Book 3

Now since Virtue is concerned with the regulation of feelings and actions, and praise and blame arise upon such as are voluntary, while for the involuntary allowance is made, and sometimes compassion is excited, it is perhaps a necessary task for those who are investigating the nature of Virtue to draw out the distinction between what is voluntary and what involuntary; and it is certainly useful for legislators, with respect to the assigning of honours and punishments.

Virtue concerns the regulation of feelings and actions. We praise and blame voluntary feelings and actions, but make allowances for involuntary ones and sometimes feel compassion. So those investigating the nature of virtue perhaps need to distinguish between what is voluntary and what is involuntary. The distinction is certainly useful for lawmakers when assigning honors and punishments.

Involuntary actions then are thought to be of two kinds, being done either on compulsion, or by reason of ignorance. An action is, properly speaking, compulsory, when the origination is external to the agent, being such that in it the agent (perhaps we may more properly say the patient) contributes nothing; as if a wind were to convey you anywhere, or men having power over your person.

Involuntary actions, then, are thought to be of two kinds: actions done under compulsion or because of ignorance. Strictly speaking, an action is compelled when its cause lies outside the person acting, who contributes nothing to the action. Perhaps we should more accurately call this person the one being acted upon. Such an action would occur if a wind carried you somewhere, or if men with power over you carried you away.

But when actions are done, either from fear of greater evils, or from some honourable motive, as, for instance, if you were ordered to commit some base act by a despot who had your parents or children in his power, and they were to be saved upon your compliance or die upon your refusal, in such cases there is room for a question whether the actions are voluntary or involuntary.

But some actions are done out of fear of greater evils or for an honorable reason. Suppose, for example, a tyrant held your parents or children captive and ordered you to do something shameful. Your family would be saved if you obeyed, but would die if you refused. In such cases, there is room to question whether the actions are voluntary or involuntary.

A similar question arises with respect to cases of throwing goods overboard in a storm: abstractedly no man throws away his property willingly, but with a view to his own and his shipmates’ safety any one would who had any sense.

A similar question arises when goods are thrown overboard during a storm. In itself, throwing away property is not something anyone does willingly. But anyone with any sense would do so to protect themselves and their shipmates.

The truth is, such actions are of a mixed kind, but are most like voluntary actions; for they are choice-worthy at the time when they are being done, and the end or object of the action must be taken with reference to the actual occasion. Further, we must denominate an action voluntary or involuntary at the time of doing it: now in the given case the man acts voluntarily, because the originating of the motion of his limbs in such actions rests with himself; and where the origination is in himself it rests with himself to do or not to do.

In truth, such actions are a mixture of voluntary and involuntary, but they are most like voluntary actions. For these actions are worth choosing at the time they are done. And an action’s aim or purpose must be understood in light of the actual circumstances. Further, we must judge an action as voluntary or involuntary at the time it is done. Now, in this case, the man acts voluntarily because he himself sets his limbs in motion. And when the movement begins with the man himself, doing or not doing the action is up to him.

Such actions then are voluntary, though in the abstract perhaps involuntary because no one would choose any of such things in and by itself.

Such actions, then, are voluntary, though perhaps involuntary when considered on their own. This is because no one would choose any such action for its own sake.

But for such actions men sometimes are even praised, as when they endure any disgrace or pain to secure great and honourable equivalents; if vice versâ, then they are blamed, because it shows a base mind to endure things very disgraceful for no honourable object, or for a trifling one.

But people are sometimes even praised for such actions. For example, they may endure disgrace or pain to gain something great and honorable in return. If the reverse is true, they are blamed. This is because enduring great disgrace for no honorable purpose, or for a trivial one, shows a base character.

For some again no praise is given, but allowance is made; as where a man does what he should not by reason of such things as overstrain the powers of human nature, or pass the limits of human endurance.

In some cases, people receive no praise, but their actions are excused. For example, a man may do something wrong because circumstances strain human nature beyond its strength or exceed human endurance.

Some acts perhaps there are for which compulsion cannot be pleaded, but a man should rather suffer the worst and die; how absurd, for instance, are the pleas of compulsion with which Alcmaeon in Euripides’ play excuses his matricide!

Perhaps some acts cannot be excused by saying a person was forced to commit them. Instead, a person should endure the worst suffering and die rather than commit such acts. For example, how absurd are Alcmaeon’s excuses in Euripides’ play when he claims he was forced to kill his mother!

But it is difficult sometimes to decide what kind of thing should be chosen instead of what, or what endured in preference to what, and much moreso to abide by one’s decisions: for in general the alternatives are painful, and the actions required are base, and so praise or blame is awarded according as persons have been compelled or no.

But sometimes it is difficult to decide what to choose over something else, or what to endure instead of something else. Sticking to those decisions is much harder. For the alternatives are generally painful, and the actions required are shameful. So people receive praise or blame depending on whether or not they were forced to act.

What kind of actions then are to be called compulsory? may we say, simply and abstractedly whenever the cause is external and the agent contributes nothing; and that where the acts are in themselves such as one would not wish but choice-worthy at the present time and in preference to such and such things, and where the origination rests with the agent, the actions are in themselves involuntary but at the given time and in preference to such and such things voluntary; and they are more like voluntary than involuntary, because the actions consist of little details, and these are voluntary.

What kinds of actions, then, should we call forced? May we say, as a general rule, that actions are forced whenever their cause is external and the person contributes nothing? And what about actions people would not want in themselves, but would choose in the circumstances over certain alternatives? When the person initiates such actions, the actions are involuntary in themselves, but voluntary in those circumstances and over those alternatives. Such actions are more voluntary than involuntary, because actions consist of particular details, and those details are voluntary.

But what kind of things one ought to choose instead of what, it is not easy to settle, for there are many differences in particular instances.

But deciding what we should choose over something else is not easy, because individual cases differ in many ways.

But suppose a person should say, things pleasant and honourable exert a compulsive force (for that they are external and do compel); at that rate every action is on compulsion, because these are universal motives of action.

But suppose someone says that pleasant and honorable things force us to act because they are external and compel us. By that reasoning, every action is forced, because pleasant and honorable things motivate all actions.

Again, they who act on compulsion and against their will do so with pain; but they who act by reason of what is pleasant or honourable act with pleasure.

Again, people who are forced to act against their will feel pain when they act. But people who act because something is pleasant or honorable feel pleasure when they act.

It is truly absurd for a man to attribute his actions to external things instead of to his own capacity for being easily caught by them;¹ or, again, to ascribe the honourable to himself, and the base ones to pleasure.

It is truly absurd for a man to blame outside influences for his actions rather than his own susceptibility;¹ It is equally absurd to take credit for his noble actions but blame pleasure for his shameful ones.

So then that seems to be compulsory “whose origination is from without, the party compelled contributing nothing.”

So an action seems forced when “it originates outside the person forced, and that person contributes nothing.”

Now every action of which ignorance is the cause is not-voluntary, but that only is involuntary which is attended with pain and remorse; for clearly the man who has done anything by reason of ignorance, but is not annoyed at his own action, cannot be said to have done it with his will because he did not know he was doing it, nor again against his will because he is not sorry for it.

Now every action caused by ignorance is not voluntary. But an action is involuntary only if it brings pain and remorse. Clearly, a man may act out of ignorance without being upset by his own action. He cannot be said to have acted with his will, because he did not know what he was doing. Nor can he be said to have acted against his will, because he does not regret his action.

So then of the class “acting by reason of ignorance,” he who feels regret afterwards is thought to be an involuntary agent, and him that has no such feeling, since he certainly is different from the other, we will call a not-voluntary agent; for as there is a real difference it is better to have a proper name.

So, among those “acting because of ignorance,” someone who feels regret afterward is considered to have acted involuntarily. Someone who feels no regret is certainly different, so we will call that person a not-voluntary agent. Since the difference is real, it is better to have a distinct name for it.

Again, there seems to be a difference between acting because of ignorance and acting with ignorance: for instance, we do not usually assign ignorance as the cause of the actions of the drunken or angry man, but either the drunkenness or the anger, yet they act not knowingly but with ignorance.

Again, there seems to be a difference between acting because of ignorance and acting with ignorance. For example, we do not usually say that ignorance causes a drunk or angry person’s actions. Instead, we blame the drunkenness or anger. Yet such people act without knowing what they are doing, in a state of ignorance.

Again, every bad man is ignorant what he ought to do and what to leave undone, and by reason of such error men become unjust and wholly evil.

Again, every bad person is ignorant of what to do and what to avoid. Because of this error, people become unjust and entirely evil.

Again, we do not usually apply the term involuntary when a man is ignorant of his own true interest;² because ignorance which affects moral choice³ constitutes depravity but not involuntariness: nor does any ignorance of principle (because for this men are blamed) but ignorance in particular details, wherein consists the action and wherewith it is concerned, for in these there is both compassion and allowance, because he who acts in ignorance of any of them acts in a proper sense involuntarily.

Again, we do not usually call an action involuntary when a man is ignorant of his own true interests.² This is because ignorance affecting moral choice³ amounts to moral corruption, not involuntary action. Nor does ignorance of principles make an action involuntary, because people are blamed for such ignorance. Rather, an action is involuntary when someone is ignorant of the particular details of the action and its circumstances. Such ignorance calls for both compassion and understanding. For someone who acts in ignorance of any of these details acts involuntarily in the proper sense.

It may be as well, therefore, to define these particular details; what they are, and how many; viz. who acts, what he is doing, with respect to what or in what, sometimes with what, as with what instrument, and with what result;⁴ as that of preservation, for instance, and how, as whether softly or violently.

It may therefore be useful to define these specific details: what they are and how many there are. They include who acts, what the person is doing, and what the action concerns or occurs in. Sometimes they include what the person uses, such as an instrument, and what result the action produces.⁴ The result might be preservation, for example. They also include how the person acts, whether gently or violently.

All these particulars, in one and the same case, no man in his senses could be ignorant of; plainly not of the agent, being himself. But what he is doing a man may be ignorant, as men in speaking say a thing escaped them unawares; or as Aeschylus did with respect to the Mysteries, that he was not aware that it was unlawful to speak of them; or as in the case of that catapult accident the other day the man said he discharged it merely to display its operation. Or a person might suppose a son to be an enemy, as Merope did; or that the spear really pointed was rounded off; or that the stone was a pumice; or in striking with a view to save might kill; or might strike when merely wishing to show another, as people do in sham-fighting.

No sane person could be unaware of all these details in a single case. Clearly, he could not be unaware of who was acting, since he himself was the person acting. But someone may be unaware of what he is doing. People sometimes say that something slipped out while they were speaking. Aeschylus, for example, said he did not know that speaking about the Mysteries was unlawful. Or consider the recent catapult accident. The man said he fired the catapult only to demonstrate how it worked. Or someone might mistake his son for an enemy, as Merope did. Someone might think a sharp spear had a blunt tip, or that a stone was pumice. Or someone might strike to save a life but kill instead. Or he might land a blow when he only meant to demonstrate one, as people do in mock combat.

Now since ignorance is possible in respect to all these details in which the action consists, he that acted in ignorance of any of them is thought to have acted involuntarily, and he most so who was in ignorance as regards the most important, which are thought to be those in which the action consists, and the result.

Now, a person may be unaware of any of the details that make up an action. So anyone who acts without knowing any of these details is thought to have acted involuntarily. This is especially true of someone unaware of the most important details. These are thought to be what the action involves and its result.

Further, not only must the ignorance be of this kind, to constitute an action involuntary, but it must be also understood that the action is followed by pain and regret.

Further, for an action to count as involuntary, the ignorance must be of this kind. But the action must also be followed by pain and regret.

Now since all involuntary action is either upon compulsion or by reason of ignorance, Voluntary Action would seem to be “that whose origination is in the agent, he being aware of the particular details in which the action consists.”

All involuntary action results either from force or from ignorance. So voluntary action would seem to be “action originating in the person acting, who knows the specific details involved.”

For, it may be, men are not justified by calling those actions involuntary, which are done by reason of Anger or Lust.

For perhaps people are not justified in calling actions driven by anger or lust involuntary.

Because, in the first place, if this be so no other animal but man, and not even children, can be said to act voluntarily. Next, is it meant that we never act voluntarily when we act from Lust or Anger, or that we act voluntarily in doing what is right and involuntarily in doing what is discreditable? The latter supposition is absurd, since the cause is one and the same. Then as to the former, it is a strange thing to maintain actions to be involuntary which we are bound to grasp at: now there are occasions on which anger is a duty,⁵ and there are things which we are bound to lust after,⁶ health, for instance, and learning.

Because, first of all, if this is so, no animal except humans can be said to act voluntarily. Not even children can be said to act voluntarily. Next, does this mean we never act voluntarily when driven by desire or anger? Or do we act voluntarily when doing right, but involuntarily when doing something shameful? The second possibility is absurd, since the cause is the same in both cases. As for the first, it is strange to call actions involuntary when we ought to pursue them. After all, there are times when anger is a duty,⁵ and things we ought to desire,⁶ such as health and learning.

Again, whereas actions strictly involuntary are thought to be attended with pain, those which are done to gratify lust are thought to be pleasant.

Again, truly involuntary actions are thought to involve pain. But actions done to satisfy desire are thought to be pleasant.

Again: how does the involuntariness make any difference⁷ between wrong actions done from deliberate calculation, and those done by reason of anger? for both ought to be avoided, and the irrational feelings are thought to be just as natural to man as reason, and so of course must be such actions of the individual as are done from Anger and Lust. It is absurd then to class these actions among the involuntary.

Again, how does being involuntary make any difference⁷ between wrong actions done deliberately and those done out of anger? Both kinds of action ought to be avoided. Irrational feelings are thought to be just as natural to human beings as reason. So, of course, an individual's actions driven by anger and lust must also be natural. It is therefore absurd to classify these actions as involuntary.

Having thus drawn out the distinction between voluntary and involuntary action our next step is to examine into the nature of Moral Choice, because this seems most intimately connected with Virtue and to be a more decisive test of moral character than a man’s acts are.

Having distinguished voluntary from involuntary action, we next need to examine the nature of Moral Choice. This is because Moral Choice seems most closely connected with Virtue. It also seems to reveal a person’s moral character more clearly than their actions do.

Now Moral Choice is plainly voluntary, but the two are not co-extensive, voluntary being the more comprehensive term; for first, children and all other animals share in voluntary action but not in Moral Choice; and next, sudden actions we call voluntary but do not ascribe them to Moral Choice.

Moral Choice is clearly voluntary, but not all voluntary actions involve Moral Choice. Voluntary action is the broader category. First, children and all other animals act voluntarily, but do not make Moral Choices. Next, we call sudden actions voluntary, but we do not attribute them to Moral Choice.

Nor do they appear to be right who say it is lust or anger, or wish, or opinion of a certain kind; because, in the first place, Moral Choice is not shared by the irrational animals while Lust and Anger are. Next; the man who fails of self-control acts from Lust but not from Moral Choice; the man of self-control, on the contrary, from Moral Choice, not from Lust. Again: whereas Lust is frequently opposed to Moral Choice, Lust is not to Lust.

Those who say Moral Choice is desire, anger, wish, or a certain kind of opinion do not seem right either. First, because animals without reason do not share in Moral Choice, but they do experience desire and anger. Next, a person who lacks self-control acts from desire, but not from Moral Choice. A person with self-control, by contrast, acts from Moral Choice, not from desire. Again, desire often conflicts with Moral Choice, but desire does not conflict with desire.

Lastly: the object-matter of Lust is the pleasant and the painful, but of Moral Choice neither the one nor the other. Still less can it be Anger, because actions done from Anger are thought generally to be least of all consequent on Moral Choice.

Finally, desire concerns pleasure and pain, but moral choice concerns neither. Still less can moral choice be anger, because actions driven by anger are generally considered least likely to result from moral choice.

Nor is it Wish either, though appearing closely connected with it; because, in the first place, Moral Choice has not for its objects impossibilities, and if a man were to say he chose them he would be thought to be a fool; but Wish may have impossible things for its objects, immortality for instance.

Moral Choice is not Wish either, though the two seem closely connected. This is because, first of all, Moral Choice cannot concern impossible things. If a man said he chose something impossible, he would be thought a fool. But Wish can concern impossible things, such as immortality.

Wish again may be exercised on things in the accomplishment of which one’s self could have nothing to do, as the success of any particular actor or athlete; but no man chooses things of this nature, only such as he believes he may himself be instrumental in procuring.

Again, we may wish for things we could play no part in bringing about, like a particular actor’s or athlete’s success. But no one chooses such things. We choose only things we believe we can help bring about ourselves.

Further: Wish has for its object the End rather, but Moral Choice the means to the End; for instance, we wish to be healthy but we choose the means which will make us so; or happiness again we wish for, and commonly say so, but to say we choose is not an appropriate term, because, in short, the province of Moral Choice seems to be those things which are in our own power.

Further, wishing concerns the goal, while moral choice concerns the means of reaching the goal. For example, we wish to be healthy, but we choose the means that will make us healthy. Similarly, we wish for happiness, and we commonly say so. But saying we choose happiness is not appropriate. In short, this is because moral choice seems to concern things within our own power.

Neither can it be Opinion; for Opinion is thought to be unlimited in its range of objects, and to be exercised as well upon things eternal and impossible as on those which are in our own power: again, Opinion is logically divided into true and false, not into good and bad as Moral Choice is.

Nor can it be Opinion, because Opinion is thought to have no limits on its subject matter. Opinion can concern eternal and impossible things as well as things within our own power. Also, Opinion is classified as true or false, not as good or bad, as Moral Choice is.

However, nobody perhaps maintains its identity with Opinion simply; but it is not the same with opinion of any kind,⁸ because by choosing good and bad things we are constituted of a certain character, but by having opinions on them we are not.

However, perhaps no one claims that it is simply the same as Opinion. But it is not the same as any kind of opinion,⁸ because choosing good and bad things shapes our character. Having opinions about good and bad things, however, does not.

Again, we choose to take or avoid, and so on, but we opine what a thing is, or for what it is serviceable, or how; but we do not opine to take or avoid.

Again, we choose to take or avoid something, and so on. But we form opinions about what something is, what it is useful for, or how it is useful. We do not, however, form opinions to take or avoid something.

Further, Moral Choice is commended rather for having a right object than for being judicious, but Opinion for being formed in accordance with truth.

Further, moral choice is praised for aiming at the right thing rather than for showing good judgment. But opinion is praised for being true.

Again, we choose such things as we pretty well know to be good, but we form opinions respecting such as we do not know at all.

Again, we choose things we are fairly sure are good. But we form opinions about things we know nothing about.

And it is not thought that choosing and opining best always go together, but that some opine the better course and yet by reason of viciousness choose not the things which they should.

And choosing well and judging well are not thought to always go together. Some people judge one course better, but because of bad character, choose things they should not.

It may be urged, that Opinion always precedes or accompanies Moral Choice; be it so, this makes no difference, for this is not the point in question, but whether Moral Choice is the same as Opinion of a certain kind.

Some may argue that Opinion always comes before or accompanies Moral Choice. Even if so, that makes no difference, because the question is not whether Opinion comes before or accompanies Moral Choice. The question is whether Moral Choice is the same as a certain kind of Opinion.

Since then it is none of the aforementioned things, what is it, or how is it characterised? Voluntary it plainly is, but not all voluntary action is an object of Moral Choice. May we not say then, it is “that voluntary which has passed through a stage of previous deliberation?” because Moral Choice is attended with reasoning and intellectual process. The etymology of its Greek name seems to give a hint of it, being when analysed “chosen in preference to somewhat else.”

Since Moral Choice is none of the things mentioned above, what is it, or how can we describe it? Moral Choice is clearly voluntary, but not every voluntary action is an object of Moral Choice. May we not say, then, that Moral Choice is “voluntary action preceded by deliberation?” This is because Moral Choice involves reasoning and thought. The origin of its Greek name seems to suggest this meaning. When broken down, the name means “chosen in preference to something else.”

Well then; do men deliberate about everything, and is anything soever the object of Deliberation, or are there some matters with respect to which there is none? (It may be as well perhaps to say, that by “object of Deliberation” is meant such matter as a sensible man would deliberate upon, not what any fool or madman might.)

Well then, do people deliberate about everything? Can anything at all be an object of deliberation, or are there some matters people do not deliberate about? (Perhaps we should clarify what we mean by “object of deliberation”. We mean something a sensible person would deliberate about, not something any fool or madman might consider.)

Well: about eternal things no one deliberates; as, for instance, the universe, or the incommensurability of the diameter and side of a square.

Well, no one deliberates about eternal things. Examples include the universe, or the fact that the ratio of a square’s diagonal to its side is irrational.

Nor again about things which are in motion but which always happen in the same way either necessarily, or naturally, or from some other cause, as the solstices or the sunrise.

Nor about things that move but always follow the same pattern. They follow this pattern by necessity, by nature, or from some other cause, like the solstices or sunrise.

Nor about those which are variable, as drought and rains; nor fortuitous matters, as finding of treasure.

Nor about things that vary, such as drought and rain. Nor about chance events, such as finding treasure.

Nor in fact even about all human affairs; no Lacedæmonian, for instance, deliberates as to the best course for the Scythian government to adopt; because in such cases we have no power over the result.

Nor do we deliberate about all human affairs. For example, no Lacedæmonian considers the best course for the Scythian government to take. That is because, in such cases, we have no control over the outcome.

But we do deliberate respecting such practical matters as are in our own power (which are what are left after all our exclusions).

But we do deliberate about practical matters within our control. (These are the matters left after all our exclusions.)

I have adopted this division because causes seem to be divisible into nature, necessity, chance, and moreover intellect, and all human powers.

I have chosen this division because causes seem to fall into these categories: nature, necessity, chance, intellect, and all human powers.

And as man in general deliberates about what man in general can effect, so individuals do about such practical things as can be effected through their own instrumentality.

People in general consider what humans can accomplish. Similarly, individuals consider practical matters they can bring about through their own actions.

Again, we do not deliberate respecting such arts or sciences as are exact and independent: as, for instance, about written characters, because we have no doubt how they should be formed; but we do deliberate on all buch things as are usually done through our own instrumentality, but not invariably in the same way; as, for instance, about matters connected with the healing art, or with money-making; and, again, more about piloting ships than gymnastic exercises, because the former has been less exactly determined, and so forth; and more about arts than sciences, because we more frequently doubt respecting the former.

Again, we do not deliberate about arts or sciences that are exact and self-contained. For example, we do not deliberate about written letters, because we have no doubt about how to form them. But we do deliberate about all things usually done through our own efforts, but not always in the same way. Examples include medicine and money-making. Again, we deliberate more about piloting ships than about gymnastic exercises, because piloting is less precisely defined, and so on. We also deliberate more about arts than sciences, because we are more often uncertain about the arts.

So then Deliberation takes place in such matters as are under general laws, but still uncertain how in any given case they will issue, i.e. in which there is some indefiniteness; and for great matters we associate coadjutors in counsel, distrusting our ability to settle them alone.

So we deliberate about matters governed by general laws, but whose outcome in any particular case remains uncertain. These are, that is, matters with some uncertainty. And for important matters, we seek others’ advice because we doubt our ability to decide alone.

Further, we deliberate not about Ends, but Means to Ends. No physician, for instance, deliberates whether he will cure, nor orator whether he will persuade, nor statesman whether he will produce a good constitution, nor in fact any man in any other function about his particular End; but having set before them a certain End they look how and through what means it may be accomplished: if there is a choice of means, they examine further which are easiest and most creditable; or, if there is but one means of accomplishing the object, then how it may be through this, this again through what, till they come to the first cause; and this will be the last found; for a man engaged in a process of deliberation seems to seek and analyse, as a man, to solve a problem, analyses the figure given him. And plainly not every search is Deliberation, those in mathematics to wit, but every Deliberation is a search, and the last step in the analysis is the first in the constructive process. And if in the course of their search men come upon an impossibility, they give it up; if money, for instance, be necessary, but cannot be got: but if the thing appears possible they then attempt to do it.

Further, we deliberate not about ends, but about the means to achieve them. A physician, for example, does not deliberate about whether to cure, nor an orator about whether to persuade. Nor does a statesman deliberate about whether to produce a good constitution. In fact, no one in any role deliberates about the particular end of that role. Instead, people set themselves an end and consider how and by what means they can achieve it. If several means are available, they examine which are easiest and most honorable. If only one means is available, they ask how to achieve their end through that means. Then they ask what is needed for that means, continuing until they reach the first cause. This first cause will be the last thing they discover. For someone deliberating seems to investigate and analyze, just as someone solving a geometrical problem analyzes the given figure. Clearly, not every investigation is deliberation. Mathematical investigations, for example, are not. But every deliberation is an investigation. And the last step in the analysis is the first step in carrying out the plan. If people discover something impossible during their investigation, they give up. For example, they give up if money is necessary but cannot be obtained. But if the action seems possible, they attempt it.

And by possible I mean what may be done through our own instrumentality (of course what may be done through our friends is through our own instrumentality in a certain sense, because the origination in such cases rests with us). And the object of search is sometimes the necessary instruments, sometimes the method of using them; and similarly in the rest sometimes through what, and sometimes how or through what.⁹

By possible, I mean what we can do through our own efforts. (Of course, what we can do through our friends also counts, in a sense, because the initiative rests with us.) Sometimes we look for the tools we need, and sometimes for ways to use them. Similarly, in other cases, we sometimes ask by what means, and sometimes how or by what means.⁹

So it seems, as has been said, that Man is the originator of his actions; and Deliberation has for its object whatever may be done through one’s own instrumentality, and the actions are with a view to other things; and so it is, not the End, but the Means to Ends on which Deliberation is employed.

So, as already noted, it seems that people are the source of their own actions. Deliberation concerns what people can do through their own efforts, and their actions aim at other things. So deliberation concerns not the ends themselves, but the means to those ends.

Nor, again, is it employed on matters of detail, as whether the substance before me is bread, or has been properly cooked; for these come under the province of sense, and if a man is to be always deliberating, he may go on ad infinitum.

Nor is it used for questions of detail, such as whether the substance before me is bread or properly cooked. These questions are matters for the senses. And if someone is always to deliberate, they may go on forever.

Further, exactly the same matter is the object both of Deliberation and Moral Choice; but that which is the object of Moral Choice is thenceforward separated off and definite,¹⁰ because by object of Moral Choice is denoted that which after Deliberation has been preferred to something else: for each man leaves off searching how he shall do a thing when he has brought the origination up to himself, i.e. to the governing principle in himself,¹¹ because it is this which makes the choice. A good illustration of this is furnished by the old regal constitutions which Homer drew from, in which the Kings would announce to the commonalty what they had determined before.

Further, Deliberation and Moral Choice concern exactly the same matters. But the object of Moral Choice is then singled out and clearly defined,¹⁰ because it is what Deliberation has preferred over something else. Each person stops considering how to do something once he traces the source of action back to himself. That source is, i.e. means, the governing principle within him,¹¹ because this principle makes the choice. The old royal constitutions that Homer drew on offer a good illustration. Under these constitutions, the Kings would announce to the common people what they had already decided.

Now since that which is the object of Moral Choice is something in our own power, which is the object of deliberation and the grasping of the Will, Moral Choice must be “a grasping after something in our own power consequent upon Deliberation:” because after having deliberated we decide, and then grasp by our Will in accordance with the result of our deliberation.¹²

Now the object of moral choice is something within our power, something we deliberate about and desire. So moral choice must be “a desire for something within our power that follows deliberation.” This is because, after deliberating, we decide, and then desire what we have decided on through deliberation.¹²

Let this be accepted as a sketch of the nature and object of Moral Choice, that object being “Means to Ends.”

Let this serve as an outline of the nature and aim of Moral Choice. Its aim is “Means to Ends.”

That Wish has for its object-matter the End, has been already stated; but there are two opinions respecting it; some thinking that its object is real good, others whatever impresses the mind with a notion of good.

We have already said that wish is directed toward an end. But there are two views about what we wish for. Some think we wish for what is truly good. Others think we wish for whatever seems good to us.

Now those who maintain that the object of Wish is real good are beset by this difficulty, that what is wished for by him who chooses wrongly is not really an object of Wish (because, on their theory, if it is an object of wish, it must be good, but it is, in the case supposed, evil). Those who maintain, on the contrary, that that which impresses the mind with a notion of good is properly the object of Wish, have to meet this difficulty, that there is nothing naturally an object of Wish but to each individual whatever seems good to him; now different people have different notions, and it may chance contrary ones.

Those who maintain that the object of wish is what is truly good face a difficulty. What someone wishes for when choosing wrongly is not really an object of wish. This is because, on their theory, any object of wish must be good. But in this case, the person wishes for something bad. Others maintain, by contrast, that the proper object of wish is whatever seems good to a person. They face a different difficulty. Nothing is an object of wish by nature. Instead, each person's object of wish is whatever seems good to them. But different people have different ideas of what is good, and those ideas may even contradict one another.

But, if these opinions do not satisfy us, may we not say that, abstractedly and as a matter of objective truth, the really good is the object of Wish, but to each individual whatever impresses his mind with the notion of good.¹³ And so to the good man that is an object of Wish which is really and truly so, but to the bad man anything may be; just as physically those things are wholesome to the healthy which are really so, but other things to the sick. And so too of bitter and sweet, and hot and heavy, and so on. For the good man judges in every instance correctly, and in every instance the notion conveyed to his mind is the true one.

But if these views do not satisfy us, may we not say the following? In general, as an objective truth, what is truly good is the object of wish. But each individual wishes for whatever seems good to him.¹³ So a good man wishes for what is really and truly good, but a bad man may wish for anything. Similarly, things that are truly healthy are healthy for people in good health, but other things are healthy for the sick. The same applies to what is bitter or sweet, hot or heavy, and so on. For the good man judges correctly in every case, and in every case his impression is true.

For there are fair and pleasant things peculiar to, and so varying with, each state; and perhaps the most distinguishing characteristic of the good man is his seeing the truth in every instance, he being, in fact, the rule and measure of these matters.

For each state has its own admirable and pleasant things, so these vary from one state to another. Perhaps the good man's most distinctive quality is that he sees the truth in every case. He is, in fact, the standard and measure in these matters.

The multitude of men seem to be deceived by reason of pleasure, because though it is not really a good it impresses their minds with the notion of goodness, so they choose what is pleasant as good and avoid pain as an evil.

Most people seem to be misled by pleasure because, although pleasure is not truly good, it seems good to them. So they choose what is pleasant as good and avoid pain as evil.

Now since the End is the object of Wish, and the means to the End of Deliberation and Moral Choice, the actions regarding these matters must be in the way of Moral Choice, i.e. voluntary: but the acts of working out the virtues are such actions, and therefore Virtue is in our power.

We wish for the goal, and we deliberate and make moral choices about the means to reach it. So actions concerning these means must involve moral choice, that is, they must be voluntary. But actions that put the virtues into practice are actions of this kind. Therefore, virtue is within our power.

And so too is Vice: because wherever it is in our power to do it is also in our power to forbear doing, and vice versâ: therefore if the doing (being in a given case creditable) is in our power, so too is the forbearing (which is in the same case discreditable), and vice versâ.

The same is true of vice. Because whenever we have the power to act, we also have the power to refrain, and the reverse is true. So if a praiseworthy action is within our power, refraining from that action is also within our power. In that same case, refraining is blameworthy, and the reverse is true.

But if it is in our power to do and to forbear doing what is creditable or the contrary, and these respectively constitute the being good or bad, then the being good or vicious characters is in our power.

But suppose we can choose to do or avoid honorable or dishonorable actions. If these actions make us good or bad, then being good or bad is within our control.

As for the well-known saying, “No man voluntarily is wicked or involuntarily happy,” it is partly true, partly false; for no man is happy against his will, of course, but wickedness is voluntary. Or must we dispute the statements lately made, and not say that Man is the originator or generator of his actions as much as of his children?

The well-known saying, “No one is wicked by choice or happy against their will,” is partly true and partly false. For no one is happy against their will, of course, but wickedness is a choice. Or must we challenge what we said earlier? Must we deny that people bring their actions into being just as they bring their children into being?

But if this is matter of plain manifest fact, and we cannot refer our actions to any other originations beside those in our own power, those things must be in our own power, and so voluntary, the originations of which are in ourselves.

But suppose this is plainly true, and our actions can only originate from sources within our control. If so, whatever originates in us must be within our control and therefore voluntary.

Moreover, testimony seems to be borne to these positions both privately by individuals, and by law-givers too, in that they chastise and punish those who do wrong (unless they do so on compulsion, or by reason of ignorance which is not self-caused), while they honour those who act rightly, under the notion of being likely to encourage the latter and restrain the former. But such things as are not in our own power, i.e. not voluntary, no one thinks of encouraging us to do, knowing it to be of no avail for one to have been persuaded not to be hot (for instance), or feel pain, or be hungry, and so forth, because we shall have those sensations all the same.

Moreover, both private individuals and lawmakers seem to support these views through their actions. They reprimand and punish those who do wrong, unless the wrongdoing results from force or ignorance beyond the wrongdoer's control. They also honor those who act rightly, believing these responses are likely to encourage right conduct and discourage wrongdoing. But no one thinks of encouraging us to do things beyond our control, that is, things not done voluntarily. Everyone knows persuasion is useless in such cases. For example, persuading someone not to feel hot, feel pain, or be hungry achieves nothing. We will still have these sensations anyway.

And what makes the case stronger is this: that they chastise for the very fact of ignorance, when it is thought to be self-caused; to the drunken, for instance, penalties are double, because the origination in such case lies in a man’s own self: for he might have helped getting drunk, and this is the cause of his ignorance.

And this strengthens the case: they punish people for ignorance itself when they believe those people caused their own ignorance. For example, penalties are doubled for drunken people because the cause lies in the drunk person's own actions. For a person could have avoided getting drunk, and drunkenness causes their ignorance.

Again, those also who are ignorant of legal regulations which they are bound to know, and which are not hard to know, they chastise; and similarly in all other cases where neglect is thought to be the cause of the ignorance, under the notion that it was in their power to prevent their ignorance, because they might have paid attention.

Again, they also punish people for not knowing laws they are required to know and could easily learn. They do the same in all other cases where neglect is thought to cause ignorance. The reasoning is that these people could have prevented their ignorance, because they could have paid attention.

But perhaps a man is of such a character that he cannot attend to such things: still men are themselves the causes of having become such characters by living carelessly, and also of being unjust or destitute of self-control, the former by doing evil actions, the latter by spending their time in drinking and such-like; because the particular acts of working form corresponding characters, as is shown by those who are practising for any contest or particular course of action, for such men persevere in the acts of working.

But perhaps a man's character makes him unable to pay attention to such things. Still, people are themselves responsible for developing such characters by living carelessly. They are also responsible for becoming unjust or lacking self-control. They become unjust by doing wrong, and lose self-control by spending their time drinking and doing similar things. This is because repeated actions shape the corresponding character. We see this in people training for a contest or a particular activity, who keep practising the relevant actions.

As for the plea, that a man did not know that habits are produced from separate acts of working, we reply, such ignorance is a mark of excessive stupidity.

A man may claim he did not know that habits develop from individual actions. We reply that such ignorance is a sign of extreme stupidity.

Furthermore, it is wholly irrelevant to say that the man who acts unjustly or dissolutely does not wish to attain the habits of these vices: for if a man wittingly does those things whereby he must become unjust he is to all intents and purposes unjust voluntarily; but he cannot with a wish cease to be unjust and become just. For, to take the analogous case, the sick man cannot with a wish be well again, yet in a supposable case he is voluntarily ill because he has produced his sickness by living intemperately and disregarding his physicians. There was a time then when he might have helped being ill, but now he has let himself go he cannot any longer; just as he who has let a stone out of his hand cannot recall it,¹⁴ and yet it rested with him to aim and throw it, because the origination was in his power. Just so the unjust man, and he who has lost all self-control, might originally have helped being what they are, and so they are voluntarily what they are; but now that they are become so they no longer have the power of being otherwise.

Furthermore, saying that someone who acts unjustly or without restraint does not wish to develop these habits is wholly irrelevant. For if someone knowingly does things that must make him unjust, he is, for all practical purposes, unjust voluntarily. But he cannot stop being unjust and become just simply by wishing. Take the similar case of a sick man. He cannot become well again simply by wishing. Yet he may be voluntarily ill if he caused his illness by living without moderation and ignoring his doctors. There was a time when he could have avoided becoming ill. But now that he has let himself go, he can no longer avoid it. In the same way, someone who has released a stone from his hand cannot call it back.¹⁴ Yet aiming and throwing the stone were up to him, because he controlled the action at its beginning. Likewise, the unjust man and the man who has lost all self-control could originally have avoided becoming what they are. So they are voluntarily what they are. But now that they have become unjust or lost all self-control, they no longer have the power to be otherwise.

And not only are mental diseases voluntary, but the bodily are so in some men, whom we accordingly blame: for such as are naturally deformed no one blames, only such as are so by reason of want of exercise, and neglect: and so too of weakness and maiming: no one would think of upbraiding, but would rather compassionate, a man who is blind by nature, or from disease, or from an accident; but every one would blame him who was so from excess of wine, or any other kind of intemperance. It seems, then, that in respect of bodily diseases, those which depend on ourselves are censured, those which do not are not censured; and if so, then in the case of the mental disorders, those which are censured must depend upon ourselves.

Not only are mental disorders voluntary, but in some people bodily disorders are too, and we blame those people accordingly. No one blames people born with physical deformities, only those whose deformities result from lack of exercise and neglect. The same applies to weakness and physical impairment. No one would think of blaming someone born blind or blinded by disease or an accident. Instead, people would feel compassion. But everyone would blame someone blinded by excessive drinking or any other kind of self-indulgence. So it seems that, among bodily disorders, we blame those within our control, but not those beyond our control. If so, then the mental disorders we blame must also be within our control.

But suppose a man to say, “that (by our own admission) all men aim at that which conveys to their minds an impression of good, and that men have no control over this impression, but that the End impresses each with a notion correspondent to his own individual character; that to be sure if each man is in a way the cause of his own moral state, so he will be also of the kind of impression he receives: whereas, if this is not so, no one is the cause to himself of doing evil actions, but he does them by reason of ignorance of the true End, supposing that through their means he will secure the chief good. Further, that this aiming at the End is no matter of one’s own choice, but one must be born with a power of mental vision, so to speak, whereby to judge fairly and choose that which is really good; and he is blessed by nature who has this naturally well: because it is the most important thing and the fairest, and what a man cannot get or learn from another but will have such as nature has given it; and for this to be so given well and fairly would be excellence of nature in the highest and truest sense.”

But suppose someone says, “By our own admission, all people aim at what seems good to them. They have no control over how things seem to them. Rather, the End appears to each person in a way that matches his own character. Certainly, if each person is in some way responsible for his own moral character, he also shapes how things seem to him. But if he is not, no one is responsible for his own evil actions. Instead, he does evil because he does not know the true End. He thinks these actions will secure the highest good for him. Furthermore, aiming at the End is not a matter of personal choice. A person must be born with a kind of mental vision, so to speak. This vision allows him to judge correctly and choose what is truly good. Anyone naturally gifted with sound mental vision is blessed by nature. For this vision is the most important and finest gift. A person cannot acquire it or learn it from someone else. He must have it as nature has given it to him. To be naturally gifted with this vision in a sound and fine form would be natural excellence in its highest and truest sense.”

If all this be true, how will Virtue be a whit more voluntary than Vice? Alike to the good man and the bad, the End gives its impression and is fixed by nature or howsoever you like to say, and they act so and so, referring everything else to this End.

If all this is true, how can virtue be any more voluntary than vice? For both the good person and the bad, the goal appears a certain way and is fixed by nature. Or you can describe it however you like. Both act as they do, judging everything else in relation to this goal.

Whether then we suppose that the End impresses each man’s mind with certain notions not merely by nature, but that there is somewhat also dependent on himself; or that the End is given by nature, and yet Virtue is voluntary because the good man does all the rest voluntarily, Vice must be equally so; because his own agency equally attaches to the bad man in the actions, even if not in the selection of the End.

Suppose, then, that each man’s view of the goal comes not only from nature but partly from himself. Or suppose that nature gives him the goal, yet virtue is voluntary because the good man voluntarily does everything else. In either case, vice must be equally voluntary. For the bad man is equally responsible for his actions, even if not for his choice of goal.

If then, as is commonly said, the Virtues are voluntary (because we at least cooperate¹⁵ in producing our moral states, and we assume the End to be of a certain kind according as we are ourselves of certain characters), the Vices must be voluntary also, because the cases are exactly similar.

If, then, virtues are voluntary, as people commonly say, it is because we at least help¹⁵ shape our moral character. It is also because our character shapes what we take our goal to be. If so, vices must be voluntary too, because the cases of virtue and vice are exactly alike.

Well now, we have stated generally respecting the Moral Virtues, the genus (in outline), that they are mean states, and that they are habits, and how they are formed, and that they are of themselves calculated to act upon the circumstances out of which they were formed, and that they are in our own power and voluntary, and are to be done so as right Reason may direct.

We have now outlined the general nature of moral virtues. They are states between extremes, and they are habits. We have explained how these habits form. By their nature, they guide our actions in the same kinds of circumstances that formed them. We have also said that moral virtues are within our control and voluntary. We should practice them as sound reason directs.

But the particular actions and the habits are not voluntary in the same sense; for of the actions we are masters from beginning to end (supposing of course a knowledge of the particular details), but only of the origination of the habits, the addition by small particular accessions not being cognisiable (as is the case with sicknesses): still they are voluntary because it rested with us to use our circumstances this way or that.

But individual actions and habits are not voluntary in the same sense. We control our actions from beginning to end, provided we know the particular details. But we control only the beginnings of our habits. We cannot notice the small changes through which habits develop, just as we cannot with illnesses. Still, habits are voluntary because we could choose to use our circumstances one way or another.

Here we will resume the particular discussion of the Moral Virtues, and say what they are, what is their object-matter, and how they stand respectively related to it: of course their number will be thereby shown.

We will now return to a detailed discussion of the moral virtues. We will explain what they are, what they concern, and how each virtue relates to its subject. This will, of course, also show how many moral virtues there are.

First, then, of Courage. Now that it is a mean state, in respect of fear and boldness, has been already said: further, the objects of our fears are obviously things fearful or, in a general way of statement, evils; which accounts for the common definition of fear, viz. “expectation of evil.”

First, then, let us consider courage. As already stated, courage is a middle state between fear and boldness. Further, the things we fear are obviously frightening things or, more generally, evils. This explains the common definition of fear as “expectation of evil.”

Of course we fear evils of all kinds: disgrace, for instance, poverty, disease, desolateness, death; but not all these seem to be the object-matter of the Brave man, because there are things which to fear is right and noble, and not to fear is base; disgrace, for example, since he who fears this is a good man and has a sense of honour, and he who does not fear it is shameless (though there are those who call him Brave by analogy, because he somewhat resembles the Brave man who agrees with him in being free from fear); but poverty, perhaps, or disease, and in fact whatever does not proceed from viciousness, nor is attributable to his own fault, a man ought not to fear: still, being fearless in respect of these would not constitute a man Brave in the proper sense of the term.

Of course, we fear all kinds of evils: disgrace, for example, poverty, disease, loneliness, and death. But not all these seem to be the concerns of a brave person. Some things are right and noble to fear, and shameful not to fear. Disgrace, for example, is one of them. A man who fears disgrace is good and has a sense of honor. A man who does not fear disgrace is shameless. (Though some people call the shameless man brave by analogy, because he somewhat resembles a brave man in being fearless.) But perhaps a man should not fear poverty or disease. In fact, he should not fear anything that does not arise from vice or result from his own fault. Still, being fearless about these things would not make a man brave in the proper sense of the word.

Yet we do apply the term¹⁶ in right of the similarity of the cases; for there are men who, though timid in the dangers of war, are liberal men and are stout enough to face loss of wealth.

Yet we do use the term¹⁶ because the cases are similar. For some men, though timid in the dangers of war, are generous and brave enough to face losing wealth.

And, again, a man is not a coward for fearing insult to his wife or children, or envy, or any such thing; nor is he a Brave man for being bold when going to be scourged.

Again, a man is not a coward for fearing insults to his wife or children, envy, or anything similar. Nor is he brave for facing a whipping boldly.

What kind of fearful things then do constitute the object-matter of the Brave man? first of all, must they not be the greatest, since no man is more apt to withstand what is dreadful. Now the object of the greatest dread is death, because it is the end of all things, and the dead man is thought to be capable neither of good nor evil. Still it would seem that the Brave man has not for his object-matter even death in every circumstance; on the sea, for example, or in sickness: in what circumstances then? must it not be in the most honourable? now such is death in war, because it is death in the greatest and most honourable danger; and this is confirmed by the honours awarded in communities, and by monarchs.

What kinds of fearful things, then, does the brave man face? First, must they not be the greatest, since no one is better able to withstand what is dreadful? Now death is the most dreaded thing, because death is the end of everything. A dead man is thought to be capable of neither good nor evil. Still, it seems that the brave man does not face even death in every circumstance. Death at sea or from sickness, for example, does not seem to be his concern. In what circumstances, then, does he face death? Must those circumstances not be the most honorable? Death in war is such a death, because war presents the greatest and most honorable danger. The honors awarded by communities and monarchs confirm this view.

He then may be most properly denominated Brave who is fearless in respect of honourable death and such sudden emergencies as threaten death; now such specially are those which arise in the course of war.

The man most properly called brave, then, is fearless when facing an honorable death or sudden emergencies that threaten death. Such emergencies arise especially in war.

It is not meant but that the Brave man will be fearless also on the sea (and in sickness), but not in the same way as sea-faring men; for these are light-hearted and hopeful by reason of their experience, while landsmen though Brave are apt to give themselves up for lost and shudder at the notion of such a death: to which it should be added that Courage is exerted in circumstances which admit of doing something to help one’s self, or in which death would be honourable; now neither of these requisites attach to destruction by drowning or sickness.

A brave man will also be fearless at sea and during sickness, but not in the same way as sailors. Sailors are cheerful and hopeful because of their experience. But men unused to the sea, though brave, tend to give themselves up for lost and shudder at such a death. Moreover, courage is exercised when people can do something to save themselves, or when death would be honorable. Neither condition applies to death by drowning or sickness.

Again, fearful is a term of relation, the same thing not being so to all, and there is according to common parlance somewhat so fearful as to be beyond human endurance: this of course would be fearful to every man of sense, but those objects which are level to the capacity of man differ in magnitude and admit of degrees, so too the objects of confidence or boldness.

Again, what is frightening depends on the person. The same thing does not frighten everyone. In everyday language, some things are described as so frightening that they exceed human endurance. Such things would, of course, frighten every sensible person. But things within human endurance vary in how frightening they are and admit of degrees. The same is true of things that inspire confidence or boldness.

Now the Brave man cannot be frighted from his propriety (but of course only so far as he is man); fear such things indeed he will, but he will stand up against them as he ought and as right reason may direct, with a view to what is honourable, because this is the end of the virtue.

Now a brave man cannot be frightened into abandoning his principles (within human limits, of course). He will indeed fear such things, but he will face them as he should and as sound reason directs. He does so for the sake of what is honorable, because honor is the aim of courage.

Now it is possible to fear these things too much, or too little, or again to fear what is not really fearful as if it were such. So the errors come to be either that a man fears when he ought not to fear at all, or that he fears in an improper way, or at a wrong time, and so forth; and so too in respect of things inspiring confidence. He is Brave then who withstands, and fears, and is bold, in respect of right objects, from a right motive, in right manner, and at right times: since the Brave man suffers or acts as he ought and as right reason may direct.

Now it is possible to fear these things too much or too little. It is also possible to fear things that are not truly frightening as if they were. So a person can go wrong by feeling fear when there is no reason to fear at all. A person can also fear in the wrong way, at the wrong time, and so on. The same applies to things that inspire confidence. A brave person, then, faces, fears, and confidently confronts the right things. He does so for the right reasons, in the right way, and at the right times. For a brave person endures or acts as he should and as sound reason may direct.

Now the end of every separate act of working is that which accords with the habit, and so to the Brave man Courage; which is honourable; therefore such is also the End, since the character of each is determined by the End.¹⁷

Now every individual action has a goal that accords with the underlying habit. So for the brave man, the goal is courage, which is honorable. Therefore, the goal is also honorable, since the goal determines the character of each action.¹⁷

So honour is the motive from which the Brave man withstands things fearful and performs the acts which accord with Courage.

So honour motivates the brave man to face frightening things and act with courage.

Of the characters on the side of Excess, he who exceeds in utter absence of fear has no appropriate name (I observed before that many states have none), but he would be a madman or inaccessible to pain if he feared nothing, neither earthquake, nor the billows, as they tell of the Celts.

Among those who go to excess, the man who goes too far in being fearless has no suitable name. As I noted earlier, many states of character have no names. But he would be mad or unable to feel pain if he feared nothing, neither earthquakes nor waves. Such fearlessness is attributed to the Celts.

He again who exceeds in confidence in respect of things fearful is rash. He is thought moreover to be a braggart, and to advance unfounded claims to the character of Brave: the relation which the Brave man really bears to objects of fear this man wishes to appear to bear, and so imitates him in whatever points he can; for this reason most of them exhibit a curious mixture of rashness and cowardice; because, affecting rashness in these circumstances, they do not withstand what is truly fearful.

A man who is too confident in the face of danger is rash. He is also seen as a braggart who makes unfounded claims to bravery. He wants to appear to face danger as a truly brave man does. So he imitates the brave man in whatever ways he can. For this reason, most rash men show a strange mixture of rashness and cowardice. They put on a show of rashness in these situations, but they do not stand firm against truly frightening things.

The man moreover who exceeds in feeling fear is a coward, since there attach to him the circumstances of fearing wrong objects, in wrong ways, and so forth. He is deficient also in feeling confidence, but he is most clearly seen as exceeding in the case of pains; he is a fainthearted kind of man, for he fears all things: the Brave man is just the contrary, for boldness is the property of the light-hearted and hopeful.

Moreover, a man who feels too much fear is a coward. He fears the wrong things, in the wrong ways, and so on. He also lacks confidence, but his excess is clearest in his response to pain. He is fainthearted, because he fears everything. The brave man is just the opposite, since boldness belongs to those who are cheerful and hopeful.

So the coward, the rash, and the Brave man have exactly the same object-matter, but stand differently related to it: the two first-mentioned respectively exceed and are deficient, the last is in a mean state and as he ought to be. The rash again are precipitate, and, being eager before danger, when actually in it fall away, while the Brave are quick and sharp in action, but before are quiet and composed.

So cowards, rash people, and brave people face exactly the same things, but respond differently. Cowards go too far, while rash people fall short. Brave people strike the right balance and respond as they should. Rash people also act hastily. They are eager before danger comes, but lose heart when actually facing danger. Brave people, by contrast, act quickly and decisively, but remain calm and composed beforehand.

Well then, as has been said, Courage is a mean state in respect of objects inspiring boldness or fear, in the circumstances which have been stated, and the Brave man chooses his line and withstands danger either because to do so is honourable, or because not to do so is base. But dying to escape from poverty, or the pangs of love, or anything that is simply painful, is the act not of a Brave man but of a coward; because it is mere softness to fly from what is toilsome, and the suicide braves the terrors of death not because it is honourable but to get out of the reach of evil.

As we have said, courage is a middle ground in responding to things that inspire confidence or fear. This applies in the circumstances already described. The brave man chooses his course and faces danger because doing so is honorable, or because avoiding danger is shameful. But dying to escape poverty, the pain of love, or anything merely painful is cowardly, not brave. For running away from hardship is simply weakness. A man who kills himself faces the terrors of death not because doing so is honorable, but to escape suffering.

Courage proper is somewhat of the kind I have described, but there are dispositions, differing in five ways,¹⁸ which also bear in common parlance the name of Courage.

True courage is something like what I have described. But there are dispositions that differ in five ways,¹⁸ and people commonly call these dispositions courage too.

We will take first that which bears most resemblance to the true, the Courage of Citizenship, so named because the motives which are thought to actuate the members of a community in braving danger are the penalties and disgrace held out by the laws to cowardice, and the dignities conferred on the Brave; which is thought to be the reason why those are the bravest people among whom cowards are visited with disgrace and the Brave held in honour.

We will begin with the kind most like true courage: the Courage of Citizenship. It has this name because citizens are thought to face danger for two reasons. They fear the legal penalties and disgrace for cowardice, and they seek the honors awarded to the brave. This is thought to explain why the bravest communities are those that disgrace cowards and honor the brave.

Such is the kind of Courage Homer exhibits in his characters; Diomed and Hector for example. The latter says,

This is the kind of courage Homer shows in his characters, such as Diomed and Hector. Hector says,

Diomed again,

Diomed again,

This I say most nearly resembles the Courage before spoken of, because it arises from virtue, from a feeling of shame, and a desire of what is noble (that is, of honour), and avoidance of disgrace which is base.

In my view, this most closely resembles the courage discussed earlier. That is because it comes from virtue, a sense of shame, and a desire for what is noble (that is, honour). It also comes from a wish to avoid disgrace, which is shameful.

In the same rank one would be inclined to place those also who act under compulsion from their commanders; yet are they really lower, because not a sense of honour but fear is the motive from which they act, and what they seek to avoid is not that which is base but that which is simply painful: commanders do in fact compel their men sometimes, as Hector says (to quote Homer again),

One might also put those forced to act by their commanders in the same rank. Yet they actually rank lower, because they act out of fear rather than a sense of honour. They seek to avoid not what is shameful, but simply what is painful. Commanders do sometimes force their men to act, as Hector says (to quote Homer again):

Those commanders who station staunch troops by doubtful ones,¹⁹ or who beat their men if they flinch, or who draw their troops up in line with the trenches, or other similar obstacles, in their rear, do in effect the same as Hector, for they all use compulsion.

Some commanders place reliable troops beside unreliable ones,¹⁹ or beat their men if the men flinch. Others line up their troops with trenches or similar obstacles behind them. All these commanders do essentially the same as Hector, because all use force to compel their men.

But a man is to be Brave, not on compulsion, but from a sense of honour.

But a man should be brave not because he is forced to, but out of a sense of honour.

In the next place, Experience and Skill in the various particulars is thought to be a species of Courage: whence Socrates also thought that Courage was knowledge.²⁰

Next, experience and skill in specific situations are thought to be a kind of courage. This is also why Socrates thought courage was knowledge.²⁰

This quality is exhibited of course by different men under different circumstances, but in warlike matters, with which we are now concerned, it is exhibited by the soldiers (“the regulars”): for there are, it would seem, many things in war of no real importance²¹ which these have been constantly used to see; so they have a show of Courage because other people are not aware of the real nature of these things. Then again by reason of their skill they are better able than any others to inflict without suffering themselves, because they are able to use their arms and have such as are most serviceable both with a view to offence and defence: so that their case is parallel to that of armed men fighting with unarmed or trained athletes with amateurs, since in contests of this kind those are the best fighters, not who are the bravest men, but who are the strongest and are in the best condition.

Different men naturally show this quality in different circumstances. But in warfare, our present concern, soldiers (“the regulars”) show it. For war seems to involve many things of no real importance²¹ that regular soldiers are used to seeing. So these soldiers appear courageous because other people do not understand the true nature of these things. Their skill also makes them better able than anyone else to inflict harm without suffering harm themselves. This is because they know how to use their weapons and have the most effective equipment for attack and defense. So their situation resembles armed men fighting unarmed men, or trained athletes competing against amateurs. In such contests, the best fighters are not the bravest men, but the strongest and best conditioned.

In fact, the regular troops come to be cowards whenever the danger is greater than their means of meeting it; supposing, for example, that they are inferior in numbers and resources: then they are the first to fly, but the mere militia stand and fall on the ground (which as you know really happened at the Hermæum),²² for in the eyes of these flight was disgraceful and death preferable to safety bought at such a price: while “the regulars” originally went into the danger under a notion of their own superiority, but on discovering their error they took to flight,²³ having greater fear of death than of disgrace; but this is not the feeling of the Brave man.

In fact, regular troops become cowards whenever the danger exceeds their ability to face it. Suppose, for example, that they are outnumbered and have fewer resources. Then they are the first to flee, while ordinary militia stand their ground and die. (As you know, this really happened at the Hermæum.)²² For the militia, fleeing was disgraceful, and death was better than safety bought at such a price. By contrast, “the regulars” originally faced the danger because they believed themselves superior. But when they discovered their mistake, they fled,²³ fearing death more than disgrace. But this is not how a brave man feels.

Thirdly, mere Animal Spirit is sometimes brought under the term Courage: they are thought to be Brave who are carried on by mere Animal Spirit, as are wild beasts against those who have wounded them, because in fact the really Brave have much Spirit, there being nothing like it for going at danger of any kind; whence those frequent expressions in Homer, “infused strength into his spirit,” “roused his strength and spirit,” or again, “and keen strength in his nostrils,” “his blood boiled:” for all these seem to denote the arousing and impetuosity of the Animal Spirit.

Thirdly, sheer animal spirit is sometimes called courage. People driven by animal spirit alone are thought brave, like wild beasts attacking those who have wounded them. This is because truly brave people have plenty of spirit. Nothing is better than spirit for facing any kind of danger. Hence Homer's frequent expressions: “infused strength into his spirit,” “roused his strength and spirit,” or again, “and keen strength in his nostrils,” “his blood boiled.” All these expressions seem to describe animal spirit being stirred up and rushing forward.

Now they that are truly Brave act from a sense of honour, and this Animal Spirit co-operates with them; but wild beasts from pain, that is because they have been wounded, or are frightened; since if they are quietly in their own haunts, forest or marsh, they do not attack men. Surely they are not Brave because they rush into danger when goaded on by pain and mere Spirit, without any view of the danger: else would asses be Brave when they are hungry, for though beaten they will not then leave their pasture: profligate men besides do many bold actions by reason of their lust. We may conclude then that they are not Brave who are goaded on to meet danger by pain and mere Spirit; but still this temper which arises from Animal Spirit appears to be most natural, and would be Courage of the true kind if it could have added to it moral choice and the proper motive.

Truly brave people act from a sense of honor, and their animal spirit supports them. But wild beasts act from pain because they have been wounded, or from fear. For when beasts are undisturbed in their own haunts, in forests or marshes, they do not attack people. Surely beasts are not brave simply because pain and raw spirit drive them into danger without considering it. Otherwise, hungry donkeys would be brave, since they will not leave their pasture even when beaten. Besides, people without moral restraint do many bold things because of lust. We may therefore conclude that people driven into danger by pain and raw spirit are not brave. Still, the boldness that comes from animal spirit seems the most natural kind. It would be true courage if moral choice and the right motive were added to it.

So men also are pained by a feeling of anger, and take pleasure in revenge; but they who fight from these causes may be good fighters, but they are not truly Brave (in that they do not act from a sense of honour, nor as reason directs, but merely from the present feeling), still they bear some resemblance to that character.

So people also feel pain from anger and take pleasure in revenge. But those who fight for these reasons may be good fighters without being truly brave. (They act neither out of a sense of honour nor as reason directs, but only from their immediate feelings.) Still, these fighters bear some resemblance to truly brave people.

Nor, again, are the Sanguine and Hopeful therefore Brave: since their boldness in dangers arises from their frequent victories over numerous foes. The two characters are alike, however, in that both are confident; but then the Brave are so from the afore-mentioned causes, whereas these are so from a settled conviction of their being superior and not likely to suffer anything in return (they who are intoxicated do much the same, for they become hopeful when in that state); but when the event disappoints their expectations they run away: now it was said to be the character of a Brave man to withstand things which are fearful to man or produce that impression, because it is honourable so to do and the contrary is dishonourable.

Nor are optimistic, hopeful people necessarily brave. Their boldness in danger comes from their many victories over numerous enemies. Both hopeful people and brave people are confident. But brave people are confident for the reasons mentioned earlier. Hopeful people are confident because they firmly believe they are superior and unlikely to suffer any harm in return. (Drunk people act much the same way, because they become hopeful when intoxicated.) But when events disappoint their expectations, hopeful people run away. As noted earlier, brave people stand firm against things that humans find frightening or that seem frightening. They do so because standing firm is honorable, and running away is dishonorable.

For this reason it is thought to be a greater proof of Courage to be fearless and undisturbed under the pressure of sudden fear than under that which may be anticipated, because Courage then comes rather from a fixed habit, or less from preparation: since as to foreseen dangers a man might take his line even from calculation and reasoning, but in those which are sudden he will do so according to his fixed habit of mind.

For this reason, remaining fearless and calm when fear strikes suddenly is thought to show greater courage than facing expected fear. This is because courage then comes more from an established habit and less from preparation. When dangers are expected, a man might decide how to act through calculation and reasoning. But when dangers arise suddenly, he will act according to his established habits of mind.

Fifthly and lastly, those who are acting under Ignorance have a show of Courage and are not very far from the Hopeful; but still they are inferior inasmuch as they have no opinion of themselves; which the others have, and therefore stay and contest a field for some little time; but they who have been deceived fly the moment they know things to be otherwise than they supposed, which the Argives experienced when they fell on the Lacedæmonians, taking them for the men of Sicyon.

Fifth and finally, people acting out of ignorance appear courageous and are not very different from hopeful people. Still, they fall short of hopeful people because they lack confidence in themselves. Hopeful people have that confidence, so they stand their ground and fight for a little while. But people who have been misled flee as soon as they discover that things are not as they thought. This happened to the Argives when they attacked the Lacedæmonians, mistaking them for the men of Sicyon.

We have described then what kind of men the Brave are, and what they who are thought to be, but are not really, Brave.

We have now described what truly brave men are like, and what men considered brave but not truly brave are like.

It must be remarked, however, that though Courage has for its object-matter boldness and fear it has not both equally so, but objects of fear much more than the former; for he that under pressure of these is undisturbed and stands related to them as he ought is better entitled to the name of Brave than he who is properly affected towards objects of confidence. So then men are termed Brave for withstanding painful things.

However, we should note that courage concerns both confidence and fear, but not equally. It concerns things we fear much more than things that inspire confidence. For someone who remains steady under fear and responds as they should is more deserving of being called brave. They deserve the name more than someone who responds properly to things that inspire confidence. So people are called brave for withstanding painful things.

It follows that Courage involves pain and is justly praised, since it is a harder matter to withstand things that are painful than to abstain from such as are pleasant.

It follows that courage involves pain and deserves praise. This is because enduring painful things is harder than resisting pleasant ones.

It must not be thought but that the End and object of Courage is pleasant, but it is obscured by the surrounding circumstances: which happens also in the gymnastic games; to the boxers the End is pleasant with a view to which they act, I mean the crown and the honours; but the receiving the blows they do is painful and annoying to flesh and blood, and so is all the labour they have to undergo; and, as these drawbacks are many, the object in view being small appears to have no pleasantness in it.

We must not think that the goal of courage is not pleasant. But the surrounding circumstances hide that pleasure. The same happens in athletic contests. Boxers find pleasure in the goal they fight for, namely the victory crown and the honors. But the blows boxers receive are painful and distressing to the body, as is all the work they must endure. These hardships are many, while the goal seems small by comparison. So the goal appears to offer no pleasure.

If then we may say the same of Courage, of course death and wounds must be painful to the Brave man and against his will: still he endures these because it is honourable so to do or because it is dishonourable not to do so. And the more complete his virtue and his happiness so much the more will he be pained at the notion of death: since to such a man as he is it is best worth while to live, and he with full consciousness is deprived of the greatest goods by death, and this is a painful idea. But he is not the less Brave for feeling it to be so, nay rather it may be he is shown to be more so because he chooses the honour that may be reaped in war in preference to retaining safe possession of these other goods. The fact is that to act with pleasure does not belong to all the virtues, except so far as a man realises the End of his actions.

If we can say the same about courage, then death and wounds must be painful and unwelcome to the brave man. Still, he endures them because doing so is honorable, or because not doing so is dishonorable. And the more complete his virtue and happiness, the more the thought of death will pain him. For such a man, life is especially worth living. He is fully aware that death deprives him of the greatest goods, and that thought is painful. But feeling this pain does not make him any less brave. Rather, he may show even greater courage by choosing the honor war can bring over keeping those other goods safe. The fact is that not all virtues involve acting with pleasure, except insofar as a person achieves his actions’ goal.

But there is perhaps no reason why not such men should make the best soldiers, but those who are less truly Brave but have no other good to care for: these being ready to meet danger and bartering their lives against small gain.

But perhaps such men need not make the best soldiers. The best may instead be less truly brave men who have nothing else good to care about. Such men are ready to face danger and trade their lives for small gains.

Let thus much be accepted as sufficient on the subject of Courage; the true nature of which it is not difficult to gather, in outline at least, from what has been said.

Let us consider this discussion of Courage sufficient. From what has been said, the true nature of Courage is fairly easy to grasp, at least in outline.

Next let us speak of Perfected Self-Mastery, which seems to claim the next place to Courage, since these two are the Excellences of the Irrational part of the Soul.

Next, let us discuss Perfected Self-Mastery. It seems to belong next after Courage, because both are virtues of the irrational part of the soul.

That it is a mean state, having for its object-matter Pleasures, we have already said (Pains being in fact its object-matter in a less degree and dissimilar manner), the state of utter absence of self-control has plainly the same object-matter; the next thing then is to determine what kind of Pleasures.

We have already said that it is a middle state concerned with pleasures. (It is also concerned with pains, but to a lesser extent and in a different way.) A complete lack of self-control clearly concerns the same things. The next step, then, is to determine what kinds of pleasures are involved.

Let Pleasures then be understood to be divided into mental and bodily: instances of the former being love of honour or of learning: it being plain that each man takes pleasure in that of these two objects which he has a tendency to like, his body being no way affected but rather his intellect. Now men are not called perfectly self-mastering or wholly destitute of self-control in respect of pleasures of this class: nor in fact in respect of any which are not bodily; those for example who love to tell long stories, and are prosy, and spend their days about mere chance matters, we call gossips but not wholly destitute of self-control, nor again those who are pained at the loss of money or friends.

Let us divide pleasures into mental and bodily pleasures. Examples of mental pleasures are the love of honor and the love of learning. Clearly, each person enjoys whichever of these two things he is drawn to. His body is not affected, but rather his mind. Now, we do not call people perfectly self-controlled or entirely lacking in self-control because of pleasures of this kind. In fact, we do not use these terms for any pleasures that are not bodily. For example, some people love telling long stories, are long-winded, and spend their days on trivial matters. We call such people gossips, but not entirely lacking in self-control. Nor do we describe people as entirely lacking in self-control because they grieve over losing money or friends.

It is bodily Pleasures then which are the object-matter of Perfected Self-Mastery, but not even all these indifferently: I mean, that they who take pleasure in objects perceived by the Sight, as colours, and forms, and painting, are not denominated men of Perfected Self-Mastery, or wholly destitute of self-control; and yet it would seem that one may take pleasure even in such objects, as one ought to do, or excessively, or too little.

Perfected Self-Mastery, then, concerns bodily pleasures, but not all bodily pleasures equally. I mean pleasures from things we see, such as colors, shapes, and paintings. Enjoying these things does not lead us to call someone self-controlled or completely lacking in self-control. Yet it seems that people may enjoy even these things as they should, too much, or too little.

So too of objects perceived by the sense of Hearing; no one applies the terms before quoted respectively to those who are excessively pleased with musical tunes or acting, or to those who take such pleasure as they ought.

The same is true of things we hear. No one applies the corresponding terms mentioned earlier to people who take excessive pleasure in music or acting. Nor does anyone apply those terms to people who enjoy music or acting as they should.

Nor again to those persons whose pleasure arises from the sense of Smell, except incidentally:²⁴ I mean, we do not say men have no self-control because they take pleasure in the scent of fruit, or flowers, or incense, but rather when they do so in the smells of unguents and sauces: since men destitute of self-control take pleasure herein, because hereby the objects of their lusts are recalled to their imagination (you may also see other men take pleasure in the smell of food when they are hungry): but to take pleasure in such is a mark of the character before named since these are objects of desire to him.

Nor does lack of self-control apply to people who enjoy smells, except incidentally:²⁴ We do not call people uncontrolled because they enjoy the scent of fruit, flowers, or incense. Rather, we call people uncontrolled when they enjoy the smells of perfumed oils and sauces. For people without self-control enjoy these smells because the smells bring the objects of their cravings to mind. (You may also see other people enjoy the smell of food when hungry.) But enjoying such smells is a sign of the uncontrolled character just described, because such things satisfy that person's desires.

Now not even brutes receive pleasure in right of these senses, except incidentally. I mean, it is not the scent of hares’ flesh but the eating it which dogs take pleasure in, perception of which pleasure is caused by the sense of Smell. Or again, it is not the lowing of the ox but eating him which the lion likes; but of the fact of his nearness the lion is made sensible by the lowing, and so he appears to take pleasure in this. In like manner, he has no pleasure in merely seeing or finding a stag or wild goat, but in the prospect of a meal.

Now even animals take pleasure in these senses only indirectly. Dogs, for example, enjoy eating hare meat, not smelling it. Smell alerts them to the pleasure of eating. Likewise, a lion enjoys eating an ox, not hearing the ox’s lowing. But the lowing tells the lion that the ox is nearby, so the lion seems to enjoy the sound. Similarly, the lion takes no pleasure in merely seeing or finding a stag or wild goat. Rather, the lion enjoys the prospect of a meal.

The habits of Perfect Self-Mastery and entire absence of self-control have then for their object-matter such pleasures as brutes also share in, for which reason they are plainly servile and brutish: they are Touch and Taste.

The habits of complete self-mastery and total lack of self-control, then, concern pleasures that animals also share. For this reason, these pleasures are clearly servile and animal-like. They are the pleasures of touch and taste.

But even Taste men seem to make little or no use of; for to the sense of Taste belongs the distinguishing of flavours; what men do, in fact, who are testing the quality of wines or seasoning “made dishes.”

But men seem to make little or no use even of taste. Taste distinguishes flavors, as when people test the quality of wines or season “prepared dishes.”

But men scarcely take pleasure at all in these things, at least those whom we call destitute of self-control do not, but only in the actual enjoyment which arises entirely from the sense of Touch, whether in eating or in drinking, or in grosser lusts. This accounts for the wish said to have been expressed once by a great glutton, “that his throat had been formed longer than a crane’s neck,” implying that his pleasure was derived from the Touch.

But people hardly take any pleasure in these things, at least those we call lacking in self-control do not. They enjoy only the actual pleasure that comes entirely through touch, whether in eating, drinking, or cruder sexual pleasures. This explains why a great glutton is said to have once wished “that his throat were longer than a crane’s neck,” implying that his pleasure came from touch.

The sense then with which is connected the habit of absence of self-control is the most common of all the senses, and this habit would seem to be justly a matter of reproach, since it attaches to us not in so far as we are men but in so far as we are animals. Indeed it is brutish to take pleasure in such things and to like them best of all; for the most respectable of the pleasures arising from the touch have been set aside; those, for instance, which occur in the course of gymnastic training from the rubbing and the warm bath: because the touch of the man destitute of self-control is not indifferently of any part of the body but only of particular parts.

The sense linked to a lack of self-control, then, is the most common of all the senses. This lack of self-control seems rightly blameworthy, since it belongs to us not as humans but as animals. Indeed, taking pleasure in such things and liking them best of all is brutish. For the most respectable pleasures of touch have been left out of this discussion. These include, for instance, the pleasures of massage and warm baths during athletic training. This is because someone lacking self-control does not seek pleasure from touching just any part of the body. Instead, such pleasure involves only particular parts.

Now of lusts or desires some are thought to be universal, others peculiar and acquired; thus desire for food is natural since every one who really needs desires also food, whether solid or liquid, or both (and, as Homer says, the man in the prime of youth needs and desires intercourse with the other sex); but when we come to this or that particular kind, then neither is the desire universal nor in all men is it directed to the same objects. And therefore the conceiving of such desires plainly attaches to us as individuals. It must be admitted, however, that there is something natural in it: because different things are pleasant to different men and a preference of some particular objects to chance ones is universal. Well then, in the case of the desires which are strictly and properly natural few men go wrong and all in one direction, that is, on the side of too much: I mean, to eat and drink of such food as happens to be on the table till one is overfilled is exceeding in quantity the natural limit, since the natural desire is simply a supply of a real deficiency.

Some desires are thought to be universal, while others are individual and acquired. For example, the desire for food is natural. Everyone who genuinely needs nourishment desires food or drink, or both. And, as Homer says, a man in the prime of youth needs and desires intercourse with the opposite sex. But the desire for a particular kind of food or drink is not universal. Nor does everyone desire the same things. So these particular desires clearly belong to us as individuals. Still, we must admit that these desires have a natural element. Different people find different things pleasant, and everyone prefers certain things over whatever happens to be available. Now, few people go wrong with desires that are strictly natural. And all who do go wrong do so in the same direction, by wanting too much. Eating and drinking whatever is on the table until we are overfull exceeds the natural limit in quantity. For natural desire seeks only to make up for a genuine lack.

For this reason these men are called belly-mad, as filling it beyond what they ought, and it is the slavish who become of this character.

For this reason, these men are called belly-mad, because they fill their bellies more than they should. And it is people with a slavish nature who become like this.

But in respect of the peculiar pleasures many men go wrong and in many different ways; for whereas the term “fond of so and so” implies either taking pleasure in wrong objects, or taking pleasure excessively, or as the mass of men do, or in a wrong way, they who are destitute of all self-control exceed in all these ways; that is to say, they take pleasure in some things in which they ought not to do so (because they are properly objects of detestation), and in such as it is right to take pleasure in they do so more than they ought and as the mass of men do.

But when it comes to particular pleasures, many people go wrong in many different ways. For calling someone “fond of so and so” implies taking pleasure in the wrong things, or taking excessive pleasure. It can also imply taking pleasure as most people do, or in the wrong way. People with no self-control go too far in all these ways. That is, they enjoy some things they should not enjoy, because those things rightly deserve disgust. And when they enjoy things that are right to enjoy, they do so excessively and as most people do.

Well then, that excess with respect to pleasures is absence of self-control, and blameworthy, is plain. But viewing these habits on the side of pains, we find that a man is not said to have the virtue for withstanding them (as in the case of Courage), nor the vice for not withstanding them; but the man destitute of self-control is such, because he is pained more than he ought to be at not obtaining things which are pleasant (and thus his pleasure produces pain to him), and the man of Perfected Self-Mastery is such in virtue of not being pained by their absence, that is, by having to abstain from what is pleasant.

Clearly, then, excess in pleasure shows a lack of self-control and deserves blame. But consider how these habits relate to pain. A man is not said to have this virtue because he withstands pain, as he would with Courage. Nor is he said to have this vice because he fails to withstand pain. Rather, a man lacks self-control because missing out on pleasant things pains him more than it should. In this way, his pleasure causes him pain. But a man has Perfected Self-Mastery because he is not pained by the absence of pleasant things. In other words, having to go without pleasure does not pain him.

Now the man destitute of self-control desires either all pleasant things indiscriminately or those which are specially pleasant, and he is impelled by his desire to choose these things in preference to all others; and this involves pain, not only when he misses the attainment of his objects but, in the very desiring them, since all desire is accompanied by pain. Surely it is a strange case this, being pained by reason of pleasure.

Now a man without self-control desires either all pleasant things indiscriminately or those that are especially pleasant. His desire drives him to choose these things over all others. And his desire brings pain, not only when he fails to get what he wants, but even while wanting it. For all desire comes with pain. Surely being in pain because of pleasure is a strange thing.

As for men who are defective on the side of pleasure, who take less pleasure in things than they ought, they are almost imaginary characters, because such absence of sensual perception is not natural to man: for even the other animals distinguish between different kinds of food, and like some kinds and dislike others. In fact, could a man be found who takes no pleasure in anything and to whom all things are alike, he would be far from being human at all: there is no name for such a character because it is simply imaginary.

Men who fall short in pleasure, taking less pleasure in things than they should, are almost imaginary figures. Such a lack of sensory response is not natural to humans. Even other animals distinguish between different kinds of food, liking some and disliking others. In fact, if a man took no pleasure in anything and found all things alike, he would hardly be human. There is no name for such a person because he is simply imaginary.

But the man of Perfected Self-Mastery is in the mean with respect to these objects: that is to say, he neither takes pleasure in the things which delight the vicious man, and in fact rather dislikes them, nor at all in improper objects; nor to any great degree in any object of the class; nor is he pained at their absence; nor does he desire them; or, if he does, only in moderation, and neither more than he ought, nor at improper times, and so forth; but such things as are conducive to health and good condition of body, being also pleasant, these he will grasp at in moderation and as he ought to do, and also such other pleasant things as do not hinder these objects, and are not unseemly or disproportionate to his means; because he that should grasp at such would be liking such pleasures more than is proper; but the man of Perfected Self-Mastery is not of this character, but regulates his desires by the dictates of right reason.

But the man of Perfected Self-Mastery takes a middle course with these pleasures. He does not enjoy what delights the vicious man. In fact, he rather dislikes such things. Nor does he enjoy anything improper, or take great pleasure in anything of this kind. He is not distressed by the absence of these pleasures, nor does he desire them. Or, if he does desire them, he does so only in moderation. He desires them no more than he should, never at improper times, and so on. But he pursues pleasant things that support health and good physical condition, in moderation and as he should. He also pursues other pleasant things, provided they do not undermine health and fitness, are not improper, or exceed his means. For anyone who pursued pleasures beyond these limits would value such pleasures more than he should. But the man of Perfected Self-Mastery is not like that. He governs his desires according to sound reason.

Now the vice of being destitute of all Self-Control seems to be more truly voluntary than Cowardice, because pleasure is the cause of the former and pain of the latter, and pleasure is an object of choice, pain of avoidance. And again, pain deranges and spoils the natural disposition of its victim, whereas pleasure has no such effect and is more voluntary and therefore more justly open to reproach.

A complete lack of self-control seems more truly voluntary than cowardice, because pleasure causes the former and pain the latter. Pleasure is something we choose, while pain is something we avoid. Moreover, pain disrupts and damages the sufferer’s natural state, while pleasure has no such effect. A complete lack of self-control is therefore more voluntary and more deserving of blame.

It is so also for the following reason; that it is easier to be inured by habit to resist the objects of pleasure, there being many things of this kind in life and the process of habituation being unaccompanied by danger; whereas the case is the reverse as regards the objects of fear.

This is also true for another reason: it is easier to develop the habit of resisting things that bring pleasure. Such things are common in life, and practicing resistance to them involves no danger. But the opposite is true of things that cause fear.

Again, Cowardice as a confirmed habit would seem to be voluntary in a different way from the particular instances which form the habit; because it is painless, but these derange the man by reason of pain so that he throws away his arms and otherwise behaves himself unseemly, for which reason they are even thought by some to exercise a power of compulsion.

Again, cowardice as an established habit seems voluntary in a different way from the individual acts that form the habit. This is because the habit is painless, but the individual acts involve pain that throws the man into confusion. As a result, he throws away his weapons and behaves shamefully in other ways. For this reason, some people even think these acts are forced on him.

But to the man destitute of Self-Control the particular instances are on the contrary quite voluntary, being done with desire and direct exertion of the will, but the general result is less voluntary: since no man desires to form the habit.

But for someone who lacks self-control, individual actions are, on the contrary, entirely voluntary. They are driven by desire and a direct effort of will. But the overall result is less voluntary, since no one wants to develop the habit.

The name of this vice (which signifies etymologically unchastened-ness) we apply also to the faults of children, there being a certain resemblance between the cases: to which the name is primarily applied, and to which secondarily or derivatively, is not relevant to the present subject, but it is evident that the later in point of time must get the name from the earlier. And the metaphor seems to be a very good one; for whatever grasps after base things, and is liable to great increase, ought to be chastened; and to this description desire and the child answer most truly, in that children also live under the direction of desire and the grasping after what is pleasant is most prominently seen in these.

The name of this vice originally means a lack of discipline. We also use the name for children’s faults, because the two cases share a certain resemblance. Which use came first, and which was borrowed from it, does not matter here. But clearly, the later use must have taken the name from the earlier one. And the comparison seems very apt. For whatever reaches for shameful things and can grow greatly needs discipline. Desire and children fit this description most closely. Children, too, live under the direction of desire, and the pursuit of pleasure is most obvious in them.

Unless then the appetite be obedient and subjected to the governing principle it will become very great: for in the fool the grasping after what is pleasant is insatiable and undiscriminating; and every acting out of the desire increases the kindred habit, and if the desires are great and violent in degree they even expel Reason entirely; therefore they ought to be moderate and few, and in no respect to be opposed to Reason. Now when the appetite is in such a state we denominate it obedient and chastened.

Unless appetite obeys and submits to the governing principle, it will grow very strong. For a fool's craving for pleasure is insatiable and indiscriminate. And every time a desire is acted on, the corresponding habit grows stronger. If desires become strong and violent, they even drive Reason out entirely. So desires should be moderate and few, and should never oppose Reason. When appetite is in this state, we call it obedient and disciplined.

In short, as the child ought to live with constant regard to the orders of its educator, so should the appetitive principle with regard to those of Reason.

In short, a child should always follow the teacher’s instructions. In the same way, our desires should follow Reason’s instructions.

So then in the man of Perfected Self-Mastery, the appetitive principle must be accordant with Reason: for what is right is the mark at which both principles aim: that is to say, the man of perfected self-mastery desires what he ought in right manner and at right times, which is exactly what Reason directs. Let this be taken for our account of Perfected Self-Mastery.

So, in a man with Perfected Self-Mastery, desire must agree with Reason, because both aim at what is right. In other words, a man with perfected self-mastery desires what he should, in the right way and at the right times. This is exactly what Reason directs. Let this be our account of Perfected Self-Mastery.