries, himself included, whose interest it was, to maximize
delay, vexation, and expense, in judicial and other modes of procedure, for
the sake of the profit, extractible out of the expense. In a Government
which had for its end in view the greatest happiness of the greatest number,
Alexander Wedderburn might have been Attorney General and then
Chancellor: but he would not have been Attorney General with £15,000 a
year, nor Chancellor, with a peerage with a veto upon all justice, with
£25,000 a year, and with 500 sinecures at his disposal, under the name of
Ecclesiastical Benefices, besides et cæteras.
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John Stuart Mill,
Utilitarianism (Selections)
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL REMARKS.
There are few circumstances among those which make up the present condition of human knowledge, more unlike what might have been expected, or more significant of the backward state in which speculation on the most important subjects still lingers, than the little progress which has been made in the decision of the controversy respecting the criterion of right and wrong. From the dawn of philosophy, the question concerning the summum bonum, or, what is the same thing, concerning the foundation of morality, has been accounted the main problem in speculative thought, has occupied the most gifted intellects, and divided them into sects and schools, carrying on a vigorous warfare against one another. And after more than two thousand years the same discussions continue, philosophers are still ranged under the same contending banners, and neither thinkers nor mankind at large seem nearer to being unanimous on the subject, than when the youth Socrates listened to the old Protagoras, and asserted (if Plato's dialogue be grounded on a real conversation) the theory of utilitarianism against the popular morality of the so-called sophist.
It is true that similar confusion and uncertainty, and in some cases similar discordance, exist respecting the first principles of all the sciences, not excepting that which is deemed the most certain of them, mathematics; without much impairing, generally indeed without impairing at all, the trustworthiness of the conclusions of those sciences. An apparent anomaly, the explanation of which is, that the detailed doctrines of a science are not usually deduced from, nor depend for their evidence upon, what are called its first principles. Were it not so, there would be no science more precarious, or whose conclusions were more insufficiently made out, than algebra; which derives none of its certainty from what are commonly taught to learners as its elements, since these, as laid down by some of its most eminent teachers, are as full of fictions as English law, and of mysteries as theology. The truths which are ultimately accepted as the first principles of a science, are really the last results of metaphysical analysis, practised on the elementary notions with which the science is conversant; and their relation to the science is not that of foundations to an edifice, but of roots to a tree, which may perform their office equally well though they be never dug down to and exposed to light. But though in science the particular truths precede the general theory, the contrary might be expected to be the case with a practical art, such as morals or legislation. All action is for the sake of some end, and rules of action, it seems natural to suppose, must take their whole character and colour from the end to which they are subservient. When we engage in a pursuit, a clear and precise conception of what we are pursuing would seem to be the first thing we need, instead of the last we are to look forward to. A test of right and wrong must be the means, one would think, of ascertaining what is right or wrong, and not a consequence of having already ascertained it.
The difficulty is not avoided by having recourse to the popular theory of a natural faculty, a sense or instinct, informing us of right and wrong. For— besides that the existence of such a moral instinct is itself one of the matters in dispute—those believers in it who have any pretensions to philosophy, have been obliged to abandon the idea that it discerns what is right or wrong in the particular case in hand, as our other senses discern the sight or sound actually present. Our moral faculty, according to all those of its interpreters who are entitled to the name of thinkers, supplies us only with the general principles of moral judgments; it is a branch of our reason, not of our sensitive faculty; and must be looked to for the abstract doctrines of morality, not for perception of
244
it in the concrete. The intuitive, no less than what may be termed the inductive, school of ethics, insists on the necessity of general laws. They both agree that the morality of an individual action is not a question of direct perception, but of the application of a law to an individual case. They recognise also, to a great extent, the same moral laws; but differ as to their evidence, and the source from which they derive their authority. According to the one opinion, the principles of morals are evident à priori, requiring nothing to command assent, except that the meaning of the terms be understood. According to the other doctrine, right and wrong, as well as truth and falsehood, are questions of observation and experience. But both hold equally that morality must be deduced from principles; and the intuitive school affirm as strongly as the inductive, that there is a science of morals. Yet they seldom attempt to make out a list of the à priori principles which are to serve as the premises of the science; still more rarely do they make any effort to reduce those various principles to one first principle, or common ground of obligation. They either assume the ordinary precepts of morals as of à priori authority, or they lay down as the common groundwork of those maxims, some generality much less obviously authoritative than the maxims themselves, and which has never succeeded in gaining popular acceptance. Yet to support their pretensions there ought either to be some one fundamental principle or law, at the root of all morality, or if there be several, there should be a determinate order of precedence among them; and the one principle, or the rule for deciding between the various principles when they conflict, ought to be self-evident.
To inquire how far the bad effects of this deficiency have been mitigated in practice, or to what extent the moral beliefs of mankind have been vitiated or made uncertain by the absence of any distinct recognition of an ultimate standard, would imply a complete survey and criticism of past and present ethical doctrine. It would, however, be easy to show that whatever steadiness or consistency these moral beliefs have attained, has been mainly due to the tacit influence of a standard not recognised. Although the non-existence of an acknowledged first principle has made ethics not so much a guide as a consecration of men's actual sentiments, still, as men's sentiments, both of favour and of aversion, are greatly influenced by what they suppose to be the effects of things upon their happiness, the principle of utility, or as Bentham latterly called it, the greatest happiness principle, has had a large share in forming the moral doctrines even of those who most scornfully
reject its authority. Nor is there any school of thought which refuses to admit that the influence of actions on happiness is a most material and even predominant consideration in many of the details of morals, however unwilling to acknowledge it as the fundamental principle of morality, and the source of moral obligation. I might go much further, and say that to all those à priori moralists who deem it necessary to argue at all, utilitarian arguments are indispensable. It is not my present purpose to criticise these thinkers; but I cannot help referring, for illustration, to a systematic treatise by one of the most illustrious of them, the Metaphysics of Ethics, by Kant. This remarkable man, whose system of thought will long remain one of the landmarks in the history of philosophical speculation, does, in the treatise in question, lay down an universal first principle as the origin and ground of moral obligation; it is this:—'So act, that the rule on which thou actest would admit of being adopted as a law by all rational beings.' But when he begins to deduce from this precept any of the actual duties of morality, he fails, almost grotesquely, to show that there would be any contradiction, any logical (not to say physical) impossibility, in the adoption by all rational beings of the most outrageously immoral rules of conduct. All he shows is that the consequences of their universal adoption would be such as no one would choose to incur.
On the present occasion, I shall, without further discussion of the other theories, attempt to contribute something towards the understanding and appreciation of the Utilitarian or Happiness theory, and towards such proof as it is susceptible of. It is evident that this cannot be proof in the ordinary and popular meaning of the term. Questions of ultimate ends are not amenable to direct proof. Whatever can be proved to be good, must be so by being shown to be a means to something admitted to be good without proof. The medical art is proved to be good, by its conducing to health; but how is it possible to prove that health is good? The art of music is good, for the reason, among others, that it produces pleasure; but what proof is it possible to give that pleasure is good? If, then, it is asserted that there is a comprehensive formula, including all things which are in themselves good, and that whatever else is good, is not so as an end, but as a mean, the formula may be accepted or rejected, but is not a subject of what is commonly understood by proof. We are not, however, to infer that its acceptance or rejection must depend on blind impulse, or arbitrary choice. There is a larger meaning of the word proof, in which this question is as amenable to it as any other
245
of the disputed questions of philosophy. The subject is within the cognizance of the rational faculty; and neither does that faculty deal with it solely in the way of intuition. Considerations may be presented capable of determining the intellect either to give or withhold its assent to the doctrine; and this is equivalent to proof.
We shall examine presently of what nature are these considerations; in what manner they apply to the case, and what rational grounds, therefore, can be given for accepting or rejecting the utilitarian formula. But it is a preliminary condition of rational acceptance or rejection, that the formula should be correctly understood. I believe that the very imperfect notion ordinarily formed of its meaning, is the chief obstacle which impedes its reception; and that could it be cleared, even from only the grosser misconceptions, the question would be greatly simplified, and a large proportion of its difficulties removed. Before, therefore, I attempt to enter into the philosophical grounds which can be given for assenting to the utilitarian standard, I shall offer some illustrations of the doctrine itself; with the view of showing more clearly what it is, distinguishing it from what it is not, and disposing of such of the practical objections to it as either originate in, or are closely connected with, mistaken interpretations of its meaning. Having thus prepared the ground, I shall afterwards endeavour to throw such light as I can upon the question, considered as one of philosophical theory.
CHAPTER II.
WHAT UTILITARIANISM IS.
A passing remark is all that needs be given to the ignorant blunder of supposing that those who stand up for utility as the test of right and wrong, use the term in that restricted and merely colloquial sense in which utility is opposed to pleasure. An apology is due to the philosophical opponents of utilitarianism, for even the momentary appearance of confounding them with any one capable of so absurd a misconception; which is the more extraordinary, inasmuch as the contrary accusation, of referring everything to pleasure, and that too in its grossest form, is another of the common charges against utilitarianism: and, as has been pointedly remarked by an able writer, the same sort of persons, and often the very same persons, denounce the theory "as impracticably dry when the word utility
precedes the word pleasure, and as too practicably voluptuous when the word pleasure precedes the word utility." Those who know anything about the matter are aware that every writer, from Epicurus to Bentham, who maintained the theory of utility, meant by it, not something to be contradistinguished from pleasure, but pleasure itself, together with exemption from pain; and instead of opposing the useful to the agreeable or the ornamental, have always declared that the useful means these, among other things. Yet the common herd, including the herd of writers, not only in newspapers and periodicals, but in books of weight and pretension, are perpetually falling into this shallow mistake. Having caught up the word utilitarian, while knowing nothing whatever about it but its sound, they habitually express by it the rejection, or the neglect, of pleasure in some of its forms; of beauty, of ornament, or of amusement. Nor is the term thus ignorantly misapplied solely in disparagement, but occasionally in compliment; as though it implied superiority to frivolity and the mere pleasures of the moment. And this perverted use is the only one in which the word is popularly known, and the one from which the new generation are acquiring their sole notion of its meaning. Those who introduced the word, but who had for many years discontinued it as a distinctive appellation, may well feel themselves called upon to resume it, if by doing so they can hope to contribute anything towards rescuing it from this utter degradation.[A]
The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or the Greatest Happiness Principle, holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of pleasure. To give a clear view of the moral standard set up by the theory, much more requires to be said; in particular, what things it includes in the ideas of pain and pleasure; and to what extent this is left an open question. But these supplementary explanations do not affect the theory of life on which this theory of morality is grounded— namely, that pleasure, and freedom from pain, are the only things desirable as ends; and that all desirable things (which are as numerous in the utilitarian as in any other scheme) are desirable either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as means to the promotion of pleasure and the prevention of pain.
Now, such a theory of life excites in many minds, and among them in some of the most estimable in feeling and purpose, inveterate dislike. To suppose
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that life has (as they express it) no higher end than pleasure—no better and nobler object of desire and pursuit—they designate as utterly mean and grovelling; as a doctrine worthy only of swine, to whom the followers of Epicurus were, at a very early period, contemptuously likened; and modern holders of the doctrine are occasionally made the subject of equally polite comparisons by its German, French, and English assailants.
When thus attacked, the Epicureans have always answered, that it is not they, but their accusers, who represent human nature in a degrading light; since the accusation supposes human beings to be capable of no pleasures except those of which swine are capable. If this supposition were true, the charge could not be gainsaid, but would then be no longer an imputation; for if the sources of pleasure were precisely the same to human beings and to swine, the rule of life which is good enough for the one would be good enough for the other. The comparison of the Epicurean life to that of beasts is felt as degrading, precisely because a beast's pleasures do not satisfy a human being's conceptions of happiness. Human beings have faculties more elevated than the animal appetites, and when once made conscious of them, do not regard anything as happiness which does not include their gratification. I do not, indeed, consider the Epicureans to have been by any means faultless in drawing out their scheme of consequences from the utilitarian principle. To do this in any sufficient manner, many Stoic, as well as Christian elements require to be included. But there is no known Epicurean theory of life which does not assign to the pleasures of the intellect; of the feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments, a much higher value as pleasures than to those of mere sensation. It must be admitted, however, that utilitarian writers in general have placed the superiority of mental over bodily pleasures chiefly in the greater permanency, safety, uncostliness, &c., of the former—that is, in their circumstantial advantages rather than in their intrinsic nature. And on all these points utilitarians have fully proved their case; but they might have taken the other, and, as it may be called, higher ground, with entire consistency. It is quite compatible with the principle of utility to recognise the fact, that some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others. It would be absurd that while, in estimating all other things, quality is considered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to depend on quantity alone.
If I am asked, what I mean by difference of quality in pleasures, or what makes one pleasure more valuable than another, merely as a pleasure, except its being greater in amount, there is but one possible answer. Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, that is the more desirable pleasure. If one of the two is, by those who are competently acquainted with both, placed so far above the other that they prefer it, even though knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent, and would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasure which their nature is capable of, we are justified in ascribing to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality, so far outweighing quantity as to render it, in comparison, of small account.
Now it is an unquestionable fact that those who are equally acquainted with, and equally capable of appreciating and enjoying, both, do give a most marked preference to the manner of existence which employs their higher faculties. Few human creatures would consent to be changed into any of the lower animals, for a promise of the fullest allowance of a beast's pleasures; no intelligent human being would consent to be a fool, no instructed person would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would be selfish and base, even though they should be persuaded that the fool, the dunce, or the rascal is better satisfied with his lot than they are with theirs. They would not resign what they possess more than he, for the most complete satisfaction of all the desires which they have in common with him. If they ever fancy they would, it is only in cases of unhappiness so extreme, that to escape from it they would exchange their lot for almost any other, however undesirable in their own eyes. A being of higher faculties requires more to make him happy, is capable probably of more acute suffering, and is certainly accessible to it at more points, than one of an inferior type; but in spite of these liabilities, he can never really wish to sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of existence. We may give what explanation we please of this unwillingness; we may attribute it to pride, a name which is given indiscriminately to some of the most and to some of the least estimable feelings of which mankind are capable; we may refer it to the love of liberty and personal independence, an appeal to which was with the Stoics one of the most effective means for the inculcation of it; to the love of power, or to the love of excitement, both of which do really enter into and contribute to it: but its most appropriate appellation is a sense of dignity, which all human
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beings possess in one form or other, and in some, though by no means in exact, proportion to their higher faculties, and which is so essential a part of the happiness of those in whom it is strong, that nothing which conflicts with it could be, otherwise than momentarily, an object of desire to them. Whoever supposes that this preference takes place at a sacrifice of happiness-that the superior being, in anything like equal circumstances, is not happier than the inferior-confounds the two very different ideas, of happiness, and content. It is indisputable that the being whose capacities of enjoyment are low, has the greatest chance of having them fully satisfied; and a highly-endowed being will always feel that any happiness which he can look for, as the world is constituted, is imperfect. But he can learn to bear its imperfections, if they are at all bearable; and they will not make him envy the being who is indeed unconscious of the imperfections, but only because he feels not at all the good which those imperfections qualify. It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides.
It may be objected, that many who are capable of the higher pleasures, occasionally, under the influence of temptation, postpone them to the lower. But this is quite compatible with a full appreciation of the intrinsic superiority of the higher. Men often, from infirmity of character, make their election for the nearer good, though they know it to be the less valuable; and this no less when the choice is between two bodily pleasures, than when it is between bodily and mental. They pursue sensual indulgences to the injury of health, though perfectly aware that health is the greater good. It may be further objected, that many who begin with youthful enthusiasm for everything noble, as they advance in years sink into indolence and selfishness. But I do not believe that those who undergo this very common change, voluntarily choose the lower description of pleasures in preference to the higher. I believe that before they devote themselves exclusively to the one, they have already become incapable of the other. Capacity for the nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of sustenance; and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are not favourable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high
aspirations as they lose their intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either the only ones to which they have access, or the only ones which they are any longer capable of enjoying. It may be questioned whether any one who has remained equally susceptible to both classes of pleasures, ever knowingly and calmly preferred the lower; though many, in all ages, have broken down in an ineffectual attempt to combine both.
From this verdict of the only competent judges, I apprehend there can be no appeal. On a question which is the best worth having of two pleasures, or which of two modes of existence is the most grateful to the feelings, apart from its moral attributes and from its consequences, the judgment of those who are qualified by knowledge of both, or, if they differ, that of the majority among them, must be admitted as final. And there needs be the less hesitation to accept this judgment respecting the quality of pleasures, since there is no other tribunal to be referred to even on the question of quantity. What means are there of determining which is the acutest of two pains, or the intensest of two pleasurable sensations, except the general suffrage of those who are familiar with both? Neither pains nor pleasures are homogeneous, and pain is always heterogeneous with pleasure. What is there to decide whether a particular pleasure is worth purchasing at the cost of a particular pain, except the feelings and judgment of the experienced? When, therefore, those feelings and judgment declare the pleasures derived from the higher faculties to be preferable in kind, apart from the question of intensity, to those of which the animal nature, disjoined from the higher faculties, is susceptible, they are entitled on this subject to the same regard.
I have dwelt on this point, as being a necessary part of a perfectly just conception of Utility or Happiness, considered as the directive rule of human conduct. But it is by no means an indispensable condition to the acceptance of the utilitarian standard; for that standard is not the agent's own greatest happiness, but the greatest amount of happiness altogether; and if it may possibly be doubted whether a noble character is always the happier for its nobleness, there can be no doubt that it makes other people happier, and that the world in general is immensely a gainer by it. Utilitarianism, therefore, could only attain its end by the general cultivation of nobleness of character, even if each individual were only benefited by the nobleness of others, and his own,
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so far as happiness is concerned, were a sheer deduction from the benefit. But the bare enunciation of such an absurdity as this last, renders refutation superfluous.
According to the Greatest Happiness Principle, as above explained, the ultimate end, with reference to and for the sake of which all other things are desirable (whether we are considering our own good or that of other people), is an existence exempt as far as possible from pain, and as rich as possible in enjoyments, both in point of quantity and quality; the test of quality, and the rule for measuring it against quantity, being the preference felt by those who, in their opportunities of experience, to which must be added their habits of self-consciousness and self-observation, are best furnished with the means of comparison. This, being, according to the utilitarian opinion, the end of human action, is necessarily also the standard of morality; which may accordingly be defined, the rules and precepts for human conduct, by the observance of which an existence such as has been described might be, to the greatest extent possible, secured to all mankind; and not to them only, but, so far as the nature of things admits, to the whole sentient creation.
Against this doctrine, however, arises another class of objectors, who say that happiness, in any form, cannot be the rational purpose of human life and action; because, in the first place, it is unattainable: and they contemptuously ask, What right hast thou to be happy? a question which Mr. Carlyle clenches by the addition, What right, a short time ago, hadst thou even to be? Next, they say, that men can do without happiness; that all noble human beings have felt this, and could not have become noble but by learning the lesson of Entsagen, or renunciation; which lesson, thoroughly learnt and submitted to, they affirm to be the beginning and necessary condition of all virtue.
The first of these objections would go to the root of the matter were it well founded; for if no happiness is to be had at all by human beings, the attainment of it cannot be the end of morality, or of any rational conduct. Though, even in that case, something might still be said for the utilitarian theory; since utility includes not solely the pursuit of happiness, but the prevention or mitigation of unhappiness; and if the former aim be chimerical, there will be all the greater scope and more imperative need for the latter, so long at least as mankind think fit to live, and do not take refuge in the simultaneous act of suicide recommended under certain conditions by Novalis. When,
however, it is thus positively asserted to be impossible that human life should be happy, the assertion, if not something like a verbal quibble, is at least an exaggeration. If by happiness be meant a continuity of highly pleasurable excitement, it is evident enough that this is impossible. A state of exalted pleasure lasts only moments, or in some cases, and with some intermissions, hours or days, and is the occasional brilliant flash of enjoyment, not its permanent and steady flame. Of this the philosophers who have taught that happiness is the end of life were as fully aware as those who taunt them. The happiness which they meant was not a life of rapture, but moments of such, in an existence made up of few and transitory pains, many and various pleasures, with a decided predominance of the active over the passive, and having as the foundation of the whole, not to expect more from life than it is capable of bestowing. A life thus composed, to those who have been fortunate enough to obtain it, has always appeared worthy of the name of happiness. And such an existence is even now the lot of many, during some considerable portion of their lives. The present wretched education, and wretched social arrangements, are the only real hindrance to its being attainable by almost all.
The objectors perhaps may doubt whether human beings, if taught to consider happiness as the end of life, would be satisfied with such a moderate share of it. But great numbers of mankind have been satisfied with much less. The main constituents of a satisfied life appear to be two, either of which by itself is often found sufficient for the purpose: tranquillity, and excitement. With much tranquillity, many find that they can be content with very little pleasure: with much excitement, many can reconcile themselves to a considerable quantity of pain. There is assuredly no inherent impossibility in enabling even the mass of mankind to unite both; since the two are so far from being incompatible that they are in natural alliance, the prolongation of either being a preparation for, and exciting a wish for, the other. It is only those in whom indolence amounts to a vice, that do not desire excitement after an interval of repose; it is only those in whom the need of excitement is a disease, that feel the tranquillity which follows excitement dull and insipid, instead of pleasurable in direct proportion to the excitement which preceded it. When people who are tolerably fortunate in their outward lot do not find in life sufficient enjoyment to make it valuable to them, the cause generally is, caring for nobody but themselves. To those who have neither public nor private affections, the excitements of life are
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much curtailed, and in any case dwindle in value as the time approaches when all selfish interests must be terminated by death: while those who leave after them objects of personal affection, and especially those who have also cultivated a fellow-feeling with the collective interests of mankind, retain as lively an interest in life on the eve of death as in the vigour of youth and health. Next to selfishness, the principal cause which makes life unsatisfactory, is want of mental cultivation. A cultivated mind—I do not mean that of a philosopher, but any mind to which the fountains of knowledge have been opened, and which has been taught, in any tolerable degree, to exercise its faculties—finds sources of inexhaustible interest in all that surrounds it; in the objects of nature, the achievements of art, the imaginations of poetry, the incidents of history, the ways of mankind past and present, and their prospects in the future. It is possible, indeed, to become indifferent to all this, and that too without having exhausted a thousandth part of it; but only when one has had from the beginning no moral or human interest in these things, and has sought in them only the gratification of curiosity.
Now there is absolutely no reason in the nature of things why an amount of mental culture sufficient to give an intelligent interest in these objects of contemplation, should not be the inheritance of every one born in a civilized country. As little is there an inherent necessity that any human being should be a selfish egotist, devoid of every feeling or care but those which centre in his own miserable individuality. Something far superior to this is sufficiently common even now, to give ample earnest of what the human species may be made. Genuine private affections, and a sincere interest in the public good, are possible, though in unequal degrees, to every rightly brought-up human being. In a world in which there is so much to interest, so much to enjoy, and so much also to correct and improve, every one who has this moderate amount of moral and intellectual requisites is capable of an existence which may be called enviable; and unless such a person, through bad laws, or subjection to the will of others, is denied the liberty to use the sources of happiness within his reach, he will not fail to find this enviable existence, if he escape the positive evils of life, the great sources of physical and mental suffering— such as indigence, disease, and the unkindness, worthlessness, or premature loss of objects of affection. The main stress of the problem lies, therefore, in the contest with these calamities, from which it is a rare good fortune entirely to escape; which, as things now are, cannot be obviated, and
often cannot be in any material degree mitigated. Yet no one whose opinion deserves a moment's consideration can doubt that most of the great positive evils of the world are in themselves removable, and will, if human affairs continue to improve, be in the end reduced within narrow limits. Poverty, in any sense implying suffering, may be completely extinguished by the wisdom of society, combined with the good sense and providence of individuals. Even that most intractable of enemies, disease, may be indefinitely reduced in dimensions by good physical and moral education, and proper control of noxious influences; while the progress of science holds out a promise for the future of still more direct conquests over this detestable foe. And every advance in that direction relieves us from some, not only of the chances which cut short our own lives, but, what concerns us still more, which deprive us of those in whom our happiness is wrapt up. As for vicissitudes of fortune, and other disappointments connected with worldly circumstances, these are principally the effect either of gross imprudence, of ill-regulated desires, or of bad or imperfect social institutions. All the grand sources, in short, of human suffering are in a great degree, many of them almost entirely, conquerable by human care and effort; and though their removal is grievously slow—though a long succession of generations will perish in the breach before the conquest is completed, and this world becomes all that, if will and knowledge were not wanting, it might easily be made—yet every mind sufficiently intelligent and generous to bear a part, however small and unconspicuous, in the endeavour, will draw a noble enjoyment from the contest itself, which he would not for any bribe in the form of selfish indulgence consent to be without.
And this leads to the true estimation of what is said by the objectors concerning the possibility, and the obligation, of learning to do without happiness. Unquestionably it is possible to do without happiness; it is done involuntarily by nineteen-twentieths of mankind, even in those parts of our present world which are least deep in barbarism; and it often has to be done voluntarily by the hero or the martyr, for the sake of something which he prizes more than his individual happiness. But this something, what is it, unless the happiness of others, or some of the requisites of happiness? It is noble to be capable of resigning entirely one's own portion of happiness, or chances of it: but, after all, this self-sacrifice must be for some end; it is not its own end; and if we are told that its end is not happiness, but virtue, which is better than happiness, I ask, would the sacrifice be
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made if the hero or martyr did not believe that it would earn for others immunity from similar sacrifices? Would it be made, if he thought that his renunciation of happiness for himself would produce no fruit for any of his fellow creatures, but to make their lot like his, and place them also in the condition of persons who have renounced happiness? All honour to those who can abnegate for themselves the personal enjoyment of life, when by such renunciation they contribute worthily to increase the amount of happiness in the world; but he who does it, or professes to do it, for any other purpose, is no more deserving of admiration than the ascetic mounted on his pillar. He may be an inspiriting proof of what men can do, but assuredly not an example of what they should.
Though it is only in a very imperfect state of the world's arrangements that any one can best serve the happiness of others by the absolute sacrifice of his own, yet so long as the world is in that imperfect state, I fully acknowledge that the readiness to make such a sacrifice is the highest virtue which can be found in man. I will add, that in this condition of the world, paradoxical as the assertion may be, the conscious ability to do without happiness gives the best prospect of realizing such happiness as is attainable. For nothing except that consciousness can raise a person above the chances of life, by making him feel that, let fate and fortune do their worst, they have not power to subdue him: which, once felt, frees him from excess of anxiety concerning the evils of life, and enables him, like many a Stoic in the worst times of the Roman Empire, to cultivate in tranquillity the sources of satisfaction accessible to him, without concerning himself about the uncertainty of their duration, any more than about their inevitable end.
Meanwhile, let utilitarians never cease to claim the morality of self-devotion as a possession which belongs by as good a right to them, as either to the Stoic or to the Transcendentalist. The utilitarian morality does recognise in human beings the power of sacrificing their own greatest good for the good of others. It only refuses to admit that the sacrifice is itself a good. A sacrifice which does not increase, or tend to increase, the sum total of happiness, it considers as wasted. The only self-renunciation which it applauds, is devotion to the happiness, or to some of the means of happiness, of others; either of mankind collectively, or of individuals within the limits imposed by the collective interests of mankind.
I must again repeat, what the assailants of utilitarianism seldom have the justice to acknowledge, that the happiness which forms the
utilitarian standard of what is right in conduct, is not the agent's own happiness, but that of all concerned. As between his own happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator. In the golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth, we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility. To do as one would be done by, and to love one's neighbour as oneself, constitute the ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. As the means of making the nearest approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin, first, that laws and social arrangements should place the happiness, or (as speaking practically it may be called) the interest, of every individual, as nearly as possible in harmony with the interest of the whole; and secondly, that education and opinion, which have so vast a power over human character, should so use that power as to establish in the mind of every individual an indissoluble association between his own happiness and the good of the whole; especially between his own happiness and the practice of such modes of conduct, negative and positive, as regard for the universal happiness prescribes: so that not only he may be unable to conceive the possibility of happiness to himself, consistently with conduct opposed to the general good, but also that a direct impulse to promote the general good may be in every individual one of the habitual motives of action, and the sentiments connected therewith may fill a large and prominent place in every human being's sentient existence. If the impugners of the utilitarian morality represented it to their own minds in this its true character, I know not what recommendation possessed by any other morality they could possibly affirm to be wanting to it: what more beautiful or more exalted developments of human nature any other ethical system can be supposed to foster, or what springs of action, not accessible to the utilitarian, such systems rely on for giving effect to their mandates.
The objectors to utilitarianism cannot always be charged with representing it in a discreditable light. On the contrary, those among them who entertain anything like a just idea of its disinterested character, sometimes find fault with its standard as being too high for humanity. They say it is exacting too much to require that people shall always act from the inducement of promoting the general interests of society. But this is to mistake the very meaning of a standard of morals, and to confound the rule of action with the motive of it. It is the business of ethics to tell us what are our duties, or by what test we may know them; but no system of ethics requires that the sole motive of
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all we do shall be a feeling of duty; on the contrary, ninety-nine hundredths of all our actions are done from other motives, and rightly so done, if the rule of duty does not condemn them. It is the more unjust to utilitarianism that this particular misapprehension should be made a ground of objection to it, inasmuch as utilitarian moralists have gone beyond almost all others in affirming that the motive has nothing to do with the morality of the action, though much with the worth of the agent. He who saves a fellow creature from drowning does what is morally right, whether his motive be duty, or the hope of being paid for his trouble: he who betrays the friend that trusts him, is guilty of a crime, even if his object be to serve another friend to whom he is under greater obligations.[B] But to speak only of actions done from the motive of duty, and in direct obedience to principle: it is a misapprehension of the utilitarian mode of thought, to conceive it as implying that people should fix their minds upon so wide a generality as the world, or society at large. The great majority of good actions are intended, not for the benefit of the world, but for that of individuals, of which the good of the world is made up; and the thoughts of the most virtuous man need not on these occasions travel beyond the particular persons concerned, except so far as is necessary to assure himself that in benefiting them he is not violating the rights—that is, the legitimate and authorized expectations—of any one else. The multiplication of happiness is, according to the utilitarian ethics, the object of virtue: the occasions on which any person (except one in a thousand) has it in his power to do this on an extended scale, in other words, to be a public benefactor, are but exceptional; and on these occasions alone is he called on to consider public utility; in every other case, private utility, the interest or happiness of some few persons, is all he has to attend to. Those alone the influence of whose actions extends to society in general, need concern themselves habitually about so large an object. In the case of abstinences indeed—of things which people forbear to do, from moral considerations, though the consequences in the particular case might be beneficial—it would be unworthy of an intelligent agent not to be consciously aware that the action is of a class which, if practised generally, would be generally injurious, and that this is the ground of the obligation to abstain from it. The amount of regard for the public interest implied in this recognition, is no greater than is demanded by every system of morals; for they all enjoin to abstain from whatever is manifestly pernicious to society.
The same considerations dispose of another reproach against the doctrine of utility, founded on a still grosser misconception of the purpose of a standard of morality, and of the very meaning of the words right and wrong. It is often affirmed that utilitarianism renders men cold and unsympathizing; that it chills their moral feelings towards individuals; that it makes them regard only the dry and hard consideration of the consequences of actions, not taking into their moral estimate the qualities from which those actions emanate. If the assertion means that they do not allow their judgment respecting the rightness or wrongness of an action to be influenced by their opinion of the qualities of the person who does it, this is a complaint not against utilitarianism, but against having any standard of morality at all; for certainly no known ethical standard decides an action to be good or bad because it is done by a good or a bad man, still less because done by an amiable, a brave, or a benevolent man or the contrary. These considerations are relevant, not to the estimation of actions, but of persons; and there is nothing in the utilitarian theory inconsistent with the fact that there are other things which interest us in persons besides the rightness and wrongness of their actions. The Stoics, indeed, with the paradoxical misuse of language which was part of their system, and by which they strove to raise themselves above all concern about anything but virtue, were fond of saying that he who has that has everything; that he, and only he, is rich, is beautiful, is a king. But no claim of this description is made for the virtuous man by the utilitarian doctrine. Utilitarians are quite aware that there are other desirable possessions and qualities besides virtue, and are perfectly willing to allow to all of them their full worth. They are also aware that a right action does not necessarily indicate a virtuous character, and that actions which are blameable often proceed from qualities entitled to praise. When this is apparent in any particular case, it modifies their estimation, not certainly of the act, but of the agent. I grant that they are, notwithstanding, of opinion, that in the long run the best proof of a good character is good actions; and resolutely refuse to consider any mental disposition as good, of which the predominant tendency is to produce bad conduct. This makes them unpopular with many people; but it is an unpopularity which they must share with every one who regards the distinction between right and wrong in a serious light; and the reproach is not one which a conscientious utilitarian need be anxious to repel.
If no more be meant by the objection than that many utilitarians look on the morality of actions, as
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measured by the utilitarian standard, with too exclusive a regard, and do not lay sufficient stress upon the other beauties of character which go towards making a human being loveable or admirable, this may be admitted. Utilitarians who have cultivated their moral feelings, but not their sympathies nor their artistic perceptions, do fall into this mistake; and so do all other moralists under the same conditions. What can be said in excuse for other moralists is equally available for them, namely, that if there is to be any error, it is better that it should be on that side. As a matter of fact, we may affirm that among utilitarians as among adherents of other systems, there is every imaginable degree of rigidity and of laxity in the application of their standard: some are even puritanically rigorous, while others are as indulgent as can possibly be desired by sinner or by sentimentalist. But on the whole, a doctrine which brings prominently forward the interest that mankind have in the repression and prevention of conduct which violates the moral law, is likely to be inferior to no other in turning the sanctions of opinion against such violations. It is true, the question, What does violate the moral law? is one on which those who recognise different standards of morality are likely now and then to differ. But difference of opinion on moral questions was not first introduced into the world by utilitarianism, while that doctrine does supply, if not always an easy, at all events a tangible and intelligible mode of deciding such differences.
It may not be superfluous to notice a few more of the common misapprehensions of utilitarian ethics, even those which are so obvious and gross that it might appear impossible for any person of candour and intelligence to fall into them: since persons, even of considerable mental endowments, often give themselves so little trouble to understand the bearings of any opinion against which they entertain a prejudice, and men are in general so little conscious of this voluntary ignorance as a defect, that the vulgarest misunderstandings of ethical doctrines are continually met with in the deliberate writings of persons of the greatest pretensions both to high principle and to philosophy. We not uncommonly hear the doctrine of utility inveighed against as a godless doctrine. If it be necessary to say anything at all against so mere an assumption, we may say that the question depends upon what idea we have formed of the moral character of the Deity. If it be a true belief that God desires, above all things, the happiness of his creatures, and that this was his
purpose in their creation, utility is not only not a godless doctrine, but more profoundly religious than any other. If it be meant that utilitarianism does not recognise the revealed will of God as the supreme law of morals, I answer, that an utilitarian who believes in the perfect goodness and wisdom of God, necessarily believes that whatever God has thought fit to reveal on the subject of morals, must fulfil the requirements of utility in a supreme degree. But others besides utilitarians have been of opinion that the Christian revelation was intended, and is fitted, to inform the hearts and minds of mankind with a spirit which should enable them to find for themselves what is right, and incline them to do it when found, rather than to tell them, except in a very general way, what it is: and that we need a doctrine of ethics, carefully followed out, to interpret to us the will of God. Whether this opinion is correct or not, it is superfluous here to discuss; since whatever aid religion, either natural or revealed, can afford to ethical investigation, is as open to the utilitarian moralist as to any other. He can use it as the testimony of God to the usefulness or hurtfulness of any given course of action, by as good a right as others can use it for the indication of a transcendental law, having no connexion with usefulness or with happiness.
Again, Utility is often summarily stigmatized as an immoral doctrine by giving it the name of Expediency, and taking advantage of the popular use of that term to contrast it with Principle. But the Expedient, in the sense in which it is opposed to the Right, generally means that which is expedient for the particular interest of the agent himself: as when a minister sacrifices the interest of his country to keep himself in place. When it means anything better than this, it means that which is expedient for some immediate object, some temporary purpose, but which violates a rule whose observance is expedient in a much higher degree. The Expedient, in this sense, instead of being the same thing with the useful, is a branch of the hurtful. Thus, it would often be expedient, for the purpose of getting over some momentary embarrassment, or attaining some object immediately useful to ourselves or others, to tell a lie. But inasmuch as the cultivation in ourselves of a sensitive feeling on the subject of veracity, is one of the most useful, and the enfeeblement of that feeling one of the most hurtful, things to which our conduct can be instrumental; and inasmuch as any, even unintentional, deviation from truth, does that much towards weakening the trustworthiness of human assertion, which is not only the principal support of all present social well-being, but the insufficiency of which does more than any one
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thing that can be named to keep back civilisation, virtue, everything on which human happiness on the largest scale depends; we feel that the violation, for a present advantage, of a rule of such transcendent expediency, is not expedient, and that he who, for the sake of a convenience to himself or to some other individual, does what depends on him to deprive mankind of the good, and inflict upon them the evil, involved in the greater or less reliance which they can place in each other's word, acts the part of one of their worst enemies. Yet that even this rule, sacred as it is, admits of possible exceptions, is acknowledged by all moralists; the chief of which is when the withholding of some fact (as of information from a male-factor, or of bad news from a person dangerously ill) would preserve some one (especially a person other than oneself) from great and unmerited evil, and when the withholding can only be effected by denial. But in order that the exception may not extend itself beyond the need, and may have the least possible effect in weakening reliance on veracity, it ought to be recognized, and, if possible, its limits defined; and if the principle of utility is good for anything, it must be good for weighing these conflicting utilities against one another, and marking out the region within which one or the other preponderates.
Again, defenders of utility often find themselves called upon to reply to such objections as this— that there is not time, previous to action, for calculating and weighing the effects of any line of conduct on the general happiness. This is exactly as if any one were to say that it is impossible to guide our conduct by Christianity, because there is not time, on every occasion on which anything has to be done, to read through the Old and New Testaments. The answer to the objection is, that there has been ample time, namely, the whole past duration of the human species. During all that time mankind have been learning by experience the tendencies of actions; on which experience all the prudence, as well as all the morality of life, is dependent. People talk as if the commencement of this course of experience had hitherto been put off, and as if, at the moment when some man feels tempted to meddle with the property or life of another, he had to begin considering for the first time whether murder and theft are injurious to human happiness. Even then I do not think that he would find the question very puzzling; but, at all events, the matter is now done to his hand. It is truly a whimsical supposition, that if mankind were agreed in considering utility to be the test of morality, they would remain without any agreement as to what is useful, and would take no
measures for having their notions on the subject taught to the young, and enforced by law and opinion. There is no difficulty in proving any ethical standard whatever to work ill, if we suppose universal idiocy to be conjoined with it, but on any hypothesis short of that, mankind must by this time have acquired positive beliefs as to the effects of some actions on their happiness; and the beliefs which have thus come down are the rules of morality for the multitude, and for the philosopher until he has succeeded in finding better. That philosophers might easily do this, even now, on many subjects; that the received code of ethics is by no means of divine right; and that mankind have still much to learn as to the effects of actions on the general happiness, I admit, or rather, earnestly maintain. The corollaries from the principle of utility, like the precepts of every practical art, admit of indefinite improvement, and, in a progressive state of the human mind, their improvement is perpetually going on. But to consider the rules of morality as improvable, is one thing; to pass over the intermediate generalizations entirely, and endeavour to test each individual action directly by the first principle, is another. It is a strange notion that the acknowledgment of a first principle is inconsistent with the admission of secondary ones. To inform a traveller respecting the place of his ultimate destination, is not to forbid the use of landmarks and direction-posts on the way. The proposition that happiness is the end and aim of morality, does not mean that no road ought to be laid down to that goal, or that persons going thither should not be advised to take one direction rather than another. Men really ought to leave off talking a kind of nonsense on this subject, which they would neither talk nor listen to on other matters of practical concernment. Nobody argues that the art of navigation is not founded on astronomy, because sailors cannot wait to calculate the Nautical Almanack. Being rational creatures, they go to sea with it ready calculated; and all rational creatures go out upon the sea of life with their minds made up on the common questions of right and wrong, as well as on many of the far more difficult questions of wise and foolish. And this, as long as foresight is a human quality, it is to be presumed they will continue to do. Whatever we adopt as the fundamental principle of morality, we require subordinate principles to apply it by: the impossibility of doing without them, being common to all systems, can afford no argument against any one in particular: but gravely to argue as if no such secondary principles could be had, and as if mankind had remained till now, and always must remain, without drawing any general conclusions from the experience of human life, is as
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high a pitch, I think, as absurdity has ever reached in philosophical controversy.
The remainder of the stock arguments against utilitarianism mostly consist in laying to its charge the common infirmities of human nature, and the general difficulties which embarrass conscientious persons in shaping their course through life. We are told that an utilitarian will be apt to make his own particular case an exception to moral rules, and, when under temptation, will see an utility in the breach of a rule, greater than he will see in its observance. But is utility the only creed which is able to furnish us with excuses for evil doing, and means of cheating our own conscience? They are afforded in abundance by all doctrines which recognise as a fact in morals the existence of conflicting considerations; which all doctrines do, that have been believed by sane persons. It is not the fault of any creed, but of the complicated nature of human affairs, that rules of conduct cannot be so framed as to require no exceptions, and that hardly any kind of action can safely be laid down as either always obligatory or always condemnable. There is no ethical creed which does not temper the rigidity of its laws, by giving a certain latitude, under the moral responsibility of the agent, for accommodation to peculiarities of circumstances; and under every creed, at the opening thus made, self-deception and dishonest casuistry get in. There exists no moral system under which there do not arise unequivocal cases of conflicting obligation. These are the real difficulties, the knotty points both in the theory of ethics, and in the conscientious guidance of personal conduct. They are overcome practically with greater or with less success according to the intellect and virtue of the individual; but it can hardly be pretended that any one will be the less qualified for dealing with them, from possessing an ultimate standard to which conflicting rights and duties can be referred. If utility is the ultimate source of moral obligations, utility may be invoked to decide between them when their demands are incompatible. Though the application of the standard may be difficult, it is better than none at all: while in other systems, the moral laws all claiming independent authority, there is no common umpire entitled to interfere between them; their claims to precedence one over another rest on little better than sophistry, and unless determined, as they generally are, by the unacknowledged influence of considerations of utility, afford a free scope for the action of personal desires and partialities. We must remember that only in these cases of conflict between secondary principles is it requisite that first principles should
be appealed to. There is no case of moral obligation in which some secondary principle is not involved; and if only one, there can seldom be any real doubt which one it is, in the mind of any person by whom the principle itself is recognized.
FOOTNOTES:
[A]
The author of this essay has reason for believing himself to be the first person who brought the word utilitarian into use. He did not invent it, but adopted it from a passing expression in Mr. Galt's Annals of the Parish. After using it as a designation for several years, he and others abandoned it from a growing dislike to anything resembling a badge or watchword of sectarian distinction. But as a name for one single opinion, not a set of opinions—to denote the recognition of utility as a standard, not any particular way of applying it—the term supplies a want in the language, and offers, in many cases, a convenient mode of avoiding tiresome circumlocution.
[B]
An opponent, whose intellectual and moral fairness it is a pleasure to acknowledge (the Rev. J. Llewellyn Davis), has objected to this passage, saying, "Surely the rightness or wrongness of saving a man from drowning does depend very much upon the motive with which it is done. Suppose that a tyrant, when his enemy jumped into the sea to escape from him, saved him from drowning simply in order that he might inflict upon him more exquisite tortures, would it tend to clearness to speak of that rescue as 'a morally right action?' Or suppose again, according to one of the stock illustrations of ethical inquiries, that a man betrayed a trust received from a friend, because the discharge of it would fatally injure that friend himself or some one belonging to him, would utilitarianism compel one to call the betrayal 'a crime' as much as if it had been done from the meanest motive?"
I submit, that he who saves another from drowning in order to kill him by torture afterwards, does not differ only in motive from him who does the same thing from duty or benevolence; the act itself is different. The rescue of the man is, in the case supposed, only the necessary first step of an act far more atrocious than leaving him to drown would have been. Had Mr. Davis said, "The rightness or wrongness of saving a man from drowning does depend very much"—not upon the motive, but—"upon the intention" no utilitarian
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would have differed from him. Mr. Davis, by an oversight too common not to be quite venial, has in this case confounded the very different ideas of Motive and Intention. There is no point which utilitarian thinkers (and Bentham pre-eminently) have taken more pains to illustrate than this. The morality of the action depends entirely upon the intention—that is, upon what the agent wills to do. But the motive, that is, the feeling which makes him will so to do, when it makes no difference in the act, makes none in the morality: though it makes a great difference in our moral estimation of the agent, especially if it indicates a good or a bad habitual disposition—a bent of character from which useful, or from which hurtful actions are likely to arise.
CHAPTER III.
OF THE ULTIMATE SANCTION OF THE
PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY.
The question is often asked, and properly so, in regard to any supposed moral standard—What is its sanction? what are the motives to obey it? or more specifically, what is the source of its obligation? whence does it derive its binding force? It is a necessary part of moral philosophy to provide the answer to this question; which, though frequently assuming the shape of an objection to the utilitarian morality, as if it had some special applicability to that above others, really arises in regard to all standards. It arises, in fact, whenever a person is called on to adopt a standard or refer morality to any basis on which he has not been accustomed to rest it. For the customary morality, that which education and opinion have consecrated, is the only one which presents itself to the mind with the feeling of being in itself obligatory; and when a person is asked to believe that this morality derives its obligation from some general principle round which custom has not thrown the same halo, the assertion is to him a paradox; the supposed corollaries seem to have a more binding force than the original theorem; the superstructure seems to stand better without, than with, what is represented as its foundation. He says to himself, I feel that I am bound not to rob or murder, betray or deceive; but why am I bound to promote the general happiness? If my own happiness lies in something else, why may I not give that the preference?
If the view adopted by the utilitarian philosophy of the nature of the moral sense be correct, this
difficulty will always present itself, until the influences which form moral character have taken the same hold of the principle which they have taken of some of the consequences—until, by the improvement of education, the feeling of unity with our fellow creatures shall be (what it cannot be doubted that Christ intended it to be) as deeply rooted in our character, and to our own consciousness as completely a part of our nature, as the horror of crime is in an ordinarily well-brought- up young person. In the mean time, however, the difficulty has no peculiar application to the doctrine of utility, but is inherent in every attempt to analyse morality and reduce it to principles; which, unless the principle is already in men's minds invested with as much sacredness as any of its applications, always seems to divest them of a part of their sanctity.
The principle of utility either has, or there is no reason why it might not have, all the sanctions which belong to any other system of morals. Those sanctions are either external or internal. Of the external sanctions it is not necessary to speak at any length. They are, the hope of favour and the fear of displeasure from our fellow creatures or from the Ruler of the Universe, along with whatever we may have of sympathy or affection for them or of love and awe of Him, inclining us to do His will independently of selfish consequences. There is evidently no reason why all these motives for observance should not attach themselves to the utilitarian morality, as completely and as powerfully as to any other. Indeed, those of them which refer to our fellow creatures are sure to do so, in proportion to the amount of general intelligence; for whether there be any other ground of moral obligation than the general happiness or not, men do desire happiness; and however imperfect may be their own practice, they desire and commend all conduct in others towards themselves, by which they think their happiness is promoted. With regard to the religious motive, if men believe, as most profess to do, in the goodness of God, those who think that conduciveness to the general happiness is the essence, or even only the criterion, of good, must necessarily believe that it is also that which God approves. The whole force therefore of external reward and punishment, whether physical or moral, and whether proceeding from God or from our fellow men, together with all that the capacities of human nature admit, of disinterested devotion to either, become available to enforce the utilitarian morality, in proportion as that morality is recognized; and the more powerfully, the more the
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appliances of education and general cultivation are bent to the purpose.
So far as to external sanctions. The internal sanction of duty, whatever our standard of duty may be, is one and the same—a feeling in our own mind; a pain, more or less intense, attendant on violation of duty, which in properly cultivated moral natures rises, in the more serious cases, into shrinking from it as an impossibility. This feeling, when disinterested, and connecting itself with the pure idea of duty, and not with some particular form of it, or with any of the merely accessory circumstances, is the essence of Conscience; though in that complex phenomenon as it actually exists, the simple fact is in general all encrusted over with collateral associations, derived from sympathy, from love, and still more from fear; from all the forms of religious feeling; from the recollections of childhood and of all our past life; from self-esteem, desire of the esteem of others, and occasionally even self-abasement. This extreme complication is, I apprehend, the origin of the sort of mystical character which, by a tendency of the human mind of which there are many other examples, is apt to be attributed to the idea of moral obligation, and which leads people to believe that the idea cannot possibly attach itself to any other objects than those which, by a supposed mysterious law, are found in our present experience to excite it. Its binding force, however, consists in the existence of a mass of feeling which must be broken through in order to do what violates our standard of right, and which, if we do nevertheless violate that standard, will probably have to be encountered afterwards in the form of remorse. Whatever theory we have of the nature or origin of conscience, this is what essentially constitutes it.
The ultimate sanction, therefore, of all morality (external motives apart) being a subjective feeling in our own minds, I see nothing embarrassing to those whose standard is utility, in the question, what is the sanction of that particular standard? We may answer, the same as of all other moral standards—the conscientious feelings of mankind. Undoubtedly this sanction has no binding efficacy on those who do not possess the feelings it appeals to; but neither will these persons be more obedient to any other moral principle than to the utilitarian one. On them morality of any kind has no hold but through the external sanctions. Meanwhile the feelings exist, a feet in human nature, the reality of which, and the great power with which they are capable of acting on those in whom they have been duly cultivated, are proved by experience. No reason has ever been shown why they may not be
cultivated to as great intensity in connection with the utilitarian, as with any other rule of morals.
There is, I am aware, a disposition to believe that a person who sees in moral obligation a transcendental fact, an objective reality belonging to the province of "Things in themselves," is likely to be more obedient to it than one who believes it to be entirely subjective, having its seat in human consciousness only. But whatever a person's opinion may be on this point of Ontology, the force he is really urged by is his own subjective feeling, and is exactly measured by its strength. No one's belief that Duty is an objective reality is stronger than the belief that God is so; yet the belief in God, apart from the expectation of actual reward and punishment, only operates on conduct through, and in proportion to, the subjective religious feeling. The sanction, so far as it is disinterested, is always in the mind itself; and the notion, therefore, of the transcendental moralists must be, that this sanction will not exist in the mind unless it is believed to have its root out of the mind; and that if a person is able to say to himself, That which is restraining me, and which is called my conscience, is only a feeling in my own mind, he may possibly draw the conclusion that when the feeling ceases the obligation ceases, and that if he find the feeling inconvenient, he may disregard it, and endeavour to get rid of it. But is this danger confined to the utilitarian morality? Does the belief that moral obligation has its seat outside the mind make the feeling of it too strong to be got rid of? The fact is so far otherwise, that all moralists admit and lament the ease with which, in the generality of minds, conscience can be silenced or stifled. The question, Need I obey my conscience? is quite as often put to themselves by persons who never heard of the principle of utility, as by its adherents. Those whose conscientious feelings are so weak as to allow of their asking this question, if they answer it affirmatively, will not do so because they believe in the transcendental theory, but because of the external sanctions.
It is not necessary, for the present purpose, to decide whether the feeling of duty is innate or implanted. Assuming it to be innate, it is an open question to what objects it naturally attaches itself; for the philosophic supporters of that theory are now agreed that the intuitive perception is of principles of morality, and not of the details. If there be anything innate in the matter, I see no reason why the feeling which is innate should not be that of regard to the pleasures and pains of others. If there is any principle of morals which is intuitively obligatory, I should say it must be that. If so, the intuitive ethics would coincide with the
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utilitarian, and there would be no further quarrel between them. Even as it is, the intuitive moralists, though they believe that there are other intuitive moral obligations, do already believe this to be one; for they unanimously hold that a large portion of morality turns upon the consideration due to the interests of our fellow creatures. Therefore, if the belief in the transcendental origin of moral obligation gives any additional efficacy to the internal sanction, it appears to me that the utilitarian principle has already the benefit of it.
On the other hand, if, as is my own belief, the moral feelings are not innate, but acquired, they are not for that reason the less natural. It is natural to man to speak, to reason, to build cities, to cultivate the ground, though these are acquired faculties. The moral feelings are not indeed a part of our nature, in the sense of being in any perceptible degree present in all of us; but this, unhappily, is a fact admitted by those who believe the most strenuously in their transcendental origin. Like the other acquired capacities above referred to, the moral faculty, if not a part of our nature, is a natural outgrowth from it; capable, like them, in a certain small degree, of springing up spontaneously; and susceptible of being brought by cultivation to a high degree of development. Unhappily it is also susceptible, by a sufficient use of the external sanctions and of the force of early impressions, of being cultivated in almost any direction: so that there is hardly anything so absurd or so mischievous that it may not, by means of these influences, be made to act on the human mind with all the authority of conscience. To doubt that the same potency might be given by the same means to the principle of utility, even if it had no foundation in human nature, would be flying in the face of all experience.
But moral associations which are wholly of artificial creation, when intellectual culture goes on, yield by degrees to the dissolving force of analysis: and if the feeling of duty, when associated with utility, would appear equally arbitrary; if there were no leading department of our nature, no powerful class of sentiments, with which that association would harmonize, which would make us feel it congenial, and incline us not only to foster it in others (for which we have abundant interested motives), but also to cherish it in ourselves; if there were not, in short, a natural basis of sentiment for utilitarian morality, it might well happen that this association also, even after it had been implanted by education, might be analysed away.
But there is this basis of powerful natural sentiment; and this it is which, when once the
general happiness is recognized as the ethical standard, will constitute the strength of the utilitarian morality. This firm foundation is that of the social feelings of mankind; the desire to be in unity with our fellow creatures, which is already a powerful principle in human nature, and happily one of those which tend to become stronger, even without express inculcation, from the influences of advancing civilization. The social state is at once so natural, so necessary, and so habitual to man, that, except in some unusual circumstances or by an effort of voluntary abstraction, he never conceives himself otherwise than as a member of a body; and this association is riveted more and more, as mankind are further removed from the state of savage independence. Any condition, therefore, which is essential to a state of society, becomes more and more an inseparable part of every person's conception of the state of things which he is born into, and which is the destiny of a human being. Now, society between human beings, except in the relation of master and slave, is manifestly impossible on any other footing than that the interests of all are to be consulted. Society between equals can only exist on the understanding that the interests of all are to be regarded equally. And since in all states of civilization, every person, except an absolute monarch, has equals, every one is obliged to live on these terms with somebody; and in every age some advance is made towards a state in which it will be impossible to live permanently on other terms with anybody. In this way people grow up unable to conceive as possible to them a state of total disregard of other people's interests. They are under a necessity of conceiving themselves as at least abstaining from all the grosser injuries, and (if only for their own protection.) living in a state of constant protest against them. They are also familiar with the fact of co-operating with others, and proposing to themselves a collective, not an individual, interest, as the aim (at least for the time being) of their actions. So long as they are co- operating, their ends are identified with those of others; there is at least a temporary feeling that the interests of others are their own interests. Not only does all strengthening of social ties, and all healthy growth of society, give to each individual a stronger personal interest in practically consulting the welfare of others; it also leads him to identify his feelings more and more with their good, or at least with an ever greater degree of practical consideration for it. He comes, as though instinctively, to be conscious of himself as a being who of course pays regard to others. The good of others becomes to him a thing naturally and necessarily to be attended to, like any of the physical conditions of our existence. Now,
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whatever amount of this feeling a person has, he is urged by the strongest motives both of interest and of sympathy to demonstrate it, and to the utmost of his power encourage it in others; and even if he has none of it himself, he is as greatly interested as any one else that others should have it. Consequently, the smallest germs of the feeling are laid hold of and nourished by the contagion of sympathy and the influences of education; and a complete web of corroborative association is woven round it, by the powerful agency of the external sanctions. This mode of conceiving ourselves and human life, as civilization goes on, is felt to be more and more natural. Every step in political improvement renders it more so, by removing the sources of opposition of interest, and levelling those inequalities of legal privilege between individuals or classes, owing to which there are large portions of mankind whose happiness it is still practicable to disregard. In an improving state of the human mind, the influences are constantly on the increase, which tend to generate in each individual a feeling of unity with all the rest; which feeling, if perfect, would make him never think of, or desire, any beneficial condition for himself, in the benefits of which they are not included. If we now suppose this feeling of unity to be taught as a religion, and the whole force of education, of institutions, and of opinion, directed, as it once was in the case of religion, to make every person grow up from infancy surrounded on all sides both by the profession and by the practice of it, I think that no one, who can realize this conception, will feel any misgiving about the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction for the Happiness morality. To any ethical student who finds the realization difficult, I recommend, as a means of facilitating it, the second of M. Comte's two principal works, the Système de Politique Positive. I entertain the strongest objections to the system of politics and morals set forth in that treatise; but I think it has superabundantly shown the possibility of giving to the service of humanity, even without the aid of belief in a Providence, both the physical power and the social efficacy of a religion; making it take hold of human life, and colour all thought, feeling, and action, in a manner of which the greatest ascendency ever exercised by any religion may be but a type and foretaste; and of which the danger is, not that it should be insufficient, but that it should be so excessive as to interfere unduly with human freedom and individuality.
Neither is it necessary to the feeling which constitutes the binding force of the utilitarian morality on those who recognize it, to wait for those social influences which would make its
obligation felt by mankind at large. In the comparatively early state of human advancement in which we now live, a person cannot indeed feel that entireness of sympathy with all others, which would make any real discordance in the general direction of their conduct in life impossible; but already a person in whom the social feeling is at all developed, cannot bring himself to think of the rest of his fellow creatures as struggling rivals with him for the means of happiness, whom he must desire to see defeated in their object in order that he may succeed in his. The deeply-rooted conception which every individual even now has of himself as a social being, tends to make him feel it one of his natural wants that there should be harmony between his feelings and aims and those of his fellow creatures. If differences of opinion and of mental culture make it impossible for him to share many of their actual feelings-perhaps make him denounce and defy those feelings-he still needs to be conscious that his real aim and theirs do not conflict; that he is not opposing himself to what they really wish for, namely, their own good, but is, on the contrary, promoting it. This feeling in most individuals is much inferior in strength to their selfish feelings, and is often wanting altogether. But to those who have it, it possesses all the characters of a natural feeling. It does not present itself to their minds as a superstition of education, or a law despotically imposed by the power of society, but as an attribute which it would not be well for them to be without. This conviction is the ultimate sanction of the greatest-happiness morality. This it is which makes any mind, of well-developed feelings, work with, and not against, the outward motives to care for others, afforded by what I have called the external sanctions; and when those sanctions are wanting, or act in an opposite direction, constitutes in itself a powerful internal binding force, in proportion to the sensitiveness and thoughtfulness of the character; since few but those whose mind is a moral blank, could bear to lay out their course of life on the plan of paying no regard to others except so far as their own private interest compels.
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John Stuart Mill, On Liberty,
(Selections)
To the beloved and deplored memory of her who
was the inspirer, and in part the author, of all that
is best in my writings—the friend and wife whose
exalted sense of truth and right was my strongest
incitement, and whose approbation was my chief
reward—I dedicate this volume. Like all that I
have written for many years, it belongs as much to
her as to me; but the work as it stands has had, in
a very insufficient degree, the inestimable
advantage of her revision; some of the most
important portions having been reserved for a
more careful re-examination, which they are now
never destined to receive. Were I but capable of
interpreting to the world one-half the great
thoughts and noble feelings which are buried in
her grave, I should be the medium of a greater
benefit to it than is ever likely to arise from
anything that I can write, unprompted and
unassisted by her all but unrivalled wisdom.
The grand, leading principle, towards which every
argument unfolded in these pages directly
converges, is the absolute and essential
importance of human development in its richest
diversity.—Wilhelm Von Humboldt: Sphere and
Duties of Government.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
The subject of this Essay is not the so-called
Liberty of the Will, so unfortunately opposed to
the misnamed doctrine of Philosophical Necessity;
but Civil, or Social Liberty: the nature and limits
of the power which can be legitimately exercised
by society over the individual. A question seldom
stated, and hardly ever discussed, in general
terms, but which profoundly influences the
practical controversies of the age by its latent
presence, and is likely soon to make itself
recognised as the vital question of the future. It is
so far from being new, that in a certain sense, it
has divided mankind, almost from the remotest
ages; but in the stage of progress into which the
more civilised portions of the species have now
entered, it presents itself under new conditions,
and requires a different and more fundamental
treatment.
The struggle between Liberty and Authority is the
most conspicuous feature in the portions of
history with which we are earliest familiar,
particularly in that of Greece, Rome, and England.
But in old times this contest was between subjects,
or some classes of subjects, and the government.
By liberty, was meant protection against the
tyranny of the political rulers. The rulers were
conceived (except in some of the popular
governments of Greece) as in a necessarily
antagonistic position to the people whom they
ruled. They consisted of a governing One, or a
governing tribe or caste, who derived their
authority from inheritance or conquest, who, at all
events, did not hold it at the pleasure of the
governed, and whose supremacy men did not
venture, perhaps did not desire, to contest,
whatever precautions might be taken against its
oppressive exercise. Their power was regarded as
necessary, but also as highly dangerous; as a
weapon which they would attempt to use against
their subjects, no less than against external
enemies. To prevent the weaker members of the
community from being preyed upon by
innumerable vultures, it was needful that there
should be an animal of prey stronger than the rest,
commissioned to keep them down. But as the king
of the vultures would be no less bent upon preying
on the flock than any of the minor harpies, it was
indispensable to be in a perpetual attitude of
defence against his beak and claws. The aim,
therefore, of patriots, was to set limits to the
power which the ruler should be suffered to
exercise over the community; and this limitation
was what they meant by liberty. It was attempted
in two ways. First, by obtaining a recognition of
certain immunities, called political liberties or
rights, which it was to be regarded as a breach of
duty in the ruler to infringe, and which if he did
infringe, specific resistance, or general rebellion,
was held to be justifiable. A second, and generally
a later expedient, was the establishment of
constitutional checks; by which the consent of the
community, or of a body of some sort, supposed to
represent its interests, was made a necessary
condition to some of the more important acts of
the governing power. To the first of these modes
of limitation, the ruling power, in most European
countries, was compelled, more or less, to submit.
260
It was not so with the second; and to attain this, or
when already in some degree possessed, to attain
it more completely, became everywhere the
principal object of the lovers of liberty. And so
long as mankind were content to combat one
enemy by another, and to be ruled by a master, on
condition of being guaranteed more or less
efficaciously against his tyranny, they did not
carry their aspirations beyond this point.
A time, however, came, in the progress of human
affairs, when men ceased to think it a necessity of
nature that their governors should be an
independent power, opposed in interest to
themselves. It appeared to them much better that
the various magistrates of the State should be
their tenants or delegates, revocable at their
pleasure. In that way alone, it seemed, could they
have complete security that the powers of
government would never be abused to their
disadvantage. By degrees, this new demand for
elective and temporary rulers became the
prominent object of the exertions of the popular
party, wherever any such party existed; and
superseded, to a considerable extent, the previous
efforts to limit the power of rulers. As the struggle
proceeded for making the ruling power emanate
from the periodical choice of the ruled, some
persons began to think that too much importance
had been attached to the limitation of the power
itself. That (it might seem) was a resource against
rulers whose interests were habitually opposed to
those of the people. What was now wanted was,
that the rulers should be identified with the
people; that their interest and will should be the
interest and will of the nation. The nation did not
need to be protected against its own will. There
was no fear of its tyrannising over itself. Let the
rulers be effectually responsible to it, promptly
removable by it, and it could afford to trust them
with power of which it could itself dictate the use
to be made. Their power was but the nation's own
power, concentrated, and in a form convenient for
exercise. This mode of thought, or rather perhaps
of feeling, was common among the last generation
of European liberalism, in the Continental section
of which it still apparently predominates. Those
who admit any limit to what a government may
do, except in the case of such governments as they
think ought not to exist, stand out as brilliant
exceptions among the political thinkers of the
Continent. A similar tone of sentiment might by
this time have been prevalent in our own country,
if the circumstances which for a time encouraged
it, had continued unaltered.
But, in political and philosophical theories, as well
as in persons, success discloses faults and
infirmities which failure might have concealed
from observation. The notion, that the people
have no need to limit their power over themselves,
might seem axiomatic, when popular government
was a thing only dreamed about, or read of as
having existed at some distant period of the past.
Neither was that notion necessarily disturbed by
such temporary aberrations as those of the French
Revolution, the worst of which were the work of a
usurping few, and which, in any case, belonged,
not to the permanent working of popular
institutions, but to a sudden and convulsive
outbreak against monarchical and aristocratic
despotism. In time, however, a democratic
republic came to occupy a large portion of the
earth's surface, and made itself felt as one of the
most powerful members of the community of
nations; and elective and responsible government
became subject to the observations and criticisms
which wait upon a great existing fact. It was now
perceived that such phrases as "self-government,"
and "the power of the people over themselves," do
not express the true state of the case. The "people"
who exercise the power are not always the same
people with those over whom it is exercised; and
the "self-government" spoken of is not the
government of each by himself, but of each by all
the rest. The will of the people, moreover,
practically means, the will of the most numerous
or the most active part of the people; the majority,
or those who succeed in making themselves
accepted as the majority: the people,
consequently, may desire to oppress a part of their
number; and precautions are as much needed
against this, as against any other abuse of power.
The limitation, therefore, of the power of
government over individuals, loses none of its
importance when the holders of power are
regularly accountable to the community, that is,
to the strongest party therein. This view of things,
recommending itself equally to the intelligence of
thinkers and to the inclination of those important
classes in European society to whose real or
supposed interests democracy is adverse, has had
no difficulty in establishing itself; and in political
speculations "the tyranny of the majority" is now
261
generally included among the evils against which
society requires to be on its guard.
Like other tyrannies, the tyranny of the majority
was at first, and is still vulgarly, held in dread,
chiefly as operating through the acts of the public
authorities. But reflecting persons perceived that
when society is itself the tyrant—society
collectively, over the separate individuals who
compose it—its means of tyrannising are not
restricted to the acts which it may do by the hands
of its political functionaries. Society can and does
execute its own mandates: and if it issues wrong
mandates instead of right, or any mandates at all
in things with which it ought not to meddle, it
practises a social tyranny more formidable than
many kinds of political oppression, since, though
not usually upheld by such extreme penalties, it
leaves fewer means of escape, penetrating much
more deeply into the details of life, and enslaving
the soul itself. Protection, therefore, against the
tyranny of the magistrate is not enough: there
needs protection also against the tyranny of the
prevailing opinion and feeling; against the
tendency of society to impose, by other means
than civil penalties, its own ideas and practices as
rules of conduct on those who dissent from them;
to fetter the development, and, if possible, prevent
the formation, of any individuality not in harmony
with its ways, and compel all characters to fashion
themselves upon the model of its own. There is a
limit to the legitimate interference of collective
opinion with individual independence: and to find
that limit, and maintain it against encroachment,
is as indispensable to a good condition of human
affairs, as protection against political despotism.
But though this proposition is not likely to be
contested in general terms, the practical question,
where to place the limit—how to make the fitting
adjustment between individual independence and
social control—is a subject on which nearly
everything remains to be done. All that makes
existence valuable to any one, depends on the
enforcement of restraints upon the actions of
other people. Some rules of conduct, therefore,
must be imposed, by law in the first place, and by
opinion on many things which are not fit subjects
for the operation of law. What these rules should
be, is the principal question in human affairs; but
if we except a few of the most obvious cases, it is
one of those which least progress has been made
in resolving. No two ages, and scarcely any two
countries, have decided it alike; and the decision
of one age or country is a wonder to another. Yet
the people of any given age and country no more
suspect any difficulty in it, than if it were a subject
on which mankind had always been agreed. The
rules which obtain among themselves appear to
them self-evident and self-justifying. This all but
universal illusion is one of the examples of the
magical influence of custom, which is not only, as
the proverb says, a second nature, but is
continually mistaken for the first. The effect of
custom, in preventing any misgiving respecting
the rules of conduct which mankind impose on
one another, is all the more complete because the
subject is one on which it is not generally
considered necessary that reasons should be
given, either by one person to others, or by each to
himself. People are accustomed to believe, and
have been encouraged in the belief by some who
aspire to the character of philosophers, that their
feelings, on subjects of this nature, are better than
reasons, and render reasons unnecessary. The
practical principle which guides them to their
opinions on the regulation of human conduct, is
the feeling in each person's mind that everybody
should be required to act as he, and those with
whom he sympathises, would like them to act. No
one, indeed, acknowledges to himself that his
standard of judgment is his own liking; but an
opinion on a point of conduct, not supported by
reasons, can only count as one person's
preference; and if the reasons, when given, are a
mere appeal to a similar preference felt by other
people, it is still only many people's liking instead
of one. To an ordinary man, however, his own
preference, thus supported, is not only a perfectly
satisfactory reason, but the only one he generally
has for any of his notions of morality, taste, or
propriety, which are not expressly written in his
religious creed; and his chief guide in the
interpretation even of that. Men's opinions,
accordingly, on what is laudable or blamable, are
affected by all the multifarious causes which
influence their wishes in regard to the conduct of
others, and which are as numerous as those which
determine their wishes on any other subject.
Sometimes their reason—at other times their
prejudices or superstitions: often their social
affections, not seldom their anti-social ones, their
envy or jealousy, their arrogance or
contemptuousness: but most commonly, their
262
desires or fears for themselves—their legitimate or
illegitimate self-interest. Wherever there is an
ascendant class, a large portion of the morality of
the country emanates from its class interests, and
its feelings of class superiority. The morality
between Spartans and Helots, between planters
and negroes, between princes and subjects,
between nobles and roturiers, between men and
women, has been for the most part the creation of
these class interests and feelings: and the
sentiments thus generated, react in turn upon the
moral feelings of the members of the ascendant
class, in their relations among themselves. Where,
on the other hand, a class, formerly ascendant, has
lost its ascendancy, or where its ascendancy is
unpopular, the prevailing moral sentiments
frequently bear the impress of an impatient dislike
of superiority. Another grand determining
principle of the rules of conduct, both in act and
forbearance, which have been enforced by law or
opinion, has been the servility of mankind towards
the supposed preferences or aversions of their
temporal masters, or of their gods. This servility,
though essentially selfish, is not hypocrisy; it gives
rise to perfectly genuine sentiments of
abhorrence; it made men burn magicians and
heretics. Among so many baser influences, the
general and obvious interests of society have of
course had a share, and a large one, in the
direction of the moral sentiments: less, however,
as a matter of reason, and on their own account,
than as a consequence of the sympathies and
antipathies which grew out of them: and
sympathies and antipathies which had little or
nothing to do with the interests of society, have
made themselves felt in the establishment of
moralities with quite as great force.
The likings and dislikings of society, or of some
powerful portion of it, are thus the main thing
which has practically determined the rules laid
down for general observance, under the penalties
of law or opinion. And in general, those who have
been in advance of society in thought and feeling
have left this condition of things unassailed in
principle, however they may have come into
conflict with it in some of its details. They have
occupied themselves rather in inquiring what
things society ought to like or dislike, than in
questioning whether its likings or dislikings
should be a law to individuals. They preferred
endeavouring to alter the feelings of mankind on
the particular points on which they were
themselves heretical, rather than make common
cause in defence of freedom, with heretics
generally. The only case in which the higher
ground has been taken on principle and
maintained with consistency, by any but an
individual here and there, is that of religious
belief: a case instructive in many ways, and not
least so as forming a most striking instance of the
fallibility of what is called the moral sense: for the
odium theologicum, in a sincere bigot, is one of
the most unequivocal cases of moral feeling.
Those who first broke the yoke of what called
itself the Universal Church, were in general as
little willing to permit difference of religious
opinion as that church itself. But when the heat of
the conflict was over, without giving a complete
victory to any party, and each church or sect was
reduced to limit its hopes to retaining possession
of the ground it already occupied; minorities,
seeing that they had no chance of becoming
majorities, were under the necessity of pleading to
those whom they could not convert, for
permission to differ. It is accordingly on this
battle-field, almost solely, that the rights of the
individual against society have been asserted on
broad grounds of principle, and the claim of
society to exercise authority over dissentients,
openly controverted. The great writers to whom
the world owes what religious liberty it possesses,
have mostly asserted freedom of conscience as an
indefeasible right, and denied absolutely that a
human being is accountable to others for his
religious belief. Yet so natural to mankind is
intolerance in whatever they really care about,
that religious freedom has hardly anywhere been
practically realised, except where religious
indifference, which dislikes to have its peace
disturbed by theological quarrels, has added its
weight to the scale. In the minds of almost all
religious persons, even in the most tolerant
countries, the duty of toleration is admitted with
tacit reserves. One person will bear with dissent in
matters of church government, but not of dogma;
another can tolerate everybody, short of a Papist
or a Unitarian; another, every one who believes in
revealed religion; a few extend their charity a little
further, but stop at the belief in a God and in a
future state. Wherever the sentiment of the
majority is still genuine and intense, it is found to
have abated little of its claim to be obeyed.
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In England, from the peculiar circumstances of
our political history, though the yoke of opinion is
perhaps heavier, that of law is lighter, than in
most other countries of Europe; and there is
considerable jealousy of direct interference, by the
legislative or the executive power, with private
conduct; not so much from any just regard for the
independence of the individual, as from the still
subsisting habit of looking on the government as
representing an opposite interest to the public.
The majority have not yet learnt to feel the power
of the government their power, or its opinions
their opinions. When they do so, individual liberty
will probably be as much exposed to invasion from
the government, as it already is from public
opinion. But, as yet, there is a considerable
amount of feeling ready to be called forth against
any attempt of the law to control individuals in
things in which they have not hitherto been
accustomed to be controlled by it; and this with
very little discrimination as to whether the matter
is, or is not, within the legitimate sphere of legal
control; insomuch that the feeling, highly salutary
on the whole, is perhaps quite as often misplaced
as well grounded in the particular instances of its
application. There is, in fact, no recognised
principle by which the propriety or impropriety of
government interference is customarily tested.
People decide according to their personal
preferences. Some, whenever they see any good to
be done, or evil to be remedied, would willingly
instigate the government to undertake the
business; while others prefer to bear almost any
amount of social evil, rather than add one to the
departments of human interests amenable to
governmental control. And men range themselves
on one or the other side in any particular case,
according to this general direction of their
sentiments; or according to the degree of interest
which they feel in the particular thing which it is
proposed that the government should do, or
according to the belief they entertain that the
government would, or would not, do it in the
manner they prefer; but very rarely on account of
any opinion to which they consistently adhere, as
to what things are fit to be done by a government.
And it seems to me that in consequence of this
absence of rule or principle, one side is at present
as often wrong as the other; the interference of
government is, with about equal frequency,
improperly invoked and improperly condemned.
The object of this Essay is to assert one very
simple principle, as entitled to govern absolutely
the dealings of society with the individual in the
way of compulsion and control, whether the
means used be physical force in the form of legal
penalties, or the moral coercion of public opinion.
That principle is, that the sole end for which
mankind are warranted, individually or
collectively, in interfering with the liberty of
action of any of their number, is self-protection.
That the only purpose for which power can be
rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised
community, against his will, is to prevent harm to
others. His own good, either physical or moral, is
not a sufficient warrant. He cannot rightfully be
compelled to do or forbear because it will be
better for him to do so, because it will make him
happier, because, in the opinions of others, to do
so would be wise, or even right. These are good
reasons for remonstrating with him, or reasoning
with him, or persuading him, or entreating him,
but not for compelling him, or visiting him with
any evil in case he do otherwise. To justify that,
the conduct from which it is desired to deter him
must be calculated to produce evil to some one
else. The only part of the conduct of any one, for
which he is amenable to society, is that which
concerns others. In the part which merely
concerns himself, his independence is, of right,
absolute. Over himself, over his own body and
mind, the individual is sovereign.
It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say that this
doctrine is meant to apply only to human beings
in the maturity of their faculties. We are not
speaking of children, or of young persons below
the age which the law may fix as that of manhood
or womanhood. Those who are still in a state to
require being taken care of by others, must be
protected against their own actions as well as
against external injury. For the same reason, we
may leave out of consideration those backward
states of society in which the race itself may be
considered as in its nonage. The early difficulties
in the way of spontaneous progress are so great,
that there is seldom any choice of means for
overcoming them; and a ruler full of the spirit of
improvement is warranted in the use of any
expedients that will attain an end, perhaps
otherwise unattainable. Despotism is a legitimate
mode of government in dealing with barbarians,
provided the end be their improvement, and the
264
means justified by actually effecting that end.
Liberty, as a principle, has no application to any
state of things anterior to the time when mankind
have become capable of being improved by free
and equal discussion. Until then, there is nothing
for them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a
Charlemagne, if they are so fortunate as to find
one. But as soon as mankind have attained the
capacity of being guided to their own
improvement by conviction or persuasion (a
period long since reached in all nations with
whom we need here concern ourselves),
compulsion, either in the direct form or in that of
pains and penalties for non-compliance, is no
longer admissible as a means to their own good,
and justifiable only for the security of others.
It is proper to state that I forego any advantage
which could be derived to my argument from the
idea of abstract right, as a thing independent of
utility. I regard utility as the ultimate appeal on all
ethical questions; but it must be utility in the
largest sense, grounded on the permanent
interests of man as a progressive being. Those
interests, I contend, authorise the subjection of
individual spontaneity to external control, only in
respect to those actions of each, which concern
the interest of other people. If any one does an act
hurtful to others, there is a primâ facie case for
punishing him, by law, or, where legal penalties
are not safely applicable, by general
disapprobation. There are also many positive acts
for the benefit of others, which he may rightfully
be compelled to perform; such as, to give evidence
in a court of justice; to bear his fair share in the
common defence, or in any other joint work
necessary to the interest of the society of which he
enjoys the protection; and to perform certain acts
of individual beneficence, such as saving a fellow-
creature's life, or interposing to protect the
defenceless against ill-usage, things which
whenever it is obviously a man's duty to do, he
may rightfully be made responsible to society for
not doing. A person may cause evil to others not
only by his actions but by his inaction, and in
either case he is justly accountable to them for the
injury. The latter case, it is true, requires a much
more cautious exercise of compulsion than the
former. To make any one answerable for doing evil
to others, is the rule; to make him answerable for
not preventing evil, is, comparatively speaking,
the exception. Yet there are many cases clear
enough and grave enough to justify that
exception. In all things which regard the external
relations of the individual, he is de jure amenable
to those whose interests are concerned, and if
need be, to society as their protector. There are
often good reasons for not holding him to the
responsibility; but these reasons must arise from
the special expediencies of the case: either because
it is a kind of case in which he is on the whole
likely to act better, when left to his own
discretion, than when controlled in any way in
which society have it in their power to control
him; or because the attempt to exercise control
would produce other evils, greater than those
which it would prevent. When such reasons as
these preclude the enforcement of responsibility,
the conscience of the agent himself should step
into the vacant judgment seat, and protect those
interests of others which have no external
protection; judging himself all the more rigidly,
because the case does not admit of his being made
accountable to the judgment of his fellow-
creatures.
But there is a sphere of action in which society, as
distinguished from the individual, has, if any, only
an indirect interest; comprehending all that
portion of a person's life and conduct which
affects only himself, or if it also affects others, only
with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent
and participation. When I say only himself, I mean
directly, and in the first instance: for whatever
affects himself, may affect others through himself;
and the objection which may be grounded on this
contingency, will receive consideration in the
sequel. This, then, is the appropriate region of
human liberty. It comprises, first, the inward
domain of consciousness; demanding liberty of
conscience, in the most comprehensive sense;
liberty of thought and feeling; absolute freedom of
opinion and sentiment on all subjects, practical or
speculative, scientific, moral, or theological. The
liberty of expressing and publishing opinions may
seem to fall under a different principle, since it
belongs to that part of the conduct of an
individual which concerns other people; but,
being almost of as much importance as the liberty
of thought itself, and resting in great part on the
same reasons, is practically inseparable from it.
Secondly, the principle requires liberty of tastes
and pursuits; of framing the plan of our life to suit
our own character; of doing as we like, subject to
265
such consequences as may follow: without
impediment from our fellow-creatures, so long as
what we do does not harm them, even though
they should think our conduct foolish, perverse, or
wrong. Thirdly, from this liberty of each
individual, follows the liberty, within the same
limits, of combination among individuals;
freedom to unite, for any purpose not involving
harm to others: the persons combining being
supposed to be of full age, and not forced or
deceived.
No society in which these liberties are not, on the
whole, respected, is free, whatever may be its form
of government; and none is completely free in
which they do not exist absolute and unqualified.
The only freedom which deserves the name, is
that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so
long as we do not attempt to deprive others of
theirs, or impede their efforts to obtain it. Each is
the proper guardian of his own health, whether
bodily, or mental and spiritual. Mankind are
greater gainers by suffering each other to live as
seems good to themselves, than by compelling
each to live as seems good to the rest.
Though this doctrine is anything but new, and, to
some persons, may have the air of a truism, there
is no doctrine which stands more directly opposed
to the general tendency of existing opinion and
practice. Society has expended fully as much effort
in the attempt (according to its lights) to compel
people to conform to its notions of personal, as of
social excellence. The ancient commonwealths
thought themselves entitled to practise, and the
ancient philosophers countenanced, the
regulation of every part of private conduct by
public authority, on the ground that the State had
a deep interest in the whole bodily and mental
discipline of every one of its citizens; a mode of
thinking which may have been admissible in small
republics surrounded by powerful enemies, in
constant peril of being subverted by foreign attack
or internal commotion, and to which even a short
interval of relaxed energy and self-command
might so easily be fatal, that they could not afford
to wait for the salutary permanent effects of
freedom. In the modern world, the greater size of
political communities, and above all, the
separation between spiritual and temporal
authority (which placed the direction of men's
consciences in other hands than those which
controlled their worldly affairs), prevented so
great an interference by law in the details of
private life; but the engines of moral repression
have been wielded more strenuously against
divergence from the reigning opinion in self-
regarding, than even in social matters; religion,
the most powerful of the elements which have
entered into the formation of moral feeling,
having almost always been governed either by the
ambition of a hierarchy, seeking control over
every department of human conduct, or by the
spirit of Puritanism. And some of those modern
reformers who have placed themselves in
strongest opposition to the religions of the past,
have been noway behind either churches or sects
in their assertion of the right of spiritual
domination: M. Comte, in particular, whose social
system, as unfolded in his Traité de Politique
Positive, aims at establishing (though by moral
more than by legal appliances) a despotism of
society over the individual, surpassing anything
contemplated in the political ideal of the most
rigid disciplinarian among the ancient
philosophers.
Apart from the peculiar tenets of individual
thinkers, there is also in the world at large an
increasing inclination to stretch unduly the
powers of society over the individual, both by the
force of opinion and even by that of legislation:
and as the tendency of all the changes taking place
in the world is to strengthen society, and diminish
the power of the individual, this encroachment is
not one of the evils which tend spontaneously to
disappear, but, on the contrary, to grow more and
more formidable. The disposition of mankind,
whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens to impose
their own opinions and inclinations as a rule of
conduct on others, is so energetically supported
by some of the best and by some of the worst
feelings incident to human nature, that it is hardly
ever kept under restraint by anything but want of
power; and as the power is not declining, but
growing, unless a strong barrier of moral
conviction can be raised against the mischief, we
must expect, in the present circumstances of the
world, to see it increase.
It will be convenient for the argument, if, instead
of at once entering upon the general thesis, we
confine ourselves in the first instance to a single
branch of it, on which the principle here stated is,
266
if not fully, yet to a certain point, recognised by
the current opinions. This one branch is the
Liberty of Thought: from which it is impossible to
separate the cognate liberty of speaking and of
writing. Although these liberties, to some
considerable amount, form part of the political
morality of all countries which profess religious
toleration and free institutions, the grounds, both
philosophical and practical, on which they rest,
are perhaps not so familiar to the general mind,
nor so thoroughly appreciated by many even of
the leaders of opinion, as might have been
expected. Those grounds, when rightly
understood, are of much wider application than to
only one division of the subject, and a thorough
consideration of this part of the question will be
found the best introduction to the remainder.
Those to whom nothing which I am about to say
will be new, may therefore, I hope, excuse me, if
on a subject which for now three centuries has
been so often discussed, I venture on one
discussion more.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND
DISCUSSION.
The time, it is to be hoped, is gone by, when any
defence would be necessary of the "liberty of the
press" as one of the securities against corrupt or
tyrannical government. No argument, we may
suppose, can now be needed, against permitting a
legislature or an executive, not identified in
interest with the people, to prescribe opinions to
them, and determine what doctrines or what
arguments they shall be allowed to hear. This
aspect of the question, besides, has been so often
and so triumphantly enforced by preceding
writers, that it need not be specially insisted on in
this place. Though the law of England, on the
subject of the press, is as servile to this day as it
was in the time of the Tudors, there is little danger
of its being actually put in force against political
discussion, except during some temporary panic,
when fear of insurrection drives ministers and
judges from their propriety;[6] and, speaking
generally, it is not, in constitutional countries, to
be apprehended that the government, whether
completely responsible to the people or not, will
often attempt to control the expression of opinion,
except when in doing so it makes itself the organ
of the general intolerance of the public. Let us
suppose, therefore, that the government is entirely
at one with the people, and never thinks of
exerting any power of coercion unless in
agreement with what it conceives to be their
voice. But I deny the right of the people to
exercise such coercion, either by themselves or by
their government. The power itself is illegitimate.
The best government has no more title to it than
the worst. It is as noxious, or more noxious, when
exerted in accordance with public opinion, than
when in or opposition to it. If all mankind minus
one, were of one opinion, and only one person
were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be
no more justified in silencing that one person,
than he, if he had the power, would be justified in
silencing mankind. Were an opinion a personal
possession of no value except to the owner; if to be
obstructed in the enjoyment of it were simply a
private injury, it would make some difference
whether the injury was inflicted only on a few
persons or on many. But the peculiar evil of
silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is
robbing the human race; posterity as well as the
existing generation; those who dissent from the
opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the
opinion is right, they are deprived of the
opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if
wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit,
the clearer perception and livelier impression of
truth, produced by its collision with error.
It is necessary to consider separately these two
hypotheses, each of which has a distinct branch of
the argument corresponding to it. We can never
be sure that the opinion we are endeavouring to
stifle is a false opinion; and if we were sure, stifling
it would be an evil still.
First: the opinion which it is attempted to
suppress by authority may possibly be true. Those
who desire to suppress it, of course deny its truth;
but they are not infallible. They have no authority
to decide the question for all mankind, and
exclude every other person from the means of
judging. To refuse a hearing to an opinion,
because they are sure that it is false, is to assume
that their certainty is the same thing as absolute
certainty. All silencing of discussion is an
assumption of infallibility. Its condemnation may
be allowed to rest on this common argument, not
the worse for being common.
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Unfortunately for the good sense of mankind, the
fact of their fallibility is far from carrying the
weight in their practical judgment, which is
always allowed to it in theory; for while every one
well knows himself to be fallible, few think it
necessary to take any precautions against their
own fallibility, or admit the supposition that any
opinion, of which they feel very certain, may be
one of the examples of the error to which they
acknowledge themselves to be liable. Absolute
princes, or others who are accustomed to
unlimited deference, usually feel this complete
confidence in their own opinions on nearly all
subjects. People more happily situated, who
sometimes hear their opinions disputed, and are
not wholly unused to be set right when they are
wrong, place the same unbounded reliance only
on such of their opinions as are shared by all who
surround them, or to whom they habitually defer:
for in proportion to a man's want of confidence in
his own solitary judgment, does he usually repose,
with implicit trust, on the infallibility of "the
world" in general. And the world, to each
individual, means the part of it with which he
comes in contact; his party, his sect, his church,
his class of society: the man may be called, by
comparison, almost liberal and large-minded to
whom it means anything so comprehensive as his
own country or his own age. Nor is his faith in this
collective authority at all shaken by his being
aware that other ages, countries, sects, churches,
classes, and parties have thought, and even now
think, the exact reverse. He devolves upon his own
world the responsibility of being in the right
against the dissentient worlds of other people; and
it never troubles him that mere accident has
decided which of these numerous worlds is the
object of his reliance, and that the same causes
which make him a Churchman in London, would
have made him a Buddhist or a Confucian in
Pekin. Yet it is as evident in itself as any amount of
argument can make it, that ages are no more
infallible than individuals; every age having held
many opinions which subsequent ages have
deemed not only false but absurd; and it is as
certain that many opinions, now general, will be
rejected by future ages, as it is that many, once
general, are rejected by the present.
The objection likely to be made to this argument,
would probably take some such form as the
following. There is no greater assumption of
infallibility in forbidding the propagation of error,
than in any other thing which is done by public
authority on its own judgment and responsibility.
Judgment is given to men that they may use it.
Because it may be used erroneously, are men to be
told that they ought not to use it at all? To
prohibit what they think pernicious, is not
claiming exemption from error, but fulfilling the
duty incumbent on them, although fallible, of
acting on their conscientious conviction. If we
were never to act on our opinions, because those
opinions may be wrong, we should leave all our
interests uncared for, and all our duties
unperformed. An objection which applies to all
conduct, can be no valid objection to any conduct
in particular. It is the duty of governments, and of
individuals, to form the truest opinions they can;
to form them carefully, and never impose them
upon others unless they are quite sure of being
right. But when they are sure (such reasoners may
say), it is not conscientiousness but cowardice to
shrink from acting on their opinions, and allow
doctrines which they honestly think dangerous to
the welfare of mankind, either in this life or in
another, to be scattered abroad without restraint,
because other people, in less enlightened times,
have persecuted opinions now believed to be true.
Let us take care, it may be said, not to make the
same mistake: but governments and nations have
made mistakes in other things, which are not
denied to be fit subjects for the exercise of
authority: they have laid on bad taxes, made
unjust wars. Ought we therefore to lay on no
taxes, and, under whatever provocation, make no
wars? Men, and governments, must act to the best
of their ability. There is no such thing as absolute
certainty, but there is assurance sufficient for the
purposes of human life. We may, and must,
assume our opinion to be true for the guidance of
our own conduct: and it is assuming no more
when we forbid bad men to pervert society by the
propagation of opinions which we regard as false
and pernicious.
I answer that it is assuming very much more.
There is the greatest difference between
presuming an opinion to be true, because, with
every opportunity for contesting it, it has not been
refuted, and assuming its truth for the purpose of
not permitting its refutation. Complete liberty of
contradicting and disproving our opinion, is the
very condition which justifies us in assuming its
268
truth for purposes of action; and on no other
terms can a being with human faculties have any
rational assurance of being right.
When we consider either the history of opinion, or
the ordinary conduct of human life, to what is it to
be ascribed that the one and the other are no
worse than they are? Not certainly to the inherent
force of the human understanding; for, on any
matter not self-evident, there are ninety-nine
persons totally incapable of judging of it, for one
who is capable; and the capacity of the hundredth
person is only comparative; for the majority of the
eminent men of every past generation held many
opinions now known to be erroneous, and did or
approved numerous things which no one will now
justify. Why is it, then, that there is on the whole a
preponderance among mankind of rational
opinions and rational conduct? If there really is
this preponderance—which there must be, unless
human affairs are, and have always been, in an
almost desperate state—it is owing to a quality of
the human mind, the source of everything
respectable in man either as an intellectual or as a
moral being, namely, that his errors are corrigible.
He is capable of rectifying his mistakes, by
discussion and experience. Not by experience
alone. There must be discussion, to show how
experience is to be interpreted. Wrong opinions
and practices gradually yield to fact and argument:
but facts and arguments, to produce any effect on
the mind, must be brought before it. Very few
facts are able to tell their own story, without
comments to bring out their meaning. The whole
strength and value, then, of human judgment,
depending on the one property, that it can be set
right when it is wrong, reliance can be placed on it
only when the means of setting it right are kept
constantly at hand. In the case of any person
whose judgment is really deserving of confidence,
how has it become so? Because he has kept his
mind open to criticism of his opinions and
conduct. Because it has been his practice to listen
to all that could be said against him; to profit by as
much of it as was just, and expound to himself,
and upon occasion to others, the fallacy of what
was fallacious. Because he has felt, that the only
way in which a human being can make some
approach to knowing the whole of a subject, is by
hearing what can be said about it by persons of
every variety of opinion, and studying all modes in
which it can be looked at by every character of
mind. No wise man ever acquired his wisdom in
any mode but this; nor is it in the nature of human
intellect to become wise in any other manner. The
steady habit of correcting and completing his own
opinion by collating it with those of others, so far
from causing doubt and hesitation in carrying it
into practice, is the only stable foundation for a
just reliance on it: for, being cognisant of all that
can, at least obviously, be said against him, and
having taken up his position against all
gainsayers—knowing that he has sought for
objections and difficulties, instead of avoiding
them, and has shut out no light which can be
thrown upon the subject from any quarter—he
has a right to think his judgment better than that
of any person, or any multitude, who have not
gone through a similar process.
It is not too much to require that what the wisest
of mankind, those who are best entitled to trust
their own judgment, find necessary to warrant
their relying on it, should be submitted to by that
miscellaneous collection of a few wise and many
foolish individuals, called the public. The most
intolerant of churches, the Roman Catholic
Church, even at the canonisation of a saint,
admits, and listens patiently to, a "devil's
advocate." The holiest of men, it appears, cannot
be admitted to posthumous honours, until all that
the devil could say against him is known and
weighed. If even the Newtonian philosophy were
not permitted to be questioned, mankind could
not feel as complete assurance of its truth as they
now do. The beliefs which we have most warrant
for, have no safeguard to rest on, but a standing
invitation to the whole world to prove them
unfounded. If the challenge is not accepted, or is
accepted and the attempt fails, we are far enough
from certainty still; but we have done the best that
the existing state of human reason admits of; we
have neglected nothing that could give the truth a
chance of reaching us: if the lists are kept open,
we may hope that if there be a better truth, it will
be found when the human mind is capable of
receiving it; and in the meantime we may rely on
having attained such approach to truth, as is
possible in our own day. This is the amount of
certainty attainable by a fallible being, and this the
sole way of attaining it.
Strange it is, that men should admit the validity of
the arguments for free discussion, but object to
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their being "pushed to an extreme;" not seeing
that unless the reasons are good for an extreme
case, they are not good for any case. Strange that
they should imagine that they are not assuming
infallibility, when they acknowledge that there
should be free discussion on all subjects which can
possibly be doubtful, but think that some
particular principle or doctrine should be
forbidden to be questioned because it is so certain,
that is, because they are certain that it is certain.
To call any proposition certain, while there is any
one who would deny its certainty if permitted, but
who is not permitted, is to assume that we
ourselves, and those who agree with us, are the
judges of certainty, and judges without hearing
the other side.
In the present age—which has been described as
"destitute of faith, but terrified at scepticism"—in
which people feel sure, not so much that their
opinions are true, as that they should not know
what to do without them—the claims of an
opinion to be protected from public attack are
rested not so much on its truth, as on its
importance to society. There are, it is alleged,
certain beliefs, so useful, not to say indispensable
to well-being, that it is as much the duty of
governments to uphold those beliefs, as to protect
any other of the interests of society. In a case of
such necessity, and so directly in the line of their
duty, something less than infallibility may, it is
maintained, warrant, and even bind, governments,
to act on their own opinion, confirmed by the
general opinion of mankind. It is also often
argued, and still oftener thought, that none but
bad men would desire to weaken these salutary
beliefs; and there can be nothing wrong, it is
thought, in restraining bad men, and prohibiting
what only such men would wish to practise. This
mode of thinking makes the justification of
restraints on discussion not a question of the truth
of doctrines, but of their usefulness; and flatters
itself by that means to escape the responsibility of
claiming to be an infallible judge of opinions. But
those who thus satisfy themselves, do not perceive
that the assumption of infallibility is merely
shifted from one point to another. The usefulness
of an opinion is itself matter of opinion: as
disputable, as open to discussion, and requiring
discussion as much, as the opinion itself. There is
the same need of an infallible judge of opinions to
decide an opinion to be noxious, as to decide it to
be false, unless the opinion condemned has full
opportunity of defending itself. And it will not do
to say that the heretic may be allowed to maintain
the utility or harmlessness of his opinion, though
forbidden to maintain its truth. The truth of an
opinion is part of its utility. If we would know
whether or not it is desirable that a proposition
should be believed, is it possible to exclude the
consideration of whether or not it is true? In the
opinion, not of bad men, but of the best men, no
belief which is contrary to truth can be really
useful: and can you prevent such men from urging
that plea, when they are charged with culpability
for denying some doctrine which they are told is
useful, but which they believe to be false? Those
who are on the side of received opinions, never fail
to take all possible advantage of this plea; you do
not find them handling the question of utility as if
it could be completely abstracted from that of
truth: on the contrary, it is, above all, because
their doctrine is "the truth," that the knowledge or
the belief of it is held to be so indispensable. There
can be no fair discussion of the question of
usefulness, when an argument so vital may be
employed on one side, but not on the other. And
in point of fact, when law or public feeling do not
permit the truth of an opinion to be disputed, they
are just as little tolerant of a denial of its
usefulness. The utmost they allow is an
extenuation of its absolute necessity, or of the
positive guilt of rejecting it.
In order more fully to illustrate the mischief of
denying a hearing to opinions because we, in our
own judgment, have condemned them, it will be
desirable to fix down the discussion to a concrete
case; and I choose, by preference, the cases which
are least favourable to me—in which the
argument against freedom of opinion, both on the
score of truth and on that of utility, is considered
the strongest. Let the opinions impugned be the
belief in a God and in a future state, or any of the
commonly received doctrines of morality. To fight
the battle on such ground, gives a great advantage
to an unfair antagonist; since he will be sure to say
(and many who have no desire to be unfair will say
it internally), Are these the doctrines which you
do not deem sufficiently certain to be taken under
the protection of law? Is the belief in a God one of
the opinions, to feel sure of which, you hold to be
assuming infallibility? But I must be permitted to
observe, that it is not the feeling sure of a doctrine
270
(be it what it may) which I call an assumption of
infallibility. It is the undertaking to decide that
question for others, without allowing them to hear
what can be said on the contrary side. And I
denounce and reprobate this pretension not the
less, if put forth on the side of my most solemn
convictions. However positive any one's
persuasion may be, not only of the falsity, but of
the pernicious consequences—not only of the
pernicious consequences, but (to adopt
expressions which I altogether condemn) the
immorality and impiety of an opinion; yet if, in
pursuance of that private judgment, though
backed by the public judgment of his country or
his contemporaries, he prevents the opinion from
being heard in its defence, he assumes infallibility.
And so far from the assumption being less
objectionable or less dangerous because the
opinion is called immoral or impious, this is the
case of all others in which it is most fatal. These
are exactly the occasions on which the men of one
generation commit those dreadful mistakes, which
excite the astonishment and horror of posterity. It
is among such that we find the instances
memorable in history, when the arm of the law
has been employed to root out the best men and
the noblest doctrines; with deplorable success as
to the men, though some of the doctrines have
survived to be (as if in mockery) invoked, in
defence of similar conduct towards those who
dissent from them, or from their received
interpretation.
Mankind can hardly be too often reminded that
there was once a man named Socrates, between
whom and the legal authorities and public opinion
of his time, there took place a memorable
collision. Born in an age and country abounding in
individual greatness, this man has been handed
down to us by those who best knew both him and
the age, as the most virtuous man in it; while we
know him as the head and prototype of all
subsequent teachers of virtue, the source equally
of the lofty inspiration of Plato and the judicious
utilitarianism of Aristotle, "i maëstri di color che
sanno," the two headsprings of ethical as of all
other philosophy. This acknowledged master of all
the eminent thinkers who have since lived—
whose fame, still growing after more than two
thousand years, all but outweighs the whole
remainder of the names which make his native
city illustrious—was put to death by his
countrymen, after a judicial conviction, for
impiety and immorality. Impiety, in denying the
gods recognised by the State; indeed his accuser
asserted (see the "Apologia") that he believed in
no gods at all. Immorality, in being, by his
doctrines and instructions, a "corruptor of youth."
Of these charges the tribunal, there is every
ground for believing, honestly found him guilty,
and condemned the man who probably of all then
born had deserved best of mankind, to be put to
death as a criminal.
To pass from this to the only other instance of
judicial iniquity, the mention of which, after the
condemnation of Socrates, would not be an
anticlimax: the event which took place on Calvary
rather more than eighteen hundred years ago. The
man who left on the memory of those who
witnessed his life and conversation, such an
impression of his moral grandeur, that eighteen
subsequent centuries have done homage to him as
the Almighty in person, was ignominiously put to
death, as what? As a blasphemer. Men did not
merely mistake their benefactor; they mistook him
for the exact contrary of what he was, and treated
him as that prodigy of impiety, which they
themselves are now held to be, for their treatment
of him. The feelings with which mankind now
regard these lamentable transactions, especially
the later of the two, render them extremely unjust
in their judgment of the unhappy actors. These
were, to all appearance, not bad men—not worse
than men commonly are, but rather the contrary;
men who possessed in a full, or somewhat more
than a full measure, the religious, moral, and
patriotic feelings of their time and people: the very
kind of men who, in all times, our own included,
have every chance of passing through life
blameless and respected. The high-priest who rent
his garments when the words were pronounced,
which, according to all the ideas of his country,
constituted the blackest guilt, was in all
probability quite as sincere in his horror and
indignation, as the generality of respectable and
pious men now are in the religious and moral
sentiments they profess; and most of those who
now shudder at his conduct, if they had lived in
his time, and been born Jews, would have acted
precisely as he did. Orthodox Christians who are
tempted to think that those who stoned to death
the first martyrs must have been worse men than
271
they themselves are, ought to remember that one
of those persecutors was Saint Paul.
Let us add one more example, the most striking of
all, if the impressiveness of an error is measured
by the wisdom and virtue of him who falls into it.
If ever any one, possessed of power, had grounds
for thinking himself the best and most
enlightened among his cotemporaries, it was the
Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Absolute monarch of
the whole civilised world, he preserved through
life not only the most unblemished justice, but
what was less to be expected from his Stoical
breeding, the tenderest heart. The few failings
which are attributed to him, were all on the side of
indulgence: while his writings, the highest ethical
product of the ancient mind, differ scarcely
perceptibly, if they differ at all, from the most
characteristic teachings of Christ. This man, a
better Christian in all but the dogmatic sense of
the word, than almost any of the ostensibly
Christian sovereigns who have since reigned,
persecuted Christianity. Placed at the summit of
all the previous attainments of humanity, with an
open, unfettered intellect, and a character which
led him of himself to embody in his moral writings
the Christian ideal, he yet failed to see that
Christianity was to be a good and not an evil to
the world, with his duties to which he was so
deeply penetrated. Existing society he knew to be
in a deplorable state. But such as it was, he saw, or
thought he saw, that it was held together, and
prevented from being worse, by belief and
reverence of the received divinities. As a ruler of
mankind, he deemed it his duty not to suffer
society to fall in pieces; and saw not how, if its
existing ties were removed, any others could be
formed which could again knit it together. The
new religion openly aimed at dissolving these ties:
unless, therefore, it was his duty to adopt that
religion, it seemed to be his duty to put it down.
Inasmuch then as the theology of Christianity did
not appear to him true or of divine origin;
inasmuch as this strange history of a crucified God
was not credible to him, and a system which
purported to rest entirely upon a foundation to
him so wholly unbelievable, could not be foreseen
by him to be that renovating agency which, after
all abatements, it has in fact proved to be; the
gentlest and most amiable of philosophers and
rulers, under a solemn sense of duty, authorised
the persecution of Christianity. To my mind this is
one of the most tragical facts in all history. It is a
bitter thought, how different a thing the
Christianity of the world might have been, if the
Christian faith had been adopted as the religion of
the empire under the auspices of Marcus Aurelius
instead of those of Constantine. But it would be
equally unjust to him and false to truth, to deny,
that no one plea which can be urged for punishing
anti-Christian teaching, was wanting to Marcus
Aurelius for punishing, as he did, the propagation
of Christianity. No Christian more firmly believes
that Atheism is false, and tends to the dissolution
of society, than Marcus Aurelius believed the same
things of Christianity; he who, of all men then
living, might have been thought the most capable
of appreciating it. Unless any one who approves of
punishment for the promulgation of opinions,
flatters himself that he is a wiser and better man
than Marcus Aurelius—more deeply versed in the
wisdom of his time, more elevated in his intellect
above it—more earnest in his search for truth, or
more single-minded in his devotion to it when
found;—let him abstain from that assumption of
the joint infallibility of himself and the multitude,
which the great Antoninus made with so
unfortunate a result.
Aware of the impossibility of defending the use of
punishment for restraining irreligious opinions, by
any argument which will not justify Marcus
Antoninus, the enemies of religious freedom,
when hard pressed, occasionally accept this
consequence, and say, with Dr. Johnson, that the
persecutors of Christianity were in the right; that
persecution is an ordeal through which truth
ought to pass, and always passes successfully, legal
penalties being, in the end, powerless against
truth, though sometimes beneficially effective
against mischievous errors. This is a form of the
argument for religious intolerance, sufficiently
remarkable not to be passed without notice.
A theory which maintains that truth may
justifiably be persecuted because persecution
cannot possibly do it any harm, cannot be charged
with being intentionally hostile to the reception of
new truths; but we cannot commend the
generosity of its dealing with the persons to whom
mankind are indebted for them. To discover to the
world something which deeply concerns it, and of
which it was previously ignorant; to prove to it
that it had been mistaken on some vital point of
272
temporal or spiritual interest, is as important a
service as a human being can render to his fellow-
creatures, and in certain cases, as in those of the
early Christians and of the Reformers, those who
think with Dr. Johnson believe it to have been the
most precious gift which could be bestowed on
mankind. That the authors of such splendid
benefits should be requited by martyrdom; that
their reward should be to be dealt with as the
vilest of criminals, is not, upon this theory, a
deplorable error and misfortune, for which
humanity should mourn in sackcloth and ashes,
but the normal and justifiable state of things. The
propounder of a new truth, according to this
doctrine, should stand, as stood, in the legislation
of the Locrians, the proposer of a new law, with a
halter round his neck, to be instantly tightened if
the public assembly did not, on hearing his
reasons, then and there adopt his proposition.
People who defend this mode of treating
benefactors, cannot be supposed to set much
value on the benefit; and I believe this view of the
subject is mostly confined to the sort of persons
who think that new truths may have been
desirable once, but that we have had enough of
them now.
But, indeed, the dictum that truth always
triumphs over persecution, is one of those
pleasant falsehoods which men repeat after one
another till they pass into commonplaces, but
which all experience refutes. History teems with
instances of truth put down by persecution. If not
suppressed for ever, it may be thrown back for
centuries. To speak only of religious opinions: the
Reformation broke out at least twenty times
before Luther, and was put down. Arnold of
Brescia was put down. Fra Dolcino was put down.
Savonarola was put down. The Albigeois were put
down. The Vaudois were put down. The Lollards
were put down. The Hussites were put down. Even
after the era of Luther, wherever persecution was
persisted in, it was successful. In Spain, Italy,
Flanders, the Austrian empire, Protestantism was
rooted out; and, most likely, would have been so
in England, had Queen Mary lived, or Queen
Elizabeth died. Persecution has always succeeded,
save where the heretics were too strong a party to
be effectually persecuted. No reasonable person
can doubt that Christianity might have been
extirpated in the Roman Empire. It spread, and
became predominant, because the persecutions
were only occasional, lasting but a short time, and
separated by long intervals of almost undisturbed
propagandism. It is a piece of idle sentimentality
that truth, merely as truth, has any inherent
power denied to error, of prevailing against the
dungeon and the stake. Men are not more zealous
for truth than they often are for error, and a
sufficient application of legal or even of social
penalties will generally succeed in stopping the
propagation of either. The real advantage which
truth has, consists in this, that when an opinion is
true, it may be extinguished once, twice, or many
times, but in the course of ages there will
generally be found persons to rediscover it, until
some one of its reappearances falls on a time when
from favourable circumstances it escapes
persecution until it has made such head as to
withstand all subsequent attempts to suppress it.
It will be said, that we do not now put to death the
introducers of new opinions: we are not like our
fathers who slew the prophets, we even build
sepulchres to them. It is true we no longer put
heretics to death; and the amount of penal
infliction which modern feeling would probably
tolerate, even against the most obnoxious
opinions, is not sufficient to extirpate them. But
let us not flatter ourselves that we are yet free
from the stain even of legal persecution. Penalties
for opinion, or at least for its expression, still exist
by law; and their enforcement is not, even in these
times, so unexampled as to make it at all
incredible that they may some day be revived in
full force. In the year 1857, at the summer assizes
of the county of Cornwall, an unfortunate man,[7]
said to be of unexceptionable conduct in all
relations of life, was sentenced to twenty-one
months' imprisonment, for uttering, and writing
on a gate, some offensive words concerning
Christianity. Within a month of the same time, at
the Old Bailey, two persons, on two separate
occasions,[8] were rejected as jurymen, and one of
them grossly insulted by the judge and by one of
the counsel, because they honestly declared that
they had no theological belief; and a third, a
foreigner,[9] for the same reason, was denied
justice against a thief. This refusal of redress took
place in virtue of the legal doctrine, that no person
can be allowed to give evidence in a court of
justice, who does not profess belief in a God (any
god is sufficient) and in a future state; which is
equivalent to declaring such persons to be
273
outlaws, excluded from the protection of the
tribunals; who may not only be robbed or
assaulted with impunity, if no one but themselves,
or persons of similar opinions, be present, but any
one else may be robbed or assaulted with
impunity, if the proof of the fact depends on their
evidence. The assumption on which this is
grounded, is that the oath is worthless, of a person
who does not believe in a future state; a
proposition which betokens much ignorance of
history in those who assent to it (since it is
historically true that a large proportion of infidels
in all ages have been persons of distinguished
integrity and honour); and would be maintained
by no one who had the smallest conception how
many of the persons in greatest repute with the
world, both for virtues and for attainments, are
well known, at least to their intimates, to be
unbelievers. The rule, besides, is suicidal, and cuts
away its own foundation. Under pretence that
atheists must be liars, it admits the testimony of
all atheists who are willing to lie, and rejects only
those who brave the obloquy of publicly
confessing a detested creed rather than affirm a
falsehood. A rule thus self-convicted of absurdity
so far as regards its professed purpose, can be kept
in force only as a badge of hatred, a relic of
persecution; a persecution, too, having the
peculiarity, that the qualification for undergoing
it, is the being clearly proved not to deserve it. The
rule, and the theory it implies, are hardly less
insulting to believers than to infidels. For if he
who does not believe in a future state, necessarily
lies, it follows that they who do believe are only
prevented from lying, if prevented they are, by the
fear of hell. We will not do the authors and
abettors of the rule the injury of supposing, that
the conception which they have formed of
Christian virtue is drawn from their own
consciousness.
These, indeed, are but rags and remnants of
persecution, and may be thought to be not so
much an indication of the wish to persecute, as an
example of that very frequent infirmity of English
minds, which makes them take a preposterous
pleasure in the assertion of a bad principle, when
they are no longer bad enough to desire to carry it
really into practice. But unhappily there is no
security in the state of the public mind, that the
suspension of worse forms of legal persecution,
which has lasted for about the space of a
generation, will continue. In this age the quiet
surface of routine is as often ruffled by attempts to
resuscitate past evils, as to introduce new benefits.
What is boasted of at the present time as the
revival of religion, is always, in narrow and
uncultivated minds, at least as much the revival of
bigotry; and where there is the strong permanent
leaven of intolerance in the feelings of a people,
which at all times abides in the middle classes of
this country, it needs but little to provoke them
into actively persecuting those whom they have
never ceased to think proper objects of
persecution.[10] For it is this—it is the opinions
men entertain, and the feelings they cherish,
respecting those who disown the beliefs they
deem important, which makes this country not a
place of mental freedom. For a long time past, the
chief mischief of the legal penalties is that they
strengthen the social stigma. It is that stigma
which is really effective, and so effective is it that
the profession of opinions which are under the
ban of society is much less common in England,
than is, in many other countries, the avowal of
those which incur risk of judicial punishment. In
respect to all persons but those whose pecuniary
circumstances make them independent of the
good will of other people, opinion, on this subject,
is as efficacious as law; men might as well be
imprisoned, as excluded from the means of
earning their bread. Those whose bread is already
secured, and who desire no favours from men in
power, or from bodies of men, or from the public,
have nothing to fear from the open avowal of any
opinions, but to be ill-thought of and ill-spoken
of, and this it ought not to require a very heroic
mould to enable them to bear. There is no room
for any appeal ad misericordiam in behalf of such
persons. But though we do not now inflict so
much evil on those who think differently from us,
as it was formerly our custom to do, it may be that
we do ourselves as much evil as ever by our
treatment of them. Socrates was put to death, but
the Socratic philosophy rose like the sun in
heaven, and spread its illumination over the whole
intellectual firmament. Christians were cast to the
lions, but the Christian church grew up a stately
and spreading tree, overtopping the older and less
vigorous growths, and stifling them by its shade.
Our merely social intolerance kills no one, roots
out no opinions, but induces men to disguise
them, or to abstain from any active effort for their
diffusion. With us, heretical opinions do not
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perceptibly gain, or even lose, ground in each
decade or generation; they never blaze out far and
wide, but continue to smoulder in the narrow
circles of thinking and studious persons among
whom they originate, without ever lighting up the
general affairs of mankind with either a true or a
deceptive light. And thus is kept up a state of
things very satisfactory to some minds, because,
without the unpleasant process of fining or
imprisoning anybody, it maintains all prevailing
opinions outwardly undisturbed, while it does not
absolutely interdict the exercise of reason by
dissentients afflicted with the malady of thought.
A convenient plan for having peace in the
intellectual world, and keeping all things going on
therein very much as they do already. But the
price paid for this sort of intellectual pacification,
is the sacrifice of the entire moral courage of the
human mind. A state of things in which a large
portion of the most active and inquiring intellects
find it advisable to keep the genuine principles
and grounds of their convictions within their own
breasts, and attempt, in what they address to the
public, to fit as much as they can of their own
conclusions to premises which they have
internally renounced, cannot send forth the open,
fearless characters, and logical, consistent
intellects who once adorned the thinking world.
The sort of men who can be looked for under it,
are either mere conformers to commonplace, or
time-servers for truth, whose arguments on all
great subjects are meant for their hearers, and are
not those which have convinced themselves.
Those who avoid this alternative, do so by
narrowing their thoughts and interest to things
which can be spoken of without venturing within
the region of principles, that is, to small practical
matters, which would come right of themselves, if
but the minds of mankind were strengthened and
enlarged, and which will never be made effectually
right until then: while that which would
strengthen and enlarge men's minds, free and
daring speculation on the highest subjects, is
abandoned.
Those in whose eyes this reticence on the part of
heretics is no evil, should consider in the first
place, that in consequence of it there is never any
fair and thorough discussion of heretical opinions;
and that such of them as could not stand such a
discussion, though they may be prevented from
spreading, do not disappear. But it is not the
minds of heretics that are deteriorated most, by
the ban placed on all inquiry which does not end
in the orthodox conclusions. The greatest harm
done is to those who are not heretics, and whose
whole mental development is cramped, and their
reason cowed, by the fear of heresy. Who can
compute what the world loses in the multitude of
promising intellects combined with timid
characters, who dare not follow out any bold,
vigorous, independent train of thought, lest it
should land them in something which would
admit of being considered irreligious or immoral?
Among them we may occasionally see some man
of deep conscientiousness, and subtle and refined
understanding, who spends a life in sophisticating
with an intellect which he cannot silence, and
exhausts the resources of ingenuity in attempting
to reconcile the promptings of his conscience and
reason with orthodoxy, which yet he does not,
perhaps, to the end succeed in doing. No one can
be a great thinker who does not recognise, that as
a thinker it is his first duty to follow his intellect
to whatever conclusions it may lead. Truth gains
more even by the errors of one who, with due
study and preparation, thinks for himself, than by
the true opinions of those who only hold them
because they do not suffer themselves to think.
Not that it is solely, or chiefly, to form great
thinkers, that freedom of thinking is required. On
the contrary, it is as much, and even more
indispensable, to enable average human beings to
attain the mental stature which they are capable
of. There have been, and may again be, great
individual thinkers, in a general atmosphere of
mental slavery. But there never has been, nor ever
will be, in that atmosphere, an intellectually active
people. Where any people has made a temporary
approach to such a character, it has been because
the dread of heterodox speculation was for a time
suspended. Where there is a tacit convention that
principles are not to be disputed; where the
discussion of the greatest questions which can
occupy humanity is considered to be closed, we
cannot hope to find that generally high scale of
mental activity which has made some periods of
history so remarkable. Never when controversy
avoided the subjects which are large and
important enough to kindle enthusiasm, was the
mind of a people stirred up from its foundations,
and the impulse given which raised even persons
of the most ordinary intellect to something of the
dignity of thinking beings. Of such we have had an
275
example in the condition of Europe during the
times immediately following the Reformation;
another, though limited to the Continent and to a
more cultivated class, in the speculative
movement of the latter half of the eighteenth
century; and a third, of still briefer duration, in the
intellectual fermentation of Germany during the
Goethian and Fichtean period. These periods
differed widely in the particular opinions which
they developed; but were alike in this, that during
all three the yoke of authority was broken. In
each, an old mental despotism had been thrown
off, and no new one had yet taken its place. The
impulse given at these three periods has made
Europe what it now is. Every single improvement
which has taken place either in the human mind
or in institutions, may be traced distinctly to one
or other of them. Appearances have for some time
indicated that all three impulses are well-nigh
spent; and we can expect no fresh start, until we
again assert our mental freedom.
Let us now pass to the second division of the
argument, and dismissing the supposition that
any of the received opinions may be false, let us
assume them to be true, and examine into the
worth of the manner in which they are likely to be
held, when their truth is not freely and openly
canvassed. However unwillingly a person who has
a strong opinion may admit the possibility that his
opinion may be false, he ought to be moved by the
consideration that however true it may be, if it is
not fully, frequently, and fearlessly discussed, it
will be held as a dead dogma, not a living truth.
There is a class of persons (happily not quite so
numerous as formerly) who think it enough if a
person assents undoubtingly to what they think
true, though he has no knowledge whatever of the
grounds of the opinion, and could not make a
tenable defence of it against the most superficial
objections. Such persons, if they can once get their
creed taught from authority, naturally think that
no good, and some harm, comes of its being
allowed to be questioned. Where their influence
prevails, they make it nearly impossible for the
received opinion to be rejected wisely and
considerately, though it may still be rejected
rashly and ignorantly; for to shut out discussion
entirely is seldom possible, and when it once gets
in, beliefs not grounded on conviction are apt to
give way before the slightest semblance of an
argument. Waiving, however, this possibility—
assuming that the true opinion abides in the
mind, but abides as a prejudice, a belief
independent of, and proof against, argument—
this is not the way in which truth ought to be held
by a rational being. This is not knowing the truth.
Truth, thus held, is but one superstition the more,
accidentally clinging to the words which
enunciate a truth.
If the intellect and judgment of mankind ought to
be cultivated, a thing which Protestants at least do
not deny, on what can these faculties be more
appropriately exercised by any one, than on the
things which concern him so much that it is
considered necessary for him to hold opinions on
them? If the cultivation of the understanding
consists in one thing more than in another, it is
surely in learning the grounds of one's own
opinions. Whatever people believe, on subjects on
which it is of the first importance to believe
rightly, they ought to be able to defend against at
least the common objections. But, some one may
say, "Let them be taught the grounds of their
opinions. It does not follow that opinions must be
merely parroted because they are never heard
controverted. Persons who learn geometry do not
simply commit the theorems to memory, but
understand and learn likewise the
demonstrations; and it would be absurd to say
that they remain ignorant of the grounds of
geometrical truths, because they never hear any
one deny, and attempt to disprove them."
Undoubtedly: and such teaching suffices on a
subject like mathematics, where there is nothing
at all to be said on the wrong side of the question.
The peculiarity of the evidence of mathematical
truths is, that all the argument is on one side.
There are no objections, and no answers to
objections. But on every subject on which
difference of opinion is possible, the truth
depends on a balance to be struck between two
sets of conflicting reasons. Even in natural
philosophy, there is always some other
explanation possible of the same facts; some
geocentric theory instead of heliocentric, some
phlogiston instead of oxygen; and it has to be
shown why that other theory cannot be the true
one: and until this is shown, and until we know
how it is shown, we do not understand the
grounds of our opinion. But when we turn to
subjects infinitely more complicated, to morals,
276
religion, politics, social relations, and the business
of life, three-fourths of the arguments for every
disputed opinion consist in dispelling the
appearances which favour some opinion different
from it. The greatest orator, save one, of antiquity,
has left it on record that he always studied his
adversary's case with as great, if not with still
greater, intensity than even his own. What Cicero
practised as the means of forensic success,
requires to be imitated by all who study any
subject in order to arrive at the truth. He who
knows only his own side of the case, knows little
of that. His reasons may be good, and no one may
have been able to refute them. But if he is equally
unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side;
if he does not so much as know what they are, he
has no ground for preferring either opinion. The
rational position for him would be suspension of
judgment, and unless he contents himself with
that, he is either led by authority, or adopts, like
the generality of the world, the side to which he
feels most inclination. Nor is it enough that he
should hear the arguments of adversaries from his
own teachers, presented as they state them, and
accompanied by what they offer as refutations.
That is not the way to do justice to the arguments,
or bring them into real contact with his own
mind. He must be able to hear them from persons
who actually believe them; who defend them in
earnest, and do their very utmost for them. He
must know them in their most plausible and
persuasive form; he must feel the whole force of
the difficulty which the true view of the subject
has to encounter and dispose of; else he will never
really possess himself of the portion of truth
which meets and removes that difficulty. Ninety-
nine in a hundred of what are called educated
men are in this condition; even of those who can
argue fluently for their opinions. Their conclusion
may be true, but it might be false for anything
they know: they have never thrown themselves
into the mental position of those who think
differently from them, and considered what such
persons may have to say; and consequently they
do not, in any proper sense of the word, know the
doctrine which they themselves profess. They do
not know those parts of it which explain and
justify the remainder; the considerations which
show that a fact which seemingly conflicts with
another is reconcilable with it, or that, of two
apparently strong reasons, one and not the other
ought to be preferred. All that part of the truth
which turns the scale, and decides the judgment
of a completely informed mind, they are strangers
to; nor is it ever really known, but to those who
have attended equally and impartially to both
sides, and endeavoured to see the reasons of both
in the strongest light. So essential is this discipline
to a real understanding of moral and human
subjects, that if opponents of all important truths
do not exist, it is indispensable to imagine them,
and supply them with the strongest arguments
which the most skilful devil's advocate can conjure
up.
To abate the force of these considerations, an
enemy of free discussion may be supposed to say,
that there is no necessity for mankind in general
to know and understand all that can be said
against or for their opinions by philosophers and
theologians. That it is not needful for common
men to be able to expose all the misstatements or
fallacies of an ingenious opponent. That it is
enough if there is always somebody capable of
answering them, so that nothing likely to mislead
uninstructed persons remains unrefuted. That
simple minds, having been taught the obvious
grounds of the truths inculcated on them, may
trust to authority for the rest, and being aware
that they have neither knowledge nor talent to
resolve every difficulty which can be raised, may
repose in the assurance that all those which have
been raised have been or can be answered, by
those who are specially trained to the task.
Conceding to this view of the subject the utmost
that can be claimed for it by those most easily
satisfied with the amount of understanding of
truth which ought to accompany the belief of it;
even so, the argument for free discussion is no
way weakened. For even this doctrine
acknowledges that mankind ought to have a
rational assurance that all objections have been
satisfactorily answered; and how are they to be
answered if that which requires to be answered is
not spoken? or how can the answer be known to
be satisfactory, if the objectors have no
opportunity of showing that it is unsatisfactory? If
not the public, at least the philosophers and
theologians who are to resolve the difficulties,
must make themselves familiar with those
difficulties in their most puzzling form; and this
cannot be accomplished unless they are freely
stated, and placed in the most advantageous light
277
which they admit of. The Catholic Church has its
own way of dealing with this embarrassing
problem. It makes a broad separation between
those who can be permitted to receive its
doctrines on conviction, and those who must
accept them on trust. Neither, indeed, are allowed
any choice as to what they will accept; but the
clergy, such at least as can be fully confided in,
may admissibly and meritoriously make
themselves acquainted with the arguments of
opponents, in order to answer them, and may,
therefore, read heretical books; the laity, not
unless by special permission, hard to be obtained.
This discipline recognises a knowledge of the
enemy's case as beneficial to the teachers, but
finds means, consistent with this, of denying it to
the rest of the world: thus giving to the élite more
mental culture, though not more mental freedom,
than it allows to the mass. By this device it
succeeds in obtaining the kind of mental
superiority which its purposes require; for though
culture without freedom never made a large and
liberal mind, it can make a clever nisi prius
advocate of a cause. But in countries professing
Protestantism, this resource is denied; since
Protestants hold, at least in theory, that the
responsibility for the choice of a religion must be
borne by each for himself, and cannot be thrown
off upon teachers. Besides, in the present state of
the world, it is practically impossible that writings
which are read by the instructed can be kept from
the uninstructed. If the teachers of mankind are to
be cognisant of all that they ought to know,
everything must be free to be written and
published without restraint.
If, however, the mischievous operation of the
absence of free discussion, when the received
opinions are true, were confined to leaving men
ignorant of the grounds of those opinions, it
might be thought that this, if an intellectual, is no
moral evil, and does not affect the worth of the
opinions, regarded in their influence on the
character. The fact, however, is, that not only the
grounds of the opinion are forgotten in the
absence of discussion, but too often the meaning
of the opinion itself. The words which convey it,
cease to suggest ideas, or suggest only a small
portion of those they were originally employed to
communicate. Instead of a vivid conception and a
living belief, there remain only a few phrases
retained by rote; or, if any part, the shell and husk
only of the meaning is retained, the finer essence
being lost. The great chapter in human history
which this fact occupies and fills, cannot be too
earnestly studied and meditated on.
It is illustrated in the experience of almost all
ethical doctrines and religious creeds. They are all
full of meaning and vitality to those who originate
them, and to the direct disciples of the originators.
Their meaning continues to be felt in
undiminished strength, and is perhaps brought
out into even fuller consciousness, so long as the
struggle lasts to give the doctrine or creed an
ascendency over other creeds. At last it either
prevails, and becomes the general opinion, or its
progress stops; it keeps possession of the ground it
has gained, but ceases to spread further. When
either of these results has become apparent,
controversy on the subject flags, and gradually
dies away. The doctrine has taken its place, if not
as a received opinion, as one of the admitted sects
or divisions of opinion: those who hold it have
generally inherited, not adopted it; and conversion
from one of these doctrines to another, being now
an exceptional fact, occupies little place in the
thoughts of their professors. Instead of being, as at
first, constantly on the alert either to defend
themselves against the world, or to bring the
world over to them, they have subsided into
acquiescence, and neither listen, when they can
help it, to arguments against their creed, nor
trouble dissentients (if there be such) with
arguments in its favour. From this time may
usually be dated the decline in the living power of
the doctrine. We often hear the teachers of all
creeds lamenting the difficulty of keeping up in
the minds of believers a lively apprehension of the
truth which they nominally recognise, so that it
may penetrate the feelings, and acquire a real
mastery over the conduct. No such difficulty is
complained of while the creed is still fighting for
its existence: even the weaker combatants then
know and feel what they are fighting for, and the
difference between it and other doctrines; and in
that period of every creed's existence, not a few
persons may be found, who have realised its
fundamental principles in all the forms of thought,
have weighed and considered them in all their
important bearings, and have experienced the full
effect on the character, which belief in that creed
ought to produce in a mind thoroughly imbued
with it. But when it has come to be a hereditary
278
creed, and to be received passively, not actively—
when the mind is no longer compelled, in the
same degree as at first, to exercise its vital powers
on the questions which its belief presents to it,
there is a progressive tendency to forget all of the
belief except the formularies, or to give it a dull
and torpid assent, as if accepting it on trust
dispensed with the necessity of realising it in
consciousness, or testing it by personal
experience; until it almost ceases to connect itself
at all with the inner life of the human being. Then
are seen the cases, so frequent in this age of the
world as almost to form the majority, in which the
creed remains as it were outside the mind,
encrusting and petrifying it against all other
influences addressed to the higher parts of our
nature; manifesting its power by not suffering any
fresh and living conviction to get in, but itself
doing nothing for the mind or heart, except
standing sentinel over them to keep them vacant.
To what an extent doctrines intrinsically fitted to
make the deepest impression upon the mind may
remain in it as dead beliefs, without being ever
realised in the imagination, the feelings, or the
understanding, is exemplified by the manner in
which the majority of believers hold the doctrines
of Christianity. By Christianity I here mean what is
accounted such by all churches and sects—the
maxims and precepts contained in the New
Testament. These are considered sacred, and
accepted as laws, by all professing Christians. Yet
it is scarcely too much to say that not one
Christian in a thousand guides or tests his
individual conduct by reference to those laws. The
standard to which he does refer it, is the custom of
his nation, his class, or his religious profession. He
has thus, on the one hand, a collection of ethical
maxims, which he believes to have been
vouchsafed to him by infallible wisdom as rules for
his government; and on the other, a set of every-
day judgments and practices, which go a certain
length with some of those maxims, not so great a
length with others, stand in direct opposition to
some, and are, on the whole, a compromise
between the Christian creed and the interests and
suggestions of worldly life. To the first of these
standards he gives his homage; to the other his
real allegiance. All Christians believe that the
blessed are the poor and humble, and those who
are ill-used by the world; that it is easier for a
camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for
a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven; that
they should judge not, lest they be judged; that
they should swear not at all; that they should love
their neighbour as themselves; that if one take
their cloak, they should give him their coat also;
that they should take no thought for the morrow;
that if they would be perfect, they should sell all
that they have and give it to the poor. They are
not insincere when they say that they believe
these things. They do believe them, as people
believe what they have always heard lauded and
never discussed. But in the sense of that living
belief which regulates conduct, they believe these
doctrines just up to the point to which it is usual
to act upon them. The doctrines in their integrity
are serviceable to pelt adversaries with; and it is
understood that they are to be put forward (when
possible) as the reasons for whatever people do
that they think laudable. But any one who
reminded them that the maxims require an
infinity of things which they never even think of
doing, would gain nothing but to be classed
among those very unpopular characters who affect
to be better than other people. The doctrines have
no hold on ordinary believers—are not a power in
their minds. They have a habitual respect for the
sound of them, but no feeling which spreads from
the words to the things signified, and forces the
mind to take them in, and make them conform to
the formula. Whenever conduct is concerned, they
look round for Mr. A and B to direct them how far
to go in obeying Christ.
Now we may be well assured that the case was not
thus, but far otherwise, with the early Christians.
Had it been thus, Christianity never would have
expanded from an obscure sect of the despised
Hebrews into the religion of the Roman empire.
When their enemies said, "See how these
Christians love one another" (a remark not likely
to be made by anybody now), they assuredly had a
much livelier feeling of the meaning of their creed
than they have ever had since. And to this cause,
probably, it is chiefly owing that Christianity now
makes so little progress in extending its domain,
and after eighteen centuries, is still nearly
confined to Europeans and the descendants of
Europeans. Even with the strictly religious, who
are much in earnest about their doctrines, and
attach a greater amount of meaning to many of
them than people in general, it commonly
happens that the part which is thus comparatively
279
active in their minds is that which was made by
Calvin, or Knox, or some such person much nearer
in character to themselves. The sayings of Christ
coexist passively in their minds, producing hardly
any effect beyond what is caused by mere listening
to words so amiable and bland. There are many
reasons, doubtless, why doctrines which are the
badge of a sect retain more of their vitality than
those common to all recognised sects, and why
more pains are taken by teachers to keep their
meaning alive; but one reason certainly is, that the
peculiar doctrines are more questioned, and have
to be oftener defended against open gainsayers.
Both teachers and learners go to sleep at their
post, as soon as there is no enemy in the field.
The same thing holds true, generally speaking, of
all traditional doctrines—those of prudence and
knowledge of life, as well as of morals or religion.
All languages and literatures are full of general
observations on life, both as to what it is, and how
to conduct oneself in it; observations which
everybody knows, which everybody repeats, or
hears with acquiescence, which are received as
truisms, yet of which most people first truly learn
the meaning, when experience, generally of a
painful kind, has made it a reality to them. How
often, when smarting under some unforeseen
misfortune or disappointment, does a person call
to mind some proverb or common saying, familiar
to him all his life, the meaning of which, if he had
ever before felt it as he does now, would have
saved him from the calamity. There are indeed
reasons for this, other than the absence of
discussion: there are many truths of which the full
meaning cannot be realised, until personal
experience has brought it home. But much more
of the meaning even of these would have been
understood, and what was understood would have
been far more deeply impressed on the mind, if
the man had been accustomed to hear it argued
pro and con by people who did understand it. The
fatal tendency of mankind to leave off thinking
about a thing when it is no longer doubtful, is the
cause of half their errors. A contemporary author
has well spoken of "the deep slumber of a decided
opinion."
But what! (it may be asked) Is the absence of
unanimity an indispensable condition of true
knowledge? Is it necessary that some part of
mankind should persist in error, to enable any to
realise the truth? Does a belief cease to be real and
vital as soon as it is generally received—and is a
proposition never thoroughly understood and felt
unless some doubt of it remains? As soon as
mankind have unanimously accepted a truth, does
the truth perish within them? The highest aim and
best result of improved intelligence, it has hitherto
been thought, is to unite mankind more and more
in the acknowledgment of all important truths:
and does the intelligence only last as long as it has
not achieved its object? Do the fruits of conquest
perish by the very completeness of the victory?
I affirm no such thing. As mankind improve, the
number of doctrines which are no longer disputed
or doubted will be constantly on the increase: and
the well-being of mankind may almost be
measured by the number and gravity of the truths
which have reached the point of being
uncontested. The cessation, on one question after
another, of serious controversy, is one of the
necessary incidents of the consolidation of
opinion; a consolidation as salutary in the case of
true opinions, as it is dangerous and noxious when
the opinions are erroneous. But though this
gradual narrowing of the bounds of diversity of
opinion is necessary in both senses of the term,
being at once inevitable and indispensable, we are
not therefore obliged to conclude that all its
consequences must be beneficial. The loss of so
important an aid to the intelligent and living
apprehension of a truth, as is afforded by the
necessity of explaining it to, or defending it
against, opponents, though not sufficient to
outweigh, is no trifling drawback from, the benefit
of its universal recognition. Where this advantage
can no longer be had, I confess I should like to see
the teachers of mankind endeavouring to provide
a substitute for it; some contrivance for making
the difficulties of the question as present to the
learner's consciousness, as if they were pressed
upon him by a dissentient champion, eager for his
conversion.
But instead of seeking contrivances for this
purpose, they have lost those they formerly had.
The Socratic dialectics, so magnificently
exemplified in the dialogues of Plato, were a
contrivance of this description. They were
essentially a negative discussion of the great
questions of philosophy and life, directed with
consummate skill to the purpose of convincing
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any one who had merely adopted the
commonplaces of received opinion, that he did
not understand the subject—that he as yet
attached no definite meaning to the doctrines he
professed; in order that, becoming aware of his
ignorance, he might be put in the way to attain a
stable belief, resting on a clear apprehension both
of the meaning of doctrines and of their evidence.
The school disputations of the middle ages had a
somewhat similar object. They were intended to
make sure that the pupil understood his own
opinion, and (by necessary correlation) the
opinion opposed to it, and could enforce the
grounds of the one and confute those of the other.
These last-mentioned contests had indeed the
incurable defect, that the premises appealed to
were taken from authority, not from reason; and,
as a discipline to the mind, they were in every
respect inferior to the powerful dialectics which
formed the intellects of the "Socratici viri": but the
modern mind owes far more to both than it is
generally willing to admit, and the present modes
of education contain nothing which in the
smallest degree supplies the place either of the
one or of the other. A person who derives all his
instruction from teachers or books, even if he
escape the besetting temptation of contenting
himself with cram, is under no compulsion to hear
both sides; accordingly it is far from a frequent
accomplishment, even among thinkers, to know
both sides; and the weakest part of what
everybody says in defence of his opinion, is what
he intends as a reply to antagonists. It is the
fashion of the present time to disparage negative
logic—that which points out weaknesses in theory
or errors in practice, without establishing positive
truths. Such negative criticism would indeed be
poor enough as an ultimate result; but as a means
to attaining any positive knowledge or conviction
worthy the name, it cannot be valued too highly;
and until people are again systematically trained
to it, there will be few great thinkers, and a low
general average of intellect, in any but the
mathematical and physical departments of
speculation. On any other subject no one's
opinions deserve the name of knowledge, except
so far as he has either had forced upon him by
others, or gone through of himself, the same
mental process which would have been required
of him in carrying on an active controversy with
opponents. That, therefore, which when absent, it
is so indispensable, but so difficult, to create, how
worse than absurd is it to forego, when
spontaneously offering itself! If there are any
persons who contest a received opinion, or who
will do so if law or opinion will let them, let us
thank them for it, open our minds to listen to
them, and rejoice that there is some one to do for
us what we otherwise ought, if we have any regard
for either the certainty or the vitality of our
convictions, to do with much greater labour for
ourselves.
It still remains to speak of one of the principal
causes which make diversity of opinion
advantageous, and will continue to do so until
mankind shall have entered a stage of intellectual
advancement which at present seems at an
incalculable distance. We have hitherto
considered only two possibilities: that the received
opinion may be false, and some other opinion,
consequently, true; or that, the received opinion
being true, a conflict with the opposite error is
essential to a clear apprehension and deep feeling
of its truth. But there is a commoner case than
either of these; when the conflicting doctrines,
instead of being one true and the other false, share
the truth between them; and the nonconforming
opinion is needed to supply the remainder of the
truth, of which the received doctrine embodies
only a part. Popular opinions, on subjects not
palpable to sense, are often true, but seldom or
never the whole truth. They are a part of the truth;
sometimes a greater, sometimes a smaller part,
but exaggerated, distorted, and disjoined from the
truths by which they ought to be accompanied
and limited. Heretical opinions, on the other
hand, are generally some of these suppressed and
neglected truths, bursting the bonds which kept
them down, and either seeking reconciliation with
the truth contained in the common opinion, or
fronting it as enemies, and setting themselves up,
with similar exclusiveness, as the whole truth. The
latter case is hitherto the most frequent, as, in the
human mind, one-sidedness has always been the
rule, and many-sidedness the exception. Hence,
even in revolutions of opinion, one part of the
truth usually sets while another rises. Even
progress, which ought to superadd, for the most
part only substitutes one partial and incomplete
truth for another; improvement consisting chiefly
in this, that the new fragment of truth is more
wanted, more adapted to the needs of the time,
than that which it displaces. Such being the partial
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character of prevailing opinions, even when
resting on a true foundation; every opinion which
embodies somewhat of the portion of truth which
the common opinion omits, ought to be
considered precious, with whatever amount of
error and confusion that truth may be blended.
No sober judge of human affairs will feel bound to
be indignant because those who force on our
notice truths which we should otherwise have
overlooked, overlook some of those which we see.
Rather, he will think that so long as popular truth
is one-sided, it is more desirable than otherwise
that unpopular truth should have one-sided
asserters too; such being usually the most
energetic, and the most likely to compel reluctant
attention to the fragment of wisdom which they
proclaim as if it were the whole.
Thus, in the eighteenth century, when nearly all
the instructed, and all those of the uninstructed
who were led by them, were lost in admiration of
what is called civilisation, and of the marvels of
modern science, literature, and philosophy, and
while greatly overrating the amount of unlikeness
between the men of modern and those of ancient
times, indulged the belief that the whole of the
difference was in their own favour; with what a
salutary shock did the paradoxes of Rousseau
explode like bombshells in the midst, dislocating
the compact mass of one-sided opinion, and
forcing its elements to recombine in a better form
and with additional ingredients. Not that the
current opinions were on the whole farther from
the truth than Rousseau's were; on the contrary,
they were nearer to it; they contained more of
positive truth, and very much less of error.
Nevertheless there lay in Rousseau's doctrine, and
has floated down the stream of opinion along with
it, a considerable amount of exactly those truths
which the popular opinion wanted; and these are
the deposit which was left behind when the flood
subsided. The superior worth of simplicity of life,
the enervating and demoralising effect of the
trammels and hypocrisies of artificial society, are
ideas which have never been entirely absent from
cultivated minds since Rousseau wrote; and they
will in time produce their due effect, though at
present needing to be asserted as much as ever,
and to be asserted by deeds, for words, on this
subject, have nearly exhausted their power.
In politics, again, it is almost a commonplace, that
a party of order or stability, and a party of progress
or reform, are both necessary elements of a
healthy state of political life; until the one or the
other shall have so enlarged its mental grasp as to
be a party equally of order and of progress,
knowing and distinguishing what is fit to be
preserved from what ought to be swept away.
Each of these modes of thinking derives its utility
from the deficiencies of the other; but it is in a
great measure the opposition of the other that
keeps each within the limits of reason and sanity.
Unless opinions favourable to democracy and to
aristocracy, to property and to equality, to co-
operation and to competition, to luxury and to
abstinence, to sociality and individuality, to liberty
and discipline, and all the other standing
antagonisms of practical life, are expressed with
equal freedom, and enforced and defended with
equal talent and energy, there is no chance of both
elements obtaining their due; one scale is sure to
go up and the other down. Truth, in the great
practical concerns of life, is so much a question of
the reconciling and combining of opposites, that
very few have minds sufficiently capacious and
impartial to make the adjustment with an
approach to correctness, and it has to be made by
the rough process of a struggle between
combatants fighting under hostile banners. On
any of the great open questions just enumerated,
if either of the two opinions has a better claim
than the other, not merely to be tolerated, but to
be encouraged and countenanced, it is the one
which happens at the particular time and place to
be in a minority. That is the opinion which, for the
time being, represents the neglected interests, the
side of human well-being which is in danger of
obtaining less than its share. I am aware that there
is not, in this country, any intolerance of
differences of opinion on most of these topics.
They are adduced to show, by admitted and
multiplied examples, the universality of the fact,
that only through diversity of opinion is there, in
the existing state of human intellect, a chance of
fair-play to all sides of the truth. When there are
persons to be found, who form an exception to the
apparent unanimity of the world on any subject,
even if the world is in the right, it is always
probable that dissentients have something worth
hearing to say for themselves, and that truth
would lose something by their silence.
282
It may be objected, "But some received principles,
especially on the highest and most vital subjects,
are more than half-truths. The Christian morality,
for instance, is the whole truth on that subject,
and if any one teaches a morality which varies
from it, he is wholly in error." As this is of all cases
the most important in practice, none can be fitter
to test the general maxim. But before pronouncing
what Christian morality is or is not, it would be
desirable to decide what is meant by Christian
morality. If it means the morality of the New
Testament, I wonder that any one who derives his
knowledge of this from the book itself, can
suppose that it was announced, or intended, as a
complete doctrine of morals. The Gospel always
refers to a pre-existing morality, and confines its
precepts to the particulars in which that morality
was to be corrected, or superseded by a wider and
higher; expressing itself, moreover, in terms most
general, often impossible to be interpreted
literally, and possessing rather the impressiveness
of poetry or eloquence than the precision of
legislation. To extract from it a body of ethical
doctrine, has ever been possible without eking it
out from the Old Testament, that is, from a
system elaborate indeed, but in many respects
barbarous, and intended only for a barbarous
people. St. Paul, a declared enemy to this Judaical
mode of interpreting the doctrine and filling up
the scheme of his Master, equally assumes a pre-
existing morality, namely, that of the Greeks and
Romans; and his advice to Christians is in a great
measure a system of accommodation to that; even
to the extent of giving an apparent sanction to
slavery. What is called Christian, but should
rather be termed theological, morality, was not
the work of Christ or the Apostles, but is of much
later origin, having been gradually built up by the
Catholic church of the first five centuries, and
though not implicitly adopted by moderns and
Protestants, has been much less modified by them
than might have been expected. For the most part,
indeed, they have contented themselves with
cutting off the additions which had been made to
it in the middle ages, each sect supplying the place
by fresh additions, adapted to its own character
and tendencies. That mankind owe a great debt to
this morality, and to its early teachers, I should be
the last person to deny; but I do not scruple to say
of it, that it is, in many important points,
incomplete and one-sided, and that unless ideas
and feelings, not sanctioned by it, had contributed
to the formation of European life and character,
human affairs would have been in a worse
condition than they now are. Christian morality
(so called) has all the characters of a reaction; it is,
in great part, a protest against Paganism. Its ideal
is negative rather than positive; passive rather
than active; Innocence rather than Nobleness;
Abstinence from Evil, rather than energetic
Pursuit of Good: in its precepts (as has been well
said) "thou shalt not" predominates unduly over
"thou shalt." In its horror of sensuality, it made an
idol of asceticism, which has been gradually
compromised away into one of legality. It holds
out the hope of heaven and the threat of hell, as
the appointed and appropriate motives to a
virtuous life: in this falling far below the best of
the ancients, and doing what lies in it to give to
human morality an essentially selfish character, by
disconnecting each man's feelings of duty from
the interests of his fellow-creatures, except so far
as a self-interested inducement is offered to him
for consulting them. It is essentially a doctrine of
passive obedience; it inculcates submission to all
authorities found established; who indeed are not
to be actively obeyed when they command what
religion forbids, but who are not to be resisted, far
less rebelled against, for any amount of wrong to
ourselves. And while, in the morality of the best
Pagan nations, duty to the State holds even a
disproportionate place, infringing on the just
liberty of the individual; in purely Christian ethics,
that grand department of duty is scarcely noticed
or acknowledged. It is in the Koran, not the New
Testament, that we read the maxim—"A ruler who
appoints any man to an office, when there is in his
dominions another man better qualified for it, sins
against God and against the State." What little
recognition the idea of obligation to the public
obtains in modern morality, is derived from Greek
and Roman sources, not from Christian; as, even
in the morality of private life, whatever exists of
magnanimity, high-mindedness, personal dignity,
even the sense of honour, is derived from the
purely human, not the religious part of our
education, and never could have grown out of a
standard of ethics in which the only worth,
professedly recognised, is that of obedience.
I am as far as any one from pretending that these
defects are necessarily inherent in the Christian
ethics, in every manner in which it can be
conceived, or that the many requisites of a
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complete moral doctrine which it does not
contain, do not admit of being reconciled with it.
Far less would I insinuate this of the doctrines and
precepts of Christ himself. I believe that the
sayings of Christ are all, that I can see any
evidence of their having been intended to be; that
they are irreconcilable with nothing which a
comprehensive morality requires; that everything
which is excellent in ethics may be brought within
them, with no greater violence to their language
than has been done to it by all who have
attempted to deduce from them any practical
system of conduct whatever. But it is quite
consistent with this, to believe that they contain,
and were meant to contain, only a part of the
truth; that many essential elements of the highest
morality are among the things which are not
provided for, nor intended to be provided for, in
the recorded deliverances of the Founder of
Christianity, and which have been entirely thrown
aside in the system of ethics erected on the basis
of those deliverances by the Christian Church.
And this being so, I think it a great error to persist
in attempting to find in the Christian doctrine
that complete rule for our guidance, which its
author intended it to sanction and enforce, but
only partially to provide. I believe, too, that this
narrow theory is becoming a grave practical evil,
detracting greatly from the value of the moral
training and instruction, which so many well-
meaning persons are now at length exerting
themselves to promote. I much fear that by
attempting to form the mind and feelings on an
exclusively religious type, and discarding those
secular standards (as for want of a better name
they may be called) which heretofore co-existed
with and supplemented the Christian ethics,
receiving some of its spirit, and infusing into it
some of theirs, there will result, and is even now
resulting, a low, abject, servile type of character,
which, submit itself as it may to what it deems the
Supreme Will, is incapable of rising to or
sympathising in the conception of Supreme
Goodness. I believe that other ethics than any
which can be evolved from exclusively Christian
sources, must exist side by side with Christian
ethics to produce the moral regeneration of
mankind; and that the Christian system is no
exception to the rule, that in an imperfect state of
the human mind, the interests of truth require a
diversity of opinions. It is not necessary that in
ceasing to ignore the moral truths not contained
in Christianity, men should ignore any of those
which it does contain. Such prejudice, or
oversight, when it occurs, is altogether an evil; but
it is one from which we cannot hope to be always
exempt, and must be regarded as the price paid
for an inestimable good. The exclusive pretension
made by a part of the truth to be the whole, must
and ought to be protested against, and if a
reactionary impulse should make the protestors
unjust in their turn, this one-sidedness, like the
other, may be lamented, but must be tolerated. If
Christians would teach infidels to be just to
Christianity, they should themselves be just to
infidelity. It can do truth no service to blink the
fact, known to all who have the most ordinary
acquaintance with literary history, that a large
portion of the noblest and most valuable moral
teaching has been the work, not only of men who
did not know, but of men who knew and rejected,
the Christian faith.
I do not pretend that the most unlimited use of
the freedom of enunciating all possible opinions
would put an end to the evils of religious or
philosophical sectarianism. Every truth which
men of narrow capacity are in earnest about, is
sure to be asserted, inculcated, and in many ways
even acted on, as if no other truth existed in the
world, or at all events none that could limit or
qualify the first. I acknowledge that the tendency
of all opinions to become sectarian is not cured by
the freest discussion, but is often heightened and
exacerbated thereby; the truth which ought to
have been, but was not, seen, being rejected all the
more violently because proclaimed by persons
regarded as opponents. But it is not on the
impassioned partisan, it is on the calmer and more
disinterested bystander, that this collision of
opinions works its salutary effect. Not the violent
conflict between parts of the truth, but the quiet
suppression of half of it, is the formidable evil:
there is always hope when people are forced to
listen to both sides; it is when they attend only to
one that errors harden into prejudices, and truth
itself ceases to have the effect of truth, by being
exaggerated into falsehood. And since there are
few mental attributes more rare than that judicial
faculty which can sit in intelligent judgment
between two sides of a question, of which only
one is represented by an advocate before it, truth
has no chance but in proportion as every side of it,
every opinion which embodies any fraction of the
284
truth, not only finds advocates, but is so
advocated as to be listened to.
We have now recognised the necessity to the
mental well-being of mankind (on which all their
other well-being depends) of freedom of opinion,
and freedom of the expression of opinion, on four
distinct grounds; which we will now briefly
recapitulate.
First, if any opinion is compelled to silence, that
opinion may, for aught we can certainly know, be
true. To deny this is to assume our own
infallibility.
Secondly, though the silenced opinion be an error,
it may, and very commonly does, contain a
portion of truth; and since the general or
prevailing opinion on any subject is rarely or never
the whole truth, it is only by the collision of
adverse opinions, that the remainder of the truth
has any chance of being supplied.
Thirdly, even if the received opinion be not only
true, but the whole truth; unless it is suffered to
be, and actually is, vigorously and earnestly
contested, it will, by most of those who receive it,
be held in the manner of a prejudice, with little
comprehension or feeling of its rational grounds.
And not only this, but, fourthly, the meaning of
the doctrine itself will be in danger of being lost,
or enfeebled, and deprived of its vital effect on the
character and conduct: the dogma becoming a
mere formal profession, inefficacious for good, but
cumbering the ground, and preventing the growth
of any real and heartfelt conviction, from reason
or personal experience.
Before quitting the subject of freedom of opinion,
it is fit to take some notice of those who say, that
the free expression of all opinions should be
permitted, on condition that the manner be
temperate, and do not pass the bounds of fair
discussion. Much might be said on the
impossibility of fixing where these supposed
bounds are to be placed; for if the test be offence
to those whose opinion is attacked, I think
experience testifies that this offence is given
whenever the attack is telling and powerful, and
that every opponent who pushes them hard, and
whom they find it difficult to answer, appears to
them, if he shows any strong feeling on the
subject, an intemperate opponent. But this,
though an important consideration in a practical
point of view, merges in a more fundamental
objection. Undoubtedly the manner of asserting
an opinion, even though it be a true one, may be
very objectionable, and may justly incur severe
censure. But the principal offences of the kind are
such as it is mostly impossible, unless by
accidental self-betrayal, to bring home to
conviction. The gravest of them is, to argue
sophistically, to suppress facts or arguments, to
misstate the elements of the case, or misrepresent
the opposite opinion. But all this, even to the most
aggravated degree, is so continually done in
perfect good faith, by persons who are not
considered, and in many other respects may not
deserve to be considered, ignorant or
incompetent, that it is rarely possible on adequate
grounds conscientiously to stamp the
misrepresentation as morally culpable; and still
less could law presume to interfere with this kind
of controversial misconduct. With regard to what
is commonly meant by intemperate discussion,
namely invective, sarcasm, personality, and the
like, the denunciation of these weapons would
deserve more sympathy if it were ever proposed to
interdict them equally to both sides; but it is only
desired to restrain the employment of them
against the prevailing opinion: against the
unprevailing they may not only be used without
general disapproval, but will be likely to obtain for
him who uses them the praise of honest zeal and
righteous indignation. Yet whatever mischief
arises from their use, is greatest when they are
employed against the comparatively defenceless;
and whatever unfair advantage can be derived by
any opinion from this mode of asserting it, accrues
almost exclusively to received opinions. The worst
offence of this kind which can be committed by a
polemic, is to stigmatise those who hold the
contrary opinion as bad and immoral men. To
calumny of this sort, those who hold any
unpopular opinion are peculiarly exposed, because
they are in general few and uninfluential, and
nobody but themselves feel much interest in
seeing justice done them; but this weapon is, from
the nature of the case, denied to those who attack
a prevailing opinion: they can neither use it with
safety to themselves, nor, if they could, would it
do anything but recoil on their own cause. In
general, opinions contrary to those commonly
received can only obtain a hearing by studied
moderation of language, and the most cautious
285
avoidance of unnecessary offence, from which
they hardly ever deviate even in a slight degree
without losing ground: while unmeasured
vituperation employed on the side of the
prevailing opinion, really does deter people from
professing contrary opinions, and from listening
to those who profess them. For the interest,
therefore, of truth and justice, it is far more
important to restrain this employment of
vituperative language than the other; and, for
example, if it were necessary to choose, there
would be much more need to discourage offensive
attacks on infidelity, than on religion. It is,
however, obvious that law and authority have no
business with restraining either, while opinion
ought, in every instance, to determine its verdict
by the circumstances of the individual case;
condemning every one, on whichever side of the
argument he places himself, in whose mode of
advocacy either want of candour, or malignity,
bigotry, or intolerance of feeling manifest
themselves; but not inferring these vices from the
side which a person takes, though it be the
contrary side of the question to our own: and
giving merited honour to every one, whatever
opinion he may hold, who has calmness to see and
honesty to state what his opponents and their
opinions really are, exaggerating nothing to their
discredit, keeping nothing back which tells, or can
be supposed to tell, in their favour. This is the real
morality of public discussion; and if often violated,
I am happy to think that there are many
controversialists who to a great extent observe it,
and a still greater number who conscientiously
strive towards it.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] These words had scarcely been written, when, as if to give them an
emphatic contradiction, occurred the Government Press Prosecutions of
1858. That ill-judged interference with the liberty of public discussion has
not, however, induced me to alter a single word in the text, nor has it at all
weakened my conviction that, moments of panic excepted, the era of pains
and penalties for political discussion has, in our own country, passed away.
For, in the first place, the prosecutions were not persisted in; and, in the
second, they were never, properly speaking, political prosecutions. The
offence charged was not that of criticising institutions, or the acts or
persons of rulers, but of circulating what was deemed an immoral doctrine,
the lawfulness of Tyrannicide.
If the arguments of the present chapter are of any validity, there ought to
exist the fullest liberty of professing and discussing, as a matter of ethical
conviction, any doctrine, however immoral it may be considered. It would,
therefore, be irrelevant and out of place to examine here, whether the
doctrine of Tyrannicide deserves that title. I shall content myself with
saying, that the subject has been at all times one of the open questions of
morals; that the act of a private citizen in striking down a criminal, who, by
raising himself above the law, has placed himself beyond the reach of legal
punishment or control, has been accounted by whole nations, and by some
of the best and wisest of men, not a crime, but an act of exalted virtue; and
that, right or wrong, it is not of the nature of assassination, but of civil war.
As such, I hold that the instigation to it, in a specific case, may be a proper
subject of punishment, but only if an overt act has followed, and at least a
probable connection can be established between the act and the instigation.
Even then, it is not a foreign government, but the very government assailed,
which alone, in the exercise of self-defence, can legitimately punish attacks
directed against its own existence.
[7] Thomas Pooley, Bodmin Assizes, July 31, 1857. In December following, he
received a free pardon from the Crown.
[8] George Jacob Holyoake, August 17, 1857; Edward Truelove, July, 1857.
[9] Baron de Gleichen, Marlborough-Street Police Court, August 4, 1857.
[10] Ample warning may be drawn from the large infusion of the passions of
a persecutor, which mingled with the general display of the worst parts of
our national character on the occasion of the Sepoy insurrection. The
ravings of fanatics or charlatans from the pulpit may be unworthy of notice;
but the heads of the Evangelical party have announced as their principle,
for the government of Hindoos and Mahomedans, that no schools be
supported by public money in which the Bible is not taught, and by
necessary consequence that no public employment be given to any but real
or pretended Christians. An Under-Secretary of State, in a speech delivered
to his constituents on the 12th of November, 1857, is reported to have said:
"Toleration of their faith" (the faith of a hundred millions of British
subjects), "the superstition which they called religion, by the British
Government, had had the effect of retarding the ascendency of the British
name, and preventing the salutary growth of Christianity.... Toleration was
the great corner-stone of the religious liberties of this country; but do not
let them abuse that precious word toleration. As he understood it, it meant
the complete liberty to all, freedom of worship, among Christians, who
worshipped upon the same foundation. It meant toleration of all sects and
denominations of Christians who believed in the one mediation." I desire to
call attention to the fact, that a man who has been deemed fit to fill a high
office in the government of this country, under a liberal Ministry, maintains
the doctrine that all who do not believe in the divinity of Christ are beyond
the pale of toleration. Who, after this imbecile display, can indulge the
illusion that religious persecution has passed away, never to return?
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Portrait of Lao Tzu (605-520 BC). Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest,
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
Translated by J. Legge,
(Selections)
2
All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful,
and in doing this they have (the idea of) what
ugliness is; they all know the skill of the skilful,
and in doing this they have (the idea of) what the
want of skill is.
So it is that existence and non-existence give birth
the one to (the idea of) the other; that difficulty
and ease produce the one (the idea of) the other;
that length and shortness fashion out the one the
figure of the other; that (the ideas of) height and
lowness arise from the contrast of the one with
the other; that the musical notes and tones
become harmonious through the relation of one
with another; and that being before and behind
give the idea of one following another.
Therefore the sage manages affairs without doing
anything, and conveys his instructions without the
use of speech.
All things spring up, and there is not one which
declines to show itself; they grow, and there is no
claim made for their ownership;
they go through their processes, and there is no
expectation (of a reward for the results). The work
is accomplished, and there is no resting in it (as an
achievement).
The work is done, but how no one can see; 'Tis
this that makes the power not cease to be.
8
The highest excellence is like (that of) water. The
excellence of water appears in its benefiting all
things, and in its occupying, without striving (to
the contrary), the low place which all men dislike.
Hence (its way) is near to (that of) the Tao.
The excellence of a residence is in (the suitability
of) the place; that of the mind is in abysmal
stillness; that of associations is in their being with
the virtuous; that of government is in its securing
good order; that of (the conduct of) affairs is in its
ability; and that of (the initiation of) any
movement is in its timeliness.
And when (one with the highest excellence) does
not wrangle (about his low position), no one finds
fault with him.
9
It is better to leave a vessel unfilled, than to
attempt to carry it when it is full. If you keep
feeling a point that has been sharpened, the point
cannot long preserve its sharpness.
When gold and jade fill the hall, their possessor
cannot keep them safe. When wealth and honours
lead to arrogancy, this brings its evil on itself.
When the work is done, and one's name is
becoming distinguished, to withdraw into
obscurity is the way of Heaven.
10
When the intelligent and animal souls are held
together in one embrace, they can be kept from
separating. When one gives undivided attention to
the (vital) breath, and brings it to the utmost
degree of pliancy, he can become as a (tender)
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babe. When he has cleansed away the most
mysterious sights (of his imagination), he can
become without a flaw.
In loving the people and ruling the state, cannot
he proceed without any (purpose of) action? In
the opening and shutting of his gates of heaven,
cannot he do so as a female bird? While his
intelligence reaches in every direction, cannot he
(appear to) be without knowledge?
(The Tao) produces (all things) and nourishes
them; it produces them and does not claim them
as its own; it does all, and yet does not boast of it;
it presides over all, and yet does not control them.
This is what is called 'The mysterious Quality' (of
the Tao).
16
The (state of) vacancy should be brought to the
utmost degree, and that of stillness guarded with
unwearying vigour. All things alike go through
their processes of activity, and (then) we see them
return (to their original state). When things (in
the vegetable world) have displayed their
luxuriant growth, we see each of them return to its
root. This returning to their root is what we call
the state of stillness; and that stillness may be
called a reporting that they have fulfilled their
appointed end.
The report of that fulfilment is the regular,
unchanging rule. To know that unchanging rule is
to be intelligent; not to know it leads
to wild movements and evil issues. The knowledge
of that unchanging rule produces a (grand)
capacity and forbearance, and that capacity and
forbearance lead to a community (of feeling with
all things).
From this community of feeling comes a
kingliness of character; and he who is king -like
goes on to be heaven-like. In that likeness to
heaven he possesses the Tao. Possessed of the Tao,
he endures long; and to the end of his bodily life,
is exempt from all danger of decay.
21
The grandest forms of active force From Tao
come, their only source.
Who can of Tao the nature tell? Our sight it flies,
our touch as well.
Eluding sight, eluding touch, The forms of things
all in it crouch;
Eluding touch, eluding sight, There are their
semblances, all right.
Profound it is, dark and obscure; Things' essences
all there endure.
Those essences the truth enfold Of what, when
seen, shall then be told. Now it is so; 'twas so of
old.
Its name--what passes not away; So, in their
beautiful array, Things form and never know
decay.
How know I that it is so with all the beauties of
existing things? By this (nature of the Tao).
22
The partial becomes complete; the crooked,
straight; the empty, full; the worn out, new. He
whose (desires) are few gets them; he whose
(desires) are many goes astray.
Therefore the sage holds in his embrace the one
thing (of humility), and manifests it to all the
world. He is free from self- display, and therefore
he shines; from self-assertion, and therefore he is
distinguished; from self-boasting, and therefore
his merit is acknowledged; from self-complacency,
and therefore he acquires superiority. It is because
he is thus free from striving that therefore no one
in the world is able to strive with him.
That saying of the ancients that 'the partial
becomes complete' was not vainly spoken:--all real
completion is comprehended under it.
23
Abstaining from speech marks him who is obeying
the spontaneity of his nature. A violent wind does
not last for a whole morning; a sudden rain does
not last for the whole day. To whom is it that
these (two) things are owing? To Heaven and
Earth. If Heaven and Earth cannot make such
(spasmodic) actings last long, how much less can
man!
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Therefore when one is making the Tao his
business, those who are also pursuing it, agree
with him in it, and those who are making the
manifestation of its course their object agree with
him in that; while even those who are failing in
both these things agree with him where they fail.
Hence, those with whom he agrees as to the Tao
have the happiness of attaining to it; those with
whom he agrees as to its manifestation have the
happiness of attaining to it; and those with whom
he agrees in their failure have also the happiness
of attaining (to the Tao).
(But) when there is not faith sufficient (on his
part), a want of faith (in him) ensues (on the part
of the others).
28
Who knows his manhood's strength, Yet still his
female feebleness maintains;
As to one channel flow the many drains, All come
to him, yea, all beneath the sky.
Thus he the constant excellence retains; The
simple child again, free from all stains.
Who knows how white attracts, Yet always keeps
himself within black's shade, The pattern of
humility displayed, Displayed in view of all
beneath the sky; He in the unchanging excellence
arrayed,
Endless return to man's first state has made. Who
knows how glory shines, Yet loves disgrace, nor
e'er for it is pale;
Behold his presence in a spacious vale, To which
men come from all beneath the sky.
The unchanging excellence completes its tale;
The simple infant man in him we hail.
The unwrought material, when divided and
distributed, forms vessels. The sage, when
employed, becomes the Head of all the Officers (of
government); and in his greatest regulations he
employsno violent measures.
38
(Those who) possessed in highest degree the
attributes (of the Tao) did not (seek) to show
them, and therefore they possessed them (in
fullest measure). (Those who) possessed in a lower
degree those attributes (sought how) not to lose
them, and therefore they did not possess them (in
fullest measure).
(Those who) possessed in the highest degree those
attributes did nothing (with a purpose), and had
no need to do anything. (Those who) possessed
them in a lower degree were (always) doing, and
had need to be so doing.
(Those who) possessed the highest benevolence
were (always seeking) to carry it out, and had no
need to be doing so. (Those who) possessed the
highest righteousness were (always seeking) to
carry it out, and had need to be so doing.
(Those who) possessed the highest (sense of)
propriety were (always seeking) to show it, and
when men did not respond to it, they bared the
arm and marched up to them.
Thus it was that when the Tao was lost, its
attributes appeared; when its attributes were lost,
benevolence appeared; when benevolence was
lost, righteousness appeared; and when
righteousness was lost, the proprieties appeared.
Now propriety is the attenuated form of leal-
heartedness and good faith, and is also the
commencement of disorder; swift apprehension is
(only) a flower of the Tao, and is the beginning of
stupidity.
Thus it is that the Great man abides by what is
solid, and eschews what is flimsy; dwells with the
fruit and not with the flower. It is thus that he
puts away the one and makes choice of the other.
57
A state may be ruled by (measures of) correction;
weapons of war may be used with crafty dexterity;
(but) the kingdom is made one's own (only) by
freedom from action and purpose.
How do I know that it is so? By these facts:--In the
kingdom the multiplication of prohibitive
enactments increases the poverty of the people;
the more implements to add to their profit that
the people have, the greater disorder is there in
the state and clan; the more acts of crafty dexterity
that men possess, the more do strange
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contrivances appear; the more display there is of
legislation, the more thieves and robbers there
are.
Therefore a sage has said, 'I will do nothing (of
purpose), and the people will be transformed of
themselves; I will be fond of keeping still, and the
people will of themselves become correct. I will
take no trouble about it, and the people will of
themselves become rich; I will manifest no
ambition, and the people will of themselves attain
to the primitive simplicity.'
290
Bhagavad Gita engraved on a Hindu temple. Photograph. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica
The Bhagavad Gita,
translated by Sir Edwin
Arnold (selections)
CHAPTER II Sanjaya. Him, filled with such compassion and such grief, With eyes tear-dimmed, despondent, in stern words The Driver, Madhusudan, thus addressed: Krishna. How hath this weakness taken thee? Whence springs The inglorious trouble, shameful to the brave, Barring the path of virtue? Nay, Arjun! Forbid thyself to feebleness! it mars Thy warrior-name! cast off the coward-fit! Wake! Be thyself! Arise, Scourge of thy Foes! Arjuna. How can I, in the battle, shoot with shafts On Bhishma, or on Drona-O thou Chief!-- Both worshipful, both honourable men? Better to live on beggar's bread With those we love alive, Than taste their blood in rich feasts spread, And guiltily survive! Ah! were it worse-who knows?--to be Victor or vanquished here, When those confront us angrily Whose death leaves living drear? In pity lost, by doubtings tossed, My thoughts-distracted-turn To Thee, the Guide I reverence most, That I may counsel learn: I know not what would heal the grief Burned into soul and sense, If I were earth's unchallenged chief-- A god--and these gone thence!
Sanjaya. So spake Arjuna to the Lord of Hearts, And sighing,"I will not fight!" held silence then. To whom, with tender smile, (O Bharata! ) While the Prince wept despairing 'twixt those hosts, Krishna made answer in divinest verse: Krishna. Thou grievest where no grief should be! thou speak'st Words lacking wisdom! for the wise in heart Mourn not for those that live, nor those that die. Nor I, nor thou, nor any one of these, Ever was not, nor ever will not be, For ever and for ever afterwards. All, that doth live, lives always! To man's frame As there come infancy and youth and age, So come there raisings-up and layings-down Of other and of other life-abodes, Which the wise know, and fear not. This that irks- - Thy sense-life, thrilling to the elements-- Bringing thee heat and cold, sorrows and joys, 'Tis brief and mutable! Bear with it, Prince! As the wise bear. The soul which is not moved, The soul that with a strong and constant calm Takes sorrow and takes joy indifferently, Lives in the life undying! That which is Can never cease to be; that which is not Will not exist. To see this truth of both Is theirs who part essence from accident, Substance from shadow. Indestructible, Learn thou! the Life is, spreading life through all; It cannot anywhere, by any means, Be anywise diminished, stayed, or changed. But for these fleeting frames which it informs With spirit deathless, endless, infinite, They perish. Let them perish, Prince! and fight! He who shall say, "Lo! I have slain a man!" He who shall think, "Lo! I am slain!" those both Know naught! Life cannot slay. Life is not slain! Never the spirit was born; the spirit shall cease to be never; Never was time it was not; End and Beginning are dreams! Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the spirit for ever; Death hath not touched it at all, dead though the house of it seems! Who knoweth it exhaustless, self-sustained, Immortal, indestructible,--shall such Say, "I have killed a man, or caused to kill?" Nay, but as when one layeth His worn-out robes away, And taking new ones, sayeth, "These will I wear to-day!" So putteth by the spirit
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Lightly its garb of flesh, And passeth to inherit A residence afresh. I say to thee weapons reach not the Life; Flame burns it not, waters cannot o'erwhelm, Nor dry winds wither it. Impenetrable, Unentered, unassailed, unharmed, untouched, Immortal, all-arriving, stable, sure, Invisible, ineffable, by word And thought uncompassed, ever all itself, Thus is the Soul declared! How wilt thou, then,-- Knowing it so,--grieve when thou shouldst not grieve? How, if thou hearest that the man new-dead Is, like the man new-born, still living man-- One same, existent Spirit--wilt thou weep? The end of birth is death; the end of death Is birth: this is ordained! and mournest thou, Chief of the stalwart arm! for what befalls Which could not otherwise befall? The birth Of living things comes unperceived; the death Comes unperceived; between them, beings perceive: What is there sorrowful herein, dear Prince? Wonderful, wistful, to contemplate! Difficult, doubtful, to speak upon! Strange and great for tongue to relate, Mystical hearing for every one! Nor wotteth man this, what a marvel it is, When seeing, and saying, and hearing are done! This Life within all living things, my Prince! Hides beyond harm; scorn thou to suffer, then, For that which cannot suffer. Do thy part! Be mindful of thy name, and tremble not! Nought better can betide a martial soul Than lawful war; happy the warrior To whom comes joy of battle--comes, as now, Glorious and fair, unsought; opening for him A gateway unto Heav'n. But, if thou shunn'st This honourable field--a Kshattriya-- If, knowing thy duty and thy task, thou bidd'st Duty and task go by--that shall be sin! And those to come shall speak thee infamy From age to age; but infamy is worse For men of noble blood to bear than death! The chiefs upon their battle-chariots Will deem 'twas fear that drove thee from the fray. Of those who held thee mighty-souled the scorn Thou must abide, while all thine enemies Will scatter bitter speech of thee, to mock The valour which thou hadst; what fate could fall More grievously than this? Either--being killed-- Thou wilt win Swarga's safety, or--alive And victor--thou wilt reign an earthly king. Therefore, arise, thou Son of Kunti! brace Thine arm for conflict, nerve thy heart to meet-- As things alike to thee--pleasure or pain,
Profit or ruin, victory or defeat: So minded, gird thee to the fight, for so Thou shalt not sin! Thus far I speak to thee As from the "Sankhya"--unspiritually-- Hear now the deeper teaching of the Yog, Which holding, understanding, thou shalt burst Thy Karmabandh, the bondage of wrought deeds. Here shall no end be hindered, no hope marred, No loss be feared: faith--yea, a little faith-- Shall save thee from the anguish of thy dread. Here, Glory of the Kurus! shines one rule-- One steadfast rule--while shifting souls have laws Many and hard. Specious, but wrongful deem The speech of those ill-taught ones who extol The letter of their Vedas, saying, "This Is all we have, or need;" being weak at heart With wants, seekers of Heaven: which comes-- they say-- As "fruit of good deeds done;" promising men Much profit in new births for works of faith; In various rites abounding; following whereon Large merit shall accrue towards wealth and power; Albeit, who wealth and power do most desire Least fixity of soul have such, least hold On heavenly meditation. Much these teach, From Veds, concerning the "three qualities;" But thou, be free of the "three qualities," Free of the "pairs of opposites," and free From that sad righteousness which calculates; Self-ruled, Arjuna! simple, satisfied! Look! like as when a tank pours water forth To suit all needs, so do these Brahmans draw Text for all wants from tank of Holy Writ. But thou, want not! ask not! Find full reward Of doing right in right! Let right deeds be Thy motive, not the fruit which comes from them. And live in action! Labour! Make thine acts Thy piety, casting all self aside, Contemning gain and merit; equable In good or evil: equability Is Yog, is piety! Yet, the right act Is less, far less, than the right-thinking mind. Seek refuge in thy soul; have there thy heaven! Scorn them that follow virtue for her gifts! The mind of pure devotion--even here-- Casts equally aside good deeds and bad, Passing above them. Unto pure devotion Devote thyself: with perfect meditation Comes perfect act, and the right-hearted rise-- More certainly because they seek no gain-- Forth from the bands of body, step by step, To highest seats of bliss. When thy firm soul Hath shaken off those tangled oracles Which ignorantly guide, then shall it soar
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To high neglect of what's denied or said, This way or that way, in doctrinal writ. Troubled no longer by the priestly lore, Safe shall it live, and sure; steadfastly bent On meditation. This is Yog--and Peace! Arjuna. What is his mark who hath that steadfast heart, Confirmed in holy meditation? How Know we his speech, Kesava? Sits he, moves he Like other men? Krishna. When one, O Pritha's Son! Abandoning desires which shake the mind-- Finds in his soul full comfort for his soul, He hath attained the Yog--that man is such! In sorrows not dejected, and in joys Not overjoyed; dwelling outside the stress Of passion, fear, and anger; fixed in calms Of lofty contemplation;--such an one Is Muni, is the Sage, the true Recluse! He who to none and nowhere overbound By ties of flesh, takes evil things and good Neither desponding nor exulting, such Bears wisdom's plainest mark! He who shall draw As the wise tortoise draws its four feet safe Under its shield, his five frail senses back Under the spirit's buckler from the world Which else assails them, such an one, my Prince! Hath wisdom's mark! Things that solicit sense Hold off from the self-governed; nay, it comes, The appetites of him who lives beyond Depart,--aroused no more. Yet may it chance, O Son of Kunti! that a governed mind Shall some time feel the sense-storms sweep, and wrest Strong self-control by the roots. Let him regain His kingdom! let him conquer this, and sit On Me intent. That man alone is wise Who keeps the mastery of himself! If one Ponders on objects of the sense, there springs Attraction; from attraction grows desire, Desire flames to fierce passion, passion breeds Recklessness; then the memory--all betrayed-- Lets noble purpose go, and saps the mind, Till purpose, mind, and man are all undone. But, if one deals with objects of the sense Not loving and not hating, making them Serve his free soul, which rests serenely lord, Lo! such a man comes to tranquillity; And out of that tranquillity shall rise The end and healing of his earthly pains, Since the will governed sets the soul at peace. The soul of the ungoverned is not his, Nor hath he knowledge of himself; which lacked, How grows serenity? and, wanting that, Whence shall he hope for happiness? The mind
That gives itself to follow shows of sense Seeth its helm of wisdom rent away, And, like a ship in waves of whirlwind, drives To wreck and death. Only with him, great Prince! Whose senses are not swayed by things of sense-- Only with him who holds his mastery, Shows wisdom perfect. What is midnight-gloom To unenlightened souls shines wakeful day To his clear gaze; what seems as wakeful day Is known for night, thick night of ignorance, To his true-seeing eyes. Such is the Saint! And like the ocean, day by day receiving Floods from all lands, which never overflows Its boundary-line not leaping, and not leaving, Fed by the rivers, but unswelled by those;-- So is the perfect one! to his soul's ocean The world of sense pours streams of witchery; They leave him as they find, without commotion, Taking their tribute, but remaining sea. Yea! whoso, shaking off the yoke of flesh Lives lord, not servant, of his lusts; set free From pride, from passion, from the sin of "Self," Toucheth tranquillity! O Pritha's Son! That is the state of Brahm! There rests no dread When that last step is reached! Live where he will, Die when he may, such passeth from all 'plaining, To blest Nirvana, with the Gods, attaining. HERE ENDETH CHAPTER II. OF THE BHAGAVAD-GITA, Entitled "Sankhya-Yog," Or "The Book of Doctrines." CHAPTER III Arjuna. Thou whom all mortals praise, Janardana! If meditation be a nobler thing Than action, wherefore, then, great Kesava! Dost thou impel me to this dreadful fight? Now am I by thy doubtful speech disturbed! Tell me one thing, and tell me certainly; By what road shall I find the better end? Krishna. I told thee, blameless Lord! there be two paths Shown to this world; two schools of wisdom. First The Sankhya's, which doth save in way of works Prescribed by reason; next, the Yog, which bids Attain by meditation, spiritually: Yet these are one! No man shall 'scape from act By shunning action; nay, and none shall come By mere renouncements unto perfectness. Nay, and no jot of time, at any time, Rests any actionless; his nature's law Compels him, even unwilling, into act; [For thought is act in fancy]. He who sits Suppressing all the instruments of flesh, Yet in his idle heart thinking on them,
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Plays the inept and guilty hypocrite: But he who, with strong body serving mind, Gives up his mortal powers to worthy work, Not seeking gain, Arjuna! such an one Is honourable. Do thine allotted task! Work is more excellent than idleness; The body's life proceeds not, lacking work. There is a task of holiness to do, Unlike world-binding toil, which bindeth not The faithful soul; such earthly duty do Free from desire, and thou shalt well perform Thy heavenly purpose. Spake Prajapati-- In the beginning, when all men were made, And, with mankind, the sacrifice-- "Do this! Work! sacrifice! Increase and multiply With sacrifice! This shall be Kamaduk, Your 'Cow of Plenty,' giving back her milk Of all abundance. Worship the gods thereby; The gods shall yield thee grace. Those meats ye crave The gods will grant to Labour, when it pays Tithes in the altar-flame. But if one eats Fruits of the earth, rendering to kindly Heaven No gift of toil, that thief steals from his world." Who eat of food after their sacrifice Are quit of fault, but they that spread a feast All for themselves, eat sin and drink of sin. By food the living live; food comes of rain, And rain comes by the pious sacrifice, And sacrifice is paid with tithes of toil; Thus action is of Brahma, who is One, The Only, All-pervading; at all times Present in sacrifice. He that abstains To help the rolling wheels of this great world, Glutting his idle sense, lives a lost life, Shameful and vain. Existing for himself, Self-concentrated, serving self alone, No part hath he in aught; nothing achieved, Nought wrought or unwrought toucheth him; no hope Of help for all the living things of earth Depends from him. Therefore, thy task prescribed With spirit unattached gladly perform, Since in performance of plain duty man Mounts to his highest bliss. By works alone Janak and ancient saints reached blessedness! Moreover, for the upholding of thy kind, Action thou should'st embrace. What the wise choose The unwise people take; what best men do The multitude will follow. Look on me, Thou Son of Pritha! in the three wide worlds I am not bound to any toil, no height Awaits to scale, no gift remains to gain, Yet I act here! and, if I acted not-- Earnest and watchful--those that look to me For guidance, sinking back to sloth again
Because I slumbered, would decline from good, And I should break earth's order and commit Her offspring unto ruin, Bharata! Even as the unknowing toil, wedded to sense, So let the enlightened toil, sense-freed, but set To bring the world deliverance, and its bliss; Not sowing in those simple, busy hearts Seed of despair. Yea! let each play his part In all he finds to do, with unyoked soul. All things are everywhere by Nature wrought In interaction of the qualities. The fool, cheated by self, thinks, "This I did" And "That I wrought; "but--ah, thou strong-armed Prince!-- A better-lessoned mind, knowing the play Of visible things within the world of sense, And how the qualities must qualify, Standeth aloof even from his acts. Th' untaught Live mixed with them, knowing not Nature's way, Of highest aims unwitting, slow and dull. Those make thou not to stumble, having the light; But all thy dues discharging, for My sake, With meditation centred inwardly, Seeking no profit, satisfied, serene, Heedless of issue--fight! They who shall keep My ordinance thus, the wise and willing hearts, Have quittance from all issue of their acts; But those who disregard My ordinance, Thinking they know, know nought, and fall to loss, Confused and foolish. 'Sooth, the instructed one Doth of his kind, following what fits him most: And lower creatures of their kind; in vain Contending 'gainst the law. Needs must it be The objects of the sense will stir the sense To like and dislike, yet th' enlightened man Yields not to these, knowing them enemies. Finally, this is better, that one do His own task as he may, even though he fail, Than take tasks not his own, though they seem good. To die performing duty is no ill; But who seeks other roads shall wander still. Arjuna. Yet tell me, Teacher! by what force doth man Go to his ill, unwilling; as if one Pushed him that evil path? Krishna. Kama it is! Passion it is! born of the Darknesses, Which pusheth him. Mighty of appetite, Sinful, and strong is this!--man's enemy! As smoke blots the white fire, as clinging rust Mars the bright mirror, as the womb surrounds The babe unborn, so is the world of things Foiled, soiled, enclosed in this desire of flesh. The wise fall, caught in it; the unresting foe
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It is of wisdom, wearing countless forms, Fair but deceitful, subtle as a flame. Sense, mind, and reason--these, O Kunti's Son! Are booty for it; in its play with these It maddens man, beguiling, blinding him. Therefore, thou noblest child of Bharata! Govern thy heart! Constrain th' entangled sense! Resist the false, soft sinfulness which saps Knowledge and judgment! Yea, the world is strong, But what discerns it stronger, and the mind Strongest; and high o'er all the ruling Soul. Wherefore, perceiving Him who reigns supreme, Put forth full force of Soul in thy own soul! Fight! vanquish foes and doubts, dear Hero! slay What haunts thee in fond shapes, and would betray! HERE ENDETH CHAPTER III. OF THE BHAGAVAD-GITA, Entitled "Karma-Yog," Or "The Book of Virtue in Work." CHAPTER IV Krishna. This deathless Yoga, this deep union, I taught Vivaswata, the Lord of Light; Vivaswata to Manu gave it; he To Ikshwaku; so passed it down the line Of all my royal Rishis. Then, with years, The truth grew dim and perished, noble Prince! Now once again to thee it is declared-- This ancient lore, this mystery supreme-- Seeing I find thee votary and friend. Arjuna. Thy birth, dear Lord, was in these later days, And bright Vivaswata's preceded time! How shall I comprehend this thing thou sayest, "From the beginning it was I who taught?" Krishna. Manifold the renewals of my birth Have been, Arjuna! and of thy births, too! But mine I know, and thine thou knowest not, O Slayer of thy Foes! Albeit I be Unborn, undying, indestructible, The Lord of all things living; not the less-- By Maya, by my magic which I stamp On floating Nature-forms, the primal vast-- I come, and go, and come. When Righteousness Declines, O Bharata! when Wickedness Is strong, I rise, from age to age, and take Visible shape, and move a man with men, Succouring the good, thrusting the evil back, And setting Virtue on her seat again. Who knows the truth touching my births on earth And my divine work, when he quits the flesh Puts on its load no more, falls no more down To earthly birth: to Me he comes, dear Prince!
Many there be who come! from fear set free, From anger, from desire; keeping their hearts Fixed upon me--my Faithful--purified By sacred flame of Knowledge. Such as these Mix with my being. Whoso worship me, Them I exalt; but all men everywhere Shall fall into my path; albeit, those souls Which seek reward for works, make sacrifice Now, to the lower gods. I say to thee Here have they their reward. But I am He Made the Four Castes, and portioned them a place After their qualities and gifts. Yea, I Created, the Reposeful; I that live Immortally, made all those mortal births: For works soil not my essence, being works Wrought uninvolved. Who knows me acting thus Unchained by action, action binds not him; And, so perceiving, all those saints of old Worked, seeking for deliverance. Work thou As, in the days gone by, thy fathers did. Thou sayst, perplexed, It hath been asked before By singers and by sages, "What is act, And what inaction? "I will teach thee this, And, knowing, thou shalt learn which work doth save Needs must one rightly meditate those three-- Doing,--not doing,--and undoing. Here Thorny and dark the path is! He who sees How action may be rest, rest action--he Is wisest 'mid his kind; he hath the truth! He doeth well, acting or resting. Freed In all his works from prickings of desire, Burned clean in act by the white fire of truth, The wise call that man wise; and such an one, Renouncing fruit of deeds, always content. Always self-satisfying, if he works, Doth nothing that shall stain his separate soul, Which--quit of fear and hope--subduing self-- Rejecting outward impulse--yielding up To body's need nothing save body, dwells Sinless amid all sin, with equal calm Taking what may befall, by grief unmoved, Unmoved by joy, unenvyingly; the same In good and evil fortunes; nowise bound By bond of deeds. Nay, but of such an one, Whose crave is gone, whose soul is liberate, Whose heart is set on truth--of such an one What work he does is work of sacrifice, Which passeth purely into ash and smoke Consumed upon the altar! All's then God! The sacrifice is Brahm, the ghee and grain Are Brahm, the fire is Brahm, the flesh it eats Is Brahm, and unto Brahm attaineth he Who, in such office, meditates on Brahm. Some votaries there be who serve the gods With flesh and altar-smoke; but other some Who, lighting subtler fires, make purer rite
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With will of worship. Of the which be they Who, in white flame of continence, consume Joys of the sense, delights of eye and ear, Forgoing tender speech and sound of song: And they who, kindling fires with torch of Truth, Burn on a hidden altar-stone the bliss Of youth and love, renouncing happiness: And they who lay for offering there their wealth, Their penance, meditation, piety, Their steadfast reading of the scrolls, their lore Painfully gained with long austerities: And they who, making silent sacrifice, Draw in their breath to feed the flame of thought, And breathe it forth to waft the heart on high, Governing the ventage of each entering air Lest one sigh pass which helpeth not the soul: And they who, day by day denying needs, Lay life itself upon the altar-flame, Burning the body wan. Lo! all these keep The rite of offering, as if they slew Victims; and all thereby efface much sin. Yea! and who feed on the immortal food Left of such sacrifice, to Brahma pass, To The Unending. But for him that makes No sacrifice, he hath nor part nor lot Even in the present world. How should he share Another, O thou Glory of thy Line? In sight of Brahma all these offerings Are spread and are accepted! Comprehend That all proceed by act; for knowing this, Thou shalt be quit of doubt. The sacrifice Which Knowledge pays is better than great gifts Offered by wealth, since gifts' worth--O my Prince! Lies in the mind which gives, the will that serves: And these are gained by reverence, by strong search, By humble heed of those who see the Truth And teach it. Knowing Truth, thy heart no more Will ache with error, for the Truth shall show All things subdued to thee, as thou to Me. Moreover, Son of Pandu! wert thou worst Of all wrong-doers, this fair ship of Truth Should bear thee safe and dry across the sea Of thy transgressions. As the kindled flame Feeds on the fuel till it sinks to ash, So unto ash, Arjuna! unto nought The flame of Knowledge wastes works' dross away! There is no purifier like thereto In all this world, and he who seeketh it Shall find it--being grown perfect--in himself. Believing, he receives it when the soul Masters itself, and cleaves to Truth, and comes-- Possessing knowledge--to the higher peace, The uttermost repose. But those untaught, And those without full faith, and those who fear Are shent; no peace is here or other where,
No hope, nor happiness for whoso doubts. He that, being self-contained, hath vanquished doubt, Disparting self from service, soul from works, Enlightened and emancipate, my Prince! Works fetter him no more! Cut then atwain With sword of wisdom, Son of Bharata! This doubt that binds thy heart-beats! cleave the bond Born of thy ignorance! Be bold and wise! Give thyself to the field with me! Arise! HERE ENDETH CHAPTER IV. OF THE BHAGAVAD-GITA, Entitled "Jnana Yog," Or "The Book of the Religion of Knowledge," CHAPTER V Arjuna. Yet, Krishna! at the one time thou dost laud Surcease of works, and, at another time, Service through work. Of these twain plainly tell Which is the better way? Krishna. To cease from works Is well, and to do works in holiness Is well; and both conduct to bliss supreme; But of these twain the better way is his Who working piously refraineth not. That is the true Renouncer, firm and fixed, Who--seeking nought, rejecting nought--dwells proof Against the "opposites." O valiant Prince! In doing, such breaks lightly from all deed: 'Tis the new scholar talks as they were two, This Sankhya and this Yoga: wise men know Who husbands one plucks golden fruit of both! The region of high rest which Sankhyans reach Yogins attain. Who sees these twain as one Sees with clear eyes! Yet such abstraction, Chief! Is hard to win without much holiness. Whoso is fixed in holiness, self-ruled, Pure-hearted, lord of senses and of self, Lost in the common life of all which lives-- A "Yogayukt"--he is a Saint who wends Straightway to Brahm. Such an one is not touched By taint of deeds. "Nought of myself I do!" Thus will he think-who holds the truth of truths-- In seeing, hearing, touching, smelling; when He eats, or goes, or breathes; slumbers or talks, Holds fast or loosens, opes his eyes or shuts; Always assured "This is the sense-world plays With senses."He that acts in thought of Brahm, Detaching end from act, with act content, The world of sense can no more stain his soul Than waters mar th' enamelled lotus-leaf. With life, with heart, with mind,-nay, with the help
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Of all five senses--letting selfhood go-- Yogins toil ever towards their souls' release. Such votaries, renouncing fruit of deeds, Gain endless peace: the unvowed, the passion- bound, Seeking a fruit from works, are fastened down. The embodied sage, withdrawn within his soul, At every act sits godlike in "the town Which hath nine gateways," neither doing aught Nor causing any deed. This world's Lord makes Neither the work, nor passion for the work, Nor lust for fruit of work; the man's own self Pushes to these! The Master of this World Takes on himself the good or evil deeds Of no man--dwelling beyond! Mankind errs here By folly, darkening knowledge. But, for whom That darkness of the soul is chased by light, Splendid and clear shines manifest the Truth As if a Sun of Wisdom sprang to shed Its beams of dawn. Him meditating still, Him seeking, with Him blended, stayed on Him, The souls illuminated take that road Which hath no turning back--their sins flung off By strength of faith. [Who will may have this Light; Who hath it sees.] To him who wisely sees, The Brahman with his scrolls and sanctities, The cow, the elephant, the unclean dog, The Outcast gorging dog's meat, are all one. The world is overcome--aye! even here! By such as fix their faith on Unity. The sinless Brahma dwells in Unity, And they in Brahma. Be not over-glad Attaining joy, and be not over-sad Encountering grief, but, stayed on Brahma, still Constant let each abide! The sage whose soul Holds off from outer contacts, in himself Finds bliss; to Brahma joined by piety, His spirit tastes eternal peace. The joys Springing from sense-life are but quickening wombs Which breed sure griefs: those joys begin and end! The wise mind takes no pleasure, Kunti's Son! In such as those! But if a man shall learn, Even while he lives and bears his body's chain, To master lust and anger, he is blest! He is the Yukta; he hath happiness, Contentment, light, within: his life is merged In Brahma's life; he doth Nirvana touch! Thus go the Rishis unto rest, who dwell With sins effaced, with doubts at end, with hearts Governed and calm. Glad in all good they live, Nigh to the peace of God; and all those live Who pass their days exempt from greed and wrath, Subduing self and senses, knowing the Soul! The Saint who shuts outside his placid soul
All touch of sense, letting no contact through; Whose quiet eyes gaze straight from fixed brows, Whose outward breath and inward breath are drawn Equal and slow through nostrils still and close; That one-with organs, heart, and mind constrained, Bent on deliverance, having put away Passion, and fear, and rage;--hath, even now, Obtained deliverance, ever and ever freed. Yea! for he knows Me Who am He that heeds The sacrifice and worship, God revealed; And He who heeds not, being Lord of Worlds, Lover of all that lives, God unrevealed, Wherein who will shall find surety and shield! HERE ENDS CHAPTER V. OF THE BHAGAVAD- GITA, Entitled "Karmasanyasayog," Or "The Book of Religion by Renouncing Fruit of Works." CHAPTER XVIII Arjuna. Fain would I better know, Thou Glorious One! The very truth--Heart's Lord!--of Sannyas, Abstention; and enunciation, Lord! Tyaga; and what separates these twain! Krishna. The poets rightly teach that Sannyas Is the foregoing of all acts which spring Out of desire; and their wisest say Tyaga is renouncing fruit of acts. There be among the saints some who have held All action sinful, and to be renounced; And some who answer, "Nay! the goodly acts-- As worship, penance, alms--must be performed!" Hear now My sentence, Best of Bharatas! 'Tis well set forth, O Chaser of thy Foes! Renunciation is of threefold form, And Worship, Penance, Alms, not to be stayed; Nay, to be gladly done; for all those three Are purifying waters for true souls! Yet must be practised even those high works In yielding up attachment, and all fruit Produced by works. This is My judgment, Prince! This My insuperable and fixed decree! Abstaining from a work by right prescribed Never is meet! So to abstain doth spring From "Darkness," and Delusion teacheth it. Abstaining from a work grievous to flesh, When one saith "'Tis unpleasing!" this is null! Such an one acts from "passion;" nought of gain Wins his Renunciation! But, Arjun! Abstaining from attachment to the work, Abstaining from rewardment in the work, While yet one doeth it full faithfully, Saying, "Tis right to do!" that is "true " act
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And abstinence! Who doeth duties so, Unvexed if his work fail, if it succeed Unflattered, in his own heart justified, Quit of debates and doubts, his is "true" act: For, being in the body, none may stand Wholly aloof from act; yet, who abstains From profit of his acts is abstinent. The fruit of labours, in the lives to come, Is threefold for all men,--Desirable, And Undesirable, and mixed of both; But no fruit is at all where no work was. Hear from me, Long-armed Lord! the makings five Which go to every act, in Sankhya taught As necessary. First the force; and then The agent; next, the various instruments; Fourth, the especial effort; fifth, the God. What work soever any mortal doth Of body, mind, or speech, evil or good, By these five doth he that. Which being thus, Whoso, for lack of knowledge, seeth himself As the sole actor, knoweth nought at all And seeth nought. Therefore, I say, if one-- Holding aloof from self--with unstained mind Should slay all yonder host, being bid to slay, He doth not slay; he is not bound thereby! Knowledge, the thing known, and the mind which knows, These make the threefold starting-ground of act. The act, the actor, and the instrument, These make the threefold total of the deed. But knowledge, agent, act, are differenced By three dividing qualities. Hear now Which be the qualities dividing them. There is "true" Knowledge. Learn thou it is this: To see one changeless Life in all the Lives, And in the Separate, One Inseparable. There is imperfect Knowledge: that which sees The separate existences apart, And, being separated, holds them real. There is false Knowledge: that which blindly clings To one as if 'twere all, seeking no Cause, Deprived of light, narrow, and dull, and "dark." There is "right" Action: that which being enjoined- - Is wrought without attachment, passionlessly, For duty, not for love, nor hate, nor gain. There is "vain" Action: that which men pursue Aching to satisfy desires, impelled By sense of self, with all-absorbing stress: This is of Rajas--passionate and vain. There is "dark" Action: when one doth a thing Heedless of issues, heedless of the hurt Or wrong for others, heedless if he harm His own soul--'tis of Tamas, black and bad! There is the "rightful"doer. He who acts Free from self-seeking, humble, resolute, Steadfast, in good or evil hap the same,
Content to do aright-he "truly" acts. There is th' "impassioned" doer. He that works From impulse, seeking profit, rude and bold To overcome, unchastened; slave by turns Of sorrow and of joy: of Rajas he! And there be evil doers; loose of heart, Low-minded, stubborn, fraudulent, remiss, Dull, slow, despondent--children of the "dark." Hear, too, of Intellect and Steadfastness The threefold separation, Conqueror-Prince! How these are set apart by Qualities. Good is the Intellect which comprehends The coming forth and going back of life, What must be done, and what must not be done, What should be feared, and what should not be feared, What binds and what emancipates the soul: That is of Sattwan, Prince! of "soothfastness." Marred is the Intellect which, knowing right And knowing wrong, and what is well to do And what must not be done, yet understands Nought with firm mind, nor as the calm truth is: This is of Rajas, Prince! and "passionate!" Evil is Intellect which, wrapped in gloom, Looks upon wrong as right, and sees all things Contrariwise of Truth. O Pritha's Son! That is of Tamas, "dark" and desperate! Good is the steadfastness whereby a man Masters his beats of heart, his very breath Of life, the action of his senses; fixed In never-shaken faith and piety: That is of Sattwan, Prince! "soothfast" and fair! Stained is the steadfastness whereby a man Holds to his duty, purpose, effort, end, For life's sake, and the love of goods to gain, Arjuna! 'tis of Rajas, passion-stamped! Sad is the steadfastness wherewith the fool Cleaves to his sloth, his sorrow, and his fears, His folly and despair. This--Pritha's Son!-- Is born of Tamas, "dark" and miserable! Hear further, Chief of Bharatas! from Me The threefold kinds of Pleasure which there be. Good Pleasure is the pleasure that endures, Banishing pain for aye; bitter at first As poison to the soul, but afterward Sweet as the taste of Amrit. Drink of that! It springeth in the Spirit's deep content. And painful Pleasure springeth from the bond Between the senses and the sense-world. Sweet As Amrit is its first taste, but its last Bitter as poison. 'Tis of Rajas, Prince! And foul and "dark" the Pleasure is which springs From sloth and sin and foolishness; at first And at the last, and all the way of life The soul bewildering. 'Tis of Tamas, Prince! For nothing lives on earth, nor 'midst the gods In utmost heaven, but hath its being bound
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With these three Qualities, by Nature framed. The work of Brahmans, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, And Sudras, O thou Slayer of thy Foes! Is fixed by reason of the Qualities Planted in each: A Brahman's virtues, Prince! Born of his nature, are serenity, Self-mastery, religion, purity, Patience, uprightness, learning, and to know The truth of things which be. A Kshatriya's pride, Born of his nature, lives in valour, fire, Constancy, skilfulness, spirit in fight, And open-handedness and noble mien, As of a lord of men. A Vaisya's task, Born with his nature, is to till the ground, Tend cattle, venture trade. A Sudra's state, Suiting his nature, is to minister. Whoso performeth--diligent, content-- The work allotted him, whate'er it be, Lays hold of perfectness! Hear how a man Findeth perfection, being so content: He findeth it through worship--wrought by work-- Of Him that is the Source of all which lives, Of HIM by Whom the universe was stretched. Better thine own work is, though done with fault, Than doing others' work, ev'n excellently. He shall not fall in sin who fronts the task Set him by Nature's hand! Let no man leave His natural duty, Prince! though it bear blame! For every work hath blame, as every flame Is wrapped in smoke! Only that man attains Perfect surcease of work whose work was wrought With mind unfettered, soul wholly subdued, Desires for ever dead, results renounced. Learn from me, Son of Kunti! also this, How one, attaining perfect peace, attains BRAHM, the supreme, the highest height of all! Devoted--with a heart grown pure, restrained In lordly self-control, forgoing wiles Of song and senses, freed from love and hate, Dwelling 'mid solitudes, in diet spare, With body, speech, and will tamed to obey, Ever to holy meditation vowed, From passions liberate, quit of the Self, Of arrogance, impatience, anger, pride; Freed from surroundings, quiet, lacking nought-- Such an one grows to oneness with the BRAHM; Such an one, growing one with BRAHM, serene, Sorrows no more, desires no more; his soul, Equally loving all that lives, loves well Me, Who have made them, and attains to Me. By this same love and worship doth he know Me as I am, how high and wonderful, And knowing, straightway enters into Me. And whatsoever deeds he doeth--fixed In Me, as in his refuge--he hath won For ever and for ever by My grace
Th' Eternal Rest! So win thou! In thy thoughts Do all thou dost for Me! Renounce for Me! Sacrifice heart and mind and will to Me! Live in the faith of Me! In faith of Me All dangers thou shalt vanquish, by My grace; But, trusting to thyself and heeding not, Thou can'st but perish! If this day thou say'st, Relying on thyself, "I will not fight!" Vain will the purpose prove! thy qualities Would spur thee to the war. What thou dost shun, Misled by fair illusions, thou wouldst seek Against thy will, when the task comes to thee Waking the promptings in thy nature set. There lives a Master in the hearts of men Maketh their deeds, by subtle pulling--strings, Dance to what tune HE will. With all thy soul Trust Him, and take Him for thy succour, Prince! So--only so, Arjuna!--shalt thou gain-- By grace of Him--the uttermost repose, The Eternal Place! Thus hath been opened thee This Truth of Truths, the Mystery more hid Than any secret mystery. Meditate! And--as thou wilt--then act! Nay! but once more Take My last word, My utmost meaning have! Precious thou art to Me; right well-beloved! Listen! I tell thee for thy comfort this. Give Me thy heart! adore Me! serve Me! cling In faith and love and reverence to Me! So shalt thou come to Me! I promise true, For thou art sweet to Me! And let go those-- Rites and writ duties! Fly to Me alone! Make Me thy single refuge! I will free Thy soul from all its sins! Be of good cheer! [Hide, the holy Krishna saith, This from him that hath no faith, Him that worships not, nor seeks Wisdom's teaching when she speaks: Hide it from all men who mock; But, wherever, 'mid the flock Of My lovers, one shall teach This divinest, wisest, speech-- Teaching in the faith to bring Truth to them, and offering Of all honour unto Me-- Unto Brahma cometh he! Nay, and nowhere shall ye find Any man of all mankind Doing dearer deed for Me; Nor shall any dearer be In My earth. Yea, furthermore, Whoso reads this converse o'er, Held by Us upon the plain, Pondering piously and fain, He hath paid Me sacrifice!
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(Krishna speaketh in this wise!) Yea, and whoso, full of faith, Heareth wisely what it saith, Heareth meekly,--when he dies, Surely shall his spirit rise To those regions where the Blest, Free of flesh, in joyance rest.] Hath this been heard by thee, O Indian Prince! With mind intent? hath all the ignorance-- Which bred thy trouble--vanished, My Arjun? Arjuna. Trouble and ignorance are gone! the Light Hath come unto me, by Thy favour, Lord! Now am I fixed! my doubt is fled away! According to Thy word, so will I do! Sanjaya. Thus gathered I the gracious speech of Krishna, O my King! Thus have I told, with heart a-thrill, this wise and wondrous thing By great Vyasa's learning writ, how Krishna's self made known The Yoga, being Yoga's Lord. So is the high truth shown! And aye, when I remember, O Lord my King, again Arjuna and the God in talk, and all this holy strain, Great is my gladness: when I muse that splendour, passing speech, Of Hari, visible and plain, there is no tongue to reach My marvel and my love and bliss. O Archer- Prince! all hail! O Krishna, Lord of Yoga! surely there shall not fail Blessing, and victory, and power, for Thy most mighty sake, Where this song comes of Arjun, and how with God he spake. HERE ENDS, WITH CHAPTER XVIII., Entitled "Mokshasanyasayog," Or "The Book of Religion by Deliverance and Renunciation,"
THE BHAGAVAD-GITA.
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Figure 1Ramoche Monastery. Photography. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica, 25 May 2016.
The Buddha (Siddhartha
Gaudama), First Sermon and
Synopsus of Truth
(Selections)
from T.W. Rhys Davids and Herman Oldenberg,
trans, Vinyaya Texts, in F. Max Mueller, ed., The
Sacred Books of the East, 50 vols., (Oxford:
Clarendon, 1879-1910), Vol 13. pp. 94-97, 100-102
Many parallels exist between the legendary lives of
the Mahavira (the founder of the Indian philsophy
of Jainism) and the Buddha, and several of their
teachings are strikingly similar. Each rejected the
special sanctity of (the Old Indian) Vedic
literature, and each denied the meaningfulness of
caste distinctions and duties. Yet a close
investigation of their doctrines reveal substantial
differences.
Like the Mahavira, young Prince Siddhartha
Gautama, shrinking in horror at the many
manifestations of misery in this world, fled his
comfortable life and eventually became an ascetic.
Where, however, the Mahavira found victory over
karma in severe self-denial and total nonviolence,
Prince Gautama found only severe disquiet. The
ascetic life offered him no enlightenment as to
how one might escape the sorrows of mortal
existence. After abandoning extreme asceticism in
favor of the Middle Path of self-restraint, Gautama
achieved Enlightenment in a flash while
meditating under a sacred pipal tree. He was now
the Buddha.
Legend tells us he then proceeded to share the
path to Eulightenment by preaching a sermon in a
deer park at Benares in northeastern India to five
ascetics, who became his first disciples. Buddhists
refer to that initial sermon as "Setting in Motion
the Wheel of the Law," which means that the
Buddha had embarked on a journey (turning the
wheel) on behalf of the law of Righteousness
(dharma).
The following document is a reconstruction of
that first sermon Although composed at least
several centuries after Siddhartha Gautama's
death it probably contains the essence of what the
Buddha taught his earliest disciples
FIRST SERMON
SETTING IN MOTION THE WHEEL OF THE
LAW
And the Blessed one thus addressed the five
Bhikkhus [monks]. ' "There are two extremes, O
Bhikkhus, which he who has given up the world,
ought to avoid. What are rhese two extremes'? A
life given to pleasures, devoted to pleasures and
lusts: this is degrading, sensual, vulgar, ignoble,
and profitless; and a life given to rnortifications:
this is painful, ignoble, and profitless. By avoiiding
these two extremes, O Bhikkhus, the Tathagata [a
title of Buddha meaning perhaps "he who has
arrived at the truth"] has gained the knowledge of
the Middle Path which leads to insight, which
leads to wisdom which conduces to calm, to
knowledge, co the Sambodhi [total
enlightenment], to Nirvana [state of release from
samsara, the cycle of existence and rebirth].
The Eightfold Path
"Which, O Bhikkhus, is this Middle Path the
knowledge of which the Tathagata has gained,
which leads to insight, which leads to wisdom,
which conduces to calm, to knowledge, to the
Sambodhi, to Nirvana? It is the Holy Eightfold
Path, namely,
Right Belief [understanding the truth about the
universality of suffering and knowing the path to
its extinction],
Right Aspiration [a mind free of ill will, sensuous
desire and cruelty],
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Right Speech [abstaining from lying, harsh
language and gossip],
Right Conduct [avoiding killing, stealing and
unlawful sexual intercourse],
Right Means of Livelihood [avoiding any
occupation that brings harm directly or indirectly
to any other living being],
Right Endeavor [avoiding unwholsome and evil
things],
Right Memory [awareness in contemplation],
Right Meditation. [concentration that ultimately
reaches the level of a trance],
This, O Bhikkhus, is the Middle Path the
knowledge of which the Tathagata has gained,
which leads to insight, which leads to wisdom,
which conduces to calm, co knowledge, to the
Sambodhi, to Nirvana.
The Four Noble Truths
"This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of Suffering:
Birch is suffering; decay is suffering; illness is
suffering; death is suffering. Presence of objects
we hate, is suffering; Separation from objects wc
love, is suffering; not to obtain what we desire, is
suffering. Briefly,... clinging to existence is
suffering.
"This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Cause
of suffering Thirst, which leads to rebirth,
accompanied by pleasure and lust, finding its
delight here and there. This thirst is threefold,
namely, thirst for pleasure, thirst for existence,
thirst for prosperity.
"This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the
Cessation of suffering: it ceases with the complete
cessation of this thirst, -- a cessation which
consists in the absence of every passion with the
abandoning of this thirst, with doing away with it,
with the deliverance from it, with the destruction
of desire.
"This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Path
which leads to the cessation of suffering: that Holy
Eightfold Path, that is to say, Right Belief, Right
Aspiration, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right
Means of Livelihood, Right Endeavor, Right
Memory, Right Meditation....
"As long, O Bhikkhus, as I did not possess with
perfect purity this true knowledge and insight into
these four Noble Truths... so long, O Bhikkhus, I
knew that I had not yet obtained the highest,
absolute Sambodhi in the world of men and
gods....
"But since I possessed, O Bhikkhus, with perfect
purity this true knowledge and insight into these
four Noble Truths... then I knew, O Bhikkhus, that
I had obtained the highest, universal Sambodhi....
"And this knowledge and insight arose in my
mind: "The emancipation of my mind cannot be
lost; this is my last birth; hence I shall not be born
again!"
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Confucius, Chinese philosopher. Photography. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica
Confucius, Analects,
Translated by James Legge
(Selections)
BOOK I. HSIO R. CHAPTER I. 1. The Master said, 'Is it not pleasant to learn with a constant perseverance and application? 2. 'Is it not delightful to have friends coming from distant quarters?' 3. 'Is he not a man of complete virtue, who feels no discomposure though men may take no note of him?' CHAP. II. 1. The philosopher Yu said, 'They are few who, being filial and fraternal, are fond of offending against their superiors. There have been none, who, not liking to offend against their superiors, have been fond of stirring up confusion. 2. 'The superior man bends his attention to what is radical. That being established, all practical courses naturally grow up. Filial piety and fraternal submission!— are they not the root of all benevolent actions?' CHAP. III. The Master said, 'Fine words and an insinuating appearance are seldom associated with true virtue.' CHAP. IV. The philosopher Tsang said, 'I daily examine myself on three points:—
whether, in transacting business for others, I may have been not faithful;— whether, in intercourse with friends, I may have been not sincere;— whether I may have not mastered and practised the instructions of my teacher.' CHAP. V. The Master said, To rule a country of a thousand chariots, there must be reverent attention to business, and sincerity; economy in expenditure, and love for men; and the employment of the people at the proper seasons.' CHAP. VI. The Master said, 'A youth, when at home, should be filial, and, abroad, respectful to his elders. He should be earnest and truthful. He should overflow in love to all, and cultivate the friendship of the good. When he has time and opportunity, after the performance of these things, he should employ them in polite studies.' CHAP. VII. Tsze-hsia said, 'If a man withdraws his mind from the love of beauty, and applies it as sincerely to the love of the virtuous; if, in serving his parents, he can exert his utmost strength; if, in serving his prince, he can devote his life; if, in his intercourse with his friends, his words are sincere:— although men say that he has not learned, I will certainly say that he has.' CHAP. VIII. 1. The Master said, 'If the scholar be not grave, he will not call forth any veneration, and his learning will not be solid. 2. 'Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles. 3. 'Have no friends not equal to yourself. 4. 'When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them.' CHAP. IX. The philosopher Tsang said, 'Let there be a careful attention to perform the funeral rites to parents, and let them be followed when long gone with the ceremonies of sacrifice;— then the virtue of the people will resume its proper excellence.' CHAP. X. 1. Tsze-ch'in asked Tsze-kung, saying, 'When our master comes to any country, he does not fail to learn all about its government. Does he ask his information? or is it given to him?' 2. Tsze- kung said, 'Our master is benign, upright, courteous, temperate, and complaisant, and thus he gets his information. The master's mode of asking information!— is it not different from that of other men?' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'While a man's father is alive, look at the bent of his will; when his father is dead, look at his conduct. If for three years he does not alter from the way of his father, he may be called filial.' CHAP. XII. 1. The philosopher Yu said, 'In practising the rules of propriety, a natural ease is to be prized. In the ways prescribed by the ancient kings, this is the excellent quality, and in things small and great we follow them. 2. 'Yet it is not to be observed in all cases. If one, knowing how such
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ease should be prized, manifests it, without regulating it by the rules of propriety, this likewise is not to be done.' CHAP. XIII. The philosopher Yu said, 'When agreements are made according to what is right, what is spoken can be made good. When respect is shown according to what is proper, one keeps far from shame and disgrace. When the parties upon whom a man leans are proper persons to be intimate with, he can make them his guides and masters.' CHAP. XIV. The Master said, 'He who aims to be a man of complete virtue in his food does not seek to gratify his appetite, nor in his dwelling place does he seek the appliances of ease; he is earnest in what he is doing, and careful in his speech; he frequents the company of men of principle that he may be rectified:— such a person may be said indeed to love to learn.' CHAP. XV. 1. Tsze-kung said, 'What do you pronounce concerning the poor man who yet does not flatter, and the rich man who is not proud?' The Master replied, 'They will do; but they are not equal to him, who, though poor, is yet cheerful, and to him, who, though rich, loves the rules of propriety.' 2. Tsze-kung replied, 'It is said in the Book of Poetry, "As you cut and then file, as you carve and then polish."— The meaning is the same, I apprehend, as that which you have just expressed.' 3. The Master said, 'With one like Ts'ze, I can begin to talk about the odes. I told him one point, and he knew its proper sequence.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'I will not be afflicted at men's not knowing me; I will be afflicted that I do not know men.'
BOOK II. WEI CHANG. CHAP. I. The Master said, 'He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it.' CHAP. II. The Master said, 'In the Book of Poetry are three hundred pieces, but the design of them all may be embraced in one sentence— "Having no depraved thoughts."' CHAP. III. 1. The Master said, 'If the people be led by laws, and uniformity sought to be given them by punishments, they will try to avoid the punishment, but have no sense of shame. 2. 'If they be led by virtue, and uniformity sought to be given them by the rules of propriety, they will have the sense of shame, and moreover will become good.' CHAP. IV. 1. The Master said, 'At fifteen, I had my mind bent on learning. 2. 'At thirty, I stood firm. 3. 'At forty, I had no doubts. 4. 'At fifty, I knew the decrees of Heaven. 5. 'At sixty, my ear was an
obedient organ for the reception of truth. 6. 'At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired, without transgressing what was right.' CHAP. V. 1. Mang I asked what filial piety was. The Master said, 'It is not being disobedient.' 2. Soon after, as Fan Ch'ih was driving him, the Master told him, saying, 'Mang-sun asked me what filial piety was, and I answered him,— "not being disobedient."' 3. Fan Ch'ih said, 'What did you mean?' The Master replied, 'That parents, when alive, be served according to propriety; that, when dead, they should be buried according to propriety; and that they should be sacrificed to according to propriety.' CHAP. VI. Mang Wu asked what filial piety was. The Master said, 'Parents are anxious lest their children should be sick.' CHAP. VII. Tsze-yu asked what filial piety was. The Master said, 'The filial piety of now-a-days means the support of one's parents. But dogs and horses likewise are able to do something in the way of support;— without reverence, what is there to distinguish the one support given from the other?' CHAP. VIII. Tsze-hsia asked what filial piety was. The Master said, 'The difficulty is with the countenance. If, when their elders have any troublesome affairs, the young take the toil of them, and if, when the young have wine and food, they set them before their elders, is THIS to be considered filial piety?' CHAP. IX. The Master said, 'I have talked with Hui for a whole day, and he has not made any objection to anything I said;— as if he were stupid. He has retired, and I have examined his conduct when away from me, and found him able to illustrate my teachings. Hui!— He is not stupid.' CHAP. X. 1. The Master said, 'See what a man does. 2. 'Mark his motives. 3. 'Examine in what things he rests. 4. 'How can a man conceal his character? 5. How can a man conceal his character?' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'If a man keeps cherishing his old knowledge, so as continually to be acquiring new, he may be ateacher of others.' CHAP. XII. The Master said, 'The accomplished scholar is not a utensil.' CHAP. XIII. Tsze-kung asked what constituted the superior man. The Master said, 'He acts before he speaks, and afterwards speaks according to his actions.' CHAP. XIV. The Master said, 'The superior man is catholic and no partisan. The mean man is partisan and not catholic.'
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CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'Learning without thought is labour lost; thought without learning is perilous.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'The study of strange doctrines is injurious indeed!' CHAP. XVII. The Master said, 'Yu, shall I teach you what knowledge is? When you know a thing, to hold that you know it; and when you do not know a thing, to allow that you do not know it;— this is knowledge.' CHAP. XVII. 1. Tsze-chang was learning with a view to official emolument. 2. The Master said, 'Hear much and put aside the points of which you stand in doubt, while you speak cautiously at the same time of the others:— then you will afford few occasions for blame. See much and put aside the things which seem perilous, while you are cautious at the same time in carrying the others into practice:— then you will have few occasions for repentance. When one gives few occasions for blame in his words, and few occasions for repentance in his conduct, he is in the way to get emolument.' CHAP. XIX. The Duke Ai asked, saying, 'What should be done in order to secure the submission of the people?' Confucius replied, 'Advance the upright and set aside the crooked, then the people will submit. Advance the crooked and set aside the upright, then the people will not submit.' CHAP. XX. Chi K'ang asked how to cause the people to reverence their ruler, to be faithful to him, and to go on to nerve themselves to virtue. The Master said, 'Let him preside over them with gravity;— then they will reverence him. Let him be filial and kind to all;— then they will be faithful to him. Let him advance the good and teach the incompetent;— then they will eagerly seek to be virtuous.' CHAP. XXI. 1. Some one addressed Confucius, saying, 'Sir, why are you not engaged in the government?' 2. The Master said, 'What does the Shu-ching say of filial piety?— "You are filial, you discharge your brotherly duties. These qualities are displayed in government." This then also constitutes the exercise of government. Why must there be THAT— making one be in the government?' CHAP. XXII. The Master said, 'I do not know how a man without truthfulness is to get on. How can a large carriage be made to go without the cross-bar for yoking the oxen to, or a small carriage without the arrangement for yoking the horses?' CHAP. XXIII. 1. Tsze-chang asked whether the affairs of ten ages after could be known. 2. Confucius said, 'The Yin dynasty followed the regulations of the Hsia: wherein it took from or added to them may be known. The Chau dynasty has followed the regulations of Yin: wherein it
took from or added to them may be known. Some other may follow the Chau, but though it should be at the distance of a hundred ages, its affairs may be known.' CHAP. XXIV. 1. The Master said, 'For a man to sacrifice to a spirit which does not belong to him is flattery. 2. 'To see what is right and not to do it is want of courage.'
BOOK IV. LE JIN. CHAP. I. The Master said, 'It is virtuous manners which constitute the excellence of a neighborhood. If a man in selecting a residence, do not fix on one where such prevail, how can he be wise?' CHAP. II. The Master said, 'Those who are without virtue cannot abide long either in a condition of poverty and hardship, or in a condition of enjoyment. The virtuous rest in virtue; the wise desire virtue.' CHAP. III. The Master said, 'It is only the (truly) virtuous man, who can love, or who can hate, others.' CHAP. IV. The Master said, 'If the will be set on virtue, there will be no practice of wickedness.' CHAP. V. 1. The Master said, 'Riches and honours are what men desire. If it cannot be obtained in the proper way, they should not be held. Poverty and meanness are what men dislike. If it cannot be avoided in the proper way, they should not be avoided. 2. 'If a superior man abandon virtue, how can he fulfil the requirements of that name? 3. 'The superior man does not, even for the space of a single meal, act contrary to virtue. In moments of haste, he cleaves to it. In seasons of danger, he cleaves to it.' CHAP. VI. 1. The Master said, 'I have not seen a person who loved virtue, or one who hated what was not virtuous. He who loved virtue, would esteem nothing above it. He who hated what is not virtuous, would practise virtue in such a way that he would not allow anything that is not virtuous to approach his person. 2. 'Is any one able for one day to apply his strength to virtue? I have not seen the case in which his strength would be insufficient. 3. 'Should there possibly be any such case, I have not seen it.' CHAP. VII. The Master said, 'The faults of men are characteristic of the class to which they belong. By observing a man's faults, it may be known that he is virtuous.' CHAP. VIII. The Master said, 'If a man in the morning hear the right way, he may die in the evening without regret.' CHAP. IX. The Master said, 'A scholar, whose mind is set on truth, and who is ashamed of bad
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clothes and bad food, is not fit to be discoursed with.' CHAP. X. The Master said, 'The superior man, in the world, does not set his mind either for anything, or against anything; what is right he will follow.' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'The superior man thinks of virtue; the small man thinks of comfort. The superior man thinks of the sanctions of law; the small man thinks of favours which he may receive.' CHAP. XII. The Master said: 'He who acts with a constant view to his own advantage will be much murmured against.' CHAP. XIII. The Master said, 'If a prince is able to govern his kingdom with the complaisance proper to the rules of propriety, what difficulty will he have? If he cannot govern it with that complaisance, what has he to do with the rules of propriety?' CHAP. XIV. The Master said, 'A man should say, I am not concerned that I have no place, I am concerned how I may fit myself for one. I am not concerned that I am not known, I seek to be worthy to be known.' CHAP. XV. 1. The Master said, 'Shan, my doctrine is that of an all-pervading unity.' The disciple Tsang replied, 'Yes.' 2. The Master went out, and the other disciples asked, saying, 'What do his words mean?' Tsang said, 'The doctrine of our master is to be true to the principles of our nature and the benevolent exercise of them to others,— this and nothing more.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'The mind of the superior man is conversant with righteousness; the mind of the mean man is conversant with gain.' CHAP. XVII. The Master said, 'When we see men of worth, we should think of equalling them; when we see men of a contrary character, we should turn inwards and examine ourselves.' CHAP. XVIII. The Master said, 'In serving his parents, a son may remonstrate with them, but gently; when he sees that they do not incline to follow his advice, he shows an increased degree of reverence, but does not abandon his purpose; and should they punish him, he does not allow himself to murmur.' CHAP. XIX. The Master said, 'While his parents are alive, the son may not go abroad to a distance. If he does go abroad, he must have a fixed place to which he goes.' CHAP. XX. The Master said, 'If the son for three years does not alter from the way of his father, he may be called filial.'
CHAP. XXI. The Master said, 'The years of parents may by no means not be kept in the memory, as an occasion at once for joy and for fear.' CHAP. XXII. The Master said, 'The reason why the ancients did not readily give utterance to their words, was that they feared lest their actions should not come up to them.' CHAP. XXIII. The Master said, 'The cautious seldom err.' CHAP. XXIV. The Master said, 'The superior man wishes to be slow in his speech and earnest in his conduct.' CHAP. XXV. The Master said, 'Virtue is not left to stand alone. He who practises it will have neighbors.' CHAP. XXVI. Tsze-yu said, 'In serving a prince, frequent remonstrances lead to disgrace. Between friends, frequent reproofs make the friendship distant.'
BOOK VII. SHU R. CHAP. I. The Master said, 'A transmitter and not a maker, believing in and loving the ancients, I venture to compare myself with our old P'ang.' CHAP. II. The Master said, 'The silent treasuring up of knowledge; learning without satiety; and instructing others without being wearied:— which one of these things belongs to me?' CHAP. III. The Master said, 'The leaving virtue without proper cultivation; the not thoroughly discussing what is learned; not being able to move towards righteousness of which a knowledge is gained; and not being able to change what is not good:— these are the things which occasion me solicitude.' CHAP. IV. When the Master was unoccupied with business, his manner was easy, and he looked pleased. CHAP. V. The Master said, 'Extreme is my decay. For a long time, I have not dreamed, as I was wont to do, that I saw the duke of Chau.' CHAP. VI. 1. The Master said, 'Let the will be set on the path of duty. 2. 'Let every attainment in what is good be firmly grasped. 3. 'Let perfect virtue be accorded with. 4. 'Let relaxation and enjoyment be found in the polite arts.' CHAP. VII. The Master said, 'From the man bringing his bundle of dried flesh for my teaching upwards, I have never refused instruction to any one.' CHAP. VIII. The Master said, 'I do not open up the truth to one who is not eager to get knowledge, nor help out any one who is not anxious to explain himself. When I have presented one corner of a
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subject to any one, and he cannot from it learn the other three, I do not repeat my lesson.' CHAP. IX. 1. When the Master was eating by the side of a mourner, he never ate to the full. 2. He did not sing on the same day in which he had been weeping. CHAP. X. 1. The Master said to Yen Yuan, 'When called to office, to undertake its duties; when not so called, to lie retired;— it is only I and you who have attained to this.' 2. Tsze-lu said, 'If you had the conduct of the armies of a great State, whom would you have to act with you?' 3. The Master said, 'I would not have him to act with me, who will unarmed attack a tiger, or cross a river without a boat, dying without any regret. My associate must be the man who proceeds to action full of solicitude, who is fond of adjusting his plans, and then carries them into execution.' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'If the search for riches is sure to be successful, though I should become a groom with whip in hand to get them, I will do so. As the search may not be successful, I will follow after that which I love.' CHAP. XII. The things in reference to which the Master exercised the greatest caution were — fasting, war, and sickness. CHAP. XIII. When the Master was in Ch'i, he heard the Shao, and for three months did not know the taste of flesh. 'I did not think'' he said, 'that music could have been made so excellent as this.' CHAP. XIV. 1. Yen Yu said, 'Is our Master for the ruler of Wei?' Tsze-kung said, 'Oh! I will ask him.' 2. He went in accordingly, and said, 'What sort of men were Po-i and Shu-ch'i?' 'They were ancient worthies,' said the Master. 'Did they have any repinings because of their course?' The Master again replied, 'They sought to act virtuously, and they did so; what was there for them to repine about?' On this, Tsze-kung went out and said, 'Our Master is not for him.' CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'With coarse rice to eat, with water to drink, and my bended arm for a pillow;— I have still joy in the midst of these things. Riches and honours acquired by unrighteousness, are to me as a floating cloud.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'If some years were added to my life, I would give fifty to the study of the Yi, and then I might come to be without great faults.' CHAP. XVII The Master's frequent themes of discourse were— the Odes, the History, and the maintenance of the Rules of Propriety. On all these he frequently discoursed. CHAP. XVIII. 1. The Duke of Sheh asked Tsze-lu about Confucius, and Tsze-lu did not answer him. 2. The Master said, 'Why did you not say to him,—
He is simply a man, who in his eager pursuit (of knowledge) forgets his food, who in the joy of its attainment forgets his sorrows, and who does not perceive that old age is coming on?' CHAP. XIX. The Master said, 'I am not one who was born in the possession of knowledge; I am one who is fond of antiquity, and earnest in seeking it there.' CHAP. XX. The subjects on which the Master did not talk, were— extraordinary things, feats of strength, disorder, and spiritual beings. CHAP. XXI. The Master said, 'When I walk along with two others, they may serve me as my teachers. I will select their good qualities and follow them, their bad qualities and avoid them.' CHAP. XXII. The Master said, 'Heaven produced the virtue that is in me. Hwan T'ui— what can he do to me?' CHAP. XXIII. The Master said, 'Do you think, my disciples, that I have any concealments? I conceal nothing from you. There is nothing which I do that is not shown to you, my disciples;— that is my way.' CHAP. XXIV. There were four things which the Master taught,— letters, ethics, devotion of soul, and truthfulness. CHAP. XXV. 1. The Master said, 'A sage it is not mine to see; could I see a man of real talent and virtue, that would satisfy me.' 2. The Master said, 'A good man it is not mine to see; could I see a man possessed of constancy, that would satisfy me. 3. 'Having not and yet affecting to have, empty and yet affecting to be full, straitened and yet affecting to be at ease:— it is difficult with such characteristics to have constancy.' CHAP. XXVI. The Master angled,— but did not use a net. He shot,— but not at birds perching. CHAP. XXVII. The Master said, 'There may be those who act without knowing why. I do not do so. Hearing much and selecting what is good and following it; seeing much and keeping it in memory:— this is the second style of knowledge.' CHAP. XXVIII. 1. It was difficult to talk (profitably and reputably) with the people of Hu-hsiang, and a lad of that place having had an interview with the Master, the disciples doubted. 2. The Master said, 'I admit people's approach to me without committing myself as to what they may do when they have retired. Why must one be so severe? If a man purify himself to wait upon me, I receive him so purified, without guaranteeing his past conduct.' CHAP. XXIX. The Master said, 'Is virtue a thing remote? I wish to be virtuous, and lo! virtue is at hand.' CHAP. XXX. 1. The minister of crime of Ch'an asked whether the duke Chao knew propriety, and
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Confucius said, 'He knew propriety.' 2. Confucius having retired, the minister bowed to Wu-ma Ch'I to come forward, and said, 'I have heard that the superior man is not a partisan. May the superior man be a partisan also? The prince married a daughter of the house of Wu, of the same surname with himself, and called her,— "The elder Tsze of Wu." If the prince knew propriety, who does not know it?' 3. Wu-ma Ch'i reported these remarks, and the Master said, 'I am fortunate! If I have any errors, people are sure to know them.' CHAP. XXXI. When the Master was in company with a person who was singing, if he sang well, he would make him repeat the song, while he accompanied it with his own voice. CHAP. XXXII. The Master said, 'In letters I am perhaps equal to other men, but the character of the superior man, carrying out in his conduct what he professes, is what I have not yet attained to.' CHAP. XXXIII. The Master said, 'The sage and the man of perfect virtue;— how dare I rank myself with them? It may simply be said of me, that I strive to become such without satiety, and teach others without weariness.' Kung-hsi Hwa said, 'This is just what we, the disciples, cannot imitate you in.' CHAP. XXXIV. The Master being very sick, Tsze-lu asked leave to pray for him. He said, 'May such a thing be done?' Tsze-lu replied, 'It may. In the Eulogies it is said, "Prayer has been made for thee to the spirits of the upper and lower worlds."' The Master said, 'My praying has been for a long time.' CHAP. XXXV. The Master said, 'Extravagance leads to insubordination, and parsimony to meanness. It is better to be mean than to be insubordinate.' CHAP. XXXVI. The Master said, 'The superior man is satisfied and composed; the mean man is always full of distress.' CHAP. XXXVII. The Master was mild, and yet dignified; majestic, and yet not fierce; respectful, and yet easy.
BOOK VIII. T'AI-PO. CHAP. I. The Master said, 'T'ai-po may be said to have reached the highest point of virtuous action. Thrice he declined the kingdom, and the people in ignorance of his motives could not express their approbation of his conduct.' CHAP. II. 1. The Master said, 'Respectfulness, without the rules of propriety, becomes laborious bustle; carefulness, without the rules of propriety, becomes timidity; boldness, without the rules of propriety, becomes insubordination; straightforwardness, without the rules of propriety, becomes rudeness. 2. 'When those who
are in high stations perform well all their duties to their relations, the people are aroused to virtue. When old friends are not neglected by them, the people are preserved from meanness.' CHAP. III. The philosopher Tsang being ill, he called to him the disciples of his school, and said, 'Uncover my feet, uncover my hands. It is said in the Book of Poetry, "We should be apprehensive and cautious, as if on the brink of a deep gulf, as if treading on thin ice," and so have I been. Now and hereafter, I know my escape from all injury to my person, O ye, my little children.' CHAP. IV. 1. The philosopher Tsang being ill, Meng Chang went to ask how he was. 2. Tsang said to him, 'When a bird is about to die, its notes are mournful; when a man is about to die, his words are good. 3. 'There are three principles of conduct which the man of high rank should consider specially important:— that in his deportment and manner he keep from violence and heedlessness; that in regulating his countenance he keep near to sincerity; and that in his words and tones he keep far from lowness and impropriety. As to such matters as attending to the sacrificial vessels, there are the proper officers for them.' CHAP. V. The philosopher Tsang said, 'Gifted with ability, and yet putting questions to those who were not so; possessed of much, and yet putting questions to those possessed of little; having, as though he had not; full, and yet counting himself as empty; offended against, and yet entering into no altercation; formerly I had a friend who pursued this style of conduct.' CHAP. VI. The philosopher Tsang said, 'Suppose that there is an individual who can be entrusted with the charge of a young orphan prince, and can be commissioned with authority over a state of a hundred li, and whom no emergency however great can drive from his principles:— is such a man a superior man? He is a superior man indeed.' CHAP. VII. 1. The philosopher Tsang said, 'The officer may not be without breadth of mind and vigorous endurance. His burden is heavy and his course is long. 2. 'Perfect virtue is the burden which he considers it is his to sustain;— is it not heavy? Only with death does his course stop;— is it not long? CHAP. VIII. 1. The Master said, 'It is by the Odes that the mind is aroused. 2. 'It is by the Rules of Propriety that the character is established. 3. 'It is from Music that the finish is received.' CHAP. IX. The Master said, 'The people may be made to follow a path of action, but they may not be made to understand it.'
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CHAP. X. The Master said, 'The man who is fond of daring and is dissatisfied with poverty, will proceed to insubordination. So will the man who is not virtuous, when you carry your dislike of him to an extreme. CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'Though a man have abilities as admirable as those of the Duke of Chau, yet if he be proud and niggardly, those other things are really not worth being looked at.' CHAP. XII. The Master said, 'It is not easy to find a man who has learned for three years without coming to be good.' CHAP. XIII. 1. The Master said, 'With sincere faith he unites the love of learning; holding firm to death, he is perfecting the excellence of his course. 2. 'Such an one will not enter a tottering State, nor dwell in a disorganized one. When right principles of government prevail in the kingdom, he will show himself; when they are prostrated, he will keep concealed. 3. 'When a country is well- governed, poverty and a mean condition are things to be ashamed of. When a country is ill- governed, riches and honour are things to be ashamed of.' CHAP. XIV. The Master said, 'He who is not in any particular office, has nothing to do with plans for the administration of its duties.' CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'When the music master Chih first entered on his office, the finish of the Kwan Tsu was magnificent;— how it filled the ears!' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'Ardent and yet not upright; stupid and yet not attentive; simple and yet not sincere:— such persons I do not understand.' CHAP. XVII. The Master said, 'Learn as if you could not reach your object, and were always fearing also lest you should lose it.' CHAP. XVIII. The Master said, 'How majestic was the manner in which Shun and Yu held possession of the empire, as if it were nothing to them!' CHAP. XIX. 1. The Master said, 'Great indeed was Yao as a sovereign! How majestic was he! It is only Heaven that is grand, and only Yao corresponded to it. How vast was his virtue! The people could find no name for it. 2. 'How majestic was he in the works which he accomplished! How glorious in the elegant regulations which he instituted!' CHAP. XX. 1. Shun had five ministers, and the empire was well-governed. 2. King Wu said, 'I have ten able ministers.' 3. Confucius said, 'Is not the saying that talents are difficult to find, true? Only when the dynasties of T'ang and Yu met, were they more abundant than in this of Chau, yet there was a woman among them. The able ministers were no more than nine men.
4. 'King Wan possessed two of the three parts of the empire, and with those he served the dynasty of Yin. The virtue of the house of Chau may be said to have reached the highest point indeed.' CHAP. XXI. The Master said, 'I can find no flaw in the character of Yu. He used himself coarse food and drink, but displayed the utmost filial piety towards the spirits. His ordinary garments were poor, but he displayed the utmost elegance in his sacrificial cap and apron. He lived in a low mean house, but expended all his strength on the ditches and water-channels. I can find nothing like a flaw in Yu.'
BOOK XII. YEN YUAN. CHAP. I. 1. Yen Yuan asked about perfect virtue. The Master said, 'To subdue one's self and return to propriety, is perfect virtue. If a man can for one day subdue himself and return to propriety, all under heaven will ascribe perfect virtue to him. Is the practice of perfect virtue from a man himself, or is it from others?' 2. Yen Yuan said, 'I beg to ask the steps of that process.' The Master replied, 'Look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; make no movement which is contrary to propriety.' Yen Yuan then said, 'Though I am deficient in intelligence and vigour, I will make it my business to practise this lesson.' CHAP. II. Chung-kung asked about perfect virtue. The Master said, 'It is, when you go abroad, to behave to every one as if you were receiving a great guest; to employ the people as if you were assisting at a great sacrifice; not to do to others as you would not wish done to yourself; to have no murmuring against you in the country, and none in the family.' Chung-kung said, 'Though I am deficient in intelligence and vigour, I will make it my business to practise this lesson.' CHAP. III. 1. Sze-ma Niu asked about perfect virtue. 2. The Master said, 'The man of perfect virtue is cautious and slow in his speech.' 3. 'Cautious and slow in his speech!' said Niu;— 'is this what is meant by perfect virtue?' The Master said, 'When a man feels the difficulty of doing, can he be other than cautious and slow in speaking?' CHAP. IV. 1. Sze-ma Niu asked about the superior man. The Master said, 'The superior man has neither anxiety nor fear.' 2. 'Being without anxiety or fear!' said Nui;— 'does this constitute what we call the superior man?' 3. The Master said, 'When internal examination discovers nothing wrong, what is there to be anxious about, what is there to fear?' CHAP. V. 1. Sze-ma Niu, full of anxiety, said, 'Other men all have their brothers, I only have
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not.' 2. Tsze-hsia said to him, 'There is the following saying which I have heard:— 3. '"Death and life have their determined appointment; riches and honours depend upon Heaven." 4. 'Let the superior man never fail reverentially to order his own conduct, and let him be respectful to others and observant of propriety:— then all within the four seas will be his brothers. What has the superior man to do with being distressed because he has no brothers?' CHAP. VI. Tsze- chang asked what constituted intelligence. The Master said, 'He with whom neither slander that gradually soaks into the mind, nor statements that startle like a wound in the flesh, are successful, may be called intelligent indeed. Yea, he with whom neither soaking slander, nor startling statements, are successful, may be called farseeing.' CHAP. VII. 1. Tsze-kung asked about government. The Master said, 'The requisites of government are that there be sufficiency of food, sufficiency of military equipment, and the confidence of the people in their ruler.' 2. Tsze-kung said, 'If it cannot be helped, and one of these must be dispensed with, which of the three should be foregone first?' 'The military equipment,' said the Master. 3. Tsze-kung again asked, 'If it cannot be helped, and one of the remaining two must be dispensed with, which of them should be foregone?' The Master answered, 'Part with the food. From of old, death has been the lot of all men; but if the people have no faith in their rulers, there is no standing for the state.' CHAP. VIII. 1. Chi Tsze-ch'ang said, 'In a superior man it is only the substantial qualities which are wanted;— why should we seek for ornamental accomplishments?' 2. Tsze-kung said, 'Alas! Your words, sir, show you to be a superior man, but four horses cannot overtake the tongue. 3. Ornament is as substance; substance is as ornament. The hide of a tiger or a leopard stripped of its hair, is like the hide of a dog or a goat stripped of its hair.' CHAP. IX. 1. The Duke Ai inquired of Yu Zo, saying, 'The year is one of scarcity, and the returns for expenditure are not sufficient;— what is to be done?' 2. Yu Zo replied to him, 'Why not simply tithe the people?' 3. 'With two tenths, said the duke, 'I find it not enough;— how could I do with that system of one tenth?' 4. Yu Zo answered, 'If the people have plenty, their prince will not be left to want alone. If the people are in want, their prince cannot enjoy plenty alone.' CHAP. X. 1. Tsze-chang having asked how virtue was to be exalted, and delusions to be discovered, the Master said, 'Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles, and be moving continually to what is right;— this is the way to exalt one's virtue. 2.
'You love a man and wish him to live; you hate him and wish him to die. Having wished him to live, you also wish him to die. This is a case of delusion. 3. '"It may not be on account of her being rich, yet you come to make a difference."' CHAP. XI. 1. The Duke Ching, of Ch'i, asked Confucius about government. 2. Confucius replied, 'There is government, when the prince is prince, and the minister is minister; when the father is father, and the son is son.' 3. 'Good!' said the duke; 'if, indeed; the prince be not prince, the minister not minister, the father not father, and the son not son, although I have my revenue, can I enjoy it?' CHAP. XII. 1. The Master said, 'Ah! it is Yu, who could with half a word settle litigations!' 2. Tsze-lu never slept over a promise. CHAP. XIII. The Master said, 'In hearing litigations, I am like any other body. What is necessary, however, is to cause the people to have no litigations.' CHAP. XIV. Tsze-chang asked about government. The Master said, 'The art of governing is to keep its affairs before the mind without weariness, and to practise them with undeviating consistency.' CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'By extensively studying all learning, and keeping himself under the restraint of the rules of propriety, one may thus likewise not err from what is right.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'The superior man seeks to perfect the admirable qualities of men, and does not seek to perfect their bad qualities. The mean man does the opposite of this.' CHAP. XVII. Chi K'ang asked Confucius about government. Confucius replied, 'To govern means to rectify. If you lead on the people with correctness, who will dare not to be correct?' CHAP. XVIII. Chi K'ang, distressed about the number of thieves in the state, inquired of Confucius how to do away with them. Confucius said, 'If you, sir, were not covetous, although you should reward them to do it, they would not steal.' CHAP. XIX. Chi K'ang asked Confucius about government, saying, 'What do you say to killing the unprincipled for the good of the principled?' Confucius replied, 'Sir, in carrying on your government, why should you use killing at all? Let your evinced desires be for what is good, and the people will be good. The relation between superiors and inferiors, is like that between the wind and the grass. The grass must bend, when the wind blows across it.' CHAP. XX. 1. Tsze-chang asked, 'What must the officer be, who may be said to be distinguished?' 2. The Master said, 'What is it you call being distinguished?' 3. Tsze-chang replied, 'It is to be heard of through the State, to be heard of
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throughout his clan.' 4. The Master said, 'That is notoriety, not distinction. 5. 'Now the man of distinction is solid and straightforward, and loves righteousness. He examines people's words, and looks at their countenances. He is anxious to humble himself to others. Such a man will be distinguished in the country; he will be distinguished in his clan. 6. 'As to the man of notoriety, he assumes the appearance of virtue, but his actions are opposed to it, and he rests in this character without any doubts about himself. Such a man will be heard of in the country; he will be heard of in the clan.' CHAP. XXI. 1. Fan Ch'ih rambling with the Master under the trees about the rain altars, said, 'I venture to ask how to exalt virtue, to correct cherished evil, and to discover delusions.' 2. The Master said, 'Truly a good question! 3. 'If doing what is to be done be made the first business, and success a secondary consideration;— is not this the way to exalt virtue? To assail one's own wickedness and not assail that of others;— is not this the way to correct cherished evil? For a morning's anger to disregard one's own life, and involve that of his parents;— is not this a case of delusion?' CHAP. XXII. 1. Fan Ch'ih asked about benevolence. The Master said, 'It is to love all men.' He asked about knowledge. The Master said, 'It is to know all men.' 2. Fan Ch'ih did not immediately understand these answers. 3. The Master said, 'Employ the upright and put aside all the crooked;— in this way the crooked can be made to be upright.' 4. Fan Ch'ih retired, and, seeing Tsze-hsia, he said to him, 'A Little while ago, I had an interview with our Master, and asked him about knowledge. He said, 'Employ the upright, and put aside all the crooked;— in this way, the crooked will be made to be upright.' What did he mean?' 5. Tsze-hsia said, 'Truly rich is his saying! 6. 'Shun, being in possession of the kingdom, selected from among all the people, and employed Kao-yao, on which all who were devoid of virtue disappeared. T'ang, being in possession of the kingdom, selected from among all the people, and employed I Yin, and all who were devoid of virtue disappeared.' CHAP. XXIII. Tsze-kung asked about friendship. The Master said, 'Faithfully admonish your friend, and skillfully lead him on. If you find him impracticable, stop. Do not disgrace yourself.' CHAP. XXIV. The philosopher Tsang said, 'The superior man on grounds of culture meets with his friends, and by their friendship helps his virtue.'
BOOK XIV. HSIEN WAN. CHAP. I. Hsien asked what was shameful. The Master said, 'When good government prevails in a state, to be thinking only of salary; and, when bad government prevails, to be thinking, in the same way, only of salary;— this is shameful.' CHAP. II. 1. 'When the love of superiority, boasting, resentments, and covetousness are repressed, this may be deemed perfect virtue.' 2. The Master said, 'This may be regarded as the achievement of what is difficult. But I do not know that it is to be deemed perfect virtue.' CHAP. III. The Master said, 'The scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar.' CHAP. IV. The Master said, 'When good government prevails in a state, language may be lofty and bold, and actions the same. When bad government prevails, the actions may be lofty and bold, but the language may be with some reserve.' CHAP. V. The Master said, 'The virtuous will be sure to speak correctly, but those whose speech is good may not always be virtuous. Men of principle are sure to be bold, but those who are bold may not always be men of principle.' CHAP. VI. Nan-kung Kwo, submitting an inquiry to Confucius, said, 'I was skillful at archery, and Ao could move a boat along upon the land, but neither of them died a natural death. Yu and Chi personally wrought at the toils of husbandry, and they became possessors of the kingdom.' The Master made no reply; but when Nan-kung Kwo went out, he said, 'A superior man indeed is this! An esteemer of virtue indeed is this!' CHAP. VII. The Master said, 'Superior men, and yet not always virtuous, there have been, alas! But there never has been a mean man, and, at the same time, virtuous.' CHAP. VIII. The Master said, 'Can there be love which does not lead to strictness with its object? Can there be loyalty which does not lead to the instruction of its object?' CHAP. IX. The Master said, 'In preparing the governmental notifications, P'i Shan first made the rough draft; Shi-shu examined and discussed its contents; Tsze-yu, the manager of Foreign intercourse, then polished the style; and, finally, Tsze-ch'an of Tung-li gave it the proper elegance and finish.' CHAP. X. 1. Some one asked about Tsze-ch'an. The Master said, 'He was a kind man.' 2. He asked about Tsze-hsi. The Master said, 'That man! That man!' 3. He asked about Kwan Chung. 'For him,' said the Master, 'the city of Pien, with three hundred families, was taken from the chief of the Po family, who did not utter a murmuring word,
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though, to the end of his life, he had only coarse rice to eat.' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'To be poor without murmuring is difficult. To be rich without being proud is easy.' CHAP. XII. The Master said, 'Mang Kung-ch'o is more than fit to be chief officer in the families of Chao and Wei, but he is not fit to be great officer to either of the States Tang or Hsieh.' CHAP. XIII. 1. Tsze-lu asked what constituted a COMPLETE man. The Master said, 'Suppose a man with the knowledge of Tsang Wu-chung, the freedom from covetousness of Kung-ch'o, the bravery of Chwang of Pien, and the varied talents of Zan Ch'iu; add to these the accomplishments of the rules of propriety and music:— such a one might be reckoned a COMPLETE man.' 2. He then added, 'But what is the necessity for a complete man of the present day to have all these things? The man, who in the view of gain, thinks of righteousness; who in the view of danger is prepared to give up his life; and who does not forget an old agreement however far back it extends:— such a man may be reckoned a COMPLETE man.' CHAP. XIV. 1. The Master asked Kung-ming Chia about Kung- shu Wan, saying, 'Is it true that your master speaks not, laughs not, and takes not?' 2. Kung-ming Chia replied, 'This has arisen from the reporters going beyond the truth.— My master speaks when it is the time to speak, and so men do not get tired of his speaking. He laughs when there is occasion to be joyful, and so men do not get tired of his laughing. He takes when it is consistent with righteousness to do so, and so men do not get tired of his taking.' The Master said, 'So! But is it so with him?' CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'Tsang Wu-chung, keeping possession of Fang, asked of the duke of Lu to appoint a successor to him in his family. Although it may be said that he was not using force with his sovereign, I believe he was.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'The duke Wan of Tsin was crafty and not upright. The duke Hwan of Ch'i was upright and not crafty.' CHAP. XVII. 1. Tsze-lu said, 'The Duke Hwan caused his brother Chiu to be killed, when Shao Hu died with his master, but Kwan Chung did not die. May not I say that he was wanting in virtue?' 2. The Master said, 'The Duke Hwan assembled all the princes together, and that not with weapons of war and chariots:— it was all through the influence of Kwan Chung. Whose beneficence was like his? Whose beneficence was like his?' CHAP. XVIII. 1. Tsze-kung said, 'Kwan Chung, I apprehend, was wanting in virtue. When the Duke Hwan caused his brother Chiu to be killed, Kwan
Chung was not able to die with him. Moreover, he became prime minister to Hwan.' 2. The Master said, 'Kwan Chung acted as prime minister to the Duke Hwan, made him leader of all the princes, and united and rectified the whole kingdom. Down to the present day, the people enjoy the gifts which he conferred. But for Kwan Chung, we should now be wearing our hair unbound, and the lappets of our coats buttoning on the left side. 3. 'Will you require from him the small fidelity of common men and common women, who would commit suicide in a stream or ditch, no one knowing anything about them?' CHAP. XIX. 1. The great officer, Hsien, who had been family- minister to Kung-shu Wan, ascended to the prince's court in company with Wan. 2. The Master, having heard of it, said, 'He deserved to be considered WAN (the accomplished).' CHAP. XX. 1. The Master was speaking about the unprincipled course of the duke Ling of Wei, when Ch'i K'ang said, 'Since he is of such a character, how is it he does not lose his State?' 2. Confucius said, 'The Chung-shu Yu has the superintendence of his guests and of strangers; the litanist, T'o, has the management of his ancestral temple; and Wang- sun Chia has the direction of the army and forces:— with such officers as these, how should he lose his State?' CHAP. XXI. The Master said, 'He who speaks without modesty will find it difficult to make his words good.' CHAP. XXII. 1. Chan Ch'ang murdered the Duke Chien of Ch'i. 2. Confucius bathed, went to court, and informed the duke Ai, saying, 'Chan Hang has slain his sovereign. I beg that you will undertake to punish him.' 3. The duke said, 'Inform the chiefs of the three families of it.' 4. Confucius retired, and said, 'Following in the rear of the great officers, I did not dare not to represent such a matter, and my prince says, "Inform the chiefs of the three families of it."' 5. He went to the chiefs, and informed them, but they would not act. Confucius then said, 'Following in the rear of the great officers, I did not dare not to represent such a matter.' CHAP. XXIII. Tsze-lu asked how a ruler should be served. The Master said, 'Do not impose on him, and, moreover, withstand him to his face.' CHAP. XXIV. The Master said, 'The progress of the superior man is upwards; the progress of the mean man is downwards.' CHAP. XXV. The Master said, 'In ancient times, men learned with a view to their own improvement. Now-a-days, men learn with a view to the approbation of others.' CHAP. XXVI. 1. Chu Po-yu sent a messenger with friendly inquiries to Confucius. 2. Confucius sat with him, and questioned him. 'What,' said he, 'is
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your master engaged in?' The messenger replied, 'My master is anxious to make his faults few, but he has not yet succeeded.' He then went out, and the Master said, 'A messenger indeed! A messenger indeed!' CHAP. XXVII. The Master said, 'He who is not in any particular office, has nothing to do with plans for the administration of its duties.' CHAP. XXVIII. The philosopher Tsang said, 'The superior man, in his thoughts, does not go out of his place.' CHAP. XXIX. The Master said, 'The superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions.' CHAP. XXX. 1. The Master said, 'The way of the superior man is threefold, but I am not equal to it. Virtuous, he is free from anxieties; wise, he is free from perplexities; bold, he is free from fear. 2. Tsze-kung said, 'Master, that is what you yourself say.' CHAP. XXXI. Tsze-kung was in the habit of comparing men together. The Master said, 'Tsze must have reached a high pitch of excellence! Now, I have not leisure for this.' CHAP. XXXII. The Master said, 'I will not be concerned at men's not knowing me; I will be concerned at my own want of ability.' CHAP. XXXIII. The Master said, 'He who does not anticipate attempts to deceive him, nor think beforehand of his not being believed, and yet apprehends these things readily (when they occur);— is he not a man of superior worth?' CHAP. XXXIV. 1. Wei-shang Mau said to Confucius, 'Ch'iu, how is it that you keep roosting about? Is it not that you are an insinuating talker?' 2. Confucius said, 'I do not dare to play the part of such a talker, but I hate obstinacy.' CHAP. XXXV. The Master said, 'A horse is called a ch'i, not because of its strength, but because of its other good qualities.' CHAP. XXXVI. 1. Some one said, 'What do you say concerning the principle that injury should be recompensed with kindness?' 2. The Master said, 'With what then will you recompense kindness? 3. 'Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness.' CHAP. XXXVII. 1. The Master said, 'Alas! there is no one that knows me.' 2. Tsze-kung said, 'What do you mean by thus saying— that no one knows you?' The Master replied, 'I do not murmur against Heaven. I do not grumble against men. My studies lie low, and my penetration rises high. But there is Heaven;— that knows me!' CHAP. XXXVIII. 1. The Kung-po Liao, having slandered Tsze-lu to Chi-sun, Tsze-fu Ching-po informed Confucius of it, saying, 'Our master is certainly being led astray by the Kung-po Liao, but I have still power enough left to cut Liao off, and
expose his corpse in the market and in the court.' 2. The Master said, 'If my principles are to advance, it is so ordered. If they are to fall to the ground, it is so ordered. What can the Kung-po Liao do where such ordering is concerned?' CHAP. XXXIX. 1. The Master said, 'Some men of worth retire from the world. 2. Some retire from particular states. 3. Some retire because of disrespectful looks. 4. Some retire because of contradictory language.' CHAP. XL. The Master said, 'Those who have done this are seven men.' CHAP. XLI. Tsze-lu happening to pass the night in Shih-man, the gatekeeper said to him, 'Whom do you come from?' Tsze-lu said, 'From Mr. K'ung.' 'It is he,— is it not?'— said the other, 'who knows the impracticable nature of the times and yet will be doing in them.' CHAP. XLII. 1. The Master was playing, one day, on a musical stone in Wei, when a man, carrying a straw basket, passed the door of the house where Confucius was, and said, 'His heart is full who so beats the musical stone.' 2. A little while after, he added, 'How contemptible is the one-ideaed obstinacy those sounds display! When one is taken no notice of, he has simply at once to give over his wish for public employment. "Deep water must be crossed with the clothes on; shallow water may be crossed with the clothes held up."' 3. The Master said, 'How determined is he in his purpose! But this is not difficult!' CHAP. XLIII. 1. Tsze-chang said, 'What is meant when the Shu says that Kao-tsung, while observing the usual imperial mourning, was for three years without speaking?' 2. The Master said, 'Why must Kao- tsung be referred to as an example of this? The ancients all did so. When the sovereign died, the officers all attended to their several duties, taking instructions from the prime minister for three years.' CHAP. XLIV. The Master said, 'When rulers love to observe the rules of propriety, the people respond readily to the calls on them for service.' CHAP. XLV. Tsze-lu asked what constituted the superior man. The Master said, 'The cultivation of himself in reverential carefulness.' 'And is this all?' said Tsze-lu. 'He cultivates himself so as to give rest to others,' was the reply. 'And is this all?' again asked Tsze-lu. The Master said, 'He cultivates himself so as to give rest to all the people. He cultivates himself so as to give rest to all the people:— even Yao and Shun were still solicitous about this.' CHAP. XLVI. Yuan Zang was squatting on his heels, and so waited the approach of the Master, who said to him, 'In youth not humble as befits a
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junior; in manhood, doing nothing worthy of being handed down; and living on to old age:— this is to be a pest.' With this he hit him on the shank with his staff. CHAP. XLVI. 1. A youth of the village of Ch'ueh was employed by Confucius to carry the messages between him and his visitors. Some one asked about him, saying, 'I suppose he has made great progress.' 2. The Master said, 'I observe that he is fond of occupying the seat of a full-grown man; I observe that he walks shoulder to shoulder with his elders. He is not one who is seeking to make progress in learning. He wishes quickly to become a man.'
BOOK XV. WEI LING KUNG. CHAP. I. 1. The Duke Ling of Wei asked Confucius about tactics. Confucius replied, 'I have heard all about sacrificial vessels, but I have not learned military matters.' On this, he took his departure the next day. 2. When he was in Chan, their provisions were exhausted, and his followers became so ill that they were unable to rise. 3. Tsze-lu, with evident dissatisfaction, said, 'Has the superior man likewise to endure in this way?' The Master said, 'The superior man may indeed have to endure want, but the mean man, when he is in want, gives way to unbridled license.' CHAP. II. 1. The Master said, 'Ts'ze, you think, I suppose, that I am one who learns many things and keeps them in memory?' 2. Tsze-kung replied, 'Yes,— but perhaps it is not so?' 3. 'No,' was the answer; 'I seek a unity all- pervading.' CHAP. III. The Master said, 'Yu, those who know virtue are few.' CHAP. IV. The Master said, 'May not Shun be instanced as having governed efficiently without exertion? What did he do? He did nothing but gravely and reverently occupy his royal seat.' CHAP. V. 1. Tsze-chang asked how a man should conduct himself, so as to be everywhere appreciated. 2. The Master said, 'Let his words be sincere and truthful, and his actions honourable and careful;— such conduct may be practiced among the rude tribes of the South or the North. If his words be not sincere and truthful and his actions not honourable and careful, will he, with such conduct, be appreciated, even in his neighborhood? 3. 'When he is standing, let him see those two things, as it were, fronting him. When he is in a carriage, let him see them attached to the yoke. Then may he subsequently carry them into practice.' 4. Tsze-chang wrote these counsels on the end of his sash.
CHAP. VI. 1. The Master said, 'Truly straightforward was the historiographer Yu. When good government prevailed in his State, he was like an arrow. When bad government prevailed, he was like an arrow. 2. A superior man indeed is Chu Po-yu! When good government prevails in his state, he is to be found in office. When bad government prevails, he can roll his principles up, and keep them in his breast.' CHAP. VII. The Master said, 'When a man may be spoken with, not to speak to him is to err in reference to the man. When a man may not be spoken with, to speak to him is to err in reference to our words. The wise err neither in regard to their man nor to their words.' CHAP. VIII. The Master said, 'The determined scholar and the man of virtue will not seek to live at the expense of injuring their virtue. They will even sacrifice their lives to preserve their virtue complete.' CHAP. IX. Tsze-kung asked about the practice of virtue. The Master said, 'The mechanic, who wishes to do his work well, must first sharpen his tools. When you are living in any state, take service with the most worthy among its great officers, and make friends of the most virtuous among its scholars.' CHAP. X. 1. Yen Yuan asked how the government of a country should be administered. 2. The Master said, 'Follow the seasons of Hsia. 3. 'Ride in the state carriage of Yin. 4. 'Wear the ceremonial cap of Chau. 5. 'Let the music be the Shao with its pantomimes. 6. Banish the songs of Chang, and keep far from specious talkers. The songs of Chang are licentious; specious talkers are dangerous.' CHAP. XI. The Master said, 'If a man take no thought about what is distant, he will find sorrow near at hand.' CHAP. XII. The Master said, 'It is all over! I have not seen one who loves virtue as he loves beauty.' CHAP. XIII. The Master said, 'Was not Tsang Wan like one who had stolen his situation? He knew the virtue and the talents of Hui of Liu-hsia, and yet did not procure that he should stand with him in court.' CHAP. XIV. The Master said, 'He who requires much from himself and little from others, will keep himself from being the object of resentment.' CHAP. XV. The Master said, 'When a man is not in the habit of saying— "What shall I think of this? What shall I think of this?" I can indeed do nothing with him!' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, 'When a number of people are together, for a whole day, without their conversation turning on righteousness, and when they are fond of carrying out the suggestions of a small shrewdness;— theirs is indeed a hard case.'
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CHAP. XVII. The Master said, 'The superior man in everything considers righteousness to be essential. He performs it according to the rules of propriety. He brings it forth in humility. He completes it with sincerity. This is indeed a superior man.' CHAP. XVIII. The Master said, 'The superior man is distressed by his want of ability. He is not distressed by men's not knowing him.' CHAP. XIX. The Master said, 'The superior man dislikes the thought of his name not being mentioned after his death.' CHAP. XX. The Master said, 'What the superior man seeks, is in himself. What the mean man seeks, is in others.' CHAP. XXI. The Master said, 'The superior man is dignified, but does not wrangle. He is sociable, but not a partizan.' CHAP. XXII. The Master said, 'The superior man does not promote a man simply on account of his words, nor does he put aside good words because of the man.' CHAP. XXIII. Tsze-kung asked, saying, 'Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?' The Master said, 'Is not RECIPROCITY such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.' CHAP. XXIV. 1. The Master said, 'In my dealings with men, whose evil do I blame, whose goodness do I praise, beyond what is proper? If I do sometimes exceed in praise, there must be ground for it in my examination of the individual. 2. 'This people supplied the ground why the three dynasties pursued the path of straightforwardness.' CHAP. XXV. The Master said, 'Even in my early days, a historiographer would leave a blank in his text, and he who had a horse would lend him to another to ride. Now, alas! there are no such things.' CHAP. XXVI. The Master said, 'Specious words confound virtue. Want of forbearance in small matters confounds great plans.' CHAP. XXVII. The Master said, 'When the multitude hate a man, it is necessary to examine into the case. When the multitude like a man, it is necessary to examine into the case.' CHAP. XXVIII. The Master said, 'A man can enlarge the principles which he follows; those principles do not enlarge the man.' CHAP. XXIX. The Master said, 'To have faults and not to reform them,— this, indeed, should be pronounced having faults.' CHAP. XXX. The Master said, 'I have been the whole day
without eating, and the whole night without sleeping:— occupied with thinking. It was of no use. The better plan is to learn.' CHAP. XXXI. The Master said, 'The object of the superior man is truth. Food is not his object. There is plowing;— even in that there is sometimes want. So with learning;— emolument may be found in it. The superior man is anxious lest he should not get truth; he is not anxious lest poverty should come upon him.' CHAP. XXXII. 1. The Master said, 'When a man's knowledge is sufficient to attain, and his virtue is not sufficient to enable him to hold, whatever he may have gained, he will lose again. 2. 'When his knowledge is sufficient to attain, and he has virtue enough to hold fast, if he cannot govern with dignity, the people will not respect him. 3. 'When his knowledge is sufficient to attain, and he has virtue enough to hold fast; when he governs also with dignity, yet if he try to move the people contrary to the rules of propriety:— full excellence is not reached.' CHAP. XXXIII. The Master said, 'The superior man cannot be known in little matters; but he may be intrusted with great concerns. The small man may not be intrusted with great concerns, but he may be known in little matters.' CHAP. XXXIV. The Master said, 'Virtue is more to man than either water or fire. I have seen men die from treading on water and fire, but I have never seen a man die from treading the course of virtue.' CHAP. XXXV. The Master said, 'Let every man consider virtue as what devolves on himself. He may not yield the performance of it even to his teacher.' CHAP. XXXVI. The Master said, 'The superior man is correctly firm, and not firm merely.' CHAP. XXXVII. The Master said, 'A minister, in serving his prince, reverently discharges his duties, and makes his emolument a secondary consideration.' CHAP. XXXVIII. The Master said, 'In teaching there should be no distinction of classes.' CHAP. XXXIX. The Master said, 'Those whose courses are different cannot lay plans for one another.' CHAP. XL. The Master said, 'In language it is simply required that it convey the meaning.' CHAP. XLI. 1. The Music-master, Mien, having called upon him, when they came to the steps, the Master said, 'Here are the steps.' When they came to the mat for the guest to sit upon, he said, 'Here is the mat.' When all were seated, the Master informed him, saying, 'So and so is here; so and so is here.' 2. The Music-master, Mien, having gone out, Tsze-chang asked, saying. 'Is it the rule to tell those things to the Music- master?' 3. The Master
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said, 'Yes. This is certainly the rule for those who lead the blind.'
BOOK XX. YAO YUEH. CHAP. I. 1. Yao said, 'Oh! you, Shun, the Heaven- determined order of succession now rests in your person. Sincerely hold fast the due Mean. If there shall be distress and want within the four seas, the Heavenly revenue will come to a perpetual end.' 2. Shun also used the same language in giving charge to Yu. 3. T'ang said, 'I the child Li, presume to use a dark-coloured victim, and presume to announce to Thee, O most great and sovereign God, that the sinner I dare not pardon, and thy ministers, O God, I do not keep in obscurity. The examination of them is by thy mind, O God. If, in my person, I commit offences, they are not to be attributed to you, the people of the myriad regions. If you in the myriad regions commit offences, these offences must rest on my person.' 4. Chau conferred great gifts, and the good were enriched. 5. 'Although he has his near relatives, they are not equal to my virtuous men. The people are throwing blame upon me, the One man.' 6. He carefully attended to the weights and measures, examined the body of the laws, restored the discarded officers, and the good government of the kingdom took its course. 7. He revived States that had been extinguished, restored families whose line of succession had been broken, and called to office those who had retired into obscurity, so that throughout the kingdom the hearts of the people turned towards him. 8. What he attached chief importance to, were the food of the people, the duties of mourning, and sacrifices. 9. By his generosity, he won all. By his sincerity, he made the people repose trust in him. By his earnest activity, his achievements were great. By his justice, all were delighted. CHAP. II. 1. Tsze-chang asked Confucius, saying, 'In what way should a person in authority act in order that he may conduct government properly?' The Master replied, 'Let him honour the five excellent, and banish away the four bad, things;— then may he conduct government properly.' Tsze- chang said, 'What are meant by the five excellent things?' The Master said, 'When the person in authority is beneficent without great expenditure; when he lays tasks on the people without their repining; when he pursues what he desires without being covetous; when he maintains a dignified ease without being proud; when he is majestic without being fierce.' 2. Tsze-chang said, 'What is meant by being beneficent without great expenditure?' The Master replied, 'When the person in authority makes more beneficial to the people the things from which they naturally derive
benefit;— is not this being beneficent without great expenditure? When he chooses the labours which are proper, and makes them labour on them, who will repine? When his desires are set on benevolent government, and he secures it, who will accuse him of covetousness? Whether he has to do with many people or few, or with things great or small, he does not dare to indicate any disrespect;— is not this to maintain a dignified ease without any pride? He adjusts his clothes and cap, and throws a dignity into his looks, so that, thus dignified, he is looked at with awe;— is not this to be majestic without being fierce?' 3. Tsze- chang then asked, 'What are meant by the four bad things?' The Master said, 'To put the people to death without having instructed them;— this is called cruelty. To require from them, suddenly, the full tale of work, without having given them warning;— this is called oppression. To issue orders as if without urgency, at first, and, when the time comes, to insist on them with severity;— this is called injury. And, generally, in the giving pay or rewards to men, to do it in a stingy way;— this is called acting the part of a mere official.' CHAP III. 1. The Master said, 'Without recognising the ordinances of Heaven, it is impossible to be a superior man. 2. 'Without an acquaintance with the rules of Propriety, it is impossible for the character to be established. 3. 'Without knowing the force of words, it is impossible to know men.'
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Majalis al-'Ushshaq of Sultan Husayn Mirza.. Fine Art. Britannica ImageQuest, Encyclopædia Britannica,
Al Ghazali, Some Religious
and Moral Teachings of Al-
Ghazzali, translated by Syed
Nawab Ali, (Selections)
THE NATURE OF MAN
Though man shares with the other animals
external and internal senses, he is at the same
time also endowed with two qualities peculiar to
himself, knowledge and will. By knowledge is
meant the power of generalisation, the conception
of abstract ideas, and the possession of intellectual
truths. By will is meant that strong desire to
acquire an object which after due consideration of
its consequences has been pronounced by reason
to be good. It is quite different from animal desire,
nay, it is often the very opposite of it.
In the beginning children also lack these two
qualities. They have passion, anger, and all the
external and internal senses, but will finds its
expression only later. Knowledge differs according
to the capacity for it, according to the latent
powers in a man. Hence there is a variety of stages
amongst Prophets, the Ulamas, the Sufis and the
Philosophers. Further progress is possible even
beyond these stages, for divine knowledge knows
no bounds. The highest stage is reached by one to
whom all truths and realities are revealed
intuitively, who by virtue of his exalted position
enjoys direct communion and close relation with
the Most Holy. The real nature of this position is
known only to him who enjoys it. We verify it by
faith. A child has no knowledge of the attainments
of an adult; an adult is not aware of the
acquisitions of a learned man. Similarly, a learned
man is not cogniscant of the holy communion of
the saints and the prophets, and of the favours
bestowed on them. Although the divine blessings
descend freely, those are fit recipients of them,
whose hearts are pure and wholly devoted to Him.
“Verily,” says the Hadis, the desire of the virtuous
is to hold communion with me, and I long to look
at them”. “He who approaches me a span, I
approach him an arm”. The divine favours are not
withheld, but hearts bedimmed by impurity fail to
receive them. “Had it not been that the devils
hover round the hearts of men, they would have
seen the glories of the Kingdom of the Heaven”.
The superiority of man consists thus in his being
cogniscant of divine attributes and actions.
Therein lies his perfection; thus he may be worthy
of admission to God’s presence.
The body serves as a vehicle for the soul, and the
soul is the abode for knowledge which is its
fundamental character as well as its ultimate
object. The horse and the ass are both beasts of
burden, but a superiority of the former is found in
its being gracefully adapted for use in battle. If the
horse fails in this it is degraded to the rank of
mere burden bearing animals. Similarly with man.
In certain qualities man resembles a horse and an
ass, but his distinguishing trait is his participation
in the nature of the angels, for he holds a middle
position between the beast and the angel.
Considering the mode of his nourishment and
growth he is found to belong to the vegetable
world. Considering his power of movement and
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impulses he is a denizen of the animal kingdom.
The distinguishing quality of knowledge lifts him
up to the celestial world. If he fails to develop this
quality and to translate it into action he is no
better than a grunting pig, a snarling dog, a
prowling wolf, or a crafty fox.
If he wishes for true happiness, let him look upon
reason as a monarch sitting on the throne of his
heart, imagination as its ambassador, memory as
treasurer, speech as interpreter, the limbs as
clerks, and the senses as spies in the realms of
colour, sound, smell, etc. If all these properly
discharge the duties allotted to them, if every
faculty does that for which it was created-and
such service is the real meaning of thanks giving
to God-the ultimate object of his sojourn in this
transitory world is realised.
Man’s nature is made up of four elements, which
produce in him four attributes, namely, the
beastly; the brutal, the satanic, and the divine. In
man there is something of the pig, the dog, the
devil, and the saint. The pig is the appetite which
is repulsive not for its form but for its lust and its
gluttony. The dog is passion which barks and
bites, causing injury to others. The devil is the
attribute which instigates these former two,
embellishing them and bedimming the sight of
reason which is the divine attribute. Divine
reason, if properly attended to, would repel the
evil by exposing its character. It would properly
control appetite and the passions. But when a man
fails to obey the dictates of reason, these three
other attributes prevail over him and cause his
ruin. Such types of men are many. What a pity it is
that these who would find fault with those who
worship stones do not see that on their part they
worship the pig and the dog in themselves: Let
them be ashamed of their deplorable condition
and leave no stone unturned for the suppression
of these evil attributes. The pig of appetite begets
shamelessness, lust, slander, and such like; the
dog of passion begets pride, vanity, ridicule, wrath
and tyrany. These two, controlled by the satanic
power produce deceit, treachery, perfidy,
meanness etc. but if divinity in man is uppermost
the qualities of knowledge, wisdom, faith, and
truth, etc. will be acquired.
Know then that mind is like a mirror which
reflects images. But just as the mirror, the image,
and the mode of reflection are three different
things so mind, objects, and the way of knowing
are also distinct. There are five reasons which may
prevent the object from being reflected in the
mirror 1. There may be something wrong with the
mirror. 2. Something other than the mirror may
prevent the reflection. 3. The object may not be in
front of it. 4. Something may come between the
object and the mirror. 5. The position of the object
may not be known, so that the mirror may be
properly placed. Similarly, for five reasons, the
mind fails to receive knowledge. 1. The mind may
be imperfect, like the child’s. 2. Sin and guilt may
bedim the mind and throw a veil over it. 3. The
mind may be diverted from the real object. For
example, a man may be obedient and good, but
instead of rising higher to the acquisition of truth
and contemplation of God is contented with
bodily devotions and acquirement of means of
living. Such a mind, though pure, will not reflect
the divine image for his objects of thought are
other than this If this is the condition of such
mind, think what will be the state of those minds
which are absorbed in the gratification of their
inordinate passions. 4. An external screen, may as
it were, come before the objects. Sometimes a man
who has subjugated his passions still through
blind imitation or prejudice fails to know the
truth. Such types are found amongst the votaries
of the Kalam. Even many virtuous men also fall a
prey to it and blindly stick to their dogmas. 5.
There may be ignorance of the means for the
acquisition of truth. Thus for illustration, a man
wants to see his back in a mirror: if he places the
mirror before his eyes he fails to see his back; if he
keeps it facing his back it will still be out of sight.
Let him then take another mirror and place one
before his eyes and the other facing his back in
such a position that the image of the latter is
reflected in the former. Thus he will be able to see
his back. Similarly the knowledge of the proper
means is a key to the knowledge of the unknown
from the known.
The divine dispensation is liberal in the
distribution of its bounties, but for reasons
mentioned above, minds fail to profit by them. For
human minds partake of the nature of the divine
and the capacity to apprehend truth is innate. The
Quran says: “Surely we offered the trust to the
heavens and the earth and the mountains, but
they declined to bear it up and were afraid of it
and man took it up. Surely he is not just (to
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himself) and is ignorant”.5 In this passage the
innate capacity of man is hinted at and refers to
the secret power of knowing God, latent in human
minds by virtue of which they have preference
over other objects and the universe. The Prophet
says: Every child is born in the right state (Fitrat)
but his parents make him a Jew, a Christian, or a
Magian.” And again: “Had it not been that evil
spirits hover round the hearts of the sons of Adam
they would have seen the kingdom of heaven”. Ibn
Umar reports that the Prophet was once asked as
to where God is found either on earth or in
heaven. “He is in the hearts of his faithful
servants”. replied the Prophet.
It will not be out of place to throw some light here
on the following terms which are often vaguely
applied while dealing with the question of human
nature.
1. Qalb (heart) has two meanings. (a) a conical
shaped piece of flesh on the left side of the chest,
circulating blood, the source of animal spirits. It is
found in all animals. The heart thus belongs to the
external world and can be seen with the material
eyes. (b) A mysterious divine substance which is
related to the material heart like the relation
between the dweller and the house or the artisan
and his implements. It alone is sentient and
responsible.
2. Ruh (spirit) means (a) a vapoury substance
which issues from the material heart, and
quickens every part of the body. It is like a lamp
which is placed in a house and sheds its light on
all sides. (b) The soul which is expressed in the
Quran as “divine commandment” and is used in
the same sense as the second meaning of Qalb,
mentioned above.
3. Nafs (self) which means (a) the substratum for
appetite and passion. The Sufis call it the
embodiment of vices. (b) The ego which receives
different names in accordance with the qualities
acquired from changes in its conditions. When in
subjugating passions it acquires mastery over
them and feels undisturbed, it is called the
peaceful self (Nafsi mutmainna). The Quran says:
“Nafs that art at rest. Return to thy Lord well
pleased with Him, well pleasing.” When it
upbraids man for his actions it is called conscience
(Nafsi lauwama). When it freely indulges in the
gratification of his passions, it is called the
inordinate self (Nafsi ammara).
HUMAN FREEDOM AND RESPONSIBILITY
Actions are either voluntary or involuntary. The
difference between them is not of kind but of
degree. Analyse the the process of an involuntary
action and you will find that if, for example, a man
intends to thrust a needle in your eye or draws a
sword to strike on your head, your eye in the
former case will at once close and in the latter
your hand will suddenly be raised up to shield
your head. This prompt action on the part of your
eye and hand is due to your consciousness of the
evil to be evaded, and this gives rise to volition
which moves the eye and the hand without the
least delay. There are, however, cases the
desirability or rejection of which needs
meditation, but the moment mind decides, the
decision is carried out as promptly as in the above
example. This meditation translated into choice or
rejection constitutes will. Now will makes its
choice between two alternatives and takes its cue
either from imagination or reason. For example, a
man may be unable to cut his own throat, not
because his hand is weak or a knife is not
available, but because will is lacking which would
give the stimulus to suicide. For man loves his
own life. But suppose he gets tired of his life,
owing to having harrowing pains and unbearable
mental sufferings. He has now to choose between
two alternatives which are both undesirable A
struggle commences and he hangs between life
and death. If he thinks that death which will put
an end to his sufferings quickly is preferable to life
with its lingering intolerable pains, he will choose
death although he loves his life. This choice gives
rise to will, the command to which,
communicated through proper channels, would
then be faithfully executed by his hand in the
manner of suicide. Thus, though the process from
the commencement of mental struggle for the
choice between two alternatives down to the
stimulus to physical action is uniformly
determinate there is at any rate a sort of freedom
tracable in the will.
Man holds the balance between determinism and
freedom. The uniform succession of events is on
the lines of determination but his choice which is
an essential element of will is his own. Our
Ulamas have therefore coined a separate phrase:
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Kasb (acquisition), distinguishing it from Jabr
(necessity) and Ikhtiyar (freedom) They say that
fire burns of necessity (Jabr) but man may acquire
fire through the appropriate methods, while in
Almighty God is the ultimate cause of fire
(Ikhtiyar). But it must be noted that when we use
the word Ikhtiyar for God, we must exclude the
notion of choice, which is an essential element of
will in man. Let it be here recognised once for all
as a general principle that all the words of man’s
vocabulary when used for God’s attributes are
similarly metaphorical.
The question may be asked: If God is the ultimate
cause why should there be a causal connection in
the orderly succession of events? The answer to
this lies in the correct understanding of the nature
of causation. Nothing causes anything.
Antecedents have consequents. God alone is the
efficient cause, but the ignorant have
misunderstood and misapplied the word power.
As to the orderly succession of events, let it be
understood that the two events are conjoined like
the relation between the condition and the
conditioned. Now certain conditions are very
apparent and can be known easily by people of
little understanding, but there are conditions
which are understood only by those who see
through the light of intuition: hence the common
error of miscalculating the uniformity of events.
There is a divine purpose linking the antecedents
to the consequents and manifesting itself in the
existing orderly succession of events, without the
least break or irregularity. “Verily”, says the
Quran. “We did not create the heavens and the
earth and what is between them in sport. We did
not create them both but with truth, but most of
them do not know”.
Surely, there is a set purpose pervading the
universe. The uniform succession of events is not
at random. There is no such thing as chance. Here
again it may be asked: If God is the efficient cause,
how will you account for actions attributed to
man in the scriptures? Are we to believe that there
are two causes for one effect? My answer to this
will be that the word cause is vaguely understood.
It can be used in two different senses. Just as we
say that the death of A was caused by (1) B. the
executioner, and (2) C the king’s order. Both these
statements are correct. Similarly God is the cause
of actions as He has creative power and efficiency.
At the same time man is the cause of actions as he
is the source of the manifestation of uniform
succession of events. In the former case we have a
real causal connection, while in the latter a
relation of the antecedent to the consequent after
the manner of the connection between the
condition and the conditioned. There are passages
in the Quran where the word cause is used in
different senses.
“The angel of death who is given charge of you
shall cause you to die: then to your Lord you shall
be brought back”. “Allah takes the souls at the
time of their death”.
“Have you considered what you sow?” “We pour
down the water, pouring it down in abundance.
Then we cleave the earth; cleaving it asunder.
Then we cause to grow therein the grain”.8
“Fight them: Allah will chastise them by your
hands and bring them to disgrace”.9 “So you did
not slay them, but it was Allah who slew them,
and thou didst not smite when thou didst smite,
but it was Allah who smote, that he might confer
upon the believers a good gift from himself”.10
These passages show that the word, cause,
signifies creative power, and must be applied to
God alone. But as man’s power is the image of
God’s power the word was applied to him
figuratively. Yet, just as the death of a culprit is
caused by the actual killing by the hand of the
executioner and not the king’s order, so the word
cause actually applied to man is contrary to fact.
God alone is the real efficient cause, and the word
must be applied to him in its root sense of power.
It may be asked then, why man should be
rewarded for his good actions and punished for his
misdeeds. Let us consider first the nature of
reward and punishment. Experience tells us that
things have natural properties and that physical
laws operate in a uniform manner. Take, for
example, the science of medicine. Certain drugs
are found to possess certain qualities. If a man
swallows poison of his own accord he has no right
to ask why poison kills him. Its natural property
has simply operated in his system and caused his
death. Similarly actions make an impression on
mind. Good and bad actions are invariably
followed by pleasure and pain respectively. A good
action is its own reward of pleasure and a bad one
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of pain. The former works like an elixir; the latter
like poison. The properties of actions have been
discovered, like discoveries in medicine, but by
the physicians of the heart, the saints and the
prophets. If you will not listen to them you must
suffer the consequence. Now hear a parable:
A certain king sent a horse, a robe of honour, and
travelling expenses to one of his suzerains in a
distant land. Although the king had no need of his
services, the royal gift was a favour shown to his
suzerain, so that he might come to the king’s
court and be happy in his presence. If the suzerain
understands the king’s intention from the nature
of the gift and utilizes it properly with a grateful
heart, he will wait on the king and live happily,
but if he misuses the gift or takes no heed of it, he
will prove an ungrateful wretch.
It is thus that the boundless mercy of the
omnipotent and omniscient God bestowed on us
the gift of life, providing us with bodily organs,
mental and moral faculties, so that we uplift
ourselves by utilizing them properly, and be
worthy of being admitted into his holy presence. If
we misuse them or pay no regard to them, surely
we shall be (Kafirs) (literally “ungrateful”) for his
blessings bestowed on us for our good, and thus
be doomed.
“Verily,” says the Quran, “we created man in the
best make. Then we render him the lowest of the
low. Except those who believe and do good, so
they shall have a reward never to be cut off”
The Allegory of the Pen
A certain devotee who was on the way to
illumination saw a piece of paper with lines
written on it. “Why”, said the devotee, hast thou
blackened thy bright face?” It is not fair to take me
to task replied the paper, “I have done nothing”.
“Ask the ink why she has sallied forth from the
inkstand where she was quite at ease, and forcibly
blackened my face”. “You are right” said the
devotee. Then he turned to the ink and enquired
of her. “Why do you ask me”, she said, “I was
sitting still in the inkstand and had no mind to
come out but this truculent pen rushed at me,
drew me out and scattered me over the page.
There you see me lying helpless, go to the pen and
ask him”. The devotee turned to the pen and
interrogated him about his high-handedness.
“Why do you trouble me”, answered the pen,
“Look, what am I? an insignificant reed. I was
growing by the banks of silvery streams amidst
shady green trees, when lo: a hand stretched at
me. It held a knife, which uprooted me, flayed me
and separated my joints, hewed me, cleaved my
head then, chopped it off. I was sent headlong
towards the ink, and have to serve abjectly. Do not
add insult to my injuries, go to the hand and ask
him”. The devotee looked at the hand and said: “Is
it true? Are you so cruel?” “Do not be angry, Sir”
replied the hand, “I am a bundle of flesh, bones,
and blood. Have you ever seen a piece of flesh
exerting power? Can a body move of itself? I am a
vehicle used by one called vitality. He rides on me
and forces me round and round. You see, a dead
man has hands but cannot use them because
vitality has left them. Why should I, a mere
vehicle, be blamed? Go to vitality and ask him why
he makes use of me.” “You are right”, said the
devotee, and then questioned vitality. “Do not find
fault with me”, answered vitality, Many a time a
censurer himself is reproved, while the censured is
found faultless. How do you know that I have
forced the hand? I was already there before he
moved, and had no idea of the motion. I was
unconscious and the on-lookers were also
unaware of me. Suddenly an agent came and
stirred me. I had neither strength enough to
disobey nor willingness to obey him. That for
which you would take me to task I had to do
according to his wish. I do not know who this
agent is. He is called will and I know him by name
only. Had the matter been left to me I think I
should have done nothing.” “All right”, continued
the devotee, “I shall put the question to will, and
ask him why he has forcibly employed vitality
which of its own accord would have done
nothing”. “Do not be in too great a hurry”,
exclaimed will, “perchance I may give you
sufficient reason. His majesty, the mind, sent an
ambassador, named know, edge, who delivered his
message to me through reason, saying: ‘Rise up,
stir vitality’ I was forced to do so, because I have to
obey knowledge and reason, but I know not why.
As long as I receive no order I am happy, but the
moment an order is delivered I dare not disobey.
Whether my monarch be a just ruler or a tyrant, I
must obey him. On my oath, as long as the king
hesitates or ponders over the matter I stand quiet,
ready to serve, but the moment his order is passed
my sense of obedience which is innate forces me
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to stir up vitality. So, you should not blame me.
Go to knowledge and get information there”. “You
are right,” consented the devotee, and proceeding,
asked mind and its ambassador, knowledge and
reason, for an explanation. Reason excused
himself by saying he was a lamp only, but knew
not who had lighted it. Mind pleaded his
innocence by calling himself a mere tabula rasa.
Knowledge maintained that it was simply an
inscription on the tabula rasa, inscribed after the
lamp of reason had been lighted. Thus he could
not be considered the author of the inscription
which may have been the work of some invisible
pen. The devotee was puzzled by the reply, but
collecting himself, he spoke thus to knowledge: “I
am wandering in the path of my enquiry. To
whomsoever I go and ask the reason I am referred
to another. Nevertheless, there is pleasure in my
quest, for I find that everyone gives me a plausible
reason. But pardon me, Sir if I say that your reply,
knowledge, fails to satisfy me. You say that you are
a mere inscription recorded by a pen. I have seen
pen, ink, and tablet. They are of reed, a black
mixture, and of wood and iron, respectively. And I
have seen lamps lighted with fire. But here I do
not see any of these things, and yet you talk of the
tablet, the lamp, the pen and the inscription.
Surely you are not trifling with me?” “Certainly
not”, returned knowledge, “I spoke in right
earnest. But I see your difficulty. Your means are
scanty, your horse is jaded, and your journey is
long and dangerous. Give up this enterprise, as I
fear you cannot succeed. If, however you are
prepared to run the risk, then listen. Your journey
extends through three regions. The first is the
terrestial world. Its objects pen, ink, paper, hand
etc. are just what you have seen them to be. The
second is the celestial world, which will begin
when you have left me behind. There you will
come across dense forests, deep wide rivers and
high impassable mountains and I know not how
you would be able to proceed. Between these two
worlds there is a third intermediary region called
the phenomenal world. You have crossed three
stages of it, vitality, will, and knowledge. To use a
simile: a man who is walking is treading the
terrestial world: if he is sailing in a boat he enters
the phenomenal world: if he leaves the boat and
swims and walks on the waters, he is admitted in
the celestial world. If you do not know how to
swim, go back. For, the watery region of the
celestial world begins now when you can see that
pen inscribing on the tablet of the heart. If you are
not of whom it was said: ‘O ye of little faith,
wherefore didst thou doubt?’13 prepare thyself.
For, by faith you shall not simply walk on the sea
but fly in the air”. The wondering devotee stood
speechless for awhile, then turning to knowledge,
began: “I am in a difficulty. The dangers of the
path which you have described unnerve my heart,
and I know not whether I have sufficient stength
to face them and to succeed in the end”. “There is
a test for your strength”, replied knowledge,
“Open your eyes and fix your gaze on me. If you
see the pen which writes on the heart you will in
my opinion, be able to proceed further on. For he
who crosses the phenomenal world, knocks at the
door of the celestial world, then sights the pen
which writes on hearts”. The devotee did as he was
advised, but failed to see that pen, because his
notion of pen was no other but of a pen of reed or
wood. Then knowledge drew his attention, saying:
“There’s the rub. Do you not know that the
furniture of a palace indicates the status of its
lord? Nothing in the universe resembles God,
therefore his attributes are also transcendental.
He is neither body nor is in space. His hand is not
a bundle of flesh, bone, and blood. His pen is not
of reed or wood. His writing is not from ink
prepared from vitriol and gall. But there are many
who ignorantly cling to an anthropomorphic view
of Him, there are few who cherish a
transcendentally pure conception of Him, and
believe that He is not only above all material
limitation but even above the limitation of
metaphor. You seem to be oscillating between
these two views, because on the one hand you
think that God is immaterial, that His words have
neither sound nor shape; on the other hand you
cannot rise to the transcendental conception of
His hand, pen and tablet. Do you think that the
meaning of the tradition “Verily God created
Adam in His own image’ is limited to the visible
face of man? Certainly not: it is the inward nature
of man seen by the inward sight which can be
called the image of God. But listen: You are now at
the sacred mount, where the invisible voice from
the burning bush speaks: ‘I am that I am; “Verily I
am thy Lord God, put off thy shoes”. The devotee,
who listening with rapture, suddenly saw as it
were a flash of lightning, there appeared working
the pen which writes on hearts-formless. “A
thousand blessings on thee, O knowledge, who
hast saved me from falling into the abysm of
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anthropomorphism (Tashbih). “I thank thee from
the bottom of my heart. I tarried long, but now,
adieu”.
The devotee then resumed his journey. Halting in
the presence of the invisible pen, politely he asked
the same question. “You know my reply” answered
the mysterious pen, “You cannot have forgotten
the reply given to you by the pen in the terrestial
world”. “Yes, I remember,” replied the devotee,
“but how can it be the same reply, because there is
no similitude between you and that pen”. “Then it
seems you have forgotten the tradition: Verily God
created Adam in his own image”. “No, Sir”,
interrupted the devotee, “I know it by heart”. “And
you have forgotten also that passage in the Quran:
“And the heavens rolled up in his right hand.”
“Certainly not”, exclaimed the devotee, “I can
repeat the whole of the Quran by rote”. “Yes, I
know, and as you are now treading the sacred
precincts of the celestial world I think I can now
safely tell you that you have simply learnt the
meaning of these passages from a negative point
of view. But they have a positive value, and should
be utilised as constructive at this stage. Proceed
further and you will understand what I mean”.
The devotee looked and found himself reflecting
upon the divine attribute omnipotence. At once
he realised the force of the mysterious pen’s
argument, but goaded by his inquisitive nature he
was about to put the question to the holy being,
when a voice like the deafening sound of thunder
was heard from above, proclaiming: “He is not
questioned for his actions but they shall be asked”.
Filled with surprize; the devotee bent his head in
silent submission.
The hand of the divine mercy stretched towards
the helpless devotee; into his ear were whispered
in zephyr tones: “Verily those who strive in our
way we will certainly show them the path which
leads to us”. Opening his eyes, the devotee raised
his head and poured forth his heart in silent
prayer. “Holy art thou, O God Almighty: blessed is
thy name O Lord of the universe. Henceforth I
shall fear no mortal: I put my entire trust in thee:
thy forgiveness is my solace: thy mercy is my
refuge.”
(Light may be thrown on the matter by
consideration of the unity of God.)
PRIDE AND VANITY*
When a man feels a superiority over others and
with this a sort of inward elation, this is called
pride. It differs from vanity in as much as vanity
means consciousness of one’s elation while pride
requires a subject, an object and a feeling of
elation. Suppose a man is born solitary in the
world, he may be vain but not proud, because in
pride man considers himself superior to others for
certain qualities of his self. He allots one position
to his self and one to another, and then thinks
that his position is higher and is therefore elated.
This “puffed up” feeling which imparts a sense of
“touch me not” is called pride. The Prophet says:
“O God save me from the puffing up of pride”. Ibn
Abbas says that the sentence in the Quran “And
they have pride in their hearts and will fail to
reach it” means that the thought of inward
greatness will be denied to them. This thought is
the source of inward and outward actions, which
are so to speak the fruits of it.
A proud man will not tolerate any other to be on
equal terms with himself. In private and in public
he expects that all should assume a respectful
attitude towards him and acknowledging his
superiority treat him as a higher being. They
should greet him first, make way for him wherever
he walks; when he speaks everyone should listen
to him and never try to oppose him. He is a genius
and people are like asses. They should be grateful
to him seeing that he is so condescending. Such
proud men are found especially among ulamas.
Sages are ruined by their pride. The Prophet says:
“He who has an atom of pride in his heart will fail
to enter paradise.” This saying requires
explanation, and should be carefully listened to.
Virtues are the doors of Paradise, but pride and
self esteem lock them all. So long as man feels
elated he will not like for others what he likes for
himself. His self esteem will deprive him of
humility, which is the essence of righteousness.
He will neither be able to discard enmity and
envy, resentment and wrath, slander and scorn,
nor will he be able to cultivate truth and sincerity,
and calmly listen to any advice. In short, there is
no evil which a proud man will not inevitably do
in order to preserve his elation and self-esteem.
Vices are like a chain of rings linked together
which entangle his heart. Therefore, an atom of
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pride is Satan’s spark, which secretly consumes
the nature of the sons of Adam.
Know then that pride is of three kinds: 1. Against
God; 2. Against prophets and saints; 3. Against
fellowmen.
1. Against God. It is due to mere foolishness when
a biped creaturs considers himself as if Lord of the
universe. Namrud and Pharoah were such types,
who disdained to be called God’s creatures on
earth: “Verily, Verily,” says the Quran,” the
Messaiah does by no means disdain that he should
be a servant of Allah, nor do the angels who are
near to Him, and whoever disdains His service and
is proud He will gather them all together to
Himself.”
2. Against prophets and saints. It is due to
unwarranted self esteem when one considers
obedience to any mortal being as lowering his own
position. Such a person either fails to reflect on
the nature of prophetship and thereby feels proud
of himself and does not obey the prophet, or
refuses to consider the claims of prophetship as
being derogatory to his elated self and therefore
pays no regard to the prophet. The Quran quotes
the words of such persons:—” And they say: what
is the matter with this Apostle that he eats food
and goes about in the markets, why has not an
angel been sent down to him so that he should
have been a warner with him. Or (why is not) a
treasure sent down to him or he is made to have a
garden from which he should eat”. “And those
who do not fear our meeting, say: Why have not
angels been sent down to us, or (why) do we not
see our Lord? Now certainly they are too proud of
themselves and have revolted in great revolt.”
Our Prophet Mohammed was an orphan and had
scanty means of livelihood, so the Koraishite chief
Walid bin Moghera and Abu Masood Sakfi used to
speak contemptuously of him.3 And when people
believed in him and accepted Islam, the proud
Koraishites used to say: Mohammed is surrounded
by poor men, let him send them off and then we
of the aristocracy of Mecca will listen to him. But
God spoke to Mohammed “And withhold thyself
with those who call on their Lord morning and
evening, desiring His good will, and let not their
eyes pass from them, desiring the beauties of this
world’s life, and do not follow him, whose heart
we have made unmindful to our resemblance, and
he follows his low desires, and his case is one in
which due bounds are exceeded”.
3. Against fellowmen. A proud man considers
himself a superior being and would like to see
everybody humbled before him. He is therefore
quarrelling with God, trying to share with Him His
attribute omnipotence. God is spoken of in the
Hadith, as saying: Omnipotence is my mantle, he
who quarrels with me for it, him will I crush”.
Surely men are all His servants and no servant has
a right to treat his fellow servants as their master.
But a proud man in the intoxication of his elation
takes himself as God on earth. He is too haughty
to listen to truth from the lips of any of his
fellowmen. Ibn Masud says: “It is enough for sin if
a person, who is advised to fear God answers his
advisor: Look to thine own self.”
The consciousness of superiority which begets
pride is due to certain attributes or
accomplishments which can be summed up as:
a. Spiritual, divided into (1) knowledge; (2)
devotion.
b. Worldly, of five kinds: (3) pedigree; (4) beauty;
(5) strength; (6) wealth; (7) kith and kin.
There are thus seven causes in all, and these need
some description.
Knowledge is power. Consciousness of power
easily elates a man, who considers himself
superior to others and treats them in a
supercilious manner. If he accepts the greetings or
the invitation of his fellowmen or receives them in
audience he thinks they should be thankful to him
for his condescension. People should obey and
serve him, for by virtue of his knowledge he thinks
he has a right over them. Such a proud “Alim” is
sorry for the sins of others but unmindful of his
own condition. While he freely distributes Heaven
and Hell among his fellowmen, he claims salvation
and Heaven for himself. The question is whether
he is really justified in holding the title of Alim.
For an Alim is one who, knowing himself knows
God, who fears the Lord most, who holds himself
more responsible for his actions for he knows
good and evil and feels the awful presence of a
mighty and just Being who looks to righteousness
alone.
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Let us consider why men of knowledge become
proud. There are two main causes which should
be noted. First there is a false conception about
the nature of real knowledge. Devoted to certain
sciences and arts such as mathematics, physics,
literature, and dialectics, they think that
proficiency in them makes a man perfect. But real
knowledge means the lifting of the veil from
before the eyes of the heart so as to see the
mysterious relation between man and his maker
and to be filled with a sense of awe and reverence
in the presence of an omniscient holy Being who
pervades the universe. This attitude of mind, this
enlightenment is real knowledge. It produces
humility and repels pride.
Secondly, there is an indifference to moral
training during student life. Wicked habits thus
produce bitter fruits of pride. Wahb has well
illustrated this point, when he says: “Knowledge is
like rain falling from above, so pure and sweet but
the plants when they absorb it, embitter or
sweeten it, according to their tastes. Man in
acquiring knowledge acquires power, which gives
strength to the hidden qualities of his heart. If he
was prone towards pride and paid no attention to
the subjugation of it, he would prove more proud
when he acquires knowledge” “There will be men”
says the Prophet ‘who will have the Quran on
their lips but it will not go down their throats.
They will claim knowledge of it, calling themselves
learned Qari. They will be from among you my
companions, but woe to them, for they will see the
consequence of it in Hell”.
Warned by their Prophet, his companions lived a
life of humility and their example taught its lesson
to their successors. A person came to Khalif Omar
after morning prayers and said: “I should like to
give public sermons”. “My friend”, said the Khalif,
“I am afraid you would soon be puffed up with
pride”. Huzaifa, the companion of the Prophet,
was a leader of prayer. One day he said to his
congregation: “Brethren, have another leader, or
go and pray alone, for I begin to feel puffed up
with your leadership”.
Thus, the companions of the Prophet lived
meekly, the humble servants of God on earth,
keenly watching the changing phases of their
Hearts and promptly seeking the remedy. But we
who call ourselves their followers not only do not
try to purify our hearts but do not even think it
worth while to consider the means for their
purification. How can we expect salvation? But we
ought not to lose heart. The apostle of mercy for
the worlds (Rahmet ul lilalamin) has said: “Soon a
time will come when if any person will do even
one tenth of what you are doing now, he will have
his salvation”.6
Devotion and religious service elicit admiration
and praise for the devotee, who finding himself
respected by the people is elated. This elation
quietly develops into pride and then the devotee
considers himself a superior being and favoured of
God. He despises his fellow men and calls them
sinners, who will be doomed for ever. But he does
know that he himself will be doomed for despising
his fellowmen and thinking too much of himself.
The Prophet says: “When you hear any person,
saying: ‘Woe to the people they are doomed,’
know that he himself will be doomed first”.
It is recorded that a certain sinner among the Jews
passed by a well known Pharisee. Struck with the
appearance of the Pharisee’s piety and devotion,
the poor sinner sat down by him, believing in the
saving grace of his holy touch. But the proud
Pharisee disdainfully spoke out: “Touch me not
thou filthy sinner, and leave my presence”.
Whereupon God sent His word to the prophet of
that age: “Go and tell that sinner; thou art
forgiven: As for that Pharisee, his devotion is cast
aside and he is doomed”.
3. People are usually proud of their lineage, and
look down on men of low birth. They refuse to
treat them on equal terms, and boastfully speak of
their ancestors in the presence of men, who are
treated by them in a haughty manner. This evil
lurks even in the hearts of good and virtuous men,
although their manners and actions throw a veil
over it. But in an unguarded moment of
excitement and fury, this demon of pedigree is let
loose from the innermost corner of the heart.
The Prophet’s companion Abuzar says: “I was
quarrelling with someone in the presence of the
Prophet when suddenly in a fit of rage I abused
the man; Thou son of a negrees!” On this the
Prophet coaxingly said to me: “Abuzar, both the
scales are equal. The white has no preference over
the black. Hearing this I fell and said to the
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person: Brother come and trample on my face and
then forgive me.”
It is reported in the Hadith that two men were
quarrelling before the Prophet. One said to the
other; “I am the son of such and such illustrious
man, tell me who thy father is?” The Prophet,
addressing the boastful man said; “There were two
men in the time of Moses who boast fully spoke of
their pedigree. One said to the other: Look how
my nine ancestors all in one line were men of
renown. And God said to Moses: “Tell this man:
All thy nine ancestors are in Hell and thou art the
tenth.”
4. Women generally feel proud of their beauty.
This leads to finding fault with others, and this
gradually assumes the form of contempt and
disdain. Ayesha, the wife of the Prophet, says:
“One day a woman came to the Prophet and I said
to him: “Look at this dwarf.” ‘The Prophet turned
towards me and said: ‘Ayesha, repent of what thou
hast said, for it is slander.’
5, 6, 7. People feel a sort of elation at the sight of
their possessions. A merchant is elated with his
stores, a landowner with his fields and groves, and
a nobleman with his retinue and riches. In short,
every person feels proud of his worldly possessions
and looks down on those who are lacking in
them. He believes in riches and worships
mammon.7 He has no idea of what is meant by:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for their’s is the
kingdom of Heaven”.
We may quote a parable from the Quran. “And set
forth to them a parable of two men. For one of
them we made two gardens of grape vines, and we
surrounded them both with palms, and in the
midst of them we made corn-fields. Both these
gardens yielded their fruits and failed nothing. We
caused a river to gush forth in their midst. The
man possessed much wealth and he said to his
companion while he disputed with him: I have
greater wealth than you and am mightier in
followers. While he entered his garden he was
unjust to himself. He said: I do not think that this
will ever perish. I do not think the hour will come,
yet even if I return to my Lord I shall most
certainly find a place better than this. His
companion said to him, while disputing with him:
Do you disbelieve in Him who created you from
dust, then from a small germ life, then he made
you a perfect man? But as for me, Allah is my Lord
and I do not associate any one with my Lord.
When you entered your garden, why did you not
say: It is as Allah has pleased. There is no power
save Allah. If you consider me to be inferior to you
in wealth and children, perhaps my Lord will give
me something better than your garden, and send
on it a reckoning from heaven, so that it shall
become even ground with no living plant. Or the
waters may sink into the ground so that you are
unable to find them. His wealth was indeed
destroyed, and he began to wring his hands for
what he had spent on it. While it lay there (for it
had fallen down from the roofs) he said: Ah me!
would that I had not associated anyone with my
Lord. He had none to help him besides Allah nor
could he defend himself. In Allah, alone is
protection, the True One. In the bestowal of
reward and in requital he is best.
Set forth to them also the parable of the life in this
world. It is like the water which we send down
from the clouds on account of which the herbs
become luxuriant. Then these become dry, break
into pieces and the winds scatter them. Allah
holds power over all things. Wealth and children
are an adornment of the life of this world. The
good works, the everabiding, are with your Lord
better in reward than in expectation”.
How fleeting are our worldly gains, and how
foolish are we in feeling proud of them! Let us
then, live as meek and humble servants of God on
earth.
FRIENDSHIP AND SINCERITY*
Friendship is one of God’s favours. says the Quran.
And hold fast by the covenant of Allah all together
and be not disunited, and remember the favour of
Allah on you when you were enemies, then He
united your marts so by His favour you became
brethren1. The Prophet says: Those amongst you
are my close companions who have good
dispositions, are affectionate and tenderly love
each other. And again: “God when He shows His
kindness towards any person gives him a Good
friend.” “Verily God will say on the day of
resurrection where are those who loved each other
for my sake; today they shall rest under my shelter
when there is no other shelter.”
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“Seven kinds of men will, on the Day of Judgment,
rest under His shelter when there will be no other
shelter:— (1) A just Imam, (2) An adult who is
devoted to God, (3) A man who after coming out
from the mosque finds his heart attached to it till
he enters again, (4) Two friends who lived and
died in their friendship for God’s sake, (5) He who
for fear of the Lord wept in secret, (6) He whom a
beautiful woman of good birth allures but he
replies: I have fear of my Lord, (7) He who gives
alms in a manner that his left hand does not know
what is given by his right hand.”
Friendship, then, is God’s favour and should be
cultivated for His sake. But if we shun the
company of our fellowmen let it also be for God’s
sake. “The strongest rope of Faith”, says the
Prophet, “is love and hate both for God’s sake.”
Christ says, “Love God by avoiding the wicked;
seek His nearness by shunning their company and
please Him by courting their displeasure.” With
whom should we keep company, O Word of God”,
asked the people. And Christ replied, “Sit with
those whose appearance reminds you of God,
whose words add to the stock of your knowledge
and whose actions serve as an incentive for
acquiring the kingdom of Heaven.”
God spoke to Moses saying, “Son of Amran be up
and find out a friend for thee and he who would
not be with thee for my good will is thy enemy.”
Choose a friend who has five qualities viz: wisdom,
good disposition, abstinence from sin, heresy and
greed.
A fool’s company gives no good, it ends in gloom.
Good disposition is necessary in as much as a man
may be wise but be subservient to his inordinate
passion and hence unfit for company. And a
sinner and a heretic are to be avoided for the
simple reason that they who have no fear of the
Lord and are regardless of committing forbidden
actions are not to be relied on. Besides contagion
will secretly spread and he too will think of sin
lightly and gradually lose power of resisting it.
And a greedy worldling is to be avoided because
his company will deaden the heart in the quest of
the kingdom of Heaven.
Alkama on his death bed gave a fine description of
a friend. “My son”, said he “If you wish to keep
company try to find out such a friend who, when
you live with him defends you, adds to your
prestige, bears the load of your hardships, helps
you in your doings, counts your virtues, dissuades
you from vices, readily responds to your requests,
inquires himself for your needs when you keep
quiet, shows his deep sympathy in your sufferings,
bears witness to your sayings, gives good advice
when you intend to do some work and prefers you
to his own self when difference arises between you
and him.” This piece of advice gives the qualities
of a friend in a nut shell. When Caliph Mamun the
Abbaside heard of it, he said, “Where should we
find such a friend”. And Yahya replied, “Alkama’s
description means that we should live in
retirement.”
Imam Jafar ‘Assadiq’ (the veracious) gives a
negative description of a friend. “Do not keep
company with five sorts of men viz: a false man
who deceives you like a mirage; a fool who cannot
benefit you, (even if he tries to do so he would do
harm through his foolishness;) a miser who when
you need his help the most, severs himself from
you; a coward who will leave you when you are in
danger; a wicked sinner who will sell you for a
piece of bread.”
Sahl of Taster says, “Avoid the company of kinds
of men, (1) tyrants who forget God, (2) Ulamas
who practise dissimulation, (3) Sufis who are
ignorant.”
It must be remembered here that the above
passages serve as an ideal but for purposes we
should look to the present practical conditions
and try to get as much good as may be had from
them. For man’s life seems dreary when he has no
friends. And men are like trees. Some are fruit-
bearing and shady, some are shady only and some
are mere thorns and thistles. Similarly some
friends are a blessing both here and hereafter;
some are for worldly gain for the world is a
shadow, and some are of no good in this world
and the next as if they are scorpions in human
form.
“And they were not enjoined anything except that
they should serve Allah, being sincere to Him in
obedience, upright, and keep up prayer and pay
the poor rate (zakat) and that is the right
religion”. “Then serve God, being sincere in
religion unto Him, Aye, God’s is the sincere
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religion”. Musab says that his father Saad was
considering himself superior to other poor and
destitute companions of the Prophet. “God”, said
the Prophet, “has helped my people with my poor
and humble followers’ prayer and sincerity.”
“Sincere action,” says the Prophet “even if it be
little will suffice for thee.” The following saying of
the Prophet is reported by Abu Huraira: “Three
persons shall be questioned first on the day of
resurrection. One will be the learned man who
would be asked as to what he had done with his
learning”. “Day and night,” the learned man will
reply “I tried my best to propagate it, O Lord”.
“Thou speakest falsely”, God will answer and the
angels will also join with him “Thy sole aim was to
be called a learned man by the people, and the
title was thine”. The second will be the rich man
who would be asked about his riches. “Day and
night”, the rich man will reply, “I gave it in
charity.” “Thou speaker of untruth”, God and his
angels will say “Thou wishest to be labelled a
generous man, and it was done”. The third will be
the martyr who too will be asked about his deed
“O Lord”, the martyr will reply, “Thou didst
command us to wage Holy war (Jehad), I obeyed
thee and fell fighting”. “Thou liest,” God and His
angels will answer. “Thy aim was to be trumpeted
as a hero and it was done”. “Then,” says Abu
Huraira “the Prophet after finishing the sermon
pressed me and said: These three would be the
first to be thrown into the flames of hell”.
In the narratives of the Israelites, a story is told of
a certain devotee who had served God for many
years. Once he was informed of the apostacy of a
tribe, which, forsaking the true worship of Yahweh
had taken to tree worship. The hermit filled with
the spirit of the “jealous” God took an axe and set
out to level the tree to the earth. But the devil in
the shape of an old man met him on the way and
inquired of his intention. The hermit told him of
his determination, whereupon Satan addressed
him thus: “Why on earth are you leaving aside
your prayers and vigils and devoting yourself to
other work?” “But this too is a sacred cause”
replied hermit. “No, nor will I allow you to do so”
exclaimed the devil. Whereupon the hermit in the
white heat of his pious rage caught hold of the
devil and forcibly held him down. “Spare me Sir”,
begged the devil, “I have something to say to you.”
The hermit let him go. Then spoke Satan; “I think
God has not commanded you to do this thing. You
do not worship the tree, you are not responsible
for the sins of others. If God wills it he will send
some prophet, and they are so many, who would
carry out his order. So I think it is not your duty,
why then trouble yourself?”. “But I belong to the
chosen people of Yahweh, and I am in duty bound
to do so”, replied the hermit. Whereupon they
again began to wrestle and eventually Satan was
thrown down. “O! I see” cried Satan “An idea has
just come into my mind; let me go please, and I
will tell you.” Thus obtaining his release, the Evil
One addressed him as follows: “Is it not the case
that you are poor and have to live on the alms of
those who are devoted to you? But in your heart of
hearts you would like to shower your bounties on
your brethren and neighbours so generous and
compassionate is your nature. What a pity that
such a noble soul lives on alms”. “You have read
my mind aright,” quietly responded the hermit.
“May I hope,” said the Evil One entreatingly, “that
you will be pleased to accept two golden dinars
which you will find at your side bed every
morning from tomorrow. You will then be relieved
of depending on others and be in a position to do
charity to your poor relations and brethren. As for
that wretched tree, what if that be cut down.
Surely your poor needy brethren would get
nothing and you would lose the opportunity of
helping them while the tree would grow again”.
The hermit pondered over these words and said to
himself “This old man speaks quite reasonably,
but let me think over the pros and cons of the
case. Am I a prophet? No, I am not; therefore I am
not bound to cut it down. Am I commanded to do
so? No, Then if I do not do it I shall not be guilty
of the iniquity. Should I accept his proposal? No
doubt from the religious point of view it is more
useful. No doubt. I think I should accept it: yes, I
must.” Thus the two pledged their words and the
hermit returned. Next morning he found the two
dinars at his bed side and was highly pleased.
Another morning the glittering gold was there,
but on the third morning the hermit searched for
them in vain. His fury knew no bounds. He rushed
for his axe, and hurried with it towards the place
of idolatry. Satan again met him in the way as
before. “Thou wretch, thou archdevil”, cried out
the hermit “wilt thou prevent me from my sacred
duty?” “You cannot do it, you dare not do it”,
ratorted the Evil one. “Hast thou forgotten the
test of my powers”, sharply replied the infuriated
hermit and rushed at him. But to his great
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discomfort and humiliation the hermit instantly
fell flat on the ground like a dry leaf from a tree.
The devil planted his foot on his chest, holding
him by the throat, dictating the following terms:
“Either swear not to touch that tree or be prepared
to die”. The hermit finding himself quite helpless
said, “I swear, but tell me why I am so
discomfitured”. “Listen”, answered Satan “At first
thy wrath was for God’s sake, and zealous
vindication of his commandments. Hence I was
defeated, but now thou art furious for thyself, and
worldly gain”. The story illustrates the saying “I
will certainly cause them all to deviate from the
way except thy servants from among those who
are sincere”. A devotee cannot be immune from
Satan’s temptation except by sincerity and
therefore saint Maaruf of Karkh used to upbraid
himself, saying: “If thou wishest salvation, be
sincere”.
Yacub, the Sufi, says: “He who conceals his virtues
like vices, is sincere.” In a dream a man saw a Sufi
who was dead and inquired about the actions of
his previous life. “All those actions” said the Sufi,
“which were for God’s sake I was rewarded for,
even the least of them. For example, I had thrown
aside a pomegranate’s peel from the thoroughfare.
I found my dead cat but lost my ass worth one
hundred dinars, and a silken thread on my cap
was found on the side of iniquities. Once, I gave
something in charity, and was pleased to see
people looking at me,—this action has neither
reward nor punishment for me”. “How is it that
you got your cat and lost your ass?” said the man
to the Sufi. “Because”, responded the latter,
“When I heard of the death of my ass I said:
‘Damn it’. I ought to have thought of God’s will”.
Saint Sufyan Saori, when he heard of this dream,
said, “The Sufi was fortunate as no punishment
was meted out to him for that charity which
pleased him when people watched him”.
There is a report that a man, putting on a woman’s
dress used to frequent purdah parties in marriage
and funeral processions. Once a lady’s pearl was
lost in a party. Everybody was being closely
searched, and the man was very much afraid of
the disclosure of his identity, as it would mean the
loss of his life. He sincerely repented in his heart,
never to do the same thing again, and asked God’s
forgiveness and help. Then he found that it was
now the turn of himself and his companion to be
searched. His prayer was heard, the pearl being
found in his companion’s clothes and he was
saved.8
A Sufi narrates the following story: “I joined a
naval squadron which was going on holy war
(Jehad). One of us was selling his provision bag,
and I bought it, thinking it would prove useful in
the war, and that when the war was over I might
dispose of it with profit. That same night I dreamt
that two angels came down from heaven. One of
them said to the other: Make a complete list of the
crusaders. The other began to write down: So and
so goes on a trip; so and so for trading, so and so
for reputation; so and so for God’s sake. Then he
looked at me saying: Put this man down as trader.
But I spoke: For God’s sake do not misrepresent
me. I am not going for business. I have no capital,
I have simply started for the holy war. “But Sir”,
said the angel “Did you not buy that provision bag
yesterday, and were you not thinking of making
some profit?” I wept and entreated them not to
put me down as a trader. The angel looked at the
other, who said: “Well, write thus: This man set
out for the holy war, but on the way bought a
provision bag for profiting: now God will judge the
man”.
Saint Sari Saqati says: “Two rakats of prayer
offered with sincerity in seclusion are better than
copying seventy or seven hundred traditions with
the complete list of authorities. Some say that one
moment’s sincerity is salvation, but it is very rare.
Knowledge is the seed, practice is the crop, and
sincerity is the water nourishing it. Some say that
God’s displeasure is revealed in a person who is
given three things; and is denied the same
number. He gets access into the society of the
virtuous, but derives no benefit therefrom. He
performs good actions but lacks sincerity. He
learns philosophy but fails to understand truth.
Says Susi: “God looks to sincerity only, and not to
the action of his creatures”. Says Junaid: “There
are some servants of God who are wise, who act as
wise men, who are sincere when they act, then
sincerity leads them to virtue.” Mohammed, son of
Said Marwazi, says: “The whole course of our
actions tends towards two principles, viz. (1) His
treatment meted out to thee; (2) thy action for
him. Then willingly submit to what is meted out
to thee and be sincere in all thy dealings. If thou
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art successful in these two things thou shalt be
happy in both the worlds”.
Says Sahl: “Sincerity means that all our actions or
intentions—all the states of our minds whether we
are doing anything or at rest, be solely for God.”
But this is very difficult to acquire as it does not in
the least attract the ego itself. Rowim says:
“Sincerity means disregard of recompense for
action in both the worlds”. In this he wishes to
point out that the gratifications of our sensuous
desires whether in this world or the next are all
insignificant and low. He who worships God in
order to attain joy in paradise is not sincere. Let
him act for God’s “Riza”. This stage is reached by
Siddiks (Sincerely devoted to God), and is
sincerity par excellence. He who does good actions
for fear of hell or hope of heaven is sincere in as
much as he gives up at present his sensual worldly
enjoyments, but wishes for the future, the
gratification of his appetite and passion in
paradise. The longing of true devotees is their
Beloved’s Riza. It may be objected here that men’s
motive is pleasure, that freedom from such
pleasures is a purely divine attribute. But this
objection is based on misunderstanding. It is true
that man desires pleasure but pleasure has
different meanings. The popular view is
gratification of sensuous desires in Paradise but it
has no idea of the nature of higher pleasures of
communion and beatitude or the vision of God,
and hence fails to consider them as pleasures. But
these are the pleasures and he who enjoys them
will not even look to the popular pleasures of
Paradise for his highest pleasure. His summum
bonum is the love of God.
Tufail says: “To do good for men’s sake is
hypocrisy; not to do is infidelity: sincere is he who
is free from both and works for God only”. These
definitions suggest the ideal of sincerity aimed at
by noble souls. Let us now look to the practical
side of it for the sake of the average man.
Actions make an impression on the heart, and
strengthen that quality of it which served as a
stimulus for them. For example, hypocrisy
deadens the heart and godly motive leads to
salvation. Both of them will gather strength in
proportion to the actions which proceed from
their respective sources. But as they are
intrinsically opposed to each other an action
which gets an equal stimulus at one and the same
time will be stationary in its effect on the heart.
Now take a mixed action which draws the doer
nearer to virtue, say, by one span, but removes
him away by two spans, the inward result of his
progress will be that he would remain where he
was, although he would be rewarded or punished
according to his motive. A man starts for “Haj” but
takes with him some articles for trade, he will get
his reward of pilgrimage but if his motive was
trade only, he could not be considered a “Haji”. A
crusader who fights for his religion would have his
recompense although he acquires booty, for so
long as his sole motive is to uphold the cause of
religion the latent desire of booty would not come
in the way of his recompense. Granted that he is
inferior to those noble souls who are wholly
absorbed in Him “who see through Him, who hear
through Him, who act through Him,” (Hadis) He
still belongs to the good and the virtuous. For if
we apply the highest standard to all, religion will
be considered a hopeless task, and will ultimately
be reduced to pessimism.
At the same time we must sound a note of
warning for those who are satisfied with the low
standard. They are very often deceived. They
consider their motive is purely for God’s sake
while in reality they aim at some hidden sensuous
pleasure. Let a doer, after he has exerted himself
and pondered over his motive, be not over-
confident of his sincerity. With the fear of its
rejection let him hope for its acceptance - this is
the creed of the righteous who fears the Lord and
hopes from him.
THE NATURE OF LOVE†
Experiences are either agreeable and therefore
desired or disagreeable and avoided. Inclination
towards a desired object when deeply rooted and
strong constitutes love. Knowledge and perception
of the beloved is the first requisite for love which
is consequently divided according to the division
of the five senses each of which is inclined towards
its desired object. Thus the eye apprehends
beautiful forms, the ear harmonious sounds, etc.
This kind of experience we share with the animals.
There is, however, one more sense, peculiar to
man, which delights the soul. The prophet has
said: “I desire three things from your world, sweet
smell, tender sex, and prayer, which is the delight
of my eye”. Now prayer is neither smelt nor
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touched-in fact its delight is beyond the scope of
the five senses and yet it has been described as the
“delight of my eye”, which means the inner eye-
the soul with her sixth sense. Concepts of this
special sense are more beautiful and charming
than sensuous objects-nay, they are more perfect
and strongly attract the soul. Is it not, then,
possible, that One who is not perceived by the five
senses may yet be found and felt attractive by that
sense and loved by the soul?
Let us now enumerate the circumstances which
excite love 1. Every living being first of all loves his
own self, that is to say, the desire for continuity of
his existence as oppsed to annihilation is innate.
This desire is augmented by the desire of the
perfection of his self by means of sound body,
wealth, childern, relations and friends. For all of
these serve as a means to the end of the continuity
of his self and therefore he cherishes love for
them. Even “unselfish” love of his dear son, if
probed, smacks of love for the continuity his self,
because his son who is part of his self serves as a
living representative of his self’s continuity.
2. The second cause is the love for one’s
benefactor towards whom the heart is naturally
attracted. Even if he be a stranger, a benefactor
will always be loved. But it must be remembered
that the benefactor is loved not for himself, but for
his beneficence, the extent of which will be a
dominating factor in determining the degree of
love.
3. The third cause is love of beauty. It is generally
supposed that beauty consists in red and white
complexions, well proportioned limbs, and so
forth, but we can also say “beautiful writing”,
“beautiful horse”, etc. Hence beauty of an object
consists in its possession of all possible befitting
perfections. It will vary in proportion to the
perfections attained. That writing in which all the
rules of caligraphy are properly observed will be
called beautiful and so on. At the same time there
can be no one standard for judging the beauty of
different objects. The standard for a horse cannot
be the same for, say, writing or man. It must also
be remembered that beauty is not connected with
sensible objects only but is also related to
concepts. A person is not always loved for his
external beauty, but often the beauty of his
knowledge or virtues attract the heart. It is not
necessary that the object of such kind of love be
perceived by the senses. We love our saints,
imams, and prophets but we have never seen
them. Our love for them is so strong that we
would willingly lay down our lives for upholding
their good name. If we wish to create love for
them in young minds we can produce it by giving
graphic accounts of their virtues. Stories of the
heroes of any nation will excite love for them.
“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind;
and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind”.
14. The fourth cause is a sort of secret affinity
between two souls, meeting and attracting each
other. It is what is called “love at first sight”. This
is what the prophet meant when he said “The
souls had their rendezvous: Those who liked each
other, then love here; those who remained
strangers then do not join here”. If a believer goes
to a meeting where there are a hundred manafiks
(hypocrites) and one momin (faithful) he will take
his seat by the side of the momin. It seems that
likes are attracted by their likes. Malik bin Dinar
says: Just as birds of the same feather fly together
two persons having a quality common to both will
join.
Let us now apply these causes and find out who
may be the true object of love. First, man who is
directly conscious of his own self in whom the
love for continuity of the self is innate, if he deeply
thinks on the nature of his existence will find that
he does not exist of his own self, nor are the
means of the continuity of his self in his power.
There is a being, self-existent, and living who
created and sustains him. The Quran says: “There
surely came over man a period of time when he
was not a thing that could be spoken of. Surely we
have created man from a small life germ uniting.
We mean to try him, so we have made him
hearing, seeing. Surely we have shown him the
way, he may be thankful or unthankful.” This
contemplation will bear the fruit or love for God.
For how could it be otherwise when man loves his
own self which is dependent on Him, unless he be
given up to the gratification of his passions and
thereby forgetting his true self and his sustainer.
Secondly, if he thinks over the aim and scope of
beneficence, he will find that no creature can
show any purely disinterested favour to another
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because his motive will be either 1. praise or self-
gratification for his generosity, or 2. hope of
reward in the next world or divine pleasure.
Paradoxical though it sounds, deep insight into
human nature leads us, inevitably to the
conclusion that man cannot be called
“benefactor”, in as much as his action is prompted
by the idea of gain and barter. A true benefactor is
one who in bestowing his favours has not the least
idea of any sort of gain. Purely disinterested
beneficence is the quality of the All-merciful
Providence and hence He is the true object of
love.
Thirdly, the appreciation of inward beauty, that is
to say the contemplation of any attractive quality
or qualities of the beloved causes a stronger and
more durable love than the passionate love of the
flesh. However such a beloved will still be found
lacking in beauty from the standpoint of
perfection because the three genders are creatures
and therefore cannot be called perfect. God alone
is perfect beauty—holy, independent, omnipotent,
all-majesty, all-beneficent, all-merciful. With all
this knowledge of His attributes we still do not
know Him as He is. The prophet says: “My praise
of Thee cannot be comprehensive, Thou art such
as wouldst praise Thyself”. Are not these attributes
sufficient to evoke love for him? But beatitude is
denied to the inwardly blind. They do not
understand the attitude of the lovers of God
towards Him. Jesus once passed by some ascetics
who were reduced in body. “Why are you thus”?
he said to them. And they replied “Fear of hell and
hope of heaven have reduced us to this condition”.
“What a pity”, rejoined Jesus, “your fear and hope
is limited to creatures”. Then he went onward and
saw some more devotees, and put the same
question. “We are devoted to God and revere him
for his love”, they replied with downcast eyes. “Ye
are the saints” exclaimed Jesus, “you will have my
company”.
Fourthly, the affinity between two souls meeting
and loving each other is a mystery, but more
mysterious is the affinity between God and his
loving devotee. It cannot and must not be
described before the uninitiated. Suffice it to say
that the souls possessing the higher qualities of
beneficence, sympathy, mercy, etc. have that
affinity hinted at in the following saying of the
prophet: “Imitate divine attributes”. For man has
been created in the image of God, nay he is, in a
way, akin to Him, says the Quran. ‘And when the
Lord said to the angels: Surely I am going to create
a mortal from dust, so when I have made him
complete, and breathed into him of My Ruh
(soul). fall down making obeisance to him”. It is
this affinity which is pointed out in the following
tradition: God said to Moses “I was sick and thou
didst not visit Me”. Moses replied “O God, thou art
Lord of heaven and earth: how couldst thou be
sick?” God said “A certain servant of mine was
sick: hadst thou visited him, thou wouldst have
visited me”. Therefore our prophet Mahommed
has said: “Says God: My servant seeks to be near
me that I may make him my friend, and when I
have made him my friend, I become his ear, his
eye, his tongue.” It must, however, be
remembered that mystical affinity vaguely
conceived leads to extremes. Some have fallen into
abject anthropomorphism; others have gone so far
as to believe in the airy nothings of pantheism.
These are all vagaries of the imagination. whether
they take the form of “Ibn Allah”, (Son of God) or
“Anal Haq” (I am God). They are to a great extent
responsible for the evils of superstition and
scepticism.
These four causes when properly understood,
demonstrate that the true object of our love is God
and therefore it has been enjoined: “Thou shalt
love the lord thy God with all thy heart and with
all thy soul and with all thy mind”.
MAN’S HIGHEST HAPPINESS
The constitution of man possesses a number of
powers and propensities, each of which has its
own distinctive kind of enjoyment suited to it by
nature. The appetite of hunger seeks food which
preserves our body and the attainment of which is
the delight of it, and so with every passion and
propensity when their particular objects are
attained. Similarly the moral faculty-call it inward
sight, light of faith or reason-any name will do
provided the object signified by it is rightly
understood-delights in the attainment of its
desideratum. I shall call it here the faculty of
reason (not that wrangling reason of the
Scholastics and the dialecticians)—that distinctive
quality which makes him lord of creation. This
faculty delights in the possession of all possible
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knowledge. Even an expert in chess boastfully
delights in the knowledge of the game however
insignificant it may be. And the higher the subject
matter of our knowledge the greater our delight in
it. For instance we would take more pleasure in
knowing the secrets of a king than the secrets of a
vizier. Now delights are either (a) external,
derived from the five senses, or (b) internal, such
as love of superiority and power, love of the
knowledge, etc enjoyed by the mind. And the
more the mind is noble the more there will be a
desire for the second kind of delights. The simple
will delight in dainty dishes, but a great mind
leaving them aside will endanger his life and his
honour and reputation from the jaws of death.
Even sensuous delights present an amusing
example of preference. An expert in chess while
absorbed in playing will not come to his meals
though hungry and repeatedly summoned,
because the pleasure of check-mating his
adversary is greater to him than the object of his
appetite. Thus we see that inward delights and
they are chiefly love of knowledge and superiority
are preferred by noble minds. If then a man
believes in a perfect being, will not the pleasure of
His contemplation be preferred by him and will it
not absorb his whole self? Surely the delights of
the righteous are indescribable, for they are even
in this life, in a paradise which no eye has seen
and no ear has heard.
Abu Sulaiman Darani, the renowned Sufi, says:
“There are servants of God whom neither fear of
hell nor the hope of heaven can deviate from the
divine love, how can the world with its
temptations come in their way?”. Abu Mahfuz
Karkhi was once asked by his disciples: ”Tell us
what led you to devotion” but he kept quiet. “Is it
the apprehension of death.” said one of them. “It
matters little” replied the saint “Is it due to hell or
to paradise”. inquired another. “What of them”
said the saint” “both belong to a supreme Being, if
you love him you will not be troubled by them”.
Saint Rabia11 was once asked about her faith: “God
forbid”, answered Rabia: “If I serve him like a bad
labourer thinking of his wages only”. And then she
sang: “Love draws me nigh, I know not why”. Thus
we see that the hearts of those who ate and drank
and breathed like us felt delights of divine love
which was their highest happiness.
If we think over man’s gradual development we
find that every stage of his life is followed by a new
sort of delight. Children love playing and have no
idea of the pleasures of courtship and marriage
experienced by young men, who in their turn
would not care to exchange their enjoyments for
wealth and greatness which are the delights of the
middle aged men who consider all previous
delights as insignificant and low. These last
mentioned delights are also looked upon as
unsubstantial and transitory by pure and noble
souls fully developed.
The Quran says: “Know that this world’s life is
only sport and play and boasting among
yourselves, and vying in the multiplication of
wealth and children”. “Say, shall I tell you what is
better than these?” For the righteous are gardens
with their Lord, beneath which rivers flow, to
abide in them and pure mates and Allah’s pleasure
and Allah sees the servants”. “Those who say: Our
Lord, surely we believe, so forgive us our faults,
and keep us from the chastisement of fire; the
patient and the truthful and the obedient and
those who spend (benevolently) and those who
ask forgiveness in morning times”.
Let us now point out some drawbacks which
hinder the path of the divine love.
Man from his infancy is accustomed to enjoy
sensual delights which are firmly implanted in
him. Blind imitation of the creed with vague
conception of the deity and his attributes fails to
eradicate sensual delights and evoke the raptures
of divine love. It is the dynamic force of direct
contemplation of his attributes manifested in the
universe that can prove an incentive for his love.
To use a figure: a nation loves its national poet,
but the feeling of one who studies the poet will be
of exceeding strong love. The world is a
masterpiece; he who studies it loves its invisible
Author in a manner which cannot be described
but is felt by the favoured few. Another drawback
which sounds like a paradox, should be deeply
studied. It is as follows: when we find a person
writing or doing any other work, the fact that he is
living will be most apparent to us: that is to say,
his life, knowledge, power and will will be more
apparent to us than his other internal qualities,
e.g. colour, size, etc. which being perceived by the
eye may be doubted. Similarly stones, plants,
animals, the earth, the sky, the stars, the elements,
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in fact everything in the universe reveals to us the
knowledge, power and the will of its originator.
Nay, the first and the foremost proof is our
consciousness, because the knowledge that I exist
is immediate,13 and more apparent than our
perceptions. Thus we see that man’s actions are
but one proof of his life, knowledge, power and
will, but with reference to God the whole
phenomenal existence with its law of causation
and order and adaptability bears testimony of him
and his attributes. Therefore, He is so dazzlingly
apparent that the understanding of the people
fails to see Him just as the bat pereeaes at night
fails to see in daylight, because its imperfect sight
cannot bear the light of the sun, so our
understanding is blurred by the effulgent light of
his manifestations. The fact is that objects are
known by their opposites but the conception of
one who exists everywhere and who has no
opposite would be most difficult. Besides, objects
which differ in their respective significances can
also be distinguished but if they have common
significances the same difficulty will be felt. For
instance if the sun would have shone always
without setting, we could have formed no idea of
light, knowing simply that objects have certain
colours. But the setting of the sun revealed to us
the nature of light by comparing it with darkness.
If then light, which is more perceptible and
apparent would have never been understood had
there been no darkness notwithstanding its
undeniable visibility, there is no wonder if God
who is most apparent and all pervading true light
(Nur) remains hidden, because if he would have
disappeared (which means the annihilation of the
universe), there would have been an idea of him
by comparison as in the case of the light and
darkness. Thus we see that the very mode of his
existence and manifestation is a drawback for
human understanding. But he whose inward sight
is keen and has strong intuition in his balanced
state of mind neither sees nor knows any other
active power save God omnipotent. Such a person
neither sees the sky as the sky nor the earth as the
earth-in fact sees nothing in the universe except in
the light of its being work of an all pervading True
One. To use a figure: if a man looks at a poem or a
writing, not as a collection of black lines scribbled
on white sheets of paper but as a work of a poet or
an author, he ought not to be considered as
looking to anything other than the author. The
universe is a unique masterpiece, a perfect song,
he who reads it looks at the divine author and
loves him. The true Mowahhid is one who sees
nothing but God. He is not even aware of his self
except as servant of God. Such a person will be
called absorbed in Him; he is effaced, the self is
annihilated. These are facts known to him who
sees intuitively, but weak minds do not know
them. Even Ulamas fail to express them
adequately or consider the publicity of them as
unsafe and unnecessary for the masses.