Sec. I. I propose to discuss what is called and appears to be moral virtue
(which differs mainly from contemplative virtue in that it has emotion
for its matter, and reason for its form), what its nature is, and how it
subsists, and whether that part of the soul which takes it in is
furnished with reason of its own, or participates in something foreign,
and if the latter, whether as things that are mixed with something
better than themselves, or rather as that which is subject to
superintendence and command, and may be said to share in the power of
that which commands. For I think it is clear that virtue can exist and
continue altogether free from matter and mixture. My best course will be
to run briefly over the views of others, not so much to display my
research as because, when their ideas have been set forth, mine will
become more clear and be on a firmer basis.
Sec. II. Menedemus of Eretria took away the number and differences of
virtues, on the ground that virtue was one though it had many names; for
that just as mortal is synonymous with man, so temperance and bravery
and justice were the same thing. And Aristo of Chios also made virtue
one in substance, and called it soundness of mind: its diversities and
varieties only existing in certain relations, as if one called our sight
when it took in white objects white-sight, and when it took in black
objects black-sight, and so on. For virtue, when it considers what it
ought to do and what it ought not to do, is called prudence; and when it
curbs passion, and sets a fit and proper limit to pleasure, it is called
self-control; and when it is associated with our dealings and covenants
with one another, it is called justice; just as a knife is one article,
though at different times it cuts different things in half: and so, too,
fire acts on different matter though it has but one property. And Zeno
of Cittium seems to incline somewhat to the same view, as he defines
prudence in distribution as justice, in choice as self-control, in
endurance as fortitude: and those who defend these views maintain that
by the term prudence Zeno means knowledge. But Chrysippus, thinking each
particular virtue should be arranged under its particular quality,
unwittingly stirred up, to use Plato's language, "a whole swarm of
virtues,"[219] unusual and unknown. For as from brave we get bravery,
and from mild mildness, and from just justice, so from acceptable he got
acceptableness, and from good goodness, and from great greatness, and
from the honourable honourableness, and he made virtues of many other
such clevernesses, affabilities, and versatilities, and filled
philosophy, which did not at all require it, with many strange names.
Sec. III. Now all these agree in supposing virtue to be a disposition and
faculty of the governing part of the soul set in motion by reason, or
rather to be reason itself conformable and firm and immutable. They
think further that the emotional and unreasoning part of the soul is not
by any natural difference distinct from the reasoning part, but that
that same part of the soul, which they call intellect and the leading
principle of action, being altogether diverted and changed by the
passions, and by the alterations which habit or disposition have brought
about, becomes either vice or virtue, without having in itself any
unreasoning element, but that it is called unreasoning when, by the
strong and overpowering force of appetite, it launches out into excesses
contrary to the direction of reason. For passion, according to them, is
only vicious and intemperate reason, getting its strength and power from
bad and faulty judgement. But all of those philosophers seem to have
been ignorant that we are all in reality two-fold and composite, though
they did not recognize it, and only saw the more evident mixture of soul
and body. And yet that there is in the soul itself something composite
and two-fold and dissimilar (the unreasoning part of it, as if another
body, being by necessity and nature mixed up with and united to reason),
seems not to have escaped the notice even of Pythagoras, as we infer
from his zeal for music, which he introduced to calm and soothe the
soul, as knowing that it was not altogether amenable to precept and
instruction, or redeemable from vice only by reason, but that it needed
some other persuasion and moulding and softening influence to co-operate
with reason, unless it were to be altogether intractable and refractory
to philosophy. And Plato saw very plainly and confidently and decidedly
that the soul of this universe is not simple or uncomposite or uniform,
but is made up of forces that work uniformly and differently, in the one
case it is ever marshalled in the same order and moves about in one
fixed orbit, in the other case it is divided into motions and orbits
contrary to each other and changing about, and thus generates
differences in things. So, too, the soul of man, being a part or portion
of the soul of the universe, and compounded upon similar principles and
proportions, is not simple or entirely uniform, but has one part
intelligent and reasoning, which is intended by nature to rule and
dominate in man, and another part unreasoning, and subject to passion
and caprice, and disorderly, and in need of direction. And this last
again is divided into two parts, one of which, being most closely
connected with the body, is called desire, and the other, sometimes
taking part with the body, sometimes with reason, lending its influence
against the body, is called anger. And the difference between reason and
sense on the one hand, and anger and desire on the other, is shown by
their antipathy to one another, so that they are often at variance with
one another as to what is best.[220] These were at first[221] the views
of Aristotle, as is clear from his writings, though afterwards he joined
anger to desire, as if anger were nothing but a desire and passion for
revenge. However, he always considered the emotional and unreasoning
part of the soul as distinct from the reasoning, not that it is
altogether unreasoning as the perceptive, or nutritive, or vegetative
portions of the soul, for these are always deaf and disobedient to
reason, and in a certain sense are off-shoots from the flesh, and
altogether attached to the body; but the emotional, though it is
destitute of any reason of its own, yet is naturally inclined to listen
to reason and sense, and turn and submit and mould itself accordingly,
unless it be entirely corrupted by brute pleasure and a life of
indulgence.
Sec. IV. As for those who wonder that what is unreasoning should obey
reason, they do not seem to me to recognize the power of reason, how
great it is, and how far-reaching its dominion is--a power not gained by
harsh and repelling methods, but by attractive ones, as mild persuasion
which always accomplishes more than compulsion or violence. For even the
spirit and nerves and bones, and other parts of the body, though devoid
of reason, yet at any instigation of reason, when she shakes as it were
the reins, are all on the alert and compliant and obedient, the feet to
run, and the hands to throw or lift, at her bidding. Right excellently
has the poet set forth in the following lines the sympathy and
accordance between the unreasoning and reason:--
"Thus were her beauteous cheeks diffused with tears,
Weeping her husband really present then.
But though Odysseus pitied her in heart,
His eyes like horn or steel impassive stood
Within their lids, and craft his tears repressed."[222]
So completely under the control of judgement did he keep his spirit and
blood and tears. The same is shown by the subsidence of our passions,
which are laid to rest in the presence of handsome women or boys, whom
reason and the law forbid us to touch; a case which most frequently
happens to lovers, when they hear that they have unwittingly fallen in
love with a sister or daughter. For at once passion is laid at the voice
of reason, and the body exhibits its members as subservient to decorum.
And frequently in the case of dainty food, people very much attracted by
it, if they find out at the time or learn afterwards that they have
eaten what is unclean or unlawful, not only suffer distress and grief
in their imagination, but even their very body is upset by the notion,
and violent retchings and vomitings follow.[223] I fear I should seem to
be introducing merely novel and enticing arguments, if I were to
enumerate stringed instruments and lyres, and harps and flutes, and
other harmonious musical instruments, which, although inanimate, yet
speak to man's passions, rejoicing with him, and mourning with him, and
chiming in with him, and rioting with him,--in a word, falling in with
the vein and emotions and characters of those that play on them. And
they say that Zeno on one occasion, going into the theatre when
Amoebeus[224] was playing on the harp, said to the pupils, "Let us go
and learn what music can be produced by guts and nerves and wood and
bones, when they preserve proportion and time and order." But passing
these things over, I would gladly learn from them, if, when they see
dogs and horses and birds domesticated, and by habit and training
uttering sounds that can be understood, and making obedient movements
and gestures, and acting quietly and usefully to us, and when they
notice that Achilles in Homer cheers on horses as well as men to the
fight,[225] they still wonder and doubt, whether the passionate and
emotional and painful and pleasurable elements in us are by nature
obedient to the voice of reason, and influenced and affected by it,
seeing that those elements are not apart from us or detached from us, or
formed from outside, or hammered into us by force, but are innate in us,
and ever associate with us, and are nourished within us, and abound in
us through habit. Accordingly moral character is well called by the
Greeks [Greek: ethos], for it is, to speak generally, a quality of the
unreasoning element in man, and is called [Greek: ethos] because the
unreasoning element moulded by reason receives this quality and
difference by habit, which is called [Greek: ethos].[226] Not that
reason wishes to expel passion altogether (that is neither possible,
nor advisable), but only to keep it within bounds and order, and to
engender the moral virtues, which are not apathetic, but hold the due
proportion and mean in regard to passion. And this she does by reducing
the power of passion to a good habit. For there are said to be three
things existing in the soul, power, passion, and habit. Power is the
principle or matter of passion, as power to be angry, ashamed, or
confident: and passion is the actual setting in motion of that power,
being itself anger, confidence, or shame; and habit is the strong
formation of power in the unreasoning element engendered by use, being
vice if the passions are badly tutored by reason, virtue if they are
well tutored.
Sec. V. But since they do not regard every virtue as a mean, nor call it
moral, we must discuss this difference by approaching the matter more
from first principles. Some things in the world exist absolutely, as the
earth, the sky, the stars, and the sea; others have relation to us, as
good and evil, as what is desirable or to be avoided, as pleasant and
painful: and since reason has an eye to both of these classes, when it
considers the former it is scientific and contemplative, when it
considers the latter it is deliberative and practical. And prudence is
the virtue in the latter case, as knowledge in the former. And there is
this difference between prudence and knowledge, prudence consists in
applying the contemplative to the practical and emotional so as to make
reason paramount. On which account it often needs the help of fortune;
whereas knowledge needs neither the help of fortune nor deliberation to
gain its ends: for it considers only things which are always the same.
And as the geometrician does not deliberate about the triangle, as to
whether its interior angles are together equal to two right angles, for
he knows it as a fact--and deliberation only takes place in the case of
things which differ at different times, not in the case of things which
are certain and unchangeable--so the contemplative mind having its scope
in first principles, and things that are fixed, and that ever have one
nature which does not admit of change, has no need for deliberation. But
prudence, which has to enter into matters full of obscurity and
confusion, frequently has to take its chance, and to deliberate about
things which are uncertain, and, in carrying the deliberation into
practice, has to co-operate with the unreasoning element, which comes to
its help, and is involved in its decisions, for they need an impetus.
Now this impetus is given to passion by the moral character, an impetus
requiring reason to regulate it, that it may render moderate and not
excessive help, and at the seasonable time. For the emotional and
unreasoning elements are subject to motions sometimes too quick and
vehement, at other times too remiss and slow. And so everything we do
may be a success from one point of view, but a failure from many points
of view; as to hit the mark one thing only is requisite, but one may
miss it in various ways, as one may shoot beyond or too short. This then
is the function of practical reason following nature, to prevent our
passions going either too far or too short. For where from weakness and
want of strength, or from fear and hesitation, the impetus gives in and
abandons what is good, there reason is by to stir it up and rekindle it;
and where on the other hand it goes ahead too fast and in disorder,
there it represses and checks its zeal. And thus setting bounds to the
emotional motions, it engenders in the unreasoning part of the soul
moral virtues, which are the mean between excess and deficiency. Not
that we can say that all virtue exists in the mean, but knowledge and
prudence being in no need of the unreasoning element, and being situated
in the pure and unemotional part of the soul, is a complete perfection
and power of reason, whereby we get the most divine and happy fruit of
understanding. But that virtue which is necessary because of the body,
and needs the help of the passions as an instrument towards the
practical, not destroying or doing away with but ordering and regulating
the unreasoning part of the soul, is perfection as regards its power and
quality, but in quantity it is a mean correcting both excess and
deficiency.
Sec. VI. But since the word mean has a variety of meanings--for there is
one kind of mean compounded of two simple extremes, as grey is the mean
between white and black; and there is another kind of mean, where that
which contains and is contained is the mean between the containing and
contained, as eight is the mean between twelve and four; and there is a
third kind of mean which has part in neither extreme, as the indifferent
is the mean between good and bad,--virtue cannot be a mean in any of
these ways. For neither is it a mixture of vices, nor containing that
which is defective is it contained by that which is excessive, nor is it
again altogether free from, emotional storms of passion, wherein are
excess and deficiency. But it is, and is commonly so called, a mean like
that in music and harmony. For as in music there is a middle note
between the highest and lowest in the scale, which being perfectly in
tune avoids the sharpness of the one and the flatness of the other; so
virtue, being a motion and power in the unreasoning part of the soul,
takes away the remissness and strain, and generally speaking the excess
and defect of the appetite, by reducing each of the passions to a state
of mean and rectitude. For example, they tell us that bravery is the
mean between cowardice and foolhardiness, whereof the former is a
defect, the latter an excess of anger: and that liberality is the mean
between stinginess and prodigality: and that meekness is the mean
between insensibility and savageness: and so of temperance and justice,
that the latter, being concerned with contracts, is to assign neither
too much nor too little to litigants, and that the former ever reduces
the passions to the proper mean between apathy (or insensibility) and
gross intemperance. This last illustration serves excellently to show us
the radical difference between the unreasoning and reasoning parts of
the soul, and to prove to us that passion and reason are wide as the
poles asunder. For the difference would not be discernible between
temperance and continence, nor between intemperance and incontinence, in
pleasure and desires, if the appetite and judgement were in the same
portion of the soul. Now temperance is a state, wherein reason holds the
reins, and manages the passions as a quiet and well-broken-in animal,
finding them obedient and submissive to the reins and masters over their
desires.[227] Continence on the other hand is not driven by reason
without some trouble, not being docile but jibbing and kicking, like an
animal compelled by bit and bridle and whip and backing, being in itself
full of struggles and commotion. Plato explains this by his simile of
the chariot-horses of the soul, the worse one of which ever kicking
against the other and disturbing the charioteer, he is obliged ever to
hold them in with all his might, and to tighten the reins, lest, to
borrow the language of Simonides, "he should drop from his hands the
purple reins." And so they do not consider continence to be an absolute
virtue, but something less than a virtue; for no mean arises from the
concord of the worse with the better, nor is the excess of the passion
curtailed, nor does the appetite obey or act in unison with reason, but
it both gives and suffers trouble, and is constrained by force, and is
as it were an enemy in a town given up to faction.
"The town is full of incense, and at once
Resounds with triumph-songs and bitter wailing."[228]
Such is the state of soul of the continent person owing to his
conflicting condition. On the same grounds they consider incontinence to
be something less than vice, but intemperance to be a complete vice. For
it, having both its appetite and reason depraved, is by the one
carried away to desire disgraceful things,[229] by the other, through
bad judgement consenting to desire, loses even the perception of
wrongdoing. But incontinence keeps its judgement sound through reason,
but is carried away against its judgement by passion which is too strong
for reason, whence it differs from intemperance. For in the one case
reason is mastered by passion, in the other it does not even make a
fight against it, in the one case it opposes its desires even when it
follows them, in the other it is their advocate and even leader, in the
one case it gladly participates in what is wrong, in the other
sorrowfully, in the one case it willingly rushes into what is
disgraceful, in the other it abandons the honourable unwillingly. And as
there is a difference in their deeds, so no less manifest is the
difference in their language. For these are the expressions of the
intemperate. "What grace or pleasure in life is there without golden
Aphrodite? May I die, when I care no longer for these things!" And
another says, "To eat, to drink, to enjoy the gifts of Aphrodite is
everything, for all other things I look upon as supplementary," as if
from the bottom of his soul he gave himself up to pleasures, and was
completely subverted by them. And not less so he who said, "Let me be
ruined, it is best for me," had his judgement diseased through his
passion. But the sayings of incontinence are quite different, as
"My nature forces me against my judgement,"[230]
and
"Alas! it is poor mortals' plague and bane,
To know the good, yet not the good pursue."[231]